Synopsis: The Cartwright’s hire a new hand and his wife.  A young Little Joe is especially drawn to the wife.  The true meaning of Christmas revealed once again.

Rating: T  due to language  (24,300 words)

What Child is This?

“10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1…” The boy held his breath as he waited for the teacher’s final words of this semester.  Of this year.  “Just one more year and I’ll never have to hear those words again,” Joe Cartwright reminded himself as he sat in eager anticipation.

 

“Attention, students.” The teacher rapped on the top of his desk with a ruler.  The class calmed as Mr.  Schrader’s hard gaze swept the classroom.  Although this would be his last day in the classroom, there were still some unfinished pieces of business to which he wanted to attend.  “You all know this is my last day at your school.  I’m sure you’ve heard that my sister in St.  Louis is ill.  I’ll be leaving to help her.  I have already been assured a job at the Dayton School which, unfortunately, requires I leave my position here in the middle of the school year.” Mr.  Schrader paused in his recitation.  “A replacement has been found, but, she will not be available until January 21.” Joe contemplated what the new teacher might be like, but the thought passed briefly as he joined in the collective sigh of appreciation about that last comment as the noise level increased.

 

Rapping the ruler again, he waited patiently for the buzzing to stop, then continued.  “I expect you all to use this free time wisely.”

 

Joe leaned over to James Williams, the boy in the desk next to him.  “Yeah, hunting elk, riding fences, sledding.  Think that’s what he has in mind?” he asked mischievously.  James started to reply when he noticed the teacher had stopped talking and was walking toward them.

 

“Mr.  Cartwright.” Joe cringed, realizing that once again he’d been caught.  “It distresses me so, not to have met the one specific goal I had most hoped to meet for this school term.” Joe looked up, curious as to where this discussion was headed.  “Can you imagine what that particular goal was?”

 

Joe shook his head as Mr.  Schrader turned to face the rest of the class.  “One of my goals was to teach Joe Cartwright to speak when spoken to and to speak then and only then.” The class giggled nervously and Joe risked a glance at the man’s face, surprised to see a twinkle in the man’s eyes.  “I’ve worn out one cane on this young man already, though, and won’t jeopardize my new cane.” He smiled at the class, noticing them all relax.

 

“And I will say, Mr.  Cartwright, that your deportment has improved this school term as have your grades.” He handed Little Joe his report card.  “Your father shouldn’t chastise you this time, Joseph.  It’s a significant improvement from your mid term report.”

 

Joe reached up to take the report card, realizing that his father’s insistence that he do homework each night to be checked by him or Adam had actually been the cause of his improved marks.  It surely wasn’t any increased interest in school on Joe’s part.

 

Mr.  Schrader moved around the room, distributing the report cards to the students, making comments to each student as he did so.  That task completed, the teacher returned to the front of the class.  “I want to wish each of you a very Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year.” Waiting until the class had responded, he continued.  “Mr.  Cartwright, Mr.  Williams, I would like you two to remain after class and help me ready the room for the next teacher.” He ignored Little Joe as the boy rolled his eyes.  “I want all the boards erased, the erasers cleaned, desks moved to the side, and the floor swept and mopped.” He glanced casually at the boys.  “That shouldn’t take more than an hour or two.” He raised his eyebrows as he made eye contact with the two.

 

“Yes, sir,” the two replied morosely.  They moved to collect the erasers as the rest of the class joyously ran from the school.

 

“Damn you, Cartwright,” James muttered under his breath as the boys cleaned the blackboards.  “All I did was sit next to you.”

 

“Hey, who was I to think he’d do anything with school just about out,” Joe shot back defensively.

 

“Well, I got things to do and they don’t include hanging around here.”

 

Joe looked around quickly.  “What are you saying, Williams?”

 

“I’m saying, I’m out of here, that’s what I’m saying.  Schrader’s not even here.  He said he’d be back in an hour to see how we were doing.  Well, I’m going to be long gone by then.”

 

“You can’t,” Joe argued.

 

“Don’t bet that big ranch of your daddy’s on that, Little Joe.  What’s he gonna do? Come tell my pa on me? Hell, he’ll be leaving town in a few days.  He don’t care what we do.  Come on.  There’s still time to go sledding down Blackstone Hill.”

 

Joe debated his friend’s offer.  Sledding down Blackstone Hill, the highest, most steep hillside outside Virginia City was always lots of fun.  Someone always had a sled or toboggan to borrow and the ride down was a wild one.  In the end, though, he just shook his head.  “Nah, not this time.”

 

James just shrugged his shoulders and slipped out the side door.

 

It was an hour and a half later, as Joe was finishing mopping the floor, that Mr.  Schrader made his appearance.  “Where’s Mr.  Williams, Mr.  Cartwright?”

 

Joe shrugged his shoulders; hoping Mr.  Schrader wouldn’t question him too closely.  He wasn’t about ready to tell on his friend.  “Said he had to go.  Guess he did,” Joe responded tentatively.  He braced, waiting for the outburst he was sure would follow.  When it didn’t happen, he returned to his mopping.

 

“Uh, Mr.  Schrader,” Little Joe began a few minutes later.  The teacher looked up from his desk.  “I’ve, uh, I’ve uh finished, if you’d like to check that it’s satisfactory.”

 

The teacher looked at the young man.  “Joseph, while I can’t say it’s always been true with your homework, I’ve noticed that anything you do for me around the school has always been done very well.  I don’t believe I need to check your work now.” He considered Joe’s look of amazement.  The boy hadn’t realized Mr.  Schrader even noticed those things.  With a smile, the teacher continued.  “You’re excused, son.”

 

“Thanks,” Joe managed as he grabbed his books and headed out the door.  “Five weeks of FREEDOM!” the thought sang in his mind.

 

“Well, almost freedom,” Joe corrected himself.  He still had to meet Adam at the warehouse and already he was an hour late.  As he ran toward town, he saw a small gathering at the outskirts of Virginia City.  Curiosity got the better of him and the boy walked over to the crowd.

 

Joe sought someone he knew, finding James Williams, who, along with three or four men in the mob, was yelling at someone.  Joe couldn’t tell who was the focus of the crowd’s interest.  “What’s going on?” Joe tapped his schoolmate on the shoulder.

 

Startled, James turned around, smiling when he saw Little Joe.  “It’s that escaped slave and his woman.”

 

“Huh?”

 

“Ain’t you had them out to your place, Cartwright?” Joe shrugged his shoulders and shook his head.  “They’re looking for a place to light, asking for work…and it sure ain’t gonna be Virginia City.”

 

“Why not?” Joe was confused with his friend’s comments.  Ben Cartwright always welcomed new families to the Comstock.

 

“They’re escaped slaves, that’s why,” James responded patronizingly.  “On the run.  Fugitives.  Probably the law after them.  Understand?”

 

“What makes you think they’re escaped slaves?” Joe persisted.

 

“Open your eyes, Cartwright.  See how he walks?” Joe looked to the man leading his very pregnant wife into Virginia City on an old, broken down mule.  When he was sure his friend was paying attention to that bit of information, James continued.  “When they walk like that, it’s usually because his master cut off part of his foot to keep him from escaping.  I’d say he’s a dangerous one.”

 

“I’d say you’re crazy, James.  You don’t know nothing about them except that she’s about to have a baby and he walks with a limp.  Leave ‘em alone.” Joe’s sense of fair play was being sorely tested as he watched the small crowd taunting the couple.  Unable to stand it any longer, Joe walked to the front of the mass, turning to face them before he spoke.

 

“You all leave these people alone.” The boy’s face bore the same determination many in the crowd had seen from Ben Cartwright.  “This close to Christmas, don’t you have nothin’ better to do?” he challenged.

 

“You Cartwright’s think you’re so high and mighty.  You’re Pa ain’t hired them on.” It was an owner of one of the smaller ranches speaking.

 

“No, that’s true.” The boy acknowledged.  He turned to the scared couple.  “But my pa’s looking for help at the ranch.  He’s got most everyone working that timber contract up by Springer’s Roost.  If you’re interested in work, my brother Adam’s doing the hiring.  I’m going to meet him now if you’d like to ask him.”

 

The man turned to his wife, recognizing the deep fear she felt as the throng moved closer.  “It can’t hurt to ask, Til.” Her eyes begged the man to consider the offer even as her voice pressed her husband to action.

 

“We’ll talk with your brother,” the man replied warily.  “Just show me where.”

 

Joe smiled back at the man and extended his right hand, noticing the crowd had quieted as he addressed the newcomers.  “My name’s Joe Cartwright.  It’s my pa, Ben Cartwright, who’s looking for men.”

 

The man grasped the young man’s hand.  “My name’s Til Ennis and this is my wife, Sarah.”

 

Joe tipped his hat to the man’s wife as he acknowledged the introductions.  “Uh, my brother’s doing the hiring and he’s over at the warehouse loading a wagon.” Inwardly, Joe groaned, realized how late he was to assist Adam.  “We can go over there, Mr.  Ennis, but let me talk with him first.  I was supposed to be helping him about an hour ago.  He’ll be really mad.  I don’t want his being so mad at me to keep him from considering you.”

 

Ennis was not so sure that was the young man’s motive in wanting to talk with his brother first, but he seemed sincere; and Ennis had no other plan right now.  The man picked up the reins as he led his wife through the crowd that had parted as Joe moved forward, the boy’s glare mirroring the distaste he felt for the fine folks of Virginia City.  The two moved toward the warehouse, the plug mule following behind with the pregnant black woman astride.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

At the warehouse, Adam was just tying down the last of the load, obviously disgusted that his younger brother had yet to make his appearance.  As he worked, his anger toward Little Joe increased.  So involved was he in his thoughts, he didn’t hear his little brother’s approach.

 

“Uh, hey, Adam,” Joe began.

 

In a flash, Adam was off the wagon, his anger so focused as to cause the younger boy to back off.  “Where have you been, Little Joe?” Adam yelled.  “I’ve been loading this whole wagon without your help.  I’ve got half a mind…”

 

“Adam, I’m sorry,” Joe interjected before his brother could go any further.  “It was my fault.  I got kept after school to help clean the room for the next teacher.” He took a quick breath and continued his rapid speech.  “But I found someone to work at the ranch for a while.” There, he’d said all he wanted to say just now.

 

Adam shook his head, confused at the rapid change in topic.  He glared at his brother while Joe looked up innocently with what he hoped was a conciliatory smile.  “Ok, Joe, out with it.  Who’s the man?”

 

“Well, it’s actually a man and his wife, Adam.  He’s tried to get work at the Williams’ place and the Jackson’s and he really needs the work.”

 

“So what was wrong that he didn’t get hired?”

 

“You see,” Joe began with a shrug of his shoulders, “she’s pregnant and he’s got a limp.  But he sure looks like he can work.  You should see his arms.”

 

Adam smiled indulgently at his brother and reached out to ruffle his hair.  “I used to think it was only Pa you had wrapped around your finger.  Okay, little brother, where is this man?”

 

“I’m right here,” a deep voice answered.

 

The two brothers jumped, neither realizing the man had come near them.  The truth was, Ennis wanted some idea of what this family was all about.  He was pleasantly surprised at the conversation he’d overheard.

 

Adam recovered quickly and extended his hand.  He knew immediately why neither the Williams’ nor Jackson’s had hired the man.  And it had nothing to do with his limp.  “My name’s Adam Cartwright,” said Adam as he shook hands with the man.

 

“Name’s Til Ennis and this is my wife, Sarah.” Like Joe, Adam tipped his hat in acknowledgment of the introductions.  “The boy here says you’re hiring.”

 

“That’s right,” Adam answered.  He immediately liked the straightforward manner of the man.  He felt terribly sorry for his wife who he knew must be miserable.  “Pay’s $40 a month for new hands, plus room and half side of beef a year.  Interested?”

 

“I am.  My wife’s part of the package, though.” He looked Adam in the eyes.

 

“I guessed as much.  We’ve got a small house we keep for married couples.  It hasn’t been used in a while, but it wouldn’t take much to clean it out.  Work’s mostly with cattle right now, plus barn chores, some breaking horses if the weather stays clear.  Have you done much of that, Mr.  Ennis?”

 

“Broke horses at the Rolling D in Kansas for a time.  I know how to work, Mr.  Cartwright.”

 

Adam surveyed the man.  He guessed his age about thirty-five, maybe a little older.  His intuition told him the man would be a good employee.  And it was true; they needed help.  “Okay, Mr.  Ennis, you’re hired.  Get your gear and load it into the wagon.  We can go out to the Ponderosa now, if you’ve a mind.”

 

Sarah Ennis spurred her husband to action.  “You heard the man, Til.  If’n you’ll help me off this mule, that wagon looks a heap more comfortable.” She smiled weakly.

 

Solicitous, the new hand hurried to his wife and gently helped her off the bony mule.  In a few moments, they had stashed their meager belongings in the back of the wagon.  Adam tossed the reins of their mule to his younger brother, directing him to the back of the wagon.  “Hold on tight, little brother.  You fall off and you can ride the mule home.”

 

The couple smiled at the face Joe made while Adam assisted Mrs.  Ennis up onto the wagon seat.  In a few moments, they were on their way to the largest ranch in Nevada.

 

The Ennis approached this new job with trepidation.  Sarah shuddered as she remembered being run off from the last ranch.  Even now, she wasn’t sure why they’d been hired at that ranch in the first place.  The owner didn’t like people of color, that had been evident early on.  And the words the foreman used to them; she shivered as though a ghost had walked over her grave.  Sensing her distress, Til quietly pulled her to him.

 

She smiled wearily, grateful for her husband’s understanding.  The menial jobs Til had been forced to perform were insulting, but that had been tolerable.  The filthy names he’d been called matched the filthy shack they’d been given to live in; even that had been bearable as they saved to buy a ranch for themselves and their child.  But when she’d been accused of stealing from the owner’s wife, they had been run off the ranch like criminals.  In fact, even as the foreman was having the hands heat the tar, she and Til had barely managed to slip away on their old mule.  Til had been sure it was the youngest son’s doing; his stealing and framing it to look like her.  Til always said Timothy was nothing but a spoiled rich kid who never knew a day’s work in his life.  It hadn’t mattered that they were innocent.  It never mattered.

 

She could still taste the fear that first night as they’d holed up in a deep cave.  Til had held her tightly as they’d watched the torches moving back and forth along the hillside.  It wasn’t until the next night, under the protective watch of a new moon, that they’d made their escape.  The money they’d managed to save had secured their passage as far as Virginia City, the boomtown into which they’d thought to meld.  Even here, though, it was the same; always the same…Slumping against her husband on the wagon seat, she drifted into an uncomfortable sleep.

 

 

 

“A simple task.  I send my youngest son to school with directions to meet my oldest son after school and help load a wagon with supplies.  Shouldn’t take more than thirty minutes or so to get packed.  Plenty of time to be back to get evening chores finished.” Ben Cartwright was fuming as he closed the massive, solid door to the Ponderosa Ranch house, having just finished those same chores himself.  The biggest ranch in all of Nevada, his home had always been the focal point of the Cartwright holdings.  It was here that ideas had been dreamed, decisions had been made, boys had been given hugs or hidings; it was here that he’d made love to his beautiful Creole wife, the mother of his youngest son, Joseph.  Although she lay buried overlooking Lake Tahoe, and had for almost nine years, his reflections about his family turned to her.  Christmas was her favorite time of year.  Even now, while seething about his sons’ tardiness, thoughts of her lilting voice, her dancing green eyes, and her beguiling smile began to work their magic as Ben felt the tension leave his neck and shoulders.  He shook his head, again amazed at the affect even her memory had on him.

