Winter's Tale

Colleen Winter parted the drapes and peered into the darkness. The snowfall had reached halfway up the side of the house and was still coming down hard. “I hope this ends soon, honey,” she told her young boy. “All our guests have canceled, so we’re stuck inside for now. But don’t fret; we’ll find some fun things to do.”

“I’m bored, Mom. Can I open my presents tonight instead of tomorrow?” Her seven-year-old son bounced off the coffee table and threw himself on the living room couch.

“Please be careful, David.” She cringed every time he roughhoused. “And, no, you’ll have to wait for Christmas morning. Santa comes tonight.”

Colleen chewed her lip and sighed. Winter’s Hearth, her eight-bedroom bed-and-breakfast, nestled in the woods of Vermont, had struggled this season. With only a trace of snow this winter until now, the ski bums that usually came to stay fled to other mountains. Adding insult to injury, a blizzard had hit New England, dropping five feet of snow, with more on the way. A sixteen-member wedding party, reserved for eight nights over the holiday, was stuck in New York. Everyone canceled.

But what most troubled the thirty-nine-year-old widow was that she had left David's prescription on the drugstore counter—and only realized it upon returning home. She could not get back to the pharmacy before the icy storm struck. Colleen prayed the plows would open the roads again. They usually managed, but this storm was a record-breaker.

“Mom, the cable is out, and there’s no internet. This sucks.”

“David! Don’t let me ever catch you using bad language like that. You know better—especially at Christmas.”

Her son pouted. “Sorry.”

“Come on, help me with dinner. Let’s make a fancy do for ourselves if we can't entertain guests.”

“No creamed onions.”

Colleen chuckled while stacking wood in the massive fireplace that lent her B&B its eponymous name. “I promise. No creamed onions.” She grabbed David’s arms and danced him around the kitchen as the radio played Christmas carols. “Let’s make lasagna. It’s easy and perfect for this weather.”

David dunked wide noodles into the boiling water while Colleen made salad. They sat together in front of the fire in the hearth and played cards while the aromas of baked lasagna and homemade Italian bread wafted from the kitchen. She was glad they had no television; it was turning into a real old-fashioned Yule.

A heavy pounding at the front door startled them as they sat down for dinner at the kitchen table. “Somebody’s at the door, Mom.”

David pushed back his chair and ran to the entryway, followed closely by Colleen. When she opened the solid oak door, the snow had drifted against the house, creating a hollow in front of the door. It reminded her of the inside of an igloo. A tall, thin man peered out from the oversized hood of his black anorak, with snow piled high on his shoulders. He’d been out in the storm for a while.

“Oh my god,” Colleen said. “Come in before you freeze to death.”

He stepped inside. “Thnk you. I’m afraid I don’t have a reservation.”

She slammed the door shut against the wind. “Don’t worry; we’ve got plenty of room.” Colleen took his heavy coat and shook the wet flakes onto the stone entry hall floor. “How in the world did you get here?” She hung the long anorak on a peg.

“I didn’t want to intrude; I saw the lights.”

“Well, welcome to Winter’s Hearth B&B.” David tucked behind his mother’s legs and peeked out at the stranger. “I’m Colleen Winter, and this rascal is my son, David.” 

“Hello, young fellow. My name is Ajal.” The man stuck his hand out to shake, but David, outgoing and friendly, withdrew behind his mother’s skirt. Ajal wove his thin fingers together as if to thaw his hands.

“Oh, you must be frozen stiff. Take a pew in front of the fire to warm yourself.”

“The cold doesn’t bother me. But I must admit, this is impressive snowfall.”

“That’s one way of putting it. What in the world brought you out on a night like this?”

“Business. I was in the neighborhood and thrilled to find you open.”

“Well, I’ve made lasagna, fresh bread, and a salad for dinner. Why don’t you sit down, and we’ll eat together in front of the fire.”

“Thank you. That would be wonderful.”

Ajal took the large overstuffed chair facing the fireplace. He seemed to uncurl as he stretched. His thin arms and long legs filled a black wool turtleneck sweater and dark pants. He wore pointy, alligator Western boots. David eyed him from behind the couch. When Ajal grinned back, the boy ducked out of sight.

Colleen returned with a bottle of wine and steaming plates of food. She handed her guest a tray and sat at the end of the couch. David mumbled that he was no longer hungry, but after some encouragement and the promise of dessert, he decided to eat by himself in the kitchen. She set him up again at the table.

