Boxing Day : A Christmas Tale

 If you’ve read O. Henry’s Gift of the Magi, you’ll recognize the characters. If you haven’t, you might want to before you read this. It’s available full-text online from many sources. When I was much younger, I often wondered why Jim didn’t make the practical suggestion given here. When I got older, I understood exactly why. I think you’ll agree with me.

The weak, gray light of a winter dawn slid down the narrow passage between the tenement houses as Jim Young opened his eyes. He took a deep breath. Was that bacon? How had Della managed to afford bacon two days in a row? First for Christmas morning and now for the day after? She was a marvel, that young wife of his!

He threw back the covers and, shivering in the cold, washed quickly in the icy water from the pitcher on the washstand. He pulled on his clothes and, bending down to peer in the mirror, slicked his hair back. He smiled wryly at the jeweled combs lying on the top of the dresser next to the brush that Della no longer needed for her once long beautiful hair. He shook his head as he tucked the platinum fob chain into the empty watch pocket of his vest and went into the kitchen.

“Oh, Jim, you’re up, my darling,” Della spun around and danced over, throwing her arms around his neck. He returned the hug and added a kiss.

“Something smells good, my sweet,” he smiled down at her, his hands on her waist. “Bacon twice in one week?”

“Oh, I know how you love it, and I still had that eighty-seven cents left from selling my hair,” she paused and brushed a hand sadly across her cropped head, then smiled bravely. “What else could I do but buy my beloved his favorite breakfast! Now, sit down while I serve you.”

Jim sat and Della poured coffee for him, then placed a plate of bacon, scrambled eggs, and toast in front of him.

“Eggs, too? And butter on the toast?” Jim exclaimed. “Such riches!”

Della smiled again as she sat across from him, her plate of food before her. What if her pile of eggs was smaller and she had only one slice of bacon and no butter to her bread? Her Jim was happy and that was better than butter.

Jim took a forkful of eggs and bacon, followed by a bite of toast and a swig of coffee.

“The very best eggs and bacon I’ve ever eaten. What’s your secret, my angel?”

“Why, they’re made with love, dearest!” Della beamed at him.

Jim finished his food, then sat back, sipping his coffee and watching as Della tidied the kitchen.

“You know, I think I like your hair better like this,” he mused.

Della forced a smiled. “It is ever so much easier to manage,” she said, putting on a brave face. “And it does bring out the curl.” She shook her head so that the curls bounced.

“You look like a adorable, mischievous house sprite,” Jim said as he set his empty cup on the table. He pushed back and stood up. “Well, I guess I’d better be off to work. This isn’t England where people get Boxing Day as a holiday as well as Christmas.”

Della followed him into the main room and helped him on with his old coat and wrapped his threadbare scarf around his neck. He held his shabby hat awkwardly in his hands.

“There’s something I wanted to ask you, honey,” he said.

“Yes, my love?”

“Well … it’s about those combs I got you for your hair…”

Della’s eyes narrowed and a creased appeared between her eyebrows. “Yes, what about the combs?” She asked suspiciously.

“Well … I wondered if maybe … well, if maybe I could return them to the jeweler and get the money back and get my watch out of hock.” Jim spoke in a rush, as Della’s eyes grew wide with astonishment.

“You want to do WHAT?” she demanded.

“Well, it’s not like you can use them right now, but I could use the watch with the chain that you got me, and isn’t that what you want, my dearest darling?” Jim hurried through his justification, backing slowly toward the door, as Della began breathing harshly through her nose.

“I know you’re hair grows awfully fast,” he continued, feeling for the doorknob behind his back, “but it will still be months before you can it will be long enough for you to use them — you might even decide to keep it short, it’s so becoming — and by that time I’ll have saved up the money and I could buy the combs …”

Della cut him off. “You want them back?” she snarled as she turned to the dresser and snatched up the combs, then advanced toward him, waving her fist holding the combs under his nose. “”The only decent things you’ve ever given me and you want them BACK? My mother was right! I should never have married you!”

Jim heard this last as he slipped out the door and closed it behind him. He had only taken a few steps down the hall when the door flew open and Della appeared, her arm raised above her head.

