"Christopher's Cabin" - A Christmas Story by Ken R. Young

Christopher’s Cabin

by Ken R. Young

Snow came early in the Adirondack mountains of New York, cloaking the hills in silence. Early in the evening of the first Friday in December, the narrow roads that curved through the pine covered hills were plastered in white. Five cars traveled those roads, each one carrying familiar faces from different places, all within a two-hour drive of their destination. They met at an old cabin on a slope above the hamlet of Lake Pleasant. Although the cabin belonged to the Alexander family, it had always been known as Christopher’s Cabin.

Headlights pierced through the dark until they reached the glow of a porch lantern and the fireplace shining from within the cabin. They arrived in a different world, where they could let go of the thoughts of their busy lives – the meetings, the classrooms, the errands, the traffic.

They were five longtime friends, some accompanied by spouses, that had met years before while attending the State University of New York (SUNY) in Albany: Jake, Valerie, Emily, Chip, and Ben. As students, they got together and created a performance group called Sunny Daze, a vocal quartet, wherein Jake sang bass, Chip sang tenor, Valerie sang alto, Emily sang soprano, and Ben was the accompanist, playing piano, percussions and electronics.

Starting at first to sing just for fun, the group quickly become popular on the SUNY campus by performing at various student events. They were known for their tight harmonies and energetic arrangements of older and newer songs in various genres. Eventually they gained positive attention in the Albany region – their Christmas songs receiving the greatest praise – and the demand for concerts increased. For three years the five of them tried to balance their schooling with part-time work and part-time performing.

For a time, they thought they might try a bigger leap and enter the national recording and touring music industry. But life plans and dreams began to pull them in different ways. Nearing the end of their time together, as the group members were graduating with plans to move on with careers and schooling, they decided to memorialize their time together by recording two albums: their best vocal harmonies in pop/rock songs and their most liked Christmas melodies. On the SUNY campus and in various Albany area music stores, their albums became bestsellers.

After graduation, with new careers and families, they scattered throughout the eastern states. Eventually however, each one made a move to settle in various places in northeastern New York and western Vermont.

Reunion

And so it happened that 25 years later they found each other again—on the invitation of Jake Alexander and his wife Marjorie – for a reunion at their cabin. They ate, they laughed, they played games, and they sang the Christmas songs they had recorded and loved so much. None of them skipped a beat – Ben played on the keyboard he brought, and the others fell easily into singing their harmonious parts, as if the years since school had melted away.

After singing, the friends took turns sharing their favorite memories and stories of Christmas. Emily shared a family tradition revolving around a story that her brother had written called Christmas in the Coop ¹, about barnyard animals trying to celebrate Christmas in the human fashion. Since her brother’s death years earlier, it had become a family tradition to remember him by reading his story every Christmas Eve. She described how much fun it was to act out the animal characters in the story.

Jake told of his family’s tradition of reading A Christmas Carol ² and how he loved acting out the part of the ghost of Jacob Marley. Valerie shared how she loved to read to her kids every year the classics How the Grinch Stole Christmas ³ and The Night Before Christmas ⁴, among others. Chip’s wife Katie pitched in with telling of the stories and traditions she grew up with while living with her Swedish grandparents: tales of Tomten, the Yule Elf, and Sankta Lucia, the Queen of Light. Every year on Christmas Eve, her family carried on the Swedish tradition of putting on the Sankta Lucia procession and musical program, wherein she often wore a crown of candles.

As the others shared memories and stories, they all came to realize the importance of this gathering. Their reunion had renewed the bonds of friendship and love so much that, by the time it was over, none of them wanted to leave. They determined as a group to make this a tradition: to meet at this cabin every year on the first weekend of December, to celebrate Christmas through singing, storytelling, fun and laughter.

The Next Reunion

The cabin windows revealed to the returning on-comers the warmth inside, despite the snow accumulating in the corners of the panes. It had been a year since they converged at the old cabin in the woods, and as each arrived, stomping boots and shedding scarves, the old friends embraced.

Jake and Marjorie came early to ready the cabin, beginning with hanging garlands of fresh spruce and pine branches they had gathered on the way there. Then, while Marjorie filled the cabin with the smell of her baked goods, Jake brought in some firewood that was stacked on the front porch and built a blazing fire in the large rock fireplace. He then pulled the old chest out from the corner over to the center of the living room, between the fireplace and two large leather sofas.

From the kitchen Marjorie asked, “Did Ben say he was coming?”

“Yes, he’s coming,” Jake replied. “At least he said he would.”

“I just wondered,” Marjorie continued. “He made some negative comments last year about God and religion that made me think he might not want to play some of the Christmas songs.”

“Yeah, his stance as an agnostic or atheist – I’m not sure which he is – has made him a bit uncomfortable with it, I suppose. Being a single professor at a liberal school in Vermont I believe has changed him a bit. But he still loves playing music, and I think he wants to be with us, and he is at least willing to go along with the traditions.”

“I hope so. I just can’t imagine Christmas without all those glorious old hymns and carols celebrating the nativity,” she said. Jake and Marjorie were long-time believers who were very committed to their Christian faith, and for many years participated in the holiday and religious events of their congregation and the community of Troy. For them, tradition was important, instilling as best they could in their three children and all those they loved the customs and principles of their faith, and the love for Christmas.

Pulling up to the front of the cabin, Valerie said, “Looks like we’re the first to arrive! Well, after Jake and Marge, of course.” The hour and a half drive from their home in Schenectady had seemed much longer to her, simply because of her excitement for the evening ahead.

Getting out of the car, her husband Dayton asked, “Do you want me to grab the basket?”

