Too Old for Christmas

by Zina Abbott

  As the trio approached the canvas cabin the McNair’s called home, Sean could not fail to notice the worn state of the canvas, particularly where wood poles bracing the walls rubbed against the fabric. He wondered how many holes due to flying sparks spewing out of the wood stove pipe peppered the rain fly that was draped over the top and tied off on side poles. How much dust and rain seeped in through the small splits riddling the canvas at the corners?

  She be needing all new canvas, boyo. Aye, she be needing a solid house.

  Sean removed his hat as he followed the boys through the wood door hung with hinges fashioned from leather and which were nailed to the door and the wood frame. The heat from the woodstove hit him in the face. But Sean had no illusions the tent held the heat well in cold weather once the stove was banked for the night.

  ‘Tis no wonder the wee one sickened and perished. ‘Tis a blessing Benjy be still with us.

  Sean focused his attention on the woman standing at the side of her two-burner box stove not five feet from where he stood just inside the doorway. With her back to him, he saw she wore a loose-fitting navy blue wool dress, probably one she saved for special occasions. White apron strings with a bow at the waist graced her back and cinched in the dress, pleating the excess fabric. Sean guessed the woman had lost weight since she first owned the gown. She wore no shawl over her head. Instead, she wore her dark hair neatly pinned in a chignon just above a white lace collar.

  Mayhap she dressed nice to visit her daughter and late husband at the graveyard and never changed. Don’t be assuming she made the effort for you, boyo.

  Sean waited in anticipation for her to turn towards him. It would be the first time he would see her entire face.

  “Ma, we brought Mr. Flood. He was late ‘cause he went to the bathhouse.”

  Sean watched Ona straighten her spine as if she braced herself to tackle a distasteful task. She slowly turned, her gaze focused on the floor. Ona slowly lifted her head until she stared into his face.

  The beauty of her clear skin and the black lashes which framed blue eyes nearly took Sean’s breath away. He focused on her eyes, using his peripheral vision to survey the rest of her face. Her sunken left cheek and thin lips gave her chin the appearance of protruding slightly. That aside, there was no doubt—the woman was a beauty, even without all her teeth.

  Even as he watched her, Sean knew Ona’s eyes subtly studied him, taking in his scrubbed appearance in the new navy blue wool work shirt with its white bone buttons he had purchased at the mercantile the previous evening. Even though he still wore it collar length, Sean had instructed the barber to cut his hair short enough to not hang his eyes and to barely brush the tops of his ears. Sean knew being clean-shaven was the current style. But in an effort to disguise his sunken cheeks and lips, he wore a moustache and a beard neatly trimmed to about a half inch in length.

  Sean chanced the slightest of smiles to acknowledge he recognized from Ona’s expression she approved of the improvement in his appearance. Unlike the first two times she had seen him, he no longer resembled a grub that had crawled out from under a rock.

  “Welcome, Mr. Flood. Dinner is about ready if you would like to seat yourself at the table.”

  Sean spied the wood table with two chairs and two stools surrounding it. He started for one of the stools.

  “The boys use the stools, Mr. Flood. Please seat yourself on the far chair.” Ona turned back to the cast iron Dutch oven she had on the stove. Another pot rested on the back corner away from the direct heat. After giving each of them a stir which released tantalizing scents promising a feast to come, she grabbed a rag to protect her hands as she lifted the coffee pot off the other back corner of the stove. With a cup in one hand and the coffeepot in the other, she approached Sean, standing close enough for her skirt to brush against his pants leg, as she poured him a cup of coffee.

  Sean shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He suddenly felt uncertain of himself. Although the boys had seated themselves and, in the back of his brain he sensed the chatter between them, all he could focus on was trying to not say or do anything to make himself appear as a fool—no more than he already had done the first two times he and Ona had met.

  Sean had never been overly comfortable around women. Around men, he could talk blarney with the best of them He felt completely comfortable around Jesse and Benjy. However, the boys’ mother was another matter. She obviously had been raised well, a woman who understood the social graces and expected proper behavior from those around her.

