The weather turned brisk; the warmth of the sun erased by the constant breeze. The last crimson streaks in the sky were fading. Kurt's hands stilled as he listened closely, placed the dish on the table, and called to Don. They raced outside together. Kurt stopped near the water and pointed up as the honking sounds became clearer. A flock of geese flew overhead, the calls awakening memories in Kurt as he and Don watched until the birds passed out of sight.
"What are they?" Don asked.
"Canada geese. It's the first flight I've heard this year. I love to hear them overhead, spring and fall. There's something wonderful about the way they fly in perfect formation, calling to each other, sometimes shifting leaders, but always knowing the direction." He turned back toward the house. "We'll hear a lot more of them now."
"I've never seen any before."
"I know. This is one of the few places I've seen them. We're on the flyway."
"Where are they going?"
"They'll stop down on the Pea Island sanctuary for a while. There's food for them there. When it gets colder they'll move on to warmer climates."
As the weather became progressively colder, nightly fires from driftwood and storm broken branches which Don gathered and helped Kurt cut to length became a pleasant addition to the output of the furnace. They spent hours reading or Kurt and Erik would play together as Don, stretched on the floor before the fire, studied intently.
Early one evening, Don switched on the lights and opened the gate in response to the buzzer. Terry rode up on a trail bike. "Can I ask a big favor?"
"Sure. Come on in."
"Let's go to your room," Terry said as Don turned towards the library.
Don seated himself on the bed and looked at an indecisive Terry. "What's up?"
"I ... well, I was wondering if you think I could ask a favor of Mr. Lawrence, and maybe Lindstrom, too."
"Depends. Like what?"
"You know the chorus we have at school? Miz Johnson and me are trying to get up the Christmas program. She's got a lot of early American Christmas music, but we're tired of singing with that beat-up old piano. On one of the pieces it says it's fer harpsichord. You think Mr. Lawrence would maybe bring his and play for us?"
Don shook his head. "Wow, you don't want much."
"I don't mean to put him to a lot of bother, but we've had the same old thing every year, and pop said if Erik would play, we might be able to have it at the church and use the organ. I know it ain't a good one like yours, but we ain't never sung with an organ before."
"I don't know. We can ask Kurt. Erik's at the station."
Kurt lowered the paper when they entered. "I thought I recognized your voice, Terry."
"Evenin', Mr. Lawrence." He turned to Don.
"Kurt, Terry's got a great idea, but we need your help."
"Sit down and tell me what you have in mind."
"Like I told Don, I'm president of chorus this year and we want to do somethin' different fer our Christmas program. We thought if it weren't askin' too much, you might bring your harpsichord and play for us."
Kurt frowned in thought. "These are delicate instruments so they don't take well to being moved very often. What are you doing?"
"We've got a lot of early American stuff and one of the pieces says it's written fer a harpsichord. That's why I thought maybe yours would go good."
"Much music of that period was written for it, but before I commit myself, I'd have to see what you're doing."
"Sure. I can let Don have my folder at school and he can bring it to you."
"How many are there of you?"
"In chorus? Sixteen. Four fer each part."
"Suppose you don't say anything about this to anyone until I give you an answer."
"Okay. Thanks, Mr. Lawrence."
Outside, Terry leaned on his bike. "Do you think he will?"
"I don't know. When he's like this, it's hard to tell, but I'll work on him."
"What do you think, Don?" Kurt asked when Don came back in.
"I know Terry's worked pretty hard. He's as serious about chorus as he is basketball."
"You know that I can't carry the harpsichord back and forth every time they practice, and I'm not about to leave it at the school. Assuming I do this, they'll have to come up here for at least two rehearsals. Do you think they could arrange that?"
"Some of the guys have dune buggies, and there's a Jeep or two."
"Then give me a chance to look at the music. If we can work it out, I'll talk with their director and Ed about getting them up here."
"Do you think Erik would play the organ if they can have it at the church?"
"I doubt it; you know how he is. But you can ask him if you want. Do you really want to do this for Terry?"
Don nodded. "It'll be fun."
