Chestnut Page 2

  Meg sighed. Her family worked harder than anyone she had ever known. But even so, they had so many concerns. This year in particular was even more worrisome than usual. A long, dry summer had led to an infestation of spider spruce mites that had cost her parents a ton of time, money, and tree stock. The lost trees would take decades to replace. Her parents always tried to keep their problems quiet, but Meg had overheard them discussing bills, insurance claims, and other worries that made her stomach hurt to think about.

  In fact, her dad had even talked about getting a factory job next year and closing the farm for good. When he talked about that, his voice got so sad and quiet that it was hard to hear him through the vents of their old farmhouse. Meg’s dad’s great-grandfather and great-grandmother had moved to North Carolina and planted Fraser firs on this land. This place was their family history, their legacy. To lose it would mean to lose some of himself.

  Meg had no intention of letting that happen.

  She was rounding a corner of the lot that no customers had ventured into yet, and the field of trees stretched out ahead of her, empty and quiet. Her boots crunched in the snow. Of all the reasons Meg loved life on the farm, perfect, peaceful moments like this were her favorite.

  Suddenly, between her footfalls, a strange sound broke the silence.

  It was high-pitched—sharp and short. Meg scanned the tree line. Was there a family with a baby that she just hadn’t seen nearby? She craned her neck and peered in every direction, but everything was still. Could it have been the wind blowing through the trees? But the branches were motionless.

  I guess I imagined it, Meg thought.

  She started walking but froze when she heard the sound again. This time it was unmistakably real. It was distant, off to her left, and it sounded desperate and sad—like whimpering, maybe. Meg took a few soft steps down a row of trees toward the sound, moving slowly and quietly. She listened intently.

  The sound cut through the air every few seconds. The farther down the row she went, the louder it became. Meg knew she wasn’t imagining the noise, and with every step it became clearer what she was hearing: the whine of a living creature. But what was it—and why was it crying out like that?

  Her heart pounded in her chest, and she realized she was clenching her fists inside her gloves. What if it was a wounded raccoon or a coyote? What if the animal was dying? Biting her lip, she reached the end of the row. Meg was close. The sound was coming from just the other side of the last tree. She squatted down, took a deep breath, and pushed aside the bottom branches in order to peer through.

  Her breath caught in her throat. A few feet away, she saw the wire fence that ran around the entire farm. There, stuck halfway through a large hole in the mesh, tangled in loose wire, was the source of the sound. Meg gasped and covered her mouth with her hands.

  A brindled dog with dark brown and black stripes peered back at her with sad brown eyes.

  They pulled her in, in an instant. She held the dog’s gaze.

  “Oh, you poor thing,” she said. The dog whined in response—a heart-wrenching cry for help. Meg moved toward him slowly, cautiously. The dog watched her, his eyebrows furrowed with fear and worry. “Shhh,” she soothed him. “It’s okay. I’m going to help you.”

  Meg almost couldn’t believe what she was seeing. She had just been walking the route she always walked around the farm, and now this. Her birthday was turning out to be different after all. And hadn’t she just been thinking about magic and possibility?

  Meg reached the dog and dropped to her knees in front of him. The dog was shaking—from the cold and from his predicament—but he didn’t flinch or growl at her. She held out a hand and let him sniff it. The dog gave her the once-over, then rested his head on her palm and looked up at her, his eyes pleading for help.

  Meg held his head in her hand and ran a thumb over his snout. His fur was silky and smooth. With her other hand, she scratched gently behind his ears, just like she’d seen Colton do a thousand times. The dog let out a snort and wagged his tail.

  “It’s all right, buddy,” Meg said. “I’m going to get you out of there.” The dog looked back at her as if he understood every word she said. Holding him steady with one hand, Meg lifted the wire from around his neck and unwrapped it from his body. He stayed perfectly still.

  “What a good dog you are,” she cooed. Meg untwisted the last loop from around him. He seemed too scared to move, so Meg put a hand on his shoulder and nudged him through gently. “Come on,” she said.

