We were walking down the road toward the Swamp when I hollered at John Clayton.
“Dang, John Clayton all that foolin’ ’round downtown has us runnin’ late. We’ll be lucky if we get out of the Swamp by dark. Let’s run.”
We broke into a trot and soon we were on the edge of the canebrake. Sniffer ran on ahead of us, and I figured he’d be there with Mr. Bill when we arrived.
We were walking toward the thicket when I thought of something. “Say, do you think Mr. Bill even knows it’s Christmas Eve?”
“I don’t know, but he did tell us he marks the days on a tree limb, so maybe he’s figured out today is Christmas Eve. We’ll sure know in a minute.”
“Mr. Bill, Mr. Bill,” I yelled.
I heard some rustling in the canebrake, and after a few seconds Mr. Bill and Sniffer walked out to meet us.
“Boys, come on in. I’ve got a fire going and you can warm up before you go home.”
“He doesn’t have a clue that it’s Christmas Eve,” I whispered to John Clayton.
“Naw, he doesn’t,” John Clayton whispered back.
We slipped through the cane until we came to the little lean-to that Mr. Bill had fixed to keep him dry. Wow, were we surprised.
“Gosh, Mr. Bill, you’ve decorated for Christmas!” I said. Sure enough, Mr. Bill had a little cedar tree and some holly draped over his lean-to. Heck, he’d even strung some holly berries on some twine and had hung them on his little tree. With the fire giving off a soft glow, it was about the most Christmassy thing I’ve ever seen.
John Clayton was just shaking his head as we walked over to sit on the log by the fire. Sniffer plopped down on the other side of the fire, and we held our hands out to warm them up.
“This is really great, Mr. Bill,” said John Clayton.
I could tell Mr. Bill was kinda proud of his Christmas decorations, and I was thinking that even the rich Davises, who have bunches of money, wouldn’t have a prettier bunch of Christmas decorations.
“Sit down boys, and put those groceries over there in the lean-to. It’s Christmas Eve, and I’ve got each of you a little Christmas present. I really hope you like what I have for you. I don’t think I could have made it living down here without you boys helping me out.”
We sat down by the fire and Mr. Bill put another couple of pieces of wood on which really made for a great fire.
“Here you go, boys, open ’em up,” he said as he handed us each a brown paper sack tied with string.
Well, I couldn’t figure out what in the world Mr. Bill could have possible gotten us for Christmas. Heck, living down in the Swamp, they sure wasn’t a store around anywhere. I undid the string, peeked inside, and started unwrapping a bunch of things bundled in newspaper.
Wow, I couldn’t believe it! In each sack, there were 15 carved toy soldiers. They were about 5 inches tall, and Mr. Bill had even colored the hats and coats. But what really surprised me was how perfect each one was. Mr. Bill wasn’t just good—he was unbelievable. Well, at least he was to me.
Gosh, I’d never gotten a present anywhere near a nice as those toy soldiers. I was so surprised I just sat there with my mouth open. John Clayton opened his sack about the same time, and we just sat there and looked at the little soldiers.
Finally, I looked up at Mr. Bill, “Mr. Bill these soldiers are great! This is my best Christmas present ever!” I was so excited that I kept picking them up and looking at all the little details.
“Yeah, Mr. Bill, these little soldiers are perfect. How in the world did you make them?” said John Clayton.
“Well, boys, when you’ve got nothing to do but sit around and carve, it doesn’t take very long to whittle out those little soldiers. Even back when I was in the circus, I whittled a lot, and everyone said I was a good carver. Do you boys really think they’re any good?
“Heck, yes, Mr. Bill! They’re better than anything you could buy in a store downtown,” I said.
Wow, I’d never seen anything like those soldiers, with black hats colored from the charcoal, and red coats that were stained with color from red swamp berries. They were just the best present I could ever imagine having. John Clayton’s soldiers were British redcoats and mine were American Revolutionary War soldiers. Gosh, I couldn’t wait to line them up in my room.
