The Gypsy King - A Christmas Story

Five sets of eyes focused on the papers in the middle of the table, two signatures written in haste across the bottom of the page, the pen resting on top. Daniel stared, grey-eyed fear, as Aunt Charlotte pushed the papers away from her like a plateful of food that had gone bad. She looked away, sadness sliding wet down her cheeks, red curls pressed tightly to her head.

It was so quiet. How could five people sit so still? Sheriff Dundy reached out and pulled the papers toward himself with a heavy sigh, shuffling and straightening. He picked up the pen and signed his name under the other names, Charlotte Fox and Henry Fox. His focus flicked toward Daniel and away again. He slid the papers over to Mr. Osquart, the undertaker of one of the few funeral homes in Fort Wayne, Indiana.

The swaying tick-tick of the pendulum of the grandfather clock was the only sound echoing off the dusty panelled walls and dented oaken floors. That old floor told the tale of hundreds of tragic stories, etched into its grain by the constant sliding in and out of chairs at the table of grief. The clock heralded three o’clock in the afternoon with a quiet chiming melody. Most of the day was gone already.

Daniel continued to stare at the empty space where the papers had been. Mr. Osquart signed and laid the pen down. Everyone at the table sighed. Resignation floated across the table, heavy with heartache.

The sheriff reached inside his coat and took out a thick envelope, brown and wrinkled. "Harrison bought the house as is, with the furniture and everything inside. I asked, and he agreed, that Daniel could come get some clothes and personal things from his old bedroom. I can take you out there and do that later today.” He looked at Daniel. “I just have to go back to the jail for about an hour and tend to some business." He shifted his gaze to Uncle Henry. "I had them give it to you in cash, seein' as how y'all have to start travellin’ back to Madison, today."

He handed the envelope to Uncle Henry, who accepted it, coughing to clear his throat for a moment. “Pardon.”

Henry opened the envelope and flipped through a stack of bills. For the first time, he regarded Daniel. "Daniel, I'm real sorry ‘bout this hand that you've been dealt. I wish it could be different." He slipped out two bills and held them out to Mr Osquart. "For the funeral.”

The undertaker reached for the bills and took them, thanking Uncle Henry and expressing his condolences in a practiced, colourless tone. The words and their meaning were lost in a fog for Daniel. It had to be a fantastic, terrible dream. He had to have lost his mind. He drifted above the room, trying to make sense of all the people. The words were muffled, and his vision blurred, but that could have been the tears swelling in his eyes and the roaring in his ears.

"Daniel!" barked Uncle Henry.

Daniel gasped and flinched, jarred back to this unholy truth with a jolt. "Sorry" he breathed. “I...I...”

"I just can't," Aunt Charlotte interrupted. "I mean, Ruby and Pearl are small. I can take them, but we can't take three children. I hate doing this. God knows, Emily would be heartbroken, but we have looked at it every way. We only have a little house. Four rooms.” She held up four fingers as though that explained away all the unfairness. “We can't afford to move. We can barely make ends meet. I can't feed two little ones and another adult." She put her face in her hands, her shoulders shook gently as she cried. "What are we going to do?" she whispered into her hands.

Daniel’s tears spilled right out and he swallowed hard on the knot in his throat. "It's okay," he said hoarsely. "I can make do," he assured her, even though he wasn't sure how it was possible for him to live one day on his own, much less, the rest of his childhood. Childhood? The word had abruptly lost all meaning.

Uncle Henry slid another bill out of the envelope and laid it on the table in front of Daniel. Five dollars. More than Daniel had ever held in his hand in his entire life. "This will give you a start," Henry said head tilted in apology. "It's the best we can do." He reached into his wallet and took out a thin strip of paper. "We'd like you to write your sisters…us…and keep in touch. We'd like to tell the girls how you're getting on." He slid the address over to Daniel. He glanced down at the wrinkled strip of paper. The Fox House on Sering Street, Madison, Indiana.

Daniel picked it up and read the name of the city, Madison, Indiana. It might as well have been on the other side of the world. He would probably never see his little sisters again. Earlier that morning Daniel had been angry that he had not been consulted regarding his sister's being moved to Madison. But throughout the day he had realized he had no ability to offer a better solution, so he had surrendered to the misery of it. It now lived in him like a growing shadow, twisting in his belly.

He sunk deeper into the fog, but still, he pulled his gaze away from the card and met Henry's eyes. "Thank you, sir for taking the girls…I would surely like to write to them." After a long pause, Daniel cleared his throat. “Do ye promise now to take good care of the wee girls?”

Henry looked squarely at Daniel. “I will promise you that we will do our level best to give them the best life that we can.” Henry nodded, as though the matter was settled.

Daniel realized it would have to be good enough. He didn’t know how he was going to take care of himself. Life for the girls would be awful if they stayed with him. Asking them how they were going to care for Ruby and Pearl didn’t feel fair at all. Daniel shifted awkwardly. He looked down at his folded hands. “Okay, he whispered softly.