  The dog pulled himself through the fence, took a couple of stumbling steps, and shook himself out with a loud flap of his ears. He licked his side where the fence had dug into him, then looked up at Meg, as if to thank her.

  “Are you okay?” she asked him, holding out a hand.

  The dog sniffed her fingers and wrist thoroughly and then, after a moment, leaned into her, nuzzling her arm. His fur was icy and damp from the snow. How long had he been outside? The dog grazed her neck with his cold nose and exhaled sharply into her ear. She held in a laugh. After a moment, he stopped sniffing, nudged her once with his snout, and climbed right into her lap—his seal of approval. The dog raised his head and licked her chin. His tongue was rough, and his breath was puppy sour.

  Meg giggled at the wiggling dog in her lap. Running a hand down his side, she felt his ribs jutting through his fur. He was so thin. His fur was soft, but tangled and matted with dirt, burrs, and brambles. The bedraggled sight of him brought tears to Meg’s eyes. He had to have been on his own for a long time.

  She couldn’t imagine how such a cute, waggy dog would end up outdoors, alone—could someone have just left him out there, in the snow? It seemed impossible—who would do that? Maybe, Meg thought, he’d run away and gotten far from home. That made more sense.

  The dog was busily licking at the pad of his right front paw, which was white, while the other three were brown and black. He jumped off her lap and raised the paw in the air. Looking up at her with his big eyes, he let out a sad little whine.

  “What’s the matter?” Meg asked, alarmed. “Can I see your paw?”

  The dog limped back to her, and Meg held out her hand. Gently, sweetly, the dog placed his paw in her palm.

  “Good boy,” she said, lifting his paw to check the underside. “Are you hurt?” She saw the problem right away. One of the rough pads was cut and covered in dried blood, and one nail was jagged and torn. Meg winced. “You poor guy,” she said soothingly.

  It made Meg sad to think about, but it was clear no one had taken care of this dog in a long time. He needed someone to give him a warm bath, a clean bed, and a full bowl of kibble.

  He needed someone to love him.

  Meg’s eyes filled with hot tears again in the cold air. She wanted so badly to be that someone.

  She could see herself scrubbing the pup in the upstairs bathtub, then toweling him dry and snuggling with him on the couch. She pictured herself turning back to wave one last goodbye as he sat in the window and she headed off to school every morning. Her mind whirled with possibilities but always returned to one simple thought: she couldn’t bring this dog home. She couldn’t bring any dog home.

  Her parents had been extremely clear that they did not want a pet. Every year she asked for a dog for Christmas, and every year her dad said no. She knew they’d be extra upset with her if she brought home not just a dog, but a dog who was lost, dirty, and injured. They would only see an animal that needed a lot of attention and expensive trips to the vet, not a sweet, lonely dog that just wanted to be loved. They would never say yes.

  Meg shook her head and tried to push away any thoughts of keeping the dog. She stroked his cheek and rubbed the soft spot in front of his ears. He climbed back into her lap, closed his eyes, and let out a sigh.

  But if she wasn’t able to take him home, she thought as she gazed down at his face, what would she do with him? She couldn’t just leave him outside in the snow, could she?

  She couldn’t help
it—her mind began to spin with the possibilities again. Maybe her parents weren’t against having a dog entirely. Maybe they just didn’t want a dog who would add more work around the farm. But what if it was a really sweet, well-trained, totally obedient dog who didn’t create more work but actually took some off their shoulders?

  That was it! If she brought home a dog who could work on the farm, her parents would let him stay. Meg had a feeling that this little pup she’d found could be that dog—she just needed to get him cleaned up and housetrained, and maybe even teach him a few tricks.

  Her imagination started to tug her in several different directions at once. She could train him to guard the farm. Or he could chase off the chipmunks her dad was always griping about, the ones that dug around the tree roots. Or he could be a tour guide on the tree lot! She and the dog could lead people around the farm and show them the best trees. And he could even sniff out the stragglers at closing time.