“Oh no, I’ve got it,” she replied. “Can you get the cookies?” Valerie was proud to be bringing her contributions to the reunion, including assorted home-baked cookies placed in tins wrapped in red foil, and a basket full of Christmas crafts she’d been making – stars woven from glittered twine, snowmen made of frosted pinecones on cinnamon stick skis, and a handful of other brightly decorated items. She felt in her heart that she probably loved Christmas more than anyone – proven by her 17-year streak of playing Mrs. Claus for church and school functions. She loved everything about celebrating the season, which for her usually started in mid-October and ended just before Valentines Day.

Her broad smile accentuated cheeks that seemed to always be rosy in the winter, and her voice bubbled with their plans for the evening as they entered the cabin. While Dayton delivered the cookie tins to Marjorie in the kitchen, Valerie found Jake who welcomed her with open arms. Their hugs had once been more than friendly – she and Jake had dated while in college, before finding that friendship suited them better than romance.

Emily Beyer arrived from Saratoga Springs, her hometown since youth, but now a place that was feeling less like home. A divorce behind her, Emily yearned to feel again the comforts of a home where love and faith were strong. The faith she once had relied on was now flickering. The robust laughter for which she had been known was something now she usually suppressed. She greatly desired to find renewed meaning for life, reasons for joy and laughter.

Entering the cabin, she put on a big smile, arms carrying a box containing sheet music and Christmas albums, including one titled Holi-Daze: A Christmas Celebration that their group Sunny Daze had recorded. As before, Emily continued her role as the group’s music manager. Music had become the most important thing in the world to her, the one thing that kept her sane and allowed her to find her smile. Her clear soprano voice had often been complimented, and she wanted to preserve and build on her talent as much as she could. 

Greeting her, Jake said, “Thanks for bringing all the music, Emily. This wouldn’t be near as fun without it.”

“Well, of course!” she said as they embraced. “It’s the music that first brought us together and it’s pretty much the core of our friendship, right?”

“How are your two boys, Emily?” Marjorie asked as she took her turn with the hugging.

“Oh, they’re doing fine, although neither wanted to go to their father’s this weekend,” she said with a sigh. “It is his weekend to have them, but they’re missing a friend’s party.” Then shaking her head quickly in a motion to take the focus away from her concerns, she exclaimed, “It’s so good to see you again! I’m so glad we’re doing this.”

Chip Hamilton arrived next to the cabin with his new young wife Katie. Chip’s first wife had died a few years earlier, a grief that still shaped him, but tonight he was happy to introduce the girl that had him loving life again. Katie’s long, blonde hair framed her glowing face, which combined with a hand placed on her stomach, revealed her status as an expectant mother.

Ben Allender followed right behind them, arriving from Vermont – a tall and lanky professor at Middlebury College who lived among books and debates. He laughed easily, drank deeply, and argued stubbornly. Although religion and Christmas celebrations were relics to him, he was happy to come for the company, and perhaps for something he could not name.

“Am I last again?” he queried as he stepped inside with a grin. His usual brand of dry humor was well expressed in his greetings and conversations. In his hands were a couple of bottles of his favorite bubbly.

“Last but not least,” Chip responded, embracing his old friend. The two of them had been college roommates, and Ben had been very helpful to Chip in transitioning from his life as a surfer on the California coast to a somewhat serious student in the northeast. Chip’s educational training led him to a career in emergency services, and he worked for many years as Fire Marshall for the small town of Fayetteville, New York.

After introducing Katie to Ben, Chip was anxious to announce to everyone that a little one was arriving in a few months – a first child for both of them. A round of hearty congratulations filled the cabin, followed by the expected questions regarding the baby’s gender, the due date, etc. Ben, happy for a reason to uncork a bottle of champaign to celebrate, joined in by teasing Chip, “I guess there are some fires you just can’t put out, eh Chip?” he blurted while slapping his old roommate on the back, laughing loudly at his own humor.

Katie blushed while the others laughed somewhat uncomfortably. “Oh my gosh, Ben!” Emily said, shaking her head in disapproval.

Once the toasts and good wishes for the baby were done, they all gathered at the long kitchen table, candles flickering, and enjoyed a meal of Marjorie’s hearty beef stew and hot corn bread with honey. When dinner was over, they made their way to the living room, and facing the crackling fire, they began another night of singing and storytelling.

Emily went to her box of music and pulled out and distributed several copies of sheet music of some of their favorite arrangements of Christmas carols, “just in case you need it.”

“Oh, we don’t need the music, do we?” asked Valerie.

Ben, setting his music copies on the stand above the keyboard, said “Well, I do. It’s been a long minute since I played some of these.”

“Nope, I’m good,” said Jake. “But perhaps Dayton, Katie and Marge would like to follow along?”

The next half hour seemed to pass quickly as the former members of Sunny Daze once again sang their beautiful versions of carols including White Christmas, Hark the Herald Angels Sing, Silver Bells, and God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen.

Emily planned to continue with some of their other favorites, but Ben asked if they could take a break. Perhaps it was Ben feeling bothered by the welling up of tears in most of the singers’ eyes as they finished their spiritually charged rendition of Silent Night, or perhaps Ben’s fingers truly needed a break. Either way, Ben got some relief.

“Have you all heard the stories about the song Silent Night?” Dayton asked. 

“Oh, yes,” Valerie answered. “You mean, how the song was originally written for guitar because the organ was damaged? It would have been so lovely to hear it for the first time on guitar at a Christmas Eve mass in Austria.” 

“Yes, like 200 years ago or something.” Dayton replied. “It’s a nice background story. But what about this one?” Dayton held up a handful of pages from a magazine article – have you heard the story about the truce in World War I? ⁵” 

“Go ahead and read it, Dayton”, Chip said. “Sounds interesting.” Dayton shared the story of how the two opposing sides – English and German troops – actually declared a temporary truce on Christmas Eve 1914, together singing carols, playing ball and exchanging gifts of cigarettes, food, buttons and hats.

The Chest

When Dayton finished reading the story, Jake said, “Thanks, what an amazing story – a great

start for our storytelling. Then, pointing at the old chest in the center of the room, he said “We’ve got some more great stories in here – Christopher’s chest.”

