Unforgettable Christmas Dreams: Gifts of Joy

by Rebecca York

  Putting down her spatula, Helen nodded at the gun cabinet, and waited while Todd opened it and retrieved their double-barreled 12-gauge shotgun. She waited while he loaded it. When it clicked shut she walked over to the door.

  Several more knocks, harder, more demanding.

  She paused, her hand on the latch. Who?

  No one should be outside their home this evening. Absolutely no one. The heavy snowstorm yesterday and today had filled the roads and fields so deep that Helen and Todd had needed to shovel a trench-type pathway between the house and the barns to take care of the livestock.

  No snowplows had come through to clear the rural Montana roads, and Helen didn’t expect any plowing to be done until after Christmas. They always plowed the closer suburban areas before plowing the county roads.

  The knocking persisted, this time louder and more insistent. Well, it wasn’t a ghost, not knocking like that. She’d better see who it was.

  She switched on the porch light, then pulled open the door, at the same time stepping out of the line of fire. Just in case. She didn’t believe in waiting until you were in trouble to think of possible solutions.

  Helen stared at the bedraggled man standing there in the dim porch light. His clothes were covered with snow, his shaggy hair and black beard stiff with ice crystals. Even his eyebrows had ice crystals on them. He looked like a Yeti.

  “You!” she exclaimed, her anger rising.

  She didn’t expect to see the bum, not after she had set the dog on him last month when he had come around, stealing eggs. He must know he wasn’t welcome here.

  Rufus lunged toward the door, barking, making the man step out into the deeper snow, falling over backward in his haste. She smiled at his plight. Good. She wanted him afraid of Rufus. She didn’t think the dog would bite anyone, but she’d rather the man didn’t know that.

  Rufus had been her husband’s present to Todd on their son’s tenth birthday. Just a puppy at the time, he had attached himself to the boy and had eventually become his protector, even facing down a bull for him.

  “You won’t shoot me, will you?” the bum pleaded, looking at the shotgun in Todd’s hands. “Not on Christmas Eve?”

  “What do you want?” she demanded, feeling no pity for the man.

  “Shelter. Mine collapsed on me.” He struggled to his feet, keeping his distance from Rufus. He looked on the point of collapse himself.

  “What do you mean? Where’d you come from?” she demanded. These homeless people sheltered in the worst places, and then wanted to be given aid when a storm came.

  “The line cabin. It was too old to take the weight of all this snow.”

  Helen pictured Frank Trahern’s cabin, as old as the hills. It was barely inhabitable. This bum probably thought it was the perfect spot to winter in while he stole supplies from the neighboring ranchers. “Then you shouldn’t have been staying there,” she snapped. “It doesn’t belong to you. That cabin belongs to Frank Trahern.”

  “Frank still has cattle out on the open range. I’ve been making sure the water troughs stay open during the winter.”

  Frank used to keep a man at the cabin, but he had stopped the practice when snowmobiles were invented and he could check them that way. Why would the bum claim that Frank was having him stay there this winter?

  It didn’t sound right. This man didn’t even have snowshoes on, which was how people traveled if you didn’t have a snowmobile. But how would he know Frank’s name?

  Oh. She had just mentioned it.

  That was foolish of her. Now how was she going to check him out?

  He brushed the snow off, taking more care to remove the snow from the rucksack he carried than from himself.

  “You can’t come in here,” she said. “I don’t know you from Adam. Go on to the barn. You can shelter there. Don’t start any fires. And leave my eggs alone.”

  He stood here, exhausted and looking forlorn, as only a snow-covered man can, but he had chosen his fate and she wasn’t going to let him in the house with her and Todd. He might steal them blind or worse.

  “Can you at least call Frank and see if he can come get me in his truck?” he said. “His snowmobile took a direct hit from a falling beam.”

  She put her hands on her hips and glared at him. “Why would he come for you?”

  “Sorry. I’m beyond thinking straight. Should have told you. I’m Carlton Mann. Frank’s my grandfather.”

