Silent Night

by A. T. Butler

  “All right,” he said, to Bonnie first, before turning to the pastor. “I’ll help you. Just tell me what to do.”

  Bonnie threw her arms around his neck. “Thank you! Thank you. This will be so wonderful. Thank you.”

  Jacob caught Mickey’s grin as he delivered a plate to the man sitting next to Jacob, suspicious that the bartender had been eavesdropping on the whole thing. As Jacob tried to imagine himself in the biblical robes that would make up his costume, he groaned to himself, wondering how many of his friends would show up in church just to see him like that.

  But, he thought to himself, maybe Pierce is right. It’s for a good cause, after all.

  Chapter Nine

  The following morning, Jacob woke up early and abruptly. Like a bolt of lightning, he remembered that the fifteen-year-old Benjamin Wilbourne still sat in the Tucson jail, accused of a crime that Jacob was certain he had not committed, though he was as yet unable to prove it.

  Jacob had talked to everyone involved, so far as he knew. There was Mr. Wood left to speak to, the shop owner who was robbed. Though he didn’t see anything directly, Jacob didn’t know how much help he could be. Jacob sighed and realized he had to try. He had to go over and talk to the victim.

  And then after he made that final interview, Jacob would go see the marshal again, reporting back. Whether he learned anything new or not.

  He could figure this out. Jacob was sure that he could find the evidence needed to free the young man—he just wasn’t positive he would have time to do it before the circuit judge showed up.

  The bounty hunter was out the door only a few minutes later. It was still early enough in the morning that he wondered if he would beat the shop owner there, but he was relieved to find that such concern was unfounded.

  Jacob approached the storefront confidently, stepping up just as Mr. Wood was unlocking his front door.

  “Mr. Payne?” the man said. He was a portly man, both tall and wide, taking up much of the space in front of the door. “I don’t believe we’ve met, but the marshal and his deputies have told me enough about you that I’m sure I’m not mistaken.”

  “No, you’re not.” Jacob smiled and shook the man’s hand. “I’m honored that my fame precedes me.”

  Wood laughed. “Oh, well, I think it’s more that the deputies are just trying to make me feel safer. They’ve assured me at least a half a dozen times that if anything ever happened here, that you’d be on the case. And look! They were right. Here you are. Though, I had assumed they meant before the case was solved.”

  At that, Mr. Wood opened the door and let the two of them into the dark shop. Jacob hovered near the front door, respectfully, waiting for his host to light a lamp and conduct what he needed to do to begin work for the day.

  “I was thinking I’d make some coffee, Mr. Payne. Can I tempt you?” He bent over to light a fire in the small stove in the corner of the shop.

  “I’d appreciate that, yes, sir.”

  “I assume you’re here to talk about the robbery the other day? The marshal told me I might need to testify.”

  “Yes, I …” Jacob cleared his throat, unsure where to start. “The judge will be here tonight, though I’m not sure what testimony you will need. The marshal filled me in on what evidence was found, but I thought I’d check to see if anything else had come to mind since you gave your statement. Any other details you’ve discovered or remembered?”

  “Oh, now, let me think,” he said as he checked the kettle for water. “Well, as you likely know, I had closed up for supper that day. I could have sworn I locked up behind me, but seeing as the place wasn’t broken into it’s possible I was mistaken. I’m always so careful, though.”

  “I understand,” Jacob said. “It’s hard when we can blame ourselves.”

  “Precisely.” Mr. Wood took a deep breath before continuing. “So, when I returned from the cafe, I was dismayed to find that the door of the shop was unlocked. It was closed, so I was afforded a small moment of believing that no harm had come from my forgetting to lock it. I entered and …” He spread his hands wide and shrugged, self-deprecatingly. “I was wrong.”

  “Yes …” Jacob hesitated. “I’m sorry that we haven’t recovered that cash yet.”

  He shook his head. It smelled like the coffee was close to being done. Jacob wanted to gently guide him to talking about the other clues he had come across, but didn’t want to rush him.

