Christmas in the Lone Star State

by Jason Manning

  “And what was another reason?”

  “Because I didn’t want to be a fugitive. I’d already made enough mistakes.” He glanced briefly at the crowd, as what he perceived to be some skeptical murmurs arose. “I know. I know what you’re thinking. What man would choose thirteen more years in a prison cell to being free? But the outlaw trail—that’s not freedom. The only way I could be really free was to serve out my sentence. Besides…” He looked down at his hands, clenched together in his lap. “I’ve done enough that my wife—and my son—would be ashamed of.”

  Hanley’s smile faltered. More than a few times he had heard witnesses wax sentimental in the hope of gaining favor with a judge or jury. But there wasn’t a doubt in his mind that Jake Eddings meant every word. He glanced over his shoulder at the onlookers. No one was snickering.

  “Let’s move this dogie on down the trail,” said Judge Greve sternly, being no fan of sentimentality, and looked at Eddings. “So what happened next?”

  “We came to a big meadow. The Litchfields were about to ride into the timber on the far side. Sayles told me to stay put and rode after them. About halfway across he shot one off the horse. Then he dismounted and traded fire with the other, who had dismounted as well. He hit the second one but that one got up and fired back and he went down. I went out and reached the rifle he had dropped and shot the one called Mal Litchfield. Killed him.” Eddings drew a long breath. “I had never killed a man before. Sayles was in a bad way. He had two slugs in him. I tied him to his horse.” His mouth curled in a wry smile. “He told me to, said he was going to pass out. Thanks to him, I knew just how to tie a man to a saddle so that he wouldn’t fall off.” There was a hint of irony in his tone. “We rode back to the sheepherder’s place. I never thought he’d make it, but he did. Bill Sayles is a hard man to kill. I left him there in the care of the widow and rode straight here to get the doctor.” He glanced at Tom Rath, who was sitting in the front row. “The sheriff arrested me. Doc Crighton said he knew where the sheepherder’s place was so I wasn’t needed to show him the way. From what I’m told he got the bullet out of the Ranger’s leg but he couldn’t get at all the pieces of the one that hit him the shoulder.”

  “If I’m not mistaken, you must have passed close to your farm on the way into Cameron. You didn’t stop there?”

  “I saw it. From across the river, through the trees. No, I didn’t stop. God knows I wanted to. But I was … afraid.”

  “Afraid of what?”

  “Of making another big mistake.”

  Hanley stepped closer and put a hand on Eddings’s shoulder. “And where is your wife today?”

  Eddings drew a long slow breath, making sure he had his emotions held in check before replying. “She’s at home. She wanted to be here but I asked her not to be. It was … very hard on her, that day I was sentenced, here in this very room.”

  Hanley nodded. “One final question, Mr. Eddings. Why did you ride out into that meadow? Was it an attempt to save the life of a Texas Ranger? Was it to stop Mal Litchfield? What was it that compelled you to risk your life, exposing yourself to a man who was, by all accounts, an expert shot with a pistol? In my opinion that was a pretty heroic thing to do.”

  Eddings shook his head. “Nothing heroic about it. I had no choice,” he said.

  “That’s all, Judge.” Hanley smiled reassuringly at Eddings then retired to his front-row chair.

  Greve nodded. “Mr. Eddings, you can take your seat,” he said as he turned his attention to the small, wiry old man with an arm in a sling and a crutch between his knees. The man’s head was down, face hidden from the judge’s view by the battered brim of his campaign hat, but even so, Greve was fairly certain Bill Sayles was asleep. “Mr. Sayles? Mr. Sayles!” The head came up sharply. “I am sorry to wake you, sir, but you said you wanted to speak your piece here today?”

  Sayles mumbled something, pushing the hat back on his head. He fished the Elgin out from under his coat, then began the process of getting to his feet, relying on the crutch, since he could not depend on his right leg.

  “No need for you to sit in the witness chair, Mr. Sayles.” Eddings had relocated to a chair between Hanley and Tom Rath. “You can stay where you are.”

