Chapter Nine
December 24th
"Jess."
The sound of Mike's voice, soft and fragile, reached across the snowy landscape to where Jess pounded a horseshoe into a precise shape and the hot iron stilled in his hand. Head turning, Jess latched onto a moist set of eyes, making a catch form in his throat before he even created the words to respond. "Come here, Mike."
"Are you busy?" Mike asked when his feet came to a stop beside Jess, but the stilled movement was in steps only, as a toe shuffled against the line of snow and empty ground where the heat from the forge kept the white at bay.
"Not anymore," Jess answered, setting aside his tools to take Mike by the hand, leading the boy further underneath the sheltering overhang to sit on a stack of firewood, and then brought Mike to rest on his knee. "What's wrong, Tiger?"
"I have something horrible to confess," Mike answered, failing to look Jess into the eye until a gloved thumb lifted a small chin upward.
"You peek into one of your presents?" Jess raised an understanding eyebrow, but it was quickly dropped when the glint in Mike's eyes failed to shine.
"No," Mike answered softly, the knitted cap on his head taking on the movement of his head shake. "I wasn't that bad."
"Then what is it, Mike?" Jess asked, wrapping one arm tenderly around shoulders that were too low to belong to a boy at Christmastime.
"I know that Sheriff Cory was just pretending to be Santa the other day in town," Mike said in a whisper, his head still raised by Jess' thumb, but his eyes slid downward to prevent the intense blue that was across from him from seeing everything that lived inside of his own hues.
"Mike, I don't really understand," Jess said, giving Mike's shoulder a gentle squeeze. "If you knew right from the start that it was Mort, then why were you so excited to have seen him? There were times I thought you were gonna bounce right off of the walls."
"Well, I was excited," Mike answered, half of his mouth lifting into a quick smile. "Sheriff Cory did a pretty good job, but I recognized the wrinkles around his eyes. I've never been took to see Santa before, and I s'pose I let myself get carried away, because I really wanted to believe."
"Because of what you asked for Slim?"
"Yeah," Mike whispered softly, but because Jess' ear was bent low, he heard every word. "Are you mad at me?"
"Of course not, Tiger. It's all right to believe in something with all of your heart and expressing it for everyone to see is more than natural. Dad-gum, ain't we still talking about that fish we caught back in the spring?"
"Yeah," Mike replied, spreading his hands to span the length of a foot. "It was this big."
"Nah, it was this big," Jess said, his hands reaching double of what Mike had measured and then they both shared a laugh, but then as Jess' hand returned to Mike's shoulder, his eyes turned a softer shade, as he hoped that he could renew a measure of faith. The boy was too young to give up on Santa Claus. Jess knew from his own childhood experience that the innocence of youth was precious, and as Jess' was lost much too young, he wanted Mike to live in its tender hold as long as possible. "No more teasing now, Mike. I want you to do something important for me. I want you to still believe in Santa Claus."
"Even with what I know about Sheriff Cory? I don't know how I can anymore."
"You can, Mike, if you try hard enough. Faith is a powerful thing, and when you put your belief in something hard enough, it sets itself in so deep that it can't be shaken."
"I don't know, Jess," Mike said, drawing one shoulder up in doubt.
"Well, Tiger, I'm not gonna spoil your Christmas surprises, but I know for a fact that you're gonna get some presents that ain't bought from no store in town, and for certain, it ain't Mort that's gonna be the one that performs tonight."
"But if he's real, then why was Sheriff Cory pretending to be him in town?"
"That's an easy one to answer. You see, Mike, every kid wants a chance to talk to Santa Claus. From here in Laramie, all the way to St. Louis, down to Texas and way out in California there are kids eager to get on Santa's knee every day in December, leading up to Christmas Eve. Old St. Nick might be able to do a lotta things, Mike, but he can't be everywhere at once. So he asks men that he knows can fit the bill to help him out and then they get telegrams sent off to the North Pole with all of their wishes attached to them. Now, can you think of anyone more honest in these parts than Sheriff Mort Cory?"
"No, I s'pose I can't," Mike shook his head, the dawning ray of renewed hope beginning to light in his eyes and Jess' mouth widened into a smile.
"That's why men like Mort get chosen to play the part. Can you imagine me playing Santa?"
"No," Mike giggled, giving Jess' ribs a tickle. "You're too skinny."
"And mean," Jess said, scrunching his face into a shape that was supposed to look menacing, but the image only produced a deeper laughter pouring out of Mike's throat. "Santa Claus is supposed to be jolly, remember, not a rock-hard, no-good, saddle-tramp like me."
"You might not be so bad at it, Jess." Mike's fingers spread into Jess' stomach and gave a duo of pats. "You do have more cushion than you did before."