  “I’m not bitter,” Mr. Wood replied as he pulled two tin coffee mugs out of a cupboard behind his counter. “I knew I was at risk at any time—which, incidentally, is why I always tried to keep my door locked. But …” He shook his head again. “I won’t deny that it is mighty frustrating.”

  The large man poured two steaming hot cups of coffee and Jacob took a deep breath, smelling the roasted beans and being grateful for generous neighbors. He accepted the cup of coffee and took a drink, reveling in the taste and smell before continuing.

  “The marshal told me you had found some sign of the intruder when you got back?” he prompted.

  “Oh! Yes. I did. I walked in and immediately smelled that someone had smoked in here. There’s no smoking allowed in my shop,” he said sternly to Jacob, as though he were getting ready to roll a cigarette. “I’m very cautious of fire. I don’t allow any of my customers to do it, and I’m sure no one who had come in that morning had even tried. After careful searching, I found a cigarette butt back here behind the counter.”

  “Is there anything you recognized about it?”

  “No.” He shook his head. “I’ve never been a smoker. I couldn’t tell you the difference between one kind of tobacco or another. But I did know enough to leave it where it was, until the marshal came to inspect everything.”

  “That was good thinking,” Jacob said.

  “I found it back behind the counter where I keep the cash box. Actually.” He held up one finger as though to pause the conversation. “Where I used to keep the cash box. I take it home with me every night now, and I’ve ordered a large safe to be sent out from the east.” He shook his head again. “I was so reckless. This is all my own fault.”

  “That might be a little extreme,” Jacob said, hesitatingly. “After all … the thief did knowingly break the law. His choices are not your fault.”

  “Even so,” Mr. Wood said. “I will be more cautious from now on.”

  Jacob nodded, drinking more of his coffee. “Did you notice anything besides the cigarette?”

  “I did, yes. A button. It had fallen not far from the counter somewhere …” He gestured to the middle of the room near where Jacob was standing. “Somewhere over there. I am always sure to keep the floor as spotless as possible. It makes the customers feel more comfortable, you see. I am absolutely certain the button was not there when I left for my mid-day meal.”

  “Is there anything remarkable about that button?”

  At this point, Jacob felt like he was grasping. Nothing Mr. Wood had told him would in any way exonerate Benjamin Wilbourne.

  He shrugged. “Not particularly. I didn’t look carefully, but it seemed like the kind of button that could be on any kind of piece of clothing.”

  “Did you …?” Jacob searched his brain for the little he knew about clothing. “Were there any threads or fabric attached to it or … I’m sorry. I don’t know what to ask here. I’m not sure what the judge will need in order to convict the thief.”

  “You’re not alone, friend. I was afraid to touch anything once I discovered the money was missing. I didn’t know what the marshal would need or not need to see.”

  Jacob rubbed his temple.

  All of this felt circular. The evidence all pointed to Benjamin just enough that no one looked any further. But even when he tried to look further, Jacob was still only finding the same evidence that the marshal had found.

  There must be something more. There must be something that someone wasn’t saying or a direction he wasn’t yet looking.

  “Well,” he
said, finally, “thank you for all your help, Mr. Wood. If you think of anything else, I would appreciate it if you sent word to the marshal or me.”

  “Of course. And if you have more questions I’m happy to answer. Anything that will help recover the cash that boy stole is my top priority.”

  “Yes … well …” Jacob hesitated, unsure if he was overstepping. “To tell you the truth, Mr. Wood, I don’t have much hope of that. We searched his quarters and didn’t find even a single note. If Benjamin had the cash, he’s hidden it well.”

  Wood’s face clouded; this was undoubtedly not what he had been hoping to hear.

  He took a deep breath.

  “Well, again, Mr. Payne, please let me know what I can do to help the investigation.”

  “Thank you. We’ll be in touch.”

  Jacob offered the coffee mug back to the shopkeeper, tipped his hat and exited the store. Standing out on the boardwalk, he looked around helplessly. Dead end after dead end. Maybe he would just have to reconcile himself to Benjamin’s getting the rope.