  Sayles acted like he didn’t hear. As he made his way slowly but resolutely to the witness chair, Temple Hanley smiled. He had already discovered that the Ranger was a man with an indomitable will and fierce pride, and now the judge and the rest of Cameron knew it too—unless they thought him just a doddering old fool who hadn’t heard or understood Greve’s offer.

  Once in the chair Sayles sighed with relief and only then acknowledged the judge’s presence. “Yer Honor, I only got a few words to say.”

  “By all means, Mr. Sayles.”

  Sayles looked at the faces of the spectators and cleared his throat, seeming a bit nervous. “I don’t put much stock in words. But I have to say that I would have been shot dead by that son of a bitch Mal Litchfield but for the bravery of that man over yonder.” He pointed at Eddings with a crooked trigger finger. “He could have run. Any other man would have. Now, I ain’t never been one to give a bad man any rope. But Jake Eddings isn’t a bad man, and he deserves a second chance.” He paused, rubbing his chin, as though trying to decide if he had anything else that needed saying. Then he glanced at the judge. “I reckon that’s all.” He began the slow, laborious process of getting up.

  “Thank you, Mr. Sayles, and thank you for your service to the people of the great state of Texas.” Judge Greve fastened his gaze on Eddings. “I believe that the sentence I gave you two years ago was a fair one, Mr. Eddings, considering that you were involved in a robbery during which a law-abiding man was gunned down. You may not have pulled the trigger on that day, but you were just as culpable as the man who did. You could have been hanged. While I believe that a person who does wrong should be punished, I also believe he who does a good deed should be rewarded. The law cannot serve the people if it has no compassion. The prophet Micah said, ‘He has told you what is good and what the Lord desires of you, that you love mercy and do justice and walk humbly with your God.’ Have mercy and do justice. Because of your selfless act of heroism, Mr. Eddings, I set aside your sentence and declare you, as of this date, a free man. Sheriff, remove those shackles.”

  A collective gasp rose from the spectators, as though all of them had forgotten to breathe while the judge spoke, and then everyone seemed to be talking at once. Eddings hardly noticed the commotion. He was aware of Rath, as he leaned over to unlock the shackles, saying, “You’re still a no-good longrider in my book, and you always will be.” And Temple Hanley, who sat to his right, leaning over to murmur, “And I must say, Sheriff, I’ve always thought of you as the southern end of a northbound horse, and I believe I always shall.”

  Rath glowered at the lawyer as he got up and joined the other people filing out of the courtroom. Eddings realized he could do the same. He could get up and walk outside a free man. He could go anywhere he wanted. But there was just one place he wanted to go.

  “I need to get home,” he told Hanley. “I need to tell Purdy. I hate to do this, but could I borrow your buggy?”

  Hanley was beaming. “Follow me, Jake.”

  The lawyer led him down a short hallway past the small room where records were kept, and where the judge could deliberate in private. A back door opened into an alley, and in the alley stood the bay mare, ground-hitched. Once he was certain no one was around, Hanley reached under his buffalo coat and brandished a large pouch, which he handed to Eddings.

  “There was a reward for the Litchfield brothers, you know. Seems they murdered the daughter of a very powerful and influential man back in London. A rich man, as well. He offered a bounty of five hundred pounds sterling for each of the brothers. Comes out to be about five thousand dollars, American. I hope you don’t mind but I took the liberty of using a portion of it to pay off the lien on your farm. That left more than four thousand dollars, and it’s all y
ours.”

  Eddings stared at the bag. “Four thousand,” he murmured, in disbelief. That was more money than he could even get his head around. “But … I don’t deserve this, Mr. Hanley.”

  “Well, I think you do. And the only other man who would have a claim on that reward thinks so, too. He said he had no need of it. He also said he didn’t have a need for this fine steed, since he wasn’t going to be transporting prisoners anymore.”

  Eddings looked at the bay. “No, I don’t suppose he will. He doesn’t take any prisoners. I should thank him. But I need to see Purdy. Would you do me one more favor, Mr. Hanley? Tell the Ranger I’ll be back to see him.”

  “I think he’s already gone, Jake.”

  “Gone?”

  “He told me he was riding out as soon as he gave his testimony.”

