by Gail Rock
Carla Mae arrived just as I finished dressing, and we went into the living room to make the Christmas card that would go with Miss Thompson’s fabulous blue glass jewelry box. I drew a sleigh and reindeer, and Carla Mae watched.
“I just don’t know how you do it,” she said. “You’re really good.”
“I don’t know how I do it either,” I said. “It just comes out.” I had never been able to figure out why I could draw and other people couldn’t. I found it very mysterious, but I was grateful that I could.
“Should we put ‘For Miss Thompson’ or ‘For Sylvia Thompson’?”
“Miss,” said Carla Mae, always mindful of propriety.
“How about ‘Miss Sylvia Thompson’?” I said, not wanting to be too stuffy. Carla Mae nodded.
“Boy, I wish my name was Sylvia,” I said.
“How come?”
“I hate the name Adelaide … and Addie! Yuck! When I grow up, I’m going to change my name!”
“You can’t change your name!”
“You can do anything you want when you’re grown up.”
“I’m going to wear a long, white dress and a veil,” she said dreamily. “And get married.”
“Well, I’m going to be a painter and live in Paris, France, and never get married!”
Carla Mae gave me a disgusted look. I always wondered how we could be such good friends when we had such different daydreams for ourselves.
We were all restless that day in school, waiting for the gift exchange in the afternoon. Finally, the moment arrived. Delmer Doakes put on the Santa beard and hat we had made for him in art class and began to distribute the gifts. As he took each gift from under the tree, he would call out the person’s name and that person would go to the front of the room, read the tag, open the gift and show it to everyone. There was a lot of giggling and groaning over ugly gifts and dumb gifts and gifts between boys and girls who didn’t like each other and even more giggling over those who did. Then Delmer called Tanya’s name.
She went up and took the gift from him and read the tag. “Merry Christmas to Tanya Smithers from Adelaide Mills.” Carla Mae and I exchanged evil glances.
Tanya tore open the package, and with an expression of great distaste, drew out the ugly brown wool gloves I had found at the Clear River Variety Store. The whole class snickered and groaned, well aware that I had deliberately given her an icky present. She was aware of it too.
“Thanks!” she said sarcastically, and sat down.
Delmer called my name next, and I went up and was handed a tiny box. When I saw who had drawn my name, I turned bright red.
“Merry Christmas and Happy New Year, to Adelaide Mills,” I read, “From Billy Wild.” Everybody snickered. They were always teasing Billy and me about liking each other. I opened the little box, and there inside was something absolutely horrifying. I stood there looking at it until Miss Thompson said, “Hold it up Addie, so everyone can see.”
I flashed it quickly in front of the class, hoping they wouldn’t see what it was, but they all howled, and I turned from red to purple and sat down quickly. Horrible Billy had given me a heart-shaped locket! In front of the whole class! I shoved the box down into the pocket of my cardigan and silently swore that I would never speak to him again.
Delmer called Miss Thompson’s name next, and I was thankful the attention turned from me.
“What a beautiful card,” she said, when she saw it. “I’ll bet I know who made it.” That compliment took my mind off my embarrassment, and then she unwrapped the blue box. Everyone gasped when she took it out, and when she lifted the lid and it began to play “The Blue Danube,” the class broke into applause.
Miss Thompson said it was certainly the nicest and most tasteful present she had ever received, and we all applauded ourselves again.
Carla Mae and I were busy whispering about what a great choice of gifts we had made when I heard Miss Thompson ask who didn’t have a Christmas tree at home. I didn’t know why she was asking, but I put my hand up before I realized how embarrassing it would be. Surely I was the only one, and everyone spotted my hand before I could get it down, and I turned crimson. Then I realized that there was another hand up. It was Gloria Cott, from the only poor family in town. I knew they had no money, but I was surprised that the Cotts were really too poor to buy a Christmas tree. My reason, after all, was just some stubborn quirk of my father’s, but I was afraid everyone would think we were poor too. Miss Thompson looked surprised to see my hand raised, and I wondered what she thought.
“As you know,” said Miss Thompson, “we usually leave all the school Christmas trees up during vacation and then have a big bonfire on the playground when we come back from vacation, but this year I thought it would be better to give our tree to someone who doesn’t have one at home. Since there are two people … I guess we’ll choose a number between one and ten, and the closest will take the tree home.”
I felt a surge of excitement, and I knew right then that I was going to win the tree. Dad had taught me how to play the odds on choosing between one and ten, and I was sure I had a better chance than Gloria.
Gloria chose first and chose 8, and I knew she didn’t know how to play the odds. I chose 7. I wasn’t even surprised when Miss Thompson said the number was 5, and I had won. I couldn’t take my eyes off the tree for the rest of the afternoon.
Chapter Six
Carla Mae stayed after school with me to help remove the decorations from the tree before taking it home.
“You sure were lucky,” she said, as we worked.
“It wasn’t luck. I know how to play the odds. Dad taught me.”
“How?”
“If you go first, you always choose 5 or 6, so you get at least half the numbers on the high side or low side. If you go second, you choose the number right next to the other player’s, so at least you get all the numbers higher or lower than his, whichever gives you the most numbers. Get it?”
