The Paper Cowboy (14 page)

DECK THE HALLS

Every year in December, Mary Lou and I linked together colorful rings of paper to hang on the tree. Since we couldn't do it at home this year, I gathered an armful of paper and glue and took them to the hospital. Mary Lou was thrilled. “It's so boring here, with nothing to do,” she complained. We spent the afternoon linking the rings together. The next week when I visited, she'd made a chain so long, it went all the way down the hall.

I missed Mary Lou something terrible, especially in the evenings. There were carols on the radio, and Dad made hot chocolate, but it just didn't seem like Christmastime. Mom usually went to her room right after dinner now, and was often asleep before we put Pinky to bed. In the morning Mom still seemed tired, and sometimes, if she'd taken one of Dr. Stanton's sleeping pills, she woke with red-rimmed eyes.

Even though Mary Lou and I always made the paper chains, we weren't allowed to decorate the tree. Oh no. That was my mom's job, because it had to be absolutely perfect. We might put the ornaments too close together or, God forbid, drop and break one. Mom decorated the tree alone on Christmas Eve, after we'd gone to bed, so that when we woke up the next morning, it would appear like magic, fully trimmed.

But I was allowed to pick out the tree with my father. So one cold night, while my mom was doing the dishes from dinner, my dad and Boots and I went to find a tree.

The Christmas tree lot was in a wooded area near the edge of town, and was run by an old man. He'd brought in a bunch of new trees that morning. A light snow was falling and the moon was bright, so all the trees glowed like they were covered with tinsel. While my dad talked to the old man about the price, I chose a tree. It was a huge Douglas fir, with branches as thick and strong as the tail of a horse. Boots ran in circles, snapping at the snowflakes, until he lay down dizzy in the snow.

We carried the tree home on our shoulders, Dad and me. Even though my arms were aching, I didn't complain.

“Dad,” I asked, “what's the League of Women Voters?”

Dad turned to look at me. “Why do you want to know about them?”

I shrugged. “Just heard about them somewhere.”

“It's a civic organization for women who are interested in politics and democracy.”

Oh.

“I've been trying to get your mom to join. Thought it might do her good to get out of the house.”

“But they discuss ‘subversive activity.' And ‘congressional investigations.'”

Dad gave me a funny look. “How do you know that?”

“I . . . saw a note about it in the paper.”

I guess he believed me, because he nodded. “They are discussing Senator McCarthy and his congressional investigations to root out suspected communists in the government. The League has been quite critical of him.”

“Oh,” I said. I remembered what Mr. McKenzie had called those investigations.
A witch hunt.

Dad dropped his end of the tree as we stopped to rest for a moment. “Tommy, are you still trying to find this supposed communist?”

“No,” I lied.

“I think you are.”

“But Mr. McKenzie is going under. I saw him last week and—”

“Tommy,” Dad said slowly, “some problems we just can't fix.”

We picked up the tree again and kept walking. Maybe my father was right. But I kept thinking about Gary Cooper in
High Noon.
Even when he couldn't find anyone else willing to face the bad guys with him, he never stopped trying.

Mom, wearing her bathrobe and slippers, met us in the garage with a bucket of water. We placed the tree in the bucket and held it upright as Mom walked around inspecting it. “Pretty good,” she said. “Except for that bald spot.”

Dad waved a hand in the air. “It looks fine.”

“It looks like a big gaping hole,” said Mom.

“Put it toward the back,” Dad suggested.

“I'll still know it's there.”

“Catherine.” My dad was exasperated. “It's a tree, not a precisely engineered statue.”

“I didn't say it was a big deal,” she replied. “I'll just drill a few holes and put in a couple of extra branches.”

“Fine,” Dad said. The phone started ringing and he walked off into the house.

I stood there stupidly, still holding the tree.

“You did a good job this year, Tommy,” said Mom. “I think it'll make a lovely tree. With a little work.”

I wasn't sure if I should feel complimented or offended.

Dad came back into the garage a moment later. “That was the doctor,” he said, his voice serious.

No one spoke, but my breath caught in my throat.

“He said”—Dad broke into a huge grin—“that he thinks Mary Lou will be well enough to come home for a few days this Christmas!”

“Mary Lou—home?” Mom asked quietly.