“Tell me again about the significance of the chest,” Ben requested.

“Okay,” Jake responded. He began by relating his family’s experience with the old cabin and the chest. After Jake’s parents had passed away about 5 years earlier within two months of each other, Jake was given inheritance of the family’s cabin.  

He continued by telling the group that the cabin had been built by a man named Christopher McIntosh, who immigrated from Scotland. After living a long life in his cabin, Christopher passed away one Saturday before Thanksgiving. Following his funeral, held the next Friday, the Alexander family learned that Christopher had bequeathed the cabin to them in his will, with the provision that the memory of his departed wife Marilyn and their daughter Janice, as well as the spirit of Christmas, would be preserved within.

“You see those two pictures up there on the mantel?” Jake asked. “That’s Marilyn, his wife and their daughter Janice, taken when they were approximately the same age.”

“Quite a resemblance,” Katie said. “They could be sisters.”

“In his will,” Jake continued, “was a list of his possessions, which weren’t very many. But what he considered the most important thing inside the cabin was this old chest that included items close to his heart – where he kept his ‘Christmas memories’. Then a week after his passing, our family went to inspect the cabin.”

Jake then described the many personal items his family found in the old chest that sat between Christopher’s bed and the wall. Inside they found a stack of beautiful hand-made Christmas paintings and cards, a large, worn journal, and a three-ring binder containing many sheets of miscellaneous papers, as well as several small boxes of various content. Perusing the binder, they found some stories that Christopher himself had written, among photocopies of several versions of well-known Christmas stories. The family decided to start a new tradition by gathering at the cabin every year before Christmas to honor Christopher and his family, reading the stories and celebrating Christmas together. 

The Alexanders enjoyed many annual celebrations of Christmas in the cabin. But the children grew up, and all but Jake ended up moving to various other parts of the country. As it turned out, the only time his three siblings desired to use the cabin was in the summer, or occasionally for a New Year’s weekend. In an effort to continue honoring Christopher’s wishes, Jake and Marjorie developed plans to hold an annual Christmas Party at the cabin that would include telling the stories of Christmas.

“And so, here we are,” Katie said. “Carrying on with your family’s tradition.”

“Yes,” Jake replied with a certain glistening in his eyes. “Thanks for being here. And I hope we all can start some traditions of our own.”

Intrigued, Emily leaned forward and said, “Let’s hear more about the man who built the chest.”

Jake stood and stepped over to the rugged old chest. Lifting the lid released a faint waft of wintergreen from the birch wood it was made of, combined with the smells of old papers and fading ink.

“Christopher brought this chest with him from Scotland.” Pointing to some small lettering in the center of the inside of the lid, he continued, “The etching here says, ‘Built by Christopher Aaron McIntosh, Lanark, Scotland, 1921.”

“And it’s been here in this cabin collecting treasures ever since, is that right?” asked Emily. “I’d love to read more about his life. Did you say there’s a journal of his in there somewhere?”

“Yes, there is,” answered Marjorie with a big smile. “And I spent some time this last year perusing it. Jake said I ought to put it into story form.” She held up a manuscript of several pages.

“She’s done a great job with it,” Jake pitched in. “As you know, Marge has written several articles for travel and history magazines.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful, Marjorie!” Valerie exclaimed. “Can we hear it?”

“I hoped you’d all let me read it, as part of our storytelling this evening,” Marjorie responded. “It’s not quite yet a finished draft, and it might be a bit long…”

Encouragements of “Yes, yes! Go ahead, read it!” resounded from the group.

Marjorie sat forward in her chair, and the firelight’s reflection flickered on her glasses as she looked around at the circle of friends.

“First, I thought I’d share a bit about Christopher’s name. In the Greek language it means bearer of Christ – one who carries the light of compassion, love, and salvation into the world. And though he was just a simple man, I believe Christopher’s life story shows how he lived up to his name.”

She raised the manuscript closer, adjusted her glasses, and began reading:

______________________________________________________________

Christopher’s Story

Travelling alone, crossing the ocean on a liner full of passengers, was a huge undertaking for Christopher McIntosh. A young man of twenty-five, he said goodbye to a difficult life in his homeland of Scotland with little more than a trunk, a few tools, and his father’s worn Bible. It was a difficult decision to leave, yet one that was full of hope and a vision for the future. Work was waiting for him in Albany – a factory filled with noise and smoke, but also with the promise of good, steady wages.

It was after a couple of years working at the factory that Christopher first heard of the land. An older co-worker, a man nearing retirement, often spoke of his forested acreage in the Adirondack hills – too rugged for farming, too remote for industry. ‘You’re young,’ the old man told him one early spring evening, as they were finishing their shift. ‘Strong. You’d like it out there. Thick forests interrupted by lakes, ponds and streams. Sometimes it gets so still you can hear the forest breathe. It’s God’s country, I tell you.’  

It was the stillness of the forest that caught Christopher’s attention. It conjured up memories of the home he grew up in, tucked into a forest near the small town of Lanark, Scotland. Though he was very happy to be building a new and more prosperous life in America, he often reflected with melancholy on the home he left behind.

Working as many extra shifts as he could, Christopher saved every penny, and by autumn, the deed to a 12-acre portion of God’s country was his. The land lay at the edge of what would later become the Silver Lake Wilderness Area, protected against future development. It was soon to be his fortune to learn of a job opening at a lumber mill outside the nearby town of Lake Pleasant. A planned trip to check out his new property also became a timely opportunity to investigate and ultimately gain employment at the mill. It was an exciting time for the young Scotsman, who dubbed his land “Lanark Woods”, marked by a hand-crafted pinewood sign he posted next to the entrance of the long dirt road accessing his property. As time allowed with one day off a week, Christopher felled pines, cut beams, and soon raised a cabin with his own hands.

