Christmas at Snowflake Lodge

by CP Ward

  Jessica wished her head would just explode and get things over with. ‘Uh,’ she said.

  ‘Let’s roll, Kirst,’ Clifford from the book club said. ‘You wanna hang the rails on the way down? I reckon I’ve got one more three-sixty in me. Then we’ll head in and hit the buffet before getting on with those Tom Hardy critiques.’

  ‘The actor?’ Jessica mumbled.

  ‘The writer,’ Clifford said. ‘Best turn of phrase in the nineteenth century. Isn’t that right, Kirst?’

  ‘Yee-hah,’ Kirsten said, fist pumping the air. With a graceful jump, she swung her snowboard around, facing downslope. ‘See you in a bit, Ms. Lemond,’ she said, pushing off into a graceful slide.

  ‘Nice to meet you, um, Ms. Lemon,’ Clifford said, hurrying to catch up.

  As they raced off into the mists, Jessica could only mumble, ‘It’s Lemond with a D!’

  Kirsten’s apparent mastery of a snowboard wasn’t something Jessica wanted to think about. As she bum-shuffled her way downslope, she tried to concentrate on the hot chocolate that would be waiting and hopefully whatever was left over from the breakfast buffet. If she really shuffled hard, she might make it before the nine-thirty closing time, but her entire lower body was soaked on the outside and beginning to freeze on the inside. Her shoulders and back only felt warm from the sheer exertion of trying to push herself sideways down the ski hill.

  She was about halfway down when she heard another boarder come to a sliding halt behind her. A shadow with two heads fell over her, and Jessica looked up to find James standing over her. Strapped like an oversized child to his back was Grandpa.

  ‘We wondered who that total beginner was,’ Grandpa laughed. ‘There are instructors here for a reason, dear.’

  ‘Are you all right down there?’ James asked.

  Jessica felt the wall of stubbornness she had carefully cultivated around her cracking like the icing on a chocolate log. She gave a desperate shake of her head.

  ‘No,’ she gasped, trying not to cry.

  21

  Railway Line

  ‘There,’ James said, handing her a steaming mug of hot chocolate. ‘That should sort you out. It’s a bit too early in the morning for a brandy top, but if you feel the need, just go and ask Trish in the kitchen. She’ll hunt out a bottle for you.’

  Jessica cupped her hands around the mug, feeling the warmth soaking into her freezing fingers. ‘This will be fine,’ she said. ‘And, um, thanks for rescuing me.’

  James smiled. ‘No problem at all. I couldn’t just leave you there. After I dropped your grandfather back at the lodge I thought I’d come back and check. You’d probably gone another twenty feet, but you still had a way to go.’

  ‘I appreciate it.’

  Jessica still remembered the way James’s strong hands had felt on her shoulders as he helped her stand up on the board. Then, holding on to her, he had guided her down the slope to the ski lift. He had asked if she wanted to do another run, but Jessica had decided one was enough for the day.

  ‘I gather you’re not the kind of person who likes to be given any help,’ James said. ‘That’s fine. Is that feminism?’

  ‘I used to think it was. I think it’s just called being stubborn.’ She wondered if James had laced her hot chocolate with some brandy after all, because as she looked at his beaming face, cheeks flushed from the cold, fair hair curling out under the wooly hat he still wore, she felt the urge to tell him everything. ‘The thing is, I grew up surrounded by entitlement. Thanks to Grandpa, my parents never needed to work, and I could have anything I wanted. Instead of turning into a brat like I suppose I could have done, it just made me jaded. By the time I was fifteen I didn’t want anything that I hadn’t earned myself. It’s why I started my own business, got my own mortgage. It does make it hard to ask for help sometimes, though.’

  ‘I’ll tell you what. Give me an hour a day for the next three days to teach you the basics. After that, I think you’ll be good to go. It’s no harder than riding a bike, really.’

  ‘Thanks. I appreciate it. So, eight-thirty tomorrow morning then?’

  James frowned, and Jessica felt a sudden bloom of embarrassment, as though she’d mistaken his kindness for something more, and bullheadedly asked him out on a date.

  ‘Actually, we’ll start in two days,’ he said. ‘The first day is the worst, and I’m pretty sure you’ll struggle to get out of bed tomorrow.’

