Sleep in Heavenly Peace

By Chelseagirl

Christmas Eve, thought Hannibal Heyes, glumly. One of those times that shows us just how far we still have to go with this amnesty thing.  Maybe it was a mistake.

He looked at the wallpaper again, counting the repeated pattern.  So many times up, so many times across. What a waste of his time, but what else was he to do? Christmas in Devil’s Hole had its issues, but he and the Kid had always managed to get up some kind of celebration with the gang. Lobo was a fair cook, and if Preacher was around, they’d hear the Christmas story whether they wanted to or not. 

It being Christmas, generally they wanted to, even if both reader and audience were a bit drunk.

But tonight—he sighed. He’d tried to find a poker game, but there was none to be had, and he was all out of reading material.

Over dinner, the Kid had struck up a flirtation with the pretty waitress. He’d invited her for a walk, which left Heyes alone in the hotel room with absolutely nothing to do.

Heyes pulled out his silver pocketwatch—a nice one he’d won playing cards a month or so back. “Waltham” it said, after the place back East where it was made. The traveling salesman who’d put it in the pot said Waltham watches were known far and wide as the best.

Was that the time? Had Curry really been gone two hours?  It was getting dark early, and there wasn’t much town to walk through. Of course going for a walk was probably a polite way of saying something else.

Hannibal Heyes shrugged. At least one of them was having a good time.

After that, he must have fallen asleep out of sheer boredom.

“Heyes!” Someone was shaking him.

“Wha?” He opened his eyes, realizing he’d fallen asleep on top of the bed, fully dressed. “Kid?”

“Yeah, Heyes. You gotta come now!”

“Are we in trouble? A bounty hunter? A posse? What?”

But then he caught sight of Curry’s expression. “No,” he said. “It’s the music. Folks here gather in the town square, before their Christmas Eve services, and they all sing. I ain’t never heard anything so pretty.”

Heyes, still groggy, swung his legs around and stood up. “I mean, Christmas carols are nice and all, but you seem awful excited. Is it the gal?”

Kid Curry shook his head. “Nah. We went for a bit of a stroll, but then she had to get home to her family. She’s the one told me about the singin’, though. Said I might see her there.”

“Might as well,” said Heyes. “Nothing else to do tonight.”

The two outlaws made their way out of the hotel, and to the town square, which was illuminated by many lanterns, some held by the townspeople, and others in windows from all the buildings around the square.

The singing was as beautiful as the Kid had said, almost as though the town was settled only by folks with good singing voices. The outlaws stood at the outside of the group, enjoying but not joining in.

When “The Holly and the Ivy” was done, someone picked up a guitar, and the next song was in Spanish. Once again, Heyes regretted not having had the time or opportunity to learn the language, especially with Mexico beckoning as a possible future home.

Curry whispered. “Anna Mae told me that folks settled here from all over, and at Christmas, they like to mix their traditions.”

They listened, some of the songs familiar, and some not, but all reminding them of a long-ago time when they’d had homes, families.

Finally, a familiar tune, but as Heyes listened, the words were not in English. But it didn’t matter. The music was beautiful, and he knew the story. He looked over at Curry, who stood with a faraway look in his eyes. Merry Christmas, indeed.

 

Stille Nacht, heilige Nacht,
Alles schläft; einsam wacht
Nur das traute hochheilige Paar.
Holder Knabe im lockigen Haar,
Schlaf in himmlischer Ruh!
Schlaf in himmlischer Ruh!

Author’s note: my late father was a Lutheran pastor. When I was a child, every Christmas Eve he would stand in an alcove just to the side of the altar, unseen, and sing the first verse of “Silent Night” in German, before the congregation would pick it up in English. He had a beautiful voice and it’s a fond memory. In the 19^th century, there were many German speakers in the American Midwest and West, so I thought this might serve as a tribute to my father and to the original founders of the Advent Calendar, Regina and Dan.