Chestnut Read online

  Contents

  * * *

  Title Page

  Contents

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  All About the Plott Hound

  Acknowledgments

  Sample Chapter from STAR

  Buy the Book

  Read More from the American Dog Series

  Find Your Story

  About the Author

  Connect with HMH on Social Media

  Copyright © 2020 by Alloy Entertainment, LLC

  All rights reserved. For information about permission to reproduce selections from this book, write to [email protected] or to Permissions, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company, 3 Park Avenue, 19th Floor, New York, New York 10016.

  hmhbooks.com

  Produced by Alloy Entertainment

  30 Hudson Yard

  22nd Floor

  New York, NY 10001

  Cover art © 2020 by Julia Green

  Cover design by Celeste Knudsen

  Metal Texture © Mika Shysh/Shutterstock

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available.

  ISBN: 978-0-358-10870-2 paper over board

  ISBN: 978-0-358-10874-0 paperback

  eISBN 978-0-358-35903-6

  v1.0920

  For anyone who has ever told a dog a secret and felt a little better afterward

  ★ Chapter 1 ★

  * * *

  * * *

  “Megan Lucille!” Meg’s mom called from downstairs. Her tone told Meg that she had slept in long enough, even if it was her birthday. She could smell coffee and bacon and hot butter bubbling in the skillet. She heard the distant bustle in the kitchen as her sister and brother fought over the pancakes as soon as Dad flipped them onto the platter. Meg knew if she didn’t get down there soon, they’d take all the perfectly golden ones. Sighing, she untangled herself from the warm flannel sheets, the heavy quilt, and the fuzzy blanket that wrapped her like a burrito.

  She shivered as her feet hit the floor. She quickly found her fluffy robe and pulled on a pair of thick socks. Moving closer to the window, she saw that a crust of snow—maybe an inch or two—had fallen overnight. It sparkled like glitter in the morning light.

  Grinning, Meg rushed into the bathroom to brush her teeth and hair. Ever since she was a little girl, she’d been convinced that snow on her birthday was good luck. Now that she was twelve, she was old enough to know it was a silly superstition, but even so . . . it couldn’t hurt. Could it? Anticipation bubbled in her chest.

  Meg caught sight of her frizzy brown bed head and sleepy face in the mirror. She took a deep breath and reminded herself not to get her hopes up. She pulled her hair into messy bun, then ran downstairs.

  “Well, good morning, sleepyhead.” Dad laughed as he slid a stack of two pancakes onto Meg’s plate. “I thought maybe you were going to sleep all day.”

  Meg giggled, slathered a thick layer of butter on her pancakes, then drowned them in syrup.

  Her older sister, Sarah, looked at Meg’s plate and her eyes went wide. “Want some pancakes with that syrup, kiddo?”

  Meg just smirked and took a huge bite. It was absolutely delicious. Just the way she liked it. “It’s my birthday. You can have as much syrup as you want on your birthday,” she mumbled through a mouthful of pancakes.

  Sarah laughed. “Birthday or no birthday—we’re going to need all hands on deck.” She looked out the window. “Sunny days like this always bring the crowds.” Sarah was seventeen and the coolest, smartest person Meg knew. She wanted nothing more than to be like her big sister when she grew up.

  Their brother, Ben, groaned. “Maybe if we’re lucky, it’ll start to rain.” At fifteen, Ben was slightly less cool and less smart than Sarah, especially since he was always teasing Meg and reminding her that she was the baby.

  Sarah elbowed him in the ribs. “Tough luck. It said on the weather app it’s going to be sunny all day. Which means . . . Say it with me, Ben.”

  Ben squeezed his eyes shut and tipped his head back. “Ugh. It means—”

  “It’s going to be a great day for trees,” he and Sarah chanted in unison before bursting out laughing.

  Meg watched her siblings and couldn’t help feeling a pang of jealousy. She knew that her older brother and sister loved her, but they were closer to each other than they’d ever be to her. It was almost as if they spoke a secret language only the two of them understood, and they could crack each other up with barely a glance. Meg wanted to be part of the club. She wanted them to think she was just as hilarious as they were—and just as helpful, too.

  Meg’s family owned and operated a Christmas tree farm. They lived in a house on one end of their land and sold the trees from a lot at the front. Meg had been helping around the lot since she was little, but now that she was twelve, her parents were finally going to let her run one of the registers all on her own. Today was her first day, and Meg couldn’t wait to get started.

  Suddenly, her mom’s hands slid over Meg’s eyes, and she kissed the top of Meg’s head. Meg could feel the rough calluses of her mother’s hard work on her hands and smell the sap on her fingers. “Happy birthday, Meggie.”

  Her mom uncovered Meg’s eyes and there, in the center of the table, was a box wrapped in red and green Christmas paper. It looked big enough to hold a toaster, and it had a bright silver bow stuck to the corner.

  For a split second, Meg’s stomach tightened with disappointment, then she scolded herself for being so selfish. She couldn’t deny the truth, though: there was no way that box held what she really wanted. She’d asked for the same thing every birthday and Christmas for four years, ever since her best friend, Colton, and his rowdy but friendly dogs had moved into the house down the road.

