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Tomorrow, TUESDAY:
Coming Attractions for 2024
WEDNESDAY:
Good things to read in the new year… Happy New Year Too.
*
Merry Christmas
Christmas tree
A Holiday Journey 18
“This tree is more than two hundred years old,” Plum said, as he walked up from where the cowboys built a fire and got out what they had for supper. One cowboy kept an eye on the reindeer to make sure they did not wander off into the forest that began a hundred yards off to the right. The forest looked dark under the storm clouds, like a place even the Christmas lights could not brighten.
“It is tall enough, and bright enough with all the lights,” Merry said.
“It is very Christmas-like,” Chris agreed, but hesitated, before he added, “But something seems to be holding back the joy—the merry and bright—the Christmas Spirit.”
Merry took Chris’ arm and let out a small sound that suggested her heart might have broken. “Missus Claus passed away a few years ago,” she confessed. “And Santa has gotten very old. It is not the same, but we try not to notice.” She sniffed, and Chris slipped his arm around her to pull her in close. Chris imagined one of the lights moved. His mind said the wind, but there was no wind to speak of at the moment, like the calm before the storm. Before he could look closer, someone called.
“Over here,” Roy’s voice sounded out in the snow. “Mister Shepherd. Merry.” Chris and Merry went to see. Roy and two of the cowboys had gotten the evergreen out of the wagon and stuck it in a hole that Chris had not noticed. They had spades to cover the roots, and Plum stood there admiring the tree.
“Looks nice,” Chris thought a compliment was in order. “Looks bigger than I thought.”
“It is as old as you are,” Plum responded. “It is your tree.”
“My tree?” Chris asked.
Roy nodded, and Plum spoke again. “You need to touch it to bring it to life.”
“I what?”
“Go on,” Merry said, and held his arm out toward the tree. “Think of your Christmas tree at home. Think of both trees, and all the love that went into them.”
Chris hesitated, but trusted Merry. He reached out and touched a branch of the tree, and at once the tree became strung with lights and ornaments. The lights stayed lit, even though they had no place to plug them in. The ornaments, he recognized. His mother loved to decorate, and she kept those ornaments as well as she could through the years. They looked worn, but lovingly clean, and… yes, he saw the ornaments he bought over the last ten years for his artificial tree. Chris dropped his face into his hands and held back his tears. He mumbled for Merry.
“Lilly would love this tree.”
He decided this game had gone on long enough. He needed to find Lilly. He needed to know she was all right. He turned on Merry, took her by her shoulders, and said, “Tell me about Lilly.”
A dark wind blew through the camp. The wagon shook. The horses neighed. The fire flickered, and the cowboy by the cooking pot yelled.
“They are stealing the reindeer.”
“All hands-on deck,” Plum yelled, and people rushed for their horses.
“Stay here,” Merry told Chris. “You will be safe here, and I promise to tell you everything when I get back.”
Roy came up, trailing Merry’s horse. She mounted and they rode in the direction the wind had gone, soon disappearing in the darkness beyond the lights of the trees.
Chris did not know what to do. He sat down by the fire, left alone in the wilderness. He stood and retrieved a blanket from the wagon and went to sit again, pausing only to assure the two big draught horses that they were not forgotten. He poked at the beans that were cooking. He sighed and felt grateful for the light from the tree behind him. He refused to look at his own, personal tree. There were too many memories there, and not all happy ones. He supposed he felt grateful for the light from that tree as well. Being alone, in the wilderness, at night, in a storm would be spooky, no, it would be frightening in the dark.
It began to snow great flakes of white, and soon, it began to snow hard. The wind picked up, and Chris found his mind taken by the wind. He remembered a day he did not want to remember. Ricky was there. He looked young. Mama was there, too, weeping. It was the day his father got buried. They were at the graveside.
Chris sniffed. He hugged his Mama and wept with her. He tried to hug Ricky, but Ricky did not want to be hugged. He looked out over the graves, and saw an angel there, in the snow. It did not appear a clear image; just an outline. But Chris felt comforted. He knew his father would be all right. It was the promise of Christmas.
But it did not snow at his father’s funeral. That happened in the summer.
Chris paused to gather his thoughts. He looked again, but saw no image of an angel. He stirred the beans in the pot and tried to wait patiently for the others to return. He looked at the fire and saw something he did not want to see.
