Kris (20 page)

Pel was impressed when he first saw the door, which was the only one of its sort in the village, where canvas was the covering of most entryways.

“You wise like big bear,” Pel said to me. Then he laughed as he opened and closed the wooden door and brought many people to see the ways I fitted the wood together, with strong joints and polished panels. His greatest joy of all was the image of the flying reindeer I had carved into the center of the door as a symbol of the reindeer people who had shared their homes and village with my family. It was also part of a joke between Pel and me because he often described the reindeer as flying, which I had taken to tease him over.

Pel held a ceremony to welcome my new home and carpentry to the village, and the people who came to visit and inspect the home of the flying reindeer brought us furs and hides to comfort us and keep us safe as we journeyed into the night-land of our dreams.

Pel and the men pounded on their drums and sang a song of the powerful reindeer that transformed their lives and traveled as spirits above the earth and below. They sang of the blessings they would bring to all the reindeer people.

When the song was finished, I surprised Pel with a gift to thank him for his instruction and guidance in building this home and for the way he had opened his heart and his village to us. Sarah and Gabriella had wrapped the gift in soft animal furs and tied it with birch bark bows and sprigs of flowering plants and herbs, which delighted Pel beyond our expectations. He walked among his people and held the package out to them so they could see the beauty of its presentation and the pride he felt upon receiving the gift. The villagers crowded in to share his delight and gaze upon the wondrous gift. Then Pel placed it on the ground before them to unwrap it. The villagers pressed in again to see what was hidden inside.

Pel held his people in suspense as he folded back the layers of the wrapping slowly and carefully to preserve them. Then his face took on a glow as brilliant as the northern lights as he threw back the covering to reveal a glistening bowl drum, which I had carved from the heart of a beautiful burl wood knob I had discovered in the forest.

In the center of the drum's bowl, I had carved the sun and surrounded it with the Sami's symbolic images I had learned from questioning and study. Beginning with what was intended to be the top, I placed the star and began the story of the three wise men as I imagined it. Beside the star was a mountain. Atop the mountain sat a great noiadi shaman in view of the star. Next I had carved a sacred grove and the noiadi picking the sacred wood. This I now believed to be the holy incense brought to the feet of the Christ child. I showed great stretches of strange terrain and
two occasions when the noiadi gained the company of a fellow follower of the star. When the great journey ended, I showed him kneeling as one of three gift givers at the feet of an infant surrounded by animals who lay about the child. This completed the first half of the drum, and at the bottom I bisected the drum with the two rough lines of the cross. I then told the story of Pel and his people, their village, and the reindeer that are the essence of their lives. Next to Pel I had carved the image of his beloved dog Enok, standing over the wolf he had conquered.

“It is as we see it,” Pel said to me, filled with the solemnity of the night's experience. “How do you know this to be true?”

“The spirit speaks to me,” I replied, which was the simple and honest truth.

Pel sat before us all and made music from the drum and sang a song of the reindeer flying and of me upon their backs. He sang of toys, and he sang of Juovllat, and he sang of all the blessings and big love his people would enjoy in this world and beyond.

O
ne day, we awoke to find Pel and the Sami villagers
gone. They had moved out to follow the reindeer on their ritual migration path.

Pel was adamant that I spend my life and time creating the toys that he knew to be my passion, yet I could not help but feel a deep sense of loss due to his absence and the separation from our people and the reindeer.

As the months and years went on, Pel and the Sami and the reindeer would return to our village and depart again in a constant process of change and growth that reflected the cycle of life around us.

I worked to establish my carpentry and build the toys I wished to share with the children in a similar cycle of giving and exchange.

Sarah and Gabriella learned the lore of the land and excelled at gathering the plants and materials we would need. The carts, sleds, and furniture I built we shared with Pel and his people and the traders who would on occasion visit us and restore our supplies.

Time passed in the wink of an eye and before I knew it I found myself a man of nearly 34 years, blessed with many new and fruitful memories to replace the dark and distant days of my youth.

Each year, like the trees around us, I seemed to grow in size as I added to my experience. I was by now a broad man with a full, red beard and ruddy cheeks kissed by the cold wind that danced across the snowpack.

Throughout the years, in addition to the objects I crafted and carved to trade with others, I built fine chairs and tables and other essential furnishings, which stood in stark contrast to our earthy dome-roofed home. Of course, I also made as many glorious toys as I could produce to share with others in many faraway places.

As I entered our living quarters on one blustery day after a long and busy journey, I kicked the snow from my fur-lined boots and hung my heavy red coat on a wall peg. Sarah had looked after me with such a passion and wished me always to stay warm, and each year she made me a new coat of bright red fabric lined with thick, warm fur to protect me from the elements.

I warmed myself briefly by the fire and settled into my sturdy rocking chair, which was positioned in such a way that I could bask in the warmth of the hearth and read and write in my journal by the light of the fire.

After reviewing some of the most recent journal entries, I held it close to my chest and rocked slowly in the chair until I closed my eyes and drifted off to sleep.

I awoke to feel the slender fingertips that slipped across my shoulders and chest, then up to my beard. I let the fingers roam, then snatched the hand and tossed my journal next to the inkwell on the table. Like a bear fishing in a mountain stream, I reached around, grabbed Sarah from behind, and pulled her onto my lap.

“Kris!” Sarah screamed.

I chuckled and held her close, cuddling her and cherishing her warmth.

“You have to be careful with me,” Sarah admonished.

