There was a ragged cheer.
Buck had spotted a familiar figure. “Mose,” he shouted to his deputy. The noise was too great; Mose hadn’t heard him. Beyond Mose a line of men and women approached from the courthouse parking lot carrying signs that read: RESTORE THE REAL MEANING OF CHRISTMAS, NO SEPARATION OF CHURCH AND STATE, and ABANDON PAGANISM NOW!
But no Holy Family, Buck saw, straining his eyes to read the placards. Maybe Junior had given them a fighting chance after all.
He got halfway across the lawn before he tripped over a stroller and almost fell on familiar saffron-robed figures. The Hare Krishnas, too, were seemingly headed in the direction of Junior’s committee. As Buck staggered to his feet the nearest one chanted
Buck pried the stroller loose from his leg as the viewers around him yelled for him to get down, they couldn’t see Santa Claus. But above them Santa was having his own troubles as he drifted inexorably toward the courthouse trees.
“Go on, go on!” In front of the Living Christmas Tree, Mr. Ravenwood, arms lifted, was shouting to his chorus, “Don’t look at the
While most of the crowd watched, enthralled, Santa Claus floated into one of the oldest oak trees on the courthouse property, struck, and hung there, swinging gently. His black Christmas bag dropped to the ground. As one, the crowd groaned.
At that moment the Living Christmas Tree struck up their rendition of “I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus.” The sign-carrying group of the Committee for the Real Meaning of Christmas had reached the shepherd and sheep tableau at the foot of the Christmas tree. Before they could plant their signs, there were the distinct sounds of snarls and growls, followed by loud screams. Those who were not watching the dangling Santa in the oak tree were treated to the spectacle of Junior’s militant committee members throwing their signs away and scattering, apparently pursued by a vicious, slavering sheep.
Television reporters promptly raced past Buck to cover the Real Meaning of Christmas Committee being assaulted at the foot of the Living Christmas Tree. In the distance the howl of sirens forecast the arrival of the Nancyville fire rescue unit.
“Scarlett!” Buck shouted. He couldn’t find her anywhere. He hoped to hell she wasn’t caught in the melee down by Devil Anse and the CID man.
He finally reached Moses Holt at the jam-packed courthouse steps. In a few seconds, with Mose’s walkie-talkie in hand, Buck had rounded up his deputies and assigned them to crowd, television crew, and Santa-hanging-in-the-tree control. He saw Kevin Black Badger had already separated Junior’s committee from the perils of a maddened sheep and a shepherd apparently trying to tear off his robes hampered by a pair of handcuffs. The fire rescue was moving to put a ladder under the gently swinging figure of Santa Claus.
Scarlett, he thought. Where the devil was she?
Suddenly it began to snow.
No one noticed it at first, there was too much happening all at once. But thick, white, starry shapes began falling rapidly out of a dark sky, swirling gently over Nancyville’s valley.
As the snowfall became noticeable the crowd quieted somewhat. Translucent clouds of snow, hushed and peaceful, drifted down on the courthouse lawn, the singers assembled in the wooden Living Christmas Tree, on the deputies moving the Hare Krishnas to a quieter place.
Scarlett, standing under the wooden struts of the Living Christmas Tree, looked up and saw Farrie move forward, answering Mr. Ravenwood’s hoarse call.
At the same time, Buck was at the back of the crowd. “
A murmuring silence settled over the crowd except for a few small babies wailing and the subdued noises from the fire rescue team hauling a precautionary stretcher up into the oak tree.
Gradually the snowy night, the silence of the mountains around them settled on the crowd as the words of the last Christmas song began. Farrie Scraggs’s big, unchildlike voice drifted out from the top of the tree.
“I heard the bells on Christmas Day,
Their old familiar carols play,
And wild and sweet, the words repeat -”
Fifty-odd voices on the tree joined in: “
During the chorus Buck managed to catch Kevin Black Badger’s eye and signal that he wanted him. His deputy started through the crowd. Farrie took the solo again:
“And in despair, I bowed my head
There is no peace on earth, I said,
For hate is strong, and mocks the song -”
Now some in the crowd were singing. “
Scarlett was helping Byron Turnipseed haul Devil Anse to his feet when Buck and Kevin Black Badger appeared.
“That’s about it,” Buck whispered, as the deputy took the shotgun from the CID man’s hands and marched Ancil Scraggs away. Byron Turnipseed was beaming behind his glasses.
“Wonderful operation, Sheriff,” he said, pumping Buck’s hand. “You set a bang-up example up here! I’m going to write this up, not just for state law-enforcement publications, but national, too.”
Above them Farrie’s voice floated out over the dark air. In the crowd, many people had suddenly joined hands.
“Then pealed the bells, more loud and deep -”
On cue, all the church bells in Nancyville began to ring: a deep
“That wrong shall
Longfellow’s message, not just a song now, spoke to all those listening. There was not a sound as faces turned up to the singer. Then, as the bells from the valley’s churches grew louder some people in the crowd got to their feet.
“Of
The crowd around the courthouse was singing, including Junior’s committee and the fire rescue team, who had paused in their efforts in the oak tree to join in.
Church bells clanged and vibrated exultantly on the night air. Above them rose Farrie’s powerful contralto voice.
“Till ringing, singing on its way,
The world revolved from night to day
A voice, a chime, a chant sublime -”
Suddenly, as if there had been some agreement beforehand that everyone on the courthouse lawn would stand up and join in the chorus, a thousand voices sent a triumphant refrain floating up into the falling snow and the heavens above it:
