Winterfrost

by Michelle Houts

  “This kid?” she asked.

  “Don’t see no other,” the ferryman answered.

  “Why, she came over on the ferry with me today. You remember.”

  The ferry operator took his feet down from the railing and sat up a little straighter. “She did not.”

  “Sure, she did,” Bettina insisted. “You must not have seen her in her child seat.”

  The man’s eyes narrowed. “But you only paid for the bicycle and one passenger.”

  Bettina faltered.

  “The sign!” Klakke whispered from her backpack.

  Of course! Bettina motioned to the sign that read FERRY SCHEDULE AND FARES. “That’s because children under two years of age are free.”

  The man took off his hat, scratched his head, and put his hat back on. “I must be losing my mind.”

  Bettina whispered over her shoulder. “Thanks, you guys!”

  “We’re not done yet. Wait until you see this,” came Ulf’s hushed reply. “Ask him what time the ferry leaves.”

  “But I already . . .” Bettina’s voice trailed off as her eyes found the clock. She grinned and asked, “Sir?”

  “What now, missy?”

  “How long until the ferry leaves again?”

  “I told you,” the man grumbled. “The next trip back to Lolland is at —”

  The ferryman stared at the clock.

  “Four o’clock. Which is right now. Where on earth did the last hour go?” He leaped to his feet, nearly spilling his soda. “Well, get on board, then. We’ve got to keep to the schedule.”

  Bettina could hardly contain the giggle that bubbled up inside her throat.

  “Yes, sir,” she agreed as she pedaled her bicycle with all its tiny cargo onto the boat. “Got to stick to the schedule.”

  The ferryman scratched his head once more, took one long look at the bottle of soda in his hand, and then dumped the remaining contents over the railing and into the sea below.

  Gammel, Pernilla, and Hagen were all waiting beneath the crooked oak as Bettina pushed her bicycle along the forest path with Pia in the child seat and Klakke and Ulf still in her backpack. How they had known she was coming Bettina wasn’t certain, but she’d stopped questioning the endless mysteries of the nisse folk days ago.

  “I don’t know if I can do this.” Ulf’s voice wavered like that of a person standing atop a very high ski slope, ski tips hanging over the edge, with no place to go but plummeting down, down, down the hill.

  “It will be fine,” Bettina assured him. “Just be honest. And try to keep your temper under control.”

  She lifted Ulf from her backpack and placed him at the base of the old tree, where he faced his father for the first time in twelve years.

  With shaking hands, Ulf removed his red cap. “It’s been a very long time, and I know I should have come sooner.”

  “Oh, Ulf!” Pernilla, with her round red cheeks already wet with tears, moved toward her brother, but Gammel raised his hand to stop her.

  “First, let’s hear what he has to say, shall we?” he said firmly, reminding everyone that he was still the senior nisse, the one in charge.

  Pernilla stepped back, her hands fiddling nervously with her apron strings. Hagen placed his arm gently across her shoulders.

  All eyes were on Ulf as he continued. “I’ve come to say I’m sorry. I’m sorry for what happened to Farfar Larsen’s beloved horse Kasper. I meant no harm that day, as I have never meant any harm to any animal of the farm or forest.”

  Gammel nodded. A small gesture of approval though it was, it seemed enough to give Ulf the courage to continue.

  “But most of all, I am sorry for leaving. I should have stayed and accepted the consequences of my carelessness. But I was jealous of my cousin Klakke. And it caused me great pain to know someone so young and inexperienced would be given the work I’d done for so long. I feared I’d lost my place in the world forever.

  “So, you see, I now know things I didn’t understand twelve years ago. Farfar was an unusual human, a rare individual who had room in his heart to love his new granddaughter and still believe in and care about the nisse on his farm. I know this now because of Bettina. He’s no longer here, but he passed on his keen awareness of the natural world to his granddaughter.”

  Bettina’s eyes stung with the memory of Farfar and the truth of Ulf’s words. Farfar loved the farm, the forest, and all the inhabitants of both. And although she hadn’t fully understood it at the time, he had worked to instill the same respect in Bettina.

