The Christmas Wreath by John C. Laird (best classic literature .TXT) 📕

snowfall had blanketed the ground, making the area a more appropriate winter wonderland.

Ben smiled as he approached the man, who was still immobile in front of the manger scene. “Mr. Cristobal, don’t tell me you need another Christmas tree?”

He turned. “Josh… please. All my friends call me Josh.”

They shook hands. Joshua turned back to the manger and nodded at it. “This setup isn’t too politically correct anymore, is it?”

Ben frowned. “No, I guess not. Times have changed. Unfortunately. But I bought this half acre parcel almost fifteen years ago, it’s zoned commercial, and the city council hasn’t given me any problems on my yearly permit. Not yet anyway. So screw the atheists and the A.C.L.U. If some customers don’t like it, they can get their trees somewhere else. God gets to stay in this little corner of the world. At least as long as I’m here.”

Joshua looked at him and chuckled. “Sorry. Sounds like I hit a nerve.” He held up his hands, palms out. “Hey, I’m on your side; you’re preaching to the choir. And to answer your question, yes, I need to pick up another tree for some people.” He looked over at a small pile of tree trimmings next to the trailer. “I’d like to take some of those tree clippings, if it’s okay. I make wreaths out of them for gifts.”

“No problem; I just throw the clippings away at the end of the night, anyway.”

There were only a dozen trees left, but Joshua found one he liked. After they tied it to the car’s roof, Ben filled a couple of big boxes that Josh had brought for the clippings. That done, he asked, “You have time for another hot chocolate or maybe coffee?”

Joshua grinned. “I appreciate the offer, but not tonight. I still have a lot to do.” He looked at Benjamin appraisingly. “I hear you’re open on Christmas Eve.”

“That’s true, as long as I have trees left, anyway. Believe it or not, I have regular, late customers every year.”

The fine lines around Joshua’s eyes and mouth creased deeper as his smile grew. “That’s what I hear. I’ll stop in then for that coffee.” With that the man turned and left.

Ben watched him go, disappointed that he wasn’t staying, but glad that he was coming back.

#

Joshua returned at noon on Christmas Eve. He greeted the old man warmly. “I’m ready for that coffee, my friend.”

They went inside the cozy trailer. The day was icy cold, the sky a steel-grey dome. There were only a half dozen trees left on the lot, what most would consider the runts of the litter. They were a little crooked and uneven, maybe, but still waiting for homes for Christmas.

Ben and Joshua sat inside and talked about the weather, the economy, and even politics. Just passing the time. Sandwiches prepared by Benjamin in anticipation of Joshua’s visit were retrieved from the small refrigerator and provided their lunch.

Every so often a car or truck would pull up—uniformly older and run down models—occupied by somber looking people with children who stared at the trees and lights with big and wondering eyes. Benjamin would go out, talk to the people, help them load their tree and return to the trailer.

By five o’clock the last tree was gone. Joshua noticed that when Ben returned to the trailer each time, he never put any money in the drawer next to the table.

When Ben clambered back into the trailer after the last sale Joshua said, “You gave those last trees away for free, didn’t you?”

Ben frowned. “Yeah. Some of my regulars are going through hard times and really can’t afford a tree. I’m just trying to help out. But I seem to be missing one family…”

As if on cue, an old Ford station wagon, heralding its arrival loudly via a defective muffler, pulled up to the rabbit fencing. A tired, washed out looking woman in her forties got out, followed by three girls and a boy, ranging in age from six to ten.

“Too bad you ran out of trees…” Joshua began.

But Ben was already out the door. He greeted the woman and the children warmly, went behind the trailer, and seconds later was dragging out a beautiful, seven-foot Blue Spruce to the delight of the four children and their mother.

Josh went out and helped Ben secure the tree to the roof of their car. Then, Ben gave several small boxes of Christmas tree lights to the woman. She was in tears when she got back into the car.

In the trailer Benjamin answered Josh’s unspoken question. “Yes, I keep a few trees in reserve behind the trailer for emergencies. That woman’s husband left her and her kids a couple of years ago, and she’s been struggling to get by ever since.”

Joshua just sat and looked at him, a smile working its way to the corners of his mouth. “I have a sneaky suspicion you have a habit of giving to people, and it’s not confined just to the Christmas holidays.” It was past six now and dark outside. He changed the subject. “Any plans for tonight? Relatives, someone special?”

The old man pursed his lips. “No, my parents are dead, and my sister lives in Florida. The Senior Center already had it’s Christmas party, and it’s too late to make it home in time for a church service, so I guess I’ll just go home and watch a movie—‘It’s A Wonderful Life’, maybe. I’ve always liked that movie. What about you?”

“Nothing special for me either. All my friends either have something going on, or are hitting the sack early with their kids. Oh, before I forget…” Josh leaned to the side and picked up a Christmas wreath that had been leaning against the wall next to his chair. “…I made this for you. Merry Christmas, Ben.”

