Home for Christmas

Chapter One

Over a foot of snow had already covered the barely one lane road called Whitestone Pass. The thick woods, mostly white pines, towered up on either side of the mountain, and though there were spacious log homes, vacation cabins scattered about, most of the owners made use of them in summer and fall, and only nine families were usually there for the Christmas holidays.

Since the nearest town was forty-five minutes away from the main entry to the pass, providing the roads made it possible to get back off the mountain and to the main highway, the only goods or necessities available, once a person reached their cabin, was a small supply post. It had been one of the first structures built along the old logging road, a place the Hunter family had run for three generations.

Noble Hunter sat inside the snug store, his feet propped up on a worn stool while the radio gave regular updates between playing Christmas tunes. The front of the store had large windows on either side of the green door, where he’d hung swags of holly and wreaths, which his mother had made many years ago from pinecones and dried berries. A tree was decorated by the left one, twinkling lights amid ornaments made by his twelve-year-old son, Grey.

A standing fireplace warmed the mellowed interior of the store. In peak season he sold everything from bait to fishing rods and hunting gear, foodstuffs and things most people never think to pack for vacationing in the mountains.

He was just resting up between runs up the mountain, filling pre ordered lists and some last minute requests for overlooked items, as well as the firewood he cut and sold by the truckload.

The flatbed he used still had to have chains slapped on for traction once the sun went down, because if the temperature dipped the roads could become like glass. Since he knew the roads like the back of his hand, it was safer for him to deliver goods than most people to chance coming down for them.

Some of the biggest and most sprawling log homes were on the top most of the mountain, a few of the owners not from this part of Tennessee, as one was owned by some writer in New York, another built by a an executive in Chicago and a couple more were northern families. A glass, log and stone home he checked on year round was owned and used by the Bursell family, the only somewhat local group, since they were born and bred in Memphis, Josh Bursell was now a retired engineer.

The Bursell’s had built their vacation home almost fifteen years ago, before their three daughters had grown up, and sometimes came to Whitestone every season for a few weeks.

Noble was aware that Josh’s oldest daughters, their husbands and children, had already arrived because they’d stopped by yesterday to pick up a few things. The man was worried about the youngest, Lexy, who was supposed to driving in from somewhere out west, and hadn’t arrived yet. He’d been asked to call up if he spotted her or if she came by.

Setting aside the catalogue he was reading, Noble lowered his boots from the stool and stood, stretching his six plus frame, glancing out the windows and guessing it was around three thirty in the evening, which meant it would be dark in a half hour or so. He needed to get those runs made, deliver wood, but he too was wondering if he should make a run down off the mountain, just in case there were stranded travelers.

That was one of his unofficial duties, but since he was the only regular resident, he had the heavy-duty truck and chains. He usually did the pulling cars out of ditch lines, and had come upon wrecks where the vehicles couldn’t be saved, as they’d gone over the mountain. But he’d bring the people to the store until something could be done.

The area was pretty much privately owned; it wasn’t traveled much by strangers unless one of the families had invited friends who weren’t familiar with the roads. Still, he knew that with the snow this deep and night coming, he wasn’t going to feel right until everyone who was supposed to arrive or expected, had made it.

Walking over to the window, Noble slid the tips of his fingers into his back Levis pockets, the reflection of the twinkling lights brought his attention to the tree. He tried not to feel that pang that his son Grey wanted to spend the holiday with his mother in Boston, rather than here with him.

It seemed like the older Grey became, the less he was interested in the things Noble had been raised to appreciate and revere. He was a full blood Cherokee himself, and running the store on this land, serving as guide and caretaker for it, was part of his heritage since his grandparents had started it with little more than a handful of hewn cabins, an idea that their knowledge of hunting and fishing, nature and such, would be a good way to make a living.

Noble had tried, really tried, to live another way after college. He’d taught high school for awhile, which was how he met Jasmine Quade, Grey’s mother. But city or even town life suffocated him.

He’d always come here to help his parents in the summer months. Later just his dad, after his mom died, and there was no other feeling for him like walking the trails and fishing, or just sitting on the cliffs sometimes watching hawks and wildlife, hearing something besides traffic, noise and loud music from the neighbors.

Looking away from the tree, Noble realized it just wasn’t that which ended his marriage in the first year, though they didn’t divorce for another long and fight filled second.

Jasmine was a Boston bred beauty whose father was a heart surgeon, her mother a socialite. It did mark the contrast between them, because Jasmine was a part of that too. It was in her to be in the hub and heart of whatever made up social circles, just as it was in Noble to prefer solitude now and then. She had a whole different concept of marriage too, and a way of teasing him that held a hint of mockery for his country roots.

The truth was, that Noble felt that sleeping around and all that was a part of single life and he’d done his share of everything single guys do in college, and marriage was more serious, a commitment.

But Jasmine didn’t see it that way. It didn’t take her long to become bored, so she said, and seek out the clubs and nightspots. He didn’t know when her affairs started, but it didn’t really matter, because by the time they were conducted openly, he’d gotten the message clear enough, that whatever she’d wed him for had worn off.