“It's just for a few days,” said Dad. “Christmas Eve to New Year's. She'll have to go back for more therapy once the holidays are over but . . .”

I couldn't think of a better present.

This news, welcome as it was, sent my mother into a cleaning frenzy. Every spare minute she had us bleaching sheets, washing curtains, rugs, pillows, until our house was as sterile as the hospital. Suddenly, Mom was hardly sleeping at all. Once when I woke up at 4:30 to do the paper route, I found her on her knees in the hall, scrubbing the floorboards with a toothbrush.

There was a lot of snow that December, which meant there was salt and sand all over the roads. I kept skidding and falling off my bike. Finally, I said something to Mary Lou on one of our visits and she said, “Tommy, once there's snow on the ground, it's easier just to take the sled.” The next morning, I loaded the papers into our homemade paperboy sled. It had a long wooden box bolted to a super-long sled. Mary Lou was right: even with having to pull the load up and down hills, the route was easier with the sled. Boots got salt and sand stuck in his paws. I had to wash them with a rag every morning when we got back, but still he gamely came along.

On the last day of school before Christmas break, Little Skinny walked in smiling. “I got the stockings,” he said. “You're going to love them!”

“You too!” I said.

Eddie grinned at me and I tried to force myself to laugh. The night before, Eddie had come over and we'd filled the socks with coal from our basement. But when Eddie had gone, I'd dumped one of them out again and placed a few real gifts inside. An orange. A nickel. An old tin soldier. Then I placed a couple of pieces of coal back on top, so it'd look to Eddie like I was sticking to the plan.

And I'd come up with an idea, something I could do for Mary Lou. When it was time for recess, I walked over to Sister Ann. “What is it, Tommy?” she asked.

I told her Mary Lou's fears about not finishing the eighth grade. “I thought maybe someone could go and tutor her? Help her keep up with her class?”

“Tommy.” Sister Ann smiled. “That's very sweet of you. But your sister needs to focus on physically getting better. There will be time to—”

“But her mind's okay, even if she can't walk too well yet. And sometimes . . . sometimes I think it would help if she had something to do.”

Sister Ann studied my face for a long time. “You're a good brother, Tommy, to notice that about her.”

“Does that mean you'll—”

“I'll speak to Father Miskel about it. But yes, I think you might be right. Perhaps a distraction is just what Mary Lou needs.” She smiled again, and when she did, I realized her nose didn't really look like a pickle anymore. Sure, it was big, but it kind of suited her.

“Run along now and play with your friends.”

I couldn't put the stocking exchange off any longer. Eddie and Little Skinny were already waiting for me under the big elm tree. “Here!” said Little Skinny, bursting with excitement. He thrust a sock into each of our hands.

We opened them immediately. There were tiny cookies filled with jam and dusted with powered sugar, wrapped in wax paper. There was a brand-new pencil and an eraser and, best of all, a tiny compass from McKenzie's store.

I glanced at Eddie. He looked thrilled. Eddie already had one of the cookies in his mouth.

“My dad helped me with them,” Little Skinny said. There was a strange expression on his face. I realized that it might just be a real smile.

“Here's your stocking,” Eddie said, handing it over.

Little Skinny reached right inside the stocking and pulled out a lump of coal. It was horrible, watching his face change from eager excitement to embarrassed disgust.

“I knew it,” Little Skinny yelled. “I knew I shouldn't trust you!” He held the stocking by the toe and shook the coal onto the ground.

Eddie started laughing.

“Here,” I said, thrusting the stocking I had filled at him. “Open this one.”

Little Skinny took it from me and threw it aside. “Eddie, I understand. But I thought you were . . . I don't know, maybe my friend.”

He stormed off then, not even bothering to peek inside the stocking I'd given him. Eddie laughed harder.

Peter was laughing too. “Why in the world,” Peter asked, “would he think you might be his friend?”

I didn't answer.

“Share your cookies with us?” Luke asked.

“Didn't you think it was a mean trick?” I asked.

“Sure it was mean,” he said. “But you did it, not me. I can eat the cookies with a clean conscience.” He grinned.

I handed him a cookie.

Lizzie came storming past the barrier then, even though girls weren't allowed on the boys' side. Her curly hair frizzed around her head and her cheeks were rosy with anger. “Tommy Wilson!” she fumed. “I saw what you did. You are a mean jerk!”

