Chapter Ten
“Is it going to snow? Please let it snow.” Betsy was practically bouncing as she walked by Linnea’s side. “Will Santa be there? Will there be hot chocolate? Can we ride on the hay wagons?”
“Hopefully no for the snow, yes to everything else.” Linnea was filled with nostalgic anticipation as they neared Main Street and the annual Marietta Stroll. She didn’t remember feeling this excited as a child, but then the stroll was business for the Olsens. Every year they ran one of the food stalls, selling their homemade cider and hot apple punch made with apples from the family orchard. But today she and the girls were all about the festive fun, their stroll buttons fastened proudly to the front of their coats, pocket money safely in coat pockets.
“Will Biscuit be there?” Betsy asked hopefully. They’d finally met—and named—the dog the evening before and both girls were smitten. As was Linnea. The dog, once cleaned up, was a multitude of colors; brown and tan and white and grey, with a soft curly coat and a stump of a tail which he wagged enthusiastically at every opportunity. He was still very thin, with bandaged paws and shaven patches where his wounds had been sutured, but both girls were convinced Biscuit was the handsomest dog in the world. First signs indicated a sweet disposition and a tolerance of small people, but Linnea wasn’t going to rush into a decision—at least that was what she firmly told herself, even though she knew exactly where a dog bed would go. She hadn’t managed to broach the subject with her parents yet, but she knew that if the girls had set their hearts on a dog, then a dog they would have.
“Biscuit can’t even go for a walk yet,” Elsie said scornfully.
“Nat could put him in a sleigh or in a cart, he’d like that.”
“No, he wouldn’t, he’s a dog not a toy.”
“He would!”
“Wouldn’t!”
“It’s still too early for Biscuit to be out in public. He needs some more vaccinations.” Linnea decided against scolding them, hopefully they would soon be distracted by the stalls and activities. “Now, I don’t know about you two, but I want to go and see your gingerbread houses first and scope out the competition, and then go and say hi to Mormor and Morfar.”
The girls called their maternal grandparents by the Swedish titles. Even though neither of Linnea’s parents had ever been to Europe they loved the old names, just as they still religiously kept many of the traditions imported by their grandparents. Linnea had let many of them slide while living away, but it felt right stepping back into them. Like coming home.
“Can we see Santa? Please, Mommy?”
“Of course, Betsy-baby. We’ll watch his arrival and the lighting ceremony. Marietta always goes all-out on the Christmas decorations. I can’t believe we never came back here over Christmas before. You girls are going to love it.”
Main Street was buzzing. All the shops blazed with light and color, their windows decorated for the season, Christmas music coming from every storefront. Stalls lined Main Street, their aromas mixing to create a tantalizing scent of perfectly roasted meats, hot chocolate, peppermints, and fresh bread and cakes. The Marietta Stroll didn’t just bring the town residents into the center, people came from miles around to start their Christmas shopping and to enjoy the atmosphere. At one end of Main Street a huge Christmas tree stood, decorated but still dim. The lights would be switched on later, as the carol singers entertained the crowd.
“Okay, so I want to go to Sage’s of course, I know how partial your morfar is to her chocolate, and I know that your mormor loves those silver twist earrings that Jillian Parker has in her shop window. If I can get those today then that’s something off my list.”
“But gingerbread houses first?” Betsy pleaded and Linnea squeezed her hand.
“Gingerbread houses first.”
This year, the gingerbread house competition was being hosted by one of the local banks and the doors were wide open, welcoming them in. The foyer looked very festive, lit up by twinkling lights, but the real stars were the houses which were arranged by class and age. Betsy and Elsie headed straight to theirs to scope out the competition.
“There are so many,” Betsy said, her mouth drooping. “And they’re all so good.”
Linnea repressed the urge to remind her daughter that it was taking part that counted; both her girls had inherited Logan’s competitive spirit. If she was honest with herself, she had to admit they hadn’t just inherited it from Logan—she’d been at the forefront of everything in school, on the track team, in the band, class valedictorian. Always pushing herself, always wanting to prove to Vika and Andreas that she was worthy of their love, that they had picked the right child to bring into their family.