  On the other hand, with his mother having died while he was in his teens, once his sister Catherine had died on the ship coming over, Sean’s contact with women had been limited. He had found himself on work crews with rough men, he served in the Army with even rougher men, and his freighting business and the recent construction work he did all involved interacting with men. To Sean, women were ethereal creatures who thought and felt differently than men. They had different expectations than men. Many of those expectations he did not understand nor could he fully appreciate them. Women were beings to admire from afar.

  The fact he had been incredibly rude and forward with Ona the day in the mercantile Sean could only attribute to the pain he suffered at the time. The lingering effects of the whiskey he had consumed no doubt contributed to his direct speech the morning after the tooth was pulled. But now, completely sober and the gum pain nothing more than an occasional dull ache, Sean slipped back into his usual reserve and sense of insecurity in the presence of women.

  Especially this woman.

  Ona McNair stood close enough to him he could reach out and touch her—he could wrap his arm around her waist if he possessed the nerve to do so. This woman, from the first time he had laid eyes on her, had captivated his attention. She had sparked sensations to course through him he was not accustomed to experiencing. Sitting now at her table with her standing so close to him, those sensations were all the stronger, creating a longing that nearly paralyzing Sean.

  Sean’s eyes traveled up to her face, taking in her form only enough to for him to note her too-thin body with angular shoulders that spoke of too many missed meals. Then again, Sean had seen more than his fair share of too-thin bodies back in Ireland before he finally escaped the famine that had claimed so many of his family and countrymen. He did not hold it against her. Instead, he stared at the curve of her jaw and her throat above the lace collar she wore fastened to her dress. Her hair possessed enough curl for the tendrils escaping her chignon to fall in gentle corkscrew curls in front of her ears and down the back of her neck.

  She was the most beautiful woman Sean had ever seen.

  You’re a goner, boyo.

  “Is the coffee to your satisfaction Mr. Flood?”

  Jerked out of his revere by her question, Sean reached for the cup, hitting it on the side with his fingers which jostled some of the liquid onto the table. He made a second grab for the cup handle and brought the rim to his lips, swiping the bottom of the cup with his free hand to capture any drips.

  “’Tis good, Mrs. McNair. ‘Tis a fine brew you make.”

  And you be a fine braying donkey, boyo.

  Without a word, Ona quickly set the coffeepot back on the stove and stepped back toward Sean, using her cloth to clean up the spilled coffee.

  “’Tis sorry I am for being so clumsy.”

  Sean chanced a glance at her face to see if her frown or pursed lips would reveal how annoyed or angry she might be with him. He noticed instead of a grimace, her eyes sparkled with amusement and her mouth appeared as if she struggled to hold back a smile.

  “No harm done, Mr. Flood.”

  Benjy’s whine interrupted them. “Ma, we’re hungry. Are we going to eat soon?”

  “Mind your manners, Benjamin,” Ona ordered firmly. “I’ll be dishing it up momentarily.”

  “Can I help you, Mrs. McNair?”

  “Nay…I mean…no, thank you. It won’t take but a minute.”

  Ona lifted the Dut
ch oven to the center of the table where she had placed a trivet. It contained a shepherd’s pie-style stew of finely cut and shredded beef in gravy loaded with diced carrots and onions cooked until they were soft. Mashed potatoes covered the top. Ona scooped the meal into china bowls, giving Sean the first serving while the boys looked on with eyes wide in anticipation.

  After a short grace, Sean crossed himself and picked up his spoon to take his first bite.

  “Why did you do that?”

  “Why did I do what, Benjy?”

  “Move your hand like you did after we prayed on the food.”

  “’Tis the Catholic way. Been doing it since I be small.”

  Jesse turned to Ona. “Why don’t we do it, Ma?”

  Ona glanced down at her hands still folded in her lap before she turned to her son. “Because your pa didn’t allow it. Let Mr. Flood enjoy his meal in peace, please.”

  The boys dove into their food. They each took several bites. Benjy voiced what they all were thinking. “This is really good, Ma. Can we have it more often?”

  “Please don’t talk with your mouth full, Benjy. After you swallow your food, you can thank Mr. Flood. He provided the makings for today’s dinner.”