  “But how could…” Eddings couldn’t fathom how a man in Sayles’s condition could walk, much less ride. But then Sayles was no ordinary man. “That sounds about right.”

  Hanley chuckled. “Now you better get home and let Purdy know that you’re a free man.”

  Eddings nodded, but he stood there a moment, struggling to find the right words. “This wouldn’t be happening if it weren’t for you, Mr. Hanley. I owe you my life. Purdy’s too. She told me what happened at the river. I won’t ever be able to repay you.”

  Hanley shook his head. “I have been repaid a thousand times over. Now go home, Jake.”

  * * *

  Jake Eddings had imagined a happy homecoming countless times in the early months of his incarceration at Huntsville. Toward the end of that ordeal those dreams had become nightmares, of coming home to an empty house, Purdy having moved on. When he rode up to the house on the long-legged bay it still seemed like a dream to him as he tried to come to terms with the fact that he was a free man. Not only free, but, by frontier standards, a rich man too. He was glad he no longer owed the bank anything, but the money didn’t matter to him nearly as much as did the woman who came out onto the porch. He checked the bay and dismounted, transferring the gold-laden saddlebags to a shoulder.

  Purdy stood there, with Buck by her side. Her heart galloped in her chest as she held up a lantern so that she could study her husband’s face while he climbed the porch steps. His grin told her all she needed to know. With a sob of pure joy she put the lantern down and threw her arms around his neck and just held him, leaning her trembling body against him, up on tiptoe as she nuzzled into the angle of his neck and shoulder. He felt the wetness of her joyful tears on his skin, even as he tried to fight back his own tears. In that moment it struck home. He was free. The long ordeal was truly over. His heart filled with such love and joy that it was hard not to break down.

  He held her as long as he could. When she let loose of him, she glanced at the ground-hitched bay. “I’ll take care of the horse. You must be frozen clear through. Go warm yourself by the fire.”

  Eddings glanced at the bay. “The horse can wait a bit. He’s not going anywhere, believe me.” He turned to Buck, who had been waiting with tail wagging, and knelt to give the massive dog a hug. “Thank you, Buck,” he said, from the bottom of his heart. “Thank you for saving my girl.” Buck lapped at his face, a sloppy wet lick that made Purdy laugh. Eddings had forgotten what a wonderful sound his wife’s laughter was.

  Purdy had visited him daily in the Cameron jail while they waited for the circuit judge, and she had told him everything—about Joshua’s illness, about George Norris, about Mary, and the attempted suicide in the Little River, and of course her rescue thanks to the heroic effort of their dog. Much of it had felt like a knife twisting in his gut, but through it all his love, respect, and need for this woman became stronger than ever.

  She had also given him a letter, a letter she had intended to post to the prison at Huntsville, but which she passed through the bars of the cell on her very first visit to the jail. She had written just four words, but they were four words that turned his world right-side up again.

  I will wait forever.

  He picked up the lantern, took her by the hand, and led her inside, with Buck following. Dropping the saddlebags on the table, he looked around. “Where’s your friend. Where’s Mary?”

  “She left. Yesterday. She was absolutely sure you would be home today.” Mystified, Purdy smiled pensively and shook her head. “She seems to know … everything.”

  Eddings gestured at the saddlebags. “The reward money for the Litchfield brothers. That Ranger didn’t want any part of it. There’s a whole lot of money there, Purdy. The bank has been paid off. We’ll get us some pigs, a milk cow, a plow mare. Oh, and we need to get some mules.”

  “Mules?”

  “Yes, absolutely. We need a couple of mules. You won’t want for anything ever again, Purdy.”

  She wrapped her arms around him again, resting her head on his shoulder this time. “I have what I need most,” she whispered.

  He gazed at the Christmas tree in the corner, the pine sapling in its bucket of river stones, gaily decorated with pinecones dipped in white and red wax. Seeing the tree produced a stab of grief that felt like a knife in his heart because it reminded him of how excited Joshua had been at Christmastime. The house had rung with his laughter. It hadn’t seemed to matter that they were too poor for Eddings to afford store-bought gifts. Joshua had been overjoyed with the handmade one—a new shirt Purdy had sewn, the bow and arrows Eddings had carved by hand.

