Twenty-five Trees
Early on the morning of December first—an hour before the sun was due to rise—Alexandra Rowlandson washed her breakfast dishes, made her bed and put on comfortable sweatpants, a wool sweater and her favorite pair of slippers. Then she walked down the central staircase to the foyer and along the hallway, both crowded with cardboard cartons, and into the large formal living room, which was also filled with storage boxes. After putting a selection of Christmas music on her stereo—an eclectic mix that included Johnny Mathis, Mitch Miller, Mario Lanza and Elvis Presley—she started a fire in the fireplace to set the mood.
"Ah, it's snowing out!" she said, glancing out the picture window. "What perfect weather for tree day!"
An organized, methodical woman, Alexandra began her annual decorating marathon with the large box marked "1985" in thick, black magic marker. She carefully cut open the packing tape and removed the artificial tree inside it. Not only was it the oldest one in her collection, but it was also the smallest. Standing at just under three feet high, it was the only one of her trees that required no assembly since it was made of a single piece. She slipped the base into the plastic stand and put the tree in its place of honor: the middle of the dining room table.
Decorating the small tree never took much time. There were no lights on it, and only a few ornaments, all of which were homemade.
I remember when Evander and I bought this tree, she reminisced nostalgically. We were living in that dreadful little apartment above the hardware store, and it was the only one we could afford at the time. We didn't even have the money to buy ornaments for it.
The decorations were made of lightweight cardboard, cut from the holiday greeting cards the couple had received and hung with scraps of red and green ribbon. Now yellowed and brittle with age, they had a musty smell from being stored in the attic for decades, only being aired out each December. Still, as a memento of their first Christmas together, what she and her husband had once referred to as "our Christmas bush" held a special place in Alexandra's heart.
We didn't have two nickels to rub together that year, but we were happy nonetheless.
With an enormously time-consuming job ahead of her, she had little time to stroll down memory lane. She wiped a tear from the corner of her eye and went back to the living room in search of the box marked "1986." The tree inside it, acquired the second year of the couple's marriage, was not much of an improvement over the first one. At four feet high, the two-piece tree was still one that had to be set on a table rather than displayed on the floor. Although the Rowlandsons' finances had improved somewhat by the time it was purchased, they still did not have much money to spend on holiday decorations. A single strand of white lights and a box of red and green plastic ornaments was the best they could do at the time. With the exception of replacing the worn-out lights with a similar set, the tree had not changed since it first graced her and Evander's apartment.
Most people upon purchasing a new Christmas tree get rid of the previous one. Not Alexandra Rowlandson, however. She was extremely sentimental and kept not only her first and second trees, but each one thereafter. In fact, she purchased a new artificial tree each December. No two were the same. All twenty-five were of various heights, ranging from five to eight and a half feet. There was a mixture of varieties of spruce, pine and fir. While most were full, some were pencil slim, and there were two that were cut in the shape of a right angle and a semicircle, designed to fit snugly into corners.
A new theme for the decorations was also selected each Christmas. Several times Alexandra chose a monochromatic scheme, with lights and ornaments all the same color. One year, the chosen color was blue. After that, the scheme was red, and a subsequent tree was decked out in green. She even had a tree decorated entirely in purple ornaments—even though it had been no easy task finding sets of purple lights. Thankfully, she found a store that sold them as Halloween decorations.
With the four-foot-high tree decorated, Alexandra went out to the hall and dragged the box labeled "1987" into the living room. An older tree, it required more time to put it together. First, she placed the cylindrical trunk into the metal base and tightened the screws that held it in place. Then she inserted the branches into the trunk, the tallest ones on the bottom, and the shortest at the top. Over the years, several of the holes in the wooden trunk had splintered, and the branches inserted in them hung lower than the others.
I don't know how much longer this is going to last. I may have to hire a carpenter to fabricate a new trunk for me.
