The Christmas Scrapbook by Philip Gulley

Author:Philip Gulley
Language: eng
Format: epub, pdf
Publisher: HarperCollins

FIVE

Sam Fights Back

Within four days, half the town, after Frank had sworn them to secrecy, had been told of Sam’s imminent demise. Without mentioning names, Bob Miles at the Herald had written a touching editorial about the brevity of life and the inscrutable ways of the Almighty. On Sunday morning at meeting for worship, the women dabbed their eyes and hugged him; the men patted him on the back and raved about his sermon, which Sam hadn’t spent that much time preparing for worrying about his scrapbook. It had been a stream-of-consciousness sermon, with a lot of On the one hand, this…but on the other hand, that’s punctuating his remarks.

“Wonderful message,” Asa Peacock had told him, pumping Sam’s arm like a thirsty man priming a well. “Don’t remember when I’ve heard such fine preaching.”

“Unusually perceptive,” Miriam Hodge noted when she came through the line after worship to shake Sam’s hand.

Even Fern Hampton allowed that it had been one of his better efforts.

On Monday morning he woke up filled with energy and more than a little angry at having flunked out of a scrapbooking class where grades weren’t even given.

He turned to Barbara. “By golly, I’m not going to take this sitting down.”

“That’s the spirit,” she said. “You can whip this!”

“Darn tootin’,” he said.

In the six years Frank had been his secretary, Sam’s vocabulary had expanded to include a number of sayings—“Darn tootin’,” “Goldarnit,” “Jumpin’ Jehosaphat!” and “Yessiree bob.”

He ate a hearty breakfast. It pleased Barbara immensely to note his vigorous appetite.

I’ll show that Hilda Gruber, he thought, while walking to his office. I’ll make the finest scrapbook this world has ever seen! He clenched his jaw, determined to overcome this grave injustice.

He strode into his office, and Frank leaped to his feet. Frank’s strike had been short-lived. Indeed, since last Thursday he’d been unusually solicitous.

“Let me get you some coffee, Sam.”

“Thank you, Frank, but no. I don’t have time to drink coffee.”

He set his briefcase on his desk and pulled his scrapbook from it, arranging it on his desk.

“Is that the scrapbook you’re making for Barbara?”

“Yep.”

Frank marveled silently at Sam’s dedication. Dying of some fearsome disease and all he cared about was his wife’s Christmas present.

Sam glanced at his watch, at the tiny date in the three o’clock window. “I have fourteen days to finish this scrapbook, and I’m going to do it if it kills me.”

Frank winced at Sam’s choice of words.

He stood behind Sam, scrutinizing his scrapbook. “Mind a bit of advice?”

“About what?”

“Your scrapbook.”

“What do you know about scrapbooks?” Sam said, with a snort.

“What do you mean, what do I know? I know plenty. What do you think I did the whole time I was in North Carolina. My daughter and granddaughters are in a scrapbooking class. It’s all we did the whole time I was down there.”

“So what’s your advice?”

“Your lettering is all the same. You need to make it different. Be creative.”

“I thought all the lettering had to be one inch high.”

“Where’d you get that crazy

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