by Anne Chase
For the third time that day, tears filled her eyes. "Mom, you shouldn't have. This is so beautiful."
"Even though you're alone up there, I want you to feel the Christmas spirit," her mom said. "Your dad and brothers and I are thinking about you every minute."
Becca wiped away grateful tears. "I'm going to decorate the cottage right away."
"Good!"
Bowzer joined in with a short joyful bark.
"Is Bowzer going to help you?" her mom said with a laugh.
"He sure is. He's helped so much already."
"That's good, dear. Oh, gosh, I have to get a pie out of the oven. Call tomorrow, okay?"
"Of course. I love you, mom."
"I love you, too."
6
Inspired by her mom's surprise gift, Becca dove right into the decorating. First out of the box was a long train of silver tinsel, which she used to frame the doorway between the living room and the kitchen. Next came the ornaments — more than a dozen of them, lovingly selected by her mom. She smiled as she took out each one, memories flooding through her.
She picked up one her favorites — a Christmas tree ornament, sparkling with green and gold glitter. She and her younger brother Bobby had competed for years to see who got to hang it on the tree. She tried to remember who had won that annual competition most often — she thought it was her, by a nose.
Next up was the reindeer her dad had carved from a piece of driftwood he'd found during a summer vacation at the beach. After carving the wood into the shape of a reindeer flying through the sky, he'd painted it with a red nose and big smile. He'd done that in his workshop in the garage over a rainy weekend one fall when she was eight or nine, while she'd watched, chattering happily away as he carefully shaped the wood.
Next out was a silver globe that she herself had painted when she was in the third grade. The words, "Merry Christmas" in red paint, looked blocky and awkward and shaky — she'd been eight years old, after all! — but they also reminded her how seriously she'd applied herself to the task at hand, and how proud she'd been of the result.
And then — her breath caught. Bowzer noticed and looked up. The ornament she took from the box had been sent to her by her husband Dave during his deployment to Afghanistan. Somehow, he'd found time in his insanely busy schedule to have a special ornament designed and made and sent to her. The ornament was in the shape of a home, with a picture of Dave and Becca inside pressed glass. The photo was from their wedding — the two of them feeding each other bites of their wedding cake. They both looked so happy, so full of hope, so optimistic. Inscribed on the glass was a single word: "Forever."
Her throat tightened. Forever hadn't happened, not for them. A landmine buried in the sands of that far-off country had seen to that. Instantly, irrevocably, life as she'd known it was obliterated.
Nearly three years had passed since that awful day. She knew her grief would be with her, always. He'd been her everything, her life, her future, until in the blink of an eye he was gone. The first two Christmases without him had been wrenching and so utterly painful — she'd been such an emotional wreck, despite trying to put on a brave face. Her family had tried to lighten her spirits, tried to distract her, tried to cheer her up, tried to keep her so busy with holiday activities that she wouldn't have time to dwell on what she'd lost. Her family loved her and wanted what was best for her and meant well, but they would never be able to truly understand what she was experiencing, because none of them had had the devastating misfortune of losing a spouse in war. None of them understood that, for her, her nearly three years of grieving were what she needed to go through if she was ever going to have a prayer of moving forward and learning again how to live the rest of her life and not merely exist.
She heard a whimper and turned to Bowzer, who was looking at her with sympathy. His tail wagged slowly and he whimpered again.
"Oh, Bowzer," she said as she sat herself down next to him on the couch and wrapped him in a hug. "You are such a smart dog. Yes, momma's a bit down. But not for long."
She sat up, squared her shoulders, and stood up. "Your momma's ready for a change. A new town, new job, and new beginning." She turned to Bowzer. "And new you!"
Bowzer barked in agreement.
"Now," she said, taking a deep breath and eyeing the pile of boxes, "time for some serious unpacking!"
7
Becca awoke the next morning to the warmth of the sun on her cheeks from the bright winter light streaming through her bedroom window. She stretched her arms under her cozy comforter and groaned — oh, how her arms and shoulders ached! Moving and unpacking those boxes had been a lot of work. She was going to be one sore girl today.
