From the Improvement Era, December 1956 –

Never Too Late for Christmas

By Vesta P. Crawford

“Grampa” Mitch settled down into the soft quilts on the wide spring seat of the wagon box which his son-in-law Chris had made into a bobsled for winter transportation.

“Sure you’ll be warm enough, Grampa?” asked Chris, as he tucked the quilts around the old man. “Fred here can sit on one side of you, and me on the other. We’ll get into Pinon Pass before the store closes, sure.”

Fred scrambled up over the side of the wagon box and moved over close to Grampa.

Well bundled up in Chris’ red hunting jacket and Fred’s best fur cap, Grampa wasn’t worried. He never spent much on everyday togs. What he really liked was something good for Sundays and holidays. No use to spend money on clothes to wear at the ranch. It was better to wear something really good when you went to the doings in the meetinghouse at Pinon Pass. Especially, tonight!

And yet Grampa didn’t really want the new suit Chris was going to buy for him as a Christmas present. He wanted, for tonight at least, a different kind of suit — very different. But, of course, he couldn’t mention that to anyone. He was too old to be laughed at.

“Gramp, this is going to be the warmest ten miles you ever traveled,” Fred said, as he placed a big warm rock for Grampa’s feet to rest on. Fred had heated the rock in the fireplace coals and had wrapped it up so that it would hold the warmth a long time.

Grampa looked at his grandson, a tall boy for twelve years, spindly, too. But that was the way boys seemed to grow out here in the wilds; they seemed to shoot right up. Grampa was a short man. In his young days, back in England, he had been slender, but now he was a little on the portly side, and glad of it, he often said. Chris was as long as a lasso rope. And, of course, the young sprout, Fred, was just like him. Didn’t look a thing like Grampa’s daughter, Marge, who was round and jolly, like Gramp.

Chris whipped up the horses, and the sleigh sped down the valley. The landscape was pretty as a Christmas card, Gramp thought, and just as still. Yellow stems in the wheat stubble stood up above the snow, and the cedars and pinon pines along the edges of the fields were ridged with snow.

“And we’re going to get more snow,” Chris said, “but, if we have good luck, we’ll beat it into town. We’ve got to get there before the store closes and get you that brand spankin’ new suit. You got to look dignified for the party tonight, Gramp. How will it seem to be the honored guest?”

Now, thought Gramp, is the time to speak up and say that I don’t really want a new suit for tonight— what I really want, what I’ve always wanted. . . .

“What are you going to talk about tonight, Gramp, when they ask you to speak?”

Gramp liked the Christmas Eve custom they had in Pinon Pass. After the children’s program, and after Santa Claus had distributed the gifts from the tree, the grownups settled down to a fitting program of a more serious nature. Each year the oldest person in the town was honored, and he was asked to tell about other Christmases he had known. This time it was Gramp’s turn. Only he wasn’t old yet — just coming eighty. Except for his long white beard, no one would take him to be a day over seventy -five!

Chris tried to keep the horses at a trot, and the bobsled glided smoothly up and down across the rolling country. Fred had fastened four sets of sleigh bells to the bridles and to the harnesses, and the sound was good to hear.

Gramp was grateful for this country that would never be tame and crowded. He loved the hills and the canyons, the high Aronto Ranch, and every tree and brush along the road between the big log house at the ranch and the cluster of buildings in Pinon Pass.

Gramp was glad that Chris had married his daughter, Marge. Both Chris and Marge were good to Gramp. They had taken care of him since he had lost his wife. Chris turned over to Gramp the best plot of ground on the ranch and called it “Grampa’s Field,” and there Gramp raised a fine garden, almost as good as the one he had in England.

“I’m glad Marge stayed in town last night,” Chris said. “She’ll have time to take the town young ones through a couple of good practices before the doings tonight.”

Gramp thought of Marge bustling around, getting the children into shape for Christmas Eve. A woman like Marge could manage a dozen young ones, easy, but all she had of her own was Fred. But Fred was something special, so Grampa thought.

“There’s a thing about the doings that I don’t like much,” Fred said, “and that’s the idea of sending clear over to Kanarey every year to get Ben Symons to play Santa Claus. They must have the idea that no one else can fill the Pinon Pass Santa Claus suit.”

“Well, I’m worried about a couple of other things,” Chris said. “See those ragged gray clouds coming up over the mountains. It’s getting dark fast, and I think it’s going to be snowing before we cross the creek and make the turn. And if we have to go slower and don’t get into the store tonight, Gramp’s not going to look respectable enough to be the honored guest at the party tonight.”

“Don’t mind that,” Gramp said, as he slipped off one of his knitted gloves and held out his hand to see if it had really started to snow. “Peculiar things have happened to me and my suits. Very peculiar. And unexpected — almost tragic.” Gramp paused and looked at the snowflakes melting on his hand.