When Don arrived home from school, Kurt was rummaging through the top drawer of the desk for a stamp. He laid a snapshot from the drawer to one side and continued to search. Don picked it up, seeing an elderly man leaning against one of the trees in the garden. His sleeves, rolled above the elbow, revealed still muscular forearms. A thatch of wild white hair topped a tanned face etched with character lines instead of deeper wrinkles. It was a face that inspired confidence, while the twinkle in the eyes essayed a playful nature.
"Who's this?"
Kurt glanced up. "Uncle Paul. That must have been taken only a few months before his death because I haven't seen it before. I'd like to get it enlarged and framed. Remind me when we're going into Elizabeth City sometime."
After Kurt had found a stamp and stuck it on the envelope, Don handed him the folder of music.
Kurt flipped through it. "This isn't bad. I've played most of it." He pulled a book from the organ bench. "Several of the pieces are in here. Erik's been playing them, too."
Kurt was playing one when Erik came in. "What's with the Christmas music?"
"Don's gotten me in trouble and I think he's after you, too."
Don explained the plan to Erik. "Will you play?"
"I guess I owe you one, babe, but what's the big deal? I mean you aren't in the chorus, are you?"
"No. I don't have a free period, but I like Terry and some of the others."
"If they're going to come out here to practice, maybe I can trade duty with one of the guys."
"Look at the music with me, Erik, and let's divide it up." Kurt called.
"The Antes, Tans'ur, and the Wood are definitely for organ. Hell, you could play that; the pedal is simple, one note at a time."
"You play. They're going to want to do some carols and you can work up some of your wild accompaniments."
Erik glanced at his watch. "I'm going to get killed. The chief told me to get right back. I'm playing the midnight Mass Christmas Eve. I came to ask if you want to go. The Chief is letting me off long enough for that, but we're taking the duty so the others can be with their families."
"We wouldn't miss it if you're playing."
On his way to bed Don picked up the photograph of Kurt's uncle and carried it to his room.
Don caught Terry's eye in English class and held up his hand, thumb and forefinger in a circle.
"Warner, are you paying attention?"
"Yes, ma'am."
Terry grabbed him as soon as class was over. "You mean he will?"
"Yeah. And Erik, too."
"Yea!" Terry's shout of joy brought a disapproving look from a passing teacher.
"Look, you've got to get your dad to bring Miss Johnson out Sunday to talk about it and hear what Kurt and Erik have worked up."
"Okay. I'll see her in class and ask pop tonight."
Don shopped for Kurt after school. When he arrived home, Erik was practicing.
"I've got to work on this music for Mass, Don. Fix me some coffee, will you?"
Don picked up the ash tray to empty it. From the number of butts in it, he knew Erik was finding some of the music difficult. Several times Erik launched into a tirade of swearing when he misplayed something. By dinner time, he was drained. "It's been a long time since I've worked this hard. If that music for you and Terry was as difficult, I wouldn't do it."
"Why so much?"
"Festival and Eucharist. I play the whole time."
"Poor Erik," Don moaned.
"Oh, shut up!"
The practice schedule for the chorus worked out, Erik took Thanksgiving duty for one of the other crewmen to be free for practice near the time of the program. At the invitation of the chief, Kurt and Don went to the station for the holiday dinner. Though they had been planning the program and Erik had been practicing for the service, Christmas as a personal thing had not become conscious for Kurt until he sat at the table, listening to two of the crewmen from distant places planning trips home on holiday leave.
'Of course we must celebrate,' he thought. There were he and Don, and Erik and the chief had no one else. Before they left the station, he was able to get Tony off to one side to find that Erik, the chief and one of the local men were taking all duty Christmas Eve and day to free the others. Those living in the village would get Christmas Day, subject to call, while those from further away would get a few days leave. Kurt knew from experience the loneliness the day would hold for them. He also found that Don was particularly envious of Tony's watch. The chief, he already knew, had long been the butt of station jokes for the old robe he wore in the privacy of his quarters when the winds blew cold.
The next morning Erik bounded into the house. "You two want to go to Norfolk? I'm going to practice at the church and set registration. You two could shop or whatever."
"It'll be the only chance we'll have until the school closes. Let's get changed, Don."
They dropped Erik off at the church and drove to one of the large malls, going their separate ways after agreeing where to meet.
Kurt was waiting by the fountain when Don finally came up laden with parcels.
"You buy the place out?"
"Not hardly, but I think I'm finished."
