Chapter Seven
Pray for peace, people everywhere…
It didn't feel like Christmas morning. With a child in the house, at first light there should have been a happy hoot waking up the entire household, followed by another shrill tone that carried the small feet out of his bedroom and straight to the Christmas tree.
On this Christmas morning, Slim would be the first out of the covers, although it could have easily been said that he didn't spend the night with any kind of sugarplums circling over his stocking-capped head. He hadn't even bothered to lie down, but remained propped up against a pair of upright pillows, fully dressed, boots included, with his hands folded over his chest.
While he wasn't trying to look like a man of God, there were hours that he prayed. He had to. It was Christmas. Miracles happened throughout the year, but on this very day, when the greatest miracle of all was celebrated, miracles seemed to happen even more. Bowing his head again, Slim's lips moved in silent rhythm with his repeated petition.
At the "Amen" Slim looked up. Shouldn't he feel like a child on Christmas morning, full of expectation that he was going to get everything he asked for?
He didn't feel any excitement, and that emotion wouldn't get the chance to ever grow, because Slim didn't get what he asked for. After the amount of time he offered his prayers to heaven, it would have been wrong to not look. But Jess wasn't sitting underneath the Christmas tree. He wasn't outside, not in the barn, not anywhere to see.
Jess was gone.
Putting another log on the fire, Slim leaned his weight over the crackle and spit. "Oh, Pard."
"Merry Christmas, Slim."
Head turning, Slim's startled brow softened to give Daisy a soft smile. "Merry Christmas."
"I thought I heard someone out here," said Daisy, her eyes wandering toward the window. "I was hoping that…"
Pulling Daisy into his arms, Slim brushed her forehead with his lips. "I know. It's just me, though."
"You look like you were up all night."
"I was. Oh, how I wish I'd just been up playing Santa Claus."
Again she looked toward the window, but unlike the first glance where hope flickered in her eyes, this time there was nothing inside her hue but the glimmer of tears. "Where do you think they are?"
Buried. But he wouldn't answer Daisy with the kind of darkness that belonged inside a grave.
Trying to smile, Slim gave Daisy's shoulders a squeeze. "Hopefully in a cave somewhere."
"That shouldn't be too bad, then. At least there'll be walls around them."
There were walls in a coffin, too, but again, Slim wouldn't answer in that manner. "The snow's not coming down as hard today."
"So there's that in Jess' favor too. Well, I know it's not going to be the happiest one, but for Mike's sake, we have to make it merry. That's what Jess would tell us to do, anyway."
"You're right, Daisy." Slim kissed her cheek. "You always are."
"Mort up yet?"
"Yeah, he's getting dressed."
"Maybe you should go wake Mike. It's not right for all the adults to be up before a child on Christmas morning. A few tickles might be in order, don't you think?"
Nodding, Slim left Daisy to make some edible Christmas magic in the kitchen and then quietly opened Mike's door. He was surprisingly still asleep, but it didn't look like Mike had spent the entirety of the night behind the comfortable door of slumber. Pillow askew, Mike's blankets had been kicked around his legs. Slim hoped that a nightmare hadn't been the cause, but then again, their worst dream was still going on while wide awake.
Jess was gone.
Hand reaching out to Mike's side, Slim let his fingers play a gentle tickle along the ribs. "Merry Christmas, Mike."
"Is he here?" asked Mike, his body jumping up to sit on his knees.
Slim followed the turn of Mike's head toward the door and the brightly decorated tree on its other side. If only Slim thought that Mike was asking if Santa Claus had left a neatly wrapped package under the boughs with the boy's name on the front. But Slim knew better. Mike wasn't looking for that kind of gift. He only wanted Jess.
The tickle turning into a comforting embrace, Slim gave the boy's back a rub. "No, Mike. Jess isn't here. It's time to get up and dressed. Daisy's getting breakfast on."
The bacon was devoured, but that was the advantage of being bacon. It was too good to let grow cold. The plates with eggs and biscuits, however, didn't get their proper polish. As Daisy was topping off his coffee cup, Slim stared at the three biscuits left in the plate's center. Jess' portion would have sat at two. And the last would have been whoever had the fastest draw. Mort's fingers would have barely made it past his plate. Slim's hand would have come close, but the clear winner would have been Jess.