  “Joshua would have loved the tree, darling,” he said, his voice husky with emotions that nearly unmanned him.

  Purdy looked up at him and touched his cheek, a gentle smile on her soft lips. “He does love the tree, Jake. He does.”

  Eddings sighed. “I want to bring him home, Purdy. He belongs here.”

  She wrapped her arms around his waist and leaned her slender body into him, resting her head on his chest. “I would like that,” she murmured, wondering if she should tell him that, according to Mary, their son was here and always would be, as long as they were.

  Buck was sprawled in front of the fireplace. His massive head came up and he barked. Purdy leaned a bit to one side and peered past her husband at the big yellow dog, expecting him to be on his feet and looking at the door. But Buck was still lying down, his long tail thumping the floorboards, and he was looking toward the Christmas tree, ears alert.

  Purdy could almost hear Joshua’s infectious laughter. Smiling softly, she lay her head on her husband’s chest again, and held him tighter still.

  EPILOGUE

  When he set out to find Bill Sayles, The Captain looked high and low all over Waco. His first stop was the White Elephant Saloon, which he knew to be Sayles’s favorite watering hole. Then he went by the boardinghouse where Sayles had been a lodger for many years. No luck. Next were several other saloons in town, just in case Sayles had grown fond of another place that served the Old Overholt he favored. When that didn’t pan out he visited the livery where he knew Sayles kept his horses. The grizzled old freedman who took care of all the animals, and who lived in a corner of the tack room, was cleaning out a stall. He knew more about all the comings and goings than the owner of the place, who spent an inordinate amount of time at one of the town’s bordellos. The hired hand confirmed that Sayles had ridden out early in the morning on his coyote dun—“smartest gol-durned horse I ever done seen”—but of course, being Bill Sayles, had not seen fit to inform the man of his intended destination.

  Growing increasingly exasperated, The Captain went outside and stood in the sun and watched the business of the street awhile. He expected winter would go on for a time, but the past couple of weeks had been a pleasant respite of sunny days above the freezing. It was a pure blessing to feel the warmth of the sun on one’s face. He considered giving the job intended for Sayles to another Ranger, one who was easier to find. But that he would have to explain to Governor Coke, who had requested that the task at hand be given to the man who had taken down the Litchfield brothers—“the two most dangerous and desp
icable villains who have come over from England since Bloody Ban Tarleton,” Coke had said of them, referring to the British cavalry officer responsible for the massacre of Continentals who had surrendered after the Battle of the Waxhaws.

  Being a man who had political aspirations of his own, The Captain decided not to give up just yet, wanting to avoid the task of informing the governor that his wish would not be fulfilled. Unable to think of any person in Waco who could be categorized as a friend to Sayles, he bent his steps back to the boardinghouse and shared his predicament with Mrs. Doubrett.

  “Bill has lived here with you for many a year, ma’am,” The Captain said. “You probably know him better than anyone else in town.”

  “He is a hard man to know. Would you like some coffee, Captain?”

  The Captain didn’t want any coffee but he said yes anyway, because Mrs. Doubrett was very proud of her reputation as a good hostess, and he didn’t want to get on her bad side by declining. It wasn’t until he was seated at the kitchen table with a mug of steaming-hot java that she gave him the information he needed.

  “Were you aware that Bill has property outside of town, Captain?”

  The Captain confessed that he had not been aware.

  “Yes. Over near Haddock’s Hill. He’s had it for a long time, I think. And ever since he came back from that business with the Litchfields he struck me as … different. I don’t think it has anything to do with him being shot to pieces. Or maybe it does. I would find him in the parlor, sitting by the fireplace, lost in thought. I would ask if he was all right and the only thing he ever told me was that he was thinking about old times. Something about the way he said it, the way he looked, made me think of his wife and daughter. You do know he lost them both many years ago? To Comanches, I believe. He told me once, long ago, when he was in his cups.” She smiled pensively. “I don’t think he remembered telling me. I never brought it up.”

  “Oh yes,” said The Captain, sipping the coffee. “Now that you mention it, I do recall hearing that, from the man I replaced.”