For a moment, Ike didn’t give any indication of having heard, not taking his eyes off the shining tree.  Then, without turning to look at Emma, he answered.

<We didn’t have Christmas trees at the mission.  The sisters said it was....> The motion of his hands ceased, not having a sign for the word he wanted next.  Quickly, he reached back on the table and grabbed a blank sheet of his drawing paper that was laying there and finding his pencil, proceeded to write one word.

“Pagan,” Emma finished his sentence by reading the word out-loud after he handed her the paper, and Ike nodded.

 Now Emma knew why this tree had Ike so transfixed.  It must have been the first one he’d seen in years!  Involuntarily, Emma’s eyes started to smolder a little.  Not have Christmas trees!  How could any place claiming to raise children not allow Christmas trees!

Noticing the look on her face Ike felt compelled to say something in the sisters’ defense.  They hadn’t been intentionally cruel to him, and their errors had been innocent ones, even if they had hurt the silent little boy.  But they had done the best a group of overstretched women could to raise and care for an orphanage full of children.  It wasn’t their fault if a few got forgotten in the corners. 

<It was okay.  We still got a present every year.  They were always fun until one of the other boys would steal mine,> he signed with a sad smile.

This confession, said so resignedly, nearly broke Emma’s heart.  Her mind raced through all the wonders of childhood, and Christmas in particular, that all children should enjoy, and that this boy had been denied.  Having nothing to say to words like that, Emma just returned Ike’s sad smile and sat there sipping her tea.  She was sure Ike, never one for much conversation, had said all he would for the evening unless prompted, when he suddenly raised his hands again.

<My Mama loved Christmas trees.  Every year Papa would bring her the best one he could find, even if he had to travel miles to get it.>

Emma watched his words in surprise.  Ike had never before spoken of his family to her and Emma had never asked, learning all she needed to know from Buck.  She knew how much it still hurt Ike to talk about them, but for some reason the absence of the others’ prying eyes and the presence of the tree had put Ike in the mood to open the doors of his memory.

<My sister,> he signed followed by a gesture Emma was unfamiliar with.  Ike noticed her confusion and paused long enough to write another word and show it to Emma: Essie.  She nodded that she would remember the sign.

<My sister, Essie, and I would spend hours decorating it.  Then Mama would set out her glass statues of the Holy Family under it as she told us the story, and then Mama would put her golden star on top of the tree and we would all sing a Christmas song.>   

“My mama had a golden star too, Ike.  I still have it, but I don’t put it on the tree anymore, it’s too special,” Emma said, feeling the need to share something as well after listening to Ike’s memories.

Ike turned and smiled his sweet smile at her before gazing back at the tree.  After a few minutes, however, he rose and walked over to the bunk-beds he shared with Buck, and reaching under the bottom one, dragged out the small wooden trunk that held all his belongings.  Curiously, Emma watched as he reached inside and pulled out two items before closing it and returning to his chair.  He set one on the floor out of Emma’s sight, and then sat for a long time turning the other over in his hands.  Finally, he handed it to Emma for her to see.  It was the figure of a tiny horse, expertly carved out of wood.

<Papa made that for me for Christmas when I was little,> he explained, his hands moving slowing.

With misty eyes, Emma gazed at the toy, noting the shiny surface, polished smooth, no doubt from years of holding.  It could just fit into the palm of a child’s hand.  A million thoughts raced through her mind, but the only thing she managed to choke out was the most insignificant of all, “Does it have a name?”

Ike’s face split with his customary grin, not the sad one he’d been using for the last hour.  He quickly reached for the paper and wrote on it again, then handed it to Emma.

“Turdunt?” Emma repeated back with a puzzled laugh.  “Why did ya name him that?”

<Because that’s the sound horses make when they run!> Ike signed and then proceeded to show her by rapidly clapping his hands together and then slapping them one at a time on each leg.  He repeated the motion several times, and then Emma could hear it, too.  Turdunt, turdunt, turdunt: the rhythm of a horse’s hooves striking the ground; and a perfectly logical name for a horse in the mind of a child! 

“Well, that’s a unique name for sure,” she spoke as she laughed merrily.  Then sobering again, she handed the toy carefully back to the young man.  “He’s a beautiful memory, Ike.”

Ike stood and returned the horse to his box before coming back to his chair by the stove.  But instead of sitting down again, he came and stood next to Emma, and she noticed that he was now holding a package, carefully wrapped in brown paper.

“What’s this?” she asked, taking the parcel he held out to her.

<It’s for you.  It’s your Christmas present.  You can open it now if you want.>  Having said this, Ike ducked his head shyly, walked over to the door, and started putting on his coat.“Wait.  Where are you going, Ike?”

<I need to feed the animals,> he answered simply, and then he was gone into the night.

Emma sat for a minute staring at the package in her hands and thinking of the young man who had just given it to her.  Finally, she carefully tore the paper away to reveal the gift.  There, laying in her lap, was a soft sketch of the Holy Family in a rough, handmade wooden frame.  Tears welled up in Emma’s eyes and fell freely down her cheeks at the sight.  It was only three days ago she had complained at supper about not having anything nice to decorate for Christmas with.  She had thought no one had heard her through Jimmy and Cody’s loud dispute, but someone had.  The quietest one of them all had listened to her through the noise, and had obviously spent long hours making the gift she now held in her hands, hurrying to get it done so she could use it for the season.

In reverence, Emma gazed down at the drawing.  Rough though it was, to her it was beautiful.  There was Joseph, standing in the background, protecting his family from all the world.  And there in the front was Mary, tenderly cradling her Child, the Son of God, in her arms.  Emma wondered if a young mother ever knew the impression her words made on her son, for Ike to draw the mother and Child so tenderly.  Still overcome with emotion, Emma muttered belatedly to the empty bunkhouse, “Thank you, Ike.”

And somewhere not so far away, another mother gazed down at her now grown son walking slowly through the radiant moonlight toward an old barn, and smiled through her tears.