  Grandfather? She doubted that. She didn’t remember Frank or Roberta ever mentioning a grandson named Carlton. Still, they had a large family. “Where’s your cell phone?”

  “Under the cabin roof, somewhere. I couldn’t find it.”

  “How’d you escape?” she demanded, still doubtful.

  “I was sleeping in the lower bunk. When the roof dropped down the upper one kept it off me enough that I could climb out. I knew the line cabin was old, but hadn’t thought about the weight of the snow breaking the rafters and dropping the entire roof.”

  “So you came here?” She made it sound like a crime. Well, that was the way she felt.

  “I almost didn’t make it. I got lost, going at least a couple of miles out of my way, then spotted a landmark. I knew I was too far away to go anywhere else.”

  Helen frowned. She had enough trouble keeping her old house heated without leaving the door open. The cold had been blasting inside ever since she had opened it.

  “Come on in,” she said, grudgingly, stepping back from the entrance, far enough that he wouldn’t be able to grab her. When you lived this far from town, you had to be your own police force. If Carlton Mann didn’t check out, she would send him away, snow or no snow. “Stand by the fireplace and thaw out. I’ll call Frank. Todd, keep your gun on him.”

  “Don’t you trust me?” he asked as he stepped inside and closed the door. “I guess not. I took your eggs earlier this winter.”

  “Right. You’ve got a lot of nerve, coming back here.” She felt irate and irrational. She’d never expected to see him again, especially in these circumstances where western hospitality demanded that you take care of someone stranded in the snow. She didn’t feel at all hospitable. She viewed him as a common thief.

  “Ma’am, if I could have gone anywhere else, I would have. That’s a mighty big dog you have, and I felt ashamed at taking the eggs after I did so.”

  He took off his rucksack and carried it with him over to the fireplace. “I’m sorry I took them. Gave in to temptation, just that one time. I’d been cooking with powdered eggs and yours looked so good. I only took three. I left some money for them. Best eggs I ever tasted.”

  “I’m not a grocery store,” Helen snapped, still irritated by the presumption of this man, stealing her eggs. He looked sorry, but she figured most people could fake sorrow when they wanted to. “You should have asked. I’d have given you some eggs. Just not those.”

  “They were special? I wondered. The shells were chocolate colored.” The snow dripped off him onto the floor, making a puddle on the linoleum next to the throw rug where Rufus liked to sleep during the day.

  “Right. From my French hens. I get lots of money for them, from the storekeeper in town.”

  He shuffled his feet. “I’m sorry. How much were they worth? I’ll pay you more.”

  “Where’d you leave the money?” she asked, glancing over at Todd, who still held the shotgun. He’d found some money tucked up inside a nest in the chicken coop, almost throwing it out as he changed the straw. A five-dollar bill, if she remembered right.

  “I left it in the nest.” He shook his head. “I’m no thief. I came to the door and knocked, but couldn’t get anyone. I thought you must have gone to town, so went back to the hen house and left the money. I’m not broke.”

  “What are you doing then, living in a line cabin? You say you had Frank’s snowmobile. That’s what we use during the winter to check on things, but not to get around. Normally,” she added.

  He pushed back the hood of his parka and took
off his cap. Small pieces of melting ice dripped down. He had dark hair, cropped like someone had whacked at it with a knife. “I had to get some writing finished, as I kept getting interrupted where I was. I usually don’t mind my own company. It seemed a good idea to winter there.”

  A place to write? Helen thought. Why would anyone pick that old cabin?

  He looked directly at her, his hazel eyes meeting her gaze. “Frank knew I was looking for a place to write, and when he told me about the cabin, it sounded perfect.” He grinned and shook his head. “It wasn’t anything like he described. I doubt if he’s seen it for a few years.”

  “It looked pretty rundown to me,” she said.

  “It was adequate until the snow got too heavy for the roof,” Carlton said.

  “When did it give way?” She didn’t doubt that it had collapsed on him, just that Frank had sent him there in the first place. Frank should have known better than that.

