A Train For Under The Christmas Tree Read online

  Jamison had about forty five minutes to wait, so he decided to grab a couple of hotdogs and a beer at the Famous Diner. People had told him about the great Texas Wieners that the Famous Diner offered, so he decided to see what they were talking about. The Famous Diner was a scrubby little hole in the wall, with half a dozen tables, three booths in the rear and a counter that sat eighteen, in all about fifty some seats, and yet the place was packed at 4:30 on a frigid Friday afternoon, and a line of people stood out into the entrance way, waiting for take-out orders. Jamison was impressed and notwithstanding the fact that the Famous had the distinct odor of underarm as one entered the front door, he’d give it a try and grabbed a seat at the counter. After eating his meal, two Texas Hot Dogs, fries and a Rolling Rock, which had an altogether satisfying taste, he walked back to the hotel, and noticed that the combination of onions, mustard and chili sauce was not sitting well on his stomach, or maybe it was the thought of the fat hairy Greek looking man that he just saw with a stack of about a dozen hot dogs, two of which were his, stacked up his bare hairy left arm, while his right hand was busy distributing the condiments necessary to turn a normal hot dog into a Texas Wiener. He knew that he was a bit nervous about the plans for this evening, this was breaking the law, and young girls died all the time from these back alley abortions, and this was a back alley abortion, no doubt of that. He saw a concrete bench in front of the drug store and decided that despite the declining weather conditions, he’d sit there and wait for Sandy to arrive. Watching the shoppers rush around would be an adequate distraction, one that the inside of his hotel room could not provide.

  He sat down on the cold concrete seat and crossed his legs, and as he did, his wallet slipped from his pocket and landed next to one of the concrete legs supporting the bench, unnoticed by him. His wait was but a few minutes until Sandy arrived. As her Edsel pulled up to the curb Jamison noticed that she was in tears and looked white as a sheet. Jamison quickly went to her car, and climbed in the passenger seat, he needed to assure her that they were doing the right thing. Instead, the warmth inside the car hit him like a punch to the stomach. Texas Hot Wieners; the stress of a crying woman; the thought of breaking the law; and the heat of the car all worked on him at once, he pushed open the door, leaned out and threw up into the curb. Embarrassed by the situation, Jamison yelled at Sandy to drive away, which she did, heading east on Broadway, past the Famous Diner.

  Chapter 21

  Jamison directed Sandy around to the location where he had met with Old Lady Wisbrod. The hovel was creepy in the daylight but one could easily magnify the creepiness by a hundred at night, add in a cold wind howling down the alleyway, rattling trash cans and whipping the trash in the alley around in small eddies, and you have yourself the opening of a bad horror movie. This was a scary place and Sandy wanted nothing to do with it and refused to exit the car. Jamison worked on her for about a half hour before he could ease her out of the car and up the steps.

  He knocked on the door and waited. Footsteps inside could be heard and he waited as the steps came closer and the door opened a crack.

  “Who the hell is it? Oh, it’s you, the pretty boy from the shoe factory. I see you brought your pigeon, did you bring the money?”

  Jamison reached for his wallet and was aghast when he discovered that it was missing. He patted himself all over thinking he may have placed it in one of his coat pockets by error. “I, ah, I had it!” he muttered. “It must be in the car, I’ll be right back.”

  He left Sandy standing on the platform, Wisbrod said, “Don’t come back until you got the money. “Then she slammed the door shut against the girl standing there all alone.

  Jamison searched the car as best he could using the dome light of the Edsel and could not find his missing wallet. He heard Sandy crying uncontrollably, and at his wits end he yelled for her to “Will you shut the hell up!”

  Thinking back he remembered that he had used his wallet when he paid the rent on his room, then he recalled paying for his meal at the hot dog stand. ‘Yes, it must be where I left it,’ he thought. He yelled, “Shit, shit, get in the car and drive and stop that damn crying will you!”

