A Carol Christmas

by Roberts, Sheila

  I held up my black leather gloves.

  “You’ll ruin those if you get pitch on them,” Mom cautioned.

  “I don’t plan on touching the tree,” I said. “That’s what we’ve got Ben for. ”

  Keira was back now, bundled up in a baby blue ski jacket, a gray felted hat on her head.

  “Be careful,” Mom said, like we were soldiers going off to war.

  Keira held up her can of pepper spray. “Don’t worry. We’ll be fine.”

  “You aren’t planning on getting close enough to anything to use that, are you?” I asked.

  She shrugged. “No, but I like to be prepared. Anyway, if something jumps at us, get behind me.”

  “Okay, Davy Crockett,” I teased.

  Ben was already in the truck and gunning the engine. We piled in, Keira first.

  She wrinkled her nose. “This truck stinks.”

  She had that right. It smelled like a cross between a prison and a barnyard. “What have you been doing in here,” I asked, “butchering hogs?”

  “Just farting,” Ben said amiably.

  “I’m buying you an air freshener for Christmas,” Keira said. “Thought you were done with your shopping,” he teased. “For you I’ll make an exception and buy one more thing. Roll down your window, Andie.”

  “I wouldn’t roll it down very far,” Ben cautioned. “The heater’s broke.”

  “I think I prefer to freeze,” I decided, and let down the window.

  Keira rolled her eyes. “We should have taken my car. We could have strapped the tree on the top.”

  “This is easier. We can throw it in the pickup bed.”

  “We always get noble fir,” I said, surprising myself that I had an opinion. What did I care what kind of tree we got?

  “Noble fir it is, then,” Ben said, “in honor of Andie’s return.” He looked past Keira and shot a smile at me. “Kind of like killing the fatted calf.”

  “Except I’m not a prodigal son,” I reminded him.

  “Nope, you’re a chick. Same principle.”

  I didn’t think it was the same at all, but I kept my mouth shut.

  Grandma’s Tree Farm was a mile outside the city limits. We followed Main and were there in under fifteen minutes.

  It was getting colder, and the air smelled like snow. We hadn’t had a decent snowfall in Carol in years, and, for some weird reason, I found myself wishing we would get one.

  A smattering of cars dotted the parking lot. Ned Tuttle, the owner of Grandma’s, was posted next to a shed at the entrance, which was marked by a couple of giant crossed candy canes. Beyond that stretched the tree farm itself, a manicured forest of trees raised and carefully groomed for holiday star performances in living rooms all over Carol.

  I caught sight of a couple of kids wearing bright parkas darting in and out among the rows, followed by a man who was probably their father, and remembered trips out here when we were kids. Going to Grandma’s had always been an adventure, filled with high excitement as we cut the tree and even more excitement when we got home and realized it was too big to fit through the front door.

  “Evening,” said Ned as we approached. He nodded approvingly at Ben. “I see you remembered your ax.” “We’re ready,” Ben assured him.

  Ned stuffed a wad of tobacco into his cheek. “Got some oversized trees toward the back. If you take one off my hands, I’ll give you a deal on it.”

  “Sounds good,” Ben said.

  “ ‘Don’t worry, Mom,’ ” Keira taunted as we trooped toward the back of the tree farm. “ ‘I’ll pay for the tree this year.’ ”

  “Hey, I’m going to pay,” Ben said.

  “You’re going to get something cheap and awful,” Keira predicted. Not such a far-off prediction, since Ben was a typical broke musician and on a budget.

  “There’s nothing wrong with looking at the bigger trees,” Ben told her.

  “I’ve got some money,” I offered.

  “Ben’s paying,” Keira said. “We settled this before you came.”

  “That’s right,” Ben said. “So give it a rest, Keir.”

  She sighed dramatically and trooped after him, and I fell in step behind her. Something wet landed on my nose. And then another something, a delicate, white something.

  “It’s starting to snow,” I announced. Cutting down a tree in a snow-speckled tree farm—it sounded romantic, and I couldn’t help feeling a little excited by the prospect (as long as we got back before the roads got too slick for Ben’s bald tires).