He’d taken his son the first year he’d moved back to the mountain, after Jasmine went to Boston and the divorce was final. Then out of the blue when Grey was five, the year his father died, she’d wanted a relationship with their son. He’d agreed to it because he figured she’d changed and was more ready to be a mother, as she’d rarely spent an evening home when Grey was a baby. And through phone conversations, letters, he’d felt comfortable enough to allow her to meet him in the city, and pick up Grey and take him to Boston for awhile.

Now Grey called her folks grandma and grandpa. He spent summers with her instead of with Noble, and at twelve, already tall, mature, he was impressed doubtlessly, with the upscale lifestyle the Quade’s had.

He was close to his mother in some odd way that meant he accepted her faults and all, and had seen more of the world with his grandparents than Noble ever wanted to. He didn’t begrudge Grey the right to make his own choices about life. He just felt that blow to his gut this year, when Grey announced that his grandparents had sent him plane tickets and that he was spending Christmas with them instead of Noble, who always looked forward to their holiday together.

That it came after a year which saw his son becoming more distant and less interested in doing the things they usually shared, made Noble’s gut cinch with a fear, that maybe his son would decide to never come back.

He hated feeling things like that. It had taken him a long time to get over the marriage and relationship problems. He didn’t want to think that his son was going to walk out of his life too.

The phone on the counter rang and Noble turned and strode over to answer it. ”Noble here.“

”Noble, it’s Josh Bursell. Have you seen any sign of Lexy yet?“

”No. sir. I’m sorry. Have you tried reaching her by cell?“

”Yes. I spoke with her about six this morning and she was making the trip fine. I… ”The man sighed and then said rather low under the sound of several female voices laughing and chatting.“ The thing is, we’ve been somewhat estranged from Lexy for a couple of years. I’m sure you noticed she hasn’t come with us here in five years or so. The relationship has been tense and I’ve been… worried about her.“

Noble had noticed but he’d never really made much of it. People got busy living and working. He simply figured she had family somewhere, husband and kids. Still, he didn’t normally pry in people’s lives, and when they came to Whitestone, he was more guide and caretaker, someone men talked to about fishing or local history, wildlife and sports, not really a friend, but not a stranger.

”I could drive off the mountain to check before I bring that wood up and make the rounds of deliveries.“

”Would you, Noble? Thank you. Sylvia is trying to appear as if she’s not worried, but we all are. It wouldn’t be the first time Lexy has changed her mind and turned around and we’d not hear from her for another year. I would rather that, than some accident has occurred.“

”Of course. And if I don’t spot her before I’ve got to make this run, I always leave the store unlocked… I’m sure it’s just traffic or something, Josh. Could be she can’t call you because there’s no signal where she’s at.“

”Yes. I’m hoping that’s all it is.“

”I’ll call you. Until then, don’t worry.“

”Thank you, Noble. I know we depend on you a lot, probably ruin your own holidays.“ Josh chuckled. ”But no one can handle these roads like you, and our vehicles don’t handle that well once the roads freeze.“

”It’s no trouble. I’ll call.“ Noble hung up and went to build up the fire, putting in more logs, and then going through the door in the back of the store. Here the living quarters was attached, the bottom floor all stone and the upper floors cedar siding and glass.

”Snow.“ He whistled, and from the upstairs came his part husky and wolf, its white coat thickened for winter, and blue/white eyes glowing in the dim light. ”Guard the store, boy.“

The dog headed through the doorway to the store.

He found a satchel and filled it with emergency equipment, first-aid kit and items he’d normally take whenever the weather was bad.

Going back out to the store, he grabbed his hip length denim coat, flannel lined, which had his gloves in the pocket, and the truck keys, then went out. The white flat bed was beat up but heavy and it ran fine.

He tossed the items in the cab and flipped the seat up, taking out the chains, which took awhile to put on the tires. Before he left, he jogged back in and poured the coffee he’d made in a thermos and scribbled a note for anyone who might wander in saying he’d be back. Not that he thought anyone would, but it was better to be safe.

Soon he had climbed in the truck and started it. Pulling his coat on, lifting his long hair out of the collar while the motor warmed. He couldn’t turn the heat on until the defrost cleared the windshield, and it was nearly dark already. 

When the window cleared, he put it in gear, looking out the back window as he backed beside the store to turn. His jeep and red pick up sat under the carport, pretty much useless in this kind of weather. He shifted and pulled out on the road, the big engine loud and truck not the smoothest riding vehicle, even with chains not on it, but he went slow descending, since the headlights showed icy patches already forming.

Fiddling with the radio, he found a local channel, the same he tuned in at the store, and found himself hoping it was some simple delay on the main roads. One thing he always told the vacationers was to arrive early and to call him from the highway in weather like this, rather than try the pass in an automobile not equipped for driving in the snow. Josh knew that, but Noble wondered from the hints if the man thought to find out what his daughter might be driving.

The song on the radio was Deck the Halls. It was almost Christmas. He didn’t want to think about facing the tree in the main house with all of Grey’s presents under it unopened, sitting down to a dinner he’d planned for them and staring at that empty plate and chair.

”Shit.“