Chestnut

by Jennifer Li Shotz

  She rubbed him behind the ears until he finally lay down with one last, high-pitched whimper. He seemed drained.

  “Let’s try again,” Meg said in a gentle tone. She slowly got to her feet, still leaning over and continuing to pet Chestnut’s head. Keeping a hand on him, she took one backward step toward the door. His ears instantly shot up and he jumped to all fours, his tail standing straight up. He let out a stream of barks so loud and intense that it hurt her eardrums.

  Meg froze in her tracks. She sat back down on the ground and began to soothe him again. After a few minutes, they repeated the process. Meg stood up and kept a hand on the dog, then tried to leave. The next time she made it two backward steps toward the door, then the time after that she made it three. It felt like forever, but after several tries, Meg stood in the open doorway looking down at the little dog. He shook nervously but didn’t bark. She stepped backwards into the snow and put a hand on the door to pull it shut.

  “That’s a good boy!” Her voice came out higher pitched than she’d intended it to. “That’s it, Chestnut. Goooooood boy.”

  She eased the door shut and held her breath as he heaved his body against the other side. It was awful to think of him being that upset, but Meg took a deep breath through her nose and exhaled slowly through her mouth. It was a trick her sister had taught her when Meg was younger and would get mad about a broken toy or playground slight.

  Chestnut began to whimper and bark, but it was calmer—and quieter—than before. Meg sat down on the cold ground and leaned back against the wood.

  “That’s it, Chestnut,” she cooed through the cracks. She heard him scuttle around inside, as if he were getting ready to lie down. He let out a little snort, letting her know that even though he wasn’t making as much noise, he definitely still wasn’t okay with the situation.

  “You’re doing great, buddy,” she said through the door. He grunted in response and scratched at the wall, then grew quiet. Meg took that as a good sign. She stood up and brushed the dirt and snow off her pants.

  She took a couple steps without hearing any reaction from the dog. But when she got a few feet away, her boots crunched loudly in the snow. She winced and stopped in her tracks, waiting. Sure enough, Chestnut went crazy, barking and howling, terrified of being left alone.

  A moment later, Meg found herself sitting on the ground inside the shed again, running a hand over the anxious dog’s smooth fur. She was starting to get really stressed about getting to the lot. What would she tell her parents?

  “Listen, Chestnut,” Meg sighed. “I know it stinks to have to stay in here, but I promise you—it’s just temporary. Just until I figure out what to do with you.”

  He let out a little disgruntled snuffle and rolled onto his side, keeping a stern eye on her.

  “And then I have to prove to Mom and Dad that I’m responsible enough to keep you. But being late for work on my very first day isn’t going to help me at all.” Meg had heard countless parents trying to reason with their kids when the little ones wanted a tree that was way too big for their house, and she’d heard the difference between success and frustration. She knew to sound firm. “I’ve got to go, buddy,” she said.

  At the change in her voice, Chestnut glanced up at her, his eyes wide with fear. “But I promise, I’ll be back as soon as I can to take care of you. I’ll get you more food and some water. I’ll bring Colton to help me with that foot, okay?” She scratched at his belly until he rolled onto his back, wiggling happily. Meg’s guilt subsided a little. “But you’ve got to let me go, or else none of that will matter.”

  Chestnut held her gaze for a long moment, then something in his expression changed—almost as if he understood exactly what she was saying. He let out a deep, accepting sigh and looked up at the ceiling. Meg saw that his eyelids were starting to look heavy. He must have been exhausted after all the excitement of the morning, Meg thought.

  She patted his belly more and more softly, until he put his head down on the ground and his eyelids began to sag. Meg covered him with her coat again. Chestnut tucked his chin and rested a single paw over his own nose. Then his eyes slid closed in slumber.

  Relief washed over Meg, and she glanced toward the door. She had to sneak out before Chestnut woke up. She stood up slowly, silently, trying not to rouse the dog. Chestnut’s legs twitched beneath her coat, and he made a funny little dreaming sound. Colton had told her once that dogs were often calmed by the scents of those they loved and trusted. Her coat was new, but it probably already smelled like her.