Well, with all the excitement about the toy soldiers, I’d almost forgotten about our present to Mr. Bill. I looked over to where John Clayton was sitting, and noticed the sack with the gloves we had bought from Mose. I jumped up, grabbed the sack, and went around the fire to where Mr. Bill was sitting.
“Mr. Bill, we’ve got you a Christmas present, too,” I said, handing him the sack.
“Now, boys, you didn’t need to buy me anything. I know you don’t have much money, and I hate to see you waste it on me.”
“Heck, Mr. Bill,” John Clayton said, “money ain’t wasted when you spend it on a friend.”
Mr. Bill looked real funny when John Clayton said that, and I wondered if he didn’t have any friends except us or the people at the circus, which was long gone. He took a deep breath and opened our present, and when he looked at the gloves, he just shook his head. Of course, we were still grinning like a possum eating green persimmons because of the toy soldiers, but Mr. Bill was real quiet and he just kept studying the gloves. We were wondering if maybe he didn’t like them.
“Mr. Bill, don’t you like ’em?” John Clayton said.
Mr. Bill just kept staring at the gloves, and then he slipped his hand inside one of them. When he felt the rabbit fur, his face just lit up.
“Oh my gosh, boys, oh my gosh…” and he just kept saying that while he put both gloves on.
Mr. Bill turned his head, but we knew why. He was crying. Well, we got real quiet and just set there by the fire until Mr. Bill turned back around. He had a big smile on the nice part of his face.
“Thank you, boys. These gloves are so wonderful I can’t even tell you how much I appreciate them. Then Mr. Bill got up and walked over to where we were standing and gave us a big hug.
“I still can’t believe it. My hands have been so cold this winter, and these fur-lined gloves feel just wonderful. You boys are true friends, and I’ll never forget it. You boys have given me the best Christmas present I’ll ever get. But boys, you’ve given me a lot more than just a pair of fur-lined gloves.
When John Clayton said a few minutes ago—that money ain’t wasted when you spend it on a friend”—I felt something so deep inside me, that I can’t explain it. I guess it’s because you boys consider me your friend, even with the way I look. I’ve never had better friends than you two boys. I just want to thank you again, and not for the gloves, but for being my friend.”
Gosh, when Mr. Bill said that I started getting all choked up, and I knew if he said another word about us being his only friends, I was gonna cry. Heck, me and John Clayton were friends with Mr. Bill ’cause of what he really was on the inside, and having a bad-looking skin problem didn’t make him any less of a friend. Boy, I was really glad when John Clayton spoke up.
“Heck, Mr. Bill, these toy soldiers are just so wonderful. I think they’re a whole bunch better that those gloves,” said John Clayton.
“Well, I don’t know about that, John Clayton, but I’m sure glad you boys like them. You know, it’s Christmas Eve and we need to do something to celebrate. Richard, throw some more wood on the fire, and I’m going to get out something I’ve been working on for several months.”
I started chunking wood on the fire while Mr. Bill pulled out something from behind the log that he was sitting on.
“Take a look at what I carved just for Christmas.”
Mr. Bill started placing some carved figures on a little wooden shelf by the fire, and as soon as he placed the baby in the manager, I knew what it was. It was a perfectly carved Jesus in the manger set.
Gosh, they were each about a foot tall, and Mr. Bill had even whittled a donkey, a camel, and the Wise Men! It was beautiful, and he
had used the red berries and charcoal to color their clothes, too. Heck, our toy soldiers were really great, but the manger set was just out-of-this-world.
What really made Mr. Bill’s figures special, was how they looked in the firelight. You could imagine you were in Bethlehem if you just kinda squinted your eyes.
We were deep in Flat Creek Swamp sitting in a lean-to by the fire with a strange man who had run away from the circus, but for some reason I felt like it was the most Christmassy thing I’d ever done. The manger scene just sparkled by the light of the fire, and I couldn’t take my eyes off of it.
“My gosh, Mr. Bill, you’re a wonderful carver,” I finally said.
Well, it’s something I like to do, and I guess with all the practice I’ve had these aren’t too bad.”