"Good. So am I. Let's see if Erik's ready."
Don climbed the stairs to the gallery to see Erik's blond head bent over the music. "Ready?"
"Just a minute." Erik switched the instrument off.
"I'm not getting a preview?"
"You'll be sick of all of it from hearing me practice. Save hearing it on this organ for Mass."
Excitement ran high when the place of rehearsal was announced. Terry and Don were besieged with questions, but grinned and said nothing.
The evening of the practice, Erik appeared with a tray of doughnuts made by the station cook and helped Don make a large pot of cocoa. The chorus arrived in convoy, headed by Terry and his father.
"Okay, boys and girls, places. Quickly now," their director called. They fell into position against the window wall. "Let's begin with the Antes."
They started a beat behind Erik. "Again," he called. They began correctly, but failed to carry through a phrase. In frustration, Erik brought both hands down on the keys. Several jumped at the torrent of sound.
Miss Johnson rushed over. "I'm sorry. I just can't get them to phrase properly. They pushed chorus on me because I have some piano. What can we do?"
Erik ignored her. "Kurt, come play for me." He stood in front of the group, scowling at them with narrowed eyes. "You kids may have good blend, but it's attention to details that makes or breaks a performance. Mr. Lawrence and I agreed to help because we were told you really wanted to do this program. Now if you want it, pay attention. You know the music, so look at me. I'll give you the cues you need."
They went through the piece again. "Better. Again." For two full hours, Erik drilled them, Kurt moving between the instruments. At last Erik took pity. "Take a break. Don's got something in the kitchen if you want a drink."
"I didn't know it would be this hard," Terry complained to Don.
"I told you he's a perfectionist. If you want to do it with him, you've got to do it right."
Erik called the group back, driving them until he sensed their fatigue and their teacher protested the late hour.
During lunch on Monday, Terry told Don there had been surprisingly little grumbling about the way Erik had worked them. In fact, they seemed to have developed a new pride. Then he added, "I need your help bad."
"What's wrong?"
"Sammy got sick and it ain't likely he'll be able to sing. I know you can sing 'cause I heard you at rehearsal. Will you fill in fer Sammy?"
"You want me in chorus?"
"I wanted you before, but we had all the parts equal and nobody wanted to bust it up. Can you learn the music in time?"
"Sure. Kurt'll help me."
"Okay. Here's Sammy's folder. I'm countin' on you."
That afternoon and the next, Kurt rehearsed with him. Don's hard work was repaid by Erik's praise.
"I didn't know you could sing so well. You know the music better than any of the others."
Erik stopped the final rehearsal only once to clarify a point. "Now, let's try those carols everybody is going to sing." All went well until he tore into a free accompaniment. The chorus members became so fascinated they stopped singing. "Keep going," Erik screamed over the torrent of sound.
Terry punched Don on the arm. "I get tired just watching him. I wish I could hear him when we weren't singing."
"Come with us to Mass on Christmas Eve. He's playing the whole service."
"I ain't Catholic."
"We're Lutheran. Ask your dad if you can come with us."
Thursday afternoon, the harpsichord, swaddled in old blankets, was moved to the church. The boys arranged things, placing the harpsichord at one end of the platform under Kurt's watchful eye, and moving the electronic organ to the other. Erik tinkered with the circuitry of the instrument until the reed stops came out in a blaze of sound.
Word had spread through the small community; the church was packed. While the gentle harpsichord evoked much curiosity, Erik's playing dazzled the congregation, but no more so than the precision with which the group sang. There was no movement while Erik played the postlude. At its conclusion, prolonged applause.
The harpsichord back in place, Erik returned to the station. Don was tired and happy. The kids had accepted him, several hinting they would like to return to the house. Kurt felt rewarded by their acceptance of Don.
Kurt awoke with a start. They had overslept and Don would be late for school. He started to get out of bed, but lay back as he realized the holiday had begun. After breakfast, he and Don went to the village to find a tree, surprised when Terry hailed them. "Hi, Don, Mr, Lawrence."
"You working here?"
"I help out Miz Daniels at Christmas. You want a tree?"
They searched the bundles until they found a fir that pleased them.
As they loaded the tree in the Jeep, Terry hesitantly asked Kurt, "There's four of us want to hear Lindstrom play Christmas Eve. Would it be all right? I mean Don said something about Mass."
