Poles Apart (2 page)

What was the use? Hannah knew all this. It
wasn’t the first time she’d raised the subject. Wouldn’t be the last, either.

Shaking her head, Sarah turned away. She
needed to be alone.

“Maybe you should find another
publisher? A Christian one,” Hannah called after her. “Or relearn God’s
language.”

“Why don’t you tell me to stop writing,
Hannah? Find another career?”

Sarah ran to Matthew’s bedroom, slamming
the door behind her. She fell onto the colorful airplane-covered duvet and
buried her face in the comforting arms of the feather pillow, thoughts of
flying away to the other side of the world consuming her mind. And the more she
thought about Lapland, the more appealing all that snow for Christmas appeared.

“Not long now, Mila. It’s almost time.
By Christmas, I’m certain, if not sooner.” Niklas Toivonen knelt beside the
golden retriever curled up in front of a crackling fire. She seemed to prefer
it there. Would she give birth right there on the reindeer skin rug instead of
the whelping box he’d built? He gazed at his handiwork standing in the corner
of his lounge, shunned. Perhaps she’d get used to it before she went into
labor. Several days still remained. He could only hope.

Pressing his hand against her swollen
belly, Niklas smiled. “Must be ten pups at least.” He leaned forward and rubbed
the dog’s neck, nuzzling his face into the side of her head. Her soft fur
tickled his skin. “
Hyvää koira
,” he whispered in her ear. “Good dog.”

As Mila turned her head upward and
licked Niklas’s cheek, a whimper sounded from behind him. He turned to see Risto
stretching his legs. “You jealous, boy? Or just concerned about your lady?”

Pushing up onto all four paws, a low
moan accompanied the male retriever’s yawn. His golden fur, darker than Mila’s,
swayed like wheat in the wind as he gave himself a good shake, starting at his
head and ending with his tail which failed to stop moving. He zig-zagged his
body toward Niklas, nails clicking against the wooden floor. The pasted smile
across his lips lifted to reveal pink gums. He licked Niklas’s ear before
giving a loud bark as he sat down.

Niklas patted Risto.

The dog gazed down at Mila, and let out
two more barks.

“Yes, you have a lot to be proud of.”

Risto turned his head as Niklas
scratched him, stopping the moment Niklas reached that special spot behind his
ear. He licked the air.

“I’m excited for you. At least one of us
has a family to show off.” Giving Risto a final scratch, Niklas pushed to his
feet. Best get on with his chores. Wood needed to be chopped, fireplaces
prepared for guests. And at this time of the year, the days were short.

He peeked out the window of his one
bedroomed cabin. The Lapland landscape still dark, he checked his watch. Eight-thirty.
In a few hours the sun would rise, just to set again soon after. He pulled on a
pair of bright blue snow pants, and then slid into his favorite red jacket
before wrapping a woolen scarf around his neck. Lastly, he stepped into the
snow boots waiting at his front door. Hat and gloves on, Niklas headed into the
white expanse, indigo washed with the haunting blue light of deep winter.

Fresh snow had fallen overnight, and Niklas
sank knee-deep into the soft terrain. Lifting his legs high, he trudged through
the powder to his snowmobile parked beneath a wooden shelter. Grabbing a
chainsaw and ax, he threw them onto the sled before attaching it to the
snowmobile. After allowing the snowmobile to idle for a while, he drove the
short distance to the woodpile—yard-long birch logs stacked high in a neat
pile. His handiwork.

Niklas grabbed the chainsaw, ready to
slice the iron-toothed chain through the wooden stack. Holding tight, he pulled
the chainsaw cord. The motor roared to life, spluttered, and then died. He
tried again only to have the life and death sequence repeated. His humor
failing him as the chainsaw had, Niklas finally gave up. He’d cut the logs the
hard way.

Switching the chainsaw for the ax,
Niklas brushed the snow from the chopping stump, and wrapped his fingers around
the first log. It only took a few blows to slice right through. He placed the two
shorter logs together on the stump and swung again. Soon he had four logs that
would fit perfectly into the fireplaces of the cabins he owned.

The peak holiday season upon them,
Rovaniemi was already overrun with tourists from all over the world, seeking
out the Northern Lights and Santa Claus. As Christmas neared, the situation
would worsen. Much as Niklas loved the magic of Christmas, the wonder in
children’s eyes as they sat on Santa’s knee, he wished he could tell them all what
Christmas is really about—the Savior’s birth. Still, he managed to spread the
good news to a few people, young and old, each year—sometimes successfully,
other times not. Nevertheless, he trusted God to bring the right people across
his path who needed to hear the salvation message.

