Christmas in the Lone Star State

by Jason Manning

  Matty’s father didn’t die but was crippled in both legs for life. It was not certain whether the uncle’s intent had been to kill his victim or cripple him. Sayles was of the opinion that Mexicans were pretty poor shots for the most part, faring much better with blades than bullets. Matty’s mother married again—in fact, her union with his father was not recognized, much less spoken of, but when Matty began catching hell because he clearly had gringo blood in him, he convinced his mother to tell him the truth. He rode north to Texas to find his father, and ended up staying a while, becoming one of the best trackers the Rangers ever had and one of Sayles’s best friends.

  One day Matty had received a letter from down Mexico way, a letter that informed him of his mother’s death at the hands of her husband. Matty rode south and killed the man. Rumor had it the man had been on his knees begging for mercy when Matty shot his eyes out. Then he vanished into the Sierra Madre. Sayles figured his friend, who was as slippery as an eel and knew as much about covering tracks as finding them, might still be on the loose in the wild country of those mountains.

  “In a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trump: for the trumpet shall sound, and the dead shall be raised incorruptible, and we shall be changed. For this corruptible must put on incorruption, and this mortal must put on immortality. So when this corruptible shall have put on incorruption, and this mortal shall have put on immortality, then shall be brought to pass the saying that is written, Death is swallowed up in victory. O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory?”

  The preacher closed his Bible and looked at Jake, and then at Purdy. Sometimes the bereaved wanted to say a few words or put something in the grave, but a single glance convinced the preacher that neither of the dead boy’s parents was so disposed, and he nodded to the two gravediggers who stood nearby. As the first shovelful of dirt thumped against the coffin Purdy sobbed quietly and turned away, burying her face in Temple Hanley’s buffalo coat. Sayles took a close look at Jake, and the expression on the prisoner’s face made him wonder if it might have been more compassionate on the part of the governor to deny Hanley’s request that Eddings be allowed to attend this ceremony. Meanwhile the preacher concluded the service with “In sure and certain hope of the resurrection to eternal life through our Lord Jesus Christ, we commend to Almighty God the child Joshua Eddings; and we commit his body to the ground; earth to earth; ashes to ashes, dust to dust. The Lord bless him and keep him, the Lord make his face to shine upon him and be gracious unto him and give him peace. Amen.”

  The onlookers began to disperse. Sayles caught Hanley’s glance in his direction, and nodded. The lawyer would take Purdy home, while Sayles intended to waste no time in starting on the road back to Huntsville. Hanley’s glance was a silent query, asking if it was time they went their separate ways. He had suggested letting Jake and Purdy speak but Sayles was opposed to the idea. “Won’t do either one of them any good,” he opined. Now he reached out to take Eddings by the arm. “It’s time we got going.”

  Eddings looked at him. He was deathly pale, with a blank look on his face. Sayles had seen that look before, the look of a man who had been so traumatized that he had momentarily taken leave of his senses. He didn’t seem to grasp the meaning of the Ranger’s words and Sayles sighed and said, “Come on. Nothing more you can do here.” Eddings’s arm still in his grasp, he started to turn toward the horses beyond the crumbling stone wall that marked the cemetery’s perimeter.

  Seeing that Hanley was already leading Purdy away from the grave site, Eddings suddenly wrenched his arm free and half ran, half stumbled after them. “Wait!” he called out. “Purdy, wait!” Sayles muttered a curse under his breath and went after him, but he wasn’t much of a runner anymore and the prisoner’s legs were a lot longer than his horse-warped ones, so that Eddings reached his wife and the lawyer with the Ranger still a step or two behind him.

  Startled, Hanley pulled Purdy closer and held out an arm as though to fend off Eddings. “For the love of God, Jake! Calm yourself!”

  Eddings didn’t even look at the lawyer. His eyes were riveted on his wife. “Purdy, I-I am so sorry. Please, forgive me! Please … wait for me, I … I love you! Please don’t stop loving me!” “He was trembling with emotion, his voice strident with desperation.