  He had her drive to the Hot Dog Shop, told her to park at the cross walk next to the restaurant, and wait for him to return. He rushed off leaving her to defend herself against the angry shoppers who were fighting the cold weather and now had to deal with a car parked in the crosswalk. Shouts and jesters were sent her way and she was tempted to drive off and go around the block and see if she could park somewhere but just then Jamison exited and returned to the car, telling one upset pedestrian just exactly he could place the middle finger he was waving his way.

  “It’s not there. Someone must of grabbed it and instead of turning it in they saw it had money in it so they kept it. Just what I’d expect to happen in this one horse town.”

  Then he recalled that he had sat on the bench along the Center Square. He told her to drive to where she had picked him up and to stop the God Damn crying.

  Sandy drove as best she could with tears running down her face and found a parking spot just a few feet away from the bench. Jamison jumped out of the car and raced over to the bench. Again nothing could be found.

  “Shit, shit, shit. Okay, get out of the car,” he yelled at Sandy.

  She gave him a ‘what?’ look.

  He walked back to the car and bent towards the open driver’s window. “I said get out of the car. We’re going up to my room. We’ll take care of your pregnancy there, somehow.”

  Sandy realized, at that moment, that this was all wrong. That he was wrong, he was no more in love with her than he was with the statue of General Kirkpatrick sitting on his horse there in the center of the Center Square. Gathering herself as best she could, with this new realization, that Jamison really did not love her nor did he have any interest in ever having a life with her, he only wanted off the hook for this baby that he created inside of her, was tearing her apart. It suddenly became a battle inside her heart. Did she love Jamison more than she loved her unborn child? Without any reservation what so ever the answer was clear, crystal clear, the child was more to her than Jamison could ever, or would ever be. Mustering all the strength that she could, she looked up at Jamison and she said, “This is never going to happen no matter what you say. And you don’t have to worry about it. You’re off the hook, I’ll raise my baby by myself and I’ll be fine. Now get away from me.”

  She drove off leaving Jamison standing there, never to see her again.

  Chapter 22

  Sandy drove around town in a self-inflicted fog for about an hour. Then she headed out east of town into the Pigeon Hills, a foothill of the South Mountains that sits between Hanover and York, and turned down Beaver Creek Road, driving until she arrived at the triple lakes. The triple lakes are a series of manmade lakes created by damning up Beaver Creek, it had once been the reservoir for the town of Hanover, the upper lake is the largest and the only one accessible by automobile, a spillway leads to the second and then finally a second spillway to the third and smallest. She had always loved triple lakes, they were a favorite picnic area as a small child, with a dozen large picnic tables, swings and sliding boards for the children to play, several wood-burning cooking pits, diving boards and monkey swings for playing in the lake and a small sandy beach where sand castles could be built, it was a very special memory from her childhood. The place did not look like she had remembered it, the trees were now all bare and the water on the lake had a grey blue shimmer of water near turning to ice and vandals had struck, destroying some of the tables and cutting down the swings, breaking the other toys, painting cuss words on the out buildings, making it so very unattractive that Sandy was not gladdened as she had hoped.

  She just needed to be alone for a while, long enough to figure out what her next move was going to be and how in the world she would be able to explain it all to her friends and family. ‘Oh my God,’ she thought, ‘I need to tell my mother!
How in the world can I ever do that?’

  She cried hard, so hard that she thought that she had cried herself out of tears and then she cried a bit longer, allowing herself to feel every bit of anguish that the betrayal of Jamison Tate had produced. And suddenly she shook herself back to reality. He was an evil person who had deceived her, this sin was not on her but on him, and he would someday answer to his maker for his deceit. As for her, well she would simply have to make do, her child would depend upon her, and she needed to be strong. She knew that her parents loved her and that they would not be happy about this but they would love her child no matter what and they would help her as much as they could. As far as her friends were concerned, well some would judge her and show disdain, and that would be their right, but others would not and would support her and they would remain her friends.

