Read Online The Promise of Provence (Love in Provence Book 1) by Patricia Sands - Free Book Online Page B

Elisabeth noted. “I miss that hustle and bustle. It’s just not the same watching it out my window!”
    By dinnertime, the tree was magical in their eyes.
    Mother and daughter chatted and laughed. Later, with the box of treasured decorations between them, Katherine handed them one by one to her mother. The colorful ornaments and delicate angels, all of fragile painted glass, were hung with care, along with the traditional sweets wrapped in shiny gold, red, and green foil. Last came small white candles set in brass holders, which cast a sparkling glow when carefully lit by Kat.
    When Elisabeth rang the tiny bells gently, their eyes locked in a look of remembrance, a mixture of sweetness and sadness.
    “Life seems to pass in a heartbeat,” Elisabeth whispered, her voice filled with melancholy.
    They reminisced for a long while, sometimes laughing, sometimes shedding a few tears as old memories surfaced. As they sat in the candlelight and nibbled on Elisabeth’s palachinta , they listened to a CD Katherine had made for her mother of her most treasured seasonal music and Hungarian carols. That had been the first gift from under the tree.
    This year they had agreed to exchange three gifts with the most meaning and little cost as possible. In the past Katherine and Elisabeth had set aside a day or two to shop together, but this year Elisabeth said she was organized and it would not be necessary.
    Her first gift to her daughter was one that held no mystery. The green-and-red-striped cookie tin had been passed between them since the first year Katherine was married and not living at home. It was filled with a selection of the delicious seasonal cookies and sweets that Elisabeth baked every year beginning well before December.
    In return, Katherine purchased for her mother the largest box of Laura Secord chocolates available, putting them in a similar tin. The tins were passed between them every year. She knew her mother treated herself to one piece a day until they were gone—and then a replacement box would magically appear. The dates were well marked in Katherine’s day timer.
    Mother and daughter appreciated each other’s weakness for sweets.
    Elisabeth’s next gift to Katherine was a wooden box, which looked vaguely familiar but very new. She recognized the lid as bird’s-eye maple and then realized she had certainly seen the box many times before, sitting in her mother’s closet.
    “When your father and I were first getting settled in Canada, we often went to auctions to find affordable things. He bought this box for my birthday the first year we were here. We had no idea how special the wood was at the time. Imagine! Dad gave it to me to keep my treasures through the years. Cards, photos, letters, poems I would copy. Although it wasn’t a hope chest, it did hold many of my hopes and dreams. It was a reminder to me of what mattered most.”
    “But Anyu , there is still time for hopes and dreams in your life.”
    “ Nem , as I see it, the hopes and dreams should now be yours, and I want you to realize they still lie ahead in your life. You can collect them and save them in this special box, as I did.”
    Katherine knew there was no option for refusal, although she really did not foresee having much to put in the fine-looking box. Hopes and dreams felt dashed to her, and the future was not something she could even begin to visualize, apart from being alone. She definitely was not going to admit this to Elisabeth. “It looks magnificent. Someone has refinished it.”
    “Yes, Andrea took it to a Mennonite woodworker who lives near her. He did a fine job!”
    Chuckling, Katherine told her mother they had both gone to the St. Jacobs area in their gift search. “I went to a local market with Andrea last month and found this next gift for you.”
    Elisabeth unwrapped a beautiful pale-turquoise shawl of the softest wool. “It was woven by hand. The woman even keeps her own angora rabbits and spins the wool herself.