“Chestnut, stay,” she said firmly, pointing at the floor of the shed. “I’ll be right back.” She knew from Colton’s book that it was important to have a cue word that she used whenever she was going to leave. Over time, Chestnut would associate those words with her leaving, but also her returning. She had decided that the phrase “I’ll be right back” would work. For it to work, though, she had to mean it and stick to it. If she said she was coming back, she had to come back, otherwise he wouldn’t trust her.
Chestnut kept looking at her, his eyes unblinking, but he didn’t whimper and he didn’t move. Meg backed out of the shed and into the brightening day. He stayed put, and Meg’s chest nearly burst with happiness.
Sighing, Meg closed and latched the door, making sure that it was snug. She turned, and with one final glance at the shed, raced home, hoping against hope that her parents were still asleep.
Despite her fears, Meg was also feeling like her plan to be more grown-up was just starting to work. She was feeling helpful around the lot, and her parents were letting her do more and more work. She had made tons of ornaments, and if the lady from city hall came back, she’d have enough to sell her. She could feel that she and Chestnut were getting even closer and that he had started to trust her—and the more he trusted her, the calmer he got. Soon he would be the perfect dog.
Meg just had to keep doing exactly what she was doing. All of it. All the time.
Yes, she had a lot to do, and for a split second she started to feel overwhelmed. But Meg pushed away the feeling and told herself to focus on how far she had already come. If she worked hard enough and believed that she could do it, she would. She could do everything she—and Chestnut—needed.
★ Chapter 15 ★
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Meg tiptoed up to the back door of the house and used the key hidden under the statue of a sleeping gnome to let herself in. She pulled the door closed and listened. The house was silent except for the steady ticking of the grandfather clock in the hallway. Meg held her breath as she crossed the kitchen and snuck through the living room. She was halfway across when she froze at the sound of footsteps above her. Her stomach dropped out, and she forced herself to remain calm.
Meg knew she only had a few seconds to get upstairs before her dad stumbled down to make coffee. She took the stairs two at a time—skipping the squeaky step—and moved as quickly and quietly as she could toward her room. Ben’s snores seeped through his bedroom door. Sarah’s alarm went off and Meg nearly jumped out of her skin. At the end of the hallway she heard her parents talking softly in their room.
“I’ll make the coffee.” Her father’s voice had grown louder, and she heard the door knob rattle in his grip.
Meg ducked into her room and closed the door as fast as she could. She pulled off her jeans and tennis shoes and wrapped herself in her bathrobe. She needed to get into the shower before Sarah woke up—and before anyone got a good look at her. The scent of moldy shed and damp dog wafted off her clothes, and no matter how she tried, she couldn’t think of any lies that would get her out of that.
She untangled her braid and opened the door, faking a yawn. As she crossed the hall, the door of Sarah’s room flew open. Meg scooted past it and hustled to the bathroom.
“I call first shower,” Meg said over her shoulder, shutting the door behind her. She crossed her fingers that Sarah hadn’t managed to catch a glimpse of her face. She feared that guilt was written all over it.
The hot shower felt amazing after the cold night in the shed. Meg washed the smell of Chestnut out of her hair and the dirt from under her nails. When she had towel-dried her hair, brushed her teeth, and put on her bathrobe again, Meg stepped back into the hallway. Sarah brushed past her without a word, her face puffy from sleep and exhaustion.
Meg sighed as her bedroom door clicked shut behind her, her panic dissipating as she realized she’d gotten away with it. She dressed quickly and ran a comb through her hair, then headed downstairs for breakfast.
The morning was already in full swing. Her parents were ricocheting around the kitchen, stuffing cereal boxes back into cabinets and tossing milk cartons into the fridge. They were so busy they hardly noticed her standing there—let alone realized that she’d been gone all night. Meg felt horrible for lying and sneaking around, but she was equally full of something she hadn’t been feeling much of lately: hope. She ate the cheese omelet that Ben offered to share with her. Then she scarfed down a blueberry muffin and a glass of milk.
