The three of us walked out Peppy's door into the sunshine, where Jase reached up and grabbed both our hands. Mutt held Jase's hand out in front of him like a glass of water, afraid to spill any. An older lady, possibly in her late sixties, attractively dressed in a knee-length purple skirt and white top and carrying a black pocketbook, hobbled our way on two crutches. The crutches matched her skirt and shoe. I say "shoe" because that was her most distinguishing feature-she only had one leg. Jase watched her until she was directly in front of him. He let go of our hands and stood directly in front of the lady.
She stopped and said, "Well, hello, young man." Jase stooped, inched closer, leaned at the waist, and then just squatted on his heels so he could look directly up her skirt. It didn't faze her in the least. She laughed. "If you're looking for my leg, it's not there." I wanted to crawl in a hole and die.
"Well"-Jase looked again-"what happened to it?"
She looked down and smiled. "It got sick and the doctors had to cut it off."
"Will it grow back?"
I broke in. "Ma'am, I'm real sorry. He's just five and..."
She balanced on her crutches and gently placed her hand on my arm. "Son, I wish we all had so few inhibitions." Skillfully, she knelt down, squatting on her one heel, and looked in Jase's face. "No, it won't grow back, but that's okay. I have another one."
Jase nodded. "Oh. Well, okay."
I reached down, helped the lady stand, and nodded as she shuffled by.
Truly I say to you, unless you become like one of these ...
I herded Jase into the truck and tried to let the diesel drown out Miss Ella.
Tucker that's a brave little boy you got there. Not afraid of the truth.
I got a feeling you're about to make a point.
I was just wondering if you knew what you were doing.
Not really.
Well, from where I'm sitting, you look like you're giving a spelling lesson.
I parked the truck next to the barn and watched Jase run into Miss Ella's cottage without me. "Go ahead, buddy," I encouraged in a whisper, "she's going to love it." Jase ran inside, slammed the door, and two seconds later, I heard a bloodcurdling scream. That's when I started backpedaling to the house. Katie screamed again from inside the house. "Tucker Rain! If I live to be a hundred ..." I didn't wait to hear the rest. I hopped through the fence, tripped, and before I knew it, Katie was on top of me. She pounced hard and fast, surprising me how someone so slender could be so strong. I started laughing so hard I couldn't talk. Katie had pinned my hands to the ground and had her knees digging into my rib cage. "Tucker, you had no right to do that."
"Well, you weren't going to. Somebody had to."
.Why?"
Jase stood on the porch pounding his fist into his glove. "Come on, Unca Tuck, let's play catch."
"Now," I said to Katie, whose face was red and towering over me, "if you'll excuse me, I need to play catch with that good-looking kid with the crew cut."
"Tuck, we're not finished talking about this."
"Look, Katie, you can raise a pretty boy if you want, but sooner or later, you've got to let him be a boy."
Katie stomped her foot. "But what about his curls?"
"Well"-I pointed atJase-"they've been replaced by a smiling kid with a lot of ears."
"Tucker." Katie put her hands on her hips.
"Okay, okay. I'm sorry. Well, not really, but if you need to hear me say it, I'm sorry." I held her hand and tugged her toward the porch. She took one look at Jase and started laughing.
"I cannot believe you did that to my son. And what on earth is that ungodly smell?"
"Katie," I said, looping my arm beneath hers and escorting her back to the porch, "there's more going on here than just a haircut."
"Yeah, like what?"
"I'm teaching Jase how to spell."
Chapter 42
BITTER COLD CREPT DOWN THE STAIRS OF THE BASEMENT and slipped inside my covers. I opened my eyes and noticed my own breath steaming above me. I'm no butcher, but I could've hung meat in the basement. My smoke-breath made me think of Doc, whom I'd neglected, but I think he understood. I danced around the kitchen, loaded the percolator, and listened to the weatherman on Miss Ella's transistor radio. Through the static and single cracked speaker, he said, "It's the coldest Christmas morning in fifty years. Twelve degrees! Merry Christmas!" Two things in his statement caught my attention. "Twelve" and "Christmas."
