Village Squire, 1979-12, Page 28"Good Lord," she said partly to herself,
partly aloud.
"What?" said Mr. Wester tiredly.
"Nothing, Mr. Wester, have a good
sleep now." She mopped up the milk and
then silently slipped out of the room. Once
in the kitchen, she placed the cups and
saucers in the sink and began to wash
them.
The wind whirled outside the window
and once or twice Wester had been
awakened as it tapped at the window pane.
Finally he had slipped off into a deep sleep
and dreamed.
A little boy opened his eyes and
stretched his arms over his head. The
frosty air touched his skin and an army of
goosebumps rose in defense. The boy
pulled his arms under the sheets back to
the drowsy warmth under his patchwork
quilt. And then it hit him, how could he
f6rget, it was Christmas. By this time his
brother had begun to stir and within
seconds he too had remembered. With one
look at each other and a giggle, the boys
were out of bed, forgetting their warm
beds and dashing downstairs. past the
clock and through the doorway which led to
the sitting room and on this particular
morning, the Christmas tree. Presents
unimaginable crowded the fir tree and
excited giggling and shouts of glee filled
the air.
After, the boys had had a hot breakfast
and then the small boy's family piled into
the cutter. Under the comforters, the
family sang Christmas carols all the way to
church.
To the little boy, the service felt like it
would never end. When the last hymn had
finally finished the boy ran outside to meet
friends and tell of the wonderful things
Santa had left behind the night before
while his parents chatted to their
acquaintances. Then, it was back home in
the cutter this time with Uncle John and
Aunt May.
The fragrance of a cooking turkey was
the first thing that greeted them as they all
clattered into the house, joking and
laughing.
The ladies began to prepare the rest of
dinner, the men sat and talked about the
success of last year's crops and the little
boy and his brother were back under the
tree where they had stored their toys for
safety.
It seemed like ages before the dinner
bell rang and the boys dashed to the table.
Eyes opened wide and stomachs growled
approvingly as the big feast lay before the
family. The ladies were triumphant. The
small boy could not imagine anything
better than Christmas dinner. There was
the turkey that his father had fattened all
fall, and roast potatoes, carrots, peas,
turnips, squash, stuffing and cranberries.
The small boy watched in awe as his father
and uncle asked for seconds and more
seconds. (One year he had tried that and
had to be sent to bed with a sore stomach
and without dessert.) Then came the
26 Village Squire. December 1979
•
pumpkin pie piled high with homemade
cream, whipped, the cookies in the shape
of Christmas trees and last of all the fruit
cake which has sat temptingly wrapped in
cheesecloth, for months.
Finally the men dragged themselves
from the table and into the sitting room
where they relaxed in front of the fire
smoking their pipes. The small boy liked to
sit at his father's knee and listened as he
reminisced about past Christmases. His
imagination would turn the licking flames
into the characters of his father's stories. It
did not take long before sleep began
nudging at him. He was awakened by his
mother kissing him on the forehead and
tucking him into bed.
The boy listened for a while to the
muffled voices of the grownups, down-
stairs. He knew they were sipping on hot
apple cider and talking. It would be a little
while yet. before they decided to go to bed.
The small boy drifted off to sleep in a
dreamland filled with gigantic snowballs
and Christmas Trees.
Mrs. Ester worried, Mr. Wester had
been worse today. she was thankful he had
fallen asleep. Tears sprang to her eyes but
did not fall, she had learned to control
them.
Wester was awakened by a knocking
sound at his window. The wind had
increased and the sky above the small rural
town had turned dark as the heavy clouds
skidded across the sky.
It took quite a few minutes before
Wester noticed the snow drifting across his
window. A strange calmness spread over
him as he watched the snow slowly
covering his window. A low sigh of
satisfaction escaped from his parted lips
and a smile of content warmed his tired
face. He closed his eyes for the last time. It
was the way Etty found him as the clock
struck 12.
The leaf had taken refuge by an old
cutter which was in the backyard of one of
the houses in town. Slowly. slowly the last
leaf of autumn was buried by the feather
light snow. It was no longer to be bothered
by any wind, but was in store for a long
peaceful rest.
Sharp's Creek
Forge
JAMES B. WALLACE
BENMILLER, ONTARIO
519-524-8096
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