Sugar And Spice. Shirley Jump
not necessarily here in California, land of milk and honey, orange blossoms and beautiful women.
Gus settled the baseball cap on his head, the cap he was never without. Sometimes he even slept with it on. It was battered and worn, tattered and torn but he’d give up all he held dear before he’d part with his cap that said Moss Farms on the crown. He settled it more firmly on his head as he heard his staff coming in and getting ready for the day.
Gus finished his coffee, grabbed his briefcase and headed for the door. He had a 7:15 appointment with the Fire Marshall on a project he was winding up. He high-fived several members of his staff as he took the steps to the lobby where he stopped long enough to give Sophie, the Moss Firm’s official receptionist/greeter, a smooch. “How’s it going this morning, Sophie?”
“Just fine, Gus. When will you be back?”
“By nine-thirty. If anything earth shattering happens, call me on the cell. See ya.”
As good as his word, Gus strode back into the lobby at 9:27. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed an elderly couple sitting on a padded bench between two of the bamboo trees. Sophia caught his eye and motioned him to her desk. “That couple is here to see you. They said they’re from your hometown. Their names are Peggy and Ham Bledsoe. They don’t have an appointment. Can you see them? They’re here visiting a daughter who just graced them with their first grandchild.”
Gus grinned. “I see you got all the details. Peggy and Ham here in California! I can’t believe it.”
“We’re of an age, darling boy. Go over there and make nice to your hometown guests.”
Gus’s guts started to churn. Visiting with Peggy and Ham meant taking a trip down Memory Lane and that was one place he didn’t want to travel. He pasted a smile on his face as he walked over to the patiently waiting couple. He hugged Peggy and shook Ham’s hand. “Good to see you, sir. Miss Peggy, you haven’t changed a bit. Sophie tells me you’re grandparents now. Congratulations! Come on up to the office and have some coffee. I think we even have sticky buns. We always have sticky buns on Friday.”
“This is a mighty fine looking building, Augustus. The lady at the desk said it’s all yours. She said you designed it.”
“I did,” Gus mumbled.
“Mercy me. I wish your momma could have seen this. She was always so proud of you, Augustus.”
They were in the elevator before Gus responded. “Mom saw the blueprints. She suggested the fieldstone and the bamboo trees. Did you see the picture?”
“We did, and it is a fine picture of Sara. We tell everyone that tree ended up in the White House,” Ham said.
Gus was saved from a reply when the elevator came to a stop and the doors slid open. Peggy gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. “This is so…so grand, Augustus.”
Gus decided he didn’t feel like making coffee. He was too nervous around this couple from home. He knew in his gut they were going to tell him something he didn’t want to hear. He pressed a button on the console. “Hillary, will you bring some coffee into my office. I have two guests. Some sticky buns, too, okay?”
Gus whirled around, hoping to delay the moment they were going to tell him why they were really here. “So, what do you think of California?”
“Well, we don’t fit in here, that’s for sure,” Peggy said.
“We’re simple people, Augustus. All those fancy cars that cost more than our farm brings in over ten years. The stores with all those expensive clothes where they hide the price tags made my eyes water. Our son-in-law took us to Ro-day-o Drive. That was the name of it, wasn’t it, Ham? Hollywood people,” she sniffed. “I didn’t see a mall or a Wal-Mart anywhere.”
Will you just please get to it already. Gus licked at his dry lips, trying to think of something to say. “I just finished up a house for Tammy Bevins. She’s a movie star. Would you like to see a picture of the house?”
“No,” the Bledsoes said in unison. Gus blinked and then blinked again just as Hillary carried in a tray with an elegant coffeepot with fragile cups and saucers. Linen napkins and a crystal plate of sticky buns were set in the middle of a long conference table.
“Will there be anything else, Gus?”
“Nope, this is fine. Thanks, Hillary. Hey, how’s the new boyfriend?”
“He’s a hottie.” Hillary giggled. “I think I’ll keep this one.” Gus laughed.
Peggy Bledsoe pursed her lips in disapproval. “Shouldn’t that youngster be calling you Mr. Moss?”
“Nah. We’re pretty informal around here, Miss Peggy. Sit down. Cream, sugar?”
“Black,” the Bledsoes said in unison.
Gus poured. He filled his own cup and then loaded it with cream and four sugars. I hate coffee with cream and sugar. What’s wrong with me? He leaned back in his chair and waited.
“We stopped by the farm before we left, Augustus. Your father isn’t doing well. I don’t mean healthwise. The farm has gone downhill. Business is way off. Last year he sold only two hundred Christmas trees. This year if he sells half that he’ll be lucky.”
Gus was stunned. Moss Farms was known far and wide for their Christmas trees. People came from miles around to tag a tree in September. Normally his father sold thirty to fifty thousand trees from November first to Christmas Eve. He said so.
“That was before your momma died and you lit out, Augustus. Sara was the heart and soul of that farm. She did the cider, she did the gingerbread, she managed the gift store. She did the decorations, she made the bows for the wreathes and the grave blankets. She even worked the chain saw when she had to. All that changed when she passed on. You should have gone back, Augustus. That farm is falling down around your father’s feet. The fields need to be thinned out,” Peggy snapped.
Gus snapped back before he could bite his tongue. “I did go back. Pop didn’t want me there. Told me to get out. I call three times a week—the answering machine comes on. He never calls me back. I send money home and he sends it back.”
Ham drained the coffee in his cup. “I don’t think he’s going to sell any trees this year. The Senior Citizens group rented the old Coleman property and are setting up shop. Tillie Baran is spearheading the effort. They ordered their trees from North Carolina. They’re going all out to raise money to refurbish the Seniors’ Building. Just last week at our monthly meeting, Tillie said her daughter is coming home from Philadelphia to take over the project. Little Amy has her own publicity company. That means she’s the boss. When you’re the boss, you can take off and help your momma,” he said pointedly.
“You wouldn’t believe how good that little girl is to her momma,” Peggy said with just a trace of frost in her voice.
Gus reached for a sticky bun he didn’t want. “And you think I should go home to help my father and save the day, is that it? Like little Amy Baran is doing.”
“The thought occurred to us,” Peggy said. “I think your momma would want you to do that.”
Before Gus could think of something to say, Ham jumped into the conversation. “Tillie went out to the farm and asked your father if he would sell her the trees at cost if he wasn’t going to promote his own farm. It would have been a good way to thin out the fields but he turned her down flat. So now the Seniors have to pay a trucking company to bring the trees from North Carolina.”
Gus searched for something to say. “Maybe the farm is getting too much for him. It’s possible he wants to retire. It sounds to me like he’s had enough of the Christmas tree business.”
“Moss Farms is his life, Augustus. Your father can at times be a cantankerous curmudgeon,” Peggy said. “He’s all alone. With no business, he laid everyone off.”
Gus felt sick to his stomach. He thought about