It was a humble three-room structure, but to Christopher it was a palace. It was home. When it was all finished, he stepped away and admired his work. It had everything he needed – except that special someone to share it with.

During his last year in Albany he had met Marilyn Wishart, one of only two female students pursuing business management at the Albany Business College. They were introduced by one of his boarding house roommates who also attended the school. It may have been her bright red hair that first caught his eye, but it was Marilyn’s hearty laugh and upbeat personality that won his heart. On her part, she felt that she had finally found someone who could match her robust love of life.

Their short yet deeply meaningful courtship was put on hold when Christopher left Albany to build and settle into his new home, but he did so with a promise that he would return in time for her graduation the next year. When the time came, Christopher was there with a bouquet of roses and congratulations, and as the post-graduation celebration was winding down, he asked Marilyn to come and see the cabin he had built with her in mind. There, standing on the porch and breathing in the pine-scented air, she whispered what he wanted to hear, ‘Christopher, this is home.’

Their first year of married life together in the cabin was filled with joy. Marilyn filled the rooms with warmth – curtains she had sewn herself, book-pressed flowers put in frames Christopher had built, and the sound of her voice reading aloud by lamplight. At Christmas, Christopher built a wooden cradle for the child they were looking joyfully forward to soon joining their family.

But joy can be fragile.

The following year, in the bitter cold of February, Marilyn gave birth. Their daughter, Janice, arrived healthy and strong, her cries filling the cabin. But their time together was cut short – Marilyn never rose from the bed again. Summoned too late, the doctor could only shake his head. Christopher was left with a daughter in his arms and a heavy feeling of emptiness in the cabin.

Janice cried endlessly, her small body overcome with colic. Night after night, Christopher paced the floor with her, rocking her and trying all he could think of to calm her little heart, all while his own heart leapt between love and grief. The baby’s cries were a constant reminder of his own sorrow. Weeks passed, and exhaustion took its toll. Unable to find anyone to help at home, he couldn’t go to work. The owners of the lumber mill, who had initially granted him unpaid leave, insisted that he return soon or lose his position.

Not knowing where else to turn, Christopher bundled up the baby and went to visit the priest at St. James Catholic church in Lake Pleasant where he and Marilyn had attended services. Father John urged him to give the baby up for adoption. A week later, with trembling hands and teary eyes, he signed the papers that sent Janice to a family in Massachusetts.

Letting her go was the hardest thing he had ever done. He returned to the cabin alone, the cradle empty, the bed cold, and a deep silence, only occasionally pierced by his own weeping. He prayed fervently that one day he might be reunited with his daughter.

In time, he found solace in two things: his faith and his craft. Christopher walked every Sunday into town to attend Mass, where hymns lifted him from his solitude. The other parishioners loved him and included him in their social events. More than a few times, the town matchmakers introduced him to potential love interests, but his heart was not ready.

In his workshop, Christopher soothed his grief in the making of wooden chairs, tables, toys, picture frames, walking sticks, and many other items. In every piece he made, he tried to envision a child or lonely adult enjoying its use. Often, he donated pieces of furniture and other items to be auctioned at local fundraising events to help the needy. He taught himself to paint, spending many hours in the surrounding nature, finding beauty and serenity in God’s creations. In time, a growing hope for future happiness created a desire to expand his small cabin. Additional rooms were built and slowly filled with various pieces of furniture and crafts of his making.

His reputation grew throughout the region as a quality artist and craftsman. Shops in nearby towns sold his furniture and wooden crafts, but over time, what became most popular were his Christmas creations. Each year, as the days grew colder and his shifts at the mill grew shorter, Christopher spent time carving wooden angels, star-shaped ornaments, and nativity figures. With oils and watercolors, he painted nativity scenes and other holiday images on small sheets of canvas. They were beautiful, intricate works of art, often accompanied by inspiring messages.

Christmas had become for him more than a holiday to celebrate – it was balm for his grief, a time and source for hope and joy. He especially loved the symbol of goodness and glory found in the angels associated with the Christmas story, which made him reflect on the two angels that had meant most to him in his life. As a symbol of his love for them, would carve or paint the figure of a small angel as a personal insignia on all his creations.

One Christmas morning, he awoke with the inspiration to pen this beautiful story:

______________________________________________________________

Marjorie removed her glasses and said, “This story was not in his journal. I found it on some old sheets of notepaper, stuck between some other papers. I’m so glad to have found it – short, but sweet.”

She continued, “It’s called Janice and the Christmas Angels.

______________________________________________________________

Janice was a child of the cabin—small, bright-eyed, and lonely. Her mother had died giving her life, and her father did his best with meager means. Christmas, for them, was a small spruce tree decorated with a few ribbons, a loaf of bread sweetened with honey, and carols sung by the fire.

Yet Janice dreamed of angels. At night, she whispered in the darkness to her “mommy angel” who might come and hold her. Her father, hearing her whispers, carved for her a little angel from wood. Janice painted its wings with her careful strokes, and they hung it on the small spruce tree.

At school, she learned of other children’s celebrations—garlands strung on wide staircases, feasts set on long tables, gifts wrapped in shiny paper. She marveled at it all, but what she loved most was the school’s Christmas pageant. One year, she was chosen to be an angel. In her role, all wrapped in white cloth, wearing cardboard wings and a tinsel halo in her hair, she sang her part with a clear and happy voice.

On a winter’s day, while playing near the frozen creek, the ice gave way. Janice plunged into the black water, the current dragging her beneath. She cried out, and in her terror, she saw a bright figure above her. Then, as if without effort, the figure lifted her from the water, and in a warm embrace carried her home.

Her father soon came home and found her pale and still. He rushed her to the county hospital and prayed as he never had before. “Please,” he begged, “don’t take her away.”

That night, as he slept by her bed, he dreamed of Marilyn, his wife in heaven. She smiled and held out her hand to Janice, but then faded into light, leaving the girl behind.

