Day 25 - December 25th

For those who belong to the update group, there are several additional stories by different authors.

Christmas Morning

It was cold, unbelievably cold. The snow had long ago soaked through his thin jacket, and he’d given up brushing it out of his hair. He jammed his hands deeper in his pockets. It had been hours since he could feel his fingers. He trudged along the side of the road, his sneakers slipping in the mixture of snow, sand, and salt. No cars travelled this road. He hadn’t seen one for at least the last hour, but of course on Christmas Eve most people were at home with family, enjoying roast turkey and heaps of mashed potatoes.

Wayne ducked his chin deeper into his collar. He could have been at home too if he hadn’t been stupid enough to open his mouth. Why had he thought his aunt wouldn’t tell his mom? Just because she gave to liberal causes didn’t mean she wasn’t a true south Texas girl at heart. Wayne guessed she thought it was fine when it was someone else’s family, but when it was her own, she’d been as determined to rescue her nephew from the clutches of the gay agenda as any bible thumping pastor.

It had been easy enough to get out of town. He’d cashed his last paycheck from the carwash at the convenience store and hopped a bus to the States. The border was uncomplicated, and at the Christmas season a quick explanation of traveling to see relatives in the north was ample to get a two week tourist visa. He watched from the bus window as the countryside had grown cold and snow covered. From the heated bus, the snow had been beautiful, but now it was cold, wet, and difficult going. Vermont had looked like a tiny state on the map. He hadn’t imagined trudging down endless stretches of rural highway. He’d run out of money in Burlington and had proceeded on foot and in the passenger seat of a florist van driven by a kind delivery driver to what he thought was at least close to his final destination. 

The snow was coming down harder, whipping against his face and sticking in his eyelashes. Wayne bent double and trudged forward, each footstep slower and heavier than the last. If only he could find a house, he would ask for shelter. He stumbled forward, landing on his knees in a snow drift. He struggled upright and fell again. Frantically he pulled himself to his feet, his legs weren’t working. He fell again, and this time he didn’t rise.

Mittens, fur, bells, a heavy arm, and a deep laugh: the images jumbled together unreal and fantastic.

“We’ll get you warm, boy.” Strange hands tucked a heavy throw around his body. A whip cracked in the air, and the bells sounded closer. Good natured shouts rose in the air.

******

Milton herded their gang of brats in front of him and wrapped his arm over a reluctant Tilden’s shoulder as they headed for the lodge’s massive sitting room that was now dominated by an enormous Christmas tree. “It won’t be awful,” Milton said and gave Tilden’s shoulder a firm squeeze.

“Christmas with Gordon. I’ve heard Sheldon’s stories,” Tilden said under his breath.

“You didn’t give Gordon a lurid orange and purple sweater, did you?”

“No.” Tilden managed a small smile. “I have a well developed survival instinct. But I don’t know about my boys.”

“Mike can handle anything, and Luke has the good sense not to stir the pot.”

“Milton!”

“That’s Sheldon. Hurry!” Both tops broke into a run. They pushed their way through a cluster of brats to come to a stop in front of the tree. 

“Santa brought us a brat,” Sheldon said from down on his knees where he had wrapped his arm around a very stunned looking young man. The young man in question was wrapped in a plaid wool throw with only a shock of golden curls and strikingly blue eyes visible. “There’s a note,” Sheldon said handing Milton a crumpled sheet of paper dotted with cookie crumbs and a stray bit of carrot.

Milton unfolded the note and read the bold crayoned text out loud, “I trust you to take care of this boy. He needs a home and family, and this is the best place I know. Kris.”

“Is this true?” Milton asked gently.

“Yes,” the young man whispered, his eyes roving around the room in shock, fear, and perhaps excitement. “Am I here?”

“Where’s here?” Milton asked practically, trying to keep a calm top persona as his mind went into overdrive with unbelievable and fantastic scenarios.

“The Green Mountain Boys?”

“Yes, you’re here.”

The golden haired boy smiled and tears dripped from his glistening blue eyes. “It’s the best Christmas ever.”