Redeeming Santa
By
Susan C. Muller
In Remembrance Of
Aaron Hatchet
Who served his county bravely in World War I
Acknowledgments
Aaron Hatchett who was there that day and told me the story in 1965.
Elizabeth Simmons, Ron Muller, Christie Craig, Shawnna Perigo, and Delma Neeley who read and critiqued.
My family, for their continued support.
Chapter 1
“PawPaw, PawPaw.” The door to Wilber Jenkins’ assisted living space flew open as two dark haired boys exploded into the small room.
Wilber sat up in the recliner where he spent many of his waking hours. He’d had three kids and they now had kids of their own. And if that didn’t make him feel old enough, his grandkids were having kids too. He couldn’t be expected to keep track of all of ‘em, could he?
Wilber ran a hand through his hair, still thick, but now white as snow. He pushed his glasses up on his nose and studied the boys.
The dark hair and slight slant to the eyes meant they belonged to Andy. The older one would have to be Andy Junior, A J, and the little one would be––what was it?––Taylor.
“A J and Taylor. Now there’s a surprise. Did you boys walk here?”
Taylor giggled. “No, PawPaw, it’s too far.” Wilber strained to hear the soft voice and wished these kids would learn to speak up. He was old, damn it. Nothing worked as well as it used to. And one ear had been ringing since the Roosevelt administration.
A J rolled his eyes at Taylor as if the two year age difference made him above childish ways. “Daddy’s parking the car. He let us out at the door. Taylor likes to push the buttons on the elevator.”
“What are you boys doing out of school? You’re not playing hooky, are you?”
“School’s out till next year.” Taylor bounced onto Wilber’s lap, sending sharp jolts of pain down his bad leg. “It’s only two days till Christmas.”
As if he could forget. All those carols piped in through the speakers and plastic garland draped over anything that didn’t move. Made him want to puke.
“Why don’t you have a tree in your room, PawPaw?” Taylor’s eyes searched around the room.
“Too small.” He refused to discuss his choice of décor with a five year old.
“I made you something, PawPaw.” A J handed him a rolled-up paper.
Wilber unrolled the paper carefully and studied the drawing. He took a deep breath and smiled at the remembered scent of Crayons. “I do believe that’s as fine an Angel as I’ve ever seen. Would you put it on my mirror so it’ll be the first thing I see when I wake up in the morning?”
He heard a sniffle from Taylor. “What’s this, young man? We can’t have any crying when you come to visit PawPaw. You’re supposed to make me laugh.” What was keeping Andy? Wilber glanced toward the door. He wasn’t equipped to handle crying children.
“Taylor drew a picture of Santa and Daddy wouldn’t let him bring it in.” A note of sibling glee crept into A J’s voice.
Wilber’s jaw clenched. All the nights he’d spent wishing for a little brother or sister when he was A J’s age. Anyone to talk to, to share the silent house with. A J had one and didn’t appreciate the gift.
Footsteps echoed down the long hallway just as Taylor burst into tears. “I wanted to bring you a picture, too. Do you really not like Santa? How can you get any presents if you don’t like Santa?” Curiosity was beginning to overtake disappointment.
A tall, sandy-haired man stepped into the room in time to hear Taylor’s questions. “Taylor, we talked about this in the car. Leave PawPaw alone, he doesn’t celebrate Christmas.” He looked at Wilber and smiled. “Hey, Grandpa. It looks like you have your hands full.”
Andy’s voice floated past Wilber. Taylor’s sobs were all he could hear. They felt like a knife through his heart. What had he done? Three generations of children marked by his phobia. It was time to put a stop to this nonsense. Eighty-five years had passed since the day his life had changed forever. That was too long to let a dead man rule your life.
“Your daddy is mistaken, Taylor. I don’t dislike Santa. Your great-grandmother and I used to worry that the story of Christmas would be lost in the excitement of Santa. We just tried to insist no one forget that the birth of our savior was the reason we were celebrating. If you can do that and enjoy Santa, it’s not a problem. Now run down to the car and bring me that picture. The Security guard will watch you from the door.”
A J looked like he’d just dropped his ice cream cone, but Taylor’s eyes were beaming as he slid to the floor.
Andy’s face was full of confusion, “But Grandpa, Mom always said . . .”
“Your mother doesn’t know as much as she likes to think she knows.” Wilber might be old and sick, but his mind was still sharp and he didn’t need his youngest daughter running what little was left of his life. Anyone would think he was senile, the way she insisted on making decisions for him. If he wanted to break a lifetime of rules, they were his rules to break.
