She put the plates on the small kitchen table, one at his place and one at hers. He looked at the plate and suppressed a sigh. Pork chop, baked potato, canned peas. The pale, mushy, green globs spoiled a perfectly good dinner for him. As a former nurse, nutrition was important to her; he just wasn't sure there was any nutrition in canned peas.
She sat and looked at her meal, feeling slightly queasy. While she usually enjoyed pork chops, lately any greasy food put her off. She watched him prepare his potato; she had to look away as he slathered on a generous glob of butter.
“Nels, I want to talk about the tree,” she said.
“What tree?” he asked innocently.
“You know perfectly well which tree. The Christmas tree.”
“We've already discussed this, Marie.” He smiled. She liked his smile, it went with his crooked, boxer’s nose.
“I want to discuss it again.”
“Okay.”
“I want us to pick up the tree on Sunday.”
He shook his head. “We agreed on Christmas Eve.”
“But Sunday is the day before Christmas Eve.”
“We agreed to take turns. One year Christmas, the next two weeks before.”
“Yes, but why should you go first?”
“Because my mother is coming. And next year there will be a baby in the house.” She looked down at her tummy. She was a tall woman with plenty of room to carry a baby. At 14 weeks, her pregnancy was just starting to show. “I thought you wanted your kind of Christmas for our first as a family.”
She just looked at him stubbornly.
“Besides, a good tree will be cheaper on Christmas Eve,” he said with a sly grin.
***
She got out of her morning bath and toweled herself dry, and then, as she had every day for three months, stood as far back from the mirror as she could. She looked at herself straight on, then from the side. There was no denying it; her ample bosom was slightly swollen and there was a definite bump where her flat tummy had been. She smiled and patted the evidence of her growing child.
Her whole life she had wanted to be a mother, but with all the young men overseas she began to doubt she’d ever find a husband. But the first time she met Thomas Nelson she had known. On their second date, she sat on his lap and told him that she wanted to marry him, and, if he wasn't serious, there wasn't any point in any more dates. That hadn't quite scared him off. So, here she was at the ripe old age of twenty-nine, not an old maid, but married and pregnant.
These thoughts were in the back of her mind as she dressed; panties, garter belt (no more girdle, thank goodness), nylon stockings (making sure the seams were straight), brassiere, slip, and second best winter dress, which still fit her just fine. Need some maternity clothes soon, she thought. Her sisters had offered her some of theirs, but she could only imagine the ghastly things they had worn. She brushed her prematurely graying hair and applied a minimum of makeup, dark red lipstick and a little rouge to accentuate her high cheekbones.
She went out to the front room; their flat was not a garden apartment, since it was not built on one of the many Jackson Heights gardens. However, it was built in that style and she loved it. The room was sparsely decorated with a couch, a chair, a coffee table, one side table with a lamp, a floor lamp, a console radio and a small cabinet. The best part was the hardwood floor, which she kept well-polished.
At the hall closet she put on her long winter coat and her favorite old, silk scarf, which she folded into a triangle, put over her head and tied under her chin. She left the apartment, locking the door carefully behind her, walked down the three flights, out of the building and into the street. It was a beautiful day, high hazy sunshine, low thirties, dry and only a little wind. She walked the two blocks to the 90th Street bus stop. Using her pass, she rode the bus south to the Elmhurst Avenue and 90th Street station on the Flushing Line. She climbed the stairs to the station, carefully counted out the coins for her fare and a few minutes later boarded the westbound train for the City.
At a quarter after ten in the morning the train was not very crowded, and she found a seat next to the window. She always enjoyed the ride through Queens on the elevated railway, mostly because she hardly ever took it. She watched the houses and churches and parks slide by. She could see little patches of snow in the shadows where the sun never reached. She knew from her father's last letter that her hometown, two hundred miles upstate, had a thick blanket of snow. She hoped she would have a white Christmas, too.
The dust and sunshine combined to make her sneeze; she opened her purse to retrieve her hankie and gently wiped her nose. She put the hankie in her coat pocket and, closing the purse, noticed the checkbook. As always, it made her smile. It was one of things she liked best about her marriage. She and Nels had agreed that he would make the money and she would spend it. Or rather, not spend it. At the end of each month she balanced the checkbook, verified they were within budget (as if there were any doubt), and triumphantly wrote a check to transfer the surplus to their savings.
