Chestnut Read online

  Meg found the balloon Colton had left behind and stretched it over Chestnut’s bandage carefully, making sure it covered all of the gauze. Meg marveled that a regular old party balloon could be a perfect dog boot. She had so much to learn.

  “Perfect!” she said, patting Chestnut under the chin. “Let’s go.”

  She grabbed her new purple jacket from the ground, shook it out, and zipped herself in. Then she and Chestnut headed out into the night. The dog walked closely beside her, his head down and his snout hovering over the ground as he sniffed at it with enthusiasm. His gait was thankfully less labored than before. Together, they ducked through the fence, leaving the well-tended rows of trees behind, and entered the woods that surrounded the farm. Meg shone her flashlight on the ground, searching for more perfect pinecones.

  This was one of Meg’s favorite places on earth. It was so peaceful and silent under the tall trees, with the moonlight reflecting off the snow. The only sound was the soft crunch under her boots and Chestnut’s quick breaths as he exhaled sharply to clear his nostrils. Meg inhaled deeply and let the crisp air fill her lungs.

  As they wandered through the trees, Meg watched Chestnut closely. There was something different about him—like a change had come over his whole body. His ears were perked up in a new way, and every muscle seemed taut and alert. Almost as if he was ready—but for what? They continued exploring, and the more Chestnut sniffed at the ground, the more serious and energized he became. The muscles of his shoulders rippled as he swung his head from side to side rhythmically, methodically.

  Meg suddenly realized what he was doing: he was searching for something. Chestnut pressed his nose close to the snow but didn’t seem to notice the cold. He hugged her leg as they walked, as if he was constantly aware of her even as all his senses tuned in to a frequency she couldn’t begin to pick up.

  Meg was starting to have no doubt that Colton was right. Chestnut wasn’t just a happy, goofy stray. He was an expert tracker who’d been abandoned when his usefulness had come to an end.

  She got an idea. If Chestnut was a tracking dog, maybe he could help with her project—which would only help her keep him in the end. She stopped walking, and Chestnut froze instantly, one paw still up in the air. He gazed up at her expectantly, like he was waiting for her command. Meg knelt in front of him, holding out one of the pinecones she’d collected. It was time to find out just how good he was at tracking.

  He sniffed at the cone excitedly, running his snout up, down, and around it. He even exhaled loudly and sniffed at it again. When he was done, his eyes met hers and she saw that they were bright and alive with anticipation and purpose. Chestnut opened his mouth and let out a near silent bark, snapping his mouth shut. It wasn’t an aggressive gesture at all—it was his way of telling her he was ready. She could almost swear he was smiling at her.

  “Go on,” she said, almost disbelieving. “Go find one.”

  That was all he needed to hear. Like a shot, Chestnut bolted into the woods, kicking up powdery bursts of snow as he went. His nose down, he plowed a trail across the white ground that Meg could follow. But she didn’t. Something told her to wait, and she stayed still, listening to the sound of his paws lightly rising and falling. He was quickly out of sight, but still Meg stayed put. She couldn’t even hear him anymore in the silent night.

  Meg counted under her breath. One. Two. Three. She hadn’t made it to four when Chestnut suddenly reappeared through the trees and came bounding back to her, holding something snugly in his mouth. He screeched to a stop right in front of her and dropped a pinecone in the snow at her feet.

  “Good boy, Chestnut!” Meg cried. “Can you go find another one?”

  He raced off again, gracefully wending around the trees and through the underbrush as if he’d run through these woods a thousand times. Moments later he returned with another pinecone. Meg praised him and gave him a good solid scratch behind the ears. As soon as he gave her the pinecone, he turned and ran for another.

  Back and forth the dog ran, returning over and over again with pinecones that Meg dropped into her backpack until it was weighted down with them. When she couldn’t fit another cone into her bag and Chestnut was panting from exertion, she held out her hands, palm up. “That’s it,” she said. “We’re all done.”

  Immediately, he sat in front of her, his ears perked for her next instruction.

