This Christmas Morning, Installment 6

 Chapter 3, Fresh Turkey

Ariel’s suggestion to leave Dewey in

Roy

’s car and bring him food for the next three days seemed completely logical to everyone. Leo volunteered to rig up mom’s old television for him. Grandpa seconded the motion and even Jana secretly entertained the idea for more than a moment. After all, the car did have a heater and the forecast wasn’t bad at all for this time of year. But hospitality won over common sense and Jana’s self-preservation instincts had to be muted. “He’s only going to be here for three days. Let’s make the most of it.”

“Three days?” Grandpa grumped. “It only took the Hindenburg only three minutes to explode and turn to ash.”

“I’d even cook it for him,” Ariel offered.

“We hate him,” Leo smiled, “but not that much.”

Jana shook her tinsel at the kids and tried not to smile. “Dewey is a member of this family now. That means he’s welcome in this house.”

“But, mom. . .”

“Quiet. Here he comes.”

The little marauder flew down the steep back staircase in three bounds, energized by the Mountain Dew and Twinkies he’d inhaled for pre-dinner hors d’ouevers. Leo had warned Fern’s little darling to keep the cat away from the tinsel. Predictably, the moment he hit the floor Dewey made his way directly to the tree, fingered a piece of the glittery stuff and began calling “kitty, kitty, kitty.”

Grandpa was cleaning potting soil from a fallen poinsettia when Dewey wandered within earshot. “You know, Dewey, I used to have other grandchildren.”

“Oh yeah?”

Grandpa whisked up the dirt and placed it in a cracked plant pot. “Yup. Did you ever hear the story of the old widowman who used to lock little neighbor children in his furnace and turn them into fertilizer ash for his flowers?”

“No.”

“Story goes, he had the prettiest poinsettias in the county.” Grandpa smiled insanely and tapped the boy on the shoulder with his little broom. “In this county, Dewey. This county.” He looked back toward his sorry smashed Christmas flower. “Gol-darnit. If this poinsettia doesn’t need a good dose of fertilizer right now. I wonder where I might procure some?” He leaned in toward the boy. “Drooping a bit, don’t you think?”

The phone rang as Dewey backed away from the crazy man. For the first time in his life, Dewey picked up the receiver on the first ring. “Hello?”

Jana’s stepped into the room with the good silver to set the table. “Who is it, Dewey?”

“It’s the turkey farm. They’re bringing the turkeys for your food baskets. How many do you want?”

“Twenty.”

Dewey repeated the message over the phone and waited until Jana was out of sight before speaking quietly and clearly to the man on the other line. “What kind of turkeys are they?” He flashed an evil smile. “Oh, no. No! They got to be fresh. Yeah. Real fresh. We want live ones. Yeah. No. We want to kill them ourselves. Yeah. Okay. Hurry them over, it’s almost time for dinner. Okay. Good-bye.” Jana thanked the boy for answering the phone as she stepped back into the room to place grandma’s Czechoslovakian cut glass water picture on the table. She debated for a moment whether the priceless ruby heirloom should be kept in the same county with Fern’s boy. If she hurried, she could pack it up and still get it to the mail before the window closed.

Dewey smiled all too sweetly. “It’s my pleasure to be of service.” He bowed and approached Jana.

Jana instinctively lifted the picture above her head. “Are they gonna bring the turkeys?”

“Any time now, Auntie Jana. Any time.”

Fern looked up from her crossword puzzle. “See! Dewey can be very helpful.” The boy pulled another piece of tinsel from the tree and resumed his efforts to gag the cat.

Ariel was back in the basement, engrossed in a pile of love letters and fingering her Grandpa’s Purple Heart. She was reading chronologically, and had followed Grandpa from basic training at

Camp

Rucker

in

Alabama

to the hills around

Nashville

for maneuvers. The letters trailed from the deserts of

Arizona

, where Grandpa was preparing to fight someone called “the krauts” to

San Francisco

where they were shipping out for the invasion of the Philippine Islands.

Knowing that she would be missed if she tarried longer, Ariel skipped to the letter at the bottom of the pile. World War II had just ended, the future looked bright and a young man was writing from a hospital ship on the way home, asking his beloved if she would be his wife.

It was the most beautiful thing the Ariel had ever read.