Chapter 13
Toby
The farm seemed different tonight. Perhaps because it wasn’t all lit up with a yuletide bonfire and half the town gathered around.
There was no band with live music or scent of cinnamon and clove in the air.
Even though Hodge Podge and the barn for purchasing trees were lit up with twinkling lights as people wandered between the two, it still seemed more subdued, maybe even a little lonelier than I was expecting.
For the first time in maybe forever, I wondered what the reality of living and working on such a large farm was like. I’d thought I knew. At eighteen, I thought I knew everything. At twenty-eight, I realized I knew nothing beyond my own experience.
Glancing across the darkened cab of the old Ford, I gazed at Archer more openly than I’d allowed myself in so very long.
It wasn’t his physical looks I was interested in right now but more the things I couldn’t see beneath them.
What had it been like all these years as the man in charge of such a large farm?
How much pressure did he feel to keep his father’s legacy alive while also making it his own?
I’d heard from more than one source that he kept to himself quite often and didn’t leave the property much.
I’d been surprised by that.
But here, now, watching him drive somberly along the winding road that led deeper into the acres that made up Hodge Farm, I could see how that might be true. How a man who’d once been open became more closed off.
“It’s snowing,” he remarked quietly. He hadn’t even looked at me once since we’d climbed into this truck and sped down the road. He kept his eyes ahead, actively scanning the road as we went, on the lookout for his dog.
“He hasn’t been out long enough to freeze. Aussies have lots of fur.”
He seemed startled, as though he’d forgotten I was there, but for once, I wasn’t offended because I knew he had more important things to focus on.
“I’m going to park up here,” he told me, gesturing to nothing but land and trees. “He likes to run out here sometimes, and I was out here earlier, tagging and cutting trees. Maybe he followed my scent.”
I nodded. “Good idea.”
Archer slowed the truck and stopped, not bothering to pull to the side of the dirt road. “Snow’s gonna start sticking soon,” he murmured.
It was already blanketing the landscape. The dirt road would definitely be next.
“We’ll find him,” I assured him, noting the tightness in his jaw.
He glanced at me then, our eyes connecting through the dark. “I’ll never forgive myself if something happens to him.”
I leaned forward to lay my hand on his arm. “It won’t. Dogs are smart, and Marlowe knows this land.”
He glanced from where I touched him to my face, his eyes more of a caress than a physical touch. “I’m glad you’re here.”
My stomach tightened, the whispered words so warm in this snow-filled night. The loneliness I’d felt before seemed farther away, far beyond the halo of light the headlights on the old truck created.
Things I’d been holding back for years bubbled up inside me, pushing past my esophagus and coating my tongue. How much I missed him. How sorry I was that I’d stayed away when his father died. How, no matter how hard I tried, there was just no getting over him.
That even though my love for him was one-sided, it would forever remain.
But I didn’t say any of it.
I did what I should have done all those years ago. I put my own thoughts and feelings on the back burner and chose his needs over mine.
“Me too,” I replied simply. “Now let’s go find him.”
I turned away, but he caught my shoulder. “Wait.”
I turned back, heart thundering because of all the things I held back. Archer leaned in, that pine-soaked scent of his twirling beneath my nose and the scruff on his jaw so close I could practically feel it brush my skin.
Breath catching, I froze in anticipation, brain scrambling more with every centimeter he leaned. The latch on the glove box snapped me out of my stupor, and I blinked, noting that he wasn’t even looking at me but rummaging around inside the open door.
“Ah,” he called, triumphant, and pulled back with a smile. Thrusting something between us, he said, “Here.”
I glanced at what he offered and then back up. “Gloves?”
“And a hat.” He confirmed. “Put them on.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s below freezing and you aren’t wearing either.”
“Well, I didn’t expect to be going on a rescue mission.” I defended myself.
“I know. That’s why I’m giving them to you.”
Oh. My eyes fell back to the dark fabric.
“You’ll have to make do with something more sensible than mittens.”
My eyes rolled. “I told you my mother gave them to me.”
He chuckled beneath his breath, the sound sending low vibrations through the enclosed space. “Uh-huh.”
“Whatever,” I said, yanking them from his grip to tug them on. Halfway in, I realized… “Wait. You aren’t wearing any.”
“I’ll be fine.”
“But these are yours.” I started peeling them off to return them.
“Stop,” he growled, his forceful tone making me do just that. “Put them on, and let’s go.”
