THE LAST GHOST OF CHRISTMAS

by Jesse Colt

  The priest stretched his cramped muscles and turned to Geezer and Jim. “Well, gentlemen, I’m afraid you will have to excuse me. There is a young couple who have asked to have their baby baptized this evening. Their cabin is only a couple of hours south of here. I’ll probably get a little sleep after the baptism and the celebrations. So, I may not see you until morning. One of the men from the village is coming along with me to exchange gifts. He is an excellent driver. I guess they don’t quite trust me out there alone, even with a seasoned team,” he conceded.

  “The trail is sheltered so if you want to see some great country, Jim, you’re certainly welcome. The northern lights are dancing tonight, and the sleighs are running empty. I know the family would consider it an honor if you attended.”

  “No, thank you, Father. Racing through the friggen spooky bush at night in a frozen sleigh is not my idea of a good time.”

  “Very well then. I’ll be on my way. Perhaps you can keep an eye on the stove. Our young nurse has asked if she can use our bathtub. I’ve left a boiler of water heating on the firebox.”

  Jim thought of Angie, bathing in the room adjacent to his. There was something erotic in the image. He imagined himself spying on this most private of activities. The idea seemed inappropriate in the small church, with the image of Christ gazing down upon him. He tried to dismiss the picture from his mind.

  The priest began packing an expensive black leather attaché case. The briefcase seemed alien to this remote village, a prestigious bit of luggage from somewhere in his past. Jim marveled at the man who had adapted so quickly to this savage land. He pictured the lanky redhead mushing through the bush and wondered what his blue-blood parish back in Philadelphia would think if they could see him in his coarse caribou parka.

  Jim finished his coffee and reached for his mitts, then he felt Geezer’s iron grasp on his arm!

  “Your coin, Laddy! The money the old woman gave you! Show it to me!” His voice was brutal, demanding, edged with shock. Jim looked into the mad eyes of the eccentric old bush pilot, then at the priest. He was thankful the clergyman was present. Their aging companion seemed completely mad.

  Jim jerked his arm away from the man’s iron grip, but Geezer was insistent.

  “Where is your coin, Jim? Where did you put it?” he repeated. His voice was edged with panic.

  Reluctantly, Jim reached into his bulky mitten. He had dropped the token between the warm liner and the coarse outer leather shell. He searched for the coin. He was not even certain it was still there. He had not placed much value on the old woman’s trifling gift. His cold fingers located the quarter. It was still hot to the touch, despite the pervasive chill that seemed to penetrate every portion of this village. He pulled the silver piece out, but his eyes were locked on the grim features that were demanding the worthless bit of change. He extended the meager currency to the mad bush pilot, hoping that his motion would quench the fire in the old man’s wild eyes.

  His maneuver seemed to work. Geezer compared Jim’s coin to his own and a look of relief flooded his tense features. Jim glanced down at the coin that had caused all the excitement. The token seemed brighter now, emitting a rich copper glow in the gentle radiance of the priest’s lamp. Jim looked closer. There was something puzzling about the coin! Then it struck him. It was the color. It was not copper. It was gold! He dropped the quarter on the inkpad. His confused mind refused to believe what his eyes were telling him.

  Geezer reverently placed his own shining coin beside Jim’s.

  “Gold!” Geezer gasped, his words were barely audible over the snarl of the wind, gnawing against the frozen logs of the church.

  “These are newly struck, one quarter ounce gold coins from the Canadian mint. An hour ago, they were only worn quarters and we both witnessed it.” He turned to the priest.

  “Mother of God! Father! How did she do it? Are we witnessing a miracle?” He dropped to his knees to examine the coins, then crossed himself in an almost forgotten manner.

  Jim snatched his coin off the table and held it to the faint glimmer of the lamp. He reached back into his mitt, searching desperately for the original quarter. The mitten was empty!

  “Angie!” he gasped, struggling for an explanation. “It must have been her! She must have switched them. She must have done it while we were listening to the choir. Geezer, she must have swapped yours, too!” he stammered.