  A useful dog would more than make up for the cost of his food, she figured. Just then, an image passed through her mind of her parents’ faces, pinched with worry as they sat at the kitchen table with a collection of bills fanned out in front of them. Meg sighed and felt the dog’s breathing grow slow and steady as he began to doze off in her lap. She watched his eyes flutter, and her heart nearly skipped a beat. He was so cute she couldn’t imagine leaving him anywhere—and especially not out in the cold.

  She had to try. Meg nodded to herself. She could do this. She would get him trained before she brought him home. And she would make enough money on her own to take care of him, so her parents wouldn’t have to spend a dime.

  The thought of money brought Meg’s mind screeching back into the present. She realized she’d been sitting there on the frosty, hard ground with the dog for a long time. Her family was expecting her at the office—she had to get moving before anyone began to wonder where she was. But first she needed to take care of his wound.

  Meg eased the dog off her lap. He rolled onto his feet, his injured paw slightly elevated, with his tail up and wagging. When she stood up, he leaned his whole body against her leg. Then he pushed his head into her hand, demanding a scratch behind the ears. She was happy to oblige. Meg knelt down and took his face in her hands. They stayed like that for a second, nose to snout, staring at each other. His warm dog breath wafted around Meg’s face and she smiled.

  Her chest nearly burst with the thought of keeping him. She would put her plan into action right away. She just had to figure out where she could hide him while they got started.

  Meg was so excited she bounced up and down on her toes a little. This dog was the best secret of her entire life. Her birthday just kept getting better and better.

  “Come on, boy,” she said, starting off down the row of trees. “Let’s find someplace to keep you warm. I need to figure out how we’re going to make this work!”

  As if he knew what she was saying, the dog trotted along beside her. He limped on his front leg just slightly, but he stuck close to Meg and let out a happy yip.

  “You’re a good boy,” she said. “And if we work together, you’re going to be mine.”

  They fell into stride, and the dog seemed perfectly willing to trust her to take him where he needed to go. Grinning, Meg began to whistle. The sun was shining, the birds were singing, and her dog was walking beside her.

  ★ Chapter 3 ★

  * * *

  * * *

  Meg found herself by the old, abandoned shed near the edge of the farm. Her dad had stored farm equipment in it until they built the second barn, which was bigger and closer to the main office, when Meg was five. This shed was rickety and weathered. Her dad had talked about tearing it down several times. But thankfully it was still standing. And right now, it was a perfect hiding place for an injured dog.

  “Come on, boy,” Meg said, patting her thigh as she tugged on the door. She had to pull hard to get it to open even a little. The door creaked, its rusted hinges squealing with disuse.

  Meg’s eyes took a moment to adjust to the dim light broken only by strips of sunlight that burst through cracks in the wood. Dust mites danced in the air, which smelled of old, musty straw, rust, and dried fir needles. The shed wasn’t the most welcoming place, Meg knew. She sighed. She wouldn’t want to be stuck in here, that was for sure, but this was the best idea she’d come up with so far. She fumbled around until she found the pull-string for the light. Amazingly, it still worked after all these years.

  The dog stepped forward hesitantly, sniffing at the air with curiosity. After a long moment, he looked up at her with an expression of confusion. He lowered his nose to the ground and sniffed his way deeper into the shed. He made a quick study of the perimeter, then returned quickly to Meg’s side and sat down at her feet. He whimpered and pawed at the ground. She felt him shaking against her leg.

  His obvious fear was making Meg feel awful, and she couldn’t blame him. The shed was old and stinky, and even if it wasn’t scary, who would want to spend a beautiful day like this stuck inside? But she couldn’t take him with her, and she couldn’t risk him running off. If she was going to give him a good home, he was going to have to be patient—they both were.

  Meg took a breath to steel herself. She knelt down and patted the dog’s head. “It’s just for a little while, I promise,” she said, trying to sound more confident than she felt. He waggled his tail and planted a wet, happy kiss on her cheek. Meg laughed. “I have to go to work.” She sighed. “But I’ll come back tonight and take you to see my friend Colton. He knows everything about dogs. He’ll help me get your foot better and figure out what to do next. Okay?”

