Christmas Eve dinner has always been at my mother’s parent’s home, Here I am home from my first semester at Colorado State University and I can predict almost exactly how this evening will go. Traditions, you know.
I can tell you who will be the folks around the dinner table and even where they will sit: Mr. Ivan Thorberger, his wife and their twin girls, mama and daddy and, of course, my grandparents. Me, too. I know who will light the candles on the table, who will suggest we hold hands as we bow our heads, and what Granddaddy will say as he finishes saying grace. There will be a fire in the fireplace after dinner.
Here, I let out a secret that became a family concession last year. Though I am not old enough, they will let me have a small glass of wine after dinner. They have not allowed that concession with the twins yet.
I was ten years old the first time I was allowed to stay up late on Christmas Eve. That was eight years ago now. Back then, twins Margaret and Jenny had been put to bed at their usual time, but not before they stuck out their tongue at me and kissed all the grownups goodnight. On that Christmas Eve, like all those before, they had been put on the big bed in Grandmamma and Granddaddy’s bedroom. The rest of us sat around the fireplace.
It was mostly quiet at first. Granddaddy had dropped two logs on the fire with ice and snow still frozen on their sides. The snow turned to steam as soon as the logs fell into that hot chamber. I watched as the damp logs started hissing and whistling above the shimmering coals.
No one would ever say that I was a precocious child, but I had enough sense to know that in the presence of a bunch of adults and late on Christmas Eve, it would be best for me to stay unnoticed. I planned to sit quietly by the fireplace and sip on the cup of hot chocolate I had back then. I had been resolved to do this.
Granddaddy didn’t know about my resolve. “Bryce?” He had said my name.
I sat up straighter. Everybody looked over to where I was sitting. “Yes, sir.”
“How old are you?”
“Ten,” I told him. “Almost eleven. Eleven in two more months.”
“Did you tell your daddy that I let you drive the tractor down in the pasture?”
I had looked at daddy, wondering if he was going to make a fuss. “No, sir.”
“If Jack gives you any trouble about that, you just let me know. You hear, boy?”
Daddy had nodded toward me, a grin on his face. Mama reached over and touched his arm. I figured that meant she was going to be on my side if Daddy got on his high horse.
“There’s one more thing,” Granddaddy went on. “I think you’re old enough to hear your family’s Christmas story.”
I saw daddy reach for mama’s hand. Granddaddy and Mr. Thorberger started laughing, and whatever it was causing them to be laughing must have been good because Mrs. Thorberger punched her husband on the arm.
I didn’t know what was going on, so I laughed, too. “Yes, sir. I’d like to hear that.”
Granddaddy nodded to Mr. Thorberger. “Tell him, Ivan.”
“You started it, Charlie.” My granddaddy was Charlie Graham.
“No, sir. You started it, and you know that. You started the whole thing back in 1976.” Granddaddy brought his cup of eggnog to his chin and sniffed it before he took a swallow. “You always start the telling of this story, Ivan. Every Christmas. So, go on.”
Mr. Thorberger sat there for a bit, looked at me, then turned to daddy. “Jack, is it okay with you?”
I didn’t know back then why daddy blushed like he did. He looked over at mama, and they both turned to me. “I guess it’s about time,” Daddy had said. “Wouldn’t be a proper Christmas Eve if we didn’t hear the tale anyway. I reckon that’s the way it is, and the way it’s always going to be.” He shrugged. “Go on. Tell it.”
Mr. Thorberger cleared his throat. We had waited, watching while he got his mind set back to that time, back to before I was born. He didn’t turn his head away from the fire the whole time he talked.
The story has continued to be told every Christmas Eve we spent at Granddaddy’s house. It has not changed since all those years when I first heard it. It always began with Ivan Thorberger telling about his uncles who lived way up at the top of Miller Creek Canyon.
Here’s the story Ivan Thorberger told and I first heard when I was ten years old.
***
Almost everyone in Miller Creek Canyon knew about my uncles and their place up at the top of that canyon. Their pastures and hay fields went all the way up to where the Miller Creek first comes tumbling out of the National Forest. Some folks said my two uncles were hermits. I never said that. They just weren’t real sociable. That’s all. They were always glad to see me when I’d go up. They’d have some kind of job for me to do, or something to fix. I fancied myself being a rancher one day, so I was happy to do whatever they asked. Back then, I wanted to be just like them. I figured I’d live by myself up at the top of Miller Creek Canyon and raise horses and cows and chickens, like they did.
But this story is more about Jack than about them. I knew he wasn’t from around here the minute I laid eyes on him. Jack had moved up to Montana all by himself and rented a house across the canyon from here.
