Chapter Twenty
“It’s Christmas tree day!”
Linnea opened a bleary eye as first one than another small girl bounded on to her bed.
“Wake up, Mommy, it’s Christmas tree day.”
“Coffee?” she murmured hopefully as the girls slid under the covers, one on either side. Her heart swelled as she enfolded each under an arm and held them close, their sleep-warm bodies tight against hers.
“Mormor is making coffee and muffins,” Betsy said as she snuggled closer. “She said to tell you.”
“God bless, Mormor. You feeling any better Betsy-baby?” Betsy had come down with a sickness bug the evening after the St. Lucia procession. Linnea privately suspected too many sweets and too much cake was to blame, but had kept her home the next day from both school and the concert rehearsal—and had canceled her own date with Nat.
Regret and foiled anticipation twisted inside her. She’d been really looking forward to the dinner. Instead, she’d spent the evening curled up on the couch watching repeated viewings of Moana.
“I feel fine, Mommy. Please let me come and pick the tree.”
“Trees.” Linnea corrected her. “One small one for our sitting room and a big one for the main hallway.”
“Mommy, do we have all our decorations from home?” Elsie asked, her voice small. “My special reindeer Daddy bought me when I was born and the angel Grandma gave us?”
“Of course. They’re ready and waiting. We won’t be able to use them all though, Elsie, we always had such a big tree in Milchester, there isn’t space in our room. But I’m sure Mormor and Morfar will be happy for you to put any of ours onto their tree and we are going to go to the store and pick out a new decoration each, just like we always do.”
“And see Santa?” Betsy asked eagerly.
“And see Santa, I hope you have your list ready.” Really she hoped the list contained no surprises.
She didn’t have time for last minute dashes to the city to fulfill an unexpected wish. The last Christmas she had spent with Logan, Elsie had thrown them by wishing at the very last minute for a robot which had been that season’s must-have toy, sending both Linnea and Logan on a madcap treasure hunt to every toy store in the greater New York area. No hunter-gatherer could ever have been prouder than Logan when he finally arrived home at midnight on the twenty-third of December with the coveted toy safely hidden in his case.
Linnea smiled as she remembered the way he had sauntered in and brandished it at her, a triumphant grin on his face. For the first time in a really long time the memory didn’t hurt, the anger didn’t rear its ugly head. Just a poignant sweetness tinged with a tenderness and a wish she could still share all these precious parenting moments with someone.
Another, more recent memory, jostled its way into her mind, Nat, music in hand, patiently teaching a raggle-taggle procession of overexcited children a song he had learned only that day. The laughter in his eyes when he had glanced over at her, the way he had teased and praised the children. The warmth she had felt watching him. He would make an amazing father to some lucky kids one day. And when that day came, she hoped she would be as generous with her happiness for him as he was with her. Because he deserved all the happiness in the world.
*
“How lucky are we to choose our own Christmas trees on our own land.” Betsy clapped her still-gloved hands together as two of the orchard staff carefully carried the chosen tree into the hallway and set it upright in the wrought iron holder Linnea remembered from her own childhood. “This is the best day ever, Mommy.”
“Isn’t it?” Linnea agreed.
First they had followed the elf trail through the orchard to see Santa and hand over their—mercifully surprise-free—lists and then they had visited the café and shop for hot, spiced cider and to pick out a new decoration each. Elsie had chosen a carved wooden candle because it reminded her of her Santa Lucia costume, Betsy had gone for a jolly, painted robin. For the most important part of the morning, they had taken a hayride out to the further edges of the plantation and, as the first snowflakes fell, chosen their trees. Linnea had picked a modest, but pleasingly plump, four-footer to sit in her window, while her parents and the girls looked for an imposing eight foot tree to dominate the hallway.
