A Cabin Christmas

Blizzards are nasty, dramatic little things. They sneak up on people, no matter how dire the meteorologists predict them to be. They’re blinding in that way. Sudden. They often go from a cozy snowfall to a sheet of white so solid a pick-up wouldn’t even pass through. Foolish drivers are left stranded in the ditch. Businesses close up shop. Grocery stores don’t stock enough chicken broth and toilet paper.

Lillian Fitzgerald knew a blizzard was coming. A proper one at that. She could tell by the way her right knee ached. She woke up, the night before Christmas Eve no less, at three in the morning, her knee practically glued stiff-straight. She pounded at her leg with a wrinkled fist and muttered into the darkness, wincing while she did it.

“I got the message,” she said into the frosty night air. Her cabin on Rowdy Lake was big and old and chilly. Older than her, anyway. Which was saying something. It was the first cabin built out of the five that dotted the rocky shores—a secluded, peaceful little lake compared to the surrounding summer tourist magnets this part of Minnesota was known for. She massaged her leg. “You can ease up on my old bones now.”

This was typical; for Lillian to speak out loud to God. She had never been one for the formality of folded hands and bowed heads. If she wanted to talk to God, she simply talked to God. No fuss. And so far, she had received no complaints.

Her knee remained indifferent to her punches or massages, so she heaved it over the edge of the bed and pulled herself onto her feet. Her walker was at the ready next to the nightstand. She grabbed it and shuffled into the dining room, passing the grand picture window on her way to the kitchen. As she scooted by, something outside caught her eye. A light flicked on inside one of the other Rowdy cabins.

Lillian pushed her walker closer to the window and peered out. Could it be? Yes. The light was indeed coming from the Eckerline cabin. If you could call it that. Quite the surprise. Zander Eckerline hadn’t been back to Casper County since, well, it had to have been shortly before Lillian’s hip surgery, and that had been late May.

Poor thing. Such a horrid divorce with his no-good ex-wife. No wonder he stayed away all summer. Lillian was sure his ex took everything in the divorce, everything but Zander and the cabin—a small, aging shack that was in dire need of repair. Lillian shook her head at the thought of how cold it must be in that primitive little home. And why on earth would Zander come here for Christmas? Perhaps he had no one else to spend it with.

“Well, I suppose we have that in common,” she said out loud in the direction of Zander’s cabin.

Lillian slept fitfully the remainder of the night and decided to brew an extra cup of coffee the next morning. She was not fancy when it came to coffee. She had a tin of grounds and a coffee machine that her son had bought her five Christmases ago. A splash of heavy cream and that was that. She sat down in the dining room and smiled at the deceivingly bright winter sky. “You won’t fool me,” she said, then blew at the steam floating above her mug. Looking out at the winter morning, she noticed another bit of deception. She scowled down at the pair of lovers holding hands, walking across the ice for a romantic morning hike. It was Mr. Andrews. No doubt his wife was off on one of her many business trips, for the hand he was holding belonged to a woman with bleached blonde hair, almost as white as the snow. Certainly not Mrs. Andrews.

Lillian shook her head. Mr. Andrews had made the mistake of assuming that living on a private lake meant he could do private things on it, or adjacent to it. Or in it. How daft he must be to think that she hadn’t noticed his most recent affair.

There was a knock at the door.

“Well now, who could that be?”

There was another knock. Hasty this time.

“Coming, coming!” Lillian rose slowly from her chair at the dining table. “Give me a minute now,” she yelled. “I’m no spring chicken!”

She opened the door and was greeted by a gust of December air that carried the scent of cinnamon and chocolate. She was also greeted by two children, one with a confident grin and one with wide, shy eyes.

“Hi Mrs. Fitzgerald!” Tommy waved happily. “We baked cookies! Well, my mom baked cookies and we, well she, thought we should bring you some.”

The younger one, Laura, looked down at the plate of cookies in her hands, which was skillfully wrapped in cellophane. She shoved them up toward Lillian, her little arms straight as arrows. “Merry Christmas, Mrs. Fitzgerald,” she whispered.

“Yeah! Merry Christmas,” Tommy piped in.

“Well! What a wonderful surprise. And are those gingersnaps? How did you know? Those are my absolute favorites!”

“I helped with those, Mrs. Fitzgerald,” Laura spoke up, finally allowing her big brown eyes to meet Lillian’s.

“And I helped with the rum balls,” said Tommy proudly. “And my mom won’t even let me eat them.”