“Do I, now?” I said.

“Yes.”

“What happened to my rough, wild girl?”

“You spoiled her and made her civil.”

“Shame on me. Perhaps I should take you out to follow the reindeer once again?”

Sarah brought her face near mine, and we rubbed our noses in a gentle show of affection. Then she turned away from me and scooped up my journal from the table.

“You write more every year,” she said.

“There is more to write every year,” I replied as I playfully snatched the journal from her.

“What will you do when the pages are full?” Sarah asked.

“I'll have to write on you,” I told her as I dipped my fingertip in the inkwell.

Sarah giggled and ran from me, shrieking as I chased her threateningly with the dripping ink.

Triumphant, I trapped her on the other side of the room.

She gently caught my hand as I held my ink-stained finger out to touch the tip of her nose. “If you want to write on me, you'll have to take me with you when you go to check in on the children.”

“Then you'll have to wake before the sun tomorrow!”

“Tomorrow? You have more to do?”

“Well, the family is getting bigger. Yesterday's babies are today's fathers and mothers, and we are spreading farther along the countryside.”

“I was worried, Kris.”

“Sorry I was so late.”

“Well, as long as you keep away from the dangers of the mountain passes.”

“How many times must I promise?”

“How many times will you leave me?”

Our eyes met and I could see her genuine concern for my safety.

“I'm preparing a gift for you, and you have to be around to claim it,” she said. Then she pushed my ink-stained finger back onto my own nose and escaped as I trailed after her.

“What is the gift?” I asked as I pursued her.

“A secret.”

I grabbed her again and held her close. “Give me a hint,” I said as I tickled her with my inky fingers.

“Stop it! You're ruining the dress.”

“Then tell me,” I said warning her.

“It will be ready by Christmas.”

“Christmas?”

“I think so.”

I lifted her from the ground and tossed her up into the air as our play continued.

“Stop, Kris. You'll hurt the baby.”

I let out a gasp of astonishment then set her down very gently. “Oh, Sarah,” I muttered softly.

“As I said, you'll have to be careful with me now.”

Gabriella peeked in from a back room. Her snowy white hair and wrinkles born of infinite smiles had transformed her now completely into the grandmotherly figure I had first imagined. “Does he know?” she asked with excitement.

“Gabriella!” Sarah said, playfully cautioning her.

“How long?” I asked.

“Three months. I wanted to be sure.”

I rested my hand on her belly. “That leaves six months, mother. I have six months. He'll need a crib. You'll need a changing table. And his toys, oh, the toys!”

Sarah fluffed my beard with her hand. “One thing at a time, that's how we get things done.”

Gabriella reemerged to lure my dear Sarah away so she could learn how I had responded to the news.

“I could use some help with the baking,” Gabriella said to her with a wink.

“I'm coming,” Sarah sighed.

“Oh, no hurry,” Gabriella chortled with a smile.

I stroked Sarah's face, and she gave me a little kiss on the cheek and then skipped off to assist Gabriella.

I crossed back to the table where my journal rested and picked it up, slowly flipping through the pages. Then I closed its cover and placed it on the stone shelf, which rested near the base of the wall.

Sarah spent many more hours at home as her pregnancy advanced, and she would watch me from time to time through our shuttered windows as I worked to haul logs and branches that I later would transform into sleds and products for the traders who visited us.

Sarah's belly was beginning to grow now. One morning, I saw her standing near our hut sipping a warm drink from a wooden cup. A blanket was wrapped around her shoulders. She held my journal in her hands. As I looked across the field, she set her cup down on the workbench beside her and opened the journal to the ribbon marking the place where I had last finished writing.

I watched her as she looked down the long list of names until she came to the end of the list, where I knew the name Dahlia had been crossed out. Sarah paused for a moment and looked up at me. She went back to the journal and shuffled to the next page where I had listed the names of towns, with numbers beside them: Roppland 34, Tillehammer 42, and so on. Then, she closed the journal and went back into the hut.

Later, when I had finished collecting and stacking the wood, I went into my workshop, where I began reviewing the plans for our baby's crib.

I worked at my drafting easel experimenting with designs, and in a short while, Sarah appeared at the entryway to the workshop, holding the journal.

“You didn't tell me about Dahlia,” she said.

I looked up at her, forlorn, and returned to my drafting. “I didn't want to upset you. I saw you looking at the journal and knew you would discover the news yourself.”

“You have listed many more children than your family, Kris.”

“It was just an idea. These children, they deserve the effort it takes us to bring them joy.”

“But, gifts to entire towns?”

“Gifts for the entire countryside. Every child! As I said, it was an idea.”

“You haven't built a single toy.”

“There is other work to be done first, my love.”

“No. I do not accept that,” Sarah said emphatically. “I do not need your help to carry this baby, Kris.”

“Sarah, I'm doing what you need me to do.”

“No, you set out to do something, and you will do it,” Sarah said, as she set the journal down firmly on my easel.

“I've waited too long, Sarah.”

“And I've known you to do the impossible,” she replied stubbornly.

Sarah reached for the snowflake pendant hanging from her neck and ran her fingers across it. “You have work to do.”

I looked up into those knowing eyes of hers and saw the rightness of her conviction. What was I to our child if I was lost to myself? I had never forgotten Nikko. If I made these toys, perhaps one would find its way into his life. Moreover, none understood the pain in these children's lives as I. My heart longed to bring them joy and laughter.