Business was good this year, like the
preceding ones. His wooden forest cabins were rented for weeks, bar the one
vacated yesterday. God’s favor rested on him. Strange there’d been no takers
for that cabin for the balance of the season. But thirteen days remained before
Christmas. He had faith for a booking long before then.

Niklas grabbed the next log, shortening it
in the same manner. Despite the negative degrees, he’d worked up a sweat. He removed
his jacket and selected a few smaller logs, chopping them into thinner pieces.
They’d be good to get the fires going, although birch bark did the trick best. Tourists
wouldn’t know that, however, and he couldn’t be around to start all the cabins’
fires.

By the time the sled was full, the sun
had almost risen, the snow now a pale shade of blue.

His first chore done, Niklas steered the
snowmobile toward his parents’ home.
Time for that second coffee.
He indulged
in these morning chats with them. Who could blame him? His parents were every
child’s dream. Especially his father.

Standing on the porch, he brushed the
snow from his boots, removing them as he stepped inside. His jacket, snow pants,
scarf, gloves and hat all landed up either on a hook or on top of the shelf at
the front door. He’d deliver the firewood to each cabin and prepare the
fireplaces for incoming guests after coffee and
Pulla
.

Niklas licked his lips, already tasting
those freshly-baked cardamom buns.

“Mmm,
Äiti
,
that smells
good.” Niklas ducked as he stepped into the kitchen where his mother removed a
tray from the oven. Most men could make it through the low doorway without
stooping. Not Niklas.

“You’re a man of great stature,” Mother
always told him. Her words never failed to make him feel good, especially after
he learned that the word referred to more than physique, that it meant
importance and standing, too.

He glanced at his father’s empty chair,
and then at his mother.

“He’s not well today. He asks that you
see him before you have coffee.”

Niklas nodded. Those buns would have to
wait.

He ducked back through the doorway and headed
for his parents’ bedroom.

First thing to catch Niklas’s eye as he
entered the room was the freshly pressed red suit and hat draped over the
armchair in the corner. Then he saw his elderly father curled up under the
blankets, only his gray hair visible. This couldn’t be good. In all the years, Father
rarely missed a day’s work. But he was getting on in years, and Niklas found
himself frequently wearing his father’s suit. He didn’t mind. Father had taught
him the business from an early age, so he always did a great job. There’d never
been a complaint, the majority of people too busy enjoying the moment to even
notice a difference.

“
Isä?
” Niklas approached the bed and
knelt down beside it. “Are you feeling poorly again today?”

“I am, Son. I’m sorry. I know you have
many chores this time of the year, but could you fill in for me? Perhaps
tomorrow or the next day I’ll be well enough to return to my duties.”

“Of course I will stand in for you,
Father. For as long as is necessary. You know how much I love what you do.”

The old man managed a chuckle before a
coughing spell interrupted. “You will make a fine replacement one day, my son.”

“Thank you,
Isä
. It would be an
honor to follow in your footsteps. You make so many people happy.”

Leaning over, he kissed his father’s cheek,
the thick beard tickling Niklas’s face, making him smile. “I will drink coffee and
eat
Pulla
now with
Äiti
. Then I’ll fetch your uniform, and after
I sort out the fireplaces in the cabins, I’ll head to your office. You sleep,
Isä
,
and get well. The world needs you.”

Father gave a slow nod, and then closed
his eyes.

She’d
do it. She had nothing to lose, and a story to gain. One that would not happen
if she stayed.

Rising from the bed, Sarah walked to the
small desk in the corner of the room and powered up her laptop. She typed three
words into the search bar: Santa Claus Lapland.

Rovaniemi.
That’s where she’d head.

Another search soon found her the best
available flight—one ticket left at a half-decent price. For tomorrow night. Nothing
like acting on the spur of the moment. No time to contemplate, overanalyze, or
change her mind. Thanks to her father’s birth in Scotland, she had a valid British
passport to enter Finland, sufficient savings, no plans for Christmas, and besides
her cute nephews, no desire to be around for the festive season. Painful
memories resurfaced after the altercation with Hannah. Her sister would want,
no expect, her to go with them to the Christmas Eve service. Christmas day,
too. Matthew and Jonathan would beg and plead. How could she refuse her nephews?

But Andrew would attend the services, and
he was the last person she wanted to bump into. On the other side of the world,
she’d at least eliminate that threat, and get some much needed peace and quiet
to write. Hopefully she’d find the inspiration she so desperately sought.