She glanced at her bedside clock. It was a bit after eight in the morning. And today was — Christmas Eve! Immediately, she shot straight up in the bed, the covers tumbling away. She had so much to do today.
But first things first: time for Bowzer to do his business!
Her new canine companion, alerted to the sound of her feet hitting the floor, bounded into her bedroom and greeted her with a happy bark. He rushed into her outstretched arms.
"Good morning, boy," she said as she gave him an affectionate cuddle. "Let's get you outside."
Without even a thought about how she looked in her pajamas and tousled hair, she walked into the living room, slipped into her winter boots, then grabbed her heavy winter coat and scarf and gloves and threw them on.
She picked up the leash and turned to Bowzer. "How about a quick walk now, and then a longer walk later?" she said.
Tail wagging, Bowzer waited patiently while she fastened the leash to his collar. The instant it was on, he tugged her determinedly toward the front door.
With a laugh, Becca pulled open the door and felt an icy whoosh as frigid winter air rushed over her.
"Oh, my!" she said, shocked at the sharp crispness. "It's so cold!" She laughed again as Bowzer dragged her with him down the short path in front of her cottage to the sidewalk that ran along her street. Eagerly, his nose vibrating with pleasure, he began a thorough examination of his new neighborhood, stopping at every tree he passed to sniff very carefully.
So much of what a dog sensed about the world was from their extraordinary sense of smell. She wondered what her world would be like if her own nose was that sensitive. There were, of course, lots of smells she had zero interest in, thank you very much! But to be able to dive into, indulge in, roll around in and revel in, the smell of coffee and hot cocoa and gingerbread cookies and her mom's famous apple pie — that would be heavenly.
The icy air whipping around her pajama-clad legs made her realize that, even with her boots and heavy coat and scarf, she was not dressed to be out in this weather. As a newcomer to Heartsprings Valley, she was going to have to make some wardrobe adjustments. She thought longingly about the warmth of her cozy cottage, but Bowzer seemed so excited and happy and focused — like an investigator on the prowl of a scent — that she willingly let him lead her up the street for a few more minutes.
The other houses on Pine Street were charming and well-kept (though not as adorable as her cottage, she thought loyally), and most of them were strung up with Christmas lights and festooned with decorations celebrating the season. Through several windows, she saw families moving around. The morning sunlight reflected off the snow on the ground so brightly that she found herself wishing she'd brought a pair of sunglasses to wear.
Bowzer looked up at her inquiringly when he reached the end of the street. A path led toward what looked like a meadow, and beyond the meadow, Becca caught a glimpse of Heartsprings Lake. She'd passed the lake several times, but she hadn't had time yet to go to the shoreline for a visit.
"How about a nice long walk this afternoon?" she said to Bowzer. "After we start on the gingerbread cookies, okay?"
Bowzer gazed wistfully toward the lake, but he didn't make a fuss when she turned them around and headed back to their new home.
When they reached the
cottage, she paused for a moment to admire its appearance. She'd loved how it looked in the photos that Hettie Mae had sent, but she had to admit, the real-life version looked even better. On the outside, it was painted with colors that were perfect for Christmas, with creamy white clapboard siding and windows trimmed in red. The green pine trees that rose next to the house completed the holiday color scheme. Hettie Mae had even bought her a housewarming gift — a wreath of Balsam that now hung from the cottage's red front door.
Becca was in danger of losing herself in appreciation of her new home's exterior when a gust of air against her pajama-clad legs reminded her that it was winter. Brrrr! With Bowzer in tow, she bustled to the front door and scooted inside.
She unfastened Bowzer's leash and hung it on a coat hook near the door, then slid off her winter coat and scarf. After hanging them on a hook next to the leash, she reached down and slipped off her boots and put on her slippers.
