Page 68 of A South Hill Christmas Keepsake
“Exactly.”
By mid-morning, the scrape of blades mingled with bursts of applause. When they finally unlaced and changed back into boots. She felt taller and lighter somehow, as if the pond had left a blessing in her bones.
“A quick stop to drop off skates, and then the Colonial?” Nate suggested.
“What’s happening there today?”
He grinned. “Birdie’s grand project. Lights, Lore & Leftovers. If you’re hungry, you are really going to love this.”
Outside the Colonial Theatre the mouthwatering aroma of roasted turkey and cornbread dressing drifted out onto the street. Inside, a buffet stretched across the entire length of the lobby, each container marked with a family’s name. Aunt Winnie’s pound cake sat in the center with a handwritten sign:Two slices per customer, be honest.
Lunch tasted like love passed down. Gretchen Hayes pressed a recipe card into Hannah Leigh’s hand. “For your cookbook,” she said firmly. “Don’t make me write a letter.”
“I’ll work one up for you. No worries. I appreciate the recipe.”
When the lights dimmed, the projector flickered to life. Grainy footage spilled across the screen. What followed waswhat seemed like decades of parades down Main Street, summer picnics, children waving from front porches. The crowd buzzed with cheerful teasing each time someone recognizedsomeone.
Then came Birdie’s promised surprise: a vintage vaudeville clip of a bright-eyed singer who once graced the stage at the Colonial. The audience whooped at the Minnie Pearl sighting. Margaret Jane fanned herself while Birdie scribbled.
More reels followed. Summer County Fair, constructing the LOVE sign, families at football games, even a younger Nate in the background of one frame, grin wide, hair wind-tossed and way longer. Almost a mullet, Hannah Leigh teased him.
Each image stitched the years together until the room glowed with something larger than nostalgia. It was belonging made visible.
When the film ended, the mayor stepped forward without notes. “We all have special gifts,” he said. “Stories. Roots. Each other. Let’s act like we know it.”
He glanced at Margaret Jane, who nodded. “Starting today,” she added, “we’re formingFriends of the Dogwood.We’ll care for the square, polish that new plaque, and plan next year’s winter gathering. Birdie will run a monthly column for folks to share dogwood memories, or their favorite seasonal recipes to keep us more connected throughout the entire year.”
Applause filled the theatre. Aunt Winnie dabbed at her eyes, muttering about dust.
Hannah Leigh leaned into Nate’s shoulder, his warmth grounding her.
Nate reached for her hand. “You ready to draw out those plans for your new office?”
She smiled. “Already drawing it.”
They stepped out onto the square as the town hummed behind them, full of stories, fun, and faith planted deep enough to last through any winter.
Hannah Leigh looked into Nate’s eyes and knew that, for the first time, her future didn’t need a destination. It was right here in the heart of South Hill, Virginia, where love, once lost, had finally found its way home.
