Chapter Four
The gloved hand slipped away. There was no scream, no sound coming from below, nothing, just a simple release of pressure on a hand and a man's life was gone. Jess' life.
Slim shifted his weight, placing his uninjured leg on a solid ledge of rock and the snow shelf he'd been stretched out on crumbled. If he hadn't had both hands ready to catch the edge of the cliff when it disintegrated, he would have gone down with it. Part of him wished he had, but Jess hadn't wanted it that way. He was alive, because Jess had wanted him to live.
Slim pulled himself to a safer position that gave him a better view of the snowy landscape that stretched out in an uneven mass of dark and white below, but there wasn't any sign of death marring the image. There wasn't anything at all. No holes in the snow, no misshapen marks, just a calm scene, but in that stillness, it fast turned into something akin to desolation.
"Jess!" Slim called repeatedly, but the only sound coming in return was a haunting echo and when the sound dimmed to nothingness, it seemed to speak rather cruelly. Jess was gone. There wasn't any possible way a man, or living thing for that matter, could survive a fall of that magnitude. The ground had opened for him and the snow had buried him, giving him a grave that only nature itself could dig.
He dropped his head, the grief like numbness from the cold, couldn't express itself with tears or an anguished cry. Slim shakily stood, his injured knee protesting with the weight he now placed on it, but he didn't give it much thought. There was another part of his body that hurt worse that drew his most attention and that was the now gaping hole in his heart, an unseen injury that would never heal. One of the horses called to him, bringing Slim's forethoughts back to the animals that needed him. He limped to where they anxiously waited and he reached out a gentle hand to comfort each one, but as the horses, one at a time, pressed their muzzle into his neck, it was Slim that received the most comfort in return.
"He gave his life to save you, to save us," Slim said through the thickness in his throat, knowing that Jess had denied his own safety to make sure the horses and his partner escaped death. Jess had time to jump, Slim was testament to that, but Jess wouldn't let the horses die, wouldn't let Slim die, so he held on until it was too late. Jess gave the only thing he could to make sure the ones he cared most about could go on living, his own life.
Jess had just shown the love of God far greater than any preacher could have ever done. Because it was Christmas, the sacrifice of life made the holy season even more important. After all, wasn't that very love what Christmas was all about? "You dream finally came true, Mrs. Harper," Slim looked towards the heavens, wishing he could see beyond the clouds that covered the blue. "You must be a mighty proud Mama."
As Slim looked upward, snowflakes, gentle and soft, floated down touching his face. He kept his gaze heavenward, watching the glistening formations fall from the sky. Like a finger touching the highest octaves on a piano, they tinkled a melody until the stirring of the song that belonged to nature seemed to be all around Slim, but the heavenly music couldn't penetrate a broken heart. He finally pulled his eyes away from the swirling snowflakes, now coming down in a heavier pattern until the piano notes were muted by the thickening on the ground.
A great sigh escaped Slim's mouth as he knew he needed to pull away. He released the horses from what remained of their harnesses, but kept enough of the tangled reins to be able to ride one and lead the other. Slim chose Jess' favorite of the two, Robin, to mount and then with a gentle tug on Clem to encourage him to follow, they slowly made their way around what remained of the rocky tumult on the road and then plodded through the snow towards Laramie.
As Slim approached town, the sights and sounds of Christmas were all around him. Several kids were engaged in a raucous snowball fight near the schoolhouse, a group of carolers sang their way up the street, a father and son were pulling a freshly cut fir tree on a homemade sled, heading towards their home and a young couple rode around the edge of town on a sleigh, the bells attached to the horse's harness jingling with seasonal merriment. What would normally be a warm, inviting atmosphere that would bring joy to every viewing heart, inside of Slim, none of these things would touch, as his life source felt as frozen as the water in the barrel outside of the general store that the clerk chipped away at so a kid at his side could suck the little chips that flew out onto the ground.
Slim pulled Robin to a halt outside of Mort Cory's office and slid off of the horse's back. He leaned hard against the hitching post, biting the inside of his cheek as the pain returned to his knee with force. Slim took a deep breath and then quickly exhaled it, watching as the fog of his breath went forward, touching the door of the sheriff's office before he made contact with his hand. Turning the knob, he had one grateful thought that it wasn't locked, telling him that Mort was still there.