  The ache was already setting in around Jessica’s shoulders and back. ‘Thanks,’ she said again, wanting to say something more, to ask him a question that had been burning the tip of her tongue, but losing her nerve. Instead, she said, ‘I thought you did the reindeer sleigh rides. I didn’t know you were a snowboarding instructor.’

  James shrugged. ‘In these parts you have to be a jack-of-all-trades to get by. I run the farm in the summer, but in the winter there’s not a lot to do. I also teach skating and ice hockey up on the lake when it freezes over. We’ve not had a long enough cold spell yet this year, but probably by the end of the week the ice will be thick enough.’ He smiled again. It was a nice smile, Jessica had to admit. ‘Just think of me as the local odd-job man.’

  Jessica was about to say something when the tinkle of a bell indicated a staff announcement through the speakers overhead.

  ‘Jessica Lemond to reception,’ came Barry’s irate voice. ‘There’s a blocked toilet in Room 25. Hurry up, please. It’s beginning to overflow.’

  Cringing with embarrassment, Jessica stood up, trying to ignore the pull of her stiff hamstrings. ‘I’d better go,’ she said. ‘It was nice talking to you. And thanks again.’

  ‘Eight-thirty on Friday morning,’ James said. ‘If I don’t see you before.’

  It took her half an hour to unblock the toilet, someone having overindulged at the previous evening’s buffet. By the time she had gone back to her room to shower and change, it was nearly lunchtime, but her arms were starting to tighten up. She was used to physical work but the sheer effort of trying to shuffle down a ski slope on a snowboard which refused to behave had used an entirely different set of muscles to the ones she used to unblock pipes. She could see herself getting up tomorrow morning and not being able to brush her teeth.

  In an attempt to both avoid turning into a rusted up robot and keep her mind off Doreen’s threatened arrival, she decided to take a walk outside. The snow had stopped and the air was clear and crisp, a light breeze biting at her cheeks. The faint tinkle of Christmas music came from a speaker hidden in the trees as she headed for the woodland trails, the fresh snow crunching under her boots. Where the trails separated a short distance into the woods, with one heading uphill to the hot spring and another down into the valley, she had seen the signpost for the lake before but never taken it. This time she followed the trail as it wove deeper into the woods, making a gradual angle uphill before cutting sharply back down. Then, to her surprise, it entered a short tunnel brightly lit with fairy lights, and Jessica realised the path had intersected with an old train line. It headed through the tunnel, the path wide, flat, and easy to follow. When she emerged on the other side, she found herself in a crystalline valley with snow-covered trees rising sharply all around her. A little further on, she came to an old train station building. Rather than fall into disrepair, however, it had been renovated and refitted, painted with subtle forest colors and lit up with Christmas lights.

  Jessica climbed up onto the platform. The old train line continued on, following the line of the valley until it disappeared into the trees. The snow was hard-packed, but the lines of twin rails and the scuffle of feet were visible.

  This had to be the track for the sleigh rides, she realised. She was about to climb down off the platform when a door opened behind her and someone stepped out of the old station building.

  An old man wearing a Christmas hat.

  ‘Hello, lassie, you’re a long way from civilization,’ said Mr. Dawes, the hat appearing comical on his stern old face. ‘Didn’t you se
e the no access sign on the other side of the tunnel?’

  Jessica shook her head. ‘I’m afraid not.’

  ‘Ah, must have forgotten to put it up. I’ll run back and do it in a bit.’

  ‘Sorry, am I not supposed to be here?’

  Mr. Dawes smiled. It reduced the natural anger of his face by about half. ‘I’m just getting a few things ready,’ he said. ‘Since you’re here, you might as well come and have a look.’

  He waved her in through the door, and Jessica found herself in a room that, on the inside, resembled a log cabin. Through one door at the far end, in what had once been a waiting room, a series of machine tools were set up, and a number of wooden toys in various stages of completion sat on a line of worktops. Some were still being fitted together, others looked ready to be painted, more were sitting around waiting to have ribbons tied around them. Some were dolls, others were wooden vehicles, animals, little houses, clocks.

  ‘I can see why I’m not supposed to be in here,’ Jessica said. ‘I feel like I’m intruding on Father Christmas’s workshop.’

