Honor of the Clan: Chapter Two

December 24, 2054

    Cally was woolgathering, staring absently at the men preparing the improvised shelter that would protect the pews after Christmas Eve Mass and during the mammoth Christmas dinner after present opening and the almost inevitable post-present, pick-up football game.

    Her daze was a combination of stress from last-minute shopping and procrastinating over her trip in to Charleston for the last few gifts from the worst people to buy for. Grandpa, of course, was at the top of that list. He had the irritating habit of deciding he wanted something, then going out immediately and buying it. If he couldn't afford it, he never said anything about wanting it. The few things Shari had managed to worm out of him and onto a Christmas list had already been purchased by the friends and relatives who had done their shopping in good time. Waiting until the last minute had its hazards. A gag gift was the old standby for this situation, but she'd been to that well too many times before. Her secret weapon was knowing his gun collection down to the last firing pin, but the last time she'd been in to Toomey and Bowman's they didn't have anything in his line of interest that was better than what he already had. Half a century gave a man a lot of collecting time, and Grandpa had had a head start in that he could make a list of old friends, destroyed in the Rabun Gap nuclear blast, that he wanted to replace. His stocking toe was easy, of course. It wouldn't be Christmas if she didn't tuck in her usual bottle of Hoppe's number 9.