Village Squire, 1979-12, Page 22One gifl was gold
A short story
by Esther Ross
Coming to his old home for Christmas seemed to have
been a mistake
When the car rounded the last curve of the country road the
old Lowe homestead was suddenly before them. There it stood:
red -bricked, grey-chimneyed, against the background of beech
trees to which the coppery foliage still clung. Snow was falling
gently. The roof of the house was white, and the boughs of pine
trees on the lawn were beginning to bend under the soft pressure
of the snowflakes.
"It's more beautiful than in any of the snapshots," breathed
Kate. "Jim, I am so glad we can have this one Christmas in it
before it's sold. It will be something for the children to have
memories about. I can just hear them: 'Remember when we had
Christmas one time in the old farmhouse where Daddy grew up?'
The children, Tanya, Tom, and Robert, were bouncing up and
down in the seat, clamouring to plunge into the experiences of
which these memories were to be made. For them and for Kate
everything they had ever read, or been told about, or seen on TV,
that had to do with Christmas in Ontario, was to be seen and
savoured during this one magical week. As the car pushed
cautiously towards the house leaving two deep black trails in the
new snow, Kate began humming, "I'm dreaming of a white
Christmas." Tanya, her ten-year old voice unusually shrill,
carolled, "0, Tannenbaum!" as she pointed in turn to each
evergreen along the fence which bordered the long lane. Tommy
20 Village Squire, December 1979
and Robby, too excited to be coherent, chanted, "Jingle bells,
jingle bells, jingle all the way," over and over as if their lives
depended on it.
Tanya suddenly broke off in her carolling to demand, "Daddy,
why do you look so --so not happy?"
"Daddy has to concentrate on his driving," Kate told her
quickly. "With the snow, you can hardly see where the road is."
Jim jolted back to the present with a start. He thought: "I was
coming up this lane on foot...with my cousin, Dougall...through
deep snow...it was Christmas night...I was 12 years old...."
Tanya's abrupt query had derailed his train of thought. All he
knew was that the happiness he had anticipated feeling was not
materializing. Instead, a deepening depression, like a cold fog,
was settling in his breast. He thought: "Maybe I am getting too
old. Kate and the kids are so young. Maybe I'm too old to have
kids who still hang their stockings." But he knew that there was
some other reason for this dark grey mood. Last year they had
had a wonderful Christmas with Kate's family in Australia and
he was in his fifties then, too. He had taken for granted that the
holiday spent in his own old family home would be just as
enjoyable. In fact, it had seemed almost a miracle when his
cousin, Dougall --Dr. D.E.Lowe he now was -phoned him from
Edinburgh with the suggestion that he spend part of his
Canadian vacation in the homestead.