The Ultimate Gift (The Ultimate Series #1) (3 page)

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Authors: Jim Stovall

BOOK: The Ultimate Gift (The Ultimate Series #1)
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I took another videotape from the box and handed it to Margaret. She placed it in the video player and, in a few moments, Red Stevens appeared on the large screen. He said, “Good morning, Ted, and to you, Miss Hastings. Once again, I want to thank you for undertaking this little chore. And, Jason, I want to remind you of the rules. If at any time during the next twelve months you do not perform as called for, or if Mr. Hamilton does not approve of your attitude and demeanor, he will simply stop the process and cut you off from my ultimate gift to you.
“I will warn you about Mr. Hamilton. He may appear very patient and long-suffering, but, young man, if you push him too far, you will find that you have let an angry tiger out of its cage.”
Jason looked at me with a bewildered expression on his face. I simply stared back at him.
Red paused and seemed to be remembering days gone by. “Jason, when I was much younger than you are now,” he continued, “I learned the satisfaction that comes from a simple four-letter word: work. One of the things my wealth has robbed from you and the entire family is the privilege and satisfaction that comes from doing an honest day’s work.”
I could see Jason rolling his eyes as he let out a deep sigh.
“Now, before you go off the deep end and reject everything I’m going to tell you,” Red continued, “I want you to realize that work has brought me everything I have and everything that you have. I regret that I have taken from you the joy of knowing that what you have is what you’ve earned.
“My earliest memories in the swamps of Louisiana are of work—hard, backbreaking labor that as a young man I resented greatly. My parents had too many mouths to feed and not enough food, so if we wanted to eat, we worked. Later, when I was on my own and came to Texas, I realized that hard work had become a habit for me, and it has served as a true joy all the rest of my life.
“Jason, you have enjoyed the best things that this world has to offer. You have been everywhere, seen everything, and done everything. What you don’t understand is how much pleasure these things can bring you when you have earned them yourself, when leisure becomes a reward for hard work instead of a way to avoid work.
“Tomorrow morning, you are going to take a little trip with Mr. Hamilton and Miss Hastings. You will be going to meet an old friend of mine on a ranch outside of Alpine, Texas. When I was young and struggling to stay alive during the Depression, I met Gus Caldwell. We learned the power of hard work then, and today there’s no one better to teach you this lesson than Gus.
“I have already prepared a letter outlining this entire situation to be sent to Gus Caldwell. Mr. Hamilton has forwarded that letter to Alpine, Texas, and Gus Caldwell will be expecting you.
“Please remember, if at any time you do not complete the activities outlined in my will, or if Mr. Hamilton is not pleased with your attitude, this endeavor will simply end, and you will forego the ultimate gift.”
The screen went black.
“This is ridiculous,” Jason shot at me angrily.
I smiled and replied, “Yes, dealing with you can be trying, but there are some things you just do for friends like Red Stevens. I will see you at the airport at 6:45 in the morning.”
Jason looked at me as if he were addressing an imbecile. “Didn’t they have any flights later in the day?” he asked.
I replied with more patience than I felt, “Yes, but Mr. Caldwell—I think you will find—is not one who wants to waste any time. See you tomorrow.”
Jason left our office, and Miss Hastings made all of the necessary arrangements.
The next morning, just as the airline attendant was preparing to close the door, a bleary-eyed Jason Stevens came running down the concourse. Miss Hastings handed the attendant the tickets for the three of us, and we boarded the plane.
Miss Hastings and I took our assigned seats, which were the first two on the right side of the aircraft in the first-class section. Jason stood there with a confused expression on his face as there were no more seats in the first-class cabin.
He turned to me and asked, “Where’s my seat?”
Miss Hastings responded to his question using her most efficient tone, but I knew she was enjoying every moment of it when she said, “Oh, Mr. Stevens, you have been assigned seat 23F.”
She handed Jason his ticket stub, and he stomped down the aisle toward the coach seating.
When we got off the plane at the Midland-Odessa airport, Gus Caldwell was there to meet us. I had known Gus for years as a friend and associate of Red Stevens. We shared a mutual love of our lifetime friend. Gus shook my hand warmly with the callused grip of a man of thirty-five instead of what I knew must be his real age of seventy-five. He greeted Miss Hastings politely but was somewhat gruff with Jason.
He said to him, “Red Stevens was one of the best men I ever met. I don’t see how you’re going to live up to that.”
