Snow

by Caroline Lee

  Besides, he was breathing better already, just being out of that stuffy train.

  He peered up and down the street, pleased by the story-book Alpine look to the buildings, and the distant mountains. Things didn’t look so bad after all.

  “This is the day the Lord has made. Let us rejoice!” It was a quiet reminder, but a needed one.

  He’d agreed to stay in this little town for a year, or until a more permanent replacement could be found for their recently deceased clergyman. The least he could do was go into the assignment with an open mind and heart.

  An hour later, he found himself struggling to maintain his earlier resolution.

  He’d been to the church, and had discovered it was a cheerful little building, which had already been decorated for Christmas by the ladies of the town, but he’d been disturbed to realize there was no rectory. The one hotel in town was staffed by a man who kept falling asleep, but who had managed to tell Hunter there were no available rooms at the Van Winkle Inn during a break between his naps.

  I feel a bit like the Holy Family. No rooms at the inn, no rooms anywhere.

  He was standing in front of a shop on Andersen Avenue, some kind of dry goods store, and bemoaning his bad luck. Here he was, new in town, only a few days before he was due to give the Christmas sermon, and he had no place to stay? Perhaps he should go inside and ask where the old preacher had lived.

  “Yoohoo! You look lost, dearie!”

  The cheerful call had him turning in place, almost tripping over the bags he’d dropped at his feet. He caught himself at the last moment and managed to tip his hat politely at the two women waddling toward him.

  Well, one was waddling. The other—a regal woman with spectacles and gray hair—wasn’t particularly tall, but she sure carried herself as if she were. She also wasn’t smiling as broadly as her plump companion was, but she was peering curiously at Hunter.

  The plumper of the two reached him first and grabbed his gloved hand in one of hers, shaking it vigorously. “So happy to meet you, dearie! You’re the new reverend, aren’t you? Oh, I do say you are! Somnolena will be so disappointed to find out her tea leaves were wrong again.”

  A little bemused, Hunter managed to extricate his hand from her grip. Tea leaves? That sounded a bit occult to him, but he couldn’t deny the woman was right.

  “I’m Hunter, ma’am. I mean, Reverend Woods.” It had been several years since he’d been ordained, but it still felt odd to announce himself that way, not when he should be just plain old Hunter. “And I’m pleased to meet you. Are you a parishioner?”

  The lady chortled so loud, the outrageous feather on her hat wobbled, but it was hard to be offended by that beaming face.

  “Dear me, no. Well, yes, I suppose I am, in that everyone in these parts is a parishioner. Only one church, don’tchaknow!”

  Her companion sniffed. “What Helga is trying to say, is that we have no objection to organized religion, as long as it’s done well. We might not always attend church, because we believe the majesty of the Lord can be found elsewhere as well, Reverend Woods.”

  She was glaring at him in challenge, but he’d been raised by glaring old women and knew how to handle them. He grinned charmingly and tipped his hat again, pleased when she flushed just slightly.

  “Please call me Hunter, ma’am. And I agree completely.” He spread his hands, encompassing the mountains and the pretty stand of trees he could see just outside of town. “For where is the Lord, if not here among us? His work is the best place to worship him…although it can get a bit chilly in the winter.”

  The plump one giggled happily at his joke, and the other one seemed to thaw a bit. She nodded and held out her hand.

  “You can call me Doc. Welcome to Everland.”

  A female doctor? Fascinating! There were a few back in Pennsylvania—there was an entire college for them in Philadelphia, as he recalled—but it was interesting to run into one way out here. “A doctor? What was your area of study?”

  To his surprise, the woman scowled and shoved her spectacles further up on her nose. “Why does everyone ask me that? Does it matter? Does it honestly matter if my specialty was neurology or orthopedic surgery?”

  Her friend nudged her. “You’re going to have to come clean eventually.”

  “Shut it, Helga,” Doc growled. Then she took a deep breath and turned back to Hunter. “Listen, do you want a room or not?”