The next morning Janice awoke, and leaving the hospital, she began describing to her father the beautiful angel that had saved her. When they returned to the cabin, they both gasped as they opened the door. The room was filled with garlands, candles, food, and gifts. The bare spruce tree was now heavy with shiny ornaments.

Janice whispered, “Daddy, the angel who saved me must have brought Christmas here.”

Her father looked at the feast, at the shining tree, at the wooden angel still hanging on the branch. “Yes Janice,” he said softly, looking into her eyes. “There are angels all around us.”

______________________________________________________________

“Oh, my,” said Emily, waving at her eyes. “To think he wrote that about a daughter who wasn’t there.

“Yes, and here…” Jake said as he reached in the chest and pulled out an old shoe box. “You’ve got to see this treasure.” He opened the lid, and took hold of a wooden object, which, after small piles of wood shavings had been brushed aside, revealed an intricately carved angel that was about six inches high. The outspread wings were lightly painted in gold, while the beauty of polished pine wood made up the rest of the angel. “Not only did he write the story about her,” Jake explained, “but he also carved this angel, in her memory.”

A long silent pause began as the others in the room stared in amazement at beautiful object. The wooden angel was carefully passed around the room before Jake placed it on the fireplace mantel, between the photographs of Marilyn and Mary-Janice.

Marjorie continued:

______________________________________________________________

Many years later, on a pleasant spring day – as normal as any other – when Christopher’s shift at the mill was done, he made the usual mile and a half trek towards home. It was rare for him to see anyone else on this road. The car stopped and a young woman stepped out. Who was she?

As he approached her, Christopher saw tears welling up in her eyes. With a soft, broken voice she asked, “Are you Christopher McIntosh?”

“Yes, I am,” he responded. “May I ask who you might be?”

“I am your daughter.”

Confused at first, her words quickly hit him straight in the heart and he nearly fell to his knees. “Janice?” he asked, choking on the name he hadn’t spoken aloud in many years.

“Yes,” she said, nearly sobbing, “or rather, it’s Mary-Janice.”

“Mary-Janice,” he repeated. Her name since adoption was a name combination that soothed his soul, feeling like it was a confirmation and message of comfort coming from his departed wife. “Oh, my goodness, how did you find me?” he said as he stretched out his arms towards her.

“Oh, father!” she cried as she fell into his arms. What happened next was like the opening of a beautiful flower at its first blossoming. Father and daughter were reunited, and they found joy in a long, warm and tear-filled embrace. Mary-Janice then learned that her mother was not here, that she had died giving birth. Saddened by that news, but still overjoyed to have found her father, the two of them got into the car and made their way back to the cabin.

There, after re-visiting her first home, they sat together on a couch facing the fireplace, and she began to relate her story and how she came to find him. She started by explaining that she had known deep within her since she was a young girl that she must have been adopted. She described how, at the young age of six, her adoptive father moved the family to California, and as they traveled west on a train across the country, she gazed for hours out the windows wondering if she had another family out there, somewhere.

 As long as she could remember she felt she was different from her family in many ways. But her family didn’t confirm that she had been adopted until she was 19 years old; and then, only because she pressed so hard with her questioning. When her adoptive mother finally gave in to her in exasperation, she claimed that it had only been for her protection that the secret was held. But she wasn’t willing to help Mary-Janice find her birth parents, for fear she would leave them.

She then told him that when she turned 21, she received information from her favorite aunt Diane regarding the adoption agency that had placed her as a baby. After several unsuccessful attempts to get further information from the agency, she finally found a provision in the State of Massachusetts privacy laws that allowed her as an adult to receive a copy of her original birth certificate. Tracking her birth location to Lake Pleasant, New York, she planned a trip there to find what more she could.

“So,” Mary-Janice continued, “Here it is a year later, a year of great longing to find you. After a long journey on planes, buses and a rental car, I finally arrived in your town. I didn’t really know where to start, but I decided to flip through the pages of a phone book in the booth inside the General Store. I kind of anticipated having no luck, guessing that my birth parents likely had moved somewhere else, if you were even still alive. And I was quite disappointed to not find anyone listed by the name of McIntosh. But thank heavens I met and talked with the nice lady at the cash register – Mrs. Feeney, I think was her name? She told me about you and how to find your cabin, and that the reason you were not listed in the phone book was because there are no telephone lines up here."

“Ah, yes,” Christopher sighed with a smile. “Sweet, dear old Mrs. Feeney. If anyone knew where to find me, it would be her.”

 “Thank goodness I saw you coming up the road when I did!” Mary-Janice exclaimed. She went on to explain what happened just before they met. After driving slowly up the road, she parked the rental car a good distance away, got out and hesitantly began walking up to the cabin. “After knocking several times with no response, I began to wonder if I had the right place. And, what if you didn’t want to see me? What if we didn’t know what to say to each other?”

“Too many questions made me turn around and quickly walk back to the car. I sat for a moment staring at the cabin wondering what to do. Then, I turned the car around and began to drive back towards town. And then…” Mary-Janice’s voice faded, and she and her father embraced once again.

______________________________________________________________

 

Marjorie paused for a moment, wiping her wet eyes. But after seeing everyone anxiously waiting to hear more, she came back to finish reading.

______________________________________________________________

         

Hours turned into days of long conversation as they walked in the autumn woods together, speaking of the many joys and sorrows of life they had seen. They learned that they shared a deep love for Christmas and all that it meant, and although it was only early October, they decided to celebrate the holiday together. Mary-Janice helped him deck the halls, trim the tree, and celebrate by sharing cherished holiday stories and carols. It was a time of healing, of love and comfort, as the two built a strong bond never again to be broken.

After she admired some of his Christmas-themed paintings, choosing one for herself, Mary-Janice asked him if he would make a new one especially for her every year. The request could not have made Christopher happier.

