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"Canada," Graham said, pointing at himself. "Norway, and Sweden," he said, pointing at the girls in turn. It was clear that he'd appointed himself spokesman of the group, but the girls soon piped in and Molly realized that it wasn't that their English wasn't strong (it was), it was just that floppy-haired, lanky Graham got excited about things. And living this far north in a snowy cabin meant that there weren't a ton of visitors, so he was almost bouncing off the walls as he showed her around and pointed out where she'd sleep.
Molly left her rucksack on the foot of the bed in her small room downstairs, then wandered into the kitchen, rolling up her sleeves. It wasn't a mess, but no one had cleaned up after lunch, and when Molly pulled open the door to the refrigerator, all she could find was a half-eaten roasted chicken, a dish with a plastic cover that held some sort of vegetable concoction, and a few things in jars with names she couldn't pronounce on the labels.
"We're not good in the kitchen," Ursula said, standing in the doorway with a smile. She wore her hair in two long braids, and she had a pair of thick socks on her feet. With her Fair Isle sweater and corduroy pants, she looked like an advertisement for Nordic beauty.
Molly closed the fridge and turned to face her. "How close is the grocery store?"
Ursula nodded at the truck outside the kitchen window, with its big wheels to raise it up and off of the thick snow. "We drive there. About ten minutes."
Molly had her work cut out for her. The three college-age people she was staying with kept themselves busy with their project--something they explained to her over dinner that first night (she'd found eggs and made omelettes with thick slices of Swiss cheese and sautéed onions) that had to do with the way the direction of the solar wind affects the Earth's atmosphere and magnetic field, and the way it determines the visible colors of the aurora borealis. They also explained to her (excitedly, like scientists bubbling over after discovering something in a lab) that during the first recorded years of the northern lights there were liminal sounds that came from the display.
Molly was fascinated by it all but exhausted from the trek up to Lapland, and as she cleared the table, the three kids, as she thought of them, stood up and eagerly started to wash dishes and set the kitchen straight as they talked.
They fell into an easy pattern in the house, with Molly up first to make coffee and watch the snow fall. The kids all trailed out sleepily to join her as the morning went on. Most days she read the books she found on a floor-to-ceiling bookcase in a back room, sorting through the various topics and titles to find books written in English, then she either hitched a ride with her housemates into town to buy groceries (there was a small outpost of the university there where they checked in regularly), or she spent the afternoon making bread in the oven to serve with various potato dishes and gravies that were meant to warm them all from the inside out.
Truth be told, in spite of the freezing cold and the fact that while Graham and Ursula were a couple and she and Carina were both singletons living in the wilderness without partners, this was perhaps her favorite part of her trip to that point. Being so far north as Christmas approached meant that she was living in a winter wonderland, and having so much time to do cozy, homey things gave her the opportunity to be still, to reflect, to think of what was behind her and what might still be ahead.
As a group, they decided that they'd do a Christmas Eve dinner that combined the traditions of all four of their home countries: for Molly and Graham, it would be the turkey and mashed potatoes, with the addition of Christmas crackers to break open at the dinner table and a plum pudding for dessert as Graham was used to having in Canada. For Ursula, they'd build a gingerbread house together, something that Norwegians liked to do on December 23rd. And in honor of Carina's Swedish upbringing, Graham had agreed to dress up as Tomte the Christmas gnome on Christmas Eve to hand out gifts and wish everyoneGod Jul. As if all of that weren't enough, December twenty-fourth happened to be the absolute pinnacle of the solar cycle and promised a night of northern lights that would be unparalleled.
"It's special," Carina said reverently the week before Christmas as she spooned in a bite of the hearty stew that Molly had made for them. "Some people believe that when you reach the peak of a solar cycle and the lights are on full display, that's when the veil between this world and the next world is the thinnest."
Molly looked up from her soup, her spoon suspended in mid-bite. "What?" She frowned.
"It's true," Ursula confirmed. "If you believe such things." She shrugged, looking noncommittal. As scientists Molly knew that they took the metaphysical world with a grain of salt, but Carina looked appropriately awed by the possibility of a window opening between them and the great beyond.