Heck, Mr. Bill, when you get back to the circus, you outta keep whittling and sell those figures. I’ll bet folks would pay a lot of money for them,” said John Clayton.
“Do you really think so?”
“Good gracious, yes, Mr. Bill, these are perfect,” I said.
“Well, if I ever do get back to the circus maybe I’ll do some carving, but tonight is Christmas and the circus is a long way away. What do you boys think we should do to celebrate?”
’Course, celebrating Christmas for me has always been going to the candlelight service at our church. We’d light candles, sing carols, and then go home and open presents. Then I thought of something.
“Mr. Bill, do you know the best singer in the whole Junior Sunday School Department is right here with us?”
“Really?”
“Yes, and you just won’t believe how good he can sing.”
Well, John Clayton was shaking his head as I was talking.
“Sing us a Christmas carol, John Clayton,” I said.
“Aw, Richard, you just can’t start singin’ without no piano or nothin’.”
’Course, I knew singers just like to be begged, so for a few minutes, me and Mr. Bill pleaded with John Clayton to sing a Christmas carol. Finally, he said, “Okay, but y’all has got to sing with me. I ain’t doing no solos.”
We were all sitting on the log in the lean-to in front of a nice Yule fire, and the manger scene was on the shelf on the other side. A cold wind whistled through the trees and everyone huddled closer to the fire. John Clayton cleared his throat and started, “Away in a manger, no crib for his bed, …..” Mr. Bill joined in, his voice making a deep, low sound, and then I started with a high singing voice that was a little more high-pitched than John Clayton’s.
Shoot, I was surprised at how good it sounded. Well, except when the notes got kinda too high. Sniffer ears would stand up and he would give out a howl. Of course, I guess it was hurting his ears, but it sure sounded like Sniffer was singing Christmas carols.
We finished the only verse we all knew of that song, and then before anybody could say anything Mr. Bill started singing “O Little town of Bethlehem.” After another couple of carols, we talked with Mr. Bill about Christmases up North where it snowed a bunch.
“Yeah, boys, I remember one Christmas—that was before my face got all messed up—when it snowed so much that we had to shovel a path to our barn.”
Gosh, a white Christmas every year, I thought. That would really be something. We listened to Mr. Bill talk about Christmases up North for about another hour, and then I noticed it was getting dark. I knew we needed to be heading back to my house. Momma would have everything ready for us to open our presents. Of course, we also didn’t have a flashlight, and walking around in Flat Creek Swamp in the dark sure wasn’t something anybody wants to do.
I took another look at Mr. Bill’s little lean-to, and in the light of the fire, the holly and the nativity scene and the little cedar tree seemed just perfect. Sniffer was leaning against Mr. Bill’s leg and the big man was scratching Sniffer behind his ears. Heck, Sniffer was having a great time, sitting by the fire, getting warm, chewing on bones, and getting his ears scratched. He could’ve stayed there all night.
This is really Christmas, I thought.
“Mr. Bill, I’m so sorry but we gotta head back home. It’s getting dark,” I said.
“Yeah, boys, you need to get on home. It’s Christmas Eve, and I know you’ll have a lot of things to do tonight.”
Me and John Clayton stood up and I was just about to start walking toward the little trail that led out of the canebrake, when John Clayton stopped and looked back.
“Mr. Bill, this has been the best Christmas ever.”
“Mine, too,” I said.
Mr. Bill walked over to where we were standing, put his arms around both of our shoulders, and said, “Richard, you and John Clayton will never know how special this Christmas Eve was for me, too.”
Heck, I knew we’d better get out of there real quick, ’cause John Clayton was starting to sniff.
“Come on, Sniffer, we gotta go home.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Christmas Eve on the Farm
It was dark when I got back home that Christmas Eve. I slipped into my room, put the toy soldiers in the closet, and walked into the kitchen where Momma was fixing Christmas Eve dinner. Heck, after being down at Mr. Bill’s little lean-to in Flat Creek Swamp and singing Christmas Carols with Mr. Bill and John Clayton, I felt like I’d already had my Christmas.
