The Christmas Wreath by John C. Laird (most popular novels TXT) đ
- Author: John C. Laird
Book online «The Christmas Wreath by John C. Laird (most popular novels TXT) đ». Author John C. Laird
Ben smiled as he approached the man, who was still immobile in front of the manger scene. âMr. Cristobal, donât tell me you need another Christmas tree?â
He turned. âJosh⊠please. All my friends call me Josh.â
They shook hands. Joshua turned back to the manger and nodded at it. âThis setup isnât too politically correct anymore, is it?â
Ben frowned. âNo, I guess not. Times have changed. Unfortunately. But I bought this half acre parcel almost fifteen years ago, itâs zoned commercial, and the city council hasnât given me any problems on my yearly permit. Not yet anyway. So screw the atheists and the A.C.L.U. If some customers donât like it, they can get their trees somewhere else. God gets to stay in this little corner of the world. At least as long as Iâm here.â
Joshua looked at him and chuckled. âSorry. Sounds like I hit a nerve.â He held up his hands, palms out. âHey, Iâm on your side; youâre preaching to the choir. And to answer your question, yes, I need to pick up another tree for some people.â He looked over at a small pile of tree trimmings next to the trailer. âIâd like to take some of those tree clippings, if itâs okay. I make wreaths out of them for gifts.â
âNo problem; I just throw the clippings away at the end of the night, anyway.â
There were only a dozen trees left, but Joshua found one he liked. After they tied it to the carâs roof, Ben filled a couple of big boxes that Josh had brought for the clippings. That done, he asked, âYou have time for another hot chocolate or maybe coffee?â
Joshua grinned. âI appreciate the offer, but not tonight. I still have a lot to do.â He looked at Benjamin appraisingly. âI hear youâre open on Christmas Eve.â
âThatâs true, as long as I have trees left, anyway. Believe it or not, I have regular, late customers every year.â
The fine lines around Joshuaâs eyes and mouth creased deeper as his smile grew. âThatâs what I hear. Iâll stop in then for that coffee.â With that the man turned and left.
Ben watched him go, disappointed that he wasnât staying, but glad that he was coming back.
#
Joshua returned at noon on Christmas Eve. He greeted the old man warmly. âIâm ready for that coffee, my friend.â
They went inside the cozy trailer. The day was icy cold, the sky a steel-grey dome. There were only a half dozen trees left on the lot, what most would consider the runts of the litter. They were a little crooked and uneven, maybe, but still waiting for homes for Christmas.
Ben and Joshua sat inside and talked about the weather, the economy, and even politics. Just passing the time. Sandwiches prepared by Benjamin in anticipation of Joshuaâs visit were retrieved from the small refrigerator and provided their lunch.
Every so often a car or truck would pull upâuniformly older and run down modelsâoccupied by somber looking people with children who stared at the trees and lights with big and wondering eyes. Benjamin would go out, talk to the people, help them load their tree and return to the trailer.
By five oâclock the last tree was gone. Joshua noticed that when Ben returned to the trailer each time, he never put any money in the drawer next to the table.
When Ben clambered back into the trailer after the last sale Joshua said, âYou gave those last trees away for free, didnât you?â
Ben frowned. âYeah. Some of my regulars are going through hard times and really canât afford a tree. Iâm just trying to help out. But I seem to be missing one familyâŠâ
As if on cue, an old Ford station wagon, heralding its arrival loudly via a defective muffler, pulled up to the rabbit fencing. A tired, washed out looking woman in her forties got out, followed by three girls and a boy, ranging in age from six to ten.
âToo bad you ran out of treesâŠâ Joshua began.
But Ben was already out the door. He greeted the woman and the children warmly, went behind the trailer, and seconds later was dragging out a beautiful, seven-foot Blue Spruce to the delight of the four children and their mother.
Josh went out and helped Ben secure the tree to the roof of their car. Then, Ben gave several small boxes of Christmas tree lights to the woman. She was in tears when she got back into the car.