He was ninety-three years old and this was likely his last Christmas. Cigarettes had done what Hitler and his minions hadn’t managed. He couldn’t undo the past, but he didn’t want to leave a legacy of hate and fear. What would his Darlene think? She’d be waiting for him on the other side and he’d hate to face her if he hadn’t done right by their kids.
Two hours later his company was gone and he’d finished the slop that passed for dinner in Fort Worth’s newest nursing home. It was worse than what they served in the Navy, and that was during the war.
The nurse’s aide helped him into bed. “Those were fine looking boys tearing down the hall today, Mr. Jenkins. Did they make those pictures for you?” Her eyes rested on the box of candy Andy had brought, not on the pictures.
“They did, and the candy too. Why don’t you try a piece and tell me if it’s any good. My teeth aren’t up to the ones with nuts.” His teeth were just fine, thank you very much, and he’d be giving her a box of her own on Christmas day, but no sense offending someone who could make his life miserable.
“Why, aren’t you sweet? I guess I could try just one. Don’t want to spoil my figure.” She patted her ample hips. “You ring the buzzer if you need anything in the night.” She picked out two pieces of candy as she turned off the lights.
Wilber lay in the dark, letting his eyes adjust to the gloom. After a few minutes he slid out of bed and padded to the dresser. He took the Santa picture down and slipped it in a drawer.
“The kids can do what they want, but that doesn’t mean I have to look at your ugly face, you white-bearded bastard.”
Chapter 2
Tasco, Texas, December 23, 1927
A cold wind blew down from the north, and eight year old Wilber Jenkins could feel it through his thin jacket. He pulled a knit cap over the rough bowl cut Ma had given him the night before and blinked behind thick-framed glasses. The family usually went into town to do their shopping on Christmas Eve, but Pa predicted some rough weather was coming in from Oklahoma and they’d better not wait. One look at the sky said Pa was right. Wilber shuffled his feet as much from excitement as from the cold and wished Ma would hurry.
Pa pulled the old truck around front and Wilber jumped off the porch and climbed into the cab. He shivered as he scooted across the seat and settled close to his father. Pa patted him on the knee and said with a twinkle in his eye, “Well son, it looks like we’re about to have us a three dog night.”
Pa waited as Wilber joined in. “And we don’t have but two dogs.” They both laughed as if they’d never heard the joke before.
They watched as Ma bustled out the door. She stopped long enough to make certain it closed tight, but didn’t bother to lock it. Wilber wasn’t even sure they owned a key. He’d never seen one used. As she stepped away, the wind kicked up again and banged the screen door several times. Ma grabbed her hat with one hand and held down her billowing dress with the other.
“Hold onto that hat, Vivian. Best use both hands on it.” Pa laughed and winked at Wilber. Wilber laughed too, but didn’t completely understand why that was funny.
Ma squeezed into the truck and gave Pa a stern look, but the corners of her mouth twitched. As soon as the door closed, the cab filled with the odor of wet dog. Pa and Wilber looked at Ma while she stared straight ahead. They both hated her new wool coat, but there was no use complaining. She had just bought it from the Sears and Roebuck catalogue and it would have to last several years. Maybe they could get used to the smell by then.
Wilber didn’t know how many miles stretched between the farm and the central Texas town of Tasco, but he knew it was a rough half hour over mostly dirt roads. If the storm hit before they got back, the road would turn to mud and they might have to walk. Crammed into the center seat, Wilber couldn’t see much except sky the color of wet cement. When they pulled onto the paved road four miles out of town, the ride smoothed.
Tasco wasn’t much of a town, still, it was the only one Wilber knew. He’d been to the fat stock show in Fort Worth when he was little, but he couldn’t remember much about it.
“Tasco has everything we need,” Ma claimed. It had a five and ten cent store, a dry goods, a feed store, both a bank and a savings and loan, and several churches, First Baptist being the biggest. But Wilber longed to see more. Pa said that once every five years was about all he could stand of Fort Worth. If that was true, then next year was the year. Wilber couldn’t wait.
George Chambers, a boy from the class ahead of him, had been all the way to Galveston and came back full of stories. “Trolleys run down the main street and clear to Houston. We stayed in a huge hotel that faced the ocean and listened to waves hitting the beach all night. Just think, that water started in China and came half way across the world to Texas. There were sailors who spoke languages I never heard of. We sat on the beach at night and built a fire and cooked wieners. The water pulled as strong as a locomotive and tasted like salt and sand.”
Wilber couldn’t imagine such a thing.