Unlike her first two Christmases, money was no longer a problem by the time the third tree was purchased. Evander had done well for himself over the years, eventually acquiring a substantial fortune. What began as a single hardware store expanded over the next decade into a chain of home improvement centers with branches across the country. The couple soon moved from the crowded apartment to a small ranch house and then to a three-bedroom bi-level. Just prior to their tenth wedding anniversary, Evander purchased the large brick Federal style mansion that became their permanent home.
Once the third tree—the most time-consuming to assemble—was decorated, Alexandra was able to quicken her pace. Tree number four, the Santa-themed Douglas fir; number five, a tree done in red and white lights and candy cane ornaments; number six, the angel tree; and number seven, the tree with all blue lights and ornaments, were finished by one o'clock in the afternoon.
Feeling the need to take a break, Alexandra went into the kitchen and made herself a grilled cheese sandwich. Although she had a maid come in twice a week to clean the house—one of the perks of being married to a wealthy man—she had always preferred to do the cooking herself. And, since she had no job or children to take care of, she had plenty of time on her hands.
* * *
"Back to work," she told herself after washing down the last of her sandwich with a glass of store-bought eggnog.
Tree number eight had been Evander's favorite. Festooned with dozens of miniature wooden nutcrackers, it had no lights to compete with its decorations. It was the last tree she and her husband had decorated together. After that holiday, nearly all Evander's waking hours were spent at his office or on the road. To his credit, he had always been a generous husband. His Christmas gifts to Alexandra became more and more expensive over the years, but she saw less and less of him. Expensive jewelry, designer clothes, vacations and fur coats did little to relieve her loneliness.
If only we'd had children.
It was a thought she rarely allowed herself to have and one she quickly put out of her mind.
Today is tree day! she reminded herself and forced a smile.
After putting more Christmas carols and seasonal songs on the stereo, Alexandra cut open the box containing the tree from 1993. Consisting of only two pieces, it was easy to assemble; and since it was pre-lit, she did not have to spend time stringing lights. She then found the appropriate box of ornaments, all shaped like wrapped Christmas gifts, and quickly hung them on the branches.
With the snow continuing to fall outside, she hummed along with the instrumental holiday music as she assembled tree number ten, one of only two white trees she owned. The crimson silk roses and cherry red velvet bows were accompanied by white lights and gold ornaments.
It's pretty, but I still like the green trees better.
Number eleven, the first one purchased after the Rowlandsons moved into their current home, was the largest of the twenty-five trees, standing at eight feet tall. Given its height, five-foot-two Alexandra needed to stand on a step stool to reach the top. Dozens of different snowman ornaments were then added, but no lights. It was the only one of her trees whose branches were draped with garland, which was frosty white in color.
With assembly line efficiency, she quickly put up tree number twelve, a reindeer-themed balsam fir; number thirteen, an Eastern white pine decorated with ornaments shaped like lollipops, ice cream cones, gumdrops, cupcakes and other sweet treats; number fourteen, an homage to fairy tales and Mother Goose nursery rhymes; and number fifteen, the second white tree, which was decorated with all green lights and ornaments.
"Only ten trees to go," she announced, as she dragged several empty boxes back into the hall to be returned to the attic until January.
Her muscles starting to ache from all the bending and stretching, Alexandra decided it was time for another break. She returned to the kitchen, took a P.F. Chang frozen entrée out of her freezer and popped it into the microwave. While waiting for her orange chicken to cook, she swallowed two Tylenol with a glass of cranberry juice.
As she was eating, the music on the stereo came to an end. The silence both inside and outside of the house, coupled with the sight of the fifteen decorated Christmas trees, stirred memories that had not surfaced for many months, not since the previous tree day, in fact.
Evander.
His name was prominent in her mind. It was only natural. She had been married to him for twenty-five years—hence, the twenty-five trees, one for each year they were together—not, as people might assume, one for each of the twenty-five days of Christmas. Once her husband was gone, Alexandra's life changed, or at least the holidays changed for her. There were no more presents, no more new trees to buy, themes to be chosen and ornaments to purchase. Other than tree day every December first, she did not even celebrate Christmas. Although a wealthy woman, she did not buy anyone gifts, mail out cards, attend parties or even sit down to a special holiday meal.