Not long and they'd be able to make a down payment on a house. A VA loan would make that possible. The war had been terrible, but the veterans were being rewarded: the economy was booming and the government helped with educational benefits and home loans. They could never afford a house in Jackson Heights or anywhere in the five boroughs. It would have to be out on Long Island or in New Jersey. Probably Jersey.
Just before Hunters Point Avenue the train went underground and shortly thereafter entered the tunnel under the East River. Once past the river the line entered the subway system. The first station was Grand Central and the second was 5th Avenue and 42nd Street. She got off the train and climbed the stairs to the street. She sniffed the air, reveled in the sunshine, and decided to walk the eight blocks down 5th Avenue to 34th Street.
This was the burgeoning heart of American consumerism. Storefront after storefront offered up temptations to Christmas shoppers: oriental carpets, cookware, sofas, chairs, dining room sets, men's suits, dress shirts, dresses, china dolls, cap pistols, chocolates, taffy, candy canes, evergreen wreaths, Christmas tree ornaments, crown roasts of beef, plucked chickens, turkeys, hams, halibut, cod, oysters, oranges, carrots, nuts, crackers, cheddar cheese, bicycles, table tennis sets, pool tables, kites, and even vacation travel to Havana. A soldier on a mission, she marched down 5th Avenue looking neither to the left nor to the right. At 34th she turned west, went two blocks through Herald Square, where she arrived at the throne of Olympus, the seat of the commercialization of Christmas: Macy's Department Store.
She had taken part of her nurse's training at Presbyterian Hospital on 168th Street. On a rare half day off, in that long-gone December, she had taken the bus ride to Midtown. Not to buy anything; she could barely afford the bus fare. She had come to see the famous Christmas window displays and walk through the women's clothing department. The displays had been like a dream: beautifully wrapped gifts; decorated Christmas trees; a seated mannequin of Santa reading to mannequin children gathered at his feet; a family lounging in the living room of their beautiful Upper East Side apartment; part of a ballroom in which women wore gowns and men tuxedos; and, of course, children's toys by the dozens, maybe the hundreds.
The women's department had been somewhat less pleasant. She was concerned that one of the clerks would ask her if she needed help. What would she say? She couldn't afford to buy even a pair of socks. Suppose they could see that she was the proverbial church mouse and asked her to leave the store? Fortunately, the store was packed with shoppers.
Here she was in the same spot, ten years later almost to the day. She had been planning this trip since she and Nels had moved into the apartment in Jackson Heights. Of course, Christmas shopping for her family and for Nels had been finished for weeks. She pretended she had come for something special for her mother-in-law, but she had really come to see the windows at Macy's.
What she found there shocked her. Those stately, static, elegant displays had been replaced by whirring, dizzying, disorienting scenes of motion: toy trains bursting down their tracks, leaving trails of smoke; cranes lifting loads of timber from miniature flatbed cars; airplanes taking off from an airfield, circling, landing and taking off again; little boys leaping and re-leaping over candles and Christmas pies; customers entering a shop, buying cookies and cakes, only to reenter and buy them again. One window contained a street scene of children watching a marionette show. It reminded her of the Disney film Pinocchio. The only window she really liked was an Arabian Nights harem in which Aladdin bowed to an eyelash-batting Scheherazade.
The women's department was still on the second floor, and while on the escalator she unbuttoned her coat, removed her scarf and ran her fingers through her hair. Of course, the floor had been reset many times in the ten years since her last visit. She reconnoitered by walking the floor in a clockwise direction.
A prominent display of three dresses in a glass case captured her attention. Although not yet completely recovered from the insults of two invading armies, Paris had reclaimed its command of haute couture. The first was a black cocktail dress, the classic “little black dress”, by Pierre Balmain; the second was a beautiful, shimmering blue evening gown by Cristóbal Balenciaga; the last, by Hubert de Givenchy, she thought quite odd. It had a white background with thin, vertical red stripes and red polka dots the size of a quarter; it was accented by red with white polka dot cuffs, collar and belt. Where in the world would you wear that, she wondered.
All the dresses had a mid-calf hemline and appeared to be fitted for an impossibly long and slender woman. Why, such a dress would not even fit Jean Patchett, a model who was well known for her long neck, arms and legs. Secretly, Marie thought she resembled Patchett. A sign in the case said, “Not for sale”. She sighed and moved on to a more mundane task.
