Christmas Gulch - 1. Holiday Short Story

Two bikes raced along a dirt path in a bright forest. The boys riding them had taped baseball cards to their bikes’ frames, and the repetitive slap of the spokes against the thin cardboard made their bikes sound like motorcycles; at least, they sounded like motorcycles to two 13 year olds.

Billy was leading Todd along one of the trails toward the narrow valley locally known as Christmas Gulch. Todd had just moved to town.

The boys turned a bend in the trail and Billy slammed on his brakes. Todd skidded around him and came to a halt. They were at the mouth of a little ravine. The bike trail they had been riding was flat, but the land rose on either side of the valley, and at the top of it sat a cottage.

“Why do they call it Christmas Gulch?” Todd asked.

“Because an old guy named Mr. Christmas lives up there,” Billy explained. The little house was decorated like Christmas was right around the corner, but it was the middle of summer. “He fills this whole valley with lights and ornaments and figurines and statues during the month of December, but he keeps the house decorated all year round.” Billy swung one leg over the bike and let it fall to the path, its tires skidding in the dirt and kicking up dust. “Let’s go check out his permanent Christmas stuff!”

Todd watched Billy run into the trees, and a moment later, he was out of sight.

“Come on!” Billy’s voice called, and Todd dropped his bike as well and followed into the denser forest off the path. He saw Billy a little ways ahead, waving for Todd to follow. As Todd ran up, Billy whispered, “Mr. Christmas’ yard is at the top of the hill.”

“I don’t know,” Todd replied under his breath. “Maybe we shouldn’t.”

Billy smirked and started to climb. The trees acted as handholds, and their roots were like uneven steps that helped the boys make their way up toward the cottage. The hill was not terribly steep, and right as they were high enough to see the yard’s landscaping, a Jack Russell terrier came scurrying up to them.

The little dog was holding a very large red and white striped plush candy cane and its mouth, and it was making a muffled yipping noise, as if attempting to bark while refusing to drop its toy. Its tail was wagging very fast.

“Blitzen, come on back here with your stuffy!” called a voice. Then a skinny man with a dark beard stepped into view. “Why, hello there, lads,” he said to Billy and Todd, and over his dog’s continuous noise, he offered, “cup of hot cocoa?”

“Erm… it’s a bit warm out for that,” Todd replied.

Billy looked absolutely petrified to have been caught, and he was not moving.

The man suggested an alternative. “Well, what about a chocolate chip cookie? I just baked some. Would you each like one? Blitzen, calm down!” he commanded, to no avail. The dog started running in circles and the man chuckled.

“Are you Mr. Christmas?” Todd asked.

“Sure, you can call me that,” he replied, smiling through his dark beard. “I love Christmas!”

“Billy told me you decorate the whole valley, and it’s even named after you.”

“Sounds like Billy’s only got some of his details right,” Mr. Christmas said with a little laugh. “A long time ago, folks around here used to put a lot of effort into decorating this valley each and every holiday season, but when I was a kid, the grown ups used to say how the valley was so much prettier when they were kids.” He shook his head. “But they didn’t do much to make it more Christmassy. I’m just glad the tradition hadn’t died out completely, and when I heard that this house was up for sale, I bought it. I revitalized the tradition the best I’ve been able to on my own, and I’ve added to the decorations each year.”

Mr. Christmas walked over to a small table by the side of his cottage, picked up a cookie, and he took a large bite before continuing. “Mmm,” he hummed, “these are good. And the valley isn’t named Christmas Gluch because my name is Mr. Christmas; I was given the name Mr. Christmas because I put so much effort into Christmas here at Christmas Gulch. Been doing this for almost a decade now.” He took another bite of his cookie. “Help yourselves to one,” he said through his mouthful.

Todd hesitantly stepped up from the valley onto the man’s well-manicured lawn. Most of the Christmas decorations looked strange under the bright summer sun, and none of the multicolored lights were lit, but Todd could see that they were attached to every awning and overhang, and they accented each part of the little structure’s exterior. Todd looked over at Billy, then he turned back to Mr. Christmas and reached for a cookie.