  She wiped the tears from her eyes, fixed her makeup in the dim dome light of the Edsel, and drove to her home.

  Chapter 23

  Sandy’s mother, Henrietta, Henny to most, loved to trim everything in gold-leaf. The living room in their stylish home on Grant Drive has a collage of photos along the far wall as one entered it from the front foyer. Each photo was in a golden frame of some sort or another plus the large room was decorated with many mirrors, and several vases and other knickknacks all golden. This gave the room an ethereal appearance especially at night with the flicker of the television off of the various golden clad objects. Otherwise the living room was very average, a floral printed traditional style sofa, two Princess Anne wingback upholstered chairs, a Louis XV desk with chair, and of course the RCA counsel color television set with an RCA radio and record player built in with stereo speakers, along with a variety of coffee and end tables, made up the contents of the room. This evening her parents had cracked a bottle of Cabernet wine and had sat back and were enjoying an episode of Route 66, one of Sandy’s father’s favorite shows. They had agreed that they needed to just relax and forget about the troubles beset the country with the murder of the President and the obvious cover up, most likely by the FBI, and J Edgar Hoover. If it was Hoover, and it sure felt like it was, then he had a damn good reason and there would be no way anyone would ever pin anything on him. So it was best just left alone and move on with life.

  Kenneth, Sandy’s father, sensed a problem as soon as Sandy entered the room. She had not been herself for several days, but he had simply written it off as melancholy over the death of Kennedy. He knew that she had worked hard to help get Kennedy elected, although he did not understand exactly what she saw in the man, after all he was a Democrat and a Catholic. Rising out of the sofa where he had been sitting, he strode across the room to the console and reduced the sound, then he turned, and simply looked at her. Sandy broke down and cried again. “Oh, Daddy!” It had been the deep throated, high pitched, mournful cry like that of a little girl having just found her beloved pet cat dead under a bush in her back yard.

  Her father approached her with his arms extended to try to give her a hug, but she shuttered and turned away from him and he backed off, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. Her mother was still sitting on the sofa, her mouth agape, not knowing what to do, and afraid to say anything yet sensing that she must. Finally, she blurted out, “What in heaven’s name is the matter, sweetheart? Did you have an accident in your car?”

  Sandy turned and faced her mother and caught her breath, tears gushing down her face, she knew she had to take control of herself and talk to her parents but every time she tried to think what to say the situation got worse and so did her reaction to it. Finally, she blurted through her tears and said, “I’m pregnant!” And then she dropped her defenses and turned and grabbed her father who in turn held her tight while her mother gasped, “How did this happen?”

  Sandy’s father gently patted her on the back and said, “Now, now everything will be all right. You don’t need to worry about telling us about anything.” He smoothly guided her across the room to one of the Princess Anne chairs and allowed her to sit. Then he presented her with his handkerchief from his hip pocket saying, “It’s clean.”

  Sandy took the cloth and dabbed her eyes and suddenly the love she felt and the reassurance of the familiar surroundings eased her mind and she slowly gathered her wits and continued, “And the baby’s father wants me to have an abortion.”

  Henny first reaction was of shock that the word abortion was even mentioned in her home, and then she was struck with the fact that she was about to become a grandmother and she knew that she was way too young to be a grandmother. A grandmother was what her grandmothers had both been, stately, saggy, greyish old women who only had a short time left on earth, and that was not her. And at the same moment she was filled with love for this person that she has never even met. Rising from her seat, she walked over to her daughter, bent and gave her a gentle and loving kiss on the check and said, “No matter what, we love you and we will never let anything bad happen to you. You can have this baby and your father and I will support you and help you in every way. Do you understand?”

