Chestnut

by Jennifer Li Shotz

  Meg hugged her mom. “I really want to help—I can do more around the lot and I’ll make more ornaments and I can try to sell more cookies and anything else you need.”

  Her mom kissed the top of Meg’s head. “Thank you, sweetie. But it’s not your job to worry—that’s for me and Dad to do. I just wish things weren’t so tough. I wish . . . well, I wish a lot of things.” Her mom let out a dry laugh. “But the thing is, between the spider spruce mites and more people using artificial trees now, well . . .” She trailed off and was quiet for a moment before continuing. “The thing is, I don’t think we can afford to keep the staff. Daddy and I are talking about having to let them go, and it breaks our hearts.”

  Meg felt like someone had kicked her in the stomach. The workers on the tree farm had been with their family for years. Some of them had worked for her parents for Meg’s whole life. One of the foremen, Mr. Mike, had worked for Briggs Family Tree Farm since Meg’s dad was a little boy, when her grandma and grandpa had still owned the farm. The idea of all of them leaving felt impossible. With Christmas coming, it felt like a cruel joke.

  “Isn’t there anything we can do?” Meg said desperately.

  Her mom pulled her closer. “I don’t want you to worry about it, Meggie. We’ve been through a lot of hard times before, and this will pass too. You don’t need to figure out a way to fix this, sweetheart. It isn’t your job. Your job is to be a kid and enjoy yourself while you can. We’ve never wanted you to have any kind of heartache. But it looks like we might have failed at that.” Her mom’s eyes began to fill with tears, and Meg had to look away to keep herself from crying.

  Her mom ran her fingers through Meg’s thick hair, which was tangled from running around in the woods with Colton and Chestnut. Meg wanted to remind her mom that she was big enough to help now, but she sat quietly, nestled in the crook of her mom’s arm. She knew that there was nothing she could say to ease her parents’ problems, and sometimes a hug was the best you could offer.

  Her mom pulled away from Meg a little to look at her. “You know why we never got another dog?” her mom asked, as if she could read her mind.

  Meg was intrigued, but she tried to act calm. “Why?”

  “When Bruiser got old, things got harder on all of us. Sure, there were the vet bills, and the extra stress of caring for an old dog. But your dad loved that dog so much, and Bruiser loved your dad. In fact, Bruiser loved your dad more than anyone.”

  “Really? I thought Dad didn’t like dogs at all.”

  Her mom shook her head. “Bruiser was a good dog, and really smart. Whenever a car pulled into the tree lot, Bruiser would greet the family. He’d help your dad around the farm, dragging dead trees over to the woodchipper and grabbing things for him when they were out of reach. He even helped sniff out those blasted spruce mites in the off season.” Her mom sighed. “Your dad and Bruiser were an inseparable pair.”

  Meg’s breath caught in her chest. She couldn’t imagine how sad her dad must have been when Bruiser died. “But if Bruiser was such a help around the farm, why can’t we get another family dog?”

  “Well, when he died, it was like losing a family member. You kids were all so little—Sarah was only seven at the time—that it didn’t hit you as hard. But your dad mourned that dog for months, years even. I guess you could say he’s still mourning, in many ways.”

  “Are you afraid that if we get another dog Dad will be sad again?” Meg asked, her voice trembling.

  Her mom nodded. “Yes, Meggie. And no. The main reason we’ve never considered it is because of you kids. You’re all older now, and if we were to get another family pet, it would affect all of us. Every decision we’ve ever made has been to give you three the best life we could, and I’d love for you to know how great it is to have a dog. But I don’t think I could bear to see you hurting if anything happened to it. Plus now it’s been so long, I’m afraid your dad will never be able to love another dog again.”

  Meg’s stomach dropped.

  The truth hit her square in the chest. It wasn’t that her parents didn’t think she was responsible enough to take care of a dog. It wasn’t even about the money it would cost to have one. The truth was that they were trying to spare her the pain of falling in love with a pet and having her heart broken when she lost him.

