THE LAST GHOST OF CHRISTMAS

by Jesse Colt

A vaguely feminine form moved awkwardly from under the cover of the blankets and struggled towards them. She stumbled though the knee-deep snow, short and stocky, so bundled up in the great caribou-skin parka that Jim was not certain if she were indeed a woman. At first Jim guessed she was Eskimo, but she approached Geezer and pulled back her hood.

  “Hi, I’m Angie. I’m with old Kaneeta. Do you have room to give me a lift to Old Bow?” Her words were in perfect English and the voice was feminine and sensuous despite her dumpy appearance under the layers of clothing.

  Geezer snorted, “Hell, we got plenty of room.”

  Jim tried to view her face in the faint light dancing across the distant sky. Her pale image could best be described as plain. In the soft glow of the familiar stars, her face appeared oval and pale with the soft features of a teenager. Still, he guessed she was close to forty. She turned to Jim and smiled. It was a nice smile, honest and friendly. Jim felt very comfortable with this pleasant stranger.

  “Hi!” she gushed and extended her hand. “I’m Angie.” She shook his hand through the layers of mittens. “Kaneeta is really quite feeble. I’ll have Toekkay lift her into the plane. We have a couple of small bags with us. Can you put them on board?” She laughed softly, delighted at the chance to gain a flight to the distant village.

  Jim watched her in the pale light. It had been a long time since he had been close to a white woman.

  They squeezed into the lone passenger seat in the back. Jim was aware of her ample hips against his body. He watched as the old woman was hoisted up and strapped into the front seat.

  Geezer secured the doors and began flicking switches in the cockpit. Jim looked down at Angie. She was smiling again; her eager face was visible even in the muted lights of the dash. He put his arm around her shoulder as the two of them pressed together under the common seat belt. She laughed and snuggled closer. Her warm breath caressed his cheek. It was sweet and inviting. He caught the scent of her faint perfume. Despite her plain features, he felt a rush of desire stirring within him.

  “Jim, I really appreciate your giving me a lift to Old Bow. They have a radio there and I can call my office. I was supposed to get a flight out a couple of weeks back. I’m a department nurse and there was a sick child in the camp. The agency must have left without me by now and I had no way of contacting them.”

  “Didn’t the priest radio your camp that we were coming?” Jim was certain he must have misunderstood her.

  She laughed into his puzzled face again. “Oh, no, it’s just a small camp. They don’t even have a transistor.”

  “How did you know we were coming?” Jim demanded.

  “Oh, the Old People told me the plane would land on the lake. They just seem to know these things.” She continued her nervous prattle as the engine revved up for take off. Her voice was melodic and sweet, but Jim was looking out the window to the departing sled gliding back across the ice, disappearing into the boundless wilderness as mysteriously as it had arrived. She cuddled against his chest and spoke softly to him, but her words were lost in the sputter of the trembling engine. He moved his head lower and she breathed into his ear sending reluctant shivers up his spine as she clasped his arm.

  “It’s not a long flight, is it? I’m really a very nervous flyer. I prefer the dogs.” She laughed again, apparently delighted to have his company.

  Jim was aware of the warm female at his side. He wondered what it would be like to try and make out with her under their layers of clothing in the cramped seat. She seemed to invite his flirtations. Despite her plain looks and plump body, he found her strangely appealing. She clung to him as the plane lurched across the snow and struggled into the air.

  Jim looked out the window. He could see the dog team racing back into the night, a flowing shadow moving comfortably towards the woods. The plane droned on across the snow-covered forests. Jim pressed his knee against Angie, aware of her warm hips even through the layers of clothing.

