Meadowlarks by Thomas Holladay (novels to improve english TXT) 📗

He slowed and followed a wide curve to the left as the narrow highway climbed steeply up the edge of a cliff, probably chiseled from solid granite back in the gold rush days. Cliffs crowded both sides, one up and one down.

Clouds thickened as the road climbed.

He turned on his headlights.

“Jesus.” He’d forgotten to get gas. He looked down, not used to this car, taking a few seconds to find the fuel gage, less than a quarter tank.

Jesus.

A solid rock face loomed in front of his car and he instinctively swerved left. He looked over the downhill cliff to his left, nothing out there but air and treetops, and he veered back to the right. Back on track, going slower, he decided to never look at these gages again.

Not while I'm moving.

Thin sheets of water ran down and crossed the road everywhere, melting snow. All would turn to ice if it got cold enough.

And it will.

The sign, Sonora Summit, stood out in his headlights where barren rocks rose tall on both sides of the road, like she'd said. The turnoff was to the right. The highway down to Sonora had not been cleared, still snowed in.

He turned downhill and followed a wider road for more than a mile before the road ducked under a canopy of giant redwood trees. Broad branches hung low with heavy snow, icicles hanging as long as five feet.

Gorgeous.

He crossed a bridge over a river and the road took a wide turn to the right, entering a small alpine village.

Jacobsen’s Emporium stood on the left like she’d said. He parked in front at 1:42pm.

It was cold outside but he left his overcoat in the car anyway. He scrambled up the front steps and into the store, nice and warm from an old wood burning stove in the center of the large space. Several empty chairs had been arranged around the stove, a meeting place.

The crowded store had been tightly filled with shelves of canned goods, tissue paper, light bulbs and a lot of other essentials.

“Hello. Merry Christmas.” A tall, slender old man in a long leather apron stood behind glass-front deli counter at the back of the store, smiling at him over a jar of cookies and several upside-down, white coffee mugs. “You must be that Kirby fella from down below.”

“Carolyn told you I’d be coming, huh?”

“Ya, sure. She said you prob’ly need directions.”

“I do. But first, you know where I can get some gas?”

Chapter Nineteen

Jason had gotten together with Willis a few days after Thanksgiving, his first opportunity to speak with him alone. He'd needed advice on what to get his mom for Christmas. If anybody knew stuff like that, it had to be Willis. Maybe John Crow, but Willis for sure.

Willis hadn’t said anything, of course. He nearly never said anything. He'd taken Jason into the tack room and shown him a paperback book on leather-craft, all worn and faded from use. Later that same day, Jason had snuck into his mom’s closet and borrowed a cotton belt from one of her summer dresses. She’d never miss it this time of year.

Willis had provided a strap of thick leather the next day, along with a catalogue of silver stuff for saddles, boots and belts, and some pages of men’s and women’s rings and bracelets and stuff, all made of silver. He’d helped Jason choose a belt buckle and matching tip for the other end and, together, they’d sized the leather strap for her waist and for the buckle and tip. Both ends needed to be narrower for the buckle and tip to work. The rest was fitted to her belt loops. That was for her name and decorative stamping and stuff.

Willis had helped him stencil the patterns for the design, flowers and leaves and stuff, and the style of the letters for her name. It all came from the one book, which made it easy to choose.

Willis had helped him stamp patterns into a different piece of leather and had familiarized Jason with the leather-craft tools hanging above the workbench.

When Jason had finally started on the belt, his confidence had grown. He knew she’d like it.

Willis had delivered the silver buckle and end tip a week later and had helped Jason with the final fitting.

So cool.

Mr. Jacobsen had delivered John Crow’s present two days before Christmas with some wrapping paper, ribbon and tape, so Jason had everything he needed.

Jason finished and wrapped his present for Willis last. That was the only one he wasn’t sure about, whether or not Willis would like it. It was hard to figure what Willis liked.

After feeding the horses on Christmas Eve Day, Jason pulled his presents from different hiding places around the tack room and started back for the house.

A big car had parked at the bottom of the front steps while Jason had been in the barn. Mr. Kirby got out of the car and started up the front steps.

Barnabas lowered his head and charged, not knowing Mr. Kirby.

Jason snapped his fingers.

The dog stopped and looked back, asking why Jason had stopped him.

“He’s a big stupid jerk. You don’t need to make friends with him.”

The poop-head didn’t even know Jason and Barnabas were climbing the steps behind him, knocking on the door and not looking back. He held a small package behind his back, probably for Mom.

Jason held his dog and waited for Mom to open the front door.

Mom finally opened the door and Mr. Kirby showed her the package. “Merry Christmas.”

She took the package and the poop-head threw both arms around her, trying to kiss her.

She used the package like a shield and wiggled out to arm's length. She didn’t like it much. She saw Jason and Barnabas and smiled. “Jason, look who’s here.”

Mr. Kirby let go and turned to look.

Mom stepped back into the house.

Jason pulled Barnabas between them and hurried down into the living room. He looked back.

They still stood up in the entry, Barnabas sniffing at the poop-head's pants