On a Snowy Night: The Christmas Basket / The Snow Bride. Debbie Macomber

      To

      Mr and Mrs Dale Macomber (my son and Laurie) Merry Christmas Your first as husband and wife

       NOELLE McDOWELL’S JOURNAL

       December 1

      I did it. I broke down and actually booked the flight to Rose. I have a ticket for December 18—Dallas to San Francisco to Portland and then the commuter flight to Rose.

      All my excuses are used up. I always figured there was no going back, and yet that’s exactly what I’m doing. I’m going home when I swore I never would. Not after what happened…Not after Thom Sutton betrayed me. I know, I know, I’ve always been dramatic. I can’t help that—it’s part of my nature.

      When I was a teenager I made this vow never to return. I spoke it in the heat of passion, and no one believed me. For that matter, I didn’t believe me, not really. But it proved to be so easy to stay away…. I hardly had to invent excuses. While I was in college I had an opportunity to travel to Europe two years in a row. Then in my junior year I had a summer job and was a bridesmaid in a Christmas wedding. And when my senior year rolled around, I was working as an intern for the software company, and it was impossible to get time off. After that…well, it was just simpler to stay away. Without meaning to, my family made it convenient. I didn’t need to visit them; they seemed willing enough to come to Dallas.

      All of that is about to end. I’m prepared to face my past. I joined Weight Watchers. If I happen to see Thom Sutton, I want him to know exactly what he’s missing. I’ve already lost five of the ten pounds I need to get rid of, and by next week he’ll hardly recognize me—if we even run into each other. We won’t, of course, but just on the off chance, I plan to be prepared.

      Good ol’ Thom Sutton. I wonder what he’s doing now. Naturally I could ask, but no one dares mention the name Sutton to my family. It’s the Hatfields and McCoys or the Montagues and Capulets all over again. Except that it’s our mothers who started this ridiculous feud.

      If I really wanted to know about Thom, I could ask Megan or Stephanie. They’re the only two girls out of my entire high school class who still live in Rose. But I wouldn’t do that. Inquiring about Thom would only invite questions from them about what happened between the two of us. As far as I’m concerned, the fewer people who know, the better.

      He’s bound to be married, anyway. Good. I want him to be happy.

      No, I don’t.

      If I can’t be honest in my journal, then I shouldn’t keep one. Okay, I admit it—what I really want is for him to have suffered guilt and regret all these years. He should have pined for me. His life should be a bleak series of endless days filled with haunting memories of me. It’s what he deserves.

      On a brighter note, I’m thrilled for Kristen. I’ll return home, help her plan her wedding, hold my head high and pray that Thom Sutton has the opportunity to see me from afar, gorgeous and thin. Then I want him to agonize over all the might-have-beens.

       One

      It would be the wedding of the year. No—the wedding of the century.

      Sarah McDowell intended to create the most exquisite event possible, a wedding worthy of Vogue magazine (or at least a two-page spread in the Rose, Oregon, Gazette). The entire town would talk about her daughter’s wedding.

      The foundation for Sarah’s plans rested squarely on booking the Women’s Century Club for the reception. It was why she’d maintained her association with the club after that woman had been granted membership. She was outraged that such a fine institution would lower itself to welcome the likes of Mary Sutton.

      Sarah refused to dwell on the sordid details. She couldn’t allow herself to get upset over something that had happened almost twenty years ago. Although it didn’t hurt any to imagine Mary hearing—second-or third-hand, of course—about Kristen’s wedding. As Sarah understood it, Mary’s daughter had eloped. Eloped, mind you, with some riffraff hazelnut farmer. Sarah didn’t know that for sure because it was her Christian duty not to gossip or think ill of others. However, sometimes information just happened to come one’s way….

      Pulling into the parking lot of the Women’s Century Club, Sarah surveyed the grounds. Even this late in the year, the rose garden was breathtaking. Many of the carefully tended bushes still wore their blooms, and next June, when