“Well, this is so lovely. Thank you. Merry Christmas to you both. And I’m so glad to see you! I wasn’t sure if you’d be coming to the lake this year.” She avoided saying why. Poor dears. “But I’m very glad you’re here. And tell your mom the same. Now, run along home. There’s a blizzard coming.”

“Really?” Tommy snapped his head to the sky. Sunny and warm, like his disposition. “Are you sure? It doesn’t look like it.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” Lillian nodded. “After 87 winters, I know when a blizzard’s coming, and this one’s going to be a nasty thing.”

Tommy continued to stare up at the sky, his cheeks rosy. Then he shrugged, clearly unconvinced. “Well, see you later, Mrs. Fitzgerald.” He poked Laura.

“Oh,” she gasped. “Yeah, bye, Mrs. Fitzgerald.”

“Bye bye now.” Lillian smiled. “Merry Christmas.”

Lillian sat down to eat a gingersnap and spotted Andrea Sloan, long and lithe, chopping wood in her backyard, her bright red hair a beacon of life against the snowwhite landscape. Julia Sloan was outside too, but she quickly disappeared into the trees, off for her morning walk no doubt, equipped with snowshoes that were almost as tall and wide as she. The Sloan sisters looked nothing alike. But they were both beautiful. Both unmarried. Both sharp. Both inherited the Sloan cabin. Both vocal and practicing environmentalists. They had spent the summer planning a solar panel installation, but the project was postponed due to an early winter.

Andrea set her axe down to wipe the sweat from her brow. She spotted Lillian in the window and gave her a friendly wave, which Lillian returned.

It wasn’t but three hours later that the quaint afternoon took a turn in an icy direction. That mean old Mr. Frost chuckled, his devilish laugh blowing across the lake at a frightful speed. And sure enough, when the sun sank along the western shore, it illuminated the approaching winter storm. As the sun disappeared, so did the lights along Rowdy Lake, and each cabin descended into darkness.

But one cabin stood illuminated.

The phone rang.

“Hello? — Yes, Elizabeth, I have power. — Of course! It’s no trouble at all. — Alrighty then. See you soon. Careful on the walk over, now.”

A knock at the door.

“Zander? My goodness, I could have mistaken you for Paul Bunyan himself!”

Zander Eckerline brought a hand to his thick, dark beard. “Oh. Uh, I guess I haven’t shaved in a while. I wasn’t expecting to really see anyone for Christmas but—”

“Let me guess,” Lillian jumped in. “Your power’s gone out, hasn’t it?”

He nodded. “And it seems you’re the only one who wasn’t affected. Your cabin stood out like the star on top of a Christmas tree.”

“What a lovely metaphor, dear.”

Just the tiniest bit of blush peaked through behind Zander’s hairy cheeks.

“Please come in, come in,” Lillian ushered him inside and closed the heavy door behind him, as the temperature was dropping a mile a minute. “You’re the first one here, but Elizabeth and her children are on the way. I imagine it won’t be long until—”

The phone rang. Lillian greeted Andrea Sloan on the other end of the line.

“I told Julia we needed to get those solar panels up before this winter, and I definitely told her ‘I told you so!’” Andrea said loudly through the phone. Loud enough that Zander, ten feet away, gave Lillian an amused smile.

“Well, come on over then,” said Lillian. “I know your qualms about the Christmas holiday, but I don’t make much of a fuss over here.” Lillian was aware of the Sloan sisters’ opinions about the dreadful marriage between consumerism and Christmas, which had eventually caused them to stop celebrating all together. And Lillian really couldn’t argue their point. It hadn’t been her generation who had turned Christmas into a marketing campaign, anyway. For goodness’ sake, she had spent many Christmases eating potatoes as the main course! And her older brother had once wrapped up a piece of coal in an old newspaper, labeled it from Santa Claus, and given it to her as a gift. The prank gift was the only present she had received that year (it was the only present anyone had received that year). But the scolding her brother got from their parents was gift enough for Lillian. “And I’d love it if you and Julia came over, regardless. Besides, the whole lake is here!”

The moment she hung up the phone, there was another knock at the door.

“Mr. Andrews,” Lillian greeted him. “Merry Christmas!”

