Christmas with Tucker

by Greg Kincaid

  Although I might have recalled occasional lightning strikes, I could not remember ever seeing a winter thunderstorm.

  I went up to the dairy barn to help my grandfather finish the milking and ask about the weather.

  “Grandpa, have you seen the sky to the west?”

  “I sure have and I’ve listened to the weather report, too.”

  “What’s it doing?”

  He grunted. “It’s not good.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “George, you’ve done a good job helping us dig out of two feet of snow and now you just might find out what’s ten times worse than snow for a road maintainer—ice.”

  “Ice?”

  “I’ll take a foot of snow over an inch of freezing rain any day. Freezing rain coats every piece of gravel and every tree limb. The maintainer’s tires can’t get enough traction to do any work. On top of that, after an inch or so of freezing rain, branches, limbs, and eventually entire trees will crumble under the weight of the ice. Falling timber will block the roads and the power lines will be ripped straight off the poles. It’s a maintainer’s nightmare. We could be down for weeks.”

  “What can we do?”

  “Nothing, son. Nothing at all.”

  My grandfather and the local weather forecasters thought we were going to pay the price for the warm air that had blessed us the last few days. A cold front had marched down from the north and was prepared to do battle with the warm air that still lingered from the south, and just like it was during the Civil War, Kansas was stuck right in the middle. Thirty miles to the north, it would be several degrees colder. They would get snow—to be pushed aside with minimal difficulties. Thirty miles to the south it would be a few degrees warmer and they would get a cold but harmless rain. Stuck right in the middle, we would get paralyzing ice.

  By 2:00 P.M. on December 20, 1962, the freezing rain hit, dumping a little over an inch of hard frozen ice on the road. It was a mess, just as forecast.

  However bad it might have been for the roads and the trees, it was beautiful outside. The ice coated everything and made the whole world glisten and shine. It was as if the universe were flash-frozen, leaving all life suspended.

  It could be weeks before we thawed out. Anything that could get wet was also now coated in ice: trees, buildings, horses, cows, sheep, rocks, and, worst of all for us, roads.

  Cherokee County, Kansas, ground to a total halt.

  While I knew what a mess snow would cause, I had no idea what damage a solid inch of ice could do. I hoped that people had learned their lesson and had stocked plenty of supplies in the few days we had between storms. We were in for a very tough week leading up to Christmas and probably into the New Year.

  We did not even bother starting the maintainer. My grandfather and I cracked the ice on the pond, milked the cows by hand, and dumped the milk on the ground, and we all went to bed early, not knowing what the coming days would bring.

  Chapter 26

  IT WAS less than a week away and the prospect of a decent Christmas was fading fast. My scheme to get Tucker back was not working. We had no power and the phone lines were down. I had not talked to my mom or sisters in over a week. While hoping that the weather and the road conditions would improve, I was left wondering if they would be able to make it through the final thirty miles of the trip home, where the snow had turned to ice.

  The tree I had cut for Grandma Cora had made it as far as the tree stand in the living room, but we’d been so busy with snow days that it had sat, undecorated, for all this time. Just like our milk, it seemed like the holiday was going to be thrown out. I was trying to act like I didn’t care, but it was hard to give up on Christmas.

  Lying in bed that night, I could hear tree limbs creak and moan under the weight of the ice. This storm was bad for us, but for some of our neighbors it had to be worse. Mrs. Slater needed her insulin, Sherry Rather had her baby to deliver, and old Mrs. Reed would be worried sick. Most everyone was frightened and here I was just lying in bed doing nothing. It left me feeling rather useless and sick to my stomach.

  I wondered if we should just walk the frozen roads of Cherokee County. Maybe we couldn’t maintain the roads, but we might still be able to help the people who lived along them.

  The next morning I brought up my idea.

  “Grandpa, maybe we should check on some of our neighbors and make sure they aren’t hurt or in need of anything.”

  He looked at me, equally disgusted by the whole situation. “There is just not much we can do.”

  My grandmother reached out and patted my arm. “It’s nice of you to think of them.”

  “But how about Mrs. Slater and old Mrs. Reed and the people who aren’t so healthy?”

  “They have good neighbors that live much closer than we do. In this ice, a person would be lucky to walk a mile an hour. Mrs. Slater lives eight miles from here. It might take you eight hours to just get there and another eight to walk home. What could you do if she did need help?”

  “I guess you’re right, but it just doesn’t seem right to sit and do nothing.”

  My grandfather didn’t say anything. My grandmother looked bothered, too, but she seemed to accept there was little we could do. “We’re hoping the weather will warm again in a few days and we can melt our way out of the ice.”

  “Well, what if it doesn’t? Christmas will be over. How will Mom and the girls make it here?”

  “We’ll still have Christmas, George. A lot can happen in a few days. You’ll see.”

  After breakfast, my grandfather started up the chain saw and began clearing our yard of the branches and limbs that had cracked and fallen to the ground from the weight of the ice. I was out helping him in the yard when the back door opened and Grandma called, “George, come up to the house.”

  She was waiting for me at the back door with two plates full of warm food, covered in aluminum foil. “Just the man I was looking for.”

