December the 25th, 1880
Curtis Wells, Montana Territory
6:00 A.M.
Unbob blew on his hands and stamped the snow from his boots as he entered his humble cabin. His chores were all done, the flock all fed and accounted for, and it was time for his own breakfast: porridge, as usual, and a special treat: a slice of ham he had been saving. His mouth watered at the thought. But first he stole a glance at the tiny tree he’d dug up and placed in a coffee can in the corner of his shanty. He hadn’t chosen the biggest tree in the forest, nor the prettiest. In fact, the branches were sort of sparse, and the whole tree listed to one side, in spite of Unbob’s efforts to straighten it. No, it wasn’t the best tree, but Unbob had thought it looked lonely. All the other trees were so much bigger, and they sort of looked down on it, he thought. He couldn’t bear to chop it down, so he had dug it up – with some difficulty -- as the ground was December-hard.
And there it stood. Unbob didn’t have any decorations, but he’d popped some corn and strung it so he could drape it over the branches, and he had managed to cut out a tin star from the lid of a can of beans. That perched proudly at the top, leaning over just like the tree. Unbob thought it looked beautiful.
There was one other ornament in the cabin. Unbob always hung up a sock – a clean one – one without holes. If Santa Claus was going to come, Unbob knew he needed to be ready for him. He didn’t have a fireplace, but he hoped the wall at the back of the stove would suffice.
Unbob approached the stove carefully, peering at the sock. Had Santa been there? There appeared to be some bulges in it. Yes! Yes! He had been there! Santa hadn’t forgotten the special feed for Blackie, and Queenie, and the other prized hens, and Tom, the rooster.
Eagerly, Unbob reached into the sack and pulled out a lumpy package. Hmmm. This was strange. The package was very light. Unbob had thought the feed would weigh more. He slowly unwrapped the tissue paper. Something made of white cloth lay in his hands. He held it up by one end, and it unfurled and hung down in front of his startled eyes. It was a strange contraption with metal hooks and laces. Unbob turned it over and looked at two raised areas that were very pointed. Why sure! Now he knew what it was. It was blinders for the Hell Bitch! Maybe her eyes were bothering her. It must be what Call had asked Santa for. Well, he’d run it by the livery later. Unbob smiled as he turned to his breakfast. How nice that Santa had remembered the animals too.
##
Amanda tossed and turned in her bed. Something was chasing her, grabbing her dress, pulling at her. Something hairy.
“Arf! Arf!”
What was that! Amanda sat up, rubbing her big, beautiful baby blues. The blankets were nearly off the side of the bed, and two bright eyes peered menacingly at her. Amanda clutched at the covers and pulled them up under her chin. Where had she seen crazed blue eyes like that before? And more importantly, what was a dog doing in her bedroom? She didn’t have a dog. “Ike! Ike, get in here, you nincompoop!” she yelled. But no one came.
##
Call yawned and stretched. He sat up and shook the hair out of his eyes. The straw in the livery made a decent bunk on those nights when Amanda objected to his presence in the hotel. She shore set great store by those linens of hers. She said the laundry couldn’t get his sheets clean anymore and that there was a bathing clause in his room rental agreement. That hadn’t set well with Call, and he’d stretched out here willingly rather than submit to any more of her unreasonable demands. Here, at least, a man could get a little peace.
Call leaned back on his hands and touched something that didn’t feel like straw. Quickly, he looked around. Hmmm. What was a stack of books doing here? He didn’t have a library card. Curious, he picked one up and thumbed through it until a passage caught his eye: ‘Tristan caught her up in a passionate embrace and pressed her to his chest. Her eyes met his with unspoken longing. Her lips parted slightly, and he could feel savage beating of her heart against his chest. He brought his mouth down on hers hungrily and . . .’
Why, this was po-nography! He tossed the book aside in disgust. Must be some of those romance novels Mattie was so fond of. But he’d be damned if he knew how they got in the loft. He’d have to run them by the gun shop later. He hesitated a moment, and then picked up the book again.