“Mom, I don’t like him.”

“You don’t have to like him, David. He’s a guest. And on a night like this, we must offer shelter. Besides, where’s your Christmas spirit?”

“Bah, humbug.”

Colleen laughed, rubbed his hair, and kissed him on the forehead. “I love you.”

“Me too.”

“Kids,” she said to the stranger when she returned. “Do you have children?”

He smiled. “No. I never married.”

She found Ajal’s deep-set brown eyes mesmerizing and handsome in a Dickens-character kind of way. He was a slender man with long, dark brown hair that flowed to his shoulders, making him seem more youthful than his apparent middle age. A long, aquiline nose, tan skin, and crooked grin completed his face.

“Ajal. That’s an unusual name. What does it mean?”

“It’s Arabic. My family was originally from Egypt.”

“Oh, so you don’t celebrate Christmas, then?”

“I celebrate many holidays throughout the year.”

“Okay, Mr. Enigmatic, would you like more wine?”

The snow cloaked the outside world in a haunting silence. The radio played traditional carols, and the fire crackled—its dancing flames filled the living room with welcome warmth. On a kind of storybook Christmas Eve, a sense of peace descended on Colleen, and she felt comfortable with her unexpected guest. They shared a second bottle of wine after dinner. 

Ajal rose to admire the aromatic Christmas tree in the corner of the room, sparkling with multicolored lights. Colleen had draped evergreen boughs on the fireplace mantle and windows, and golden candles lit the room with an amber glow.

“Your place is beautiful. Very tasteful and inviting,” he said, fingering a bit of mistletoe woven into the fir branches. “Losing your husband and having to handle everything alone must have been wrenching and very difficult.”

Colleen sat up and drew a breath. “Yes, it’s been a challenge since Roy died. But how did you know that?”

“I was working in the area and heard about it. A sudden heart attack, wasn’t it?”

The painful memory pulled her from her reverie. “Ajal, what do you do for a living that brings you to this rural part of Vermont? There’s not much business around here.”

“Collections. I work on commission for a large collection agency.”

“Oh my god, you didn’t come here because we’re behind on our bills, did you? Because once this storm is over, we’ll have plenty of paying skiers over the next two months. And lots of guests over the summer and leaf-peeping season.” Her voice trembled. “We’ll be able to pay our arrears—”

“I told you; I was passing in the snow and saw your lights. Nothing to do with your finances, I promise.”

Her shoulders sagged in relief. The grandfather clock chimed eight. “I’m sorry. It’s getting close to David’s bedtime. You’ll be in the Blue Room, top of the stairs and down the hall on your right. Let me put my son to bed, and I’ll show you.”

“Mom!” David called from the kitchen.

Colleen excused herself and attended to her son. “Finished? It’s time for bed; you know you’ll be up early tomorrow to see what Santa brought.”

David whined. “Is he gonna stay?”

“Yes, now don’t be difficult. Ajal seems like a nice man—and we need the money. Besides, if this storm keeps up, we could use his help to dig out. Now come say goodnight.”

David trailed his mother to the edge of the living room. “Night,” he mumbled and turned around to climb the stairs.

“Wait, young man. I have a present for you.” Ajal strode to his long, hefty anorak. He pulled a small, gift-wrapped present from a pocket and handed it to David. “Would it be all right to let him open it before bed?”

David’s eyes lit up. “Can I please, Mom?”

Colleen didn’t have much for him this Christmas. It would be hard to say no. “Okay, just this one.” David grabbed the gift. “What do you say?”

“Thank you.”

He ripped off the wrapping. “Oh, cool, a sports car.”

“Not just any car,” Ajal said. “A radio control car. The batteries are already in it.”

David placed the hot rod on the floor and toggled the throttle on the controller. The car skidded around corners, spinning and crashing into furniture while he pretended to be a race car driver.

Ajal smiled. “I think he likes it.”

“Thank you,” Colleen said. “That was much too kind.”

Five minutes of chaotic play later, she’d had enough. "It’s time for bed now, David. You can play with it again tomorrow. Don’t forget to brush your teeth, and I’ll come up to tuck you in.”

“Ah, mom.” He stomped upstairs, and Colleen followed.