  I eyed her suspiciously. “What?”

  “I need a delivery. Top plate to Frank Thorne and the bottom plate is for a red dog, but don’t stay too long; lunch is almost ready and your grandpa promised me I could have you to myself this afternoon. We have some Christmas work to do.”

  I took the plates away from her. “Sure, I can take them!”

  Once out of her view, I stopped and peeked under the foil. Thorne’s plate had several pieces of cornbread and the remaining space was filled with fresh-out-of-the-oven Christmas cookies—cut into the shapes of trees and snowmen that were colored red and green and covered with sprinkles. Tucker’s plate had a soup bone with plenty of meat carelessly left attached. I shuffled down the icy road, trying not to fall and spill the food, smiling most of the way.

  As I suspected, both Thorne and Tucker were pleased by my delivery, and playing the role of Santa improved my spirits, too. The soup bone was a big hit and Tucker immediately went to work on it.

  When I got ready to return, Thorne put his hand on my shoulder. “Why don’t you come around tomorrow, too, when you can stay longer. Maybe, if it’s a little nicer out, you can take him for a walk.”

  I reached down and gave Tucker a farewell hug. “I’d like that.”

  Tearing himself away from his treat, Tucker looked at me gratefully and seemed to say, “That’ll work, but could you bring another bone, too?”

  The lunch menu that afternoon was exactly what I expected: soup, cornbread, and Christmas cookies. As soon as we had the dishes cleaned and put away, my grandmother and I carried up boxes of decorations from the basement and we finally attended to the tree I had dragged from the creek.

  We put lights on it and I hung what was left of the cookies that she had baked for Frank Thorne, as well as all the decorations from past McCray Christmases. As I handled the old ornaments, it was easy to let my mind drift back to happier times, when we’d all been together. Grandma Cora had grown quiet, too, and I’m sure she felt the same odd mix of melancholy and forced holiday cheer that was taking
hold of me.

  It was too early to start making new Christmas memories, it seemed, but I didn’t want my grandmother to slip back into sadness, thinking of her lost son. There seemed to be a few extra cookies and the kid in me took over, once again. When my grandmother wasn’t looking, I would pop them into my mouth and quickly chew and swallow them, another McCray tradition.

  “Something seems to be getting into our cookies,” Grandma announced.

  “How can you tell?”

  She reached out with her thumb and touched my cheeks. “He’s got green crumbs all over his face, and he’s got the same silly grin on his face his dad used to get.”

  I smiled even bigger, and I think we were both glad to have acknowledged my father, even in this small way. By doing so, it was as if we could now allow ourselves to have a little fun decorating the tree.

  When we were finished, Grandma plugged in the lights and, with the power out, they did not come on. She shrugged her shoulders and said, “I guess that pretty much sums up our year, doesn’t it, George.” I am sure at that moment that neither of us knew whether to laugh or to cry.

  Chapter 27

  THE NEXT MORNING, I knocked on Thorne’s door and he tossed out a friendly “Come in.”

  The little house was still reasonably clean and warm, and Thorne was busily tinkering with a carburetor that rested on the kitchen table. He pointed to a leash that hung by the door, knowing precisely why I was there. “Take the leash and be careful. It’s pretty slick out there.”

  I snapped the leash on Tucker’s collar and we headed out the door. “Thanks, Mr. Thorne. I’ll bring him back in a few hours.”

  It felt good to have Tucker walking beside me. We made our way to Mack’s Lake and knocked around his old cabin, but it was too cold to stay out for long, so after we took in our frozen surroundings we headed back to civilization.

  We were living atop a polar ice cap that had hills and crystallized trees pushing up through the ice like statues protruding from stone ruins. With four legs, Tucker moved through the glassy terrain easier than I could, but still he had to be careful. With so little traction, I slipped around and could not get my footing.

  There was the eerie sound of tree branches cracking and snapping all around us, like distant cannon fire. Periodically, giant crashing noises came from the forest that flanked Kill Creek. Ancient tree trunks snapped under the weight of the ice and fell to the ground with thuds that echoed for miles along the riverbank. Tucker and I steered clear of the tree cover as we walked toward our farm.

  My grandfather had worked all day with his chain saw, trying to clear the yard of branches and debris, and he still had a lot more to do. Tucker followed me around for an hour or so while I tried to stack the logs and branches that Grandpa had cut out of the way. There would be plenty of firewood for years to come.

  After two weeks of being the first assistant to the Senior Road Maintainer, I naturally thought of my job. I walked to the end of the driveway and looked in both directions to see a tangled mess of ice and fallen debris. Eventually, I took Tucker back to Thorne’s cabin. Thorne was still intently working on his project, so I said a quick goodbye to Tucker and just released him inside the door. As I headed home, I grew a little gloomy. It was hard to think of Tucker like a neighbor friend whom I could walk with from time to time but not do much else with.

  All of these snow days were also making me miss my friends. I wanted my normal routine back, even if it meant going to school.

  The time I had left in Cherokee County was running out with each passing day. As best I could, I tried to accept that this was the way things had to be.