"Of course, visitors are always welcome," Kurt replied. "How are you going?"
"That's the trouble. Pop won't go. I hope Sammy can get his old man's station wagon, but he won't let him drive it far as Norfolk after dark. If he can get it, would you drive?"
"I'm sorry. I'd rather not drive someone else's car, especially with all of you in it." He sensed Terry's disappointment. "But I'll see if Erik and I can work something out."
Earlier, Kurt and Don had gathered pine, cedar, and holly boughs which Kurt tied into garlands and draped the mantel. A large wreath adorned the front door, while two smaller wreaths hung on the gateposts. He and Erik fitted the tree in the stand and placed it by the glass doors, well away from the fireplace. Don and Erik were jubilant as they decorated the tree that evening.
"Turn down the lights and I'll plug it in," called Don.
Six hundred miniature lights flashed on. "Beautiful," Kurt commented.
"Prettiest tree I've ever seen," stated Erik, draping a long arm over Don's shoulders. "We did a good job, babe."
After Erik left for the station, Kurt went to the kitchen for a cup of tea. When he came back to the library, Don was still sitting in the chair looking fixedly at the tree with an odd expression.
"Are you unhappy with it?"
Don turned his gaze slowly on Kurt. "No, it's beautiful. I never had a home and a Christmas tree before. But I was thinking, could we have Christmas a day late?"
"Why?"
"Erik and the chief have duty Christmas day, so I thought maybe we could go to the station and spend the day with them or something and when the guys come back from leave, they could come over here for a real Christmas. You know, with dinner and everything."
"Are you sure you want to do this?"
Don looked at him gravely. "I know we have each other, Kurt, but Erik and the chief are part of us, too. They don't have anybody but us and I know what it's like not having anyone at Christmas."
Touched by the boy's thoughtfulness, Kurt answered softly. "You know how I feel about Erik and the chief, Don, and I had thought about the same, but I didn't want to disappoint you. Even if we wait, it will be Christmas for us. Thank you."
Christmas Eve the Jeep started with difficulty as they went to the station to pick up Erik and then on to meet Don's friends at the agency where Kurt had rented a station wagon. The high spirits of the youngsters, joking and singing, caused the miles to shrink, the cold to fade into insignificance.
Erik parked in the lot behind the church and led the way in. They were so early that the only light was shed by the sanctuary lamp hanging above the altar and the lights on the towering Chrismon tree in the south transept.
"Gee, a Christmas tree in church," whispered one of the boys.
"No, it's a Chrismon tree," corrected Erik. "There's a difference. Go take a look. There're folders on the table which explain what each of the symbols means. I'll get some lights on."
With the exception of Kurt, the others followed Erik to the gallery to look at the organ console. Their curiosity was further aroused by the long table holding bells.
"What are they for?"
"Handbells. You'll hear them during communion."
"How do you play all four keyboards at once?" One of them asked as they gathered around the console.
"I don't, unless I couple them together. Each has it's own purpose. Here. I'll show you." Erik slipped on the bench, giving them a short demonstration. He stopped when the members of the brass quartet and the timpanist arrived. "You all go down now. We have to get our music set up. Look at the Chrismon tree, if you want. Kurt will save you seats."
The gold and white holy symbols fascinated the group as they tried to match each with the explanation given in the folder.
"Kurt, Don, I should have known you'd be here with Erik playing."
"Evening, Pastor. These are my friends." Don introduced the group.
After greeting them, the pastor explained the significance of the tree, stopping as the sexton, having lighted the candles in the nave, dimmed the lights. When the others were seated between them, Kurt and Don helped them place the page markers in the service books.
Heard but faintly in the church, the tower bells began a familiar carol. As their sound faded away, Erik began to play so softly that Don was unaware, but the music soon swelled about them until he reached the portion of the fantasy he'd played for them at the house. The volume made any whispers impossible until the reverberations died away at the end. Terry and the others watched the procession with awe, then haltingly followed Don in the chants. Four mouths dropped open at the exuberantly loud organ, brass, and tympani fanfare for the Gospel procession. At midnight the tower bells rang out again as the first half of the service ended.