Sheriff Dundy broke the awkwardness. "Well, I have to get back to the office. Daniel, you go along now to the cemetery. I'll come around in an hour and pick you up." He put a hand on Daniel's shoulder and squeezed gently. "Sorry for your loss, son."

"Thank you," Daniel replied automatically.

Mr. Osquart stood and crossed to the door of the small room, opening it up and letting a thimbleful of life back into the room. "I need to attend to business as well. We will ride to the cemetery in one of the hearses in about twenty-five minutes. We'll be at the graveside soon, so I need to finish some other business with Mr. Kline." He gestured toward a man sitting outside of the door to the room.

They stepped out into the hall where a bench had been situated to make customers comfortable while waiting. The man wore a clean white shirt, black trousers with suspenders, and a straw hat. He sat staring at his hands. His face showed the grey wear of grief. He looked up expectantly at Mr. Osquart. "Mr. and Mrs. Fox, could you and Daniel wait here until the deceased are placed in the hearses?"

Mr. Osquart looked at Mr. Kline. "Mr. Kline, I hate to ask, but could I trouble you for another fifteen minutes, while I get these fine folks off to the cemetery?"

"Of course," Mr. Kline said, dropping his gaze back to his folded hands and sighing.

Daniel sat next to him. Uncle Henry sat, and then Aunt Charlotte, still wringing her hands. This was the first time that Daniel noticed that she worked the beads of a rosary between her fingers. He stared mesmerized by the twisting motion of her fingers. Ma had a string of holy beads with the cross on it. They hung in the window of her room, but she had never worried them between her fingers this way. Charlotte's mouth formed the words, but no prayers slipped from her lips.

"Sorry for your loss," a voice came from Daniel's right.

He turned and took a tentative look at the man they had called Mr. Kline. He was still looking at his hands. "Thank you," Daniel whispered. "You too?"

"Ya. Me too." He had an unusual accent.

"Och, sorry," Daniel said softly.

Mr. Osquart returned. "Mr. and Mrs. Fox, you and the girls can go in the first hearse with Mrs. McDavid. Daniel, you will go in the second hearse with Mr. McDavid, if that is okay. The first hearse will already be considerably crowded. Jones, one of my drivers, will come back and get you when the second hearse is ready."

"That's fine," Daniel croaked. He cleared his throat and repeated, “That’s fine.”

Emotion swelled in Daniel’s throat. He lowered his head and closed his eyes so tightly that the muscles in his eyelids ached. His whole life up until this moment was being sucked away into a blackhole and yet he sat here, unmoved. Emotions, thoughts, and memories were ripping free from their moorings and falling away as though everything that had happened before was about to cease to exist. His life here in Fort Wayne was being erased. Sisters gone. Mother and Father dead. Home taken. No past, present, or future.

Mr. and Mrs. Fox stood and shuffled in the direction that Mr. Osquart had indicated pulling Daniel back from the brink of the black hole in his mind. Mr. Osquart followed them toward the door. The room sunk into awkward silence.

Mr. Kline reached into his pocket and took out his wallet. "Here boy," he said softly. "You let me to change your money so you can spend it more easily. People vill be suspicious of child vit such a big amount of money." He pulled a folded packet of bills from his wallet. He organized six fifty cent notes and eight twenty-five cent notes in a stack on his knee.

Daniel, confused at first, saw the wisdom in this. He pulled the five-dollar bill from his pocket and held it tentatively in his hand. He thought for a second to get Uncle Henry's advice, but he realized that in a few hours, he would have no one to advise him. Making decisions would start now. He looked into Mr. Kline's face. He saw the dazed look of grief. This man was taking advantage of no one. He just wanted to help. "Thank ye, sir.”

The man handed him one twenty-five cent note. "Put dis vun in der vallet. Only carry a little bit dere. Spread de rest around so dat if you are robbed most of it vill be safe."

Daniel smiled now. "My grandpa did that when he came to America from Ireland, he did. He sewed gold bits between two lengths of leather and made a belt. There was a place where he could add more or remove bits near the buckle. He wore the belt through the loops of his pants through the whole trip t’America. He wouldn't even take it off t’wash hisself.” He chuckled. “All so that he could start a blacksmith business when he got here…”

Mr. Kline looked at Daniel. "Dat vas smart.” He nodded, as though he wanted to say more, but couldn't.

"Yes sir.”

Mr. Kline handed him the rest of the bills and Daniel gave him the five-dollar note. "How did ye know? ‘Bout the money?”

Mr. Kline bobbed his head side-to-side. "Thin valls," he said sheepishly pointing to the room with his chin as he struggled to pronounce the American ‘th’. "Sorry." He shrugged.

