THE LAST GHOST OF CHRISTMAS

by Jesse Colt

  His spirits were soaring. Their chartered flight to the Caribbean had left without them, but Nester had assured Jim that he could re-book another vacation with an hour’s notice. He paused and allowed his gaze to sweep across the quiet village. Now there were no scheduled flights to meet and no reason to hurry. He felt a strange calmness that was more than the solitude of the evening. He remembered Angie’s soft curves and the taste of her sweet breath. She would warm his bed again if he invited her. Jim walked silently back into the cabin and accepted another cup of boiling tea. He tried to avoid the sight of the small tree in the corner and the faint images of Christmas that seemed to radiate from its lush branches.

  They finished their last drop of the scalding liquid and stepped into the cold of the arctic night. Nester scoffed at Jim’s offer of assistance in the gen room, leaving him to wander through the village, trying to rationalize some of the events that had begun to challenge his agnostic beliefs. He returned to his tiny quarters, located the bottle of aspirins and poured a generous shot of rye into a chilled glass. He swallowed the tablets, then chased them down with the burning liquid. Despite his racing mind, he drifted into a restless sleep.

  …

  He awoke hours later and fumbled for his watch. Ten minutes after six. The significance of the time slowly dawned on him. Christmas Eve…!

  Jim slumped on the edge of the hard cot trying to comprehend the meaning of this special evening and to remember why it stirred such a myriad of emotions deep within his soul. There had always been something special about the coming of this sacred eve. Jim felt a faint remembrance of the magic the season’s arrival had once bestowed upon him.

  He examined the spartan room and the drab white walls. They would not be spending this wondrous evening in the glittering casinos of the Caribbean as they had planned. The wild desire to flee this remote location had vanished. It had been replaced by a vague uneasiness, an empty feeling he was unable to define.

  He hurried to the washroom and splashed cold water on his face. He knew they would soon be airborne and on their way to the Caribbean. He tried to recapture the wild anticipation he had felt earlier, but the sensation had vanished. Now it seemed his soul had become one gigantic vacuum, almost devoid of feeling or passion. He brushed his teeth and dressed for the service, struggling with the emotions that were again stirring in his soul.

  Jim examined his pale reflection in the faded mirror. His face looked sadder now. His eyes told him he was no longer a young man. He touched his greying temples. Where had the years gone? He turned away from the mirthless image and retreated to his room. He tossed the last of his clothing into the gaping suitcase. He could be packed and ready to leave in a matter of minutes.

  The desire to flee had returned. Thank God they would be gone in a few hours. He was certain that the tiny village could not hold any more surprises for him, but he would soon discover how terribly wrong he could be. The darker spirits of Christmases past had not yet dealt with Jim Thorndyke.

  …

  Jim abandoned his silent room and drifted into the noisy chaos of the church. The setting was reminiscent of Christmas scenes everywhere. Small children were racing around the slippery floor while the older ones gathered in excited knots waiting for the service to begin. Laughing parents called to the milling throng and tried to restore order, but they too were much in awe of the season and the special night. Their shouts were wasted and only added to the noisy confusion of the evening.

  Young women were carrying steaming kettles of tea from the kitchen and lavishly distributing it upon the congregation. Everyone had a cup in their hand and Jim accepted his from a smiling girl with luxurious dark braids and beaded moccasins. She wished Jim a Merry Christmas and then turned away, apparently overcome with her own boldness.

  Jim tasted his mug of the bitter brew. He thought again of their missed flight. The Christmas parties would be in full swing in the Caribbean. Everyone in the glittering casinos would have a drink in their hand too. The desire to flee this village of strangers was returning.

