We were just ready to go into the O.P.C.H. when Grace caught hold of my arm. She pulled me away from the people around the doorway and whispered, “If you found real good trees, why couldn’t you cut six or seven? Then you might be able to get fifty cents apiece for all but the one we need ourselves.”
“That wouldn’t be very good,” I told her. “People don’t wait till Christmas Eve to buy their trees, and before I got around to their houses, they’d have them all bought.”
“Oh, fiddlesticks!” Grace said. “Lots of people buy their trees the day before Christmas.”
“Yes, but not Christmas Eve,” I told her. “I guess you don’t know that it’s about twenty miles up to Turkey Creek Canyon and back. I’ll do well if I get home by the middle of the afternoon.”
I started to go on into the store, but she held my coat sleeve. “If you had them back here by the middle of the forenoon do you think you could sell them?” she asked me.
“I guess so,” I told her, “but I’d have to run Lady to death to do it—and I wouldn’t do that for a hundred dollars.”
“Is the road up there good enough so you could follow it in the dark?” she asked.
“Yes, if the stars are out,” I said, “but I can’t find Christmas trees and chop them by starlight.”
“It gets light about half-past seven now, doesn’t it?” she wanted to know.
I just nodded.
“Well, if you want to get a good early start, I’ll do your chores for you in the morning and deliver the milk. If you were there by daylight, you could cut six or seven trees and be back to town by ten o’clock, couldn’t you?”
If I’d thought of the idea myself, I’d have really wanted to do it. But, with Grace trying to push me into it, I could only think about how cold it would be driving up there before daylight. So I just said, “I could try.”
“Well, did you ever think about it: Mother hasn’t had any new shoes since spring, and she won’t buy any till we get Mr. Shellabarger’s bill caught up. But if we gave them to her for Christmas she wouldn’t make us take them back. They’ve got some real good ones in the O.P.C.H. for three dollars. Come on in and let’s look at them.”
The three-dollar ladies’ shoes were the best ones they had in the O.P.C.H. The leather was as soft and smooth as a baby’s skin, and the eyelets were all inside so they didn’t show. While I was rubbing my fingers over the leather, Grace said, “If you thought you could get six extra trees and sell them for fifty cents apiece, we could have Mrs. Jenson put these away right now and save them for us.”
I passed the one that I was holding back to Mrs. Jenson, and said, “If they aren’t the right size, can we bring them back after Christmas and trade them?”
Mrs. Jenson didn’t have any chance to answer me, because Grace said, “We won’t have to. They’re five and a half B, just like Mother’s old ones.”
“How do you know how big Mother’s old ones are?” I asked her. “You didn’t buy them, did you?”
“No,” Grace said, “but I looked inside of them this morning.” Then she told Mrs. Jenson I’d be in for the shoes the next afternoon.
The rest of our shopping didn’t take fifteen minutes. Grace wanted Mother to have a white shirtwaist with insertion in it, and she knew just which one she wanted. She must have made her mind up when we were in there looking—before we ever went up to the Nimble Nickel. The shirtwaist was a dollar, and that left us enough for the three pairs of mittens. Hal’s were red, Philip’s blue, and Muriel’s green.
That night it was Grace who pushed me off to bed early, instead of Mother. And she came in to wake me up at four o’clock in the morning; though I didn’t need to leave the house before five. I don’t know what time she got up herself, but she had breakfast all cooked when I came downstairs, and she’d given Lady a quart of the hens’ cracked corn.
She made me put on so many extra clothes that I looked like the walrus in Through the Looking Glass. Then, just before I drove away, she brought out two bricks she’d heated in the oven.
The drive up to the canyon wasn’t as bad as I’d thought it would be. Of course, I had to walk Lady all the way. Snow caked onto the wagon tires and made the wheels almost eight-sided. But the stars were bright and the bricks kept my feet warm most of the way. After we got out of town, I put the reins around my neck, and wrapped the lap robe clear up to my shoulders, so that only my face got cold. And I sort of had fun, just bumping along there under the stars and thinking about things. I wanted to get Grace something really nice for Christmas, something she could keep for a time and have fun with. The more I tried to think of different things, the more I couldn’t help thinking about skates. There’d been ice on the river for two weeks, and most of the other kids in Littleton were going skating. Maybe it was because I wanted skates so much myself that I thought of them for Grace. A good pair cost a dollar and a half, and all I’d have to do to get it would be to sell three extra Christmas trees.