“No,” said Carla Mae, annoyed.
“Look, Gloria guessed 8, so all I had to do was guess 7, and that meant I had all the numbers from 1 to 7 and she only had 8, 9 and 10. So my odds were 7 to 3.”
“But you could have guessed 9, then she would have won!”
“I just explained why I didn’t guess 9!”
“You mean you were lucky?”
“Oh, no,” I groaned, and started to write it all down for her on the blackboard. “You’re just no good at gambling!”
We finally got the tree undecorated, and Carla Mae helped me drag it home through the snow. We struggled up the porch steps and through the door with it, and strained to lift it upright on its wooden base. When we had it up, we collapsed on the sofa and sat there admiring it. My heart was pounding.
“Doesn’t it look nifty?” Carla Mae asked.
“Looks OK,” I said, sounding bored. “I didn’t really care whether I won it or not, but since I won it, it looks OK.”
“It’s almost up to the ceiling,” she said, looking around the small room.
“Not bad for a free tree,” I said.
Just then Grandma came into the room to see what we were doing. When she saw the tree, she stopped dead in her tracks and looked stunned.
“It’s from school!” I said excitedly, running over to her. “We guessed numbers from one to ten, and I won!”
“Your dad is goin’ to have a fit!” she said.
“Why? It didn’t cost anything!”
“That’s not the point,” said Grandma. “My glory, it’s a beauty! Must be seven, maybe eight foot.”
“Why won’t Dad like it?” I asked.
“Maybe it’ll be all right,” Grandma said, but she sounded as though she didn’t really think so. “We’ll wait and see when he comes home. Now get those boots off, you two, snow’s meltin’ all over the rug!”
Soon Carla Mae and I were sprawled out on the living room rug, cutting paper decorations for the tree. We made colored chains, snowflakes, stars, circles, candles, bel
ls and tiny Christmas tree shapes, colored them and put glitter on them. Then we drew a five-pointed star on cardboard, carefully cut it out and covered it with tin foil I had been saving from gum wrappers and Dad’s cigarette packages.
We asked Grandma to come in and fasten the star on top of the tree, because I knew her strong old fingers could bend a hairpin tighter around the top branch than ours could. We held a chair for her to climb on.
“Oh, glory!” she exclaimed. “You expect me to get up there with my rheumatism? I’ll get dizzy.”
“No, you won’t,” I assured her. “We’ll hold you up.”
Carla Mae looked at her moccasins as she climbed up on the chair. “Do you wear those because you’re a ‘character’?” she asked Grandma.
Grandma looked down at her. “Who says I’m a character?”
“Miss Thompson,” replied Carla Mae.
“She did, did she?” said Grandma, looking puzzled. “How’d Miss Thompson happen to say that?”
“A character’s a good thing to be!” I said quickly, not wanting her to misunderstand. “It means somebody like … Columbus … who does what other people are afraid to do, and doesn’t give a fig if they laugh at him!”
“How come Miss Thompson was hookin’ me up to Columbus?” asked Grandma as she took a hairpin out of her hair and used it to wire the star to the top of the tree.
“Some kid was making fun of you, so Addie punched him!” Carla Mae blurted out. I gave her a dirty look.
“Got yourself into another fight, did you?” asked Grandma.
I nodded.
“Well, good for you!” she said. “Glad your dad taught you to box.” I was surprised at her enthusiasm. She finished with the star. “There!” she said.
“That looks nifty, Grandma. Thank you.” We helped her down. “When I grow up, I’m going to be a character too,” I said. “So’s Carla Mae.”
“I am?” asked Carla Mae, looking very unsure.
Just then I heard Dad’s pickup in the driveway.
“He’s home!” I said, and Carla Mae leaped across the room and grabbed her coat.
“I gotta go!” she shouted, and was out the door before I could even say good-bye. I knew she didn’t want to be there for the fireworks that were about to happen.
I went nervously to the kitchen with Grandma, and we waited for Dad. He came in and put his lunch bucket on the table, as he did every night, and I opened it to see if there was anything left, as I did every night. I grabbed a cupcake and started to chomp at it nervously, as he went toward the living room. Grandma and I both watched the door apprehensively. For a moment there was nothing but silence.
Then he shouted, “Where the hell did that come from?”
“I won it!” I said excitedly, and ran into the living room, with Grandma following right behind me.
Dad was standing there frozen, looking at the tree with a painful expression on his face.
“I won it by figuring out the odds on a number between one and ten!” I went on. “Just the way you taught me! Miss Thompson asked who didn’t have a tree, and Gloria Cott and I raised our hands, and …”
“Gloria Cott?” he said.
“Yes …”
“You think we’re like the Cotts? Think I take charity, do you?” he shouted.
“No, Dad, it’s just that Gloria and I were the only ones who didn’t have a tree …”
“Then why didn’t she take it home!”
“I told you, I won it! Because you taught me how to figure odds … so Carla Mae and I carried it home.”