I piled all three downstairs fireplaces with wood, poured on a quart of diesel fuel, threw in a match, and waited for the first floor to warm up. The dank, dark, and hollow feeling of Waverly drained out, starting in the upper corners of the room and falling all the way to the fire. In its place, a warm glow bubbled out of the fireplace, stretched across the floors, and climbed the walls until the ceiling dripped with golden firelight, transforming my house into a place I did not recognize. But something was missing. One look and I figured it out. I put on just about every piece of clothing I owned and shivered all the way to the barn.
Mutt lay in his bed, sleeping, cocooned like a caterpillar. I didn't wake him because it was the first time I had seen him sleep in almost a week. I saddled Glue, strapped a lasso to the saddle horn, dug out a rusty saw and packing blanket from the tool chest, and we walked east. We circled through the orchards, around the quarry, and up into an area where virgin timber grew. Some of the pines were sixty feet tall, and the oaks were as big around as the hood of my truck. I found a ten-foot holly tree, already decorated with little red beads, and worked up a sweat cutting it close to the ground. I trimmed the bottom, laid it in the blanket, tied it loosely, and began dragging it back, using the saddle horn as my tow hook. The dew had frozen hard, and a thin sheet of ice spread across the earth in front of us. It wasn't thick enough to pose a problem for Glue but allowed the tree to slide along with little effort. I carried the tree through the front door and secured it in the den opposite the fireplace with an old iron brace I found collecting dust in the barn.
Giving gifts posed a problem until I walked through the attic. I pulled down a large cedar chest that was big enough for me to fold up and fit into when I was a child. It looked like something a captain on a pirate ship would have owned. I buffed it with a quick coat of furniture wax, put it beneath the tree, and wrapped a bow around it. I had always loved the smell of that box. The percolator quit gurgling at me, so I poured a cup and began waxing Rex's grand. When finished, I wrapped the entire piano in a bow, loaded more wood in the fireplaces, and stretched out across the leather couch in the den, watching the embers fall beneath the iron grate.
An hour later, the back screen door squeaked and slammed, and small, pajama-footed feet scurried across the kitchen. They raced downstairs into the basement, fell silent, climbed the stairs, and began searching the house. When he ran through the den, I said, "Hey, partner."
"Unca Tuck!" Jase waved his arms through the air and jumped up and down. "It's Christmas!"
"I know. Can you believe it?"
Katie walked in a few seconds later wearing a flannel nightgown and terry cloth robe and wrapped in a blanket. The sleep hung heavy in her eyes, and one patch of hair on the back of her head was standing straight up like Alfalfa. I took one look at her and pointed. "Percolator. It's hot." She nodded, yawned, and turned in the direction of the kitchen.
Jase hopped up on my lap and said, "I gotyou a surprise."
"You did? What is it?"
He wiped his nose with the back of his hand. "I can't tell you that. Then it wouldn't be a surprise."
"Well, I got you a surprise too," I said and pointed at the box.
Jase's eyes grew wide. "Wow. What is it?" He jumped off the couch and circled the box, running his hands along the edges and sizing it up.
Katie walked in and sat down next to me on the couch, her eyes opening wider with every sip. "Hi," she whispered. "I like the tree. You special order that?"
"It's long on promise and short on decoration, but I figured w
e'd let Jase do that."
"Hey, Mom," Jase said, pounding the top of the box, "Unca Tuck got me a surprise. Can I open it?" She looked at me, and I nodded.
Jase lifted the lid and released the intoxicating smell of cedar into the room. The memories flooded back and reminded me that that box contained every physical thing I held dear as a child. "Wow, Mom, look." Jase lifted my one-holster belt out of the chest and held it up. The leather was worn but still in good condition. He strapped it on and lifted the gun from its holster. Its fake ivory handle was worn and oily. Next he pulled out my hat and red scarf. Then my boots, a bag of marbles, my collection of matchbox cars totaling almost a hundred, my Lincoln Logs, a bag of nearly two hundred green plastic army men, two rubber-band guns, a pirate's sword, and a pair of glittery wings that might fit a little girl. He spread the loot on the floor around him and sat in the middle of it. Katie eyed the wings, looked at me, and began shaking her head in disbelief. Jase jumped onto my lap, wrapped his arms around my neck, and said, "Thanks, Unca Tuck."