Her new home was still a bit of a mess, she thought with a frown as she surveyed the living room. A mountain of boxes still needed to be unpacked despite the dent she'd made in them the previous evening. She made her way into the kitchen, which had recently been updated with stainless steel appliances, grey granite countertops, and creamy white cabinets that beautifully matched the big farmer's sink under the window overlooking her cute little backyard.
The kitchen wasn't big, but it had plenty of counter space. It also boasted a sunny breakfast nook flooded with morning light. Becca had been thrilled to discover that her small round oak dining table and four dining chairs fit perfectly in the space.
For tomorrow's Christmas Day dinner at Hettie Mae's, Becca had decided to make a small gingerbread house. She'd always been drawn to the intricacy of that particular holiday activity. The wonderful aroma of the gingerbread as it emerged from the oven never failed to transport her back to her childhood, when her mom and grandmother had helped her make her very first gingerbread masterpiece. Every aspect of the house-building brought her pleasure — kneading the dough, shaping the gingerbread into the right shapes and sizes for the home's walls and roof, gluing the pieces together with frosting, and then — and this was her favorite part — decorating! Maybe, if she hadn't fallen in love with books and libraries, she might have been an architect or an interior designer. She nearly laughed out loud at the thought of making a life-size, real-world gingerbread house to live in.
She turned on the radio and sighed as holiday music filled the room. She enjoyed many kinds of music, but the traditional songs of Christmas held a special place in her heart. Just the thought of the familiar songs and lyrics brought a smile to her lips.
Humming along, she reviewed her plan for the day. The library was closed today, and Hettie Mae had been extremely firm about Becca not setting foot in the library until the day after Christmas. And while her unpacked boxes beckoned, there was no hurry on that front either.
Nope, today she was going to indulge herself. First she'd make the dough for the gingerbread cookies and let it sit. Then, after cleaning up and making herself presentable, she'd take Bowzer on a nice long afternoon walk to explore her new town. Later on, when she got home, she'd put the gingerbread in the oven, make the frosting, and spend her evening decorating her gingerbread house.
And maybe, just maybe, she'd unpack a few more boxes before she went to bed that night.
At that very moment, her phone rang. She picked it up, not recognizing the number. "Hello?" she said.
"Becca, it's Dr. Gail."
"Hi, how are you?" Becca said, pleased to hear the veterinarian's voice.
"I'm calling to check in on you and Bowzer."
"Bowzer and I are doing great. He's such a sweetheart. We just got back from a walk."
"Glad to hear that," Dr. Gail said. "Everything going well so far?"
"It's going wonderfully."
"Good. I'm so pleased to hear that. I meant to ask yesterday, do you have plans for Christmas Day? We're hosting a Christmas gathering at the clinic tomorrow afternoon starting at 4 p.m., a potluck of sorts, and we'd love to have you join us."
"Oh, thank you so much," Becca said, touched by the vet's thoughtfulness. "Hettie Mae has invited me to her house for Christmas dinner, so I'm covered."
"Oh, that's wonderful. Hettie Mae makes the most delicious scalloped potatoes — you'll love them."
Becca laughed, and Bowzer chose that moment to wander into the kitchen. He barked happily in response to Becca's laugh.
Dr. Gail said, "Is that Bowzer I hear?"
"Sure is. He doesn't know it yet, but he's going to help me make gingerbread cookie dough before we go on a long walk this afternoon."
Dr. Gail laughed. "I'll let you get to it. Merry Christmas, Becca."
"Merry Christmas to you!"
Becca set down the phone and turned to Bowzer, who looked up at her with an eager expression.
"Have you ever made gingerbread, Bowzer?"
Bowzer gave her a puzzled yet hopeful look.
"No, not yet? But you can't wait to get started? Good boy!"
Becca reached into Bowzer's overnight kit and pulled out a chew bone. Bowzer whined and pawed the floor with anticipation.
"Here you go, boy!" With a toss, the bone flew through the air and landed in the middle of Bowzer's day bed next to the dining table.
Happily, Bowzer bounded to his day bed and settled in for a good long chew.