  When I got home, my grandfather stopped his cutting and we did the milking together. For yet another day, our cows’ efforts were ultimately poured on the ground. We started inside for dinner and I wondered aloud why we could not at least make some effort to beat this weather.

  “Grandpa, I want to start up the maintainer and give it a try. It doesn’t feel right doing nothing.”

  “George, you’ve never tried to drive a maintainer on ice. It can handle a half inch, but a whole inch of ice is too much. You’re going to have to trust me; it can’t be done. You’ll slip all over the place.”

  I dug my heels in. “I want to try.”

  He turned and walked away. “Suit yourself.”

  After I warmed the diesel engine, it turned right over, sputtering, and then it evened out. With very little light left, I put the maintainer in reverse and eased slowly out the barn door. The weight of the maintainer cracked through the ice and reached the solid frozen grass beneath me. There was enough traction to back straight out. Encouraged, I moved through the barnyard and to the entrance of our gravel driveway without slipping around too much. Slowly lowering the blade, I tried to inch forward and turn over the gravel. The second the blade hit the ice, the resistance caused the machine to lose traction, and my wheels started to spin.

  Backing up, I tried again at several different speeds and blade angles. Same result. Sitting there in the cab, I could hardly stand it. My own anger and frustration started to build. Backing the machine up, I got a good running start. When I had built up enough momentum, I dropped the blade violently, hoping to crack the icy surface. The maintainer spun hard and rocked up into the yard, where I had no business being. When I tried to back out, the maintainer’s tires spun.

  I was stuck. Reversing didn’t work, either.

  Knowing my grandfather would be unhappy with me, I started to feel very foolish.

  He walked out the back door, right past me, without saying a word.

  Not knowing what else to do, I just sat and waited. Soon I heard the sound of the big International Harvester tractor coming toward me in the last light of the day. He parked the tractor pointing downhill from the maintainer, where he would have more traction, and then got out of the cab and connected the tractor to the grader with a long chain. The tractor’s tires were twice the size of the maintainer’s, so it had much better pulling power. Still, there was no guarantee he could pull me out.

  My grandfather walked up to the cab door. When I opened it, he didn’t appear mad. In fact, he just smiled and said, “Can’t grade in the ice, George.” Apparently, Big Bo McCray had passed some of his legendary stubborn streak onto his grandson.

  For once, it was me who didn’t say a word.

  “Put the transmission in reverse. When the chain is taut, let out the clutch slowly. I’ll try to pull you to level ground. Let’s hope we don’t both get stuck.”

  It took us several tries before he was able to get me pulled back to a flatter area where the maintainer’s wheels didn’t just spin. Maybe it was because I didn’t know better, but I didn’t want to give up.

  After we had both implements back in the barn, I got my nerve up to keep pushing. “Grandpa, why can’t we hook up Dick and Dock, like you used to before you got the maintainer, and try to grade the old-fashioned way?”

  “George, Dick and Dock are twice as old as me in horse years. They’d barely make it down the driveway before they dug in their heels and turned back to their warm stalls. And what if one of them slipped and broke a leg?”

  “Well, don’t we use chains on the car tires sometimes? Couldn’t we put chains on the maintainer, too?”

  “They don’t make chains that big. Besides, with ice this thick, I doubt chains would make a difference. A car just has to push itself forward; a maintainer has a much harder job. It has to move itself forward and scrape thousands of pounds of ice off the road at the same time. That takes traction, and lots of it.”

  “There just has to be some way.”

  My grandfather looked pained. It didn’t occur to me that this was bothering him just as much as or more than it was bothering me. “Why don’t you go inside and let me think about it. Sometimes we just have to accept that there are things we can’t fix. Things are not always the way we want them …”

  His words trailed off and I heard something I didn’t think was p
ossible. There were no tears in the eyes of Big Bo McCray, but there was a pained break in his voice that probably surprised him as much as it did me. I walked over to my grandfather and put my arms around him. He gave me a big hug. “I’m sorry, George. None of us like to feel helpless.”

  He squeezed me a little tighter and for a moment it felt very much like I had a father again. He released his grip and turned and walked away. Walking back to the house, I felt a little sorry for the way I had behaved.

  By the time I got back inside the kitchen, it was dark out and Grandma had lit the kerosene lamp. My grandfather did not come up to the house for dinner.

  At first, Grandma did not seem that worried. She just left his plate of food covered in the oven and we ate without him. By 7:15, when there was still no sign of him, she began nervously looking out the back door.

  “Do you want me check on him, Grandma?”

  “No, I’m sure he’s fine. It’s just not like him to stay out so late.”

  A little past 7:30 that night, we heard the maintainer engine turn over.

  “What is he up to out there?” my grandmother asked.

  The maintainer eased out of the barn and turned into the driveway and stopped. The light from the headlamps reflected off branches encased in glass. The cab door swung open and my grandfather came up to the back porch. I did not realize why at the time, but he moved sure-footedly on the ice.

  Grandma pushed open the back door and called out to him.

  “Get inside, Bo! It’s late!”

  But he made no move to come into the house and just looked at her.

  “What is it, Bo?”