The Past - Ravenhurst Property

 

Devlin stood out in the middle of a field. A dusting of snow covered the ground and a lone tree loomed in front of him.

“Well old chap, it looks like you are the lucky one.” Flurries of snow danced around his face. Lifting his hand he pulled the brim of his hat further down and yanked up his collar to stifle some of the frigid air. Retrieving the borrowed ax from his horse, he walked forward. The tree was at least seven feet tall, but Hawthorne’s ceilings could more than accommodate the size. Bending down, he rubbed his hands together and lifted the ax in the air. He hit the base of the tree, once. A ripple shuddered up his arms.

“Bloody Hell!” he groaned. He shook off the vibrations and tried again.

Whack, whack, whack.

The sound of the ax head slamming into the wood echoed across the field.

“This is a bloody ridiculous tradition.” The tree was still upright. Taking a breath, he tried again.

Whack, whack, whack.

It was cold as hell, but he was working up a good sweat, attempting to chop down this blasted tree. “This has to be the dullest ax in the world.” He stood up, and pushed his hat back down on his head. There was now a wedge cut out of the wood but the tree was still upright.

“Next time I am sending Bertram out here,” he huffed with exertion. “Fine, maybe not Bertram,” he amended. The man was ancient.

Again, he swung the ax.

Whack, whack, whack.

The unmistakable creaking sound of the tree giving way, alerted him the tree was finally falling. He stepped out of the way. The tree crashed down to the snow.

“It’s about bloody time.” He shook off his coat and pulled his hat back down.

His horse neighed, shaking its massive head. Devlin cut him a sidelong glare. “Just you wait… you’re the one that gets to carry this beast of a tree back to the Hawthorne.”

The horse neighed again, and bobbed its head, making the reins jingle lightly. Another frigid gust of air hit him full on. He uneasily looked around, suddenly feeling like he was being watched.

“Who’s there?” he called, his voice getting carried away in the wind. “Probably the wind,” he tried to tell himself but that did not dispel the uneasy feeling.

The snow was falling in earnest now, making it hard to see. Placing the ax securely on his saddle, he grabbed the rope. Moving quickly, he tied the rope around the base of the tree and tied the other end to his horse. With one last look around, he swung up into the saddle and made his way slowly back to Hawthorne with his tree in tow.

 

Over two hours later, with a few mishaps along the way, Devlin, his horse, and the tree made it back to Hawthorne Manor in one piece. Well almost. The tree was now missing a few branches and he was sure his horse would throw him off the next time he tried to climb on his back. They had words over the tree. The horse did not like dragging it back in the snow. Not one bit.

“Sir, is there anything else you need?”

Devlin turned from the fire. “No, Bertram that will be all. I appreciate the help.”

“Not a problem, Sir.” Bertram said, straightening a branch on the tree. “It is a nice touch.”

“What?” Devlin asked absently, rubbing his hands. They were still numb from the cold. Luckily Bertram wasn’t as feeble as he thought. The man had helped him set up the tree. If not, the bloody thing would still have been lodge at the bottom of the stairs, in a bank of snow.

“The tree, Sir,” he said and brushed a wispy graying lock of hair back from his forehead. “It is a nice touch.”

Devlin stood from the fire and looked at the tree. “Yes, you are right, Bertram. It does give off a festive air does it not?”

“Yes and it smells wonderful too.”

“If you say so,” he said. He wasn’t too sure about the smell. It was a bit overwhelming and reminded him of when he was but a child. “It reminds me of my childhood…or lack thereof,” Devlin muttered despondently.

“Well, they do say that smell is the strongest of your senses, so it is no wonder that it would evoke a memory or two.”

Devlin frowned. “Yes, I suppose.”

“Well, Sir,” he said, brushing off his hands. “I will take my leave and head for home…unless there is something else you would like me to help you with?”

“No. Go on home before the storm gets too bad.”

“If you are sure,” said Bertram, waffling at the doorway.

“Yes, yes, go on now. Enjoy your time with your family.”

“I am sure the Misses will have my head if I am not home in time for …” he trailed off.

Devlin sensed his distress. “It is all right Bertram. You have a family to attend to, now go on. I will see you in a few days.”

“A few days…Sir…” His eyes widened expectantly. “Won’t you be in need my assistance tomorrow? You have guests coming.”

Devlin chuckled. “I think I can manage.”

“Thank you, Sir,” Bertram gushed excitedly. “I will see you in a few days.”

“Oh and Bertram,” Devlin called after him.

“Sir?” said Bertram, turning in the doorway.

“You will be paid as well, so do not worry about that, all right.”

“Sir, that is too much,” he choked, his eyes misting. “You do not have to do that.”

“Do not be ridiculous. You deserve it.” Devlin felt his chest swell. “Now go on, before the storm gets too bad, and give my best to your family.”

“Thank you, Sir.” Bertram beamed brightly.

“Merry Christmas,” Devlin said, smiling warmly.

“Merry Christmas to you as well, Sir,” he said, smiling widely and then rushed from the room.

Once the front door slammed shut, Devlin walked over to the sideboard and poured himself a drink. Reaching up he loosened his cravat. He gaze slid back to the tree. The furry branches were bare of adornments but to him it still looked like a mighty fine tree. Yes, a mighty fine tree, indeed.