Tales for the Yuletide: A Collection of Christmas Stories

By W. Bennett

Tales For The Yuletide: The collection of seven stories in this book are all about gift-giving. But the gifts are of the medaphorical type, not extravigant trinkets wrapped with pretty ribbons and paid for with a credit card. Instead, they are of the kind which can only come from the human heart.

Set in different locations and in various periods in time, and regardless of the characters ages or sex, the stories were all inspired by the purest meaning of Christmas; the exchanging of that which is priceless. So grab a box of tissue, get comfortable, and fall in love with Christmas all over again.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Nov 30, 2009
• ISBN: 9781440184420

W. Bennett

Other works of fiction by the author: The Carriage House; Eleanor Savage; Absolution Denied; Sara’s Lullaby; Flight of a Boat Tail; Tales for the Yuletide. Mr. Bennett lives near Gananoque On.

Book preview

Contents

AN ANSWERED PRAYER

A NAME TO CHERISH

OLD TIMERS

DESPERATE TIMES

UNWANTED GIFT

LAURA

A WARTHOG AND A COOK

For my Granddaughter, Samantha

An extraordinary little girl

And once again I say thanks to Gwen, the one who keeps me honest to myself and to my readers, the one I love.

An Answered Prayer

A green Christmas had been the prediction but the unexpected snowstorm put an end to that possibility in grand fashion. Standing by the window of his workshop, Ivan Foley watched the swirling snow accumulate on the window muttons and on the boughs of the evergreen in his yard, the tree his wife planted the year they bought the house, the tree which always reminded him of her. That’s the saddest looking tree I’ve ever seen, he remembered telling her with a laugh when she carried it home in a pot. It was on sale, was the only defense she could offer for her purchase. The tree was now a giant while the planter had long since wilted away.

Recalls of those tender moments pained him like a knife to the heart. But Ivan Foley had also made himself a promise the year previous; no more grieving, the way he knew Margo would have wanted it. Stepping away from the window he forced less intrusive thoughts to the front of his mind. Nevertheless, another ominous threat was on the horizon and nothing could stop its coming; Christmas was in two days and the forty-four year old widower would spend it alone, and for the first time ever. Already experiencing the empty nest syndrome he knew it wouldn’t be easy.

Although he never considered himself a religious man he often prayed when adversity came along, like when he prayed for his dying wife to recover, and then prayed for strength to carry on when she didn’t. Ever since he was a little boy he turned to prayer for strength, and as of late he prayed he wouldn’t be alone for the coming Christmas, that perhaps some twist of fate would intervene and he could spend it with loved ones. But deep down inside he knew it wasn’t to be.

Sherry and Kevin, his children, were young adults and on their own now, the way he knew it must be. At his insistence they left early that morning to get ahead of the rapidly approaching storm. They promised to call the minute they got back to the city. He glanced up at the sawdust-coated clock on the wall above his workbench: 5:15. A bit too early to become overly concerned, but the fatherly instinct of worrying about his children was setting in. That afternoon, after the children had left, Ivan occupied himself for a couple hours tidying the house, then tried watching TV to kill a bit more time. It didn’t work so he retreated to his workshop, his island of serenity.

A gifted woodcarver, Ivan had selected a block of seasoned basswood, clamped it in the vise, touched up his chisels with a whetstone, but that was as far as he got. The motivation just wasn’t there. He loved the feel of a chisel in his hand, loved the smell of wood as he shaved into it, but not today. An hour later he called it quits. His shop was a separate building at the back of his house, so he lowered the thermostat, turned out the lights, put his coat on and pulled the hood over his head. Walking slowly across the yard to the house he felt somewhat like a vandal for leaving footprints on the unblemished masterpiece nature was creating. A big kid at heart, Ivan Foley loved the seasons, loved winter as much as any, loved the freshness of the snow, loved the solitude it brought to the land.

No sooner had he stepped into the house than the phone began ringing. It was Sherry; she was at her apartment and Kevin would spend the night with her. After hearing the reassuring news his anxiety quickly dissipated. Mickey, the mutt his children had bought to keep him company after his wife passed away, came over to greet him. He paused a moment to pet his dog.