Finally Gramp glanced at Fred, wondering if he had said just the right words, the words that might get Fred started to asking questions. Gramp had never been one to talk much about the past. He liked to give a few mysterious hints about his adventures, so that people would really want to hear the details. And he needed a little practice on some of the items he intended to mention, just barely mention, in his talk tonight.

Fred’s laugh — a good laugh — blended into the sound of the sleigh bells and into the smooth sound the runners made passing over the snow. “All right, Gramp, what about the suits?”

“Well, I haven’t had many. But after ten or fifteen years of wear, a man needs a new suit, one that’s fit and proper for the occasions he’s likely to have come up. When we decided to come to America, my wife and I, why then my Annie said I’d have to have a fine new suit, because America was a rich country, and it wouldn’t be right for me to be a disgrace.”

Gramp held out his hand again. It was snowing! He could see the flakes piling up on his hand.

“Go on, Gramp,” Fred urged. “Did you buy a fine suit?”

“That I did. The best English broadcloth, a fine long coat, and well- cut trousers. And a derby hat to go with it. I cut a fine figure, you bet. A little too fine.”

“Well, I always allow,” Chris said, “that if a man is dressed for what he has to do, then he’s dressed proper, and comfortable, as well.”

“It wasn’t that way with me,” Gramp said. “I wasn’t dressed for what I had to do. And I wasn’t comfortable. When we finally got to the outfitting point in Nebraska, I sold everything I owned that anybody would have so I could buy a wagon and a team of oxen — such critters. Nobody wanted to buy my black broadcloth suit, although it was likely the finest suit in America. Nobody wanted to buy my derby hat. So I had to wear them — crossing the plains.”

Chris began to laugh. He had a good, deep laugh. “Well, you must have looked right nifty, trudging along in the dust alongside your ox-team, trying to leap over the rocks and sagebrush.”

“I cut quite a shine, all right. One day some California emigrants, part of a company, rode by on their horses. When they saw me, they stopped dead still. They began to laugh. They laughed louder. They kept laughing. ‘Look at that derby,’ they yelled. ‘Look at the parson’s suit!’ Then, before I realized what was going to happen, one of the fellows wheeled off to the side of the road, whipped out his pistol, and — ” “Shot you. …” remarked Fred. “No,” Gramp protested, “not at all. He shot my good broadcloth suit. Put two bullet holes right through the tail of it!”

“And, I suppose, you treasured that suit as a keepsake,” Chris volunteered, as he whipped up the horses again and urged them forward through the thickening snow.

“I kept it all right,” Gramp said, “but not as a keepsake. I wore that suit, bullet holes and all, to every meeting and every Christmas doings, and every other such occasion, for nearly twenty years. My wife wanted to patch the bullet holes, but I thought too much of them. They meant too much to me. I wouldn’t let her.”

Gramp was going good now, and he didn’t seem to be worried about the snow, which settled over them in a soft blanket. “And then, finally, I got a new suit,” he continued. “A very strange suit. I had been teaching school, as you know, for some years. I got paid in all kinds of contraptions — cast-off pictures, stray cups and saucers, a sack of wheat, a yearling calf, and such — whatever families had which could be spared as payment for the education of their children. But up to this time I had never been paid off with a suit of clothes, although my black broadcloth was dangerously thin in places. About this time, I had decided to go back to England and do what I could to bring my brothers and sisters out here to the West. After figuring out the train fare, and the ship passage money, there was nothing left for clothes. The townspeople must have known my need, for they had a Christmas party for me. You bet, a Christmas party — on a night like this — with snow coming down thick and fast.”

Chris looked around. It was snowing hard, and the sleigh wasn’t making as good time as it had over the smooth, crusted snow. “I’m afraid we won’t get into Pinion Pass before the store closes,” he said.

But Gramp did not appear to be anxious. He went right on with his story. “At this Christmas party the town people gave me a new suit. The first American dress suit I ever had — and it was dressy. Homespun cloth, made of natural wool, not dyed, just the kind of grayish way wool looked after being washed and handspun. There was some black wool mixed in with the white. That suit didn’t even fit where it touched, but the women who made it put a lot of good wishes into it, and that helped.

“I went to England in that suit. I recollect the day that I knocked at the door of my sister’s house in Pevensey. When she opened the door, I knew her, but she didn’t know me. I said, ‘I’m James M. Ramsey, your brother from America.’ She looked at me for a long time, and then she asked, seriously, ‘Is that the way they dress in America?’ After a few minutes she began to laugh, and that laugh broke all the restraint between us. It seemed to span all the years we’d been apart and bring us close together again. Finally, she and her whole family came back with me. But you know all about that.”

“Lucky you,” said Chris. “Nothing bad can happen to a good man in a good suit. Nothing except a snowstorm, like this one’s turning out to be.”

“I like it,” Fred remarked. “All Iask is for the horses not to lose their way, and I don’t see any signs of that.”