He saw Ricky in full battle gear, carefully and quietly climbing the steps to the roof, clutching tight to his rifle. The village was on fire, but sniper shot continued to come from the roof. They could not call in air or artillery against innocent civilians. They could not complete their mission under fire. He came around a corner in the staircase. He faced a boy—barely a teenager holding an AK-47. Ricky hesitated to kill a child. Triggers got pulled at the same time. The boy collapsed. Ricky got riddled full of bullets.
“No,” Chris yelled and covered his eyes. He prayed for Ricky. He prayed for Lilly, and Serissa, whom he never met. He prayed for that boy, and wept some more. He wiped his eyes, stirred the beans once, and stood. It started getting too cold to just sit and wait. He put another log on the fire, and dreaded what was to come.
Chris turned to stare at the big Christmas tree set out in the middle of nowhere. Indiana Territory, 1812, or actually, 1811, Christmas eve. He imagined the lights were moving again. It had to be a trick of the wind, the snowfall, and the ice in the branches. The moving lights looked hypnotic. He began to cry before he saw.
He held his mother’s hand when she died. He wept then. He wept again in the face of the tree. He heard a voice then, or perhaps now. It may have been the nurse. He always thought it was an angel.
“She is in a better place now. There is no more pain and no more suffering.” Poor Chris went out the door to Lilly. He held her and wept all over the little girl, and she wept with him. They were all that remained, but at least they had each other. They had each other, Chris thought. He needed to blow his nose, but he heard something that took all of his attention.
“Uncle Chris…” Chris turned toward the dark woods. He thought the call came from there. “Uncle Chris. Help me.”
Chris ran across the field and entered the woods without a second thought.
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MONDAY, Tuesday and Wednesday, the final chapter in A Holiday Journey: Chris confronts the real Santa Claus, but it does not turn out the way he expects.
Until Then, Happy Reading
*
A Holiday Journey 17
When Chris got up in the morning, he found himself dressed in his clothes from home. He recognized the little hole in his jeans and the stain at the bottom of his flannel shirt. His down jacket was not from 1812, but he assumed the hay and the barn he sat in were, so he figured he did not go home in the night. Besides, back home, Merry would be in her own apartment, and not laying comfortably beside him.
“So, this has not all been just a dream,” he mumbled.
“Like a dream come true,” Merry whispered before she opened her eyes and said, “Good morning.”
Chris leaned over and gave her a small peck on her lips before he said, “Morning. Plum said Lilly was in this place. Stick close, I have a feeling things may get weird before we get there…weirder.”
Plum came from the fire. “We got bacon, eggs, and whiskey soaked beans for breakfast,” he said, and let out a big smile. “We got a long way to go to reach the tree, so eat up.”
“Weirder,” Chris repeated.
Merry took him by the arm. “I have no intention of leaving your side. Not ever, if you don’t mind.”
“I don’t mind,” Chris said, and let out a little smile. “But you could wait until I ask.”
“Yes…” Merry said, and added, “Just practicing.”
Chris nodded, dropped her arm, and got a plate of breakfast. Roy found some real coffee, and Chris blessed him before he thought to put Plum on the spot.
“She is still in this time zone, near as I can tell,” Plum said.
“Near as you can tell?”
“She is. She certainly is. I would know if she was not in this zone. The thing is, she is at the far end, and she might slip away at any time. That is a long way to go. We should get moving.” Plum did not want to say any more. He appeared afraid of once again saying too much. Chris did not push the issue, as long as they had a chance of catching up with Lilly by nightfall.
Merry came up, riding on the back of a horse. She looked like she knew what she was doing, while Chris never rode a horse before. Chris quickly looked around. He figured he might manage a motorcycle, but he felt unsure about going on horseback. Fortunately, Roy got his attention and pointed. They had a wagon pulled by two of the largest horses Chris ever imagined. A mount appeared tied to the back of the wagon. Chris assumed that was Roy’s horse, in case he needed it. He took a deep breath and climbed aboard, and slid down to let Roy get up.
Chris looked in the back of the wagon, and along with all of his things—their things, he saw plenty of blankets, pots and pans, and another bag of beans beside a slab of bacon. He shrugged. He imagined there were not many options for food they could carry across country. The curious thing was the evergreen. They carried a young tree, its roots tied up neatly in burlap. Chris wondered what it might be for, when Roy shouted, and the horses began to strain. The wagon jerked, before it settled into a slowly increasing pace. Chris figured they would never go fast. He imagined most of the day would be spent going across country. Still, he would not have minded a seatbelt, and maybe a cushion for his seat.