  ‘Just me,’ Mr. Dawes said. ‘Every afternoon, when I’m done with my other duties. The last two weeks before Christmas we open up as a grotto. Most of the stuff is from local shops, but I like to make a few special things for the orphans.’

  ‘Orphans?’

  ‘There’s a kids’ home in Edinburgh which visits every year,’ Mr. Dawes said. ‘Those lads and lassies don’t get the best start in life, so we help them out any way we can. Isn’t that what Christmas is all about?’

  Jessica nodded. ‘It is,’ she said, her problems and issues suddenly seeming so trivial.

  ‘Get a little of the Christmas spirit into these kids, and it helps them deal with their problems,’ Mr. Dawes continued. ‘And it shows that someone cares.’

  Jessica wiped a tear away from her eye. ‘That’s lovely. If there’s anything I can do to help…?’

  Mr. Dawes grinned. ‘Actually, I’m having real trouble with the hot water pipe in the kitchen we’ve got back there. It has a tendency to freeze up. Any chance you could take a look?’

  ‘Sure,’ Jessica said. ‘Historical buildings are my specialty. I imagine this place is pretty old.’

  ‘Built in the eighteen-nineties, closed in the nineteen-sixties, along with most of Britain’s railways,’ Mr. Dawes said. ‘The government did a great job of cutting out the heart of Britain’s rural communities, although a few of the old lines were saved for decent nature and historical trails.’

  ‘How far does this line go?’

  Mr. Dawes pointed through the trees. ‘If you have a couple of hours free for a trudge in the snow with an old man, I’ll show you. I need to go and put up that sign first. No one’s supposed to be down this way until the lake opens for skating on Sunday. The ice isn’t thick enough yet. And I haven’t got around to stringing up the lights.’

  ‘The lights?’

  ‘Around the lake. To be honest, it’s more of a pond than a lake, far too narrow for proper skating, and it’s really cold, but we have a cabin down there with heaters and a kettle, and once I’ve got the lights up in the trees it looks proper festive.’

  ‘I can help you if you like. I’m kind of on-call but my assistant Kirsten can fill in if I’m up here.’

  Mr. Dawes smiled. ‘Grand. Will keep old Humpty Trumpty off my back if you could.’

  ‘Barry?’

  ‘Yeah. The old fool’s constantly terrified we’re on the verge of bankruptcy. Won’t hire enough staff. Reckons this “conglomerate” is going to shut the lodge if it doesn’t perform.’

  Jessica smiled. ‘I don’t think they are.’

  Mr. Dawes winked. ‘Between you and me, I think he’s a bag of hot air. But that kids’ home I mentioned? Like me, he came from there. This lodge gave him a home, and later a job. If he loses it, he’s a lost boy all over again. This place is his life.’

  ‘I understand.’

  ‘Don’t tell him I told you. He wants everyone to think he’s a big, bad manager, but he’s not. Inside he’s a frightened little boy, afraid of having nowhere to go.’

  Jessica clenched a fist. ‘Then let’s get to work.’

  Mr. Dawes grinned. ‘Time for a hot chocolate first?’

  Jessica shook her head. ‘This time, no. Hot chocolate is for closers.’

  Mr. Dawes laughed. ‘Then let’s close.’

  22

  Stringing Lights

  The pipes in the old railway station turned out to be corroded. Jessica had to make a quick hike back to the lodge to get her tools, where she informed Barry that she was helping Mr. Dawes with some maintenance work, and told him to call Kirsten if there were any emergencies at the lodge. Kirsten, seemingly recovered from her thrills on the ski slope, was up in the library, reading out of a big hardback tome with symbols instead of letters on the spine.

  By the time Jessica got back to the grotto, she found Mr. Dawes had made a plate of sandwiches. ‘No work goes well on an empty stomach,’ he said. ‘And we have coffee. But like you say, no hot choc until the job is done.’

