by: Brian

Crisp leaves crunched under the steady tread of black boots.  Walking swiftly against the bite of the winter air, Brian turned up his jacket collar and tucked his chin down.  His hands were stuffed into the outer pockets of his jacket, and his outward demeanor was as cool and forbidding as the temperature.

Undaunted, two unseen, diminutive spirits observed the black-clad Coltrane and dogged his steps.  They followed him as he marched briskly across the town square, jaywalking his way from the small café in town back to the courthouse.  His brief lunch break was over, and there was a lot of workday left ahead of him.   He quickly disappeared up the courthouse steps, the door shutting hard behind him.

“I’m not sure,” the first tiny spirit whispered, hovering outside the courthouse doors.  “He may not be ready.”

“We have to try,” the companion spirit answered, with a slight shimmer of light.  “We need another helper.”

“But….him?  He’s so….”   The doubting spirit chose the word carefully.  “…Difficult.”

“Which is why he is available to us.  All the good ones are already taken. Come along, we must work with what have.”

This decided, the two spirits drifted through the courthouse doors, flitted down the hall, and seeped through the double doors of the booking room.  Incorpeal and undetectable, they explored the booking room and the rest of the Sheriff’s Department, finding it grey and cheerless.  They communicated to each other without concern, their melodic, high-pitched voices being beyond the scale of the human ear.

“Not a very nice place, is it?”

“No. Jails usually aren’t, as a rule.”

Brian looked up from the booking room desk, sensing something.  But there was no one at the doors; no one in the holding cell, and no one in the side offices or in the downstairs jail.  Shrugging to himself, he went back to sorting parking tickets.  The silence of the booking room was only broken by the sound of the hand-stamp he used to mark tickets Past Due.  The tedious paperwork, in his mind, was not worth the fines it collected.  He sighed to himself, working mechanically, the stamp thudding hard against the desk.

The first spirit drifted close to the booking desk, puffing away slightly each time the stamp landed.  It whispered a question to its companion.  “Now?”

“Now,” the second spirit answered.  The two of them glided forward, making a subtle touch upon the shoulders of the unsuspecting Coltrane.  Their mission accomplished, they departed from the booking room, evaporating through the wall.

The stamp landed with another thud.  Brian had kept working, seemingly oblivious to the touch of otherworldly visitors. But after a couple of minutes, he paused and lifted his head.  His tongue clicked against the roof of his mouth, a sweet-tooth craving abruptly distracting him.

Peppermint.

He pulled open the desk drawers in the vain hope of finding any candy.  There wasn’t so much as a stick of gum, and he gave a grunt of disappointment.  Standing up, Brian left the desk and began to comb the Sheriff’s department, searching for something minty. Sugary.  Like one of those little red and white candies in the clear cellophane wrapper.  Or a peppermint stick.  Somethin’ like that…yeah.

He kept searching for sweets, without success. He was busy was making an unauthorized investigation of Rosco’s office when the Sheriff wandered back in from patrol.  Upon seeing Brian rifling through his desk, Rosco snuck up quietly to the doorway, folded his arms, and blocked it.  He cleared his throat loudly to announce his presence, putting on his best sarcasm.   ?Ahem.  Brian, why don’t you just help yourself to any small change or paper clips you might find…”

“Huh? Oh, howdy Sheriff.”   Standing behind Rosco’s desk, Brian turned his head in greeting but kept digging.  “I was just lookin’ for some peppermint.”

“What?”  Rosco unfolded his arms and stepped inside the office.  If this was a shuck and jive, it was a new one.

“Mint.  You know, like….those little starlite mints.  Or…a candy cane.”    As if realizing something for the first time, Brian looked out toward the rest of the Sheriff’s Department, noticing how drab-looking it was. “We don’t have any candy canes heah.  We ain’t got any Christmas decorations up, either.”

Rosco was just about to apologize for it, but then he recovered.  “Arrrrre you kiddin’ me?  This ain’t no candy store, this is a police department!  It’s supposta look sherioush.”