“You want them?” she shrieked. “They’re yours!” She flung her arm forward and the combs flew out of her hand and landed on the floor in front of him. She stepped back into the apartment and slammed the door.

Jim stood staring at the door for a moment, then slowly bent down and picked up the combs. He looked at them in his hand and was relieved to see that they were undamaged. He sighed gratefully as he slipped them into his pocket and headed down the hall to the stairwell.

Old Sins : A Couriers Series Short Story

 For fans of the series who would rather not join Substack (yet another social media outlet!). I will be posting one story about the 15th of every month. This was the story for November. 

Yes, there are spoilers, so if you haven't read Fried Chicken Castaneda yet, you might want to do that first. 

Liz Kearney Parkinson waved away the dish of bacon that the uniformed Mexican housemaid was holding out to her. She hadn’t kept her figure all these years by indulging in such fare. Between her daily horseback riding and her careful diet, she could still fit into the wedding dress she’d worn 18 years before. Her blond hair might be due to artifice, but she had no intention of squeezing herself into a tight girdle to give the illusion of a flat stomach. 

She looked at her son sitting on her right, put her hand on his, and smiled. Then she looked down at her husband sitting at the foot of the table. 

“You know what today is, don’t you, Gene?” she asked rhetorically. "Besides Thanksgiving Day, I mean.”

Gene looked up from his breakfast plate. The years had not been as kind to him as they had to Liz. His bright red hair had faded to a pale pink, what little there was left of it. His freckles had been joined by age spots, and they had spread across his scalp as his hair had thinned. Like his father before him, he was tall and lean, almost cadaverous. 

He nodded. “Yes, I haven’t forgotten,” he said dully. 

Liz turned back to her son. He had her eyes and mouth, and his thick, black hair was slicked back with Brylcream in the latest style.

“And you know what today is, don’t you, Tom?” she asked in a loving tone of voice.

He nodded and looked at her quizzically. “My eighteenth birthday, but aside from the fact that I can now buy cigarettes, I don’t understand why you’re making such a big deal of it. I’m still not old enough to drink.”

His mother smiled at him adoringly. “Today, my darling, you have something special to be thankful for. Today is the day that you come into your inheritance.”

“What do you mean, my inheritance?” Tom continued to look confused. 

She laughed a tinkling laugh. “I didn’t tell you earlier because I wanted it to be a surprise. This ranch, my dear! This ranch. As of today, it is all yours! Happy birthday, sweetheart.”

Tom shook his head. “What do you mean, it’s all mine?” He looked at Gene, who was once again staring at his plate. “What’s she talking about, Dad? How can it be mine? Isn’t it yours?” He looked between his parents. “Both of yours?”

His mother laughed again. “Oh, no, dear, the Kearney ranch has been mine entirely, and today, I am giving it to you as the only other living Kearney!”

“Dad?” Tom looked again at the man at the foot of the table.

Gene stood up and threw his napkin on his plate. “I’ll be in my office.” He turned and headed for the dining room door. 

“You mean, Tom’s office, dear, ” his wife said as he left.

***

Gene looked up from the paperwork he was reading as the office door opened. Tom stood in the doorway, hesitating.

“Can I talk to you for a minute, Dad?”

“Of course, son.” Gene laid the documents down on the desk and sat back, expectantly. He was dwarfed by the massive desk and throne-like chair that he had inherited from his father-in-law.

Tom closed the door and sat on the overstuffed sofa that faced the desk. The leather was soft and smooth from years of conditioning. He laughed shortly, as he leaned forward, his forearms on his thighs, and stared at his clasped hands. “But that’s just it, isn’t it? I’m not your son.” He lifted his eyes briefly, then dropped them again.

“What makes you say that?” Gene asked, guardedly. 

“Oh, come on, Dad,” Tom said in frustration, leaning back and gesturing with his hands. “I worked it out years ago. Just look at us. I have Mother’s eyes and mouth, but … but I have nothing from you. No red hair. No freckles. I sure don’t have your height.” He laughed bitterly. 

Gene shook his head. “You’re my son in every way that matters.” He leaned forward, almost begging Tom to agree.

