The Christmas Wreath, John C. Laird [online e reader txt] 📗

He glanced at his watch. It was nine-thirty pm—another half hour and he would call it a night. There hadn’t been any customers in over an hour, and with only a week before Christmas he still had three dozen trees left. The growing popularity of artificial trees and the competition from the big box stores and the larger lots were taking their toll. Benjamin Logan had been selling his trees ever since he’d retired, fifteen years ago and counting. But making his fortune in the Christmas tree business had never been high on his priority list. He smiled at the thought. He unconsciously rubbed his hand across the gray stubble on his lined face; he’d forgotten to shave that morning.

Grunting, he dragged another cut, seven-foot blue spruce across the frozen ground and struggled to get it into an upright position. At seventy-two, Benjamin was getting too old to be wrestling with Christmas trees, but with the tree bound tightly with twine he was able to get his arms around it enough to lift it into the metal sleeve that was sunk into the frozen ground. With the tree now upright and secure, he deftly cut the twine with his pocket knife, freeing the limbs. By tomorrow the branches would have spread and he would trim the tree, making it even more presentable. He paused and breathed in deeply; he loved the smell of freshly cut pine in the crisp winter air.

He glanced around his small, five-hundred square foot lot. It was surrounded by rabbit fencing on three sides, the fourth side enclosed by his small travel-trailer. Christmas lights strung up on several poles around the lot brightened the area and added to the holiday spirit. Two dozen trees of various heights were planted in their temporary stands. Another bound dozen were piled against the fencing on one side, waiting for their chance to be freed, offered for sale and, hopefully, sold to become a family’s gaily decorated Christmas tree.

Benjamin walked over to his illuminated manger scene, stretching his aching back along the way. He bent over and unplugged the extension cord. The set was plastic, consisting of a kneeling Mary and Joseph, along with the Three Wise Men, all watching over a Baby Jesus. The tallest figure was only four feet tall. He had constructed a small wooden manger a few years back to give the scene a little more realism. He just needed to add a few animals to the display to make it even more appealing. Maybe, tomorrow…

The old man felt the delicate touch of a snowflake on his cheek. He glanced around and saw large flakes drifting slowly to the ground. With the absence of any wind they were floating lazily, languidly, earthward. Several more kissed Benjamin’s cheeks and forehead. He held out his hand and watched a number of them land in his palm, resting there for a brief moment before melting. Fighting a sense of vertigo, he looked up into the dark and peered at the wafting white specks falling towards him. With the black sheet of night sky as a backdrop, the white flecks appeared to materialize out of nowhere as they came into range of his modest lighting. It was magical. At his age he didn’t like the cold anymore, but he always loved the snow. Maybe there would be a white Christmas this season.

Feeling all of his years, he shuffled over to his temporary home and was just mounting the fold-down steps when the headlights of a car reflected off the side of the trailer. A vehicle had pulled into the makeshift parking area next to his tree lot.

When Benjamin turned to look, he was startled to see the vehicle was an old, red Volkswagen Square Back, the Germans' ’65 version of a small station wagon. He knew this because he had owned one exactly like it back in college. Since that had been forty-eight years ago, he was a little surprised to see one now, apparently still in pristine condition.

As Benjamin walked back across the lot he got a look at the driver exiting the vehicle, heading his way. He was tall and lanky, bare-headed in the cold night air, his graying hair tied in a short pony tail. Of indeterminate age, he was wearing blue jeans, brown cowboy boots and a heavy, brown suede coat. His smile was big and warm, his ungloved hand even warmer in the handshake he gave Ben.

“Hello, my name is Joshua H. Cristobal, and I need to buy me a good Christmas tree for some friends of mine,” the man said. His gaze was fixed on Ben.

“I’m glad to meet you. My name’s Benjamin Logan and you’ve come to the right place. Take a look around. I have Scotch Pines set up on the left and the Blue Spruce on the right. The prices are on the tags.”

The new customer walked around inspecting the trees, and in less than five minutes found one to his liking. “This six-footer looks good and the price is right; I’ll take it.”

Benjamin pulled the tree out of the stand, carried it over to the two saw horses near his trailer and laid it across them. He fired up his small chainsaw, the noise jarring in the quiet night, its gasoline engine emitting fumes at odds with the pleasant smell of the freshly cut pine. He quickly cut off two inches from the trunk of the tree, making the tree better able to absorb water through the new cut. Benjamin, almost affectionately, brushed the sawdust off the base of the tree. Turning to Joshua he asked, “Any branches you want trimmed while I’m at it?”

