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Emily Bennett wandered through the living room, laughing into the phone pressed between her shoulder and cheek as she gathered stray cups, books, and stuffed animals.
“Yeah, I’ve been keeping an eye on it. It’s been a lighter winter than normal, so I’m sure the kids are all more than ready for a snow day or two. Or are yours old enough now to worry about the effect it would have on their grades?”
She laughed as her sister groaned. Studious kids were generally a good thing, but it was important to take a break every so often to have fun, too. Not that her kids had that issue. When there was even a chance of flurries, it was practically impossible to keep Jamie inside long enough to do his homework, and Sophie loved to go wherever her big brother was going. She half-listened to her sister’s response while stacking the books and toys on the stairs and dropping the dishes in the sink. Then the oven timer started beeping.
“Dinner’s ready to come out of the oven, so I’m going to have to let you go now. But it was nice getting to chat with you for a minute!”
She knocked on the living room window until she caught her kids’ attention, then gestured for them to come inside.
“I know it’s my fault we don’t get to talk that often, but you remember how it is. Yours were the same age as mine once too.”
Her sister laughed as Jamie came inside, Sophie tripping along behind him.
“It’s all worth it, obviously— boots , Jamie, I already laid a towel out, don’t track mud in the house, and help Soph with hers—but I wish heavy snow still meant I could get the day off, too. I could use a good lie-in.”
Her sister wished her a good evening and told her to be careful on the roads if the storms got as bad as they were supposed to.
“I will, and hey. If it gets that bad, I’ll tell Uncle Jack you say hello, and that we’ve all missed him, how’s that sound?”
She didn’t notice Jamie’s confused head tilt as he looked away from helping Sophie with her mittens.
Emily laughed at her sister’s response and hung up the phone, abandoning it on the counter. She had three dinners to serve, and she only had two hands. She would probably remember to put it back on charge later.
“Sophie, sweetie, can you grab us napkins? Jamie, utensils?”
“Got it.”
She backed through the door, shouldering it open then letting it swing shut behind her as she turned to put out the plates. What was she… oh yes, drinks. She dodged Sophie, bouncing through the doorway with a stack of far too many napkins. Oh, well. Better too many than too few, and knowing how clumsy Sophie could be, they might need them all. In the kitchen, Jamie had the utensils in one hand and was pouring a glass of milk.
“Thank you, love. If you want to go ahead and take that one out, I can grab the other two.”
“Okay,” Jamie said, taking a sip of his drink as he went. Emily poured the other two glasses and joined her children at the table.
Something was off with Jamie. Everything else about the meal was going well. Sophie was eating her vegetables with minimal complaining, the new recipe was being well-received by all (a rare occurrence), and the conversation about the games the kids had been playing all afternoon was going well. She enjoyed hearing about how the other kids in the neighborhood were doing, even if it made her cringe in sympathy for their parents sometimes. Between Claude and Caleb’s ice hockey, Monty’s tendency to walk directly into streets or stop signs because his nose was in a book, and the wealth of questionable ideas that were guaranteed to be put into action whenever a group of children spent enough time together without adult supervision, one of these days one of those kids was almost guaranteed to lose a tooth that wouldn’t grow back. She’d be shocked if Jamie’s sledding accident was the last minor injury he got, but kids would be kids.
But her son kept hesitating to say something, and she was getting worried. He would open his mouth, glance at her, then sort of cringe and start a new line of conversation. It was like he had something he wanted to say but was afraid to, for some reason. Had someone gotten hurt? No, she likely would have gotten a call from one of the other parents already, if that were the case. They tried to keep each other updated on what shenanigans their children were getting up to together, and anything worse than a bruise tended to warrant a phone call, even if it was less about warning and more about commiseration.
She bet she could make him crack. Child stubbornness was no match for the Mom Stare. She put her fork down and just looked at him. It didn’t take long before he was squirming in his seat, poking at his food and glancing around the room. Another minute, and he would blurt out whatever it was that was bothering him. He always did.
“Who’s Uncle Jack?”