Chris noticed they picked up a few fellow travelers. Three men on horseback drove a dozen cows into the wilderness. He looked close. One looked like the German officer from the World War One time period. The other two looked like the British soldiers that followed him out of the trench; though one might have been the sergeant. Chris shook his head. No matter what they looked like, he imagined they were Christmas elves of some kind. No doubt there to give some colorful backdrop to his journey.
Chris turned to Roy, who seemed to concentrate wholly on driving the team of horses. He felt glad Plum did not drive the rig. Plum would have talked his ear off all day and not said anything worth hearing. Roy, by contrast, seemed a man of few words. Chris feared it might be hard to get the man to talk at all.
“So, where exactly are we headed?” Chris asked.
“The Clausen Christmas tree,” Roy answered readily enough.
“Clausen? Santa Claus?”
“Clausen,” Roy nodded. “Old Dutch family out of New York. They first settled in New Amsterdam around 1660. They remembered Sinterklaas, though Kris Kringle carried the Spirit of Christmas in those days. Since 1600, I believe. I was rather young at the time.”
Chris had to think about that before he asked, “What happened?”
“After the French and Indian War, when things settled down on the frontier, the family emigrated to Pennsylvania. Then came the Revolutionary War, and in 1811, when it looked like another war on the horizon, Mister and Missus Clausen emigrated down into Indiana Territory. They thought to escape the war. They did not count on all the trouble with the Shawnee Confederation.”
Chris shook his head. “Why can’t people live in peace?”
Roy shrugged. “The Clausens went west, and on Christmas eve, 1811, they ran into a massive snow storm. That should happen tonight…” Roy shrugged again.
Chris asked no more. He did not dare. He got down when they stopped for lunch, and tried to smile for Merry while he rubbed his sore bottom. Merry, at least, appeared to be thoroughly enjoying herself.
“You could ride with me,” she offered, but Chris shook his head. He would only get hurt trying to ride a horse.
“You enjoy yourself,” he said. “Just say a prayer for my bruised backside.”
“Oh, poor baby,” she said, honestly enough. She returned his kiss from earlier before she let go and got them some lunch.
Chris spent the afternoon looking for the Clausen Christmas tree, not having the least idea what that might look like. The temperature dropped, and he saw the clouds pull in overhead. Then he saw something that surprised him for all of a second. He decided he really should not have been surprised. The cattle being driven by the three cowboys were not cattle at all. They were reindeer, and Chris wondered why there were twelve and not eight, and they did not look too tiny.
Chris looked at Roy and saw the slightest grin on Roy’s face. “You should see the tree soon, if the clouds give a break,” Roy said. “No sunset tonight behind the clouds, but the tree should brighten things up nice until the snow starts to get thick.”
Chris nodded. Nothing should surprise him at this point. He was going to find Lilly, safe in the hands of Santa Claus—Clausen. He fell madly in love with an elf—a Christmas elf. And there were three elf cowboys presently herding a dozen reindeer. “Seven of us,” he said to Roy. “There are seven of us on this journey.” Roy nodded, and Chris continued. “The magnificent seven,” he said, and squinted. There appeared to be a light in the distance. He expected it would be the most magnificent Christmas tree ever, and somehow, he knew he would not be disappointed.
Cue: O Christmas Tree
A Holiday Journey, The London Symphony Orchestra
conducted by Don Jackson. Ó℗CD Guy Music Inc., 2001
When Chris got down from the wagon and stretched his back, Merry dismounted and ran to him. She threw her arms around him and spouted, “It is beautiful. It is so beautiful.” The tree certainly was, with all the lights and ornaments up to the star and angel on the very top. Chris could not exactly see the top from where he stood, being up close, but that did not matter. He looked at Merry, and thought she was beautiful.
A Holiday Journey 3
In the morning, Chris and Lilly heard a knock on the door. Mary came in, a look of concern on her face. “I was worried about Lilly. She struggled yesterday.”
Chris nodded. They had kept Lilly entertained, and happy during the season so far, but both Mary and Chris knew how poorly she seemed, even if Lilly never complained.
“I’m feeling better today,” Lilly insisted.
“This will be a good day,” Chris said, trying to sound positive, though he feared it would not be his best day what with DSS and the court hovering over his shoulder.
“We are going to get a real Christmas tree,” Lilly said, in her excited voice.
“I have the weekend off,” Mary responded with a big smile, it being Saturday. She looked at Chris. “Maybe I could help.” She made it a statement, but really asked if she could come.
