The Christmas Stocking

by Fern Michaels

  It was eleven-thirty when Gus paid the check and walked Amy to her car. He wanted to kiss her so bad his teeth ached with the feeling. Something told him this wasn’t the time.

  Suddenly he was jolted forward when Amy grabbed the lapels of his shearling jacket and pulled him to her, where she put a lip-lock on him that made his world rock right out from under him. When she finally released him, she smiled. “I’ll see you at six o’clock tomorrow morning, Gus Moss.” She leaned forward and whispered in his ear. “Dream about me, okay?”

  Gus stood statue-still as he watched his love drive away. His fist shot upward. “Yessss!”

  Sam Moss looked down at the oversize watch on his wrist, a gift from Gus a few years ago. It was almost midnight, and his well-meaning Seniors were pooped to the nth degree. Tillie, at his side, looked like she was going to collapse any minute, but she was still wearing her game face. “This isn’t working, Tillie. They mean well, their minds want to do this but their bodies aren’t willing. I think we need to fall back and regroup.”

  “I know, Sam. Can we go someplace where it’s warm and talk about it? I’m worried about some of them. Let’s all go over to the all-night diner and decide what we’re going to do. I didn’t think getting old was going to be this devastating. My daughter was right, making arrangements via cell phone and doing the actual work are two different things. I owe her an apology. Actually I owe her more—”

  “Shhh,” Sam said as he put his finger near her lips. “We’ll figure something out. I’ll talk to the men, you talk to the ladies. If nothing else, we have enough branches and limbs to make a good many wreathes and grave blankets. Three and a half hours, and all we managed was to cut down six trees, and even with all our manpower we can’t get the trees into the trucks. You’re right, Tillie, we’re old. Where in the hell did all the wisdom we’re supposed to have go?”

  How sad he sounds, Tillie thought. She tried then to do what all women had done since the beginning of time—bolster up the big man standing next to her. “I think, Sam, we transferred our wisdom to our children because they turned out to be know-it-alls.”

  Her words had the desired effect. Sam guffawed as he drew her to him with his arm. Tillie felt light-headed. “Let’s get our work crew and head for the diner. Breakfast, dinner, whatever, is on me. Snap to it, little lady. I’ll meet all of you at the diner.”

  Tillie found herself giggling. Dear God, have I ever giggled like this? Never, as far as I can remember. Suddenly, she felt warm all over as she herded the female Seniors to cars for transport to the diner. She felt guilty as she realized not one of them would have given up, even knowing they weren’t carrying their weight.

  “Look, we didn’t really fail. We’re going to rethink this. When we’re warm with some good food, we’ll come up with a better idea.” Tillie wondered if what she was saying was true.

  They were a weary, bedraggled group as they trooped into Stan’s Diner, which was open twenty-four hours a day. Two police officers were paying for take-out coffee and Danish. Otherwise, the diner was empty.

  The women all headed for the restrooms to wash the pine resin off their hands. Tillie sat down, her shoulders slumping. How had it come to this? She hoped she was strong enough not to cry.

  Within minutes, Sam and the weary male Seniors blew into the diner. Stan, the owner, greeted them, his eyes full of questions. Sam took him aside to speak with him. Within minutes, the waiters had the tables pushed together and Stan had his marching orders. Hot chocolate, tea and coffee were brought. Taking into consideration the Seniors’ health, Sam ordered Egg Beaters omelets, turkey bacon, oven-baked potatoes, and toast.

  When they were all seated with hot drinks in front of them, Tillie looked around. Her friends, and they were her friends, looked shell-shocked. She wondered if she looked the same way. Probably. She decided she really didn’t care how she looked. She had to give her friends some hope, some encouragement. She couldn’t let them return to their homes thinking that just because they were old, they were failures. With a nod from Sam, she used her spoon to tap her water glass for attention.

  “I want you all to listen to me. Like Sam said, our minds are willing but our bodies aren’t in tune. This was an overwhelming project. Most of us don’t see well at night. That’s strike one. Strike two is we aren’t twenty, thirty, forty or fifty. We simply cannot do the things we used to do even though we want to do them. Strike three is the cold weather. We aren’t used to manual labor. Been there, done that. We all had good intentions but they aren’t working for us. I’m going to turn it over to Sam now in case he has some ideas, I, for one, am not giving up.”