 

His reverie was interrupted by the sound of the buckboard pulling into the barnyard.  It was several minutes before he shook loose the warm caresses of his third wife’s memory.  Remembering the source of his tight shoulder muscles and tense neck, the man’s anger resurfaced.  In heavy, quick footsteps, he reached the front door and jerked it open as he moved to confront his two sons.

 

It was the unusual sight of one son helping a very pregnant black woman off the wagon seat, of a tall black man watching them, and of his youngest son tying a woe begotten mule to the hitching post that quelled his intended outburst.

 

“Evening, Pa,” spoke Adam first, as a quick glance passed between him and his youngest brother.

 

“Uh, yeah, evening, Pa,” copied Little Joe, a hesitant catch to his voice.  It was obvious to Ben Cartwright that the boy was taking his lead from his oldest brother.  Ben shook his head, trying to ignore the nagging headache that threatened whenever those two sons took the peculiar posture of Adam assuming the principal role and Little Joe following willingly behind.

 

Even as Ben massaged the bridge of his nose and shook his head in dread of whatever would follow, Adam was forging on with his explanation.  “Uh, Pa.  While we were in town, we hired Mr.  Ennis here.” Adam stood back to acknowledge the man.

 

Ben looked up, not willing to share his family’s foibles with this stranger and new hand.  Extending his hand in greeting, Ben smiled, genuinely pleased that a new man had been hired.  With the higher wages the mines offered, ranch hands were hard to find this time of year.  “Pleased to meet you, Mr.  Ennis.”

 

The black man shook the proffered hand firmly.  “Name’s Til Ennis and this here’s my wife, Sarah.” His arm at his wife’s back, he gently pulled her into the conversation.

 

“Nice to meet you, Ma’am,” spoke the patriarch, tipping his hat as he did so.  “You look like you’ve come a long way.  Please, come inside and rest and we’ll talk about the job and accommodations for you both.  My sons will see to unloading the wagon.” A dark look was directed at the two boys.  As the Ennis’ moved into the house, Ben turned to his sons.  “We will discuss later how it has come once more that I’ve done your evening barn chores.” It was obvious the man was not pleased having that task.

 

Adam and Little Joe grimaced as each thought of the impending lecture they knew would follow sometime this night.  They turned to the task of unloading the wagon as Hoss rode into the yard.  “Hey, big brother,” Little Joe greeted his middle brother.  “Pa wants us all to get this wagon unloaded.  He’s not in too good a mood with you being late.  Better get a move on, if I were you.”

 

Adam looked at his brother incredulously, starting to say something, then deciding he’d see how this played out.  “Late? I ain’t late, Little Joe,” countered Hoss.

 

Joe shrugged his shoulders innocently.  “Okay.  Don’t take my word for it.  But don’t expect any sympathy from me neither.” He turned back to the barn, carrying in a keg of nails.

 

With a sigh, Hoss dismounted, tying Chubb to the hitching post along side the mule.  “Yeah, maybe you’re right, Little Joe.” If he’d seen his younger brother’s smug smile, Hoss would have been outraged.  “Whose mule is that anyhow? Adam been horse trading again?”

 

Both brothers laughed, the tension loosening as they turned back to the task at hand.  Adam explained about hiring the new hand while Hoss unloaded most of the wagon.  How his little brother could manipulate his middle brother never ceased to amaze the oldest Cartwright sibling.

 

The three sons walked into the house, the delicious aroma of roast pork drifting to them.  Ben Cartwright was seated at his desk doing some paperwork as the chaos that was his three sons told him the boys were done with their work.  Little Joe hurried to the fireplace, warming his hands in front of the warm flames.  Adam and Hoss soon joined him; the three brothers in good humor as Ben’s displeasure with their tardiness seemed forgotten.

 

Adam looked around, noticing for the first time that the Ennis’ were nowhere to be seen.  “Where are Til and Sarah, Pa?” he asked, his curiosity piqued.

 

Ben picked up his pipe from the desk and joined his sons.  “Hop Sing has drawn them a bath and they’re cleaning up.” His voice was very business like, drawing pained looks from his youngest and oldest as they realized the source of his flat voice.

 

“That’s right, boys,” Ben began, “we still have an unfinished discussion on the table.” Hoss looked to his father, grimacing when he saw the man’s taut face and his brother’s strained expressions.

 

“Reckon I’ll get cleaned up for supper, Pa,” the big man commented as he readily escaped the deepening tension in the front room.  Moving surprisingly quickly, the middle brother was soon ensconced in his room, glad to be out of the firing line.

 

His two brothers were not faring nearly as well.  “Sit,” their father commanded as he pointed to the settee before him.  Sidling around on each side, Adam and Little Joe took a seat on the couch.

 

“You both knew Hoss would be coming in late this evening, isn’t that so?” His sons nodded.  “And,” he continued, his voice in a tone reserved for speaking to young children, “didn’t I remind you of that before you left this morning.”

 

“Yes, sir,” the two responded in unison.

 

“And why do you suppose I bothered to remind you of that?” Ben continued in that patronizing tone the boys knew brooked ill for them.  “Adam, perhaps you could share your thoughts on that matter with me.” He looked to his son, a smile on his face that reminded Adam of one of those Nile crocodiles he’d read about.

 

“Well, Pa, it’s this way,” Adam began, trying to formulate an explanation that would satisfy his father.

 

“Ah,” Ben interrupted, “what way is that?” The smile never left his face, although there was little warmth in it.

 

“Well, that’s what I was trying to explain, Pa.”

 

“Please, don’t let me distract you.  This should be interesting.” Ben crossed his arms in front of his chest; a stance that indicated the man was digging in for the long haul.

 

“It’s like this.  Uh, it’s, uh,” Adam turned to his younger brother, not wanting to be the one to get Little Joe in trouble, yet wanting to avoid an out and out lie to his father.  “How is it, Joe?”

 

Ben turned to his youngest, squirming beside his brother.  Joe fully understood the dilemma Adam was in and, while not particularly wanting to step into the trap their father had so carefully laid for them, knew he couldn’t let Adam take the blame for his folly.

 

“Joseph?” Ben offered with his mirthless smile.

 

“Okay, Pa.  It’s my fault again.” As Ben raised his eyebrows at the boy, Joe continued.  “I got kept after school for an hour or so and Adam had to load the wagon himself.  It took longer than it should have, I guess.”

 

“You guess?” Ben exploded.  “You two were almost two hours later than I anticipated you’d be.  For the second time this week, someone has done your chores for you, Joseph, while you’ve been kept after school.”

 

“Well, if I didn’t go to school, it wouldn’t be a problem,” Joe mumbled under his breath.

 

“But you do go to school,” Ben continued, his voice rising to match his anger.  Once again, Joe wondered at his father’s keen sense of hearing, wishing he’d kept his mouth shut.

 

“Pa,” Adam began, trying to divert some attention from his little brother.

 

Ben turned quickly toward his oldest son.  “You’re excused, Adam.  Dinner will be in twenty minutes.” His look quelled any further comments.

 

Adam looked sympathetically toward his younger brother, then excused himself as he moved up the stairs.

 

“Joseph, what has always been my response when any of you’ve gotten in trouble at school?”

 

Joe looked down at his boots.  “Aw, Pa.”

 

“Answer me, boy.”

 

“We get the same punishment at home that we did at school.” Joe was glad his father didn’t know about all the escapades he’d been involved in.  It was bad enough with the ones he did know about.

 

“That’s right, son.  Just what were you doing in school to annoy Mr.  Schrader? And what was your punishment this time?”

 

Joe sighed deeply, wondering where this would lead.  “I was talking when I wasn’t supposed to again and Mr.  Schrader made me clean the school house, Pa, getting it ready for the new teacher.” He glanced up quickly to see his father’s reaction.

 

He was surprised to see his father so pensive.  “In that case, boy, I have just the proper response for that.” Joe cocked his head, wondering what his father would make him do.  He’d helped clean house with Hop Sing enough times that that possibility wouldn’t be so bad.  “Mr.  and Mrs.  Ennis will be moving into the foreman’s house.  It’s not been lived in in several years.” The man stroked his chin thoughtfully.  “Your job will be to make that place spotless for them before they move in.  With school out, you’ll have plenty of time to work on it.”

 

Joe started to argue, then changed his mind as he saw his father’s displeasure mirrored in his eyes.  “Yes, sir,” he responded dejectedly; so much for idle days hunting elk and sledding.

 

“You can begin in the morning.” Ben turned to go back to his desk.  “Dinner will be in about ten minutes.  I expect you to join us, cleaned up and in a more pleasant frame of mind than I see now.”

 

“Yes, sir.” Joe climbed the stairs to his room, wishing once more that he’d learn to keep his mouth shut.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

After the Cartwright’s and Ennis’ finished Hop Sing’s delicious meal, Sarah Ennis stood to retire to the guest bedroom.  The men quickly stood, wishing her pleasant dreams as she bade them good evening.  Pushing back their chairs further, the men moved to the great room.  Ben and Til each took one of the stuffed chairs framing the fireplace while Little Joe and Hoss faced off over a checkerboard in front of the settee.  Adam sat next to Hoss on the sofa, facing his youngest brother who was seated on the coffee table.

 

“Mr.  Cartwright,” the black man began, “I’m not in the habit of eavesdropping on other people’s conversations.” He paused, taking stock of how his new boss was taking all this.  When Ben showed no objection, Til continued.  “But, while me and Sarah was cleaning up, I couldn’t help but overhear the talk you had with your sons.”

 

A small frown formed on Ben’s brow and the hired man was quick to explain.  “You have to admit, Mr.  Cartwright, your voice does carry in this house.”

 

“Yeah,” mumbled Little Joe, “especially as loud as you were talking.”

 

Ben jerked around and pinned his youngest to the coffee table with his glare.  “I was not yelling, if that’s what that upstart comment was meant to infer.”

 

Little Joe rolled his eyes.  “Of course not, sir.” Adam and Hoss hid smirks behind their hands.

 

“Mr.  Cartwright, “ Ennis tried once again.  “I didn’t mean to intrude on family issues, but since fixing that old house seems to involve me and Sarah, I wanted to say something.”

 

“Mr.  Ennis.”

 

“It’s Til, Mr.  Cartwright.”

 

The older man smiled.  “And it’s Ben.”

 

Ennis smiled slightly.  “Okay,” he paused, “Ben.  But I want to talk about fixing up that old house.”

 

“What was it you were curious about?”

 

Til paused, not sure how to make his case for the boy without offending the young man’s father.  “Exactly how much work is involved in cleaning up that house?”

 

Although he could see where the new man was headed with this conversation, Ben kept his voice and attitude neutral.  He was not surprised to see that the conversation had his youngest son’s attention.  “Well,” he rubbed his chin thoughtfully, “mostly it’s just routine cleaning; taking covers off the furniture, beating the rugs, cleaning the walls, washing the windows, sweeping and scrubbing the floors, dusting, airing the bedding, washing curtains, cleaning out the cook stove and the wood stove.” Joe’s countenance reflected the misery he was feeling as his father’s list kept expanding.  It would be days before he’d be finished his task; girl’s tasks at that.  Didn’t his father have any memories about being a boy? He dared not voice his opinion right now, though.

 

It turned out his father wasn’t finished.  “As long as it’s been since the house has been vacant, though, it’ll need more work, I’m afraid.” The small sigh that escaped his youngest son’s lips was not lost on the patriarch.  Ben turned toward the boy.  “I don’t want to hear it, Joseph.  You’ve no one to blame but yourself.” His dark eyes bored into his youngest son until, embarrassed, Little Joe was forced to look away.

 

Ben turned back toward the man who had asked the original question.  “The fireplace chimney, cook stove chimney….  They’ll need cleaned out, checked to be sure no birds have nests in them, that sort of thing.  And the roof needs checked.  I don’t have any reason to believe it’s leaking, but I’d like to be sure before you move in.”

 

Ennis shook his head, in disbelief as much as anything.  “That sure sounds like it’ll take time to finish.” He glanced up at his new boss.  He knew he’d probably be stepping on toes, but it wasn’t Til Ennis’ approach to dance around any topic he wanted to discuss.  It was an attitude that had gotten him in trouble on more than one occasion, but was as much a part of him as were his unruly hair and dark eyes.  When Ben’s expression revealed nothing of what the man was thinking, Ennis continued.  “If Sarah and I work with your boy, we can get that done in a lot less time.”

 

Cartwright smiled slightly, especially as he saw the hopeful look on his youngest son’s face.  Ben could see Ennis was uncomfortable with making the suggestion, yet he could respect the man’s forthrightness.  Still, he had his own ideas about discipline and would not be dissuaded.  “I appreciate that, Til, but this is Joe’s project to complete on this own, isn’t that right, son?” His look dared the boy to contradict him.

 

“Yes, sir.” Joe’s demeanor belied the words that indicated his agreement with this father.

 

“And,” Ben continued, “the rest of us won’t be twiddling our thumbs while Little Joe is working.  We’ve got to get enough wood in to last you the winter.  We can’t get to the high country this time of year, but we’ll still have to find a stand of trees to cut that we can get a team of horses into.  And we’ve got to get some trees down, cut up, wood split.  That’ll keep us busy about as long as Joe’ll working at the house.  Plus,” he reminded them all, “we’ve still got a ranch to run.”

 

They all acknowledged Ben’s comments and Ennis knew better than to push any further.  He’d said his piece and that was all he intended.

 

It was just at that instant that Hop Sing made his entrance with a fresh pot of coffee and five china cups.  Secretly glad of the interruption to this discussion, Ben poured coffee for his family and guests.

 

As Hoss and Little Joe settled down to finish their game of checkers, Adam turned to their new hand.  “How long have you been heading west, Til?”

 

Til released a deep breath.  “Oh, upwards of a year, I’d say.”

 

“What sorts of things have you been doing?” Adam pressed.

 

Feeling the camaraderie that comes with a full stomach, warm room and pleasant company, Til Ennis let his natural story telling talent flow.  Someone who loved life, even as he struggled for an equality denied him because of his color, the man understood human imperfections and had made a study of human frailties and motivations.  Combining this understanding with a warm sense of humor and uncanny grasp of man’s basic nature, the new hired hand recounted funny and poignant tales of the trip west.  Quick to avoid the harshness and cruelty that had been inflicted on them, he entertained the Cartwright’s with his stories, mostly fact with a smattering of yarn included for effect.

 

As Til finished his story, entertaining the Cartwright’s with yet another encounter, this time with a story about Jed Davenport’s son getting bucked into a pile of manure that was “so ripe it was steamin’.  “Why, that boy was so hot he just stood up, dancing and stripping fast as he could tryin’ to get those burning clothes off hisself.”

