Sugar And Spice. Shirley Jump
warming bowl. That was when she really noticed her mother. She smelled good. Her hair was pulled back from her face into a bun. She wore no makeup other than a little lipstick. She wore flannel slacks with a bright yellow sweater and low-heeled shoes. She looked like a matron, so unlike Amy’s always-fashionable mother that her daughter could hardly wrap her mind around the new Tillie Baran she was seeing.
What could she say other than, “Okay. I guess we’ll be eating this stuff for the rest of the week. By the way, thanks for going shopping. You certainly were up and out pretty early this morning.”
“Umm, yes. The early bird gets the worm, that kind of thing. You said you wanted me here in the kitchen at eight o’clock, so I had to take care of some business early to be back here on time. We old people don’t sleep much.”
Amy reared back. This was the first time in her memory that she could remember her mother using the word old in reference to herself. Other people were old, not Tillie. Maybe this was where she was supposed to say, “You’re not old, Mom.” She turned away to fiddle with the lid on the pot roast. “Don’t stay out too late.”
Tillie laughed, a delightful sound. Amy realized she’d never actually heard her mother laugh out loud. How in the world was that possible? She’d seen her smile but that was it. There must be a man lurking somewhere in the picture. “You smell good,” she blurted.
“Do you think so? I have to be going. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner about my plans, Amy. Everything looks and smells delicious. I’ll look forward to the leftovers tomorrow.”
Amy poured herself a cup of coffee and sat down to think about her mother and all that had transpired during the day. Her mother had behaved like a trooper to her surprise. She did everything Amy suggested, even more. She followed through on every single detail by making copious notes. The things they’d accomplished in a mere ten hours boggled her mind. They’d opened a business bank account, with both of them depositing sizeable checks to activate it. They’d ordered two large tents that would be set up on the Coleman property over the weekend. The power company promised electric hookup first thing Monday morning. Portable heaters were ordered along with all the Christmas decorations from the Curiosity Barn. The wholesaler she’d contacted had promised delivery of the wreath wires, the lath, the florist wires, the speciality bows, and everything else she needed for assembling the wreaths and grave blankets. Trial and error was the order of the day as she tried to figure out where to get a barrel and the netting for the trees. Several Seniors had come to the rescue, and there was now a huge metal rain drum sitting on her mother’s back porch. The bails of netting would be delivered on Tuesday along with tree trimmers and chain saws.
She was going to have at least fifty volunteers but no real workers. Tomorrow she would go on the hunt for actual employees. Tonight she had to get started on her PR campaign.
Damn, she was tired. Detail tired, not physically tired. Maybe she needed to get dressed and go for a run to clear her thoughts.
Amy looked at the dinner she’d prepared. Just the thought of mashing the potatoes and making gravy left her weak in the knees. She’d do that when she served leftovers. Instead she made herself a sandwich with the meat and ate it, along with a second cup of coffee. The minute she finished eating, she tidied up the kitchen, wrapped everything up, turned on the dishwasher and then stared at the huge chart she’d pasted to the kitchen wall. The bit red X in the middle of the chart glared at her. I can pull this off. I really can. All I need are Christmas trees. The grower her mother had signed on with was not an easy man to deal with even after she threatened him. Finally, in desperation, she’d told him to keep the five-thousand-dollar deposit and cancel the order. He in turn threatened to sue Tillie. That’s when she told him to get in line with all the other people waiting to sue Tillie Baran. He’s squawked and threatened some more, but at the end of the conversation he’d agreed to cancel the order. She’d been light-headed with her victory, but the elation was short-lived. Now she had to find Christmas trees, and the only place that had what she needed was Moss Farms. Maybe Mr. Moss would remember her and agree to sell her some trees. If not, this whole thing was going to go down the drain.
Well, that wasn’t going to happen, not on her watch.
Amy looked at the kitchen clock. It was only 6:45. She could drive out to the farm in fifteen minutes. Mr. Moss would be done with his dinner and settled in for the evening. Maybe he would be more agreeable to her than he was with her pushy mother. Then again, maybe the cranky old man would run her off his property the way he’d run her mother off. Oh well, nothing ventured, nothing gained. If he won’t help, maybe out of the kindness of his heart he’ll steer me in the right direction.
Without stopping to think about it anymore, she reached for her jacket and was out of the house before she could change her mind.
Gus Moss stepped out of the shower, towel dried, and pulled on a pair of beat-up sweatpants and his first Tulane sweatshirt, which was full of holes. He stared at himself in the mirror and burst out laughing. He’d shaved his beard yesterday and he now looked like himself. He slicked his curly hair back but knew the moment it dried it would be all over the place. Maybe I’ll get a buzz cut over the weekend. If I can find the time.
Cyrus, who dogged him everywhere he went, barked sharply. “Yeah, yeah, I know, Cyrus, we’re running behind schedule, but Pop threw me for a loop when he said he wouldn’t be here for dinner. Did you see him, Cyrus? He looked like a dandy, all duded up and wearing aftershave! I think he’s stepping out on me is what I think. Okay, okay, let’s see what Mrs. Collins left us for dinner.”
Everything, including Cyrus’s dinner, would be in the warming oven. It was the best move his father could have made. With all the different smells, Gus liked coming into the house. He liked the sweet-smelling sheets and clean blankets Mrs. Collins put on his bed. He liked that there was a fire blazing in the kitchen fireplace when he came in from work. He liked the whole gig. Cyrus liked it too. The dog had made friends with Gus’s father. Out of the corner of his eye he’d see Gus’s father scratch Cyrus behind his ears and call him Buster from time to time. He knew at night that the retriever spent part of the night with him and part of the night with his father. He grinned at the thought.
“Here we go, big guy. You get chicken, mashed potatoes, a little gravy, lots of broccoli and even a buttered roll. I get the same thing, but just a little broccoli because I hate it. That berry pie looks pretty good, too.” Cyrus woofed, gobbled down his food and then went to the door. He knew when he got back he’d get his dessert.
Gus filled his plate twice, saving just enough room for a slice of pie. When he finished, he leaned back in the captain’s chair at the head of the table and let his mind go back over the day’s work. Another week of hard work with his crew and he’d be ready to cut the trees to go on sale the day after Thanksgiving. He felt so proud of himself he decided he would have an extra large slice of pie—as soon as Cyrus pawed at the door to get in. While he waited he added two more logs to the fire. A shower of sparks raced up the chimney.
Outside, Cyrus was barking his head off. Gus listened to the tone. It wasn’t a playful bark, or an I-treed-a-racoon bark, or an Okay, I’m-done-and-ready-for-dessert bark. This was a bark that meant there was an intruder on the premises. He reached up and turned on the outside floodlights. The entire backyard was suddenly bathed in a blinding white light and Cyrus was escorting a young woman to his back door. Cyrus must like her, Gus thought, because his tail was swishing back and forth at the speed of light.
Gus opened the door and stared at the young woman in the purple hat and scarf. She smiled. He smiled—and fell in love on the spot.
His love opened her mouth and spoke. Suddenly he wanted to shower her with diamonds and rubies. Maybe pearls. “I know it’s late, but is it possible to speak with Mr. Moss?”
“Uh, sure. I’m Mr. Moss. Gus Moss. Come in, come in.”
His love spoke again. “I’m sorry. I meant the other…Mr. Moss senior.”
“Oh, that Mr. Moss. He isn’t here. Will I do?”
Cyrus, never known for his patience, barked and pawed