JASON REMEMBERS
Jason was in time to watch the sunrise from his favorite spot. It was good to be in the Great Outdoors again, and breathe the fresh(er) clean(er) air. He wasn't as sure about the 'communing' with the trees, as Da had said, thinking he wouldn't like him if he was one of the trees.
He waited until the sun was fully up, the fire burned out (it was always colder higher up,) and he finished his coffee before letting his thoughts go farther.
Was he going to set traps?
There wasn't really any need to. No overpopulation that he knew of, no hungry predators, and thanks to that last bit of business, no immediate need for extra money. Not that extra money wasn't always a good thing, but trapping wasn't his pastime of choice. He'd leave that to the trappers who made their living that way. As long as they weren't trapping in the same places that were being logged.
In fact, he had left the traps at their cabin. Jeremy's treetop Christmas tree was still surprisingly green. Probably because it had been cold and no fires lit around it. He'd dropped the traps off, looked around the place, laid a fire against his or their return, and gone on out to walk free.
He had a lot to think about, and wished there was someone he could talk to. Besides the trees, that was; although they were pretty good listeners.
He knew where there was another good listener up here, and headed that way.
Jason looked out at the countryside. This was a spot of unusual beauty, in a beautiful world. It was the crest of a long gently sloping hill, in spring and summer covered in wildflowers and wild grasses. There were rocks, stones, bits of boulders scattered view was unobstructed before him, and behind him, bordered by trees, the hillside abruptly rose straight upward. There were caves up there, he knew from years of exploring. Springs bringing forth streams that became waterfalls, both gentle trickles over mossy rocks and, more excitingly, roaring cataracts that measured in yards, not feet, over centuries-old boulders that had been scoured by rushing water of any growing thing in their endless (beginningless?) lifetime here.
But this place was more of a sunset place, facing toward the future. Future harbor, future town, future city. She'd always said that when the sun set, the future they dreamed was one more day closer to becoming real.
This had always been her place, and now it always would be. Da had seen to that.
He stood awhile, just looking. He looked at the view first, for a long time, maybe trying to avoid his thoughts and just remember her.
He couldn't do that forever, or even for much longer. The sun was already heading down, and it was a long walk back to town, and the cold would follow him all the way.
Reluctantly, his sight went to the ground beside her, and he measured with his eyes the new place that he'd be digging, before long.
Not yet, though. Hopefully not until later in the spring, at the very least; after the worst of the early rains and the early melt. If only it could be put off for another year or two, or ten. Ten would be even better, but he was neither blind nor stupid. That wasn't going to happen.
He sighed, crossed his arms, and leaned against the exposed top of a boulder. "He really went when you did, you know. It's just taken this long for the rest of him to get the message. Talk about stubborn."
The wind blew teasingly, and it felt like her laughter sounded.
"These Christmases –" he said, and stopped. It wasn't fair to blame the season for the problems, good or bad. He wasn't sure if by good or bad he meant the Christmases or the problems, or maybe both; but it didn't matter anyhow.
This was hard.
The bad Christmas, the first one without her, had been both hard and cruel. Da had still been grieving, and angry, and drinking too much.
They had all been grieving, of course, and the abrupt move to town hadn't helped. Da had seemed to think getting away from her house would somehow minimize her absence, but of course it had not.
Jason had resented having to leave the mountain.
Oh, there was nothing wrong with town. It was a good place to visit, and it was a nice change to visit with people, talk, pass time with, etc. He liked the talk, and the competitions, but when he wanted to walk anywhere, he had to shorten his steps. When he talked, he had to lower his voice, no matter how intense the story was. He was too old for school and too young to leave, although he considered that at times.
Joshua was all about going to school, meeting and playing with boys his own age. He did his chores at home, talked and joked and argued, and was, in general, a nine or ten year old boy. He rarely mentioned their mother, or their changed circumstances, and he really seemed to enjoy being in town. He came home every day with stories and jokes and always had something to talk about.
Jeremy, on the other hand, was still barely talking at all. At least, as Christmas neared, he was starting to speak, hesitantly and in whispers. That was an improvement. It had been heartbreaking when he had stopped talking. The very day they had left their old home on the mountain.
They had stopped at her grave and said prayers, and Jason had kept on praying, trying to talk, to stretch out the time until it was too late to go away that day. He would never remember what all he had said, just that he'd kept on until Da told him to wrap it up or stand there alone. Instead of saying amen, Jeremy had started crying, deep, heart-wrenching, heart-breaking sobs.
He and Da had carried the crying child into town, into the newly built house that their father had been building the days he took Josh to school and brought him home.
Not that Jeremy had been silent. He mumbled and cried in his sleep, and after the first night, his bedtime tantrums had resumed with screaming, fighting, and harsh, hateful, terror-filled words.
Jeremy wouldn't go out into the town on his own, either. Jason or Da had to carry him, and if they put him down, he would find a hiding place, away from the faces and feet of townfolk.
Da was embarrassed and angry when they had to look for the child, and was not gentle with him. But he did learn to keep hold of him when he took him out.
But now, as Christmas approached, and Josh brought home more and more talk from school, the youngest seemed to be ready to try to break his silence.
Until Da ruined that, by telling them all to forget the idea of festivities for the season; that Christmas was a solemn affair and meant to be observed as such. He'd allowed their mother to coax him into that foolishness, but that was done with now. He'd not have it in his home.
"It's our home, too," Joshua had objected, resentfully.
Da slapped the boy, hard.
Josh told him he was mean, and he'd taken a step toward his second son when Jeremy suddenly sat down in the middle of the floor (where Da would have had to trip over him) and started screaming for his mama. "Ma-ma-ma-ma-ma-ma-ma-ma-ma-ma-ma-ma!"
Da looked from one boy to the other, glared at Jason, and then walked out the door, slamming it behind him.
Jason picked up Jeremy, who obligingly went from screaming to crying, and got a cold wet towel for Josh, who had also started crying. He walked them both over to their bed, where they all sat down, and he tended to Josh. With a cold compress and some light teasing he got Josh settled down, and when Josh settled down, so did Jeremy.
They eventually went to sleep, but Jason had remained awake, thinking that he could not do this. He should not be doing this. He was their brother, not their father (OR mother.) What did he know about taking care of kids (other than helping out)?
Hell, he was still a kid himself! An old kid, maybe, but not yet an adult. (As much as he hated to admit it.)
After they had gone to sleep, he used the no longer cold but still damp towel to wipe the tears off their faces, pulled up a blanket, tucked a little brother under each arm, and that was how they slept that night.
That was their first Christmas without her.
And then
The next year the brothers had exchanged gifts secretly.
The year after that, their gift exchange was done openly, while Da watched.
And Now it was now, Jason thought, and everything had changed again.
"And I still don't know what I'm doing or how I'm supposed to do any of it," he said out loud, to his mother's spirit, or to the nature spirits – trees, rocks, and wind. To anyone who might be listening, as the sun continued sinking and the clouds thickened and gathered.
"Not any of it," he repeated. "And this time next year, I'll be doing all of it."
He raised his face to the sky. "I'm going to need some help," he said.
And the wind laughed at him, tousling his hair as snowflakes fell, kissing him on the cheeks and forehead.
"I hear you," he said quietly, and began the long walk back to where his brothers were waiting.
