Lovely, Dark and Deep

Christmas 2024

It was a waste of time, as far as I was concerned and told Dad exactly that, “she’s fine, Dad” Old Lady Aldershot was always fine, she was probably better than we were but he didn’t listen.  By the time I got my helmet squeezed over my head and my boots on, Dad had the big sled warming and was starting my little one.  His was big, heavy, designed to blaze trails. Mine was lighter, more nimble, made to follow.

The snow had piled up to over a meter in the last day, so I hop scotched my way in his boot prints, trying to keep the snow from avalanching down the back of my boots as I followed in his track.  I watched him straddle the big machine as he shouted back to me “follow my trail.  Don’t go off of it.  The snow is too deep and you’ll end up getting stuck in it. And don’t forget, the woods are lovely, dark and deep and we have miles to go before we sleep”  He had a smile on his face, his gloved hand raised like some knight about to go into battle.  He opened the throttle, lurching down our driveway, spraying snow behind him.  I really had no choice but to follow.  I opened the throttle too fast, angry at having been pulled out of a warm house on the coldest, darkest, longest night of the year.  The jolt of the little machine almost threw me off into the snow.  By the time I regained control, the only sign of my father was the flattened trail he left on the gravel road leading out of our camp.

The grips on the machine started to warm my gloves, the trees speeding past on either side, We headed off the road, down the trail to the Aldershot place.  She’d lived alone there for a very long time, since my Dad was a kid and why he thought she needed help on this particular night, so close to Christmas was beyond me. The old lady, as far as I was concerned, was made of bone and steel, she smelled of lavender and wd40 and there was nothing ever going to carry her away.  My machine dipped, wandering away from his trail.  I yanked it back, muttering to myself, I had to be more careful.

“Why did he keep saying that?  Miles to go before I sleep?”  This was his thing.  He’d latch on to something, something no one else seemed to get and kept repeating it.  I let back on the throttle a bit so that the light on the sled would catch the outline of his track.  It was like the time he kept telling me “there is nothing good or bad, but thinking makes it so.”  He’d repeated that for months.  I shook my head at it, rounding the last curve of the trail and opened the machine to let it run toward the Aldershot place, knowing that the run from here was clean and straight.

The steps to her place hadn’t been shovelled. I had to rooster my way over the snow, jumping from one of Dad’s steps to the other, until I made it up the three steps to the door.  By the time I pulled the door open, I heard Dad’s voice coming from the front room. “It’s Ok Portia, we figured something must have happened.  We hadn’t seen you for a bit, so we thought we’d take the sleds out for a run and drop by.  You remember Ben?”

The old lady sat on her couch, leaning on its arm.  She looked up at me for a strangely long time and then winked.  “Why yes, it is the East, and he is the son, arise fair son and kill the envious moon.”  She winked again, patting the seat cushion beside her. I looked over at my Dad who was busy at the stove. 

“Sit down with Mrs. Aldershot Ben, while I get her something to eat.”  He was talking into a pot, never looking up as he stirred.  He wasn’t going to rescue me.  

I looked around the Aldershot place. Dad had told me that Mr. Aldershot had built it years ago, without power tools, each log hand scribed into the next.  Even to my untrained eye, you could see it was beauty.  Three of the four walls were filled with books.  Books from floor to ceiling.  The fourth wall, the one directly in front of the couch, had an empty fireplace and windows that looked out onto the lake.

I turned to the old lady, “would you like me to light a fire Mrs. Aldershot?”  She raised her eyes to me, then to the fireplace, then back to me.  

“Teach the torches to burn brightly,”  she nodded, her puckered, toothless mouth curled up into a smile. She winked again.  

I lit the fire quickly, blowing on the embers that were there from her last fire and placing birch kindling on top of them, in a bundle.  I waited until the kindling had totally caught and then placed birch logs, teepee style on top, watching the flames jump and bounce until they ignited the birch bark in an oily smoke.  

“Come live with me, and be my love.”  I turned to face her. Her voice a whisper as she looked at the flame.  I watched her stare into the fire, her head nodding, seeing something in them that I did not.  After a time, the flames reflecting in her eyes, she looked back at me, patted the cushion beside her and repeated “come live with me”  The cushion was soft, concave and when I sat on it, it tipped me so that my shoulder, my arm and my torso came into contact with Mrs. Aldershot.  She leaned into me, placing her head on my shoulder.  I didn’t move, hoping for Dad to return from the kitchen, watching the fire.  After a few minutes, she reached over and grabbed my hand, her knuckles swollen and bulging, the top of her hand spidered with veins.  “All of us are better when we’re loved,”  she whispered, gripping my hand with surprising strength, bringing our clenched hands down on my leg. I stayed perfectly still, straining to hear him enter the room.

“Portia, I heated up some of the moose meat stew I brought over.  There’s a little bread here with it. Do you remember the last time you ate?”  Dad placed the bowl on a tv tray he’d dragged in from the kitchen in front of her.  

The old woman, still holding my hand, looked up at Dad, nodding at him. “I’ve always relied on the kindness of strangers.”  She dipped the spoon into the broth and ate, gravy dripping down her chin, disappearing beneath her flannel shirt.  She ate quickly, the spoon rattling against the bowl.  Dad handed me a napkin, nodding toward Mrs. Aldershot.  Between spoonfuls, I wiped her chin as best as I could trying to time the movement between bowl and mouth.  The lady was quick.  She mopped the rest of the gravy up with the slice of bread, stuffing it in her mouth, chewing it while she looked from the fire to me.  I heard her swallow, watched the bread move down her throat, the hairs on her chin covered in gravy I had missed.  I gently wiped her chin.  “Oh where have ye been, my handsome young man?” she turned toward me, her mouth in a wide smile, and the wink again.

“Portia”, my Dad came back into the room from one of the bedrooms. “Portia”, he repeated louder, “I have turned down your bed.  Can I help you get ready for bed?”  The old woman blinked, her eyes filling, she nodded, letting go of my hand, reaching for his. The two of us helped her up, each taking an arm, we shuffled to her bedroom.  When we got to the door, Dad motioned to the big room, “Ben, you clean up.  Stoke the fire, close the doors and set the vents so the fire will burn slowly all night.”  

After a time, Dad called for me to come to the bedroom door.  He stood on the far side of the bed, setting the thermostat on the electric baseboard heater.  Mrs. Aldershot lay in bed, wearing a flannel nighty with frilly collar, buttoned to the neck, her arm resting outside of clean, flannel sheets, on top of a hudson bay blanket.  “We’re going to head out now, Portia.  You should be fine tonight and we will come by in the morning to check in on you.  

Her back was to him, she was facing me at the door, her eyes closed. “It’s Christmas, you can’t.” she protested.  

“We will be back tomorrow, Portia.”  Dad brushed by me at the door.  I stood, watching Mrs. Aldershot breathe, her eyes closed, her mouth a straight line.  Just before I turned to go, she opened her eyes, catching me.  In a moment, she winked, smiling, she closed her eyes again and whispered, “good night sweet Prince.”  I turned to leave again but something pulled me back.  I went to her, bent down, brushed back the tangle of grey hair, and kissed her on the forehead.

I closed the door securely behind me, scanning the yard for Dad. He stood just beyond where we had parked the sleds, a sky full of snow flakes around him.  My feet crunching on the ground as I reached him.  He pulled me to him, his jacket crinkling with the cold, cold flakes, melting on my cheeks. He spoke over my head, into the forest around Mrs. Aldershot’s property, “The woods are lovely, dark and deep, but I have promises to keep and miles to go before I sleep.”  

We stood like that for a long time, the snow falling around us, neither of us wanting to let go.