Chris did not hesitate to nod his agreement. “I could use the help,” he said. And with that settled, they climbed into Chris’ pickup and went out in search of a real tree.
They drove to several places, Lilly in her car seat in the back, looking out the back window at the Christmas on the street, and Mary sitting close beside Chris, grinning the whole time. Chris wondered what might be wrong with the girl. She was what, twenty-one? Perhaps not even that. He was turning thirty, practically a father figure. Why was the girl grinning?
They stopped at several places, but none of the trees seemed quite right. Finally, they got to the supermarket lot, and Chris excused himself to pick-up milk, bread and a few things for home.
When Chris left, Mary turned to Lilly and asked why she had such trouble picking out a tree. The balsam fir has such a great scent. “It smells like Christmas,” Mary said.
“I just can’t picture it,” Lilly said, looking at a blue spruce. “I like this one. This tree looks nice, but how will it look when it is decorated?”
Mary nodded, like she understood something. “I think we can give some substance to what we visualize,” she said, but Lilly looked like she did not understand. Mary found a little stick. “Pretend you are a Christmas fairy, and this is your magic wand. Point your wand at the tree…yes, like that.” Mary stood behind Lilly and laid her hands gently on Lilly’s shoulders. Something sparkled, silver and gold in her touch. “Picture in your mind the way you want the tree to look, and wave your wand to make it happen.”
Something happened. The silver and gold sparkles went out from the stick and covered the tree. The tree lit up with lights. It had garland, ornaments, and tinsel all over it, and Lilly gasped, a delighted sound.
“I did it. It’s beautiful.” Lilly squeaked her words.
“Hey. Save the decoration for home.” The man in the lot yelled and came running up as Lilly collapsed. The decorations and lights returned to silver and gold sparkles and fell to the ground, like bits of ash after the fireworks.
“Lilly,” Mary caught her and held her head up. To his credit, the man turned from the tree to concern about the little girl. Lilly turned pale, ashen white, and her skin felt clammy.
“Christopher,” Mary shouted for Chris, as Lilly fluttered her eyes open.
“I want that one,” she breathed, but did not have the strength to lift her hand and point.
Mary nodded for the man. He picked up the tree and set it in the pickup, while Mary scooped up Lilly and opened the door to get her in her seat. Chris came out and pulled out his keys. He stared at his keys for a second. He thought he locked the truck. He overpaid the Christmas tree man and hustled. He got out his phone, but Mary snatched it out of his hand. She dialed the doctor, and held it up for Chris to talk while he focused on his driving.
The nurse saw Lilly first. She weighed her and measured her while she spoke. “How old is Lilly, now? Five?”
“She is nearly seven,” Chris said. “First grade.”
“Oh.” The nurse seemed surprised. “Developmentally, she is on the chart for a four-year-old.”
“She behaves like she is four often enough,” Chris admitted with a face that could not decide between a frown and a smile. Lilly tried to smile, and they sat in the examining room for a long time, waiting for the doctor.
An hour later, the doctor strongly recommended Chris take Lilly to the hospital. The doctor wanted to keep her for a couple of days of observation, and run an MRI on Monday.
“I can’t do that,” Chris replied. “I just lost my insurance yesterday, but I could not afford the deductible anyway. Besides, you already ran two MRIs in the last four years. I don’t see how that is going to drastically change. You said you don’t know what is wrong with her…” Chris let his voice trail off. Probably not a smart thing to say to a know-it-all doctor. The doctor looked like he had to control his response.
“I could send the ambulance and fetch her.”
Chris shook his head. “Nothing is going to happen in the hospital on Sunday. Let me keep her this weekend. I’ll bring her in Monday morning, and we can talk about it.”
The doctor said nothing. He left the room with a look of frustration and anger. Chris did not blame him. Maybe Chris did not feel angry, but he certainly felt frustrated, not knowing what he could do to help Lilly. Lilly’s condition seemed to have all the doctors stumped. Lilly felt a bit better by then. Her condition appeared to get better or worse without reason. Chris dropped a hand to her shoulder, and Lilly held the hand with both of hers, looked up at him, and tried to smile again.
Chris and Lilly went out to the waiting room and saw that Mary had been crying. Chris felt shocked. Mary always had a smile. He felt an urge to hold her and comfort her, but stopped himself. How could he hug this young woman without suggesting something he did not mean to suggest? Lilly, of course, did not break her stride. She threw her arms around Mary, and Chris decided he could add his arms around the two of them, briefly.