“Serious?  It’s plenty serious.  But that don’t mean you can’t have a little cheer around the place….”  Brian walked out from behind the desk, looking at it critically.  “You know what you need for your desk, is a snow-globe. You know, ya turn it upside-down and then upright again, and the little sparkly thangs swirl around a winter scene, and…”

“Snow globe?!”   Rosco looked startled.  “Awwwright, git outta my office. Git git git…..”   He put an arm around Brian’s back and shoved him towards the door.  “You’d better go eat some lunch.  I think you got a vitamin missin’ or somethin’.”

“I ate lunch already!”

“Eat another one!  In fact, why don’t you g’wan home and git outta my hair, instead a’ tearin’ the place up.”

“But I ain’t done with those tickets you wanted me to sort.  And there’s filin’ that needs to be done. Stuff has been pilin’ up since MaryAnne left for Finchburg…”

Rosco waved his hand in gruff dismissal.  “It was pilin’ up before that, and it’ll still be there tomorrow. Git.”

“Awright.”    Heaving a sigh, Brian headed for the swinging doors, and didn’t look back as he pushed his way through them.  Rosco was in one of those moods, and when the Sheriff started to growl and prowl, it paid to be elsewhere.

Rosco watched the doors swing shut, making sure his younger cousin was making good on the exit.  When Brian got weird, it paid to have him elsewhere.  And that boy was definitely missing a marble from the bag today.

The Sheriff took a seat behind his desk.  He was settling into his paperwork when the thought of peppermint distracted him.  “Dang it….”

*****     *****     *****

Brian resolved his own peppermint craving with a stop at the store in town.  Old-fashioned peppermint sticks were inexpensive enough, and he’d bought a dozen of them, tucking them within the inside pocket of his leather jacket.  He couldn’t resist buying a couple boxes of candy canes and a jar of assorted candies, either.  He’d sneak those into the booking room later.  Along with the cheap little snow globe he’d found for Rosco’s desk.

For now, he was content to chew on the peppermint stick he had in the corner of his mouth.  Since he had some free time this afternoon and didn’t feel like being alone, he drove Diablo over to the Boar’s Nest.  He left the radio off and hummed “Silver Bells” to himself, wondering if Atlanta had the big Christmas tree up at City Hall yet.  He remembered his first glimpse of it, fondly, through an old, misted memory; the tree had been visible through his dorm window at juvenile detention.

Once at the Boar’s Nest, Brian strolled inside and sat at his usual spot, by the back wall and jukebox.  He glanced around and was pleased to see that some festive garland had been hung up, along with a few battered-looking Christmas ornaments.  He chewed on the stub of the peppermint stick, absently thinking about how nice a big string of Christmas lights would look over the bar.

Daisy approached the table and interrupted his daydreaming.  “You’re early today,” she said in greeting.   “What’ll it be, sugar?”

“Oh, lessee….”  Brian thought about it, leaning his elbows on the table.  “You got any egg nog?”

“Egg nog?!”  Daisy nearly dropped her pen and the order tablet with it.  “No…”

“Well, how about a hot chocolate.”  Brian smiled lazily and chewed up the remainder of the peppermint stick.  For a second, Daisy thought he’d just eaten his cigarette, until she saw him reach into his jacket pocket for more candy.  “You got any marshmallows?”  he asked cheerfully.

“H-hot…chocolate…okay…marshmallows…got it!”   Daisy bolted off.  Brian’s order was enough to make her nervous.  This was the same guy who usually ordered beer, or whatever hard liquor he could find.  Now, he wanted hot chocolate, and instead of a cigarette in his teeth, he was chewing on peppermint sticks.  It was unsettling.

Minutes later, she served him a steaming mug of hot chocolate, with a sprinkling of marshmallows on top.  Delighted, Brian took the fresh peppermint stick from his teeth and stirred it in the mug, playing with the marshmallows and dunking them to make them squishy.   He slurped the hot cocoa noisily and with such simple glee, that Daisy was slowly backing up away from him as if she’s seen an apparition.  She bumped into her own cousins as they walked in, which startled her and made them chuckle.