  The family composed themselves, and moved the conversation to the kitchen, where all family business was conducted. Question were asked and answered. Sandy told her parents about this handsome man from Kentucky that she had met at Hoffman’s Hotel when she was shooting pool. And how he was different than the others at the pool hall, he was sweet, funny, educated and he worked at Hanover Shoe as a Manager Trainee, and that he was going places with Hanover Shoe. She told of how he would ask her for help with his pool shooting as if he was truly interested in her as a person and not just a pick up. But when she got pregnant and he told her that she needed to have an abortion she knew that it was wrong but he made so many promises that she almost went through it earlier that evening, but a last minute snag caused a delay and in that delay he revealed his true intentions and they had nothing to do with her in his future. So she left.

  Kenneth was quick to ask if she wanted to keep the baby or would she want to give the baby up for adoption. Sandy replied that she wanted to keep it, that she loved the baby and wanted to be a good mother for it. Her father said, “Then it settled, we will have the basement finished and turn it into an apartment for you and the baby to live in as long as you want to live with us. You can have your baby and your mother and I will be here to help you every step of the way. Alright?”

  Sandy cried again, but this was a tender cry of appreciation and love.

  Chapter 24

  It was Sunday December 15th, ten days until Christmas and a light snow has fallen. Jimmy was elated by the prospects of a White Christmas. He and his brother had been awaken by his mother and told to get their butts in gear and get to Mass. The church was seven blocks away and was an easy walk. Jimmy sang the whole way. Every Christmas song he knew and some of them twice. Anywhere slush had built up in the streets, Jimmy would jump in with both feet sending the slush in a cascade onto everything around including Jimmy’s brother.

  ‘The singing is bad enough, now I get slopped in slush as well,’ thought his brother. They arrived at church about ten minutes before Mass and the lines for the confessional were oddly short for only a few days before Christmas and Jimmy amazed his brother by going and getting into the line. After Jimmy delivered his standard list of recent sins, receiving his standard list of prayers as penitence, he found the pew where his brother had sat and began to pray. But he was not praying for forgiveness of his sins but for deliverance of a train for under his Christmas tree.

  After church Jimmy’s brother headed for home. The Colts were on television today. Jimmy’s brother was a big football fan and he loved the Colts, even though the rest of his family were Steeler fans, you almost never get the Steelers on television, and besides the Steelers have never been any good and probably never would. Jimmy however went north on Baltimore Street after Mass, the extra prayers and the grace from the confessional were telling him that he needed to complete another entry blank.

  So off he went on h
is own, singing, “I’m dreaming of a White Christmas, just like the one’s I used to know,” off key and at the top of his lungs.

  Chapter 25

  Ira Myers had arranged for Mayor Hammond to be his official drawler, and for Thomas Benton of radio station WHVR, to be present to broadcast the live drawling and to act as the judge of the drawling assuring that all was up and up. Kevin Marcacio, cub reporter for the Evening Sun, was on hand to document the event as well. Ira had carefully removed all of the entry forms from the box he had collected them in and placed them into a large chicken wire cylinder provided by the Pennville Fire Company which they used for similar drawings.

  Mayor Hammond cranked the cylinder with the handle about twenty times, as Tom Benton described the action into his microphone wired to a truck parked at the curb in front of the store, which in turn was sending the signal to the station on the north side of town, which in turn broadcast the event to all of the Hanover area, and finally said, “Well, I believe these tickets are sufficiently mixed up. Do you all agree?”

  Heads nodded in agreement and the Mayor laughed, then said, “Alright then, one more spin for good luck.”

  He brought the cylinder to a stop with the trap door facing upward and raised his right hand to the clasp which held the door shut, he turned to Tom Benton and said, “Well here goes. Good Luck to all of you out there.” And without any further delay he stabbed his left hand deep into the bin and pulled out the winning ticket.

  Except the Mayor had not pulled just a single ticket out of the bin. Pressing his thumb against the tickets that he had removed, as Kevin snapped a photograph of the drawling, he revealed that he had in fact removed three tickets.

  “They all stuck together!” he said. “What’ll I do now?”