  But she’d come to realize that her parents would never get her a dog.

  They’d had a family dog when she was a baby. His name was Bruiser. By the time Meg was born, Bruiser was very old. Her family had to scrape and save to afford his medical bills. Her dad was always saying that they would never get another dog because they were too expensive. But Meg suspected that her dad never actually loved Bruiser—not really. And with money being tight, the chances of getting a dog went from slim to none.

  “Well, go on, then,” Meg’s dad said, using tongs to put another slice of bacon on Ben’s plate. “Or are you waiting for next year to open it?” He winked at Meg.

  She put down her fork, pushed her plate to the side, and tried a smile. She pulled the box toward her and ran a finger across the top of the bow. “Thank you,” she said before peeling back the first piece of tape gently.

  “Meg!” Ben laughed. “You are the slowest gift unwrapper ever!”

  Meg scowled at him, but it quickly turned into a grin. “You know I keep the paper for crafts!” she said, taking her own sweet time. She liked that she did something that made Ben laugh, so she did it on purpose every time she opened a gift.

  Her mom sat down on a stool and sipped her co
ffee. “If you don’t like it, we can always return it,” she said, watching Meg carefully. “I want to make sure that it’s the one you like best.”

  Gifts were rare in the Briggs family, and even more so for Meg since her birthday and Christmas fell so closely together. She thought she might not even get a present this year. Only after she’d removed the paper without tearing it and folded it gently into a square did Meg lift the lid off the box.

  Her breath caught in her throat. Her gaze fell upon a crisply folded, perfect new winter coat. It was bright purple with sparkling silver fur around the hood. Lightly, tentatively, she ran her fingers over the fur.

  The last time she’d gone to the mall with Sarah, Meg had touched this same coat. She had imagined, for an instant, how cool she would look wearing it. But she never would have asked for it—it was too expensive, too frivolous. It was the sort of thing she couldn’t truly imagine owning, even as it sat on her own kitchen table.

  “Oh my gosh!” Meg exhaled, lifting it gingerly out of the box as if it would break. “I love it!” she said, standing up to try it on. “How did you know?”

  Sarah laughed. “You made me go back to the same store to look at it four times, kiddo. I figured it was a pretty good guess. Do you like the color? Mom and I had a hard time picking between purple and blue.”

  “Yes, the purple is perfect!” Meg slid her arms into the sleeves and zipped it up, enjoying the tickle of fur on her cheeks as she pulled up the hood. Then she threw her arms around her mom, whose eyes were glistening as she looked at Meg. “Thank you, Mom. I love it, really.”

  Next, she hugged her dad. He wiped his hands on the kitchen towel before squeezing her back. “Happy birthday, Megs. I love you, sweetheart.”

  Meg stood on her tiptoes and kissed his nose. “I love you, too, Dad. Thank you.”

  She flashed a smile at Sarah and Ben. “Thanks, guys.”

  “Happy birthday, Meg. Your coat is awesome,” Sarah said as she shoved her last slice of bacon into her mouth.

  “Yeah, it’s pretty cool. Happy birthday, Micro.”

  Meg frowned slightly but tried to keep her tone light. “Ben, could you . . . would you mind not calling me that anymore? I prefer Meg.”

  Ben had called her Micro ever since he learned that the word meant very small. Meg used to like it because it made her feel special. But as she got older, she realized that she secretly hated it for exactly the same reason. Nobody else had a silly nickname, but she had tons of them. Her dad called her Megs, and her mom called her Meggie. Colton called her Meg the Leg. But at least those were based on her name. Ben called her Micro just because she was younger and smaller than everybody else.

  It was time they took her seriously.

  “Sure thing,” Ben said with a shrug.

  Meg took the coat off carefully and sat down to finish breakfast, her mind purposefully trying to push away a feeling that nagged quietly at her under her excitement. It was guilt. Her parents must have scraped and saved to buy her that coat. She loved the coat beyond words—more than a million thank-yous could ever express. But there was also a pit in her stomach that she couldn’t ignore. Her parents needed the money more than she needed the coat. She knew she should tell her mom to return it.

  Her mom smiled softly as she held the tags at the end of the coat sleeve. “Well, if you’re sure you like it, let’s go ahead and cut these off.” She pulled open the junk drawer. Meg drew a shuddering breath, knowing it was her last chance to do the right thing.

  A sharp snip rang through the air as Meg’s mom clipped the plastic tie. Then she threw the tags in the garbage, put the scissors away, and brushed her hands together briskly. “Well, that’s that. It’s all yours now.” Meg smiled, awash with quiet, ashamed relief.

  Her dad glanced at the clock on the microwave. “Oh, man. We’ve got to get to the lot. Gates open in twenty.”

  Suddenly, everyone burst into action, crisscrossing the kitchen and putting plates in the sink, finishing coffee, filling thermoses.

  Her mom glanced at Meg, who was still in her bathrobe. “I’m sorry, sweetie. We have to get going, but we’ll have a register waiting for you.” She patted her on the arm. She knew how excited Meg was for her first day of real work.

