Newt the Gnome’s Noble Firs

By Zoe Anastasia

Ice battered the door as Newt flipped his farm sign to “Closed” and released a happy sigh. Another year of cutting and baling noble firs seven times his height and trying not to get squashed by troll customers was complete.

He’d survived.

He pressed his body against the door, fighting the wind till it latched shut. With a swipe of his hand, the icicles clinging to his beard fell and shattered on the floor.

“Ah, time for a good ol’ cup of hot cocoa.” Newt sagged into his chair by the crackling hearth. Lifting a steaming kettle, he poured cocoa into a mug. Cinnamon tickled his nose. He closed his eyes with a faint smile as his sore muscles relaxed against the worn seat. Thank the evergreens for whoever invented chocolate.

Newt lifted the drink to his lips.

Bang. Bang. Bang. The wreath on the door rattled. Newt jumped, cocoa splattering into his lap. He squawked and tried to wipe the scalding liquid away.

What in the blizzards was that?

Newt stomped to the door and swung it open.

A lad in red plaid, twice as tall as Newt, shivered in the doorway. A human—around twelve years old, by the looks of it.

He pulled his cap tight around his curls as shards of ice assaulted him. “Are you N-Newt the Gnome?”

“‘Tis he. What’s the meaning of this disturbance?” Newt jerked his head toward the “Closed” sign.

“I came for a Christmas tree, sir!”

In this weather? He crossed his arms. “I’m sorry, but the firs are covered in ice, if ya didn’t notice.”

The lad’s shoulders slumped. “It’s for my sister, sir. She keeps harping on about needin’ a tree.”

Newt blew out a breath. Boys never listened. “Did ya miss the part where I said ‘covered in ice?’ You’ll be taking home a six-foot icicle!”

“She needs it.” The boy shuddered. “I can’t go home without it!”

“Hmm.” Newt grumbled under his breath, his back aching. A perfect curl of steam wafted from his mug of cocoa, beckoning him back to its warmth.

This kid was off his rocker. But hope still sparkled in his eyes. “Please, sir? I’ll do whatever I must.”

Newt rubbed his beard. For his sister, eh?

Oh, well. He would do it this once. But only this once!

Newt shoved on his boots and an extra coat. The wind shrieked and clawed at him as he stepped into the ice storm.

The boy rubbed his arms. Clumps of snow clung to his flannel. Blazes, the kid really wasn’t dressed for such weather. But Newt didn’t have a coat that would fit him, being gnome-sized an’ all.

“Let’s get to it.” Newt pointed to a rack with handsaws, and the kid picked one up, his shoulders straightening with new purpose.

“What’s your name, lad?”

“Erik, sir.”

“Well, Erik, we’re going to find your sister a mighty fine tree.” Before my hot cocoa freezes over.

Newt marched forward. In the billows of snow, he could barely make out the green, drooping boughs of his noble firs.

“Ya have a height preference?”

Erik bit his lip. “I might’ve forgot to measure…”

Newt shook his head. Customers never measured. “Better go with somethin’ smaller then, eh? Trees like ta fool ya with their height.”

“Yes, sir!”

When they reached the middle of the field, Erik turned in a circle.

The ice thickened before Newt’s eyes. He grunted at the sting on his weathered skin.

“There!” Erik plowed forward, tromping through the knee-deep snow while Newt walked on top of a fragile layer of ice. After stopping at the base of a thin fir, Erik began to saw.

Newt folded his arms to consider its scraggly, crystalized boughs. It was only a little bigger than him. “Do ya reckon your sister will want a frozen twig in her room?”

Erik chuckled. Newt raised an eyebrow.

“My sister is five. She asked for a short tree so she can decorate it all by herself.”

Well, Newt wouldn’t argue with that logic.

He rubbed his arms, shivering. Ice froze to his eyelashes. Boy, would he be happy when he could fill his belly with hot cocoa. His fingers itched to wrap around the mug. Reheated cocoa was never as good.

The blade jerked. Erik pushed harder, huffing and puffing until it caught on the middle of the trunk.

Newt exhaled a plume of mist. The lad had asked for this. But Newt couldn’t stand and do nothing, even with his aching muscles. He grabbed the other end of the saw. Together, they pushed and pulled. The tree tilted.

“Hold on!” Newt yelled.

Erik hugged the tree.

“And down she goes.” Newt gently guided the icy fir to the snow. “‘Fraid I can’t shake nor bale that. It’d snap under pressure. You’ll have ta take it as it is.”

Erik lifted the trunk. “No problem, sir!”

They retraced their steps with the tree in tow. By the time they reached Newt’s cabin, buried in the side of a hill, Erik’s hands and cheeks were red from the cold. Now, that wouldn’t do. Newt wouldn’t let him freeze under his watch.

“Hmm.” He rubbed his frozen beard. “Say, what if I give ya a ride on my sleigh?”

Erik scrunched his brow. “But why—?”

“Place it up here.” Newt pulled him toward the snow-laden sleigh. While Erik did so, Newt gathered a spool of twine and tied the tree on as best he could. “You need ta get home, ‘fore you get frostbite.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” Erik took a step back. “It’s the finest tree I’ve ever seen. My sister will think the ice is magical.”

Newt chuckled. Will her feelings change when the ice melts?

Nevertheless, he agreed. The tree had charm to it. And Erik was blasted determined despite Newt’s better judgment.

He had to admit, he kinda liked the lad.

“Would ya like a cup of hot cocoa for the road?”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Zoe Anastasia grew up in an Army family, moved all over the country, and discovered along the way that whimsical fantasy stories feel like home. She writes to illuminate the darkest places and show the girl tucked in the corner that she is seen and belongs. When Zoe isn’t daydreaming about magical humpback whales and butterflies who can speak, she’s usually wandering through nature or making apple cider donuts at her local pumpkin farm.

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