Too Old for Christmas

by Zina Abbott

  Sean stared at the pair, taking in their worn clothing, their jackets too tight and the sleeves too short. Mrs. McNair refused to accept charity and handled it by telling her oldest nine year old son he was too old for Christmas. Her sons suffered for her stubborn pride. Sean wasn’t sure if it was the whiskey buzz talking, or if it was his own Irish orneriness rising to the surface. He decided he’d see about getting around the determined mother of this pair.

  “Sit down, boys,” Sean said as he picked up his tin plate. He forked the two pieces of meat out of the water and laid them side by side. “Let them cool first.”

  Sean then took a handful of flour from the sack next to him and sprinkled it into the beef-favored water. He stirred as he added more flour until the mix began to thicken to a gravy consistency.

  “That’s like what Ma makes, only she uses oats or potatoes and don’t add the beef,” Benjy observed. Then studying the pasty mix more closely, “Will it still taste okay without the meat in it?”

  “Aye, ‘tis not the best, but the flavor from the salted beef was cooked out in the water some and making it so ‘tis not like eating glue.”

  “Ma sometimes makes cornmeal mush boiled with fatback. I like it when she gives us the fat after.”

  “Hush, Benjy,” Jesse spoke quietly to his brother. “He may eat like this all the time because he’s got the same problem Ma does.” Then Jesse straightened up where he sat and studied Sean’s face. “At least on the right side. I can’t tell about the left because it’s so swoll up. Plus your whiskers make it hard to tell.”

  Sean wrinkled his head in confusion. “Not sure I be following what you be talking about.”

  “Oh, I get it!” Benjy crowed with pride. “You don’t have any teeth on the right side, do you? That’s like ma, only all her teeth are gone on the left side. None in front, either. The only teeth she has are on the right side.”

  Out of the mouth of babes, ‘tis. Missing teeth on the left…due to a right-fisted man?

  “Benjy! We don’t talk about it.”

  Now the shawl held tightly to the woman’s chin made sense to Sean. It wasn’t because she felt cold after walking through the blowing rain that day. She felt self-conscious about her sunken cheek, her diminished chin appearing to jut out because her lips would tend to appear thin and roll into her mouth without any front teeth to hold them in place. Aye, Sean knew the signs well. Now he thought about it, if he hadn’t been so absorbed in his own pain and impatience, he would have noticed the difficulty she’d had pronouncing certain words without her front teeth to help create the proper sound.

  “Don’t tell Ma you told Mr. Flood about her not having all her teeth, Benjy,” Jesse warned. Jesse turned to address Sean. “Please don’t tell on Benjy to Ma, Mr. Flood.”

  “Nay, Jesse. His secret be safe with me. And I be having you know I still have a few teeth to my name on my left side.” Sean eased his mouth open to display his left incisor and the molar next it plus one on the bottom.

  Benjy studied the display of Sean’s remaining teeth with fascination while Jesse grimaced at the sight.

  Jesse offered his advice in all seriousness. “You need some of Ma’s good chicken soup to help your mouth get better, Mr. Flood. She could make you some like she does for us when we get sick, except…except…” Sensing the boy’s discomfort, Sean kept his face expressionless and waited patiently for the boy to finish. “Well, we don’t have a way to get any chicken right now. Maybe if you can afford a chicken you could make your own soup.”

  An idea of how to help himself as well as these boys in spite of their mother’s stubbornness began to form in his mind, a mind growing less befuddled as the coffee began to course through his system.

  “Nay, boy. I can be paying for the chicken, but I be knowing naught what to do with it once ‘tis in my hand. You be not finding much of a cook in me. So, I be needing a favor. Ask your ma, if I get her the chicken and the rest she be needing, and if I be willing to pay for her time, will she be willing to make me the soup? Something a near toothless man such as myself can eat ‘til I’m fair healed?”

  “But you can’t eat a whole chicken right now, Mr. Flood.”

  “Aye, ‘tis true. But I know some boys who can make use of the meat whilst I enjoy the broth, now don’t I?”

  Jesse’s face lit up with understanding as both the boys nodded their agreement.