  In a blur of coats and boots being pulled on, her family rushed out the door. It shut behind them with a thud. In the still quiet, Meg put the leftover pancakes in the fridge and took out a hard-boiled egg to bring with her for a snack later. She eyed her new coat draped over the back of a chair and wondered what the popular girls would say when they saw her in it after winter break. Would they want to hang out with her now? Would Colton be sad if she made new friends? As she wiped crumbs off the counter and into her palm, she thought about her best friend and knew the answer. He was too good and kind to be mean about anything. If she was happy, he would always be happy for her.

  They had become best friends the minute they’d met, four and a half years earlier. He had moved into the house next to the tree lot in June, just after school let out. Her mom had heard from the mailman that the new neighbors had a son about Meg’s age, and she had used that as an excuse to force Meg to go with her to meet them.

  Meg and her mom had walked down the road, carrying a homemade strawberry pie covered in a thick layer of Cool Whip. Seven-year-old Meg had been desperately jealous, since strawberry pie was one of her favorite desserts ever, and her mom had only made the one. At the fence of the new neighbor’s yard, they were met by a pack of barking, eager dogs, each one playfully clambering over the others, tails wagging as they begged for a scratch behind the ears.

  “Oh, I . . . My goodness, that’s a lot of dogs,” Meg’s mom had said, holding the pie a little higher.

  Meg, however, had been in heaven. She had greeted each of them in turn, talking in a baby voice and giving them individual attention so no one felt left out. After a minute, she’d heard the front porch door slam.

  “Come on, now,” a boy’s voice had called. “To me!” In a well-trained, perfectly executed move, all seven dogs turned and rushed back to the porch. “Down,” the boy said, pointing to the ground. Obediently, the dogs lay down, lounging in the sun.

  Meg had been instantly enthralled with the way the dogs listened so well, and she had smiled shyly at the boy. “Did you train them to do that?” she asked.

  The boy shrugged, eyeing the pie in her mom’s hands. “My parents helped, but . . . yeah, I guess so.” He finally met Meg’s gaze. “I’m Colton, by the way.” Then he looked at Meg’s mom. “Hello, ma’am. My parents are in the kitchen, if you’d like to say hello.” He looked back at Meg. “And I’ll share that pie with you, if you want. Do you like playing chess?”

  Meg quickly learned that Colton had two favorite things in the world: dogs and chess. He had been in his last school’s chess club and everything. That summer was a whirlwind of playing with the dogs and Colton teaching Meg different strategies for winning at the board game.

  Now they were best friends.

  Meg couldn’t wait to show off her new coat to Colton, whose favorite color was also purple. And she was eager to wear it for her first day at the register on the tree lot, too. Maybe, if she was very lucky, one of the kids from school would come to buy a tree, and she’d get a head start on those new friendships.

  When she had gotten dressed and was finally ready to go, she pulled on a hat and mittens and stepped out in the bright, chilly morning. Outside, the sun peeked over the mountaintops, and the world sparkled with crunchy frost. The air stung Meg’s lungs as she clomped across the yard, went around the barn, and opened the gate to the back end of the tree farm. Soldier-straight rows of Fraser firs spread out as far as she could see. The trees were perfectly spaced, as if an enormous hand had laid down a mile-long ruler before planting them.

  Meg knew the best part of shopping at Briggs Family Tree Farm was walking through the rows, hunting for the perfect tree. Some families spent a whole day wending through the trees and debating the perfect
height and width. As she walked along the end of the rows, she could see people already wandering around the farm—couples with two or three kids skittering around them, their breath clouding as they giggled and called out to one another.

  In the distance, she heard a line from her favorite Christmas carol playing over the speakers at the front of the tree lot. The lyrics “chestnuts roasting on an open fire” floated toward her on the clean, crisp air. Meg’s cheeks tingled with the cold, but she was warm and toasty inside her new coat. The breeze was heavy with the scent of needles and sap. Laughter rang out from all directions.

  Everyone in the Briggs family loved Christmas, and Meg was no different. She had always thought that if people could see a Fraser fir decorated with nothing but ice and sunlight, Christmas would change forever. The stores would stop selling ornaments and strings of lights and start trying to recreate the magic of nature. It was so beautiful that for a moment, Meg stopped. She let all her senses absorb the sights and sounds and smells around her. Christmas gave her as much joy as her dad’s pancakes ever did.

  With sudden awe, Meg realized that her family’s farm shared that magic with everyone who picked out a tree there. As a smile spread across her face, Meg felt the possibilities begin to grow around her. The spirit of Christmas lived here. Who knew what could happen?

  ★ Chapter 2 ★

  * * *

  * * *

  Meg took the long way around the perimeter of the farm to get to the tree lot at the front of her family’s property. The trees she passed varied in height from saplings to full-grown. The tallest ones stretched far over her head. Despite the frigid air, the sun shone down brightly, just as Sarah had predicted, and glinted off the frost-tipped boughs like diamonds. When she was little, Meg liked to imagine the gems had fallen to earth from the pouch of an unsuspecting giant.

  This was the busiest season on her family’s Christmas tree farm, when all their hard work for the last year paid off in a burst of a few short weeks. At least, it should pay off.