“Heaven to earth’s a pretty long way—a whole lot of love, Sarah. That’s what Christmas is really all about. Not Santa. Not snow. And certainly not Lapland. Focus your Christmas romance on the Bethlehem babe rather.”
There was no way Sarah could stop the sneer twisting her lips. “What? And risk my publisher rejecting my manuscript after all the hard work I’ll put into it? Besides, God and I don’t speak the same language. Haven’t since—”
What was the use? Hannah knew all this. It wasn’t the first time she’d raised the subject. Wouldn’t be the last, either.
Shaking her head, Sarah turned away. She needed to be alone.
“Maybe you should find another publisher? A Christian one,” Hannah called after her. “Or relearn God’s language.”
“Why don’t you tell me to stop writing, Hannah? Find another career?”
Sarah ran to Matthew’s bedroom, slamming the door behind her. She fell onto the colorful airplane-covered duvet and buried her face in the comforting arms of the feather pillow, thoughts of flying away to the other side of the world consuming her mind. And the more she thought about Lapland, the more appealing all that snow for Christmas appeared.
“Not long now, Mila. It’s almost time. By Christmas, I’m certain, if not sooner.” Niklas Toivonen knelt beside the golden retriever curled up in front of a crackling fire. She seemed to prefer it there. Would she give birth right there on the reindeer skin rug instead of the whelping box he’d built? He gazed at his handiwork standing in the corner of his lounge, shunned. Perhaps she’d get used to it before she went into labor. Several days still remained. He could only hope.
Pressing his hand against her swollen belly, Niklas smiled. “Must be ten pups at least.” He leaned forward and rubbed the dog’s neck, nuzzling his face into the side of her head. Her soft fur tickled his skin. “Hyvää koira,” he whispered in her ear. “Good dog.”
As Mila turned her head upward and licked Niklas’s cheek, a whimper sounded from behind him. He turned to see Risto stretching his legs. “You jealous, boy? Or just concerned about your lady?”
Pushing up onto all four paws, a low moan accompanied the male retriever’s yawn. His golden fur, darker than Mila’s, swayed like wheat in the wind as he gave himself a good shake, starting at his head and ending with his tail which failed to stop moving. He zig-zagged his body toward Niklas, nails clicking against the wooden floor. The pasted smile across his lips lifted to reveal pink gums. He licked Niklas’s ear before giving a loud bark as he sat down.
Niklas patted Risto.
The dog gazed down at Mila, and let out two more barks.
“Yes, you have a lot to be proud of.”
Risto turned his head as Niklas scratched him, stopping the moment Niklas reached that special spot behind his ear. He licked the air.
“I’m excited for you. At least one of us has a family to show off.” Giving Risto a final scratch, Niklas pushed to his feet. Best get on with his chores. Wood needed to be chopped, fireplaces prepared for guests. And at this time of the year, the days were short.
He peeked out the window of his one bedroomed cabin. The Lapland landscape still dark, he checked his watch. Eight-thirty. In a few hours the sun would rise, just to set again soon after. He pulled on a pair of bright blue snow pants, and then slid into his favorite red jacket before wrapping a woolen scarf around his neck. Lastly, he stepped into the snow boots waiting at his front door. Hat and gloves on, Niklas headed into the white expanse, indigo washed with the haunting blue light of deep winter.
Fresh snow had fallen overnight, and Niklas sank knee-deep into the soft terrain. Lifting his legs high, he trudged through the powder to his snowmobile parked beneath a wooden shelter. Grabbing a chainsaw and ax, he threw them onto the sled before attaching it to the snowmobile. After allowing the snowmobile to idle for a while, he drove the short distance to the woodpile—yard-long birch logs stacked high in a neat pile. His handiwork.
Niklas grabbed the chainsaw, ready to slice the iron-toothed chain through the wooden stack. Holding tight, he pulled the chainsaw cord. The motor roared to life, spluttered, and then died. He tried again only to have the life and death sequence repeated. His humor failing him as the chainsaw had, Niklas finally gave up. He’d cut the logs the hard way.