Her eyes sparkled like the blue yo-yo had in the sun.

“Hey, Lizzie,” I said. “Want a cookie?”

“No, I don't want a cookie! I used to think you were handsome. But you're always picking on people. You have a rotten soul and now I don't even think you're cute at all!”

I laughed. What else could I do? Eddie and Peter and Luke were standing there, watching her yell at me. So I laughed like I didn't care. But I did. For the first time, I realized I actually liked Lizzie. Admired her sass. She reminded me a bit of Mary Lou with her freckles and her temper, but not in a sisterly way. And here she was, telling me that I was a rotten person. The worst part was, I kind of agreed with her.

“Miss Elizabeth Johnson!” Sister Ann called out. “What are you doing on that side of the barrier?”

“Lost a jack!” Lizzie called out, holding up a handful of jacks. “Coming back right now.”

She stomped off. Yeah, I liked her. Not that she'd ever speak to me again.

“Give me another cookie,” Peter demanded. “You rotten soul!”

The boys all burst out laughing.

I handed over the cookies. They seemed to enjoy them, but I didn't eat a single one.

The next afternoon, Boots and I went over to Mrs. Scully's house to pick up the present for Mom.

“I've got it all ready for you,” she said as she pulled a sheet of brown paper off a hanger.

Mrs. Scully held up the dress. It was green like my mother's eyes, and had a wide skirt that would fly out when she vacuumed.

“Thank you,” I breathed. “It's perfect.” I pulled the five-dollar bill out of my pocket and handed it to her. Then I pulled out the League of Women Voters pamphlet and placed it on the table too. “And I, um, accidentally picked this up last time I was here.”

“Thank goodness you found it,” she said. “I'm supposed to bring the snacks next month and I couldn't remember when we were meeting.” She sighed. “I like to sew, not cook.”

“Merry Christmas,” I said.

“Merry Christmas, Tommy.”

I clutched the hanger tightly to my chest as Boots and I walked home. Maybe it would be a merry Christmas after all.

CHRISTMAS

On Christmas Eve, we got a ride to church with Eddie and his parents. Mr. and Mrs. Sullivan kept snipping at each other in the car, but we all pretended not to notice. Mom wasn't with us because she'd gone to pick up Mary Lou from the hospital and it had taken longer than she'd expected. She'd called and told us to go on without her. I held Susie and Pinky sat in Dad's lap.

When we stepped inside the church, the first thing I saw was the huge Christmas tree, twice as big as the one we'd picked out, and dozens of red poinsettias. There were also two smaller trees. They were decorated with nothing more than blue lights that shone like moonlight on water in the dim church.

The second thing I noticed was Lizzie Johnson in a green-and-red-plaid dress that clashed with her hair. She looked so pretty. I walked over and said hi. She crossed her arms, muttered an insincere “Merry Christmas” and turned her back on me. But at least she was speaking to me.

We sat down in our pew and the service started. After a while, Pinky slumped against me, half asleep. Little Skinny and Mr. McKenzie were there too. I cringed as I looked at Little Skinny, sinking down lower in my pew, hoping he hadn't told his dad about the stockings. Pinky woke up for the Christmas carols at the end—and the very last one was “Hark! The Herald Angels Sing.” That was a good sign. I wondered if Mary Lou would really be there when we got home.

It was snowing as we all filed outside, solemn yet joyous. Clanking chains on the car tires rang through the night. If I'd been a little younger, I might have believed Mr. Sullivan's story that they were the bells on Santa's sleigh. I was pretty sure that Pinky did.

When we pulled up to our house, I could see our car in the driveway. I ran inside, and there, in the living room, sitting in an armchair, was my sister.

Mary Lou was talking to my mother, who was sitting next to her on the couch. There were no lights on, only a few candles on the mantel. The tree was still in the garage, waiting to be decorated by my mother. When Mary Lou turned to me, she seemed to glow, like the trees at church, her long brown hair falling loose about her head, the candlelight making her brown eyes shine. She didn't really look like my sister. She looked like an angel.

“Tommy,” she said, and smiled.