Grabbing her handbag, Sarah dug inside
for her wallet. She pulled out her credit card and made her reservations. An
afternoon flight from Cape Town to Johannesburg. Then overnight to Paris. After
a short stop in Helsinki, she’d arrive in Rovaniemi around one-thirty Saturday
afternoon—four flights later. What a journey to travel from one side of the
world to the other.

Best return date was Saturday, January
3rd. Three weeks to research and write.

She booked a small car with
SATNAV—English—and then moved on to find accommodation, scouring various
websites. Did the entire world head to Lapland at Christmas? Every place she
liked was either fully booked or only available for certain days. And those that
did have vacancies cost an entire torso. She had to find somewhere to
stay—she’d already paid for the car and flights.

Sarah breathed in deep. Stay calm. No
time for panic.

Looking for a Lapland holiday with a
difference? Close enough for Santa visits, far enough away to experience peace
on earth in a magical winter wonderland? Enjoy your own slice of heaven at
Toivonen’s. Secluded Lapland log cabins. With Wi-Fi.

What could be more perfect? Santa,
magic, peace, seclusion,
and
free internet. Probably fully booked, too.

Sarah placed her mouse on the booking
link. No way. One cabin left.
At a good price, too. And those photos... She
couldn’t have found a better place if she’d spent months planning this trip. It
was simply meant for her.

Fingers trembling Sarah completed the
booking. Visions of someone from another part of the world competing against
her for this space crowded her mind. Only once she received the booking confirmation
email did she dare breathe again. She pumped her fist in the air.
Yes.

A knock drew her attention from the
screen. She spun the swivel chair around as the door opened and Hannah eased
inside.

“May I?”

Sarah nodded.
It is your house.

“Listen, about earlier—”

“Don’t worry. Guess this subject will
rear its ugly head from time to time. We’ll have to learn to live with it.”

Hannah drew in a breath. “Yes, but—”
Releasing a sigh, she shook her head. “What are you up to?”

“Research.”

“That’s great. What?”

What else?
“Lapland.”

Disappointment crowded Hannah’s face,
the smile she replaced it with, forced. “Oh. Should be interesting.” She
twirled a dishtowel around her hands. “Lunch is almost ready, if you’re hungry.”

Sarah shook her head. “Too much to do.”

“You really are on a roll. I’m glad.”

If you only knew.

Reality punched Sarah in the stomach.
Hannah needed to know, but how would she tell her sister that she wouldn’t be
home for Christmas? Or her birthday.

Same approach as she’d taken all morning—jump
in and do it.

“There’s something I need to tell you.”

Hannah’s eyes widened. Expectant. “Yes.”

“I’m going away for a while.”

A frown narrowed Hannah’s gaze, and her
mouth pulled to one side as she chewed her bottom lip. “When?” she finally
managed.

“Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow? For how long?”

“Three weeks.”

The dishtowel fell from Hannah’s hands
and plopped to the floor. “Three weeks? You’ll be gone for Christmas, New Year,
and
your thirtieth birthday.” She stooped to pick up the cloth and once
again wrung it around her hands. “I was keeping this as a surprise, but Mom and
Dad arrive next week. I’ve been planning a—”

“I’m sorry, Hannah, but I have to get
away. I need to write this book.”

“Can’t you go after all the celebrations
are over? The boys will be so disap—”

“No. I can’t. Everything’s already
booked.” Sarah brushed her foot over the carpet, watching how it changed color
as the pile was forced in another direction. She pulled her foot back the way
it had come and everything looked the same as it was before. If only life were
that simple. If only one could go back to the way things were in an
instant—before hurtful things were said, painful things done, rash decisions
made. Like booking a ticket to Lapland without giving it any thought. As with
so many things in her life, all Sarah could say was ‘Too late. What’s done is
now done.’

“Where are you going?”

“Lapland.”

Hannah shoved her hands on her hips. The
dishtowel dangled down her jean-clad side. “Lapland? How can you go there
alone? Are you even prepared for such a trip? Do you have the right clothes?
What will you eat? Where will you stay?”

“I have winter clothes and boots in a
box in your garage.”

“Sarah, our clothing would surely not
suffice for those climates.”

Typical of her sister to find some
negative to try and change her mind. She wouldn’t let her.

Sarah locked eyes with Hannah. “Then
I’ll go out this afternoon and buy the right clothing and boots. We do have
shops that cater for Kilimanjaro and Mount Everest explorers. I’ll visit one of
them, or I’ll buy clothes that side of the world, but in twenty-four hours I’m
heading for the airport with my suitcase and laptop.”