The sky began to grow gray just as we went between the last hogbacks and into the canyon. And it was almost daylight when we got to where the young spruce trees grew. I drove past them till I found a place where the road was wide enough that we could turn around without falling off over the cliff. Then I picked out good bushy trees that stood alone so all the branches were even. I took them from the mountainside above the road. That way, I didn’t have to lug them uphill, but could drag them right onto the wagon. I wanted to take as many as I could, but I stopped at eleven, because I’d have to crush them too much if I’d tried to haul any more. And I saved the best one for ourselves. It was a blue spruce, and I put it clear on top of the load.
My feet got awfully cold going home, and sometimes I had to stamp along beside the wagon to warm up again. But there was quite a little downhill, and I let Lady trot wherever she could. We pulled up at Gunther’s barn at just ten o’clock. By noon, I’d sold nine of the trees, but nobody wanted the other one. I just stuck it in a snowdrift near the gristmill, so that anybody could take it home that wanted it. Then I went to the O.P.C.H. for Mother’s new shoes. I got Grace’s skates there, too. They were as shiny as a new mirror, and the straps were chocolate brown.
The night before Christmas the younger children went to bed just as soon as supper was over, and Mother let Grace and me help her trim the tree. I popped the corn while Mother and Grace strung it with cranberries for tree decorations. We put a big mound of white cotton underneath to look like snow. Then we laid the packages that had come from our relatives back in New England out on the cotton. The last thing we did was to make popcorn balls to hang on the branches.
When I brought Mother’s new shoes home, I put them in the barn with the shirtwaist and mittens, but I hid Grace’s skates in the currycomb box. While Mother was cooking the taffy for the popcorn balls, Grace sent me out to get the presents. She said I could bring the children’s in, but to stick Mother’s packages under the woodshed steps. Then she’d come down and put them under the tree as soon as Mother had gone to bed.
When we’d hung the last popcorn ball, Mother said, “Now, let’s all get right to bed and leave the house quiet for the spirit of Christmas to come. If we really feel it has been here—as I always do—I think we can help the younger children enjoy their Santa Claus more.”
We all took our shoes off, and went upstairs quietly and together. I didn’t undress, but lay and listened for Grace to go down and put Mother’s presents under the tree. It seemed as though I had lain there an hour without hearing a sound. Then I realized I had dozed a little, and that Grace must have been down and back while I was asleep. I slipped off the bed without making a sound, tiptoed into the hall, and slid carefully down the banister.
The only thing I could hear was my own breath as I felt my way through the dining room and out to the kitchen. My shoes were right where I could find them in the dark. I picked them up, took a card of matches from the box by the stove, and eased the woodshed door open. King got up from his bed, so I made a little hsst sound for him t
o be quiet, then sat down on the steps and pulled my shoes on. I didn’t take the lantern, and I didn’t strike a match until I was in the barn and had the door closed. Then I got the skates out of the currycomb box, and wrote, “To Grace from Santa Claus,” on the package.
I went back into the kitchen just as quietly as I had gone out, put my shoes down, and tiptoed across the dining room. I knew right where the tree was in the corner of the parlor, but it was so dark I couldn’t see to put the package under it. I crouched down, broke a sulfur match off the card, and scratched it across the seat of my overalls. Sulfur matches usually lit with a dull blue flame that slowly grew yellow and brighter. That one didn’t. As I swiped it up past my knee, the flame flashed and went out.
I hadn’t heard a sound, but in the half second the match flashed, I saw everything in the room. Grace was on her hands and knees in front of the tree, and Mother was standing in the doorway from the hall. Not one of us said a word. I laid my package down and pushed it toward the tree. Then I went back through the double doorway to the dining room, through the front hall, and up the stairs to bed. I never heard either Grace or Mother come up.
