The Christmas Trespassers

by Andrew J. Fenady

  “Better’n they will. I’ll see to it that you get that reward, Sheriff.”

  “I’m much obliged, Marshal.”

  “So am I, sir. So am I.” He looked at his prisoners, then climbed aboard.

  They all stood watching. Elwood Hinge, Homer Keeler, the Keeshaws, Amos Bush, Pete and Martha Inghram, Dutch and his son, Bub and the others on the street, and from her second-story window at the Eden, Rosalind DuPree.

  As the marshal and his prisoners rolled away, Elwood and Homer walked toward their office. Shad Parker’s wagon came to a stop just in front of the office.

  “Sheriff. Need to talk to you,” Shad said.

  “Sure,” the sheriff replied. “What about?”

  “Them.” Shad Parker nodded toward the three children.

  Chapter 30

  Things had changed considerably in the sheriff ’s office. Instead of confronting a couple of desperate, killer fugitives, Elwood Hinge and Homer Keeler looked upon three mud-caked, ragtag children and the man who had herded them up and delivered the pathetic trio.

  Shad Parker hadn’t gone into detail, but he did mention that the littlest boy had had a close call with a panther and that the three kids couldn’t go on living in a cave without food and proper clothes. He had said it in as few words as possible. The three kids, so far, had said nothing.

  Elwood Hinge held a circular in his hand and glanced from Homer Keeler to the three children.

  “Well, they fit the description, all right. You kids come from a place called . . .” he looked at the circular again “. . . Faith, Hope, and Charity Orphanage?”

  “No, we don’t come from there,” Austin said.

  “But you did run away from there.”

  “Yeah, and we’ll run away again if you send us back.”

  “Got no choice, son.” He looked back at Shad Parker. “Meantime, I sure hate to lock them up in jail. It’s Christmas Eve, you know.”

  “Look, I don’t give a damn what you do with ’em. Just keep ’em away from my place. I don’t want them or anybody else hanging around.”

  “You’ve made that plain, Mr. Parker.”

  “Good. Then there’s no more need my wasting any more time.” He turned and started to leave.

  “Mister.” It was Peg’s voice.

  Shad Parker halfway turned back. She looked at Davy, then at the man.

  “Merry Christmas.”

  He walked quickly out the door.

  The sheriff dropped the circular on his desk and took a step toward the small boy.

  “How you doing, son?”

  Davy didn’t answer. But Austin did.

  “How do you think he’s doing?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well,” Austin said, “ain’t you gonna lock us up?”

  “I purely dislike doing that.”

  “Then just let us go.” Austin spoke eagerly. “You won’t ever see us again.” It was hard for Austin to say the next word, but he did. “Please.”

  “Can’t, son.”

  “Why not?”

  “If something happened to you kids, I’d be responsible.”

  “Who’d care?”

  “I would.”

  For a moment no one in the room said anything.

  “Well,” Austin broke the silence, “what are you gonna do?”

  “Homer.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Go on over and find Reverend Groves. Tell him I want to see him right away.”

  “Yes, sir.” The deputy smiled and left the office.

  “Reverend Groves is a good man,” the sheriff said to the children. “Maybe he’ll put you up tonight till I . . .” Hinge looked down at the circular “. . . can make other arrangements.”

  Next to the circular on the desk there was the Christmas tree Elwood Hinge had been carving. He picked it up.

  “You kids just sit down and take it easy till the reverend gets here. We’ll fix you up with something to eat. How does that sound?”

  “Thank you,” Peg said.

  “It’s all right.” The sheriff picked up the carved Christmas tree from the desk, walked closer to the little boy, and held it out. “Here, son . . . well . . . here.”

  * * *

  Shad Parker was on the wagon going home. Dutch had watched from across the street as the man climbed aboard. Dutch’s son had stood next to him, hoping that his father would do nothing. That’s just what Dutch did. Nothing. Until Shad Parker’s wagon pulled away, then Dutch walked back toward the livery.