  The dog listened intently, his gaze never leaving her face.

  “And once I get you cleaned up and trained a little, you’ll come home with me,” Meg said, grinning. The dog responded with an eager, expectant yip. His whole rear end swayed back and forth with his tail. “Before I go though, you need a name. What should I call you?”

  She studied his beautiful brindle coat. He didn’t look like a Duke or a Charlie or any of the usual dog names. Plus, she wanted it to be something special—something that reminded her of the moment she first found him. Meg thought back on the morning: the pancake breakfast, her new coat, the rows and rows of Fraser firs, the magic of her birthday and the tree farm, “chestnuts roasting on an open fire” playing over the farm’s speakers.

  A beam of sunlight crossed the dog’s back, making his brown and black coat look velvety and richly colored. She squinted at him. His fur reminded her of something . . . it took her a second to place it. Finally she had it, and a smile crossed her face. He was the same color as her favorite holiday snack, a treat her family loved to share around the fire at night: a chestnut.

  “Chestnut!” She grinned, scratching his ears and crooning to him. “Is that your new name, buddy? Are you Chestnut?”

  The dog barked happily and did a little skittering dance with his front paws, which Meg took as a sign of approval. She patted him on the side and realized that under all of his playfulness, he was still shivering.

  “Oh, no! Are you cold?” She looked around the shed for something she could use to make a bed for him. There was nothing but a few scraps of wood and some loose pieces of straw strewn across the ground. What was she going to do?

  But before she could solve that problem, a loud gurgle erupted from Chestnut’s tummy. Meg felt terrible—it hadn’t even occurred to her that if he’d been stuck outside on his own for a long time, he was probably hungry.

  Her snack! She pulled the hard-boiled egg from her pocket and quickly peeled it for him. Chestnut took it from her palm and gobbled it down. When he was done, he let out a contented snort and licked his snout. Now Meg just had to figure out how to keep him warm.

  She looked down at her own outfit and swallowed hard. There was one thing she could do.

  Meg unzipped her new coat hesitantly. The fabric made a soft whoosh as she pulled her arms from the sleeves, and a blast of co
ld air brushed against her face. Now that she was just in her sweatshirt, she felt a chill. Her new jacket had been keeping her so warm—she couldn’t imagine how cold Chestnut must be. That strengthened her resolve. She was doing the right thing.

  “I’ll leave this for you until I can get you some blankets,” she said, wrapping the coat around the dog’s body. She tried not to wince at the thought of how much it had cost her parents. “This will keep you nice and warm.” Meg stood up and gazed down at the sweet, shivering pup under a huge purple coat, with just his head sticking out. Chestnut looked back up at her with a furrowed brow—like he knew she was leaving and he didn’t want her to go. “I’ll be back really soon,” she said. “In just a few hours.”

  Meg glanced at her watch and gasped. She hadn’t realized how long she’d been with him. “I’ve got to get to the lot—I’m so late!” She spun on her heel and headed to the door of the shed, the swaddled dog limping after her. “Stay!” she said as she slipped through the door. With one last look at his confused face, she closed and latched it behind her before he could get out. Chestnut immediately started whining and scratching on the other side of the splintery wood door, which shuddered against Meg’s hand. He barked frantically, then let out a howl that nearly broke Meg’s heart.

  “Shhh, Chestnut,” she whispered. “Shush! It’s going to be all right. But you have to stay here!”

  Again, the door shook. His barks and whines got louder and more persistent. The sound poured through the gaps in the flimsy walls and rang out over the fields. Meg worried that her parents would hear it, even as far away as the lot.

  “Okay, buddy, please stop,” she pleaded. She unlatched the door and stepped back into the dim space. Her coat lay discarded on the ground, and Chestnut trembled anxiously at her feet. She sat down next to him and tried to get him to settle down, petting him softly and shushing him like a parent would a newborn baby. For a few long moments, he tapped from one paw to the other, scratching at the dirty floor and looking at her intently. Meg tried hard not to worry about what time it was.