I made my way back to the front of the property, where the contrast between past and present was even more stark. Cars were coming and going as locals arrived to select their Christmas trees, but the numbers were clearly far below what this operation could support.
Christmas music played from speakers hidden among the trees. Santa was stationed on the small porch of his cabin, offering hearty “Ho ho ho’s” to every child who came within earshot. Kids rushed toward him with gleeful excitement, while the elf giggled and clapped and invited families into the cabin for hot cocoa.
Parents stopped to snap pictures, capturing moments they hoped their children would remember years from now.
It was charming, I had to admit. But charm didn’t pay the bills.
I wandered through the tree lot, observing the operation from a business perspective. The trees were high quality, the customer service was excellent, and the overall experience was exactly what you’d want from a family Christmas tree farm. But the volume just wasn’t there. For every family selecting a tree, there were dozens of empty spaces where customers should have been.
I ended up bumping into Emmy near Santa’s cabin, literally. I was so absorbed in my observations that I nearly walked right into her as she emerged with a tray of empty hot chocolate mugs. Given the bells on her costume, that was pretty hard to miss.
“Oh! Sorry about that,” she said, steadying the tray.
“Can I ask you something about the Northwood family?” I said, sensing an opportunity to gather some intelligence.
“Sure, I guess. What do you want to know?”
I started with general questions, the kind of information that would be readily available to any curious guest. How long had the family been running the tree farm? What was the acreage? How long had Sylvie and her brother been in charge?
Emmy was happy to share the basics. Two hundred acres total. The tree farm had been in operation for over a century. Sylvie and Brom had been running things on their own for about three years now, since their parents had started stepping back from day-to-day operations.
But when I tried to dig deeper—asking about customer numbers, financial challenges, where all the guests had gone—Emmy’s demeanor shifted noticeably.
“Look, if you want to know about the business side of things, you should ask Sylvie,” she said, her tone becoming guarded. “It’s not really my place to discuss that stuff with strangers.”
“I’m not exactly a stranger anymore,” I pointed out. “I’m staying at the lodge.”
“Staying at the lodge doesn’t make you family,” Emmy replied coolly. “And the Northwoods’ business is their business. Guests don’t care about profit margins. I know you think you’re slick, but I’m not an idiot. Good try, though.”
She turned to head back into Santa’s cabin, effectively ending our conversation. But as she reached the door, I caught sight of Santa himself watching me through the window. When our eyes met, he shook his head slowly, his expression disapproving.
I looked around, confused, then pointed at myself. “Me?”
Santa nodded gravely and disappeared from view.
I stood there for a moment, processing what had just happened. Apparently, I was on Santa’s naughty list. Thethought was absurd enough to make me laugh, but there was something unsettling about the whole interaction.
Emmy had been friendly enough until I started asking pointed questions about the family’s struggles. Santa had been cordial when we’d chatted earlier, but now he was giving me the cold shoulder.
It was like they sensed something about me, some agenda I was trying to hide. Which was ridiculous, because I’d been nothing but polite and helpful since I had arrived. Didn’t they realize Sylvie and I were friends? Kind of. She was the one that told me the operation was in trouble.
I supposed small-town people were just naturally suspicious of outsiders who asked too many questions.
Either way, I was going to have to be more careful. If I wanted to get close enough to the Northwoods to understand their real situation—and eventually convince them to sell—I couldn’t afford to have the entire community turning against me.
Even if it meant staying on Santa’s good side.
I walked back to the lodge and went up to my room. If I was going to be staying, I was going to need more clothes. I was sure FedEx came out to the lodge. I grabbed my laptop and headed down to the business center. I quickly ordered what I would need for my stay, including a coat that actually fit along with warm socks and new gloves.
I sent a quick email to my dad and let him know I wouldn’t be back for a bit. I left it at that. No need to tell him I was doing a little investigating on my own.
CHAPTER 13
SYLVIE
By the time the sun started setting behind the mountains, I was completely exhausted but riding the kind of satisfied tiredness that came from a genuinely good day’s work. We’d sold significantly more trees than we had yesterday. Twenty-three total, which was still nowhere near our old numbers but felt like a victory after the disaster of opening day. It felt like every dollar was one step closer to saving the farm.
And the best thing about the day that had started with disaster? There weren’t any other disasters. Ozzo hadn’t broken, knocked over, or accidentally destroyed anything else. The morning’s tree catastrophe seemed to have scared him into being extra careful for the rest of the day. He’d actually been helpful with customers instead of his usual well-meaning but chaotic self.