  Ulf stood tall, not begging, not groveling. Just being honest.

  “I’m sorry. And I’d like to come home.”

  All of Lolland — every tree, every creature, even Klakke — stood still and silent in the long moments that followed. All eyes were on Gammel, whose creased brow now showed every one of his 392 years. At long last, the old nisse’s thick gray mustache curled into a smile.

  Gammel said not a word, but spread his arms wide to welcome his wayward son home again. Ulf sprang into his father’s arms. Pernilla, who could wait no longer, joined their embrace. Even Hagen was moved and wiped his eyes on a small handkerchief.

  When the family hug was over, Gammel cleared his throat, perhaps holding back his own tears, and spoke to his son.

  “I, too, have done and said some things that I deeply regret. I was quick to judge, both twelve years ago and recently, when Pia disappeared. I may have reacted too swiftly, too harshly at times, and I certainly stand before you guilty of being far too stubborn. All I’ve ever wished for is to have you home with us, Ulf. Welcome back, my boy. Welcome back.”

  Klakke let out a small delighted cheer and scrambled down Bettina’s back, only to change his mind and clamber back up again.

  Bettina turned to try and see what the little nisse was doing and was quite surprised when he wrapped his small, chubby arms as far as he could around her neck and squeezed. A fine nisse hug if ever there was one.

  “Oh, Klakke!”

  Klakke blushed, his always-rosy complexion turning as bright red as his nisse cap. He gave little Pia a quick kiss in her seat on the back of the bicycle, and both child and nisse giggled.

  While Hagen, Pernilla, and Ulf disappeared beneath the oak tree’s biggest root, talking among themselves, Gammel stayed behind and addressed Bettina.

  “Won’t you come inside? There is much catching up to do.”

  “No, thank you, Gammel. The catching up is for the family. Besides, I want to get Pia home.”

  Before anything else happens, Bettina added to herself, glancing over her shoulder toward the house and barnyard. As much as she adored the cozy little kitchen beneath the giant oak, she wanted more than anything to be home with Pia before anyone returned.

  Gammel gave an understanding nod.

  “What you have done, my child, we shall never forget. You have not only reunited a broken family, but you have made great strides in maintaining the delicate relationship between your world and ours. Together we can accomplish what we cannot do alone.”

  Bettina searched for words, but finding none that would do the moment justice, she just smiled.

  Beneath his gray mustache and beard, Gammel’s lips also spread into a wide grin, and his eyes twinkled behind his wire-rimmed glasses. Then he lifted a plump hand, waved, and disappeared beneath the root of the old oak.

  “What about you, Klakke?” Bettina asked. “Are you going inside, too?”

  “Oh, I’ll come back later, after I’ve taken care of the chores at your farm. They need some time together. As a family, you know.”

  While Bettina was certain Klakke was happy about the way things had turned out, she detected a hint of melancholy in his voice. She remembered that Klakke was merely a cousin — a distant cousin from Falster — to Gammel’s family. Perhaps he was feeling a bit lonely at the moment, but she knew just the thing to cheer him up.

  Bettina opened her mouth to tell him not to worry about the chores, that Klara was looking aft
er things at the farm. But she quickly closed it again. How much more fun would a surprise reunion be?

  “OK, then,” she said, turning the bike toward home. “Let’s go!”

  Klakke ran ahead, eager to get back to the barn and his own responsibilities.

  Bettina sped up. “We’ve got to hurry!” she said to Pia. “We don’t want to miss this!”

  When the forest path ended at the Larsens’ backyard, Bettina lifted Pia from the child seat and leaned the bicycle against the barn.

  Bettina opened the doors and carried Pia inside, but Klakke had already dashed through the crack between them. He darted right between Bettina’s legs as she switched on the lights and revealed all the animals, eating contentedly and bedded down for the night. Klakke ran from the goats to the horses and back again. He checked the water buckets and stared in disbelief.

  “This is terrible!” he cried at last.

  “What’s terrible, Klakke?” Bettina asked, faking concern. Above Klakke’s head, high in the mow, she spied Klara, who waved and covered a giggle.

