Village Squire, 1978-12, Page 22The rich
CYzristmas
of
Willie Johnson
A short story by Keith Roulston
I'll take these, if you don't mind, Bert." It was Danny Riley, a
few small items cradled in the crook of his arm.
From my corner, playing behind the piled up overalls on the
bench beside the counter I could see the strange, apologetic look
oxDanny's face. It was strange, because normally he was such a
jovial character, full of Irish wit, ready to tell a joke at a
moment's pause in the conversation. But his face wasn't that
today. He looked more like my sister Betty when she spilled the
molasses jar on my mother's newly waxed kitchen floor.
"Can you...can you put them on the tab?" he asked_
hesitantly.
"Of course." My father's voice was friendly but it sounded a
little tired too. I saw my mother cast him a sharp, cross look as
she worked with her back to Danny, putting nuts from the big
container into smaller bags for sale for Christmas. What were
these looks that passed back and forth around the room? What
was so unusual about Danny coming in to buy something and
putting it on the tab? It happened every day in the store. It had
for as long as I could remember. People came in and charged
things or came in and offered some butter or eggs or potatoes or
firewood to my father for the things we sold. It was the way
things were done. So why the funny looks? "Would you like
20 Village Squire, December 1978
these things wrapped?" Father was talking to Danny again.
"No..no, they'll be fine this way. You needn't bother."
"You're sure now?"
"Well ... I do find it hard with my big fingers to get the ends to
tuck in properly."
"Mtllie'd be glad to do it for you. She's the best gift wrapper
in the township. Millie, help Danny here will vou?"
I saw mother struggle not to say something, then change her
expression putting on that kind of smile I put on when my uncle
told me to smile for the birdie when he took a picture of me with
the new camera he'd brought with him on a visit from the city
last year. I'd tried to look like I was happy, but when the picture
came back I looked like someone had given me a sour pickle and I
was expected to look like I liked it.
"Hello Danny," mother said. "Doing your Christmas
shopping are you? My you've some nice things here."
"I hope they'll like them. Of course they aren't as grand as
they'd have been a few years ago but..." His voice trailed off the
way my father's sometimes did when he talked about how things
used to be in the "old days" before the Depression. They must
have been wonderful days, I thought. 1 wish I'd been born earlier
so I could have seen what it was like.
"Merry Christmas to you." Danny said as he gathered up the