  “Come on, buddy,” she said, petting him. Meg was relieved to discover that Chestnut wasn’t just a little trained—he was well trained. That would make convincing her parents that much easier. She hefted the heavy backpack onto her shoulders and adjusted its bulk on her back.

  “Let’s get you back to the shed, boy,” she said, looking up to see that the moon had gotten higher overhead. It was late—she really needed to get back. Meg moved swiftly, and Chestnut mirrored her gait with little effort. They made their way through the forest side by side, like old friends.

  Back at the shed, Meg peeled the protective balloon off the dog’s paw. His bandage had stayed nice and dry. She poured more water into his dish and fed him some more kibble, which he gobbled eagerly from her hand. Then she sat down on the horse blankets Colton had brought and patted the ground beside her. “Time to sleep, Chestnut,” she said. Chestnut stepped onto the blanket and pawed at it, bunching it up in front of him. He spun around a few times before flopping down next to her, his tongue lolling out of his mouth as he panted. “You worked hard, didn’t you, boy?”

  He snuggled into the blanket, looking tuckered out from their adventure. Meg stayed put for a long moment, running her fingers along the brindled stripes on his side. “That’s a good boy, Chestnut. You’re a good boy.”

  As Chestnut started to breathe more slowly, Meg stood up. “I’ll be back in the morning,” she said, crouching down for one last pet. She pulled a corner of the blanket over him and kissed the top of his head. “I promise.” He looked at her with sad eyes but didn’t move to follow.

  Meg closed and latched the shed door behind her. She desperately wanted to stay with Chestnut, but she had no time to waste. Because Meg had just decided something. She wasn’t going to take Chestnut to the shelter. If she lost him forever, she would never forgive herself. She just had to prove that she could keep him, before her parents or Colton found out.

  Meg hurried away from the shed without looking back. She was eager to put her plan into action.

  She needed to get home. There was work to do.

  ★ Chapter 7 ★

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  As soon as she returned home and removed her winter layers, Meg went into the kitchen. Her family was finishing up dinner, but Meg didn’t join them at the table. She was single-minded as she filled her mom’s cookie sheets with pinecones. She put them in the oven on low heat, hoping to bake out any bugs that might be hiding within them. This would also dry out the dampness that had settled into the ones that had been buried under the snow. While she waited for them to bake, she stood by the sink and scarfed down a huge portion of her dad’s famous spaghetti. Then she helped clean up the dinner dishes, distracted the whole time by thoughts of the adventures she and Chestnut could have together.

  “What’s all this stuff for?” Ben asked, pointing at the oven when Meg opened it to peek at the pinecones.

  “It’s a craft project,” she replied. “I’m going to make some ornaments to sell at the tree lot.” This time she didn’t feel shy about saying it out loud. She announced her plan like it was a known fact.

  Ben grinned at her. “You do love to craft, don’t you, Micro?”

  Meg was too focused on her work to notice that he’d used her nickname again. She nodded but kept her eyes trained on the roasting pinecones through the window on the oven door.

  Sarah stood up, still looking at her phone, and announced, “I’m going over to Jenna’s house. That okay, Mom?” Jenna was Sarah’s best friend, and she lived in town with her grandparents.

  Meg’s mom nodded distracted
ly at Sarah. “That’s fine for a little while.”

  Ben yawned loudly, pushing himself up to standing as well. “I’m going to take a hot shower and pass out watching YouTube.”

  Their mom shot Ben a pointed look. “Don’t use all the hot water, Ben,” she said. “I’ve got sap in my hair that’s going to take forever to get out.”

  As Sarah pulled on her boots, their dad called out from across the kitchen. He had his head buried in the fridge, where he was trying to squeeze in the leftovers. “Home by ten, Sarah-Bear. Tomorrow’s going to be crazy.”

  Sarah grabbed the truck keys from the hook. “’Kay, Dad. Hope you had a good birthday, kiddo,” she said, ruffling Meg’s hair on her way past. “See you in the morning.”