“That’s what makes this so hard!” Tom lifted his head and stared into Gene’s eyes. “No son could ask for a better father. I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want to hurt you, but now …” He shook his head. “This ‘birthday present’,” he spit the words out. “It’s like she’s rubbing your nose in it.” 

Gene toyed with the pen in the inkstand. “Well, son, it is the Kearney ranch,” he finally said.

“Oh, stop it, Dad! Stop making excuses for her! Ever since I was old enough to understand, I could see that she … she …” He trailed off. 

Gene looked up, a wry grin on his face. “She despises me?” Tom put up a hand to stop him. “Oh, I’ve come to accept it. At first, I thought I could win her over but …” He shook his head. “I’ve come to accept it,” he repeated. 

"So why do you stay with her? Is it the money?”

Gene leaned back in his chair. “Well, son, I’d be lying if I said that didn’t come into it, but, no, that’s not the primary reason.” He looked straight at Tom. “I stayed because of you.” He smiled nostalgically. “The moment they put you in my arms … you were so small and fragile and helpless. You looked up at me and waved those tiny little hands and I knew at that moment what the purpose of my life was. It was to protect you and care for you.” 

“Even though …?” Tom asked softly.

Gene shook his head. “That thought never crossed my mind. I loved you from the moment I saw you.”

Tom nodded. “I always knew that.” He smiled wryly, “Even when you were sending me to bed without supper or making me wipe down and curry my horse.” He laughed softly. “I don’t know where you got your patience.” He leaned back and stared at the corner of the room. “When I look back, I know that I was lucky that Mother didn’t want anything to do with me until I was old enough to parade around in front of her friends.” He shook his head. “I couldn’t wait to get out of those Little Lord Fauntleroy suits and back into my real clothes.” He flipped a hand on his thigh to indicate the jeans he was wearing, then smiled at Gene. “And back to you and the hands and my horse.”

He looked down at his clasped hands again, then raised his head. “And you know I love you, don’t you, Dad?” Gene nodded. “Then, know that this is nothing to do with you. Do you know who my … my sire is?”

“Yes.” Gene paused. “I guess if you’re old enough to ask … he was my best friend, Tom Morgan. He died before you were born.” 

Tom wrinkled his brow. “I think I’ve heard of him. Wasn’t he murdered in some shootout with a gang of bootleggers during Prohibition?” He nodded slowly. “So that’s why he didn’t marry my mother.”

Gene nodded in agreement. He didn’t feel the need to correct him. It was close enough to the truth. 

Tom stood up and walked to the window. He stared out at the mesas in the distance as he said slowly, “That means that Dan and Sarah Morgan are my grandparents. And Martha is my aunt and her husband is my uncle and her kids are my cousins.” His hands closed into fists. 

“Yes,” Gene said softly. 

“And they’ll all be crowded in at the Morgan’s today for a big family Thanksgiving dinner,” Tom continued bitterly. “While you and Mother and I will sit around the dining table that seats ten, choking down our silent meal.” 

Gene got up from his chair and walked over to stand next to Tom, placing a hand on his shoulder. Tom didn’t need to know that he had at least two older half-sisters living in Las Vegas, at least not yet. 

The two men stood silently gazing out at the dry desert landscape under a leaden gray sky. Gusts of wind whipped the bare branches of the scattered trees and shrubs. Dark clouds heavy with snow obscured the distant mountain peaks.

Tom turned to Gene with tears in his eyes. His face was twisted with pain. “I have to get away, Dad. I have to go somewhere, alone, figure out who I am. What I want to do with my life.” 

Gene nodded. “Of course. Where do you want to go? Chicago? Los Angeles? New York?”

Tom stood silently for a moment. “No … no, there’s something I’ve been dreaming about for a while now. I hadn’t really planned on doing it, but … now it seems like a good idea. I want to enlist in the Navy.” His lips twisted into a wry grin. “I want to be a sailor. I’ve wanted to ever since I read that poem about ‘a tall ship and a star to steer her by.’ And now that the war’s over and there’s no draft, I hear they are looking for a few good men.”

They both turned as the door crashed open behind them. Liz stood rigidly just inside the room, her jaw clenched. 