  Sayles latched on to Eddings’s arm again, bracing for a struggle. But Eddings didn’t seem to notice him any more than he noticed Hanley. He was focused completely on Purdy, who stared at him with eyes that brimmed with tears. Sayles didn’t think she was going to say anything, or was even capable of speech, until Hanley tried to lead her away.

  “Wait!” she gasped, directing this at Hanley. “Wait, it’s all right.” She looked at her husband again, and finding the right words seemed a struggle. “Jake,” she whispered, and dragged a ragged breath. “Oh, Jake! The last words Joshua said to me…” There was a catch in her voice, and she had to compose herself. “… He said he was so sorry … that he and his father had left me alone.”

  Eddings made a sound like like he had just been gut-punched. He wrapped his arms around his midsection and dropped to his knees in the muddy snow. He leaned forward until his head touched the ground and made a hoarse wailing sound filled with despair. Hanley looked horrified as he bore witness to this emotional disintegration. Still gripping the prisoner’s arm, Sayles felt his nape hairs rise, a primal response triggered by the sound his prisoner made. He noticed that most of the spectators were still around, and all eyes were glued to Eddings. Sayles leaned down a little more and in a fierce whisper said, “Get up! For God’s sake, man, get off your knees. Stand up!” while putting all he had into trying to haul Eddings upright.

  Aware that Hanley was hurrying Purdy away, making for his buggy, Sayles looked at the other people standing about—and lost his temper. “Clear out!” he rasped. “Get on home! You had no business being here in the first place.” Seeing some resentment flash in one man’s face he reached into his coat pocket and brandished the Schofield and snarled “Git!” That did the trick. The resentment was replaced with fear and the man hastened away, along with all the others. They scattered like sheep who realized there was a wolf in their midst. Letting go of Eddings’s arm, Sayles straightened and pocketed the six-shooter. His lips pursed, he exhaled slowly then took a deep breath, smoothing down his hackles. It was rare that he lost his temper. Having seen capable men bested and sometimes killed because they lost control, he had trained himself to keep his head.

  Eddings was getting on his feet. The fact that the Ranger had stood up for him penetrated the fog of intense misery that enveloped him. “Thanks,” he mumbled.

  “Eh.” Sayles made a dismissive gesture. “Just remember. There’s only one thing that can’t be taken away from you, son. Your self-respect. That you have to give away.”

  “I almost did yesterday. Rath unlocked my cell door, said he was giving me a chance to die a free man. We both knew if I made a break for it I wouldn’t get far. I almost did it anyway.”

  The Ranger’s squinty eyes glittered. “That man is no-account,” he murmured.

  Eddings looked morosely at Hanley’s buggy, which was already rolling down the road back to Cameron, taking Purdy away, and he felt sure he had seen her for the last time. When he spoke it was with the voice of a man who had lost all hope. “Rath told me that Purdy is letting our neighbor, George Norris, in her bed. I don’t blame her. I mean, she can’t hold on to the farm without some kind of help. I guess it makes sense, in a way. Norris is a widower. She never liked him but … well … I can’t expect her to wait for me for thirteen years. Can I?”

  Sayles figured Eddings wanted him to lie and tell him he could in fact expect that. “No, I reckon not.”

  “For better or worse. Through sickness and health. Nice words, but hard to live by sometimes.” Eddings’s voice was shaky. He glanced at Sayles. “Ever been married?”

  Sayles turned away, making for the cemetery gate and the horses beyond, but he didn�
��t turn fast enough. Eddings saw him wince.

  “Let’s get going,” said Sayles gruffly.

  Eddings spared his son’s grave a glance. It was now completely filled in, and the gravediggers were hiking back to town. Back to a drink at the saloon, or back to their families. A wave of self-pity overwhelmed him as he turned away and followed Sayles through the gate. He was alone. He had no one left. He noticed that Sayles was unlashing the coiled rope from his saddle.