Momma had fixed her usual Christmas stew and cornbread for supper, and was just putting it on the table when I walked in. I finished off two big bowls and started begging to open presents, but Momma wasn’t about to let us start yet.
“Jack, Richard, sit down and hand me our family Bible.” She picked up the big book from the bookshelf and walked over in front of the fireplace, and of course, Momma turned to the Christmas story.
“In those days Caesar Augustus…” After a few minutes, she was though and it was time to open Christmas presents. I knew the presents would be kinda slim, as they usually are, but a package had come from Grandmother so my hopes were up.
“Here, Richard, this is from your daddy and me.”
I knew by the look of that box it could only contain clothes, and, sure enough, it was a new school shirt.
“Thanks, Momma, Daddy; I’m really tired of that same old shirt I’ve been wearing almost every day.”
Opening presents went quickly since we only had two each, one from each other, and one from Grandmother. I gave Momma a handkerchief and Daddy a pocketknife, and Grandmother’s present to me was a cap she’d knitted.
The next morning Santa Claus left a candy cane, an orange, an apple, and some nuts in my stocking. ’Course, I’d figured out Santa Claus a couple of years ago, but heck, why act like I knew and miss out on some extra stuff?
Shoot, I think paperboys are the onlyest people in the whole, entire world that hafta work on Christmas Day. Well, if it had been just another winter day it would’ve been bad enough, but no, not hardly. By the time I got up that morning, another cold front had blown through and that north wind was terrible. The temperature kept dropping like a rock all day, and Daddy came home from the refinery telling me and Momma that the weatherman said we were gonna be in for an extended cold snap.
The day after Christmas, I went by the store and bought groceries for Mr. Bill. And along with the groceries, I brought him another one of Grandmother’s quilts. He wasn’t feeling good at all and that cough that’d been bothering him was really getting bad. With the weather getting worse all day and him coughing like that, I really wondered if he was gonna be able to make it.
I told John Clayton about his cough the next day when we were downtown.
“Heck, John Clayton, Mr. Bill can’t make it in this cold weather if that cough gets any worse.”
“I know, Richard, but what can we do ’bout it?”
I didn’t know, but I could hardly go to sleep that night thinking about Mr. Bill freezing down in the Swamp in that lean-to, coughing like he was about to die.
Then, the next day, just when I didn’t think the danged weather co
uld get any worse, it turned bitter cold. Wow, the paper route was the most miserable job I could imagine, because at 5 in the morning, it’s the very coldest time of the day, and that arctic cold front had dropped the temperature down to below 10 degrees. It was some of the coldest weather anybody had ever seen.
That Saturday morning I headed out to deliver papers wearing about everything I owned. I had on two pair of socks, two jackets, Grandmother’s wool cap pulled down over my ears, and a pair of Daddy’s old work gloves. I finished the paper route, fed the mules and chickens, and was standing in front of our fireplace trying to thaw out when John Clayton came by.
“Can you believe how cold it is? The creek’s done frozen solid, and Daddy said it’s gonna stay this cold for a couple of days,” said John Clayton.
“Yeah, I’m sure as heck glad to be inside by this fireplace. Shoot, you don’t know what cold is till you’ve walked around Norphlet chunkin’ papers at 5 in the morning.” When I said that, a thought just flashed through my mind: “Oh my gosh, what ’bout Mr. Bill?”
John Clayton looked at me as his mouth dropped open as he thought about Mr. Bill down there in the Swamp freezing in a little lean-to.
“Come on, Richard, we gotta go check on Mr. Bill. Heck, he might have frozen to death as cold as it got last night.”
We got dressed in the warmest clothes we could find, and made some excuse to Momma about needing to check on something in the barn, and we headed for Flat Creek Swamp.
It took a lot longer to reach the canebrake than normal because we were so bundled up we couldn’t run, but finally we got to the little trail that led into the canebrake and we called out to Mr. Bill.
The Mystery of the Canebrake Page 9
