The Ghost of Christmas Present and Other Stories Read online

  Christmas Love Exchange

  “Coffee black, no sugar.” The older gentleman placed his currency on the counter as the barista went to work filling his order. The tiny Christmas bells over the doorway chimed and a gust of early December chill swept through the tiny shop, causing some of the patrons to pull their jackets around themselves even tighter. Snowflakes peppered the entryway, melting into tiny pools of water before they had even lit on the tile. The scent of freshly ground coffee and cinnamon buns baking in the stone oven were more than enough to warm even the most frostbitten noses.

  “Ah, good morning, Klaus!” The newcomer waved a friendly hello at the old gentleman at the counter.

  “Heinz.” He nodded back.

  It was the same routine every morning. The town of Drusselheim, Germany, hadn’t changed that much in nearly fifty years, and the townsfolk were more than happy to keep it that way. When the coffee shop had opened ten years earlier, it had been the biggest economical change since the introduction of computers in the 1980’s.

  Small changes here and there were necessary to keep the march of time from overtaking their small community, but every once in a while a big one came along. Sometimes it came in the form of new industry, sometimes in the form of new technology, and sometimes the most dangerous kind of change came in the form of new ideas.

  “So, what do you think about this, eh?” Heinz slapped a paper down on the counter in front of his old friend, who peered at it through thick bottle-glass lenses. “My eyes aren’t as young as they once were. What does it say?” Klaus frowned at the blurry sentences.

  “It says that Drusselheim College is opening a student exchange program…to America!” Heinz huffed. “First they took money from the American philanthropist. Then they decided all the classes must be taught in English, the language of business. Now just what we need, American college students trampling all over town. What will it be next?”

  “Ha! They’ll have to find an American student who wants to come to an old farming village first.” Klaus took the piping hot cup of coffee from the attendant and inhaled the dark roast steam. “And at Christmas no less. I doubt that’ll happen.”

  The two men continued to discuss the headline as Heinz pulled open the door and they braced themselves against the blustery wind, unaware that their conversation had been listened to with great interest.

  *

  “Mom, please stop fussing. It’ll be fine. I’ll be fine.” Dean Anderson brushed away his mother’s hands as she tried to straighten his collar for the fourth time. He leaned down and gave her a peck on the forehead. “When did you get so short?” He jabbed.

  “When did you get so tall?” She reached up and ruffled his dark brown hair. Now in his early twenties, he was a lanky 6 foot 2, but in her mind, he was a five year old who played in the mud. She looked down at the four boxes that sat on his bed, all marked Drusselheim. “Honey, are you sure you want to go to college in Germany? It’s so far away.”

  “It’s only 10 hours by plane, Ma, and besides, the exchange program will be good for me.” He patted her on the shoulder and returned to packing boxes.

  Eager to step foot on German tarmac, Dean had been born and raised in New York City. Knowing nothing but concrete skylines and the odor of sewage emanating from back alleys, he wanted more from life, and this was his chance.

  “Can’t it wait until after Christmas?” His mother asked, not for the first time.

  Things had been hard for them since his father’s death three years before, but resolutely, Dean still met her gaze. “Ma, you’re going to Aunt Maggie’s house for Christmas, and I have to do this.”

  His degree in Economics being the main agenda for the trip, Dean still couldn’t help but feel giddy as visions of snow-capped mountains, ski-lodges and hot springs filled his head. For a moment, he peered through their fourth story apartment window at the swirling snow, tinted grey from polluted fog that lingered over the city. Wherever Drusselheim actually was, it couldn’t be any worse than New York.

  A few hours later, his luggage was loaded into a waiting taxi. A stray tear and one more fuss over his clothing from his mother and he was off to the airport, her figure fading from view. Unconsciously, he breathed a sigh of relief.

  He loved his mother, but there were times he recognized that she was holding him back. This was the first time in decades that anyone from his family had left the city, much less traveled halfway around the world. It was exciting and nerve wracking to say the least.

