Christmas parties and gifts and church services and the annual performance of
“Messiah” which this year would be held in the college’s newly constructed Fine
Arts Center.
Celia still hadn’t heard from her aunt.
“Are you ready to pick out a tree?” Mr. Jonathan asked at lunch the
Saturday after Thanksgiving.
“Yes, I am!” Celia answered.”
“Then, let’s go!”
“Christmas is my favorite time year!” Miss Mildred said.
“Mine, too,” Celia said as she hugged her friends.
They drove to the next county to Double B Tree Farm. When they got out of
the car, Mr. L. B., the owner stepped from a small shed.
“Howdy,” he called. He wore work boots covered in mud, jeans and a green
plaid flannel shirt. “Mildred. Jon. Miss Celia. Welcome and merry Christmas!”
“And, a merry Christmas to you!” they all three answered. He handed them a
strip of plastic to mark the tree of their choice. Up one row and down the other
they walked. Celia pointed to a tree she liked. Mr. L.B. walked over.
“You see that bare spot?” the grower asked. Celia hadn’t seen it.
“I’m not saying it’s a bad tree, but you might want to look some more before
settlin’.” The next one Celia liked had a crooked trunk which Mr. L.B. pointed out.
“What about his one? Celia asked. Miss Mildred and Mr. Jonathan both
smiled and nodded.
“This one might be the most perfect Virginia pine growing anywhere. Good
choice,” the grower said. He sawed through the trunk of the nine‑footer like it
was nothing at all. It was all Celia could do to keep from jumping up and down with
joy.
“Mr. L.B.,” Celia said on the way to the car, “why did you point out the bad
spots on the trees? You could of sold us one of those trees.”
“Well, it’s this way,” he said. “I want you to be happy. I remember your folks.
Good people. Which means you’re good people, too.” He smiled which made Celia
smile.
“The Southerlands are friends of mine, and I want them to come back next
year. Would you come all the way out here again if I sold you a crooked tree and
you had to spend the whole of Christmas tryin’ to make it look right?” he asked.
“Probably not,” Celia admitted.
“Next year, you’d be on one of those tree lots in town, never givin’ the
Double B Tree Farm another thought.
“Then there’s my reputation. Honesty always comes back to you, just the
same as dishonesty will. You see, I’m choosing the future, today,” he said. Celia
wondered how many other people in the world thought things through like Mr. L.
B. It was something she needed to work on.
* * *
The Southerlands invited Goldie over for a tree trimming party. Just as they
began, the doorbell rang.
“Celia, dear, please answer the door,” Miss Mildred called from the kitchen.
She was stirring her Christmas punch, a mysterious concoction of pineapple
juice, cranberry juice, water and sugar with cinnamon sticks. The spicy smell
floated through the house.
Celia looked at Goldie and gave her a look that said who-do-you-suppose-
that-is? Goldie shrugged. Celia headed for the door.
“Merry Christmas, Kid!” It was her childhood friend, the editor Mr. Henry,
and his wife Miss Emily. There they stood on the step, arms piled with gifts. “Are
you going to let us in? Or make us stand out here all day?”
“I can’t believe it! I can’t believe it!” Celia yelled. “Miss M., why didn’t you
tell me!” Miss Mildred stepped to the door.
“Oh dear, did we forget to mention to you that the Fullers wanted to help
trim our tree? Jon, I thought you were going to tell Celia.”
“Nope. Thought Goldie was going to tell her,” Mr. Jonathan answered. He
grinned from ear to ear.
“Hey, I don’t even know these people. How was I gonna tell her?” Goldie
laughed. “Besides, I thought it was supposed to be a surprise.”
“Well I surely am surprised,” Celia said as she hugged Mr. Henry and Miss
Emily.
They held the hug for the longest time. She remembered her parents and all
the Christmases Mr. Henry and her daddy had spent looping Christmas lights
along the unruly branches of the trees in their front yards. Until the women said
they looked “just fine.”
She remembered that the men sang and then cussed when the strings of
lights slipped out of place. She realized now that there had been some “fortifyin’
goin’ on,” as dear Henrietta called it. Her daddy said, “A man has to have a drink
now and again.”
And Henrietta had warned Celia to step back “because one of them men is
gonna fall and break his neck for sure.”
Celia could not stop jumping up and down. She ran around the room. She
hugged Miss Mildred. She hugged Mr. Jonathan. She hugged Goldie. And then
she hugged the Fullers again. She ran out of steam and crashed onto the sofa.
“Thank you,” she said to the Southerlands. “Thank you.”
The weather turned cold and dreary outside, but it did not matter. Inside the
house glowed with warmth. The friends caught up on the recent happenings in
their lives. They sang Christmas carols and drank Miss Mildred’s Christmas punch.
When it got dark, they hung the Moravian Star over the door on the front
porch. Then they went inside to survey their handiwork. Then they got started on
stories of Christmases past.
“When I was a young girl, Christmas was much more of a religious
occasion,” Miss Mildred said. “And if you can believe it, an orange and a stick of
candy were the most wonderful gifts!”