“Daisy, it’s just us,”  Luke chuckled.  “What are you all backed up like a cat about?”

Mutely, Daisy pointed at Brian, who was jabbing the peppermint stick into the hot chocolate in an effort to spear a marshmallow. When he failed, he sipped the hot chocolate from the end of the stick and tried again, playing with his beverage.

Bo chimed in.   “His table manners are lousy, but heck that’s nothin’ new.  What did he…”

The Dukes fell silent and watched as Brian abruptly got up from the table.  He walked so suddenly to the jukebox that that nobody knew what to think.  His dark eyes scanned over the song titles with a particular urgency.  Not finding what he wanted, Brian straightened up and called a question over his shoulder.  “Hey, how come there ain’t any Christmas Carols on the jukebox?”

Daisy stared.  Luke blinked.  Bo looked shocked.  In unison, they answered, “What?!”

Brian went back to the table to pick up his mug of hot chocolate.  He walked up to the Dukes, stirring it with the peppermint stick, and paused to take a long sip.   He looked as if he had no cares in the world, except for his burning question, repeated calmly: “Why don’t you have any Christmas songs on the jukebox?  Like, “Jingle Bell Rock”,  or  “Grandma Got Run Over By a Reindeer?”

Daisy found her voice and gave what she hoped was a calming, reassuring smile.   “Oh, we will!  It’s just a little early yet, but I’ll get the records out of storage.”

Brian’s face lit up.  “Good!  I’ll be back later, then…..”   With this, he held the peppermint stick out of the mug, and downed the contents.   He sat the empty mug on a nearby table, replacing the peppermint stick within his mouth and speaking around it.  “Mph. Heah.”    He dug for his wallet, handing over some dollar bills to Daisy.  “Gitcher self and yer cousins a drink too.”    Tucking his wallet away, Brian gave the Dukes a polite nod and strolled casually out the door.

Bo gave a swallow.  “I’ve never known him to offer us a drink unless he was pouring it over our heads.”

“Something’s up,” Luke agreed.  “He’s being too nice.  Either it’s a shuck n’ jive and he’s setting us up for a nasty prank, or….”

“Or something happened to him,” Daisy suggested.

*****        *****       *****

The something – or somethings –  that had happened to Brian were keeping a close watch on their new recruit.  The tiny, invisible spirits that had influenced him were following his progress.  For himself, Brian had no idea as to the cause of his sudden Christmas spirit.  Now that it was there, it was hard to imagine a time when it wasn’t.

After his visit to the Boar’s Nest, he went home with a single thought on his mind.  The House Must Be Decorated.  Compelled by this instinct, he jogged up the stairs, got out the stepladder, and squirreled up into the attic.  He dug out the boxes of ornaments, the strings of Christmas lights, and the artificial tree.   He did a minor re-arrange of the living room to set everything up.  Though he didn’t rush, it seemed like the time passed quickly; he was content to put the tree together, and he decorated it with some appreciation for aesthetics, getting particular about which ornaments went where.   He recalled how his cousins usually set it up, and he followed the tradition.

As he topped the tree with the silver star, he was flooded with memories of Christmas past. Not all of them were pleasant, and for a moment, he felt that familiar constriction in his heart.  He pushed it aside, with effort, and concentrated on balancing the star on the tree.   There was nothing to be done about the past, except to forgive it, and forgive himself in the process.

When he plugged in the lights and the tree glowed with a soft brilliance, he smiled again.  Christmas was now here, whether anybody liked it or not.  The thought made him chuckle.  It was a far cry from his old attitude of, No tree, no presents, no problem.  This year he wanted Christmas, and he wanted it for everybody.

Whistling, he picked up the remaining strands of lights, and took them outside to hang over the porch.  Rosco was going to have a conniption about the electric bill, but what the hell.