  He drummed his fingers on the armrest as the grayish snow turned the busy streets into slow moving, slush-filled conga lines of honking vehicles and angry cabbies. His taxi stuck, Dean watched as two city dwellers who needed a little more speed and a lot less cash bundled themselves into one of the horse drawn carriages that patrolled the sidewalks, their choice certainly faster than sitting in traffic, if not a bit more romantic.

  The thought came with an unexpected pang of regret. Romance had never been his thing, and here he was, almost through college, still without a significant other as his buddies had constantly teased him.

  “Just one more reason to get away from here.” He muttered, more anxious than ever to find his way to the airport.

  *

  Elsie looked up from her textbook, “Did you hear that, Anna? They’re sending an American here!”

  “You know, you might actually try studying that thing instead of using it as a reason to eavesdrop.” Annalisa Bauer shook her head at her nosy friend. “Besides, Americans have been coming to Germany for a while now, so what’s new?”

  “Coming to Germany, yes. Coming to Drusselheim, no. This is huge!” Elsie tried not to show her enthusiasm, but failed miserably. “Think of everything he could teach us about - you know, out there.”

  “He? What if it’s a girl student?” Annalisa, who loved to play devil’s advocate, smirked into her coffee.

  “You’re such a spoilsport. What if it’s not a girl? What if it’s a tall handsome man with big muscles and perfect teeth?” Elsie propped her chin on her open book as she hugged it to her chest.

  Annalisa rolled her eyes at her star-struck friend. “And what if he is short, prematurely balding and sports a terrible case of hives? Come on, we have work to do. All your romanticizing is doing nothing but making us fail our class.”

  “But don’t you want more than this? Don’t you ever get tired of farming and cows and more cows?” Elsie asked.

  “Sometimes, but what we do here is important. Frankly, I resent the fact that you think an American could teach us about life. I think we do just fine.” Annalisa bent back over her book, her long blonde hair falling across its pages.

  “If you were half as romantic as you look, you would be married by now,” Elsie muttered as she reluctantly put pencil to paper.

  “The only male I need has four paws and gold fur,” Anna retorted, “and he listens to me.”

  “You’re hopeless.” Elsie pouted her lip, but said nothing, knowing it was useless to argue with her stubborn friend about such things. Romance had never been Anna’s strong suit, despite constant offers from the local boys.

  Yager certainly was a handsome animal, but he wasn’t the kind of handsome Annalisa needed, Elsie mused as a devious smile crossed her face. She glanced up, relieved to see that Anna was nose deep in her studies and hadn’t noticed.

  As sure as her name was Elsie Marie Schmidt, she was going to see to her friend’s happiness this Christmas, whether she wanted her help or not.

  *

  The wheels screeched as Dean’s plane touched the icy tarmac. From his window seat, he could see little through the blizzard soup that swirled outside, instantly glad he had brought an extra pair of thermal underwear. The airplane halted, and the flight attendant directed everyone to the exit.

  After shuffling through the small crowd, Dean found himself in the middle of the smallest airport he had ever seen. A framed poster hung above a single lonely bench by the wall. All the signs were in G
erman, and although he had studied some of the spoken language, reading it was a whole different animal. Behind a desk with a barred window, the only attendant in the station sat reading a newspaper.

  Dean sidled up to the window. “Uh, excuse me. Sprechen zie English?”

  “You must be the new exchange student.” The man lowered his bifocals.

  Dean was taken aback by how perfect his English was. “Yeah that’s me. How did you know?”

  “It’s a small town. Word gets around.”

  “I see. Is there a taxi service or something that could take me to the campus?”

  The attendant laughed in a deep rumbling voice. “No taxis here. Just Boris.” He motioned towards the front door where a man sat stretched out on a rickety wooden chair, a large brown bucket hat with a pheasant feather sticking out of its band pulled down over his eyes. He appeared to be snoozing quite soundly.

  Dean gave the attendant an unsure glance, but the man had already gone back to reading his newspaper. Adjusting the strap to his book bag, he walked over to the sleeping man, where he cleared his throat.