  The magnificent tree beckoned to him over the squeals of the noisy children. It was a splendid sight; despite cold dead electric lights whose only radiance was the dim reflections from the glow of dancing candles. The coating of glistening tinsel pirouetted in the warming air and gave the glorious pine a shimmering spirit of its own. He stood awkwardly to one side, trying to merge into the shadows; his embarrassment growing as more people began to acknowledge his presence. Small children peeped around their mother’s skirts staring at this stranger who had dropped from the night sky to spend Christmas with them. Jim remembered the adoration in Little Fawn’s eyes. He wondered how many of these babes also had the mistaken belief that he was a Christmas angel.

  He fixed his gaze on the main entrance praying for Nester or Geezer to arrive and share his uncomfortable dilemma. His patience was soon rewarded in an unexpected way. Angie swept happily into the small cathedral. She was still dressed in her drab parka and bulky sweaters, but she looked radiant. She searched the packed church until she found Jim, then excused herself from her host. In a minute she was before him, taking his hands in her own and gazing up at him with her familiar happy smile.

  Jim felt the butterflies returning. He remembered the crush he had carried for Lois Jackson in junior high. Each time she had approached, his knees had turned to rubber. He removed one of his hands from Angie’s warm grasp and steadied himself against the rough log wall.

  Angie’s face was flushed, glowing with a warmth that radiated across the room. He wondered if he had helped put the color in her cheeks or if the spirit of Christmas was the sole explanation for her dazzling features.

  “Oh, Jim, I’m so looking forward to this service. Won’t it be one of the most beautiful things we have ever witnessed.”

  Her voice was stilled as a murmur swept across the packed church. Two of the elders marched in, each carrying a magnificent rack of flickering candles. They set the glittering display at opposite sides of the podium and began to organize the milling congregation, urging everyone to their chairs and benches.

  Angie hurried Jim into a seat, closer to the front of the packed church than he wanted to be. She smiled and waved towards the door. Jim turned and gaped as a princely stranger marched across the room dressed in the full regalia of a Scottish Piper. There was something vaguely familiar about the proud step of the newcomer, then he realized who it was. Geezer MacLeod!

  Somewhere in the old man’s battered luggage he had located the complete attire of a Scottish Highlander. The kilt, matching cap and short socks set him apart from his companions in drab buckskin. His costume was complete, even to the glowing brooche and dazzling white sporran he wore proudly at his waist. The dour old Scotsman seemed transformed. The stained whiskers were washed and combed into a neatly trimmed white beard that contrasted against his dark plaid. He stepped proudly, even arrogantly into the congregation. The Tartan had changed him into a picturesque and romantic figure. He marched straight as an arrow, taller by inches than when Jim had first seen him. This was a MacLeod of Harris and Skye! Here marched a proud western clan member descended from Vikings, elegant in his kilt of red and yellow lines on a green-blue-black background. Jim watched his haughty movements, and he could almost hear the skirl of bagpipes wailing across the frozen lake. He looked at Angie’s appreciative smile, then turned away, scarcely able to believe the transformation.

  When they were seated, an expectant hush fell over the congregation. For a minute there was complete silence, then Jim detected a flickering movement from the back rooms. A small procession of wavering candles danced out of the darkened hallway. The tiny parade appeared, leading Father Stait to the pulpit. The stately priest had a natural dignity that had always impressed Jim, but he was not prepared for the charismatic spell the man cast over his congregation. Father Bob was adorned in radiant white robes and his powerful shoulders towered over the t
iny attendants with their flickering candles. He strolled to the pulpit, placed his massive hands on the maple frame and gazed out over the assembly.

  The priest greeted the crowd in English and then in Dene. Jim fell under the spell of his hypnotic voice and wondered if the Catholic Church was aware of who they had sent to this remote land. For a moment he was overcome with regret for the man’s missed opportunities. It seemed such a waste, banishing someone with his potential to this wilderness. The thought was fleeting. Perhaps this was where God intended him to be.

  Jim caught himself just in time. He could not allow his mind to think in such dogmatic terms.