Hannah held Sarah’s stare. With a grunt,
she flung her arms in the air and pivoted, the white dishtowel flying overhead
like a peace flag. Except there probably wouldn’t be peace between them for a
while. “You know what…do whatever you have to, Sarah.”

The door slammed shut behind her.

I will.

Sarah turned back to her laptop. How bad
could the weather really be? Would a visit to the box marked ‘Winter Clothing’
in the garage suffice?

A heading captured her attention. ‘Temperatures.
Twenty-three Fahrenheit to minus forty in winter.’
“What?” She didn’t
need to convert to Celsius to know that was cold. Sarah leaned closer to the
screen. She had seen right.

The chair spun around as Sarah bolted to
her feet. She had far more to do than anticipated. She needed a decent jacket,
boots, snow pants and thermal underwear, plus an international driver’s
license. She had to get to the mall fast.

Sarah grabbed her phone. Ack. Need to
get that opened for international roaming, too. She’d need to call her family
on Christmas and New Year’s. Perhaps they’d want to call on her birthday.

She pinched herself as she stepped out
the front door. Yes, this was real. She really was heading for Lapland. Tomorrow.
That in itself was a great story prompt. Perhaps the decision to go to Lapland
was already paying off.

Her heart beat a little faster as
inspiration and anticipation simultaneously seeped into her being.

His stomach filled with strong coffee and
his mother’s good baking, Niklas made his way back to the snowmobile, a red
sack containing Father’s work clothes slung over his shoulder. He offered up a
prayer for
Isä
’s health. He was old. How much longer could he provide
the service he did? Contrary to popular belief,
Isä
couldn’t live
forever. Would he need to step into his father’s shoes far earlier than anticipated?
Was he ready? They were pretty big shoes to fill.

As Niklas hopped back on the snowmobile,
his phone vibrated. He plunged his hand into his jacket pocket and wrapped his
fingers around the device.

New email. He checked the subject line.
Booking Confirmation.
Yes. I knew someone would take that last cabin.
He
opened the mail.

“A three-week booking?” That he hadn’t
expected. Niklas glanced through the details. Miss Sarah Jones. South Africa.
Why would anyone want to leave the warmth and sunshine of the southern
hemisphere to come to a place where the sun barely shone this time of year? And
for three long weeks?

Laughter bubbled up from his stomach,
spilling over his lips.
Perhaps Miss Jones is coming to Lapland to
hibernate.

No matter the reason for her visit, one
thing Niklas did know, and it made him grin—she didn’t need an airport shuttle.
Good, because if
Isä
wasn’t well when she arrived in two days, he’d be
filling his father’s shoes when her flight landed.

Niklas pulled on his gloves, started the
snowmobile and drove back to his cabin, his thoughts lost in the strangeness of
this new guest. He should place Miss Jones in the cabin closest to his, move
the family coming in tomorrow to the cabin that until now had remained unreserved.
It wouldn’t do to have a woman living that deep in the forest on her own.
Coming from Africa, she’d be clueless about life in Lapland—high-maintenance,
needing lots of help. The closer she was the better. For them both.

Or maybe not?

Starting with Miss Jones’s cabin, Niklas
entered and stacked wood into the fireplace, ready to be lit. Then he filled
the wood holder with sufficient logs to keep a fire going through the night. He
did the same thing at each vacant cabin. Those occupied, he merely dropped a
pile of fresh logs onto the porch.

Both Risto and Mila gave a loud bark as
Niklas stepped back inside. The sound reminded him that he hadn’t thought about
his dogs when he’d agreed to help Father. Not that he could’ve refused. Come
rain, sunshine or snow,
Isä
couldn’t miss work.

Tail wagging, Risto came closer and rubbed
a wet nose against his cold pants.

Niklas patted his head. “You want to go
out, boy?”

Another bark.

“I guess that means yes.” He opened the
cabin door and the dog bounded outside into the snow. Mila eased up onto her
paws and ambled toward Niklas, her heavy stomach clearly cumbersome. She walked
right past him and followed Risto with far less enthusiasm than the father of
her unborn pups had shown.

No way could he leave the dogs here on
their own until after seven tonight. And he couldn’t take them to his parents’
house with his father ill. They’d have to come with him to work. It shouldn’t
be a problem. Both Mila and Risto loved people. And children loved dogs.

After a quick shower to freshen up,
Niklas grabbed the dogs’ leashes. As he put on his snow pants, he pulled the
snowmobile keys from the pocket and swopped them for his car keys. Then he made
his way to the Range Rover, ready to head for the village.

The retrievers’ ears pricked up at the
sound of his whistle. He patted his thighs. “Mila. Risto. Come. You want to be
Santa’s helpers today?”