Seventh Day
of Christmas
Timmy rode in the front seat of the family Honda. Sally was in the back-seat
thumbing through something on her iPhone. Mom slowed as they turned off the main road to
town and kept the speed down even though the road had been plowed and
salted. Their route took them in front
of Mrs. Davenport’s house.
The wreath Timmy left Mrs. Davenport
hung from the flimsy screen door. “The
wreath looks nice.” Mom commented.
“Did you find anything out about her
gas?” Timmy asked.
“I hadn’t heard from Pastor
Brown. I’ll call him sometime this
afternoon. Are we all done?”
“Done?”
“Christmas shopping. Did you get everything you wanted to get?”
“Oh.
Yes. I’m all finished. Sally?”
He looked over the seat. “Sally!”
“What.” Sally snapped.
Mom repeated the question and got a
feeble affirmative from Sally. Timmy
shook his head. He was fine with his old
flip-phone and didn’t feel the least bit slighted she had a smartphone that cost hundreds, and his phone
was free with service.
The driveway was navigable with
several inches of snow on it. Timmy remembered
his promise to dad. “Mom, pull all the
way up to the garage so I can salt the drive.”
She pulled the nose of the Accord right to the garage door, parked it
and popped the trunk.
Timmy jumped out and pulled the new
wreath from the trunk and took it around to the front door. He hung it on the left side of the double
entry doors. The side that rarely gets used.
The deep green looked good against the bright white doors. He had
expected to catch hell for taking the other one, but all dad said was it was nice, and
they would get another one.
Grabbing the last double handful of plastic
bags filled with packages he forced the trunk lid down with his elbow leaving a
clean streak on the black finish where he wiped the gray road haze off. It soiled his jacket, but he didn’t care. Inside
the house, he set them with the others on
the floor by the kitchen table.
Mom answered the doorbell. Who could it be? All their friends knocked on the mudroom door
located on the back side of the house.
After some muffled speech, mom
yelled, “Timmy, are you in the house?”
Timmy was just about to exit the mudroom
and turned back. “Yeah, I’m coming.”
A squat,
stocky man stood at the threshold when Timmy came up next to his mom.
“Tim, I’m Burt’s dad. I’ve been looking for him and wondered if you’ve
seen him?”
That was a shocker. Why would Tim’s dad think Burt would ever
come over to his house. Unless it was to
knock him down again. Timmy had lots to
say about Burt. He said, “No. I haven’t seen him since the day before yesterday.”
Burt’s dad nodded. “Okay, thought I’d
give you a try. Burt said you were
friends.”
Mom asked, “How long has he been
gone?”
“Since early this morning. It’s
unusual for him not to show up for lunch. Anyway, thanks.” He turned and left.
#
The salting didn’t take long. Timmy thought about why Burt’s dad said he
was a friend of Burt’s. That was a
dubious place of honor he couldn’t see himself in, even by Burt’s admission.
No, Burt was probably off somewhere breaking something or worst and would turn
up whenever he felt like it.
Timmy was just coming up on Mrs.
Davenport’s gate as the Gasman was coming
out. “Did you turn her gas back on?”
The guy looked at him, “Merry
Christmas. Yep, just got a reactivation
order. I lit all her pilot lights too.”
“Thanks, that’s super.” He traded places with the gasman and closed
the gate. Timmy was skirting the side of
her house and saw the padlock was gone.
When he came to the back door all the wood he had cut was gone.
That couldn’t be
right. The pile was nearly as tall as he stood and twice as long. Mrs. Davenport wouldn’t have, couldn’t have
taken all that inside. I don’t think she would. He knocked on the door.
It opened, and Mrs. Davenport peeked out.
She was wearing a ty-dyed skirt with a yellow top covered by a plain tan
sweater. “Yes. Oh, hi Timmy.”
“Mrs. Davenport, did you take all
the wood that was stacked by the back door in the house?”
“Oh, so you’re the one that put all
that there. No, I just took in some last
night.”
“Okay, thanks.”
Mrs. Davenport shut the door.
From the stoop to her back door,
Timmy scanned the backyard. He wondered if in times past Mrs. Davenport
and her family took wood from the greenbelt that ran behind her house. There was a depression leading around her
shed to the green belt. Timmy could tell
the snow was fresher, less packed in a trail than the snow around it.
He trudged through it and came to
the edge of the green belt. There was a
depression of ten-feet before the woods rose again on the other side. A small creek ran down the middle. Forming a snowball, Timmy threw it into an evergreen tree along the edge of the
belt. Snow cascaded to the ground.
“Help…”
Timmy whipped his head back to the
greenbelt. Did he hear something?
“Help.” It was a little louder this time.
Inching closer to the edge, Timmy
peered over. Below the wood he split was
scattered all over the bottom by the creek.
Off to his right, it looked like a
blue ski-jacket. Then the jacket moved. Moving along the edge, Timmy came to where
the edge of the bank was caved it. He leaned over. “You okay?”
“Help, I’m stuck.”
It was Burt’s voice. Leaning out to hear better, he felt the
ground give and pitched him over the side face first. It was steep, but
he managed to twist and rolled down the hill coming to rest next to Burt. He sat up and shook. Dirt and snow flew off his pants and jacket.
Timmy stood and extended his hand to
Burt. “Come on we can jump the creek and
get out down at the overpass.”
Burt was pale, his lips blue. He was past shivering. “I can’t.
My leg’s caught and I can’t feel it anymore.”
Timmy tried pulling the tangle of limbs
apart so Burt could get his leg out, but
they wouldn’t budge. “Your leg broke
through the ice and is in the water. How
long you been here?”
“I don’t know, long time.”
“You throw all Mrs. Davenport’s wood
down here? Did you know that’s all she
had for heat?” Timmy was mad. For two-cents, he would leave Burt right
where he is.
“I didn’t know that,” Burt
croaked. “I saw you splitting it and
wanted to bust your chops. I’m sorry.”
“Okay.” Timmy pulled his phone out and flipped it
open. No signal, not one bar. He looked
at Burt. “I’m going have to climb up
higher to get a signal.” He jumped the creek
and climbed half-way up the other side.
Two bars.
Holding down the #2 button, the phone
started ringing. “Dad, It’s Timmy. I’m with Burt. He’s hurt.
We need help.” He listened. “Yes, behind Mrs. Davenport’s house. We fell in the creek. Burt’s going to need
paramedics.” He listened again. “Yeah, I’ll stay with him. Better hurry.”
A few minutes later, Timmy heard
sirens.
Timmy pulled a card from his inside
jacket pocket and handed it to Burt. “I
was going to give this to someone else, but
I think you deserve it now.”
Burt opened it and read:
Merry Seventh day of
Christmas
Your neighbor
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