  After Sarah shut the door behind her and Ben clomped noisily up the stairs, Meg pulled the trays of pinecones from the oven. When they were cool, she piled them all into a big bowl, then turned to her parents. “I’m going up to my room to work on these. I want to get a good start before bed.”

  Her mom nodded, but her dad put on an exag­gerated pout. “You don’t want to watch a little TV with your old man?”

  Upstairs, the shower turned on and Ben’s voice rang out, singing the theme song from a silly kids’ cartoon at the top of his lungs.

  “Sorry,” she said with a shrug. “I really want to get going on these ornaments. Rain check?”

  Her parents exchanged a surprised look. “Of course, sweetie. Don’t stay up too late.”

  Her mom glanced at the pinecones again and her face softened. She pulled Meg into a hug. “Happy birthday,” she said into her hair. “I’m sorry it was such a quiet one.”

  Meg looked up into her mother’s eyes. “No, Mom—don’t say that! It was perfect.” Meg realized that she meant it. It had been a quiet birthday, but it had also been her best one ever. She just couldn’t tell her mom that—not yet.

  Then she gathered her bowl of pinecones and headed upstairs to her room before her mom could say anything more.

  In Meg’s room, her art table was laden with paints and brushes, glitter, glue, beads, ribbons, and rhinestones. There was even the pretty paper from her birthday present, folded neatly, just waiting to be turned into something beautiful.

  Once Meg was seated at her table, the pinecones spread out before her in a seemingly endless array, she began to feel a little overwhelmed. There were so many. And her head was so full of ideas that she didn’t know where to start. But staring at them wasn’t getting her any closer to making money to help the farm—or to keeping Chestnut.

  She smiled to herself, remembering the dog’s silly antics. He was such a sweet boy, so full of excitement and purpose. Just thinking about Chestnut made her heart swell. It seemed impossible because she’d just found him that morning, but she was already so crazy about him.

  Meg stared down at the pinecone in front of her and an idea sprang to life. She closed her eyes for a second, letting the picture fill itself in. That was it!

  Her eyes popped open, and she grabbed a bottle of brown paint and another of black. She poured the black into a little dish and dipped the narrow pinecone into it, slowly rotating it to make sure it was evenly coated. Then she poured the brown into a separate dish and mixed it with a little red, giving it more of a vibrant hue. She could picture Chestnut’s velvety, rich fur and she wanted to match the color perfectly.

  While the black was drying, she dug through her beads, looking for the perfect ones to be his eyes. Finally, she found what she was looking for—two identical black teardrop-shaped glass beads—the size a perfect match. Meg took out a fine-tipped brush, dipped it into the reddish-brown, and carefully painted Chestnut’s telltale brindle stripes. Then she used her hot glue gun to attach the beads to the pinecone body. They glittered like the dog’s real eyes had when he was on the hunt for this very pinecone.

  She couldn’t help but grin as the miniature Chestnut came to life in her hands. She hot-glued little ears and a tail made of felt to his body, then small sticks for legs. For the finishing touch, she added a pink felt tongue that made him look like he was panting with excitement. Looking down at his handmade replica, she could picture Chestnut in her mind. She felt his slobbery kisses and soft fur. The thought of him made her feel happy—and hopeful.

  She was done. Meg held out the pinecone to admire her work. It was the perfect ornament for the perfect dog, and she would do whatever it took to make sure that he was hers, forever. Meg put the ornament to the side to dry. This ornament—this silly dog that looked like her Chestnut—wasn’t for sale. This little guy was her birthday gift to herself.

  The thing that Meg had always loved most about crafting was taking something simple, or even useless, and turning it into something new, beautiful, and meaningful. It had been easy to know what to make for herself, but what would other people want for their trees?

  She picked up one of the pinecones and turned it this way and that, admiring the way it almost looked like a miniature Fraser fir. She closed her eyes, remembering how the trees had looked that morning when she had left the house. Set against the sunny winter sky, their needles were bright green, and there was a dusting of glittering snow atop their branches. The trees had looked like wintry magic. Maybe the tree lot customers would be as inspired by them as she was.