  “The chores are done!” Klakke said. “This could only mean one thing. Your parents are home. Oh, Bettina, what are you going to tell them?”

  Bettina smiled. She felt bad keeping her secret any longer. Just then, Pia tipped her head back and pointed high into the mow, babbling a long string of nonsense that only another almost-one-year-old would have understood.

  All eyes turned upward, including Klakke’s, which grew round when he spotted his sister standing on a bale of straw.

  Klara let out a loud giggle and scurried down the ladder.

  “Klara!” he cried. The two held hands and danced in circles in the most joyous of nisse celebrations.

  “I thought it was time I paid my brother a visit,” Klara explained. “And it turns out my timing was just right.”

  The young nisse girl winked at Bettina.

  “Oh!” cried Klakke. “I should introduce you. Bettina, this is my twin sister —”

  Klara and Bettina laughed so hard, Klakke stopped midsentence.

  “You two have already met.”

  “Klara can tell you all about it, Klakke,” Bettina said. “Right now, I need to get the house in order and get Pia to bed. Before my parents really do return!”

  Klakke nodded in understanding. “Thank you, Bettina! This is the best surprise I’ve ever had in all my sixty-two years!”

  Bettina turned to go, but then paused. “Will I see you again?”

  Klakke looked thoughtful. “Do you believe I exist?”

  After all that had happened, Bettina was surprised Klakke would ask.

  “Of course! Sure as I am here, so are you!”

  “Then, yes, I believe you will see me again,” the young nisse answered. “But remember, whether or not you see me is not up to me. It is the seer who must do the looking, the seer who must slow down enough to take note of the world around her.”

  Bettina couldn’t help but notice that Klakke sounded a little older, a bit wiser, perhaps. And could it be that a hint of gray was showing in his beard?

  Bettina promised she would always take time to look carefully, and then she and Pia said good night to Klakke and Klara. A soft yellow moon was rising as the girls crossed the barnyard toward the house. Night was settling in across Lolland. The winter woodland animals were silent. Rabbits snuggled deep in their warrens, birds nestled in bushes for the night, and even the foxes were holed up in their dens. All of Denmark was enveloped in a hush so complete, Bettina could hear her own breath.

  Just as Bettina reached for the doorknob, she felt a small breeze touch her cheek and the winter grasses around her shimmied ever so slightly. The smallest flakes of winterfrost fell to the ground. When she turned the knob and opened the door, a stronger gust swept over the garden, knocking more winterfrost from the bushes. By the time Bettina and Pia were safely inside the Larsens’ kitchen, trees swayed and the whole farm was covered with falling frost. It looked like a gentle snow coming down.

  Within minutes, the winterfrost was gone.

  Dawn in late December is gracious to those who long to linger beneath downy covers, peacefully dreaming even until breakfast time has come and gone. In the upstairs bedroom that the Larsen sisters shared in their family home on the island of Lolland, the morning sun didn’t seep through the crack in the curtain until well past nine o’clock.

  Bettina woke from the sweetest of slumbers, clear headed, not at all groggy, and hoping beyond all hopes that baby Pia was also sleeping, safe and sound, in her crib across the room.

  And sure enough, baby Pia slept contentedly, with her stuffed goose beneath her chin. It was almost as if the past few days had been nothing but a dream. Bettina dressed quickly and was about to go downstairs to make tea when Pia began to stir.

  “Hello, little girl!” Bettina greeted her sister.

  Pia grinned, then yawned and rubbed a chubby hand over her eyes.

  Bettina lifted her sister from her bed and carried her down the curvy, narrow stairs. As they descended into the kitchen, Pia let loose a string of babble complete with wide eyes and frequent gestures. Bettina understood not a single word.

  “What on earth has you so excited, Pia?” Bettina asked. Pia, of course, could say nothing of the little nisse girl she’d seen zip past them on the staircase. And if Bettina hadn’t been talking to her sister, she might have heard a soft but familiar giggle coming from the landing above.

  “Oh, Pia, if only you could really talk! What a story you would have to tell.”

  But even as she said it, Bettina decided it was probably best that Pia couldn’t share all that had happened in days past.

