Beyond the Fire

An icy wind nipped her cheeks, and snow cascaded from the towering trees. A swirl of white encircled the sleigh. Destry peered anxiously over her shoulder to see if Robbie was still covered.An icy wind nipped her cheeks, and snow cascaded from the towering trees. A swirl of white encircled the sleigh. Destry peered anxiously over her shoulder to see if Robbie was still covered. Why must we make this trip? she fumed inwardly. Robbie should not be out in weather like this. Besides, we’ve survived this long without spending Christmas with Philip’s family.   She stole a glance at the handsome man beside her and wondered why he had been so moody of late. Why should he have this sudden urge to see his family after so many years? Destry bit her lip. She resented this trip, and doubly so at this time of year. But she had said too much already; Philip was barely speaking to her. Staring straight ahead, she thought, All right, we will have Christmas with his family, but I don’t have to like it! Angry thoughts melted as the walls and gates of Amity suddenly appeared between the trees. Philip slowed the team and brought the sleigh to a halt.  “I’ll have to get clearance,” Philip said stiffly. Clambering  from the seat, he plodded heavily through the snow. “Formalities,” Destry whispered, wishing they could hurry to the warm lodgings of the Stafford House Inn. She loved the great stone cathedral that served as a refuge for travelers, rich and poor alike. Mentally, she compared her own headstrong husband with the friendly old man by the same name in Stafford House Inn. Why was Philip acting like this? Checking behind the seat again, Destry noted with satisfaction that Robbie was still asleep beneath the bundle of blankets. She was grateful the stop had not awakened him.“Oh, good,” she sighed. Philip was returning. There would be a hot meal and warm lodging on the other side of this wall, and she was more than ready.

Christmas Eve at the Cottons’
“I want to be Stafford!” “No fair! You were last time! You have to be Jabin this time!” “No, I don’t!” “Yes, you do!” “Boys, boys!”  Destry watched her sister-in-law corral the larger of two boys and soundly twist his ear.  “Ouch!” the lad yelled. “Mom, you’re hurting me!” “Not as bad as I’m going to if you don’t stop fighting.” “But he started it!” “Did not!” “This fighting has to stop!” Kelsey’s voice carried a no-nonsense tone. “Why don’t you go ask Grandpa for a story?” “Will he tell us about the origin of Amity, Mom?” “Not if you don’t ask him.” Just then, more children dashed into the dining room. The first in line collided with the table and immediately set up a howl. Destry was the first to reach the injured child. “Kelsey,” she said timidly, “could you bring a cold cloth? Joshua bumped his nose pretty hard.” “Sure,” Kelsey said, giving her son a motherly shove toward the parlor where the men were stoking the fire and telling stories.  A slender woman with snow-white hair stepped from the kitchen. In her hand was a damp cloth. Promptly she knelt beside the whimpering boy. “What happened this time?” “Just running, Mom,” Kelsey explained. “Boys!” she called, leaving her mother-in-law, Mary Cotton, in charge of the whimpering child. “Grandpa is about to tell a story. Better go to the parlor quick.” The wounded child suddenly squirmed from his grandmother’s arms and raced into the parlor, shouting, “Oh, boy!” Mary smiled at Kelsey. “That was a quick cure! Does Grandpa know he is about to tell the children a story?” Kelsey grinned. “He’s about to find out.” Both women laughed and returned to the kitchen to finish washing dishes. Destry sat bewildered on the floor, wondering what had just happened. Philip’s family was so strange. Looking about, Destry spied her own son still sitting quietly at the table, drawing pictures on a scrap of paper. He was such an obedient boy. Her heart twisted within her breast.  “Robbie,” she called, “all the other children are going to the parlor with Grandpa and Daddy. Would you like to go too?” A smile brightened the tiny boy’s face. “Oh, may I, Mama?” “Yes,” Destry said, stooping to hug her son as he hurried past, his cast bumping clumsily on the floor. “But don’t run,” she warned. “Yes, Mama,” the lad said, wiggling from his mother’s embrace and noisily scraping his cast across the floor.  Destry’s heart swelled as he passed. How fortunate she felt to still have him. Kelsey soon had all the children corralled, sending each to the parlor where the men had gathered. The noise level lessened for the first time since the children had been excused from the Christmas Eve meal.

Bill Cotton grinned at the children dancing around their fathers in the parlor.   “So, you want to hear a story?” he asked. “Yes, Grandpa! Will you tell us the story of how Amity came into being? “Please, oh, please!” chimed a chorus from the rug before the fireplace. The old man quietly surveyed the little mops of blond, brown, and red hair before him. I am blessed, he thought. He glanced at the others who had drawn near the pleasant crackle of the flames. Ned, his only son-in-law, was nearly asleep in an oversized chair while Thomas and Philip appeared as eager as the children for the story to begin. James was not present. It was snowing heavily, and he had slipped outside to check the livestock and make sure everything was all right. “Shouldn’t we wait for the ladies?” The long ends of Grandpa’s mustache danced as he spoke.  “Oh, Grandpa, they know the story anyway! They won’t mind if they miss the first part.” “Well, you might be right about that.” Grandpa laughed. “Where should we begin?” “With Josiah Stafford!” was the overwhelming response.    “Very well. Here we go.” The clink of dishes and soft laughter of women’s voices drifted in from the kitchen. The fire crackled pleasantly in the hearth, and every child was stretched out on the floor at Grandpa’s feet—all except Robbie. He had crawled into his grandpa’s lap and was nestled against his broad chest. Grandpa’s arms cradled Robbie gently, wrapping him in love. Everyone watched Grandpa expectantly as he stared into the flames on the hearth. “Long ago when I was a child,” Bill Cotton began, “my grandfather told me of a land beyond the mountains. If you would climb to the top of the Guardian Range today, all you would see is a great body of water. But long ago, there was a land of wealth and power to our north. Protected on the south and west by mountains, on the east by the sea, and to the north by a great desert, Shingmar was a land blessed by heaven. Its people lived in peace and prosperity, for rain fell abundantly upon the deep, fertile soil of that wondrous land.  “But time passed, and the people of Shingmar forgot the Creator of heaven and earth. They began to believe in the sun, the moon, and their own sense of power. They became futile in their thinking and exchanged the wonder of heaven for a figment of their own imagination. Slowly, Shingmar slipped into idolatry and worshipped the creation rather than the Creator. This was true of many people, but not everyone. One man stood against the growing tide of popular idolatry. His name was Josiah Stafford.”