It was 1976. I know that because I was in Murray’s when I first saw Jack. A man was supposed to be at least eighteen to be in that place. I wasn’t but sixteen and a half, but I had a little bit of hair on my chin and mostly sat quietly holding one of their tap beers when I was there. Tourists didn’t go to Murray’s. Murray’s Saloon sold whiskey. Grade A, pure homemade whiskey. Other things, too. I knew to be careful, not draw any attention to myself and get thrown out.
When Jack came riding up on his bicycle and leaned it against the wall outside Murray’s, folks just naturally were going to turn their heads. He came walking in with that ponytail and carrying a bicycle helmet. I remember he was wearing a T-shirt, short pants, and sandals with socks. I’ve certainly seen my share of University of Montana students wearing sandals and short pants around Missoula, but never sandals with socks. And certainly not in Murray’s. Jeans and boots are what you were more likely to see in Murray’s. That’s what I wore.
It got deadly quiet when Jack walked in. I remember that he ordered a Heineken beer. Sam was working the bar that afternoon. There was snickering around the room when Sam told Jack that he didn’t have no Heineken beers. He told Jack that they sell that kind of beer back east in places like Denver.
Well, let me just say that Jack was the first man I ever saw drink a Michelob light. Me? I’ve never tasted that stuff. I hear it ain’t much different from drinking a can of water straight out of the Clarke Fork River.
But what Jack wore and drank in Murray’s is not what this story is about. Back then, I figured I’d just forget about seeing Jack that Saturday evening. It didn’t turn out that way. The whole story is about what I promised my uncles about Jack.
You see, I had gone up to Uncle Karl and Uncle Friedleif’s place two days before Christmas. I usually took them a case of their favorite Scotch for Christmas. Uncle Karl was the only one at home that day. I knew something was wrong as soon as I went in the door. He was sitting at the kitchen table with a bottle of Scotch already open. He weren’t drunk or nothing. In fact, I ain’t never seen him drunk, but I knew he’d been putting back a few. Something had to be wrong.
I tried to cheer him up. “Merry Christmas, Uncle Karl! I’m gonna bring you your present day after tomorrow.” That’s what I said. But I tell you what: he looked so bad, I thought the doctor had told him he had to quit smoking or something.
“Ain’t going to be no happy Christmas for me.” That was his response.
I figured then that I was wrong. Maybe he was drunk. Or, he really was going to have to quit smoking. So, I asked him. I pointed to the cigarette hanging off the side of the table. “Is that supposed to be your last one?”
He looked at the cigarette and then looked at me like I was some kind of fool. “Hell, no! And, don’t you be starting that mess with me again.”
Maybe my asking reminded him. Anyway, he picked up the cigarette, took a long draw, and started coughing. He wasn’t able to quit until he took another sip of Scotch.
I sat down at the table across from him. “You got another one?”
“What? You want a glass?”
“Not Scotch. That.” I pointed to his cancer stick.
He gave me his look again before he pushed the Marlboros and a box of matches toward me. My mama and daddy didn’t know that my uncles let me smoke up at their place. I got one out of the package and struck a match on the side of the table like I’ve seen him do. I sucked in a mouth full of smoke and didn’t cough when I blew it out.
“What’s got you down in the dumps, Uncle Karl?”
“That fool has done gone and forced me to have to kill that young bull I bought at the State Fair.”
“What?” I must have yelled out that question. “Come on, Uncle Karl! You’re putting me on. I know nobody could make you hurt that bull you just bought. And who’re you talking about?”
“August 3 it was.” He took a deep breath, and then nodded to me. “I know it was August 3 because I marked it on my calendar. Brother was standing over there by the window.” Uncle Karl pointed across the room. “I was sitting right here where I am now. Brother yelled like he was spooked or something. You know that he don’t get excited much about anything. He usually don’t say anything until near ‘bout mid-morning. I figured there was a moose or something walking down the road, so I got up to take a look. It was a man wearing nothing but shoes and something that looked like blue drawers. He was running down the road like something was chasing him. And I’ll be damn if he didn’t have his hair tied in the back like a rope. Could have been a gal, ‘cept it weren’t. Darndest thing I ever saw.
“Brother and I stood there watching. The herd had come up by the barn waiting for their morning feeding, but they were looking, too. Dumb struck, I’d say. The cows, Brother, and me: all dumb struck.”
Uncle Karl took another sip of Scotch, put his glass on the table, and rubbed both hands over his face.
I waited a bit. “Did you know him?”
“No idea who he was.”
I was figuring that he might have been the guy I had seen in Murray’s because of the ponytail.
“I knew he couldn’t have lived up the road from where he was coming. The National Forest starts a half mile up the way. Anyhow, Brother and I stood by the window watching him till he was out of sight. We were wondering what was going on. The cows must have been, too. Like I said, they had been watching that near naked man running down the road past their pasture. About half the herd had walked over next to the fence. They wanted to see him better. That’s what I reckoned.”