"Merry Christmas," Don whispered to Terry as the pastor lighted the Christ candle in the advent wreath.
Only Terry joined Don and Kurt at the communion rail. Don had to stifle a snicker at Terry's expression when he drank the wine, expecting the grape juice used in his own church. He crossed himself and quickly walked with Kurt and Terry through the side aisle back to their pew.
Erik's playing of the recessional surpassed Don's wildest expectations. The great stone building seemed to shake. When Don looked up to the gallery, he could just see the tiny green light on the console which Erik had told him meant that everything on the instrument was wide open.
As they passed through the door into the narthex, the pastor winked at Don. "Erik plays magnificently, doesn't he?"
"Loud, too."
"I know. Every time he plays for us I check the stonework to see if there are any cracks in the mortar. Merry Christmas to you all."
Erik joined them, and pushed open the heavy door. A light snow had begun to fall. With a look of delight, Don stuck out his tongue, catching a few flakes and savoring the thrill.
"Oh, damn," Erik grumbled, "I hate snow."
"It's beautiful."
"Yeah. If you can stay inside and don't have to get out in it."
Kurt's smile encompassed both of them. "It's Christmas. This makes it complete."
"Will there be any at home?" Don asked.
"I doubt it. We're too close to the ocean. The Gulf Stream is so close in that even if it's snowing it probably won't lay."
"At least I got to see some." Don pushed between Erik and Kurt, wrapping an arm around each. "Merry Christmas."
By the time they crossed the state line, the snowfall had begun to diminish and soon vanished all together.
Don awakened first. Once he had filled the coffee maker and put water on for Kurt's tea, he went to the tree. Looking at the colorful packages he could barely restrain himself from tearing into them. There would be one or two, at least, with his name on them, for the first time something other than a stranger's gift to charity.
His mind flicked back to the Christmas before, how he'd spent it scrubbing pots in a second-rate restaurant. The water barely warm, the suds disappeared into a scum of grease on the water-filled sink while another stack of crockery awaited. A movement on the floor caught his eye. He reached out with his left foot, stomped a cockroach, and shuddered. The smell of grease and strong detergent filled the steamy heat of the kitchen. On his way to the cheap rooming house after work, the bitter cold of late night cut through his light jacket, chilling him to the bone. There were no gifts, the only sign of the holiday a tattered plastic tree on a grubby oilcloth covered table where his landlady sat with a glass in her hand, the bottle of cheap whiskey already half empty. But at least he'd had food, two meals of leftovers and the cook had been less abusive than usual. The owner had even handed him a ten at closing time and wished him a happy holiday.
His eyes swept the room and returned to the tree. How lucky could a guy be? A great place to live with somebody to make it home and care that he went to school. He glanced at the hook, people who didn't care how many hands a guy had. The last gurgles of the coffeemaker caught his attention. He poured a cup for himself and fixed Kurt's tea, taking it to his room.
"Merry Christmas, Kurt." His interrupted reflections overwhelmed, his voice broke, silent tears streamed.
"What's the matter?" Kurt asked anxiously, taking the mugs and setting them on the bedside table.
"N... nothing."
"Come on, now, it's Christmas. You're supposed to be happy."
"Nothing's the matter," he choked out. "You made everything right."
"How?"
"You made this my home and all."
"You've worked for everything you've gotten."
Don shook his head. "For work you get paid. You've given me a lot more."
"Like what?"
The quiet answer welded them together. "Love."
"Merry Christmas, Chief."
"Merry Christmas, boys."
Erik was bent over the oven when Don found him in the galley. "Merry Christmas, Erik. You cooking dinner?"
"Merry Christmas, Don. Yeah, Cookie's got a bunch of kids, no need for him to stay just for us. Steve's in the radio room."
"Smells good."
"I think we'll be able to eat it. Come on, this can take care of itself for a while." They found Kurt and the chief in the small day room talking. While Erik joined their conversation, Don switched on the television set. This was the only thing he wanted that Kurt refused to have.
Later in the afternoon, Erik sensed Don's restlessness. He left the room to return in a few moments pulling his pea-coat on over the heavy navy blue sweater he'd been wearing. He tugged the knit watchcap lower to cover his ears, and pulled knit mittens from his pocket.
"Come on, Don, let's walk that dinner down."