She thought a woolen muffler would be a very good gift for her mother-in-law. She found the mufflers and spent a happy twenty minutes looking through the long row of glass bins. She found two she liked. The first had a tartan pattern; her mother-in-law was proud of her Scots heritage, but Marie was uncertain about the colors, patterns and clan affiliations. The second was red with dark and light gray stripes. Nels, two of his brothers, and their deceased father had attended Ohio State; this scarf was a close match to their school colors. She couldn't decide which to choose; perhaps the price would help. She looked for a price tag, but didn't find one on either. She looked for a sales clerk and one just happened to be walking by.
“Excuse me?”
“Yes, ma'am.”
“Can you tell me how much these mufflers are?”
“Yes, these are our top quality.” She looked at the nearest bins, frowned, and looked under the table. “Oh, the sign's fallen down.” She stepped around the table, picked up the sign and placed it back in its slot behind the bins. The sign said “$6.40” Marie tried to hide her shock.
The clerk smiled and said, “As you move to the right, the price goes down. There are some very nice ones in the two- and three-dollar range.”
“Could… could you hold these for me for a few minutes while I look around the store a little more?”
“Certainly, ma'am,” she said taking the mufflers. “I'll have them behind the sales counter just down the aisle.”
“Thank you.”
“It's my pleasure.”
She went down the escalator, walked into the luncheonette and took a seat.
“What can I get you, hon?” asked the waitress behind the counter.
“Coffee.”
“Cream?”
“Please.”
She brought the coffee and the cream and said, “That'll be fifteen cents, hon.”
Mufflers for $6.40 and fifteen cent coffee, she thought, what’s the world coming to?
She sat, drank her coffee and mulled her dilemma. The mufflers she had picked out were so perfect, but the price would run them way over their Christmas budget. She was just getting Nels comfortable with the budget and here she was contemplating breaking the bank herself. Of course, since she kept the books, Nels would never know. Maybe she should go across Herald Square and look at Gimbel's. One thing was for sure, though; she was going back up to the women's department to buy a pair of socks.
***
“So, Paddy shakes his head. 'Not really, missus, he got out of the vat three times to pee!'”
Bob Rafferty pounded the white tablecloth and laughed. “By God, Nels, where do you get this stuff?” Nels just smiled and shrugged.
“How long you been calling on me, Nels?”
“Almost two years now.”
“How much have I bought from you?”
“Nothing.”
“So, why do you keep coming back?”
“Oh, it's an easy drive to Yonkers, and this is a pretty nice spot for lunch.”
“You're a vet, right?”
“You know I am.”
“Europe?”
“Yes.”
“D-day?”
Nels shook his head. “Plus 20; walked off a troop ship in Le Havre. I was G5 because of my knee, so I never saw any real action.”
“And how old are you?”
“Thirty-four.”
“Married?”
Nels nodded.
“Kids?”
“One on the way.”
“Know many vets?”
“Sure; everybody's a vet.”
“Are they married with kids?”
“Mostly.”
“How old are the kids?”
“I don't know, one to six, maybe. Most are still in diapers.”
“No teenagers?”
“I don't think so. What's your point?”
“You know that assembly line spec we put out for bid?”
“Yeah. We bid on it.”
“So you did. Any idea what it's for?”
“Furniture, I'm guessing'.”
“Elementary school furniture.”
“School furniture?”
“Yes. If our estimates are correct, this country has a severe shortage of kindergarten classrooms. We think there could be six times the number of kindergarteners next September as there were this past September.”
“Six times!”
“And it just gets worse from there. We plan to double our capacity every two years for the next six.
But we can't do it without help. I'm asking for your help, Tom. I'm asking for Goodyear's help.”
Nels sat up. “What can we do, Bob?”
“I need twenty-five percent off your bid and net 90 financing. We're asking all our suppliers to go in with us on this deal. The pickings will be huge.”
“We're not a supplier, Bob.”
“This is your chance.”
“Why don't you go to Goodrich?”
“We did. They declined. We have pretty much everything else lined up. Without you or Goodrich, the deal's off.”
“Other than losing money on this deal, what's in it for Goodyear?”