8
Becca smiled as she watched her new companion lose himself in the simple enjoyment of chewing his toy. Oh, to live a dog's life!
With Bowzer settled, it was time for her to get busy with one of her favorite holiday traditions. She ran her hand over the grey granite countertop and realized she had not yet cooked or baked anything in her new kitchen. How appropriate that her very first culinary endeavor in her new cottage would be her very favorite baking activity.
As she had discovered when she moved in, her new kitchen had wonderful storage and lovely cabinet drawers that slid in and out with a simple touch. Cooking and baking and preparing meals in this space was going to be so enjoyable — quite unlike some of the kitchens she'd dealt with. She remembered her first kitchen as a grownup, in the ratty old house she and Dave moved into as budget-conscious newlyweds after their wedding. The kitchen in that house had been rundown and dated, and creaky and cranky to boot. One cabinet drawer had simply refused to stay shut. Every time she turned around, the drawer seemed to slide out another inch! She'd joked that a ghost lived in the drawer and needed fresh air.
The kitchen in her new cottage didn't pose any such concerns, thankfully. Everything here was up-to-date and modern, while retaining its traditional charm. The only ghost in this kitchen was the spirit of the Christmas season, welcoming her to the cottage and to Heartsprings Valley.
She blinked as she realized that her mom was probably in her own kitchen at this very moment, happily prepping the turkey or making stuffing from scratch or laying apple slices into a pie. She felt a tug of longing for her childhood home and wondered again if her decision to move to Heartsprings Valley before Christmas had been the right call for her.
A second vision appeared in her head — a picture of what the gingerbread house she was going to make would look like. It would be a charming Cape Cod-style cottage, clad in creamy white, with red-trimmed windows and a wreath on the red front door.
"A gingerbread version of my beautiful cottage," she said to herself, a smile on her face.
Eagerly, she opened the big cabinet next to the fridge and began pulling out the ingredients she'd bought when she'd arrived in town. She'd made gingerbread cookies so many times over the years that she had the recipe memorized. In a flash, she gathered the ingredients and lined them up on the counter, ready and waiting. Flour, check. Baking soda, cinnamon, and salt — check, check, check. Cloves and ginger — double check.
She opened a lower storage drawer next to her sink and took out two mixing bowls and a cooking pan. Then, from another drawer, came her mi
xer — a birthday gift from her mom. Then, from her utensils drawer, she took out her rolling pin and measuring cups and spoons.
She paused for a moment before beginning. All she was doing was making gingerbread — an activity she'd done a thousand times — yet somehow this occasion felt more meaningful. She'd moved on her own to a town where everyone was a stranger. She was starting a new job that would put her in charge of a library. She'd rented a cottage, sight unseen, from photos sent in an email. She'd impulsively adopted a dog.
Pure craziness!
And yet, as she gazed at the ingredients on her kitchen counter and prepared to make a gingerbread house based on her new home, she felt a surge of emotion. What she'd done felt so right.
She scooped up a cup of flour and dropped it into the mixing bowl, then added the baking soda, cinnamon, and salt. She stirred a bit, added the ginger and cloves, and stirred some more.
Setting aside the dry bowl, she grabbed the mixing bowl, added butter and brown sugar, then added the eggs in one at a time. She placed the bowl under her mixer, set it on medium, and hit the "on" switch. With a whir, the mixer started creaming the eggs and sugar and butter. She added in lemon zest, molasses and vanilla, enjoying the lovely smells of each.
When the consistency looked right, she picked up the bowl of dry ingredients and added them gradually. When the mixer started straining against the thickening dough, Becca hit the "off" switch and removed the bowl from the mixer. She rinsed her hands in the sink, then reached into the bowl and kneaded the dough with both hands for a good long minute.
She looked around her counter. Where was her wax paper? She rinsed her hands again, then proceeded to open several cabinets until she found where she'd put the wax paper roll. Was that cabinet where she wanted to keep it? She paused, considering, then nodded. Yes, that cabinet was fine.