Soon, four o’clock rolled around, and Tess heard Jim and Jane rapping on her side door. The dog woke and let out a couple of low barks, not aggressively, exactly, but in warning. He scrambled to his feet as Tess crossed the room to open the door, and before she knew it, he was in front of her, between her and the outside world.
“It’s okay,” she said to him. “It’s just Jim and Jane.” She opened the door, hoping he wouldn’t continue barking or, worse yet, bite. But he just stood there, a silent protector.
“Come in, come in!” Tess said to her guests.
They trundled in, with choruses of “hellos” and hugs, Jim carrying the dog food and another bag, Jane carrying the baguettes and a bottle of wine. Both were wearing wool parkas with a Norwegian design decorating their edges, wool hats with ear flaps, and big woolen mitts. Quintessential northerners.
“You can hang your coats here,” Tess said, gesturing to the hooks by the door, “and just leave your boots there.”
While her guests were unwrapping from their outerwear, and the dog was circling around them happily, Tess opened the wine and poured glasses for them all.
“Well, look at this big fella,” Jim said, petting the dog around the ears. The dog seemed to smile from ear to ear. “Where did you come from, huh?”
“Definitely not a stray,” Jane said, running a hand along the fur on his back. “He’s beautiful. And looks to be in pretty good condition, considering.”
Jim set the bag of dog food on the counter. “Got a bowl?”
Tess retrieved a big stoneware bowl from the cabinet, poured a good amount of food into it, and set it down next to the water dish.
“Here’s some nice dinner for you,” she said to the dog, who sniffed at the food for a moment before taking a few bites.
Jim pulled his phone from his pocket and snapped a few photos as the dog ate his food. “I’ll put these up in the store, but I’m sure I haven’t seen this fella around town at all. So few of us left in the winter, you kind of get to know what’s what with everyone and their pets.”
“Especially you. With the store, you see all of us,” Tess said, handing them both their glasses and then picking up her own and holding it aloft. “To good neighbors! Thank you so much for blowing the driveway, and to the boys for shoveling the porch and stairs.”
The three clinked glasses. “Think nothing of it,” Jim said. “Happy to help! That’s what neighbors do.”
Tess had assembled a selection of cheeses, crackers, figs, and grapes on a heavy wooden cutting board, which she had placed on the butcher-block table. People had always sort of gravitated to it, for some reason, standing around it during family gatherings while the cook busied him-or herself at the stove. That was where they all stood now, as the fire crackled in the fireplace and the AGA radiated its warmth. The dog turned in a circle a few times and curled up next to the fire with a contented sigh.
Tess looked at her neighbors and smiled. Jim was fit and wiry, his hair still a dusty blond. His blue eyes were full of emotion and kindness. He was definitely an adventure-apparel sort of dresser, always wearing something appropriate if a long walk in the wilderness suddenly came up, an ever-present Swiss Army knife on his belt. When tourists came to Wharton, you could always tell the newbies by their brand-spanking-new denim shirts, crisp jeans, and pristine hiking boots or water shoes they had purchased at an expensive outdoors store for the occasion. Jim was the real thing and lived the outdoors lifestyle to its fullest.
Jane was what Tess would describe as Northwoods chic, always wearing interesting dangly jewelry, mostly silver, clothes made from sustainable fibers—linen was her go-to in the summer, brushed cotton and smart-wool sweaters in the winter—in muted colors, flaxes and whites and deep blues. Her thick hair was cut in an asymmetrical bob and was completely white, which suited her to a T.
“The stew smells incredible,” Jane said as she nibbled on a cracker topped with a decadent aged blue cheese.
The conversation turned to other things, then, the blizzard—who had dug out whom, whose pipes had burst. Many snowbirds made a practice of leaving house keys with neighbors who lived year-round in Wharton, and those neighbors had been checking on people’s homes, just to make sure they didn’t come home to a flood in the spring.
“I’m sorry if it’s chilly in here,” Tess said. “I guess my boiler went out.” She turned to Jim. “Do you know of anyone who can fix it? Someone who could come soon? Like maybe tomorrow?”