“Two year exclusive on all rubber products.”
“Including current production?”
“Yes.”
“Headquarters'll want all six years.”
“Two on current, four on expansion. That's the best I can do. And here's something you have to understand, Nels. This is a final, take-it-or-leave-it offer. If I don't get exactly these terms, I won't be able to complete the financing with the bank. No financing, no expansion.”
“I see.”
“And one more thing.” Rafferty gave him an intense stare. “The plan falls through, we'll be looking for another rubber supplier and it won't be Goodrich and it won't be Goodyear.”
Nels nodded. “Do you have any analysis to back this up?” Rafferty pulled a slim report from his suit coat pocket. Nels flipped through the three, stapled pages. “There're no numbers here.”
“You don't need numbers. All you have to do is look around.”
***
On Christmas Eve Nels was sitting at his desk. His territory included eastern Pennsylvania, eastern New York state, Vermont, New Hampshire and Maine. His territory was large and, for the most part, not as industrial as Connecticut, Massachusetts, New York City, Long Island and New Jersey. He was usually out on the road hustling from account to account; oftentimes he wasn't in the office more than two or three days a month.
He was fiddling with his expense report when his boss, William O'Brien, poked his head out of his office. “Hey, Nails, got a minute?” “Nails” was a nickname he'd pick up playing high school football.
“Sure thing.”
O'Brien motioned to the visitor's chair, closed the door and sat down behind his desk. “Missing the Christmas party, huh?”
“Yeah, gotta pick up my mom at Penn Station around three.”
“Why's she coming in on Christmas Eve?”
“I don't know.” Nels' guess was that she didn't want to spend that much time alone with Marie.
“So, let's start the party a little early.” O'Brien produced a bottle of whiskey and two paper cups from his desk drawer. “Commandeered some of the party supplies.”
Nels smiled. “Okay.”
O'Brien poured two fingers in each cup and said, “Here's to a long life and a merry one.” Nels raised his cup in acknowledgment.
“So, I got a couple of things,” said O'Brien. “First of all, I want to congratulate you on a hell of a year.
You almost doubled the best previous year in your territory.”
“The economy's good.”
“Not twice as good.”
“I've learned a lot. Especially from you.”
“There are some things that can't be taught. Oh, you can take a guy out and show him the ropes, you can teach him some sales techniques, you can teach him the product line. But you can't teach him how to sell. No, boy-o, you're a natural born salesman.” He took an envelope out of the desk and handed it to Nels. “Your Christmas bonus.”
“Thanks.” He peeked in the envelope. It was made out to the amount of $225.00. “Wow!”
“It's not half what you're worth. Next thing is, I'm pretty sure headquarters is going for that deal you cooked up with Rafferty last week.”
Nels grinned. “Really? But we just mailed the proposal to Akron on Friday.”
“Yeah, but I called Eddington Friday afternoon to let them know what was coming, and I've been on the phone with him off and on the last couple of days. We've been trying to get into Hathaway since before the war, and Eddington thinks it’s worth the risk.”
“Hot damn!” Nels held up his paper cup and they both knocked down the rest of their whiskey.
“Don't get too excited. You won't make a dime on this deal. It's below cost.”
“I know but there's three years of easy money after that.”
“Yeah, if you're still here.”
“What do you mean?”
“Oh, nothing.”
“Don't give me that horseshit. What do you mean?”
“Look, I think the brass are going to want you back in Akron.”
“What for?”
“To share the magic.”
“What magic?”
“The doubling sales magic.”
“There is no magic.”
“Well, there is, but, like I said, it's not something you can teach. You know that, and I know that, and even the big shots know it. But they can't help themselves.”
“But I like sales, and my wife likes it here.”
“You could always tank next year; you know, sell to your quota.”
“What fun is that?”
“Yeah, like I said, you're a natural. Hey, don't worry about it. Lots can happen in the next couple of years. Here, give me your cup. A bird can't fly on one wing.”
***
Nels drove his company car the twenty-two blocks down 7th Avenue to Penn Station. Traffic was light and he was surprised to find a parking place in the main station lot. There was heavy overcast coming in from the west as he got out of the car. Looks like snow, he thought. The wind was picking up and the temperature was dropping. He held his coat closed with one gloved hand and his fedora on his head with the other. He walked to the station entrance as quickly as his right knee would allow.
