Hank’s eyes narrowed. “What?”
“You must teach Theodore how to play baseball.” Hank swore viciously and began to pace again. “I’ll supply the bat and ball. You supply the knowhow.”
He stopped and glared up at Muddy. “You’re a sneaky bastard, aren’t you?”
“Me?” Muddy poked his chest, then he shrugged. “I just want to see my master happy.”
“Yeah, and I want to eat this tree.” Hank stood there for a long time, then turned back, his hands shoved in his pockets. He looked at the sack, then said, “You win. I’ll do it.”
“When do you want the performance?”
“I’ll give you a signal.”
“What kind of signal?”
“I’ll whistle a song.” Hank paused, then said, “Jingle Bells.”
Muddy gave him a mock salute. “Okay... chump.”
Hank stood there as if he wanted to say something, but he shook his head and started to walk away. He stopped at the edge of the clearing and grumbled, “Thanks.” He walked a little farther. “Chump.”
* * *
On Christmas Eve,the hut was aglow with over a hundred candlenuts, each one lit like Christ’s candles. They sat on trunks used as makeshift tables, lighting up the tops with a warm glow. Candlenuts burned atop a squat barrel used for an occasional stool. They sat as clusters of golden light in what had been dark corners of the hut, flickered near woven mats and circled the base of the Christmas tree like a ring of stars, casting golden twinkling light on the gifts stacked beneath. And the gifts were many, wrapped in banana leaves with flower vines tied around them as ribbon, and bright fresh orchids served as Christmas bows.
Wreaths made of lush green ferns and bright red and pink flowers were sprinkled with sand that caught minute fragments of the light and looked like a dusting of tropical snow. Sand glistened from the tree branches, too—an island Christmas tree. Different, yet oddly traditional.
The tree was decorated with strings of seashells—conch and cockleshells. Coned shells of all sizes hung like island icicles from the plump ends of its branches. Sand dollars served as white snowflakes and bright flowers of red and purple, pink and orange, were arranged inside the branches like finely crafted German glass ornaments.
Orchid vines draped in luscious garlands and coconut shells held green angels shaped from banana leaves. But the crowning glory was a Christmas gift from the South Seas—a bright red and yellow starfish that hung from the very top of the tree.
Muddy lounged back on the hard top of a trunk, enjoying the most unique and comfortable holiday celebration he’d experienced.
There was a sense of peace and joy inside the hut, in the laughter and smiles of those within. He played the observer, as he was prone to do, just watched them while he relaxed, his heart and head light, his belly full.
For some reason, probably a Christmas gift from fate, Margaret hadn’t burned dinner. They had eaten fish that Theodore had helped catch, fruit Lydia had gathered, and yams Margaret had accidentally baked to perfection before they gathered around the tree, and just sat there, watching it, each person lost in their own thoughts.
The peace of Christmas was upon them.
Then Theodore pulled the harmonica out of his pocket and held it up in the flickering holiday lights.
Muddy winced. There went the sense of peace.
Hank and Margaret exchanged a worried look. But Theodore got up, walked over, and handed the harmonica to Hank. “Can you play Christmas songs?”
Everyone sagged back for a relieved second, then Hank lifted the harmonica to his mouth and began to play “Silent Night.” By the second verse, Margaret was singing in a clear and lovely voice. She waved to the children and to Muddy to join in.
So they sang Christmas carol after happy Christmas carol, each one louder than the last and each one making them laugh when they were done. Until they hit the one song with a happy melody that was clear and clean. Without a thought, they began to sing, “We wish you a—”
Hank dropped the harmonica and bellowed, “Don’t sing!” He clapped his hand over Theodore’s open mouth.
“Merry Christmas...” Margaret and Lydia’s voices faded suddenly.
Theodore looked at them over Hank’s hand, which was covering his mouth while Hank and Margaret both exhaled a large breath of relief. Hank slowly removed his hand.
Theodore blinked, then frowned at Hank. “I don’t know the words to that one.”
Hank rested his head in one hand, rubbed his forehead, then took a deep breath. “Let’s try ‘Jingle Bells,’ then it’s time to get some sleep.”
