 |
 |
|
Christmas Spirit |
"Grandma?" Linda's whine hung in the frigid night air like an icicle, a tiny unhappy ghost beneath the quarter-moon. "Grandma, come on." Madeline folded the collar of her coat tighter against her throat and stamped the soles of her boots against the snow-covered ground. The storm that had swept in early Christmas Eve and continued while gifts were unwrapped and "oo'ed" over, had finally disappeared when the last of the dinner dishes were washed and put away and most of the visiting relative were content to play with their new toys or drowse in front of the T.V. She'd been too busy to look outside, too busy to notice the snow had stopped . . . if she had she would never have told the story of the old, abandoned orchard. Would never have even considered going there. But the snow had stopped and she told the story of the ghost that appears . . . is supposed to appear every Christmas . . . and now it was too late to turn back. They were standing on the edge of the orchard. "Grandma - I'm - cold!" Madeline looked down at the ten-year-old and smiled. Linda was the youngest of her five grandchildren, and the only one who'd wanted to see the ghost. The girl's older siblings and cousins had thought it was silly and told her so. In a couple of years, maybe less, Linda might think so, too, but this night she still believed in ghosts. Just like her grandma. "Grandma! Where's the ghost?" Take a deep breath, Madeline pointed toward the deepest part of the orchard. Something pale and thin moved there. "Do you see him?" she asked. Linda's body tipped forward as she stared and then straightened. "It's - it's probably just some old deer." "No," Madeline said, "that's him. His name was Billy. One Christmas he and his girlfriend were going to run away and get married. He told her he'd wait for her in the orchard, but she never showed up and he froze to death. She found him the next day after she'd gone to his house to apologize for not coming. Now, every year on Christmas night, he comes back to wait for her. Isn't that sad?" Madeline felt her granddaughter lean back against her and shrugged. "I dunno. Can we go back now?" Madeline nodded even though she knew it wouldn't be seen and patted the little girl's shoulder. "Okay, scoot . . . I'll be right behind you." The snow quickly swallowed the sound of Linda's jack-rabbit departure. Silence returned to the night and clung to the frozen branches. "I'm sorry, Billy," Madeline whispered, feeling the gathering weight of her years. "Maybe next year." |