Page 4 of Yuletide Acres

I shake my head. “That would have been tricky. I never knew his last name. Hell, I don’t even know what D stands for.” At my friend’s confused glance, I explain. “On the circuit, people pass through your life like the wind. You don’t try to hold on to them, just enjoy them in the moment.”

“For a year?”

“That’s just it. D was special. But, it’s been a decade. I don’t even know if he’s alive or dead.”

“Poppy, what are you expecting to find in Yuletide Acres?”

I shrug, laying my head on my friend’s shoulder. “No idea. I hope Merry will show me.”

“Come on, let’s consult with Old Mother Jane. Let her read your cards. You might gain some clarity about this ridiculous idea. She also just made a fresh batch of bathtub gin. We’ll both stay occupied.”

* * *

Old Mother Jane is one of many local psychics in Eugene. That’s her claim, anyway. I’m not entirely sure about her psychic ability, but I know that she’s a lovely hippie lady with a penchant for some dank marijuana. Lord only knows what else she smokes in that pipe of hers.

Plus, she’s fun and her stories rival my own.

“Come in, ladies. How are you?” She leads us into her living area, awash with all manner of crystals. It’s because of her that I began my love affair with all things holistic.

“Poppy has lost her damn mind. Where are you hiding that gin?” I have to hand it to Helda, she certainly gets straight to the point.

“Cabinet.” Mother Jane points toward a wooden box, before turning her attention to me. “What have you done now?”

“I’m moving.”

“That’s not so crazy. Where are you moving?”

“To a town that she’s never been to before,” Helda interjects as she pours herself a cup of the clear moonshine.

I wave off my friend, sending her a mock glare. “I’m sure you’ve never heard of it. Hell, I’d never heard of it.”

“Try me.”

“It’s a tiny town in Montana called Yuletide Acres.”

Mother Jane releases a low chuckle, leaning back in her chair. “It’s been many a year since I’ve been there.”

“You’ve heard of it?” Helda and I question in unison.

“Heard of it? I grew up there.”

I gape up at Helda, not believing my good fortune. Maybe Mother Jane can shed some light on why this Merry woman is so desperate for me to move to this alpine village. “Can you tell me about it?”

“It’s so beautiful that it’s surreal. It’s small, but independent. It was founded by a group of pagans a hundred years ago.”

My eyes narrow. “Wait, a second. The little information we unearthed online claims it was founded a couple hundred years ago.”

Mother Jane taps her pipe against the arm of the chair, a smirk decorating her features. “That’s what they want you to believe. But it isn’t the truth.”

“Why would they lie?”

“Because a group of fundamentalists came in and decided that they didn’t like the idea of heathens as the founding members of the community. It’s a prime spot, close to Bozeman. They saw dollar signs where the pagans saw sanctuary. Money always wins, I’m afraid. But, why are you headed there?”

“Here’s where the crazy comes in,” Helda snorts, taking another sip from the mug.

“I was shown the town in a dream by a woman named Merry. A redhead. Do you know her?”

Mother Jane pauses before shaking her head. “I can’t say that I do. What did this woman tell you?”

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