  But little did they know that Meg was already in love with a dog. And she was already faced with the possibility of losing him. Now she had an even bigger problem. Even if everything went right with her ornament plan, what if her dad still turned Chestnut away? For that to happen now, after everything . . . Meg couldn’t finish the thought. She just had to hope it wouldn’t come to that.

  ★ Chapter 12 ★

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  Early the next morning, Meg forced herself from beneath her covers. The sun was just rising above the horizon and a rime of frost clung to the windowpane. Meg yawned and groped for her fluffy robe.

  She had stayed up late again, making sixty more ornaments. She wanted to be sure she had some new stock before the ladies from city hall came to look at them. She didn’t know if it would be enough, but it was a start.

  Since she was a toddler, Meg’s Sundays had always been reserved for Gigi—her grandma. When Meg’s parents had taken over the farm, her dad’s mom had given them the main house, where they lived now. She had moved to a smaller house at the edge of the farm, and she was famous around town for her crafting skills—not to mention her baking.

  Meg was hoping Gigi could be helpful with her current, slightly overwhelming project. She gathered her materials and dumped them into her backpack. If Gigi would help, they’d get a ton of work done together. Meg was sure of it.

  She stuffed her backpack with supplies and dressed extra warmly, since the bike ride to Gigi’s was likely to be a cold one. Meg tiptoed down the stairs and into the kitchen. She grabbed a granola bar for herself and then rummaged through the refrigerator, looking for a treat she could bring Chestnut. She stumbled upon a few hard-boiled eggs and a ziplock bag with several pieces of bacon left over from Saturday’s breakfast. But just as she was stuffing the bag into her coat pocket, her dad entered the kitchen, bleary-eyed and still in his pajamas.

  “Hey, Meggie. What’s the rush?” He nodded at the baggie in her hand. “You don’t want to heat that bacon up and eat it warm?”

  Meg shook her head, the now familiar guilt for telling a lie churning in her belly before she even told it. “No thanks. I don’t mind it cold. I really want to get to Gigi’s and get busy on the ornaments. Plus, she said we could bake cookies, too!”

  Her father nodded. “You want me to get dressed and drive you over?”

  Meg nearly choked on her reply. She couldn’t get a ride—she had to go feed the dog that her dad didn’t know she was hiding . . . and that he didn’t want her to have. “That’s okay. I need to gather up some more pinecones on the way. Thanks though.”

  “Suit yourself,” her dad said as he fumbled with the coffee filter. “Call us if you decide you want a ride home.”

  “Will do. Love you.” Meg pulled on her gloves and backpack.

  “Love you, too,” her dad called out just before she pulled the side door shut behind her. “Be safe.”

  Meg’s guilty conscience weighed more than her backpack. She tromped through the snow to the barn and got her bike, then rode to the end of the drive. Hoping that her father was no longer watching her, she turned in the opposite direction from her grandma’s house. It was the right way to get to Chestnut, who she was pretty sure was waiting impatiently for his breakfast.

  At the shed, Meg unlatched the door to find an enthusiastic and very hungry Plott hound. Chestnut leaped on her happily, licking her face and wiggling with joy. But the moment she told him to sit, he did.

  Chestnut sat like a statue while she opened the bag of bacon, and when she offered a piece, he waited until she said “Go ahead” before gobbling it down in one quick bite. Meg took her time, feeding him the five stri
ps of leftover bacon and the eggs. Then she took him outside so he could get a bit of exercise before she left.

  They chased each other through the woods, Meg laughing as Chestnut ran in circles around her, herding her along in the early morning light. They collected pinecones until the extra tote bag she had brought was completely full. Out of breath, she stopped and dug a bottle of water out of her backpack. She took a long swig then poured some into her hand for Chestnut. He slurped it from her palm and licked the droplets from his mouth when he was done.

  They stood there together, under the soft sun, while the woods woke up around them. Meg’s breath turned to steam on the chilly air. Chestnut’s ears twitched at the sound of every bird tweeting at its babies to get up or chipmunk foraging in the icy underbrush. Meg gazed up toward the sky at the tops of the trees rising all around them, and Chestnut leaned against her leg.