An hour later, Daniel stood beside the Bowers Cemetery, his toes at the edge of Wheelock Road. He was still lost. Everyone had left. He had said the terrible good-byes and wrenched himself from the familiarity of his little sisters' arms. The loud cries of ten-year-old Ruby and eight-year-old Pearl tightened a growing vice on his heart. Their hands had been wrenched free, but he was sure his heart had gone with them. They watched each other until the picture melted into the dust unsettled from the road.

Daniel stared after the carriage, memorizing Ruby and Pearl’s red wavy hair, his mother’s legacy to her daughters. He remembered their hazel eyes with long fair lashes, and Pearl’s blond freckles bathing her nose in Irish heritage.

He stood hoping that the Sheriff was late, and not that he had forgotten Daniel. His chest hurt, his head ached, and his hands trembled. All the things a normal fifteen-year-old body shouldn't have a reason to do. Dark clouds gathered in the east, threatening to make the day even worse.

As the first drops of rain plopped onto the dirt road, Sheriff Dundy's covered carriage pulled to a stop. "Come on now, son. A right old storm is heading this way. Sorry, I'm late. Couldn't be helped."

Daniel climbed in, pushing his damp hair back. "Thank ye, sir." He looked out at the sky, rain drops fell slowly, methodically, as though they were thinking carefully about whether or not to fall at all.

They pulled up in front of the small white house that Daniel had lived in all the days of his life. A motor car sat in the driveway. A man in a green waist coat got out and waved at the Sheriff.

"Harrison,” the Sheriff said to Daniel. "He must not trust me to watch over you." He gave Daniel a mischievous grin and a wink.

They both stepped out of the carriage and the Sheriff tethered the horse to the post that Ma and Pa had in the front yard.

Mr. Harrison shook hands with the Sheriff, folded his arms academically against his chest, and look appraisingly at Daniel. "Sorry for your loss, son"

"Thank ye, sir, and thank ye fer lettin me have a few things. If it's okay with you, I'd just like a coupla me parent’s things and me winter coat…a pair of socks that ma just knitted…and a…and a new clean shirt that I got for me birthday. It has buttons on it," he said, with eyes shining.

Mr. Harrison weighed the request and nodded. "I think that can be arranged."

They all turned toward the house and it seemed as though everyone was waiting for Daniel to lead; so, he did. He walked to the house and tried the knob, but it was locked.

Mr. Harrison stepped forward and unlocked the door with keys that used to jangle in Daniels father’s rough hands. He stepped to the side to let Daniel pass.

Daniel entered the dark living room. Now, the rain fully let down causing the tin roof to shiver. The house did not have electric lights yet, so Daniel lit the oil lamp on the dining table and picked it up. He headed through the dark rooms to the bedroom where his parents had slept. As he opened the door, the smell of them washed over him like a wave. He breathed their scent in deep, tobacco and lavender, leather and cotton. Tears crested. Daniel ran his fingers gently over his mother's comb and brush on the dresser. "Would’t be okay if I took these and sent them to me sister, Pearl?"

"Sure, that's fine," said Mr. Harrison.

Daniel opened the top dresser drawer and pulled his father’s tin whistle from under a pile of neatly folded socks. His father had brought it all the way from Ireland. He had never seen another one in America. He held the instrument up for Mr. Harrison to see and raised his eyebrows in question. Mr. Harrison had never seen one either and simply shrugged and nodded.

Daniel reached under the bed and pulled up an old carpet bag that ma and pa used for traveling. He took the quilt from the bed and gently folded it as tightly as possible. He pressed his face into the folds of the colored cotton squares and let them remind him of her. He pushed it deep into the folds of the bag. He added the comb, brush, mirror, and tin whistle from the dresser. He picked up a wedding picture of his mother and father, standing with softened straight faces on church steps, shoulder to shoulder, hands barely touching. He looked at Mr. Harrison for permission. Mr. Harrison replied with a nod of his head. Daniel added it to the bag.

He opened his father's top dresser drawer and pulled out a belt with a buckle of brass with a Celtic knot etched in it. It was made with two strips of leather, laced together at the edges with thin rawhide laces. The name McDavid was tooled into the red leather with more Celtic knots reaching to the ends. "T’was me grandda's, it was." Daniel smiled.

Daniel watched as Mr. Harrison considered this item more carefully. He knew the item he wanted was made of brass and fine tooled leather. But it had been personalized. Still the brass buckle might be worth something to Mr. Harrison. In what was probably a rare moment of soft heartedness, Mr. Harrison nodded agreement to the belt as well. Daniel sighed with relief and pressed it into the bag.

Daniel walked to his room. He put the socks and shirt in the bag and put his coat on. He changed his dress-up shoes to his work boots as they would last longer, no matter where he ended up. He fingered the pocketknife in his pants pocket and was glad he already had it with him. He looked around. "That's all. ‘Cept...there's a hat on the peg in the kitchen."