  The Seniors clapped their approval of Tillie’s little speech.

  Sam stood up and looked around the long table. “I have an idea but I don’t know if it will work. When I go home tonight, I’m going to wake up my son and talk to him. I think most of you know about…about how things are with me. I’m going to ask him to help us. The boy has a lot of ill feeling toward me. I’m going to try and make that right. Will it work? I don’t know. I’ve never…I’ve never had to actually ask him for anything. It’s going to be a new experience for both of us. If Augustus turns his back on me, I am prepared to donate whatever you would have netted from selling trees to the Senior project.”

  “But if you donate the money that means we still failed,” Ian Conover said. “We wanted to earn the money, Sam. If your son turns his back on you, can you handle it? No man wants to see his son turn against him.”

  “I’m prepared for that, Ian. Nothing can be worse than all the years since Sara died. I’m going to do my best, and if my best isn’t good enough, then so be it.”

  The Seniors clapped and raised their mugs to toast their leader.

  Sam Moss walked into the kitchen at one-thirty in the morning. Cyrus greeted him with a soft woof of pleasure. His son was asleep at the kitchen table. Sam took a minute to stare at his Gus, remembering the day he was born. He’d been so crazy with happiness, he’d left the hospital, raced home to plant a tree, and named it Gus’s tree. Then he headed for Wheeler’s Hardware store and bought a child’s John Deere tractor for his newborn son. That was probably his first mistake. He should have bought him an easel or a drafting board.

  Sam sighed as he hung up his jacket and hat. If there was a committee that handed out a prize for the most mistakes made by a father, he’d win it hands down. He poured himself a cup of the strong, bitter coffee that was still in the pot. He sat down at the table to wait for his son to wake up. One taste told him the coffee was bad, so he threw it out and made a fresh pot. He was into his second cup when Gus woke up.

  “Dad!”

  “It’s me, son. I’ve been sitting here wondering if by some chance you were waiting up for me. I seem to recall that was my job. It’s funny how things turn around when you least expect it. Were you waiting up for me? I want to talk to you about something, Gus.”

  “I was waiting for you. I guess I’m not used to you going out at night. Yeah, I remember the nights I came home and you and Mom were sitting here pretending you weren’t waiting for me. I need to talk to you about something too. How would you feel about me donating all my trees to the Seniors?” he blurted. “I had a pizza with Amy Baran this evening, and they really are in a bind. Nothing worked out for them. She brought me up short. She told me she would partner up with me, do the public relations campaign, and she would make the grave blankets and wreaths herself. She said the Seniors would man the shop, bake the gingerbread and hand out the cider. She has some really grand ideas. It will put Moss Farms back on the map, Dad.

  “I want to apologize to you about that…my-half-of-the-farm crap I spouted when I first got here. This is your farm. It was always yours and Mom’s. I came here to help you, Dad. Then you dug in your heels, and I, in turn, dug in my heels. I let old…hurts and memories take over. So, if you’re okay with Moss Farms working with the Seniors, I’ll stay on through the holidays and give it all I’ve got.”
>
  Sam Moss could feel his insides start to shake. He knew how hard it was for his son to say what he’d just said. He nodded. He finally managed to get the words out. “I regret the things I’ve done, Gus—for so many things that went wrong. I was selfish. I wanted a chip off the old block. I wanted you to love this farm the way your mother and I loved it.”

  Gus reached down to scratch Cyrus behind the ears. “I do love the farm, Dad. I just don’t want to farm it. There are other people who can do it better than I ever could. All I ever wanted was for you to be proud of me. You never ever, by thought, word, or deed, indicated that you were. Mom said you were, but I thought she was just saying what she knew I wanted to hear. I’m a damn good architect, Dad.”

  “Come here, son,” Sam said, going into the living room. He opened a chest that served as a coffee table. Gus looked down and saw copies of all his awards, stacks of Architectural Digest where his designs were featured, piles and piles of newspapers that carried his picture and write-ups about him. “Does this answer your question, son?”