Ajal placed the toy car on the edge of the stair-steps and the controller on a cabinet alongside. Soon, Colleen came down and rejoined him in the living room. She spread the presents that “Santa” would leave under the tree.

“Please tell me how in the world you had a child’s gift in your coat? It had to be for your kid, or maybe for a client’s?”

“My coat has deep pockets, and I always carry things that help defuse sorrow and tension when I come by. I have dog and cat treats as well,” he said. “No big deal.”

It seemed logical to her, but having just the right present for a seven-year-old was weird—a big coincidence, especially in the middle of a snowstorm. But Colleen felt mellow, so she made nothing more of it.

They sat on the plush couch, polished off the last of the wine, and listened to the tick-tock of a grandfather clock in the hall. At midnight, Colleen poured them each a glass of tawny port. “To a very merry Christmas,” she toasted, “and happiness and health in the new year.”

“Slainte,” he said, and they clinked glasses.

She sank back into the cushions. “I haven’t had this much to drink in a long time. I have to rest for a moment.” With that, Colleen fluffed a cushion, put her feet up, and fell asleep. Ajal slipped her shoes off and tucked her under a wool throw. He crossed the room and sat in the oversized armchair, watching her sleep.

At six o’clock on Christmas morning, David appeared halfway down the stairs. He leaned over the banister and called out in a loud whisper. “Mom! Mom! Can we open presents now?

Colleen propped her eyelids open and groaned. “Oh, I have such a headache.” She pushed herself up from the couch and noticed Ajal sitting with his arms crossed in the chair. “I’m so embarrassed. I didn’t mean to fall asleep. Have you been there all night?”

“Mom, please.” David was inching down the stairs, begging for her go-ahead to dive into his presents.

“Merry Christmas,” Ajal said. “It stopped snowing at last.”

Colleen felt her bed hair and moaned. “Don’t look at me. I’ll make some coffee.” She pivoted to David, who struggled to contain his enthusiasm. “Okay, you can come down and open one. But you must wait until I have some coffee before we open more.”

David bounded down the stairs and stepped on the toy car. He flew to the landing below, striking his head on the banister. A long gash opened above his right ear, and blood gushed like a fire hose everywhere. Stunned, he put his hand on his temple and cried. “Waaa. Mommy!”

“No, no, no, no, no!” She dashed to David’s side, checked the damage, and ordered Ajal to get a dish towel from the kitchen. She placed the cloth over David’s cut and used pressure on the wound. The fabric soon turned sopping wet with blood. Colleen turned pale and looked at Ajal. “Please help me get him to a hospital. I don’t have any of his medicine to stop the bleeding. He’ll die if we don’t. He’s a hemophiliac.”

Ajal stood motionless, watching. “There’s really nothing I can do. The roads are impassable.”

She held her son in her arms and sobbed. “Please, no. Don’t let him die. He’s only a boy.” She craned her neck to the ceiling. “Take me instead.”

Ajal shook his head in sympathy and walked to the coat rack near the front door.

“That’s it?” Colleen cried. “You’re leaving? You won’t help?”

He spread his hands. “There’s nothing I can do.”

“You can help me save him. Take us to the hospital, please.”

“I don’t have a car. And with that amount of blood loss, it’ll be too late.”

David’s crying softened to whimpers. Colleen rocked him back and forth. “Not on Christmas, not today. I can’t lose my son, too. Please. Why did you bring that toy?”

Ajal put on his anorak coat. “I have to leave now.”

She pressed her face to David’s head and kissed him. She had no more words as life drained away from her son. Colleen’s eyes pleaded for help.

Ajal paused to watch the tragic scene. He had other places to be, but something held him back. He reached into his coat pocket and extracted a cold-pack bag and a small leather case. Approaching David’s side, he removed a vial of precious blood coagulant and a hypodermic needle from the kit and injected the boy with the shot that would save him.

Colleen’s jaw dropped in surprise, and as David’s bleeding lessened, an expression of relief and gratitude flooded her face. “You carry medicine like that around? Are you a doctor? Who are you?”

“I like to be prepared. Like a Boy Scout.” He pulled the hood of his anorak over his head. “Goodbye, Colleen. It was lovely getting to know you—and don’t worry, he’ll be fine. An ambulance is on its way now.”

“Wait,” Colleen called out. “Thank you for saving his life.”

Ajal lowered his head. “I didn’t so much as save him, as I didn’t take him.”