"I'm glad you like it, partner. It's yours."
"All of it?"
"Every bit."
I turned to Katie. She picked up the wings and held them in front of her. "I can't believe you kept all this."
"I had some help." I took Katie by the hand and said, "You ready for your present?"
"When did you have time to get me anything?"
"I didn't need time. Close your eyes." Katie set down her coffee and closed her eyes, and I spun her in a circle eight times. While she tried to balance, I led her to the piano bench and sat her down. "Open your eyes."
Katie opened her eyes and saw the piano stretched out before her with a giant bow across the top. Her jaw dropped, and instinctively, her fingers fell silently on the keys.
"Tucker," she said, shaking her head, "I can't."
I held out my hand and stopped her. "You'd better claim it before Mutt does. I'd hate to see what he'd do to it with that chain saw. Besides, it only sounds right when you sit here." She smiled, pulled me down next to her on the seat, and placed both her palms on my cheeks, cradling my face. I spoke like a kid whose face had been caught in the school bus door. "It's from me, Mutt, and Miss Ella."
Katie pulled my face close to hers, whispered, "Thank you, Tucker Rain," and kissed me on the lips. They were warm, soft, and tender, and I felt the tingle from the top of my head to the tips of my toes. Behind my belly button, the ache grew.
Katie set her fingers on the keyboard and played every Christmas song I'd ever heard, remembered, or thought of. Everything from "Silent Night," "Frosty the Snowman," "Rudolph," and "The Little Drummer Boy" to "0 Holy Night." And for the second time since she had driven her car into that ditch, the windows in our house spilled over with the happiest sounds I'd heard since Miss Ella died.
Mutt walked into the den wearing pajamas that were unsnapped in the front. "Merry Christmas." Mutt looked confused, so I pointed at the tree. "Merry Christmas."
"It's Christmas?"
"Yep
Mutt walked to the window and looked out across the front lawn. He studied it for several seconds and then said, "It's not Christmas."
"Well, according to most every calendar in the world, today is Christmas."
Mutt pointed outside and shook his head. "It's not Christmas." Mutt's eyes narrowed, and he walked out as quickly as he'd walked in, then disappeared into the barn. Five minutes later, I heard an engine crank, and Mutt walked around the front of the house, holding the pressure-washer wand and dragging the hose. He stood on the front porch, turned up the pressure, inserted the smallest nozzle he could find, and depressed the trigger. Water, under almost four thousand pounds of pressure, shot over forty feet into the air, misted into an umbrella, and froze into tiny droplets. For the next hour, Mutt waved his wand across Waverly and painted the house in snow and ice. Inside, Katie played, Jase drew his pistols and marched his army men across the den floor, and I hugged a coffee cup, kept one hand over my belly button, and tried to hide the tear that kept creeping into the corner of my eye.
Mutt, stepping through three inches of snow and satisfied that it was now Christmas, returned his wand to the barn and climbed up into the attic. A few minutes later, he came down scratching his head and tapped me on the shoulder. "Wonder if I could ask you a question."
"Sure."
We climbed into the attic, and he pointed at something in the corner, covered in a dusty sheet. "Can I have this back? I want to give it to that boy."
I lifted the sheet and saw the Lego castle that Mutt had given me almost twenty-five years ago. I nodded. "Yes, Mutt. I think he'd like it very much."
We wrestled it downstairs, placed it on top of the empty cedar chest, and uncovered it, throwing the yellowed and dusty sheet into the fireplace. Jase stood like a kid before the castle at Disney World. Frozen at the intersection of the wonderful and the impossible. Katie tiptoed across the room, gently took Mutt's hand, and kissed him on the cheek. "Thank you, Mutt." It would have made a beautiful picture.
Katie made pancakes, and I watched Jase give his mom sticky, syrupy kisses that left lip prints on her cheek. That day, we laughed by the fire, threw snowballs, played army, freed the princess from the castle tower, fought alligators in the moat, and sang every song we knew at least twice.
That night, I carried Jase, tired from a long day of playing in the snow and defending the princess, to Miss Ella's bed, wrapped the covers around his neck, and said, "Good night, little buddy. Sleep tight."
