The Christmas Knife
CHAPTER 1
It all began with the two-part gift, out of the blue, from Uncle Bill. Uncle Bill, who ran a dude ranch in Farthing, Wyoming, was always coming up with something he'd dug up in the barn, which had been used as a repository of detritus for years. Sometimes what he'd found was just old junk, good for a curious look, but other times, he'd come up with pure gold. And, as he had a generous heart, he'd give it away without a thought to the monetary value of it.
Hence, the antique, bone-handled Bowie knife belonging to Uncle Bill's Great Grandad Pete had come into Clayton's possession, he being one of Uncle Bill's many, many favorite nephews. They were all his favorites, and all of them knew it, but perhaps Clayton held a special place in his heart. Which was why there'd been such a fond look on Uncle Bill's face when he'd gifted the Bowie knife to Clayton.
"You might give it to that nephew of yours," Uncle Bill had said. "He's old enough, ain't he?"
He might be, but as Clayton clutched the knife in his hand, he looked down at the floor of the old barn at the dude ranch,inhaled the smell of horses and hay, and nodded even as he frowned.
"No time for hesitation," said Uncle Bill in that firm, commanding way of his. "Your sister's newly married and, from the sounds of it, this new husband isn't like the old one. He won't keep her from her own family because he ain't like that. Didn't he just invite you for Christmas?"
Having not seen his sister Sarah for over two years, Clayton's heart jumped with hope that the visit would be a good one and a start to their relationship beginning anew.
"That first husband kept her away, but she let him," said Clayton. He didn't mumble this, as Uncle Bill did not like mumblers. "Shelethim."
"She did at that," said Uncle Bill, in that prosaic way of his. "But she saw the sense of it and divorced that shitty guy and married this better one. She wants you in her life, she wants you in little Shawn's life. I've talked to Luke, that husband of hers, on the phone. He don't care about your nature, from what I can tell. He just wants a table full of family at holiday time with a big, golden turkey in the middle."
Naturewas how Uncle Bill referred to Clayton's being gay, but he said it with affection, with nary an ounce of reproach. That's just how Uncle Bill was; he used words as he saw fit and you couldn't contradict him, or he'd get riled, and you didn't want Uncle Bill riled because he would go on and on.
"Here's the other part," said Uncle Bill. With two hands, he held out a newspaper wrapped article. "Go on now, take it."
As Clayton took it, Uncle Bill told the story of it, as he liked to do.
"This is a bone-handled Bowie knife in a beaded leather sheath, which was hand done by a half-Native American woman of the Arapaho tribe. Her name was Adeline, and she was a good friend of your Great Grandad Pete's."
Clayton unwrapped the faded yellow newspaper until theshimmer of beads was laid bare. The sheath was made of thin leather that crackled with age, the fringes of it broken and worn at the ends. The beads shone as though they were newly made, though the line of the pattern was ragged where the thread that held the design was breaking. When he drew out the Bowie knife, the blade glinted, worn thin, and he could easily see the stories it could tell.
"Now, you take that—" Uncle Bill shook his finger as he pointed at the knife and sheath in Clayton's hands. "There's a very skilled fellow in Dickinson, South Dakota, by the name of Ricky Patterson. His family has lived in those parts since the town was born. You take that up to him, and he'll remake it?—"
"Take it up?" asked Clayton.
"You don't send something that valuable through the mail, boy. You babysit it every step of the way," said Uncle Bill, scolding. "It's too fragile for the mail, and I wouldn't trust anybody with it but you. And Ricky, of course. He can make a new pouch, and re-bead it exactly like it is right now, with good, new thread, and sturdy, thick deerskin leather."
Clayton took a breath and thought this through. He was off from his long-distance truck driving job for the holidays, so the thought of doing exactly that, driving across the empty plains, made him feel tired.
On the other hand, he could drive his own car, and wouldn't have to pull off every time there was a weigh station or a state line with a port of entry where he'd have to register. He could just sail on by drinking fountain soda and munching on whatever salty snack he'd gotten from the gas station. He could listen to his music at full volume without having to also listen for a phone call from the trucking depot.
"Okay," said Clayton. He looked at Uncle Bill and smiled. "It's a good idea. Thank you, and for these." He gestured with both his hands full of the two-part gift. "Shawn will love them."
"And he'll love you for giving them to him," said Uncle Bill. "Which is the point, of course." Uncle Bill smiled with his teeth, his head tilted back, pleased with himself. "I'll call Ricky to tell him you're on your way."
"Now?" asked Clayton, though he realized it was already too late to object; Uncle Bill had made his mind up and that was that. "Today?"
"You can plow on up to Dickinson and meet him at the bowling alley by nighttime?—"
"The bowling alley?" asked Clayton.
"There's only one," said Uncle Bill, calm in the face of Clayton's concern. "Everyone hangs out there, and Ricky likes to bowl."
"How long will it take him once I get up there?" asked Clayton, already arranging in his mind how long it would take him to gas up the car and get up there.
"A few days, if he's got nothing else going on," said Uncle Bill. "You'll have enough time to drive down to south Denver and join your sister on Christmas Eve."
It might sound farfetched, and though Clayton had some reservations, Uncle Bill's ideas were usually good ones. Besides, he could already imagine the look on his nephew Shawn's face when he got the Bowie knife and beaded sheath on Christmas morning.
He and his sister had not seen each other in over two years. He'd gone to visit Sarah right before the holidays, and Sarah's now ex-husband had found out that Clayton was gay. The ex had stormed and raged and thrown Clayton out, denouncing him as an unnatural sinner and, what's more, a pedophile.