She was startled. Out of all the things that could have been bothering him. she never would have guessed that . He misread her pause and started babbling nervously.
“It’s just, I know you said you were going to call Aunt Kath today, so you were probably talking to her when we came in, but then you mentioned an Uncle Jack, but I thought grandma only had sisters? Didn’t I meet everybody we don’t see for holidays when Sophie was born? Did I meet him and just forget?”
Sophie looked up from where she was sticking her fingers in her milk and dripping it onto her napkin to make shapes when she heard her name. She tilted her head in the same confused way Jamie always did. Emily couldn’t help but laugh.
“No, Uncle Jack wasn’t there when Sophie was born, it was a bit too hot for him. Gosh, I haven’t told you that story since you were her age, have I? I’m sorry about that. Of course you’ve forgotten, it’s been years.”
“Story?” Jamie asked.
Sophie perked up immediately. She knew that word.
“Story! Storystorystory!”
“Alright, that’ll be our story before bed tonight. I know you think you’re too old for that sort of thing, but joining me and Soph again one more time won’t kill you, will it?”
“No! I can come!” He paused. “Just this once, I mean.”
Kids. Always so obsessed with growing up. She missed the days when he would beg her for one more story before bed. Maybe if she passed it off as “cryptozoology” instead of “a fairytale” he would enjoy this one. She’d always loved it, growing up. She couldn’t believe she hadn’t told it again in so long. Maybe it had something to do with the unseasonably warm weather. A good snow always made her nostalgic. She’d been mostly kidding on the phone with her sister, of course, but she couldn’t deny she’d missed her Uncle Jack.
The juggling act that was getting two kids ready for bed went off as close to ‘without a hitch’ as it was possible, at their ages. Emily kept an ear out while washing the dinner dishes, but step one of their bedtime routine, brushing their teeth, usually went well. She’d never met a child Sophie’s age so excited about dental hygiene. It was weird, but very convenient. If she ever figured out who it was that read her children whatever story it was that convinced the kid the Tooth Fairy wanted her to brush and floss every day? She probably owed them more than just a thank you. She would bake them cookies or something, if it wouldn’t be ironic to thank for clean teeth with the gift of sugar. (And she still wasn’t over the first time she heard Sophie respond to candy with “sugar! Sugarsugarsugar cavities! Brush brush!” instead of a repetitive variant of “yay” or “yum.”)
Pajamas were a battle she had long since given up on fighting. If Sophie wanted to sleep in her Christmas nightgown in March, or mix and match her polka-dotted shirt with her plaid pants, then fine. It wouldn’t do any harm. Jamie wasn’t much better, honestly. Sometimes she swore he dressed blindly, but he seemed to find humor in it somehow. She wasn’t sure what the joke was, but he matched the Santa hat-patterned top with the pirate sword bottoms or vice versa often enough that there had to be one. So she left them to dress themselves for bed and tried not to laugh when she saw the results some nights, and they never needed convincing to brush their teeth anymore, so her only contribution to bedtime was the reading of stories.
When she got upstairs, she was surprised to see Sophie already tucked in and Jamie sitting at the head of her bed next to her. Their eyes were fixed on her the moment she reached the door. Really? No time enforcement necessary? Not even one “please, five more minutes”?
“Can you tell us about Uncle Jack now, mom?”
“Jack!”
“I can, but I’m warning you, it’s not exactly a happy story.”
“That’s okay, we can take it, right Soph?”
“Right!”
Since when were her kids this interested in family history?
“Of course, then. Just give me a second, I’m not quite sure where to begin.”
She wasn’t sure where she’d begun the first time she told Jamie this story. Or where she’d begun when she’d told it to his father, for that matter. He’d laughed but gone along with it when he realized how important it was to her family.
“I guess I’ll start at the beginning, but that was a very long time ago.”