Once on the main concourse he located the arrivals board. There it was, the 3:15 from Philadelphia, platform 34, on time. He looked up at the enormous clock that hung from the girders supporting the vaulted, sky-lighted roof. As he turned back to the board, the status of the train changed from “On Time” to “Delayed”.
Nels made his way to the information desk and stood his turn in line. The truly ancient attendant had several days’ growth of beard; under his threadbare Pennsylvania Railroad cap his unruly hair grew over his collar; his eyebrows were wildly overgrown and Nels had never seen anybody with that much hair growing out of his ears.
When he reached the front of the line, the man peered at him from under drooping eyelids and over his halfmoon reading glasses. “What can I do for you?” he asked in a crackling New England accent.
“What's up with the 3:15 from Philadelphia.”
“Big snow storm in PA. Forty-five minutes late leaving Philly.”
“When will it get in?”
“Your guess is as good as mine, young feller. ‘F I was you, I'd find someplace cozy to hole up.”
“Okay, thanks.”
“Not at all.”
Nels went to the bank of public telephones across from Information. He sat down in an empty booth, lifted the receiver and waited. In a moment the operator said, “Number, please.”
“Jackson Heights 7748.”
“Deposit ten cents, please.” Nels took a dime out of his pocket and put it in the slot making the phone chime. “Thank you.”
The phone rang. “Nelson residence.”
“Marie, it's Nels.”
“Nels? Aren't you supposed to be picking up your mother?”
“I'm at the station now, but her train is going to be late.”
“How late?”
“They're not sure.”
“What about the tree?”
“If we don't have time to come and get you first, we'll just pick one up on the way home.” Silence.
“Don't worry, my mom will help me pick out a nice one.” “Okay...” She said, not convinced.
“Look, I'll call you when her train gets in.”
“No, that's alright. I'll just hold dinner ‘til I see the whites of your eyes.”
“Okay. See you in a little while.”
“'Bye.”
Nels went to the bar, The Taverna, and sat down on a stool. He did a double take when he saw the bartender. He was a dead ringer for Andy Avertt. Andy had been his high school teammate in football and basketball and was the best athlete he had ever seen – six feet tall, smooth and explosive. He could throw a football 40 yards and kick it 60, but his best sport was basketball. He and Nels had won a State Championship together at West High School. Nels had gotten a basketball scholarship at the University of Akron, but there were no scholarships for Negro athletes. The last he heard Andy was running numbers.
“What can I get you, sir?”
“A Manhattan, please.”
“Yes, sir, very good, sir.” He mixed the drink and set it down in front of Nels. “Run a tab, sir?”
“Might as well. Looks like I'm going to be here for a while.”
“Waiting for a eastbound train?”
“Yes.”
“Yeah, they been runnin' a hour late all day. What train?”
“The 3:15 from Philadelphia.”
“I'll let you know when they announce it.”
“Thanks. Say, what's your name?”
“Randall Cunningham. sir.”
“Know anybody in Akron?”
“Where, sir?”
“Akron, Ohio.”
“No, sir.”
“Ever play basketball?”
“My daddy was a sharecropper in South Carolina. Weren't no basketball courts where I come from.”
“Oh. Well, I just wondered. You remind me of somebody I know.” The bartender nodded and moved down the bar to take care of another patron.
Time passed; 3:30, 3:45, 4:00, 4:15, 4:30. Just as he was about to order a third drink, the bartender alerted him that the train was pulling into the station.
“What do I owe you?”
“That'll be a dollar ten.”
Nels put a dollar fifty on the bar, grabbed his hat and coat, said, “Merry Christmas!”, and headed out the door.
He glanced at the arrival board to re-verify the platform, and went down the escalator to number 34. By the time he got to the platform, his mother was already off the train and had engaged a porter.
“Merry Christmas, Mom,” he said as he gave her a big hug.
“Merry Christmas, Thomas.” Laura Nelson did not approve of her son's nickname.
The porter piped in, “Where should I be taking these bags?” he said motioning to the hand cart with two suitcases and a makeup case.
“I'll go get my car and meet you at the west side exit.”
“Very good, sir.”
“You want to stay with the bags, Mom, or come with me?”
“I'll go with the porter.”