His eyelashes lowered so that the tears wouldn't escape. Oh, Pard. But then with their swift drying, Slim suddenly scooted his chair backward. "Let's open up the Christmas presents."
Daisy's hand set Mike's half-eaten plate back on the table. "Right now?"
"Yes. Clearing the table can wait. I'd rather we gather around the Christmas tree. Mike, go see what's in your stocking. I've noticed you casting a glance every few minutes at the bulge."
It was Christmas, which made it impossible for Mike to not run toward the offered present when given the nod of permission. His hands pulling the stocking away from the mantel, Mike peered into the top. Peppermint sticks didn't usually mix with the flavors of eggs, bacon and huckleberry jam spread over buttered biscuits, but then again, Mike's fork hadn't done much more than stir the entire lot together so the strong flavor against his tongue didn't create tight dimples to form in each cheek.
The stick chomped in half, Mike dug out a pair of mittens, a pocketknife and at the bottom, a fresh dollar bill.
"Wow!"
"What do you think you'll spend it on, Mike?" Mort asked from the chair closest to the fire.
"Spend it? I just wanna look at it!"
A light ripple of laughter going around the room, Slim reached for a square box, neatly wrapped in paper with a small bow in its center. "For you, Mort."
"How'd you know to get something for me? Surely you didn't know I was going to be laid up along your fireplace?"
"No. You're a good friend, Mort. Of course we had a present with your name on it. With the storm looming, we didn't know how we were going to get it to you."
We. Slim hid the blanching of his face by adding a pair of logs to the fire. Why did everything have to remind Slim that Jess wasn't there?
"Neckties!" Mort exclaimed, holding the brown, satin-like strand up for all to see. "A whole box of them!"
"You've always been one of the best dressed lawmen in the territory, Mort. Now you will be number one."
"I sure will," said Mort, looping a black tie around his collar. "But what I really think your motive was is so that I'll be set for all those necktie parties you boys seem to get invited to."
The sheriff was smiling, as was Slim, but their hearts were far from a happy lift. Again was the reminder that Jess wasn't there. But what hit Slim's chest even harder was knowing that he wouldn't be again.
Jess was gone.
Swallowing the chokehold his grief had over him, Slim gave Daisy a box adorned in holly. "Here you are, Daisy. I'm sorry, it should've been ladies first."
"Oh, no." Daisy shook her head. "You did right. Guests first. Oh, my! Look at this lovely dress. With lace around the neck, the same at the sleeves, and there's beading around the collar too."
"Mort might be the best dressed sheriff in the territory, but in that dress, Daisy, you'll be the finest lady that ever walked the streets in all of Wyoming."
"Thank you, Slim. It is beautiful. I just hope I can have an occasion to wear it! Are either of you gentlemen planning on marrying anytime soon?"
Mort coughed, Slim felt faint, and Mike promptly rolled onto his back with a peal of laughter.
"Well, whenever the occasion arises, I'll wear it happily. If only I had a hat to go with it."
"Daisy."
She looked at the package in Slim's outstretched hand. "From Jess."
Tears blinked back, Daisy took the present and gently eased the wrap from each corner as if cherishing the fingers that touched it. She knew Slim had wrapped it, and this wasn't due to the fact Jess had been among the snowstorm the last few days. Slim's hand far neater, Daisy remembered overhearing the argument behind their closed door that Slim should cut and fold, otherwise it would look like something that had hitched a ride on a bucking bronc.
"It is a hat! Mercy! I'll be the belle of the ball."
"Slim, what's a ball?"
"Something you throw around when you're outside playing, Mike."
"And Aunt Daisy's gonna wear that hat to play in?"
"Well, no. But it's easier than trying to describe how gentlemen and ladies dress up to dance the night away."
"Sounds boring. I'd rather play with a ball."
"Me too," said Slim as he reached for Mike's present. "Here, Tiger. Tear it to shreds."
"A brand new saddle blanket for Giant! Gee, Slim, it's perfect."