"Hey!" Jess feigned his irritation and then gave an exaggerated sigh. "I reckon it's no surprise, though, considering I ate half of that pie by myself last night, not to mention all that popcorn I snuck outta the bowl you and Daisy were stringing."
"You're funny, Jess," Mike laughed as he slid off of Jess' knee. "I know Aunt Daisy took the pie away after your second piece and slapped your hand away from the popcorn bowl."
"So she did." Jess patted Mike's shoulder, keeping the boy in front of him for a necessary minute longer. "Before you catch a cold out here and make Daisy never forgive me, there's something else we need to talk about, Tiger. It's still about Santa, or more so, what you asked him to bring."
"You mean about having Slim walk again?" Mike waited for Jess to nod his head. "Do you think Sheriff Cory relayed that part to the real Santa Claus?"
"Knowing Mort, he probably did. But here's the thing, Mike. Santa can do some wonderful things, but he can't heal a body. That's a job for someone much bigger."
Mike's head tilted to the right. "You mean God?"
"Yeah, Tiger," Jess said with a nod of his head.
"Aunt Daisy and I pray for Slim every night when she comes in to listen to my prayers."
"That's good, Tiger, and I'm positive that every one of them's been heard."
"Then how come he hasn't healed Slim yet?" Mike asked the question that had been tapping against Jess' temples since Doctor Sweeney first uttered the grim diagnosis and even though Jess didn't have a firm response to grasp to his own question, he knew Mike needed more than just a head shake in reply.
"I don't know the answer to that, Mike. I do know that Christmas is a time for miracles, so don't give up on what you're praying for. You better go inside. I can see Daisy peeking through the curtain and she's probably wondering where you disappeared to."
"All right, Jess," Mike said, beginning to turn, but before his steps plodded into the snow, his face brightened with a grin, "and thanks."
"No problem, Tiger." Jess waited until the kitchen door closed behind Mike's frame and then he released a slow sigh. There was no shortage of people declaring that Christmas was a time for miracles, but unless a mighty hand was about to act, there wouldn't be a glistening star shining over the Sherman household this year. If receiving a miracle was something that Jess himself could produce, he would have gone to any length to achieve the goal, even if it meant walking hundreds of miles, climbing the highest mountain, or diving to the greatest ocean depths, but this wasn't something within his power to grasp. And yet it was, because all Jess had to do was ask.
The hat was off of his head, landing in soundlessness as it hit the blanket of white, but the sound that made every horse's head turn toward him from the feed trough in the corral was when Jess' knees hit the snow. Lowering his head or looking to the sky, Jess worked his thumbs together in his hand clasp, not knowing which position was closer to knocking on the doors of heaven. He started out with it bowed, but as he struggled to find a beginning phrase, Jess drew his eyes to the clouds. A request could be simple, with a single plea uttered on his lips, but he couldn't even voice the very one that was needed. Jess' soul bled for his partner, and there on his knees, Jess didn't even know how to obtain the victory for his best friend that he sought. He knew that he wasn't the perfect example of a man, the tarnish of his past evidence enough, but Jess was a changed man, a forgiven man, praying for the healing of a different man. And even though there wasn't a lengthy petition for a miraculous touch, Jess' prayers were heard, for the words of the heart, even silent, can still make their way into heaven's perfect ear.
And as Jess rose to his feet, feeling that a connection had been made, the request given and received, he said a soft, "amen," and then returned to the house.
"Oh, Jess," Daisy said the moment Jess' feet hit the floor, "you're just in time. The tree isn't sitting right, can you help straighten it?"
"Sure." Jess put his hands on the upper trunk and then angled his head to find Daisy's approving nod, but her mouth was in a dissatisfied frown. "Which way is it supposed to go?"
"To the left, no, no, not that far. All right, keep it right there. It's perfect, Jess, thank you. And I mean everything, Jess. Its size and shape are beautiful. You really do have a fine eye for more than just horseflesh you know."
"Daisy, are you trying to flatter me into helping put the sparkly things on it?"
"Am I that obvious?" Daisy laughed, setting a star in Jess' outstretched hand. "That goes at the top. Uh-huh, just like that. Thank you. Now go get yourself some coffee and whatever sweet your eyes draw you to."
"Dad-gum, that sounds more like it," Jess said, remaining in the kitchen only long enough to pour a cup of coffee and to savor a handful of Christmas confections, returning to the living room to rest against the wall as Daisy adorned the tree.
"That ought to do it, don't you think?" Daisy asked as she stepped back to view her work, and beamed when Jess gave an approving nod, but then with a tilting of her head, she reached out to change the positioning of a certain bauble, and with her back turned to him, Jess' stride took him into the bedroom.
"Daisy's got the tree decorated, Slim." Jess motioned with his thumb toward the outer room. "You wanna come out and see it?"
"I don't know," Slim answered with a note of exhaustion that hadn't been there before.
