“He fell down here somewhere!”
They found him crumpled in the snow beyond the stone wall, in the road, although it seemed a sea of white. Gordy had curled into himself, his breathing shallow, his eyes pained.
“Gordy! What’s the matter?”
The air delivered his voice on a puff of white smoke. “I don’t know. I can’t breathe. My chest, it’s—”
“He could be having a heart attack. Let’s get him inside.” Jake ran his hand under Gordy’s back, flung his arm over his shoulder. “Help me!”
Violet took Gordy’s other arm. They struggled with him into the house, through the mudroom, onto the kitchen floor.
He moaned, his cheeks whitened with the cold.
“Gordy!” Dottie dropped to her knees beside him.
“He needs a doctor, Dottie,” Jake said. “I think he’s having a heart attack.”
Dottie looked up at him, at Violet. “But the cars are buried. I…”
And thanks to him, they couldn’t get them out of the driveway anyway. But— “The sleigh. We could hook up the sleigh to the horse in the barn,” Jake said.
“Oh no,” Dottie said. “Ollie is not a horse you can hitch to the sleigh. I’ve never been able to—”
“We’ll do it.” Jake turned to Violet. “We can do it.”
“What, now you can tame animals? What can’t you do? Oh, wait, I know. Tell the truth.”
He hid his wince. “Dottie. Do you have any aspirin?”
“Yes, yes—”
“Go, get it. Give Gordy one, tell him to chew it up. We’ll be back for him.”
Jake stood up, caught Violet under the arm. “I need your help.”
They had reached the barn before she yanked her hand away from his. She glared at him. “I don’t know how to hitch up a horse.”
“I do. But I need your help.”
She didn’t look at him.
In the tack room they found a harness, and Violet helped him smooth it over the horse’s body. The horse had wild eyes, bobbing its head as Jake pushed the bit into his mouth.
He bent over, coughing as the horse stirred up dust.
“Take him out of the stall!” he said, coughing. He had to get out of the barn before his bruised lung closed up.
He was near the doorway when he heard the commotion. Violet had the animal by his halter, but he fought for his head.
Jake heard the panic in her voice. “Good…horse. Stop. Please—”
The animal ripped the reins from her hand. She stumbled back as the animal reared. “Jake!”
“Right here—I’m right here.” He stepped in, swiped the reins. “Hey there, Ollie, shh.” He kept his touch calm, his tone soothing as he settled the horse down. “We need to back him into the stall, hook up the sleigh.”
“I don’t know how to drive a sleigh.”
“I do.”
“How did you learn how to drive a sleigh?” She opened the stall.
He should have told her the truth long ago. “I wasn’t allowed to do much as a child. I spent a lot of time in the kitchen with the cook. And, with my dad on house calls. He had a horse and sleigh in case of emergencies. I carried his medical bag.” He clucked to the horse, moved him back into the stall. “C’mon, Ollie.”
The animal snorted, took a step back. “Slide the sleigh guides into the harness.”
She angled the guides into the harness.
“Just a little more.” Jake ran his hand down the horse’s head, calming it, then ran the leads down the back of the harness, tying them off on the carriage. He eased the horse forward. The sleigh, a two-seater, caught, pasted to the earth. Jake kept clucking at the horse as he eased it forward. “C’mon, Ollie.”
Ollie nearly tromped over him as the sleigh broke free. He led the animal outside. The night had already descended, dark and starless.
“Hold him while I get Gordy.”
But Violet marched past him, into the house. He tied up Ollie then followed her in.
Dottie had Gordy up on a chair, leaning over.
“I’m fine, Jake,” he said. “It’s just a backache.”
“Trust me, you’re not fine. We need to get you to a doctor.”
“There’s a clinic in town, but it’s probably not open. You might have to take him right to Doctor Flemming’s house,” Dottie said.
“I’ll show you,” Violet said. She had tucked her package under her arm and slid her other under Gordy. “Dottie, can you bring me some blankets?”
Gordy moaned as Jake helped him to his feet. “Violet, you don’t have to go. Gordy can show me—”
“Oh no, I’m going with you. And then, after I know Gordy is okay, I’m going home. I’m tired of letting you destroy my Christmas, Jake Ramsey. Go back to Minneapolis.” She turned to Dottie. “Thank you for the storm house. Have a merry Christmas.”