Jase stretched out his arms, wrapped them around my neck, and said, "Unca Tuck?" His eyes were crystal, giving me a straight shot all the way to his heart. No inhibitions, no walls, no scars, and no coffin to stumble over. "I lub' you, Unca Tuck." I listened to the sound of his voice ringing in my ear. A sweet tune, one I had known at one time, then forgot, but now remembered. I looked down at Jase, rubbed my hand through his fuzzy head, kissed him on the cheek, and managed, "I ... I love you too, Jase."
Katie followed me out of Miss Ella's bedroom, sat me on the couch, and dug her shoulder beneath mine.
Feels good, doesn't it?
I didn't answer. I leaned back, Katie rested her head on my chest, placed her legs over the top of mine, and laid her hand over my heart. We were wrapped together like two vines and bathed in firelight that cast a dancing shadow on the wall. The fragrance from Katie's hair and skin filled my lungs and smelled like a hug.
Merry Christmas, child.
Chapter 43
I DIDN'T SEE MUTT FOR THREE DAYS. I SAW TRACESmore missing soap, disappearing tools, the truck engine feeling warm when I hadn't driven it, and footprints in the mud around the barn-but never actually saw him face-to-face. That troubled me, and I began to worry, because Mutt was nowhere that I had ever looked before. He wasn't swimming in the quarry, digging in his tunnel, camping at the foot of the cross, bathing in the scalding pot, taking a dip in the water tower, playing chess in the loft, or deconstructing any part of the house. Mutt had vanished without a word.
New Year's Eve arrived, and Katie saw the worry pasted across my face. "Do we need to call somebody?"
I shook my head. "I don't know. He might be fine, or he might not be. I just don't know."
"Where have you not looked?" I leaned against the kitchen counter and looked out the back window across the back porch, the statue of Rex, and the pasture. "Where's the one place Mutt would go? A safe place where his mind would be at peace?"
"Katie, I don't know. I've looked everywhere. He could be riding a train five hundred miles from here."
Katie put her hand on the back of my neck and rubbed it gently. "Where would Miss Ella go?" With each passing day, Katie's touch reached further inside me.
I looked out the window, feeling her fingers on my neck. Her fingernails gently scratching my back. Mother Teresa was right. I'd gladly give up bread for love.
That's where it hit me. I don't know why I hadn't thought of it before. It was so simple. I turned to Katie and said
, "Stay here. I'll be back."
"Where are you going?"
"The same place Mutt went."
I kicked the chipped brick out of its wedged position in front of the door and unhooked the muscadine vine. The door released, swung a few inches, and I squeezed through. The smell of bleach, fresh paint, stain, and glue flooded through the door. I walked into the sanctuary and didn't recognize it. The pews had been sanded and stained. The walls had been spackled, sanded, and painted pure white. The beams in the roof had been replaced by squared heart of pine some six inches across. A new aluminum roof had replaced the old, but the pigeon nests had not been disturbed. Several fat pigeons sat warm and dry and flying in and out of the freshly caulked windows that were open and airing the inside. The floors had been sanded and now shined beneath several coats of polyurethane. The rotten and waterlogged purple pad had been pitched along with the roach-eaten prayer book. Parts of the railing had been rebuilt or replaced, and the entire thing had been sanded and stained, as had the butcher's block altar. Jesus had been straightened and his head, knees, and arms cleaned and restained. He shined like he'd been rubbed with linseed oil.
I read Mutt's signature in every brushstroke and dovetail. In a lifetime of work, this was his masterpiece.
Mutt lay on the floor beneath the railing, curled up in his sleeping bag like a cannonball and facing the altar. I couldn't tell if he was alive or dead. He was covered in sawdust, spackling paste, and paint. I walked around the side of him and saw that he was blinking, his pupils dilated to the size of dimes; his eyes sped around his eye sockets, chasing the light, his face contorted and quivered, and his arms wrapped tightly about his shins.
I pulled the plastic box from my jacket pocket, broke the seal, popped the cap on the first syringe, and squeezed out the air. Mutt's arm was cold when I lifted his shirtsleeve and inserted the needle.