  “Der ist Euro zwei.” Boris mumbled.

  “Come again?” Dean asked, to which the middle-aged man pushed his hat up and peered at Dean with piercing blue eyes.

  “American? Oh, uh, that will be two Euro.” His English, a bit more labored, was still understandable.

  “I need to get to Drusselheim College. Can you take me there?”

  “Ja, that will be zwe…uh, two Euro,” Boris repeated.

  Dean removed a cracked and faded, dark leather wallet from his pocket. Pulling out two Euro, he handed it to the man, thinking it was a good thing he had exchanged some cash before his arrival.

  “Ja. We have good leather in Mainz, is not too far from here. You could get new wallet there.” Boris nodded at Dean’s hand.

  “I’ll hold on to this one a little while longer,” Dean stuffed the wallet back in his pocket and adjusted the strap on his shoulder again. Truth be told, the wallet was falling apart, but it was the only connection he had left to his father. He would wrap it in duct tape before he’d replace it.

  Boris led him to a faded blue VW two door, opened the passenger side and motioned for Dean to get in. Feeling like a giant trying to stuff himself into a child’s toy car, he found a position that was relatively comfortable, despite scraping the dashboard with his knees and brushing the roof with his head.

  “You wait here, I get bags.” Boris shut the door with a rusted creak, returning a few minutes later and loading the rest of the luggage in the car’s tiny trunk.

  Squinting to see the countryside through the snow as they puttered along the road, all Dean could make out was the occasional bare tree in a sea of white.

  The sounds of howling wind and squeaky windshield wipers filled the car for some time until Boris broke the silence, “Ok, here is entrance to Drusselheim College.”

  Dean marveled at two giant stone pillars that marked the entryway. A flagpole stood in a circular parcel of land in front of the main building, its hoist ropes clanging in the wind.

  Boris parked in front of the main hall, and Dean noticed two smaller buildings attached to either side.

  Unfolding his tall frame from the front seat one limb at a time, he helped Boris carry his possessions inside, where the older man unceremoniously dumped the last of the load onto the wooden floor, tipped his hat in his passenger’s direction and returned to his car.

  Dean shivered and shook fallen snow from his hair. Hearing the click of heels on the polished dark wood, he looked up to see a portly woman in a black dress hurrying into the great room to meet him. Her graying hair was pulled tightly into a bun, leading him to think that if it weren’t for her hairdo, she might’ve had a more wrinkled face.

  “Wilkommen, wilkommen! You must be our new exchange student!” The woman said brightly, grabbing his hand and shaking it vehemently.

  “Wow, that’s a strong grip you have there,” Dean chuckled.

  “Yes, we’re all farmers here. It takes a good strong grip to make anything from this land, but I’m sure you’ll find that out for yourself.”

  Dean barely registered the comment as the chill started to wear off, and he became more aware of his surroundings. From the outside, the college hadn’t been all that impressive, but on the inside, it was a wonder to behold.

  Extravagantly carved mahogany doorframes surrounded each doorway, and cream crown molding adorned every ceiling corner. Chandeliers made from deer antlers hung in various sizes around the room, and the scents of pine wood polish and leather bound books filled the air. The grandest scene of all, though, was the thirteen foot Douglas Fir that sat in the great room, decorated from tip to base with sparkling silver tinsel, red velvet bows, colored balls and strand upon strand of golden twinkle lights.

  It was strange and yet very comfortable at the same time. All at once, Dean knew that he would enjoy his stay here.

  “I’m headmistress Dunst, by the way. Come along now, I’ve yet to show you to your room!” The headmistress clapped her hands together, yanking Dean out of his reverie. Then the she toddled off along the hall.

  “What about my bags?” He hurried after her, his long strides barely keeping up with her pace.

  “Don’t worry, I’ll have them taken to your room soon enough.”

  As they continued, Dean caught glimpses of classrooms, each with a chalkboard, which he had thought obsolete, at the front.