“It starts with the Overlands. I’ve mentioned before how my side of the family has lived in Burgess since before it was actually called Burgess. Well, our ancestors the Overlands were among the first settlers who built the town. I’m not quite sure how many generations back it was. I used to have the line memorized, I could recite in chronological order which ancestor married who and had which child to trace the connection from the Overlands to myself. It gets a bit confusing, though. Our connection is mostly matrilineal, meaning through mothers, so our family name changed whenever they married. I think I still have a copy of it written down somewhere though, if you’re curious, or we could call grandma tomorrow. I’m sure she’d be excited to tell you all about it.
So your great-great-great-many-greats grandmother was Mary Overland, and Mary, she had an older brother named Jack, and Jack was the best. Life wasn’t very fun back then, it was mostly dark and scary, but he was always finding ways to make it fun for Mary and all the other little kids in town. He would tell stories, or come up with new games, or put on one-man shows. Anything to get the kids laughing, you know? Stop being scared and have a little fun, instead. Jack could find the fun in anything. When the snow fell hard enough that the adults started worrying, he would start a village-wide snowball fight. When the ice was thick enough that they couldn’t get fish for dinner anymore, he taught himself how to ice skate, instead.
When Mary was old enough, Jack was going to teach her how to skate. Back then, skates were different, they were blades on platforms you tied to your real shoes. So he helped Mary tie her skates onto her shoes and spun out onto the lake. He was trying to show Mary it wasn’t as scary as she thought it was. But something went wrong.
The ice should have been solid, but it wasn’t. It was no one’s fault. There was no way they could have known. Spring just decided to come early that year. So when Mary took a few steps out onto the ice, it started to crack. She was terrified. She was maybe your age, Jamie, so she was old enough to know that water that cold is dangerous. She knew how much trouble she would be in if the ice broke all the way.
But Jack was so, so brave, and he did what he always did: he took a situation that was scary and turned it into an opportunity to have fun. He stepped carefully and jumped like they were playing a game until he could grab a stick. It was a good stick, kind of like a shepherd’s crook, long and sturdy with a hook at the end. Then, as soon as Mary was close enough for him to reach, he used his stick to hook her and throw her as hard as he could back to shore.
Thanks to Jack, Mary made it safely off the ice. But he pushed her away from him so hard, he pushed himself backwards, too. He ended up far enough out that the ice couldn’t hold his weight. It broke under him, and he fell through.
He didn’t make it out. He was trapped underwater and trapped under the ice, and he passed away. But that’s not the end of the story.
He sacrificed himself to save Mary’s life, but that wasn’t the last time she saw him. Mary swore to anyone that would listen that she saw Jack several more times throughout her life. He was different. His hair and eyes were lighter, as if they were covered in ice, but she would know her brother anywhere, and it was him. He was gone for all of spring, summer, and fall, and she missed him every day, but the following winter, she saw him as the first snow fell. He was flying, dancing with the wind, and still carrying the stick he’d used to save her. But when he tapped the trees with it, the leaves became decorated with spirals of frost. And when he swept it through the sky, snowflakes twirled around him. She could never catch up with him, but she could hear him laughing as he flew away.
She tried to tell people that Jack was okay, but they didn’t listen. Why would they? Jack was dead, he was buried in the local graveyard and everything. She was just a very imaginative child who missed her brother, that was all. But Mary believed with all her heart that her big brother was watching over her and the rest of the kids in town, guarding them just like he always had, turning the dangerous winter into something fun.
Well, Mary grew up eventually. She got married and had a couple of kids. She named her eldest son Jack and told them all about the boy he was named after, their brave Uncle Jack who couldn’t be there with them, but if they kept an eye out as the seasons started to change, maybe they would be lucky enough to see him as he leapt around town, bringing the frost. Every time a blizzard swept through the town, they didn’t need to be afraid. Yes, it was cold, and yes, the wind was loud, but it wasn’t anything to be scared of, it was just Uncle Jack stopping by for a visit. That chill on your face, the snowflakes stuck in your eyelashes, just Uncle Jack saying hi.”