For three hundred and sixty-four days a year (three hundred and sixty-five days during leap years), her daily routine never varied. It was one, long, monotonous loop of reading, watching television, completing crossword and jigsaw puzzles, crocheting and cooking. Only one day of the year, that being the first of December, was different.
"Evander," she said, his name coming out in a sobbing voice. "What happened to us? We were so happy once. Weren't we?"
The awful truth was, she wasn't sure anymore.
Alexandra looked through the dining room, into the living room, at the Rowlandsons' portrait hanging above the fireplace. The painting was a formal portrayal of a middle-aged married couple. The wife, wearing an evening gown and diamond necklace, sat in a chair; her husband stood beside her, his hand on her shoulder. Neither one was smiling.
* * *
Not even bothering to clear the table—preferring to let the maid take care of it the next day—Alexandra returned to the living room, stopping first at the stereo to put on another selection of music.
With "Up on the Housetop" playing in the background, she opened the box marked "2000" and took out a seven-foot-high Scotch pine. The theme for the new millennium tree was animals. There were ornaments shaped like cats, dogs, chickens, horses, dolphins and other creatures from the animal kingdom. The year she had purchased that tree, Evander had given her a poodle for her birthday, one meant to keep her company while he was working. Her first and only pet had given her the inspiration. Although the dog died of cancer eight years later, the tree and its ornaments remained.
Alexandra forced herself not to think of those that were gone—neither poodle nor husband—and keep up the gaiety of her annual tree day. Since the Tylenol had alleviated the ache in her muscles, she worked at optimum speed. She quickly assembled and decorated tree number seventeen, decked out in a patriotic red, white and blue theme; number eighteen, one of a pair of ninety-degree corner trees, done in all purple lights and ornaments; and number nineteen, her international tree, decorated with ornaments representing countries and cultures around the globe, all collected when she and her sister took a six-month-long trip around the world.
Sadly, her sibling had suffered a massive heart attack just two months after they returned to America, not living long enough to see the tree that Christmas. It was one of the darkest periods in Alexandra's life. She had even briefly considered dispensing with tree day altogether, but Evander convinced her to keep the tradition going.
"It's not just for us," he said. "Everyone looks forward to seeing your trees."
Everyone meant her husband's important business associates who came to the annual Christmas party he threw every second Saturday in December. Neither she nor Evander had any close friends; and with her sister gone, there were no living family members. They did not even have neighbors since their house was situated on a huge piece of property, surrounded by woodlands.
Again, unwanted memories sprang up in Alexandra's mind, and she tried to gloss them over by recalling happier times.
Tree number twenty was, hands down, her all-time favorite. An avid reader with a fondness for the works of Charles Dickens, Alexandra decorated the seven-foot-tall blue spruce around the theme of his beloved novella, "A Christmas Carol." She had scoured Christkindlmarkts in Europe and America for glass ornaments of Ebenezer Scrooge, Bob Cratchit, Tiny Tim, Mr. Fezziwig, Jacob Marley and the three spirits of Christmas: Past, Present and Yet to Come. In addition to major and minor characters, there were several buildings: Scrooge and Marley's counting house, the Cratchits' modest family home, Ebenezer's abode and Fezziwig's warehouse.
I've gotten so many compliments on this particular tree. Almost as many as there have been film and television adaptations of Dickens's book!
As much as she would like to have lingered awhile, admiring that tree, Alexandra pressed on. There were still five trees to put up, and it was getting late. The sun had gone down hours ago.
Tree number twenty-one was the second of her two ninety-degree corner trees. It was pre-lit with white lights, and she decorated it with silver and gold ornaments. The last of the trees destined for the living room, it was the only one on which she hung gold and silver strands of tinsel.
After drinking a cup of strong coffee to keep her awake for the final stretch, she moved on to the foyer. The next two trees were to be located at the bottom of the grand staircase. Number twenty-two, decorated with sparkling snowflakes and icicles, was placed on the right side; number twenty-three, bedecked with gingerbread men and houses, stood on the left. She had just placed the last gingerbread ornament on the tree when the Westminster chimes of grandfather clock announced the midnight hour.