"I ain't much for trimmings with frills and all get out, but I think it turned out pretty. Kinda silvery and gold, all at the same time."
"Maybe in a while," Slim said, watching as Jess began to move, and he expected Jess' immediate retreat to return to the other room, but he was only taking his frame to the window.
"Looks like Santa's gonna have a hard time maneuvering around tonight." Jess' hand pulled the curtain back and gave a short whistle. "Dad-gum, it's been going at it since dawn."
"How much snow's out there?" Slim stretched his neck from his position on the bed, but couldn't see around Jess' back.
"Close to three feet," Jess answered, turning to drop his hands to the back of the wheelchair and then pushed it to Slim's bed, his next words already attached to his tongue in another attempt to get Slim to join the family around the tree, but it couldn't do more than tingle against his lips.
"The stock doing all right?" Slim asked with a concerning rise of his eyebrow.
"Sure." Jess nodded, angling his thumb toward the window where the barn sat in snowy silence beyond his point. "They're snug inside the barn every night with more hay than they know what to do with."
"But what about the drip? All that snow's going to have to be leaking in by now."
"There's no drip to be found," Jess replied, a forewarning thought nonexistent as he let the explanation drift out of his mouth. "I fixed the roof the day after you fell."
"You what?" Slim's voice rose several notches, yet it wasn't the volume that smacked into Jess, but the amount of animosity that was streaking through it that clutched tightly around Jess' neck and gave a firm shake.
"I reckon you heard me clear enough," Jess answered, keeping his tone leveled, even though he felt a flame start to grow beyond the flickering stage.
"You fixed the roof by yourself?" Slim's hand clapped down hard against a leg that couldn't feel the slap. "How could you be so careless? Oh, wait, I know. Because your name's Jess Harper!"
"Slim, I don't understand," Jess said, spreading his hands out away from his sides. "I had to act before the snow came. No matter what, the stock's gotta be taken care of. You know that."
"I know how to take care of the stock."
"Then why are you jumping all over me?" He knew he had made a poor choice of words as soon as they came out of his mouth, but there was no point lamenting them when he couldn't take a single one of them back.
"If only I could jump all over you!" Slim leaned his face as close to Jess' as his body allowed and raised a tightened hand. "My legs might be useless but my fists are just fine. Want to go at it?"
"Ease up, Slim. I ain't gonna fight you."
"Then stop."
"Stop doing what, Slim?" Jess asked, his eyes rapidly searching his partner's face for the answer before it was uttered, but when it came, Jess wondered if Slim's fists actually reached up and struck him.
"Stop walking on your two legs. Stop doing the things I should be doing. Stop being a man, like I've had to stop. Just stop."
"Oh, Pard," Jess began, his voice full of the type of emotion that would normally make anyone bend.
"No! Don't you throw sympathy at me, Jess, I just can't take it anymore!"
"Then what am I supposed to do?" Jess took a step toward Slim, gently reaching a hand to meet Slim's rigid arm, but the gesture was rejected with a single slap of Slim's palm.
"Understand, Jess! I want you to actually get what I'm going through."
"I understand, Slim," Jess answered, his jaw set so tight that it hurt, a stab of pain rising to be thrust in his temples, but the worst stab was about to be hurled straight between Jess' eyes.
"Do you, Jess? Half of me is dead. Dead!"
"And what about the other half?" Jess knew his voice was rising with every breath that trailed out of his mouth as he spoke, but there was no tamping down what Slim had just blown up. "You gonna let that die too? You're forgetting what part's still alive. Your heart, Slim. It has feelings other than fury, you know. Care and concern, hope and faith, and let's not forget about love. But that ain't all of it, Slim. Your head's just fine. It has eyes, ears, nose and mouth. You can see, hear, smell, breathe and speak. Ain't that mean nothing?"
"Quit trying to play the role of someone you're not, Jess. Leave the wild preaching to Parson."
"I ain't trying to play anything, Slim. I'm just being your best friend and partner that cares a great deal about you. I happen to be thankful that you ain't dead, Slim, and I wish you'd feel a little of that emotion too."
"Get out Jess!" Slim's finger aimed for the door as his chest rose and fell with every furious breath. "I mean it! And don't you come back in here!"
"All right, Slim, I'll go," Jess said, the sigh that came through his lips loud enough to cover the breaking of his heart. "But you know I ain't gonna be gone forever. You'd have to shoot me to get rid of me for good."
"Get, Jess, before I'm tempted to do just that!"
The crash against the bedroom door as it swung to its closure was elongated, the shards of glass continuing to crackle as they slid to the floor, some riding a stream of kerosene to the ground as it had been the bedside lamp that had been hurled.
Jess stepped up to the window, the flakes in a lazy drop making its own version of silence, as the room was filled with a child's quiet cry.