“Merry Christmas!” Muriel greets, a genuinely happy grin filling her face. “I see you’ve already been out, plowing your driveway.” She nods at Jonah with approval.

“Because he’s a psycho—oh!” Jonah wraps an arm around my waist and effortlessly lifts me off my feet, earning my squeal.

“I know we’re a bit early, but we were just sittin’ around, killin’ time, so we decided to drive over.”

“She decided we should drive over. Hope you don’t mind,” Teddy corrects, shucking his heavy winter coat. Beneath it, he’s in head-to-toe red—red button-down shirt, red trousers, red suspenders, red socks.

“You been to the hangar yet today?” Toby asks, feigning indifference.

Jonah chuckles and sets me down. “Yeah, man.”

Toby grins. “It’s a nice truck! I had a bit of fun, getting that in last night through the snow.”

“Here, Calla. This is for you.” Muriel thrusts the box she’s carrying into my hands before discarding her outer things. “I wore it on my wedding day and it’s something you can wear on your wedding day. You know, something old and something borrowed.”

“Oh. I …” I eye the box, wariness settling in. By the size of the box, I’m guessing it’s not a subtle addition to my wedding attire. I force a smile as I carry it to the dining room table and begin gingerly unwrapping the packaging, a mixture of curiosity and dread swirling inside me. This is a woman who once told me she’s happiest wearing her husband’s coveralls. She prides herself on not caring about such “frivolous things” as clothes.

“You plannin’ on reusing that paper? Come on and rip it!” Muriel exclaims, wringing her hands with anticipation.

With a deep breath, I tear a sizeable strip off and lift the box’s lid. A mass of fur sits nestled inside tissue paper.

“Now, I know wearing fur is a big taboo these days, but those mink have been dead for almost forty years, so you may as well take ’em out for a walk.”

I pull out the stole, its texture luxuriously soft beneath my fingertips.

“And if it makes you feel any better, my father caught ’em tryin’ to murder our chickens.”

“Oh, Muriel! It’s beautiful!” My mother fawns as I drape it over my shoulders. It fits as if custom made for me.

Astrid joins her, stroking the fur. “Look at those colors! Is that a hint of blue I see?”

“Cerulean silver, they called it,” Muriel says proudly. “I guess that’s your ‘something blue,’ too? And see the ivory striations?”

There’s a chorus of oohs and aahs as I slip it off and hold it up to the light.

“It’s gorgeous, Muriel,” I admit, a touch of guilt stirring that I doubted her. “I was just saying I needed something like this to go with my dress.”

“Well, now you have it. And I know I said ‘something borrowed,’ but it’s yours to keep.”

My eyebrows pop with surprise. “Are you sure? I mean, this seems like something you should pass down to family.” Her first gun, and now this?

“That’s what I’m doin’.” She drops an arm around my shoulders to give me an awkward but firm squeeze. “Listen, Deacon’s gone, and I’ve given up on Toby givin’ me a daughter-in-law—”

“Are you kidding me?” Toby moans with exasperation. “I’m only thirty-five!”

“Yeah, a thirty-five-year-old who’s afraid of asking a gal like Emily out to dinner,” she retorts before turning her attention back to me. “So, you’re it, Calla. You’re the closest thing I’ve got to a daughter. You can wear it for your wedding, and then maybe one day your daughter will wear it to hers.”

“All five of them will wear it,” Jonah chirps from next to the fridge while inhaling a bowl of his mother’s pudding.

I spare him an eye roll before smiling at Muriel. “Thank you. I love it.”

“You’re welcome.” She pats my shoulder. “Now, have you decided on your menu yet?”

“Not yet—”

“Good, because I have an idea.” She turns to my mother. “You didn’t seem too keen on the moose, Susan, but how do you feel about grouse?”

“Grouse?” my mom echoes, squinting in thought. “That’s a bird, right?”

“I love grouse,” Björn pipes in from the recliner, busy picking away at a walnut shell he cracked.

“It tastes a bit like partridge,” Astrid confirms.

“Well, now, that I’ve had. Remember, Simon, we ordered partridge at that restaurant?” She looks to him for validation.

Simon pauses in his curious inspection of the fur stole to nod fervently. “Yes. I do.”

Muriel smiles. “Well, good! Because Wendy and John Keating have a game bird farm and they owe me a favor or two. I’m betting I could get as many grouse as you need for next to nothin’. And Gloria makes this recipe, with apples and pecans. I tell ya, I’ve never had anything like it. She usually serves it with this wild rice pilaf, but it’d be just as good with potatoes, which Calla grew plenty of this past summer.”

The ladies pull chairs out around the dining room table and begin reviewing our cellar’s inventory from memory, tossing out ideas.

“Muriel’s calling in a lot of favors on your behalf,” Simon notes quietly.

“She’s like the godfather of Trapper’s Crossing.” All her pushiness and meddling is paying off.

Simon peers at me from over the rim of his glasses. “Any strong opposition to grouse we should be aware of before we let them go too far down this path? Speak up now.”

“No. The owner of the lodge made it for us once. It was tasty.” If we weren’t inviting Andrea and George as guests to our wedding, I would have asked them to cook the meal.

His brow furrows. “So, does it taste like chicken?”

“No. It’s gamey.” I frown. “You don’t remember that partridge dinner Mom was talking about, do you?”

“Not the foggiest clue,” Simon admits sheepishly.

Chapter Eleven

“She pull this kind of shit at home?”

I pause peeling a potato to watch an incensed Jonah hover at the window, his muscular arms folded across his chest, his gaze on the gloomy sky through the windows. The few random flakes sailing down from the sky earlier have multiplied exponentially, sending us toward blizzard territory.

Mabel is almost a full hour late.

“Sometimes,” Agnes admits from the sink where she scrubs a pot. “If she’s in a mood. She seemed okay today, though.”

“I’ll tell you right now, things are gonna change when you guys move here in the summer. She won’t be trying this with me around.”

“Why not? You’re around now, and she’s not trying it, she’s doing it.” Björn studies his cards for a long moment before laying one down on the pile. He, Muriel, Simon, and my mother are playing a game of euchre around the coffee table, while Astrid and Teddy face off at the Swords and Shields board game. We lit several of Phil’s old lanterns and positioned them around the main area for added light as the day shifts to night and the power remains out.