The heat of the office wrapped its arms around Slim as he entered, nearly carrying him to the chair alongside Mort's desk. Slim dropped into it just as Mort walked out of the adjoining room where the cells were, carrying a few articles of clothing in his hand that he would wear in the Christmas morning nativity scene at the livery stable that he had been in charge of putting together. Seeing the anguish and pain on Slim's face, the sheriff dropped what he was holding and raced across the room and gripped Slim's shoulders with both hands, fearing he would tumble to the ground if he didn't.
"What's happened, Slim?" The color drained from Mort's face with the dread of what would be his reply.
Slim couldn't answer, only shaking his head slowly back and forth in reply. Hoping Slim would stay upright, Mort took three quick steps towards the coffee pot and poured Slim a cup and returned to Slim's side, but when Slim refused to take the steaming liquid in hand, Mort held the cup to Slim's lips and waited until he swallowed a decent gulp before setting the cup on his desk.
"Slim," Mort kneeled in front of his friend, putting his hand on Slim's shaking knee. He knew something dreadful had happened, exactly what yet, he didn't know, but just seeing the expression on Slim's face was enough to tell him that the man's heart had been severed. "Talk to me, Son."
"Jess," Slim started, finally allowing his eyes to focus on the worried man's face in front of him, "Jess is dead."
"My God!" Mort exclaimed, not wanting to believe the words that had come from Slim's mouth, but seeing his friend like he was, he knew that it must have been the awful truth. He felt the stab in his own heart as the shockwaves went through his body as the damage from a difficult loss started to take shape.
"Did someone call me?" The bellow came from the cells, the voice unmistakably the parson's.
"Keep quiet, Parson," Mort hollered, ignoring the returned comment that came from the cell room. The parson's out of hand, or best described as hand by hand combat revivals, often landed him a night or two in Mort's jail. Unfortunately for Mort, the man had planned such a wild revival the night before and had been more or less entertaining Mort all Christmas Eve as Mort put the finishing touches on his nativity costume. Mort put his focus back on Slim, his gut twisting inside of him. "How Slim? What happened?"
"We were coming through the pass," Slim began, trying to not let his body shake as he relived the nightmare through words. "There was a massive rockslide and Jess tried to outrun it, but a boulder made a direct hit to the wagon. I jumped, but Jess didn't. He must have gone over the cliff with the rocks, but he didn't go all the way. I got a hold of his hand." Slim paused, putting a hand over his eyes. "I tried to save him, Mort, but he wouldn't let me. The snow was melting underneath us, ready to put us both to death, but he wouldn't let that happen. He told me to let him go because he knew I would have died if I didn't. So I let him go. Dear God in heaven, I let him go!" The anguish ripped through Slim's words, tearing his heart into pieces as he cried out loud. "I let Jess die! Mort, I killed him! I let him go!"
"No, Slim," Mort said soothingly, even though he felt the grief of losing a man he thought as a son clench his chest tightly, he had to put the comfort he held in his heart first. Right now, another man that was like his son needed him and Slim was far more important than his own feelings of loss. "An accident took his life, not you. He gave not his life away, but his love. You didn't give that life away, but you took his love in return. Think about Jess, Slim, and how often he was willing to lay his life down for you, for me, for people he didn't even know. He finally accomplished that goal, and I know God is telling him 'well done, Son'."
"Very well said, Brother Cory," Parson stood outside of the jail room, nodding his head.
"What are you doing?" Mort turned his head towards the parson. Even though he let the black coated man have freedom during his jail time and never locked his cell, he still became irritated whenever he eavesdropped and right now it was even worse having him standing nearby taking in their personal conversation about as something as harrowing as the death of a loved one.
"I heard the intense sorrow coming from Brother Sherman," Parson pointed towards Slim. "I feel it is my duty to console him during this time." He walked over towards Slim and put a hand on his shoulder and proclaimed, "Grieve not Brother Sherman, for this is the season of miracles! Brother Harper surely has sprouted wings and with the angels he will fly!"
Slim was usually a patient man, not easily provoked, but the over exaggerated tone in the parson's voice grated on his already raw, and very exposed nerves. He wrenched his shoulder away from the parson's grasp and whirled around, standing up to face his bulging eyes and lopsided grin, but Mort stepped forward, walking the ever ready for a fight parson over towards the stove with a command to stay put. Feeling overwhelmed, Mort ran his hand over his face and then slowly took the steps back towards Slim, who stood in the middle of the room, clenching his fists tightly.