  He paused and turned to the priest. His mind was grasping for an explanation. “The light from the plane, maybe it was just too dim. Maybe we didn’t notice!” His voice trailed away. He knew they had been given worn 25-cent pieces, despite the poor light.

  “No! No.” Geezer insisted, his voice had grown calm compared to Jim’s excited outburst. “I dropped mine in my zippered pocket with my tobacco and my lighter. No one else was near it. Father, the hand of God is here! Is it not?” His eyes were focused on the priest. He crossed himself again.

  The priest pulled on his heavy leather mittens and drew the fur hood over his shock of red hair. “A miracle? Perhaps. Ask your friend. He’s an engineer and a scientist. Surely he can explain it to you.” He nodded at Jim and disappeared into the softly falling snow and the dark night.

  …

  Jim sat on the edge of his hard cot, wondering if he would ever be warm again. Something was stirring deep in his memory. The music from the small choir had taken him back--, back farther than he wanted to go.

  He fingered the gold coin, examining it in the dancing light of the lantern. He reached for the light switch and flicked it on. Perhaps he could find the explanation in a better light. The small bulb remained cold and dark.

  He thought of Nester, still sleeping off his hangover. There would be no power in the village until he struggled awake and thoroughly tested the electrical system. That would be tomorrow night. He frowned at his watch. It was 11:30. Was it a.m. or p.m.? Did it really matter? Then he remembered. It was evening again.

  He cursed the isolation of this tiny village. Back at the base it was easier. The nights might be endless, but at least there was a routine and an artificial luster that kept the time orderly and measured.

  He dragged himself off the cot and found a bottle in his luggage. It was evening and they weren’t going anywhere for a long time. He could justify a stiff drink now. It would help him pass the empty night again. He could smell the faint aroma of hot copper from the boiler of water on the old stove. Jim tried to visualize the women he would meet on the sun-drenched beaches. There was always an abundant supply of available female flesh. Most were eager for companionship and easy to bed.

  He wondered how long they might be delayed in Calgary. He pictured Ingried’s slim figure. She would be happy to see him when he arrived, willing to share her bed, but more eager to open the expensive gifts and accompany him to the fancy restaurants she enjoyed. Still, there was something else in the back of his mind, a faint image that seemed to be pushing these sensuous beauties away. He lay back on his pillow and closed his eyes. Angie’s naked figure appeared before him, climbing into the warm bath.

  He sat up, cursing his imagination, cursing the isolation that was flooding him with these amorous fantasies. He had no idea how her body might look, but he was certain it would be a poor comparison to the cultured, tanned beauties to be found on the sunny beaches. Still, Angie’s pleasant smile stirred his senses and filled his mind with the memory of her perfume and soft hands.

  Jim rifled through his luggage, then seized his shaving kit. He was certain nothing was going to happen between Angie and himself, but he felt the need to get cleaned up anyway! He sponged himself off in the chilled bathroom and scraped the stubble from his face with a cold razor.

  When he returned to his tiny cubical, he was shivering again. The room seemed to grow cooler with each passing hour as the icy wind probed its frozen tentacles between the logs. He cursed his thoughtless companion, sleeping off hi
s hangover in the cold cabin. The restored electrical system might move a little warm air through the primitive heating system and melt some of the frost from the wall. Nothing would change as long as Nester was crashed out in his frigid bunk.

  Jim’s trembling fingers were pouring the first drink when a shadow appeared at the door. The motion caught him off guard and his unsteady fingers splashed a trickle of liquor over the shaking glass.

  Angie’s warm voice caressed him from across the room “Hello, Jim. I’m going to use the bathtub. Is anybody else in there?”

  Jim laughed at her question. The tub still had a layer of last summer’s dust ringing the bottom. He tried to focus on her face in the dim light from the lamp. It seemed she was always smiling. He wondered if that was what made her appear so sensuous. He realized that he seldom smiled anymore.

  “No. I think that old tub gets pretty lonesome.” He looked at the fashionable bag in her slender hands and wondered what silky undergarments she might have carried with her into this frozen wasteland.