Pinky beat me to her. She threw her arms around her, and though she winced, Mary Lou hugged her back. I could just see her bandaged legs peeking out from under her long skirt. It was my turn then, and I walked over and took her hand in mine. For the first time since burning the trash all those weeks ago, I didn't have to feel guilty. Mary Lou was home and everything was going to be okay.

“I'm so glad I got to come home for Christmas,” Mary Lou said.

“Yeah,” I said. “Me too.”

Out of habit, I woke up at 4:30 the next morning even though I didn't have to deliver the papers until 8:30 on Christmas Day. I lay in bed for a while, trying to go back to sleep, but I was too excited. Finally, I got up and went into the living room.

The tree looked beautiful. There were long strings of multicolored lights and candle-shaped bulbs with boiling alcohol inside, candy canes and ornaments and lots and lots of tinsel. The paper garland Mary Lou and I had made was draped across the mantel. Gifts were scattered around the tree, their ribbons sparkling.

Mom walked into the room then, drinking a cup of coffee. “Morning, Tommy,” she said.

“Morning, Mom,” I said. “You did an amazing job.”

“You like it?” She'd tied her dark hair back with a scarf. It made her look young, like a little girl.

“It's perfect,” I said.

“It is, isn't it?” She sighed.

I thought back to the great time we'd had eating Thanksgiving dinner. My accordion was at Mrs. Glazov's. I'd have to get it later, maybe play a few polkas and we could all dance in the living room again. Maybe it would be just like old times.

Mom yawned.

“Did you get any sleep?” I asked.

“No,” she said. “But I don't like to sleep on Christmas. It's my favorite holiday. I don't want to miss one single moment.”

I knew just what she meant.

We stood there together, looking at the tree for a long time. Finally, Mom said, “Go back to sleep, Tommy. Dad won't have breakfast ready until after six.”

So I did. The house smelled like sausage links and pancakes when I woke up a second time. Everyone else was already gathered in the kitchen. Pinky was bouncing in her chair at the breakfast table. “Hurry, Tommy,” she said. “Mommy says no presents until we eat.”

I gobbled down that food so fast, I barely tasted it. Soon as we were done, it was present time. We tore into them, bows and paper flying in the air. Maybe not as many presents as in years past, but there was a new doll for Pinky, a book for Mary Lou, a model airplane for me and a new fishing lure for Dad's collection.

When our boxes were finally opened, Dad cleared his throat. “Tommy and I have a special surprise for Mom.”

My mother smiled.

“What is it, Tommy? What is it?” begged Pinky.

I pulled out Mom's package from where I'd hidden it under the couch and handed it to her. She tore the paper open.

“Is this a new dress?” She gasped, her eyes shiny and bright, her face as excited as Pinky's.

I nodded. “I thought you'd like the green. Dad saved the money and I asked Mrs. Scully to make it.”

Mom fingered the fabric. “This is beautiful!” She pulled the dress out and shook it free of the paper. Then, all at once, her expression changed.

“Is this some kind of mean joke?” she barked.

I didn't know what she was talking about.

“Are you calling me fat?” she snapped.

“Now, Catherine,” said my father.

“What's wrong?” I asked.

“This dress is way too small! There is no way it'll fit!” my mother screamed at me.

“B-b-but—but—” I sputtered. “We used your old blue dress as a pattern.”

“That hasn't fit since before Pinky was born!” Mom screamed. “Tommy, I can't believe you did this!”

She stood up and pushed over the tree she'd worked on for so many hours. It tottered once on its stand, then slowly fell to the ground with a crash of shattering ornaments. Mom gasped at what she had done, then ran off to her bedroom.

Pinky started to cry.

My father and Mary Lou looked at each other, but I couldn't meet their eyes. For the first time, I wished Mary Lou wasn't home. At least then she wouldn't have seen how I'd ruined Christmas Day.

“Thomas,” said my father quietly. “I didn't mean . . . I didn't realize that dress was too small. Holidays are hard for her and you can't take it personally.”

“How am I supposed to take it?” I shrieked at him. I sounded just like my mother, and that scared me worse than anything she had done.

Mary Lou stared at the wall.

“I'm going out,” I said.

No one bothered to answer.

As I walked the paper route, I kept expecting to start crying. But I didn't. Somehow, I made my way to Mrs. Scully's. I don't know what I thought I was going to do. Confront her for making the dress the wrong size?