Christmas mornings on the ranch, Father had always had a rule that we children couldn’t come in from the bunkhouse till sunup. Nobody had said anything about it that year, but Philip and I were all dressed and waiting in our room by the time the stars began to fade. Our room was on the west side of the house, so of course we couldn’t watch for the first peep of the sun over Gallup’s Hill. But the girls could; and they came running out into the hall when the first red edge of it showed. We all pounded on Mother’s chamber door, and Muriel called, “Mornin’, Miz Moody. Fine mornin’, ain’t it?” In less than a minute we were all laughing and clattering down the stairs together.
It was a lovely Christmas. I don’t know where the other children got any money for presents. Muriel and Philip had bought me a jackknife with three blades, and there was a box that said, “To Ralph from Santa Claus,” but it was in Grace’s handwriting. There was a pair of racer skates in the box. Mother had made bright red earlaps for all three of us boys, and white aprons with lace on them for the girls. Philip and Muriel had bought Mother a glass bowl, and Hal had got her a new egg beater. They’d bought Grace a wide red hair ribbon a yard long. Of course, their presents weren’t under the tree, but they’d hidden them in the closet under the stairs.
No king ever had a better dinner than we did that Christmas. Before Mother put the goose on to roast, she scrubbed it all over with a stiff brush and soap and water. That way, most of the fat drained out while he was roasting and the meat wasn’t a bit greasy. We had sweet potatoes and white potatoes, and all sorts of vegetables—even celery. And mince pie and pumpkin pie and nuts and raisins.
None of us went out of the house all day—except when I had to do my chores—and nobody came to call. After dinner, Mother read us two chapters from the new book that Lucy Jordan sent her for Christmas. In the evening we popped corn, and she read us the whole of Christmas Carol, as she always used to on the ranch.
24
Skating and Skimming
IF THE weather man had known about our skates, he couldn’t have done a better job. Right after Christmas it turned sharp and clear. By New Year’s Eve there was a foot of ice on the river, and the hose-company boys were getting the wide bend behind the gristmill ready for a New Year’s skating party. They flooded the ice so it was as slick as a sheet of wet glass.
Grace didn’t have to tell me she wanted to go. And she didn’t have to tell Mother, either. As soon as I came home and told them about the skating party, Grace went up to her room. When she came down, she had her hair done up on at least fifty paper curlers.
I was in the kitchen when Grace came down. At first, Mother looked at her sort of curiously; then she raised one corner of an eyebrow at me. “Why don’t you and Gracie go to the skating party tonight?” she asked. “Father and I used to go to them before we were married, and we always had loads of fun.”
Grace stuck her head up. “Hmff,” she said, “who wants to go skating with their brother? And, besides, Ralph can’t skate.”
“Well, what makes you think you can?” I asked her. “You’ve never tried, have you?”
“Well, I can walk better on . . .” That’s as far as Mother let her go.
“Now, now!” she said. “Let’s not have any bickering. I think you’d both have a lovely time. Oh, by the way, I won’t be wearing that plaid skirt any more. Maybe we could fix it over into a skating dress.”
Grace tried to look smug again, but she couldn’t. Her eyes were shining too bright. Mother raised her eyebrow at me again, and asked why I didn’t take the younger children and go fishing through the ice. We never got many fish, but we always liked to try. Before we went, Mother let me go down to Mr. Shellabarger’s and get a pound of wieners, so we could cook our own lunch over a campfire.
We didn’t come home from fishing till nearly dark. Mother and Grace were still sewing, and Grace wanted me to keep the children out at the barn while I did my chores. When we came in for supper, the only signs of sewing were a few plaid scraps around the machine. Grace was trying to act as if it were just another day, but her cheeks were red and every move she made was a quick one. After supper, I told her I’d help Muriel with the dishes if she wanted to go and take the curl papers out of her hair.