 

As three Cartwright’s howled, Hoss seemed worried.  “The man didn’t get burned too bad did he?” the young man inquired.

 

His younger brother rolled his eyes in exasperation.  “Hell, Hoss, he was just funning.  His damn clothes didn’t catch on fire.”

 

“Watch your mouth, boy,” Ben demanded, warning his youngest boy to mind both his choice of words and his attitude toward the middle Cartwright.

 

“Aw, Pa, I’m no little boy.  I’ve heard Jake or Charlie either one talk like that.” It was logic sure to rile his father and made in the form of an argument, guaranteed to be viewed as disrespectful.

 

“Boy, I’ve had about all your smart mouth I intend to take today.” Joe rolled his eyes even as an annoyed sigh escaped his lips.  The combination was not lost on his father.

 

“Get up to your room, Joseph.  None of us needs to be subjected to your childish temper.” Little Joe looked at his father, hoping he’d reconsider.  He was eager to hear more of the Ennis’ experiences as they traveled west.

 

“Aw, Pa.”

 

“Are you having as much trouble hearing as you are obeying?” Ben demanded, quite immune to his son’s beseeching expression.

 

“No, sir.  I heard you,” Joe replied, slowly standing as to comply with his father’s command.  With a cursory glance around the room, Joe ducked his head and mumbled a quiet “good night” before trudging up the stairs.

 

Ben shook his head as he turned back to Til Ennis.  “I’m sorry for the interruption.  There are days it’s a wonder that boy ever gets out of his room.”

 

Til laughed softly.

 

“No need to apologize, Ben.  It wasn’t all that long that we were younger.” He looked at the older man questioningly.  “How old is that boy, anyhow?

 

Ben shook his head, looking to Adam for reaffirmation.  “Surely he’s not fourteen already.” When Adam merely raised his eyebrows in agreement, his father closed his eyes as memories flooded his senses.  “Well,” he sighed aloud, “hard to believe it was fourteen years ago that that boy entered our lives, but it seems it was.” He shook his head again to clear the bittersweet memories that threatened his composure.  Cartwright smiled self-consciously as he realized those fleeting memories must have been mirrored in his face.

 

“From his size, I’d of guessed him younger.  You’ve raised that youngun’ right, Ben.  No matter how you look at him, he seems younger, except for his presence today with that crowd.”

 

“I don’t believe I heard about that, Til.”

 

As Til relayed the encounter with the rabble in town, Ben’s countenance softened as he contemplated being more patient with his obstinate son.  “No,” he concluded to himself, “those are two distinct issues, bravery and insolence.” It was a distinction that confused his youngest frequently but was one that Ben would keep separate.

 

The evening extended into a tranquil night as the Cartwright’s and their guest exchanged pleasant memories of the trek west and their experiences in the untamed land.  By unspoken agreement, all agreed that the traumas experienced were best left for another time.

 

As the grandfather clocked chimed ten o’clock, Ben automatically compared his pocket watch’s time with the old standard by the front door.  Satisfied that the times were the same, Ben carefully wound his watch, a gesture his sons recognized as preceding the closing up of the house for the night.  Falling into a routine long experience taught them was inevitable, Adam and Hoss rose, stretching their arms over their heads as they bade goodnight to their father and new hand.

 

Knowing the pleasant evening was drawing to a close, Til rose, and extended his hand to the elder Cartwright.  A man who believed strongly in first impressions, he’d accepted the entire family as genuine and honest.  When Ben grasped his hand, Til spoke.  “It was an evening I haven’t had in months, Ben.  You know, to feel safe, to feel that Sarah is safe, that she doesn’t have to worry with the baby coming on.” His voice grew husky.  “You can’t imagine the load you’ve lifted from me.”

 

“Maybe not entirely,” Ben responded.  “But I can very much appreciate a safe haven in time of need.  It’s why I’ve built this ranch as I have.” Even as he spoke, though, Ben remembered the tragedy that had followed him even to the thick walls and well-made plans of the Ponderosa.

 

“Good night.”

 

“Yes, you, too.”

 

The men parted, each to be sure their families were secure.

 

As Ben reached the top of the stairs, he heard muted voices and quiet laughter from his youngest son’s room.  As he knocked, the voices quieted, stopping when he opened the door.

 

Three pair of eyes turned toward their father as the man entered the bedroom.  Adam and Little Joe had tears running down their faces from being regaled by one of Hoss’ recollections of the stories told downstairs tonight.  “You forget the way to your bedroom, Pa?” asked Joe, a cheeky grin lighting his face.

 

Ben feigned offense, a smile finally telling his sons what they all suspected…this time their father wasn’t upset.  “No, but it seems your brothers have,” he replied generously.  “Morning comes early, boys, and we’ve got a long day ahead of us.”

 

Taking their cue, the older brothers bade Ben and Joe goodnight, and crossed over to their own bedrooms.  Joe turned to his father, “I know, I know, Pa,” he began as he bent his arms, palms out, as if providing a protective shield from his father’s next comments.

 

Ben smiled, putting his arm around the boy and drawing him to him.  “I’m not sure you do know, son.” He ruffled his son’s curls.  “Til told me about that angry crowd in town this afternoon.  I just wanted to say how proud I am of you for the way you conducted yourself.  That took great courage.”

 

His son beamed back, a glint fleeting across his eyes.  “Does this mean I’m off house cleaning duty?” he asked hopefully.

 

“Nice try, Little Joe, but the answer is no.  Unless, that is,” his son looked up in anticipation, “unless that mob is the reason you were over an hour late meeting Adam.” He looked at his son with his head cocked, waiting the young man’s response, knowing what it would be.

 

“No, sir,” Joe answered glumly.  “I was already that late when I left the school.”

 

Ben hugged him one more time.  “You’ll have that house done in no time, I’m sure.  They’ll be plenty of days for sledding, hunting and snowball fights with your brothers.”

 

Joe glanced sheepishly at his father.  Why did it always seem his father could read minds?

 

 

 

“Well, Joseph,” remarked Ben Cartwright.  “You’re up awfully early this morning.”

 

Joe grinned abashedly as he slid into his chair.  “After last night, I didn’t want Til and Sarah thinking I was totally worthless.” He shrugged his shoulders as reached for the pot of hot chocolate.  “Where is everybody, anyway?”

 

“Sarah’s in the kitchen fixing breakfast.  Hop Sing’s number three cousin has taken ill, it seems and he’ll be gone for some time.” Ben looked pointedly at his son as he continued.  “Til is out to the barn doing chores.”

 

“Uh, yeah, that’s right,” Joe mumbled, his face reddening as he pushed his chair back to stand up.  “Guess I’d better get on that, too.” He excused himself to attend to the horses.

 

Ben shook his head at his son’s forgetfulness, wondering what it would take for his youngest son to take responsibility for his own actions.  As he considered some reasonable time lines for that, like ten or twelve more years maybe, his two oldest sons came trekking down the stairs.

 

“Morning, Pa,” they greeted.  Adam moved to put on his coat while Hoss grabbed a biscuit from the table before joining Adam.  Dressed for the cold winter morning, the two headed to the barn.

 

It was forty-five minutes later that the Cartwrights and Ennis were seated for breakfast.  Still unfamiliar with the jovial atmosphere that usually permeated mealtime on the Ponderosa, Til and Sarah remained more passive than active participants in the good-natured bantering around the table.

 

The milieu was an infectious one, though, and soon Til’s teasing brought quick repartee and laughter.

 

As breakfast drew to a close, Ben began assigning jobs for the day.  “Little Joe, you’ve got your assignment.  And for today, Adam, I want you helping him.” Both sons looked expectantly for further direction which they knew was coming.  “Before Little Joe can work in that house for very long, it’ll need heat and I don’t want any fires built in there until those chimneys have been cleaned.  That’s the first order of business.  After there’s heat, Joe can do the rest of the jobs on his own.”

 

Joe moaned softly.  Cleaning the chimneys was a dirty, tiring task; and there was that reminder that he had to clean the entire house yet.  He was just thankful that Pa hadn’t insisted he do today’s task alone.  His thoughts were interrupted as his father continued.  “And you be sure to put a barrier up so that soot doesn’t get in the house more than necessary.”

 

“Yes, sir,” the brothers answered automatically.

 

“Til, I want you and Hoss to hitch up Bess and Bernie to the wagon.” He turned to his middle son.  “You and Adam checked the axle, didn’t you.”

 

“Yes, sir.  It’s ready to go.”

 

“Good.  I want you two to head up to Buckhorn Flats to that aspen grove near the river.  You should be able to get within a hundred yards or so of the trees.  Take the two-man bucksaw and a couple of axes.  I think you’ll find all the wood we’ll need for heating the Ennis’ home.  Cut some trees and we can haul them back to the wagon.  Oh, before you go, run by their home and drop off some wood from the bunkhouse so Adam and Joseph can get some heat in the house when they get those chimneys cleaned.  They’ll need it before the day is out.”

 

Til and Sarah turned toward each other.  Neither had missed Ben’s reference to Ennis’ home.  It was a phrase they’d used while saving for a place of their own, but to hear someone else talk that way made the dream more of a reality.

 

Sarah smiled broadly.  “I’ll have lunch on the table at noon,” she announced.

 

“Oh, no,” Ben objected.  “Not in your condition…”

 

She laughed a full-throated laugh.  “My condition? Ben, your cook is in Sacramento and you’ve got five men who’ll need to eat.  Exactly how did you intend to feed them?” She shook her head as though addressing a child.  “Women have been in my condition for centuries and still managed to cook full meals.  I think I can handle it.  No,” she continued as Ben appeared to be making a rejoinder, “I’ll have no argument.”

 

“I’d listen to her, Boss,” Til grinned.  “It’s a battle you’re gonna lose.” He rolled his eyes.  “Trust me.” The men at the table laughed and the issue was settled.
By 10:30, both Joe and Adam were reacting with frayed nerves and quick tempers.  It was not merely the old bird nest in the one chimney nor the ratted squirrel’s nest in the other chimney that had pulled taut the brotherly bind until it neared a snapping point.  The intrusion of the cold n’or wester was a most unappreciated catalyst.

 

The cold wind thrust itself between the buttons of Little Joe’s winter jacket as he straddled the steep roof, struggling to push the obstruction down further out the chimney at its base.  The cold metal of the pipe fleshed its way through his winter gloves even as the biting wind reddened his exposed ears.

 

Cold as he’d gotten in just the thirty minutes or so he’d been on the roof, Joe couldn’t begrudge his brother’s position down in the cold house.  The two brothers had just traded positions and for the better part of an hour, Joe had been in the relative warmth of the enclosed building.  While the inside job was the dirtier of the two, the trade off had been in not being on such intimate terms with that north wind.

 

As Joe pushed the rod back into the chimney, he swore that come next fall, he’d ignore Hoss’ tender heart….  The squirrel that built this nest was going to be history.  Not even sure how he was able to even hold onto the tamping rod, he continued to pound into the mound of tree limbs, grass and debris that had lodged in the narrow part of the chimney.  Occasionally, he could hear Adam mutter some obscenity; Joe reckoned a large piece of tar or soot falling onto his brother was to blame for those outbursts.

 

As he straightened his back, arching it to loosen the kinks he could feel developing from his hunched position, Joe couldn’t believe his eyes.  Walking through the meadow from the house was Sarah Ennis, her thin coat wrapped tightly around her and a scarf tied around her head.  What she carried, Joe had no idea, but he knew she shouldn’t be out in this weather.

 

“Adam,” he called down the chimney, hoping the wind wouldn’t carry his words too far astray.  “Adam; hey, Adam.” Joe listened to the chimney hoping he could get his brother to hear him.  Joe jerked around as a small rock hit him on the back.  It was Adam, standing outside the house, trying to get Joe’s attention.

 

Joe quickly pointed toward the meadow through which Sarah was trudging with her burden.  Adam shook his head as though not believing what he saw, then turned and hurried down the path.  Joe smiled with relief when he saw his older brother had reached the woman.  The ensuing argument was one Joe could witness, but not hear.  He could guess the problem, though.  The younger boy was sure it dealt with Adam’s feelings about what Sarah should be doing and Sarah’s differing opinion.  He’d seen Sarah at breakfast and knew his brother had met a formidable opponent.  Still, he smiled when the woman shrugged her shoulders and passed her burden to his older brother.

 

“Good a time as any for break, “ Joe decided, climbing off the roof to meet the two as they neared the house.

 

“Gee, Sarah,” the younger boy began as he joined the pair on the porch, “what ya got there?”

 

“Little brother,” Adam reminded him, “you leave your manners up on the roof?”

 

Joe looked confused for a moment, blushing as he realized how selfish it sounded.  “Uh, won’t you come in to your humble abode?” He mimicked his older brother’s more formal speech as he bowed low, drawing a laugh from Sarah and a half smile coupled with a half hearted swing from Adam.  They entered the house and Adam cleared a spot on the kitchen table on which to put the basket Sarah had brought.

 

“I thought you two must be ‘bout froze by now,” Sarah began.  “I reckon the others are, too, but I don’t figure I could walk that far, even if I knew where they were.” She opened the basket, releasing delightful aromas of fresh baked, warm donuts, homemade bread and hot chocolate she’d put in a commandeered coffeepot.

 

“Umm,” Adam rubbed his hands together in anticipation.  “Glad you don’t know where they are.  If Hoss saw this feast, none of us would get a bite.”

 

“That’s the truth,” Joe agreed, laughing; even Sarah, who had figured out the middle Cartwright’s priorities, joined in.

 

Adam looked around awkwardly, wishing he had more comfortable seats than the hard kitchen chairs he now offered the pregnant woman.  “Sorry, we can only offer these hard chairs right now.  Uh, with the soot still in the air, we’d best not take the sheets off the furniture yet,” he offered by way of explanation.

 

Sarah waved away his apology.  Her eyes drank in the solidly built house while her imagination dreamed of what treasures might lie under the blankets and sheets.

 

Sarah couldn’t have timed her intrusion any better.  The warm, home cooked snack melted any animosity Adam and Little Joe had developed in their struggle to clean out the chimney.  For twenty minutes, the three of them laughed and told stories as they enjoyed the warm food.  Inspired by Sarah’s unexpected generosity, the two siblings returned to their work in a warmer frame of mind.  When Sarah insisted on walking back to the ranch house by herself, Joe and Adam cleared the last of the dishes before going back to work.

 

“Boy,” Joe was ecstatic.  “That was so nice of Sarah to do that.  That’s a first for me by someone other than Pa once in a while.”

 

Adam looked at his younger brother in amazement.  “Shoot, Little Joe.  Your ma used to do stuff like this all the time.” When Joe looked at him in utter amazement, Adam continued.  “One time, boy, I’ll bet it was one hundred degrees outside.  Me, Hoss, Pa and Charlie were all working out by the east section, trying to get that section of Goose Creek fortified before some big storm came.  If the side of the creek had given way, we’d have lost hundreds of yards of fencing and Lord knows how many cattle.” He looked to Little Joe who was listening intently to Adam’s description.  “About noon, we were starving, but no one wanted to take the time to go back to the house…it was obvious a storm was brewing.  Anyway, here comes your ma with the buckboard…and with fried chicken, biscuits and you won’t believe it…she’d gone to the ice house and packed a bucket with ice, protecting it with some gunny sacks, and ice cold lemonade in it.”