After removing his coat and boots he went to the fridge and pulled a drumstick off the leftover turkey before sauntering into the family room. Throwing a stick of wood into the fireplace he flopped down on his La Z Boy and began rummaging around looking for the TV remote. It was then when he noticed car lights out the front window. Barely visible through the driving snow, he watched the headlights creeping along the County Road at the front of his property. Looking down at his dog, he said, Whoever that guy is, I hope he’s not going far. The black, curly-haired mutt rested his head on the arm of the chair and stared at the drumstick. Ivan dropped a piece of meat into the dog’s mouth and in a single gulp and it was gone. Mickey, your table manners are atrocious, Ivan said with a smile.

Just seconds after the car passed by the end of his driveway Ivan could suddenly see both headlights. At first he thought the car had gone into a spin, then realizing it had simply turned onto the cottage road, a road that ran parallel to his property line. Who in the world would be trying to drive down that road tonight? He looked down at Mickey as though the dog might know the answer. He always claimed his dog was smarter than some people he knew. I hope that car’s got four-wheel drive or he won’t be going far. Ivan hurried to the window and watched the headlights of the vehicle until they had disappeared into the trees. He couldn’t help but wonder what would anyone be going down there for? And on a night like this? All the cottages have been closed up since last September.

Returning to his chair, he touched the button on the remote and brought up the News Channel. The little information box gave the time: 5:35. He had missed the news headlines by five minutes. After checking the program listings to see what movies were on that night, he turned the TV off, got up from his chair and went back to the window. Staring off into the darkness toward the cottage road, he thought aloud, Who would be dumb enough to try and drive down that road on a night like this? I know one thing, he said, looking down at Mickey, they’re probably going to have a long cold walk ahead of them.

Plugging in the Christmas tree lights, he tuned in the stereo to his favorite radio station. Adding an additional stick of wood to the fire he stood awhile and watched the flames build, but his mind was stuck on the car that had just turned down the cottage road. Going to the kitchen he took a beer from the fridge, then put it back.

Who in the name of God would be going down that road tonight? And in a car, of all things. Are they nuts? After a minute of silent contemplation on the matter, he said, Well Mickey, I’m just going to have to find out, because they’ve either missed their turn in the storm, or----or something.

Hurrying to the mud-room he suited up in his snowmobile gear and headed out the door. Mickey tried to wedge by his master but Ivan caught the dog. No Mickey! Not this time. The dog’s tail fell limp and his ears drooped. Sorry old buddy, but not tonight.

Jumping on his snow machine he headed out his driveway as fast as conditions would allow. In open country the snow was blasting in horizontal lines, but when he started down the cottage road the sheltering trees made the going much easier. From the County Road to Granite Lake, the lake where the cottage road terminated, was a distance of just over three kilometers. On a snow machine it was a fast easy run, but impossible for a car. By observing the tire tracks Ivan knew the mysterious vehicle was no match for the conditions. He went less than a kilometer and found the car; it had slid off the road.

A set of footprints continued on down toward the lake and Ivan followed the tracks. He didn’t go far before he found a suitcase sitting in the snow. Stopping, he placed the suitcase on the carryall on the back of the snow machine and continued on. Over the next rise, where the land began its descent toward the lake, he saw a dark outline trudging down the middle of the road in boot-deep snow. The figure stepped off the road as the lights of the snow machine neared.

Ivan stopped beside the person. It was a woman caring a bag of groceries. Can I give you a lift?

Oh, no thanks. I’ll be fine. The voice sounded threatened. I see you have my suitcase. It was just too heavy for me to carry in the snow. She was puffing heavily. I planned to go back later to get it.

Smartly dressed, she was wearing a long leather coat, matching leather boots and gloves with a scarf tied around her head. Great clothes to wear to a shopping mall thought Ivan Foley but crazy out in this country.

And where are you going?

I own a cottage at the lake.

Look ma’am, I know there’s a lot of weirdos in the world, but you have nothing to fear from me. You’ve got a long walk ahead of you, and the walking won’t get any easier.