* * * * *
And just like that, they were gone.
Gordy with them…
But she hadn’t said good-bye. And what if he died and…
Dottie refused to think this way. Gordy always came back. Always….
But he’d looked so pale.
Just like her father had, turning weaker and weaker, until he faded out of their lives. She’d walked in one morning and found him gone.
But burying her father didn’t compare to burying her son.
And she couldn’t bear to bury Gordy.
“Is Mr. Lindholm going to be okay?”
Dottie stood at the window, watching the sleigh take them out of the yard. Jake had a touch, for sure. Ollie scared her, and yet the horse obeyed Jake like he had Nelson.
She pressed her hand on the cold windowpane. “I hope so.”
“Maybe we should pray for him,” Arnie said, and folded his hand into hers.
She looked down at him, his big brown eyes, that pale face, and his words slipped right through her, landing on her heart.
“Yes. We’ll pray for Mr. Lindholm,” she said softly. Then, because she didn’t know what else to do, she got on her knees, right there in the kitchen. Her heartbeat could deafen her, but she managed to find words. “Please, God, save Gordy.”
Because she couldn’t bear not seeing him creep over to her house to fill the woodbin, to check the coal stove, to leave pints of cream on her doorstep. She couldn’t bear a night where she didn’t watch his light turn off after hers.
She wasn’t ready to say good-bye when she hadn’t yet said hello.
“And help Mr. Lindstrom find his magic. Amen.”
She looked at Arnie. “What magic?”
“He said he was looking for magic. He said he needed it, so he could give it to you. So you could be happy.”
She stared at Arnie, at those sweet brown eyes. “Arnie, you are the magic.” Then, because she was afraid, and because Arnie just kept looking at her, she hugged him.
He smelled of wood smoke embedded in his wool sweater, and an afternoon decorating the pine tree—or rather, stealing ornaments from it.
“Would you like me to tell you a story, Arnie?”
He nodded.
“Let’s take our supper and sit under the tree.”
She cut them pieces of canned ham, taking another long look out the window. A wan light showed, as if the clouds had parted with the wind, and a winter moon decided to light their path to town.
Please, God, bring them safely to the Flemmings.
The doctor lived in town, not far from the dance hall.
She and Arnie made a picnic in front of the fire and finished their ham casserole. Then, she set the plate of Jake’s Russian candy between them.
“Once upon a time, there was a mitten. It was a beautiful mitten, but it was a sad mitten, because it belonged to an old, crabby lady. She had knitted it for her son, see, and he had gone away and left the mitten and the old lady behind.”
“Didn’t he want the mitten anymore?”
“Oh, I think he wanted it. He just couldn’t take the mitten with him where he was going. See, he was going far away to fight in the war.”
“Like my daddy?”
“Just like that. So, the mitten stayed with the crabby lady. But she never wore it, just put it in her pocket. And the mitten was very lonely, because it was used to being worn and loved by the boy.
“One day, she dropped the mitten in the snow. She didn’t even know she’d dropped it, just kept going on her way. But the forest animals saw it drop. Now, there was a terrible blizzard blowing in, and they were cold. So, first the beaver came, and he decided he wanted to climb in it. Then, an otter came by, and he wanted in it too.”
“A beaver and an otter can’t fit in a mitten together.”
“This was a special, stretchy mitten. And finally, the old wolf came by—”
“Did he eat them?”
“Oh no, see, he was cold too, so he made them move over. The mitten, oh, it stretched and moaned, but it let the wolf in too.
“Finally, a tiny squirrel came by. He was very small, so they let him wiggle in too. But the mitten was very, very full, and ready to break with all the stretching.
“When the old, crabby woman got home, she realized she’d lost her mitten. And, because it had belonged to her son, she went out to find it. She searched everywhere in the woods, under the rocks, in the trees, until she finally found it. But it had been stretched out of size by the beaver and the otter and the wolf. And she was so angry, she wanted to yell at them to leave, that they had destroyed her beloved mitten. But she was cold, from the blizzard. So—”
“So she moved in with the beaver and the otter and the wolf and the squirrel!”
“That’s right. They all made room for her in the mitten. And they stayed there, cozy and warm until morning.”
“Then what happened? Did the mitten break?”
“No, the mitten was very happy. Because mittens are made to keep things warm.”
