Noelle chewed on her lip, and Miriam squeezed her fingernails into her palms to stop herself from reaching out.
“Miri, I need to tell you…” Noelle’s dark brown eyes were huge and full of some emotion Miriam couldn’t read. She leaned forward, her whole body waiting.
Somewhere in the crowd, Ziva cleared her throat into a microphone. “If I can have everyone’s attention, please.”
“To be continued?” Miriam pleaded, dying to know what Noelle had been about to say.
Noelle grimaced, leaning back and sticking her hands in her back pockets. “Absolutely to be continued,” she said gently. “Go sell your art. This is your big moment. You’ve got this. I’ll be here when you’re done.”
Miriam nodded and went to the stage to introduce the auction items.
The first round of bidding was for the bespoke Miriam Blum pieces, and it was intense. Guests who’d known Miriam all her life went toe to toe with fanatical Instagram fans who were drooling to have her custom design a piece for them. The Bloomers had showed up in force and were committed to doing anything in their power to help Miriam save Carrigan’s. Together, they raised more than Miriam had dared hope for—just short of $300,000.
But it wasn’t nearly enough to stop her father.
“We’ve concluded the bidding for the pieces of personalized Miriam Blum art,” Ziva announced, her iridescent black pantsuit shimmering under the lights. “It is now time to hold our live auction of one of the seven Mimi Roz paintings left in existence, only two of which were known to the public until a few days ago. I know this is the moment many of you came for, and I hope you have your checkbooks ready and your hearts open.”
“What’s a checkbook?” someone called from the crowd.
“We accept multiple forms of payment,” Ziva volleyed back. “As you know, a developer has offered the bank five hundred thousand dollars to buy out the mortgage on Carrigan’s Christmasland. He plans to bulldoze the whole farm and inn and turn it into luxury vacation homes.”
The crowd booed loudly.
“If this happens, families will lose jobs. The town will lose tourist traffic. Many of you will lose a place you’ve thought of as a second home for generations. None of us want this outcome.”
“Including me!” yelled out Mr. Rodriguez, the president of the bank. “I’m being overruled by the board of trustees!”
“I’d like to welcome my daughter, Miriam, to the stage, to tell you about this painting.” Ziva had spoken with her usual flair, but Miriam could see the strain around her eyes. Being in front of this crowd—with cameras streaming, certainly, into her father’s office—was burning a bridge her mom could never rebuild. This was an unmistakable message from Ziva about whose side she stood on. Miriam knew her mother must be terrified, even if she was hiding it well, and as she took the mic from her with one hand, she placed the other on Ziva’s back.
They shared a little nod, and then her mother gave her the stage.
“Before tonight, there were only two Mimi Roz paintings known to the public—and five more no one realized had been placed in storage. I have displayed the five lost paintings behind me.” She gestured to the easels set behind the podium. “Before we begin the bidding, I need to issue a correction. The materials for the auction state that there are only seven Mimi Roz paintings in existence. Until yesterday, that was true. Now, there are eight.” She paused, trying to keep her voice steady.
The crowd went silent. Cole and Hannah were both grinning up at her as she locked eyes with Noelle, who looked frozen in place.
“Friends, family, Bloomers, Carrigan’s isn’t just a Christmas experience. It’s a place to heal, to find yourself, to become,” she started, trying to remember what she’d written earlier before deciding to wing it. “I was lost from Carrigan’s for a long time, and also from myself. Being back here has given me the courage to face anything, even the things I’m most afraid of. I may never be able to make up for the hurt I caused by being trapped in my own past, but I can grow. I can be bigger, and brighter, and fiercer than my father’s worst nightmare.”
Cole whistled through his fingers, and Hannah hooted.
“To prove to myself and my loved ones that I’m done living in my father’s cage, I did something I swore I would never do again as long as I lived. I painted.”
Noelle’s hands came up to cover her mouth, and Miriam could see tears welling in her eyes.Please, please let this work, she prayed.
“This painting will not join tonight’s sale, but I wanted all of you to be able to see it, because tonight is about hope and having faith in new beginnings.”
Reaching behind her, she pulled the canvas out from where it had been hidden behind one of Cass’s mannequins. Hannah materialized a stand, and together they set it up so the whole crowd could see the velvet-covered frame. Miriam took a deep breath, counted down silently, and pulled the velvet down in a dramatic swoop.
At the bottom of the canvas stood a pair of silver glitter–encrusted Doc Martens, from which roots were growing down into the soil below. Above the boots rose a spectral figure, white rags whipping around her and her face a mask of despair. Over one shoulder, she held a Christmas tree, slung like Paul Bunyan carrying an ax, and at her feet sat Kringle like Babe the Blue Ox. A circle of luminarias surrounded her, and her free hand pointed into the distance, at the North Star.
It was the most personal and most haunting painting Miriam had ever done.
“Who’s the ghost?” called out Jason Green.
“It’s La Llorona,” Noelle said, her eyes never leaving Miriam’s, her steady voice rising above the crowd. “She weeps for the family she lost, always trying to collect a new one.”
“Someone I love has a thing for dangerous women,” Miriam explained.
“Don’t we all!” yelled Annie, her favorite immortal crone who owned the best junk shop in Boise.