By
the time Hooter got to Lonnie’s feed store for the gang’s annual
Christmas party and gift exchange, the festivities had already
begun.
“Did you get it?” asked everyone in a single voice.
“Got it!” shouted Hooter in triumph, hoisting a pretty red
package over his head. “After two trips, and I tell you what,
next time I go up there I’m wearing my spurs with spikes for
rowels. Those women could make the devil squeal.”
What Hooter had was a complete set of Merlyn’s Magic Magnets,
which had become the season’s hottest, coolest toy. Bugsy and
her pals all wanted a set, especially after they’d been
introduced to the toy’s delights when Hector got one for his
birthday the first part of November. By the time Hooter had made
it to Lubbock to shop, there weren’t any left, and no more were
expected for at least two months.
Hooter begged, pleaded, cajoled, cussed and promised, getting
jarred and trampled by shoppers every step of the way. His last
stop was a craft store on his way out of town. He didn’t figure
they’d have toys but he was out of ideas. They didn’t carry
them. The manager empathized with him and mentioned the toy was
even hard to come by when she’d bought one months ago. She said
she bought it on a lark for no one in particular, but so many
people wanted them she might just hold an auction. “Or,” she
said, looking dejectedly at her balloon counter, “I’d give it
away to anyone who could find me some helium.”
“Huh?”
“Haven’t you heard? Helium has been running in short supply. It
has more important uses than balloons, but when balloons are a
big part of your business, it’s a major problem. When you can
find it, it’s higher than a kite, and now you can’t even find
it.”
“That stuff doesn’t go bad, does it?” wondered Hooter with a
twinkle in his eye.
“Huh?”
“I mean to say, stored properly, it would last a long, long
time, wouldn’t it. Which is to say, I may know where a fair
supply is.”
The sales lady had looked at him skeptically, just like Hooter’s
friends did now.
“Helium? You don’t have any helium,” said Izzy.
“No, but you remember ol’ Pockets Geronimo? One time he’d gotten
real interested in that cryogenic stuff.”
“You mean preserving yourself?” asked Peetie.
“Yeah, something like that, not for him, but he was just curious
about it. He’d stockpiled a whole bunch of helium tanks over
time. I’ve had it in my shop ever since he died…That and if
Pockets experiment works, a couple of Hoot owls and an armadillo
that can be thawed any time we want.”
All I want for Christmas
Back in the day, the group’s Secret Santa gift exchange was
nothing but gag gifts. It still was in a way, but more often
than not the gifts held a special meaning to the recipient. In
fact, some wives and girlfriends had been known to lament that
the boys spent more time figuring out their Secret Santa gifts
than what to give them.
For instance, Peetie Womack opened his package to find a brand
new blower nozzle for his air compressor, which was of a make
and model that made finding parts only slightly more difficult
than matching a fitting on Noah’s Ark. The attached card, just
said, “Lice buster.”
“Wow,” said Peetie, gratefully, “Whoever you are, thanks. I’d
tried everything to find one of these.”
Lonnie found a set of cups and balls for a magic trick; the
wooden cups were hand-turned and finished by Hooter himself.
Lonnie had become fascinated with magic ever since the great
Squeakdini had played in Apache Flats.
As for Izzie, he received a gallon jar stuffed with Twinkies and
a gift card for the nearest Quick Trip. A sign on the jar said,
“In case of Emergency…”
So it went, until Charlie handed his cousin, Hooter, a package.
“There wasn’t much way of staying secret over this,” he said.
“Thanks,” cackled Hooter, expecting a first-class joke. What he
found was exactly the opposite: a framed copy of a letter. The
small brass plate tacked to the frame was inscribed: “Private
Matthias McCormick 1846-1863.”
“That was a great uncle on his mama’s side,” explained Charlie,
as Hooter began reading the letter to himself. “In a roundabout
way, it’s who his granddaddy was named after, his daddy and
Hooter too.”
“But where…”
“It’s a long story, and it’s only a copy. I’ll tell you all the
rest later.”
