Page 64 of The Christmas Mittens
Epilogue
Wednesday July 4
I’d come to the conclusion over the past six months that I would meet my maker tripping over a min pin.
How my demise would unfurl was hard to say, but I suspected it would involve blunt head trauma as I inadvertently trod on a tiny paw which was always under a foot, yelp in fright, fall over and crack my noggin on whatever hard thing was nearby. Stove, sink, toilet, washer, car, shop shelves, cash register at work, etcetera.
“Della, why are you always standing where I’m going to put my foot?” I asked as I juked to the right, bounced off the hallway wall, and nearly popped the button I was trying to push into a buttonhole. She tipped her head, tongue lolling, and danced a jig around me.
“She can’t reply, Dad, she’s a dog,” Gilda called as she raced by me, still in her summer robe, to claim the bathroom. I gaped at the flash of a teen. How could she not even be showered yet? We were due at the church for the Christmas in July bazaar in thirty minutes. Tardiness thy name is teenager.
“Hey, come in here,” Anders called, grabbing Della’s attention. The dog raced into the living room, which had now become a living room slash egg decorating center. I finished buttoning my best casual shirt, a sharp short-sleeved summer blue that I was wearing with some dark shorts. Dressy but not dressy. Anders had certainly helped me with my fashion eye. I still wore old tees and jeans to work, obviously, but now when we went out, I did so with some style. One did have an image to uphold when one was living with a prince after all. I smiled at Arne and Alfred toting boxes of beaded goose eggs to the new SUV Anders had bought after selling his camper. That had been a bittersweet day. We’d made some sexy memories in that elite camper but seeing someone from New York State drive off in it meant that Anders, the roaming Prada prince, had put down roots. Right here in little Grouse Falls, where the internet was still sketchy as heck.
“What do you need?” I asked, tucking in my shirt as I neared his little worktable. Della bounced around me on her back legs, desperate for someone to pick her up. Her daddy had been too busy putting the final touches on his eggs for his very own table at the bazaar to tote her around like a Gucci bag. Not wanting my shirt to be covered with hair, I nodded at Arne and down at the dog. He handed a box to Alfred, scooped up the dog, tucking her under one beefy arm like a football, and headed out into the hot summer day. Della’s tail wagged back and forth, knowing she was being taken outside to play in her yard. A yard that had been fenced in just last month after she broke free from Arne one morning to chase down a funny black and white striped cat on the lawn. The polecat was not impressed. Neither were we when we had to bathe the dog a half dozen times in skunk shampoo from the vet. Life in the hills of Pennsylvania. Sometimes it was challenging, and other times charming.
“I need you to tell me if this egg is too much,” Anders replied, standing then turning while holding a delicate beaded goose eggby a thin wire that had been threaded through the egg. “Did I go overboard with the green holly leaves? I did, didn’t I?”
“Babe, it’s beautiful,” I assured him. This was his very first solo run as a vendor, or as Pastor Pete liked to call the people at the craft fairs, homespun artisans. “Trust your process. People are going to buy them in droves.”
“Hmm, I don’t know.” He sighed, placed the egg down, and picked at some hot glue on his thumb as BSX2 blared to life from the bathroom. Why the girl had to have the volume at stadium rock levels to wash her hair, I would never know. “I might pick them off.”
“Anders, baby, it is beautiful.” I cradled his face, looked into his dark eyes, and kissed him loudly. When he began to chitter about his eggs being gaudy, I kissed him again. A smile played on his lips after that smooch. “They’re exquisite. Truly. Even Lady Alva has bought some, and you know how particular she is about her decorations for their new place in Kensington.”
“I still say Rani talked her into buying so many,” he mumbled. Rani, who had just taken over the role of Lady Alva’s personal assistant last week, may have had a hand in it but firmly denied any such machinations. We all missed Rani, but he seemed to be settling in nicely in the UK as his job now took him from London to Kensington and then back to Östermon as the prince and lady jetted about. Anders didn’t require an equerry now that he had stepped away from his royal duties to become a small-town dynamo. Making eggs, entering bike races, and stepping up to fund a housing initiative for unhoused people in our county. He had donated a ton of his own money to have fifteen tiny homes built on a few acres just outside of town. The local newspapers had been gaga over his involvement, calling him the “Regal Roofer” after taking pictures of him helping with tacking down roofing paper on the first house, which would be ready fora lucky couple living in a shelter two counties over in a month. Anders took it all in stride, humble as always.