  “You don’t need to tie me up like you did on the way here,” said Eddings, after Sayles had helped him up into the saddle on the sorrel horse, since his hands were bound behind his back. “I won’t run. I give you my word.”

  Sayles looked him in the eye a moment, then without a word returned to the coyote dun, tied the rope back to his saddle, and climbed aboard. Taking up the lead rope attached to the sorrel’s bridle, he led the way down the road east, away from Cameron.

  * * *

  As they drew near Cameron, which was no more than a quarter mile from the cemetery, it occurred to Temple Hanley for the first time that perhaps Purdy wouldn’t want to go home now that she was truly alone. With everything else that had been on his mind with respect to the burying of Joshua and the business with Jake, he hadn’t had time to consider the aftermath. He slowed the horse in the buggy’s traces to give himself a little more time to think how best to phrase the question. He had put her up in a room at the hotel the previous night, and could continue to pay for that room if she so desired. His first impulse had been to offer her the spare room in his own house, and that option crossed his mind again—as did the reasons why it might not be a good idea. In addition to their lack of Christian charity when it came to helping Purdy in her time of need, the good people of Cameron would be quick to judge both Purdy and himself if she were to spend any time at all under his roof. That he paid for her room at the hotel in itself might stir up some mean-spirited gossip. Hanley shook his head and sighed. Despite all the possible pitfalls, though, he had to do what he thought was right.

  “Perhaps you would like to stay in town for a little while, my dear,” he murmured.

  Suddenly the thought of ever seeing Cameron again made Purdy sick to her stomach. After thinking about it a little longer she realized she didn’t want to be anywhere to see anyone in particular. But especially not Cameron or, more precisely, the people who lived there. She had been lost in a fog of grief and exhaustion for weeks, but she remembered that Hanley had promised to find someone to come help her, and while she hadn’t really wanted anyone around she was aware, now, that he had failed. She knew he wasn’t one to say such a thing just to say it, that he had no doubt made an effort to do it, and he hadn’t told her why he wasn’t able to find anyone but she knew. It must be because the word was out about her and Norris, and for that and that alone she had been ostracized.

  She pasted a wan smile on her lips. “Thank you,” she murmured, her throat hoarse from all the crying she had done. “But you can just take me…” She almost said home. And right then she realized the farm no longer felt like home. “… take me back to the farm.” There wasn’t a trace of enthusiasm in her voice because she didn’t want to go back there either. The problem was that she had no other place to go.

  Hanley gave her a sidelong glance and noticed she was crying again, quietly. He had never seen anyone so lost, and he wanted more than anything to ease her suffering but was powerless to do so. “Don’t give up, Purdy,” he said finally, using her given name for the first time.

  They passed through Cameron in silence. There were a few people on the streets, and Hanley glowered at each and every one of them. Had anyone spoken to him they would have discovered a Temple Hanley they had never known existed. A very rare thing had happened—he had lost his temper. He was angry at his neighbors and ashamed of them at the same time. These people who considered themselves good Christians. Where was the charity? Where was the forgiveness? Where was the helping hand? He wanted to confront them as Jesus had confronted the mob that wanted to stone a woman accused of adultery in John 8:7—“Let he who is without sin among you cast the first stone.”

  Approaching the Eddings farm, Hanley was struck by how desolate it seemed. The fact that the day was overcast, as it had been for many days now, didn’t help matters. He longed to see the sun break through the clouds. The only color in the scene was provided by the occasional pine tree nestled in the leafless oaks and sweet gums. The snow-covered fields were white and black, the farmhouse with his shuttered windows a dull, weathered gray. As he stopped the buggy in front of the house his instinct for survival had him looking around for the big yellow dog. Then he remembered that Purdy had tied Buck to a stout length of rope on the porch, afraid the dog might try to follow her to town the day before. But Buck wasn’t on the rope, and the rope was half as long as he remembered it being. On closer inspection it was evident that the rope had snapped in two.

