Special thanks to L. M. McCleland – author and contributor of this story!

I sat on my bed feeling a little guilty. Not too much though, just a little. The wind yelled at me, but I tried to ignore it. I laid back and jammed with my tunes for a little while, and I’m sure I dozed off for a few minutes. The afternoon still dragged on. I stared at the window for a while. I stared at the dresser, it didn’t seem to care. I stared at the walls. I stared at the ceiling until I noticed a large rectangle up in the corner, with a little pull-chain hanging down. I got up and yanked on it. A trap door opened with a ladder leading up. Dust and spider webs stretched out and rained down on me. I coughed and waved at the fog. Cool! I’d found the attic! Of course I went up.
The room was long and vaulted, lit only by small windows at each end. It was cold and dusty, and very still up there. I stared making out shapes as my eyes adjusted to the dim light. There were old lamps, boxes of all sizes, some old trunks, round hat boxes, and a clothes line with a lot of old clothes on hangers. A faint smell of moth balls hung in the air.
I walked up and down inspecting my treasures. The clothes were mostly old dresses and suits with some overalls thrown in. The hat boxes had quite a collection in them. The drama kids at school would love all this stuff.
One of the boxes had several pictures that made up a who’s-who of my ancestors. I tried to remember how it went. I think Great-Great Grandpa Lautner homesteaded the first 40 acres. His son, my father’s grandfather, bought out the neighbors, and the farm hit its current 120 acre size. My grandpa lived in this house all his life. He had 2 sons; Dad and Uncle Howard. Both of them ran off to the city, although they inherited the farm. Now they lease out the land to cover the taxes.
There were some pictures of the farm, as it was in the old days. The barren, black-and-white images of muddy fields, dotted with tree stumps, made it look harsh and unforgiving. No wonder no one smiles in those old photographs!
I scouted among the trunks, and found on labeled “Alex Lautner.” That was my grandpa’s name. I pried at the lock for a while with my pocket knife, but no success. After a quick search, I found a short metal bar, and wedged it behind the flip-up lock. A couple of good pulls, and it swung open.
The trunk was chock-full of stuff which I sorted through. There were some souvenirs from World War I, some clothes, and lots of pictures. I recognized one of them as his wedding picture.
My mind was flooded with memories of him as a looked at the picture. I remembered sitting on his knee when I was a little kid. We were in this very house, watching the Vikings-Packers game on TV. He could hardly contain himself as he cheered on Fran Tarkenton and his beloved Vikings. He was still wearing his white shirt and neatly pressed black pants from his Sunday suit. We had all gone to church that morning. His hair was slicked back and I could smell his hair tonic. He’d get wiggling when the game got tense, and sometimes I’d almost fall off his knee, but he always caught me just in time, and then tickled me. I’d giggle and grab onto his arm.
There were also the times that he let me sit on his lap while he drove his old Ford tractor. He’d let me hold the steering wheel and taught me to drive in a straight line by aiming for a landmark at the far end of the field. I felt the plow dig through the clods of earth as we broke through the cold, spring dampened fields, after the long winter. The morning would start at dawn with chores, then we’d have a huge breakfast. Next we’d head out to the field and plow all day until sundown, breaking only when exhausted, but Grandpa worked harder than anyone I have ever known. He was the first to mechanize the farm. He says he had to because of his wimpy sons, winking at Dad as he said it.
I recalled Grandpa’s funeral, too. He worked the farm right up till the end, but he lost a lot of steam when Grandma died a couple years before. I was a pallbearer, but I was a little too young to know what a funeral was all about.
I paused at another picture in the trunk. It showed Great-Grandpa and all his family gathered around an enormous Christmas tree. Grandpa looked my age. Hum, déjà vu. I tried to imagine Christmas on the farm during the 1930s. It would have been the Great Depression. No money for a big celebration, no real gifts. But, there were chores that had to be done every day, no matter what. Yuck!
I looked on the back of the picture. It was dated the day after Christmas, and there was a note that said, “This was the best Christmas ever.”
