A Camp Edson Christmas

by Cynthia Davis

stroking the dark stubble that spoke of extended time away from a normal grooming routine. “That’s sleet.”

  “Sleet!” Jimmy hollered. “Heat! Meat! Hey, when’s that turkey gonna be done?”

  As if on cue, Anna burst from the kitchen, smoke billowing behind her. “Heating element blew,” she managed between heaving coughs. Groans of disappointment preceded chaos. Windows flew open. Cold, stiff air replaced blackened smoke and fumes. Kids screamed, raiding rooms down the hall for blankets. Anna pulled a five pound bag of frozen French Fries from the freezer and began shoving them into a toaster oven in hasty batches.

  “French fries!” Jimmy yelled, waving one over his head. “Fries from France! France rhymes with dance, D-A-N-C-E!” he called, wiggling and shaking a path across the room.

  At the height of the pandemonium, the lights flickered, and the building was plunged into darkness. The initial screams quickly turned to deafening silence. And then the phone rang.

  Meg tried to keep her voice down but the silence seemed to amplify her somber tones. She didn’t give anything away with her words, but Christina didn’t need anything spelled out. One look out the window told her all she needed to know. The entire world looked was encrusted beneath a glassy sheet of ice.

  Christina bit into half-baked French fry. The warm, crispy exterior surrounding a bitter cold core seemed a fitting symbol for her Christmas Eve. There would be no warm meal, no toys for the kids, and, blinking back tears, she acknowledged the truth that was hardest to face: she herself would share in the cold and giftless Christmas morning to which they all seemed destined. Christina tossed the French fry into the garbage, suddenly aware that at least for this one night they all shared the same miserable lot.

  “Have you seen Faith?” Dee hissed in her ear. Startled, Christina stared into Dee’s wide eyes. She’d been busy, gathering the children around the tree, distributing pillows, flashlights and candy canes.

  “I was just going to read to them, when I realized that I haven’t seen Faith.” Panic washed across Dee’s face. “I don’t want to worry them,” she tossed her head to toward the kitchen, where Meg, Michael and Anna were slapping together some hasty PBJs.

  Could things get any worse?

  Two images flashed through Christina’s mind and she instantly knew where to look. “I’ll be right back,” she called, slipping out the side door without her coat. Sliding down the slippery path to the craft cabin in pitch darkness through a sheet of raining ice, Christina fought mixed emotions. She wasn’t sure if she should be angry that the kid ran off or worried about things like frostbite or pneumonia. I wish I could stay here all day, she remembered Faith saying at the door of the arts and crafts cabin that afternoon. Then, less than an hour ago, she sat beneath the Christmas tree, folding her reindeer like so much origami.

  Bursting though the cabin door, Christina spotted a thin flashlight beam that served as a visual cue of where to direct her verbal reproof. “What are you doing in here?” she asked, her voice betraying her alarm.

  “Making thank you notes,” a timid voice answered from the floor.

  Whoa. This wasn’t going to be pretty. Dripping wet and chilled to the bone, Christina softened as she knelt beside the child. “Faith, you know, sometimes, we don’t always get the presents we want for Christmas…” Even by the dim beam of the Faith’s flashlight, Christina could tell the kid was looking at her like she just fell from planet Zorp.

  “Presents? Who said anything about presents?” Faith looked genuinely puzzled. “I’m just making cards for Miss Anna and Mrs. Meg and Mr. Michael and Miss Dee and you, too, Miss Christina. You all look so upset, and I just want you to know I’m just happy to be here.”

  Hot tears of shame mixed with the icy rain on Christina’s cheeks. How could she have wasted even one thought on herself, knowing home—and her Christmas—would be waiting for her after the ice melted? Where would Faith go when it was all over? Christina scooped the child in an embrace and together they slid down the path to the lodge, where Dee had just run out of excuses to explain their absence any longer.

  Soon, Michael had a fire roaring in the fireplace, and Anna had hot chocolate cooking in a pot over the open flame. Meg had made eight little cots into cozy beds and Dee began to sing Silent Night in hauntingly beautiful tones.

  Shivering beneath several thick towels, Christina began to thaw from the inside out. She had been so selfish this week, so judgmental. Almost as though giving up a couple measly days of her Christmas break made her some sort of hero, she thought with regret.

  Christina must have drifted off to sleep, because she awoke to sun streaming through the icy picture window and the sound of gift wrap being torn hastily from packages.

  “It’s a Chrismas miracle!” Anna exclaimed again.

  Christina squinted, trying to believe her eyes as package after package revealed coats and shoes that fit the recipient. She rubbed her eyes in disbelief as Faith tore into a box of crayons, scissors and glue, and Jimmy ripped open a book full of word puzzles.

  “What? How? When?” Christina stumbled, and then, just like the scene in the old black and white classic Miracle on 34th Street, when a single cane propped in the corner of the house tips the family off to the identity of their benefactor, Christina spotted the worn broom with the stubby bristles leaning against the picture window.

  “Where’s Mr. Engal?” she gasped. Eyes darted around the room. “When did you see him last?” “Did you see him?” “Did you?”

  “I told you the church sent their very best,” Anna triumphed. “All this time, pushing that broom, he was making observations,” she insisted.

  But where is he now? Christina wondered, feeling guiltier than ever, and suddenly wanting nothing more than to see the man she’d written off as a kook and ignored.

  “He must have gone home to his family,” Meg guessed. “But I’m going to call the pastor of his church to send our thanks.” Meg headed into the kitchen and Christina turned her attention to Jimmy, who was already engrossed in the puzzle book.

  “What are you working on?” she asked.

  “Anagrams,” Jimmy answered. “You know, where you rearrange the letters of a word to make new words.” Christina’s thoughts rewound to the tattered letters in the craft cabin. Mr. Engal was way more observant than she’d ever be.

  Meg returned to the lounge, a disturbed expression clouding her face.

  “What’s going on?” Michael asked.

  “The pastor said he was very sorry, but he never sent his janitor to us, after all. Said he got sick and they forgot to call.”

  “Then who was our janitor?” Dee asked in alarm. Ripples of shock and speculation traveled across the room.

  Christina glanced over at Jimmy, nose deep in his puzzle book. Still not in tune with his surroundings, Christina thought. She looked at the list of words he’d rearranged, gasping in sudden realization. In the space next to the word “angel,” Jimmy’s single anagram revealed the answer to their question, and just how much she almost missed. The childish scrawl simply read: Engal.

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  Cynthia Davis lives in southeastern Virginia with her family and pets. She enjoys planting in the spring, baseball in the summer and pumpkins in the fall—but loves Christmas best of all. A Camp Edson Christmas features characters from her Young Adult novels The Chrysalis and Drink the Rain (available in print and ebook). Snapshots, her third Camp Edson book, is unfolding chapter-by-chapter with reader input. Find her on facebook or follow her on twitter.