"I'm glad, Mike. Here's another with your name on it."
"It's got Jess' handwriting, but he didn't sign it."
"That's Jess for you."
The package small, Mike couldn't resist giving it a shake. "It jingles."
"Go ahead and open it and find out why," Slim said, watching the confusion turn to joy.
"Spurs! Can I really where them, Slim?"
"Maybe not around the house, but when you're out doing chores, you bet."
"That is if he can do chores without spinning them," teased Daisy as she leaned toward the tree. "We've all had a turn. You're next, Slim."
The choking sensation reviving its tight grip, Slim held the package that had been wrapped by Jess with his name scrawled at the top. "I'm not sure I should open it."
"I opened mine from Jess," said Mike, and his eyes, somehow still able to create a proper eager glow. "I wanna see what it is."
"You're right, Mike. I'd imagine Jess would be asking me why it took this long to open it up anyway."
It was nothing sentimental, nothing that should make him cry, yet the tears formed anyway. Slim quickly looked away from the box that held a fancy tooled belt with an even fancier buckle, but not so rich-looking that Slim could only wear it with a suit jacket. Now the reason behind Jess' tease when he was wrapping Daisy's dress and matching hat made sense.
"I reckon with all those expensive coats you got in the closet you knew right well how to shop for this dress of Daisy's. Considering them fancy duds of yours, I'm surprised you don't primp your shirt for everyday chores. You always look cleaner-cut than I do anyway, so you might as well go all the way."
"A rancher doesn't dress like a city dude, Jess."
"No? Well, don't be surprised if you try it someday."
There were a few more gifts, from Daisy to Slim, another package addressed to Mike, but Slim wouldn't be able to recall what was wrapped in each. His thoughts couldn't stay on what was underneath festive wrap, but went straight to Summit Pass,and the men that had died up there, and the man that had died right here in this house with the woman he loved hovering over his fading frame.
For years, Slim had kept that awful memory his own, sealed within his mind until it was forced out. Since the newspaper carried it beyond Wyoming's borders, maybe everyone in the west knew the story now. Although would any of them be able to recall it today? Perhaps if reminded, but there was a man that wouldn't need the prod against his skull to bring the memory back. Jess. He knew the story almost as detailed as Slim did, and that had given Jess an easy step in performing the same duty as the elder Sherman all those years before.
"Slim."
"Huh? Sorry, Daisy." He shook his head to clear away the past. No amount of shaking could clear away the present. "What do you need?"
"I said that I need to get the kitchen cleaned up. I put the turkey on to roast before I ever cracked an egg open for breakfast so it should be done in an hour or so, which means that the rest of the dinner has to be readied. Candied yams, mashed potatoes and gravy, and deviled eggs."
"All right, Daisy. Mike and I will help."
"Me too," Mort said, holding his hands wide. "I can't do much with this leg like it is, but I can peel a potato."
"Make that a dozen potatoes, Mort."
"I'll do as many as you put in front of me, Miss Daisy. I sure appreciate you letting me stay over for Christmas. First breakfast and now a turkey with more fixings than I can count. I'll be patting my belly from now until New Years."
"Oh, we wouldn't have had it any other way, Mort. You're always welcome at the dinner table, no matter what day it says on the calendar. I'll bring you the potatoes and a knife as soon as I'm ready."
Daisy working the yams until they glistened with sweet goodness, Mike spooning the blended yolk's back into the hollow centers, Slim's job was mashing the potatoes after they had been boiled to fork-tender. Pausing to let Daisy sprinkle in a hefty dose of salt and pepper, Slim stared past the kitchen curtain. If Jess had somehow made it, what would he be eating for Christmas dinner? There was always snow, and hardtack and jerky if Singer had something other than money inside his pack. Slim shook his head. Why even think what Jess could have been served? Nobody could live through Summit Pass this time of year.
Jess was gone.
Daisy's hand went to her hair to give the tendrils above her neck a pat. "That should do it. I thank you all for your help."
"Anytime," said Slim, taking the opportunity to lick the gravy spoon before it hit the dirty dish water.
"Come on, Mike. Get washed up."