“Of course, I will. But I also have something else for you, something I created many years ago.” Christopher pulled a box out of the chest and handed it to her.

“Oh, my, “she exclaimed as she took out the wooden angel. “How wonderful, Father! You made this? Why, it’s beautiful!”

“Beautiful, like you, my angel.” He explained there was a story to go with it, though he had misplaced the papers it was written on. But no matter, he knew it by heart. After hearing the story, Mary-Janice vowed that she would cherish the angel forever, that it would always remind her of him, her Christmas Angel.

Every year after that, Christopher sent his daughter a gorgeous hand-painted Christmas card. In return, she sent him a tree ornament. Wherever she went on her travels, Mary-Janice would seek out boutique Christmas shops to find a special ornament for his tree. The days when an ornament arrived were considered a highlight of Christopher’s year.

Over the next several years, they wrote and talked of meeting again. But as Mary-Janice’s life became increasingly challenging after marriage and children came into her life, such plans were always pushed down the road. Christopher desired to one day venture out to California to meet his grandchildren, but over the years the demands for lumber at the mill had substantially decreased, reducing his shifts and leaving him with a very limited income. Things just didn’t work out at either end.

When he learned of the arrival of her fourth child, Christopher decided to do something special for the grandchildren he still hoped one day to meet. He had read of a literary contest seeking submissions of family Christmas stories, so he picked up his pen, and inserting the names of his grandchildren, he wrote a story for them.

 

______________________________________________________________

Marjorie placed the manuscript on her lap. Then, reaching into the chest, she picked up a few printed magazine pages she said, “Here’s a copy of what he submitted for the contest, which actually won second place, and it was printed in the New York Literary Journal, in November 1960. She looked around at the group. “Maybe someone else would like to read it?”

“I will,” said Chip with enthusiasm. “Hand it to me.”

He began reading aloud Elias Elf Finds His Specialty,⁵ a light-hearted story of how one of Santa’s elves found the spirit of Christmas while interacting with four children. When he had finished, Chip set the pages down and said, “Well, that was fun. Cool that he used his grandkids’ names.”

“What a cute story,” Valerie added.

Bringing them back in, Marjorie said, “So, back to Christopher…”

______________________________________________________________
     

That winter, Christopher put together a package for them with his creations: small carved, wooden toys, a special Christmas card painting, and a bound copy of his new story. In a letter, he wrote how he wished he could be with them this Christmas and told of his big plans for a future trip to California. Somehow, he’d find a way. His desire to celebrate Christmas with family was growing stronger. Yet, the very act of creating and sending this package was enough supply of Christmas joy for him; imagining their reactions when they received it made him feel as if he was there.

As Christmas neared, he looked forward to receiving a letter and an ornament from Mary-Janice. He saved a special place on the tree to hang it when it arrived. But by Christmas Eve day, his daily treks to the post office had left him empty handed. Perhaps it was the distance between here and there, or some bad weather along the way that caused delivery to be delayed?

The day after Christmas came with the same result – no letter, no package. And again, the next day, and the next. His lack of a telephone added to his frustration. Finally, one day after work he stopped at the general store and tried making a call, but he couldn’t get through – either the number he had was wrong or it had been changed. Days turned to weeks, and a loneliness he hadn’t felt for many years returned. Had she forgotten about him?

Then one cold February day a package and a letter from California arrived in his mailbox. The name above the return address was “The Johnsons”. It did not appear to be written in his daughter’s hand-writing, which tempered Christopher’s excitement. Slowly opening the letter, he read the greeting ‘Dear Mr. McIntosh.’ What…who is this? he wondered.

His answer came soon enough. The letter was from Rod Johnson, Mary-Janice’s husband, whom Christopher as yet had never met. After apologizing for the length of time that had passed before this letter was sent, Rod described his sorrow over having to share the horrible news: Mary-Janice had passed away following a tragic ski accident that occurred two weeks before Christmas.

The low moaning of ‘No…no…no…’ was all that escaped his mouth as his head hung low. He felt his heart would burst as he tried finishing the letter. The tone of Rod’s words sent the message that, although this was sad news to share, his family would be moving on as best they could. There was no information about when and where the funeral was held, nor any expression of a continued family connection between them was likely to occur. It felt like a final farewell, and his grief returned like the ocean’s tide. Not only had he lost his Mary-Janice for a second time, but his hopes of ever connecting with her children now seemed to fade.

The post-script at the end of the letter said that the package contained items being returned that might be more meaningful to him: a small box containing the wooden angel and a small stack of Christmas cards that Christopher had painted and sent to Mary-Janice. Also in the package was an ornament Mary-Janice had bought at the ski resort the morning before the accident that was meant for him. Wiping his tears, Christopher carefully unwrapped the taped tissue covering, revealing a glittered ornament adorned with silver angels on a dark blue, starry background. Near the bottom these words were etched in small print: ‘To My   Christmas Angel - Love You Forever.’

Time wore on as lonely days seemed his only companion. Even though he had several friendly acquaintances in town, and a few ladies had vied for his attention, there never seemed to be any rightful replacements in his heart and cabin, for those special souls he had lost.

If Christmas had previously been meaningful to him, it was now the most important time of the year. Each year he continued to make cards from his paintings for Mary-Janice as if she were alive, storing them along with her ornaments in the chest he brought from Scotland.

In his later years, a young family named the Alexanders with four lively children moved to Lake Pleasant and entered his life.

____________________________________________________________

“Yep, now my family and I enter the story”, inserted Jake. “I think I was the liveliest of us four kids. I sure gave them a run for their money!”

“No doubt,” Valerie said. “I’m not sure lively is the best word, though.” She had a bit of unique insight into his ‘lively’ past from the days when they had dated.

“Hold it right there,” he quickly replied with a grin. “A man needs some secrets!”

Marjorie glared at him over the rim of her glasses. “Eh-hum, yes, so…” she began reading again.