Nels nodded. He walked up the escalator, out of the concourse and into flurries. The snow wasn't sticking yet, but it could before long. He got into his car, navigated his way out of the lot, and drove around the station to the west side exit. It always amazed him how enormous Penn Station was; all the tracks, both local and intercity, were underground. The station occupied two city blocks, between 7th and 8th Avenues and 31st to 33rd Streets. He was never so aware of it as when he was trying to get to the other side. He queued up with other cars picking up passengers and eventually found a spot at the curb. He got out of the car and spotted the porter with his mother's luggage. He signaled to him and the porter headed his way.
“Where's my mother?” he asked the porter as he unlocked the trunk.
The porter inclined his head toward the exit. “She comin'. I told her to wait in the station. Gettin' nippy out here.”
The porter loaded the bags into the trunk. Having used up all his change, Nels handed him a dollar bill. The man's face brightened.
“Thank you, sir. Merry Christmas, sir.”
“Merry Christmas.”
Nels went to meet his mother, took her arm and guided her to the passenger side of the car. He opened the door and helped her into the car. Not that she needed the help. She was a substantial, vigorous woman in her early fifties with the bearing of a dowager. He guided the car to the 8th Avenue exit, turned right and headed north. He looked at his watch: 5:10. Damn, he thought, that gives me less than two hours to get to the garden supply store and pick out a tree. Hopefully, there won't be much of a rush hour.
“How was the trip?”
“Not too bad. I slept most of the way to Harrisburg.” She'd boarded a sleeper car in Cleveland and dreamed her way through stops in Youngstown, Pittsburgh and Altoona. After Harrisburg, the train had stopped in Reading, made an hour layover in Philadelphia, and then stopped in Trenton, Edison and Elizabeth. “But, my God, you should have seen the snow. A couple of times we had to wait for a plow engine to clear the track.”
The wipers were dealing with the snow on the windshield; the streets were wet, but there was still no accumulation.
“Doesn't sound too bad.”
“No, it was quite pleasant. Like gliding through a Christmas card. But I'm looking forward to a drink and a bath.”
“Listen, Mom, we have to make a stop on the way home.”
“Really, for what?”
“Need to pick up the Christmas tree.”
“You don't have your tree yet?”
“No.” he paused. “I just loved Christmas morning when I was a kid, eating breakfast at the dining room table, peeking into the living room, seeing a corner of the tree for the first time.”
“I thought you hated that.”
“Oh, no. The anticipation was agonizing, but it was magical. And I want to give that to my kids.” They were making good time, already in the mid Forties.
“That was your father's idea. All I remember is making an early breakfast after a late night of wrapping presents.”
“Well, hopefully, the tree won't take too long.”
“And Marie agreed to this? She seems like such a sensible girl.”
“To be honest, she's not very happy about it.”
“I'm not surprised.”
She asked him about his work. He told her about the deals he had just closed and deals in the works and the characters he called on and the characters he worked with. She found it dreadfully boring. He turned right on 50th Street, drove three quarters of the width of Manhattan, and turned left on 1st Avenue. The traffic slowed to a crawl. All the commuters from Queens were trying to get home using the Queensboro Bridge.
His mother started rambling on about her two grandchildren. His sister was married to an Air Force colonel who was stationed in Weisbaden, Germany. No doubt that if they were someplace in the US, she would be at their home for Christmas.
It took them more than a half an hour to get to 57th Street. Once on the bridge they started to make pretty good progress; when the bridge emptied onto Queens Boulevard, the traffic started to thin out. After a few blocks he turned left onto Jackson Avenue, then veered right onto to Northern Boulevard. At 6:20 he pulled into the parking lot of Jackson Heights Garden Supply, only to see a man locking the gate to the outdoor part of the store.
Nels stopped the car and got out. “Hey, how’re you doing?”
“Fine,” said the man guardedly.
“I thought you were supposed to be open until seven.”
“Mister, it's Christmas Eve.”
“Yeah, but I have to get a Christmas tree, or I can't go home tonight.”
“Ain't got much left, but what we got's over there.” He pointed to a dark pile of evergreen in a corner of the parking lot. “Help yourself.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“Don't mention it.” He walked off into the night.
Nels got back into the car and pulled up to the pile of discarded trees. In the glare of the headlights he dug through the pile and came up with three bedraggled candidates. He held all three up and turned to his mother, who had just stepped out of the car.