  * * *

  It hadn’t taken long for Homer Keeler to find and bring back the reverend. Hinge made the proper introductions and summed up the situation.

  “You’re right, Sheriff, and a good Christian. A jail is no place for three young children. Martha and I will be pleased to have them stay with us. We’ve got a spare room and I think we can find some clean clothes.”

  “That’s very kind of you, Reverend. I was going to fix them up with something to eat first.”

  “Of course.” Reverend Groves smiled at the three children. “But if you can hold off for just a little while, I’ll promise you a first-class home-cooked meal. Mrs. Groves is a mighty fine cook, mighty fine. That be all right with you kids?”

  The kids nodded.

  “Good. Very good. Come along, then, and don’t you worry about a thing, Sheriff. We’re glad to have them with us.”

  After Reverend Groves left and took the three children with him, Davy, holding on to the carved Christmas tree, Homer closed the door and smiled back at Elwood Hinge.

  “That was a decent thing for you to do, Elwood.”

  “Wish I could do more. I guess it’ll be up to you to deliver them back to Palestine, Homer.”

  “Whatever you say.”

  “But in the meanwhile, at least they’ll have a Christmas. Better than Charlie and Red,” he added.

  “You know, Elwood, I been thinkin’.”

  “About what?”

  “After seeing that marshal, that Julius Trapp . . .”

  “Yeah.”

  “The way he handled them two . . . I don’t know if I’m really cut out to be a lawman. I sure ain’t like him.”

  “Well, neither am I, Homer. But, then, they didn’t kill my brother . . . or yours. Besides, it takes all kinds, and all sizes, to be a lawman. You’ll do just fine, Homer, just fine.”

  “You think so?”

  “I do.”

  * * *

  When Shad Parker got home and put away the horses, he went straight for the bottle.

  Chapter 31

  The stars blinked down from the silent, black blanket of sky. The little town of Gilead was also, for the most part, silent.

  The shops and stores and the bank, all closed, except for the Appaloosa. Almost all of the citizens had gone home, those who had a home. Those who didn’t were at the homes of friends for dinner and drinks and the exchange of gifts. For most it had been a hard year. But the people of Texas were inured and used to hard years. Hard work, grit, and pride, the stuff of Texans, had tempered them against the odds of defeat. Some despaired, but there was no surrender. There was always hope, sometimes bitter and questioning, but still hope, for a better tomorrow.

  Laureen Bush had taken an early dinner in her bed that night. Her husband had brought her his Christmas gift, a pearl necklace he had ordered from San Francisco. She shuddered slightly as he fastened it around her slender throat.

  “I’m sorry I haven’t anything for you, Amos.”

  “That’s all right, dear, I understand.”

  “But I will have . . . soon.” Underneath her blanket, her hand touched the pistol. It would have been a simple matter for Laureen Bush to pull out the gun and shoot her husband at close range as he stood hovering over her. But that was not how she wanted to do it. She wanted to walk into his room while he slept, dreaming of his whore, wake him, and watch the look on his face when he realized that she could walk, then squeeze the trigger before he could beg forgivene
ss and make his peace with God. To me belongeth vengeance, and recompense.

  That was her plan, and Laureen Bush was in no hurry to execute it, or him. She would wait until the next time he went to his whore and came home with her scent still upon him, steeped in the sin of adultery, asleep in the comfort of his house and room and bed.

  “Merry Christmas . . . and good night, Laureen. I think I’ll read for a bit. It’s early yet.”

  Laureen Bush only nodded and said nothing.

  No, she thought as her husband left her alone in the room. No, Amos, it’s not early. It is much later than you know. The pearls felt like ice about her throat. She thought of tearing them from her neck, but decided not to. They would soon grow warm from the heat of her body . . . and hate.

  * * *

  “Well, Homer,” Sheriff Hinge said to his deputy, “I guess we can call it a night. Things seem to be about as quiet as they can get around here.”

  “About time. We’ve had more’n our share of excitement, considering there’s no war going on.”

  “Homer, there’s always a war going on, somewhere.”

  “I reckon so.”