“I’ll be all right. You’ll see,” Lilly said, and tried to smile.
“I am sure you will, little one,” Mary whispered in Lilly’s ear. Then she wiped her eyes and they drove home. Mary let them go, and went into her own rooms where she wept. Then she opened her window, as the twilight came, and she spoke softly into the air.
“It is as we feared. She is dying, being smothered by her humanity. It is not her natural state, I am sure. We must rescue her. Come quick.
Mary left the window open to let in the cold and snowy air. She stepped into her kitchen and thought something for supper might hit the spot.
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MONDAY
A Holiday Journey: Lilly goes missing.
Until then, Happy Reading
*
A Holiday Journey 1
Christmas came on a Sunday that year. The old radio played a mix of Christmas carols and Santa music. Six-year-old Christopher Shepherd curled up on the couch and marveled at the Christmas tree. It even smelled like Christmas—evergreen, and Turkey roasting in the kitchen. He thought happy thoughts, and reveled in the joy of the season. He felt the love everywhere, and wondered why he could not feel such Christmas spirit all year long. He felt peace on earth and good will to all with whom God is well pleased. His older brother apparently felt something quite contrary. Nine-year-old Ricky had a new dart rifle. He presently hid behind the Christmas tree where he could poke his head out and shoot the bad guys. They had plenty of first person shooter video games, but they were not allowed to use them on Christmas morning before church. Christopher did not mind. Ricky whined.
Ricky paused in his killing spree. His eyes got wide and his mouth temporarily opened, when one dart accidentally knocked over the framed picture of Aunt Linda that sat on the wall unit. He quickly retrieved his dart and put the cracked picture back up, crooked. His face looked sorry, but his mind worked fast to figure how he could pretend he did not know what happened.
Christopher preferred peace to war—love, and joy to the world, like the angels sang in the Christmas Eve service. He felt content to sit and look at the most beautiful Christmas tree in the whole world; at least as he imagined it to be.
Mom came over to sit on the couch beside him and she put her arm gently around Christopher’s shoulder. He smiled and snuggled. He always smiled on Christmas day. He normally smiled all day long, and not just for the presents and torn Christmas wrap that littered the floor. Christmas was the best day of the year, and he wished every day could be like Christmas.
“We need to get moving,” Dad said, as he came half-way down the stairs, and spoke to his wife.
Mom nodded and stood. “Time to get dressed for church,” she said to the boys. “Ricky,” she added his name to be sure he heard before she went into the kitchen to check on the turkey, pausing only briefly to straighten out Aunt Linda’s picture, and frown. Christopher got down from the couch to walk up the stairs. Ricky put down his gun and ran, shoving Christopher out of the way to be sure he got up the stairs first. Christopher didn’t mind. It was Christmas.
Cue: Here We Come a Wassailing
A Holiday Journey, The London Symphony Orchestra
conducted by Don Jackson. (c)℗CD Guy Music Inc., 2001
Cue: opening credits …
… Christopher Shepherd
… Merry
… Plum
… Roy
… Lilly
… as Courtney/Demon
and
… as Santa…
“You wanted to see me Mister Potts?” Chris stepped into the manager’s office and straightened his shirt, though he imagined he knew what Mister Potts wanted to see him about. He had been through this before. He knew the routine.
“Chris,” Mister Potts spoke without looking up from the papers on his desk. “The district office has been reviewing the P & L statements since the summer, and I have been told I have to pare down the staff.”
“I understand,” Chris said, but he could not help the disappointment that crept into his words. “And at Christmas time.” It caused Mister Potts to look up.
“The company is not responsible for Christmas. Lots of people don’t even celebrate these days. I will give you a good recommendation, wherever you go.”
“I do try to show up on time and do my work to the best of my ability.”
“I understand,” Mister Potts said, as his face wrinkled with regret. “I understand your mother passed away.”
“Three months ago,” Chris said. “Cancer.” Chris held back his tears.
“I’m sorry. Your father?” Mister Potts looked up briefly.
“Passed away almost twenty years ago. Heart.”
Mister Potts lowered his head and shuffled his papers. “It’s that girl of yours. You have to call out so much.” Chris saw the rationalization for the firing scurry across Mister Pott’s face.
“Lilly is my brother’s daughter. Ricky was military. He died overseas two years ago. I guess she is my responsibility now. We never knew her mother.” Chris figured it was pointless, but he had to say it. “I am all she has left. I need to take care of her. That is why I need this job.”
