Merry Christmas by Charlie Plyter

The lady pulling the sled was my mother. Walking with her on that cold 24th of December in 1942 was my Aunt Helen. My mother was six months pregnant and my aunt was five months along. The streets of Newark were passable but snow covered, so the sisters carefully chose their way avoiding ice and the occasional drift. My father was at work at a defense plant in Rochester and my sisters and I were at Grandma’s. My aunt’s husband was in the Marines and stationed somewhere in Africa, according to what he wrote. He had devised a scheme to keep her aware of his whereabouts that somehow escaped the scrutiny and the scissors of the censors. He was in service to his country, but the sisters were on a mission of their own; a Christmas mission.

We had a Christmas tree but Aunt Helen did not, so they were off to get her one. They had a $1.10 between them, a tidy sum during the Depression days of WWII. Word had it that a farmer was selling off his inventory of trees in the parking lot of Ferrell’s Garage for as little as $1.00. It was two o’clock and, if they hurried, they might find one and get home before dark. The parking lot of Schofield’s Diner was a good place to take a breather. The aroma of coffee and fried onions filled the air and as one they said, “Wish we had money for coffee and a snack.” They did not. The dollar was for the tree and the dime, well maybe it could be used for a cup of coffee each on the way back. It was cold standing there so they moved on.

The three remaining blocks went quickly as the brisk temperatures spurred them on. As they approached Ferrell’s they were shocked to see a sign that read, “Trees $3.00”. It stopped them in their tracks. There was a dilapidated truck parked near the remaining trees and inside was a man asleep at the wheel, as it were. He had a distinguished looking white beard and moustache. My aunt knocked on the window and he stirred, smiled and opened the door of the truck. “Ladies, you are just in time. I was just about to load up and go home. Santa’s coming tonight.”

Playing on his kind looks my mother explained about her sister having a husband in the Marines, that they had walked more than a mile thinking the trees were going to be a dollar. He scratched the side of his jaw and, with a thoughtful look on his face, announced, “Special price of one dollar for the wife of a Marine. Pick one out.” They did not need any further urging and in a minute or two and had one picked out. They gave him the dollar, he offered to tie the tree to the sled and my mother gratefully accepted. He put the dollar into the pocket of his overalls and from the cab of his truck produced some red twine. They shivered as he made a production of tying the tree to the sled, weaving the twine in and out of the branches. It seemed like an excess of caution, but finally he turned and said with a smile. “Better safe than sorry. Looks like I got you started on the decorations what with the red twine. Looks good with the green.” They thanked him for his generosity and thoughtfulness and started home.

Once again Schofield’s Diner was a good halfway point and a good place to take a rest. My aunt produced the dime she had left, held it out. Their eyes met and with a nod it was agreed they would spend it on coffee. Mother pulled the sled close to the door of the diner so they could keep an eye on it while they drank the coffee. “Sure wish we had money for a doughnut,” Mom remarked and Aunt Helen agreed. The door of the diner opened and out came Doc Johnson. “Florence, you better get home and get that tree decorated because Santa is on his way, but I see you have already started.” They looked where he pointed and there in the limbs secured by the red twine was a $5.00 bill. As they enjoyed the coffee and doughnuts they agreed that Santa had already arrived.