Page 33 of A Bridge to a Troll's Heart
Once the childrenhad abandoned him to devour their weight in sugar cookies, Arlo sought out Gran. Curiosity bloomed, mixed with the hope she would have something positive to say and fear that somehow Arlo had managed to do something wrong already. Though he racked his mind, he could think of no slight, so he told himself to calm down.
The petite matriarch sat in her rocking chair, yarn and knitting needles in her lap, but her hands were occupied instead with braiding the hair of a young girl who sat at her feet. Arlo harbored a particular affection for Ivy, one of Toby’s cousins, because she’d collected a marvelous array of seeds and had taken the time to explain what each would turn into if planted. The clever speech from such a young lass had piqued Arlo’s interest in gardening. He would especially love to see the sunflowers grow tall as Arlo himself, as she had promised.
“Hello, dear,” said Gran. “I’ll only be a moment. Less if Ivy here could manage to sit still.”
“Sorry, Gran.” Ivy squirmed, pent-up energy jittering her tiny frame. “But the others are eating all the cookies. May I go now?”
With an amused sigh, Gran fastened the braid at the end and patted the girl’s shoulder. “All right, skedaddle. Though the last thing you need is more sugar.”
Ivy skipped off in a hurry, with rosy cheeks and a gleeful smile on her face.
Arlo stepped forward. “You wanted to see me?”
“Yes, come, help an old woman to her feet.” Gran stretched a lace-clad arm forward.
Arlo carefully pulled her up.
She took his elbow and gestured to the hall. “To the stairs, lad. I have something to show you.”
Arlo guided them down the hall and up a flight of stairs. This was the only house he’d ever been in with two floors, which he found fascinating. All the family rooms were below, and the sleeping rooms above. So many rooms, each of them bigger than Arlo’s den.
Dropping her grasp on his arm, Gran indicated the first open door. Arlo stepped into a cheerful bedroom with warm brown wooden walls and two big windows. One with a view of the cottage next door and the other of the snow steadily falling on the front yard, where Arthur’s snowman stood proud and tall. A bed with puffy white covers was pushed against the wall, the wooden table beside it covered in books. Another rocking chair, holding a different knitting project, occupied the corner.
Gran went to the dresser, slid a blue marbled box forward, and opened the lid. “Come, Arlo.”
She sorted through the contents: knickknacks, pencils, bits of paper jewelry, ribbons, etc. She pulled out a silver band. Her gaze shifted to Arlo, warmth in her wise, green eyes.
“This ring belonged to my mate, Toby’s grandfather.” She turned the ring around in her fingers. “It was his father’s before that and has been in our family for generations. Normally, the ring would pass to one of my sons, perhaps even to Toby someday. But…” A smile lit her face. “I’m giving it to you.”
Arlo’s breath froze in his chest. His throat constricted. The sudden onslaught of emotion threatened to overcome him, and he struggled to speak. “Oh, my stars. Oh, moonbugs! Oh, Gran, I couldn’t. It’s too much.”
“Fiddle-faddle. I want you to have it, and have it you shall.” Gran took Arlo’s hand and dropped the ring into his palm. “The men of this family know their worth and their place in this pack. They’ve been nurtured. They’ve given and taken in due course, and they don’t need a symbol to know they belong. But I think you do.”
Arlo stared at the ring. The silver had dulled with wear and time, but the effect in no way diminished its beauty. Large enough it would likely fit him, the ring had a wide band pressed flat and decorated with intricate carvings of racing wolves the whole way around. Gorgeous animals, windswept from speed, frozen in their endless chase.
“Go ahead,” Gran said gently. “Try it on. I can tell you want to.”
“Are you absolutely certain? Once I have the ring on, I may never be able to give it back.”
Her laughter filled the room. “Yes, dear. I’m certain.”
“And the others?” Arlo had to be sure. “Your sons, your grandsons, Toby? They won’t mind?”
“Of course not. They will understand. Besides, the ring is mine to give to whomever I please, and I rather like the idea of it being yours. Toby’s fingers are far too small for it to fit him anyway. His grandad was a good bit larger than the others. Like you.”
A tingle of joy sprang up his spine. “I wish I could have met your mate.”
“As do I. He’d have liked you, Arlo. And he would have been happy to know Toby has found his match.”
At this rate, Arlo would have to scoop his heart back together with a spoon, as it had melted into a puddle. He held the ring carefully between the thumb and forefinger of his right hand and slid it onto the ring finger of his left. It fit perfectly.
“There,” said Gran. “An official member of Red Elk River and Fern Pack if there ever was one. Good lad.”
Part of a real family—a big, loving family with aunts, uncles, brothers, sisters, cousins, nieces, nephews, Gran, and Toby—everything he’d ever wanted. The tingle of joy exploded and burst forth in a grin so wide his cheeks hurt.
“Thank you.” The full extent of Arlo’s emotions suffused in those two words.
Gran reached up and patted his cheek.