  “Give my regards to the Lewises, specially to the bride-to-be.”

  “I will, sir. You sure you won’t come over to dinner? They did ask me to ask you, you know.”

  “Yes, you told me. Appreciate it, and convey my thanks, but there’s somebody I want to see and talk to about something.”

  “I understand.”

  “You do?” The sheriff smiled a curious smile.

  “Well, I don’t know . . . maybe I do and maybe I don’t . . . but . . . well, Elwood,” Homer Keeler extended his hand, “I just want to thank you and wish you a merry Christmas.”

  They shook.

  “Thank you too, Homer, and merry Christmas.”

  * * *

  Deek Keeshaw puffed on his pipe and watched from the window of the Appaloosa as first the deputy, then the sheriff, left their office and walked in different directions. His brother Tom stood next to him. Bart played solitaire at one of the tables. The smattering of customers hadn’t been interested in starting up a poker game on Christmas Eve.

  Hooter stood alone at the end of the bar, drinking from a bottle of his best whiskey, his and Amos Bush’s, only nobody there but Hooter knew that.

  “Well, Tom,” Deek spoke softly, “looks like them two fellas are closing up shop like just about everybody else in town.”

  “Looks like.” Tom grinned.

  “Yeah, the sheriff can finally get a good night’s sleep in his own bed and dream about that there reward.”

  “Yep.”

  “And while he’s dreaming . . .” Deek Keeshaw blew forth a billow of smoke and smiled.

  * * *

  For the first time in days Shad Parker finally felt that he was the way he wanted to be since coming back from the war. Alone.

  That was why he had left the Shenandoah and the graves. He did not want to inflict his suffering and pain on others. Nor did he wish to suffer the company of others, no matter how good or innocent their intentions. He was better off alone, and so were they. Whoever they were.

  The people he had left behind. The people of Gilead, and lately the others, too many others. The strange man on the mule. The three Keeshaw brothers to whom he had taken an immediate dislike. Ben, Esmeralda, and their sons. And especially the three orphans. So sad. So brave. So bothersome.

  He could have taken the rest, but there was something about them, the three of them. Of all the places in all of Texas, what brought them to this godforsaken patch of damnation? Why not somewhere else? Somebody else. Instead of him, who wanted only to be left alone.

  They had saved his life and he had saved one of theirs in return. They were even on that score. The difference was that he hadn’t wanted his life saved. That night, like the other nights, he had wanted to die. But if he had died, the odds were that the little boy would be dead, too.

  Now, on this Christmas Eve, he was alone. He didn’t know, or care, where any of the others were. Shad Parker was alone on this Christmas Eve.

  The trouble was that he couldn’t help thinking of another Christmas Eve . . . and Molly O.

  Shad Parker reached again for the bottle.

  Chapter 32

  It was a small tree—still, it was decorated—not for children, only for the Reverend Groves and his wife and whatever parishioners might drop by, but it was more of a tree than Austin, Peg, and Davy had hoped to see when they were clearing the mud out of their cave on that morning of 24 December.

  And they were still together, and Davy was alive, due to a man who was always mad, but an accurate shot with a rifle.

  Last year the tree at the Faith, Hope, and Charity Orphanage was much taller, and with many more decorations, and they were with children their own age, but they were also with ol’ Miss Stench, who kept telling them how lucky they all were and led them in singing “God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen” and a dozen other carols without ever cracking a smile, but she did crack a couple of the kids, including Davy, with her stick for not sitting up straight while they sang.

  Now Austin, Peg, and Davy sat in the Groveses’ parlor on a davenport, hands folded in front of them. Davy held on to the small carved Christmas tree. For the first time since running away the three of them were scrubbed clean, their hair combed, and wearing clean clothes, albeit the clothes didn’t exactly fit.

  Still, they were together, warm and safe for the time being, and they could smell food cooking in the nearby kitchen.

  Reverend Groves, smiling at the children, was taller than the tree he stood next to.

  “I’m sorry those clothes don’t fit any better than they do, but that’s all I could gather up on such short notice. But you look fine, mighty fine . . .”