  After finishing the sandwiches—mountain goose and cranberry, so Mr. Dawes claimed, although it tasted a lot like chicken to Jessica—they headed down to the lake along a path that led through the trees across the tracks from the old station. Jessica found Mr. Dawes was right: it was more of a pond than a lake, perhaps thirty metres long and ten across. Big enough for a little sliding around, but certainly not large enough for any great theatrics. However, the setting was stunning. Behind them, the hill had sloped gently down through the trees, but the far side was set against a narrow bank, behind which a towering rock wall rose, all snow-covered crags and ledges. It felt like a secret place, one discovered by chance, a place where your thoughts could run free and the rest of the world was too far away to touch. Jessica sat down on a bench in front of the little cabin and stared up at the cliff, marveling at the small trees protruding from the rock, their leafless branches like gnarled hands catching bundles of snow.

  ‘Ahem, no sitting down on the job,’ Mr. Dawes said.

  Jessica jumped up. ‘Right you are. It’s just … magical.’

  ‘Isn’t it just? It’s on lodge land. You think those old biddies would sell up and risk losing this? Not a chance.’

  ‘You know about them?’

  Mr. Dawes chuckled. ‘I think we all do except Barry. Keeps him on his toes. And behind all the trumpeting, he does a decent job.’

  Around the side of the cabin was a storage shed. Mr. Dawes emerged with a wheelbarrow and several boxes of heavy-duty fairy lights. ‘These run on solar power,’ he said. ‘They charge up during the morning and come on whenever they’re out of the sun. The lake is at its best just after sundown when they’re all glowing bright.’ Then, with a grumpy harrumph, he added, ‘It’s yet another of my jobs to walk round this lake each morning and knock the snow off the power panels. No wonder I’m sixty but look eighty.’

  ‘You don’t look a day older than fifty-five.’

  ‘Well, aren’t you the charmer. Let’s get hauling before my fingers freeze off.’

  Jessica, insisting despite Mr. Dawes’s protests, pushed the wheelbarrow, with the old man trudging along beside her, carrying a shovel to dig through any places the snow had drifted too deep. Starting from the cabin, they strung the lights through the low-hanging tree branches, tying the shoebox-sized solar panels to the trunks facing the direction of the morning sun.

  ‘Three-hour window,’ Mr. Dawes said. ‘Looks pretty, but it’s proper cold down here. This time of year, you get the morning sun, but once it’s gone behind that cliff you’re getting cold. Although, sun be blessed, we get a last peek of an evening, just before sunset. Spectacular, it is.’

  ‘I can imagine.’

  Mr. Dawes glanced at an old wristwatch which looked made out of wood. ‘In about half an hour you’ll see for yourself. After that it gets dark real quick, and these lights won’t come on until the morrow, so we’d b
etter scoot.’

  While it had been easy enough to hang the lights through the trees, getting them up around the back wall of the lake was another matter. The bank was too narrow for the wheelbarrow, so Mr. Dawes went first, holding the end of the light string they were currently hanging, with Jessica feeding out the wire as he stepped carefully across snowy rocks that lined the lakeside, hooking the wire over juts in the cliff wall or over some of the little shrubs growing out of fissures. The string ran out about halfway across, so he climbed back over, then lifted the next box and handed it to Jessica.

  ‘Your turn,’ he said, breathing hard. ‘Too much exertion for an old fifty-five-year old like me.’

  ‘You don’t look a day older than fifty,’ Jessica said with a grin.

  Mr. Dawes laughed. ‘See, hanging around with a lovely young thing like you is making me young again. A shame the old bones aren’t convinced.’

  With Mr. Dawes guiding her, Jessica made her way out along the narrow riverbank to where the last string of lights had ended. Here, the riverbank was at its narrowest. The lake was covered with snow, but Jessica had no idea how thick the ice right behind her feet might be. The bank was only differentiated from the ice by lumps of snowy rock and small shrubs poking out of the ground. Jessica kicked a little holly bush, the snow falling away to reveal delightful clusters of red berries. With a smile, she strung the wire through the upper branches.

  She had just reached the far end of the lake, where a little weir allowed water to trickle out from under the ice into a rocky, snowy stream, when the string of lights ran out. Mr. Dawes waved her back across, and together they returned to the cabin before finishing off the loop by stringing lights around the shorter side to the right. On a tree branch that extended out over the weir, Jessica looped the ends of two light strings together, and turned to Mr. Dawes.

  ‘Finished. Do we have time for hot chocolate before sundown?’