“And it really was,” said a voice from across the attic. I was so startled, that I yelled and jumped to my feet. There stood Grandpa! Just like I remembered him! He chuckled and said again, “What’s the matter, Greg? You look like you’re seeing a ghost.”
“G…g…Grandpa?” I shuddered. I was backing up, stumbling over boxes and trunks, but I didn’t take my eyes off him.
Someone pounded on my bedroom door. I glanced at the trap door, then back at Grandpa. He glanced down at it too, then he gestured toward it and stepped back. I crawled to it and poked my head down in to my bedroom. I heard the Squirt’s voice through the door. “Are you all right Greg? I heard you yell!” The doorknob rattled. Good thing I had locked it.
“I’m fine Squirt! I, ah… was just having a dream!” I shouted over his knocking.
“You sure? Can I come in? Huh?” he said.
“No! Get lost. I’m tired, just let me sleep.” I held my breath as he considered it.
“Okay, Greg.” He sounded very disappointed. Oh, why me?
“You shouldn’t be so hard on him,” said Grandpa, standing over me. I jerked back and crabbed quickly away. “He really likes you, you know,” he said.
“Where have I heard that before?” I said, as I stared at him.
“Grandpa, is it really you? I mean, you’re… you’re,” I waved my hands uselessly.
“Dead?” he offered, and smiled.
“Yeah, shouldn’t you be in heaven or something? How?”
He bowed and said “Here I am in the… well it’s not exactly flesh, but here I am!” Then he chuckled again.
“Why?” I asked.
He frowned and said, “Because you seem so unhappy, Greg. I want everyone in this house to be happy. Here it is Christmas, and you’re moping around, snipping at everybody.”
I looked at the tops of my shoes. “Yeah, well… we’re trapped in here by the blizzard, and all my friends are back home. We may not even get any gifts. What a dud it’ll be this year.”
Grandpa pursed his lips and said slowly, “So let me get this straight. Christmas will be no fun because there aren’t any friends or presents?
“Maybe it sounds stupid, but that’s how I feel.”
“What about family? You’re all here together in this grand old house,” he said, with his arms outstretched.
“Oh c’mon, it’s like a morgue,” I said. “I mean, I’m sorry, Grandpa, I don’t see how Christmas can amount to much around here.”
Grandpa reared back in a big laugh. “Sure it can,” he said as he sat down next to me. He picked up the picture from where I’d dropped it. “Take this picture here. It was a great one.”
“But everyone looks so stern in this picture. I mean, look at you here. You look like you’re in pain,” I said.
Grandpa chuckled. “It was just the custom back then to look formal all the time. A family portrait was a big thing for us. Besides, my brother was standing on my foot, see?” He pointed at the bottom of the photo.
I looked carefully. Sure enough, he was right. “Well look at that,” I said.
“You want to hear about that Christmas?” he asked. I nodded.
He leaned back. He took a deep breath and began. As he started talking, images flooded my mind and I could clearly see everything he described.
“It started a couple days before Christmas, actually. We all got to take a bath, which was special, because we normally did that on the night before church. Mama built up a big fire in the stove and started heating water. Papa got out a metal vat that served as our tub. When the water was warm enough, Papa and I poured it in the vat. Then I hauled more water in from the well for Mama to heat up. My sisters bathed first, one at a time. All four of them used the same batch of water because it took so long to heat up.
“When they were done, Papa and I emptied the vat into the gravel out back, and refilled it with Mama’s warm water. Then I hauled in some more from the well. Papa, my big brother and I then took our baths in the same water.  By that time, the house was all steamy and smoky. Mama got to bathe in her own batch of water; Papa said she deserved it.
“The next day was Christmas Eve. In addition to the regular morning chores, we put out some extra feed to hold the animals through late on Christmas morning, because we all changed into our Sunday clothes. When the sun was high, Papa went into the barn and took out his pride and joy. We all lined up to see it emerge; a big sleigh that he’d built himself. Each piece was painted a bright color, and was made of just the right kind of wood for its purpose. I never got tired of looking at it. Papa wiped the whole thing down with a tack rag, and polished it till it gleamed. He hitched a couple horses to it, and all of us kids climbed in the back and huddled under a big quilt for warmth.