Uncle Karl said that this kept up every morning. Several things changed, he said. The man didn’t shave. Grew a straggly beard. The weather got cooler, and the man showed up wearing a knit cap and had a shirt tied around his waist. First snow was in early October. The man kept coming. If it was snowing, he’d be wearing a long sleeve orange shirt. If it weren’t, he’d have that shirt tied around his waist.”
Uncle Karl said that he and his brother decided they couldn’t take it anymore. That’s when he and Uncle Friedlief came down here to Charlie and Bonnie’s place. They asked them who the fool was that came running down the canyon half naked every morning. Well, Charlie told them it was Jack, and that Jack had rented the house directly across the Canyon. Charlie told them he’d seen Jack start out about six o’clock every morning going west down the canyon, but he’d turn and run up a logging road to the top of the south ridge. Charlie figured he must have run eastward along the ridge to the ravine where Miller Creek cuts through. He must have then dropped down onto the National Forest Road and followed it back to Miller Creek Road.
Uncle Karl didn’t believe it at first. He had hunted up on that ridge. It’s about a two mile climb up nothing but switchbacks. Then, the road drops off to a rocky trail along the upper Miller Creek.
Uncle Karl went on. “Brother and I figure the fool must be about to die.”
“How come that?” I asked.
“Too skinny. Brother started watching him with the binoculars. You could see the fool’s ribs.”
I remember that I nodded. “Ain’t natural.” And I remember how he looked back there in Murray’s.
“Then, we got to expecting him,” Uncle Karl said. “The herd did, too. Instead of waiting down by the barn, they’d be up at the edge of the fence, watching until he went by, his hair tied with that rope and swishing around.”
“A ponytail,” I added.
“No. It weren’t no ponytail. It was more like a girl’s pigtail, ‘cept it was long and had a red rope twisted up in it all the way to the end.”
“A red rope? Red!” I shook my head. I said it again. “Ain’t natural.”
Uncle Karl was looking at me across the table. “You can bet your bottom dollar. It ain’t natural.” He shook his head. “But it ain’t over.” Uncle Karl paused. “Remember that the State Fair was about five weeks ago, Jamison from over in Whitehead brought those two young bulls to the fair. He didn’t want to feed then over the winter. They were both registered. Brother and I thought they’d be good for breeding into our herd. So, we brought one back about the first of the month.”
I nodded. “Yes, sir. I saw both of them at the fair. Good looking animals.”
“And, that bull couldn’t stand having that runner go by with that red tail switching back and forth. The bull would stamp and jump up and down stiff legged like.”
“That’d be funny to see,” I laughed.
Uncle Karl glared. “Weren’t neither! Brother and I were watching. The first morning the bull started running along the fence right alongside the damn fool. The whole herd started running behind him. I was afraid one of them was going to step in a hole and break a leg, or something. That ain’t what happened.”
Uncle Karl wiped his face again. I waited.
“It was two days ago. The herd had been chasing after the fool every morning for about two weeks. This time, the bull decided to jump the fence.”
“Oh, no!” I stood up. “Did he knock the fence down?”
Uncle Karl shook his head. “The bull, he cleared the fence. Mostly.”
“Mostly?”
Uncle Karl nodded. It was a moment before he spoke again. “Yeah. Like I said. Mostly.”
We sat silently for a while. Uncle Karl was looking at me, waiting to see if I got it. Then, I nodded to him. I had figured it out.
“What are you gonna do?”
“About the bull? Eat him. No need to feed a bull all winter that ain’t no use to me or the herd.”
“I meant about the fool. Did you stop him?”
“That fool? He just looked back when the animal was bellowing and all. And then, he turned and kept on going.”
“Something’s got to be done.”
“I figure.”
We were quiet again. Me? I was thinking. Finally, I blurted out. “I’ll shoot him.”
Uncle Karl pushed back in his chair. It was the first time he had smiled all morning.
I said it again. “Up on the ridge, where he’ll be running, I’ll shoot him.”
After some time, he said what I expected. “You can get your daddy’s rifle?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I didn’t tell you to do this.”
I remember wondering what he meant. I figured that out, too. “No, sir.”
Uncle Karl stood up. “Thank you for coming to see us, Ivan. I’m sure Brother will be sorry he missed you. You know, I’m glad you take after your mama’s people. Tell your mama that her two brothers send her a Christmas wish. And you come out again. You hear? You always cheer me up. Brother, too. We like to see you.”
He walked around the table, put his arm around my shoulder, and started me toward the door. “I’ll tell Brother that you’ll be bringing us a Christmas present. He’ll appreciate it. You always pick a good Scotch. No need to wrap colored paper around the box. Just a red rope tied around it will be good.”
That’s what I remember about Christmas Eve, 1972. Jack ran down Miller Creek nearly every day that Fall until Christmas Eve. Never again.