  She loved it here, and she’d never known her favorite spot in the world could get even better with her dog by her side.

  Once the bird chorus had reached peak volume, Meg knew it was time to get going. “I’m so sorry, Chestnut, but I have to go. Come on, boy.” She headed back to the shed and Chestnut walked along beside her, entering the dark building without hesitation and sitting at attention. His tail thumped against the ground as she gave him a couple of treats and a kiss on the snout.

  When Meg tried to shut the door, locking him back in, Chestnut barked wildly. He scratched at the door and whined and barked. His hoarse voice sounded so sad that Meg’s heart actually hurt as she listened to it.

  Now Meg’s guilt had doubled. Not only did she feel terrible about lying to her parents, but she also felt ashamed that Chestnut had to live in a tiny, musty shed. She had to do something to remedy both situations—soon.

  But she just needed a little more time.

  “Just hang on for me,” she said through the wooden slats. “Okay, Chestnut?” The dog only whimpered in response, and Meg forced herself to walk away.

  As soon as she rode up to the house, Meg knew that a day with Gigi was just what the doctor ordered. She didn’t seem to mind that Meg had shown up late. In fact, she had Meg’s favorite lunch, grilled cheese, waiting for her on the cast iron skillet.

  “Nutmeg!” Gigi exclaimed. “You’re here! I was about to start on the Christmas cookies.”

  They spent the rest of the afternoon elbow deep in paint and beads, cookie dough and frosting. Meg had been right. Making ornaments with her grandma’s help really was faster—and easier. She could churn out ornaments at twice the speed Meg could, and she showed Meg ways to streamline the painting and decorating process.

  Gigi had even offered to sew up the hole in Meg’s new coat, which made Meg feel a little better, since her grandma was the best seamstress in town. Meg told her the same story about snagging her sleeve on the fence, and Gigi nodded knowingly.

  “Psh,” she said, smiling as she nearly crossed her eyes to thread the needle with shiny purple thread. “I can’t tell you how many times your daddy came home with holes bigger than that in his coat sleeves, his jeans—heck, even his shoes.” Gigi laughed at the memory. “If you can name it, he tore it. And not just on fences, either. Climbing trees, rolling down hills, wrestling with his dog.”

  Her grandma bent over the torn sleeve.

  “I didn’t even think he liked dogs. Mom just told me yesterday,” Meg said.

  Gigi looked up from her tidy stitches. “He sure did. For a while, anyway.” Her mouth arced downward into a frown. “Broke his heart when Bruiser died.” Her grandma studied Meg’s face intently, as if she was searching for some kind of message there.

  Meg squirmed in her seat, and for an instant she considered telling her everything. But she hesitated and the moment passed. Gigi looked back down at her sewing.

  When the tear was repaired so perfectly it was almost invisible, Meg’s grandma said, “Well, now. Let’s turn on some holiday songs and really get this party started.” Meg ran to start a CD, and they sang “Jingle Bell Rock” until they were hoarse. The smell of fresh-baked cookies filled the air.

  Between them, they transformed dozens and dozens of plain-looking pinecones into simple but elegant ornaments. Gigi turned some of the wider ones into brightly painted zinnias, and Meg dotted hers with colors that looked like strings of tree lights. When they finished, Meg looked around the pinecone-laden table in awe and calculated how much money she could make if all the ornaments sold.

  “Shall I make us an early dinner, sweetheart?” her grandma asked as she washed the paint from her hands.

  Meg’s stomach gurgled at the suggestion. “Yes, please! Can we have potato soup?”

  “Of course,” Gigi replied, pulling the last tray of cookies from the oven. “With milk, I presume?”

  Meg couldn’t help but grin. Potato soup with milk was her grandma’s specialty, a meal she only made around Christmastime. It was the perfect dish to share on such a cozy day. As her grandma heated up the soup and Meg spread butter on toast, Meg heard a familiar sound in the distance.

  At first, she thought she must be imagining it, but her grandma looked out the kitchen window, toward the sound. “Is that a dog barking?” she asked, wiping her hands on a kitchen towel and pushing aside the curtains. “Well, would you look at that.”

