Amy jerked upright. She’d think about that last comment later. “Old geezer. Mr. Moss is as old as you are, Mom. That means he’s sixty-four. He probably called you an old biddy. This is a disaster. Are you listening to me, Mom?”
“Of course I’m listening. Are you listening to me? I told you, it’s just a rumor. Sam Moss is an angry, bitter old man. If he is indeed going forward, it’s out of spite. He always hated how Sara got so involved with the Seniors.”
“What about you, Mom? If Mr. Moss is bitter, what are you? You’re a robot, a machine that goes twenty-four/seven. I never see you laugh or cry. You’re always on automatic, you never stop. Well, you better stop now and think about this little project you just dumped on me. Either we partner on it or I’m bailing out on you. That means you failed. You, not me, Mom. Now, how important is all that to you?”
Tillie cleared her throat, then licked at her dry lips. “The Seniors are counting on me. I promised we would raise enough to refurbish the Seniors’ Building before the town condemns it. I gave my word. It…it is important. I’ve never failed at any of my events. What…what should I do, Amy?”
Amy threw her arms in the air. “I don’t know. I’m not a magician. I have a few ideas but I don’t know if they’ll work. We need to sit here and map out a plan of action, so don’t get any ideas about leaving me holding the bag with the mess you created. See this,” Amy said, holding up her mother’s cell phone. She walked over to the sink, turned on the water, and let it cascade over the phone. “Don’t even think about getting another one. Mine will be enough for both of us. Now, let’s sit here and talk. First I’m going to make some coffee and order some food. I’m up for Chinese. From here on in, Mom, you are going to keep this refrigerator filled with food. I do not exist on yogurt and water. I want you to think of this little project as me saving you from a life of humiliation. Starting right now, it is my way or the highway, with me driving down it.”
Tillie sniffed. She knew she was beaten. She kicked off her shoes and settled down with the paper and pencil Amy placed in front of her. She needed to have the last word. “You are just as mean and hard as your father.”
After ordering dinner from Ginger Beef Chinese Food over on Telegraph Road, Amy spooned coffee into the paper cone on the coffeemaker. “We aren’t going to go there, Mom, but rest assured before I leave here we will revisit the issue of your husband and my father, because it is long overdue.”
Tillie bit down on her lip as she played with the cup and spoon that her daughter set in front of her. If she had anything to say about it, that particular little talk was never going to happen.
Amy risked a glance at her mother, wishing she could feel something other than aggravation. Her mother was copping an attitude. Well, she would just have to deal with it. How strange that this was turning into a role reversal. She felt like the mother admonishing a wayward child. She hoped she could remain tough and stern and not let her mother stomp all over her.
“Let’s get our home base settled before we tackle anything else.” Amy didn’t wait for her mother to agree or disagree. She forged ahead. “We are going to have three meals a day. That means either your housekeeper makes it or you and I take turns. We will sit here at this very table and eat together and discuss what’s going on with what I am now calling Tillie’s Folly. There will be no more yogurt or that rabbit poop stuff you sprinkle on top of it. This refrigerator will be filled with meat, fish, and chicken. We will have cheese, fruit, and vegetables, along with bread and English muffins. And eggs. Good food. You, Mother, will be working alongside me, so I suggest you get yourself some warm boots, flannellined slacks, some heavy sweaters and a good warm hat. The first time I see a cell phone hanging off your ear, our deal is off and you can sink or swim. Do we have a deal, Mom?”
Tillie squirmed in her chair. “Yes, we have a deal. When did you get like this?”
“Do you really care, Mother?”
“No, I suppose I don’t.”
It was Amy’s turn to squirm. There was a lot to be said for honesty.
“All right, let’s get to it. We have an hour before our dinner arrives. Now, this is what I’ve been thinking. Give me your input and don’t be shy about it. I don’t care how bizarre something sounds. We might be able to make it work.”
Tillie licked her lips. “Were you trying to scare me before when you said I was liable for all…for all those bills?”
Amy leaned across the table. “Read my lips, Mom. You signed the work orders. That means you are liable.”