  “Now, I be dishing up tonight’s fare. Wait ‘til ‘tis cool enough. ‘Tis only one spoon I be having, so you’ll be eating with your fingers. And ‘tis probably best your ma not be hearing the full particulars.”

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  Chapter 3

  ~o0o~

  E

  ven though he burrowed deep into his blankets inside the steep-sided freight wagon that served as his bedroom, Sean sensed the inside of the barn grow brighter as someone pushed open the door. He threw his arm over his squeezed-tight eyes and groaned as the pounding headache topped by a touch of nausea hit him full force.

  “Mr. Flood. Are you in here?”

  Sean recognized the woman’s voice. It belonged to the aggravating blue-eyed beauty he had met the day before—the McNair boys’ mother.

  Aye, nothing like meeting a woman when you be at your worst, boyo.

  “I told you he keeps all his things in the wagon and sleeps in there, Ma. We only built a fire inside the cabin out of the wind to fix his supper.”

  So, Jesse, you had to be bringing your ma up to talk to me at the crack of dawn, did you?

  “Mr. Flood, if you’re here, may I please speak with you for a moment? The boys said you wanted to talk to me about chicken soup. They were very insistent I come.”

  “Aye, be with you by the by.”

  Sean stretched and rubbed his fingers through his hair. Next he scratched his beard. Unfortunately, it did nothing to ease his aching head. With his hair sticking up in tufts twisted in every direction, his beard bristling every which way and his rumpled clothes smelling sour with sweat, Sean felt loathe to face his visitors.

  A woman will nay be letting a man die in peace, now will she? ’Tis what you get for having the boys ask their ma to cook for you.

  Slowly he reached a hand up and grasped the edge of the wagon sideboard to pull his body up far enough to peek over the edge. His eyes squinted at the glare pouring through the barn door. He realized the storm must have passed in the night leaving the air clear and the sun bright. It wasn’t the crack of dawn. It had been light for several hours. In spite of being backlit, Sean could see the woman and her two sons standing inside his barn. Mrs. McNair had her shawl thrown over her hair and around her neck so it covered the bottom half of her face.

  “If you’d be closing the door against the sun, ’twould be a kindness Mrs. McNair.”

  “I see you are still…under the weather, Mr. Flood,” Ona McNair said as she closed the door to a crack. With her hands firmly gripping her sons, she backed away from the mules that started to shuffle in anticipation of being fed.

  “Aye, ‘tis so.” Closing his eyes, Sean tenderly poked at the section of cheek covering the spot where his tooth had been pulled. “’Tis sore yet, but the swelling be down.”

  “And how is your head, Mr. Flood? After all your…medicinal…use of whiskey you availed yourself to yesterday, I imagine you are feeling the effects today.”

  “Aye, ‘tis so, will freely admit.”

  “Did you try the willow bark tea?”

  “Nay. Saved it for today. When your sons and I finished our sup last night, I made for my bedroll.”

  “The boys ate with you? They never said a thing about it. They ate again at home.”

  Sean watched the woman frown while she looked from one boy to the other.

  “‘Twasn’t much to offer, so they left hungry. They be growing boys, Mrs. McNair. For certain they be eating you out of house and home afore long.”

  “Ma…”

  Benjy stood next to
his mother. Sean noticed his legs crossed and his hand clamped over his front.

  Sean groaned and slunk down behind the wagon sideboard. “No need to be yelling, young Benjy.”

  “But, I…”

  “Hush,” he mother leaned over and took him by the shoulders. “His head is probably pounding.” She looked up at Sean. “I didn’t see the necessary on my way up, Mr. Flood.”

  “I nay have got around to digging the necessary pit, yet, Mrs. McNair. You be needing to take him in the woods behind the cabin. Uphill. There be a patch of poison oak on the downhill slope I still be needing to cut out. The leaves be dropped, but the branches still be full of poison.”

  Sean did his best to ignore the baleful look he received when he glanced at her face to gauge her reaction. He decided right then as soon as the roof was on his cabin, it was time to build the necessary.

  “Thank you, Mr. Flood. Jesse, while I’m busy with Benjy, please see what wood there is to gather and see if you can get his fire started again. Rinse his coffee pot out and fill it with water for tea. I’ll fix it when I get back. Do you have the willow bark in the wagon with you?”