 

Adam smiled as he enjoyed both the recollection and sharing it with his brother.  “And we got the creek bank shored up, too.  You know, your ma used to do that all the time.” In a good mood, he lightly punched his brother’s arm.  “Until you came along, that is.  She about didn’t dare take you with her and she couldn’t leave you home with Hop Sing very often.  You used to pitch fits if she left you at the house.”

 

“I did not.  You’re makin’ that part up, Adam.”

 

“Am not.  Didn’t Pa ever tell you about that gouge in the living room floor by his desk?” Joe shook his head, not sure if he should believe Adam or not.  “You put it there with the poker from the fireplace.  Marie wouldn’t let you go out to the lake one time with me and Hoss.” He paused, trying to remember.  “Can’t remember why you couldn’t go.  Maybe you’d been sick or something.  Pa was watching you and you had a real temper tantrum.  Smashed the poker onto the floor before it was over.” Adam laughed imagining his father and his little brother at odds that early in life.

 

“Pa was not happy and neither were you.” Adam laughed at the face Joe was making.  “Yep, you definitely made it hard for your ma to have those surprises for us.” He slapped his younger brother across the back.  “But, little brother, it was sure nice while she had the time.”

 

In a more contemplative mood, the brothers turned back to the task at hand.  As the morning wore on, Adam came around to Little Joe’s way of thinking about the pesky squirrel that been building such a secure nest for itself in the old chimney.  By noon, when they broke for dinner at the ranch house, Adam was viewing the cute squirrel as a fuzzy tailed rat and was sorry the damned rodent wasn’t still in residence.

 

As the two brothers joined the family for lunch and bowed their heads for Ben’s traditional grace “Bless this food to our use and us to thy service.” Joe mumbled an addition, “And put that blessed squirrel in our stew pot.” As Adam and Sarah tried to cover their mouths at Little Joe’s impudence, Ben glared at the boy.

 

“Would you like to say grace next time, Joseph?” the man demanded.  While unsure of what Joe had mumbled under his breath, Ben suspected it had been a less than sincere supplication.

 

“Uh, no, sir,” Joe responded, wondering when he’d learn to keep his mouth shut.

 

“Then we’ll have no more of that, do you understand?”

 

“Yes, sir,” Joe answered, embarrassed at being singled out again.  He sat silently, warming inside as he felt Adam’s foot nudge him under the table and Sarah’s hand quickly squeeze his right arm he’d put on his lap.  He glanced quickly to his supporters, smiling to himself as he felt absolved of that particular sin.  As he turned back to his meal, he vowed to make the Ennis’ new house spotless before he was through.

 

Despite the rocky beginning to the noon meal, lunch was an enjoyable meal.  Sarah had managed a delicious stew, hot biscuits with butter, and stewed apples.  While the family, which now included Til and Sarah, chatted over the good food, Joe found himself wondering about this woman who was making herself a very integral part of his life.

 

Not having come to any conclusion by the time they all separated to go back to work, Joe tackled his job with a renewed enthusiasm.  Surprised at finding his brother such an enthusiastic worker, Adam matched his ebullience and by three o’clock, cheered with his brother as the last of the squirrel’s nest was finally dislodged.

 

“Hey, let’s get Sarah and light the first fire in this house with the clean chimney,” Joe suggested.

 

Adam considered Joe’s idea, wondering about Joe’s fascination with Sarah Ennis.  “Lord, Little Joe, it’s too cold to have Sarah come out just for that.”

 

“Have Sarah come out just for what?” a female voice asked from the door.

 

The two brothers turned to find the subject of their discussion standing inside the door.  “We’ve got the fireplace finally cleaned out,” Joe bubbled.  “We were just gonna start a fire in it.”

 

“And Joe was thinking you ought to be here for the ceremony,” Adam continued by way of explanation.

 

“And are you making broiled squirrel to celebrate?” Sarah mused aloud, trying to keep a solemn face.

 

Adam laughed loudly at his brother’s discomfort.  “No squirrel,” Adam admitted, “but how about let’s light the fire anyway?”

 

Needing no further excuse to be out of the limelight, Joe excused himself to bring in some wood and kindling.  It was not long before there was a roaring fire, already warming the living room as the three sat on the covered chairs, eating the last of the donuts and bread that remained from the morning break.

 

“Well, Joe,” Adam began, “looks like you’ll be on your own tomorrow.” His brother nodded silently.  “I’ll miss working with you, little buddy,” he continued, using a pet name he had christened the boy with years ago.

 

Joe looked up, surprised at Adam’s pronouncement.  “It’s been a fun day, big brother,” Joe admitted.  “Frozen ears and all.” They all laughed at the amiable complaining.  “Thanks for everything.”

 

The older man winked, vowing to tell his little brother more stories about his mother.  “Any time.”

 

As Sarah gathered up the remains of the snack, Adam excused himself to hitch up the wagon.  Joe brought in more wood for tomorrow, including some kindling, hoping the dry wood would catch easily in the morning.  Finally, the three climbed onto the buckboard and rode back to the ranch, laughing once again at Joe’s lunch prayer.

 

As Ben parceled out tasks the next morning, Joe longed to be assigned to work with Adam again.  He’d enjoyed yesterday and hoped to hear more about his mother.  There were whole gaps in his memories and even now, he couldn’t be sure what were actual memories and what were memories of others reminiscing.

 

Ben had other plans, though.  Joe had his longstanding job cleaning house.  Adam and Til were assigned the upper pasture field, checking to see how the cows were handling the winter and bringing a wagonload of hay to them.  When they were done, they could join Hoss cutting and splitting the wood they’d felled yesterday.  Hoss had an additional charge-find a nice evergreen for their Christmas tree.  They would all decorate it Christmas Eve before reading the Christmas story from the book of Luke in Ben’s old, family bible.  Ben made plans to go to Virginia City to pick up a well pump that was due in on today’s stage.

 

Joe grabbed thick gloves and his heaviest jacket as he prepared to head over to the old foreman’s house.  It would take several hours for the heat to warm the house sufficiently to make it a comfortable place to work.  As he neared the house, two full columns of smoke were coming from both chimneys.  The boy quickened his pace, glad his father had seen fit to get fires in both the fireplace and cook stove roaring.  The house would be as warm as though someone lived in it.

 

Sure enough, despite the cold temperatures outside, the cottage was heated.  In a happy frame of mind, Joe quickly turned to the task at hand, cleaning the kitchen first.  As he scrubbed the walls, cabinets and floor, Joe wondered at his enthusiasm for this work.  It actually felt good to be able to do something for the Ennis family.

 

At the morning progressed, Joe’s eagerness dampened somewhat.  The scrubbing was tedious work and the young man’s shoulder’s ached.  At 10:30, though, as the temperature in the house began to drop, Joe stood, arching his aching back to clear the kinks.

 

As he put new logs in the fireplace and smaller pieces into the cook stove, he heard a sound on the front porch.  He reached for the door just as Sarah Ennis pushed it open.  “Oh, hey, Sarah.  Come on in,” Joe invited.

 

Smiling, Sarah came inside, placing a willow basket on an end table.  Untying her scarf, she unbuttoned her winter coat that was stretched tightly over her belly.

 

“Boy, that sure smells good,” Joe’s eyes were wide in anticipation.

 

Sarah laughed; glad to see her cooking appreciated, especially by this young man who seemed in need of some extra attention for some reason.  “Was this place warm enough for you his morning, Little Joe?” the woman asked.

 

Joe’s head jerked up as he stuttered, “oh, yeah.  It was great.  T-t-t-thanks.” His face blushed as he realized it had never occurred to him that he had once again been the beneficiary of Sarah’s kindness.

 

He changed topics quickly.  “Come look at the kitchen.  I’m done in here.” He proudly escorted her to the room, now spotless.  “Here.  We can even eat off the table now and not compete with the cobwebs.” Sarah’s light laugh was infectious.

 

“Oh, Joe,” Sarah was ecstatic, “you’ve done a wonderful job.” Her dark brown eyes reflected the enthusiasm she felt for the project.  “As good as I’d do, and that’s saying a lot.”

 

“Yeah,” Joe was embarrassed by the effusive praise about his house cleaning skills.  “I’ll make someone a great wife,” he mumbled.

 

Sarah laughed, then put both hands on the boy’s shoulders.  “You stop that talk right now or I’ll turn you over my knee.” She tried to look stern, but failed miserably.  “You’ll make someone a kind and loving husband.  Don’t you dare think otherwise.” Joe looked at her sheepishly and she continued.  “And I’ll let you in on a little secret, young man.  Women like kind and loving over aggressive and dominant.  And don’t you forget that.” She wagged a finger under the boy’s nose as they both laughed in a lighthearted way.

 

“Why, land sakes, boy, did you even do up those dishes?”

 

Joe nodded and set the table for their snack.  “I was hopin you’d be by.  Without ol’ Adam, it’s not nearly as much fun here.  Never thought I’d say that,” he ended, shaking his head in disbelief.

 

Sarah seemed to understand, as Joe knew she would.  “Older brothers can seem like a pain, Little Joe, but mostly they’re family.” The boy nodded in agreement.

 

“Hey,” he started quickly, “that was really nice of you to start the fire.  But you didn’t have to, ya know.  I know how to start a fire.”

 

“Never thought you didn’t, child.  But I like to walk and it just seemed like the thing to do.”

 

The two ate in companionable comfort, talking about not much but speaking volumes between the comments.

 

“Guess I’d better get back to work,” Joe decided finally.

 

“I’ll get these dishes washed up.  You go on with what you’re doin’.”

 

“Thanks,” the boy beamed at his friend.

 

It was not long after that Joe realized Sarah was busily removing the curtains from all the windows.  “Hey, what are you doing?” he demanded, feeling his territory was being impinged upon.  “Cleaning this place is my job.”

 

“You know as well as I do that there’s no place for you to do up these curtains.  “I’m takin’ them back to the house to scrub up on the washboard.” Sarah’s look dared him to object.

 

The two stared at each other until Joe finally acquiesced.  “Yes, ma’am,” he mumbled.

 

She smiled at the boy.  “I won’t tell your pa, child.”

 

Grinning, embarrassed at her having seen through his subterfuge one more time, Joe turned back to his work as Sarah finished gathering the curtains and returned to the ranch house.

 

By suppertime, Little Joe was finished with the downstairs.  Although decidedly tired, the young man was pleased with his progress.  He put more tinder, kindling and wood inside the house, then closed it up.  This early, there was no point in banking a fire in either the wood stove or the fireplace.  Both fires would go out by morning, no matter how carefully he stacked the coals.

 

 

 

“Idle hands are the devil’s playground.” Ben Cartwright’s mind vaguely pondered that saying as he rode into Virginia City, intent on picking up the well pump due in on the stage.  Small groups of unemployed miners loitered near the Bucket of Blood or by the livery stable, unconsciously triggering that quote from some deep recess in the rancher’s mind.

 

The man tied up his big buckskin in front of the stage depot, going inside to see to the stage schedule.  Muttering under his breath as he left the office, his dark mood improved slightly when he bumped into Sheriff Roy Coffee and his deputy, Jed Armentrout.

 

“Morning, Ben,” the sheriff began.  “You sure don’t look like you believe that, though.”

 

“That damned stage line, Roy.  I’ve got a well pump coming in on the stage…you’d think just once Harvey’d be on time.”

 

Sheriff Coffee clapped his old friend on the back in a friendly manner, “You might as well wish the years away, friend.  It just ain’t gonna happen.”

 

Ben looked over to Roy, smiling sardonically.  “The more things change…”

 

“Right.  How’s things on the Ponderosa these days, Ben.”

 

“Thing are sure different.  It’s been a long time…”

 

Before the rancher could continue, Armentrout jumped into the conversation.  “Yeah, what’s it like having a colored actually living with you?”

 

Ben’s eyes darkened as they bored deeply into the ill-mannered deputy.

 

“Uh, didn’t mean, nothin’, Mr.  Cartwright.”

 

The eyes never left the deputy.  It was a look that promised a boiling temper just below the surface.  “As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted.” He turned back toward Roy as though the deputy no longer existed.

 

Roy seized the momentary pause to excuse his deputy, a man more than glad to be out of Ben Cartwright’s presence just then.  “Ben,” Roy began after Armentrout was out of sight, “he’s not saying nothin’ lots of town folks aren’t sayin’.”

 

As Ben’s countenance darkened, Roy was quick to define his position.  “I’m not agreeing with them, Ben, but the fact is, with the mines shut down, there’s a lot of hostile talk.  And it seems people’s looking to blame anyone but themselves.  I wanted you to be aware of that.  I’d keep the Ennis out on the Ponderosa ‘til things get better.”

 

Ben continued to stare at his friend, then sighed as he realized Roy was just making him aware of the hard feelings in town.  “As if a pregnant woman and a man looking for work were responsible for the ailings of this town.” He shook his head in disbelief.  “I’m not going to pay attention to any of that, Roy.  I won’t buy into it.”

 

“That’s your business, Ben.  Mine’s to be sure you know what’s going on to make your own decisions.” His smile at the rancher was a hope to let by-gones be by-gones.

 

“I know it’s not your fault, Roy.  And I know you’ll do your best to see that all this doesn’t escalate out of control.  I just can’t tell Til Ennis that he and his wife aren’t welcome in Virginia City.  I won’t do it.  This has been a good town since you’ve taken over.  I’m just going to have to assume it’ll continue that way.” He shrugged his shoulders.  “Hey, let’s get dinner at the International House.  I’m buying.”

 

The sheriff smiled warmly.  “You’re on.  Just lead the way.” Side by side, the two old friends crossed the street and entered the hotel.

 

As the two sipped their coffee and waited for the meal to arrive, Roy brought the conversation back to the one interrupted on the street.  “What were you saying about the Ennis being at your place, Ben?”

 

Ben thought for a moment, trying to recall the dialogue.  “Oh, I was saying,” he began, “it’s been a long time since there’s been a woman at the Ponderosa.  I kind of like it.  Why, my boys haven’t been so well behaved in years.” He laughed as he thought about his sons standing until Sarah was seated at the dinner table, standing when she’d leave; about their coming to the table with clean shirts, hair combed neatly.  He was certain it was Sarah’s being there that was responsible for that transformation.

 

“You know, though, Little Joe is just smitten by her.  They’ve really developed a close relationship even in this short time.  Why, she’s even got his temper pretty well in check.” Ben grinned at the sheriff.  “I ought to pay her double just for that.”

 

Roy laughed appreciably.  He was all too familiar with the youngest Cartwright’s notorious temperament, quick to flare at the slightest insult.  “Well, you find out how she does it and then you tell me.  I’ll be sure to tell the new teacher coming in, too.”

 

The two men laughed with a common understanding, then dug in to the freshly prepared meal the waitress set before them.

 

“Well, you have a Merry Christmas, Ben, if I don’t see you again.”

 

His friend smiled back with a hearty, “You, too, Roy.  You’ll be coming out Christmas Eve, too, won’t you? For dinner?”