  He blinked. How had they known…? “As it happens, I am in the need of lodging. It seems there’s no room at the inn.”

  “For the new reverend?” Doc snorted and shook her head. “Narrative causality, I’ll bet.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Nothing. Dorcas sent us out here to fetch you. She’s cleaning one of the guest rooms for you, although I suspect she really expects Suzy to budge up with me.”

  She said it as if she was expecting a response, but Hunter had no idea what she was talking about. “Yes?” he said politely, hoping it would move things along.

  It did, but not in the way he was expecting.

  Doc, being a full head shorter than him, and old enough to be his mother, nodded firmly and reached for his bags. She straightened and slung them over her shoulder without so much as a grunt.

  He lunged forward, intent on helping her, but she shot him a glare, which had him halting in his tracks. “We’re at number thirteen Perrault Street. The big ugly house you probably didn’t notice.”

  Helga frowned. “It’s not ugly. It has character.”

  “It’s garish, and you know it,” Doc snapped.

  Her friend shrugged. “It’s quaint. Our own little cottage.” She smiled up at Hunter. “And ever so many comforts. You’ll adore it, Reverend Woods. Such a nice place to spend Christmas!”

  There was little he could say then, except, “Thank you.” He needed a place to stay, and although these ladies were eccentric, they were the first who’d offered.

  Helga beamed up at him, and Doc went to step off the sidewalk. “Please, ladies, let me carry my own luggage.” He might have trouble breathing sometimes, but he wasn’t by any means weak.

  But Helga waved him away. “Oh no, dear, you’re needed elsewhere.”

  Before he could ask what she meant, Doc muttered something under her breath which might’ve been a curse, then rounded on him once more. The way she was glaring at him told him she hadn’t completely forgiven him his earlier question about her specialty. Why did that matter?

  “You’re asthmatic, right?” She didn’t give him time to answer. “The waters of Lake Enchantment are really quite healing, and if nothing else, a nice walk in the woods—eh, Reverend Woods?—would do you good.”

  How’d she know about his breathing troubles? Had he been wheezing?

  No, since getting off the train, he’d been breathing fine. He was beginning to suspect that what he’d heard about Everland’s air and water being so fresh and refined just might be true.

  Still, he was a gentleman, first and foremost. “I look forward to a walk in the woods, and especially seeing your lovely lake. But that can wait until after I carry my own luggage to my new lodgings,” he said firmly.

  Doc merely cocked her head, her gaze becoming distant as she seemed to stare at something inside her own head. “No,” she muttered. “No, I don’t think it can.”

  Before he could ask what she meant, her companion jumped in. “You see, dearie, it’s vitally important you head to the lake right now. That way.”

  She pointed with one hand toward the distant forest, and Hunter turned to glance in that direction. When he turned back, he was just in time to get a face full of whatever tiny glittery particles Helga had just thrown at him.

  Sputtering, he stumbled back and waved his arms, but to his surprise, nothing had actually landed on him. Were they snow crystals then, to have disappeared before they actually hit him? How odd. It was almost as if they were…

  Magic?

  Helga was beaming not-at-all-apologetical
ly. “Dear me, oh dear, dear, dear. So clumsy. Well, necessary, don’tchaknow.”

  “Necessary?” Hunter repeated politely, still waving his hands a bit, looking for the glittery particles.

  Both women were nodding firmly, but Doc answered. “For your walk in the woods. To ensure you have the right reaction to anyone you might meet.”

  Before he could ask what she meant, Helga was waving him on, pointing toward the trees and the lake.

  “Go on, dearie. I’ll help Doc here, I’m strong as an ox, everyone knows.” She thumped herself in the chest and winked cheerfully. “We’ll get your things settled, then you come find us after you meet—I mean, after you’ve seen the lake. Cheerio!”

  The last was called as Doc all-but-dragged her away. He thought he heard her hiss, “Strong as an ox? More like dumb as an ox, Helga. You almost told him!” But then they were too far away for him to hear more. They disappeared down a side street—was that Perrault?—and he found himself hoping he hadn’t just been robbed by two strange old women.