“It isn’t my decision.” Mister Potts steeled himself. “I’m just the bearer of bad news. I’m sorry. Good luck.” Mister Potts went back to his papers and would not look up again. “Your last check will be mailed to you.”
Chris knew better than to argue, and much better than to complain. “I will be putting you down as a reference, and I thank you for putting in a good word for me.” He turned and stepped out of the office, closed the door quietly, and breathed.
Being laid off could be a gift, he thought. Chris sniffed and wiped the tear that came up into the corner of his eye. He thought he might get unemployment through the new year. The company would probably fight him on the unemployment. Still, he had some money he inherited when his mother died, though she ate most of it over the years in her reverse mortgage. He got something from the V. A. to help support Lilly. He dreaded the idea of going to court, if it came to that. He knew he needed to insure Lilly had a stable home environment, or lose her, and being laid off twice in the last four years did not make for a good resume.
He did not want to think about it. His phone buzzed.
Holiday Journey 18
“This tree is more than two hundred years old,” Plum said, as he walked up from where the cowboys built a fire and got out what they had for supper. One cowboy kept an eye on the reindeer to make sure they did not wander off into the forest that began a hundred yards off to the right. The forest looked dark under the storm clouds, like a place even the Christmas lights could not brighten.
“It is tall enough, and bright enough with all the lights,” Merry said.
“It is very Christmas-like,” Chris agreed, but hesitated, before he added, “But something seems to be holding back the joy—the merry and bright—the Christmas Spirit.”
Merry took Chris’ arm and let out a small sound that suggested her heart might have broken. “Missus Claus passed away a few years ago,” she confessed. “And Santa has gotten very old. It is not the same, but we try not to notice.” She sniffed, and Chris slipped his arm around her to pull her in close. Chris imagined one of the lights moved. His mind said the wind, but there was no wind to speak of at the moment, like the calm before the storm. Before he could look closer, someone called.
“Over here,” Roy’s voice sounded out in the snow. “Mister Shepherd. Merry.” Chris and Merry went to see. Roy and two of the cowboys had gotten the evergreen out of the wagon and stuck it in a hole that Chris had not noticed. They had spades to cover the roots, and Plum stood there admiring the tree.
“Looks nice,” Chris thought a compliment was in order. “Looks bigger than I thought.”
“It is as old as you are,” Plum responded. “It is your tree.”
“My tree?” Chris asked.
Roy nodded, and Plum spoke again. “You need to touch it to bring it to life.”
“I what?”
“Go on,” Merry said, and held his arm out toward the tree. “Think of your Christmas tree at home. Think of both trees, and all the love that went into them.”
Chris hesitated, but trusted Merry. He reached out and touched a branch of the tree, and at once the tree became strung with lights and ornaments. The lights stayed lit, even though they had no place to plug them in. The ornaments, he recognized. His mother loved to decorate, and she kept those ornaments as well as she could through the years. They looked worn, but lovingly clean, and… yes, he saw the ornaments he bought over the last ten years for his artificial tree. Chris dropped his face into his hands and held back his tears. He mumbled for Merry.
“Lilly would love this tree.”
He decided this game had gone on long enough. He needed to find Lilly. He needed to know she was all right. He turned on Merry, took her by her shoulders, and said, “Tell me about Lilly.”
A dark wind blew through the camp. The wagon shook. The horses neighed. The fire flickered, and the cowboy by the cooking pot yelled.
“They are stealing the reindeer.”
“All hands-on deck,” Plum yelled, and people rushed for their horses.
“Stay here,” Merry told Chris. “You will be safe here, and I promise to tell you everything when I get back.”
Roy came up, trailing Merry’s horse. She mounted and they rode in the direction the wind had gone, soon disappearing in the darkness beyond the lights of the trees.
Chris did not know what to do. He sat down by the fire, left alone in the wilderness. He stood and retrieved a blanket from the wagon and went to sit again, pausing only to assure the two big draught horses that they were not forgotten. He poked at the beans that were cooking. He sighed and felt grateful for the light from the tree behind him. He refused to look at his own, personal tree. There were too many memories there, and not all happy ones. He supposed he felt grateful for the light from that tree as well. Being alone, in the wilderness, at night, in a storm would be spooky, no, it would be frightening in the dark.
It began to snow great flakes of white, and soon, it began to snow hard. The wind picked up, and Chris found his mind taken by the wind. He remembered a day he did not want to remember. Ricky was there. He looked young. Mama was there, too, weeping. It was the day his father got buried. They were at the graveside.
