A Christmas Tale

By John Bergeson

Toward the end of the year in 1906, food provisions and heating fuel are scarce as the little town of Luther, Michigan faces one of the worst winters on record. As fierce blizzards isolate the town from the rest of the world, a dozen residents in the area initiate a heroic relief effort for their starving and freezing neighbors, and bring Christmas to the isolated town.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Oct 28, 2011
• ISBN: 9781469118574

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Copyright © 2011 by John Bergeson.

ISBN:                     Softcover                     978-1-4653-7694-7

ISBN:                     Ebook                          978-1-4691-1857-4

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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The air was so cold that Louisa Nichoson could see her breath in the light filtering through the frozen crystal patterns on the windows. She lifted the sheet and quilt, intending to get out of bed, but when the chilly air slipped down her like an icicle, she wrapped back up in the quilt and lay there under the warmth of that thick patch quilt.

Her husband George was under the quilt, snoring contently. His breath was steaming out like a train engine running through a winter’s night. She nudged at him and woke him up. The fire must have gone out in the middle of the night, she said to him when his eyes opened.

George’s joints cracked as he stood up and stretched. The warmth of the bed was gone, and he shivered, feeling the chill in the air. He quickly got dressed. Then he took a step toward the window.

George moved his finger across the window to clear a space. Looks like we’ve had the first snow of the year.

Snow? Louisa asked, sitting up. How much did we get?

’Bout three or four inches, George said, wiping a viewing space clear.

Louisa snuggled under the covers. But it’s still October. Halloween is three days away.

Tapping on the window to clear some of the snow away, George turned to Louisa. Guess I’ve got my work cut out for me now.

What’s that? She asked, standing up with the quilt wrapped around her. The snow’s not deep enough to worry about.

First snow means butchering time, he said, pushing his foot into his right boot.

Who’d imagined we’d be butchering a hog on Halloween, said Louisa.

While Louisa cooked breakfast, George swept the snow from the front and back porch. The northern Michigan farm was covered with a glistening white blanket.

Stomping the snow off his boots, George came into the kitchen and clapped his hands together for warmth. Must be about ten or fifteen degrees out there, he said, warming himself next to the stove. Had to use the axe to chop a hole in the horses’ trough.

Louisa was adding boiling water to a bowl of cornmeal. Are you going to keep the livestock in the barns today?

I’ll let the cows out at mid-morning, when it’s warmed up a bit.

Louisa poured two big johnnycakes in the hot greased skillet. Who’s going to help you with the butchering this year?

Thomas Bedal offered. He wants some loin chops.

What about Mr. Skinner?

He always seems to show up when it’s butchering time. And he always asks for the same thing.

What’s that?

Sow belly and ribs. Thomas Bedal wants the good cuts, and Abner Skinner always wants the poorer ones. Those two are as different as night and day.

Louisa shook her head and went back to cooking.

George put his hands on Louisa’s waist and stole a quick kiss.

George, I’m trying to cook breakfast.

George began to move away, but came back after a few seconds. With a quick grab, George wrapped his arms around Louisa’s waist, pulling her to him. He kissed her lips hard, and Louisa’s resistance folded as she melted into his arms. There was nothing else to say. Even after twenty years of marriage this couple was quite regularly romantic. What made it easy for George is that his 39 year old wife still looked just as good as she did on the day she got married.

After breakfast George helped dry the dishes while Louisa washed them. Then six days later they were butchering the hog.

Louisa looked away from the kitchen window. George had the hog by the ears, dragging her squealing from the pen. Thomas Bedal had a rope around her neck and was pulling hard, but the hog was fighting every step of the way. Farm animals always seem to know when their time is up.

After they killed the hog, George looped a chain around the carcass. Then they placed the carcass into a boiling tub of hot water. After a few minutes, they hoisted it back up and over the table. With their sharp butcher knives, they scraped the hog’s hair off. Then they chained up the hind legs and hung it up over the guts tub. With one stroke, George cut the hog open and cleaned the hog.

While the hog carcass cooled off, George and Thomas sipped a cup of coffee.

What you going to do with that? Thomas asked, looking at a bowl of fat.

Louisa’s gonna make lard from it.

Lard? Why not just make butter?

George laughed. I’ve told you; we use everything. We’re going to pack the big chunks of fat in salt and hang the hams that we don’t cure in the icehouse until we eat them. Nothin’ goes to waste here.

Hey George, said a male voice behind them, What’s for supper?

The two men turned to welcome Abner Skinner, George’s neighbor and part-time laborer.

Though Abner and Thomas were friendly with each other, George had always felt that they had a rivalry of some sort. He suspected it was because Abner was a backwoods person and Thomas was an educated city boy.

George stood up and inspected the carcass. Abner, I thought you were working in town today.

Abner arched his eyebrows. And not be a part of the hog butcherin’? You know better! Bedal, you bein’ useful, or just here for the chops? Abner slapped Thomas Bedal on the back and rhymed, You bowlegged, lazy, and almost half crazy. You know that?

Thomas fumed. I’m surprised you’ve lived this long, with that mouth of yours. If you had any brains, I’d be worried, but you don’t. With that taunt, Thomas spit between Abner’s feet.

The smile hardened on