  He began to examine the crowd around him, perhaps this action would calm the rush of memories the service invoked. He glanced to his left. Two of the largest Dene Jim had ever seen were settling into the protesting bench. They were dressed in fine beaded buckskin and fancy moccasins. Jim estimated that each of these men must weigh well over one hundred and fifty kilos, glowing and fit, looking like professional wrestlers who had just dropped in on their way to the ring. Their faces were filled with wonderment, completely engrossed in the priest’s opening remarks. The priest had switched to English. The massive pair exchanged glances and nodded sagely.

  Angie squeezed Jim’s hand, eagerly pushing forward to the edge of her seat. The familiar happy smile had again set her face aglow. Jim could smell her rich perfume over the cool air of the church.

  The priest’s words cut though his thoughts. “And the glory of the Lord shone around them.” Jim watched the rapt pair of giants nodding in agreement.

  He began to wonder where he had lost the exhilaration of Christmas that was so evident in this small church and in the faces of the congregation.

  “Fear not, he said, for born unto you this day in Bethlehem.”

  Jim tried to remember when a Christmas service had really meant something to him. He recalled the years when he had tried desperately to recapture the feeling with each approaching Yuletide. But it was like trying to grip a handful of powdery sand. The harder he squeezed, the more it seemed to flow through his fingers, until finally he let it go, dusting off the last remembrance with a flick of his cold fingers.

  The memory of his last Christmas with Anne and the kids came surging back to him….

  Anne had taken the girls ahead to his parent’s farm. He had driven across the prairies from Calgary to meet them. It was Christmas Eve. The cab of his truck had been crammed with presents and the radio flooded the night with carols. He was looking forward to a long vacation, time off in the comfortable home of his parents. Twilight had fallen early. By the time he reached Regina the fading sun had vanished into a bank of fog and soft snowflakes. The farmyards drifted past, glowing red and green pools that silhouetted the barns and farmhouses. Each field of winking light seemed to be trying to outshine the other. The winding road took him close to some of the homes. He passed so near that he could look inside, where he imagined small children dancing past the sparkling trees.

  Just briefly, during that peaceful journey, the spirits of Christmas had embraced him for a time. The wonderment was there again, before the whiskey and his harsh words had tarnished another shining opportunity. He recognized, as he drove to that small village on the snow-covered prairies, that their marriage was shaky. Alone in the warm cab, with the soft flakes drifting past, and Silent Night resounding through the console, he acknowledged to himself that Anne was not the problem. He knew he was to blame. He looked down at his hands, clenching the wheel. He would try harder. For the sake of the kids at least. He would try to make it work!

  He did try, but before the holidays were over, he had pushed them one step closer to the divorce neither of them wanted.

  “You will find a babe wrapped in swaddling clothes and laid in a manger.”

  Jim heard a sigh escape someone’s lips, almost a moan. He realized that the sound had slipped from his own throat.

  Angie squeezed his hand and lay her head on his shoulder while Jim fought to control his emotions.

  They fell under the spell of the priest’s voice and were again enchanted by the miracle of the violin and the wondrous choir. When the performance ended and the violin quivered into silence, a spontaneous round of applause filled the church. Jim found himself applauding and blinking the tears away. He looked around the chapel, trying to conceal his face and emotions from Angie.

  The clapping had subsided, a hush descended over the congregation. Father Bob raised his hand, appealing for their attention.

  “I’m now going to ask everyone to join us in the singing of a few carols. We will distribute the song sheets.”

  The priest and two of the elders began circulating through the crowd, reorganizing the tiny congregation. The priest approached Angie and Jim. He handed them the small booklets.

  “Perhaps the two of you would be kind enough to separate and share these sheets with those who do not read English. Jim, would you make yourself comfortable between the Trembley brothers?” He gestured to the smiling giants in his aisle and spoke to them in Dene. Jim looked aghast. They had seemed totally absorbed in the priest’s words, Dene and English.

  “Jim, I’m afraid they don’t understand a word of English. They are just visiting our parish for the holidays.”