*****     *****     *****

Twilight was settling over Hazzard County as the black Chevy cruised down Mill Pond Road.  It pulled off the road and crept into the Duke farmyard, cautiously.   The General Lee and the white Jeep were gone; it seemed safe enough to Brian, then, to pull off his scheme.   He parked the car and reached for the pair of leather gloves he’d brought along.  Slipping them over his hands, he got out of the car quietly and snuck up close to the house.  He stopped upon reaching the old stump where the axe was standing, and looked around.   Nobody appeared to be home.

Satisfied, he hefted up the axe,  took aim at a log of wood, and chopped at it.  Unaccustomed to the chore, his first effort at firewood was a choppy, uneven, splintered mess.  After taking a good look at the wood the Dukes already had stacked, he figured out to split the log in half, then turn each half over flat, and split it again, and then cut those pieces in half.  After awhile he was perspiring, but there were a few more cords of wood stacked up.  He rested five minutes, heaving in some cool, clean air, his breath steaming in steady puffs.  He picked up the axe again, and cut firewood until several more cords of wood were stacked; and then, suspecting that the Dukes would be heading home for dinner soon, he thunked the axe into the stump and left.

Rather than feeling tired, the exercise had energized him.  Brian drove Diablo towards town.  He knew Rosco was just about to go off duty for the night; and so it was the perfect time to double-back to Hazzard and decorate the Sheriff’s department.  There were a few things in the Chevy’s trunk, fresh from the attic of the Coltrane homestead, that would cheer the place up.

*****     *****     *****

The next day, Brian made sure to be out of the courthouse by the time Rosco was due to arrive at it.  Not that he was really worried about the Sheriff’s reaction to the booking room. Though in hindsight, Brian wondered if he’d went too far with spraying the artificial snow. In any case it seemed a great time to go Christmas shopping.   He strolled through the town square, hardly noticing the crisp air, humming “Winter Wonderland.”

Behind him, invisible and very pleased with themselves, the tiny spirits followed.

“He’s making progress.”

“Yes, but will it last?”

“Let us hope.”

Unaware of the unearthly surveillance, Brian tread lightly down the sidewalk.  He browsed storefronts, keeping his eye out for gift ideas, enjoying the decorations.   The ringing of a small bell got his attention, and a couple stores down, a weary-looking Salvation Army volunteer stood by his donation bucket and clanged the bell.   It was chilly enough out that the man was looking uncomfortable, but he rang the bell dutifully, if not with much enthusiasm or volume.

Before he knew what he was doing, Brian approached the bell-ringer, smiling.  “Howdy!  Man, you look cold. Why don’t you take five and get a cup of coffee, eh?  I’ll mind the bank for you.”

The volunteer almost laughed; he wasn’t about to trust a total stranger with the hard-won donations in the bucket, even if it wasn’t that much.  But there was something sincere in Brian’s voice, and a kindness in the eyes, that made it rather hard to refuse.   The bell was handed over, and gratefully, the volunteer nodded and headed towards the café to warm up.

The small bell was a lot of fun for the first two minutes, but it wasn’t long before Brian realized that ringing the darn thing nonstop was kind of fatiguing.   He also wasn’t doing too hot with drawing in coins;  the bell seemed to repel as many people as it attracted, and a few people who recognized him audibly snorted in distain.

Deciding on a new tactic, Brian sat the bell down, and reached inside of his jacket pocket for something he just happened to be carrying around lately.  The harmonica was old, but it was clean and well-made.  He cupped it to his mouth, and began a quiet, slow serenade of “Silent Night.”    He forgot about the fact he was standing in the middle of town on the sidewalk; he didn’t worry about what people would think, or whether or not they would put coins in the bucket. He just breathed his life into the instrument, closed his eyes, and let himself drift with it.  Thoughts of home filled him; thoughts of his friends, his kin, whether they were near or far…..he played on, sending the melody to them.

He was distantly aware of people and sounds around him, but nothing broke his own spell with himself.   It was only when he ceased the last, soft note and opened his eyes, that he saw the small group of people listening, many of them now pulling out coins and dollars to give.  Encouraged, he smiled and brought the harmonica back up; “Little Drummer Boy”  seemed appropriate just then, and he played it.   Shall I play for you…

If anything, there were more people gathering, and some were singing along.  It was an impromptu concert, and with the crowd looking for a song to join in on, Brian took a deep breath and belted out Santa Claus Is Coming To Town.   This made the little kids smile, and the sound of their young voices yelling the chorus filled the town square.  “He knows when you’ve been sleeping!  He knows when you’re awake!  He’s knows if you’ve been bad or good, so be good for goodness sake!!”