All she had ever wanted for her girls was the kind of confidence that came from security. That was why this move had to work for all of them.
“They are all good, but I tell you, two stand out to me,” Linnea said. “I love that fairy-tale cottage there…”
“That’s mine!” Betsy said. “But there are so many cottages.”
“There are but, if I was Hansel or Gretel, I would definitely choose your cottage to nibble on. And I also love that gothic castle there.”
“You’re only saying that because it’s mine.” The hope in Elsie’s voice squeezed Linnea’s heart.
“No, I’m saying it because it’s true. No one else has attempted anything like it in your age group, it really stands out. I don’t care what the judges say, I am really proud of both of you.”
“Can we look at the other entries?” Betsy asked and Linnea nodded.
“Of course, but don’t forget we can always come back. Santa will be making his way down Main Street soon, and we don’t want to miss that.”
They spent a happy few minutes admiring the other houses. Some of the ones in the older age group were very artistic indeed, and the girls were fascinated by the decoration and the careful cutting out to create the effects.
“I’m going to have to up my baking game,” Linnea said ruefully as she gazed at a particularly intricate model with lattice work cut out of gingerbread and reindeer created out of spun sugar. “Come on, let’s go and find Santa.”
The sidewalk was busier than Linnea had ever seen it, filled with people all dressed up in hats and scarves against the cold, cheeks scarlet with anticipation as much as the winter chill. Putting an arm around both daughters, Linnea attempted to shepherd them out of the building and to find a good spot to see Santa go by, but it wasn’t easy cutting through the crowd.
“Keep hold of me girls.” She reminded them. “I don’t want to lose you in this crowd.”
“I can’t see, Mommy,” Betsy wailed, her face crumpling.
It must be more than a little scary, to be so small and stuck in a sea of people.
Linnea pulled her a little closer. “I know, let’s try and get through here and then I’ll lift you up, okay?” Not that that would help much. Linnea hadn’t been overly blessed with height.
An all-too familiar voice broke through the hubbub. “Hey, Betsy. A little squashed down there?”
“Hi, Nat.” Linnea cursed as the heat immediately rose in her cheeks and her pulse began to race. Every time she saw Nat her traitorous body reacted. It was worse when she ran into him like this, when she wasn’t prepared. Didn’t have her armor on. “Are you here to see Santa too?”
“Never miss a chance to catch up with the big guy. Need to make sure I stay on that nice list.” He grinned down at the girls and they gave tentative smiles back.
“How’s Biscuit?” Betsy tugged at Nat’s sleeve.
“He had kibble and gravy for breakfast and I carried him outside for a very short sniff so all is well in his world. Did you know there are lots of recipes for dog cookies and cakes? Aunt Priscilla is planning on making all his treats from scratch. He is going to be the most spoiled dog in Marietta.”
“Can we see him again?” Elsie asked and Nat nodded.
“Whenever you want. Now, let me see what we can do about this Santa situation. Come on, Betsy. If I lift you up and Elsie, if you wiggle through here, then I think we’ve all got a chance of making eye contact and reminding him just what good people we are.”
And like that the situation was resolved, Betsy wreathed in smiles, and Elsie looking less scared as Nat coaxed, steered, and charmed them into positions near the front of the crowd. Linnea took a steadying breath as she watched Nat joke with the girls, watched them laugh back up at him, watched the awed expressions on all three faces as Santa finally rode by. Her girls had been robbed of their father, and try as hard as she could—and did—it wasn’t easy taking on both roles. Standing back and watching them interact with Nat, watching him take control, was like looking into an alternative universe. One where she hadn’t let cowardice stop her from telling Nat how she felt all those years ago.
That universe didn’t exist. This was what she had. And for the first time in a long time, Linnea wasn’t sure of the right thing to do. It would be so easy to welcome Nat back into her life—if he wanted to be there—but he was leaving in the new year.
Maybe she was overthinking this. Maybe this casual friendship was what she needed. Maybe Nat was the right person at the right time? There were four weeks until Christmas. Not enough time for any permanent damage to be done to anyone’s heart. Maybe, for once, she should allow herself to relax, have fun, and see where, if anywhere, this unexpected reunion led.