“Lillian. Merry Christmas,” Mr. Andrews cleared his throat. He stood in the entryway next to the blonde woman Lillian had spotted earlier that morning. “I’m sorry to be a bother, but the power is out and,” he spotted Zander through the open door. “Well, it looks like Zander had the same idea. May we stay with you for a while until the power comes back on? It’s just getting too cold. The fireplace doesn’t heat the place up. And I forgot to get wood, anyway.”

“I would imagine, a place like yours? Well, even if you had wood...it’s so grand!” said Lillian. Mr. Andrews looked embarrassed and she placed a hand on his shoulder. “And beautiful. Please come inside.” She made way for them as they scooted inside. “And who’s this? You must introduce me to this lovely young woman.”

“My name’s Rebecca,” Lillian could see now that Rebecca wasn’t quite so young. Not old. But Lillian had made Mr. Andrews out to be a naughty fisherman, looking to catch a younger woman, when in fact, Rebecca could only be a couple of years shy of forty. Rebecca offered her hand, which Lillian took.

“Nice to meet you, Rebecca,” she said.

“Likewise.” Rebecca smiled. A pretty smile. “Thanks for letting us crash your Christmas Eve.”

“It’s quite a welcome surprise, really,” Lillian said. “My son won’t be coming. So, I would have been all alone. Now, look at the party I’ve got!”

At that, Tommy burst through the door. “Hello again, Mrs. Fitzgerald. We brought more cookies!”

Lillian ruffled Tommy’s hair and took the plate of cookies he pushed in her direction. “How wonderful! I’ll be needing more now that I’ve got a party on my hands,” Tommy looked around, noticing Zander, Mr. Andrews, and Rebecca.

“Sweet,” he said, then whispered to Lillian. “Do you think I can try one of those rum balls?”

Before Lillian could answer, little Laura, along with her mother, Elizabeth, walked in.

“Tommy,” Elizabeth scolded. “Take your boots off. You’re trailing snow all over Mrs. Fitzgerald’s kitchen floor.”

“Sorry, Mrs. Fitzgerald.” Tommy traipsed over to the entryway to take off his boots.

“It’s no bother,” said Lillian. “And please. Call me Lillian.”

Only a moment later, the Sloan sisters walked in. Andrea Sloan lamented as she took off a rather furry, Russian-looking hat, that they had been stuck inside a dark, cold cabin all by themselves, if only those solar panels had been put up this past summer.

Julia Sloan sighed and ignored her sister’s comment. “Is that a roast I smell in the oven?” She walked confidently to the oven and peered inside, confirming her suspicion. “Well, my, my. Would you look at the size of that?” Julia glanced at Lillian, her sharp eyes glittering. “It’s almost as if you’d planned to have company!”

Laura and Tommy settled on the couch with a pile of fuzzy blankets and turned on Rudolph, which was playing on PBS, one of the few channels Lillian still had access to (as she hadn’t set up a smart TV, those were the types of worldly progressions her son would have helped her adjust to). The adults settled in front of the picture window and watched the blizzard roar but merely a pane of glass away. Lillian asked Zander to dust off her humble collection of forgotten wine, and soon enough, the party was happily eating roast and sipping Cabernet.

“I’m very sorry about the divorce, Zander,” said Mr. Andrews genuinely if a bit drunkenly. “That must have been very hard.”

“Yes, well, thanks. It was.” Zander took a sip of wine in favor of saying anything else on the subject.

“Got any advice on dealing with the whole legal process?”

“Advice?” Zander asked. “Why are you…”

“I’m sure you’ve noticed that Rebecca isn’t…Mrs. Andrews. Not yet, anyway.” He squeezed Rebecca’s hand and gave her a warm smile.

“Well, yeah, I noticed,” Zander said cautiously. “But I didn’t want to pry, you know.”

“You must all think I’m a terrible man,” Mr. Andrews shook his head. “But it’s been going on for so long…”

“What has?” Elizabeth asked.

“The affairs.”

“Well, we all knew that,” Andrea mumbled.

Mr. Andrews blanched. “Not mine! Stella’s.”

“Stella’s having an affair?” Zander’s shaggy eyebrows raised.

“She’s been having an affair since the day we got married. Twenty years and I didn’t…” He trailed off. Rebecca placed a hand on his leg. “It’s time. I’ve got to move on. I’ve been trying to move on anyways, as I guess you’ve all noticed. Stella’s got all the money, so it’ll be hard. It’s embarrassing, really. Look at me, a lowly little house husband.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that,” said Julia.