  “Great,” Keira muttered. “If the cougar doesn’t get us, we’ll freeze to death. “Come on, Ben. Any one of these trees would be great.”

  “Quit whining,” he told her. “We’re almost there.”

  It wasn’t hard to tell when we’d reached the bargain tree section. They were all hugely oversized.

  “These aren’t Christmas trees,” Keira said in scorn, “they’re mutants.”

  “I think they’re kind of cool,” Ben said. “One of these babies would really fill up the living room. What do you think, Andie?”

  I thought it would not only fill up the living room, but after that it would go on to take over the world. “I don’t know,” I said.

  Keira shook her head. “It’s too big.”

  “Hey, we can always cut it down to fit,” Ben said.

  I studied the tree. “You could be cutting till midnight.”

  He grinned and elbowed me. “Come on. Side with me. Don’t let the baby push us around.”

  “Oh, ha, ha. Like anyone ever listens to me,” Keira complained, and Ben and I grinned. She was grinning now too, until she got a sudden look of fear on her face. “What was that?” She pointed into the darkness.

  Ben looked over his shoulder. “What was what?”

  Keira jiggled her finger. “Over there. I saw something.” “I suppose you saw a cougar.”

  “It could have been. It had four legs and a long tail, and it was big.”

  “A dog,” Ben said in disgust and went to work with his ax. Keira didn’t say anything, but she moved closer to me and took out her can of pepper spray.

  “Put that away,” I said. “You’re liable to spray us by accident.”

  “We need some protection.”

  “No, we don’t. We’ve got Ben and his ax.”

  “I’m not going to let anything happen to you,” Ben said, chopping away at the tree trunk.

  “You wouldn’t see anything happen to us,” Keira argued. “And by the time you got the ax out of the tree it would be too late. We’d be torn to shreds.”

  “No you wouldn’t. You’d be rolling around on the ground with the cougar chewing your arm, just like in the movies.” “But she’d be spraying it with pepper spray,” I teased.

  “Spraying herself, more likely,” Ben muttered.

  “I really saw something, you guys,” Keira insisted.

  “It’s okay,” Ben said calmingly. “Anyway, we’re done.” He gave the tree a push and it toppled. “You guys grab the top and the middle. I’ll take the base.”

  I realized I should have taken those mittens Mom offered. I might have known Ben would pick a tree no man (except maybe Paul Bunyan) could carry single-handed. I stripped off my gloves, stepped behind my brother, and shouldered a chunk of tree.

  Keira pocketed her weapon and gingerly picked up the tippy-top, and we set off with our find.

  We took up all available space as we made our way through the tree farm, forcing other customers to dive for safety. If we were crowded out here in the open air, I hated to think what would it be like back at the house.

  “That’s some tree,” called a man stationed a few feet away by a cute little blue spruce.

  “Trade you,” Keira called back.

  “No, thanks.”

  “That’s the tree I wanted,” she grumbled.

  “This one’s bigger,” Ben said, stating the obvious.

  “Bigger isn’t always better,” Keira informed him.


  “That’s a nice tree you found,” approved Ned Tuttle when we got back to his shed. He turned and shot a stream of tobacco juice into the bushes.

  “Eew,” Keira said under her breath.

  “Yeah, we got a good one,” Ben said. “How much do I owe you?”

  Ned eyed the tree and named a bargain price.

  “Great,” Ben said gleefully.

  While he was digging in his wallet, Ned asked, “Didn’t see any cougar out there, did ya?”

  “I think I did,” Keira said.

  Ned shook his head. “Population’s growing. We’re gonna have to do something pretty soon.”

  We knew what that meant. Right now cougars were a protected species in our part of the world. But if they became a danger to the citizens, that could change. Ned sent a loving look to where his rifle leaned against the shed. He would probably be the first to sign up to hunt cougar.

  “I think so far we’re safe,” Ben said. “Come on, girls.”

  We left Ned Tuttle to watch for predators and headed for the parking lot.