  “Wasn’t the music beautiful. I can’t wait until tomorrow. The concert will seem so special on Christmas Eve. Thanks again for bringing me in to the village, Jim.” She moved in and sat on his bed. Jim wondered if she knew how she was stirring his senses. She reminded him of an innocent child, and he guessed her flirtations were harmless.

  “Would you like a drink?” he asked, raising the bottle.

  “No. Thank you.” she answered. “I hardly touch liquor anymore.” Her words dashed Jim’s hopes for an easy seduction. Liquor had always been his best accomplice with women.

  For a few minutes she relaxed on the heavy blankets chattering happily, scarcely listening to his replies. She seemed more interested in conversation than an affair. Jim was relieved when she finally picked up her bag and moved away to the stove. He could have that drink now, maybe it would calm his racing mind. He heard her filling the ancient tub. He sipped his mellow rye, trying not to think of Angie discarding her clothing only a few meters away.

  He tidied up the clutter in his tiny cell, certain he could smell her perfumed shampoo. He let his mind wander into the tiny bathroom and imagined the nude woman soaping herself in the warm tub. He found an extra pair of socks and wrestled them on against the chill of the night. He slumped back in the hard chair and tried to concentrate on the drink in his trembling hand.

  A wave of light flooded the dim hallway as the bathroom door creak open. In a moment Angie appeared in his doorway.

  She was wearing an oversized, white terry-cloth bathrobe. Her damp hair was piled high on her head, bound up in a small towel, exposing her soft neck and delicately formed ears. She looked younger, silhouetted in the light from the hallway. He was aware that she had not bothered to knot the belt on her robe. Her arms were folded casually across her breasts, barely keeping the revealing robe closed. She looked warm and inviting, but it was her bare feet that caught Jim’s gaze. She wore neither socks nor slippers. Her legs were exposed up to her shapely calves.

  It seemed ridiculous. Jim was shivering under several layers of clothing while Angie appeared completely at ease, her damp body wrapped only in a light bathrobe. He studied her ankles and the graceful calves outlined in the dim light from the bathroom. He was certain he could smell her damp hair over the steamy odour of the bath. Her wrists and ankles were slimmer than he had expected. In the light from the hallway, her flesh appeared sculptured in white marble, well formed and more attractive than any woman he could remember. He wondered if the rest of her body was as shapely and sensuous.

  For a moment she stood smiling at him in the doorway, then her full lips parted. Her voice was relaxed and friendly. Jim’s pulse began to race. Perhaps his fantasy was about to come alive.

  “Jim, I wouldn’t mind that drink now. Do you have an extra glass?”

  Jim stammered a response and his wooden fingers fumbled for the tumbler. He poured a generous shot and extended the glass to her, hoping to brush his fingers against her warm hands.

  She stepped across the room and reached for the glass. Her arms moved away from the robe and it fell open. She took the glass from Jim’s hands, then moved past it is slipping her soft arms around his neck.

  “Jim, would you like some company tonight?” She blew the words into his ear, soft and steamy and full of sweet promise. Jim found her in his arms as the robe slipped away. She was naked beneath it.

  …

  They lay quietly after their abrupt lovemaking, pressed together in the chill of the room, listening to the wind driving the endless snow against their warm enclave.

  “Jim, that was wonderful. I’ll never forget this night. I feel so contented. It’s as if there are just the two us, floating through space in this warm bed. I feel as if we can do anything we wish. Don’t you find a special magic up here in the north, especially at Christmas.”

  Jim did not share her love of the north and Christmas had long ago lost its magic, but he was reluctant to break the spell. She chattered on until she began to coax Jim’s life story from him. She was easy to talk with. He answered her probing questions, reluctantly at first, but a soft nip at his ear or a warm hand on his flesh soon relaxed him and made the telling easier. Finally, she settled quietly against him and grew still. He realized he had told her everything about himself. He felt as if he had revealed his most personal thoughts including his dreams and failures. He realized that she had told him nothing about herself.

  “Angie,” he challenged. “You have weaseled my whole life’s history out of me and all I know about you is that you like the north and still believe in Santa Claus. Tell me about yourself. Is there a man in your life now? Was there ever one?”