Mrs. Scully invited me in for hot chocolate. She wore a crimson dress trimmed with white, and lipstick that matched. It made her look a bit like a candy cane. Her tree was only a plant on a table, but no one was yelling at each other. “So tell me,” she said as she shoved a mug of hot chocolate into my hands, “how did your mother like the dress?”

Time froze for a moment, as I wondered what to say. I wanted to tell her the truth, wanted to blame her, wanted a shoulder to cry on, but more than that, I wanted her house to stay just the way it was, messy, happy and peaceful. “She loved it,” I said.

Mrs. Scully grinned. “I'm so glad, Tommy. You're such a thoughtful boy.” She hugged me tight. She smelled like peaches and petunias, and I could feel the lipstick that came off as she kissed my cheek. “I've got something for you,” she said. “Come on downstairs.”

I followed her into the basement, which was filled with a huge table covered with the most elaborate train set I had ever seen. It had a station and a mountain, a lake to run the train around and a forest to motor through. There were all sorts of different trains, tiny signals and people, small figures waiting to get on, to journey to who knows where.

“You must think I'm strange,” she said. “To live here all alone. When my husband died, I thought about getting a smaller place, but then what would I do with the trains! Aren't they lovely?”

“Yes,” I marveled. “They're magnificent.”

I watched the train, running in circles around the track. I could have stood there for hours.

“You did say you were a cowboy fan, right?” Mrs. Scully started rummaging through a box in the corner.

“Yes.”

She pulled out a small train. “This is just like the engine in
High Noon.
You know the one, when they're waiting for the bad guy to come into town. Grace Kelly gets on it, like she's going to leave and abandon her husband, but of course at the last minute she jumps off and she doesn't. You have seen
High Noon,
haven't you?”

“Five times,” I said.

“Oh, you're a fellow fan. This'll be perfect, then.” And she handed the train to me.

It was heavy in my hand. Made of painted metal, it did look just like the one in
High Noon.
If only I could get on a train like that and ride away from all my problems. “It's beautiful,” I said, handing it back to her.

“No, no.” She waved me off. “It's for you.”

“But . . . I haven't done anything,” I said. “You hardly know me.”

She smiled at me. “Usually I love living by myself. But at times it gets a little lonely. And you stopped by to say hello on Christmas.”

Mrs. Glazov was equally excited to see me. She opened the door almost before I was done knocking.

“Tommy,” she exclaimed. “Merry Christmas.”

She made me tea and served cookies. While we ate and drank, she read me every headline on the front page of the
Tribune.
I felt as proud as a mama bird that's just taught her fledgling to fly. After the reading, she announced, “Now we play.” We ran through all our favorite Christmas carols, ending with “Silent Night.” When we were done, I sat there quietly for a minute. This is what Christmas should be like, I thought.

“Now,” she said quietly. “You go home. Things calmed down.”

“What?”

“Sometimes I hear,” she admitted. “Yelling. Crying. No more today. You go home.”

I lugged the accordion back with me, and poked my head into the living room. Dad had finished sweeping up the glass and the tree was standing again, sparkling as if it had never been knocked over at all. Pinky was playing with her new doll.

Mom walked into the room, carrying a pie. She'd gotten dressed, combed her hair, put on lipstick. But her eyes were still red from crying. “Oh good, Tommy,” she said brightly, as if nothing had happened. “You're back. And you have the accordion! Play us something. A polka maybe. I love polkas!” She pulled out a chair from the dining room and placed it in the center of the room for me.

My father nodded, and pushed back the couch.

I picked up the accordion and sat down on the chair and started to play the brightest, happiest polka I could. This was my plan. This was what I had wanted. My dad asked my mom to dance and they began to whirl across the floor, just as they had on Thanksgiving. Pinky clapped her hands. Mary Lou looked over at me and smiled.

And that's when I started to cry. Huge tears that rolled down my eyes, so I couldn't even see my parents. I wasn't sure I would be able to finish the song, but I did. Mary Lou finally noticed. “What's wrong, Tommy?”

“I'm just so happy,” I lied.

Mom smiled and went off to cook Christmas dinner. Dad patted me on the shoulder. I pasted on a smile so fake, I thought my skin would crack. We never mentioned the tree again.