"Slim," Mort put his hand on Slim's arm, making the man jump slightly. "Let's go outside for a minute."
The bitter air brought Slim's exasperation down to a tolerable level and seeing the two horses standing in the cold took the remainder of his irritation away, leaving only the shock of the brutal truth that his best friend was gone inside of him. Slim methodically moved towards the horses and Mort followed, taking the one that remained after Slim pulled on the other's reins and moved towards the livery stable. Inside the barn, Mort let the man in charge take over and Mort stood by Slim as the stable worker tended to the weary animals.
Mort looked at Slim, knowing the bond between the two men had been inseparable, and now that it was broken, it would never be repaired. Mort had watched the two of them together since Jess had first come to town, had seen them handle even the roughest and toughest of situations side by side, and knew there wasn't any other duo that could handle whatever they faced better. Mort had often had a bad feeling that one of them would lose the battle of life during one of their conflicts and it had been a grave concern of his, for he didn't know what would become of the one that remained. Now he'd get to find out, as Slim was the broken man that remained.
"He can't be gone, Mort," Slim suddenly said, pointing to the unknown beyond the stable wall. "I shouldn't even be here. I should be out there looking for him, tearing through every inch of that snow until I find him."
"I know," Mort nodded, knowing that it was understandable that Slim would feel the need to tend to Jess' lifeless body, wherever it was. He felt exactly the same. "I won't let you go out there alone." Mort turned towards the stable man and called out a request, "saddle my horse for me and bring a sturdy mount for Slim as well."
They exited the livery together, leading the readied horses and Mort motioned towards his office. "I need to get more layers. This cold is enough to bite my ears off."
With a thick scarf wound around his head, Mort checked on the parson and wrote a note that he'd be out for several hours. As he tightened his hat over the scarf, he suddenly remembered why Slim and Jess were coming into town in the first place that now fateful day.
"You're going to want to take these presents home, aren't you?" Mort asked, pointing towards the parcels on his desk. He had willingly kept some of the gifts Slim and Jess had purchased for Daisy and Mike since the two partners weren't very good at keeping secrets and they didn't want the youngster finding the goodies before Christmas morning. Now, as Mort looked at them, he wondered if Slim even remembered that he'd had them, or if he even cared. The entire family was going to suffer this loss; gifts wouldn't be as important anymore.
"I guess so," Slim said after a moment of silence and took a few of the bundles out of Mort's hands. "I should take something home other than bad news." He hadn't yet thought how he'd tell Daisy and Mike of Jess' death, and now that his thoughts started pulsating on that dreaded moment, he dropped his head, breathing a burdened sigh.
"I'll be coming too," Parson said, standing with his hands tightly holding the front of his black coat. "After all, Brother Harper deserves proper words spoken over him. Who better to say them than me?"
Mort opened his mouth to protest, but Slim was too defeated to let the parson's outlandish behavior bother him any further so he put his hand up, stopping Mort from what would be the beginning of an argument with the black coated man. "I won't stop him, Mort. If he wants to come, he can."
"Valiant, Brother Sherman!" Parson grabbed his hat from the peg on the wall and plopped it on his head. Even though both Slim and Mort were dressed for the elements they would face on the journey up the pass, the parson stepped right outside in his everyday garb. "Refreshing this weather, isn't it?"
"Parson," Mort leaned towards the man and tapped him on the chest as he spoke, "do you think you can go for an hour, maybe as much as two, without one of your exclamations?"
"Why," Parson stood up straight, always ready to accept a challenge, "of course! I will spend the time on our trip to the pass in deep meditation and prayer for courage, for strength, for dignity, for duty …" the parson continued to add to his list of petitions while Mort walked to the livery stable and back with a horse for him, finishing as Mort placed the reins in his hand. "…for peace, for mercy, for miracles!"
The road to the pass was spent in silence as the parson kept his word. Even the snow wouldn't allow any noise to disrupt the almost eerie silence that enfolded them. If it weren't for the steady plodding of hooves in the snow, it would have felt like the death of a friend had left the entire world in mourning, bowing in stillness to honor the fallen man.