In the trailer Benjamin answered Joshâs unspoken question. âYes, I keep a few trees in reserve behind the trailer for emergencies. That womanâs husband left her and her kids a couple of years ago, and sheâs been struggling to get by ever since.â
Joshua just sat and looked at him, a smile working its way to the corners of his mouth. âI have a sneaky suspicion you have a habit of giving to people, and itâs not confined just to the Christmas holidays.â It was past six now and dark outside. He changed the subject. âAny plans for tonight? Relatives, someone special?â
The old man pursed his lips. âNo, my parents are dead, and my sister lives in Florida. The Senior Center already had itâs Christmas party, and itâs too late to make it home in time for a church service, so I guess Iâll just go home and watch a movieââItâs A Wonderful Lifeâ, maybe. Iâve always liked that movie. What about you?â
âNothing special for me either. All my friends either have something going on, or are hitting the sack early with their kids. Oh, before I forgetâŠâ Josh leaned to the side and picked up a Christmas wreath that had been leaning against the wall next to his chair. ââŠI made this for you. Merry Christmas, Ben.â
Benjamin took the offered wreath with a flustered look. âIâŠahâŠthank you, JoshâŠyou shouldnât haveâŠitâs beautifulâŠâ
And it was. The long strands of pine boughs were secured together with fishing line inconspicuously hidden among the pine needles and holly. The traditional circular wreath was decorated with bright crimson ribbons, small pine cones, sprigs of holly and red berries. There were several small figures and objects secured within the wreath. Benjamin looked closely and saw that they were delicately carved winged angels, some trumpeting with long horns. âThese figures are beautifulâŠtheyâre woodâŠdid you carve them yourself?â
Josh grinned self-consciously. âYes, I enjoy working with wood. Iâve been told Iâm pretty good at it.â
âYou certainly are. But you shouldnât have; I donât have anything to give you in return.â
Josh tapped his chin absently with his forefinger as he lapsed into thought. Finally, he leaned forward conspiratorially. âDo you have anything stronger than coffee or hot chocolate around here?â
Ben looked at him blankly for a second, finally succumbing to a huge grin. âNow youâre talking; itâll be my humble contribution for the holidays.â He went outside and turned off all the lights in the lot.
Upon returning, he opened the storage bench and pulled out a half-full bottle of Jim Beam. Grabbing two juice glasses from the cupboard over the sink, he poured them each a couple fingers worth of the amber whiskey. He held up his glass. âA toast to Christmas and the birth of Christ!â They downed their drinks and Ben splashed another into their glasses. âHereâs an even better one. âTo Jesus, the reason for the Season!ââ
Joshua lifted his glass. âGood one, Ben.â
After the second shot of the fiery liquid, the warmth spreading through Benjamin began chasing away the cold of the night, but seemed unable to block a sense of melancholy that had begun to slowly pervade his formerly cheery spirits.
But Joshua didnât seem as afflicted. âSo, Ben, do you have a favorite Christmas from your past, any special ones that stand out? Christmas vacations, stuff like that?â
âNot really; they all kind of blend together. Except maybe one, but I didnât know it thenâŠâ
âWell,â Josh continued, âDo I get to hear?â
âNaw, it was a long time ago.â Benjaminâs eyes seemed to have dimmed at the thought.
Joshua was looking at him, the corners of his mouth curving up. âA history teacher. Youâve helped a lot of students along the way, went the extra mile for them in school and even after they graduated. Besides the Kiwanis, you belong to Hope Junction and volunteer with the poor and homeless. Youâre active in your church and have done a lot of charities along the way. Youâre a regular saint, Ben, I even heardâŠâ
Benjamin was blushing and wincing. âHey, hey, how do you know all this?â
Joshua laughed and leaned forward again. âThis is a small town, Ben; people have a high opinion of you and arenât afraid to share.â
Benjamin drained the rest of his drink and shook his head, continuing to redden.
Joshua continued. âI have to ask, Ben. Youâre a decent looking guy, lead the good life, have given instead of taken, and yet no wife or family. True, your fashion sense is questionable with that loud flannel shirt and those baggy khakis, but I never bought the 'the clothes make the man' advertising spiel anyway. Yes, I realize Iâm being nosy, but I have to ask: why? If Iâm crossing the line, just say so.â
Ben poured them another drink and took a sip, a sheepish look on his face. âNothing really to say. Iâve had my share of women, even dated one for four years. Thought about marriage once or twice, but could never take that final, monumental step. I guess I never met anyone right for me, no one that I was totally happy with, no one that was totally happy with me.â
Leaning back in his chair and balancing on the back legs, Joshua pressed on, âNot even your four-year girlfriend?â
âNo, she got tired of waiting for me to take that final plunge and dumped me for another guy.â
Joshua leaned forward, saw they had emptied their glasses again, took the bottle and poured them another drink, toasting, âHereâs to womankind: canât live with them, canât live without them and canât figure them out.â Pursing his lips he exhaled as if blowing out a candle. âPhew, this is good stuff; itâll keep the blood flowing.â After a pause he continued, âDid you ever wish you could do things over?â
âWhat do you mean?â
âYou know, go back and choose 'the path not takenâ. Relive your life, do things differently, make different choices. Maybe take the things youâve learned during the course of your lifetime and use them to do things over.â
Now Ben was tilting back in his chair, precariously balancing on its two rear legs. âIâd say not as easy a choice as one would think. To keep from repeating the same mistakes over again, one would have to take learned knowledge back with him. But to carry the accumulated baggage of a lifetimeâin my case seventy-two year's worth of luggageâthe sorrow, the grief, the trials and tribulations, the ups and downs, the ins and outs, the day to day to day grind, knowing that you were going to have to go through another lifetime of accumulating debris, well, I canât think it would be worth it. Too tiring, too exhausting, too consuming. Either way, to make it even temptingly worthwhile, there would have to be
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