Author's Note: This is my annual contribution to the archive of Christmas stories, and it was written at the request of someone special. A wonderful holiday season to all of you!
Greetings of the Season
by
Owlcroft
"Oh, look," said McCormick wearily. "Another fruitcake."
Judge Hardcastle looked up from his desk in surprise. "I thought you went to get the mail. Where'd ya get a fruitcake from getting the mail?"
Mark put a small package in front of the retired jurist, then dropped into the leather chair at the corner of the desk. "Make a guess, Judge. I went to get the mail. There's a package in front of you. The box says it's from a fruitcake company. Figured it out yet?"
"Hmm." Hardcastle prodded the package with a tentative finger. "Maybe we'll be lucky and it's really a bomb?"
That got a laugh from the younger man. "Yeah, guess I better go drop in it a sink full of water, huh?"
"That would be better than trying to eat it, I think." Hardcastle narrowed his eyes and stared into space. "Is that the fourth or the fifth? They kinda seem to merge after the first couple."
McCormick was sorting through the mail, separating bills, Christmas cards, and everything else into sloppy piles on the floor next to his chair. "It's the fifth. We gave one to Mrs. Nelson down the beach, remember? Then one to Frank's department, one to the people at the post office, and one to your dry cleaner. I still say that was a mistake, y'know. You're going to have to switch cleaners now."
"But that's only four." The judge pulled meditatively at his lower lip. "You're right, there was another to make five, though. What did we do – hah! That's the one we're using as a doorstop in the garage."
Mark snapped his fingers. "That's it! You know, it's perfect, too. Maybe that's why fruitcake was invented." He finished up sorting the mail and picked up the small pile of Christmas cards. "Hey, here's the aunts' card." He proceeded to open that one and tossed the others onto the desk near the fruitcake. "I bet the aunts make good fruitcake. Oho! 'To Mark and Milton, Merry Christmas and lots of hugs from Aunt Zora and Aunt May'. I hope you notice my name was first?" He preened a bit.
"Oh, their fruitcake is . . . indescribable." The judge was opening all the envelopes and setting the cards aside to peruse at leisure. "Twice as much fruit as anyone else and the stuff … um, that surrounds the fruit – whaddaya call that, anyway?"
"That's your basic 'cake', Hardcastle. You see, you have your 'fruit' and you have your 'cake' and when you combine them it's fruitcake. That's why they call it that."
"Smart guy," muttered the judge. "Anyway, the aunts 'cake' was really spicy, like it's supposed to be. All that clove stuff and the cinnamon and . . . and . . ." he waved a hand vaguely, "whatever else goes into fruitcake. They just put in more of it, I guess, and it wasn't hard like a brick. It was tender and juicy -"
"Not juicy," McCormick objected.
"Well . . . moist, then. They made a bunch of 'em every year and people used to beg for their recipe, but not on your tintype." The envelopes were all slit and the judge had now started looking at the cards.
McCormick had risen to place the aunts' card in a place of prominence on the mantel. "How did fruitcake get to be such a big deal at Christmas anyhow? I mean, it's everywhere. You can't turn around without bumping into a fruitcake from the first of December on."
"Aw, that's nice. Here's a real pretty card from Sam and Teresa Jones. Here, look at it." He handed over the card, then rested his hand on his chin to muse for a moment. "I dunno. Something to do with the dried fruit, I guess. That's probably all they had to use in the winter – you know, instead of fresh fruit – and then they soaked it in brandy to make it keep longer. That makes sense, right?"
"I suppose." Mark was now examining the three parcels addressed to him under the tree. "Can't I just shake one of them? The little one?" he pleaded.
"No." More cards were being read and set aside.
"Scrooge," was the slightly muted reply. "I shoulda gotten you a new set of humbugs instead of . . ."
Hardcastle almost visibly cocked an ear, but nothing followed. He glanced up to see the McCormick grin and shrugged it off. "Hey, I can wait. I'm a grown-up."
The only response was a snort from the far side of the tree. Then, "But how come fruitcake became such a big deal as a present? I mean, people only seem to get them from other people who don't know what else to give. Like ties."
The judge agreed with a grunt. "You're right. But maybe we're looking at this the wrong way. I mean, the folks who send you a fruitcake -"
"Who send you a fruitcake Nobody yet has sent me one." Mark smiled with pride.
"Yeah, whatever. Anyway," Hardcastle continued determinedly, "people send you – yeah, yeah – they send me a present, you oughta be grateful for it. They spent some money, took some time, got you something because they wanted to say how much they like you, or appreciate what you did for 'em, or something. We thank them for it, so we oughta try at least to think of it as a nice thing they did. Ya don't look a gift horse in the mouth, ya know."
Mark opened his mouth, but before he could speak, the judge held up a hand to stop him.
"You can tell how old a horse is by looking at his teeth. That means, you don't look to see how old the horse is when it's a present, okay?"
"Huh. Well, anyway, let's get back to fruitcake." McCormick adjusted the position of the tiny race car ornament, then the little gavel that hung below it..
Hardcastle sniffed and said, "Let's don't and say we did. I've heard enough about fruitcake, and had enough of it, to last me the rest of my life. Hey, open that up." He jerked a thumb at the box on his desk. "We need to know who it's from so we can thank them."
Mark mooched slowly over to the desk and picked up the package. "Be thinking about what we're going to do with this one, okay?"
The judge began on the bills now that the cards had been appreciated. "Maybe we could drop it off at the homeless shelter. Or take it to a school or something."
"Judge! I am shocked at you! All those poor defenseless little kids. Tch, tch." The outside wrapping was off and the box finally opened after a short struggle with mailing tape. "Hey! I don't believe it!" He pulled out a fruitcake enveloped in plastic wrap, with a card attached, and handed it to the judge.
"'Dear boys,'" read Hardcastle aloud, "we thought you might like some of our fruitcake and found this handy box to send it in. Enjoy it, with much love, Aunt May and Aunt Zora'." He looked at McCormick, who was grinning like a loon.
"You're right, Judge. We should appreciate people who send fruitcakes."