  Chapter Ten

  Jacob still had a few hours before he needed to report to the Everlasting Hope Church for his turn as Joseph in the Nativity play. He had been hoping that all of this additional investigating he was doing would have some kind of result. He had been hoping that he could spend this time going over the new revelations with the marshal, convincing him of Benjamin’s innocence, getting him out of that jail cell and maybe even inviting the kid to come to church with him.

  But as the bounty hunter strode down the streets of Tucson without goal or purpose, he realized he had never been more disappointed in himself. Time was up and he had failed.

  When a wagon drawn by two charcoal-black horses rolled by, Jacob was reminded of someone who might still need him: his horse Blaze. With renewed energy, he turned the next corner to make his way to the livery where Caleb Shaw always took such good care of Jacob’s mount in the weeks that he was in Tucson.

  When he entered the stable, Caleb was busy brushing down another horse, but nodded when he saw Jacob. Not many men came to just visit their horses, but Jacob had never been like other men. As he stepped into the stall, Blaze must have recognized his scent and visibly perked up.

  “Hey there, fella,” Jacob said softly, reaching up to scratch between the horse’s ears. “You having a good break? You makin’ some friends in here?”

  Blaze nuzzled Jacob’s coat, looking for the carrots or other treats that he always brought.

  “You’re right. You found them. You got me.” Jacob laughed as he offered the vegetables to his horse.

  While Blaze munched on the carrots, Jacob thought about all the pieces that were missing in the case he was trying to solve. Someone knew something; he just had to figure out who that was.

  After a few silent minutes, Jacob heard boot steps on the ground coming toward him.

  “What are you doing here, Payne?” Clifford Pierce said as he approached.

  He walked up to the horse and rider slowly, letting Blaze get his scent and grow accustomed to a new person. Jacob was grateful. Though Pierce tended to irritate him in other ways, there was no doubt that he was a good horseman and a good bounty hunter. Not quite as good as Jacob himself, but certainly deserving of respect.

  “What are you doing here?” Jacob countered. “I didn’t think I’d be seeing you till the church later today.”

  “Oh, I forgot I left a box of bullets in my saddle bag, and I came to claim it.” He held up the box he must have only retrieved. “I’m supposed to meet Coleman for a drink before we head over to the church.”

  “That’s right. I had forgotten he was going to be part of the play as well. Tell me again, Pierce. How did you meet that fella?”

  He shrugged. “Cards. Whiskey. You know. Same way we meet pretty much anyone new to town.”

  “That’s what I figured.”

  “Why do you ask?”

  “Oh … I just …” Jacob continued to stroke Blaze’s neck while he thought about the best way to word it. “I’m not sure. He just strikes me as the kind of man to pay attention to.”

  “Gut feeling, is it?” Clifford suggested, nodding sagely. “I had the same feeling. In fact, the first few days he was in town I stuck really close to him. Made sure to find out where he’s staying and try to get him to take every meal with me.”

  “Did that work?”

  He shrugged. “Some. Hit and miss. I certainly spent a lot of time with the man. That feeling never went away, though.”

  “Hm,” Jacob mused. “Thank you, Pierce. Glad to know my feeling’s not mistaken.”

  “I don’t think he truly caught on to what I was doing, though,” Pierce said with a laugh. “Poor man musta thought I was real lonely. Once, a couple days ago, he even suggested someone else I should invite to eat with instead of himself. So I wouldn’t be lonely, I’d wager. Mr. Wood looked mighty shocked to get the invite, tell you the truth. Not sure he leaves his shop all that often.”

  Jacob frowned and turned all his focus on Pierce. Blaze began to nuzzle Jacob’s neck and ear, pleading for more attention. “Mr. Wood? Is that what you said?”