______________________________________________________________

Meeting him at church, the Alexander children seemed to gravitate to Christopher’s grandfatherly persona, something that fit just right with him. They were without a grandfather, he without grand-children. A familial type of relationship grew as the family came to visit him several times a year, walking up the winding forest road to his cabin, bringing bread, fruit, or just laughter and company.

Christopher would often gather the children near the fire and tell them stories, most of them his own made-up fantasies and adventures. But in late fall and winter, he took special joy in sharing with them the classic stories of Christmas, including a shortened version of A Christmas Carol ², The Gift of the Magi ⁷, and The Night Before Christmas ⁴. And, he always included a reading of the Nativity Story found in the Bible ⁸.

The Alexander family grew closer to him over several years of visiting and sharing with him their family events. Grandpa Christopher, as he was known to them, watched the children grow and transition into adulthood. They had become the family he always wanted.

After 65 years in the cabin, Christopher’s days came to an end. After having enjoyed nice Christmas and New Years celebrations with the Alexanders, the life of Christopher McIntosh was honored at the St. James Church, and his body was buried near the edge the forest, behind the cabin. Under his name on the gravestone was engraved the following:

          A good man, A follower of Christ, A man who loved Christmas.

______________________________________________________________

 

As Marjorie folded the last page, her voice trailed into silence. The fire cracked, and for a long moment, no one spoke. A few of them dabbed at their eyes, and Jake nodded solemnly. “We were blessed to have inherited his cabin. Yet more than that, we – all of us – have inherited his spirit and the legacy of stories, of faith, and of Christmas itself.”

Another moment left them absorbing Jake’s words. Then, as if slicing through thick air, Ben stood and said, “Well, got a lot of papers to grade this weekend. Time to hit the road!” The repetition of such words as spirit and faith had evidently begun to make him jittery.

And with that, their second gathering came to an end. While coats and scarves were retrieved, they renewed their promise to see each other again in twelve months.

The Third Reunion

The next year seemed to come quicker than expected, yet everyone was excited for their third annual event. Valerie reached out in advance with an email, reminding everyone to bring and share one story revolving around Christmas. Emily responded with a reminder for everyone to bring any sheet music of their favorite carols.

Gathering at the old cabin seemed to them like returning home. Following the delicious dinner – a Mexican taco and burrito buffet for which they had all pitched in ingredients – Emily was anxious to get the singing started. Having already coordinated with Ben, she led them right into their spirited rendition of The Most Wonderful Time of the Year, followed by other songs they had recorded, including We Three Kings, Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas, and one of their favorites, a poignant version of What Child is This?

Outside, the snow that had only created a light skiff throughout the day had begun to fall heavier just after everyone arrived. By the time they had finished singing, several inches had already accumulated.

“Wow!” exclaimed Chip staring out the window. “What was the forecast? I thought we were only getting a trace.”

“Not sure any of you want to try driving home in this tonight,” Jake said. “You are welcome to stay overnight.”

Marjorie added, “We’ve got a lot of blankets, some air mattresses and an extra bedroom with bunks. One of the couches is a fold out.” After they each considered and debated the wisdom of driving in the heavy snow, it was finally decided it was best to hunker down and wait until morning before anyone tried to head home.

Katie grabbed Chip’s arm and said, “It’s a good thing we left the baby with mom.” Their little one, born earlier in the year, was a fussy girl that didn’t like sleeping at night. “Oh my, yes,” he replied, “None of us would be sleeping tonight.”

With new plans made for an extended reunion, they fell comfortably into the storytelling. Katie volunteered to start by reading the Nativity Story in the Bible⁸. For some old vintage fun, Valerie brought and read an excerpt from Keeping Christmas at Bracebridge Hall ⁹, which was followed by Emily reading an abridged version of The Other Wise Man ¹⁰.

The final story came from Jake, who read to them one of his favorites, The Gift of the Magi ⁷. Near the end he made sure to emphasize the message at the end: “The magi, as you know, were wise men--wonderfully wise men--who brought gifts to the Babe in the manger. They invented the art of giving Christmas gifts... let it be said that of all who give gifts these two were the wisest. Of all who give and receive gifts, such as they are wisest. Everywhere they are wisest. They are the magi.”

After a small pause, the group’s conversation evolved into a discussion about religion. Emily admitted that the challenges of life had left her quite jaded, although she still believed in and loved Christmas very much. She confessed, “Sometimes I feel I’ve lost God altogether. But then I come here, and I wonder if maybe He’s closer than I think.”

Ben shrugged, “Maybe so, Em. Or maybe it’s just us making something beautiful out of nothing.” While he had enjoyed their time together with all the songs and stories about the holidays, he was feeling increasingly uncomfortable about the spiritual side of things and wondered how important it was for them to continue to focus on it.

“Or, maybe He is real, only we have let Him go.” Jake retorted, and continued to defend his belief in God, reminding everyone that the birth of Jesus Christ was the real reason why Christmas is celebrated. As Ben began to challenge that statement, he and Jake got into a debate about the negative realities of religion in the world and the existence of God. Temperatures rose, and the others tried to change the subject and calm things down. Chip suggested maybe they all needed to allow for differences of opinions and beliefs.

Resolution came as Emily pointed to the front window. “Look, there’s a car coming in!” The others looked out and through the heavy-falling snow, they dimly saw headlights from a car that was slowly approaching the cabin.

“Who could that be?” wondered Valerie out loud. Dayton followed up incredulously with, “How in the world did they make it up here in that snow?”

Then the car stopped. The friends, peering out the window, watched as a man got out of the car and trudged toward the cabin. As Jake went to the door, Marjorie questioned whether it was safe – should we be opening to a stranger? She invited the ladies to follow her into the kitchen.

Just before the knock, Jake opened the door. A young man stood there, snow crusting his hair, his face pale. “Please,” he said. “My wife and baby… our car’s having problems, and now I’m afraid it’s stuck. We need help.”