  She laughed into his ear again. Jim wondered if there was anything about life that Angie didn’t find amusing.

  “Jim, I’ll tell you all about myself. And answer any question you want, but it will cost you!”

  “Okay,” Jim responded. “I want the whole story. Name your price.”

  “Jim, you have to make love to me again.” She slipped her warm hands between Jim’s legs.

  Jim made love to her again, slowly now, knowing that she was his for the night and there was no need to rush. Slowly, because he wanted to explore all her body. He was eager to learn about every intimate detail. Eager to please this sensuous soft woman who never seemed to frown or display any negative emotions. When they had made love again, Jim drifted into an exhausted sleep.

  …

  He awoke to the sound of Angie dressing at the side of his cold bed. She saw him stirring in the soft light of the lamp.

  “Jim, I have to go now.” She leaned over and kissed his ear. “Jim,” she whispered. “I don’t kiss and tell, and I won’t follow you home.”

  She seized her bag and fled, pausing at the doorway to give him a quick wave and an adoring smile.

  Jim hurried to the bathroom then back under the covers. The bed seemed strangely empty without her. He realized just how attracted he was to this smiling nurse who never seemed to stop her endless happy prattle. He looked at his watch. It was 4:00 a.m. He remembered the glasses of rye he had poured earlier, for Angie and himself. He reached for his glass and sipped the fiery liquor. When he had consumed the mind-numbing grog, he seized Angie’s untouched drink and gulped it down. He lay back in the cold cot, pulled the heavy covers over his head and drifted into the deepest sleep he had experienced in months.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Jim struggled awake, reluctantly abandoning the sensuous dreams that had enraptured his night. Somewhere in the distant fog, a familiar insistent tapping pulled him back to consciousness. His bleary eyes tried to focus on the ice-covered beard that had appeared in the doorway.

  “Hey! You still sleeping? The sun will be up in a few weeks,” Nester chuckled at his own twisted humor.

  “Get dressed! We got an invitation to dinner. Geezer says they are roasti
ng half a fucking moose.”

  “What the hell time is it, Nester?” Jim grumbled. “You got to be the only guy I know who would want to eat a whole moose this early in the morning.” There was no reply, only the sound of Nester clattering through the cupboard, searching for coffee.

  Jim’s shaking hands found the pack of matches on the small table. His watch told him it was 11:20 and he assumed it was close to noon. Time had become meaningless in this land of perpetual darkness. He piled on more layers of warm clothing and plodded out to Nester and the welcome pot of coffee. When the caffeine had jolted his system awake, he stumbled across the frozen village trying to keep pace with Nester’s racing steps.

  The feast of wild game was uneventful. He watched silently as Nester attacked the mountainous roast, wolfing down great chunks of the rich meat as if he had not eaten in weeks. His hosts were not great conversationalists and seemed satisfied with Jim’s occasional nod or awkward smile to the familiar parade of guests who dropped in to share a cup of steaming tea. Jim was grateful for the space they accorded him. His thoughts were was still under the chilly comforter where he had passed much of the night pressed against Angie’s feverish body.

  When the meal was complete, Geezer excused himself, fumbling for his tobacco. He returned and slumped by the fireplace spreading his trembling fingers to the open flame.

  “Well, lads, the wind is dying down again. We should be in the air by breakfast tomorrow. Let’s all take in the priest’s little party then grab a couple hours shut eye. We can gear up for an early departure Christmas morning, seeing as you’re more anxious to travel than most of my silent passengers.”

  Jim rose to his feet, trying not to betray his interest in the changing weather. He hurried outside. A savage gust ripped through the trees then skidded away, stirring the upper branches and moaning into the wilderness. Jim waited for the next onslaught. The blast never reappeared, only a feeble cold breath from the frozen lake. He examined the distant sky, filled with a myriad of winking stars. The moon’s arrival would grant them six hours of adequate light to illuminate the faint runway. They might be airborne by 4:00 a.m., 6:00 a.m. at the latest.