  “Around midnight last night, I think. Everything was pitch black. I had wool blankets, which kept me warm even though they were soaked. It was too uncomfortable to sleep, so I waited for daylight. A beam had dropped one end next to me. I’d have been in serious trouble if it had hit me.”

  “What was the damage like?” Todd asked, lowering the shotgun, then raising it again when Helen shook her head at him. Her anger hadn’t dissipated. She still had to check this character out.

  “Pretty extensive. The little potbellied stove in the center of the cabin got knocked over and the stovepipe smashed. The stove started a fire that the snow thankfully put out, leaving burned marks on the floor.”

  Helen nodded. Fire was one of the big dangers in rural homes. The homes were usually a total loss, as they were so far away from towns, especially here in Montana.

  “Worse,” he continued, “a large part of the roof dropped on my cell phone and my small hoard of canned goods.”

  His story was getting even better. He’d be asking her for food next.

  “You won’t need it now,” she said, deciding he’d have to spend the night in the barn. She’d give him Todd’s snowshoes in the morning and tell him to walk to the Trahern place. “You can’t go back there.”

  “I know. I’ll have to find another place to write. I was almost finished.”

  “You have a computer?”

  “Yes. I was using cloud backup, so shouldn’t have lost anything.”

  “Electricity?”

  “There was a line running out to the cabin. Plus phone.” He opened his rucksack and pulled out a small laptop. “I was mainly worried about this breaking down on me, but it’s been very reliable.” He brushed it off carefully.

  Helen walked over to the coffee table, picked up her cellphone, and dialed the Trahern ranch. It was easy enough to verify his story, and if someone decided to check on Carlton after the snowfall, they needed to know where he was.

  Roberta Trahern answered. “Hello.”

  “Hi, Roberta. I’ve got a man here who says he’s your grandson, and that he was staying at the old line cabin.”

  “Yes. Carlton Mann. He’s my daughter’s son.”

  “The roof collapsed.”

  “Was he in it?” Roberta asked, her voice rising with concern. “Is he ok?”

  Helen relaxed, her attitude changing. So he was legitimate, and not just a bum. “I think so. He said a beam just missed him. It smashed his snowmobile, so he walked over here. Can Frank come get him?”

  “That was our snowmobile Frank loaned him. As long as he doesn’t need rescuing, he’ll have to wait for the snowplows to come through. The rescue planes are busy searching for stranded motorists. Did he lose his research? I know he’s worked years gathering and analyzing that.”

  Helen looked over at Carlton who was drying off his computer. “He said he had it all in the cloud.”

  “Great. I’m glad you called, as I was expecting him over for dinner tomorrow. What happened to his phone?”

  “He said it’s buried under the rubble.”

  “I’m glad he went to your place. He would never have made it, trying to walk here. Frank is just getting over the flu, so he’s in no condition to go searching for anyone. Can Todd drive him here?”

  Helen shook her head, as if Roberta could see her. “Not yet. Our roads aren’t open.”

  “Our are still closed, too. Can you keep him there for a few days until they’re plowed? When Frank is better, he can drive over and get him. He’s too old to be shoveling a truck out of a snowbank, not while he’s still recovering from being sick. That’s what kills you.”

  “Yes. He can stay.”

  “Thank you. He’s my favorite grandson. He has an honest heart.”

  Favorite, huh? Ken had always said that Frank and Roberta Trahern were the most honest people he knew. Maybe she could trust their grandson. He had tried to pay for the eggs.

  They said their goodbyes and hung up. Helen looked at Carlton. “She vouched for you, but you’ll have to stay here until the roads open,” she said.

  He nodded. “Thank you.”

  “Your grandfather can’t come for you. He has the flu.”

  His head lifted higher and his gaze sharpened. “Is it bad?”

  “She didn’t sound like it. She said he’s recovering.”

  Carlton nodded. “Good. I’ve always been close to my grandfather Trahern, even more so than Grandfather Mann.”

  “I’m Helen Ashton,” she said. “This is Todd.”