“In exchange,” Mr. Christmas said before Todd’s fingers came into contact with the sweet baked treat, “will you permit me to tell you a story?”

Todd looked toward Billy again, but then he replied, “Yeah, I guess so. Is it a Christmas story?”

“It is!”

Todd raised an eyebrow. “You know it’s the middle of the summer, right?”

Mr. Christmas laughed. “When I was just a little older than you boys, which was quite a while ago, I was traveling and just happened to be lucky enough to find myself in a little farming hamlet on the very day that they were holding their annual holiday celebration. The locals welcomed me to join their lovely barn dance, even though I wasn’t from the area; I was just passing through on my way to visit my elderly parents in another state, and I was there the day of their soirée.”

Mr. Christmas took another bite of his cookie and added wistfully, “You should’ve seen everyone dressed in their holiday finest. All I had was my travel clothes, but I still attended and spent most of the time off to one side, listening to the music and watching the dancers. It wasn’t until late that night, when the musicians announced they were about to play their final song of the evening, and the most wondrous thing happened to me!”

When Mr. Christmas did not continue, Todd asked, “What thing? What happened?”

Mr. Christmas smiled, and he might have even blushed a little, as he said, “The most beautiful girl I have ever seen came right up and to me, ‘Since you haven’t asked and I didn’t want to miss the opportunity, may I please have this dance?’ Well, believe you me, lads,” Mr. Christmas continued with a chuckle, “I was more than a little caught off guard, but when she took my hand and we began to dance, it was as if the entire world melted away to nothing, and there was only we two!”

His eyes began to sparkle, and he smiled wide through his beard. “She smelled like oleander, and she moved like the flow of a babbling brook. She knew the lyrics to that last song the musicians played, and her voice was as beautiful as a goldfinch as she sang and we danced.” Mr. Christmas paused and said, “Then the song ended and the night was over.” He took a breath of longing. “She was gone, and I never even got her name. Two days later, I was with my parents, a state away, celebrating the holiday.” After a sip of hot cocoa, he added, “But I was still thinking about the nameless beauty. She’s a major reason for my love of Christmas.”

“Don’t you call her the oleander girl?” Billy asked, finally stepping up onto the grass and joining Todd.

“The oleander woman,” Mr. Christmas corrected. “My nameless dance partner was all woman.”

Todd grabbed another cookie, but he scrunched up his face. “Mr. Christmas, sir, are you sure you mean oleander? Isn’t that a poisonous flower?”

Mr. Christmas brought a fingertip to his nose. “Indeed it is, and yet, its blossoms possess the aroma of a spring day, like vanilla and sweet cream and the scent of flowers you can’t quite make out drifting by on a breeze.”

“She smelled like spring?” Billy asked.

“In the chill of winter!” Mr. Christmas declared.

“So she’s kind of your inspiration for all this stuff?” Todd asked, waving at the countless Christmas decorations.

“Not entirely, I’ve always loved Christmas, but she definitely set that love in stone.” Mr. Christmas tilted his head to one side and said, “If you lads are interested, I’d be more than thrilled to have you help me decorate Christmas Gulch at the beginning of December. I know it’s hot right now and that seems like a long way away, but decorating used to be a community event, and maybe it will be again. Have another cookie.”

Billy and Todd did indeed join Mr. Christmas on the 1^st of December, and they helped him decorate the entire little valley below his cottage. He told them the story about his nameless Christmas dance partner once that morning, and he told it to them again that evening.

Billy and Todd joined Mr. Christmas on the 1^st of December the following five years, and during that time others in the town joined in the decorating of Christmas Gulch. The boys eventually went off to college out of town, and they were no longer able to help him set up everything in the valley, but the team of volunteer decorators did fabulous jobs each year without Billy and Todd. The boys’ four consecutive holiday breaks from school provided them with the opportunity to return and visit with Mr. Christmas and their community.