Mr. Andrews looked at Zander. “I know you got the cabin when your divorce was all said and done. And that’s all I’d like. How did you manage to hang on to it?”

“Well,” Zander replied. “My cabin is, you know, a little different than yours, if you know what I mean.”

“Not to Stella,” Mr. Andrews said. “She thinks our cabin is a shack like yours. No offense.”

Zander laughed. “None taken. I’ll give you my lawyer’s contact information.”

“Thanks.” Mr. Andrews went on. “She’s got a house in the suburbs, a condo in Siesta Key, and some properties in Palm Beach. Who knows, she’s probably purchasing an apartment in Biarritz right now.”

“In Bia-where?” asked Andrea.

“France,” Mr. Andrews explained. “She’s in France.”

“She’s in France right now?” Zander asked, looking amazed.

“Yes. She has…someone over there.”

Rebecca shook her head.

There was silence in the group.

“Well,” Lillian broke it. “She’s missing out. Who needs France when you have Rowdy Lake?”

“I bet France doesn’t have rum balls,” said Tommy.

“Tommy!” Elizabeth put a hand to her heart. “I thought you were watching Rudolph. How long have you been listening?”

“I know what an affair is, Mom,” Tommy rolled his eyes. “And I know what divorce is. Jackson’s parents are divorced, remember? His dad has a girlfriend that looks like—”

“Yes, I remember,” Elizabeth jumped in.

“At least Jackson still has a dad.” Tommy looked at his fuzzy socks, which were covered in cartoon Christmas trees wearing sunglasses.

“Oh, my love,” Elizabeth pulled Tommy into a hug. She looked up at the rest of the party. “It’s our first Christmas without him,” she whispered. “Christmas Eve was his favorite, and this year we…I didn’t know what to do. I don’t know what I was thinking—planning on spending it all alone at the cabin.”

“Well, I guess you’re not alone after all,” Zander offered Elizabeth a smile, which she returned. Tommy buried his face in her red slacks.

“You know, Tommy, your dad used to love rum balls,” said Lillian.

“Really?” Tommy looked up, eyes wet.

“He certainly did,” Lillian nodded. “He brought me cookies every year. Just like you did this year. He would sit and chat with my son, Robert, and I’ll tell you what, I never got to eat a rum ball because those two would eat them all in one sitting!”

Tommy giggled.

“I bet your dad and Robert are eating rum balls up in Heaven right now,” Lillian said. “So, what do you say we try a rum ball, in honor of them?” She looked to Elizabeth, who nodded in approval, her lower lip trembling.

Tommy’s eyes lit up, and he ran to the kitchen counter. He grabbed two rum balls, one for Lillian, one for himself.

“Cheers,” said Lillian, and she knocked her rum ball against Tommy’s.

“Cheers,” Tommy smiled, then took a bite. His face contorted, and he took a huge gulp. “Blah!” he said, smacking his lips together. “I can’t believe my dad liked these!”

Everyone laughed, and Zander offered to finish the rest of the rum ball. Laura came to the kitchen and grabbed three gingersnaps, all for herself.

“I can’t believe the power isn’t back on yet,” said Elizabeth. “It’s weird. Maybe I should call Casper Power. I hate to bother them on Christmas Eve, though.”

“Oh, I’m sure it will be back on soon enough,” Lillian offered Elizabeth another glass of wine. “And what more do we need? We’ve got food, shelter, and most importantly, each other."

And as they all chatted and laughed, Lillian excused herself, saying she needed to take her pills. She shuffled to her bedroom and grabbed her walker. Then she quietly made her way to the porch and went out the back door. She clicked on a flashlight and shoved her way through the gathering snow. The wind almost blew her over, and it was frightfully difficult to see. But the journey to the electrical shed was only 20 feet or so, and she knew the way.

It was an old electrical shed, installed along with the very first cabin on Rowdy Lake. Lillian’s cabin. All the forthcoming cabins—Eckerline, Andrews, Crabtree, Sloan—stemmed out from Lillian’s cabin and from the very same electrical shed.

“How funny!” her son had said the summer he discovered the circuit breakers. He had been quite the handyman. He would have taken good care of the cabin. “Don’t tell the neighbors, but you could cut all their power if you really wanted to, just with the flip of a switch!”

When Lillian came back inside the cabin, all she heard was laughter.

The people of Rowdy Lake were enjoying themselves so much that they simply didn’t notice that the power was back on—their lake homes, all together, stuttered to life and shone like little stars in the night.