For Thursday, December 23, 1999 Drummer Column, Gibbs, 731 words

Crystal Rose

Billy and Bess Husking were left alone on Christmas Eve. Their father, Cyrus, had to walk over to Johnstownville on business. He wouldn't be back until near dawn. That's the tale he told his children. Truth of matter is Cyrus was going to visit his older brother, Eb, the uncle the kids never knew.

The twins had been behaving all evening, doing their chores, until Bess said, "I hope Santa can find us this year. I put a new Christmas candle in the jar."

Billy, who had completely recovered from his pneumonia, said, "Oh, stop with the Santa business, will you? There is no Santa Claus. Strangers don't give presents."

"Santa isn't a stranger. He's my friend," said Bess. "He's going to bring me a crystal rose."

"A crystal rose?" sneered Billy. "That is so dorky. You better get a job in town and buy your own crystal rose, instead of wishing for it."

Bess wiped their hut's window clean as glass. She looked up at the double-perigee moon and wished Santa would streak across it so Billy would believe in him, too.

A long time ago, Eb had said to Cyrus, "Cyrus, if you ever need anything, you come and ask me. O.K.?" Cyrus grumbled and agreed he would if he ever truly needed help.

They were brothers. They were young. Eb had a real job in town working as a bookkeeper for Watson Water. Cyrus worked with dirt. He was a farmer. Always wanted to be one, and he was one, and he liked it, and he was broke. Poor rain, weak soil, lack of good seed and muscle conspired to bring him down.

Eb, on the other hand, was rich. A few years ago, he had opened his own company, Eb-Ervescence, that filtered out Watson Water and put the contents into bottles. Yes, water was doing much better than dirt.

Cyrus knew his brother Eb was rich. They bumped into each other every couple of years. Cyrus, however, was a private man. Eb never learned that Cyrus had married 10 years ago and had twins, nor that he'd lost his wife, Flo, to the elements. Cyrus never told the children that they had a wealthy relative. He said he didn't want them growing restless. Some called it pride, but pride is a vice, and Cyrus wasn't a sinning man. Some called it stubbornness, which is a negative trait, but not a sin, so Cyrus called it stubbornness, too. Flo, to her death, had called it The Cyrus Husking Perpetual Motion Machine.

Bess put on her cleaning mitts. "Billy, don't you think it was a Christmas miracle that sent Dr. Montgomery to our door when you was sick? He saved your life."

"I call it coincidence," said Billy. He stood on a ladder over Bess. "If Santa is real, why did he stop coming here five years ago? Why did he stop coming the same year that Mama died?"

"He didn't stop coming," said Bess. She was digging ashes out of the oven. "He just stopped bringing presents. Maybe he thought because we were sad he didn't want to bother us. Maybe he ran out of toys with so many kids in the world." She clapped her ashen mitts in Billy's face and put him in a cloud.

Cyrus pushed back his hair, adjusted his coat, and knocked on Eb's back door. Eb answered. He was surprised to see Cyrus, and it took a moment to adjust. Then he let out a jolly laugh and gave his brother a hug. He welcomed him into the warmth of his spacious living room.

Cyrus barely recognized his older brother. Eb had put on a good amount of weight. His hair had turned white and looked like it hadn't been cut in awhile. "So how's the farming business? Hoe, hoe, hoe? Ho, ho, ho," said Eb. He didn't know yet why Cyrus had come.

Why had Cyrus come? What had defeated his stubbornness? He knew the answer. He did it for the kids. He was used to roughing it, but it was proving too hard on the children. "Eb, I need help," said Cyrus flatly.

Eb sat down in his best chair and held his little brother Cyrus on his lap. "What can I get you?"

Cyrus gave his brother's beard a healthy tug. "Is this real?" he asked.