A group of old friends come together and are snowed in at an
old cabin in the Adirondack woods of upstate New York. As the contents of an
old birchwood chest from Scotland reveals the history of the cabin and the man
who built it, they experience the deeper meanings of Christmas and renew the
bonds of friendship.
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....
----------
“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?”
----------
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...
----------
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...
----------
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.”
----------
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...
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...
----------
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...
----------
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...
To read the entire story, please go to Christmas Joy!: "Christopher's Cabin" - A Christmas Story by Ken R. Young
No comments:
Post a Comment