The Asheville Christmas Tradition (Carolina Christmas #4)

4. Noelle

Perfection.

Ah, yes, Noelle always strived for it and frequently, like this morning, she achieved it.

Stepping back, she eyed the pastry platter and fresh fruit bowl, with a fan of napkins and disposable flatware, all next to a coffee pot, cream, sugar, and cups. The sideboard that lined her gallery loft looked like a high-end hotel banquet, ideal for the tree lighting committee meeting.

Yes, there were only five people on the committee, including her, but she wanted to impress them for this, their first meeting with a new chairperson at the helm.

This was her big opportunity to deepen her relationship with locals and she didn’t want to mess it up.

It had been a little more than a week since Jace spoke to his friend at church, who helped persuade the famously difficult Edna Covington to let a “newcomer” chair the committee. Edna had apparently agreed because time was running out and no one else had stepped forward.

Noelle did want to do things a little…well, not differently, but better this year. So she wanted a great atmosphere to present her ideas.

She checked her watch, hoping they’d all be on time at precisely eight a.m. The gallery opened at ten and that gave them two hours to get to know each other, listen to her plans, and finalize an action list for the event that attracted well over a thousand locals and tourists to downtown Asheville.

With five minutes to spare, Noelle slipped down the stairs to her main gallery, glancing around to make sure everything was perfect here, too.

Confident she was ready, she glanced out the picture window to catch sight of a few people approaching the gallery together. Before anyone even knocked, she unlocked the heavy door and greeted the arrivals with a smile.

“Welcome to Mountain Muse,” she said warmly. “And the first official committee meeting for Asheville’s Night of Lights.”

A silver-haired lady who couldn’t be ninety pounds or five-foot-two stood in front of two much taller men and an elegant-looking woman.

“Asheville whats ?” the tiny woman said with nothing but disdain.

Ready for the pushback and the personality, Noelle looked down at her. “You must be Mrs. Covington,” she said, extending her hand to the woman with a small frame but a big budget. “What an honor to meet you.”

The older woman gave a limp shake and a quick once-over through thick bifocals. “Don’t butter me up, doll. And don’t even think about changing the name. This whole thing was my late husband’s idea fourteen years ago. I’m carrying on the tradition in his name and nothing—and I do mean nothing —is going to change.”

She muscled her way in, leaving Noelle to try not to make a surprised face as she greeted her other guests.

“I’m Harry Fletcher,” the older of the two men said. “We’ve met up at my Christmas tree farm at the top of Copper Creek Mountain.”

“Oh, of course! I remember when I went with my whole family to cut down a tree last year.”

“And a long time before that, when you were a little girl.” He tipped his head as he slipped out of his parka to reveal a black and gold Pittsburgh Penguins sweatshirt. “I knew your parents, Noelle. And, of course, I’m acquainted with Sonny and Bitsy, too.”

The fact that he knew her family and ran such a lovely farm took away Edna’s sting. She shook his hand warmly and thanked him for coming and for donating the tree every year.

Next to him was a younger man, maybe forty, with a military haircut and a crisp navy jacket.

“Tony Jessup,” he said. “Public affairs for the police and fire department, so I’m here on behalf of law enforcement and order.”

“We’ll need that, Tony,” she said. “And thank you for your help in getting me on this committee.”

“Yeah, well, be careful what you wish for,” he joked. At least, she hoped it was a joke.

She turned to her last guest, who was a stunning Black woman with natural warmth in her eyes and sassy braids framing her face.

“I’m Joanna Johnson,” she said, shaking Noelle’s hand. “I’m the local head of the small business coalition in town and I help organize all the other retailers and businesses who run booths. And can I just say thank you from the bottom of my heart for stepping in, Mrs. Fleming? I was beginning to wake up in a cold sweat thinking they’d make me do it.”

Was the job really that bad? “It’s Noelle,” she said. “And I’m thrilled to help.”

The other woman lifted a brow and leaned closer to whisper, “We’ll see how thrilled you are, hon. But count on my support, because you’ll need it.”

With that ominous opening, Noelle escorted her guests up to the loft, offered them coffee and pastries, and made some small talk as they took seats around the conference table.

“So,” she started as there was a break in the chatter. “We have about three weeks to make this happen, but I’m not worried at all. Today, we’ll nail down all the last-minute details. I wanted Harry to tell us about the tree, Joanna to talk booth vendors, and Tony to let us know what role the local police and firefighters want to have.”

She glanced at Edna, not wanting to point out that her only function was to write the checks, but that obviously gave her the most power in the room.

“And, of course, whatever you want to discuss, Mrs. Covington.”

“I’m here to make sure you don’t change anything,” she said, picking up a pastry and eyeing it as though Noelle might have dipped it in arsenic. “That’s why I let enough time pass so we were on a tight deadline. No changes.”