***
When Mr. Ivan Thorberger finished that story the first time I heard it, I found myself standing over next to daddy. “This story isn’t true, is it daddy?” My face was only inches from his.
“Well, I really can’t swear it is, Bryce. But I’ve heard that tale so many times, it must be.” Daddy had that look on his face like when he’s teasing. “I expect it is mostly.”
That set everybody to laughing. And Granddaddy asked, “Why do you think it’s not true, Bryce?”
By that time, I had an arm on Daddy’s shoulder and around his neck. I could smell how my daddy has always smelled. He still does. It’s that same smell every time he hugs me, even now. I looked over at Granddaddy back then. I was kind of mad at him for teasing me. “I’ve seen him without any clothes on. There aren’t any bullet holes in him. Are there, Daddy?”
They all laughed, and daddy pulled me to him. “I’m okay, Buddy Boy. You’re right. I don’t have a single bullet hole in me.” He rubbed his hands through my hair. “There is a little bit more to the story. Your granddaddy always tells the end.”
I looked over toward Granddaddy. I felt Mama’s hand on my hip.
Granddaddy leaned back in his chair. I saw the fire making bright spots and shadows across his face. He nodded at the fire. I think maybe he was telling the story to those logs still popping and sizzling in the fire.
This is Granddaddy’s part of the story.
***
Since that near naked runner lived across the canyon from your grandmama and me, I guess Ivan figured we had seen him, too. He stopped by here after that visit with his uncles. The notion of shooting somebody had him so excited that he could hardly wait to tell me what he was planning, what he was going to do as part of the Christmas present for his uncles. You can imagine that his telling me about his plan put me in an embarrassing position. If I did nothing and Ivan carried out his plan, I’d be considered an accomplice. I figured there were two things I could do: talk him out of it or intervene with Jack. We worked on the second first.
Your grandmother and I walked over to where Jack was renting as soon as Ivan left. We had decided to invite him to dinner that night and to tell him the situation. It was Bonnie who suggested we also invite our daughter. Willa was naturally reluctant. She warned us one more time not to try to set her up with some Montana rancher. I told her that I was pretty sure that Jack did not have ranching in his future.
I had four steaks on the grill when Jack walked up. I remember that he and I had popped a dark home brew when Willa got here. It took me a little while to figure out why Willa and Jack got on so well so fast, but I got it. She had brought a Heineken six-pack.
Willa was all involved with her graduate thesis over at the University and was eager to talk about how she was struggling to lay out her main idea. She believed that liberalism was the economically appropriate political position for the Rocky Mountain States.
Your grandmother and I didn’t have to do much talking that evening during dinner. Willa and Jack got into the issues. The conversation went way over our heads, mine anyway. After dessert, Willa asked Jack to ride with her over to her apartment near campus and see some of the data she had accumulated in her thesis.
Jack never did run in Miller Creek again. It was a mid-January weekend when he called and asked if he could talk to Bonnie and me.
“Sure,” I said. “Come on over.”
I didn’t recognize him when he came walking up the driveway. He had on a button-down shirt, a tie, and a North Face jacket. He came right to the point. He told us that he had been invited to move in with Willa and he hoped he’d have our blessings. What were we going to say? There was no way we were going to get in the way of my headstrong daughter, so Bonnie hugged him, and I shook his hand.
That’s about it. Well, except there are two more things to clear up.
One, it was easy enough to find some red rope at Hobby Lobby and give that to Ivan for him to tie up his uncle’s Christmas present. Everybody seemed happy. Two, in addition to showing up with a North Face jacket, Jack was sporting an above-the-collar haircut.
The bachelor brothers are gone, God bless their souls. And, as you know, Ivan, his wife and their twins live up at the top of the canyon. We’ll get to watch those twins grow up.
And that’s the end of our family Christmas story, Boy.
***
I remember I looked at daddy while he was laughing. He hadn’t shaved in two days, and he did look kind of grisly that Christmas Eve. He’s usually such a neat dresser, it’s kind of hard for me to imagine him like they described him … well, except that he was a graduate student back in those times. He still runs, lifts weights, and stays in pretty good shape.
When I flew home to Missoula this past week, I heard daddy telling granddaddy that he is being pushed to run for the Senate two years from now. I’m not surprised. I figured he’d been groomed for the job for the past three years – groomed politically by his friends in Helena. And by Mama, too
After Christmas this year, Daddy and I were on the same flight as far as Denver. I asked him if he thought Ivan Thorberger really would have shot him.
Daddy dropped his glasses down on his nose and turned from what he was reading. “He was young back then.”
“Were you scared?”
“I reckon I would have been if I had known about it.”
“Do you like Mr. Thorberger. I mean, now?”
Daddy snorted. He had that smile. “Mostly.”