  It took all three of us to get the tree in the truck. Ben stood inside the bed and dragged, and Keira and I pushed from the outside. With one final heave, we got it in. Green branches overflowed everywhere. It was like a scene from that old sci-fi movie, The Blob. The Christmas Blob. The tree had just gotten the truck. Next it would reach out and eat us. Even in the dimly lit parking lot it was plain to see we had gotten more tree than Ben had bargained for.

  “Oh, boy,” I said.

  Keira wiped her brow and leaned against the side of the truck.

  Suddenly her eyes got big as an owl’s, and she screamed. “Look out!”

  Before I knew what was happening, she had me by the arm and was turning me toward the truck cab. “What?” I demanded.

  “Cougar!” she cried and yanked open the door.

  Chapter Nine

  Oh, for Pete’s sake,” I began, but that was all I got out before she shoved me into the truck. I lost my balance and landed on my nose on the seat.

  Keira didn’t even wait for me to straighten or slide over. She piled in on top of me and shut the cab door, screaming, “Get in, Ben!”

  “Get off me!” I demanded.

  She got up enough for me to pull my torso free.

  I sat up, holding my nose. It felt like a punching bag with Muhammad Ali, George Foreman, and Evander Holyfield all pounding on it at once. “You broke my nose.”

  “Better a broken nose than getting your body torn from limb to limb.”

  I looked past her, out the truck window. “I don’t see anything.” My sister had just broken my nose for the sake of an imaginary cougar.

  “It’s out there,” she said and began scrabbling in her pocket.

  I grabbed her arm. “Touch that pepper spray and you die. We’re safe in the truck now.”

  “But Ben’s not.”

  “And he’s not even worried. That should tell you something. You broke my nose for nothing more than a runaway imagination.”

  She looked at my face. “It’s not even bleeding.” Then she turned back to scanning the horizon for predators.

  Her lack of sympathy inspired me with an uncivilized urge to mash her face into the cab window and see if her nose would bleed. “Thanks for the sympathy,” I grumbled. “I saved your life.”

  Ben climbed into the cab. “What was all that about?”

  “I saw a cougar,” Keira told him. “Didn’t you hear me screaming for you to get in the truck?”

  “Yeah, but since there wasn’t anything around but a mongrel dog, I wasn’t too worried.”

  “Dog?” she repeated weakly, and I glared at her.

  Ben shook his head and started the engine. “I’m out with Dumb and Dumber.”

  “Not funny,” I said, insulted.

  Keira was still peering out the window. “Are you sure?” “Yes, Keir, I’m sure. I saw it too.”

  “Well, you might have said something before she trampled me,” I complained.

  He shrugged. “She wouldn’t have listened.”

  “Just like you didn’t listen about the tree,” Keira said. “We’re going to have to saw half the thing off just to get it in the house.”

  “It’ll look great once it’s up,” Ben said.

  That’s my story and I’m stickin’ to it, I thought.

  We went down the road like a street sweeper, the dangling branches brushing the dusting of snow from the pavement. Passing cars hugged the curb or swerved and honked.

  Keira looked out the back window. “We look like a float.”

  We looked like something, that was for sure.

  Ben went down the middle of our street in an effort not to hit any of the neighbors’ cars parked along the curb.

  At one point we heard a yelp and saw a fuzzy four-legged ball doing a backward somersault.

  “Oh, no! Stop the car!” Keira commanded. “Your tree just drop-kicked the Baileys’ dog.”

  “Is it okay?” Ben asked. He didn’t stop, but he checked his side mirror.

  I looked over my shoulder. Mrs. Bailey had come out and was cradling her cockapoo. The dog was wriggling and licking her face, probably thankful to be alive. I’ll never complain about my humans again.

  “Looks like you dodged that bullet,” I said.

  Keira pointed to the left and cried, “Look out!”

  “What!” Ben swerved and the truck skidded, making the monster tree in back do the hula.

  We skated sideways on Ben’s bald tires and heard scraping as the tree ran woody fingers along the side of a car parked in front of the Harrises’ house. This was followed by a distinctive thwunk that proclaimed something got broken.