  “Sure was. Closed his store up and everything for a dinner break. He and I went over to the San Xavier. Your girl wasn’t working then, though. He’s a nice man. I hadn’t previously had the pleasure of too much conversation, but did you know that he came out to the territory when he was only ten? His parents were missionaries and—”

  Jacob held up a hand to forestall another of Pierce’s longwinded stories. “Hang on, I just need to— Wood, you said. Wood closed up his telegraph office to have dinner with you because your friend Coleman suggested it?”

  Pierce paused, and rubbed his chin through his beard, as though thinking carefully. “Yes, I suppose that’s all correct. Why do you ask?”

  “I was just talking to him…” Jacob trailed off, his mind whirring over all the possibilities and what this could mean. Wood hadn’t mentioned leaving to see Pierce, but maybe that was just a harmless oversight. Was Pierce in any way part of this? Jacob scrutinized the other man—his friend—taking in his blank expression and everything that he knew about the other bounty hunter.

  This new piece of information was both potentially helpful and maddeningly incomplete.

  What did it mean?

  “Do you know where Coleman is now?”

  The look Pierce gave him was part amusement, part condescension.

  “Payne, I have no ever-loving idea where he is this second. I’m not his keeper.”

  “You’re right. I’m sorry, I just—”

  “But I know where he will be,” Pierce added. “So do you. I just told you I’m meeting him for a drink, and then later he’s supposed to be one of the shepherds at church later. Remember? You’ll be there, won’t you? You’re not gonna make me make excuses for you to your girl.”

  “I’ll be there.” He glanced quickly at his pocket watch. “I just have a lot to do before then.”

  Pierce chuckled. “You always got something. You really should try to relax more, Payne. Enjoy life.”

  “I will. After this last thing.”

  Pierce was still laughing when Payne told his horse good-bye and darted out of the livery again.

  Chapter Eleven

  When he had been a little boy, Jacob Payne’s father used to let him help with some of the plantation chores for a small wage. Looking back now, Jacob realized that his family owned all the slaves they needed to get the job done, but his father had taken Jacob’s energy and ambition and directed it such that he could learn a life lesson as well.

  The family had a small orchard, mostly just for the family and everyone living on the plantation, but still large enough to be a project. When he turned ten years old, Jacob’s father offered to pay him one cent for every five bushels of apples he picked. It wasn’t much. It could take him all day to pick enough to make thirty cents. His hands were small; he could only grab one apple at a time and was sl
ower in carrying them all back to the shed where they were stored, sorted and loaded up for the local market. But Jacob reveled in the physical labor and in the pride of knowing that he had been the one to clear that tree or row of trees.

  The following year, when the apple harvest came around, Jacob asked his father if he could pick all of the apples—every single one of them. Their orchard wasn’t over-large—it was one of several different crops that their plantation grew—but even so it was a daunting task.

  Jacob’s father had laughed at him, had assumed at first that the boy was kidding. Such a job would be all but impossible for a boy of his age.

  But Jacob had insisted. He had pleaded. He was determined.

  Jacob had seen the prettiest delicate gold chain necklace the last time he had gone to town with his mother and wanted so badly to buy it for her for Christmas. He had a goal, and he had means to achieve the goal, albeit on a path that was full of obstacles and hardships. Still, he was sure he could do it.

  After several days of pleading, Jacob finally wore his father down. The boy was warned to be careful, and was made to promise that he would come tell his father as soon as he thought he couldn’t complete the task. There was a time limit, after all. Jacob knew this. The apples all needed to be off the trees before they began to rot, or before winter hit their part of Virginia.

  But Jacob wasn’t about to admit defeat.

  Throughout the weeks that he had available, Jacob was in the orchard from dawn until dusk six days each week. His hands developed blisters, that popped and healed and blistered again, all the while giving him a thick, hard skin to equip him for further difficult work.

  At one point he fell off a ladder and dislocated his shoulder. Even now more than two decades later Jacob could remember the pain of that injury and the subsequent treatment. He had to rest one of his arms, making the job that much more difficult. Jacob even thought about enlisting his brothers to help, promising them part of his earnings, but he dismissed that thought quickly.