Sam Jack's Christmas Dinner

(This story by Chelsea Hammond won The Herald’s Christmas Story Contest this year. Some 14 entries were submitted; a half dozen were printed in the Herald’s holiday advertising supplement.)

Sam Jack lives up Sugar Mountain and every year he bounds down the long crooked path to the center of Sugarville, which consists of a store, post office, church, school, gas station with a garage, a cemetery and a handful of houses all lined up like old maple trees along a dirt road.

He only makes the trek once a year for supplies and whatnot, because all his life he's never needed to go more than once. Every time he walks into the store or the post office, the townspeople give him sideways glances, but say hello anyway because a new face is a welcome peak of any day.

Today his clothes look like a crazy quilt, patched with dull cloth scraps, sewn together in a mesh of fishing line and baling twine. His face is red and weatherworn with wrinkled carved by the outdoors and he has a jagged graying beard down to the center of his rugged torso that gives him a wild look.

This year's trip into town is due to the early snowfall and premature cold weather. Sugar Mountain already had over a foot of snow and it usually didn't fall this yard until the middle of January. Sam's visit was driven by the need for some fuel, new socks, gloves, new Carhardt jeans, long johns, flour, sugar, coffee, maybe some store bacon and a number of other miscellaneous items. It happened to be four days before Christmas and the town was busy.

As he walked down Center Street, he looked up at the clock, which also had the date posted just below the large ticking hands, and stopped stunned for a moment. The calendar was marked December 21. What? Was it really almost Christmas? Had he forgotten Christmas? Sam's quiet ways and hermit-like habits were making him wish he had picked a different time of year to make the trip. He felt like a lump of coal among the brightly colored coats and packages. There were Christmas tree lights and "deck the halls" echoing out of the shop doorways and people bundled up in their winter coats and wool hats and mittens. Their breath blowing away from them like steam stacks.

Upon entering the fuel station, he asked the attendant for ten dollars worth of kerosene and waited while his order was filled. As he stared out the window at the cold and busy town, memories of a time when he spent Christmas with his family up the mountain came flooding back.

The rest of his family had disappeared or died off from various ailments and afflictions, and his life wasn't by any means picturesque. Much of his younger years were hardly tolerable. Still, he was reminded of his aloneness and how it used to feel to have the family, despite their varied ways, all together at Christmas.

He couldn't remember the last time he had celebrated Christmas, but at this moment, he longed for their comforting ways. His mother, a woman of 6'3" who could hammer a nail as fast as any man, always had a way of fixing a cherry pie with a slightly burned crust, just the way Sam liked it. She had passed a good ten years ago and before that, his sister had gotten pneumonia of '88 and never did recover.

The twins, many years older than Sam, had skipped town together when they were 17 and hadn't been back since. Last he heard, one was a black-jack dealer at the San Andreas Casino and the other had died from an illness unknown to Sam, but he guessed it was due to a life of drinking and unhealthy habits. He didn't think about it much, but it gave him something to ponder as he stood looking out the window.

"Forget it was Christmas?" Reno Gunnison asked.

"Maybe," Sam replied not turning.

"It's been a long time since I've seen you, what, three years?"

"Yup."

Reno Gunnison had always been the same. He'd been Sam's mentor in the blacksmith trade, and never did quite understand why Sam had just not shown up one day and become a recluse on that mountain. He often wondered what made him stay up there all the time; only coming into civilization once a year. Sam said it was to take care of his ailing mother, but his mother had died ten years ago, about the time he disappeared, so Reno never did quite believe that.

The two men were both a bit older now, with graying sideburns and the need for bifocals. They still held their same posture, John's a little crooked in bottom of his back and Sam with the most bow-legged stance in all of Sugarville. As they stood there, Reno tried to make some idle chitchat but didn't really have much luck.

"Don't know what ever happened when you just up and left the shop that one day, but I don't guess you want to talk much about it."

"Nope."

"Say, I know it's been a lot of years since we pounded iron together, but I don't suppose you have any family now and I have more'n enough to go around. You want to come over tonight for dinner? We'll have you a Christmas dinner."

"It ain't Christmas."

If Sam used any fewer words to get his point across, there would have been stone silence.

"Well, I know, but my kids all have their own families now and they can't always get together at the same time. Tonight they can. We're having Christmas dinner tonight anyway, and we'd welcome your company."

Sam was about to say no, but he changed his mind. As he stood there looking out the window thinking about his life, he saw Old Lady Haller. She was the biggest scrooge in the town and even he knew it. She was only a few years older than Sam, but everyone in town called her "Old Lady Haller" because she looked like she was 20 years his elder. She was still yelling at the passersby about how the end of the world was coming and they were all wasting their time with revelry.

Ever since he could remember, she'd been yelling at people for one reason or another. He wondered what made her so bitter. At Christmas time it was the worst. She never smiled and at this instant she was gripping a scared child, pointing a finger in the child's face, trying to teach some lesson she thought the child ought to know.

He remembered a time when he was in that child's shoes. He saw the days of his life going slowly by. Did he ever in his life think he'd forget Christmas? No, he probably didn't, but he did, none-the-less, and it brought him great sadness. He didn't want to end up like Old Lady Haller. Dinner with Reno Gunnison and his family sounded pretty nice. He liked Reno Gunnison, always had.

"I guess that'd be fine, if it ain't a bother." Sam turned to face Reno as he paid for his kerosene and some other items he'd gathered.

"None attall."

Sam didn't say much at dinner that night, but he did listen a lot. They were not a fancy bunch. The dinner was good and the laughter was real and the house was warm. The Christmas tree was festive and the windows were frosty.

As he left Reno Gunnison's house that night he felt different, peaceful. He stopped at the Christian Church and walked inside. There was a manger set up with Mary, Joseph, and baby Jesus. He just stood there for a big staring at the family and took in the warm light from the candles and the smell of the pine boughs. They smelled different in a church. He liked it. It was comforting to him.

He didn't stay long. He said a prayer for his Mom and sister, just in case God was listening, and walked out. As he left, he glanced back at the small simple church and saw Old Lady Haller looking out at him through a frosty window. She gave him a wave and for a minute he even thought he saw her smile. He waved back and stood looking until she left the window.

He walked up the mountain and back to his cabin with his fuel and his new socks, pondering the events of the evening. He could see clearly as the moon reflected off the glittering snow and was thankful that he didn't have to use his flashlight.

"It was a good night," he thought to himself, and decided to come down off that mountain more often. Next time, he thought, he'd go see Old Lady Haller and see what made her act so.

About the Author

Chelsea Hammond, a graduate of Chelsea High School, was an American Literature major at the Castleton State College, where she graduated in 1996. This story, Chelsea says, is loosely based on some characters she's known, but is totally fictional. Chelsea opened the Brookfield Valley Store in June of this year.

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