Switching the chainsaw for the ax, Niklas brushed the snow from the chopping stump, and wrapped his fingers around the first log. It only took a few blows to slice right through. He placed the two shorter logs together on the stump and swung again. Soon he had four logs that would fit perfectly into the fireplaces of the cabins he owned.
The peak holiday season upon them, Rovaniemi was already overrun with tourists from all over the world, seeking out the Northern Lights and Santa Claus. As Christmas neared, the situation would worsen. Much as Niklas loved the magic of Christmas, the wonder in children’s eyes as they sat on Santa’s knee, he wished he could tell them all what Christmas is really about—the Savior’s birth. Still, he managed to spread the good news to a few people, young and old, each year—sometimes successfully, other times not. Nevertheless, he trusted God to bring the right people across his path who needed to hear the salvation message.
Business was good this year, like the preceding ones. His wooden forest cabins were rented for weeks, bar the one vacated yesterday. God’s favor rested on him. Strange there’d been no takers for that cabin for the balance of the season. But thirteen days remained before Christmas. He had faith for a booking long before then.
Niklas grabbed the next log, shortening it in the same manner. Despite the negative degrees, he’d worked up a sweat. He removed his jacket and selected a few smaller logs, chopping them into thinner pieces. They’d be good to get the fires going, although birch bark did the trick best. Tourists wouldn’t know that, however, and he couldn’t be around to start all the cabins’ fires.
By the time the sled was full, the sun had almost risen, the snow now a pale shade of blue.
His first chore done, Niklas steered the snowmobile toward his parents’ home. Time for that second coffee. He indulged in these morning chats with them. Who could blame him? His parents were every child’s dream. Especially his father.
Standing on the porch, he brushed the snow from his boots, removing them as he stepped inside. His jacket, snow pants, scarf, gloves and hat all landed up either on a hook or on top of the shelf at the front door. He’d deliver the firewood to each cabin and prepare the fireplaces for incoming guests after coffee and Pulla.
Niklas licked his lips, already tasting those freshly-baked cardamom buns.
“Mmm, Äiti, that smells good.” Niklas ducked as he stepped into the kitchen where his mother removed a tray from the oven. Most men could make it through the low doorway without stooping. Not Niklas.
“You’re a man of great stature,” Mother always told him. Her words never failed to make him feel good, especially after he learned that the word referred to more than physique, that it meant importance and standing, too.
He glanced at his father’s empty chair, and then at his mother.
“He’s not well today. He asks that you see him before you have coffee.”
Niklas nodded. Those buns would have to wait.
He ducked back through the doorway and headed for his parents’ bedroom.
First thing to catch Niklas’s eye as he entered the room was the freshly pressed red suit and hat draped over the armchair in the corner. Then he saw his elderly father curled up under the blankets, only his gray hair visible. This couldn’t be good. In all the years, Father rarely missed a day’s work. But he was getting on in years, and Niklas found himself frequently wearing his father’s suit. He didn’t mind. Father had taught him the business from an early age, so he always did a great job. There’d never been a complaint, the majority of people too busy enjoying the moment to even notice a difference.
“Isä?” Niklas approached the bed and knelt down beside it. “Are you feeling poorly again today?”
“Of course I will stand in for you, Father. For as long as is necessary. You know how much I love what you do.”
The old man managed a chuckle before a coughing spell interrupted. “You will make a fine replacement one day, my son.”
“Thank you, Isä. It would be an honor to follow in your footsteps. You make so many people happy.”
Leaning over, he kissed his father’s cheek, the thick beard tickling Niklas’s face, making him smile. “I will drink coffee and eat Pulla now with Äiti. Then I’ll fetch your uniform, and after I sort out the fireplaces in the cabins, I’ll head to your office. You sleep, Isä, and get well. The world needs you.”
Father gave a slow nod, and then closed his eyes.
Chapter 2
She’d do it. She had nothing to lose, and a story to gain. One that would not happen if she stayed.