“But—”
“But nothing. I don’t have time to argue with you right now. Put them on, and let’s go find Marlowe.”
I hesitated, and he heaved a sigh, plucking up the hat that fell between us to stuff it on my head.
He pulled it too far down, and the dark fabric concealed my vision.
“I have to actually be able to see,” I mocked, tugging it out of my eyes.
“Make sure your ears are covered.” He was gruff, pulling it right back down.
“You act like I’ve never been in cold weather,” I complained.
“This isn’t Boston.”
“Boston gets cold too,” I shot back.
He made a noise and slid out the driver’s side, snow swirling inside the second the door opened. “Let’s go,” he demanded before slamming it shut.
I reminded myself we were here for Marlowe and got out of the truck, hat and gloves securely in place.
“Marlowe!” Archer hollered into the wind. “Here, boy! Come here!”
I watched him over the hood as he cupped his bare hands around his mouth and whistled.
Snow flurries were already catching on his hair and shoulders. His bare skin seemed to glow against the onyx sky. A pang of something dropped into my stomach because he’d chosen to be cold just so I would be warm.
He’s still in there. My best friend.
“Go that way, but don’t go too far. I don’t want to have to find you too.” He gestured behind me, bossiness making my teeth snap together.
Saying nothing, I stomped off, noting how the ground was almost completely white. “Marlowe!” I called, hoping the howling wind would carry my voice.
I trudged through the light snow, chin tucked down to protect myself from the wind and using the flashlight on my phone to light a path.
In the distance, I heard Archer whistling and calling.
Worry assailed me the more I walked and the colder the air felt. I wasn’t lying when I said Marlowe had lots of fur to keep him warm, but if the temperature kept dropping, he could be in danger. And what if he did reinjure his paw? Or hurt something else?
Being wounded and lost in this cold was a deadly combination.
“Marlowe!” I yelled, desperation and fear clawing the back of my throat. The memory of how Archer looked driving out here haunted me. He blamed himself for Marlowe running off, and if anything happened, he’d blame himself for that too…
Something moved up ahead, just beyond the weak beam of my flashlight. I froze in my tracks and lifted the light higher, trying to see.
“Marlowe?” I called. “Here, boy.”
Nothing answered, and a dog did not appear. But I knew something had been there. I started forward, and a bark cut through the night.
Marlowe!
“Marlowe! It’s me, boy. Toby. Come here,” I called, rushing in the direction I’d heard him.
He yipped again, and my heart started pounding as I worried maybe he wasn’t able to get to me.
“I’m coming,” I called. “I’ll find you!”
My shoe slipped on the freshly fallen snow, and I tumbled over, my pants getting instantly wet. Ignoring it, I jumped back up and rushed forward again.
The dog went quiet even when I called out, but I jogged on, knowing I was close. After minutes of not finding him, I turned to look back. The truck was nowhere to be seen, and the road was likely covered in snow.
Cupping my hand around my mouth, I called, “Archer.”
But the only reply was the wind.
I didn’t see his flashlight either, and I wondered just how far I’d run and what part of the farm I was on.
An inkling of panic tapped on the base of my neck, whispering that I could be lost too. I’d survive far less time than a dog.
“Quit being so dramatic, Toby,” I told myself. “You’re at Hodge Farm, not some remote forest.” I might not have been here for many years, but I grew up running around this farm and I was certain I could find my way back.
Woof!
Any anxiety I felt disappeared with that bark, and hope had me going forward again. “Marlowe!” I hollered, then yelled his name several more times.
Up ahead, a massive looming shape halted my search, and a fissure of fear slid down my back until I realized what it was.
The old oak.
Hershel and Beatrice’s tree.
What at first appeared as shadow and bone, with its knotted bare branches winding like black veins through the cool wintry sky, now seemed more of a silhouette of strength, standing guard over the farm during a harsh, unforgiving night.
A witness to all of nature’s trials and tribulations, a landmark to all who know her, and a beacon of love in the middle of lonely, barren land.
The fear building up inside me seemed small now compared to its impressive size, and instead of lost, I suddenly felt at home.
I moved forward, studying the silvery sheen the frost gave the branches beneath the moonlight.
The wind still whipped over the land, but it was quieter here as if the large oak buffered its intensity.
The bundles of mistletoe swayed high on the branches, looking not at all like parasites but flocked ornaments placed there to celebrate the season.