 

“I aim to try, but with Jed taking off for his wife’s mother’s place this afternoon, I reckon it’s gonna be a long shot at best.” The sheriff was obviously disappointed at the turn of events.

 

“Well, we may all be in town on Christmas Eve, this year.  Everyone’s been working so hard and Hop Sing’s out of town.  No one’s had a chance to finish with last minute chores in town I don’t imagine.  There’s not one of my boys who’d turn down a chance to come to town.” He smiled at his friend.  “If we make it in, you’ll be our guest for an early supper.  We’ll still have time to make it back home for decorating the tree and reading the Christmas story.”

 

“I’ll look forward to it.  Thanks.  You bring the Ennis, too, Ben.  You’re right…this is a good town with good folk.  I promise nothing will happen to them in Virginia City.”

 

In a more pleasant mood than he was when first he encountered the sheriff, Ben waved and strolled off toward the stage depot.
As the two men rode out toward the upper pasture, Til settled himself onto the buckboard seat, wondering how he was going to begin talking to the man beside him.  Accepting that he really only knew one approach, he began in his straightforward manner.  “Adam,” he started, a little awkward at having this discussion, but knowing it needed said.  “I want to thank you for hiring me back in Virginia City that day.  I know you didn’t have to.”

 

Adam considered what the man had said before responding.  “No, I guess I didn’t have to in the sense that no one had a gun to my head.  But, Til,” he continued, “we really were between a rock and a hard place.  Fact is, we were right short handed.  Pa’s stretched a little thin just now.  He’s got to get that barn done so we can start cutting hay from that meadow up there…or he’s got to sell some of our cows; and the saw mill’s absolutely needed if he’s going to fill that timber contract he won.  He’s got all the men he can spare working on those projects.  None of us counted on the mines having such an allure.  Hell, even when they’re shut down, most miners won’t do any ranch work.  Damnedest thing I ever saw.” He looked at Ennis a while longer.  “We needed help as much as you needed a job.” It was an honest assessment.

 

The two drove on in a comfortable silence.  Similar with their logical, bright minds, and sense of fairness, right and wrong, they both cared more for substance than facade; competence than excuses.

 

Adam pulled along side some cows huddled behind a large rock outcropping.  Hopping off onto the wagon bed, he and Til began pitching hay to the hungry cows.  Half the hay unloaded, Adam did a quick count of the cows present and moved up the pasture, hoping he could get the wagon over the knoll ahead to any cows on the south side of the hill.

 

As he anticipated, the rest of the herd was hiding in a stand of firs half way down the south side of the hill.  Til unloaded the rest of the hay while Adam did a quick inventory of the remaining cows.  Satisfied that they had lost no cattle to the snow or predators, he turned the wagon around, heading them back to the stand of trees where Hoss was sawing logs and splitting wood.

 

Stopping the wagon maybe a hundred yards from where Hoss was working, it was obvious that the middle Cartwright son had been working diligently.  The older men followed the snow packed trail to the stand of trees.  Hoss was lopping off small branches from the main trunk of a large aspen log in front of him.  Several other trees had been felled and were waiting similar attention.

 

“You’re doing one hell of a job, Hoss,” Til remarked.  “You swing a mean axe.”

 

Hoss smiled at the man.  “Reckon it helps to be as big as some of these trees we’re cutting.” It was a good-natured response, not one seeking comment.

 

As Hoss continued his pruning, Adam and Til took up the two-man bucksaw and began sawing the logs into more manageable sizes that could be split and used for firewood.

 

Except for a break for lunch, the three men worked steadily, rewarded with a wagonload of split wood and at least another load on the ground.  Pleased with their progress, they stopped in late afternoon, knowing barn chores awaited.  With Hoss riding behind, Til and Adam turned the wagon and headed back toward the ranch house.

 

Dinner was a quiet meal.  Joe disappeared to the barn after supper while Adam and Hoss excused themselves and headed upstairs.  Sarah and Til retired early while Ben lit a pipe and indulged in reading a good book, sitting comfortably in his favorite chair by the fireplace.

 

About 9 p.m., Little Joe dragged in, cold and tired, but obviously pleased with himself.  He bade his father good night and went into his room.  Ben smiled to himself as he began closing up the house.  He was sure Little Joe was working on a Christmas present out in the barn.  If the satisfied look on his face were any indication, it seemed the boy had finished with the project.

 

 

 

Sarah and Adam finished bringing in the serving platters for breakfast and took their seats around the table.  Joe beamed at the woman sitting beside him as she passed a large platter of hotcakes to the hungry young man.  “Boy,” Joe chortled, “you’re about ready to see how I feel, Hoss.  I get first dibs on the hotcakes this time.  You’ll be lucky if there’s one left by the time this plate gets to you.” He laughed as he made to serve a large stack of pancakes onto his late.

 

“Hey, Pa,” Hoss countered, “those look too good to let the likes of him eat ‘em all.  He don’t appreciate good cookin’ anyhow.”

 

Ben laughed as he joined in his son’s’ teasing.  “I don’t’ know, Hoss.  With you at the table, that boy hasn’t gotten to eat a hot meal in years.  I figure it’s time he got his chance, too.”

 

The folks around the table laughed with good humor as sausage, biscuits, eggs and pancakes made the rounds.  Despite Hoss’ dire predictions, the big man managed to load his plate as full as the rest of them.

 

Ben began discussing the plans for the day as the meal wound down.  “Well, it’s Christmas Eve tonight.” He looked around the table.  “Last chance to pick up anything you might need in town.”” He looked pointedly at his youngest son.  “You’re off the hook today, too, Little Joe.  If you need to come to town, you’re welcome to join us.”

 

The boy looked up, surprised at his father’s invitation.  “Uh, don’t need to, Pa.  I’m done with getting stuff for Christmas.  And I’m about done with cleaning Til and Sarah’s house, too.  I’d kind of like to get it finished by tonight if I could.”

 

Little Joe was no more surprised than his father was at his response.  The man shook his head in disbelief.  “How about you, Hoss? Adam?”

 

“Count me in, “ Adam responded.

 

“Me, too.”

 

“Til, you and Sarah are welcome to join us if you’d like.”

 

Sarah quickly declined, citing her near due date, but turned toward her husband.  The offer was tempting for Til; it was obvious by the look on the man’s face.  While he had most of his presents already, he still hoped to find something to buy for Sarah that would help make up for those months of trial they’d endured on the trip west.  “Well,” he hawed, torn between not wanting to leave his very pregnant wife and hoping to find just the right surprise for her.

 

“Go on, Til,” she admonished him, reading him well.  “I’ve had two children already.  It may look like this child’s coming today, but I’ve had enough babies already to know this one’s days away.”

 

“Other kids?” Joe’s ears couldn’t believe what she’d said.  “What happened to them?” he blurted out.

 

“Joseph!” His father’s sharp command pierced the quiet that had permeated the room at Sarah’s announcement and the boy’s response.

 

Joe ducked his head, knowing he’d been incredibly rude to ask about such a personal subject.  He glanced at his father, sinking into his chair with a sigh as he saw his father standing at the head of the table, beckoning his son to join him for a discussion in the kitchen.

 

The boy started to push back his chair when Sarah’s hand stayed his movement.  “Ben, it’s all right.” She smiled at Little Joe, squirming uncomfortably beside her.  “One thing I’ve noticed is your family is very open with each other.  This shouldn’t be a secret either.”

 

“Sarah,” Ben began, but she silenced his with a look that rivaled any the patriarch had mastered.

 

“Almost twelve years ago,” she began, looking directly at Little Joe, “I had a fine son.  His name was Obadiah, but everyone just called him Obi.” A melancholy look crossed her face momentarily as the memories returned.  “He was a big, healthy boy.  Not a thing wrong with him.  And gentle as you could imagine.” She turned to look at Hoss.  “You remind me a lot of how I’d hope Obi would be.” Her eyes close momentarily.  “But it wasn’t meant to be.  An epidemic of the croup came to the plantation and Obi just up and died.” She shook her head as though shaking away visions.  “He was layin’ in my arms, couldn’t hardly draw a breath.  And then, I guess he just gave up…one minute he was struggling so hard, next time he just stopped breathin’.”  Her husband reached across the table, a reassuring hand across her fragile one.  “I guess I know he’s in a better place, now, but I surely didn’t know it then.”

 

In the silence that followed, the men didn’t know what to say.  After taking a minute to gather her emotions together, Sarah continued.  “About four years later, I had another son I named Jeremiah.  We all called him Jem.” Her eyes shifted to Adam.  “Oh, Adam, he was so much like you.  He was tall and lean; so very kind and thoughtful.” She looked back to the table to arrange her thoughts.  “Like you, he was incredibly bright.” Her voice lightened as she continued.  “Always asking questions.  Everyone noticed how smart he was.  My best friend, Carmie, she worked as a cook in the big house.  The missus there was teaching her to read and she started teaching Jem.” Again, she gazed at Adam as though seeing her son another time.  “By the time he was four and half, he was reading books.  The world was like a study for him.  He loved it all.”

 

Her eyes darkened and Til rubbed her arm.  “Sarah, it’s okay.  You don’t have to do this.”

 

She shook him off.  “No, Til, it’s not okay and I do need to tell this.” She glanced at the Cartwright’s; for some reason, surprised to see them attending closely to her words.

 

“It was just a couple of months after Jem’s fifth birthday.  I came back to the fields and Carmie was at our shack, crying.  Jem was patting her like he was trying to make her feel better.” A cold shiver stole across the woman as she remembered.  “Carmie said I was to be sold the next day.” Tears slid unnoticed down Sarah’s cheeks.

 

She stared at Ben, daring him to disagree.  “Can you imagine what that felt like? And it was like they knew I’d try and escape.  There were two men that stood outside my place all night.” She gulped, trying to salvage her thoughts.  “I rocked my son back and forth, back and forth…all night long.  But the next morning, when they came to get me, Jem went crazy.  He was screaming for me not to leave him.  Yelling at me to please come back.” The tears flowed freely now.  In a whisper, she concluded, “You can’t imagine knowing your son is in such misery and that there’s nothing you can do to fix it.”

 

Ben wiped away tears of his own memories: Little Joe standing beside his mother’s grave, crying, calling her name, screaming not to go; not to put the dirt on his mother.  For a moment, both parents’ love was bared for the world to see.

 

A voice beside Sarah brought her back to the Cartwright’s dining table.  “What happened to Jem?” Joe asked quietly.

 

Wiping away more tears, the woman turned toward the boy.  “I don’t know, Little Joe.  Carmie swore she’d take care of him, but about six months later, I heard she’d died.  I was sold to a man with a farm in Maryland, a long way from Georgia.  And even if I could read and write, there was no one back on the plantation who could have answered me.”

 

She looked up with a small smile on her face.  “But the Lord works in mysterious ways, boy, that’s a fact.” She looked back at Til.  “The lady on the farm insisted everyone there go to church.  Not her church,” she quickly added cynically.  “But there was a church down the road from hers and I started going there.” She looked up at Til with a broad smile.  “There was this tall, handsome man going to church there, too.  Every woman in the place was after him.  Some right shamelessly, I might add.”

 

Til laughed.  “But I only had eyes for Sarah and she for me.  I was from Boston, born a freeman.  I worked and slaved harder than her I bet,” his dark eyes sparkled.  “But I saved enough to buy Sarah’s freedom.”

 

“And we got married shortly afterwards,” Sarah finished.

 

“My brother in Boston is a lawyer,” Til continued.  “We had him do some searches for Jem, but the farm had burned and no one had any idea what happened to the owners, let alone a young slave.  We never did know what happened to him.”

 

“We finally decided to put that part of my life behind us and we headed west.”

 

With an innocence of youth, Joe blurted out, “I’m glad you did, Sarah.  And I’m real sorry about your sons.”

 

Sarah’s gaze shifted to the boy.  “I’m glad I did, too, Joe.  I wouldn’t have met you or your family if we hadn’t.  And I needed you all to redeem my faith.” She looked at Adam, Hoss and finally to Ben.  “You can’t imagine how glad I am that we came west.”

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was an amiable group of men who headed into Virginia City later that day.  While the temperature was still uncanningly cold, there was little snow on the ground.  What was there had drifted away from the road, causing a hollow clomping sound as the horses hooves struck the frozen dirt, the bells on the harness jingling in the dry, crisp winter air.

 

With plans to meet for an early supper with Roy Coffee, the men separated to attend to their business.  Adam and Til headed for the general store, Ben to the saddle shop while Hoss stopped to pick up a leather dye from the bootmaker’s shop.

 

Although Til was worried about his reception in the western town, in general, the day went smoother than he anticipated.  While several people looked askance as Til and Adam did their shopping, there were no overt comments directed toward the dark skinned man and his friend.

 

Hoss’ day was not nearly so amicable.  As he pocketed the bottle of dye and left the cobbler’s, he was accosted by three intoxicated miners, intent on convincing the big man that their bigotry was biblically based.  Hoss first tried ignoring their befuddled remarks, then tried just shining on the drunken louts.  When his vest was grabbed for the fourth time though as the biggest miner tried to restrain the rancher so as to continue proselytizing his hatred, Hoss had enough.  One blow cold-cocked the man who fell into his buddies, sending them all tumbling into an alley.  Shaking his head, Hoss meandered down the boardwalk, wondering again at man’s propensity to twist simple and loving bible teachings to his own end.

 

At the saddlers, Ben quickly purchased his gifts, then hurried to the livery to hide them in his saddle bags.  Satisfied that his presents were secure from prying eyes, and that the horses were bedded down well, he hurried through the cold air to meet his old friend at the Sheriff’s office.

 

Relieved to be inside Sheriff Coffee’s warm office, Ben fiddled with the buttons on his coat even as his eyes danced in a merry challenge to the checker’s game that was being set up on the front desk.  “You needing a lesson this early in the day, Roy?” the rancher tweaked the constable’s playing prowess.

 

“I keep hopin’ one of these days you’ll pay me with some of that cold, hard cash you keep depositing in the Virginia City Bank; for my time teaching you this game, boy,” Roy responded, playing on the fact that he was six months younger than Ben.

 

“Just let me get some of this axle grease you try to pass off as coffee and we’ll just see,” Ben challenged.  He took a sip of the strong brew and made a face.  “I swear, Roy.  If I were a suspicious man, I’d say Paul Martin pays you a kickback for sending him business from people poisoned on this stuff.” He held up the cup to show the sheriff the stuff to which he referred.

 

“If you’d got here on time, it’d a been fresh, old man, so don’t you go blaming me.  I been drinking that for years and it’s just made me more handsome.” He smiled at the rancher, indicating no offense meant.

 

Ben choked back a retort as the two friends settled across the table for some long overdue checkers matches.  As the clock struck four o’clock, Ben automatically checked his watch with the office timepiece.  “Let’s go get those sons of mine and see if they’ve totally corrupted Til Ennis,” he suggested.  “We’ve got reservations at the International House for an early Christmas eve dinner; then you can come back and keep Virginia City safe from itself while we head on back to the ranch in time for a celebration there.  Sarah’s been doing most of the cooking these days and I just didn’t have the heart to have her fix dinner tonight.  She and Joe can manage on sandwiches tonight.” Ben looked satisfied with his plans.  “We’ll have big dinner tomorrow if you’d like to join us.”