“Which one, do you think?” She shook her head and got back in the car.
One of the trees already had a makeshift wooden stand. He stood it up, and it came up to his chin. He stepped back. It was no worse than the others. Then he realized he had no way to tie the tree to the car. He should have asked the man for some twine, but it was too late for that now.
He transferred his mother's bags from the trunk to the backseat, carefully stuffed the tree, stand first, into the trunk and tied the trunk lid down with a piece of string that he found in the pile of trees. Then he got in the car and drove home.
***
Marie sat in the kitchen stewing. Damn, damn, damn. She should have agreed to let Nels call her when the train arrived. Then she could have taken a cab and bought a tree. When he called back, she could tell him that she already had a tree. By the time she thought of it, it was too late. Which would be worse? Paying for two Christmas trees or having none? She sat in the kitchen, looking into the dark night. Obviously having none was worse. But it was too late for that as well.
Growing up the in Depression, her family hadn't had much. But two weeks before Christmas her father and two or three of the kids would pile into a car, often borrowed, drive out into the Adirondack foothills, cut down a fir tree, and drag it back to the car through the snow. There was always snow.
Once home, they'd find a radio station playing carols and sing along while decorating the tree. Strings of popcorn and cranberries, strings of interlocking paper rings, cherished store bought ornaments handed down from her parents' childhoods, school project ornaments, newly made and from years past.
Just before bedtime on Christmas Eve, they opened their stockings, usually just a few pieces of hard candy and, if they were very lucky, a small orange. In the morning they exchanged gifts: homemade clothing, a hand-me-down baby doll, a handkerchief, a set of wooden blocks, a card with promises of favors. They gave what they had.
She looked at dinner sitting on the counter waiting to go into the oven; chicken breasts with roasted carrots and onions and a rice casserole. Her stomach growled. The baby made her hungry all the time and this dinner, whenever they had it, would be much too late for her. The obstetrician had her on a strict diet cautioning her not to gain too much weight. The pregnancy made her moody, which she denied to everybody including herself. She was feeling tearful to be all alone at seven o'clock on a dark and cold Christmas Eve.
Nels and his mother burst into the apartment. “Marie, we're home.”
“Coming, dear.” Marie popped the dinner into the hot oven, set the timer, and hurried into the front room.
“Oh, I'm so glad you're here, Mom.” Her mother-in-law wanted to be called “Mom”. It wasn't comfortable, but she acquiesced. “Was the trip dreadful?”
“No, not really. The worst part was the ride in the car.” Marie looked at Nels who replied with a microscopic shrug. “Oh, it's nothing to do with Thomas. It's hard to sit in a car for almost two hours after being on a train all day.”
Marie looked around. “Where's the tree?”
“Oh, it's in the car. Let me put Mom's bags in the guest room and I'll go get it.”
After Nels left the apartment, Marie asked, “Did he say in the car?'
“It's in the trunk, sort of.”
“How odd.”
“Yes, to say the least,” said Laura.
“What?”
“He'll be back in a second and you'll see for yourself.”
“Oh.”
“Oh, indeed.”
Marie took her mother-in-law's coat and hung it in the closet.
Laura said, “Well, let's take a look at you. Hmmm, turn around.” Marie did a pirouette. “Are you sure you're pregnant? You don't look like you've gained a pound.”
“Oh, yes, very sure. And I've gained five pounds at least.”
“Five pounds in three months?”
“My doctor says I'm right on schedule.”
Nels carried the tree into the apartment, saying, “Where do you want it?”
“Over by the window on the sheet.”
“Okay.” He put the tree down and stepped back. The three of them stared at it. It was worse than he thought, and not helped by two drooping branches that had been cracked in transport. The tree trunk was crooked, there were large areas with no branches, and there were pine needles on the floor from the door to the window.
“I… I…I have to check on dinner,” said Marie, retreating to the kitchen.
Nels looked at the tree and then at his mother. She would not meet his eye. Nels looked back at the tree and sighed. “Drink?” he asked.
“I'm not sure what else there's left to do.”
Nels took off his coat and hung it in the closet. On his way to the cabinet he turned on the radio. It took a moment to warm up, then a choir sang:
“Joy to the world! The Lord has come Let earth receive her King!