“Who is looking for men?” she demanded. Gene opened his mouth to reply, but Tom shook his head. 

“This is my fight, Dad,” he said softly, then raised his voice. “The Navy, Mother. I’m going to join the Navy.”

Liz blanched. “No … you can’t … you can’t leave me.” She held her arms out. 

“I can and I am,” Tom replied, not moving toward her. He smiled softly. “It won’t be forever, Mother. It’s only four years, and after that … who knows? I may even come back here to help Dad run the ranch.”

“When? When?” She choked out the words as she shook her head in disbelief. 

“I’ll go to Santa Fe after Christmas. I imagine I’ll report sometime after the first of the year.” 

Liz quivered with rage. She pointed at Gene and nearly shrieked, “You! You did this! You did it to hurt me!”

Gene’s shoulders slumped as he shook his head, looking at the floor.

“No, Mother,” Tom said calmly. “It was my idea.” He paused. “Right now, I’m going to introduce myself to the Morgans as a member of their family.” Liz inhaled sharply. Tom nodded. “Dad did tell me that, Mother.”

“How dare you?” she spit the words out at Gene. Again, Tom answered. 

“I asked him, Mother. I have the right to know.” Tom stepped around his mother. He stopped in the doorway and turned his head to speak over his shoulder, “I’ll be back in time for dinner, unless my grandparents invite me to join them.” 

He continued walking through the door. The two people in the office stared at each other until they heard the front door close. 

Liz walked closer to Gene, raised her hand, and swung at his face. He reached up and grabbed her wrist in a tight grip. 

“Not this time, Liz,” he said quietly. “Not this time. I only put up with it for Tom’s sake, and he doesn’t need me to protect him anymore.”

“Let go of me,” she growled. Gene loosened his grip. “You pack up your things and get out of my house,” she continued. 

Gene grinned wryly and rubbed his chin with his hand. “Don’t you mean Tom’s house?”

She drew her breath in with a hiss.

He shook his head. “No, I don’t think I’ll be leaving, Liz,” he said. “Not unless you want a divorce.” He paused and looked at her. “And I know you don’t want that scandal … added to the others.” 

“What ‘others’?” she demanded.

“Who Tom’s real father is and what really happened to him. Where did your father go that night, Liz, after he announced our engagement? The night that someone shot Tom in the head out on the Kearney range?” 

Liz’s lips trembled, but she said nothing.

“And,” Gene paused, then stared Liz in the face, “And the truth about that hunting accident, when you tripped and fell and shot your father in the back.”

Liz’s breath hissed through her teeth. “It was an accident! And no one — not you — not anyone — can prove otherwise.”

Gene chuckled bitterly. “Yes, you made sure of that. I wouldn’t have to prove it, Liz. Just a few words, dropped in the right ear, after you threw me out… people have never really stopped wondering about it. Just as they’ve never stopped talking behind their hands about how much Tom favors the Morgans. They’ll look for reasons why you threw me out, on Thanksgiving Day no less, and they’ll find them. True or not.” He paused and stared into space. “And I wonder what Tom would think.”

“You wouldn’t,” Liz whispered. She had turned pale.

“No, I wouldn’t,” Gene agreed. “I wouldn’t have to. There are plenty who would take great delight in bringing down the lofty Liz Kearney.” He shook his head. “They say old sins have long shadows, Liz.” He paused to let the import sink in. “Things will be different around here from now on, Liz.”

Her eyes widened as she took in his words. Her lips formed the word “No.”

Gene chuckled again. “Don’t worry. I have no desire to share your bed. I haven’t for years. But, you will not ever hit me again. And my name will go on the deed to this ranch, as it should have done when we got married. Don’t worry, I’ll write a new will in Tom’s favor. And you will smile when you say good-bye to Tom when he leaves for his ship.”

“What … what else?” she choked the words out. Gene shook his head. 

“Nothing else, Liz. That’s all I want.” His lips twisted again into a wry smile. “There was a time I would have wanted more — a smile from you, a kind word, a kiss even — but that time is long gone. Now, I’ll settle for freedom for Tom and not being shot in the back during a rabbit hunt.”