Page 65 of Holly and Ivar
Rowan grinned.“That’s not surprising.She said she’d call me next week and let me know.”
Holly swirled the water, though her pulse quickened.Journals from the 1800s.This might be the missing link between the Hales, the Kringles, and Ivar.
“Let me know what she finds,” Holly said.“I’d love to see them myself.”
“Of course,” Rowan said.“Aunt Betty always said our family had deep roots here.Maybe those journals will tell us what she meant.”
Liv sighed, stretching her legs.“Well, whatever they say, I’m calling this the perfect end to a perfect Winterwood day.”
Holly smiled, but her mind was already miles away.They had to see those journals.
34
trouble brewing
Holly
ThelaughterfromtheSugarhouse Brewery still echoed faintly in Holly’s mind as she slipped through the quiet halls of the Winterwood Inn.
The townsfolk had filled the brewery with friendship and noise—Tess leading a toast to “the conquering tree hunters,” Marty strumming an old guitar near the fire, Rowan laughing until she cried when Chad tried (and failed) to tell a Vermont joke.
And Ivar, beside her at the bar, had leaned in just enough for his shoulder to brush hers.“Looks like your plan’s working,” he’d murmured, eyes on Rowan and Chad across the room.
She’d smiled.“Maybe.But it’s early yet.”
Still, she grew hopeful.Rowanwaschanging.Winterwood had gotten under her skin; it showed in the way she looked at the people, the town, the mountains.Even Chad had seemed lighter.He’d bought a round for the room, for heaven’s sake.
Things were looking up.
But Ivar sensed she was keeping something from him.When they’d stepped outside to cool off, he’d studied her face.
“You’re quiet,” he’d said.“Something wrong?”
She’d shaken her head too quickly.“Just tired.”
He’d frowned, not quite believing her, but he hadn’t pressed.That was the thing about Ivar—he listened, knowing when to push and when to step back.
Now, in the stillness of her room, the omission (it wasn’t quite a lie) itched at her.
Holly picked up her phone and scrolled to Henry’s number.He answered on the second ring, sounding half-asleep but instantly alert when she mentioned the journals.
“Rowan found them in Betty Hale’s attic,” she said.“They’re with the librarian for review, but if they date back to the 1800s…”
“What a find,” Henry said.“Hang on one second.”
She heard him riffling through papers.
“Does a Cornelius Hale sound familiar?”
“No, but they share a last name.”
“I think he was a craftsman—one of the old North Village retirees.We lost most of the records in that '70s fire, but I started asking around.A few of the old-timers remember hearing about him.One guy swears his grandfather said Cornelius left the North after retirement.Settled somewhere ‘where the light sleeps under the ground.’”
“That has to be Winterwood.”
“That’s my guess, based on his last name.The craftsmen have a name for those who leave but are drawn to Yule veins.Keepers.As if the power beneath is a comfort, like a second heartbeat.Cornelius Hale was likely drawn there because of the vein.Whether he or his descendants knew about the Yule Tree is anyone’s guess, but this might be the missing link.”
“Could he have been a Guardian?”
