Unbob laid down his hammer and wiped his brow with his sleeve. The coffin for Alice Redgrave was finally finished. Both Mrs. Redgrave and Jake Hansen had died suddenly at the beginning of the week, and that combined with all the shootings of late had put him behind in his work. Unbob slid the coffin carefully off the sawhorses and stood it on end in a corner of the shop. He took off his apron and put on his coat.
As he left the gun shop, Unbob was surprised to see how late it had gotten. It was a dark and bitter cold December night. He shivered as he pulled his thin coat tightly about him and headed down the relatively quiet street. He scarcely heard the snatches of tinkling music and outbursts of raucous laughter coming from the Number 10 Saloon as he passed by on his way to his little shack in the woods.
Unbob Finch didn't own the house he lived in, and he didn't really know who did. All he knew was that it was empty when he came to town, and no one seemed to mind him living in it. The place wasn't much to look at. But Unbob had gone to work on it right away, patching and cleaning until it was presentable, comfortable even; for Unbob was a man of few needs.
After his simple supper of fried bacon and potatoes, Unbob placed the carefully saved potato skins with the shriveled apples Mr. Creel had let him have. The storekeeper sometimes saved odds and ends that he couldn't sell and gave them to Unbob for his livestock. Unbob smiled to himself. All his animals, from Rosie and Gert right down to his pernickity chickens, were going to have a special feast tomorrow, for tomorrow was Christmas Day!
Unbob left his dishes on his little table. He would do them later, he promised himself; time was a wastin'. He headed out to the lean-to back of his shanty and placed his lantern on the table. Then he turned and stood on his tiptoes as he reached for something on the highest shelf. Placing it on his worktable, he drew off the ragged cover and stood back to admire his handiwork. He was glad he had finished it in time. Carefully replacing the cover, he picked up another small bundle, tucked both objects under his arm, and set off on his way.
The ground was frozen hard, and Unbob had to catch himself several times to keep from falling as he stumbled down the rutted road. He sighed. There just ought to be snow. He had overheard some children in town saying that Santa Claus wouldn't be able to come if there wasn't any snow on the ground. Where would he land his sleigh, they wondered. Now, that had Unbob worried. He looked up at the sky anxiously, but it was as clear as a bell. Well, he couldn't think about that right now. He had too much to do.
The Millers' meager farm came into view as he rounded the next bend in the road. The Millers had a new baby, and Unbob knew they didn't have anything nice for it. Everyone said the Millers were as poor as church mice. He walked the last hundred yards smiling to himself as he thought how excited they would be to find his gift in the morning. Every baby ought to have something nice to call his own, and Unbob meant to see to it that this one did.
Creeping up onto the porch, Unbob laid his bundle down. He drew off the shabby covering and gave the cradle one more loving polish. The dark wood glinted softly in the faint light. Satisfied, he turned to go.
He looked up at the sky again. The stars shone brilliantly -- one in particular that stood right overhead. But it looked as if some clouds were moving in from the North. The sight kindled some hope in the simple man's heart; maybe there would be snow for Christmas after all! He picked up the pace a bit. It wouldn't do to get caught out here in a storm.
As he hurried back to town, Unbob thought back to that afternoon in the gun shop He had given Mattie a handkerchief for Christmas. True, it was only a handkerchief, but all the women Unbob knew seemed to have fine lacy things. Miss Mattie didn't have any, and that bothered Unbob a great deal. She deserved fine things like the other ladies had. How Miss Mattie's eyes had glittered when he told her so. Unbob thought she must have needed the new handkerchief very much, for he noticed that she used it right away. She turned her back to him and dabbed at her face with it. He guessed that she must have had something in her eye.
Unbob rounded the last bend into Curtis Wells; he had one more stop to make. He hoped the livery door hinges wouldn't creak too loudly as he crept inside, shutting the door carefully behind him. The Hellbitch turned and regarded him solemnly with liquid brown eyes, and he patted her rump as he passed her stall and leaned down to lay a brown paper parcel next to her sleeping master. Inside was a horsehair bridle that Unbob had spent months making, saving hair from the horses' currycombs and occasionally finding some nice long ones caught on the walls when he cleaned out the stalls. He had finished braiding it just last week.
Mr. Call didn't stir, and Unbob watched him sleep, his rugged features softened in repose, so that he looked very young, almost boyish, though etched lines of pain remained to belie the notion. Unbob wondered about Mr. Call. The bounty hunter was pretty closed-mouthed about himself, and Unbob knew almost nothing about him. Still, he had been kind, and Miss Mattie certainly set great store by the man. Even Unbob could see that.
Unbob glanced about him. It wasn't really cold inside the stable; the bodies of the horses gave off a cozying warmth. But he looked around for something to cover the younger man with anyway. Spying the Hellbitch's saddle blanket, he pulled it down off the stall and laid it over him. Then he crept out, closing the door silently behind him.
When Unbob arrived home, he tidied the place up a bit, washing and stacking his dishes neatly. Then he picked up some socks that he had washed and laid out to dry. He examined each sock in turn, sticking in his hand and turning the sock inside out, then turning it right side out again. Several of the socks had holes in the toes, and Unbob laid those aside. He would have to mend them later. At last he found one that would do. Unbob hung it carefully on a hook behind the stove and stood looking at it with a critical eye. He hoped it would be all right. The stove was the closest he could come to a chimney, but he figured Santa, if he did come, wouldn't be that fussy.
Then Unbob changed into his nightshirt and got down on his knees beside his bed to say his prayers. "God bless my brother, Bob, and Miss Mattie, and Mr. Call, and Mr. Peale -- he always looks so sad sitting in the newspaper office all alone. And God bless my pigs, Rosie and Gert, and my chickens, Blackie and Queenie, and all the rest of 'em. And please, God, if it's not too much trouble, could you make it snow a little tonight? Amen."
Unbob blew out the lamp and climbed into his bed. Soon he was fast asleep. He didn't see it begin to snow -- big flakes fluttering softly down, blanketing his little home in a mound of white.
The End
12/2002
