A star had been drawn with crayon on both sides of a paper bag by Obie and stuck atop a small Christmas tree, which had been placed on a crate and decorated with other homemade ornaments in the stable that was singed and scorched, but still standing, and sheltering Ike, Jake, Jed, Obie, Sister Bonney, Ben, Melena and Benjie, who were doing their best under the circumstances to celebrate Christmas.
Whatever had been salvaged from the fire had been stacked or piled against a wall.
A few gifts had been exchanged, mostly presents for the boys, crafted and carved by Ben—new yoyos, flutes and sailboats.
In the middle of the stable there was a small fire inside a perimeter of stones that served as a stove, where Melena stirred a big kettle of boiling beans while Sister Bonney sliced bread on a wobbly table.
Unseen by the others, in one corner, Ike took something from his pocket and extended his hand toward Ben.
“Here, Ben, I found this when I was going through what’s left next door.”
He placed the gold wedding band into Ben’s palm.
“Ike. . . I. . .”
“Never mind. Just give it to her.”
There was noise and a knock from outside the stable door . . . then more noise and knocking.
Jake walked over to the entrance and opened the door.
“Merry Christmas!” was voiced by the dozens of people standing at the entry.
“Come in! Come in!” Jake smiled. “That’s what doors are for!”
And in they streamed.
Belinda Millay, Binky, Henry the bartender, Oliver Knight, Doc Barnes, Tom Bixby, Antonio Gillardi, Matt Crowley, Mayor John Davis, Scotty Simpson, Miles Akins from the hotel and half a dozen more people with members of their families entered . . . and they had not come empty-handed.
“Your Honor! Everybody!” Jake grinned. “What’re you all doing out on a night like this?”
“We’re not out!” Binky exclaimed. “We’re in!”
The mayor laughed. “Yes, yes, we came by to say Merry . . . uh, well, some of us thought . . . it was Miss Millay’s idea . . . that. . . we, well, we brought over some things that you might need.”
“There isn’t much,” Obie said, “we don’t need.”
“Obadiah!” Jake admonished.
“Cider.” The mayor held up a jug. “Pretty strong.”
Binky took a whiskey bottle from Henry’s hand.
“And something a little stronger for those of us who are so inclined!”
“Just what the doctor ordered.” Zebelion Barnes nodded.
Everybody laughed and the visitors set down gifts they had brought, some wrapped and some not. Pots, pans, plates—necessities and non-necessities.
Jake walked close to his brother and made sure nobody heard. “Ike,” he said, just above a whisper, “you know something?”
“What?”
“Maybe that caravan wasn’t so cockeyed after all.” Jake turned, wiped at his left eye and walked away. As he did, Scotty Simpson came up to Ike.
“Mister Silver,” he said, “you been awfully good to me and I. . . well, I just want you to know . . . if there’s anything I can do . . .”
“There is, Scotty. Just don’t leave town. We’ll be opening sooner than later. And you’re still on the payroll.”
“Oh . . . no.”
“Oh, yes.”
“Half salary, then.”
“Full salary. Report for work on Monday. There’s a lot to do and you’re going to help us do it.”
“You damn betcha, Mister Silver! And tonight I just might have a wee touch o’ that cider.”
“Good idea.”
A few minutes later, Jake reappeared carrying a scorched and slightly bent menorah with all seven candles lit.
“Wait a minute,” he said, “besides being Christmas . . . it’s Hanukkah.”
“Well,”—Mayor Davis raised a glass, not of cider—“Merry Hanukkah . . . whatever that is.”
“Merry Hanukkah!” the crowd responded.
“Uncle Jake,” Obie said, “I remember last year at Hanukkah we all danced.”
Jake nodded. “So we’ll dance this year too!” Jake set down the menorah and picked up a flute. “Come on, Obie, lead the way!”
Uncle Jake began playing the hora on the flute. First Ike, then the others clapped in rhythm.
Obie grabbed Jed, who grabbed Benjie, who grabbed Sister Bonney and started to dance in a circle around the fire in the center of the stable. A dozen other revelers joined in the dance. Antonio Gillardi produced a harmonica from his pocket and accompanied Jake’s flute.
Oliver Knight walked up next to Ike. “Mister Silver, this is one thing you’re not going to stop me from writing about.”
“I wouldn’t dream of stopping you, Mister Knight.” Ike smiled. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”
Rupert Lessur stood smoking a cigar and looking out the window of his office with Rooster just behind him.
“Damn fools . . .”
“Yeah.” Rooster turned, walked to the door, opened it and looked back. “Well, Mister Lessur, Merry Christmas.”
Colonel Crook stood at the door with Captain Bourke beside him. In Crook’s hand, a Yellow Boy Winchester. “And an unHappy New Year,” he said.
“Ben, what are you doing?”
Ben removed the copper ring from Melena’s finger and replaced it with the gold wedding band. “Merry Christmas, Melena.”
“I was perfectly happy with the old one,” she said.
“I wasn’t.”
“I do want to make you happy . . . and Ben, I hope this makes you happy, too.” She leaned closer and whispered, “Benjie’s going to have a little baby brother or sister.”
“Happy? Melena . . . happier than a saltwater clam at high tide.”
Now Jed, Obie and Sister Bonney stood near Jake and Antonio Gillardi, while a dozen citizens of Prescott, including Mayor Davis, did their best to dance the hora.
Binky decided he had been offstage long enough. He raised a tumbler of bourbon.
“To paraphrase a countryman of mine,” he declaimed, “not the best of times—not the worst of times!”
Jed tugged at Binky’s sleeve. “Mister Binkham, he also wrote ‘God bless us, everyone.’ ”
“Amen.” Sister Bonney nodded.
“Ike,”—Belinda Millay placed a coin in his hand—“here’s another silver dollar for the new store . . . and for luck.”
He smiled. “Thanks, but I’m already pretty lucky.”
“We all are. . . Big Ike.”
Ike Silver walked a few steps away from the others. He took the gold watch from his pocket, clicked open the lid, looked at the wedding picture and listened for a moment to the tune from the past that could be faintly heard amidst the night’s celebration of Hanukkah and Christmas.