  Meg picked up bottles of green and white paint and poured out some of each color. She thought it might be possible to give the pinecones the same sort of effect that the wintry firs had, but she couldn’t just dump a bunch of glitter onto a sticky pinecone, like a kindergartner would. No, she needed to paint them the perfect green, then layer on the white snow and sparkling ice crystals with a delicate hand.

  With the vision in her head, she got to work.

  Meg was so focused that she lost track of time. “Don’t stay up too much longer, Meggie,” her mom said from the doorway. “Morning will be here before you know it.”

  “I won’t. I just have a little more to do,” Meg answered distractedly.

  Meg didn’t know how long she dipped and sprinkled, glued and tweezered, but eventually her desk was laden with unique creations. She paused to stretch her arms over her head and looked carefully at her work. The pinecones had been transformed into something else entirely—something more than a little arts-and-crafts project. Each one was a bit of winter beauty that would last all year.

  By the time she finished all the pinecones, Meg’s eyes were heavy and her arms were stiff, but she knew she couldn’t quit yet. She needed to add a ribbon to each and every ornament so customers could hang them from their trees.

  Meg got out a ball of twine and several rolls of ribbon. She dropped a bead of hot glue at the top of each pinecone and held a short piece of ribbon or twine to it until it dried. Then she knotted the ends of each strand together tightly.

  As she attached the last bit of twine to the last tree, her vision was getting blurry and her head had begun to pound with exhaustion. At last, there was only one ornament left—her miniature Chestnut ornament. She snipped off a stretch of beautiful purple ribbon. It was her favorite color, and it was for her favorite dog. Meg’s fingers ached from the hours of delicate work as she attached it. But she was finally finished. Now she could rest.

  Meg glanced at her watch and her heart sank. It was nearly morning—she had worked through the entire night. She could barely keep her eyes open. How would she get through the day?

  She changed quickly into her pajamas and collapsed into bed, reminding herself that she had done this for the farm and for Chestnut.

  Chestnut.

  Was he all right, all alone? But Meg had no time to worry before her eyelids began to droop heavily and she fell, finally, to sleep.

  ★ Chapter 8 ★

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  Meg was running with Chestnut through the woods. The dog hurtled over rocks and tree branches with ease, and Meg kept up with little effort. Snow fell lightly on her cheeks. Suddenly Ben’s voice echoed in the air all around
her, and a warm light crossed her face. It was so loud and bright . . . what was happening?

  “Micro!” Ben boomed. Meg’s eyes popped open, and for a second she was confused. Her head slowly began to clear, and she rubbed her eyes and looked around her room. Morning sunlight streamed through the window onto her bed, and Ben yelled to her through her door.

  “Hey, Micro. Daylight’s wasting!” He rapped sharply with his knuckles. “You’re going to miss breakfast if you don’t get a move on.”

  Groaning, Meg dragged herself out of bed and into her clothes. She was only half aware of eating her breakfast or brushing her hair and teeth. At the last minute, she remembered that she needed to pack up her ornaments to take to the tree lot. Nervously, she touched the edge of one of them, testing to see if they’d had enough time to dry. She let out an exhale of relief when the glue and paint were smooth and dry to the touch.

  Meg gathered up her ornaments, quickly but gently placing them into a cute basket. If her plan was going to work, she needed things to go smoothly today. She tucked the last painted pinecone tree into its spot and stepped back to look at it. The finished project filled her with renewed excitement.

  She looked at the clock. She’d have to run to the shed if she wanted to check on Chestnut and still make it to the lot on time. She grabbed her coat, mittens, and basket, and shook herself awake. She needed to be on her game today.

  * * *

  After giving Chestnut a few scratches and some kibble and water, Meg raced to the tree lot, where she placed the basket next to the cash register with a sign that said HANDMADE FRASER FIR ORNAMENTS—$5.00. She was still out of breath as she wiped away the beads of sweat on her forehead under her warm hat. Immediately, her stomach began to twist with nerves. What if customers didn’t like her creations? What if she didn’t sell a single one?