Gramp wasn’t too worried. “The thing that strikes me as strange,” he continued, “is the fact that when I didn’t need to look dressed up, crossing the plains, I did look dressed up. And when I really wanted to look prosperous and dignified there in England visiting my sister, I didn’t cut much of a shine. And yet it all turned out for the best. Maybe that’s the way it will be tonight.”

“So now,” said Chris, “you want a nice, new, dignified -looking suit, a good fit, a fine black suit.”

“Well, I’m not that particular.” Gramp hesitated. “Chris,” he said, “I wish I could tell you the kind of suit I really want to wear. Guess I ought to be ashamed of myself for having such an idea. But I’ve had this idea for a long time, and I’ve never dared to mention it to anyone.”

Chris explained confidentially, “You know, Gramp. I’ve had my ambitions, too, some of them none too fancy. Once I wanted to go to college and learn to be an irrigation expert and tell folks how to water the desert. Instead of that, here I am a ‘dry’ farmer, with only your little old garden ditches on the whole ranch.”

Gramp laughed and shook the snow from his cap and put it back on his head. “Yes,” he said, “we all have our ambitions; maybe it’s good they don’t all work out.”

But now they were gliding down the slope of the hill into Pinon Pass, and they could see some of the lighted windows through the snow.

“There’s no light in the store,” Fred said, leaning forward in the sleigh as it slid to a stop on Main Street.

Chris got out and shook the snow off his coat and looked around. Gramp sat very still on the spring seat. Finally Fred said, “We should have got ready earlier and got a better start. Or else the snow shouldn’t have come — or something. What’ll you do without a suit, Gramp?”

“Never mind,” said Gramp. “I’m dressed. I’ve got a suit on. We’ll go just the way we are, snow and all, and we’ll have a good time.”

Chris and Fred got back into the sleigh, and they turned around and drove over to the meetinghouse.

“You go on with Gramp, Fred, while I get the team unhitched and put them in the shed,” Chris said.

Fred helped Grampa out of the sleigh. Then he took all the sleigh bells off the harness and bridles and put them in Gramp’s hands. Gramp was so covered with snow that he looked like a snow man. You couldn’t tell where his beard ended and his coat began. Fred started to brush off the snow.

“Let me be,” Gramp objected. “I want to look this way. I like it.”

They went up the steps, toward the door of the meetinghouse. They could hear voices inside but there was so much confusion that Gramp knew the doings hadn’t started yet.

Fred opened the door. The Christmas tree was lighted and loaded with tinsel and gifts. A great yellow star crowned the top of it. Gramp could see the children, a big room full of them, dressed out in their finery, some of them as fairies, and some as dolls, and a bunch as elves and brownies. Gramp stood looking at them, and he felt supremely happy.

Suddenly everyone looked toward the door, and a great shout arose. “Santa Claus! Santa Claus! Santa has come!”

Gramp just stood there. He could feel the trickle of water from the snow that was melting in his beard. At his side, Fred whispered, “Shake the sleigh bells, Gramp. Shake ’em hard!”

Gramp started to swing the bells, and they made a glad noise.

Then Gramp saw Margey rushing through the crowd towards him. She whispered in his ear. “Ben hasn’t come. We haven’t any Santa Claus! I guess he couldn’t get through the drifts. But we’ve got his suit and his pack all prepared. Come in here, quick!”

Grampa was being pushed along into the little room back of the stairs. He watched Margey unroll the Santa Claus suit. Fred had followed them in, and now he started to pull the suit down over Gramp’s head. Gramp was so surprised that he couldn’t believe he was really Santa Claus at last.

“You’re it!” Margey said. “You’re perfect! Why didn’t we think of this before?”

The suit was red, with a wide border of cotton batting on the sleeves and on the bottom of the coat. The trousers were red and baggy. Fred stuffed the cuffs of the trousers into Grampa’s big ranch boots. He pulled the peaked Santa Claus cap down over Grampa’s head so that only the fringe of Grampa’s white hair showed.

“Take a look at yourself,” Margey said, as she turned Gramp around to the wall mirror.

Gramp looked at himself. He was really grand. He was Santa Claus. He was shaped like Santa Claus; he had hair like Santa Claus. His beard was better than any Santa Claus ever had. Gramp’s cheeks were rosy red, and he had a big smile.

“You’re it!” Margey said again, beaming at him.

Fred lifted the Santa Claus pack and slipped the strap over Gramp’s shoulder. He put the sleigh bells back in Gramp’s hand.

Grampa moved toward the door, toward the Christmas lights and the children, toward the glitter and happiness, and the youth and the hope out there. He clutched the sleigh bells and began to swing them so that they rang out with a glad, loud sound.

He looked at the eager faces of the children and began to tell them what they wanted to hear. “Now, when I left the North Pole, I said to Mrs. Santa Claus, I said to her, ‘Do you think my reindeer are” in good shape for the trip, have you got the dolls dressed? Is everything ready?’ ”

Gramp was wearing the suit he wanted to wear, the suit he really liked — the one that fit him — the exact fit!