  Gus was so stunned he didn’t know what to do or say. He knew in his gut this was as close as he was going to get to a real, gut-wrenching apology. The words “I’m sorry” simply were not in Sam Moss’s vocabulary. He decided he could accept that. “Yeah, Pop, except for one thing. If you were so damn proud of me, if you loved me, why did you chop down my tree and give it to the White House? Mom said an hour after I was born you planted my tree. Then you chopped it down and sent it away.”

  Sam Moss dropped down on his knees to rummage in the bottom of the chest until he found an envelope. He held it out to Gus. Gus read his mother’s letter addressed to the White House and the reply that was sent to her accepting her offer of Gus’s tree for display during the Christmas season. “Why did you let me think…why didn’t you tell me…?”

  “That’s where I am guilty, son. I wasn’t in a good mental place that year. Your mother and I were invited to the White House. Your mother wanted it to be a surprise for you. It was what she wanted. If it means anything to you at this point, I tried arguing her out of it. I dearly loved that old tree. Another year or so and it would have gotten straggly looking. Just so you know.”

  And then his father said the magic words Gus had waited a lifetime to hear. “No father could be prouder of his son than I am of you. I’m sorry, son.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Operation Christmas Tree, as Gus referred to it, kicked into high gear the following Monday morning. His work crew, numbering twelve, arrived at the crack of dawn. Sam’s crew of Seniors arrived minutes later. Both Moss Senior and Moss Junior issued orders like the generals they pretended to be. OCT was under way.

  Tillie stepped forward and led the Senior Ladies to the gift shop where they proceeded to set up shop opening box after box of ornaments, ribbons, Christmas toys, bells and everything else she had ordered at the last minute for opening day.

  Amy arrived breathless, wearing sturdy work boots, tight-fitting jeans, a bomber jacket and a bright orange hat and scarf. Gus Moss fell in love all over again. When she waved her clipboard at him and winked, he thought he would go out of his mind. Suddenly, all he wanted to do was cuddle, to snuggle, to hold her hand, to whisper in her ear. What he didn’t want to do was go out in the tree fields and wield a chain saw. When she winked and waved again, he groaned and climbed into his truck.

  Sam and Tillie poked each other and grinned at these goings-on.

  “Seven days to Thanksgiving, then the fun starts,” Sam said happily. “It gets pretty wild around here, Tillie. Are you sure you’re up to it?”

  “We’ll soon find out. Did you have anything in mind for Thanksgiving, Sam? If you don’t, I have an idea.”

  “Let me hear it, little lady.”

  “We always have a turkey dinner at Seniors’ headquarters, as you know. Adeline McPherson makes the best turkeys in the county. I’m sure you know that too. Let’s do the dinner out here at the farm. I know Addy would be more than happy to work in your kitchen and you have those two, big double ovens. We’ll invite everyone—Gus’s crew, their families, all the Seniors, and us. I think it would be a good incentive and a great way to kick things off. Everyone will be in the mood to give 100 percent on Friday morning when the trees go on sale. You’ll have to pay for it, Sam. Can you see your way clear to doing that?”

  Sam beamed. It had been a long time since anyone asked for his opinion or for a donation to anything. Giving his trees away simply didn’t fit into this particular equation. “It would be my pleasure. You sounded like my Sara just then, Tillie.”

  Tillie looked up at Sam, a stricken look on her face.

  “What? What’s wrong? What did I say?” Sam asked anxiously.

  “I’m not Sara, Sam. I’m me, Tillie. Please don’t compare or confuse us. I have to go now, the ladies need me. Lunch will be promptly at noon. We need to keep to a schedule.”

  Sam ambled off scratching his head. “That was kind of blunt, Mom, don’t you think?” Amy asked.

  “Well…I just don’t…I wouldn’t want…Never mind. What’s on your agenda for today?”