She was just about to head back upstairs to grab her backpack when Sarah tromped into the kitchen and poured herself a cup of coffee while their mom and dad pulled on their boots. “Ready to hit the registers again, kiddo?” Sarah asked.
“What?” asked Meg, looking at her parents, who were already halfway out the door. “Today’s a school day.”
Sarah grabbed a muffin and followed Ben toward the door, headed for the truck. “Didn’t you hear?” Sarah said. “Record snowfall last night. The whole district is closed for a snow day.”
A snow day. Things really were starting to look up. Now, Meg would be able to track how well her ornaments were selling.
“Awesome,” Meg said, calling out to them. “I’ll clean up the dishes and head over in a minute.”
Her sister nodded. Ben waved a hand in the air.
“See you later, Micro!” Ben called out from the driveway.
Sarah stopped in the doorframe and smiled at Meg. “Make sure you dry your hair before you go outside. You don’t want to catch a chill.”
Meg rolled her eyes at her sister. “Thanks, Mom,” she shot back, and they both laughed as Sarah pulled the door closed behind her.
Meg cleaned up the kitchen and blow-dried her hair before pulling it into a tight braid. She tugged on her work boots and new purple coat—with its stitched-up sleeve—and trudged toward the tree lot, the Christmas carols growing louder over the fields as she got closer. By the time she got there, cars and trucks were already filling up the parking spaces, and the whole place was hopping with activity.
Ben was loading a tree onto the bed of a pickup truck while her dad pulled another one by the trunk through a short metal tube called the baler. The tree came out the other side wrapped in plastic netting, which flattened its branches and made it easier to transport. Her mom was working at the register and Sarah was filling the coffeemaker with water. In the distance, Meg could see several of the farm workers walking through the aisles with tree shoppers.
Several people were gathered around the baskets full of ornaments. When Meg approached, her mom broke out into a big smile.
“Oh, here she is!” her mom said. “This is my daughter—she made the ornaments.” Meg smiled sheepishly and gave a little wave.
“These are really beautiful,” one woman said.
“You’re so talented!” said another.
A man nodded approvingly. “Quite the artist, aren’t you, young lady?”
“Oh, thanks!” Meg blushed. She stood there awkwardly for a second, not sure what else to say. She was relieved when they turned back to the ornaments and murmured to each other.
Meg moved to help a dad juggling two toddlers, a cup of hot chocolate, and a tree stand. She tried hard to ignore the fact that the three shoppers were still looking at her ornaments. They’d been there a long time, which made her feel anxious, embarrassed, and proud, all at once.
The morning flew by in a rush. Sales were especially good, and Meg began to let herself hope that this could be the day that turned things around for the farm. Maybe, just maybe, her parents had been wrong and they’d have the best Christmas season they’d ever had. Sarah interrupted Meg’s daydream.
“Wow,” Sarah said, giving her little sister a hip bump. Wisps of hair escaped her messy bun and her eyes flashed as she grinned. “We’re having a great day today! Good job with those ornaments, Meggie.”
“Thanks,” Meg said. “I hope they help.”
“Help? They�
��re a huge hit!” Sarah looked up as more cars turned into the lot. “Gotta go,” she said.
Sarah’s words rang in Meg’s head as she went about her work. She took payment from customers and refilled the cocoa pot. She put out fresh sugar cookies and straightened the wreaths. But even as busy as she was, she couldn’t help but see that Sarah was right—the ornaments were selling really well, and the baskets were nearly empty. Meg worked through the afternoon with a smile on her face.
When there was a lull, Meg went into the stock trailer to catch her breath. Now that she had a quiet moment to herself, she realized she had barely slept in days, and she was truly exhausted. She sat down atop a stack of boxes and leaned her head against the wall. The storage trailer smelled like powdered cocoa mix, sugar cookies, baling twine, and the ever-present aroma of Fraser firs. It smelled so much like Christmas, which, Meg realized, smelled like home. The thought made her smile.
“Hey, Micro, wake up!” Someone shook her by the shoulder.