  Both boys visibly swallowing their most recent bite and chorused their gratitude.

  “Thank you, Mr. Flood,”

  “’Tis grateful I be for the fine meal your mother fixed. Your cooking be fit for the angels, Mrs. McNair.”

  Ona blushed at the praise.

  Jesse tipped his head sideways and grew more thoughtful. “Angels don’t eat, do they, Ma?”

  “We don’t know for sure what the angels do and do not do when they are not about God’s business, Jesse. Now, you boys please be quiet until it is time to leave the table. I’m sure Mr. Flood would appreciate being able to eat his meal in peace.”

  Sean started to contradict her, but thought better of it. He clamped his lips shut. He didn’t mind if the boys talked while they ate. Then again, Sean had been raised with the principle children should be seen and not heard, especially at the dinner table. Perhaps it was Ona McNair, surrounded by her sons’ chatter day after day and who had spent hours preparing the feast Sean now enjoyed, who would enjoy a few minutes of quiet while she ate. Sean chose to eat in silence while he enjoyed catching glimpses of Ona McNair partaking of the food she so desperately needed to fill back out to her optimum weight. As beautiful as she appeared to him now, he wondered how much more lovely she would become with the addition of a few pounds to round out and soften the angles of the bones showing just under her skin.

  Sean watched as she picked up a slice of bread and tore the crust off the outside, offering it to one of the boys. She spread butter on the soft center. Sean fixed his bread the same way, offering his crust to the other boy. Both Jesse and Benjy accepted their bread crusts without comment, revealing to Sean they were used to receiving the part of the bread their mother found more difficult to eat.

  Sitting in her humble tent cabin, Sean grew more determined to create opportunities for Ona McNair to prepare food for him so she and her sons could always have enough to eat. If the meal he currently partook of was any indication of her cooking skills, it could do nothing but be a benefit to him, too.

  Ona rose and brought the smaller pot to the table along with four smaller bowls.

  “I made an applesauce with a little spice and butter in it for dessert. I hope you don’t think I was too extravagant buying a bit of stick cinnamon and some cone sugar.”

  Sean carefully brought his spoonful of the apple treat to his lips, testing it carefully to make sure it was cool enough to not burn his mouth. The three McNairs watched him in anticipation to see if he approved of the applesauce.

  “’Tis no excess, Mrs. McNair. ‘Twill gladly buy the cinnamon and sugar to make us applesauce like this often.”

  It was not lost on Ona he had included her and her sons in his desire to have spiced applesauce again.

  After eating dessert, Ona excused herself and stood. “I made enough stew to put in a jar for you to take for your dinner tomorrow, Mr. Flood. Then, if you like, perhaps I can prepare another meal for you on Tuesday. Assuming, if I understood you correctly, you wish for me to cook meals for you a few times per week.”

  “’Tis grateful I be for the food for dinner tomorrow, Mrs. McNair, but I’ll be hungry again by tomorrow night. Would it be asking too much for you to shop again tomorrow and make something up again for supper? I’ll be bringing my kit up and can pick up my portion on my way home from the job. I won’t be disturbing you overly.”

  “Why can’t he just eat here again, Ma?” Jesse asked, standing and walking over to plead with his mother. “Today worked out good, didn’t it?”

  Seeing Ona hesitate, Sean quickly spoke. “’Tis an inconvenience for your ma to have me underfoot every day, Jesse. And, if supper be too much for you tomorrow, Mrs. McNair, ‘twill be fine we wait another day.”

  “No, supper tomorrow will be fine, Mr. Flood, as long as you don’t mind me charging it to your account. I’ll have it ready when you come by.”

  “But, Ma…”

  “Nay, Jesse. ‘Tis right for your ma to be considering appearances around your neighbors. She has her reputation to think of, now doesn’t she? Besides, she’ll not be wanting my smell after a hard day’s work in her house, now will she? I be picking up my food and keeping the mules company so they don’t think I’ve forgotten them. And you’ll be helping your ma with what she be wanting, now won’t you?”

