Santa Clawed

had long set, so the cold intensified. The tiny square of red and green lights appeared more festive than it had at two in the afternoon. Eleven people, three of them children, studied the cut Christmas trees with varying degrees of seriousness.
    Pewter elected to remain in the truck, where she snuggled into an ancient cashmere throw. Mrs. Murphy and Tucker tagged along, little puffs of frosty air streaming from their nostrils.
    A child’s shrill voice asserted, “Daddy, get this one.”
    Harry looked to see the source.
    A child, perhaps ten, wanted a beautifully shaped Scotch pine. From the look of his clothing and the expression on his father’s face, the tree must have been beyond the budget.
    The economy was tanking and the high gas prices pinched pocketbooks. Harry felt a pang that the child had selected a lovely tree that his father couldn’t afford. She thought for a moment to buy the tree for him. On second thought, no. The kid had to learn about money. Better sooner than later.
    Rolling his big tree on a dolly, Alex Corbett stopped for a breather near father and son. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a $100 bill, folded it in his palm, then pressed it into the father’s hand.
    Before the man could respond, Alex lifted the dolly and rolled away.
    Fair called out to him, “Hold up, Alex. I’ll help you load.”
    The two men maneuvered the tree to the Range Rover, then with effort hoisted it into the back, tying down the rear door since the tree stuck out.
    “Thanks, Fair. Brother Sheldon is on overload.” He shook Fair’s hand.
    “I’ll take the dolly back,” Fair offered.
    “Hey, want to bet on the Sugar Bowl?” Alex beamed.
    Fair amiably refused. “No. I don’t know enough about either team.”
    Fair inhaled the scent of pine and cut wood as he left the dolly by the trailer. He rejoined his wife. They’d known each other since childhood, and he couldn’t imagine life without her.
    “Honey, who’s playing in the Sugar Bowl?”
    “I don’t know,” she replied.
    Brother Sheldon, harried, tried to keep up with the customers.
    Harry waited for an opportune moment to speak to him. “Is Brother Christopher here?”
    “He’s supposed to be, but I can’t find him.” Exasperation oozed from every pore.
    Like Christopher, Brother Sheldon wore the heavy winter brown robe. He had socks on with his sandals. In his fifties, Brother Sheldon had converted from Reform Judaism to Christianity. The other brothers occasionally teased him about Jews for Jesus, which he bore with good grace.
    “I know you’re busy,” Harry said. “I picked out our tree this afternoon. I want Fair to look at it. If he likes it, we can load it up and pay for it.”
    “Fine.”
    “It’s one of the balled ones.”
    His eyebrows came together. “I’ll need the front-end loader. Might take some time.”
    “Tell you what. Don’t worry about it. It’s in the back. We’ll check it out. If it stays busy, I’ll come back tomorrow.”
    Relief flooded over his pleasant, roundish features. “I hate for you to do that, but I sure appreciate it.”
    “Brother, Crozet’s not but so big. Easy to come back.”
    Tucker walked back with Harry at her heels. Fair recognized a client behind one of the trees that were leaning against wooden railings. They chatted about the man’s big crossbred mare.
    Harry knew the fellow, too—Olsen Godfrey. After the pleasantries were exchanged, she took Fair back to see the tree.
    Mrs. Murphy, who’d stayed with Fair, fell in with Tucker.
    The farther away they walked from the lighted square, the darker it became. On her truck key chain, Harry had a tiny LED light. They reached the tree and she shone the light on it.
    “What do you think?”
    “It’s a beautiful tree. A real evergreen pyramid.” Fair put his arm around his wife’s waist and said, “You have a good eye.”
    Tucker lifted her nose.
“Delicious.”
    Mrs. Murphy inhaled deeply.
“Fresh.”
    The two scooted off.
    “Hey!” Harry called to them.
    “We’ll be right back,”
Tucker called over her shoulder.
    “This tree is so perfect—the apotheosis of Christmas trees.” Harry admired it.
    “Even if for some reason I didn’t like it, bet you someone else would.” Fair lifted one side of the ball. “Heavy, but I think I can get it to the truck.”
    “Honey, don’t. You’re strong as a bull, but maybe Brother Sheldon would let you borrow the forklift.”
    “Good idea.”
    They hadn’t taken two steps