It was the kind of golden morning Linnea would remember forever, just like the similar mornings of her own childhood, now all blended into one enchanted memory. Looking over at her own two daughters as they picked through the decorations she had brought over from their old home, exclaiming as they rediscovered old favorites, she knew she’d made the right decision. The girls were resilient. It was only natural they missed their old lives, their old home, but they were putting down roots here as strong as those in the orchard outside. Even Elsie had seemed better since Santa Lucia’s day, although she had been a little silent today.
“Really lucky,” Linnea added, squatting down to join her daughters. “I love knowing that two new baby trees will be planted where these two lived, and that when Christmas is over these will become kindling for our fires. It’s all the circle of life right here.”
By the time they had finished a light lunch both trees were in position and the rest of the decorations, both for the trees and the house, had been fetched from the attic and were open ready to be explored. Fresh greenery, twisted into wreaths and strands, was heaped in the corner, ready to decorate doors, mantelpieces and stairs. The house smelled of the tang of pine mixed with orange—and rich chocolate—as Vika stirred her own special blend of creamy hot chocolate in the kitchen. Meanwhile Andreas had put on a CD of his favorite Christmas songs and the jaunty notes filled the hallway.
It hadn’t taken the girls too long—or too much squabbling—to decide which decorations would go on which tree and they agreed to decorate their own tree first, leaving the bigger tree until later in the afternoon. Like every year, Linnea carefully wound the lights round the tree first and then stood back to let them get on with it, torn between happiness at watching them hang the much-loved decorations on the tree and anxiety as they put delicate glass ornaments on the flimsiest branches or bunched to many ornaments in one area.
“That looks beautiful, girls,” Vika said as she came into the room with a tray filled with steaming mugs of hot chocolate. She passed a mug to Linnea, whispering, “How long until you rearrange it?”
“I don’t think of it as a rearrangement, just a mild reshuffle,” Linnea whispered back as she took the mug gratefully, inhaling its rich, creamy scent. “Tell me truthfully, did you reshuffle when I was little?”
“Only a bit, you always had excellent taste. Only you were too short and so the tree always seemed a little Spartan on the top, I just filled a few gaps.” She looked up as a chime echoed through the house. “Was that the door? Are you expecting anyone, Linnea?”
“Not that I know of. I’ll go. You give the girls a hand.” Linnea pulled her phone out of her pocket as she walked through the kitchen and into the hallway, checking that she hadn’t forgotten an appointment or missed a call or text making an arrangement.
Of course, it was more likely one of the neighbors or her parents’ friends popping over. Linnea had been so touched to see just how much support had poured forth for her mother when Andreas was rushed to hospital—the freezer was still filled with casseroles and pies, she simply hadn’t had the opportunity to get through them all.
The front door was unlocked and it only took a few seconds for Linnea to twist the handle and pull it open.
She stopped, her hand still on the handle, heart speeding up as she realized who was standing there. “Nat? Hi.”
“Hey.” He looked good in his usual casual uniform of jeans with a thick sweater over his shirt and a body warmer over that, his hands protected from the snow by gloves. Sitting patiently by his side in a quilted jacket of his own was Biscuit.
“You brought Biscuit? Look at you out in the snow on your own four paws,” Linnea bent over to scratch the dog’s head, glad to have an excuse to hide the confusion and delight on her face. “Come in, both of you, but watch Biscuit’s paws, there are pine needles and holly all over the place.”
Stamping the light smattering of snow off his boots Nat followed her into the warm hallway. “Snow at last,” he said as he took his boots off. “Are the girls pleased?”
“Betsy asked Santa for snow this morning; she can’t believe her luck.” Linnea paused. “Did we have plans? I know we were supposed to go over the program, but I thought we were doing that during Monday’s rehearsal?”
“I promised the girls they could take Biscuit for his first walk and here he is. Cleared for action and more than eager to go.” Nat bent down and ruffled the dog’s head. “Aren’t you, boy?”