Chris sniffed. He hugged his Mama and wept with her. He tried to hug Ricky, but Ricky did not want to be hugged. He looked out over the graves, and saw an angel there, in the snow. It did not appear a clear image; just an outline. But Chris felt comforted. He knew his father would be all right. It was the promise of Christmas.
But it did not snow at his father’s funeral. That happened in the summer.
Chris paused to gather his thoughts. He looked again, but saw no image of an angel. He stirred the beans in the pot and tried to wait patiently for the others to return. He looked at the fire and saw something he did not want to see.
He saw Ricky in full battle gear, carefully and quietly climbing the steps to the roof, clutching tight to his rifle. The village was on fire, but sniper shot continued to come from the roof. They could not call in air or artillery against innocent civilians. They could not complete their mission under fire. He came around a corner in the staircase. He faced a boy—barely a teenager holding an AK-47. Ricky hesitated to kill a child. Triggers got pulled at the same time. The boy collapsed. Ricky got riddled full of bullets.
“No,” Chris yelled and covered his eyes. He prayed for Ricky. He prayed for Lilly, and Serissa, whom he never met. He prayed for that boy, and wept some more. He wiped his eyes, stirred the beans once, and stood. It started getting too cold to just sit and wait. He put another log on the fire, and dreaded what was to come.
Chris turned to stare at the big Christmas tree set out in the middle of nowhere. Indiana Territory, 1812, or actually, 1811, Christmas eve. He imagined the lights were moving again. It had to be a trick of the wind, the snowfall, and the ice in the branches. The moving lights looked hypnotic. He began to cry before he saw.
He held his mother’s hand when she died. He wept then. He wept again in the face of the tree. He heard a voice then, or perhaps now. It may have been the nurse. He always thought it was an angel.
“She is in a better place now. There is no more pain and no more suffering.” Poor Chris went out the door to Lilly. He held her and wept all over the little girl, and she wept with him. They were all that remained, but at least they had each other. They had each other, Chris thought. He needed to blow his nose, but he heard something that took all of his attention.
“Uncle Chris…” Chris turned toward the dark woods. He thought the call came from there. “Uncle Chris. Help me.”
Chris ran across the field and entered the woods without a second thought.
************************
MONDAY, Tuesday and Wednesday, Christmas Day, the final chapter in A Holiday Journey: Chris confronts the real Santa Claus, but it does not turn out the way he expects.
Until Then, Happy Reading
*
Holiday Journey 17
When Chris got up in the morning, he found himself dressed in his clothes from home. He recognized the little hole in his jeans and the stain at the bottom of his flannel shirt. His down jacket was not from 1812, but he assumed the hay and the barn he sat in were, so he figured he did not go home in the night. Besides, back home, Merry would be in her own apartment, and not laying comfortably beside him.
“So, this has not all been just a dream,” he mumbled.
“Like a dream come true,” Merry whispered before she opened her eyes and said, “Good morning.”
Chris leaned over and gave her a small peck on her lips before he said, “Morning. Plum said Lilly was in this place. Stick close, I have a feeling things may get weird before we get there…weirder.”
Plum came from the fire. “We got bacon, eggs, and whiskey soaked beans for breakfast,” he said, and let out a big smile. “We got a long way to go to reach the tree, so eat up.”
“Weirder,” Chris repeated.
Merry took him by the arm. “I have no intention of leaving your side. Not ever, if you don’t mind.”
“I don’t mind,” Chris said, and let out a little smile. “But you could wait until I ask.”
“Yes…” Merry said, and added, “Just practicing.”
Chris nodded, dropped her arm, and got a plate of breakfast. Roy found some real coffee, and Chris blessed him before he thought to put Plum on the spot.
“She is still in this time zone, near as I can tell,” Plum said.
“Near as you can tell?”
“She is. She certainly is. I would know if she was not in this zone. The thing is, she is at the far end, and she might slip away at any time. That is a long way to go. We should get moving.” Plum did not want to say any more. He appeared afraid of once again saying too much. Chris did not push the issue, as long as they had a chance of catching up with Lilly by nightfall.
Merry came up, riding on the back of a horse. She looked like she knew what she was doing, while Chris never rode a horse before. Chris quickly looked around. He figured he might manage a motorcycle, but he felt unsure about going on horseback. Fortunately, Roy got his attention and pointed. They had a wagon pulled by two of the largest horses Chris ever imagined. A mount appeared tied to the back of the wagon. Chris assumed that was Roy’s horse, in case he needed it. He took a deep breath and climbed aboard, and slid down to let Roy get up.