  Tears sprang to Meg’s eyes. Chestnut already needed her.

  And she loved him more than she could explain.

  Chestnut’s eyes stayed closed. His breathing grew slow and steady, and her coat rose and fell with his chest. Meg pulled the door closed as quietly as she could and latched it behind her.

  Back in the crisp morning air, Meg blinked a few times. Her birthday had taken such an unexpected—and exciting—turn. She studied the shed, almost as if she were trying to figure out if everything that had just happened was real. Just then, her gaze fell upon a beautiful, perfectly symmetrical pinecone lying on the ground to her left. She hadn’t noticed it before.

  “Whoa,” she whispered. She stepped over and picked it up to examine it. Her mind began to whirl with ideas, and as she began to formulate a plan, a huge smile broke out on her face. It was perfect!

  Just a few days earlier, Meg had been online searching for new Christmas tree ornaments, and she’d seen some beautiful hand-painted pinecones. She’d loved them—and now maybe she could make them herself. What if she painted the pinecone? What if she made something so pretty that people would want to buy it? If she sold enough of them, she might be able to use the money to keep Chestnut.

  The thought made her heart pound.

  Meg stuffed the pinecone in her sweatshirt pocket and traced the edges of it with her fingertips. As she headed away from the shed, her mind thrummed with her business idea. But as she turned back to glance in Chestnut’s direction one last time, she realized that she had another problem.

  She didn’t know a lot about dogs, but she knew that Chestnut was really anxious—and that level of anxiety wasn’t normal. Colton had a dog once that got so stressed out when the family was away that they had to rehome it with a retired man who was home all day.

  Meg wanted a dog more than anything in the world, and she was already getting attached to the idea of Chestnut living with her forever. But she couldn’t ignore the fact that a mountain of problems was piling up in front of her—and getting taller by the minute. She didn’t know how to overcome it all.

  The pinecone pressed into the palm of her hand and she drew in a deep breath. She could still feel the warmth of Chestnut pressed against her leg as he slept. She could still smell him, and she smiled. It didn’t matter if her problems were as tall as Mount Everest. Chestnut was worth every bit of effort. Meg vowed that she’d work as hard as she had to, for as long as she had to. And she didn’t have any time to waste.

  As she raced back to the house to grab her old coat before sprinting to the tree lot, she let herself make plans as if all her dreams depended on them. Because, she thought, they just might.

  ★ Chapter 4 ★

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  * * *

  All the big ideas swimming around in Meg’s mind slipped away when she realized just how late she really was. As she ran toward the lot, all she felt was shame.

  This was her first day ever working the register, and she had wanted so badly to make a good impression, to prove to her parents that she was ready for the responsibility—not that she was forgetful and immature.

  To make matters worse, for the first time in her life, she had a secret to hide from her parents. A big secret.

  She couldn’t believe how busy the tree farm already was. A line of impatient customers snaked from the registers toward the rows of trees. Her mom was punching numbers into a register with an expression that didn’t convey too muc
h holiday cheer. An annoyed-looking customer stood silently, waiting to finish paying. Meg slid behind the counter and took an apron off the hook.

  “Where have you been, Megan?” her mom asked without looking up, her words clipped but her tone bursting with frustration. “You know this is a two-person job, and you’ve been begging to help.” She handed some change back to the customer and smiled, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. Meg saw that her mom’s ungloved hands were raw with cold. She couldn’t wear gloves and make change, Meg knew. And this was just the start of the day—they’d be outside for hours.

  “You folks have a very merry Christmas,” Meg’s mom said to the customer. “And thank you so much for your patience.” The man nodded and left, and the next customer rushed forward, her credit card in hand.

  Meg dropped the thick canvas apron over her head and tied it around her waist. Her old coat was bulky underneath it and she fidgeted, trying to smooth everything into place. “I’m so sorry, Mom. I guess I just lost track of time.”

  And since she couldn’t tell her mom the real reason she was late, Meg turned and gave a chipper wave at the family that was approaching her register.