Billy and Todd had heard Mr. Christmas tell his story of the nameless woman countless times by that point, and both of them knew it by heart, but they still loved hearing him embellish his tale of momentary romance. A few of the details were always subject to change, but the heart of the story remained the same. Sometimes Mr. Christmas would name the song she had sung while they danced, sharing lyrics with the boys, but with his retelling of the story, the carol she sang often changed.

Other times Mr. Christmas would elaborate on the dress she wore. In most of his recitations it was ice blue, but occasionally it had been a yellow or pale green or red or even a black dress. The boys sometimes questioned the specific details that altered, but Mr. Christmas would just laugh and say, “I’m obviously remembering accurately, and besides, neither of you boys had even been born yet on that winter’s night long ago!” and the three would laugh.

As Todd and Billy grew into young adults, their lives took them in other directions, but they had helped Mr. Christmas rekindle the community’s passion for celebrating the holiday, and every 1^st of December folks came to sing Christmas carols and set up decorations through the entire narrow valley of Christmas Gulch.

Mr. Christmas would tell the story of his nameless love to anyone who would listen, and the man’s joy was infectious. Even as he began to advance in years and his dark beard started to streak salt and pepper, his Christmas celebration continued to grow. Children from the neighborhood would sip hot cocoa as he regaled them with his lavish story of the holiday barn dance long ago, and that magical girl who asked him to be her very last dance partner of the evening.

As the years passed, his beard went white like a proper Santa Claus beard, but he always remained a skinny fellow. Eventually old age forced him to stop participating in the chore of lugging the decorations out of his home and down into the valley, but he still hosted the event, and the community was enthusiastic to keep the tradition alive. He provided coffee and cocoa and cookies, and he continued to direct the setup of decorations from the top of Christmas Gulch.

Every holiday season, more people joined in the festivities. When old Mr. Christmas was restricted to a wheelchair, even that did not diminish his joy for life. He continued to welcome people into his home with holiday treats every November 30, and his celebration was the unequivocal start of the holiday season.

Long years had passed, and eventually Mr. Christmas was close to his end. He lay in a hospital bed, contemplating his happy life, reliving fond memories, and smiling to himself. He was feeling weak, but when the kind old nurse who had been attending to him entered the room with his breakfast, he adjusted his glasses and gave her a smile.

“Ma’am, do you think I could get you to tell me a story?”

She grinned and sat at the end of his bed. Before she spoke, she took a deep breath and let out a sigh. “Yes, I have a story to tell,” she replied quietly. “This is something I don’t share with people, but I’ve always kept it close to my heart. When I was just a girl, I used to live in a small farming community that was pretty far from the nearest city. I realize it’s the middle of April right now, but this is my favorite memory, and it’d be a shame to never share it.”

She helped Mr. Christmas take a sip of water and continued. “Our little village was holding its annual holiday celebration, and all of us were there; I don’t think a single villager wasn’t in attendance that night. It was cold outside, but it was warm in the barn, and the more we danced, the warmer it got. We danced in defiance of the cold!”

She let out a little laugh and continued. “We drank coffee with peppermint schnapps, and ate candied apples and sugared walnuts. I wore a dress that was a beautiful soft lavender-colored material, and that night, I spotted the handsomest man I’d ever seen. I watched him from the cross the barn, as I danced with everyone else all night, but he never came up to me, never asked me for a single dance. So when the band said they were playing their last number, I knew it was now or never.”

The nurse gave Mr. Christmas a smile that had a little pride in it. “You may not believe this,” she stated, “but I asked him, I asked if he wanted to dance with me, and he did, and I sang as we danced! I had never seen him before; he wasn’t one of us locals, and the next day was gone.” She sighed again and looked out the window. “But I’ve never forgotten him. I’ve never forgotten about that nameless man who swept me off my feet for a single song. I’ve never forgotten that night.” She looks back at her patient.

Mr. Christmas was smiling, but he was gone.