“That…that would wipe out my nest egg. I would have to get a job.”
“That’s what it means, Mom. Look at it this way, ’tis the season of miracles—or almost, anyway.”
Chapter Five
Sam Moss sat on the top of the newly repaired steps that to the front porch. There was a time when the porch held pumpkins with lit candles, cornstalks, and a few scarecrows. So long ago. Now the porch was empty, just the way he was empty.
It was full dark now, an hour past supper. The only thing he’d eaten today was a frozen TV dinner at lunchtime that tasted like cardboard because the pot of stew he’d made wasn’t done cooking. Sometimes he wondered why he even bothered.
Out of the corner of his eye he could see a line of headlights heading out of the fields. The drivers of the vehicles wouldn’t see him sitting on the steps because the big blue spruce at the corner of the house blocked the view of the porch. Gus’s workers, that’s how he thought of them, wouldn’t be gazing about anyway. They’d be in a hurry to get home to their families and a warm supper. Gus would be the last one to come down the road.
His son had been home six full days, and what the boy—which was how he thought of his son, the boy—had accomplished stunned him. In all of his sixty-four years he had never seen such single-minded determination to get the farm up and running. A river of guilt rushed through him at what he was allowing to go on. What really bothered him was the boy hadn’t asked him for a penny. He knew from the talk in town that Gus was paying his workers more than a decent wage plus overtime. He’d never in his life paid overtime to an employee. Sara always said he was behind the times, a fuddy-duddy with tunnel vision. If she were here right now, sitting on the steps right next to him, she’d give him a poke on the arm and say, “See, Sam, I told you our son is the best of the best.” Like he didn’t know that.
How he wished he was more like Sara, who was so outgoing and loved by everyone. Was outgoing. Was loved by everyone. Especially by Gus. That hurt, but he’d accepted that the boy liked his mother more than him. Because of that, without really meaning to, he’d been extra hard on him. In his own defense, he’d said things like, hard work never hurt anyone, hard work builds character. He’d truly believed that because of him, Gus was the man he was today. Until yesterday afternoon, when it started to rain and Gus had come in for a slicker. They’d eyeballed each other until Gus finally said, “Yeah, I know, Pop, working in freezing rain won’t kill me, and it will build my character. Well guess what, if your next line is ‘I’m the man I am today because of you,’ think again. I’m the man I am because of Mom. Not you. Never you.” Then he’d stomped out in the cold rain to continue working the fields, to correct what his father had let go to wrack and ruin.
“So, I’m a horse’s patoot,” Sam Moss muttered as he got up to go into the house.
He’d cooked a pot of stew earlier in the day. It was the one thing he did well. It was simmering on the stove now, ready to be eaten. If he got into the kitchen in time, he could casually mention the stew and even set the table. Maybe they could talk. Maybe he could offer…
Sam removed the red plaid mackinaw and hung it on the hook by the back door. He was setting the table when Gus walked in. “Made some stew today. You’re welcome to sit down and eat. Got some frozen bread warming in the oven,” he said gruffly.
“No, thanks. I’m too tired to eat. Maybe later. Since you seem to be talking to me today, one of my guys told me he heard in t
own that you’re going to be selling trees for $45 each to clear the fields. I sure as hell hope you’re talking about your half of the farm and not my half. I’ll be selling mine at market value. You better get it in gear, Pop, or you’re going to look like…”
“A horse’s patoot?”
Gus reared back. “I was going to be a little more blunt and say a horse’s ass. That’s if the rumor is true. If it isn’t true, I’ll take back my opinion.” Without another word, Gus left the room.
Sam turned away to hide his grin. The boy had grit, he had to give him that. He ladled the fragrant stew in to his bowl and sat down to eat.
Sam’s mind roamed as he ate. He now knew his son’s habits at the end of the workday. He showered, slept for three hours, came downstairs to eat, did some paperwork and went back to bed. It was during Gus’s three-hour nap that Sam went out to the fields to check the day’s work. After his inspection, on the walk back to the house, he always felt like puffing out his chest. The boy had grit and promise. He frowned as he broke a piece of bread off the loaf on the table. He really hadn’t expected the rumor he started to get back to Gus so quickly. He still couldn’t believe he’d purposely started it. How stupid of him to think people would flock to buy the trees Gus cut down at a giveaway price. Gus’s trees. He had to remember that.
