Angels in the Snow by Rexanne Becnel

him away. With a sigh the man pulled a knit hat down over his ears and joined the boys.
    Charles couldn’t help himself. He rubbed a clear spot on the kitchen window to watch them. Joe had an ax. He’d probably found it in the basement. Now he had both boys out by a chopping block. Charles had a hard time imagining the banker, Rogers, cutting firewood. But Joe Walker fit the image. And that realization bothered Charles.
    There had been a time when he’d fit that image, too. Back when he’d been a young man visiting his grandparents, he’d cut more than his share of wood. But Alex didn’t know that. Charles had never even thought about teaching Alex how to chop wood. They purchased it by the cord for the fireplaces at home.
    His brow creased as he realized that Alex probably saw him only as a businessman, barely able to build a fire, let alone cut the fuel for it.
    He watched in increasing despair as Joe had the boys haul several unsplit logs nearer. Even through the driving snow, Charles could see the interest on Alex’s face as the man gestured and explained. Then with just a few well-aimed blows, Joe split the log.
    Alex gathered up the pieces while Joe positioned another log. Robbie took the ax then, and went to work. Although it took him several more swings, he, too, quickly reduced the heavy log to more manageable fuel for the fireplace. Robbie did another, and then another, but Charles didn’t watch the youngster work. His eyes were trained on Alex, who was standing off to the side with Joe.
    The man had his hand on Alex’s shoulder as he spoke to him. He said something and Alex laughed. A full, unrestrained grin lifted the boy’s face, and once more Charles felt an ache in the vicinity of his heart. Why couldn’t he bring that kind of expression to Alex’s face? Maybe if they played some tennis . . .
    Finally it was Alex’s turn. Joe showed him how to hold the ax: left hand near the curved end, right hand free to slide with the stroke. He showed Alex how to judge the correct distance he should be from the log, and how to position his feet. Then he and Robbie stood back to the side.
    Swirling snow coated the three figures outside and gave the scene a Christmas-card quality. Alex looked over at Joe and said something that caused him and Robbie both to laugh. Charles wished he knew what it was.
    He watched with tensed posture as Alex lifted the heavy ax and then swung. Too tentative, he thought, as the metal head glanced off the log, toppling it over. Joe and Robbie both came forward with advice and gestures. Alex nodded, then righted the log. His brow was creased in concentration as he focused on the log. Once more he swung, and this time the ax bit deep into the seasoned oak.
    He mimicked Joe’s and Robbie’s earlier actions to knock the log free, then positioned it again. It took him almost twice as many swings to split the log as it had taken Robbie, and he was blowing hard when he finished. But the expression on his face was exultant.
    Joe clapped him on the back and Robbie handed him a wood chip from among the pieces scattered in the snow. Alex grinned and slipped it into his pocket. Joe took the ax and split several more logs before handing it on to Robbie. They continued on that way, the three of them taking turns with the work while the stack of fuel grew and grew.
    They talked as they worked, and though their cheeks and noses grew ruddy with the cold, they clearly were warmed by their activity. Charles, by contrast, grew colder and colder. He shivered in the frigid kitchen and his teeth chattered, but still he could not tear himself away from the window. Only when he saw them lay the ax aside and begin to gather up the wood did he step away. Before the trio could reenter the kitchen, he retreated to the living room.
    He noticed at once that the chaos in the room had disappeared. Though the room was a far cry from the contemporary sleekness its