“So no, you didn’t meet an uncle and forget him, Jamie, and I didn’t mean to keep him a secret. I didn’t realize you were too young to remember the story, last time I told it to you. But our family has always had just a little extra layer of protection against the cold, and a fondness for colder weather, too. Because we all agree that it’s just many-greats Uncle Jack popping by.”
Jamie and Sophie both looked awestruck. It made Emily nostalgic for the days when she and her sister were their age. Their mother had told them this story countless times. Before bed, in front of the fireplace after dinner, and always on the night of the first snow. She was glad to be able to pass on a sweet part of their family to her own children.
“Jack Frost is our uncle?!”
She paused.
“I’m not actually familiar with Jack Frost’s story. Did the library add a new book to their winter holiday collection?”
Jamie hesitated.
“Um, yeah! That was it. Jack Frost is a guardian of children, and turning scary things into fun is kind of his thing. He defeated the Boogeyman, Pitch Black, then threw a massive snowball fight to celebrate! He has a stick like that, too, and made it snow everywhere, even inside! Um. In his book, I mean.”
She tilted her head.
“That’s a lot of similarities. He could be, actually! I’ve never heard that name for the Boogeyman, but you know how stories grow and change every time they’re told. It’s like a massive game of telephone. Can you show me that book next time we go to the library? Maybe the author is a distant cousin.”
Why was he hesitating again? Was he stretching the truth a bit? He had a habit of finding books he was probably a bit too young to be reading. But how age-inappropriate could a story about Jack Frost really be?
“Yeah, um, I guess. If I can find it again. So that’s what you were talking about on the phone with Aunt Kath earlier? Uncle Jack?”
“Yes, she asked me if I’ve looked at the weather recently. We’re expecting much heavier storms soon than I’ve seen in years, so she was a bit worried. But we have lots of food so we don’t have to drive anywhere, and lots of candles if we lose power, and lots of blankets, too! So we’ll be fine. The worst that can happen is we get a chance to say hi to Uncle Jack.”
Sophie was giggling again and hugging her favorite stuffed rabbit.
“I want to play with Jack!”
“Alright, you can do that. Once the worst of the storm is over. And I’ll make some hot chocolate for you guys to warm up with when you come in, how does that sound?”
Sophie squealed excitedly. If there was one way to a child’s heart, it was sugar.
“Has anyone else in the family ever seen him?”
“One or two say they did. Always when they’re around your age, but he never sticks around long enough to chat. He has stuff to do, cold winds to bring, and all that. I never saw him, and it broke my heart as a kid. I wanted to meet my Uncle Jack more than anything, especially since I was named after him. Kath was so jealous.”
Jamie wrinkled his nose.
“Your name is Emily.”
She laughed.
“Yes, but my middle name is Jaqueline.”
“That’s not the same thing!”
“No, it’s not, but we were kind of running out of ideas! I mentioned that Mary named her son after Jack? Well, every generation of our family since then has had at least one child named after him, but after a while, family reunions would get really confusing when you would yell ‘hey Jack’ and six different guys would turn around. We had to mix it up a bit. There’s only so many Jacks, Jackies, and Jacksons you can have before it gets old. That’s why I’m Emily Jacqueline, and you, little missy?”
She tapped her daughter’s nose. Sophie giggled.
“You’re named after him too! That’s why you’re Sophia Jacklyn.”
Sophie squealed.
“I’m Jack too! Jackjackjack!”
Jamie almost looked jealous. Emily smiled.
“Well, your story is over and it’s getting late. It’s past time for you two to be asleep, I think.”
Jamie hopped off the bed and walked back to his room. He’d say goodnight when she went over there in a minute to tuck him in, too. She gave Sophie a kiss on the forehead and straightened her blankets a bit, fixing where she and Jamie had messed up Sophie’s bedding and stuffed animals.
“I love you, sweetheart. Good night. Sweet dreams.”
Sophie smiled sleepily.
“Night, Mommy. Love you. And love Jack!”
Emily smiled as she left the room, shutting off the light behind her. Jamie was already lying in bed when she got to his room, but she completed the same routine, fixing all his pillows and tucking him in.
