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Just finishing up washing the breakfast dishes—Cale having made his world-famous gloppy eggs that morning—Quinn paused at the sink, then dried her hands on the towel.
"Get your coats on, boys," she told them.
The boys groaned in unison.
"NO. Not a walk," Eric protested. "Daddy, don't let her make us go for a walk!"
"We are going to build a snowman on the front porch," she told them. "There's plenty of snow. Come on."
Without giving anyone an opportunity to protest further, she pushed the boys to the door and assisted Cale in getting them dressed for the outside. After bundling themselves up, Cale and Quinn led the twins through the front door onto the porch.
"Quinn's right," their father told them, "there's more than enough snow for a good snowman."
Soon the snowman began to take shape, and the boys wanted features for the frosty face. A pile of pinecones found under the snow in one corner of the porch supplied eyes, nose, and mouth. The boys admired their creation, but, cold and bored, now that the distraction had ended, they began to complain again.
"We want a Christmas tree, Daddy," Evan told him solemnly. "If we have a tree and Santa does find us, he'll have a place to leave our presents."
Cale had planned on chopping one of the small pines from the back to bring into the cabin. He hadn't counted on a blizzard. A Christmas tree wasn't too much for his sons to ask, he knew. Of course, if Val couldn't get here with their presents, there wouldn't be anything to put under the tree, but he'd worry about that later.
"Guys, go inside with Quinn and warm up. I'll be in in a few minutes."
"What are you going to do, Daddy?"
"It's a surprise. Go on." Cale opened the door and shoved them through. "Maybe Quinn can make something hot for you to drink."
"Sure, Cale, but what are you… ?" she asked as he scooted her through the door behind the boys.
"You just go on." Cale motioned for her to follow behind his sons, and closed the door. He turned to the snowman and asked, "What would Christmas be without a tree?"
"Well, boys, what do you think?" Cale stood the little tree upon its cut trunk and gave it a twirl.
The boys looked at it in horror.
"What's wrong?" he asked.
"What's that?" They frowned.
"This," Cale told them, "is our Christmas tree."
"That's not a Christmas tree!"
"That's a twig!"
Crestfallen, Cale stepped back to take another look at the little tree he had chopped from where it had grown at the foot of the porch steps, trying to see it through his sons' eyes. It had been the only tree he could get to without running the risk of being lost in the storm.
It was a bit… scraggly.
"Why, that tree's just right," Quinn announced, having seen the look of disappointment cross Cale's face. "It'll be wonderful, once we decorate it You'll see, guys. It'll be perfect."
"'We don't have any decorations," Evan wailed.
"Then we'll make them," she told them. "Eric, get out that art kit of yours."
"Oh, brother," the boys moaned joylessly.
"Here." Quinn handed Eric a pair of scissors and a pile of construction paper. "You cut out strips, like this." She folded the paper into strips of equal width, then cut out the first two.
From the art kit, she withdrew a container of paste and, removing the lid, told Evan, "And you can glue the strips together into a chain, see?"
