For the Mistletoe

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"Molly! The best luck! Mister Bloom offered to share his woodpile with us for Christmas, so I didn't have to-" She stopped abruptly, suddenly aware of the strangers who stood by her stove. As Kirnan straightened to his full height, fear flashed across her face. The loaded canvas wood sling she carried thudded to the floor. "Who are you?" she demanded sharply, crossing quickly to draw the little girl away from Kirnan and close to her. "What do you want? If you're looking for Franky, he's not here."

You needn't fear us, the Catcher inserted carefully into the woman's mind, not liking the sound of the thoughts that were already there. Aloud, she said, "I assure you, ma'am, we are friends and shall most likely take very little of your time. We have some news for you. Not particularly good news, I'm afraid. Is your husband about?"

The young woman, looking confused and unreassured, shook her head. "My husband died seven months ago. Who are you?"

"My name is Grace Sutherland. This gentleman is called Kirnan."

No reaction. Excellent. One never knew when some negative component of one's reputation might have preceded one.

"Your name is Moira, I believe?..."

The redhead frowned. "Yes, it is? How did you know?"

The Catcher opened her coat, rummaged in the pocket of her skirt, and produced the leather wallet. She passed it to the lady named Moira, saying apologetically, "I regret the necessity for bringing this item to you. I'm afraid the reason for it is not propitious."

For a moment, the blank expression on the woman's face, and the seeming accompanying paralysis of her thoughts, worried the Catcher. Then, as the wallet was slowly opened and the letter removed and partially unfolded, the welling of tears in the redhead's green eyes told the tale.

"Oh, he must have... lost it," the young mother ventured in a shaky voice. "I've told him so often that he... should...."

The hands that held the letter trembled. While Moira silently reread her own words to her young brother, Kirnan collected the wood she had let scatter on the floor and set about stoking the fire.

"I'm so very sorry," the Catcher said sincerely. "I'm afraid he met an untimely end on the trail." She then found herself telling the biggest lie of her life. It bore very little resemblance to the "truth" she had told Kirnan they would tell. Before she finished, a mountain lion had been added to the tale, and young Frank had died a hero. "I can assure you that he passed quickly and peacefully, and did not suffer." That much was true, at least. A bullet straight through the heart had that decent side effect. "I felt sure he would have liked to know that you had his few little possibles."

"Thank you," Moira said quietly. A good, solid girl, the Catcher thought approvingly. No hysteria, no crocodile tears. She would do. Just the kind of practical, strong mother Molly required.

Molly, watching as Kirnan arranged wood chunks in the box beside the stove, tugged at his sleeve and asked ingenuously, "Did Uncle Frank die?"

Now, the Catcher thought, watching her companion's face, listening to his thoughts, Kirnan was not so impervious. Some very quiet word he spoke to the child brought another shy smile.

Such innocent oblivion....

"Could it be a mistake?" Moira asked at last, brief hope lifting her eyes. "Is it possible that someone stole Frank's wallet? Could you describe him to me?"

"Seventeen or eighteen," Kirnan said, straightening and coming to join the two women. The hand of the child, the Catcher noted, was tucked confidently into his. "A gangly young redhead with more than his share of freckles."

The sprout of hope shriveled and died before their eyes. Slowly, Moira folded the letter and tucked it back into the wallet. Her fingers encountered the key. She withdrew it and stared at it where it lay on her palm.

"I suppose this is the spare key that opens our door. I wondered what had happened to it."

"I noticed a silver button, as well," the Catcher said. "Was there some significance to it?"

Moira's fingers delved into the wallet again and produced the button. She smiled faintly. "Yes. It's from a little coat he had when we were children. He lost a toy soldier out in the woods, one day, and-"

"When he went to look for it," Molly broke in enthusiastically, "he looked aaaaaall over for it and couldn't find it anywhere. He went back and forth... and back and forth... and then he saw a shiny silver thing in the leaves. When he went to see what it was, there was the button that had fallen off his coat, and the soldier lay right there beside it." Molly beamed. "So he keeps it for good luck, to help him find lost things."

Moira reached out and smoothed the child's hair. "She's heard Frank tell that story so many times...." She looked up at her guests. "Thank you for coming out of the way to do this. It means a great deal to me." She glanced down at the top of her daughter's head. "To us," she corrected. "I don't know how to.... Would you like a hot drink, or would you have something to eat with us? It wouldn't be fancy, but it would be-"

"Thank you, no," the Catcher broke in briskly. "We should be delighted to join you, but we have other commitments for this evening. Have you a writing instrument and a piece of paper I might use? A small scrap will do."

Moira produced an advertising flyer and a pencil stub, and the Catcher jotted a brief note upon it.

"Thank you," she said, handing the writing materials back to the young mother. "On the day following Christmas, take that note to the address I've written there. Ask for the man whose name I've also written, and show him the note. He will hire you."

For a moment, the Catcher feared she had delivered one too many shocks to the younger woman, that night. She put out a steadying hand that was gripped almost painfully hard by Moira's.

"Are you - are you sure? With the men gone - I - yes, I will need to do something. Oh, but I can't do anything!"

"Of course you can," the Catcher told her bracingly. "You can clean, cook, and sew. Clearly, you can write and read, and you speak well enough. And of course there's a little something in the wallet, there. Perhaps a modest new dress will make a good impression on him. He will find something for you at any rate, my dear, I promise you that."