  Suddenly nervous, Meg peered out the window. Outside, running in circles around her parked bicycle, was Chestnut, his nose pressed to the ground as he searched for her—and barked.

  “Oh, no,” Meg said under her breath. She looked furtively at her grandma. “That’s one of Colton’s dogs. He must have gotten out of the yard.”

  “Is it now?” her grandma asked, her eyebrows rising on her forehead.

  Meg pulled on her boots and ran out to Chestnut. Behind her, her grandma stood in the doorway. At the sight of Meg, Chestnut stood up on his hind legs and swatted at the air. He looked like he was dancing.

  When she got closer, Meg said “sit” in a firm voice, and Chestnut immediately sat at attention. His tail wagged back and forth on the ground, making a mini snow angel. Meg patted his head and squatted down so they were eye to eye.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked him quietly. “And how did you get out of the shed?”

  In response, he whimpered excitedly and snapped his mouth open and shut in a silent bark. He could barely contain his glee at seeing her again. It would have been adorable if it weren’t so risky, Meg thought. She held out her hand, palm first and fingers pointed upward. “Stay, Chestnut.” She turned to go back to the house but made the mistake of looking back over her shoulder. Chestnut took that as a cue to follow her, and he ran after her, looking a little frantic.

  Meg spun around to face him. “Chestnut!” she groaned, glad her back was to her grandma’s questioning gaze. “Stay. Stay here!” She turned around again, and Chestnut whined loudly.

  Gigi chuckled. “Looks like if you’re going to get any soup, we’re going to have to let that dog come in, too.”

  “Really?” Meg asked, heart in her throat. “Is that okay? Otherwise, I could take him home to . . . to Colton’s.”

  Her grandma smiled coyly, her bright eyes flashing. “You know, for a dog that belongs to someone else, this Chestnut sure seems attached to you.” Then without another word, she opened the door wide and let them both into her kitchen.

  Once inside, Chestnut stuck to Meg’s side, as if he were afraid she’d disappear if he lost sight of her. And even though Meg loved having him with her all afternoon, she felt queasy as the lies stacked up. Her grandma kept asking her questions about Chestnut, and Meg fumbled for a story.

  According to her fib, Colton’s family had just gotten Chestnut from a family friend who didn’t need a tracking dog anymore, and they were still working on training him. That’s why he must have run away and found her. Meg allowed herself to tell one truth about Chestnut: she told her grandma that he had an issue with separation anxiety that they were working on.

  “I’ll say!” Gigi no
dded at Chestnut, who lay on top of Meg’s feet, preventing her from moving.

  Meg felt like the whole situation was spinning out of control. Every time she had to tell another lie about Chestnut, the story got bigger and harder to manage. She had never lied to her family before—especially her grandma. It felt as if she’d broken something that couldn’t be fixed.

  By the time Meg climbed on her bike, she was convinced she could never make it all better. Even if she somehow convinced her parents to let her keep Chestnut, she’d eventually have to come clean to Gigi, which now gave her a whole new thing to worry about.

  Her grandma leaned against the doorway, watching Meg and Chestnut head down the driveway. Meg paused before turning onto the road that crossed through their property and looked back. She waved at her grandma, who blew her a kiss in response. Meg pedaled as fast as she could to stay warm. As she rode, she looked down at the dog trotting alongside her and sighed. Chestnut stayed close to her bike, even without a leash. He seemed blissfully unaware of the heaviness of Meg’s heart. She wished she could feel as carefree as he did.

  Meg longed for a time when things had been simpler, and she didn’t have to worry about getting caught in the web of lies she’d somehow woven.

  ★ Chapter 13 ★

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  Meg sped into Colton’s yard with Chestnut tight on her heels. They were immediately surrounded by Colton’s dogs—barking, jumping, and wildly excited to see them both. Chestnut froze, and the fur on his back stood up. Meg could tell that he wasn’t being aggressive—he was afraid of the pack of high-energy farm dogs.