Benjamin took the offered wreath with a flustered look. “I…ah…thank you, Josh…you shouldn’t have…it’s beautiful…”

And it was. The long strands of pine boughs were secured together with fishing line inconspicuously hidden among the pine needles and holly. The traditional circular wreath was decorated with bright crimson ribbons, small pine cones, sprigs of holly and red berries. There were several small figures and objects secured within the wreath. Benjamin looked closely and saw that they were delicately carved winged angels, some trumpeting with long horns. “These figures are beautiful…they’re wood…did you carve them yourself?”

Josh grinned self-consciously. “Yes, I enjoy working with wood. I’ve been told I’m pretty good at it.”

“You certainly are. But you shouldn’t have; I don’t have anything to give you in return.”

Josh tapped his chin absently with his forefinger as he lapsed into thought. Finally, he leaned forward conspiratorially. “Do you have anything stronger than coffee or hot chocolate around here?”

Ben looked at him blankly for a second, finally succumbing to a huge grin. “Now you’re talking; it’ll be my humble contribution for the holidays.” He went outside and turned off all the lights in the lot.

Upon returning, he opened the storage bench and pulled out a half-full bottle of Jim Beam. Grabbing two juice glasses from the cupboard over the sink, he poured them each a couple fingers worth of the amber whiskey. He held up his glass. “A toast to Christmas and the birth of Christ!” They downed their drinks and Ben splashed another into their glasses. “Here’s an even better one. ‘To Jesus, the reason for the Season!’”

Joshua lifted his glass. “Good one, Ben.”

After the second shot of the fiery liquid, the warmth spreading through Benjamin began chasing away the cold of the night, but seemed unable to block a sense of melancholy that had begun to slowly pervade his formerly cheery spirits.

But Joshua didn’t seem as afflicted. “So, Ben, do you have a favorite Christmas from your past, any special ones that stand out? Christmas vacations, stuff like that?”

“Not really; they all kind of blend together. Except maybe one, but I didn’t know it then…”

“Well,” Josh continued, “Do I get to hear?”

“Naw, it was a long time ago.” Benjamin’s eyes seemed to have dimmed at the thought.

Joshua was looking at him, the corners of his mouth curving up. “A history teacher. You’ve helped a lot of students along the way, went the extra mile for them in school and even after they graduated. Besides the Kiwanis, you belong to Hope Junction and volunteer with the poor and homeless. You’re active in your church and have done a lot of charities along the way. You’re a regular saint, Ben, I even heard…”

Benjamin was blushing and wincing. “Hey, hey, how do you know all this?”

Joshua laughed and leaned forward again. “This is a small town, Ben; people have a high opinion of you and aren’t afraid to share.”

Benjamin drained the rest of his drink and shook his head, continuing to redden.

Joshua continued. “I have to ask, Ben. You’re a decent looking guy, lead the good life, have given instead of taken, and yet no wife or family. True, your fashion sense is questionable with that loud flannel shirt and those baggy khakis, but I never bought the 'the clothes make the man' advertising spiel anyway. Yes, I realize I’m being nosy, but I have to ask: why? If I’m crossing the line, just say so.”

Ben poured them another drink and took a sip, a sheepish look on his face. “Nothing really to say. I’ve had my share of women, even dated one for four years. Thought about marriage once or twice, but could never take that final, monumental step. I guess I never met anyone right for me, no one that I was totally happy with, no one that was totally happy with me.”

Leaning back in his chair and balancing on the back legs, Joshua pressed on, “Not even your four-year girlfriend?”

“No, she got tired of waiting for me to take that final plunge and dumped me for another guy.”

Joshua leaned forward, saw they had emptied their glasses again, took the bottle and poured them another drink, toasting, “Here’s to womankind: can’t live with them, can’t live without them and can’t figure them out.” Pursing his lips he exhaled as if blowing out a candle. “Phew, this is good stuff; it’ll keep the blood flowing.” After a pause he continued, “Did you ever wish you could do things over?”

“What do you mean?”

“You know, go back and choose 'the path not taken’. Relive your life, do things differently, make different choices. Maybe take the things you’ve learned during the course of your lifetime and use them to do things over.”

Now Ben was tilting back in his chair, precariously balancing on its two rear legs. “I’d say not as easy a choice as one would think. To keep from repeating the same mistakes over again, one would have to take learned knowledge back with him. But to carry the accumulated baggage of a lifetime—in my case seventy-two year's worth of luggage—the sorrow, the grief, the trials and tribulations, the ups and downs, the ins and outs, the day to day to day grind, knowing that you were going to have to go through another lifetime of accumulating debris, well, I can’t think it would be worth it. Too tiring, too exhausting, too consuming. Either way, to make it even temptingly worthwhile, there would have to be