As Jason was preparing to protest this cold greeting, Gus shot back at him, “Son, why don’t you go downstairs and see if you can find the luggage. Make yourself useful.”
A few moments later, we were downstairs in the airport, and Jason had, indeed, located all of the luggage. Gus pulled around the parking lot to pick us up at the door in his deluxe pickup truck—a vehicle we rarely see in Boston. Gus held the door for Miss Hastings and me and said to Jason, “Well, don’t just stand there, boy. Get these bags in the truck.”
Jason loaded all of the luggage in the bed of the pickup truck and then asked sheepishly, “Where am I supposed to sit?”
“You can ride in the back or walk,” Gus said. “It’s all the same to me.”
Gus got in and began to pull away just as Jason scrambled into the bed of the pickup truck. I glanced back and saw him sprawled out among the luggage, rolling from side to side, as Gus summarily ignored all of the speed limit signs as we left the airport complex.
During the ride out to Gus’ sprawling ranch, with Jason out of earshot, we discussed memories of Red and our desire to help Red redeem Jason Stevens. We agreed that Gus would spend the next four weeks communicating his version of the work ethic to Jason while Miss Hastings and I would leave the following day and spend several weeks in Austin, where I was to do some legislative work for another client.
After traversing what seemed to be an endless gravel road, we turned into a driveway that led off into the distance. A sign read: Gus Caldwell Ranch. Friends are welcome. Trespassers will be shot.
After another ten-minute drive, we arrived at a huge ranch house where we were greeted by Gus’ extended family, several of his workers, and a number of dogs. Gus led Miss Hastings and me into his comfortable home and yelled back at Jason, “Don’t just lie there in the truck, boy. Get the bags.”
Gus had informed Miss Hastings and me that the next day would start early at the Caldwell ranch. He decided to let Jason find out the hard way.
The next morning, Miss Hastings and I, and all of the Caldwell family, enjoyed a huge breakfast of monumental cholesterol before 6:00 a.m. As we were enjoying our second cups of coffee, Gus said, “Well, I better go get Sleeping Beauty. This is going to be an interesting day. Real educational, if you know what I mean.”
We could hear Gus climbing the stairs and banging open the door to Jason’s room. He called out in a thunderous voice, “Boy, are you alive? You’re sleeping through the whole day, here. Get dressed and get downstairs.”
Gus rejoined us as we chatted amiably over the strong coffee, and a few minutes later, a disheveled, sleepy-eyed Jason joined us. He sat down at the table. No sooner was he seated than Gus rose and said, “Well, that was a good breakfast. Time to get to work.”
Jason glared at him and said belligerently, “Can I have some breakfast, please?”
Gus smiled and said, “Yes, sir. First thing tomorrow morning. Nobody ever leaves Gus Caldwell’s home hungry. But there’s not much I can do if people are going to sleep all day.”
Jason looked out the window and exclaimed, “It’s not even daylight yet.”
Gus chuckled and replied, “That’s very observant, son. I thought I was going to have to teach you everything. Now get out to the bunkhouse and see if you can find some work clothes. That’s about the most worthless get-up you have on there I’ve ever seen. We’ll be leaving in about five minutes.”
Gus agreed to take Miss Hastings and me out to where Jason would be working to see him get started before we left for Austin. We were seated in the truck when Jason stumbled out of the bunkhouse and dutifully climbed into the back of the pickup truck. Before he was seated, Gus shot out across the yard and drove through a gate, bouncing out across an immense field.
Just as the sun was rising, Gus stopped at a remote corner of the ranch where a huge pile of fence posts lay on the ground. Gus jumped out of the truck and yelled, “Boy, would you get out of that pickup bed. I’ve never seen one for lyin’ around like you.”
Miss Hastings and I followed Gus and Jason to the last fence post standing in a long line that stretched out of sight. “Welcome to Fence Post 101,” Gus proclaimed proudly. He quickly showed Jason how to dig a post hole, set the post, and string the wire in a straight line. Even at seventy-five, Gus Caldwell showed immense strength and incredible stamina. He made everything look easy.
He turned to Jason and said, “Now, you try.” And Gus joined Miss Hastings and me near the truck.
Jason stumbled through the process almost comically, and Gus called out, “Well, hopefully you’ll get the hang of it before you beat yourself to death. Somebody will come by to pick you up for the noon meal.”
Jason seemed alarmed and called out, “How far is this fence supposed to go?”
As Gus helped Miss Hastings and me into the truck, Gus laughed and said, “No more than a mile, and then we’ll turn and go the other way. Don’t worry. We won’t run out of things for you to do. I wish I had a dollar for every post hole good old Red Stevens and I dug all across Texas.”
We left Jason there to his labors.
 
