| The year 1967 quietly established a foothold upon the snow-covered pines, the whirl of charcoal-gray clouds and the mosaic of frosted window panes throughout East Oaks. Above a cluster of rooftops, pale blue chimney smoke drifted into brittle skies with a melancholy grace while legions of TV antennas, thin and frigid, stood like ship masts bereft of rigging and sails. The distant wail of a train whistle mournfully announced its clattering passage through town. On the second Saturday of January, Jack Mason ran through his backyard, clambering up a mound of snow and stumbling down the other side, landing upon his back. Laughter followed when, a moment later, Julie Almega climbed up the small bank and slid down the opposite side, landing next to Jack. They dug their boot heels into the snow to steady themselves, their heads resting against the snow bank as if it were a giant marshmallow pillow. The outline of the cold sun was veiled by leaden clouds. © Copyright 2008 Thomas J. Prestopnik “Jack, did you finish that clock worksheet Mrs. Rubens gave us for homework? It’s no biggie,” Julie said, adjusting the knot on the fur-lined hood of her purple parka. Jack rhythmically tapped the toes of his boots together like windshield wipers, lulled into a pensive state by the swish of his snow pants against the frozen ground. “It’s only Saturday morning, Julie. When did you finish that math?” “Last night, of course. But don’t worry, it was only a review of the o’clocks, the thirties and all that. Super easy,” Julie said. “We’ll learn the harder stuff another time. I hope this week.” Jack slapped his forehead and started to giggle. “Another time. That’s pretty funny, Julie.” Julie nodded with a smile, taking up the boot tapping as well. “Oh, so I have a perfectly great idea for your snow castle, Jack.” Jack rolled over on his side, bracing himself up with an elbow. “Yeah? Tell me!” Julie stared into his eyes, now opened wide like quarters, and nodded assuredly. “You need to add a drawbridge to keep the monsters out. Don’t know if you can build that with snow though. Just something to think about.” © Copyright 2008 Thomas J. Prestopnik Jack jumped to his feet and offered Julie a hand up. “Let’s figure it out right now. Maybe my Dad can cut up a sheet of plywood. We could even use a piece of clothesline painted black for the chains.” Julie took his hand and got to her feet. “Thanks for the lift.” Jack grinned, tapping a finger to his head. “I like your ideas, Julie. Pretty smart for a girl.” “And you’re a good castle builder,” she said as they strolled over to the ever expanding snow structure near the maple tree. “Something to be proud of for sure. And you can take my word for it.” “If you insist,” he said with a wink. “So do you think you can build a drawbridge?” Jack folded his arms, stepping back to examine his creation for the third time that morning. “Hmmm…” he said, nodding confidently. “It’ll be quite the project, but I think so.” “That’ll be wonderful!” Julie replied, placing her mittened hand into his leather glove. As a thin breeze stirred through the creaking pines, they stood shoulder to shoulder in blissful silence as Jack imagined the additions to his castle magically rising out of the packed snow. Turrets and guard towers, glowing ice- blue, floated high into sun-splashed skies. A cascade of snow bricks tumbled into place, fashioning a wondrous courtyard with unscaleable walls, all topped with a winding parapet and colorful banners flapping wildly in the wind. Best of all, Jack envisioned smiles of amazement and delight as Julie gazed upon his astounding creation–with a proper drawbridge in place–telling him that she was so proud of his accomplishment. © Copyright 2008 Thomas J. Prestopnik Jack glanced at Julie under the ashen-gray clouds, their ghostly breaths rising together through the tree limbs. Oh, he had such plans. “Jack! Julie! Lunch is ready.” Mrs. Mason called out to them from the back door. “Take your boots off in the front hallway.” “Okay, Mom.” Jack lightly squeezed Julie’s hand. “Let’s go.” “I’ll race you!” Julie tore off along the side of the house, her arms extended, zigzagging through a narrow strip of snow like a soaring airplane. “You’re on!” Jack shouted, following close behind and matching her moves until they reached the front porch and rumbled up the steps like a cattle stampede. Jack removed his gloves with his teeth, dropping them to the floor. “How long will your parents be gone, Julie? Maybe you can stay for dinner too.” “My folks are home,” Julie said. “They had to meet with a man about something.” She pointed out his car parked across the street in front of her blue aluminum sided house. “But we could ask anyway. Maybe they’ll let me stay.” Jack nodded excitedly as they stepped inside. “You can call them up after lunch,” he suggested, his voice trailing off as he slammed the front door closed, rattling the lineup of snow shovels and ice choppers slouched against the porch wall. © Copyright 2008 Thomas J. Prestopnik Several minutes later, neither he nor Julie would witness the man in a gray felt hat exiting the front door of the Almega house across the street. He ambled down the narrow walk to his car, popped open the trunk on a green Ford Falcon and removed a metal-framed sign, a pair of work gloves and a hammer. The man lumbered partway back up the sidewalk, lifted the sign and plunged it into the snow-caked lawn. He donned the work gloves, grabbed the hammer and pounded both ends of the FOR SALE sign securely into the ground as the dull metallic blows somberly echoed off the other neighborhood homes. ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Cyril Mason stepped out the back door, his calloused hands shoved inside the warmth of his coat pockets. The late February sun beat down on the icy landscape. Jack lay on top of his metal saucer sled while staring at the tree tops, shifting his weight so that the silver saucer turned back and forth like a pulley wheel. His father planted his feet near Jack’s head, staring down at his son. Jack was unable to conceal a grin. “Good day for sledding in the park. Want to drive down?” Jack shrugged at his father, sitting up on the saucer. “Or are you just in a thinking mood?” “I guess thinking,” Jack said with little enthusiasm. His father bent down and grabbed some snow, forming it into a ball in his bare hands and firing it at a nearby tree. The crack echoed against the back of the house. © Copyright 2008 Thomas J. Prestopnik “Think you can hit that tree, Jack?” “Can I get ten steps closer?” Cyril raised an eyebrow in response. “How about five?” “Let me think about it.” Jack’s father made a second snowball and hurled it at the tree. “Perfect again! And that’s without gloves.” Jack plopped back down on his sled and looked up at his father. “You must be practicing when I’m not looking.” Mr. Mason smiled, kicking the toe of his boot into the ground. “You know, I’m sure Julie found a good place to sled in Indiana. They’ve got snow there too.” “Where’s that state again?” © Copyright 2008 Thomas J. Prestopnik “Didn’t you look at the map?” Jack shook his head. “Just three states west after leaving New York. First there’s Pennsylvania, Ohio and then Indiana,” his father explained, raising one finger each time he mentioned a state’s name. “We’ll have to check the atlas later.” He made another snowball and held it above his son. “Your turn.” Jack, bundled up in his jacket and snow pants, flopped off the saucer and scrambled to his feet. He took the snowball from his father and glared at the tree ahead, then flung it with all his might. The snowball veered left, sailing past the tree. © Copyright 2008 Thomas J. Prestopnik “You’re great on distance, Jack.” “But I missed by a mile.” “Then you practice. Try another one.” “Okay.” Jack clumsily fashioned a snowball while his father looked on. “Sometimes people have to travel far to where their jobs take them,” Mr. Mason said. “Julie’s father was given a chance to earn a lot more money and get a better position in his company. Her Mom and Dad agreed that it was the best thing they could do for the family.” Jack nodded with a sigh, sending his snowball through the air in a high wobbly arc. It missed the tree. “Were you aiming at a bird?” his father joked. Jack burst out laughing. “I better dial up the airport and warn the pilots.” “Very funny!” Jack replied, hurriedly scooping up a handful of snow and flinging it at his father before tearing across the yard. Mr. Mason responded in kind, gently tossing a snowball near Jack’s feet. “Missed that time!” “I’m too fast!” Jack said, hiding behind the tall maple. Then Cyril took notice of the unfinished snow castle that Jack had abandoned. The structure had partially melted and refrozen over the passing weeks, one of its walls sagging and near collapse. Much of the blue tint had faded. © Copyright 2008 Thomas J. Prestopnik “What’s the deal? Don’t you like to build things anymore?” Jack peeked out from around the tree. “Snowball truce?” His father nodded. “Snowball truce.” Jack sauntered around the castle, kicking the frozen base with his boot as if inspecting the tires of a car he planned to buy. “I still like to build stuff–but not this.” “Why not?” Jack glanced at his father, rolling his eyes in mild frustration. “Because Julie’s not here is why. I wanted her to see it all finished the way it was supposed to be. I guess I’ll just wait for spring to melt it away.” Mr. Mason rubbed his chin as he examined the castle remains. “I know it needs repair, but you could still salvage it, Jack.” “No thanks,” he muttered, pounding one of the top snow blocks with his fist until it toppled over. “Maybe I’ll build something next winter.” “I suppose, but there are still a few good weeks left in this winter.” Jack displayed a sour grimace. “Not enough fresh snow, Dad.” © Copyright 2008 Thomas J. Prestopnik Mr. Mason nodded. “Maybe you’re right. But you know, Jack, even if one of your plans doesn’t work out, that’s no reason not to make others. Dreams are free. You pick the ones you want to go after and try to build them.” “I wanted this one. So did Julie.” His father sat on the ground, leaning against a castle wall. “It does make a good backrest though.” Jack sat next to him, trying not to grin at his father’s corny joke. “As you get older, Jack, you’ll realize that many of your dreams don’t work out the way you had hoped. Some you even abandon altogether. Heck, I wanted to operate a locomotive when I was your age.” “You did?” Jack asked, digging his heel into the snow. “Sure. But now I work in a lumber yard. Don’t see many trains down there, do you?” “Not a one!” “But that’s okay.” Mr. Mason raised his jacket collar, the cuffs slightly frayed along the edges. Jack stared at his father, his brow furrowed. “So that’s why we took a train trip to Niagara Falls last summer.” “Your Mom always wanted to see the Falls, so I figured…” “Can we go somewhere else on a train?” © Copyright 2008 Thomas J. Prestopnik “Maybe in a couple years,” Mr. Mason said. “The point is, I never operated a train for a living, but I can still ride them. So you see, once in a while a dream can work out even when you don’t expect it to. Just don’t stop having them, especially at your age.” Jack nodded as he gazed at the snowy ground. “I guess I can think up a few more. Maybe after lunch.” His father jumped to his feet. “Some sledding first? Winter won’t last forever.” Jack agreed and grabbed his silver metal saucer. He walked alongside his father to the front of the house as an undulating ribbon of pale blue chimney smoke reached for the crisp sapphire sky. © Copyright 2008 Thomas J. Prestopnik |
| ~ CHAPTER 4 ~ |
| A CHRISTMAS CASTLE |
| by Thomas J. Prestopnik © Copyright 2008 All Rights Reserved. |