Only two more.
Alexandra smiled with a sense of accomplishment as she saw that the empty boxes far outnumbered the full ones.
Tree number twenty-four, the only one to be placed in what was once Evander's den and now her library, was undoubtedly the most difficult for her to put up—not physically but emotionally. On the surface, the theme of children's toys (teddy bears, ragdolls, baseball gloves, red wagons, train locomotives, toy soldiers, etc.) was standard Christmas fare. However, her choice of both the decorations and the location of this tree was motivated by pure spite, not holiday cheer. She had put this particular tree up less than two months after learning of her husband's infidelity and of his illegitimate child, born the same year Evander had given her a dog for her birthday.
That ... that ... tramp got a daughter, and all I got was a damned poodle!
The floodgates Alexandra had carefully constructed to hold back those painful memories suddenly burst open. She fell to the floor at the base of the tree and wept uncontrollably.
All those long nights I was alone, waiting for you to come home, believing you were at work, and all the while ....
As the bitterness swelled inside her, she longed to hurl the tree to the floor, to grind the delicate glass ornaments beneath the thick soles of slippers.
"What good would it do?" she asked herself fatalistically. "It won't change anything."
The sad, lonely woman wiped the tears from her face and stood up on wobbly legs.
If only I had given birth to that little girl, she mused, with one last look at the toy-themed tree, how much different our lives would have been.
Just two more boxes to go, and tree day would be over for another year. Thankfully, neither was very heavy because she had to carry them down a flight of stairs and into the cold, dark, cavernous cellar. The last tree she had ever purchased, number twenty-five was never seen by anyone except for Alexandra herself. Furthermore, the handyman who lugged the boxes down from the attic on the last day of November and returned them at the beginning of January never took notice of the number of trees she put up.
Once both boxes were downstairs, Alexandra moved them to the wine cellar, the door to which was in the farthest corner. The vault-like room was always kept locked, and she had to input a security code to enter. The later Evander Rowlandson fancied himself a connoisseur of wines and had stored bottles and often entire cases of the finest, most expensive vintages in the climate-controlled cellar. Now, only a few bottles remained. She had had to remove several cases in order to make room for the tree.
Putting on her coat for protection against the cold temperature, she opened one of the bottles of wine and poured herself a glass. Not normally a drinker, she allowed herself one glass a year to celebrate the culmination of tree day. In between sips, she opened the box marked "2009" and removed the tree.
Very few people bought black Christmas trees, usually only those with artistic leanings. However, not a green, white—or any other color—tree would fit the theme Alexandra had selected. The pitch-black tree was unlit since she had yet to find a set of black lights. The ornaments, on the other hand, were easy to come by. She bought them on Amazon, a selection of ebony balls in matte, shiny and glittery finishes.
I'm almost done, she thought, finishing the last of her wine after hanging the final ornament. Only one thing left to do.
Unlike the tree toppers used on her other trees—the typical stars, angels and bows—this one was a fiber optic grim reaper, which she had purchased at Halloween City.
"Perfect!" she exclaimed, standing back and looking at her handiwork. "You know, maybe this one—and not the Dickens tree—is my favorite, after all. What do you think?"
She turned and looked at the body of her dead husband, slouched over a case of wine with the meat cleaver still sticking out of the top of his skull.
"No much to say, huh?" she asked with a shrill, maniacal laugh. "I'm not surprised. You always were a quiet one."
Alexandra yawned, suddenly exhausted from both her exertions and the wine. After picking up the cardboard boxes and the empty glass, she turned to face what was left of her husband.
"Merry Christmas, dear," she said with unfeigned holiday joy.
Then she turned off the light, input the code on the security lock's keypad, returned to the main floor of the house, and passing by the festively decorated sentinels at the bottom of the staircase, she went upstairs to bed.
Another tree day had come to an end.
Sorry, Salem, but not even a deranged killer would put up a black cat-themed Christmas tree.