  “You said you’d talk to Ma about doing your laundry, Mr. Flood,” a persistent Jesse pressed. “Ma’s real good at it. She can get your clothes clean so you don’t have to worry about how you smell coming into our house.”

  “Enough, Jesse,” Ona wrapped her arm around her son’s shoulder and pulled him towards her, her face flushed with embarrassment. “You let Mr. Flood arrange for his own business and have his own privacy. You worry about your own chores, like sharing your schooling with Benjy.”

  “I don’t like schooling, Ma. I’d rather go with Jesse to see Mr. Flood’s mules, even though they scare me a little.” Benjy jumped up from the table and stood before his mother, his eyes pleading.

  “No, you’ll not go visit Mr. Flood’s mules uninvited. Perhaps Mr. Flood will let you boys see them on occasion as a special treat, Benjy, but you and Jesse need your schooling every day.” Ona turned back to Sean with a smile betraying her discomfort. “I apologize for my sons’ lack of manners, Mr. Flood. Please don’t feel obligated to ask me to do more work for you than what you need.”

  Sean folded his arms as he studied the trio before him, Ona now standing between her two boys with her arms around their shoulders.

  Aye, methinks I be needing the laundry done by you, Ona McNair, but will be buying new long handles first.

  “Now don’t be getting after Jesse for looking out for you, Mrs. McNair. I did say I’d be speaking with you about it. I’ve been thinking on changing my laundry service to you, seeing how clean you keep everything else. But will talk to you another time. Arranging for my meals is enough for this Sunday, now isn’t it?”

  “I consider it a service, and no money has changed hands today, Mr. Flood. I was happy to prepare a meal to your liking. I hope you’ll be pleased with what I fix for you tomorrow.”

  “Sure ‘tis I will. Be sure you be making enough for you and the hungry boys, here, and you be giving me the bill for your labor at the end of the week or I not be letting you wash my dirties. Now, come, boys, ‘tis time to see what we can be doing to fix this canvas so it not be leaking like a sieve next time ‘tis raining.”

  “Considering your recent trip to the dentist, Mr. Flood, perhaps you should rest today rather than work on my cabin.”

  “Nay, ‘tis a service, now isn’t it, Mrs. McNair? ’Twill distract me from the soreness. Come, Jesse and Benjy. ‘Tis time we see what we can do here. Then mayhap your ma will let you come help me feed Hattie and Boomtown.”r />
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  Chapter 6

  ~o0o~

  B

  y the next Sunday, Sean and Ona had settled on a routine. Ona cooked supper every night which he ate at her table, sending home with Sean in a lunch pail his portion for dinner the next day. Two of the other single men on the job, realizing Sean had started bringing appetizing-smelling, although pureed-looking food, began to tease him. Sean laughed them off, telling them it was his mules earning their keep now he was doing construction in town instead of him taking the pair out hauling freight.

  On payday, Sean settled his bill at the butcher and mercantile, surprised at how little Ona had charged to his account during the week considering the meals he had eaten each day. While at Magendie’s, he bought two pair of red flannel underwear, intent on contracting with Ona to start doing his laundry.

  On Sunday, rather than wait for the boys, by noon Sean, wearing the new wool shirt he had not donned since the previous Sunday, stood at Ona’s door in the cool breeze and sunshine of the November day and called out to announce his arrival. Benjy pulled the door open, a grin splitting his face.

  “You came early, Mr. Flood. I’m still helping Ma set the table.”

  “’Tis good you be helping your ma, Benjy.” Sean felt himself suffused in heat from the stove as he stepped into the tent cabin, almost wishing he had worn a lighter-weight shirt. Then he turned to his smiling hostess standing next to the stove. “Good day to you, Mrs. McNair.”

  “And Jesse’s chopping more kindling,” Benjy continued, unwilling to give up being the center of attention. Sean forced his eyes away from Ona and gave Benjy an approving nod.

  Sean heard the kick at the bottom of the door. He twisted around to open it to allow Jesse with his arms full of firewood to enter. The boy dropped the stack next to the stove.

  “Hear you be chopping kindling by yourself now, Jesse.”

  “Yes, Mr. Flood. Ma said it’s all right, now you showed me how.”