Chapter 8
JASON
Hank brought the horses to a halt at the old sugar shack.
Jason breathed in the scent of the outdoors, crisp with a hint of woodsmoke and pine he associated with home.
The shack was a small building tucked just beyond the trees and was exactly as he remembered from his youth.
In the soft glow of the lantern hanging from the sleigh, the squat, wooden cabin with its weathered, gray boards and steep roof heavy with snow looked like something out of another time.
A thin ribbon of steam curled up from the vent at the peak, disappearing into the cold night air.
Slightly ajar, a crooked door made a yellow wedge across the snow.
Nostalgia took hold of him. How many days had he spent here, helping Uncle Walter and his cousins? They’d been joyful times, with purpose and a sense of belonging, working together to make something that was both their livelihood and their hearts.
“What is this place?” Mauve asked, sounding like an excited kid.
Jason smiled, glancing over at her before looking back toward the shack.
“It’s a sugarhouse. Where our family made maple syrup.
Back when the sap was running, this place never shut down.
Uncle Walter would be out here half the night feeding the fire.
We were all expected to help.” He shifted beside her, the sleigh creaking softly beneath them as the horses stamped in the snow.
“We took turns gathering sap in pairs. Roan and I were always sent out together. We’d head out before school with our buckets, check the taps, and haul everything back before our fingers went numb. Good memories.”
Hank climbed down and came around to help Mauve out of the sleigh. Jason got down on his side and walked around to take her hand.
“I’ll be back in two hours,” Hank said. “If you need me sooner, there’s a horn just inside the door. Give it a good, long pull.”
“Thanks, Hank,” Jason said.
“You bet.” Hank tipped his cap to Mauve. “Miss.”
Leaving Mauve with a blush from his chivalry, he climbed back up, clucked to the horses, and the sleigh slid away around the curve of the trees.
The bells faded, leaving them in the dark and quiet woods. A rustling from one of the bushes told them they were not completely alone. Hopefully it was only a bunny and not a bear.
They stood, holding hands, still for a moment, taking it all in as Jason told Mauve more details.
“During harvest, it was all hands on deck.
We had to feed the fire, bring in wood, watch the syrup boil.
Most important, we had to keep the heat steady.
If it was too hot, the syrup would be ruined.
Too cool, and it took way too long. Walter tended that fire like an artist. It was amazing to see him in action.
“On weekends, we were all expected to help. My mom and Aunt Grace would bring us lunch. Nothing ever tasted as good. Chunks of cheese. Aunt Grace’s warm, homemade bread. Those were some of the happiest times in my life.”
Jason’s gaze drifted past the shack and into the trees beyond, where faint lines stretched between the trunks, barely visible in the dark.
“Luke does it differently these days,” Jason said, nodding toward the woods.
“He modernized it, which was a smart decision, but not nearly as much fun. See those lines? That’s how they collect the sap now.
It runs through tubing instead of buckets.
The sap all flows downhill into tanks—faster and smarter than the old ways.
” He paused, glancing back toward the shack, the warm light aglow through the fogged windows.
“Uncle Walter always said you had to keep up with the times if you wanted to make a living at it. When Luke took over, he brought the farm into modern times.”
“But it’s bittersweet, right?” Mauve asked.
“Yeah, exactly.” His voice softened just a touch.
“Because I’m not here often, I still think of the way we used to do things.
I miss those times. But some things don’t change.
You still have to stand over that fire. Watch it carefully.
Don’t rush it. Still requires patience, no matter how good the modern equipment is. ”
“It really gives me new appreciation for a stack of pancakes slathered in syrup,” Mauve said.
“Right? We should get inside before you get too cold.”
Mauve nodded. “It’s cold but so pretty.”
He led her up the small set of plank steps and pushed the crooked door open. The warm air hit them immediately, as did the scents of maple and woodsmoke. “Do you smell that? There’s no other smell like it in the world.”