Almost four weeks later, Miss Hastings and I returned from a successful trip to the Texas state capitol in Austin. Gus, once again, picked us up at the airport, and as we were driving to his ranch, I couldn’t help but ask, “Well, how is young Jason getting along?”
Gus chuckled and said, “I wasn’t sure he was going to make it. Between the sunburn, blisters, and heat exhaustion, it was a close thing, but I think you are in for a pleasant surprise.”
When we reached the ranch, Gus drove us directly to the field where Jason had been working the first day. I noticed that the fence extended far beyond its original point, and Jason was nowhere in sight. Gus drove on a distance, and once we crested a short rise, I spotted Jason in the distance.
An amazing transformation had taken place. Jason was browned by the sun, lean from his physical labor, and working steadily as we arrived. He waved to us and walked over to join us as we got out of the truck.
“Jason, did you dig all of those post holes and set all of those posts yourself?” I asked.
He seemed to have a gleam in his eye as he answered, “Yes, sir. Every one of them. And they’re straight, too.”
Gus put his arm around Jason’s shoulder and said, “Son, I was-n’t sure you were going to make it, but you turned into a really good hand. Your great-uncle, Red, and I discovered nearly sixty years ago that if you can do this kind of work with pride and quality, then you can do anything. I think you’ve learned your lesson. Now it’s time to get you back to Boston.”
I was shocked when Jason replied, “I only have a few more to finish up this section. Why don’t we leave in the morning?”
 
The next day, after breakfast, Gus volunteered to drive us to the airport. Jason dutifully carried the bags out onto the porch, but instead of the pickup truck, Gus was driving a new Cadillac.
Jason laughed and asked, “Where’s your truck, Mr. Caldwell?”
Gus smiled and replied, “I can’t have one of my best hands rolling around in the back of the truck with the luggage. Now let’s get you to the airport.”
 
As we flew 30,000 feet above middle America, I couldn’t help but think of Red Stevens and the lesson on work he had taught Jason. I hoped the lesson meant as much to Jason as it did to me.
FOUR
 
THE GIFT OF MONEY
 
Money is nothing more than a tool.
It can be a force for good,
a force for evil, or simply be idle.
There are certain times in this life that you find yourself pursuing a course that you are not certain will prove to be fruitful. Then, all of a sudden, out of nowhere, miraculously you receive the smallest sign or indication that you’re on the right track. Just such a moment occurred when Jason Stevens came in for our second monthly meeting.
Jason and I were seated in our customary spots in the conference room discussing his work experience in Alpine, Texas. Miss Hastings returned from the vault carrying Red Stevens’ box. With no prompting or forewarning, Jason got out of his chair and helped Miss Hastings by taking the box from her and carrying it to the end of the table.

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