As town neared, Pa said he had to talk to a man about a horse and Ma needed to go the savings and loan to withdraw their Christmas Club Account. Wilber planned to head straight to the five and ten. He had almost two dollars saved up and he needed to do his Christmas shopping. He planned to buy a bottle of fancy toilet water for Ma, even though he didn’t understand why anyone would splash on something called toilet water. Pa would be harder to shop for, but he knew he could find something. He would buy a piece of candy for his friend Duane, the man who came around to help with the cattle sometimes.
Wilber remembered standing on the porch one hot summer day while Pa and Ma watched Duane unload a pile of fence posts and carry them into the barn. Pa said with a chuckle, “A strong back and a weak mind. You can’t ask for anything better in a hired hand.”
Wilber didn’t mind if Duane wasn’t smart. Duane was always nice to him and let Wilber tag along while he worked. A big candy cane for Duane wouldn’t cost much, yet it was likely the only gift the big man would get. There might be enough money left over to buy himself a piece of candy also.
Pa parked the car on Main Street and all three climbed out and started in different directions. Ma was almost to the savings and loan when Wilber spotted Santa Claus. Wilber’s breath caught as Santa pushed open the door to the savings and loan and disappeared inside. A train of gigging children followed a few feet behind the red-suited man.
Wilber spun around and ran to catch up with Ma. He had sat on Santa’s lap and told him what he wanted after the Christmas Parade three weeks ago. He’d even written a letter which Ma had promised to mail. But here was a chance to see the man in person, maybe remind him about the pocket knife he wanted so badly.
Once inside, Wilber became tongue-tied and clung to Ma’s arm. He watched Santa closely, trying to judge the best time to approach. The savings and loan wasn’t as fancy as the bank, but it still impressed Wilber. Everything in the lobby was polished and gleaming. In the center stood a tall table where customers filled out forms. Tellers waited behind a counter in cages with bars of gleaming brass. In the back was the manager’s office––a room with a closed door which Pa said controlled the fate of every farm in the county.
“Merry Christmas, Santa,” one of the tellers called, but Santa didn’t answer.
Santa must be busy, with a lot on his mind. Wilber bit his lip and watched even closer. Now wasn’t the time to get on Santa’s bad side. A cold gust of wind followed two men into the building. Neither man glanced at Santa as they went to opposite sides of the lobby. Wilber pressed his cheek against Ma’s coat, ignoring the scratchiness and unpleasant smell.
“Merry Christmas,” the teller called again, but Santa ignored him.
Santa sat down the red felt bag he had thrown over his shoulder and began to open it. Of course, now Wilber understood. Santa was going to give out presents. Maybe Wilber could get his knife now and not have to go through the agony of waiting. He dropped Ma’s hand and eased closer to Santa, his eyes wide with excitement. Wait till the kids at school heard about this.
The first gift Santa pulled out was a gun, a big one like army guys carried. Not like the toy pistols Wilber played with. Whoa, that might be even better than a knife. Wilber scooted a little closer. Almost, but not quite, reaching for the gun.
Wilber heard Ma scream, but that didn’t make any sense to him. He twisted to look at her and she stretched her arm out, reaching for his hand. Wilber stood where he was. Ma always treated him like a baby, spoiling his fun.
“Nobody move.” The voice came from one of the men who had just entered. He pulled a gun from under his coat.
“Stay where you are and nobody gets hurt,” the other man yelled. He had a pistol in each hand.
Wilber glanced at Santa for help, but Santa was pointing his gun at the teller. Slowly, keeping his gun trained on the teller, Santa pushed open the half door that separated the front lobby from the teller’s cages. Once behind the counter, Santa shoved his gun into the teller’s stomach causing him to let out a loud, “Ooof,” and sink to his knees.
Wilber blinked, unable to process what his eyes were telling him.
“Open your drawer and put everything in the bag,” Santa growled, holding out the red felt bag.
When the teller finished, Santa motioned to the next cage with the tip of his gun and the teller opened it also. They moved down the line, empting all four drawers without saying another word. “Now the vault.” Santa pointed with the muzzle of his gun and the teller began turning the dial. As soon as the big metal door swung open Santa handed the teller his bag and watched while he filled it with stacks of paper money.
The lobby was so quiet Wilber could hear Ma breathing. He saw movement from the corner of his eye and heard a soft click. Clyde Wilson’s mother was pushing him out the side door. “Run get the sheriff. Fast as you can,” Clyde’s mother whispered. Wilber could picture the first day back at school. Clyde would be a hero, and Wilber a toady.