Marjorie, grabbing Jake’s hand, nodded with approval. They brought them in – David, Jessie, and their little baby Joshua.¹¹ While the friends made room for the young family by the fire, they saw that Jessie’s coat was thin, her hands red with cold, clutching her child who would not be comforted. Soon being warmed by the fire, the child fell asleep against his mother’s chest. Valerie and Katie assisted Marjorie with preparing some hot chocolate for their guests.

They all listened to David as he spoke of having lost work, and their hopes of somehow making it to Virginia, with the long road still ahead. As the young couple told of their struggles, joys, and hopes for the future, it became clear that their story, stirring the souls of the friends, was the most significant one to be told this night.

Soon, it was time for everyone to settle in and prepare for the night. Blankets and pillows were brought out. Jessie made a bed for herself and the baby on a couch, while David laid out some bedding on a foam pad on the floor next to them. “Thank you so very much,” he said to the others. “You don’t know what this means. We shall be forever grateful.”

Gathering in the kitchen, the friends all quietly decided to help them with some money, placing their donations into an envelope to be given to the young family. In case they were unwilling to accept it, Chip volunteered to carefully slip the envelope into a pocket of David’s overcoat, hanging by the door.

Arrangements were made for all to sleep, and after a time the cabin became quiet. Just before slipping into their bed, Jake and Marjorie peeked into the front room at the peaceful, sleeping family as the low-burning fire cast shadows on their faces.

In bed, Marjorie whispered, “Jake, I feel like we’re in Bethlehem.”

“Hmm? What do you mean?” he responded lowly, and then after a pause he added, “Oh, yeah. You’re right. It feels like we’re in the presence of…”

A shiver ran up Marjorie’s spine as she finished his sentence: “Joseph, Mary and Jesus.”

A strong feeling of spirit rose within them as they knelt down, and together they quietly thanked the Lord for this experience and asked for His blessings to be with the young family. After closing the prayer, Jake whispered, “You know, we didn’t think to ask them their last name.” No, we didn’t, did we?” Marjorie responded. “We’ll have to find out in the morning.”

But in the morning, the young family was gone. There was no trace of them having been there – the bedding was stacked next to the couch, the hot chocolate mugs were empty and clean by the sink, and the family’s coats and backpacks were gone. Looking outside, the car too was gone. All the friends could see was a heavy blanket of snow, at least three feet thick, covering the forest floor and weighing heavily on the pine branches. There were no tire tracks or footprints anywhere.

Trying to make sense of it, Jake finally said with a sigh, “Well, hopefully the money we gave them will help.”

Then, standing by the coffee table, Ben looked down and noticed an envelope sticking out from underneath the Bible. “Wait, isn’t this the envelope with the money?” Looking inside at the several bills of 5s, 10s, and 20s, he said in bewilderment, “Yes, it is!”

“But I put that in David’s overcoat!” Chip said. “I swear I did! He must have…”

Emily, also inspecting the envelope, interrupted him by saying, “Wait! What’s this?” Pointing at the writing on the back side of the envelope, she said, “It says Matthew 25:40”.

Chip stepped over and picked up the Bible, then opened it to that verse and read, “Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.”

For a long moment they all quietly stared at each other in astonishment, wide-eyed and mouths open, strangely feeling unsettled yet comforted. Whether or not angels had walked among them that snowy night, they all knew the truth: The spirit of Christmas had touched them all, reminding them that it wasn’t just a time for fun celebrations. It was a time for showing greater love, a time for giving, and for connecting with the divine.

Breaking the silence, Emily offered, “Maybe faith isn’t something you hold onto. Maybe it’s something that finds you.”

“Agreed,” Ben said as he gazed out the frosted window. “Maybe so, Em.”

And then, Valerie said softly as she wiped away tears, “This is a special day to remember. We’ve got to keep coming together like this, as long as we can. We’ve got to hold on to this spirit.”

Jake nodded as he closed the chest. “That’s just what Christopher wanted.”

And the cabin, with its fire, its chest, and its memories of angels, encircled the group with warm feelings of friendship, love, and a legacy of Christmas that would last throughout their lives.

 

THE END

 

NOTES

¹  Young, Stan. Christmas in the Coop. 1972.

²   Dickens, Charles. A Christmas Carol. Chapman & Hall, 1843.

³  Seuss, Dr. How the Grinch Stole Christmas!. Random House, 1957.

⁴  Moore, Clement Clarke. The Night Before Christmas. 1823.

⁵  Shepard, Aaron. The Christmas Truce. New York: Atheneum Books for Young Readers, 1999.

⁶  Young, Ken R. Elias Elf Finds His Specialty. 2001. Written separately by the author and inserted into this story, as if written by the fictional character Christopher McIntosh.

⁷  O. Henry. The Gift of the Magi. 1905.

⁸  Nativity Story as found in the Holy Bible - Luke 2:1-20, Matthew 1:18-25, and Matthew 2:1-14.

⁹ Irving, Washington. “Keeping Christmas at Bracebridge Hall.” The Sketch Book of Geoffrey Crayon, Gent., 1819–1820.

¹⁰ Van Dyke, Henry. The Story of The Other Wise Man. 1895.

¹¹ Each of the names of the young family are a reference to Jesus Christ and His lineage. See scriptural references for David in Matthew 21:9, and for Jesse (a spelling variance with an “i” is used in this story) in Isaiah 11:1 and Doctrine and Covenants 113:3.  In Hebrew, the name Joshua (יְהוֹשֻׁעַ, Yehoshua) carries the meaning “Yahweh is salvation.” Over time, this name went through Aramaic and Greek transliterations, ultimately rendered as Ἰησοῦς (Iēsous) in the Greek New Testament, which in English is “Jesus.” Thus, both Joshua in the Old Testament and Jesus in the New Testament bear essentially the same divinely endowed name indicating salvation. (https://biblehub.com)