Page 27 of A Bridge to a Troll's Heart
“It’s the middle of the day!” Arlo’s cheeks flushed purple.
Toby’s grin never faded. “Are you saying no?”
“No!” Arlo scooped Toby into his arms in one swift movement. “I’m absolutely not saying no.”
* * *
Arlo
By the dayof the feast, Arthur had painted and delivered two signs, one for either end of the bridge. They hung them with care, decorated with piles of gourds underneath plus little baskets for anyone leaving tributes, and left the bridge for Red Elk Village. Arlo could hardly believe the journey was really happening, but there they were, walking hand in hand around the very bend in the trail he’d stared at longingly for months.
Before he could stop himself, Arlo glanced over his shoulder.
Toby noticed. “Everything will be all right. We’ll have a wonderful time, and your bridge will be here when we return.”
“You’re right,” Arlo grumbled. “I know you are, but leaving still feels risky.” He forced himself to pick up his pace. He’d made a decision and would stick with it. “I’m looking forward to seeing everyone. And the pie, I’m looking forward to the pie.”
“That’s great. Focus on the good stuff.” Toby squeezed his hand. “We’ll be back before you know it. I’m awfully proud of you.”
The trip from his bridge to Toby’s village wasn’t a long one. Around the bend and through a dense copse of sweet-smelling fir trees. Beyond the meadow where Toby said deer could be found grazing at dawn and dusk. Along a splendid shallow creek for a mile or so, the waters of which flowed from the Red Elk River herself, then finally over it, and on the other side lay Red Elk Village.
Though the day was cold, the sun’s bright rays sliced through puffy clouds to shine on the cluster of cottages scattered in a clearing. There hadn’t yet been snow, but the scent lingered in the air. Winter would settle in soon, and Arlo would enjoy evenings in his den, drinking cider by the woodstove with Toby. The calming thought soothed his nerves as he scanned the village.
“We’re headed to my grandmother’s.” Toby pointed ahead.
Most of the houses were small, but this one stood larger than the others in the center of the village. Built with sturdy logs, the home was both wider and taller than its neighbors. On the cheery yellow front door hung a wreath of pine with shining red berries and holly weaved into the middle. Arlo knew Toby’s grandfather had passed away last spring, and he wondered if his grandmother lived all alone in this massive house.
They climbed the porch steps just as the front door opened wide.
“Arlo.” Timothy smiled. “You made it.”
“Thank you for having me.”
Timothy welcomed them inside. Decadent aromas wafted through the house: roasted turkey and vegetables along with the sweet sugary smell of baking. He hoped his stomach wouldn’t start growling and embarrass him before supper.
“We can leave our coats and things here.” Toby motioned to a line of hooks on the wall, many of them already filled.
The chatter of people talking echoed from farther inside the house. Arlo’s nerves tingled. He’d met almost the entire pack already. A few of them he was getting to know quite well. But he’d yet to meet Toby’s grandmother, and he’d only seen the big group of them all together once. It wasn’t much like a troll to be intimidated, so Arlo shook off the feeling along with his coat.
Toby hung their things and ushered him down the hall. “Come, you must meet Gran.”
Timothy clapped him on the back. “Don’t let her talk your ear off. Call out ‘uncle’ if you need help. I’m out to fetch more wood for the fires.”
Off the hallway was a small parlor decorated in shades of cream and brown. Beyond that, another room stoked his curiosity. It contained shelves bursting with more books than he’d ever seen in one place. The family not occupied in the kitchen lounged in a large den area with furniture scattered loosely in a circle. Everybody was laughing and talking happily.
Arlo entered to smiling faces all around. The scene warmed his heart. He made sure to return them with one of his own. Toby beamed at his side, hanging on to his right elbow.
“Welcome, Arlo.” Toby’s mother, Regina, walked toward him and took his hands. “We’re so glad you could make it.”
“Thank you. It’s nice to be here.” It was true. He’d rather be surrounded by Toby’s family than alone on his bridge.
A soft voice rose from across the room. “So this is Arlo.”
Everyone quieted.
The elderly woman sat comfortably in a cushioned rocking chair, a colorful quilt thrown over her lap. Her eyes, though sunken and wrinkled around the edges, were the same emerald green as Toby’s and Regina’s. Silver-gray hair hung in loose curls past her shoulders. She wore a lavender blouse with a cream shawl over her shoulders.
“Come here, lad.” She beckoned one hand forward. “Let me get a closer look at you.”