Rising from the bed, Sarah walked to the small desk in the corner of the room and powered up her laptop. She typed three words into the search bar: Santa Claus Lapland.
Rovaniemi. That’s where she’d head.
Another search soon found her the best available flight—one ticket left at a half-decent price. For tomorrow night. Nothing like acting on the spur of the moment. No time to contemplate, overanalyze, or change her mind. Thanks to her father’s birth in Scotland, she had a valid British passport to enter Finland, sufficient savings, no plans for Christmas, and besides her cute nephews, no desire to be around for the festive season. Painful memories resurfaced after the altercation with Hannah. Her sister would want, no expect, her to go with them to the Christmas Eve service. Christmas day, too. Matthew and Jonathan would beg and plead. How could she refuse her nephews?
But Andrew would attend the services, and he was the last person she wanted to bump into. On the other side of the world, she’d at least eliminate that threat, and get some much needed peace and quiet to write. Hopefully she’d find the inspiration she so desperately sought.
Grabbing her handbag, Sarah dug inside for her wallet. She pulled out her credit card and made her reservations. An afternoon flight from Cape Town to Johannesburg. Then overnight to Paris. After a short stop in Helsinki, she’d arrive in Rovaniemi around one-thirty Saturday afternoon—four flights later. What a journey to travel from one side of the world to the other.
Best return date was Saturday, January 3rd. Three weeks to research and write.
She booked a small car with SATNAV—English—and then moved on to find accommodation, scouring various websites. Did the entire world head to Lapland at Christmas? Every place she liked was either fully booked or only available for certain days. And those that did have vacancies cost an entire torso. She had to find somewhere to stay—she’d already paid for the car and flights.
Sarah breathed in deep. Stay calm. No time for panic.
Looking for a Lapland holiday with a difference? Close enough for Santa visits, far enough away to experience peace on earth in a magical winter wonderland? Enjoy your own slice of heaven at Toivonen’s. Secluded Lapland log cabins. With Wi-Fi.
What could be more perfect? Santa, magic, peace, seclusion, and free internet. Probably fully booked, too.
Sarah placed her mouse on the booking link. No way. One cabin left. At a good price, too. And those photos... She couldn’t have found a better place if she’d spent months planning this trip. It was simply meant for her.
Fingers trembling Sarah completed the booking. Visions of someone from another part of the world competing against her for this space crowded her mind. Only once she received the booking confirmation email did she dare breathe again. She pumped her fist in the air. Yes.
A knock drew her attention from the screen. She spun the swivel chair around as the door opened and Hannah eased inside.
“May I?”
Sarah nodded. It is your house.
“Listen, about earlier—”
“Don’t worry. Guess this subject will rear its ugly head from time to time. We’ll have to learn to live with it.”
Hannah drew in a breath. “Yes, but—” Releasing a sigh, she shook her head. “What are you up to?”
“Research.”
“That’s great. What?”
What else? “Lapland.”
Disappointment crowded Hannah’s face, the smile she replaced it with, forced. “Oh. Should be interesting.” She twirled a dishtowel around her hands. “Lunch is almost ready, if you’re hungry.”
Sarah shook her head. “Too much to do.”
“You really are on a roll. I’m glad.”
If you only knew.
Reality punched Sarah in the stomach. Hannah needed to know, but how would she tell her sister that she wouldn’t be home for Christmas? Or her birthday.
Same approach as she’d taken all morning—jump in and do it.
“There’s something I need to tell you.”
Hannah’s eyes widened. Expectant. “Yes.”
“I’m going away for a while.”
A frown narrowed Hannah’s gaze, and her mouth pulled to one side as she chewed her bottom lip. “When?” she finally managed.
“Tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow? For how long?”
“Three weeks.”
The dishtowel fell from Hannah’s hands and plopped to the floor. “Three weeks? You’ll be gone for Christmas, New Year, and your thirtieth birthday.” She stooped to pick up the cloth and once again wrung it around her hands. “I was keeping this as a surprise, but Mom and Dad arrive next week. I’ve been planning a—”
“I’m sorry, Hannah, but I have to get away. I need to write this book.”