The Catcher received two hugs, one large and one small. Moira turned, looked speculatively at Kirnan, and settled for taking his hand and squeezing it thankfully.

"I'm sorry you lost your brother," the big man said evenly.

Moments later, Kirnan and the Catcher were walking out to their horses through the starry night, Kirnan shrugging into his warm coat. From a pocket, he produced a bandana and handed it to her. "Here. It's clean. Mostly."

The Catcher dabbed at her eyes. "Thank you. I thought I should weep like a child before we got away."

"I noticed. I also noticed you told a Texas-size whopper about that boy's death."

"Well, what did you expect me to say, under the circumstances?" She blew her nose delicately. "I hadn't the heart to tell her the truth. And if you could have heard what I heard in her mind.... There was scarcely a bite to eat in that house, you know. She was desperate."

"I knew that."

"Yet she was willing to share what she had with us. That is true graciousness." The Catcher stowed Kirnan's bandana away in her pocket. "I will launder that and return it to you."

"Keep it," Kirnan said drily. "Think of it as my Christmas gift to you."

The Catcher sniffed, misliking the signs of amusement she heard in Kirnan's thoughts but, before she could comment, he spoke.

"Nice of you to volunteer your brother the way you did. And if there's no job for that woman when she gets there?"

"There will be one," the Catcher assured him as they reached the horses. Nicky already knew the entire story. She had sent it winging across the city to intrude upon his Christmas Eve reminiscences. Her conscience gave her a pang, but she would probably never let Kirnan know that her brother and she could share thoughts at a much greater distance because Nicky had "the knack" too. It was best that even her tall friend should not know certain things.

They mounted up and rode, her tall friend and she, stirrup to stirrup, down the street.

"I must say," the Catcher said as soon as the chill went off the leather beneath her, "what you did for Moira was very kind."

"Stoking a fire's not much of a kindness."

"I meant the coin. How did you manage to do it?"

"What coin?"

The Catcher looked over at Kirnan. "What do you mean, 'what coin?' The double eagle."

"No idea what you're talking about."

"I saw it quite plainly when Moira took the key from Frank's wallet. I've had the wallet all day. How ever did you?..."

"You said he had three dollars in silver."

"I did. He - did."

"It was that silver button you saw. Most likely, it reflected the yellow lamplight."

"It was gold, Kirn. Not silver, gold. A gold coin. It was quite clearly a twenty-dollar gold piece."

"You must have overlooked it this morning."

"It was a wallet, Kirn, not a Bureau trunk. I couldn't have overlooked it had I wished to!"

As they passed the rooming house, a carol sung by enthusiastic male voices drifted out from it across the still night air.

God rest you merry, gentlemen, let nothing you dismay....

Shivering in the darkness... silent... glancing at each other through the starlight again and again... thoughts racing....

"Grace,.. if I didn't put it there," Kirnan said slowly, "and you didn't put it there...."

Warmth flooded her heart suddenly. Sometimes, justice was come by in the most unlooked-for way.

"Shall we see if the Windsor has yet another room to spare, my dear?" she asked whimsically. "I believe I rather fancy a hot bath and a ride in the elevator, myself."

"Grace-"

"Oh, Kirn, don't be a grump. It's Christmas."

Now to the Lord sing praises, all you within this place, and with true love and brotherhood each other now embrace....

Suddenly, the paint horse crowded hard over against Imp and Kirnan's large hand caught the Catcher by the nape of the neck. A moustachy kiss was planted on her cheek before Cinco sidled away to a more respectful distance.

The Catcher laughed aloud. "Goodness, what was that for!"

"The mistletoe," Kirnan said tranquilly. "For the mistletoe."

*********

This story is an entry in the Winter Holidays Story Contest 2009, so, just in case, please do VOTE before you leave this page. If you liked this story well enough to read this far, clicking "Five" is a lovely way to say "Merry Christmas!"

If this story fares well, I may post more Kirnan and the Catcher stories, so do let me know what you think about my telepathic lady bounty hunter and her tall, blue-eyed gunman friend.

To the person who read one of my previously posted stories and e-mailed me anonymously, saying that you hate writers who don't finish their stories and that I should not be one of them - sorry, too late by about 45 years. And "hate" is such a nasty word. See if you can redirect it at war or hunger or cancer or something worth the effort of hating.

Thanks in advance for your comments, voting, and rating. :)

Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night!

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oldpantythiefoldpantythiefalmost 2 years ago

Talk about a feel good story, this one nailed it. A western with a little supernatural thrown as well as a Christmas story. Well done.

Horseman68Horseman68almost 4 years ago
Great Story.

Sincerely wish that this author was still around on the site. The writing is so excellent and the stories are so unique. Many bravos.

OwensDarlinOwensDarlinover 14 years agoAuthor
Thanks, everyone!

I'm so pleased that most of you have liked this story. Sorry there is no sex here. I thought about putting a statement to that effect at the beginning, but it IS in the non-erotic category. ;) I would like to know if those of you who love traditional Westerns are put off by the idea of a female bounty hunter in that era, or by her telepathic ability. If anyone cares to comment on that here or by e-mail, please do.<p>Best of the holidays to all everyone who passes this way!

AnonymousAnonymousover 14 years ago
How do you do it?

How do you make your stories so atmospheric? What a pleasure it is to read you.

AnonymousAnonymousover 14 years ago
none

best story i've read so far this season

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