The Gingerbread Village

It was the worst winter storm the town of Honnigskake had ever seen. All night the blizzard howled round houses on the top of Honnigs mountain and by the time the townsfolk awoke in the morning their homes and shops were buried beneath ten feet of snow. Whilst the adults fretted about digging their way out of the deluge, Erik Lars fretted about something else.
"But what about the village, ma," he said, tugging at his mother's jumper.
"Village? What do you mean, Erik?" his mother huffed as she pulled on her boots.
"The gingerbread village!"
"Oh Erik, I think it's safe to say its gone."
"Gone? Where?"
"Erik I don't mean its moved I mean..." she paused and looked down into Erik's eyes. With a soft hand brushing his cheek she said,"Erik, I think it'll be destroyed. The weight of the snow will have crushed it."
Erik fought to keep the lump from rising in his throat. His lip quivered. He knew how much effort he and his school mates had put into creating that structure; the weeks of planning, the baking of the six hundred and fifty houses, the snow frosting painted on each roof and each window pane, the delicate and precise arrangement of them on a bed of inch thick icing sugar, even the moulded sugarpaste people. The idea of it being lost was too hard to contemplate.
"Your father and I need to help everyone with the dig, Erik. I want you to stay here and keep warm by the fire," his mother stated before climbing out through a first floor window onto the thick drifts of crystal white snow.
Erik sighed as he stared into the licking flames. Images of the crushed village flashed across his minds eye. They tormented him, mocked him until an idea exploded in his mind like an enormous firework and blocked out his sorrow. He grabbed his jacket and a trowel and crawled out into the crisp morning air.
On route to his school he met with other kids. All were equally saddened by the thought that their village had been crushed, some more disappointed that they'd never had a chance to eat it before the weather claimed it.
"I have an idea," Erik beamed. "Go and get trowels or whatever you can find to dig with."
One by one Erik amassed a small army of kids all wielding shovels, spoons, trowels or anything that they could use to scoop snow.
Through a rise of trees Erik could make out the snow capped roof of his school. Sweeping drifts banked up against its side, most touching the guttering. Blunt confirmation to Erik that the gingerbread village was certainly consumed.
"What's your idea, Erik? What are we gonna do?" said one girl.
Erik looked out across the smooth snow where the gingerbread village used to be.
"Are we gonna dig out the village?" asked a small boy. From the year below him, Erik thought.
He glanced across at the sea of expectant faces, poised for his response.
"We're gonna recreate it," Erik announced. "If the snow wants to claim our gingerbread, let it have it. But we can build our miniature Honnigskake in snow."
Erik's recruits exchanged confused looks. He could hear them muttering to each other. All except the boy in the year below. He stepped forward.
"I think that's a brilliant idea," he beamed.
One by one the others stepped forward too until all were united in Erik's master plan.
Within a couple of hours the miniature snow village was taking shape. The spire of the church was pointing, majestic and proud into the blue sky and the snow school was complete. The more the snow village resembled Honnigskake the louder the laughter became until they attracted the attention of the rest of the residents.
Erik saw his mother climb up through the trees. He felt his feet suddenly take root in the snow and his heart sink into his stomach. But as she trudged through the snow toward him, she spotted the snow sculpture beside him and the rest of his classmates. A wry smile drew on her face.
"I might have known I couldn't trust you to stay inside."
Erik smiled. "I think this is better than the gingerbread one," he said.