  “Did you folks find what you were looking for?” Meg asked. She hated lying—and she hated disappointing her mom. She was already on the verge of tears, but she was determined not to mess up again. So she put on a pretend smile and did her best to enter the charges into the register correctly.

  Cheerful holiday songs played over the speakers, while in the distance, a chainsaw did its work on someone’s chosen tree. One of the farm staff was busy loading a basket with green and red Christmas-tree-shaped sugar cookies, while another mixed more steaming cocoa into a large urn. Sarah was zipping around rearranging wreaths and garlands that had been moved by shoppers. A four-wheeled ATV buzzed past, and Ben waved goofily from behind the handlebars.

  Meg had waited her whole life to work side by side with her family—to be a part of the family business—but suddenly, she didn’t want to be there. The thought made her feel so guilty that she could barely focus. She wished, instead, that she was back in the shed, snuggled up with Chestnut under her coat. At least there, she wouldn’t disappoint anyone. Her mom’s hard frown did nothing to make her feel any better, either.

  The family at the register was laughing as the mother paid for their tree and garland. Mr. Mike, who’d been working for her parents since before Meg was born, hauled the family’s tree to their minivan and placed it on top like it was feather-light. Meg watched as the oldest son helped him tie it down with twine.

  “Your family grows the most beautiful trees,” the mother said, smiling warmly at Meg. “It must be like a Christmas dream, growing up here.”

  Meg smiled so hard her cheeks hurt. “It is,” she said, a little too loudly.

  The mother looked over her shoulder at her own children, then said, “And your parents must be so proud of you, working so hard. My own kids don’t know how lucky they have it.”

  Meg’s smile wavered, but beside her, her mom said, “We are very proud of all our children, ma’am. Thank you so much.”

  Meg didn’t dare look at her, for fear her mom would see a lie in her eyes.

  After a few hours of nonstop rushing to help their waiting customers, counting out change, and wishing a thousand merry Christmases, there was a brief lull. Meg’s mom looked at her, her eyes still flashing with irritation at her daughter. “Where’s your new coat?”

  Meg’s heart hammered in her chest. Had she made a terrible mistake leaving it with Chestnut? What if he chewed it up or tore a hole in it? The pancakes in her stomach turned sour as she prayed her expression looked innocent. “I didn’t want to get it dirty, so I left it at home,” she said.

  Her mom nodded, as if it was the first reasonable thing Meg had said all day. Too bad it was a lie. Meg felt awful. She was disappointed in herself that she had nearly blown it when her family had finally trusted her with a little responsibility. And now, she was terrified that she’d left her new, expensive coat to be ruined by a stray dog that her parents would never let her keep. She was nearly overcome with guilt. Chestnut was worth the risk, but Meg didn’t like the way she felt at all.

  “I really am sorry, Mom,” she said, shoving her hands into her pockets, where her knuckles grazed the pinecone she’d picked up earlier. “I was . . . I was out picking up pinecones.” She pulled it out of her pocket to show her mom. “I thought maybe we could do something special with them. Maybe we could sell them—here at the register. Do you think people would buy them?”

  Her mom sighed. “I don’t know, Meggie.”

  Meg tried not to cringe at the sound of her nickname. Would her mom ever stop calling her that?

  “Maybe . . .” her mom went on, her face softening. She pulled Meg into a hug. “What were you think-ing?”

  And just like that, Meg knew that her mom wasn’t quite as mad at her. She never did stay mad at Meg for very long. Ben said it was the benefit of being the baby of the family, but right then, that just made Meg feel worse.

  For the moment, though, Meg would take her forgiveness. The rest she could prove later. “What if we made ornaments?” Meg said, getting excited. “There’s so many pinecones left lying around. And they’re free—we’d just need paint and glitter and—I don’t know!”

  Her mom smiled at her enthusiasm, her tired eyes lighting up a little.

  Just then, Ben walked by and overheard their conversation. “What do you know about pinecones, Micro?” he asked teasingly.

  Meg rolled her eyes. “I know that every summer, we pull off about a million of them from the trees,” she said.