Upstairs, Gus stood in the bathroom, staring at himself in the mirror. Who the hell was that wild-looking guy with the six-day growth of beard staring back at him? His face was windburned and his eyes were bloodshot. The beard itched. He was so cold he thought he’d snap in two before he could get into the hot shower. Nothing, not even rousing sex, felt as good as the hot water running over his body. He let his shoulders droop as he turned this way and that in an effort to get warm. Stew. Hot stew. He couldn’t remember when he smelled something half as good. Made by his father, who had issued an invitation. Maybe he was finally coming around. Or maybe his father thought he was going to fall on his face. Maybe he thought he didn’t have the stamina to carry through on his plan. Who the hell knew what the old man thinks. Still, an invitation was an invitation. His mouth started to water at the thought of the savory stew and crusty bread.
Bone tired, Gus stepped out of the shower, dressed and headed downstairs. He was stunned to see a place set for him at the table. There was even a napkin. Salt, pepper and butter were in the middle of the table. He helped himself. He’d dined in five-star restaurants, eaten gourmet food, but nothing had ever tasted as good as what he was eating. He had two bowls of the delicious stew, drank a bottle of beer and ate half the loaf of bread. Beyond stuffed, Gus cleaned up, transferred the contents of the pot into a huge bowl and set it in the refrigerator. He wrapped the leftover bread in foil.
With no idea where his father was, Gus turned off the light and switched on the night-light over the stove before he headed upstairs where he turned on his laptop and proceeded to go shopping at L.L. Bean. He ordered thermal underwear, flannel shirts, foot warmers, hand warmers, several wool watch caps, and four pairs of boots. He ordered his own slicker, two shearling jackets, heavy corduroy trousers, and a dozen pairs of wool socks. He completed his order and hit the button for overnight delivery.
With the temperatures in the low forties, he wanted to be prepared.
His eyes drooping, his stomach full, Gus fell into bed. He slept soundly until the shrill of the alarm woke him at four o’clock. He groaned, rolled over, tussled with Cyrus for a few minutes, then climbed out of bed to get dressed. He sniffed. Was that coffee and bacon he smelled? He wondered if his father was making breakfast for himself. Or for him. Nah, lightning doesn’t strike twice. Yesterday had to be a fluke. How could he possibly be hungry after all he’d eaten last night? Yet he was starved, his stomach rumbling.
Cyrus loped ahead of him and sprinted down the stairs. By the time Gus reached the kitchen, Cyrus was gobbling eggs and bacon from a bowl that used to belong to old Buster.
Gus blinked. The table was set. On his mother’s place mats. A plate full of eggs, bacon, sausage and toast waited for him along with a huge mug of coffee. Next to his plate was a large thermos. “Looks good,” Gus said, sitting down. He bowed his head and said a prayer the way his mother taught him to do before he dived in. It did not go unnoticed by his father.
Sam Moss raised his head and looked directly at his son. “Can you use another set of hands out there?”
Gus stopped chewing long enough to stare at his father. “I can use all the help I can get to clear the white pine field. How are you at taking orders?”
“’Bout as good as you are, Augustus. I can learn.”
“We’re clearing my half of the fields. If you want me to work on your half, you’re going to have to ask me, Pop. That’s how this has to work.”
“Let’s work on your half first. Don’t expect big things out of me, Augustus. I haven’t done any manual labor for a long time. I’m out of shape. I’ll work your half of the farm. I don’t have a problem with that.”
“I hope not, because I’m going to work you the way you worked me.”
The old man stroked his beard with a gnarled hand. “Payback time, eh? I worked you as a kid until you dropped to try to make a man out of you. Now you’re going to work this old man to prove…what?”
Gus stood up. “To prove to me you’re good enough to be my father. We’re running late. Time is money. Remember those words?”