  Amy settled her knit cap more firmly on her head as the wind kicked up. “I’m going into town. I have appointments lined up through the whole day. My first stop is the local radio station. I already contacted the stations in the District, and one of them agreed to play my jingle and advertise for Moss Farms every hour on the hour. It’s all free, Mom. The station manager’s parents live in an assisted living facility, and she’s all for anything that benefits senior citizens. On Wednesday two billboards are going up where you can see them from I-95. I had to pay for those but got a 40 percent discount. Local TV is in the bag, all four channels. A new Christmas sign is going up at the entrance to the farm tomorrow. It’s an eye popper—bright red.

  “Tomorrow I pick up the Christmas Stocking. For a hundred bucks the Canvas Shop made this twenty-foot stocking out of bright red canvas. It’s going to be weatherproof. We’ll hang it from the tree next to the gift shop. I’m going begging today, asking for donations to fill the stocking. Everyone who comes out here to buy a tree gets to fill out an entry form, and Sam or Gus will pick the winner at noon on Christmas Eve. We’re not actually going to put the donations in the stocking, but we will have a scroll next to the stocking so people can see which store donated what item. I think this is a biggie, Mom. It’s going to draw people like crazy. The radio and television stations will be announcing who gave what. Free advertising for the donors. Win–win!”

  Tillie looked at her daughter in amazement. “Oh, Amy, that’s wonderful. In a million years I never could have come up with an idea like that. I am so proud of you. You’re right, it’s a biggie.” Impulsively, she reached out and hugged her daughter.

  Amy grew light-headed. This was the closest her mother had ever come to showing any kind of affection toward her. She hugged her back, and suddenly her world was right side up. Feeling shy at this show of affection, she waved her arms about. “I think we make a good team. We’re going to make so much money for your Seniors they might be able to add that new wing to the building you were talking about.”

  “Well, my dear, Sam and I can’t take credit for anything. It was you and Gus who brought all this together. Sam, me, the Seniors are just the elves. You two are Mr. and Mrs. Santa. I think he really likes you, Amy,” Tillie whispered.

  “How…how can you tell?”

  “Silly girl. Open your eyes. Good luck, honey. I’ll see you when I see you. Lunch is at noon if you make it back in time.”

  Honey. Her mother had called her honey. Another first. She said Gus really liked her. Mothers never lied to their children. She wondered if that was a myth made up by some disgruntled mother who had lied to her child and then tried to salvage the lie. She discounted the thought immediately.

  As Amy made her way to her car she knew, just knew, it was going to be a dynamite day.

  Sam Moss was thinking the same thing as he chugged his
way over the frozen fields in his battered pickup truck. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this alive, this good. He looked down at the cell phone on the seat next to him. A gift from Gus, who had said, “You need to get with it, Dad. I’ll program it for you, and you just hit the button. It’s a new world out there, and you need to join it.” Sam snorted when he remembered Tillie telling him her daughter ran her cell phone under the faucet because it was growing out of her ear. Well, if his son said he needed a cell phone, then he needed a cell phone. He stopped the truck as he diddled and fiddled with the gadget in his hands. Finally, he simply called Information for the number to the butcher shop in town.

  “Elroy, Sam Moss. I want you to come out here and fill my three freezers. A whole side should see us through the holidays. On second thought, maybe a side and a hindquarter. And I want to order six fresh turkeys for Thanksgiving. Big turkeys, twenty-five pounds each. Go on that fancy computer of yours and send everything else times ten that Sara used to order.”

  Sam listened to the voice on the other end of the phone. “Well, hells bells, Elroy, I want it now, like today. Why else do you think I called you? Be sure you come out here for your tree now. They go on sale the day after Thanksgiving. I just might throw it in for free if I don’t get voted down. I’m not really in charge anymore. My son, Gus, is issuing the orders these days.”

  Sam listened again. “You’re right, Elroy, it’s the best feeling in the world.”

  Sam pressed the Off button. He wished there was someone else to call, but he didn’t have many friends these days. Then again, he didn’t want the darn thing to grow out of his ear. He guffawed at the thought.

  Sam blew the horn on the old truck, and waited. It took the golden streak two and a half minutes to arrive and hop into the truck. Cyrus barked happily as he tried to nuzzle Sam’s neck. Sam laughed all the way out to the Norway spruce field.