  Still, now he was free to explore those trees over there, which is what he’d wanted to do since he arrived. He’d been cooped up in the train for days and had been longing to stretch his legs and appreciate nature.

  So, taking a deep breath—and not coughing, not even a bit—he pulled his hat down lower on his ears and headed for the lake, his strides long and eager.

  But as soon as he stepped into the shadow of the trees, he slowed. His breathing deepened, and he shoved his hands deep into his pockets and tilted his head up to stare at the tall trees. How in the word had such trees managed to grow here, when the rest of the vegetation he’d seen on his ride out here was mostly scrub pines? These were tall and stately, the snow under them a mere dusting, even this far into the winter season, because of their sheltering branches.

  Here on the path, the snow had been trod down the center, as though the lake was still receiving a few visitors, even at this time of year.

  Those ladies were right; he did need this. Here, among the nature the Lord created for his subjects to cherish, Hunter felt at home.

  Nana had always joked it was no coincidence his last name was Woods, since that’s where he preferred to spend his time.

  He was barely meandering now, his attention upward and outward, rather than where he was putting his feet. But when a small path branched off to his left, he stopped.

  It wouldn’t have been noticeable, especially in the winter with the branches heavy with snow, except for the fact someone had broken a path in that direction. A someone in a skirt, judging from the marks made in the snow.

  He ducked a little to peer under the branches and found a faint animal trail leading in that direction, and this female someone had left the formal path and had taken the more obscure one.

  The main path headed straight, but the most recent tracks definitely went this way.

  Hunter shrugged and ducked under the branches.

  A lifetime in the woods had taught him how to read signs, and whoever had come this way, hadn’t returned by this path.

  Maybe she needed help. Or maybe she just knew the prettiest path.

  Hunter had to admit, despite having to hold his hat on to prevent the overhead branches knocking it off, this area really was lovely.

  And then he stepped out of the woods into an opening.

  It was a natural little grove, the lake’s shore just beyond, ringed entirely by large pines, with the snow stamped down all around the inside.

  And there, in the very center of the grove, stood a perfect little fir tree, its branches cleared of all but a faint dusting of snow, and no taller than he himself was.

  It was decorated for Christmas, and as he watched, surprised, an opening in the clouds above allowed a sunbeam to pierce the gray and shine on the pretty little tree, making it sparkle and gleam.

  Hunter held his breath as he approached, wondering if this was some sort of sign.

  No. The miracle of life is being able to see the Divine all around.

  This was the work of a human hand, with the sun making a rare, serendipitous appearance. But still, he could appreciate the effect.

  Someone had wrapped the tree in the most beautiful and delicate lace. It was all colors—though mostly whites and creams, but he saw some pinks and blues and yellows and greens mixed in as well.

  Hunter hesitated before the tree, then stripped off one of his gloves, ignoring the cold, and touched a strand of lace.

  Exquisite.

  It was real, and it was lovely. The strands varied in length and age, some looking as if they’d been used for years, and others appeared to be brand-new. There were also bright red bows tied on many of the branches, and a large red-and-white bow sat on the very top.

  Or rather, almost the very top.

  Still more than a little stunned at this unexpected glimpse of the Divine, Hunter tugged his glove back on and reached for the bow. It was lopsided, as if someone a little shorter had tried to tie it on.

  He’d just finished re-tying the bow to the topmost branch, when he heard it.

  “Glo-oooo-oooooor-ria! In excelsis Deo!”

  The singing was far away, but as she—it was definitely a she—hit the last note, a gentle breeze blew up. Hunter turned his face toward the breeze, toward the lake, toward the song, and opened his heart.

  “Gloooor-ooooor-orrrrr-ia!”

  She’d never be called a beautiful singer, but Hunter adored her enthusiasm, her abandon. She sang as if she was singing to the heavens themselves, and he loved it.

  ”In excelsis Deo!”

  The voice was coming closer, but he didn’t want her to stop. He snatched his hat off his head and threw his face back to accept the sunbeam’s benediction.

