Chapter 7 Jace #2
After the dog and its sock were firmly deposited in the house and told to stay there, which made it look even more depressed, the Colonel set off for the tree farm with long, swinging strides.
They went around the posts—Rocket trotted under the chain—and walked up the short drive to the tree farm proper.
There was a large, open shed, with a decorated Christmas tree on either side of its entrance. Inside there was a folding table, some chairs, and a few big bales of straw. Shelves lined the walls, with a few items on them: a couple of small chainsaws, rolls of twine and plastic, safety equipment.
“Warmup area and checkout,” the Colonel explained. He leaned the axe and shovel against the wall and picked up a chainsaw. “You take that one,” he said, nodding to the other. Jace picked it up and found that it was lighter than he’d expected. “It’s electric. You ever use one of these before?”
This was not a guy you fibbed to. “No, sir,” Jace said. He’d used a lot of tools, but not something like that.
The Colonel jerked his head in a small nod. Jace couldn’t tell what that meant, though it seemed more approving than dismissive. “You ever buy a tree from one of these places before?”
“No,” Jace said, feeling on slightly firmer footing. “I’m a city kid. We got our tree from the hardware store.” A long time ago, when there had been a tree at all, but he decided not to mention that part.
Okay, that wasn’t an especially approving look. “Well, you don’t just cut it down and throw it at the customer. There’s a technique.”
“I have to tell you that I might have trouble with some of it, depending,” Jace said.
He hated talking about this, but he pushed himself through.
Honesty, remember. “My hands are a little clumsy right now. It comes and goes. I can handle ordinary jobs okay, but anything that needs a lot of fine dexterity, I might have trouble with.”
The Colonel didn’t even bat an eye. “Son, I’ve had more than a few veterans out here. I’ve taught this to everyone from guys in their eighties to a nice gal with an artificial leg. You have any trouble, we’ll deal with it. Now let’s go cut down some trees.”
Over the next hour or so, Jace learned more than he ever wanted to know about Christmas trees, and the cutting and tying thereof.
The farm let customers choose their own trees, and offered easy-to-use saws and safety equipment to anyone who wanted the Christmas memory experience of cutting their own tree.
Most customers simply chose a tree and had it cut and tied for them.
There was a small wagon for moving the larger trees, as well as tarps and twine for bundling up the branches.
Some customers took their trees home with them, while others accepted the farm’s offer of free delivery.
Never pausing, clearly expecting Jace to keep up, the Colonel showed him the process for taking down customers’ information for delivery, processing the cut trees, and noting their exact location in the tree farm in the ledger which was apparently kept for the purpose.
Jace’s handwriting had never been great, but with his hands in their current condition, it was a sloppy, barely legible mess.
The other writing in the ledger was identifiable as the Colonel’s—sharp, large, square printing—and a flowing hand that was recognizably the same as the handwriting on the flyer, so definitely Holly.
Jace’s attempts were going to look like chicken scratch next to that.
But he’d handled the trees okay, so he figured that folding under a little bit of clerical work was ridiculous.
“Well, Dad, have you scared him off yet?”
That was Holly’s voice, and Jace lit up at her approach; it felt as if the wan winter sun had brightened in her presence.
She had her oversize, colorful knit hat pulled down over her hair, and her cheeks were pink.
The sock-clad dog bounced along behind her.
She was lugging two large insulated plastic jugs by their top handles, one in each hand. Jace hurried to help her.
“Thanks,” she said, handing one off to him. “This is cider, and that’s cocoa. It’s complimentary for the customers. We usually refresh these halfway through the day if it’s busy.”
Jace helped her put out the jugs and set up stacks of paper cups next to them. “Is it usually busy?” he asked.
“This close to Christmas, it comes in waves. We’re going to have some real dead times, and when I’m here alone, usually that’s when I head down to the house to grab a sandwich or use the bathroom.
The driveway to the tree farm goes right past the house, so you can see if someone’s coming.
But other times we’ll be slammed. Hi, Dad! How are things going up here?”
She was way too cheery to be believable. Jace suspected she was forcing it. He also felt his hands curling in an attempt to turn into paws inside their gloves, and shoved them into his pockets. Wonderful.
Her dad frowned a little, as if he too noticed Holly’s unnatural brightness.
“No problems,” he said, slinging the axe over his shoulder.
“This fella’s a natural. We’re gonna have a steady hand with the trees this year.
” He glanced at Holly, then at Jace with a more searching look.
“I need to head over to the Carmody place for a hay delivery. You good here?”
There was just the slightest hesitation before Holly said, “We’re fine, yeah.” She picked up the small dog and held him out to her dad. “If you’re going back to the house, could you take Cupcake with you, please? It’s too cold for him out here.”
The Colonel sighed. He took the dog carefully, one-handed, and transferred him from Holly’s hands into one of the large pockets of his work coat. Holly looked a little worried about this, but the dog’s head popped up immediately. He didn’t seem to mind.
After the Colonel walked away, there was a brief, awkward silence.
“So, I gotta ask,” Jace said. “Why is that dog wearing a sock?”