“But wasn’t it all stretched out and lumpy? Like my mittens after they get wet?”
“Oh, indeed it was. But it didn’t mind because that only meant that next time it snowed, all the forest animals would have a place to hide.”
“What did the old, crabby lady do the next morning? You know, after the storm was over?”
After the storm was over. Dottie stared at the flickering fire, the remnants of Jake’s treat in the bowl. The house no longer creaked in the wind, and the coal furnace had warmed the house to bearable.
“I don’t know what she did.”
“I think she invited the wolf and the beaver and the otter and the squirrel over for Christmas day.” He grinned up at her. He’d lost an incisor—she hadn’t noticed that before.
“You do, huh?”
He nodded.
“Well, speaking of Christmas, maybe you should go to bed, so that Santa will come.”
“Do you think he’ll find me?”
“Most definitely.” She stood up, and he took her hand. “Can I sleep in the boy’s room?”
His question only threw her for a beat. Then, “Absolutely.”
She found Arnie a pair of pajamas and helped him under the covers of Nelson’s bed, adding another blanket.
“My mommy sings me a song.”
Dottie sat down on the side of his bed, combing his hair back from his face. Such a brave boy he’d been to survive the storm. “You love your mommy, don’t you?”
“I have the best mom in the world!” He sang it a little, and she caught her lower lip in her teeth.
The best mom in the world.
The song came as if she’d sung it yesterday. She looked Arnie in his eyes, a softness in her chest.
“Jesus loves me, this I know,
For the Bible tells me so.
Little ones to Him belong,
They are weak but He is strong.”
Arnie closed his eyes but sang the refrain with her. “Yes, Jesus loves me…”
She heard her own words, let them sink inside her, heat her through until it didn’t hurt. “Yes, Jesus loves me.”
Maybe God hadn’t forgotten her this Christmas. Maybe He hadn’t forgotten any of them. Maybe, yes, all she had of Christmas was Jesus. But He was enough.
He was, in fact, everything. “Yes, Jesus loves me. The Bible tells me so.”
She leaned over without thinking and pressed a kiss to Arnie’s forehead.
“Good night, Mrs. Morgan,” he said.
Good night, Nelson. Sleep well.
* * * * *
Cocooned safely in the catacombs of the ice-city of Frigia, Flash Gordon and his compatriots have won the trust of Queen Fria, ruler of the land. When we last tuned into our hero, internationally famous athlete and interplanetary adventurer, he was fighting to find and save his beloved Dale Arden. But, driven by a terrible blizzard into the land of Frigia, and chased by a snow-bear, Flash was taken captive and tortured at Queen Fria’s hands.
Queen Fria, however, enticed by Flash’s bravery, cut his bonds free and allowed him to roam about the castle. Now, our hero, recovered from his wounds, finds himself in the inner chamber, in the room of gadgets where he can plot his journey to find Dale.
Arnie rolled over under the covers, tucking his knees to his chest. Outside, the sky had cleared, stars winking down at him.
Don’t worry, Dale, tomorrow Flash will break free….
But what about Queen Fria? She would be left alone in her castle, no one left to defend her. Not with Dr. Zarkov and Thun, the Lionman gone on ahead to scout the country.
Her story wheedled inside him. He saw the mitten, misshapen, empty in the snow. It would be buried, forgotten, trampled on.
Destroyed.
He got up, throwing back his covers, and tiptoed out into the hallway. He could hear the crackling of the fire, Mrs. Morgan humming “Jesus Loves Me” as he watched her rearrange ornaments on the tree.
She wasn’t so old, maybe. With her blond hair pulled back, a scarf around her head, she looked a lot like his mother. Only, tired. Except, as she returned the lambs and baby Jesus to the manger and picked up the farm animals and toy soldiers he’d left strewn around, she didn’t even seem that old.
He wanted to go downstairs, ask her for another story. Maybe she’d let him stay up, wait for Santa Claus.
Pounding at the door, then voices startled him, and he shrank back from the stairway as she hustled into the kitchen.
And then he heard her—Dale.
No, not Dale. “Mama!” Arnie raced down the stairs, hooking his hand on the end of the banister and barreling toward the kitchen. There she stood, dressed in Daddy’s beaver coat and hat, her eyelids frosty, and behind her, the sheriff, blowing on his hands. She caught him up against her, pressing her cold lips against his neck.