  Days past. How many days had passed since Bettina first opened the wood-room door and discovered the winterfrost?

  From the kitchen window, the morning sun peeked out from behind a few sparse gray clouds on the horizon. Some snow remained on the ground, but the black tree trunks stood stark and bare, and the grasses looked brown and plain against the snow behind.

  There was no sign that the winterfrost had ever been there.

  With Pia securely in her high chair, Bettina toasted bread and spread Mor’s raspberry jam over each warm and crispy slice. The teakettle sang as Bettina poured milk into Pia’s sippy cup.

  The kitchen felt warm and cozy, and as the girls enjoyed their breakfast, Bettina’s gaze fell toward the place where the garden met the forest’s edge. The forest didn’t look so dark this morning, with bits and pieces of sunlight filtering in through the bare trees.

  She wondered how the nisse family reunion was going in the house beneath the big oak tree. She pictured the nisse talking late into the night over Pernilla’s delicious cider, then retiring to their alcoves at sunrise with plenty of deep yawns and warm hugs to go around.

  With one last glance at the forest, Bettina lifted Pia from the high chair and set her down to play on the kitchen floor.

  Bettina gathered the breakfast dishes and filled the sink with warm, bubbly water. Meanwhile, Pia crawled to a kitchen chair, which she used to pull herself to her feet. When Bettina turned around again, Pia was standing alone, arms out and ready to catch herself if she fell.

  “Pia,” Bettina said softly, as if the very sound of her voice might interrupt the child’s delicate balancing act. “Come.”

  Bettina squatted and held her hands out toward her baby sister. She held her breath as Pia lifted one wobbly foot and put it down again. The little girl, face tense with concentration, repeated the motion, propelling herself slowly across the kitchen. Each step nearly resulted in a tumble, but somehow the child managed to recover her balance just in time.

  By the time Pia reached her sister’s waiting arms, Bettina was laughing and crying and praising her little sister all at once. Pia beamed with excitement as she wiggled free to try it all once more.

  The Larsen sisters spent the remainder of their time alone together feeding the animals, playing with new Christmas toys, and practicing walking al
l over the house. Mor and Mormor were on their way back to Lolland, and Far was close behind. It would be a grand surprise for all to see how baby Pia had changed while they were away.

  But Pia wasn’t the only one who had changed. Bettina never searched for winter greens without thinking of the cozy kitchen beneath the giant oak tree. She never once walked the forest trails without hearing Gammel’s voice in her mind and remembering the night she accompanied him as he made his rounds among the forest animals.

  Bettina’s love for Christmastime returned. Farfar would never again be there to share in the holiday festivities, she knew, but his joy and excitement would remain as long as she kept them alive. Who else would tell Pia about the magic of winterfrost and the nisse of the farm and forest?

  But most of all, Bettina never again went about her business in such a great hurry that she didn’t take time to look. It is the seer, after all, who must slow down enough to take note of the world around her.

  And though it didn’t happen every day, or even every year, sometimes when Bettina was paying very close attention, she’d catch a glimpse of red as she walked through the pines or while she did her chores or rode her chestnut mare along the country roads.

  And if she stood very still, and hoped and waited and believed, she would sometimes see a tiny nisse man, with a beard growing ever grayer with each passing year, stop and remove his hat and tip his head in her direction. Just to let her know that all was right between his world and hers.

  I will forever be indebted to the families Poulsen, Christiansen, Højmark, Pedersen, Skammelsen, and Vestergård, who opened their homes and hearts to a young American stranger all those years ago; Danish children (young and old) who told their nisse tales to me via letter, e-mail, and mormor; all the Mainely Writers, especially those who accepted the challenge to read entire drafts of Winterfrost: Ann Mack, Nancy Roe Pimm, Thea Gammans, and Naomi Kinsman Downing; Laura Ruby for giving Winterfrost Uncle Viggo; Kaylan Adair and the incredible Candlewick team for believing in nisse; Karen Grencik for believing in me; Dora McAfee for her resourcefulness and generosity; Mark, Olivia, Seth, and Maggie for always saying, “We gnome you can do it!”; and the real Bettina, a tireless fact-checker and dear friend.