Understanding the logic of his words, she gave in and Ivan helped her onto the snow machine. You sit up front next to the engine----it’ll be warmer.

Sitting behind the woman, he reached past her to drive the snow machine, effectively locking her between his arms and the windshield. Inhaling her feminine fragrance and feeling the softness of her body beneath the leather coat, it was something he hadn’t experienced in a long time.

What cottage am I looking for? he shouted, above the engine’s roar. There were two dozen cottages strung along the shoreline of the frozen lake.

It’s the one at the very end of the road.

A couple minutes later Ivan stopped his machine in front of the cottage. "Pardon me for asking, ma’am, but do you plan on staying here tonight?"

My original plan was to stay the entire week, she answered in a shivery voice.

Well have you ever spent a winter’s night here before?

No, but I’ll be fine, once I get the heaters turned on.

Ivan was skeptical. Are you sure about that? These cottages were not designed for winter living. It’s cold now, but after this storm passes it’s going to get a lot colder.

Oh, I’ll be fine. The cottage has electric heaters and it also has a fireplace. And, she added, like a warning, I have my cell-phone if I need help.

Well, just for my own peace of mind, I’ll take a look inside and make sure you’re going to be okay. He began kicking the snow away from the cottage door while the woman dug keys from her purse.

The cottage was just as he expected; not winterized with only two space heaters, good for a chilly autumn morning and nothing more. The fireplace was more for show than for heating. He looked in the wood box and counted six sticks of wood.

I’m sorry, ma’am, he said, shaking his head. But you can’t stay here. You’ll freeze to death.

But my neighbors told me they often spends time here in the winter.

That’d be Collin Perkins and his wife, Gabriel.

Yes. So you know them?

I know them very well. I sometimes do work for them. But their cottage is winterized with an oil furnace. And they come in here on their snow machines. But this cottage is like the rest of them----strictly for summer use. There aren’t enough heaters to keep the place warm.

Oh, she whispered, unable to stop the shivering. I just thought if I had the heat turned on everything would be fine. And it wasn’t snowing when I left the city.

Look, ah----what’s your name?

Hillary.

Look, Hillary. I think you’d better come back to my place and rethink this plan of yours.

She knew he was right and a look of deep disappointment clouded her face.

Hey, it’s okay, he consoled. Everything will look better in the morning.

Ivan hurried outside and returned with a wool toque and a pair of heavy mittens. I keep these on the sled in case of an emergency. Removing her scarf, he pulled the toque down over her ears, then helped her put the mittens on over her thin leather cloves. Sorry, but I can’t help you out in the footwear department.

Ivan turned off the lights, locked the door, help the shivering woman onto the snow machine, and ten minutes later they were back at his house.

Mickey met them at the door, his tail wagging furiously, his tongue hanging out the side of his mouth. Don’t mind him, Ivan assured her, he finds it hard to just bark, let alone bite.

After getting a chair for his unexpected visitor, Ivan pulled off her leather boots and began rubbing her feet with his warm hands. My God, but your feet are like blocks of ice.

Leading her into the family room he pulled his recliner close to the fireplace and told her to sit there until she was warm. She was only seated for a short time when the sobbing began.

I just feel so darn stupid. I can’t seem to do anything for myself. Tyler made all the decisions when we were married, and without him I’m having a hard time adjusting to things. She forced a laugh. On the other hand, if you wanted to have a dinner party, or entertain guests, boy could I help you out there. But… She broke down totally.

I know the feeling, said Ivan, as the woman tried to control her sobbing. After my wife was gone and I had to do everything for myself, I just felt useless. But believe me; you’ll adjust and get through it. He handed her a box of Kleenex.

While drying her eyes she asked, How long have you been divorced?

Ivan pinched a smile. I’m not. My wife’s dead.

Oh, I’m so sorry----I just thought…

He waved it off. That’s okay. It’s been five years now.

But Hillary felt terrible about her reckless assumption. What was her name? she asked in a caring voice.

Margo. We were married nineteen years. Then, to get off