  Purdy was distraught. She searched the house, the outbuildings, ran out into the fields in one direction, then another, calling out the dog’s name. Hanley was no tracker but he managed to pick up what he thought might be the dog’s tracks in the snow. They were headed north along the road in the direction of Cameron. When he showed Purdy this, she became frantic with worry.

  “Someone might shoot him! Please, please take me back to the cemetery. Perhaps he followed us.” She clutched at his arm. “I can’t lose him!” she cried. “I can’t lose Buck too!”

  Hanley was exhausted, but he didn’t hesitate to comply with her wishes. They rode back through Cameron to the cemetery and searched all around, to no avail. The snow within the low stone wall that marked the cemetery’s perimeter was churned up by the twenty-odd people who had attended Joshua’s funeral hours before. Once again Hanley circled outside the wall, looking for sign, but this time he failed to find any. He urged Purdy to come back to town with him. Together they would keep an eye out for Buck. There was no point in going to Tom Rath for help. Rath would shoot the dog even if he knew it wasn’t a stray. Purdy’s reaction to this new crisis concerned him. She was crying inconsolably. He wondered how much more she could take.

  “Try to calm yourself, dear,” he said. “In all likelihood your dog will find his way home. That’s what dogs do, isn’t it?” He made it a statement of fact rather than a question.

  Purdy grabbed that thread of hope and clung to it, asking him to take her home again. On the way back to the Eddings farm Hanley found himself offering up silent prayers to God that they would find Buck waiting for them. But there was no sign of the dog and Purdy sat on the porch steps, head in hands, and sobbed. Hanley went inside the farmhouse, made some coffee, and carried two pewter cups out to sit beside her, offering her one. He was relieved that she had stopped crying, but it was short-lived relief. Her expression worried him. In his line of work he had seen utter hopelessness before. Now he saw it in Purdy Eddings and was at a loss what to do about it. What cruel twist of fate, he thought, that she would lose her dog on this day, of all days. His own helplessness frustrated him.

  “I’ll go back to town and look all over for him until it’s too dark to see,” he promised. “If I find him I know some people who will help me get a rope on him, and he won’t be harmed, I assure you.” He rose and looked down at her. Staring blankly across the dead fields at the line of trees that marked the course of the Little River, she gave no sign that she even heard him. He hated to leave her, but there was always the chance that Buck would come home. Hanley sighed. This was one of those moments when there were simply no good choices. He went back inside, built a fire in the fireplace, took Purdy by the arm, and led her inside, seating her in a rocking chair near the hearth and finding a blanket to drape around her shoulders. He promised to return first thing in the morning and then laid a comforting hand lightly on her shoulder. “Don’t cry, Purdy. You’ve shed enough tears to last a lifetime. Things will get better.” When she didn’t respond he sighed again and left her there, leaving the door slightly a
jar so that Buck could enter if he did return. Reaching the buggy he cast one last hopeful look around and then glanced skyward, shaking his head. “Sometimes I just don’t understand why You let so many bad things happen to good people,” he confessed, then climbed into the rig, took up the leathers, and started back to Cameron.

  Day Five

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Purdy sat by the fire all night long. There were a few pieces of wood left in the stack by the hearth, but she didn’t bother adding any to the fire when it died down. She slept fitfully, but even so she dreamed. Dreamed of a happy and carefree childhood as a tomboy who spent much of the time on her father’s riverboat. Then she would dream of sitting by her father’s deathbed, and that moment when the life had gone out of his eyes and his grip loosened as they held hands. She dreamed of the day when she and Jake had been married; outside the church on the edge of Cameron because it had been such a bright spring day, sunny and warm, with a cooling breeze making the limbs of stately oaks sway with every leaf dancing, the day as exceptional as their future seemed to be. That had been the happiest moment of her life—up until the day Joshua was born. Life had been so utterly perfect after that. For a while. Even when they fell on hard times, she was profoundly content with her situation. But then there came that fateful day in the courthouse when the judge sentenced Jake to fifteen years in the state prison. She had never forgotten the devastated look on her husband’s face as their eyes met in that moment when everything changed irrevocably for them both.