"Okay." Don picked up his heavy car-coat. A fur-lined leather glove covered his hand. His head bare, a pair of ear-muffs protected his ears. Coat collars pulled up against the chill spray, they ambled along the beach, kicking at wave strewn detritus. The surf stretched endlessly before them, empty of life save for a few gulls dipping in their erratic flight to snap up bits of bread Don tossed into the air. The sky hung low, a sullen faded gray, dark and indefinable where it met the ocean at the horizon. They walked for some distance along the beach, lost in thought. As the feeble light began to fade, Don realized that Erik's solemn expression was directed at him. He wondered what thoughts were going through his mind until Erik stopped and spoke.
"You're amazing, Don."
"How?"
"The way you use your hook. Except for a few little things you can't do with it, it doesn't seem to bother you."
"It doesn't, really. I mean I never had but one hand. I learned to do everything without it."
Erik looked at him thoughtfully for a moment. "Yeah. I see what you mean, now. You didn't have to learn to do anything over. I mean it wasn't like Kurt having his leg all those years and then having to learn to walk again with crutches or that plastic thing. No wonder he hates it so bad."
"I never thought about that. I guess I was lucky that way."
"Then why are you so sensitive about it?"
"I don't know, except it always made me different from the other kids and they were curious. They used to call me Captain Hook and things like that. It hurt when they did because I wanted to be like them. Maybe I would have been adopted if I'd had it, but nobody wanted a crippled kid. That's why I couldn't find anything to do when I came down here. Nobody would give me a chance to show 'em I could do something, but I can."
"I know. Remember you told me how I scared you because I'm so big? Well, it's the same. Nobody wanted me because I was always so damn big for my age."
"That wouldn't keep you from being adopted, would it?"
"Yeah. People want kids who look like kids. One time there was a couple came to the home looking for an older kid. They were the first ones ever came to the place I wanted to go home with, but the guy looked at me and said, 'Who'd want a big clumsy ox like that.' It hurt so bad I started to cry. Then he said, 'God, it's a cry-baby, too.' I ran outside and hid because I knew I'd never have a chance. But pop and mom didn't care."
"Then I guess you know what it's like to have people think you can't do anything just because you're different."
"I sure do. Pop and mom didn't care I was big . They gave me what they could, but they were too old to adopt me. I wish I was as laid back as Kurt. Nothing ever seems to bother him. We're lucky he doesn't care."
"No."
"What do you mean no? He cares or what?"
"Most likely he wouldn't be here and even look at us if he hadn't got hurt, too."
"I see what you mean. Anyway, he's made this a very special Christmas for us, Don. We both got what we wanted most and didn't think we'd ever have."
"Like what?"
"A home with someone who loves us. That's all I've ever really wanted."
Don looked at Erik, face serious. "Yeah. Even if there's nothing else, it's the most wonderful thing I'll ever get. I still can't believe it's happened, sometimes. I mean it wasn't that long ago I couldn't see any reason for living."
Suddenly, Erik's arms extended, he took a step and wrapped them around Don, hugging him tightly. "I love you, Don."
Don returned the embrace. "I love you, too, big guy."
Erik's expression cleared. He smiled, one arm remained draped around Don's shoulders as they started back toward the station. In the distance the station lights flashed on, making them aware of the darkness.
"We need some coffee to warm us up," Erik said as he shed his peacoat. "Anybody else?"
"Might as well fix us all some, and some sandwiches from the rest of that turkey," called the chief.
After they had finished eating, Kurt drank the rest of his coffee then switched off the TV. "Time for us to be going, Don."
As they stood in the station doorway, the chief placed his hand on Don's shoulder. "I know what this Christmas must have meant for you, son. Thank you for giving it up to spent time with an old man."
"I didn't give up anything. This way we'll have Christmas twice. You and Erik be sure to come early."
"Soon as I can pour some coffee in him so he'll be human and the first men come in," the chief promised.
With Kurt's arm around him, they took a last look at the tree before going to bed. "It was hard, Kurt, this is the first time I've had a real Christmas. But isn't that what it's all about? I mean liking someone enough to want to share it with them."
"How is it that you understand such things so well, Don?"
"I guess because of what I never had 'til now."