##
Mattie tucked in her shirt and took a perfunctory glance in the mirror. She patted her boyishly short hair into place and strapped on her pistol. She strode to her door and opened it, meaning to beat the breakfast rush at the Dove. Why, what was this? A gaily-wrapped package lay at her feet on the landing.
Excitedly, she picked it up. A Christmas present? For her? A secret admirer, perhaps? A smile crept over her delicate features. Child-like, she held the box to her ear and shook it. Hmmm. It didn’t rattle. Carefully, she untied the red ribbon and undid the brown paper. Cigars!! Was this some kind of sick joke? She knew folks in town – especially the women – regarded her as mannish because she wore pants. But this was just plain mean. Mattie chucked the “gift” over the railing and strode down the stairs with a purpose. She meant to get to the bottom of this!
##
Pfffffffttttttt! Putt, putt, blaaaaaaattttttttt! Austin grabbed his nose and turned to meet the whore’s startled gaze. Stella’s eyes were wide, and she had ahold of her nose too. “Austin Peale, that is just about the rudest thing . . .”
“Me?” Austin defended himself. He would never have Stella again; that was for sure. Why, if the woman couldn’t control her bodily functions . . . He rolled the rest of the way over onto his back. Pfffffffftttttttt! Blaaaaaaatttttt! Now he was really confused. Stella was still glaring at him and holding her nose, but he hadn’t done anything. He blushed to the roots of his hair and sat up. He searched through the covers, coming up at last with a red ribbon-tied WHOOPEE CUSHION! What the hell??
##
Luther rubbed the sleep from his eyes as he reached into the chiffarobe for his shirt. His stomach was growling, and breakfast at the Dove was beckoning. He poked a meaty fist into the sleeve and heard a ripping sound. He took a closer look at his shirt. What was this? Great jumping hornytoads! It was ruffled! This wasn’t his shirt! Quickly, he peeled off the offending article and thrust it back into the wardrobe. He looked around for his own sturdy shirt, the one he’d worn in here last night. But it was nowhere to be found. Luther sighed and gingerly eased his well-muscled arms into the delicate sleeves. There was nothing for it but to wear the dandified garment down to breakfast. Call would laugh himself silly when he saw it. Luther didn’t relish the thought. In fact, he was beginning to lose his appetite.
##
Mosby smiled in his sleep. Ummmm. His dream self reached for another biscuit. Christmas breakfast on the plantation. It didn’t get much better than that. “Please pass the gravy,” his dream self said.
“Knock, knock.” There came a tapping at his chamber door, and Mosby opened one eye unwillingly as the vision of his sumptuous feast faded. What the blazes? The door opened, and a petite young woman bustled in, preceded by a large tray of steaming food.
“Breakfast is served!”
Mosby yanked the covers up under his chin? “What is this? Who are you, and what are you doin’ in my bedroom? This is most unseemly,” he sputtered.
“I’m Bessie,” the young woman said. “You know, Bessie! I didn’t know just when I’d be arriving. Now, no need to be shy. Why, we’re to be married! Just sit up here and eat your breakfast.” Bessie placed the tray on the bed in front of him and set about tidying the room, picking up laundry and straightening items on the bureau.
Incredulous, Mosby watched her. “There seems to be some mistake,” he protested, “Who sent you?”
“Now don’t be silly. No one sent me. You sent FOR me, remember? Now, after breakfast you get up and get yourself dressed. I want you to show me about town. I want to see the church. And we must visit the dressmaker this week. I’ll need a gown for the ceremony. And we’ll need to see about music, and . . .” Bessie’s list went on as she left the room and headed downstairs.
Mosby looked at the tray of food, not unlike the breakfast he’d been dreaming about. But he thrust it aside untouched as he vaulted out of bed. This was no dream; this was a nightmare!
##
Doctor Ephraim Cleese put on his hat and coat and picked up his medical bag. Though it was Christmas morning, he still had his rounds to make. The Lindstroms’ baby was due any day, and he wanted to check on Sadie just to be sure everything was progressing smoothly. And Hiram Bell’s cough had been a bit worse on Tuesday. It wouldn’t hurt to drop in on him and make sure it hadn’t turned into pneumonia.