“Gifts at our house were hand carved,” Mr. Jonathan remembered. “My
daddy would carve a cradle for my sister’s baby doll or a fancy box for my mama or
a whistle for me. I don’t know where the man found the time. He was busy plowin’
and plantin’ and harvestin’. Had a part time job at the Chevy dealership, too.
Times were hard, but we didn’t know any better.
“Guess that’s how come I love woodworking.”
Just then Celia remembered the Christmas Miracle. She looked sideways at
Mr. Henry.
“Should we tell them,” she asked. Mr. Henry grinned.
“You tell ‘em, Kid. You know most of it.”
“We had somewhat of a Christmas miracle at our house one year,” Celia
began, “and Mr. Henry was there.” Celia cuddled on the sofa with Miss Emily and
Miss Mildred on either side.
“Daddy always had a tree delivered from the mountains, a Frasier fur,” Celia
said. “One of the guys he went to college with grew them and every year he
delivered us a big one. One time he brought one so big that Daddy had to tie it to
the rafters in four places, because mother said, ‘Randolph, that tree’s going to
fall and kill one of us—or one of our guests and we’ll get sued.’”
“Could happen,” Mr. Jonathan said. “We tie ours up.”
“As usual,” Celia continued, “Daddy mumbled that the woman worried too
much. But he tied it up anyway to make her happy. And it was a good thing, too,
because of the feral cat, as my mother called it.
My parents couldn’t understand why that cat hung around in our woods. But
I knew because I fed her even though my mother told me not to. Rabies, you
know. I called her Yellow Kitty.
“That’s the trouble with feeding strays,” Mr. Jonathan said. “Can’t get rid of
them.”
“Anyway, the door was open while we hauled the decorations inside from
the garage, and she must have slipped in. We never did figure out where she hid
while we decorated, but when we finished that cat appeared out of nowhere and
headed straight for the tree.” Miss Mildred went into the kitchen and brought
back more hot punch and refilled the cups.
“What happened?” Goldie asked.
“At first, nothing. Yellow Kitty lapped water from the tree stand, licked her
paws and curled up on the piece of red velvet my mother wrapped around the
base of the tree.
“Now, you gotta understand that all of our ornaments had a story and my
mother could tell you about every one of them.”
“It’s a wonder you ever got a tree decorated,” Mr. Henry interrupted,
“because the story of the ornament had to be told before it got hung. I remember
that.”
“It did take some time,” Celia answered. “But some of them were hand made
by me when I was little—rolled in glitter and lace and such. Some were gifts, and
some of them were fifty years old. From our families. Lots of the ornaments were
collected from around the world. To my mother, they were all treasures.
“When Yellow Kitty began walking around the tree, we stood there, afraid to
move. At that moment our friend here, Mr. Henry who lived on the next lake, was
out taking a walk. He rang the doorbell and came right in.”
“Trouble was I had my big black Lab, Flop, with me,” Mr. Henry added.
“Oh my! We know Flop.” Miss Mildred said as she looked over at Mr.
Jonathan.
“That dog is a walking disaster,” he said.
“We couldn’t decorate the bottom third of our tree because of Flop’s
wagging tail,” Miss Emily added. “Flop was the tail-waggingest dog I ever saw.”
“Yup. It was not a pretty sight,” Mr. Henry said. “Picture this. The dog’s
barking and circling the tree, his tail knocking everything in sight. That cat is
hissing and moving up the tree, fast. Celia’s father reached for her and kicked
Christmas ornaments all over the place. Celia’s mother had her eyes covered
with her hands. Guess she thought the whole scene would go away if she didn’t
look.”
“Mr. Henry got a hold of Flop’s collar and got him outside,” Celia said. “We
all got to laughing so hard we could hardly stand up. My mother yelled, ‘It’s not
funny!’ but she was laughing, too.
“Yellow Kitty watched us for a while and then scooted down. That tree was
rocking and rollin’ with her grabbing at one branch and then another. You could
hear the ornaments bounce. She got down and proceeded to the back door. That
cat sat by the door like she wanted out.
“Mr. Henry apologized all over the place and helped us clean up. If you can
believe it, not one ornament broke. My mother called it our Christmas miracle.”
“I got one fine editorial for The Journal out of that episode,” Mr. Henry
added. “Never saw anything like it before or since.”
“That’s a great story,” Miss Mildred said as she brought in another plate of
cookies.
“In Germany,” Goldie said, “we always put our shoes outside our bedrooms
on the eve of Saint Nicholas’ Day like the German kids do. St. Nick put a piece of
coal and a switch in my shoes, among the chocolates.
“Perhaps I wasn’t as good as I might have been,” she added. She winked at
Celia who nodded. Oh, yes. Perhaps we weren’t, she thought.
“Even when I was already pretty much grown up, St. Nick still came to our
quarters,” Celia added. She realized now how hard her aunt had tried to make
things nice. Michael, her aunt’s boyfriend, always made an extra effort at the
holidays, too.
Celia wondered how it was that things turned out so wrong.