“Mom? How do you miss Uncle Jack if you’ve never actually seen him?”
She laughed softly.
“Well, I don’t miss him, exactly. I miss what he means to our family. I never saw the Tooth Fairy either, but I can still miss being young and how excited I felt when I hid a tooth under my pillow and knew it would be gone in the morning, can’t I? It’s kind of the same thing. I don't know him personally, but I remember how I felt when all the kids in our family would sit on the carpet by the fireplace with mugs of hot chocolate while my grandma told us that story for the millionth time. We were warm and safe and loved and happy, and I miss those days sometimes when it’s been a while since we’ve gotten to visit everybody. Snow, big snowstorms especially, make me remember all the brightest, warmest parts of my childhood. I want that for you, too. I hope that when you’re in my age a snowflake will land on your eyelashes and instead of being annoyed and cold, you’ll remember being home with me and Sophie in soft pajamas and listening to stories and the memories will make you smile. I hope Uncle Jack will remind you how loved you are.”
She loved that Jamie still believed in those sorts of things. He would outgrow it soon, all children did, but she hoped he would still be able to cling on to the joy that belief had brought him as a child and look fondly back on the things they’d done as a family as she tried to help him keep that belief alive. She would cherish that innocence for as long as she could and she hoped that when he was an adult he would be grateful for it.
She kissed him on the forehead, just as she had Sophie.
“I love you, honey. Sweet dreams.”
“Love you, too.”
She went to leave his room, but paused at the doorway when he called for her. She glanced back at him.
“Last question, I swear. I’ve left notes for the Tooth Fairy, and we make cookies for Santa every year. Why haven’t we done anything for Jack?”
She paused, considering. Why hadn’t they? She didn’t think she ever had, growing up, either.
“You know? I’m not actually sure. But if you’d like to make him something this weekend, I’d be happy to help.”
He grinned up at her.
“I think he’d really like that.”
She grinned back.
“We’ll do it, then. And whatever we make, we can put it outside, balance it on the fenceposts in the backyard. My Uncle Chris swears he saw Uncle Jack walking across the tops of a neighbor’s fence once, balancing like it was the easiest thing in the world.”
She remembered that story, too. Whenever her grandmother told the kids Mary’s story, all the adults in the family eavesdropped with the same nostalgic fondness she felt fot it now, except for those who claimed they’d seen him as children. Their fondness was sharper, somehow. Crisp and clean. They always added their experiences to the end with a kind of brightness the rest of the family lacked. It was like there was a spark of belief in them that they'd never managed to outgrow. She was a little jealous.
She flipped the light off, but added one last thing over her shoulder.
“But you spend much more time out in the snow than I do, so you’re a lot more likely to see him than I am. If you do, tell him Mary’s great-great-and-more-greats granddaughter says hello!”
She closed Jamie’s door behind her as she left.
She was a grown woman. Her bedtime was much later than her young childrens’, so she had some time before she got tired. It would be enough time to find those old boxes. Jamie and Sophie had seemed to like the story, so she could probably find that family tree somewhere. And she knew her copy of the family cookbook was around there somewhere, too. Some of the older recipes in there predated the town, she was sure of it. She might have to get creative with substitutions for a few ingredients, but maybe Jamie would enjoy knowing that the recipe they made Jack was something he would have had back when he was a child.
Jack Frost, huh? Who would have guessed?
It all fit too well to be a coincidence. The stick, the fun instead of fear. Maybe her family’s story had spread farther than any of them would have guessed. That would be nice, knowing a piece of her family lived on in the memories of children all over the country. Maybe even all over the world. It was kind of cool, actually. She knew that generally folklore couldn’t be attributed to any one person, as stories gained and lost traits over time as the cultures that talked about them evolved, but hey. No matter how much his story shifted, it definitely looked like he was based off of her ancestor, and she was quite proud of that.
After all, how many people could say that their Uncle was Jack Frost?
She glanced up fondly toward her children's bedrooms. Well, after today? Two more, apparently.