  The ancient aircraft began to shudder. It dipped into an air pocket and dropped heavily in the cold air. Jim clutched desperately at the frozen seat! For a few seconds they seemed in an endless free fall towards the frozen surface of the lake, now rushing up at them from the gloom, then the struggling craft bottomed out and sputtered forward. All thoughts of Angie’s warm body were driven from his mind. Jim would be grateful for a safe landing back at the isolated village.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The quavering Norseman droned through the silence of the arctic night, guided by the unchanging North Star and Geezer’s faltering hand. The thin moon dipped towards the horizon, enticing long black shadows from the silent timber and onto the trackless snow. Jim’s spirits were soaring. The air was calm again, and Geezer’s tough old fingers appeared steady, firmly in control of the reluctant craft. The worn engine was running smoothly. Visions of the warm surf swam before Jim’s eyes. He was pleasantly aware of the soft female at his side, but she was only a pallid reminder of the seductive women he anticipated in the crowded bars and on the golden beaches of the Caribbean.

  He stole a glance at Angie’s serene features, outlined in the dim lights of the cabin. How could anyone remain feminine and perfumed in this land of endless frost and isolation? He wondered what might have happened if the two of them had been marooned in this remote village for a portion of the long arctic winter? It didn’t matter really. He would be aloft by the time she had unpacked.

  His imagination was leading him down sensuous paths when the finicky Norseman jarred his thoughts back to reality. The wobbly craft began to shudder, and his queasy stomach warned him of a rapid descent. He clutched the seat in panic, then breathed easier when he realized Geezer was buzzing the faint lights of Old Bow. He could see the dim outlines of the buildings. Faint yellow patches of light stood against the black pools the capricious forest had painted along the lake. A swirling red bonfire danced on the ice, a lively beacon created by the village youth, more an excuse to hold an impromptu party than a flare to guide the returning plane home.

  The falling aircraft creaked into a slow turn and then plunged towards the black surface. The plane dropped heavily and jarred to a rough landing on the ripples of snow the wind had patterned across the frozen lake.

  Angie clung to him with the intimacy of a lover until the skis glided to a stop and the creaking wings drooped back against the protesting struts. Jim’s ears were instantly tuned to the silence of the cold night. He breathed an audible sigh of relief. The air was calm and serene. The fierce gale had faded into the distance.

  A swinging lantern started across the ice. A sled was already on its way from the church. Willing hands helped them down from the plane and gently settled the old woman into the pile of warm blankets and furs. Angie covered Kaneeta’s frail form with a robe then turned and called to Jim.

  “Kaneeta wants to present you with a small gift and express her deep thanks, Jim. Would you ask Geezer to come over?”

  He called to Geezer and they moved reluctantly over the snow to the frail bundle on the sled. Jim was eager to collect his gear and load the plane for Yellowknife. He had no time to waste in meaningless thank-yous, but he could see no way of avoiding the pointless ritual. The old woman was nodding and smiling. She seemed happy to be free from the frightening shudder of the aircraft and back to the village of her daughter. She extended her bare hands through the frost of the night and Jim felt obliged to remove his own mitts and expose his flesh to the bite of the arctic night. The old crone seized his fingers and brushed them against her frail lips, all the while muttering in Dene. She pressed a warm coin into his palm and then performed the same ritual with Geezer. She was still smiling and nodding when Angie tucked the blanket around her, and the sled bumped its way across the rough ice.

  Geezer watched them disappear in the direction of the church. He slammed the twisted doors shut and gave the battered skis a ritual kick before turning to Jim.


  “Well, I’ve had some poor fares in my time, Laddy,” he muttered, “but this is the first time anyone ever paid me two bits.” He laughed and spat rudely onto the snow.

  Jim examined his coin in the faint light from Geezer’s failing torch. It was an old Canadian 25-cent piece, worn and smooth with use. It felt incredibly warm, almost hot, despite the chill of the evening. Jim guessed that someone had placed a hot water bottle in the old woman’s blankets. He dropped the coin into the liner of his mitt, determined to keep the small token. Perhaps he could have some fun with Nester over the meager tip. His high spirits had returned, and he no longer begrudged his obstinate partner the hours of sleep that he had stolen.

  Geezer chuckled again “Well, Laddy, if we get about twenty more of these; I know a great spot in Old Town where it will buy me a large pint of draft when we reach Yellowknife. Let’s grab our gear. Maybe Mr. Zary will buy me that steak he’s been promising me at The Prospector.”

