Christmas Guest

(excerpt)

As he headed back through the snow to the waiting snowman builders, the boys came running to see what Uncle Scott was pulling behind him. At the sight of the sled, they shouted in excitement. They climbed aboard, and Scott pulled them to where Carolyn was standing. She looked at him with a mixture of surprise and approval.

“So there is still a kid in you,” she said.

“I sledded a lot of hills on this thing,” he replied with a grin.

“Can you take us up the hill so we can sled down?” begged Brenden.

Scott pointed to the other side of the pond. “How about that one? It’s the hill I usually took this old sled on.”

Brenden shook his head. “No, I want to go on that hill.” He indicated the much steeper incline beyond the barn.

Scott frowned slightly. “There was some reason I didn’t really sled up there. I don’t remember why now, though.”

Carolyn laughed. “It looks okay from here. Let’s try it!”

Scott made the boys clamber off the sled halfway up the hill, but he was still puffing as he reached the treeline near the top. He turned, situated the sled, and then gazed down the rise. The memory of that first ride over forty years earlier came rushing at him like a cold snowball hitting him in the face. He stood frozen, staring. Carolyn touched his arm, and he came back to reality. He smiled unsteadily at her.

“I think this might be a little too steep for the boys,” he said.

“It looks perfectly fine to me,” she said.

“Well, for their first run, maybe we should try something a little shorter,” he persisted.

“Scott, this isn’t like you. It is a perfectly grand sledding hill, and if someone does wreck, there is plenty of snow to soften the landing.”

“Please, Uncle Scott,” Brenden pleaded. “Can I go first?”

Scott had a sudden vision of Brenden sledding away and disappearing. He was almost certain that he had imagined the things he had seen that day so many years ago, but he still felt reluctant to send one of his sister’s children down the hill.

He took a deep breath and blew it out. “Boys, I want to show you how it is done. You stand here and watch your uncle. I used to know some pretty good maneuvers on this thing.” He sat down, gripping the sides of the sled. It seemed much smaller than he remembered it. He lifted his boots into the air and felt the runners under him slide forward and gather speed.

It didn’t take long to get back the feel for steering and leaning. The wind scrubbed his cheeks to a glowing red. His lungs filled with clean winter air. Despite his worries, he was enjoying himself. It had been a long time since he had done anything really physically fun. Active entertainment had always been a big part of his joy for living. Why had he neglected it so much lately?

Suddenly a large pine tree loomed in front of him. He pushed his right foot forward to guide the sled to the left and around the trunk. Two thoughts hit him at the same time, in that timeless moment that happens just before an accident. The first was that the tree had been just a small thing when he sledded up here last. The second thought was actually a realization that the turning mechanism on the sled was not functioning properly. Comprehension dawned too late for him to bale off. He heard Carolyn scream just as he collided with the tree and drifted into blackness.

He awoke groggy and cold. Snow was falling from leaded clouds above. He turned his head and saw the sled just below him, the rope wrapped around his ankle. Looking around for the tree, he saw only a snow covered hillside. The large pine tree was nowhere in sight. He closed his eyes and groaned softly. Just then he heard a young boy’s voice.

“Oh no!” the boy exclaimed. Scott heard the sound of footsteps running through the heavy snow. He opened his eyes in time to see a face bend over him.

He groaned again. “Not you,” he said.

“Well, it’s me all right,” the boy said, “though I can’t say that I know who you are. I see you have a sled. You must have come the same way as that boy did on Christmas Day last year.”

“That boy was me,” said Scott, “and it was forty-three years ago.”

“Well, I know it was last year, begging your pardon, sir. Couldn’t have been no forty-three years. I’m only eleven now,” the boy said logically.

“It was one year for you,” Scott said, still lying in the snow. “But it has been forty-three for me. And now if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be hiking back up the hill to my time where my wife and two nephews are waiting for me.” He sat up, untangled his foot from the rope, and tried to stand. The pain shot through him like a white hot poker being inserted into his leg. He sank back down weakly.

“I believe I have broken my leg,” he said.

“I’ll pull you to the farmhouse on the sled,” offered the boy helpfully.

Scott looked at the boy with less distaste. “Do you think you could pull me up the hill instead?” he asked.

The boy looked at him doubtfully. “No offense sir, but you look awful heavy, and that hill isn’t any too small.”

“Would you take me as far as you can?” Scott asked.

“Sure,” the boy said. He helped Scott lift himself onto the sled. The boy grabbed hold of the rope and began to pull. Before he had gone very far, the sled stopped moving uphill. The boy strained as hard as he could, but the sled pulled against him and slowly gained ground on the downhill side.

“Let me try crawling,” Scott said, leaning forward. The world began to swim and swirl in front of his eyes. The boy put a hand on his shoulder and pushed him down firmly.

“I’m taking you to the farmhouse,” he said. Scott’s protest was weak. He sat back and let the boy take him down the hill.

- pages 24 to 26 –

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