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. “Brrraarckkk, Sheriff?” the radio in his hand said. “Are you there?” But Buck stood unmoving, not answering, as the flashlight “candles” on the tree came on. The structure rapidly blossomed with lights, gently veiled in the snow, illuminating “Bells” and the “Angels.” Who had their eyes on Cyrus Ravenwood, waiting for their cues.
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: “Of peace on earth, Goodwill tomen!”
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. “Of peace on earth, Goodwill to men!”
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 bong, bong from the bell towers of the Presbyterians, Methodists, and Baptists, a higher, rapid clanging from the carillons of Episcopal St. George’s. Farrie sang:
“That wrong shall fail, the right prevail -”
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 peace on earth,” the voices of the chorus proclaimed. “Goodwill to men!”
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:
“Of peace on earth, Goodwill to men!”
No one did anything for several long minutes. Some people turned and hugged each other. Hugged total strangers. One by one in the thickly falling snow the audience folded up their chairs and blankets and made for their cars, their smiles and subdued voices held by the magic of the song. Santa Claus, removed from the tree, showed his gratitude to the members of the fire rescue team by hugging them, tearfully.
Judy and one of the Bells helped Farrie down and she threw herself upon Scarlett, burying her face.
“You did good, hon,” Scarlett told her, stroking her hair. “It was beautiful.”
Eighteen
“You need to drop by the hospital, Sheriff,” Kevin Black Badger said, “and see about your face. Your right eye is just about shut.”
Buck only grunted.
He knew what he was going to do about his face. Just as soon as he could get away from the nearly deserted courthouse area, he had plans to go home with Scarlett and sit before the Christmas tree in the parlor, listening to Christmas music, while she treated the eye, his cut lip, and various bruises with ice-cold compresses.
It was not exactly the most romantic evening with someone you loved, but Buck couldn’t wait to get started.
“Devil Anse?” he asked Black Badger. Buck’s upper lip was swelling, putting a limit on conversation.
“All booked and processed,” Kevin told him, “and in a cell down at the jail.” The deputy hesitated, seeing Scarlett coming across the littered lawn with Farrie. “I – ah, well, Sheriff, I want to say I don’t have no hard feelings about you using my stuff tonight,” he said, his eyes on her. “I think I can salvage what’s left of my sheepskin. Make car seats out of it, maybe.”
“Good idea.” Buck watched the deputy turn and abruptly walk away, the Scraggs dog at his heels. He started to call out to Black Badger, then thought better of it. It looked as though the animal was going to follow the deputy all the way to his patrol car.
Then, suddenly, there was Scarlett.
Even Buck’s swollen eye managed to open a little more at the sight of her. She was so beautiful bundled in an old down ski coat from the church boxes, flushed with the cold, snowflakes in her night-dark hair.
She slipped her cold hand in his.
“You all right?” he said huskily.
She nodded, her eyes like black stars. “You were good to Farrie. I want to thank you.”
“No more than what I should have done.” Buck turned to look at the imp beside him. “You better go get your dog,” he told her. “I don’t know what got into it, going off with Black Badger. But right now it looks like the thing’s trying to get into his patrol car.”