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want to open it right away, her curiosity the opposite of his. She would insist they open it now and not wait until Christmas. So Brian indeed paid a visit to the windmill on this unseasonably warm night, carrying the shiny gold box down the hill and inside the wooden tower of the old windmill, hiding it in the closet on the second level. It was just as he’d done the past two years with their Christmas gifts, knowing this was one of Annie’s traditions.
    â€œOkay, the holidays have officially begun,” he said to Annie’s lovely self-portrait, which hung on the wall of what had once been her art studio. “Christmas is once again on its way. Not that you can tell outside. Not a flake of snow yet and barely a chill.”
    As he began his journey back toward the farmhouse, Brian instinctively turned back and noticed that the sails of the windmill were now turning like gentle giants. A sudden gust of wind blew past him and swept up the hill and into the dark sky, carrying with it a blast of warmth. At this late hour of the night—or was it early morning?—with a holiday celebration looming just hours away, it still felt like late summer.
    Brian Duncan had a sneaking suspicion that this Christmas in Linden Corners was going to be unlike the last two, with its own share of unforeseen surprises, and it all began with a gift he’d not seen coming. But didn’t such a thing define his life here?

C HAPTER 2
    C YNTHIA
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    J ake Knight might be only eighteen months old at this point, but he sure had the right idea—sleep the day away. For his mother, the perpetually tired and always-on-the-go Cynthia Knight, getting ready for Thanksgiving meant overseeing the preparation of the vegetables, and she supposed it was only natural, since during the summer months she ran a fresh fruit and vegetable stand just on the edge of their property, itself on the northern edge of the village of Linden Corners. The produce she’d sold for years had come courtesy of their farm and backbreaking hard work, but in recent years the tilling of their fertile land had been taken over by workers for hire, who all got a portion of the sales. She was busy being a mother, and Bradley’s job as a lawyer had continually stolen more hours from their lives. Other local farmers had begun to contribute to the stand as well, to the point where it was the best place in the county to get in-season corn, blueberries, and anything else you could ask for. A communal effort for a close-knit town.
    She supposed it was good that Knight’s Vegetable Stand had other people caring for it. It meant she could let it go that much easier, helping to ease the separation she was bound to feel. At least, that’s how she pictured the scene unfolding in her head, practical woman that she was, even allowing a new owner to change its name if not its traditions. To everyone and everything there is a season; isn’t that how the song went? And then you moved on. Her heart, though, told another story, and as if needing a fresh reason to infuse her heart with an energetic jolt, she gazed lovingly over at the corner of her kitchen.
    â€œLucky you,” Cynthia said to her son, who slept quietly in his portable crib.
    She knew she could collapse at any second, as she’d barely had any rest. For once, her sleepless night hadn’t been Jake’s fault; the little tyke had taken to sleeping through the nights the last few months. No, the other man in her life was responsible for her wide-awake nights and yawn-inducing days. Her husband, Bradley, and all the news he’d brought with him the past couple of weeks; news that would bring about big changes. Just then she checked the kitchen clock, noticed it was just after noon. They needed to get going. Where was that fool husband of hers?
    â€œBradley, are you about ready? We’ve got to get over to Brian’s.”
    It was Thanksgiving Day and the three of