  “Aye. Here it be,” he said as he handed the box to Ona.

  ‘Tis what you get, boyo. You ask for chicken soup and next thing you know, a woman be taking over your life.

  Sean pulled his brogans on and eased himself out of the back of the wagon. With a few friendly pats on their rumps to let Hattie and Boomtown know he had not completely forgotten them, he stumbled over to his store of feed and filled the feed buckets for the mules. He grabbed the bucket to get them their water.

  As soon as Sean stepped outside the barn, he pulled the narrow brim of his slouch hat low on his forehead to shade his eyes against the glare. He passed Jesse who was headed back up the rise with the coffee pot full of water.

  Sean hauled water several trips to get enough for the mules. He let them out in their corral before he brought the last bucket of water up for his use. As soon as he entered what would one day be his home, he found Mrs. McNair had taken over his campfire.

  “I have water on to boil, Mr. Flood. As soon as it’s ready, I’ll add the willow bark. I know you weren’t feeling well last night, but might I suggest if you wash your cooking pot and plate as soon as you finish eating, it won’t be so difficult to get them clean. I sent Jessie down to fill them so I can heat them up and let them soak.”

  And who be saying I be washing them each time I use them?

  “Aye, I be keeping it in mind.”

  “What did you plan on for breakfast, Mr. Flood? Jesse said last night you cooked a gravy using some beef broth for flavoring.”

  “Calling it a gravy be a kindness, Mrs. McNair. ’Twas warm flour paste with a speck of meat flavor. But, it slid down my throat without the need to chew. I be having the same this morn, but without the meat.”

  “Perhaps if you have some sugar or canned fruit you can mash with a fork it will improve the taste.”

  “Aye, I’ve some sugar. I be not trying the dried peaches for a day or two.”

  “You have dried peaches?” Jesse asked his question in a tone of wonder, and what Sean expected was a hint of envy.

  “Aye, but I nay be gumming them today, boys. Promise me you be washing out your mouth after you eat and taking good care of your teeth and I’ll give you boys a pair of halves each.

  “That won’t be necessary,” Ona McNair spoke sharply. “The boys don’t need to eat all your provisions.”

  “Nay, ‘tisn’t necessary. But the boy comes up after school to look in on my mules whilst I’m working in town all day. ’Tis a gift for the two helping me yesterday, now isn’t it? Be a good fellow, Jesse, and see if you can find some of the flour and sugar in the wagon. And two dried peach halves each for you and Benjy.”

  Sean turned back to face Ona McNair after the boys ran towards the barn. He eyed the woman on the other side of the fire ring, daring her to contradict him further in an effort to deny her sons the simple treat in the name of not accepting charity.

  And how long afore you’ll be allowing me see your full face?

  Ona spoke softly as she watched her boys race for the barn. “I wondered why it takes Jesse so long to come home after school most days.” She turned to Sean. “Now, I believe you wished to talk to me about chicken soup.”

  “Aye, I do, Mrs. McNair.” Sean accepted his cup full of the tea Ona had poured for him. He offered a grimace at its bitter taste before he continued. “Your boys, here, say you can make soup I can eat, something worth eating, if you take my meaning, to help my mouth heal. I be getting you the chicken and putting you on my account at the mercantile to get what else you need.”

  The boys returned from the barn with the food, each already chewing on one of their peach halves. Ona watched as Sean dumped a handful of flour and some sugar in the water. He added even a greater portion of sugar to the willow bark tea before he attempted to stir the lumps out of his mush. She suppressed a shudder at the thought of him eating the tasteless mess.

  “That won’t be necessary, Mr. Flood. If you can wait longer for me to pay off the…the loan from yesterday…” Both adults ignored the inquiring looks from Jesse and Benjy. “…I’ll collect what’s owed me from my one customer today and use it to buy the vegetables and herbs I need…”

  “Aye, ‘twill be necessary, Mrs. McNair. You see, I still be needing someone on occasion to cook food I can eat.”

  “There are several good restaurants in town, Mr. Flood. I’m surprised you aren’t staying at a boarding house where you can get your meals prepared for you.”

