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Chapter 25: The Holly Wreath Man
By CHRISTOPHER SCANLAN and KATHARINE FAIR
Published December 25, 2005
"I'm stuffed," Jeff Henderson groaned. He pushed back from the dining room table, littered with the remains of a country-style holiday feast, and smiled at his family.
"You better have room for pie," his wife Rachel said. "We haven't been baking all day for nothing."
"That's right, Daddy," his daughter Katie said. "We made apple, cherry and . . ."
"I made the pumpkin," Will interrupted.
"And I'm sure they're delicious," Jeff said. "But if I don't walk off Grandma's turkey and stuffing first, I'm going to burst."
John Turner patted his belly. "Your Dad's right," their grandfather said. He gazed across the table at his wife, Allie.
"What do you say we all take a walk in the woods?"
"Let's show them Pop's favorite tree," Jeff said.
"While we're out there we can cut some fresh holly," Allie said. "Then we can make Christmas wreaths."
"Can we, Mom?" Will asked, looking at Rachel.
"Sure. That's a great idea," said Rachel, "But let's get bundled up," she told the kids. "It's cold outside."
A short while later, the six of them trudged through the woods amongst stands of pine and holly trees, their branches sagging under thick coats of snow.
In a clearing, Jeff stopped before a lone holly tree, so tall and full and green it seemed to blot out the sky.
"Here it is," he said.
"Wow!" Will said.
"Pop always claimed it was the biggest in the state," Allie said. "It's the one we always used for the Radio City wreath. Remember, Jeff?"
Jeff nodded. "I wish he could be here."
"Me too," his mother said, putting her arm around his shoulder. "I know he'd like to see his great-grandchildren, and their mother." Allie took Rachel's hand.
"Pop was right about one thing," Jeff said. "It would have been a mistake to sell this land."
"That's for sure," Turner said, clipping off branches. "We could never have kept Pop's nursery business going without it."
They followed the setting sun home. Jeff carried a burlap sack, filled with holly. The kids ran ahead, lobbing snowballs at each other and shrieking with pleasure. "They're really happy out here," Rachel said.
"So Jeff," his mother said with a twinkle in her eye, "what would you do with a million dollars?"
He laughed, remembering the game they used to play when he was a child. He stopped and breathed in the crisp air, tinged with wood smoke. He looked at his children up ahead, and back at his wife.
"Not a thing, Mom," he said. "I've got everything I want right here."
That evening, Jeff and his family sat rosy-cheeked at the kitchen table, washing down slices of pie with hot cocoa, surrounded by coils of baling wire, ornaments, ribbons and the shiny holly boughs they'd collected on their walk.
"Show me how, Daddy," Katie said. "I want to make one."
"How about you, Will?"
"Yeah," Will nodded. "They're cool, Dad."
"First, pick out some branches."
"I want one with lots of berries," Katie said.
"Fasten the branches together with wire, twisting it tightly under the leaves," Jeff said, guiding them. "Careful, the leaves are sharp. Shape the connected branches into a circle. Tie the ends together. And you've each got a wreath." Two shiny green circles lay on the table in front of them.
"That's it?" Will said.
"Now you have to decorate it," Jeff said. "How about a red ribbon and some gold bells?" Jeff tied the red velvet strip into a plump bow. He threaded wire through the bow's knot, concealing it, and attached it to the wreath.
"There you go. Christmas from the forest."
"Awesome, Dad!" Will said.
"Now, you two put on the bells," Jeff said.
"I'm going to hang mine on my bike when I get home," Katie said.
That night, after the kids were tucked in bed and Allie and Turner had said goodnight, Jeff and Rachel sat before the living room fire.
"You're pretty good at making wreaths," she said.
"I've had lots of practice. I swear I was making them in my sleep," he said. "There's one more I'm going to make this weekend. A fancy one. For you."
Rachel stared at the flames. She took his hand in hers.
"I'd like that," she said. "On one condition."
"What's that?"
"You come home," she said. "And hang it on our front door."
Once again, Jeff Henderson's life was full. But not too full, because now, it was full of happiness.
[Last modified December 22, 2005, 11:52:04]
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