"My grandparents are both gone," Carina said, looking grave. "This kind of event only happens once in a lifetime, and I'm here now, and I'm going to talk to them."
"Talk to them?" Molly's eyes scanned the faces of the three people she'd been living with for the past few weeks. She'd told them about Rodney and about her adventure so far, so they were well aware of what this might mean for her, and aside from Carina, no one met her eye. "How do you talk to them?"
Carina took another bite of stew. "If you're standing under the aurora borealis, you're essentially at heaven's gate," she said, as if this is the most normal thing in the world to her. "You can shout into the night sky and they'll hear you."
Graham cleared his throat and passed the bread basket. "Carina," he said gently. "Do you really believe that?"
Carina stared back at him. "Of course I do. How can you not believe it?"
There was a challenge in the air, and all Molly could do was wait to see what happened next.
"Okay, okay," Ursula interjected, resting a hand on Graham's wrist as if trying to caution him to tread lightly. "We all have different ideas about things, and that's okay," she said, tossing one blonde braid over her shoulder. "I think everyone should be allowed to believe what they want. And if it makes you feel better to talk to your loved ones in heaven, then no one can tell you that's wrong."
Graham shook his head, looking amused. "I guess."
Molly finally spoke up: "Maybe you just don't have anyone up there you want to talk to yet," she said, her voice mild and non-accusatory. "Things change when the person you loved and talked to and spent all your free time with is suddenly gone. There's a part of you--a big part--that just wants to talk to them one more time. Maybe this is our chance."
Graham looked sheepish. "You're right," he said, nodding simply and picking up his spoon. "You're right. There's nothing wrong with hoping--or trying."
Ursula patted his arm gratefully and went back to eating her soup. It was clear that in the world of loved ones who had passed over, a dead husband trumped dead grandparents, as it was Molly's words that settled the matter, and no one spoke of it again.
On Christmas Eve, they did everything as planned: made a ham, mashed the potatoes, cooked up a sumptuous gravy, and baked a sweet plum pudding. They built a gingerbread house together, and Graham (as Tomte, wearing a pointy red felt hat and a matching red sweater) passed out presents wrapped in newspapers and tied with string. Everyone had done their best, shopped at the tiny market in town, bought or gave favorite books or scarves, and, in Ursula's case, used her talent as a painter--her favorite hobby--to create tiny watercolors for each of them of the A-frame cabin in the snowy woods with a vivid green and blue canopy of northern lights in the night sky. Molly hugged the little painting to her chest, grateful to have something to take with her so she'd never forget Lapland or her time there.
After the kitchen was cleaned, they loaded up the truck with blankets, thermoses of hot tea, a high-tech camera for Graham to shoot the sky, and headed out to the clearing where they planned to view the aurora borealis.
Molly sat in the back seat of the large truck next to Carina, one hand tucked into her pocket as she held onto the little enamel box she'd brought with her. In it were a scoop of Rodney's ashes, which she knew she'd leave under the magical, dancing sky on this Christmas Eve night in this far-flung northern place.
The spot they chose was a wide, open plain of snow with a rushing stream nearby, and the tall trees that ringed it were dusted with snow. The sky overhead was cold and bright, and the stars looked close enough to touch as they twinkled and blinked against the dark velvet of infinity. Molly stood there next to the truck for a moment, awed. Carina slid out and wrapped a blanket around Molly's shoulders before bounding away to help Graham set up the camera, talking excitedly about geomagnetic poles and nitrogen molecules.
This was Molly's second Christmas spent with strangers who had become friends, and her heart felt full. She thought back to the last year on Fiji, looking up at the sky as she wondered about Adi, about Dr. Reddy and Ema, and about Mrs. Chand and all of the people she'd come to know and love on Rotuma. She hoped they were well. She hoped that they were having a good Christmas, and most of all, she hoped that Adi knew how much he'd meant to her during that moment in time.
"Hey," Carina said as she approached. Clouds puffed from her mouth with every breath, and her head was wrapped in a thick, warm, gray knitted cap that hugged her ears and covered her forehead. "I was going to walk that way and talk to my grandparents for a moment. Would you like to come?"