  “Thank you, sir,” Peg said.

  “Yes, indeed, you certainly look different than you did a couple of hours ago. Supper’ll be ready in just a few minutes. Mrs. Groves is a mighty fine cook, yes indeed, mighty fine.”

  “Thank you, sir, but . . .”

  “Yes, Peggy, what is it?”

  “Well, couldn’t I help the missus in the kitchen? Or do something?”

  “No, Peggy . . . Are you always called Peggy? Or sometimes Margaret?”

  “No, sir, just Peggy.”

  “My mother’s name was Margaret, may she rest in peace. No, Peggy, don’t you worry about a thing. Everything’s under control. You’ll have a mighty fine supper and then a good night’s sleep.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “As I said, I’m afraid you’ll have to share the same room. We only have one spare bedroom.”

  “That’ll be fine, sir.” Peg nodded.

  “Tomorrow we’ll all go to services. I’ve got quite a good sermon prepared, different than last year’s . . . and after that . . .”

  “Edward!” Mrs. Groves called from the kitchen. “Can you come here a minute, please?”

  “Yes, dear. Be right there.” He smiled at the children. “Excuse me.”

  The children smiled back and nodded, unaccustomed as they were to such politeness from strangers, or any adults. The reverend started to leave but glanced back.

  “I’m sorry we don’t have any toys for you to play with.”

  “We’re fine, sir,” Peg said as the reverend left the room.

  When Austin could hear the sound of voices from the kitchen he leaned closer to Peg and Austin, who both sat to his left.

  “Eat all you can,” he whispered, “’cause we’re getting outta here tonight.”

  “But, Austin!” Peg was surprised.

  “It’ll be our last chance,” Austin whispered more emphatically. “They’ll send us back tomorrow, Christmas or no . . .”

  “Maybe . . .” Peg started to reason, but Austin didn’t let her go on.

  “There’s no ‘maybes.’ We’re getting out tonight. That’s it!”

  “Edward,” Martha Groves said, “they are such nice children.”
>
  “Yes, they are.”

  “But frightened.”

  “Well,” the reverend lowered his voice, “from what the sheriff said, they’ve been through a lot. Had more than their share of adversity, much more.”

  “It’s a shame we . . .”

  “What, Martha?”

  “We can’t find a home for them.”

  “I just don’t know who’d take them . . .” the Reverend shook his head, “. . . times being what they are.”

  “I hate the thought of them going back to some orphanage.”

  “So do I, Martha. So do I.”

  “Couldn’t we . . .”

  “What?”

  “Couldn’t we keep them . . . ?”

  “Martha.”

  “I mean, until we find someplace?”

  “That’s liable to be a long time.”

  “Edward, that’s the only way in which the Lord hasn’t blessed us. I’ve always wanted . . .”

  “I know, dear. But we’re getting a little old to start raising a family.”

  * * *

  “May I wish you a merry Christmas, Miss DuPree?”

  “You may, Mr. Hinge. Won’t you step inside?”

  Mr. Hinge stepped inside. He was not carrying a shotgun. In his hand he held a bottle of French wine. He had cleaned up and changed into his Sunday suit.

  When she answered the knock on her door Rosalind DuPree was wearing her finest evening gown. She looked as if she were going to the theatre, maybe even playing the part of the leading lady. There certainly was no place in Gilead worthy of the way she dressed and looked.

  “I was hoping you’d drop by.” She smiled teasingly.

  “Nothing short of a natural catastrophe could have prevented it, ma’am.” He carried on the flirtatious charade. “May I dare to hope that you would share with me this miserably inadequate gift of outrageously expensive French booze?”

  They both broke into laughter and she kissed him.

  “Merry Christmas, El.”

  “Merry Christmas, Rosalind.”

  “You know, the truth is, I was thinking of giving up booze . . . along with a couple of other things.”

  “Present company excluded, I hope.”

  “Well.” She arched an imperially slim eyebrow and looked from the bottle to him. “I just might have one last fling at both.”