Thus preoccupied with the concerns of a busy medical practice, Ephraim opened his door to head out for breakfast and was instantly knocked backward by the avalanche of heavy burlap bags that had been piled against it. One of them burst open as it hit him and spewed its contents everywhere, including the inside if his medical bag which had snapped open when he dropped it.
Dazed, the little doctor sat up and searched for his spectacles. When he found them, he put them on and picked up a handful of the substance that had felled him. “Chicken feed?!” he exclaimed in amazement. “Usually people pay me in apples or potatoes. I don’t even own any chickens.”
##
Josiah could barely contain his excitement. He removed the red bow and stroked the smooth wood grain of his new acquisition. He could hardly wait to try it out! As mayor of Curtis Wells, he needed to be able to preside over town meetings with authority, and sometimes it was difficult to maintain order. A gavel was just what he needed. He tapped it several times on his desk, softly at first, and then a little louder, and then a third time, very loudly indeed. Tap, tap, TAP! Rap, rap, RAP! Now, just a minute; that last had been the door! Regretfully, Josiah laid down his shiny new gavel and went to see who was there. He opened the door and in rushed a very agitated Ike.
“Mr. Mosby sent me to tell you you gotta call a town meeting right away. Things are in an awful mess. He says you gotta call it right now – this morning!”
“This morning! Why, it’s Christmas Day! Is this some kind of joke?”
“I dunno,” Ike answered him, “but Mr. Mosby wasn’t laughing.’
“Very well. Put the word out. I am calling a meeting for 10:00 A.M. sharp at the Ambrosia.
##
Accordingly, at 10:00 A.M. sharp, Josiah had occasion to use his new gavel; and use it he did. Tap, tap, TAP! Rap, rap, RAP! “Could I have everyone’s attention please?” Inexplicably, there was a dog barking and running around in the saloon unattended, despite Ike’s attempts to capture it and put it outside. The din was beginning to give Josiah a headache.
Tap, tap, TAP. “Everyone, please!” Ike made one last grab at the dog and managed to subdue it, and the room quieted enough for Curtis Wells’ mayor to hear himself think, and he called the meeting to order. After a few necessary preliminaries, Luther Root sprang to his feet. “Aw, get on with it. I ain’t got all day. My buddies is waitin’ on me down at the Number Ten.”
“Very well, Mr. Root. Since you seem to be in the biggest hurry, why don’t you tell us what the trouble is.”
“I got Mosby’s Christmas present; and I wanna know where mine is.”
At this, pandemonium broke loose. “You’re not the only one.”, “Where’s mine?” “I want what Santa was supposed to bring ME,” and “What am I supposed to do with 400 pounds of chicken feed? I don’t have any chickens.” Were some of the things Josiah heard over the melee that had started out as a town meeting.
Josiah rapped on the bar once more and finally succeeded in getting order. Thank goodness for his new gavel, he thought.
When the noise had subsided again, Josiah recognized Clay Mosby. The southerner got to his feet. Bessie got to her feet right along with him so that she could more easily maintain her possessive grip on his arm. After all, they were to be married! While she beamed up at him, Mosby looked down at her with thinly disguised irritation. “It appears that some sort of kerfuffle has occurred,” Clay began. “Everyone here seems to have been given a gift meant for someone else.”
Josiah looked at the new gavel again. No, his gift had been meant for him and him alone. He tightened his grip on the handle though, just in case. “I see, and how did this occur?”
Mosby looked embarrassed and sat down. Bessie sat down too. A low murmur ran through those present, but no one spoke up. At last Unbob stood up. He too seemed somewhat ill at ease. “I hate to say anything bad about Santa Claus,” he began finally, “But I think he got things a mite mixed up this year.”
Laughter erupted in the room. “Santa Claus!” Ike scoffed. “There’s no such thing.” More laughter ensued.
“How do you know there ain’t?” Unbob asked him accusingly. “How do YOU think it happened?” The room quieted. No one said a word. No one had an answer for the simple man.
Unbob looked satisfied. “Anyways, I got Call’s gift.” He pulled the “blinders” out of his pocket and held them up by one strap. There was a collective gasp. “I found these here blinders in my stocking this morning.” More laughter and wolf whistles.