Erik and the chief entered the house before eight-thirty. Don hurried them to the table, ate rapidly, then kept them from lingering by grabbing their plates almost before the last bite had been taken. "Let's get to the tree," he begged.
"What's the hurry? There's nothing there for you, pest," Erik teased.
"I don't care if there isn't. I've got everything already."
"Like what?"
"I've got all of you, haven't I?'
"You surely do, son," the chief replied, "but there's obviously something there for somebody. I guess we might as well mess up all that pretty paper." He pulled up a chair as Don, Kurt, and Erik found places on the floor.
Don looked at the tag on a large package he'd pulled from the pile and handed it to the chief who almost reluctantly ripped away the wrappings and held up a heavy wool robe in navy blue, his initials embroidered on the pocket.
"Erik, you scoundrel, have you been repeating some of that barracks talk?"
"Not me, Chief. Course you don't know what Don's heard, what with him being underfoot all the time." He ducked a bow Don snatched from a package and threw at him.
"I thank you, Kurt. I guess the old one was getting pretty bad off. It'll be a pleasure to wear this."
"Here's one with your name on it, Don." Erik held out a slender parcel.
Don took the package gravely and held it, his hand caressing the colorful paper for a time before detaching the bow and carefully removing the wrapping.
Watching, Kurt remembered it had been the same with the birthday gifts.
"Hey, what are you being so slow for?" Erik asked, ripping open another gift.
"It's all so pretty, I ... I just want to make it last."
"Why? There's lots to go."
"Maybe, but I never had a Christmas before."
The chief bent forward and patted Don on the shoulder. "That's alright, son. Take as long as you want. I don't fault you none fer takin' all the pleasure you can."
"It's just so wonderful to have a real Christmas."
Don slowly removed the paper. At last the silver ID lay in his hand, his eyes wide. "The Guard crest and my name on it, too," he cried. The chief took the bracelet and fastened it around the plastic frame of the hook. When Don protested that it belonged on his wrist, the chief mumbled something about it getting in the way. In his excitement, Don accepted it without a thought.
Don and Kurt grew quiet as Erik handed the chief a large heavy box. In collusion with them, Erik had searched the man's quarters until he found the box containing the chief's many decorations shoved far back on the closet shelf. Erik had carefully mounted these on black velvet in a deep cherry frame. A small brass plaque at the bottom of the frame was engraved - Joseph W. Sloane, Chief Warrant Officer, United States Coast Guard.
"I hope we found them all, Chief."
The hands holding the frame trembled. "Why?"
"Because we're proud of you, Chief. You've become a father to us, as well as a friend." Kurt explained.
The chief turned away for a moment, dipping his hand into his pocket for a handkerchief.
Don handed identical packages to Kurt and Erik. "Be careful."
Erik held up a portrait of the chief. "Thanks, Don. Now I have everything I wanted."
The chief snorted. "Your brush lies, son. I never looked that good in my life."
"Aw, come on, Chief."
Kurt spread two, one of Erik from a photo of the summer - a laughing Erik, breeze tossed blond hair, the denim shirt open half way; and one of Don himself, serious as Kurt had often seen him when he was concentrating on some task. "You didn't forget!"
"I've had them done a while. Let's hang them along the stairs and have a rogues' gallery."
Erik withdrew another package from under the tree and handed it to Don.
"A Walkman!" He exclaimed. "Thanks, Erik. This will be great when I'm outdoors."
Don reached well under the tree and withdrew the one gift remaining, handing it to Kurt.
"What's this?"
"Open it."
Kurt stripped the wrapping away and looked at the portrait of his uncle that Don had painted from the snapshot. Tears started down his cheeks; he pulled Don into a tight hug. "This is the best gift you could have given me. He was always there for me when I needed someone. I only wish I had been more attentive while he was alive."
The chief leaned over and took the portrait from Kurt's hands. He looked at it and patted Kurt on the shoulder. "He knew how much you loved him, son. He talked often of how well you were doing. He was proud of you."
Amid the wadded up paper and empty boxes, Kurt located the slender box he'd tucked into the thick lower branches of the tree and held it out. "Don."
He sat speechless, mouth open. It was the watch he'd dreamed of. His eyes glowed as Kurt slipped the expansion band over his wrist.
He hugged Kurt. "It's even better than Tony's."