“I don’t know. She seemed smitten with the eggs. As did the rest of your family,” I said, releasing him so I could get my mittens gathered for my box of winter gear to sell with the proceeds going to the Grouse Nest Village. Gilda yelled, and I spun in parental alarm, only to realize she was singing. “That child is going to give me gray hair.” I patted my chest to calm my thumping heart.
“Goingto give you gray hair?” Anders teased, jumping out of the way of a playful swat aimed at his backside. We’d found a silver hair in a highly personal place a few weeks ago, and he had had the time of his life heckling me gently about it. “Let me help you with your mittens.”
“Sure, suck up after you remind me how old I’m getting,” I mock grumbled. He gave me a wink and turned to pat down the several dozen mittens I’d knitted over the past few months. There were also scarves, gloves, and a blanket in a different tote to be raffled off. He bent over, giving me a nice peek at his lush ass. “Oh no, honey, I think there is a problem.” He straightened, holding a big purple mitten between his thumb and forefinger. “Remember over the winter when the mice got into your knitting supplies in the closet…”
“Oh no!” I gasped, recalling the mess a lone mouse had made in my storage box of extra yarn. I’d had to toss over twenty skeins that the bastard had chewed or urinated on. “Those were the ones that I’d gotten the skeins of Merino shipped over for. They match the hat and scarf!”
“I’m sorry, babe. You had better look inside.” He held the mitten out, his face drawn into a nervous grimace. The man hated mice. I’d learned that when the yarn destroyer had darted over his bare foot in the closet. The shriek that had come from His Highness had been loud enough to raise the dead. It hadbeen down to me to find the bugger since Anders had leaped onto the bed, pointing at where the mouse had gone. Never did find the rodent. I heard the squeak of the new doggie door as the dog returned from the yard.
“I swear if I find a nest in this mitten I’m going to—” I dumped what lay in the mitten into my palm as visions of pee-soaked Merino wool danced through my head. I was shocked to see a small hand-sewn bag hit my open hand. “Oh!” I glanced at Anders. He wasn’t terrified at all, although I did see some slight fear in those pretty brown eyes of his. “What is this?”
“Dump it out,” he said as he plucked the purple mitten from me. Della trotted past as I gently tugged the pull-strings open and shook the items free. Two bright gold bands tumbled into my palm. My eyes flared. My heart fluttered. Anders, smiling nervously, dropped to one knee amid the chaos of eggs, yarn, totes, dog toys, a teenage girl’s sassy ankle boots from a certain queen of an island realm, and a few DVDs ofThe Rockford Files.I slapped a hand over my mouth not to scream like Anders spying a field mouse. “Mitchell, I know it has been a short time for us, just seven months or so, but I knew from the first time I kissed you that you were the man I wanted to spend my life with. I love you. I love Gilda. I love Grouse Falls. Will you marry me someday?”
The bathroom door down the hall opened with a bang. Gilda appeared in the living room, hair in a towel, robe and slippers, singing loudly when she spied us.
“What’s going on?” she asked, her voice cracking. “Oh. My. God. Are you proposing?!”
Anders’ smile grew wider as I fought for breath behind my hand. “I did, yes. And now I’m waiting for a reply from your father.”
“Dad, say yes!” Gilda shouted, which made Della bark. This house was chaos. Totally and utterly madcap. And he wanted to share it with me, with us, forever?
“You’d want to give up a castle for this tiny little house in the corner of nowhere?” I asked after my shaking hand fell to my thigh.
“I think I already did,” he replied, which, yeah, he had. “I want this with you and Gilda more than any crown or castle. Will you marry me?”
I glanced at my daughter. She nodded so fiercely her towel fell off her head to the floor. Della pounced on it and began shaking it.
My attention went back to my prince kneeling before me. “Yes, I’ll marry you.”
Anders shot to his feet to kiss me soundly and then slid one of the thin bands onto my left finger. I did the same for him, quaking and teary-eyed.
Gilda shrieked and bolted over to hug the air out of us. Della, sure there was a robber about, leaped up to grab the purple Merino mitten from Anders’ hand and streaked off. The front door flew open and two massive men charged in on high alert. Della ran out the open door with the mitten in her mouth. I should have cared about that mitten, but all I cared about right now was hugging my daughter and my fiancé. I’d let the bodyguards get the dog under control. And for the Merino set?
Well, I could always knit more Christmas mittens. How could I not? They not only warmed cold hands, they stitched together hearts, communities, and families.
The End
