Page 15 of It's the Worst Time of the Year

In another adjoining room, I found boxes of antique toys: tin soldiers, wooden trains, porcelain dolls with carefully painted faces. It felt like stepping into a history book of childhood wonder. On a low table, I discovered several old photograph albums with leather bindings cracked with age. Curiosity got the better of me, and I sat on a small stool, turning the pages slowly.

Black-and-white snapshots revealed generations of holiday gatherings at Barrington Manor—elegant women in long gowns, men in formal suits, children bundled in snowsuits playing outside. The decades passed with each turn of the page, fashion and hairstyles evolving. But the constant theme was Christmas: wreaths on doors, ribbons on staircases, everyone smiling around a grand tree.

My fingers paused on one particular photograph. There was Edna, easily recognizable by her bright eyes and the soft line of her jaw, though much younger. She must have been in her twenties. Beside her stood a handsome young man in a tailored suit, dark-haired and proud. It took me a moment to realize that man was Theodore. They were arm in arm, standing in front of the very staircase we’d used last night, a lush Christmas ball in full swing behind them. They looked radiant, deeply connected, and happy in a way I’d never seen from them in the present day.

I stared at the image, astonished. So, Edna and Theodore had a past. Were they once lovers? The tenderness captured in that photo was unmistakable. Given the tension between themnow, I had to wonder what had happened. What on earth could have driven them so far apart?

A floorboard creaked behind me, and I nearly jumped. Turning, I found Jacob leaning against the doorframe. He held up his hands in mock surrender. “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you. Just got curious about where you’d wandered off to.”

I held out the photo. “Look at this.”

He crossed the room, joining me on the stool’s edge so we had to sit close, our shoulders brushing. The scent of his aftershave—something woodsy and clean—made my heart flutter.

“Is that…?” he began, peering at the photograph.

“Edna and Theodore,” I confirmed quietly. “Hard to believe, isn’t it?”

Jacob took the photo from my hand, studying it thoughtfully. “They look so...enthralled with each other. It’s not just a friendly smile, either, from the looks of it.”

I nodded, my eyes drifting over their elegant attire, the gentle way Theodore’s hand rested at Edna’s waist. “I’d say they were in love. Or at least something close to it.”

He whistled softly. “I suspected they had history, but this pretty much knocks my socks off. How did they go from that to...this?” He gestured vaguely, encompassing the tension and bickering we’d witnessed over the last twenty-four hours.

I shook my head. “No idea. But it’s obvious there’s more to their story than petty arguments over property.”

Jacob returned the photo to me. Our fingers brushed, lingering a second longer than necessary. I caught my breath, and he cleared his throat softly.

“Maybe we’ll find out before this storm ends,” he said. “Being trapped here might force some truths into the open.”

“Maybe.” I carefully closed the album as a mixture of curiosity and tenderness filled my heart toward Edna and Theodore’s younger selves. Love lost, or love misunderstood—either way, it was sad, and my heart ached for them.

We wandered back toward the main living areas, discussing possibilities for passing the time. Jacob mentioned we could rummage for board games, while I suggested maybe we could try a puzzle—something to keep our hands busy and minds distracted from the snow.

As we entered the living room, we found Edna pacing near the fireplace, her yarn and crochet hook momentarily abandoned. Theodore peered over the top of his thriller; eyebrows raised.

“What’s got you restless?” I asked Edna, approaching her with a gentle smile.

“I’m bored!” she declared, throwing up her hands. “We can’t just sit around reading and crocheting all day. Tomorrow is Christmas Eve, and we need to get into the holiday spirit. I say we bake cookies. Proper holiday cookies—gingerbread, sugar cookies, maybe even some peppermint shortbread or even Linzer cookies if we have the ingredients.”

Theodore groaned. “Really, Edna? Cookies?”

“Oh, don’t be a grump,” she chided, wagging a finger at him. “Unless you want to spend the rest of the day sulking behind that book while the rest of us are having fun?”

He glared, but it lacked malice. “Fine. I suppose I could assist. Just don’t make me pipe frosting into intricate shapes. My patience has limits.”

Jacob laughed, shutting his laptop. “I was trying to come up with an excuse to avoid doing more work. Baking cookies sounds like the perfect distraction.”

I shot him an amused look. “Guess I’ll join, too. It’s not like I’m getting anything productive done anyway.”

Ten minutes later, we’d convened in the kitchen. Edna rummaged through cupboards, producing canisters of sugar, jars of molasses, and even a packet of peppermint extract. Theodore retrieved cookie cutters shaped like stars and bells. I found mixing bowls and spatulas, while Jacob raided the pantry for chocolate chips and dried cranberries.

The kitchen became a hive of activity. Edna directed us all with the confidence of a seasoned general. “Theodore, sift that flour, would you? Bailey, cream the butter and sugar in that big bowl. Jacob, can you crack those eggs without getting shells in the batter?”

Jacob winked at me as he cracked an egg expertly on the rim of the bowl. “I have many hidden talents.”

I flushed and focused on stirring the butter and sugar. The aroma of cinnamon and vanilla soon filled the air as we measured out spices and extracts. The warmth of the oven preheating enveloped us, and for a moment, it felt like a proper holiday gathering—no storms, no foreclosures, no old grudges, or rivalries. Just four people working together to create something sweet and festive.

At one point, Edna decided we needed Christmas tunes. I found an old radio on a sideboard and managed to tune it to a station playing holiday classics. Soon, gentle strains of “White Christmas” and “Jingle Bell Rock” underscored our efforts.

---