“The hunters are not back yet,” Frau Baumann quietly told Adelaide.
She frowned. “Is that a problem?”
“Nein, it is good.” She laughed as her grandchildren scrambled about, squealing joyfully as they discovered treats tucked into the tree, as well as other clever places, like their grandpa’s slippers or grandma’s garden boots. Everything about this felt like such a bright contrast to last night’s weird Krampus party. Outside, fat snowflakes were starting to tumble down, filling the children with even more excitement. All of it felt like goodmedicine to Adelaide. Just what she needed to get back into a holiday spirit.
Shortly before noon, the hunters did come home. While shaking snow off their jackets and removing their boots, Herr Baumann announced that their hunt had been successful. There would be venison roast for Christmas.
Soon they were all crowded around the long wooden table and Frau Baumann, assisted by her daughter and daughter-in-law, served a simple but delicious lunch. The grandchildren, who’d been sneaking cookies and treats, showed little interest in the food, but no one seemed to care. And when they were done, the children bundled up and went outside to frolic in the freshly fallen snow.
“It feels almost enchanted,” Adelaide whispered to Anton as they took coffee over to sit by the fireplace.
“Enchanted?” he repeated.
“Or magical, imaginary, idyllic? I can’t find the right word. Like I’m living in a storybook or old movie. The way of life here in Montovia, well, it’s like going back in time. It seems almost unreal.”
“Not all of Montovia lives like this,” he told her. “The Baumanns’ farm is a very special place for sure, but Montovia has problems just like any place.”
“Yes, I’m sure that must be true.” She sighed. “I guess I’m just enjoying this sweet departure ... while it lasts.”
He held up his coffee mug in a toast. “Here’s to this sweet departure. Happy Saint Nicholas Day.”
She clinked her cup against his and returned his good tidings. A part of her was tempted to ask what, if anything, he’d heard from the police chief or his uncle. But at the same time, she didn’t want to spoil this enchanted moment. This day felt like a rare and precious jewel. A day that couldn’t happen very often ... perhaps never again in her lifetime.
The next day passed in a much quieter way. Adelaide started her day by helping Herr Baumann outside. She shoveled snow out of the chicken coop, fed the hens, and gathered nine eggs, some still warm. Herr Baumann’s eyes lit up when he saw the eggs, explaining how hens produced fewer eggs in the winter months. “You bring luck, Princess Adelaide.”
Adelaide forced a smile. She’d already told her hosts to simply call her Adelaide, but they seemed to delight in her discomfort at the title. A small price to pay for their warm hospitality, she supposed.
Following a hearty breakfast, Adelaide helped in the kitchen, and after they finished, she accepted Anton’s invitation to take a walk in the snow. Dressed in jeans as well as her hostess’s winter coat, gloves, and heavy boots, Adelaide felt more comfortable than she did in the fancier clothes she’d been wearing at the palace.
They had barely started on their walk when Anton heard his phone chiming. Pausing to check it, he frowned then excused himself to step out of Adelaide’s earshot as he answered the call. Although curious, she occupied herself by cleaning snow off a stump, which was just the right height for a chair. She tucked the woolen coat under her and sat down to admire her surroundings. The countryside had been beautiful before the snow, but today, with the sun glistening in every direction, it was stunningly gorgeous. She almost wished she’d brought her phone to take photos, but instead she decided to etch these sights into her memory. Something to take with her ... for always.
Hearing the crunching of footsteps, she turned to see Anton coming back. His expression, which she still had a hard time reading, was decidedly somber. Something was wrong.
“What is it?” she asked, concern present in her tone.
“The king.” He paused. “Has passed.”
“Passed?” She stood, grabbing Anton’s arms. “You mean he’s—he’s dead?”
He simply nodded. As she collapsed into tears, he gathered her into his arms and held her. Stroking her back, he just let her cry.
Adelaide didn’t know why losing her father hurt so much, but it did. Was it because it hadn’t been that long since she’d lost her mother? Because her newfound relationship with her father had been so short-lived? Or was it because she had begun to feel such a genuine connection to him—only to have it severed prematurely?
“I’m so sorry for your loss,” Anton said as she finally stepped away from him. “We knew he didn’t have long to live, but no one expected him to pass so soon.”
“I feel like I’ve been robbed.” Her hands balled into fists. “I had such a short time with him. It feels unfair.”
“I understand.” He pursed his lips.
“I was barely getting to know him ... and now he’s gone.” She felt fresh tears coming. Not wanting to show them, she started to walk quickly down the path. Anton stayed right with her, listening as she talked and ranted and speculated and processed until finally she was so tired and breathless, she had to pause. Feeling wetness on her cheeks, she attempted to wipe them with the rough woolen gloves.
“Here.” Anton handed her a white handkerchief. “My mother taught me to always carry these, but I rarely see the need to use them.”
She pressed the soft fabric to her cheeks, and smelling the freshness of it, she almost smiled. “Your mother sounds like a nice person.”
“She is.”
She held the damp handkerchief out to him. “Thank you.”