  “Carlton Mann,” he said again. “Thank you for letting me in. I was really worried when it got dark and I hadn’t found your place yet. I saw what I first thought was a star, then realized it was a light from your ranch house.”

  “We have that light outside by the barns to guide us back if one of us ends up out after dark. It’s mercury-vapor, works on a dusk to dawn photocell switch. It stays on all night.”

  “I’m mighty glad it does. Without it I would have walked right on by, and kept walking.” He took a deep breath, shuddered, and then seemed to dismiss it.

  “What are you writing?” Todd asked.

  “My doctorate thesis, for a PhD in crop science. It’s on the impact of volcanic activity on soil acidity and composition, over time.”

  “What?” Todd exclaimed, frowning. “The impact of what?” He lowered the shotgun after first looking at his mother. This time she nodded assent.

  She kept Ken’s loaded handgun in her bedroom, where she could reach it easily. She wasn’t leaving herself defenseless.

  Carlton grinned, shaking his head. “I’m used to that reaction. That’s the short title. You see, we know that volcanic ash acts as a fertilizer on the soil. I measured different soil samples starting near Mt. St. Helens and moving out into Montana, duplicating measurements I took five years ago, and others taken by another man soon after the eruption ten years before that. Each time I tested the same areas of Washington, Idaho, Montana, and North Dakota, which was where the ash traveled. Washington benefited the most, but by the time the cloud reached Montana, it still dropped a considerable tonnage of nutrients.”

  “How does that help us farmers?” Helen asked, as she watched Todd put the shotgun back into the cabinet and lock the door.

  “Any research done on improving the soil is useful. We can’t call up a volcano when we want it, but we can work on matching the chemical composition. Any areas that received the ash benefited, but some more than others, depending on the composition of the soil underneath. Also ash depth and rainfall. The rain tends to leach out minerals.”

  Helen nodded. When the ash first came, her husband viewed it as a nuisance, clogging radiators and covering the grass, but once it settled into the soil, all their pastures had improved.

  “Open it,” she suggested, pointing to Carlton’s computer. “See if it’s o.k. You can use that outlet there.” It was another way to check out his story. A bum wouldn’t have all that information on his computer. Only a serious person would be conducting such research.

  He nodde
d, set it on a small side table, and opened it up. “What’s your network connection?”

  Todd answered him. He used the Internet all the time for his schoolwork.

  Helen watched as Carlton’s fingers flew over the keys. No one-finger pecking, he was used to the keyboard, typing at least as fast as she could. Maybe even as fast as Todd.

  She smiled at the sight of Todd, now looking over Carlton’s shoulder at the laptop’s screen. At eighteen, her son was more than ready to go to college, but still deciding where to go and what to major in. Like most mothers, she thought her son was special, and he was, at least to her.

  She had homeschooled him up to the point where he passed her, spending his last years of high school taking online college courses. He had a wide range of interests, and she encouraged him to explore different subjects. Lately his interest had shifted to veterinary science. Carlton’s arrival promised to open a new avenue to his inquiring mind.

  “You said you’re not broke, that you’re working on a PhD. How did you manage that?” she asked, curious.

  “I worked while going through college, after four years in the military, which is why it took me so long. I’m thirty-seven. Right now a fertilizer company is interested in my research. They’ve given me a grant on condition that they can use my findings when they put out a new formula. They get exclusive use. Fifteen years, I think, maybe seventeen, then anyone can use it.”

  “Do you intend to work for them when you’re finished?”

  “No.”

  “Then what do you plan to do? Teach?”

  “That was my intention at first, but I don’t know if I’ll make a good teacher. The sciences are wide open to a lot of fields.”

  ***

  Carlton helped Todd put the plates on the table while Helen dished up. It looked like mother and son had finally accepted him. There was plenty of food, including some steak Carlton didn’t recognize.

  “What meat is this? It’s good. It’s really good.” Part of it tasting so good had to be that he was very hungry after his long walk. He hadn’t eaten since the night before, and he thought horsemeat might taste good right now.