 

“I’m not one to turn down a meal from the International House, Ben.  You know that.” The sheriff smiled at his friend.  “Not sure about tomorrow, though.  If you need a definite answer now, it’ll have to be no.” He glanced back at Ben.  “If a maybe will do, I’ll try to make it out.  I’d love some home cooking.”

 

“We’ll save a place at the table for you.  Dinner will be about one o’clock, I’d guess.  If you can’t make it, why Hoss’ll be down right ecstatic.” The two men laughed at the reference to Hoss’ eating prowess as they headed for the International House to join the others from the Ponderosa for an early supper.

 

 

 

 

 

Joe Cartwright was done with his chores.  The foreman’s cabin was spotless.  As he wrung out the cloth after a final wipe down of the east bedroom upstairs, he contemplated this concept of “chore” as it related to cleaning the old foreman’s house.  The light from the south and east window cast this one room in a warm glow as it reflected off the pale yellow wallpaper.  Memories flooded Joe’s thoughts; times spent here with Charlie and his wife, Emma.  While he couldn’t generate the particulars of when or why, the boy could remember the pleasant times spent playing up in this room.  In a melancholy mood, he walked to the dresser and opened the bottom drawer, knowing the toys he used to keep there would be long gone, but needing to do it anyway.  Pleasantly surprised, he reached down to pick up a wooden horse Charlie had carved for him years ago.  The ball, the wooden soldiers, and the top were undoubtedly somewhere, lost with his childhood.  An old crib quilt was neatly folded on the other side of the drawer.  Joe fingered it gently as memories surged, receded, surged, receded.

 

Closing his eyes, he could almost feel the rocking motion of the old chair Emma used.  He picked up the quilt, holding it tightly to him as the secure feeling when being held by Emma returned.  He could almost pretend he was on her lap again, the old quilt pulled tightly to him in his left hand as the right tightly clutched his beloved toy; together, Joe and Emma warded off the demons of the boy’s childhood, keeping fears and slights at bay.  The old rocker was long gone; Joe could remember when they’d burned it the day Charlie had moved back to the bunkhouse after Emma’s death.

 

With a sigh, Joe brought himself back to the present.  “Hello, Little Joe.” The boy jumped, not realizing anybody was in the house right then.

 

“Oh, Sarah,” he breathed, a sigh of relief.  “I wasn’t really expecting anyone just now.”

 

The woman responded very gently, “No, I didn’t think you were.” When Joe blushed, embarrassed at being caught in his dreams, she walked to him and drew him to her side as she continued.  “Feelings are never anything to be ashamed of, son.” She squeezed his shoulders.  “You looked like you were thousands of miles away just now.”

 

Scuffing his feet along the floor, Joe looked up at his friend.  “Yeah, I guess I was someplace else.  Only not miles away.” He shrugged his shoulders.  “More like years away.” He drew a deep breath, letting out the air in a long sigh.

 

“Want to talk about it?”

 

“Oh,” the boy glanced at the woman who was becoming such an important part of his life.  “It’s not all the exciting, honest.” As Sarah raised a questioning eyebrow, Joe smiled resignedly.  “When Pa’d go on a business trip or something, like in the fall when everyone was so busy getting ready for the cattle drive, I used to stay here with Charlie and Emma.”

 

When Sarah looked confused, Joe explained.  “Charlie’s our foreman and has been for as long as I can remember.  He’s working up at the trailhead now, though.  Him and Emma used to live here.” Joe drifted off to years ago, then brought himself back.  His hands made an expansive gesture encompassing the whole room.  “This was my favorite place in the house, I expect.  Emma let me have this for my very own.  She kept toys for me here, just for me.” He opened his hand to show her the carved horse.  “Charlie made this one year.  There was a pig and a cow, too.  And a barn,” he quickly added.  “I don’t know what happened to the rest of them,” he continued sadly.

 

He shook his head to clear his thoughts, then pointed to the east window.  “Right there, right there, Emma had this big rocking chair.” Sarah watched, transfixed, as Joe’s memories took over.  “I remember her coming and waking me up in the mornings.” Joe laughed.  “Guess I never was a morning person.” A beatific smile crossed his face.  “She’d pick me up and walk over to that big rocker.  She’d never forget this old quilt either.” He showed Sarah the coverlet he clutched in his left hand.  “That’s how she’d wake me up.  We’d rock in front of that big window there and she’d sing me old songs she knew.  I remember the sun was so pretty making designs on the floor.” He looked up.  “I never could understand why Pa wouldn’t do that.  I reckon I know now, but back then, I missed it at home.”

 

The boy laughed some more.  “She used to make me take naps, too.  When I was little,” he was quick to add, glancing to Sarah to be sure she understood he hadn’t taken naps when he was older.  “And she’d come in, in the afternoon.  Even if I was already awake, I used to wait for her to come in, pretending I was asleep.” Little Joe pointed out the window.  “She used to feed the birds out that east window.  Emma had a big tray Charlie’d fixed there somehow.  Anyway, we’d sit in that old rocker and watch the birds in the afternoon.” He smiled as he thought of it.  “I bet Emma knew every kind of bird there ever was.  She taught me their names and even was teaching me to know ‘em by their song.  When she…” Joe stopped his narrative.

 

He gulped to gather his emotions.  “When she died, Charlie moved out.  Said there were too many memories here.  He burned an old chiffarobe and that old rocker.  I guess it was in pretty bad shape.” His voice dropped its volume.  “But he burned some wonderful memories for me.  I haven’t been in this house til Pa had me cleaning it for you and Til.  And I couldn’t even come in this room until today.” He looked directly at Sarah.  “But I can’t imagine anyone Emma would rather have living in her house than you.  She loved kids, but she never did have none.” He smiled.  “This house will be filled with love again, I just know it.”

 

Sarah wiped away tears of her own as the boy before her spoke his piece.  The Lord truly had a hand in their decision to stop in Virginia City that afternoon, she was sure of it.  “I hope so, Little Joe.  Want me to save this room for you again?”

 

Joe giggled, breaking from the emotion of the moment.  “Heck no, Sarah.  This room is for my namesake.” He smiled at the woman.

 

“Your namesake, young ‘un?”

 

“Sure,” Joe cackled.  “You had a boy like Adam, one like Hoss.  I figure this one’ll be just like me.”

 

Sarah rolled her eyes heavenward.  “Heaven forbid,” she teased the boy.  “And if it’s a girl, Little Joe?”

 

“Well, I guess I can teach a girl a few tricks I learned along the way, too.”

 

“Well, don’t you let me catch you, young man,” Sarah responded in a lighthearted manner.  “Come on, Joe.  I’ve got supper ready if you’re hungry.”

 

“I sure am.  This house cleaning is hard work.” Laughing, the two walked back to the ranch house.

 

 

 

By the time the Cartwright party had finished supper, it was already dark.  The five men stopped on the corner, Roy to head back to his office and the Cartwright’s to go to the livery stable to get their horses for the trip home.  “You have a safe trip back,” the sheriff admonished.

 

“We will.  See you tomorrow,” Ben replied, turning to head for the livery.

 

The click of six-guns being cocked froze the men in place.

 

“You ain’t goin’ nowheres, Sheriff.  You neither, Cartwright.” The voice in the dark was harsh and unrelenting.  “We got that colored buck,” the voice called to someone in the dark.  Carefully, the five men had their pistols taken from them.

 

As Ben turned, he felt the cold steel of a .44 jabbed into his back.  “You make one more move, Cartwright, and I’ll blow you in two.” With the gun positioned against his ribs, the rancher had no doubt the threat was a real one.

 

“Get moving,” the voice demanded.  “The rest of you, move, or Cartwright here won’t live to draw another breath.  That means you, too, sheriff.”

 

Although keeping in the shadows, denying the captives a clear look at their nemesi, the captors seemed to number about ten hooded, armed men.  They efficiently herded their prey into an abandoned building at the edge of town.  A big man pushed open the door while his cohorts shoved the disarmed men onto the rough plank floor.  Still covered by armed gunmen, the captives were quickly bound and gagged, their hands pulled tightly behind them.

 

Only after the prisoners were secure did their abductors speak again.  “Well, you damn buck nigra.” The tall man who was obviously the leader was addressing Til Ennis.  “We got you and we’re goin’ after your whore next.” The man lunged at his tormentor as much as was possible from the trussed up position in which he found himself.  The big man seemed to find humor in the black man’s predicament.

 

“We’re leaving here for your ranch, Cartwright, in just a bit.  Soon as Billy gets back.” The man turned back to Ennis.  “Want to know what we’re gonna do to that bitch out at the Ponderosa?” Although Til Ennis was unable to speak, the hatred he felt for his captors was loudly expressed through his eyes.  “We’re gonna bring her back, boy.” He cackled at the predicament in which his captives found themselves.  “Course, Billy and Johnny may want to sample some of that dark meat themselves.  You don’t care, do you?” He laughed at Ennis’ reaction.  “See if everything we heard about them black bitches is true.”

 

Another man came into the building.  “You men ready to ride?”

 

“We are, Billy.  What about them?” The tall man pointed to the prisoners.

 

“Check the knots.  You got ‘em tied to those posts don’t ya?” As his men nodded, Billy continued.  “Leave ‘em then.  They ain’t going nowhere.  I want to see their faces when we bring that colored woman back here.  Him and that bitch is gonna learn the hard way that we don’t want their kind out here.” He turned on his heel and strode out the door, his henchmen following.

 

 

 

“Do you think Pa and the rest of them are all right?” Joe asked as he fiddled with the sandwich Sarah had placed before him.  “It’s dark already.”

 

Sarah Ennis looked up and hid a small smile that played on her lips.  “Joe, you’ve asked me four times in the last half-hour, I’ll bet.  It’s dark by five o’clock and you know they had plans to take the sheriff to supper.” She placed her hand over the boy’s forearm.  “Your pa said to expect them about seven o’clock or so.” She looked out the window, drawing Little Joe’s attention outside.  “With that full moon, they’re not gonna have any problem getting home.”

 

Joe sighed, just as he had three other times that evening, then smiled apologetically.  “Yeah, I know.” He twisted the napkin still on the table.  “I guess I just want everyone home for Christmas Eve.” Looking up at this friend, the boy continued, “Pa always reads us the Christmas story from the bible.  And Hoss said they was gonna stop by where he was cutting wood to pick up a spruce tree he cut for our Christmas tree.  So, we’ve got the tree to decorate, too.” He shrugged his shoulders.  “We’ve got a lot to do,” he offered by way of explanation.
Sarah rubbed the boy’s arm in a gesture of concern.  “They’ll be all right, Little Joe.”

 

Joe looked up, grateful that Sarah didn’t think his fears silly.  Since his mother’s death almost ten years earlier, Joe had found his father’s absences disturbing.  Try as hard as he had, he’d never been able to fully throw off the fear that his father might never return.  For the most part, those fears now only surfaced at special times, Joe realized…like when the boy was tired with idle time on his hands.

 

Joe looked out the window one more time, calling excitedly to Sarah as he saw the light from torches reflecting off the snow.  Although still too far away to see clearly, Joe was sure his family had lit torches to see better for the trip home.

 

“Hey, Sarah,” he pointed to the window.  “They’re coming.  And they’ve lit torches for seeing better.” He jumped up to run to the door, but stopped abruptly when he saw a look of horror on the woman’s face.  “Sarah, what’s wrong?” He touched her arm to get her attention; the woman seemed almost catatonic.  He shook her arm gently.  “Sarah?” The boy’s fear for his friend turned his thoughts from his family’s homecoming.

 

“Joe,” she whispered urgently.  “We’ve got to get out of here.”

 

“What?”

 

“Now!” The woman’s voice was more urgent.

 

Joe stood, confusion paralyzing his actions.  “That’s not your pa, Joe.  They’re come to get me.  My God, where’s Til?”

 

Joe tried reasoning with the terrified woman, but she wouldn’t budge.  “It’s Pa and Til, Sarah.” He moved to the window for a better look.  The sight stopped short the assurances he had intended to say.

 

“How’d you know, Sarah? Who are they?”

 

“They’re everyman, Joe.” The woman sounded defeated.  “What have they done to Til? He’s dead, I know it.”

 

“They ain’t done no such thing.  My pa and brothers wouldn’t let anything happen to him.” Joe shoved the obvious conclusion to that scenario, should Til be dead, out of his mind.  “We gotta get out of here.”

 

“It don’t matter.  They’ll still find us.”

 

“Maybe not to you it doesn’t matter.” The boy was desperate.  “But it sure matters to that baby.  You got to run, Sarah.  For her.”

 

He tugged at the woman’s arm until he had her attention.  “Let’s go.  There’s a way out of here.” Joe pushed Sarah toward a back window, then helped ease her heavy body out onto the hard ground.  He quickly followed, grabbing a sweater of Hoss’ that was hung over a chair.

 

Once out of the house, Joe took, a moment to get oriented.  “Your house, Sarah.  Come on.” He dragged her toward the shadows, thankful for once that the ground was frozen and the snow had drifted from the path.  Angry voices and the crackling sound of the pine pitch on the torches wafted across the dry mountain air.

 

The full moon was a blessing and a curse, Joe realized that, but for now, he was satisfied it was to his advantage.  By staying in the shadows, the two were protected from sight, yet the moonlight reflecting off the drifted snow afforded them enough vision to make trip to the house quickly.  Once inside, Joe barricaded the front door, leaving a back door open in case they needed a quick exit.  “Sarah,” Joe whispered to get her attention.  “Put this sweater on.” As the woman demurred, Joe shook her slightly.  It’s way too big for me, but it’s all I had time to get.  Put it on!”

 

Surprised at Joe’s demanding voice, Sarah complied, grateful for the added warmth.  After a few moments, she quietly laughed.  “Seems a shame we can’t use that fireplace you and Adam went to all that trouble to clean up.” Joe smiled, glad his friend’s sense of humor was returning.

 

“Yeah, I reckon that’s a luxury we can’t afford right now.” He took a quick look out the window, then ran up the stairs, returning with two wool blankets.  “This is all I could find.”

 

“Better than nothing, I’d say,” Sarah smiled, even as their predicament seemed so threatening.  “That one there’s a mighty small blanket, boy.” She pointed to the crib quilt Joe had showed her earlier in the day.

 

He blushed at being caught.  “Yeah, well, they ain’t getting this if we have to run.” He stuffed it inside his shirt, then parceled out the blankets, wrapping one around his shivering form.

 

For several hours, the two sat huddled under the blankets in the cold house, with Joe periodically going out to listen to the mayhem and loud voices from the ranch house.  On Joe’s last trip out, though, the words he was dreading pierced the crisp air.  “Check that old house on the other side of that meadow,” a deep voice called out.  “They’re here somewhere.  We’ll find ‘em.”

 

Joe looked, frantic to find a place to hide; finally remembering the tall fir with the long hanging branches.  He rushed inside, his eyes telling Sarah what she didn’t want to know.  “We’ve got to leave.  We’re sitting ducks in here.” The woman nodded in agreement, knowing more than Joe how dangerous it would be for them.