Call turned white and then red. He put his hands up defensively. “That ain’t mine.”
Unbob looked down at the “blinders” in confusion. “Are you sure? I thought they was for the Hell Bitch. I thought maybe her eyes was botherin’ her again.”
Call smirked as he held up his hands again, and he went and sat down as far away from the proceedings as he could get and still hear what was going on.
Amanda rushed across the room to Unbob, and snatched the “blinders” out of the startled handyman’s hand. “That’s the latest thing from Paris, you dolt! It was supposed to be in MY Christmas stocking!” The dog broke loose from Ike’s grasp and followed Amanda as she flounced to the door. Amanda kicked at the dog. “Will someone kindly keep this mongrel away from me?” She went out, slamming the door in the dog’s face. The dog stared at the door for a moment and then with head down, went and lay under the table where Call was sitting.
“Well,” Josiah said. “That takes care of one problem. Who’s next?”
Call piped up. “Found a pile of them romance novels in the livery this mornin’, Mattie. Figured they were for you. I dropped ‘em off in the gun shop on my way here.”
Mattie blushed. “Thank you, Call.” Then she produced the box of cigars. “Anybody ask Santa for these?”
“Those would be for me,” Austin spoke up. “I’ll gladly trade ‘em for this.” He held up the whoopee cushion. Luther, you’re the only one this could belong to.”
Luther grinned. “I been wantin’ one of them. I can try it out on my buddies this afternoon.”
“Oh, trust me; it works,” Austin told the big man as he handed over his gift.
Luther accepted it with glee. Then he held up the somewhat-sullied, fancy ruffled shirt he’d found in his room that morning. “This must be yours, Mosby. It got to me by mistake. I’m afraid I tore it a little.”
Mosby managed a wan smile. “I’m not sure my “gift” is going to be that easy to exchange,” he said. He looked ruefully at Bessie who assumed an injured air.
“Surely you don’t think I’m a mistake, Ephraim. Why, we’re to be married!” she exclaimed as she took out a hankie, spit on it, and proceeded to dab at a perceived dirty spot on his cheek.
Mosby pulled away in alarm and disgust, but the little doctor’s ears perked up. “Ephraim! Why, that’s me! Is that you, Bessie?” He rushed to her side. Bessie looked a little startled at this news. She cast one longing glance at Mosby and then took Ephraim’s arm. “We have a lot to do before the wedding,” she informed him. “Why, there’s the cake and the dress, and I must see the church.”
Ephraim smiled as headed for the door with his mail-order bride. “Unbob, I think Santa left your present at my place. It’s chicken feed. Lots and lots of chicken feed.”
Unbob beamed and headed right over to fetch his gift.
By now, most everyone had wandered away, content with their rightful presents. Ike looked wistfully around the room before he left. He’d kinda been hoping there would be an unclaimed present left over for him. There hadn’t been any surprises in his room at the Dove this morning. True, there was that pile of coal he couldn’t explain . . . Oh well. He sighed and went on his way. If he kept out of sight, maybe he wouldn’t have to help Amanda with the lunch crowd.
Josiah was happy that his job was done and marveled that he was the only one who had received the right present this year. He put his gavel in his coat pocket and headed for the door. “Coming Newt? I think I can whip us up a Christmas dinner fit to eat.”
“I’ll be along in a bit, Josiah,” the bounty hunter assured him.
As Josiah’s footsteps faded away, Call got to his feet and addressed the only one still present. “Well, boy, guess it’s just you and me.” The dog lifted his sad eyes to Call’s face.
“What’re you waitin’ for? Let’s go. Christmas dinner is waitin’.”
With an elated bark, the dog jumped up and danced around Call’s feet as they left the Ambrosia Club together. Call had found his rightful present.
##
Epilogue: So how did this mix up occur, you ask. Well, the folks in Curtis Wells still talk about the year of the mixed up presents. Did Santa Claus get some bad eggnog that year, or was he just having a little joke at the expense of the residents of Curtis Well? Only the big man knows for sure. ;)
~~
The End
12/04