Hooter just nodded and went back to reading.
“Well go on,” said Peetie, “What’s it say?”
After a long while, Hooter looked up with moist eyes, shook his
head and handed it to Charlie.
“This was a letter written home during the Civil War,” said
Charlie. “Hooter’s family was from Mississippi.”
Dearest Mama,
December-1863
I hope this letter finds you well. Thank you so much for
sending the sox. By the time your packit found us, somebody
made off with them, but I got the letter and that made me
warmer than any sox could.
I was glad to hear the corn and cotton made. I was sorry to
hear about Uncle Henry. He’ll be missed. But I still believe
we’re doing the right thing.
Have you heard anything from Zebulon or Daddy? I keep hoping
to run acrost them. General Bragg says we’re heading for
somewhere in Tenasee and that we’ll have a winter camp, so
maybe we’ll be in one spot for awhile.
It’s been cold on us ever since we left Perryville in
Kentuck. We lost too many there.
We did pick up a preacher along the way. He’s an older
feller, goes by the name of Jubel Fillmore. It’s nice having
someone preach the Word again, but I can’t say as I agree
with him on everything. For an instance, last Sunday he
started going on about how this war is a sign that the end
is near. I asked him if he didn’t reckon that’s how it has
seemed to lots of other folks before. Then he quoted that
part in Matthew (2:1-18) that goes back to Jeremiah that
says, ‘In Rama was there a voice heard, lamentation, and
weeping, and great mourning, Rachel weeping for her
children, and would not be comforted, because they are not.’
The Chaplain said folks all over are crying over us, too,
just like Rachel did when Herrod had all of those babies
killed, trying to kill baby Jesus. I don’t think he
understands what that part means eggsactly. I tried to tell
him what you taught us, that in Jeremiah that it’s talking
about Israel and the splitting of the nation. It might be he
can’t hear so good because he went right back to talking
about the end of the world, this sign and that one, using
what sounded like Scripture but I didn’t think it was. So I
asked him where in his Bible it says that. He couldn’t tell
me. I’ve got a Bible now. It belonged to my pal. He told me
to take it and his gear if something happened to him. Didn’t
sound like he had any kin back home. He was a good boy.
Anyway, I found that part in Matthew (24:36) where Jesus
tells his disiples, ‘But of that day and hour knoweth no
man, no, not the angels of heaven, but my Father only.’
Mr. Fillmore still played def, so I asked him if this really
was the end of the world and he believed in Jesus what was
he so worried about. I know that sounds forward and all, but
you should have heard him. He scolded me, but some of the
other boys made him let me speak my peece. So I said that
part of the Christmas story he was using told the whole
story. God gave us Jesus and made it so he could live
amongst us long enough to teach those folks so they could
teach others and so on. And I told him how you always told
us that according to God’s perfec plan Jesus went home to be
with God at just the right time. And because of that,
whenever God figures it’s the perfect time for us we get to
go home to be with our Father to. And that’s true whether
Jesus comes back before then or not. And him predicting the
end time ain’t what Jesus says anyone can do, beside which
it don’t make much difference if you believe. He didn’t have
much to say after that.
Do you spose we this nashion is kind of like Isreal and
Judah back then? All I know is that part of me is scared to
die, and I shore want to see you and daddy again on this
earth. But if something happens to one of us before then, I
know we will get to see each other again when we’re back
home.
That, and I know that I love you! Merry Christmas.
Your Faithful Son,
Matthias
The group sat in silence for a while.
“He never made it,” said Hooter quietly. “He died at
Murfreesboro that December.”
“But he did make it,” said Charlie. “He just made it home before
the rest of us.”
Hooter stood up and held out his hands for the others to join
him in a circle. “Boys, let’s pray. Let’s pray our thanks for
folks like Uncle Matthias who gives us freedom. Let’s pray
thanks for a God so loving that he gave his only Son in the
place of our sin. Let’s pray for all that we have, not what we
don’t, because we really do have it all.”
And they did.
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