  “Oh, no,” Keira moaned. “Your tree just attacked that car. Looks like it took off the side mirror.”

  “Great,” Ben said. He scowled at Keira. “What were you yelling about, anyway?”

  “A cat. You were going to hit it.”

  “Better a cat than the Harrises’ car,” Ben said.

  “That’s a terrible thing to say,” Keira scolded. “Anyway, that’s not their car. They keep both theirs in the garage.” Ben sighed. He stopped the truck, leaving it in the middle of the road, and got out.

  Right on cue, the Harrises’ front door opened to reveal Mr. and Mrs. Harris and three other people—a couple and a man. Mr. Harris and the two men were just shaking hands when Mr. Harris saw Ben walking toward him. His easy smile melted into a frown.

  “Roll down the window some more,” Keira commanded. “I want to hear.”

  I complied, deciding if anything bad were going to happen, Keira and I should be prepared.

  “Good grief,” Mr. Harris was saying in disgust. “Why’d you bring home such a monstrosity, anyway? What were you thinking?”

  One of the men in the visiting trio said, “That’s okay. The streets are slick. It could have happened to anyone.”

  “Not necessarily,” said Mr. Harris. Implied message: only a Hartwell could manage to sideswipe a car with a Christmas tree.

  I felt my face start sizzling. I wanted to call out, “I’m just a passenger, a visitor.” No, make that “I don’t know these people. They kidnapped me.”

  “I’m really sorry,” Ben said to the owner of the damaged car. “I’ll be happy to pay for a new side mirror. And a new paint job,” he added.

  “Don’t want to report it to your insurance?” goaded Mr. Harris.

  “Well, it’s a small enough thing,” said the other man amiably. “What’s your phone number, son?”

  While Ben and the other man exchanged phone numbers, I heard the third man ask Mr. Harris, “Are these people neighbors?” He was looking at us like we’d stepped out of the pages of The Grapes of Wrath.

  “They live down the street,” Mr. Harris said evasively and made a wave with his hand that implied we were clear at the end of the block.

  Two whole houses down, I thought.

  “The neighbors on both sides of us are great,�
� Mr. Harris continued.

  The man looked at us thoughtfully. Keira tilted her head and looked cross-eyed at him, and I slumped down in the seat.

  “What are you doing?” I hissed.

  “Just giving them something to look at,” she said loudly enough for the entire neighborhood to hear.

  Ben skidded back to the truck and got in, and I put the window back up.

  “It looks like Mr. Harris had a fish on the line to buy his house,” I said. “I think we scared him away.”

  Keira chuckled. “Merry Christmas, Mr. Harris.”

  Poor Mr. Harris. I really couldn’t blame him for wanting to get away.

  We took out the mailbox turning into the driveway.

  Mom came to stand in the doorway and looked to where the truck was hiding under our evergreen. “That looks awfully big,” she called.

  “That’s what I told him,” Keira said as she came up the walk, “but he wouldn’t listen.”

  “It’ll be fine,” Ben muttered and set to work turning the tree loose.

  As Keira had predicted, it was too big. We couldn’t even get it into the house, so Ben was banished to outer darkness to chop off limbs while we stayed warm inside and helped Mom untangle strings of lights to the accompaniment of Christmas music on the radio.

  “We Need a Little Christmas” had just begun to play when the door opened and two sets of legs began marching in under the flopping boughs of the tree. Maybe James the bass player had stopped by, I thought hopefully.

  “We’re putting it in the usual spot by the window,” Ben said.

  James didn’t know the usual spot for the Hartwell Christmas tree. Come to think of it, that body looked awfully familiar. I looked again and got the now familiar zing.

  The tree started to rise to its majestic height, scraping the paint off the ceiling in the process. “Looks like we’ll have to trim the top some more,” said Gabe.

  Keira shot me a mischievous glance. Had she known he was coming over?

  “Gabe, what a nice surprise!” Mom chimed.

  Behind her a new song began, a choir singing “The Twelve Days of Christmas.”

  “On the first day of Christmas, my true love gave to me . . . ”

  A pest to match my oversized tree, I thought.