  Jim hurried after him, anxious to rouse Nester, collect his waiting luggage and get under way. His sensuous visions of Angie were replaced by slender bikini clad women frolicking on the sunny beaches.

  They had only started along the snowy path to the church when a distant sound piped across the lake, freezing them in their tracks. It was a hellish whistling discord, far out on the ice, like the lashing of a thousand tiny whips. Geezer scowled across the rough surface and scratched the stubble on his battered chin.

  “Christ, Geezer! What the hell is that?” Jim gasped. Then he felt it, the first desperate fingers of the touch he dreaded most.

  There was a faint moan in the nearest pines, a gentle sway in the uppermost branches. The cold hiss of an icy wind sounded against the taut fabric of the old Norseman’s wings. Then he saw the wintry front swirling across the black ice. A low cloud of snow slammed against the startled pair, like the wash from some ghostly titanic propeller. The edge of the village was instantly engulfed in the snow and wind.

  “Damn it!” Geezer cursed. “Where the hell did that come from? I got to get back and haul tarps over the plane before she fills the engine with ice. Let’s get in the church till I find some of the lads to give me a hand.”

  Jim plodded mechanically to the church door. He paused outside and sheltered his eyes against the onslaught. He watched the faint silhouette of the old Norseman fading behind the swirling white cloud. Jim shouted an angry curse into the teeth of the gale. It seemed to relent a moment, startled by his violent challenge, then the winds lashed back with renewed fury. In a minute the plane was swallowed by the hungry storm. Once again, they were victims of the swirling snow that had held them captive for the past two days.

  Jim staggered into the church and collapsed onto a rough pew. He knew he had been beaten!

  Inside the quiet sanctuary, the placid Christmas tree and flickering candles seemed unmoved by the raging blizzard again slashing off the black ice of the lake. The tranquil scene began to calm his stormy thoughts. He sucked in a deep breath and removed his frosted glasses.

  Angie’s gentle face swam into his vision. He could see her smiling at him in the dim light of the candles and the smoking kerosene lanterns. She appeared younger in the pale glow of the church lights; her laughing eyes seemed larger, her lips fuller. She might have been attractive with a little make up and some fashionable clothing.

  Angie moved towards him and placed a warm hand against his chilled flesh. He flushed at the touch. Her hand was puppy soft, warm and inviting. For a moment Jim forgot the slash of the frozen ice crystals against the logs of the church, the bitter disappointment of the missed flight. This woman was nothing special, but perhaps she would provide a diversion if they were confined to this isolated village for a few more hours. He knew she was waiting to meet with the priest and receive her billet, but she seemed in no hurry to leave his side.

  “Jim, have you heard them sing?” Her voice was hushed, almost reverent. She seemed caught up in the spirit of Christmas she had found in this primitive church.

  Jim replaced his glasses and focused on the scene at the opposite end of the chapel. The frost was fading from the edges of his icy lenses. He recognized Father Stait, facing a tiny semi-circle of children, the eldest no more than twelve. Their dark eyes were following the priest’s every motion, peering reverently over the lighted candles they held in their tiny hands. Jim knew they were preparing for the recital on Christmas Eve. The concert was tomorrow night, the day their flight left Calgary!

  He tried to brush the disappointment from his mind by concentrating on the scene emerging before him, swimming into view as the frost retreated from his glasses. The first two rows of the rough-hewn pews were filled with the children’s parents. With them were the younger brothers and sisters, watching in expectant silence and waiting for the music to begin again.

  Jim squinted into the shadows. The ancient fiddler he had seen singing and playing in the gen room stood against the great tree. He was dressed in a bright red flannel shirt that contrasted with the emerald needles of the great Christmas pine. The bow was poised in his hand and the glowing redwood of a magnificent violin was tucked under his weathered chin.

  The priest nodded to the minstrel and he drew the bow over the quivering strings. The first notes fluttered to the rafters, like a flight of nightingales released from the depths of the magical instrument. Jim squinted into the flickering light. Was this the same forlorn musician who had played carefree tunes on a ravaged fiddle back in the red glow of the gen room?