  “Here you can see the classrooms on both sides of the hall. Your class assignments will be associated with a number, so pay attention to the numbers on the doors as we change classrooms from time to time.” Ms. Dunst didn’t slow as she spoke, her words barely reaching him above the sound of her clicking heels. “In addition, the girls’ dorm is at the other end of the building and is restricted to women only.” She glanced at him over her shoulder, raising an eyebrow for emphasis.

  “Yes, ma’am.” He nodded sharply.

  “Very good.” She headed towards the west end of the hall, and the men’s dorm.

  As she continued to give her rapid tour, Dean repeatedly lost himself in the architecture of the building. So much so that he failed to register a young blonde woman walking towards them. With the grace of a beached whale, he barreled into her, sending them both sprawling onto the floor in a tangle of books and limbs.

  “Jeez I’m so clumsy - my bad.” He scrambled back to his feet.

  “You must be the exchange student.” A slight edge of annoyance accompanied the young woman’s accent.

  Embarrassed, Dean helped her to her feet and began picking up the texts that were scattered all over the floor.

  “Sorry about that.” He handed the books he had collected to her.

  “About being clumsy or about being an exchange student?” She smirked, her green eyes glittering in the warm light.

  “Both.” Now that he knew which way was up again, he couldn’t help but notice how beautiful she was in her light pink sweater and blue jeans.

  “You have classes to attend Miss Bauer.” Dunst chimed in, eager to end the delay.

  “Apologies, headmistress.” The girl took the books from him and brushed past without another glance.

  “Mr. Anderson, please keep up. As I was saying, because your field of study is Social Economics, you’ll need at least four hours a week of field study.” Dunst opened the large double doors to the men’s dorm, where the hall narrowed considerably, now resembling more of a hotel minus the dirty carpeting.

  “I’m sorry, field study?”

  “Yes, you will volunteer your time with one of the farming families here in Drusselheim.”

  “I don’t know much of anything about farms, Headmistress.”

  Ms. Dunst smiled warmly. “You will before the month is over Mr. Anderson. Ah, here we are – room 220. You’ll be by yourself in this room, so give a shout if you need something.” And with that she left him.

  Dean surveyed the empty room. A single bed on a
wooden frame stood beneath a perfectly square window that was five times the size of his apartment windows back home. A small writing desk with a reading lamp took up space along the right side of the room. One edge of a circular, white area rug was tucked beneath a freestanding closet. A narrow door on the left led to a bathroom that held a toilet, a sink and the smallest shower he had ever seen.

  Taking a seat on the bed that squeaked a bit, but seemed comfortable enough, he stared out the giant window at still more swirling snow. For the briefest of moments, feeling completely alone, he wondered if this would become the worst Christmas he had ever known.

  *

  The next morning came too early for Dean, as his internal clock was still on New York time. Forcing himself out of bed, he dressed and made his way toward room 315 for orientation.

  He walked into the classroom and looked down at his watch, for there was no one else but himself in the room. He had almost convinced himself to look for the headmistress when a thin man with wire frame glasses and a wild mass of white hair walked into the room, holding a three ring binder and a pencil.

  “Ah, Mr. Anderson, good to see you on time! Please have a seat for your orientation and class assignment.” The man spoke in a jovial voice with a peculiar accent, which Dean struggled to identify.

  “I am…“ The man began writing on the large green chalkboard as he spoke, “Mr. McDougal. Most people call me Mac. You might have noticed that our class today is a bit thin.”

  “Yes, sir, am I the only student for this semester?” Dean did his best to squeeze his awkward frame behind one of the student desks.

  “Certainly not lad, but you are the only student that hasn’t been through orientation yet. Schedules are a bit different in Europe. You’re starting in the middle of the season to give you some time to soak in the local customs before you have to really buckle down.” Mac brushed his hands together and then sat in the squeaky teacher’s chair, propping his feet up on the desk.

  Dean took the opportunity to look the man over. He wore khaki slacks and a white shirt under a yellow plaid sweater vest. The plaid pattern jogged his memory, and he realized that the man’s accent was in fact Scottish.