Applesauce Footprints, part 2

Mr. Henderson had the tree lot this year and Annie slowly approached him. His broad shoulders sagged hopelessly as he puttered among the evergreens that were not going to find a home.

The Hendersons lived out in Poor Town and had dirt floors in their house. Mr. Henderson’s daughter, Marie, was in Annie’s class at school. Marie wore old clothes and was dirty most of the time, but Annie liked her. Marie was smart and fun to talk to.

Annie stepped closer to where Mr. Henderson moved about aimlessly.

“What you want, kid?” Mr. Henderson grumbled when he spied Annie.

Confronted by his gruffness, Annie did not know what to say. His kids will have a tree, she thought, any tree they want—that Mr. Henderson couldn’t sell.

“I—I know your daughter, Marie—at school. We play together.” Annie was relieved that her explanation softened Mr. Henderson’s expression. “Guess I’d better be going. You’re probably busy.” Annie turned to leave.

“Now, wait just a minute,” Mr. Henderson called after her. Annie turned and looked up at him.

“You just lookin’—or are you here to buy? Can’t be wastin’ a feller’s time, you know. I’m runnin’ a business here.” The stubble on Mr. Henderson’s face twitched at the corners of his mouth.

Annie looked closer at the man’s face. Mr. Henderson was smiling, and she wondered if Marie had told him about how they played together at school. She knew Marie had told him about how all the other kids taunted her because of her ragged, cast-off clothes.

Staring down at her mittens, Annie thought about how proud she would feel if she could bring home a tree, and how they could put the applesauce cake under it for everyone.

“We’d all like that,” she said, “all except little Maggie. She’s not going to understand not getting any presents this year.”

Maggie Tucker was the youngest Tucker girl and, at age four, she still believed in Santa Clause. There would not be any presents for little Maggie either. Tears filled Annie’s eyes and she pretended something was in them. She rubbed at them with the back of her mitten.

“I—I’d like to buy a tree,” she announced suddenly. “The best one you have!” Just saying those words made her feel better. She smiled up at Mr. Henderson, then looked back at her clutched mittens. I couldn’t buy even the worst, dried out tree he has, she thought.

“I guess I don’t want nothing,” Annie mumbled. Her fingers curled, then clenched in frustration inside her mittens. The toe of one of her boots arched behind and she ground it into the snow.

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