“Yep.” Sam pulled his mackinaw from the hook. He followed Gus and Cyrus out the door.
“Who’s cleaning up that mess in the kitchen?” Gus called over his shoulder.
“The new housekeeper who starts today. I even gave her a menu for tonight.”
Gus hunched into his jacket as he headed for the pickup truck. He was grinning from ear to ear in the darkness.
Chapter Six
It was ten o’clock when Amy pushed her chair away from the table. Earlier, she’d kicked off her shoes, and now she contemplated her pedicure as she tried to make sense out of her resentful mother. She hated being hard-nosed, but she really didn’t have many options under the circumstances. She eyed her mother now as she tried to think of something nice to say. The words eluded her.
“Are we done here, Amy?”
“For now, Mom. Do you at least understand what a problem you created? I don’t know if I can pull this off. I just wish you had consulted me when you first came up with the idea. It’s a wonderful idea and if it works it will benefit the Seniors.” There, that was something nice. Now they wouldn’t go to bed angry with each other.
“But you don’t think it will, is that it? Say it, Amy. Say what you’re thinking. Let’s get it all out in the open before we go any further.”
“I don’t think we should go there, Mom. Let’s go to bed, sleep on it and tackle it again in the morning. I have some savings I can use. I still have most of Dad’s insurance left. My business is doing well, so I can cut some corners. I’m going to call the people you ordered the trees from and see if I can cancel the order in the morning. I just want you to know this is a seat-of-the-pants operation as of this moment.”
“I have things to do tomorrow. My day planner is full,” Tillie snapped.
“Not anymore it isn’t,” Amy snapped. “You’re mine now, Mother. From now till December 26, you will be working right alongside me. I want your word. Your word, Mom.”
“But…I can’t possibly…I have plans…commitments. I don’t know you anymore, Amy Margaret Baran.”
Amy bit down on her lower lip to try to stem the words she was thinking about, but they spewed out of her mouth because they were long overdue. “Like I know you, Mom! You stopped being my mother when I was four years old. Housekeepers cooked for me, washed my clothes, fed me, put me to bed. I lost count of how many we had. God knows what would have happened to me if it wasn’t for Dad. You were never here. You didn’t even show up at my high school graduation. You never talked to my teachers. You showed up five hours late for my college graduation. I still can’t believe y
ou showed up for your husband’s funeral. You were never here for Christmas. Dad and I always got the tree and decorated it. Oh, you posed in front of it, then off you went. Dad bought the presents. Dad wrapped the presents. Dad taught me to roller skate. Dad taught me to ride a bike, and he taught me how to drive. I’ve always wanted to know, Mom. Where were you all that time?”
“Not now, Amy. I’m very tired right now. Let’s just both agree that I was a horrible mother and let it go at that.”
Amy did her best to blink away her tears. “At least we can finally agree on something.”
Amy gathered her books and ledgers and all the notes she’d made earlier together in a nice, neat pile. She set them on the counter out of the way. Her shoes in her hands, she made her way to the second floor, where she threw herself on the bed and had what she intended to be her last cry where her mother was concerned.
Down the hall and across the room, Tillie Baran sat down on the edge of the bed, her shoulders shaking, tears rolling down her cheeks. She should have told her. Why didn’t she? Why didn’t she defend herself against her daughter’s onslaught of hateful words? Because she was guilty, that’s why. Too little, too late. The best she could hope for now was a civil relationship with her daughter until this Christmas tree fiasco she’d created was over and done with.
Tillie could see her reflection in the mirror across the room. She looked haggard, and she looked every one of her sixty-four years. She was old, and she had no purpose in life except to do what she called good deeds. If the truth were known, she didn’t even really do good deeds. She had ideas for good deeds that other people carried out with a lot of hard work, then she got the credit for those good deeds. She heard her name on the local radio and TV news, and it was always her picture in the paper, never the drones who brought her ideas to fruition. In a million years she never thought her daughter would bring her to task the way she had down in the kitchen just moments ago
The Christmas Stocking Page 4