  “And what would I be eating there, Mrs. McNair? With only four teeth ‘til yesterday, and now only three, chewing’s been a chore. How be I eating the burnt bacon and fried potatoes, now? Or, the chili if the beans be undercooked and tough, and the steaks, the chops, fried chicken and roasts? Even the stews with big chunks of potato and carrots be not always full cooked. None of it be good fare for a man with naught but four teeth. And ‘twas no use trying bread with a tough crust without a hot drink, now was there? Once I started work on my cabin, ‘twas easier to get by with what I can fix, which be not much, now is it?”

  “I see.”

  “Your sons be saying you may be knowing how to cook for a man who’s got no choice but to be gumming his food. ‘Tis so?”

  Ona McNair stood to her full height, her spine stiff. “And what would have given you that idea, Mr. Flood? Have my boys been talking about me?”

  Sean decided the willow bark tea must be working, for his head had stopped throbbing and he was thinking straight enough to remember he had promised the McNair brothers he would not say anything about what they had told him the night before. He looked at both boys sitting by the fire, their discomfort and apprehension written on their faces.

  “Nay, Mrs. McNair. ‘Tis like how your sons knew my name be Flood. ‘Tis hard keeping things private when you live in town, now isn’t it? People talk, now don’t they? ‘Tis good things I’ve heard about you.”

  ‘Tis a line of blarney, for I’ve heard naught about her ‘til yesterday.‘Tis to spare the boys, it is.

  “So, have I good reason to be believing you can cook for a man like me?”

  “Of course, Mr. Flood. It isn’t difficult. I cook my food until it is completely soft. For your stew, it means mashing the potatoes and carrots with a fork. I only using the parts of an onion or other vegetables without a tough skin. Canned fruits can be mashed, too. Beans must be fully cooked and then mashed. As for chicken and dumplings, same thing, although the dumplings are easy to eat as long as they are well covered with gravy. As for the meat, I can still get some in the dishes. I just cut it extremely fine and against the grain.”

  “’Tis manna to my ears, Mrs. McNair. Now, if I be getting you the chicken to stew for broth, can you keep the meat for the boys, but add t’other you be speaking of?”

  “I can cut up some meat for your soup, Mr. McNair.”

  “Soup
for me and the boys and you, Mrs. McNair. Then your growing sons can be eating the rest of the meat later as part of the pay. And, I be opening accounts both at the mercantile and the butcher. I be expecting you to charge food you’re cooking for me to my accounts. And I be paying you for your time cooking for me, now won’t I?”

  “Mr. Flood, it won’t be necessary for you to pay me to cook. If you’ll just provide the food…”

  “Aye, ‘twill be necessary. I’ll be asking you to cook for me a few days of the week, if you be allowing it. ‘Tis deserving of pay for your work you be, same as if you be cooking for a boarding house. Will you be finding it agreeable, Mrs. McNair?”

  Silence reined as Ona McNair considered his business proposal, one she realized would allow her to feed her family better than she had been able to the past several months. And, if he paid her a little on top of the food, it would mean she could pay off her late husband’s debts sooner.

  “It will be agreeable, Mr. Flood.”

  “He could eat at our house some days, Ma,” Jesse suggested. “He builds things in town when he’s not using the mules and wagon to haul stuff. Maybe he can help you with those shelves and fix our roof where it keeps tearing the canvas. It wouldn’t be asking him to work on Sundays as long as you ask him to come to our house to eat, would it?”

  Sean turned to Ona and raised his eyebrow. Sean had been raised to be hospitable to anyone who showed up at his door. However, he didn’t know if Mrs. McNair would welcome a stranger to her home, one who had looked like the devil himself the two times they had spoken. He also wondered if the aggravating widow would be too proud to let him come and help her family. All three males waited in anticipation for her answer which came slowly and carefully worded.

  “Jesse, you don’t ask someone to your home for a meal and then expect them to work for you.”

  “I’d be willing, Mrs. McNair. I’d be teaching your boys how to help you, now wouldn’t I?”

  Ona thought about it for several seconds before she gave in to the silent urging of the three expectant faces before her.