Joshua looked it up and down. “No, it looks like you’ve already done a pretty good job. Let’s get it tied down on my car.”

They toted it over to the VW, lifted it onto the roof and secured it with the heavy twine that Benjamin provided. He looked at the car appraisingly. “I had a car like this in college, haven’t seen one in years. This is really cherry.”

Joshua patted the hood of the car affectionately. “I got a real good deal on this several years ago. It’s dependable, and I’ve taken good care of it. The Germans have always known how to make cars.” He blew on his hands and rubbed them together. “Well, let’s settle up; it’s freezing out here.”

Benjamin glanced at his new customer as they headed back to the trailer. “You’re right, it is cold out, must be all of twenty degrees; let’s go inside. How about a cup of coffee or hot chocolate?”

“Sounds good; my hands and ears are numb and hot chocolate sounds great.”

Inside the trailer it was toasty warm, the electric heater on high to conserve propane. A fold out table and chairs occupied the center. There was a small, two burner stove and an equally small refrigerator; a microwave sat on an adjoining counter. A combination bench seat/storage area and a closet occupied one end and a twin bed the other. A lamp on the table and an overhead light provided illumination. The interior had a faint, musty odor; Benjamin was going to have to air it out or get some kind of air freshener.

As Benjamin made two cups of hot chocolate, Joshua pulled out his wallet and removed thirty-five dollars to pay for the tree. “This is a nice little setup you have here, and your prices are comparable to the big lots. How do you manage that?”

Benjamin brought the steaming cups back to the table and sat down. “I belong to the Kiwanis Club. They’re a fraternal organization…doing social and charity projects, things like that. Anyway, they let me order my Christmas trees when they order theirs—so I can piggyback on their quantity discounts—even though they have their own lot on the other side of town. And as for the competitive prices, well…I just try to break even.”

Joshua handed him the money, blew on his hot chocolate and took a sip. “No profit? That’s unusual. Why do you do it?” He was looking at Benjamin in curiosity over the brim of his cup.

Benjamin couldn’t believe he was opening up to this stranger, especially at this late hour. But the man’s smile and brown eyes radiated warmth, and he felt the fine lines around his eyes and mouth had been etched from years of smiling as opposed to those of frowns. He ran his hand through his thinning gray hair and impulsively continued, “I was a history teacher at Rockwood High School here in town for thirty years. I’m retired now, have a good pension, and I’m drawing Social Security. I don’t have a wife or children, live by myself in a nice apartment, and don’t have many expenses. I like Christmas, I like people, and I don’t need the money.” He sighed. “And now you have my life story in a nutshell.”

Joshua threw back his head, laughing. “I highly doubt that.”

Benjamin was curious himself. He couldn’t detect any accent in the man’s speech. “So, Mr. Cristobal, I’ve never seen you around town. Just visiting for the holidays?”

“You can call me Josh.” He took another sip from his cup. “Yup, visiting a number of friends here in Michigan. A few of them are having some problems and I’m trying to help out a little. I’m originally from the east coast. I travel a lot. Like you, I’m single and financially secure.”

The man’s voice was pleasant and had a deep, masculine timbre to it. It was soothing to listen to. Benjamin was formulating a couple of more questions for his friendly customer, but Josh was still talking.

“Actually, Mr. Logan—Ben if I may—several people recommended your Christmas tree lot. I was talking to a Robert and Anna Reed at your local Wal-Mart, fellow members of your church. They said you’re a good man—honest, generous and fair.”

Ben could actually feel himself blush. “Geez, they make me sound like a Boy Scout. They have a lot of room to talk. They’re a wonderful couple.”

Josh was studying him. “They’re not your only fans.”

Ben was going to question that, but Josh put his cup down and got up. “Well, I’ve got to get going. Things to do, places to go, people to see. Maybe I’ll stop back in before Christmas. And thanks for the hot chocolate; it hit the spot.” With that he was out the door and down the stairs, a blast of frigid air blowing in after him.

Ben wanted to say something, but didn’t. Instead, he stood in the open doorway and watched the VW square back pull out onto the highway and disappear to the north. It was ten o’clock. He wondered what things, places and people the friendly—but strange—man still had to do, go and see at this late hour. For some reason, he hoped to see him again.

And he did. Four days before Christmas, Joshua H. Cristobal was back. It was another cold night and Ben was just finishing up with a customer, assisting in helping the man lift the Scotch pine into the bed of his pickup truck.

Joshua was wandering the lot looking at the trees, and stopped in front of the manger display at the rear of the lot, near the trailer. A three inch