Meg jerked upright, eyes wide, and wiped drool from her cheek, trying to pretend she hadn’t really fallen sound asleep in the stock trailer. “Oh, I . . . um . . .”
Ben was looking at her strangely, his brow scrunched together and his lips pursed. “What’s going on with you?” he asked, sitting down next to her. “You seem really tired lately. You okay?”
Meg shook her head, trying to push her sleepiness aside. “Everything’s great. I’m just . . . you know . . .” She trailed off.
Ben raised his eyebrows. “Micro, I’m your big brother. You can tell me anything.”
She wanted badly to tell him the truth, just so that she wouldn’t have to carry it around by herself. But she didn’t know how.
“Thanks,” she said, averting her gaze. “I’m just really tired from making ornaments.”
“I don’t buy it. I invented fudging the truth, so I know it when I see it.” Ben shook his head. “You shouldn’t have to work so hard. You should just be a kid.”
And just like that, Meg was irritated again. Here she’d been feeling so proud of what she was contributing to the family, and Ben had to go and remind her that she was just a kid.
She stood up and glared at him. “I’m not a baby, Ben!” she spat. “I know all about what’s happening with the farm, and I’m scared. Just like you are. Just like Mom and Dad and Sarah!” She put her hands on her hips and dared him to argue with her. “I’m a part of this family, too, and you guys don’t need to protect me from the truth. You need to include me.”
Ben raised his hands in surrender. “I didn’t mean that, Micro. I just meant . . .” He fumbled for the right words. “I want you to know that we’re here to help—if you need it.” He looked away, embarrassed. “Besides, your ornaments are doing more to help the farm than I am.”
Meg was surprised to see his face fall, and it took a second for her to understand that maybe he was feeling as helpless as she was.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—I just—”
“It’s okay, Micro.” Her brother flashed her a gloomy smile. “I mean Meg.”
“Are we going to be okay?” Meg asked after a while, putting into words the question she’d wanted to ask for months.
“Yes,” he said without a hint of doubt. “Absolutely. One hundred percent. No matter what happens, the family will be okay.” He ruffled her hair, then said, “You’re really not Micro anymore, huh?”
Ben chuckled, and Meg straightened her shoulders. Her brother was right about one thing. Meg wasn’t Micro anymore. And it was time she started acting like she believed it herself.
★ Chapter 16 ★
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The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur. As the sun was sinking in the sky and Meg was struggling with the large hot chocolate urn, Ben stopped next to her.
“Hey, Micro—I mean, Meg.” He grinned. “Need some help?”
Meg’s first instinct was to say no, but the urn was awkward and heavy and getting it off the table was hard for her. She felt a little sheepish, but she nodded. “Thanks, Ben.”
Ben picked up the big container and moved it into the storage trailer. Then he and Meg washed it out together, letting the swirl of remaining cocoa drift down the drain. The family finished closing up the lot and climbed into the truck, each sighing tiredly.
“You guys hungry?” their mom asked over the roar of the ignition.
Meg laughed. “I don’t think Ben is. He must have eaten thirty sugar cookies today.”
Beside her, Ben snorted. “It wasn’t thirty! And I’m still starving, anyway.” He pinched Meg’s arm but got mostly coat, and she stuck her tongue out at him.
“Maybe Ben needs to get up extra early and go help Miss Trudy bake the cookies,” their dad said, grinning at them in the rearview mirror. Miss Trudy owned the local bakery and sold the tree farm hundreds of sugar cookies every holiday season.
Beside them in the back seat, Sarah shook her head and chuckled. “Ben’s not allowed anywhere near Miss Trudy’s ovens. He’s banned for life after he ate a whole bowl of raw dough last time he went to ‘help.’”
The family roared with laughter all the way home, while Ben boasted about his competitive-level cookie-eating ability.
“I’ll show you,” Ben said. “Tomorrow, I’ll eat fifty!”
They pulled up to the house and tumbled out of the truck just as a soft snow began to fall. Meg, Ben, and Sarah giggled as they opened their mouths to catch the flakes.