“Nothing major,” Noelle said, undaunted by her orders. “For instance, I do think a new name would help us attract local media and?—”

“Hold your horses, Noelle the Newbie.” Edna leaned forward and sliced her with a look. “We are not changing the name. Period. End of story. Discussion over. This whole event was the brainchild of my Gil, and I made a promise to him—on his deathbed, I might add—that nothing about the tree lighting would ever change.”

A deathbed promise? Was she serious ?

“And nothing will,” Edna finished. “In case you’re wondering, that’s why I’m here. My role is to represent the founder of the tree lighting and to ensure that his vision is protected forever, right down to the last light. May it flicker in his honor.”

With that, she bit into the pastry and powdered sugar fluttered like fresh snow on her bosom.

Tony looked at his notes. Harry shrugged a shoulder.

At the end of the table, Joanna smiled and wrinkled her nose. “Pick your battles, hon,” she said gently. “We all think the name’s fine.”

Noelle handed the matriarch a napkin, abandoning her speech about updating the event to attract young people. The place had been packed last year, so did it really matter what it was called?

“Then we will honor Gil’s memory,” she said sweetly. “And speaking of lights, I’m happy to say I’ve found a vendor down in Hendersonville who specializes in LED lights, which will be digitally controlled on our phones, so there’s no chance of anything going wrong with the power or timing.”

Edna choked. “Excuse me?”

“The tree will still be lit,” Noelle assured her. “And you can choose the colors to match your husband’s vision.” That should quiet her down. “But in fourteen years, technology has changed.”

“Technology can change all it wants,” Edna sputtered. “And you can call your LED man down in Hendersonville and cancel whatever order you placed, because it’s not in our budget and we’re not doing some newfangled computer thing that will just go haywire if we can’t get the internet to work. Am I right, Tony?”

He shrugged, looking trapped between the two opinions. “Of course, Wi-Fi is available in some of the stores and we could do?—”

“No, we can’t,” Edna insisted.

“But it’s so much easier to?—”

“This isn’t about easy, my dear.” Edna cut off Noelle’s argument. “It’s about safety?—”

“Nothing could be safer than LED lights,” Noelle said. “Or more dependable if the power goes out or a car runs over a wire or?—”

“That’s not going to happen,” Edna said. “Plus, we have the whole fire department there to make sure we have whatever we need. And the lights need to be white.”

“We could incorporate colors for…” Noelle’s voice faded out as the other woman peered over a powered donut, a thick discomfort hanging in the air. “Or not,” Noelle finished with a chuckle in her voice. “Let’s move to the sound system that will pipe in a set of music from…”

Edna stared at her and Noelle let out a sigh.

“Don’t tell me,” Noelle said. “The high school band plays Christmas carols?”

“No, but there are carolers and they’ve been practicing for almost a year,” Edna said. “They all dress like a Dickens novel and wander through the streets singing beloved songs, and I don’t mean ‘Jingle Bells.’ A… sound system ?” She scoffed as if the words offended her. “The only system that needs sounds are vocal chords, so you can cut that item, too.”

Noelle took a breath, thinking about the playlist she’d been creating to reach hearts young and old. The buildup to the lighting, the drumroll she’d downloaded, and the…

No, this wasn’t the battle she wanted to fight, either. Let them carol.

“Harry.” Noelle turned toward the older man. “Can you tell us about the tree?”

“It better be a fir,” Edna murmured.

Harry just smiled. “Of course, Mrs. C. My son’s living here now and he and I went out this morning and marked the perfect twenty-foot Douglas fir, just like Gil preferred.”

Edna gave a satisfied nod.

And that, Noelle learned over the course of the next hour, was exactly how the tree lighting would be—the precise tradition that ol’ dead Gil wanted fourteen years ago. So much for innovation.

The meeting left Noelle on edge for the rest of the day. Frustrated that chairing the committee meant doing everything in a slightly antiquated fashion, she decided to zip over to Red Bridge Farm on her way home. She hoped to get another take on the whole thing.

Sonny and Bitsy were “locals,” so they knew the players and the history, and maybe they could give her some ammo for fighting Edna.

Sonny had just come in from a day’s work on the farm and was pouring the two of them a late afternoon wine when Noelle arrived, and she happily joined them in a small sunroom that had been added on since Bitsy moved in last year.

The room reminded her of the much larger version at the cabin, a sunny room to stay cozy and warm in but still enjoy the unparalleled Blue Ridge view. Sonny had built the addition himself and situated it to not only offer the mountain vistas, but also the small red bridge over a creek that gave the farm its name.

Settling in and chatting with them, Noelle shared what had happened at the meeting, giving a colorful account of each player.

“I’m so proud of you, dearest Noelle,” Bitsy said, lifting her glass in a toast.

Yes, the elegant New Yorker who was once Aunt Elizabeth might have morphed into a farm owner who wore overalls, boots, and had naturally gray hair, but that didn’t change the gleam of love in her eyes when she looked at any of her nieces.