The dog looked suitably excited by the prospect of a walk, his ears pricked forward and his tail wagging furiously. He looked so different to the bedraggled, exhausted creature the girls had found just under two weeks ago. Now he was clean, his wiry coat was knot-free and gleaming, and his ribs were no longer visible.
Linnea crouched down and looked into the big, brown eyes. “A walk? How exciting.” She looked up at Nat. “He looks so well.”
“He’s done so well. Matthew says he is a perfect patient. He doesn’t think that there will be any lasting damage from Biscuit’s adventures.”
“And no one has come forward to claim him?”
“No one. He wasn’t chipped, had no collar, and Matthew circulated his details through all the usual channels. Not a whisper of an owner.”
“It’s so sad.”
“He’s a great little dog. I’m going to miss him. I was even trying to work out if there was a way I could keep him, but the life I lead just isn’t suitable. It’s a shame. I hate the thought of saying goodbye to him. I just hope he’s settled into a good home by the time I leave.”
Linnea’s throat tightened. If Nat didn’t have room for a dog in his life he certainly didn’t have room for two girls and a woman with a life full of responsibility. It was a timely reminder that casual was all he could do; casual was all she should expect.
“I’ll need to have a proper talk to Mom and Dad, they’ve never been pet people, I don’t know how they’d feel about a dog, but if they don’t mind then I will take him. He’s been great with the girls—and I know that they would be over the moon if he came to live here.” Linnea straightened and Biscuit nestled close to her leg as if knowing he was the subject under discussion and making sure she knew just what an excellent dog he really was.
“I was hoping you’d say that. You’re the only person I think I could bear to leave him with. I actually think it wouldn’t take too much to persuade my parents to have him, but Elsie and Betsy found him. It seems right he comes to live with them.”
As if on cue, the girls ran breathlessly into the hallway. “Mommy where are you? It’s time for the star and we can’t do it without you. Biscuit!” Betsy ran rapturously over to the dog, collapsing on the floor so she was on the same level as him, all the better to make a huge fuss of him.
Elsie hung back, her face crumpled. “I don’t want the star. Mommy, tell Betsy we always have the angel.”
“I thought we’d put the angel on the bigger tree, Elsie.”
“But that’s not our own tree. I don’t want the star.” Elsie’s voice was wobbling and her eyes were bright with tears.
“It is our tree, honey. We’re lucky; we get two trees this year.”
“But that’s not how it works. I want our tree, in our house. I don’t want to be here anymore. I made a wish on the first snowflake and that means we get to go home for Christmas, doesn’t it, Mommy? We could have the angel on our small tree and then take it back to Milchester.”
Linnea’s heart was so heavy she thought it might drag her right down. She summoned a smile from somewhere deep inside. “Elsie. You know that’s not going to happen this year. Let’s not discuss this now. Nat wants to know if we want to take Biscuit on his first walk. What do you think, girls?”
“Me please, me please.” Betsy looked up, eyes huge with hope, but Elsie just tilted her chin, her eyes bright with angry tears.
“I’m going to help Mormor with decorating the house.”
“We can do that when we get back.” Betsy protested while Linnea asked her softly.
“Are you sure?”
But Elsie wouldn’t be moved. Linnea stood torn by indecision. She wasn’t going to order her daughter to come along, but she didn’t feel right heading out without her, especially as she knew how much Elsie would enjoy the treat of taking Biscuit for his first walk, if she could just admit it. At that moment, Vika came into the hallway and summed up the situation with one look. “I can wait, Elsie, why don’t you go for a walk.”
“I don’t want to go for a walk.” Elsie sounded like she was close to tears and all Linnea wanted to do was hug her daughter and promise her it would all be okay, to cancel the walk and sit with her—but the counselor’s warning to keep treating Elsie as she normally would rang in her head. And if she cancelled the walk then Betsy would lose a treat.
“Okay,” she said instead, trying to sound as calm as she could. “I think you are going to regret not coming later, Elsie, but if Mormor is happy to watch you then you may stay. Betsy, wrap up warm okay?”