  “Shepherds why this jubilee?”

  He couldn’t help himself. He was no singer either, but the joy crept up into his throat. “Why your joyous strains prolong? Say what may these tidings be?”

  The mysterious voice halted, and Hunter, his eyes closed, finished the verse, ”Which inspire your Heavenly songs? Gloooor-ooooor-orrrrr-ia!”

  He had to pause to take a breath, so he tilted his head down and opened his eyes…and finished in a surprised whisper, no longer trying to sing. “In excelsis Deo!”

  She was beautiful.

  Her head was wrapped in a red turban of some sort, sitting a bit askew after her tromp through the woods, and her wide eyes stared at him in shock. Her winter coat was well-worn, a dull sort of gray, but the bright red of her headscarf reminded him of the bows on the tree.

  The decorated Christmas tree, right beside him. The one he’d look at again, as soon as he could drag his eyes away from this even more lovely sight.

  Yes, she was beautiful alright, but she was also terrified, judging from the frantic look in her eyes and the way her gloved hands tightened around the handles of the pails she carried.

  That, more than anything, shook him out of his trance. He jammed his hat on his head and cleared his throat.

  “I apologize for intruding, miss. I was…”—he shook his head, looking for the right word, then grinned wryly—“overcome, I suppose. The day is lovely, the woods are beautiful, and the mood seemed right for some songs of praise.”

  Her eyes had narrowed during his speech, which had been intended to set her at ease. But maybe she was determined to gain the upper hand, because he watched a muscle jump in her jaw before she answered.

  “It’s overcast.”

  Her tone was accusatory, which caused his smile to grow, for some reason.

  “Yes it is. But this is a day the Lord made, and I am determined to enjoy it.”

  Slowly, her shoulders seemed to relax. “I…I didn’t mean for anyone to hear me.” Her attention was now firmly focused on the tree.

  “And I didn’t intend to hear anyone, miss. But I can’t deny I’m glad you did. I was struck by the simple elegance of this tree, and then your singing started. I’m not ashamed to admit I thought angels themselves we
re singing.”

  She snorted, perhaps not believing his compliment, but crossed the small clearing anyhow. He wanted to think it was because she wanted to be nearer to him, but suspected she just needed to reach the path.

  But she stopped in front of the tree, cocking her head back to peer up at the topmost bow. “Did you move my bow?” The accusation shot out, and he got the impression she didn’t trust easily.

  “I did, and I apologize if I did wrong.” He cleared his throat, beginning to feel a little foolish at continuously having to explain himself. “I saw it wasn’t quite on the top branch, and thought I could help.”

  She was glaring at the bow, as if it had somehow offended her, but to his surprise, she finally blinked and sighed. Her shoulders drooped even further, and he wondered just what exactly was in those pails she still gripped so tightly.

  She turned her head just slightly, catching his gaze. And holding it.

  “Thank you for helping, mister. I wasn’t tall enough to get it right.”

  And with that little peace offering, his heart soared. His smile bloomed and he touched the brim of his hat. “I’m thrilled to be of service, Miss…?”

  Slowly, she shifted so her shoulder wasn’t between them anymore. She wasn’t quite facing him, but she seemed more open than she had been a moment before. “I’m Snow.”

  Snow.

  Hunter couldn’t help it; he glanced around at the snow on the branches around them, and knew his look was a bit mischievous when he glanced back at her. “What an appropriate name,” he said with a wink, not even minding she’d left off her last name. He could do the same. “I’m Hunter.”

  He watched her lips form his name, as if trying it out. Hunter. She didn’t say it aloud though, and he suddenly ached to hear his name on her lips.

  He had to keep her here with him, even for only a moment longer. “And are you collecting snow, Miss Snow?” he asked, nodding to her pails.

  She’d seemed to have forgotten she was holding them and flushed slightly as she held them aloft. “No, water. We have a stream near the house, but my—my stepmother believes Lake Enchantment has magical powers, if you can believe it.”