 

The two slipped out the back door, careful to stay away from any snow that might leave tracks.  “Come on,” Joe whispered, leading her to the thick fir branches, parting them to invite her in.  “They can’t see us from out there.” Sarah looked uncertain, and Joe tried a brave smile.  “Trust me.  I hid from Charlie one time under here and he never did find me til I took to sneezing so hard.” Joe tried to lighten the mood.  “Just prolonged the inevitable, that was for sure.” The boy rubbed his backside at the memory.

 

As Sarah tried to get comfortable, Joe disappeared for a few moments, returning with pine boughs he laid on the ground.  “Not as nice as that rocker, but maybe better than the cold ground.” Sarah smiled appreciatively.

 

Feeling her tense, holding her breath as a pain passed, the boy thought his friend was cold and scared.  He quietly patted her arm, neither daring to speak.  As the young man prayed for safe deliverance from this mob, the woman next to him prayed for a very different safe delivery.  The duo pressed close together, sharing the little warmth they had.  Torches and raised voices passed within five feet of them and the two cringed at the burning hatred heard from the men.

 

“Did you check the barn?” a deep voice from a tall, hooded man spoke.

 

“Me and Johnny checked it.  Jake told me he just come from the barn.  They ain’t there.  Frank’s taken some men to check the house again.”

 

“Damn,” the first voice muttered.  “They’ve got to be somewhere.  It’ll go bad for them two when we find ‘em.  I promise you that.  Stump, you take some men and block the road into this ranch.  They don’t dare go overland as cold as it is.” The voices faded off as the men drifted off to their tasks.

 

As the pains came more quickly and more intense, Sarah could no longer hide them from the boy beside her.  “Joe!” He looked over to her, surprised to find the pinched look to her face.  “This baby’s gonna come sometime soon, I can tell.”

 

Joe’s face blanched.  “She’ll die if she’s born out here.” Sarah nodded; her face taut with agreement.  “Can you move?” he spoke lowly.

 

The woman beside him nodded.  “Clouds are moving back and forth over the moon.  Next time it’s dark, we’re gonna make a run for the barn.”

 

“No, Joe.  They’ll find us there.”

 

“It’s our only choice, Sarah.  You heard ‘em.  They’re covering the roads and it sounds like they’re still wrecking the ranch house.  The barn’s it.” Knowing he was right, yet dreading the options, Sarah nodded.

 

“Get ready,” Joe whispered.  “When I say ‘go,’ we’ve got to slip out this back side and make for the south side of the road.  Don’t make a sound.” Sarah’s head dipped in agreement.

 

The boy watched the clouds, judging when the time was right.  He tapped his friend’s shoulder, pointing to the back of their hideout and she nodded in agreement, willing back the pain that was coming at regular intervals now.  The two moved quietly into the shadows of the tall pines that afforded the ranch its name; Joe carrying the blankets and Sarah leaning against the boy as they headed for the barn.

 

The two hunkered in the brush near the barn as they reconnoitered the barn area.  They flattened against a tree as a short man opened the barn door, a fat man following him out.  “I ain’t staying in that damned barn,” the first man complained.  “They ain’t here and I don’t see them strolling into this snake’s den any time soon.  Not if they got a lick of sense.  They’re long gone, I’d bet.”

 

“Yeah, let’s go to the house.  That big fireplace is gonna feel fine.”

 

The first man laughed.  “And that liquor cabinet’s got more liquor than the Bucket of Blood, I’m guessing.  I aim to get me my share.” Laughing, the two men headed for the house.

 

As the big door closed behind the intruders, Joe and Sarah slid out of the shadows into the barn.  “Quick,” Joe hurried the woman inside.  “Up in the loft.” Together, the two maneuvered themselves up the wooden rungs.  In her pain, Sarah almost fell, but Joe kept her balance.  Exhausted, she fell into the sweet hay only to be aroused as another sharp pain moved through her.

 

For once in his life, Joe felt totally out of his element.  Here he was with a pregnant woman trying to have her baby…hiding in a loft, hoping against hope that a bunch of drunken bigots wouldn’t find them…so cold that he’d long since lost the feeling in his toes.  There was nothing Joe had any control over.  It was a state he planned never to experience again.

 

As the night dragged on, Joe alternated between lying beside Sarah to try and keep them both warm to rubbing her shoulders and back as the terrible pains struck.  Nothing seemed to matter from his perspective.  Sarah was still in great pain and it was still cold as blue blazes.  Neither the blankets nor the hay offered enough protection from the chilled night air.  At least none of the drunks from the house had felt it necessary to check the barn again.

 

Around three in the morning, Sarah’s labor began in earnest.  “Joe?” Her urgent whisper warned the boy immediately that something was different.

 

“I’m here, Sarah.” He held her hand, feeling her grip cutting into his circulation.

 

“Joe, the baby’s coming.  I can feel it.  You’ve got to help me.” The fear in her voice terrified the young man.

 

The boy’s face blanched.  He’d watched more than his share of calves born, even delivered a few by himself during the heavy part of calving season when they were short handed.  But he’d never seen a baby born.  He’d never even given much thought to it.  He drew in a deep breath to calm himself.  “What do I do?”

 

Sarah gasped as the pains came harder and more frequent.  “Check if the baby’s head is showin’ yet.”

 

Joe backed into an upright.  A baby only came from one place.  That meant he had to look at her…he shook his head.  She was asking more than he could do.  “I, I, uh, I can’t, Sarah.  I ain’t never done that before.”

 

In different circumstances, Sarah would have laughed at the boy’s sudden modesty.  “You’ve got to Joe.  If you don’t help me now, this baby’s gonna die.  Please?” Her voice was pleading.

 

Gulping several times to calm himself, Joe nodded, then pulled up the dress that covered the pregnant woman.  Somehow it was different than he expected.  Even with the moonlight coming in the hayloft door, though, Joe was having trouble seeing as well as he’d like.  Tentatively, he reached between her legs, trying to feel what the bulging area shadowed in the moonlight was.  The slick, almost slimy bulge could only be the baby’s head.  “Sarah,” his voice cracked in his excitement.  “This baby’s coming.”

 

“Get a blanket to catch her with, boy.”

 

Joe pulled off his shirt, glad he had his long johns underneath.  “Push, Sarah.  I felt the top of the head!” The woman grunted as she labored to give birth.  Nothing changed from Joe’s point of view.  “Again.  That’s right.” A head emerged, haloed in the moonlight, giving Joe added enthusiasm.  He cradled his shirt, ready to catch the infant.  “Once more.  Hard.” In a Herculean effort, Sarah managed one large push and the tiny baby slid onto Joe’s shirt.  With tears in his eyes, Joe showed the baby to her tired mother.  “She’s beautiful, Sarah.  A little girl.”

 

With a wail, the baby made known her presence and her thoughts about the cold temperature.  Joe quickly dried her off as best he could and wrapped her in his shirt.  Taking the crib quilt, he wrapped that around her as well, finally handing Sarah her daughter.  Taking only a moment to memorize as much of the baby’s features as she could, Sarah slipped the baby under the oversized sweater and onto her chest.  Comforted by the warmth in which she now found herself, the baby settled down, ceasing her crying.  It wasn’t long before she was nursing contentedly at Sarah’s ample breast.

 

Try as he might, Joe couldn’t stop staring at the mother and child in front of him.  Never had he experienced anything as rare and beautiful as he’d witnessed with the birth of this baby girl.  A fierce protectiveness arose in the boy as he vowed they would all get through this night.  Sarah smiled at Joe, as though understanding all he felt and sharing in the joy of this new life.  The boy turned to the more mundane tasks of cleaning up after the birthing while Sarah drifted into a light, but well deserved sleep.

 

Not a half an hour later, Sarah woke, moving slightly to get more comfortable.  The baby rested contentedly under the large sweater, feeling the even breathing and steady heartbeat of her mother to comfort her this cold night.  “How you feeling?” Joe asked her.

 

“Tired,” Sarah spoke the truth.  “And cold.” She laughed very quietly.  “And so incredibly happy.  Oh, Joe, you have no idea how this baby makes me feel.” When she saw the hurt look in his eyes, she recanted her observation.  “No, I think maybe you do no how I feel.” She squeezed the boy’s hand.  “This baby would be dead if it weren’t for you, Joe.  We can never pay that back.”

 

Joe shrugged his shoulders.  “It’s not over yet, Sarah.  But I promise you, I won’t let anything happen to you or this baby.” He glanced to the barn door, continuing as it remained closed.  “Have you thought of a name for her?”

 

With a quiet laugh, Sarah answered him in her straightforward manner.  “I have, Little Joe.  Let me introduce you to your god-daughter, Josie Ennis.” She pulled the baby from under her sweater, checking to see if Josie were doing all right

 

“Good morning, Josie.” Joe reached to shake her hand formally, laughing as the baby gripped his index finger instead.  He looked to the baby’s mother.  “She’s sure got a strong grip, Sarah.” His voice dropped.  “She’s the most beautiful baby I’ve ever seen.”

 

Sarah smiled in understanding, slipping the baby back under the sweater.  She sat up straighter, helping the baby find a nipple on which to suckle.  The happiness died as the barn door was thrown open.  There was little consolation in knowing they couldn’t be seen from the barn floor.

 

The men spent some time searching the downstairs part of the barn.  Joe wasn’t totally convinced they were simply looking for them, but realized it really didn’t matter.  As horse beats raced into the yard, the short man turned to his cohort.  “Looks like they must a found her.  Billy’s gonna have him some fun.” He turned toward the man with him.  “Hell, I ain’t gonna miss the fun outside for nothin’.  They ain’t in here.  Let’s go.”

 

It was as the men turned that Josie decided to make her presence known.  Wet and uncomfortable, she announced her displeasure in the only way she knew.  With the first wail, the two men below stopped.  The tall one turned to the other, “You go tell Billy we done found ‘em.” He grinned lasciviously.  “This is gonna be great fun.” As the shorter man left the barn, the other garnered his six gun and mounted the rungs.

 

As the shadow from the lantern cast a hideous shadow on the wall, Joe and Sarah fought to contain their fear.  Looking desperately for a way out, the two realized they were cornered.  “Leave her alone,” Joe called out.  “She’s just had a baby.” He stood up, a protective presence between the mother and child and the evil countenance ascending the ladder.

 

Lurid grin still in place, the intruder topped the loft and found himself confronted by a fourteen year old boy, standing with the demeanor of his principled father.  “Boy, it don’t matter to me if you want to die for that colored or not.  Ain’t no skin off my nose.” Hesitating only a moment, he drew his gun and fired.

 

Little Joe’s first thought was how surprising it was that being shot was a painless ordeal.  His second thought was to protect Sarah and her baby.  He started toward the gunman; startled when he saw the man collapse at his feet, sightless eyes already set.  As he saw the dark stain oozing through the hole in the man’s jacket, Joe finally realized help had arrived.

 

“Til,” the boy yelled at the man who had fired the shot.  “They’re up here.” He held his breath once more, though, as the barn door opened, releasing it finally when his father entered.

 

The black man pointed up to the loft and Joe waved to his father whose relief matched that of the woman and boy above them.  Til clambered up the ladder, stopping for just a moment by Little Joe.  Taking both shoulders in his broad hands, the man simply squeezed the boy’s shoulders, unable to speak at all.  Joe smiled, understanding as Til rushed on to see to his wife and new daughter.

 

As he climbed down the ladder, the reality of the last hours dawned on the young man.  He stood facing his father, unable to take those last few steps to the secure embrace that awaited him.  Recognizing Joe had given all he could give, Ben stepped forward, pulling his son to him.  Joe, lower lip trembling, cried shamelessly on his father’s shoulder as Ben caressed the dark curls; the left hand patting the boy’s back as he had years ago to comfort a younger, broken hearted youngster.
It was thirty minutes or so before Ben, Little Joe, Til, Sarah and Josie were ready to leave the barn.  What had begun as an emotional reunion turned into a celebration of life.  With the realization of how close they came to losing their beloved son, daughter or wife, neither Til nor Ben were willing to give up the closeness as they held their loves to them.

 

Supporting each other as they left the barn, the small group turned as the deputy sheriff arrived with ten or so of the town’s leading citizens.  Together, they finished securing the prisoners that Roy and the other Cartwright’s had captured.  Adam and Hoss soon joined the family circle and a feeling of wholeness enveloped them all.

 

Fred Mason, president of the Virginia City Bank, approached, his hand extended.  The other fine citizens of the town followed closely behind.  “Ben,” Mason began, clasping the elder Cartwright’s hand, “I’d like to begin offering my apologies to your new hand and his family.  But I don’t believe I’ve met them yet.”

 

“Oh, yes, well, Fred this is Til and Sarah Ennis and their new baby, Josie.  Til, Sarah, this is Fred Mason, president of the bank.” Ben’s hand gestured to the group behind him.  “Uh, going around the circle, that’s Bill Jenkins.  He owns the hardware store…” To Til and Sarah, the names became a blur, the wariness obvious in their eyes.

 

But, their heads jerked around as Mason continued.  “I’d like to apologize to you both for what’s happened here tonight.  We all want you to know, that’s not Virginia City’s way.” Sarah and Til exchanged quick glances.  Mason had seen the look and he turned to Til.  “Mr.  Ennis, every town has its citizens who don’t belong in a civilized community.  We’ve got ours, too, regretfully.  Please don’t judge us all by those men who were here tonight.” Mason looked Ennis in the eye.  “Welcome to Virginia City, Mr.  Ennis.” The banker extended his hand to Ennis.  With just a moments hesitation, Til smiled, and the two shook hands.

 

A man in the back of the crowd stepped forward.  “Just how new is that baby, Mrs.  Ennis?”

 

Sarah smiled proudly and looked to Little Joe.  “Two hours old would you say, Joe?” The boy nodded in agreement.

 

The group murmured words of encouragement as Tom Blake, owner of the mercantile spoke up.  “Congratulations are in order then.  And I expect this is the first Christmas baby we’ve ever had isn’t it? As the crowed murmured in agreement, Blake continued.  “The Virginia City business community has been collecting money every year for the last five years at least to be donated to the first Christmas baby born in our town.” He turned to the other businessmen.  “I’d say little Josie here is the recipient of that money.” The men applauded the decision.

 

“You come to the Virginia City bank as soon as your able, Mr.  and Mrs.  Ennis, and we’ll get a savings account set up in your daughter’s name with that money.”

 

“And all the merchant’s in town each have gifts for Josie, too,” Blake continued.  “Come by my store when you can and I’ll take you around and introduce you all.  The basket of gifts is in the front window of the store.”

 

Sarah moved closer to Til as her husband slid his arm around her waist.  Jim Morton, from the hardware store came forward.  “Ben, it looks as though the sheriff and his deputy have this riffraff under control.” They all looked to the buckboard that had been borrowed from the Cartwright’s.  Ten men, hoods removed, were squeezed into the back of the wagon, hands tied behind their backs.  With a wave, Roy and Jed headed back to town with the prisoners.

 

Mason spoke again, “Let’s get that house of yours put back together, Ben.” He clapped the rancher on the back.  “Then, I don’t know about the rest of these men, but this Santa’s got to get home before my kids wake up.” The crowd laughed as they headed to the ranch house.