  Her mom nodded, her eyebrows pulling together in thought. “We do that to help conserve the trees’ energy while they’re—”

  “Growing, I know,” Meg said.

  She knew exactly what her mom would say next. This was the same speech they gave when school groups took tours of the farm. “It helps the trees grow bigger and have lots of room for ornaments,” Meg said, shooting Ben a sharp look.

  “Okay, okay,” Ben replied with a shrug. “So you know all there is to know about pinecones.” He walked off to help a customer.

  Meg’s mom raised her eyebrows, clearly impressed at Meg’s knowledge.

  “Then, in late summer,” Meg went on, “the barn is filled with pinecones that we harvest new seeds from.”

  The seeds were used to plant the next generation of Fraser firs, which was one of Meg’s favorite parts of working on the tree farm. The seeds grew into tiny saplings in the greenhouse. Then, once they got big enough, her parents and siblings and the farm staff planted them in long rows.

  “When did you learn all that?” Meg’s mom marveled.

  Meg shrugged. “I don’t know, I just did. And I know that there are millions of pinecones all over our land that I can use to create some really pretty ornaments.” She looked at the ground, suddenly embarrassed. “And if it’s okay with you, I’ll try to sell them to the customers here at the lot.”

  And maybe, just maybe, the ornaments would sell well enough to help her convince her parents to let her keep Chestnut.

  As another family approached the register, Meg’s mom reached over and tucked a loose lock of hair behind her ear. “I think it’s a great idea, Meggie, and every little bit helps.”

  The rest of the day flew past. Meg was so busy handing out change and holiday wishes that she lost count of how many trees she sold. The long weekend after Thanksgiving was always one of their busiest times of the season, and this year was no exception. After a few hours, her nose was so cold she thought it might have turned permanently red.

  Still, Meg’s mind was only partly at the tree lot. As she refilled the cookies and checked the hot cocoa dispenser, a part of her was curled up with Chestnut in the shed. And yet some of her mind was also busy designing all the ornaments she would make to be able to keep him.

  She was delirious from the hard day’s work, but Meg didn’t even c
are about the cold. Her imagination was too busy overflowing with ribbons and beads, paint, glitter and glue.

  ★ Chapter 5 ★

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  When the long workday had finally come to an end and the last tree-shopping family had pulled out of the lot singing Christmas carols and planning the perfect holiday, the Briggs family straightened up the register area and swept the loose needles into piles. Meg was organizing the wreaths, but her mind was already wandering back to the shed with Chestnut. He was hurt, and he must be starving. She had to get to him. As the sun slid lower, Sarah, Ben, and Meg’s mom and dad headed toward the truck.

  “Coming, Micro?” Ben hollered.

  Meg shook her head. “Is it okay if I run down to see Colton for a minute, Mom?” she asked, trying not to look as excited as she really was. “He asked if I could come over.”

  Her belly twisted guiltily at the lie—her second of the day—but her mom just nodded tiredly. “Of course, honey. If you need a ride home, just give me a call.”

  As the rest of her family climbed into the truck, Meg’s dad rolled down the window. “Don’t stay out too late, Meggie. We’ve got another busy day tomorrow. It’s supposed to be even nicer than today.”

  “I won’t, Dad. I promise.” Meg pulled her hat down over her ears, then raced down the road to her best friend’s house, certain that he would know how to help Chestnut.

  At the edge of Colton’s property, Meg was met by a herd of joyfully energetic dogs that wiggled and bumped against each other as they fought for her attention. She stopped and petted them all, calling each one by name and letting each of them lick her face in greeting. “Oh, good girl, Tinker,” she said, scratching an Australian shepherd’s neck. “Who’s a good boy, Winston?” She rubbed the belly of the little Jack Russell. “Want to shake, Charlie?” she asked, holding her hand out for the gray-muzzled lab. “Good dancing, Jack and Jill.” She giggled at the two mixed-breed dogs that spun in circles, vying for her ear rubs. The retired greyhound, Baron, walked slowly up to her and sat regally. Meg knelt in front of the aged animal and scratched under his chin. He nuzzled his warm, wet nose into her hand.