  The melody from the strings still resonated through the church as the priest lifted his head and began to sing. His voice was breathtaking, an incredibly smooth baritone that filled the tiny church and overpowered the hiss of ice crystals surging against rough-hewn logs. The power and beauty in the priest’s voice soared with the violin. His song touched a chord deep in Jim’s soul that he had thought long buried somewhere deep in his cynical past.

  “Silent Night!”

  It was merely two words, hardly even a sentence, but the notes seemed endless. Jim recognized the voice of an ultimate professional with a range far beyond his expectations. Before the echoes had faded and Jim’s spirit had lost the emotion created by the condensed line, the priest nodded to his tiny choir and their beautiful soprano voices responded. Their music was in perfect harmony and Jim soon understood that a gifted professional had coached the tiny choir.

  “Holy Night!”

  Their voices soared; the brilliant notes carried higher on the lament of the mellow violin.

  “All is Calm!” the priest crooned. The violin trembled to a higher pitch, the notes struggling to match the rising baritone until the small soprano choir could respond.

  The exquisite harmony flowed through the tiny church, touched Jim’s soul and misted his eyes. He remembered how the spirit of Christmas had once moved him beyond his powers of description.

  He felt Angie brush against him. In the enchantment of the music, her hands had moved gently into his own. Now their fingers had become intertwined and her warm hands filled his.

  He tried to speak, but his throat was locked.

  “Have you ever heard anything so beautiful?” she breathed. Her voice was little more than a whisper in the hush of the dim cathedral. Jim looked down at the cold floor and tried to brush his own emotions aside.

  Surely it was the disappointment of the missed flight; the tension of the past days causing this unfamiliar tug at his heart. He heard the priest dismissing the youthful choir and watched as the towering figure moved down the aisle and introduced himself to Angie.

  “Let’s all go back and have a coffee in the office. I have asked some of the children to bring old Pocanta. She’ll be delighted to find a spare bed for you, Angie. We are very glad to have you. I hope you can find time to spend Christmas with us.”

  Angie was radiant. Jim wondered what sort of isolated bush camp she had come from that made this
rustic village so appealing.

  The priest turned and led them to the rooms at the back of the church again. “Well, Jim, I see you were able to bring Little Fawn’s grandmother back before the storm returned. No trouble finding her Geezer, tells me.” He was smiling at Jim, testing his reaction again.

  Jim followed him into his cramped office. He did not reply. There was something puzzling about the way the team had found them on the isolated lake. The storm’s mysterious abatement and sudden return still troubled him. He did not intend to concede his bewilderment before the triumphant smile of the towering priest.

  “Yes, Father, the flight went very well. Geezer seems to carry a great deal of luck with him. I expect that he acquired it after half a century flying in the bush.”

  His refusal to acknowledge anything unusual did not appear to bother the priest.

  “Aw, yes, luck. Luck will explain a lot of things. Particularly to an engineer and an educated man of science like yourself, Jim. Anyhow, let’s have that coffee. Geezer tells me he found a can of condensed milk in his supplies. By the way, the wind seems to have picked up again. This change in the weather didn’t catch old Geezer off guard, did it? Not after half a century of flying in the bush.” He tossed the phase back at Jim and raised his eyebrows awaiting his reaction.

  Jim did not make any comment. He accepted the coffee and watched as Angie scribbled a note for her supervisor in Winnipeg. Jim examined her face in the flickering lamplight and tried to guess her age again. She was smiling and telling the patient priest all the details of her time in the small winter camp.

  Jim was tempted to invite her along to Yellowknife in the old bush plane! She would make a pleasant seatmate on the long flight. The thought was a passing one. He let it drop. She seemed in no hurry to abandon this remote village and the plane was already packed.

  When she had secured the priest’s promise to relay her message on the short wave, she smiled at everyone and bid them a good night. Jim returned her warm smile. Her eyes were those of a young girl eager to flirt and he found himself studying her departing figure as she hurried out into the darkness.