THE MAGIC
Long ago in history, it is noted that mistletoe, a parasite that appears on trees, often grows where birds leave droppings. This is how mistletoe earned its name. In Anglo-Saxon, “mistle” means “dung” and “tan” means “twig.” Hence, “dung on a twig.”
But in the small town of Winterbury, Vermont, mistletoe has a whole other meaning. A history so legendary that people come from far and wide to feel the magic of the Winterbury mistletoe themselves.
Town lore states that when Winterbury was just a wee sapling on the map, two founding families hated each other. They both wanted credit for the creation of the small farming town and competed relentlessly to be the most successful. The feud between them was so intense that the entire town knew of it, with many picking sides.
All of that changed when two people fell in love, each a member of the families who hated one another. They knew their match was forbidden and would never be accepted, so they met in secret beneath an old oak tree at the edge of Winterbury Farm. One fateful night, they were discovered, and the years-long feud turned fatal.
A gun went off, and the man, Hershel, died on the spot, leaving behind a heartbroken Beatrice. Beatrice lived the rest of her days forlorn and lonely, refusing to marry despite the many attempts by her family to find her a match. Beatrice insisted she would never have another, as she’d already met and lost her true love.
Her deep sadness, as well as her unwillingness to spew hate despite what was taken from her, changed all of Winterbury. A town once at odds became united, believing that love should never be denied. Beatrice’s dying wish was to be buried beneath the old oak where she’d spent so much time with her lost love, a wish her family granted.
The spring after her passing, mistletoe began growing on the oak tree despite never having grown there before. The townspeople believe the mistletoe represents Hershel and Beatrice’s love, which many said was parasitical just like mistletoe, yet the tree in which it grows never dies.
Every year, the town harvests a bough and hangs it in the town square as a symbol of true love and a lesson in unity. It is said that those who kiss under it will know true love and never be parted.
1
Toby
A symphony of ringing phones,barking dogs, and festive Christmas music blasted me the second I pulled open the door to escape the busy city sidewalk. The immediate temperature change from bitter cold to dry heat stung my cheeks as my scarf flapped against my coat.
Merideth—Merri for short—looked up from behind the reception desk, her expression already harried. “Dr. Thomas.” She spoke over the chaos, a look of utter relief in her eyes.
“Sorry I’m late, everyone,” I said, addressing the entire waiting room. “The storm last night left the roads a mess.”
You’d think Boston would have snow removal down to a science, but there were still delays. Delays I should likely account for, considering I’d lived long enough to experience many.
The allure of the snooze button was just too strong on cold, wintry mornings when the sky was gray and overcast and my bed was soft and warm. One of these days, I’d become the morningperson I just knew I was meant to be, but clearly, today would not be that day.
“Just let me put this down in my office.” I went on, holding up my briefcase, scarf, and travel mug of coffee. “And I’ll get right to?—”
Splat.
It wasn’t so much the splashing sound that made me stop. After all, who could hear it over the chaos of the animal hospital waiting room? But the way my shoe slipped was not to be ignored.
Sliding a little, I flailed my arms as I fought to stay on my feet, regretting all over again my love for the snooze button. If only I spent my early mornings in the gym instead of sleeping in, my core would be stronger and I wouldn’t be in a heap on the floor.
I landed flat on my back, shoes up in the air, scarf in my face. My briefcase snapped open when it hit the ground, papers and my stethoscope spilling out along with a shiny red apple I’d snagged on my way out to compensate for the fact I’d missed breakfast.
Blowing the scarf out of my face, I turned my head in time to see the apple roll across the floor and stop at the feet of a Saint Bernard who leaned down and fit the entire thing in his mouth without any effort.
“Bruno! Drop that!” the Bernard’s owner chided.
Bruno opened his jaws and spat out the fruit, which was now decorated with teeth marks and slobber.
Breakfast of champions.
“Dr. Thomas!” Merri rushed from around the desk to peer down from above. “Oh my gosh, are you okay?”
“There is pee on the floor,” I noted. Pretty sure it was soaking into my pant leg.
She nodded.
The dog beside me, a Jack Russell terrier, dragged his tongue up my cheek.
“Thanks for the support,” I told him, and he licked me again.