  Jim rolled his eyes and moved down the aisle, squeezing between the imposing trappers when a common gasp escaped the lips of the congregation. A flash of color pulled his eyes back to the towering tree. The lights on the great pine flickered magically and then winked out. Once, twice and then a third time. The youngsters squealed with joy, enchanted by the mystical moment.

  Jim knew it was not the spirit of Christmas that was causing the winking lights on the tree. Nester had started the cranky generator and applied power to the system.

  Each electrical circuit serviced several homes, and every cabin had a timer set to close their individual breaker, staggering the loading on the gen set. The church was the largest single element and the first to receive electrical power from the remote generating plant. All the breakers were open, except for the one feeding the lights on the majestic tree. In a minute Nester closed the breaker permanently and the tree began to sparkle and shine in all its splendor. It was an enchanted moment and Jim felt the thrill of the small children who viewed the lighting of this tree as a Christmas miracle.

  The congregation knew that the other circuits would soon be closing, and the priest directed everyone into the night to watch the lights come on across the village.

  Jim reluctantly shrugged on his parka and allowed Angie to pull him into the crisp air. The chapel was located on a small rise, higher than the rest of the village. The crowd pressed to the side of the church, eager to watch the Christmas lights brighten the sprawling wintry scene. The wind had died away, not a breath of air stirred the branches of the sparse pines. The moon had not ascended the faint horizon, but the northern lights dazzled the boundless sky. It was a familiar sight to the inhabitants of this remote village, but the dancing display drew a gasp of delight from Angie’s cold lips.

  They waited expectantly. Then the magical event began. One by one the strings of lights flickered on across the scattered village. Every cabin was ringed with the colorful streamers adorning the house and adjacent trees. Each new section flared into view to the squeals of joy from the children and murmurs of approval from the adults. At last every light was on and the entire village transformed into a glowing pool of winking lights, a Christmas jewel in the barren northland.

  Two weary figures came trudging up from the gen room. It was Nester and his assistant. The remaining helpers had been left behind to monitor the gen set. The crowd recognized their achievement and broke into another ripple of applause.

  Nester strutted over to Angie and Jim. There was a touch of arrogance in his weary stride. Two little girls in his path crossed themselves and curtseyed. Nester pretended not to notice, but he
was beaming. He was used to completing complex projects for the company and had received his share of accolades, but this was the first time he had been accorded the status of an angel. Jim could see he was relishing the moment. Nester chuckled self-consciously and shook Jim’s hand, wishing him a Merry Christmas. He smiled at Angie.

  “Nester, you did a wonderful job fixing the electrical system. Everyone in the village thinks you are a miracle worker,” Angie gushed.

  “Oh! Really!” he chuckled “Well! Merry Christmas!” He did not waste time on false modesty. He was quite willing to accept their accolades.

  The crowd was filtering back into the church. Father Stait took the opportunity to hand Nester a carol sheet and place him in the congregation.

  The caroling began. Jim found himself crushed between the giant trappers. The powerful frontiersmen seemed eager to raise their voices in honour of the evening and the smiling encouragement of Father Stait. Their beefy forms pressed against Jim and he was aware of the overpowering odor of raw buckskin, so potent that it watered his eyes and closed his throat. The good priest seemed to delight in Jim’s dilemma. His amused smile went beyond the bounds of rapture in the joy of the music.

  The lengthy service drew to a reluctant close. The hot tea reappeared from the glowing stove in the back room. Angie led Jim into the cool night, and he sucked in the welcome fresh air. They snuggled together; her warm hand squeezed into his mitten. The pressure of her silken fingers brought an added magic to this special evening.

  Jim looked across the lake, examining the battered plane hunched expectantly in the snow. It didn’t seem so cold now with Angie standing next to him. Her face was serene, and the smile had been replaced with a look of rapture. Jim was aware of a grandeur in the wild landscape that he had never sensed before.