“It’s amazing,” Mauve said.
Her obvious interest pleased him. As if he had anything to do with the family business any longer. It wasn’t really his to be proud of, but he was just the same.
“And oh my gosh, this is so much fun,” Mauve said. “Guests are going to love it here.”
Lanterns hung from the rough beams and battery operated candles in mason jars lined every surface. Scenic without the risk of fire. Blankets thrown over a long, wooden bench were there in case they needed them, but he doubted they would. Not with the wood stove doing its job so well.
“Want to sit?” Jason asked.
“Yes. I’m starving.”
“You can bet Aunt Grace has taken care of that.”
Uncle Walter had built a solid farmhouse table, with benches on either side. Tonight, it had been set for two with chipped enamel plates, folded cloth napkins and mason jars for drinking.
Grace had left a wedge of sharp cheddar, a small bowl of dark honey, a mound of creamy butter and a loaf of crusty bread already broken into rough hunks, all displayed on a wood board.
There was another charcuterie plate with roasted almonds, dried apricots, slices of green apple, and three kinds of salami.
A bottle of red wine had been opened and decanted, waiting for their arrival.
He helped her out of her parka and hung it and his own jacket on the peg by the door before they sat side by side at the table.
She poured them wine as he cut them chunks of cheese.
Jason raised his glass.
“To us,” he said.
“To thirty days of Christmas magic,” she said.
They clinked glasses. Jason rested his elbow on the table, his chin in one hand, watching her in the dim light. “You’re beautiful.”
“Thank you.”
“I’ll never forget the first time I laid eyes on you. I couldn’t stop staring at you.”
“Same. I remember feeling like I was falling into a deep well. A warm one, but dangerous all the same.”
“And now here we are,” Jason said. “A year later. Still falling into the well.”
She blinked, as if fighting tears, and lifted her gaze to meet his. “Do you wish we never met?”
“What? No way.” He paused. “Do you?”
“A little bit. I know how hard it’s going to be to say goodbye.”
“We have weeks still. And I’ve been thinking.” Dare he express what he hoped would happen? “As I’ve said before, there are such things as airplanes.”
“Do you mean long-distance?”
“Yeah. People have bicoastal relationships all the time. We can fly to each other when either of us has a break in our schedule.”
She smiled, pushing her hair away from her shoulder. “That sounds simple enough.”
“Except?”
“I want a family, Jason. Flying back and forth in a long-distance thing is just not for me. Maybe five years ago, but not now.”
He nodded, taking a strand of her honey blonde hair in his fingers. “We don’t have to decide anything tonight. We can enjoy each other and the experience and put aside all thoughts of the future.”
“Easier said than done.”
“I know.” He placed a hand on her thigh, leaning close to give her a kiss. “I’m sorry I make you unhappy.”
“Sad and happy at the same time. It’s very confusing.” She smiled with her mouth but not her eyes. Sad and happy, displayed right there on her face.
“I want to know everything about you,” Jason said. “And everything you think and feel.”
“What do you want to know?” Mauve asked softly. “I’ll tell you anything.”
“Okay, tell me how you landed on speech therapy for your work.”
“Oh, that’s an easy one. My best friend in elementary school was Pam.
I adored her. We were two peas in a pod.
No one could make me laugh harder. But she had a significant lisp—s became the th sound.
Saturday was Thaturday, and she said yes like yeth.
We were in second grade, and there were these two boys in our class who tortured her because of it.
They used to follow her at recess and ask her questions just to hear her talk, and then imitate her.
This went on for months. Until I punched one of them in the nose and got sent to the principal’s office. ”
“Did you get in trouble?”
“Not so much at school, but my father wasn’t too happy with me. I was grounded for a month. But it was worth it to feel my fist connect with his nose. You should have seen the blood. The other boy ran off screaming.” She grinned. “It was great.”
He laughed. “I had no idea you had a violent streak.”