This dear woman had swooped in and eased the pain when the triplets lost their parents in a tragic accident. She would always be Noelle’s soft place to fall and a voice of reason and guidance.

“Proud of me for folding like a house of cards when Edna blew on my ideas?” she scoffed. “I’m trying to make friends, not alienate everyone in one fell swoop.”

Sonny and Bitsy shared a look, silent.

“What?’ she asked, leaning forward. “What don’t I know about Edna Covington?”

Sonny tipped his head. “She can be a real piece of work,” he drawled, the accent and his expression making Noelle frown.

“Is that…good or bad?”

“It’s challenging,” he explained. “She not only likes to get her way, this event is her personal tribute to her husband.”

“Gil? Trust me, I know all about him.” Noelle rolled her eyes. “The tree lighting was his brainchild years ago and nothing can change even though technology has advanced in leaps and bounds.”

Bitsy gave a smile. “Well, one thing can’t change and that’s the row of lights along the bottom of the tree.” She shot a look to her husband. “They flickered three times last year right before you proposed, and next time I saw Edna, she told me Gil was thrilled with our engagement.”

Noelle nearly choked on a sip of wine. “Excuse me? Isn’t he dead?”

“Quite.” Bitsy raised a brow. “Except during the tree lighting.”

At Noelle’s look, Sonny chuckled.

“Let me give you a little history,” he said. “Gilbert Covington was a force in Asheville, from a family that’s been around forever. He created the idea of the tree lighting, what? Fifteen years ago?” he asked Bitsy.

“I guess,” she said. “Sometime in the dark years when the girls and I didn’t come up to the cabin, so that seems right. Although I seem to recall a similar event when I was little, but it stopped in the sixties. I can’t remember, honestly.”

“Well, more recently, Gil threw a couple of tree lightings, and they were resounding successes—except the bottom row of lights didn’t work right the first year.”

“Which wouldn’t be a problem with LED lights,” Noelle interjected.

“Then it happened again the following year,” he continued. “And Gil was so mad, he climbed under the tree and held the connector himself. They worked, but they flickered.”

Noelle looked from one to the other, not sure where this story was going but nothing about it supported the old-school lights.

“Then he died,” Sonny said.

She gasped. “Under the tree?”

“No, no.” Bitsy laughed softly and Sonny smiled at that, too.

“He passed away after a brief illness a few months later.”

Noelle nodded. “And not without making Edna swear not to change a thing about the tree lighting. She mentioned the deathbed promise, which is why I didn’t fight harder.”

“Well, it’s a little more complicated,” Sonny said. “The following year?—”

“The bottom rows of lights didn’t work,” Noelle guessed. “And now Edna thinks that has to happen every year.”

“They flickered,” Bitsy said. “And they’ve flickered every single year since then.”

Noelle leaned back, hearing the implication in her aunt’s voice. “Don’t tell me,” she said. “Edna thinks…it’s him.”

“Bingo.” Sonny pointed at her. “She’s convinced he comes back every year, that his spirit makes the lights flicker as his way of saying he’s looking down on his town, his event, and his widow.”

She felt her eyes shutter close. “You have got to be kidding me.”

“It’s sweet,” Bitsy cooed. “And that’s why the other people on your committee didn’t take your side. No one wants to steal that tiny, well, flicker of happiness from Edna.”

“Okay,” Noelle said. “But what if it doesn’t happen, even with the old-school lights?”

“It’ll happen,” Sonny said. “It’s sort of a tradition.”

“Or maybe someone like Edna’s grandson or nephew is flipping the right switch down the street on the breaker panel,” Noelle said dryly.

They chuckled. “Maybe, maybe not,” Sonny said. “But for the locals—not the tourists or guests who don’t even know about it, but those of us who are from around here—it’s kind of a sweet tradition.”

“You never even mentioned it last year,” she said.

“Well, we got engaged,” Bitsy explained. “And if you recall, when we got home from the tree lighting last year, Brooke was standing in the driveway, having gotten herself from California to Asheville. We had other things on our mind.”

And Noelle and Jace had shared their first kiss—probably at the same moment that the lights flickered, so she probably thought their electrifying attraction caused an outage.

She nodded slowly. “Okay, I get it. Tradition or superstition, whatever you call it, the flicker is important.”

“It is to Edna,” Bitsy said. “She lives for that moment when her beloved says hello.”

“Okay, then, no pressure,” Noelle said on a laugh. “Just have to be sure Gil’s ghost arrives on time. Just one more thing to control.”

Bitsy leaned forward and took her hand. “You know you’re not the one in control, baby girl. This event, along with every single thing that happens every day is controlled by…” She pointed to the sky. “The sooner you accept that, the happier you’ll be.”

Noelle was still a long, long way from believing that. “Well, someone has to do the work down here and for this event? It’ll be me.”