Chris looked in the back of the wagon, and along with all of his things—their things, he saw plenty of blankets, pots and pans, and another bag of beans beside a slab of bacon. He shrugged. He imagined there were not many options for food they could carry across country. The curious thing was the evergreen. They carried a young tree, its roots tied up neatly in burlap. Chris wondered what it might be for, when Roy shouted, and the horses began to strain. The wagon jerked, before it settled into a slowly increasing pace. Chris figured they would never go fast. He imagined most of the day would be spent going across country. Still, he would not have minded a seatbelt, and maybe a cushion for his seat.
Chris noticed they picked up a few fellow travelers. Three men on horseback drove a dozen cows into the wilderness. He looked close. One looked like the German officer from the World War One time period. The other two looked like the British soldiers that followed him out of the trench; though one might have been the sergeant. Chris shook his head. No matter what they looked like, he imagined they were Christmas elves of some kind. No doubt there to give some colorful backdrop to his journey.
Chris turned to Roy, who seemed to concentrate wholly on driving the team of horses. He felt glad Plum did not drive the rig. Plum would have talked his ear off all day and not said anything worth hearing. Roy, by contrast, seemed a man of few words. Chris feared it might be hard to get the man to talk at all.
“So, where exactly are we headed?” Chris asked.
“The Clausen Christmas tree,” Roy answered readily enough.
“Clausen? Santa Claus?”
“Clausen,” Roy nodded. “Old Dutch family out of New York. They first settled in New Amsterdam around 1660. They remembered Sinterklaas, though Kris Kringle carried the Spirit of Christmas in those days. Since 1600, I believe. I was rather young at the time.”
Chris had to think about that before he asked, “What happened?”
“After the French and Indian War, when things settled down on the frontier, the family emigrated to Pennsylvania. Then came the Revolutionary War, and in 1811, when it looked like another war on the horizon, Mister and Missus Clausen emigrated down into Indiana Territory. They thought to escape the war. They did not count on all the trouble with the Shawnee Confederation.”
Chris shook his head. “Why can’t people live in peace?”
Roy shrugged. “The Clausens went west, and on Christmas eve, 1811, they ran into a massive snow storm. That should happen tonight…” Roy shrugged again.
Chris asked no more. He did not dare. He got down when they stopped for lunch, and tried to smile for Merry while he rubbed his sore bottom. Merry, at least, appeared to be thoroughly enjoying herself.
“You could ride with me,” she offered, but Chris shook his head. He would only get hurt trying to ride a horse.
“You enjoy yourself,” he said. “Just say a prayer for my bruised backside.”
“Oh, poor baby,” she said, honestly enough. She returned his kiss from earlier before she let go and got them some lunch.
Chris spent the afternoon looking for the Clausen Christmas tree, not having the least idea what that might look like. The temperature dropped, and he saw the clouds pull in overhead. Then he saw something that surprised him for all of a second. He decided he really should not have been surprised. The cattle being driven by the three cowboys were not cattle at all. They were reindeer, and Chris wondered why there were twelve and not eight, and they did not look too tiny.
Chris looked at Roy and saw the slightest grin on Roy’s face. “You should see the tree soon, if the clouds give a break,” Roy said. “No sunset tonight behind the clouds, but the tree should brighten things up nice until the snow starts to get thick.”
Chris nodded. Nothing should surprise him at this point. He was going to find Lilly, safe in the hands of Santa Claus—Clausen. He fell madly in love with an elf—a Christmas elf. And there were three elf cowboys presently herding a dozen reindeer. “Seven of us,” he said to Roy. “There are seven of us on this journey.” Roy nodded, and Chris continued. “The magnificent seven,” he said, and squinted. There appeared to be a light in the distance. He expected it would be the most magnificent Christmas tree ever, and somehow, he knew he would not be disappointed.
Cue: O Christmas Tree
A Holiday Journey, The London Symphony Orchestra
conducted by Don Jackson. Ó℗CD Guy Music Inc., 2001
When Chris got down from the wagon and stretched his back, Merry dismounted and ran to him. She threw her arms around him and spouted, “It is beautiful. It is so beautiful.” The tree certainly was, with all the lights and ornaments up to the star and angel on the very top. Chris could not exactly see the top from where he stood, being up close, but that did not matter. He looked at Merry, and thought she was beautiful.
Storyteller Tales & Thoughts 