“Can’t you go after all the celebrations are over? The boys will be so disap—”
“No. I can’t. Everything’s already booked.” Sarah brushed her foot over the carpet, watching how it changed color as the pile was forced in another direction. She pulled her foot back the way it had come and everything looked the same as it was before. If only life were that simple. If only one could go back to the way things were in an instant—before hurtful things were said, painful things done, rash decisions made. Like booking a ticket to Lapland without giving it any thought. As with so many things in her life, all Sarah could say was ‘Too late. What’s done is now done.’
“Where are you going?”
“Lapland.”
Hannah shoved her hands on her hips. The dishtowel dangled down her jean-clad side. “Lapland? How can you go there alone? Are you even prepared for such a trip? Do you have the right clothes? What will you eat? Where will you stay?”
“I have winter clothes and boots in a box in your garage.”
“Sarah, our clothing would surely not suffice for those climates.”
Typical of her sister to find some negative to try and change her mind. She wouldn’t let her.
Sarah locked eyes with Hannah. “Then I’ll go out this afternoon and buy the right clothing and boots. We do have shops that cater for Kilimanjaro and Mount Everest explorers. I’ll visit one of them, or I’ll buy clothes that side of the world, but in twenty-four hours I’m heading for the airport with my suitcase and laptop.”
Hannah held Sarah’s stare. With a grunt, she flung her arms in the air and pivoted, the white dishtowel flying overhead like a peace flag. Except there probably wouldn’t be peace between them for a while. “You know what…do whatever you have to, Sarah.”
The door slammed shut behind her.
I will.
Sarah turned back to her laptop. How bad could the weather really be? Would a visit to the box marked ‘Winter Clothing’ in the garage suffice?
A heading captured her attention. ‘Temperatures. Twenty-three Fahrenheit to minus forty in winter.’ “What?” She didn’t need to convert to Celsius to know that was cold. Sarah leaned closer to the screen. She had seen rig
ht.
The chair spun around as Sarah bolted to her feet. She had far more to do than anticipated. She needed a decent jacket, boots, snow pants and thermal underwear, plus an international driver’s license. She had to get to the mall fast.
Sarah grabbed her phone. Ack. Need to get that opened for international roaming, too. She’d need to call her family on Christmas and New Year’s. Perhaps they’d want to call on her birthday.
She pinched herself as she stepped out the front door. Yes, this was real. She really was heading for Lapland. Tomorrow. That in itself was a great story prompt. Perhaps the decision to go to Lapland was already paying off.
Her heart beat a little faster as inspiration and anticipation simultaneously seeped into her being.
His stomach filled with strong coffee and his mother’s good baking, Niklas made his way back to the snowmobile, a red sack containing Father’s work clothes slung over his shoulder. He offered up a prayer for Isä’s health. He was old. How much longer could he provide the service he did? Contrary to popular belief, Isä couldn’t live forever. Would he need to step into his father’s shoes far earlier than anticipated? Was he ready? They were pretty big shoes to fill.
As Niklas hopped back on the snowmobile, his phone vibrated. He plunged his hand into his jacket pocket and wrapped his fingers around the device.
New email. He checked the subject line. Booking Confirmation. Yes. I knew someone would take that last cabin. He opened the mail.
“A three-week booking?” That he hadn’t expected. Niklas glanced through the details. Miss Sarah Jones. South Africa. Why would anyone want to leave the warmth and sunshine of the southern hemisphere to come to a place where the sun barely shone this time of year? And for three long weeks?
Laughter bubbled up from his stomach, spilling over his lips. Perhaps Miss Jones is coming to Lapland to hibernate.
No matter the reason for her visit, one thing Niklas did know, and it made him grin—she didn’t need an airport shuttle. Good, because if Isä wasn’t well when she arrived in two days, he’d be filling his father’s shoes when her flight landed.
Poles Apart Page 2