Mother let Muriel, Philip, and Hal sit up to see Grace’s new dress. And they had a long wait. It was more than an hour before she came downstairs. When she did, she looked the prettiest I ever saw her. She and Mother had made a whole new outfit from the old skirt. The plaid was green with red lines through it. There was a pointed cap that Grace wore cocked over a bit to one side—with curls looping up all around it—a little jacket that was more like a vest with sleeves, and a short skirt with dozens of pleats in it. She looked as though she might have just come down from the Scotch Highlands, instead of from her own bedroom.
I didn’t want Lady to stand out in the cold, so Grace and I walked down to the party. The easiest way would have been to follow the path along the mill ditch, but Grace wanted to walk clear around by Rapp Avenue. Cold as it was, she just put her heavy coat over her shoulders, and left the whole front unbuttoned.
It seemed as though half the people in Littleton were down at the river. There were bonfires all along both banks, and dozens of skaters on the ice. Some of the older people could skate better than the kids, but the hose-company boys were the best of all.
Ed Bemis was cutting figure eights backwards when we got there. Skip Nutting was holding a pair of skates with his hands, and Ralph Thompson had him by the legs and was pushing him around as if he’d been a wheelbarrow. They were going faster than a horse could run.
Grace and I found a dry log on the bank where we could put on our skates. Grace’s were easy. Girls’ skates had counters in the back, and straps to buckle around the insteps. Boys’ skates just had clamps in the back; so mine didn’t work very well, because my heels were worn lopsided.
While I was fussing with my heel clamps, I told Grace, “Once you know the trick of it, there isn’t much to skating. I’ve watched the fellows two or three times. You just point the toe of one skate out a little, and push with it so you’ll slide along on the other one.”
When I looked up, Grace wasn’t paying a bit of attention to me. She’d taken off her heavy coat and was watching Ed Bemis like a coyote watching a field mouse. I think Ed knew she was watching him. He began cutting all kinds of fancy didos right out in front of us. As I straightened up from the last clamp, Ed spun around a dozen times on the point of one skate, and Grace clapped her hands.
“Hey!” I told her, “you’d better be careful. Katherine Prescott will snatch you baldheaded. Ed’s her regular beau.”
Grace knew about Ed and Katherine just as well as I did, but she clapped again when Ed spun around on his other skate.
Katherine was the prettiest senior in Littleton High School. She’d b
een Ed’s girl ever since we’d moved to town, and I didn’t want Grace to make a monkey of herself, so I stood up and said, “Come on, let me show you how to skate.”
All I heard Grace say was, “Hmff.”
My skates didn’t work the way I expected them to. The second I stepped on the ice, they both flew out from under me. For about a tenth of a second, I was sitting in mid-air. Then I came down on all four corners. I was sure I’d cracked my tail bone, both elbows, and the back of my head. I hadn’t, but I couldn’t get up. Every time I tried to step on one of my skates, it would scoot out from under me, and I’d go down again. One of my skates pulled off, and when I turned to crawl back to the bank, Grace was gone. There was nothing but her heavy coat on our log.
While I was getting my skate clamped back on, the hose-company boys started promenading around the ice with their girls. Skip Nutting went by me with Katherine Prescott’s sister, Edith. Ralph Thompson had Louise Sittser. And then came Ed Bemis and Grace.
Grace wasn’t really skating at all, but you’d have had to look close to notice it. Ed was as big as two of her; they were holding hands with their arms crossed; and Ed was almost carrying Grace along. I could see that she wasn’t pushing a bit with her skates, but she was sliding on first one of them and then the other so that it looked pretty good.
I spent most of the evening picking myself up and putting my skates back on. And every time I’d look out on the ice, Grace would be going by with Ed Bemis. The moon was so bright it was almost daylight. And Grace’s face was even brighter.
Once, when I was getting up from a spill, they went within three feet of me, but neither of them saw me. It’s a wonder they didn’t run into the bank. By that time, Grace was really skating. She was in front of Ed. He had his hands on her hips and was looking down and talking to her. Grace had taken off her mittens, and had her hands clamped tight over Ed’s fingers. They were swinging along as if they were on rockers, and Grace had her face turned up toward Ed’s. In the moonlight, her teeth glistened like fresh snow.