by Sigmund Brouwer

"I’ve decided not to pay you," Mr. Klosky said.

"But—" I stammered. "You—"

"I’ve changed my mind, Boy. Now go home."

Mr. Klosky filled the doorway. He was big and bald. Light from behind him flickered from a stove fire, and I smelled apple pie.

Cold and tired, I stood on his back steps and looked at the tight face of the coal mine boss. My mittens were soaked from melted snow. My hands were blistered. I shivered from sweat. I‘d been chopping wood for four days. Today I’d worked the hardest because it was the last day before Christmas and I needed to finish all the wood to get paid.

And now he isn’t going to pay me?

I looked at the firewood stacked against the back of his house. Gray snow had already settled on top. The snow had begun a few hours earlier, hiding the mountains that pressed against our small town. These mountains seemed to squeeze all of us as tightly as the big boss of the coal mine. I hated the coal-dust filled snow. Someday I’d live where the snow was pure white.

"Mr. Klosky," I said. My ribs ached from breathing frigid air. "You and me had an agreement. I lived up to my part. There’s enough wood to last the entire winter."

"Go home, Chris. My wife’s got a fat Christmas Eve turkey about roasted. And I’m not going to stand here and argue."

My stomach tightened. I was so hungry I could have fallen over. A fat turkey! Folks in this town would be grateful for an old, scrawny chicken.

"That’s not fair," I said. "You owe me $5. You promised."

He laughed. "Fair? What’s fair got to do with it? I’m telling you, you won’t see a penny."

He began to close the door.

I put my foot in the way.

"I need that money," I said. "It’s to buy something for my mama for Christmas."

Mr. Klosky pushed me so hard I fell backward off the steps. He shut the door and locked it.

The cold gray snow fell onto my tear-streaked face.

Deal Breaker

Just before Mr. Sandford closed his store on Christmas Eve, I walked in. I stepped up to the counter with my hands in my pockets.

"Christopher," he said with a smile. "Glad to see you. I didn’t think you’d forget."

Even though I’m just 12, Mr. Sandford was barely taller than I was. He walked with a limp, because years ago a beam had fallen on his leg in the mine.

"Didn’t forget," I said.

He heard it in my voice.

"Something wrong?" he asked.

"I can’t buy it," I said. "I’m sorry."

Behind him, on the top shelf, was a wrapped box. I knew what was inside—the prettiest red velvet dress ever seen in our town.

Three weeks ago, I’d been in the store with Mama and seen the look in her eyes as she stared at it and sighed. Five dollars was a lot of money for a dress in 1930. When Mr. Klosky stopped me as I walked home from school and offered me a job, I’d come by the store and given Mr. Sandford a quarter to hold the dress for me. The only thing that had kept me going, hour after hour with that ax in my hands, was thinking of how Mama would smile when she saw the dress Christmas morning.

"Can’t buy it?" Mr. Sandford’s eyebrows lowered as he frowned. "Christopher, I can’t give you the down payment back if you spent the money on something else. Other folks were interested in that dress, and now nobody can buy it before Christmas."

"I didn’t buy anything else," I said. "I wished it was different, Sir. I stopped over because I thought you should hear it from me that I was about to break my promise. I’ll find some money after Christmas and pay you for the inconvenience."

Where I’d find that money, I had no idea. Folks were calling this the greatest depression in the history of our country. Cash was hard to come by anywhere, especially in this Kentucky coal town.

He still frowned. "Seems to me when you gave me that quarter, you told me you had good paying job over at the Klosky house. What happened?"

In the back of my mind, I could hear Papa telling me how a man conducted himself. "Mr. Sandford, I’m afraid that’s something between me and Mr. Klosky."

Mr. Sandford’s lips tightened. "I see."

He opened his till and pulled out a quarter.

"You take this, Christopher. And don’t worry none about finding me more money. Someone will buy that dress in the new year."

Bad Deal

At supper we ate boiled potatoes and beets. My three younger brothers, two younger sisters and I were still hungry when we finished, but knew it wouldn’t do any good to complain. We hated to see the hurt in Mama’s face.

Papa had a cup of coffee in his hand. His hair was cut short so it wouldn’t hold coal dust, and his face was smudged with the black grit that never washed out.

"Well, Christopher," he said. "Seems you found out the hard way why a working man can’t trust nobody."

"Sir?"

"Billy Sandford was waiting outside the mine after my shift. He told me Klosky didn’t pay you."

"Sir?"

Klosky was a hated word in our house.

"Son, it wasn’t no secret, all that wood chopping you done over at Klosky’s."

I looked down at my empty plate.

"Thing is," Papa continued, "I couldn’t stop you. That would have given Klosky too much satisfaction."

Mama stared hard at me. Her face looked tired in the light of the kerosene lamp. "Christopher, you were working for Mr. Klosky behind your papa’s back?"

I wished I could explain my reason to her. But then she’d be disappointed at how close she’d been to getting the red dress. So all I did was nod.

"Son," Papa asked, "was it him who come to you?"

"Yes, sir," I said. "Right when school finished for the Christmas week, he found me and said if I chopped enough wood, he’d pay me $5."

"Five dollars!" Mama gasped. "That’s a month’s wages for a grown man!"

She turned her eyes to Papa. "And now he won’t pay? We can’t let him get away with it."

"Yes, we can," Papa said. He shook his head in disgust. "He played you for a fool, Christopher. And I can tell you why."

"Sir?"

"He’s hoping I’ll lose my temper and give him an excuse to fire me. And you understand why, don’t you?"

"Yes, Sir," I said. "He wants you gone because no one else is willing to step into your position."

Papa was head of the union. He’d spent years trying to make it so men working the mine got a decent wage for risking their lives and spending their days down in the black tunnels filled with choking coal dust.

"I’m sorry, Papa. I was just trying to get something for Mama that would make for the best Christmas ever."

Papa let out a long breath. "I ain’t mad at you, Son. Just mad at the situation."

Mama got up from behind the table and stood behind me with her hands on my shoulders.

"Christopher," she said softly. "Don’t you worry. Just the thought you’d work the entire week like that is a good enough Christmas present for me."

But it wasn’t. Not in my mind.

New Deal

Singing woke me.

Laying in the dark with my two brothers beside me, I heard Mama’s voice.

"Paul," she said to Papa, "look outside. It’s like angels."

She and Papa went to the door, opened it and watched.

I got out of bed. My brothers and sisters followed. We all stood in the doorway.

Mama was right. It did look like angels.

About four hundred people, all holding candles, stood singing in the snow. The glowing yellow light showed the faces of men who worked with Papa.

They were gathered around our house on the eve of Christmas, singing in one voice with a richness that put shivers down my back.

Mama put her arm around Papa’s waist. He put his arm around her shoulders.

Then one man stepped forward. He limped a little.

"Mrs. Sobel," he said to Mama. "I got word around of what Klosky done to your boy. When I explained why it was that Christopher wanted the money, folks were as angry as I was. So we thought we’d give you a present ourselves."

Mr. Sandford stepped closer.

"This is what Christopher worked to buy you."

He handed Mama a wrapped box.

"Merry Christmas," he said. "And may God bless us all as we remember the birth of His Son."

	Q: Why did the dog lay on its back with its feet sticking in the air? A: It was trying to trip birds. Amy S., 11, Illinois Clubhouse Jr. Click here to subscribe