Let every heart prepare Him room
And heaven and nature sing
And heaven and nature sing
And heaven, and heaven and nature sing”
He took out an unopened bottle of Glenlivet which he had purchased for this occasion. He got out two glasses and poured whiskey into each. He would have liked some ice in his scotch, but he didn't think the kitchen was the best place for him at the moment. Fortunately, his mother preferred her liquor neat. She had seated herself on the sofa; he sat in the chair next her and handed her a glass.
“Merry Christmas, Mom.”
“Merry Christmas.” They drank and listened to the music. After a moment she said, “This has always been one of my favorite carols.”
“Yes, it's catchy.”
“Not quite the right word.”
He shrugged.
She looked at the tree. “Maybe it will look better when it's decorated.”
“There's an optimistic thought.”
A minute later Marie emerged from the kitchen, sniffed and said, “Dinner should be ready in half an hour.”
Laura said, “Well, then let's decorate the tree while we wait.”
Marie nodded. “Alright.”
She went to the hall closet and got two medium-sized boxes and a shopping bag. One box had come from her family and the other from Laura. The bag contained a new box of one dozen, red, green, silver and gold colored glass ornaments along with two strings of Christmas lights. They all pitched in to put light bulbs in the empty sockets. Nels went to the kitchen to retrieve an extension cord, while Marie tested the strings of lights.
They turned the tree to find its best side, and as she and Nels worked together to put the lights on the tree, she began to hum “Deck the Halls” along with the radio. Laura put hooks on the ornaments and handed them to Marie and Nels. It wasn't long before Marie was singing along with Nat King Cole:
“Chestnuts roasting on an open fire
Jack Frost nipping at your nose
Yuletide carols being sung by a choir
And folks dressed up like Eskimos”
Nels poured himself and his mother another drink; this time he had ice. Marie was meticulously adding tinsel to the tree. She stepped back and looked at the tree with a critical eye.
“Oh, Nels,” she said, “It's a pretty little tree.” She went to him and hugged him. He was sure he would never love her more than he did at that moment.
Then she went to the boxes to see what was left. In Laura's box there was a large ornament wrapped in multiple layers of newspaper. Marie unwrapped it and revealed a star for the top of the tree.
Marie stared at it. It was obviously quite old. “Mom, it's beautiful.” She sat down next to her mother-in-law, hugged her and kissed her on the cheek.
A little pink with embarrassment but obviously pleased, Laura said, “Thomas' father and I used it on our tree for over 20 years.”
Nels was surprised she’d given them the star. “Mom, are you sure?”
“Oh, yes. It deserves a family, and you are a family now.” She reached down and patted Marie's tummy. Even though she didn't like being touched there, Marie took Laura's hand and pressed it to her abdomen. It was Laura's turn to give a hug.
Marie picked up the star and turned to her husband. “Nels, will you put the star on the tree?”
“Of course.” He took the star and looked at it. It had a hole in the bottom with a spring-actuated clamp. The spring had seen better days, and the star seemed a little heavy for this tree. He looked at Marie and decided he'd better give it a try. He stepped up to the tree, and holding the clamp open with his right thumb, he fitted the star over the very top of the tree, released the clamp, and carefully let go.
“Oh, Nels, it's crooked.”
“I'm not sure I can do any better.” He stepped up to the tree again, and lost his footing as the sheet slipped on the hardwood flooring. As he lost his balance he had time to regret the weakness in his right knee, the two drinks he had in the office, the two Manhattans at the train station and the two scotches in the last 25 minutes. He grabbed the tree to break his fall, and banged his head on the wall. The tree landed on top of him. One of the damaged branches snapped off, several of the glass ornaments catapulted and shattered on the floor or against the wall, tinsel and pine needles scattered in every direction.
Marie and Laura leaped to their feet, hands to mouths, eyes wide.
“Thomas, are you alright!” his mother asked.
He took inventory. He had a scratch on his face and one on his right hand; he didn't seem to be bleeding.
“Yeah, I think so.”
Tears welled into Marie's eyes. “Nels, how could you!” She dashed for the bedroom. His mother just shook her head and went to comfort her daughter-in-law.
As he lay amid the wreckage of his first Christmas tree as a married man, he realized it was the last tree he would bring home on Christmas Eve.