“Then Papa strode up the porch to the front door of the house, and knocked. Mama answered and acted surprised when she saw him. Papa said in a loud voice, ‘Fair lady, would you do me the honor of accompanying me for a ride?’
“Mama curtsied and said, ‘Why thank you, kind sir,’ and took his proffered arm. He scooped up a big bag of presents and treats from her side and escorted her to the front seat of the sleigh. We were all giggling in back, but they pretended we weren’t there.
“We rode 2 miles down the road to the Mayer’s homestead. The sleigh’s runners crunched and scraped through the snow, while the horses made stomping and puffing noises. We could see their breath in the cold air. As the sleigh creaked out its melody, the horses blended in their notes, small bells on the leather reins jingling in harmony. It was the most beautiful Christmas symphony on earth, as we rode along. The meadows and fields were so white in the sun, we had to squint our eyes. Once in a while we could feel the frost falling on us, as we’d glide by the snow-covered trees.
“We all wrestled under the quilt, while Mama and Papa would talk in low voices. Once in a while he would lean over and kiss her on the cheek. She swatted his arm in mock protest and we could hear his soft laugh.
“It was getting dark when we arrived. The Mayers must have known we were coming, because their 2 oldest boys were waiting to take our horses back into their barn. We were dazzled by the warmth and light inside their house. It smelled of roast goose, sweet potatoes, cinnamon, fresh baked bread, and hot cider. Mrs. Mayer gave all a big hug as we came in. Papa carried in that big magic sack that most of us couldn’t take our eyes off of. The sounds of children playing and running echoed through the rooms, as we were paired up, and found corners to sleep in.
“After a while, Mama called us into the kitchen. We went in and saw a banquet that took our breath away. Times had been hard for a lot of years, so it had been a long time since we had seen such a feast. The goose was in the center of the table, sweet potato pancakes, baked squash, stewed tomatoes from our larder, and sweet pickles and relish that I remember Mama making last summer.
“We raced to find places at the table, but didn’t sit until the adults had. Mr. Mayer offered a blessing on the food and we ate the best meal I’d had in years. A couple times, I made eyes at Laura Mayer from across the table. I’d taken kind of a shine to her, and she didn’t seem to mind at all. I ate until I was ready to bust, but then, Mama brought out tins of cookies and sweet cakes that she and the girls had been making for days. We each could have one of every kind.
“Papa eventually wiped his mouth and announced, ‘Mrs. Mayer, Mama, girls, that was a magnificent feast. You’ve outdone yourselves.’ Mama just stood there and blushed as he planted a big one on her cheek in front of us all. Each of us in turn hugged both mothers in thanks. Their aprons still were hot from the stove.
“We waited in the front room for the womenfolk to join us from the kitchen, then we all gathered around as Mr. Mayer got out a big white Bible. He read the Christmas story from the Gospel of St. Luke to us. Laura went to the piano and accompanied us as we sang several hymns.
“Next morning, I helped with the chores, and we wolfed down a nice breakfast. Mr. Mayer and Papa kept the front room off limits all morning until we were done eating. When we were allowed in there, we found on of the walls studded with stockings for us children. We scrambled around till we found the one with our name on it. Each of us got an apple, a candy cane and a special present of some kind. Some of the girls got hair pieces made of bone, others got a hair brush. Some of the boys got carved, wooden soldiers or cars, and I got a carving knife of my own, from Papa’s collection. It may not seem like much to you, but it was plenty. I was thrilled! I ate my apple right away, but saved the candy cane for someone special.”
Grandpa stopped and leaned back with a twinkle in his eye. I could tell he was remembering the past with a lot of passion.

Also read   | Chapter 1  | Chapter 2 |  Chapter 3 |   Chapter 4 |   Chapter 5 |  Chapter 6 |  Chapter 7 |
–by  L. M. McCleland