He stared at the table, full of food, but what caught his eye more than the steam swirling over every dish, was the empty chair. "We can't eat yet."
"Why not, Mike?" asked Daisy, although the answer didn't need to be spoken to her. She knew very well, as the reason was squeezing against her chest.
"Jess isn't here."
Her heartbeat spoken, Daisy turned toward Mike's tears, afraid that hers were going to start spilling just as fast down her cheeks. "I know. But don't you think he'd rather us carry on as if he were, just like how we opened presents without him?"
"I guess," Mike answered, looking back out the window. "But dinner's different. Can't we wait just a little while longer? You're always saying the smell of food lures Jess home from miles away."
"I know," Daisy answered. "But that is more tease than truth. Come on, Mike. We don't want the food to get cold."
"But just a little while longer can't hurt it, can it?"
Slim rested his hands on Mike's shoulders, gently turning him until the moist eyes met his blue ones, but maybe his lashes were just as wet. "He's not going to make it home, Mike."
"He's got to, Slim. It's Christmas."
"I know how you feel. But listen to me. Jess knew what he was doing, Mike, and he knew he wasn't going to make it home for Christmas."
"He knew?"
Slim nodded as he pulled Mike into the crook of his arm. "You know Jess doesn't do things without thinking them over first."
"Yeah. I don't understand why he did it, Slim. Why would he wanna miss Christmas?"
"Jess loves you, Mike. That's why he did it."
"But I love him too. So do you. We all love Jess. That's why he should be here."
"Sometimes love gives everything it has."
Mike tilted his head. "You mean Jess gave up Christmas for me?"
Slim looked at Mort and then put his eyes on Daisy. She wasn't nodding, but neither was Daisy holding a finger over her mouth. While this was hard to confess, even harder to accept, Slim couldn't leave the answer in silence. He had to tell the truth.
"No. Jess gave up his life for you."
Dropping his head, Mike sniffed, but he wouldn't cry, because Mike knew that Jess wouldn't want him to spoil the special meal with too many tears. "All right. I'll wash up so we can eat."
"Good boy."
.:.
It wasn't his usual glass to finish Christmas with. The last four years when the day closed, a pair of cups, filled to the brim with eggnog would get clacked together and then Slim would put the once-a-year sip to his mouth. Jess' portion would go down with one gulp. Tonight there was no white foam, sprinkled with spice in his hand, only whiskey.
Slim gave the amber liquid in his glass a swirl before taking a taste. The burn barely making him wince, Slim went the route of his partner and tossed the entire cup to the back of his throat and swallowed. The bottle close by, he poured another. This time he would let the drink go down slowly, offering his body just a little at a time. At its emptying, he put one more trickle into the bottom of the glass. Now he merely held onto it, squeezing until his fingers hurt.
It was obvious that he wasn't trying to get drunk, not even trying to drown his sorrows. He was merely closing the day, like he always had. Only this Christmas, Slim was standing there alone.
Turning toward the bedrooms, Slim noticed that darkness lined each of the doors. They had gone to bed a few hours ago, and while the lamp in Daisy's room had been lit for the longest after their goodnight had been spoken, now it was completely dark. He hoped that they were asleep, and not thinking about this day, what had been bright and cheerful, or the parts that hadn't.
It was true that there were smiles around the Christmas tree, some more around the turkey and all of its trimmings, but they weren't full of light. After all, they couldn't feel true joy when it wasn't in the house.
Jess was gone.
The clock close to striking midnight, Slim stared out the dark window, watching, waiting, but expecting none. He really was expecting, maybe just a little bit. Why else would he be looking out the window, watching, waiting, just in case the Christmas miracle was granted in the very last minute?
Sighing, Slim lowered his head. He wanted to pray for peace, that sweet, heavenly peace that was sung about in churches around the world on this day and the weeks before, but Slim knew that peace couldn't touch his soul. It couldn't even cross their threshold.
Jess was gone.
The last of his whiskey going down, Slim capped the bottle. The clock singing its midnight chime, the last of Slim's whiskey went down his throat. That was it. The day was closed. There would be no Christmas miracle.
Jess was gone.