On the other side of the town square, Rosco heard the commotion clear into the booking room.  Curiosity lured him out to the street.  At first sight of the singing crowd, he thought it was the biggest group of Christmas carolers he’d ever seen.  But he heard the strains of a harmonica mixed in, and then he saw it.

His cousin was dancing around like a lunatic, playing the harmonica, and amusing the crowd.  Somebody had picked up the donation bell too, and was keeping time with it.   While the activity wasn’t exactly illegal, Rosco figured that Brian could possibly be drunk.   It would also explain why the booking room looked like it had been hit by a Christmas parade. Muttering to himself, Rosco went to collect his erstwhile kin.  “Eggnog on an empty stomach again…..when’s he gonna learn?”

It took some doing to get close to the scene.  “Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer”  had just broken out, and Brian was leading the kids around in a hokey-pokey reindeer dance.   When the Sheriff made eye contact, Brian merely grinned and waved for him to join in.   Before Rosco could react, the volunteer who was in charge of the donation bucket, nudged the Sheriff in the arm.  “Do you rent him out for parties?”

Surprised, Rosco could only admit that it seemed like a good idea.  He stood there until the song ended, not sure whether he should congratulate Brian on a fine performance, or lock him up.  Breathless and grinning, Brian gave a sweeping bow as the crowd cheered. The volunteer heartily shook Brian’s hand, thanking him for bringing in the donations.  The bucket was full.

People went on their way with smiles, and as soon as things thinned out, Rosco grabbed Brian by arm, turning him towards the courthouse.  “Awwwright, let’s go.  You need to dry out and come to yer senses.”

“I’m fine, Sheriff.  Nevah better.”   Brian grinned.  “Say, why don’t we go get a cup of hot cider and a donut?”

“I ain’t got time for …..”   Rosco started to say.  Then he thought about it.  “You think the bakery’s got any of them sugar donuts left?”

“I’m sure of it. Come on.”   Brian headed off towards the bakery, returning the harmonica to the inner pocket of his jacket.  Rosco fell in step with him,  still unsure of what to make of his cousin’s behavior.  But dang it, now that Brian had said donuts, he wanted one.   They were nearly at the bakery when Rosco stopped and pulled out his ticket book.

“Whatcha doin’?”   Brian stopped too and turned to look.

“This meter’s expired,” Rosco answered, and clicked his pen.  He started writing down the license plate of the car, but Brian suddenly stuck a dime in the meter and cranked the knob.  The meter now registered a half-hour’s time.

“There! No need to write a ticket,”   Brian said cheerfully.

“But….but….you can’t do that!”  Rosco objected.

“Why not?  I got the spare change, and these nice folks are Christmas shoppin’.”   Brian dug a few more dimes from his pocket, and walked down the sidewalk looking at the meters.   When he found one that was expired or about to run out, he dropped in a dime.

Fear tingled down Rosco’s spine.  This was the most errie thing he’d ever seen in his life.  Worse, Brian didn’t seem drunk; he was sober, and ridiculously happy.   He soon returned from his parking-meter mission with a broad smile.  “I think everybody’s covered,” he reported to Rosco.   “Come on, I don’t know about you, but I still want a donut!”   With a boyish chuckle, Brian darted into the bakery.

Minutes later, Rosco was enjoying a sugar donut and a hot cup of cider.  He had convinced Brian to come back with him to the booking room, and they were seated at a desk, having the snack in silence, save for Brian’s random humming of Christmas carols. The black-clad Coltrane was looking around at the booking room decorations with pride.  Eventually, his mood got the better of him and he piped up again.   “Ya know what, I think I’ll bake some gingerbread cookies tonight.”