“Dragged it through the streets—letting the whole town think we take cast-offs—like some bums!”
“James,” said Grandma, “that tree’s not hurtin’ anything.”
“I do not take charity!” he shouted at her.
“It’s not charity,” said Grandma firmly. “She won it fair and square.”
“If I want a tree, I can damn well buy it myself!” he said.
“She’s the one who wants it,” Grandma said, “not you.”
“She has to learn she can’t have everything she wants, not in this life,” he said angrily. “I don’t have anything I want. Do you think I like working a crane fifty weeks a year? I’d like to go somewhere and sit in the sun and forget both of you!”
I had never heard Dad say anything like that about Grandma and me, and I began to cry and ran into the bedroom and closed the door. I could hear them in the living room, still arguing.
“I want that tree out of my house!” he shouted at Grandma.
“It’s my house, James, and I say the tree can stay right where it is!”
I knew then that this was no ordinary argument. Grandma had never thrown it up to Dad that we were living in her house. I knew she had said something very serious in sticking up for me, and I was scared.
“If you don’t want me here, I’ll be glad to move out and take Addie with me,” he said, trying to get back at her.
“Don’t talk nonsense!”
“I’m telling you, Mother, if we stay here, I’m not having you interfere between me and my daughter!”
“She’s more than your daughter,” said Grandma, trying to calm him down. “She’s a human being. She’s got feelings, even if you haven’t. James, don’t you see—the last person you felt anything for was Helen.”
“Leave her out of it!” he said angrily. Dad never liked to talk about my mother very much, and I was surprised that Grandma would even bring it up.
“I know you were brokenhearted,” she said. “But you’re not the only man who’s ever lost a wife. It’s almost ten years! That kind of grief is selfish. That child needs your love.”
“I proved I loved her, didn’t I?” he asked. “I wouldn’t let Will and Nora take her to live with them. I kept her. I took the responsibility.”
“While she was a baby it was all right,” Grandma said. “You could carry her around like a doll, plop her in her crib when you didn’t feel like carryin’ her, chuck her under the chin. She was just a cute baby. Now she’s growin’ into a person, and you don’t know what to do with her! You hold yourself away and live in this house like a stranger. When she’s old enough, she’s going to leave you, James. Then you won’t have the responsibility, and you won’t have a daughter, either.”
I had never heard Grandma talk that way to Dad, and when she had finished, neither of them said any more for a few moments. Finally he spoke.
“It was my fault,” he said quietly. “Having the baby is what killed her.”
“It was pneumonia, son,” Grandma said gently.
“People don’t have to die of pneumonia. It was the baby that weakened her. If she hadn’t had the baby. It was all because of me.”
“No, James,” Grandma said softly. “You both wanted a baby. It wasn’t your tault, or Addie’s. It just happened. No good ever comes of layin’ blame.”
Neither of them said any more then, and I heard him get up and go into his bedroom and close the door.
Chapter Seven
By the time Grandma and I went to bed that night, I was sorry I had brought the tree home. I was beginning to feel guilty about Gloria Cott not having a tree—“the poor souls,” Grandma always called the Cott family. And I was sorry I had ever raised my hand in class. I shouldn’t have let anyone know that my dad wouldn’t buy a Christmas tree. There was something very bad about it, and it was going to ruin our whole Christmas.
I crawled into the old four-poster bed and huddled up between the freezing sheets. Grandma was always warm, even on the coldest nights, and I loved to sleep with her because she let me put my cold feet on her warm legs. Whenever I had to cry over something, it almost always happened at that time of the night. Being close to Grandma in bed gave me some sense of freedom and relief, and whatever had hurt me during the day usually came out then. Sometimes she could help me with my problems and sometimes not, but she always held on to me, and that made me feel I could get through it. That night I cried and cried.
“How long you goin’ to cry?” she asked softly.
“I don’t know. Maybe all night!” I said, still sobbing.
“Don’t you worry, he’ll get over it,” she said.
“He’s so mean …”
“He’s not mean,” Grandma said. “Jamie’s a good man.”
“Jamie?”
“That’s what we called him when he was a boy. He was proud then too. He always had a lot of pride.”
“What’s so great about pride?”
“It’s a way of … of thinkin’ well of yourself. You’ve got it. That’s why you hit that kid today.”
“Was that pride?”
“You were stickin’ up for me because you love me, and I’m your family. Your father insists on payin’ our way because he loves us, and we’re his family. He’s always been the kind who wouldn’t take nothin’ from nobody, even if we were starvin’. Ten, fifteen years ago, during the Depression, we had a bad time.”
“What was the Depression?”
“Wasn’t any jobs. Nobody had any money. Lots of people had to go on charity. Your father wouldn’t even take the flour or the potatoes the government was handing out free.”
“Would Dad have let you starve?”
“Of course not. But he was pretty stubborn about acceptin’ anything he hadn’t earned. Wouldn’t take charity.”
“When you take a present, like a Christmas present,” I asked, “is that charity?”
“No,” Grandma said. “That’s a whole different thing. A gift is somethin’ from someone who wants to make you happy.”