Page 24 of Yuletide Acres

A buzz sweeps through the room. I wonder if they expected me to admit to my past. One of the other council members, a staid older gentleman, leans forward and I brace for the worst. Chances are he is not going to see my side of the story.

“Well, my sister was a stripper.” Another buzz overtakes the room at his blunt admission. He gazes at the council members, nodding his head. “You know her. Little Evie, God rest her soul. After Mama and Daddy died, she wanted to go to nursing school, but there was no money. So, she danced over in Bozeman until she graduated. She was a hell of a nurse. A hell of a woman.”

I grip the edges of the podium, shocked by his statement in my defense. Time to come clean. Let’s see how Mr. West likes this curveball. “I believe there’s been some confusion. I was never a stripper, nor an exotic dancer. I taught pole dancing classes. But you’re correct, sir. There’s no shame in your sister’s game and none in mine.”

Now, my hazel eyes seek out Dylan, and the man looks like you could knock him down with a feather. Time to spill the beans—all of them. Go big or go home, right? “That photo of me? The one that Mrs. Withers found? They took it at a dance competition. The only audience was judges and fellow dancers. While I admit the outfit looks skimpy, it’s no different than what many dancers wear to perform. I loved teaching pole dancing. My clientele were mostly housewives, looking to spice up their marriages. It was so amazing to see them come alive.” I hold up my hand, two fingers pointed toward the sky. “I’d like to give Mr. West a couple of additional figures. Two. The number of men I’ve slept with in the last decade. None in the last three years. There are nuns with a more storied sexual history. So, if that’s your hang-up regarding my clinic opening, let me put your mind at ease. I’m not here to make waves. I’m here to make a difference. I’d like the opportunity to do that.”

For the first time that evening, all eyes settle on the handsome mayor, the man who knows my body unlike anyone else. And he is absolutely gobsmacked by my admissions.

Not quite what you were expecting, huh, D?

“Mr. Mayor, do you have anything to add?” the councilwoman inquires.

Dylan clears his throat, leaning forward on one arm as he strokes his beard. I hate how appealing that gesture is, how fluttery it makes me feel. “While it will have to go to a vote, I see no reason for there to be an issue with the opening of the clinic. As for the other item on the docket, that will require a bit more explanation. If you don’t mind, Po—Ms. Mills.”

With a deep breath, I allow myself a smile. I’m not being carted out of the city. Not yet, anyway. “Before I moved here, I did some research on Yuletide Acres. You’ll think me crazy, but a woman came to me in a dream—repeatedly—and beseeched me to move here. I can still hear her in my head, saying to just do it already. Stop stalling. She was very nice but extremely bossy.”

If I thought Dylan looked shocked before, he now looks like he’s seen a ghost.

Welcome to my world. That’s all I’ve been seeing lately.Your dearly departed wife. She apparently has a sick sense of humor.

“I believe that when you’re on the right path, the universe sends you signs. Guideposts. Well, it so happens I met up with a woman in Eugene, but she wasn’t born there. She was born here. Her name was Old Mother Jane.”

A murmur of recognition rushes through the crowd, and I catch glints of their whispers.

“I thought she was dead.”

“I always wondered about her. They said she was magic.”

The chairwoman calls for order, redirecting the attention to me.

“Old Mother Jane is alive and well. She also makes a mean bathtub gin.”

For the first time, Dylan’s face breaks into a smile and I’m reminded once again how achingly gorgeous he is. Gorgeous and out of my grasp.

Focus, Poppy. You have a mission.

“Anyway, Old Mother Jane was both shocked and excited when I talked about moving here. She said it was the most beautiful place in the world. A town so tiny that it barely makes a mark on the map, but it makes a mark on your soul. Then she told me the history. It was founded by a group of pagans, searching for peace from a world that often didn’t make sense.”

The buzzing has increased to a roar. I’m not sure which is worse—that I’m not a stripper or that I am a pagan.

Best to push through and get on with it before they finish setting up the stocks in the town square.

“The holiday season is almost here, and Yule is such a beautiful celebration. I thought since the town was founded on pagan principles, that it would be fun to experience a true Yule in Yuletide Acres.”

“Ms. Mills, you’ve been given misinformation. Old Mother Jane was pulling your leg. Fundamentalists founded this town over two hundred years ago,” the sweet councilman replies as he removes his glasses, polishing them with his sleeve.

“Old Mother Jane speaks the truth,” comes a voice from behind me, and I turn to see Estelle West standing to address the crowd. “The history of this town is well-hidden beneath a lacquer of puritan ideals. Ms. Mills is correct. It was founded by pagans. I know, because Dylan’s great-grandmother was one of the founders and I have all her papers, along with the original deeds and documents from the first years of Yuletide Acres. It appears that Ms. Mills crossed paths with Dylan’s long-estranged great aunt. She lives in Eugene. Sometimes, this world is very small indeed.”

“I thought she was dead,” Dylan retorts, his jaw slack with surprise.

“She’s very much alive, dear.”

Now the entire council looks fit to be tied. Talk about unloading a boatload of information. The chairwoman leans forward, clicking her teeth with her tongue. “Be that as it may, we will need additional details, Ms. Mills, before we can approve any sort of pagan celebration.”

“Not a problem, councilwoman. I have the documents here, what I plan festivity wise. It meshes so well with the Christmas traditions, since so many are borrowed from one another. I can leave this paperwork with you, for your perusal.”

The councilwoman nods, and I scurry to the podium, handing over the plans. “Do you have anything more to add, Ms. Mills?”

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