They tromped single file into the mudroom, Ben bringing up the rear. They all unzipped their jackets and tugged off their boots, shaking out their stiff arms and legs.
The family fanned out into the house. Meg’s parents went to the kitchen to start dinner, while Sarah headed upstairs to shower. Meg was still in the mudroom, straightening boots and tossing gloves into a big bin, when she heard a commotion outside. She opened the back door and looked out just in time to see Chestnut bursting out of the woods and into the yard. Meg’s scarf hung from his mouth. It trailed behind him, dragging across the ground as he ran. Chestnut paused, dropped his nose to the ground, and sniffed frantically, like he was trying to pick up a scent. Then he took off again—racing straight for the house.
“What the . . . ?” Meg’s mom had come back into the mudroom. She stood right behind Meg, and together they watched Chestnut through the open door. Meg was frozen in shock and fear that her secret was about to be exposed, and her mom was frozen with total confusion at the sight of the enthusiastic pup.
Chestnut bounded right for them, and they reflexively stepped out of his way just in time as he leaped through the door without so much as a pause. He ran past them and skidded to a stop at Meg’s dad’s feet in the kitchen, his claws scraping on the smooth linoleum floor. Meg’s dad stood still, holding a salad bowl in the air as if he had turned into a statue. He stared down at the dog with huge eyes and a shocked expression on his face. Meg and her mom hurried into the kitchen.
As soon as Chestnut spotted Meg, his whole body was bursting with joy. He hopped up and down in a happy dance, and his tail wagged so hard his whole body wagged with it. Meg didn’t know what to do—just the sight of him made her smile, but she was filled with worry about how she was going to explain this to her parents. Should she pretend she didn’t know the dog? And could she even get away with that when Chestnut was clearly so excited to see her?
Before she had time to formulate a plan, Chestnut ran right to Meg, jumped up and put his front legs on her stomach, and held out her scarf to her—as if he was just there to return it. Meg’s heart thunked in her chest. There would be no getting out of this now. She’d been caught red-handed.
“Chestnut, down,” she said. The dog lowered his front paws to the floor. “Sit.” He sat.
Meg took a breath and turned to her parents, whose mouths hung open in confusion. Ben and Sarah had appeared in the doorway between the kitchen and living room, Sarah with her hand over her mouth and Ben shaking his head.
/> “Megan Lucille,” her mom said, speaking quietly like she did when she was really upset. She pointed at Chestnut. “What. Is. This?”
Meg opened her mouth, still wondering if she should try to lie her way out of trouble. Just then, Ben knelt down beside Chestnut. He held the Plott hound’s head in his hands and scratched him behind the ears, rubbing noses with him. Ben looked up at Meg with an expression of such love and understanding that tears came to her eyes. He nodded, as if to say, I’ve got your back. “Time to face the music, Meg.”
Behind Ben, Sarah was smiling at Meg. She nodded too. Meg realized that her brother and sister had already put two and two together and knew that it equaled four paws.
They were right. It was time to come clean.
Meg turned back to her parents, who were looking at her like she’d grown a second head. She took a deep breath and, ignoring the tears that spilled from her eyes and ran under her chin, she forced herself to speak.
“Mom, Dad, this is Chestnut,” Meg said. “He . . . he’s my dog.”
As hard as it was to get the words out, Meg was flooded with relief as soon as she said them. It felt so good to finally let out her huge secret.
“Your what?” her dad said, looking from her to Chestnut and back again. “You . . . we don’t . . . A dog?”
“Meg, please. Tell us what’s going on,” her mom cut in.
“I found him a few days ago,” Meg said, the words rushing out. “He was tangled up in the fence and he was just so scared and alone. And he was hurt. Colton and I treated his foot and I . . .” She didn’t know how to say everything that she needed them to know. “I’m sorry that I lied, that I didn’t tell you about him. But I love him, and he needs me. Look at him—he’s so young and he doesn’t have anyone else—he was just abandoned in the woods. Colton told me that happens a lot to hunting dogs, and Chestnut’s an amazing tracker. He . . .”
Chestnut Page 10