Rosco had just taken a drink and it was all he could do not to spit it out in alarm.  Brian babbled on.  “…don’t know if we got any vanilla extract at home, or I’d fix up some sugar cookies while I’m at it.  Ooo!  I could make extra and take some to Miz Tizdale and Cooter and all my friends and….”

Rosco sputtered and sat his cup of cider down.   “Awright, Brian.  It’s bad enough you put a decorated Christmas tree into the holding cell, and covered dang near everything here in artificial snow, and hung up enough junk to make this look like a department store on the day after Thanksgiving.  You’ve been actin’ like you’re on somethin’,  but for the life of me I can’t imagine what.”

Brian chuckled and merely shrugged.   “I’m just happy to see Christmas this year.”

The Sheriff studied his cousin’s face.  “Did you finally snap?  I know you’ve been missin’ MaryAnne since she went to Finchburg.  Are you maybe tryin’ too hard to convince yourself you’re happy?  It’s hard, with her bein’ gone over the holidays…”

The question made Brian pause.  “I don’t think that’s it,” he answered seriously.  “I miss her…but I know she’s not too far away.”   He rested a hand over his heart for emphasis.   “She’s nevah far from either of us….she’s right here.  And even if we can’t see her this Christmas, she’ll be with us in her own way.  Just like we’ll be, for her.”

Rosco gave a slow nod to this, but he was still testing.  “I figured with MaryAnne bein’ away it would be all the harder on ya.  This never used to be your favorite time of year.”

“It’s probably hard on her, too.  I know she’d be here if she could.”  Brian sipped at the rest of his cider, thoughtfully.  “Far as Christmas goes….everybody has some holidays that are better than others, and some years that are tougher than others.  Now that you’ve got me thinkin’, though….maybe it’s just my turn.”

“Your turn?”

“Yeah.  You know, to spread a little cheer for Christmas.  Do whatevah  I can to make somebody else smile.  How many times did you and MaryAnne pick me up off the ground?   Maybe it’s just my turn to share back some of that happiness.”

Rosco listened, giving another nod, not knowing quite what to say.  Brian continued. “Every year there’s some people who go crazy for Christmas stuff.   They’ve got their shoppin’ done early, they have the decorations up before most the neighborhood, and they’re all into the yuletide gig.  Then there’s other folks who find the holidays depressing, onconna their circumstances or some past events, and they’re just waiting for it to get over with.  The rest fit in the middle somewhere.”

“Looks like you moved up a notch.’

“Heh….I did, didn’t I.  Maybe it’s that my head n’ heart finally got on the same page, Rosco.”

Brian stood up from the chair and paced over to the window.  He looked out at the town square, at the decorations, at the people.   “It’s good to be here,” he said simply.   “To have a place to call home…to have people to care about and love.  To share back a little happiness.”

Rosco stood up and joined Brian in gazing out the window, resting a hand on his shoulder.

*****     *****     *****

When Christmas Eve came upon Hazzard, a number of families gathered at the community church for the evening service.  Tall candles glowed warmly from behind stained-glass windows and more of them filled the altar.  The candlelight Christmas service was a popular tradition in the small town, and the church was nearly full by the time Brian and Rosco snuck inside.

They scooted into a pew near the back of the church.  They were just in time for the sermon.  The words of the preacher rang out over the hushed congregation, the ageless message retold.  After a bow of heads and a prayer for peace, the congregation stood. The singing of the hymns and carols began.

Neither Rosco nor Brian considered themselves great vocalists, but they raised their voices in song nonetheless.  “O Holy Night” always sounded beautiful in the acoustics of the old wooden church, and so they gave it their best.  “….a thrill of hope, a weary world rejoices….”

A latecomer to the church nudged into the pew, and a clear, melodious voice joined that of the Coltrane menfolk.  “…for yonder breaks a new and glorious morn…”

MaryAnne’s voice could not be mistaken.  The Coltrane family sang together, a richness in harmony found in the accompaniment of one another’s voice.  “…fall on your knees! O hear, the angel voices! O, night divine!  The night that Christ was born!”

Merry Christmas !