Free Sweetwater Springs Scrooge: A Montana Sky Holiday Short Story (The Montana Sky Series) by Debra Holland

1895

    Elias Masters was famous in Sweetwater Springs for being the greatest penny pincher around—and that said a lot for a town full of hard-working, thrifty people. He’d always been a prudent man—not that he needed to be, for it was common knowledge he’d inherited shares of railway stock. But only after Marian Hutchinson jilted him had Elias become a downright skinflint. And he was as close-fisted with his words as he was a tightwad with his money.
    Every year he became more taciturn and his appearance grew seedier, from the straggly brown beard, now threaded with white, and shoulder-length hair that looked like he’d hacked off the ends with a knife, to his shabby appearance. Elias wore his clothes until they were mostly rags, clean rags, but rags nevertheless, full of darns and patches. He had fine hazel eyes, but they lacked any spark of humor, although a few old-timers remembered him differently.
    Elias never invited guests over to his home so he didn’t have to serve them a meal, not even Reverend and Mrs. Norton, although he sometimes sat in a back pew on Sunday mornings. Worst of all, he passed the offering plate right on by, and no one had ever seen the man contribute a cent. Even the poorest families managed a penny or two from time to time, but not Elias Masters.
    Elias owned a pretty house in the back corner of Sweetwater Springs he’d inherited from his parents. His mother had planted a huge garden of flowers and vegetables, and it was a good thing that she’d chosen perennials like roses because Elias sure wouldn’t waste money on flower seeds. She’d also planted a small orchard, with apple trees that produced sweet fruit.
    He spent a lot of time in his big garden growing vegetables. What food he didn’t consume he traded at the mercantile. He was the only person able to out-bargain the Cobbs, who owned the store. Not that he ever bought much in return—just mere staples—so for him to make an appearance at the mercantile was usually an event that made the townsfolk gawk.
    ~ ~ ~
    Late in December, Elias stood in front of his pantry in his kitchen. A rare hunkering for something sweet had driven him to search the almost-empty shelves for a jar of jam. Not much else here, either.
    He stared glumly at the empty tea canister. He’d run out of the leaves three weeks ago. But going without tea wasn’t motivation enough to go shopping. He still had coffee beans, although the once-full sack was down to a paltry inch. Even though he’d carefully rationed out the sugar, both the crock of white and the one of brown had only a few glistening crystals left clinging to the bottom. For the last few weeks he’d felt poorly and had mostly stayed in bed, not left the house. But a return of his vitality had also brought back his appetite. I should just eat an apple. There’s still plenty in the cellar. But the thought didn’t excite him. He’d grown tired of the fruit.
    He tallied the rest of his stores and found he needed to stock up on flour, beans, cornmeal, rice, lard, butter, baking soda, and salt. No doubt about it. Elias knew he needed to make a trip to the mercantile. I’d rather get a tooth pulled.
    Elias debated about putting off going shopping. His normal energy had returned and he wouldn’t mind the long walk into the main part of town, yet he probably could get by for another week or so with the supplies in stock. He hesitated.
    But I really want that jam.
    And if truth be told, after weeks in bed, without sight of another human and too much time to think, he also had a rare hankering for some company.
    If he was going to the mercantile anyway, he could pick up one of Helga Mueller’s pies. Maybe even two pies. His mouth watered at the thought.
    He rubbed his chin. The gesture reminded him of his father and served to bring him back to frugality. I don’t need to waste money on pies.
    Perhaps due to his recent illness, his thrifty conscience failed to win out over his sweet tooth. For once,