 

In less than an hour, the house was relatively restored to its original orderliness.  The businessmen all left and Dr.  Martin was making his exit after examining Sarah and Josie.  Adam, Hoss and Little Joe were all asleep and even Ben was yawning.  Til noticed and laughed as he stifled his own yawn.  “Don’t know about you, Ben, but I’m ready for a few hours sleep.” He glanced out the window as already the false dawn was lighting the early morning sky.

 

“You get that sleep, Til.  You, too, Ben.  Between Josie and those boys of Ben’s you two will be up before you know it.  I don’t care how old they are now, Ben,” Paul anticipated Ben’s objections.  “I know how excited this whole family is about Christmas.  And Til, your wife would probably appreciate seeing you, too.” He laughed as he closed the door behind him, ready himself to head back home.
Despite all that had happened, or perhaps because of it, the miracle of Christmas was no more felt than it was that Christmas with the Cartwrights, their new hand, his wife and the couple’s new baby.  Examined by Dr.  Martin who found both Mom and daughter fit, Sarah and her new baby were sitting on the settee in front of the fireplace.  Gifts were piled high on the blanket over the rocker, along the base of the hearth and onto the floor.  Although they had never even put up a tree this year, no one seemed to need its beauty to understand the meaning of the holiday this year.

 

Til, his face beaming as he looked into his new daughter’s face, was seated beside his wife, a protective arm around her shoulders as he drew her to him; Hoss sat, leaning against the arm at the other end of the sofa.  Ben was in his favorite chair, turned facing the flames as he enjoyed the fellowship of family, realizing how close he had come to losing his youngest son.  Adam’s chair completed the circle drawing the small group into the comfort and love of the family circle.  Joe, sitting at his oldest brother’s feet, could barely contain his enthusiasm.  Not even the events of the night could dampen his natural optimism, his love of family that now extended to the Cartwright’s newest hand and his family.

 

“Sarah,” Adam began.  “You and Joe never did tell us all that happened last night.  You feel like filling us in?”

 

Sarah smiled at the man, then looked down at Little Joe who was leaning against the front of his brother’s chair.  “I don’t mind.  Joe’s the hero in this story, though.  If it weren’t for him, Josie would be dead, I’m sure of that.” She shivered slightly.  “And I hate to think what would have happened to me.” She quickly told them of the events from the hours before.  Although scary then, it didn’t seem nearly so frightening now, when told in front of the warm fireplace, in the company of loving family and friends.

 

“Despite all that happened, I don’t think they’d ever have found us if it hadn’t been for little Josie here.” The audience looked up, eager for her to continue that captivating tale.

 

Joe interrupted.  “Yeah, those guys were ready to leave when Josie just started crying.  She gave us away, that’s for sure.” He reached over and tweaked the baby’s tiny toes as Josie kicked her little legs.

 

“Well,” Adam commented, “she surely is your namesake, Little Joe.” His brother looked confused, so Adam continued.  “Just like you, she doesn’t know when to keep her mouth shut.”

 

“Hey,” Joe reacted, then grinned as everyone else laughed in agreement.

 

“Hey, Pa,” Joe wondered.  “What took you all so long to get here?”

 

Like Sarah, Ben found the tale easier now that he knew his family was safe.  “They’d caught us leaving the International House.  Took us to that abandoned boarding house on the edge of town.  Then they bound and gagged us.”

 

Adam continued as his father paused from his delivery.  “They took our guns, but were just too lazy to search any further.  And I’d taken to carrying a knife in my boot.  They left two men to guard us, though, so we didn’t have a chance to get the knife until the two passed out drunk.”

 

“After we got everyone untied, Roy found his deputy and sent him to get some men to come out to the Ponderosa.  We came on ahead with Roy.  They weren’t expecting us, that’s for sure.  Wasn’t a shot fired except for when Til shot that man.”

 

“And,” Til took up the story.  “The sheriff’s done told me it was a case of me defending my family, so there won’t be any charges pressed.” He seemed surprised at that turn of events.  “Doesn’t happen often when a black man kills a white man and doesn’t get tried for murder.” His smile was a genuine one.  “I’d say between having Sarah and Josie safe, knowing you Cartwrights and not ending up in jail, this is the best Christmas I’ve ever had.” His wife’s eyes spoke her agreement.

 

When the shoulder massage Adam delivered threatened to put the youngest Cartwright back to sleep, Ben decided they’d better open presents so they could relax before supper.  He handed out the gifts, selected with care for each recipient.

 

For Adam, Joe had found an autographed copy of James Fennimore Cooper’s Last of the Mohicans.  It had been in a peddler’s wagon and the man had not realized its worth.  For his father, the boy had made a leather headstall for Buck, silver conchos decorating the front.  He’d braided a set of reins for Hoss that were long enough for his brother’s over-sized horse, a gift his older brother was most appreciative of.  For Til, the youngest Cartwright had managed to braid a lead rope of fine leather, beautiful and utilitarian.  Even Josie, born earlier that day, had a gift of an old rattle of Joe’s.  The boy felt pleased with his presents.

 

While he realized the Cartwrights were an unusual family, Til was amazed at the thoughtfulness of each of them, both towards each other and toward the interlopers.  He smiled to himself.  No, he, Sarah and Josie were not intruders within this family.

 

From Adam, Josie had a new cradle of cherry.  Hoss had made a feather bedding that just fit it while Ben had purchased a beautiful hand made quilt for the baby from the church guild.  To the man who had saved his son’s life, Ben gave his new riding horse, complete with saddle and bridle.  For Sarah, he had a large family bible, a tender inscription welcoming her family to the Comstock written inside, Josie’s birth carefully recorded.  For Joe, a new saddle pad was given; Adam, the complete works of Charles Dickens; Hoss, a book on veterinary/farrier techniques.

 

Adam had a bottle of cologne for Little Joe, the kind Adam wore and which Joe was constantly borrowing.  He’d had a large shirt made for Hoss, complete with sleeves large enough for the man’s massive arms.  The promise of a new porch on Til and Sarah’s house was his gift to them from him and Hoss.  A new pipe for his father, to replace the one Joe had knocked off the end table while roughhousing with Hoss one time, completed his gifts.
Hoss presented his father with a fine tooled rifle scabbard.  For Adam, he’d hand tooled a breastplate for Sport and for Little Joe, he’d made a rattlesnake hat band, the rattle still attached.

 

Even Til and Sarah had managed gifts for their new friends.  Til had hand made beautiful picture frames for each of the Cartwright siblings, ones that would match the size of the pictures he’d seen in their rooms.  For Ben, he’d made a map of the Ponderosa and framed it in a beautiful frame.  Sarah had crocheted a lovely afghan to place over the settee.

 

As the group settled in to a quiet mood, contemplating all that had transpired in the last twenty-four hours, Ben turned a puzzled face to his youngest son who was squirming under Adam’s constraint as the older brother rubbed the younger boy’s back.  Although he wasn’t sure what Joe had had in mind, he felt sure his son had been making something for the Ennis’.  “Joe,” he began cautiously, not wanting to embarrass the boy if anything had gone wrong.  “Is there anything else?”

 

Joe looked embarrassed, hoping he’d be able to present the Sarah her gift in private.  He’d brought it out anticipating giving it to her with the others, then realized how silly his idea seemed.  He shrugged his shoulders.  “Yes, sir.  I guess so.”

 

He stood up, straightening his pants as he did so.  Walking over to the rocking chair, he pulled off the old quilt.  There sat the lovingly reconstructed old rocker that Ben had tossed up in the barn loft years ago when it had been in broken pieces.  “Is that that old rocker I had planned to use for kindling?” asked Ben, amazed at the transformation.

 

Joe nodded, a smile on his face.  “It’s the one, Pa.  Adam helped me in a couple of places, but mostly, I did this myself.” He was proud of the job he’d done.

 

Sarah sat transfixed.  As she remembered her conversations with the boy, her heart swelled.  “For the east window?” she ventured.

 

Little Joe nodded shyly.  “Yes, ma’am.” He looked down at his feet.  He’d rehearsed what he wanted to say to Sarah, but he really hadn’t planned on speaking in front of his entire family.

 

“It’s lovely, Joseph.”

 

“Yes, ma’am.” He stood awkwardly.  It was obvious the boy had something to say, but equally apparent that he didn’t know how to begin.

 

Sarah reached out a hand, cradling Josie in her right arm; Joe responded to her invitation.  As he held her left hand in his, he gazed lovingly at the new child protected in her mother’s arm.  His own eyes misting, Joe tried to explain the full meaning of the gift of the rocking chair.  “Honest, I hope nothing happens to this baby and I sure hope nothing happens to you.” He looked into her eyes, desperate that she would understand what he was revealing.  “But if anything ever happened to you, if you had this rocker now and you were to rock Josie a lot, maybe,” the boy’s voice cracked as he tried to control his own confused emotions, “maybe, if anything did happen to you, maybe she could remember, too, and she could feel your arms around her and smell the rosewater cologne.” He looked at his friend, and his time line grew fuzzy as his feelings threatened to carry him where he didn’t want to go just now.  “And she’d know she’d been loved by her mother, even if she couldn’t for sure remember much else.” Convinced by the silence, that he’d made an utter fool of himself, Joe turned and ran up the stairs to his room, leaving a still void to fill the room.

 

Sarah looked to Ben, then stood as though to follow Little Joe upstairs.  “Wait,” Ben spoke in his deep voice as he, himself, stood to see to his son.  “What Joe is feeling, well, he’s always been pretty transparent.  What’s not been so obvious, though, is WHY he’s feeling the way he is.  I’d like to talk with him.”

 

Ben moved quietly up the stairs, knowing he had to speak with his young son, yet not sure of what to say to ease the emotions the boy was feeling.  At the top of the stairs, he paused, then turned and knocked on Little Joe’s door.  “Go away,” he heard the voice inside demand.

 

“Joseph,” he reacted calmly.  “I’d like to talk with you.” Ben waited patiently for his son to make up his mind.  Had the man been intent on punishing his son for some indiscretion, he’d not have waited for a response, but this time, Ben knew Little Joe would have to make the next move.

 

It was several moments before he heard Joe’s muffled affirmation to his father’s entreaty.  Entering, Ben quietly closed the door behind him as he sought out the boy.  Little Joe was standing in a beam of moonlight by the window, shadows from the flickering flame of his lamp playing, oddly out of place as they danced on his shirt.  Ben stood unruffled just inside the doorway as he waited for Little Joe to acknowledge his presence.

 

Again, it was several minutes before the boy turned to face his father.  As his son lifted his head, Ben was struck by the desperation in the boy’s eyes.  “Pa,” the words were hard to hear and the father listened carefully for the spoken and unspoken thoughts Joe would share.  “Just tell me why I can’t be like Hoss or Adam.” The tears Ben had been surprised Joe had kept at bay now trickled quietly down the young man’s cheeks.

 

Although anxious to pull his son to him, to protect him from his own thoughts, Ben moved slowly, still unsure of the right response.  “Joe,” he began uncertainly, “why would you want to be like them?”

 

Little Joe looked up, surprised at his father’s denseness.  “Pa,” the boy was desperate, “Adam is so smart.  Hoss is so nice.” He looked back down as he continued, “I just muddle through, Pa.  None of them makes a mess of things like I can.”

 

Tempted to enlighten his son about his brothers’ foibles, instead Ben stood silently and waited for his son to continue.  “You heard Sarah! Obi was big and healthy.  Gentle, like Hoss.  Jem was tall, smart, thoughtful, like Adam.” His son’s voice took on a plaintive tone.  “What would she say if one of her sons had been like me?” He shook his head in disdain.

 

“Can you hear her, Pa?” The boy gestured as he spoke, imitating Sarah.  “Then there was my son, whatever.  He’s so much like you, Little Joe.  He has a temper he can’t control; he acts before he thinks; he’s always in trouble with his Pa; when the chips are down, he can be counted on to make a fool of himself.” Joe sat on the bed, cradling his head in his hands.  “You know she’d love a son like Jem or Obi more than the one that might be like me.” Sorrowful eyes locked onto his father’s as the boy whispered so low Ben was not sure he’d heard correctly, “who can’t even be sure he even remembers his very own ma.”

 

It was then that Ben fully realized this discussion was not about Sarah and Little Joe at all.  It was a talk long overdue.  Softly, he pulled the stuffed chair until it was across from his son, sitting silently as he tried to choose the best words.  With an unspoken prayer for wisdom and understanding, Ben pulled from an inside vest pocket, a picture of Marie Cartwright, a beautiful woman whose eyes and smile were incarnated in her son, Joseph, along with her fiery personality, her slim build and her love of life.

 

As he passed the tintype to his son, the boy wiped away tears on his shirtsleeve.  “She was beautiful, Pa.” He stared intently at the image.

 

Ben paused, then responded, “That she was, son.  Beautiful in so many, many ways.” He turned to share the picture with Little Joe.  “Those were such happy years here.  At first, Adam was such a beast to her.  I thought she’d just move in and both my sons would be as happy as I was.” He shook his head.  “I couldn’t have been more wrong.  But you know what finally put us, as a family, on the right path?”

 

Joe shook his head, only half listening as his mind absorbed the image of his mother.  “You were the catalyst that pulled our family together, Joseph.” His son looked up, confused.

 

“Marie loved Hoss and Adam, of that I have no doubt.  But, son, her love for you was matched by no love I’ve ever seen…not even her love for me.” Joe stared at this father as the man continued.  “She was powerfully protective of you, boy.  From forces seen and unseen.  It’s no wonder that rocking chair is your strongest memory of your mother.” He looked up to see if his son were listening.

 

“She rocked you when you were unhappy, when you were tired, confused or, as she said, when you were just in need of a hug.  It was as if she dared the world to intrude when you were on her lap or in her arms.” Ben smiled to himself.  “I certainly knew when to keep my distance.  You were her son, Joseph.  It wasn’t what you did that made her love you.  It was who you were, of her flesh, that made her love you so intensely, more than life itself.” Ben’s large hands rested on his son’s slender shoulders.  “And it’s for that very reason I love you so very, very much.”

 

“But, Pa,” Joe was not to be assuaged as he turned away from his father.  “Don’t you see?” he argued as he turned back, his stance somewhere between a challenge and a plea.  “What kind of a son am I?”

 

“Joe,” Ben began, but his son cut him off.

 

“You just said my ma loved me more than life itself.  Didn’t you?” The boy wrapped his own arms around himself, rocking back and forth.

 

“I did, son.”

 

“Pa,” the boy’s voice was raised with agony, “I can’t be sure if I even remember what she looked like.  If I didn’t have these pictures, I just don’t know.” His shoulders shook as he continued.  “Hoss and Adam, they weren’t even her real kids, Pa.  And they know more about her than I do.  Me!” He poked himself in his chest.  “Me, the son she loved more than life itself.  I didn’t even know she used to bring out snacks to you when you all were working on the ranch.  God, think of all the things I don’t know about her.” He glared at his father.  “What does that say about me, Pa?” His voice dropped to a soft whisper.

 

“It says about you that you were five years old when your mother died, Joseph.  That’s all it says.” He pulled his son into his embrace, his hands caressing the soft curls on the boy’s head.  In a quiet tone of reflection, Ben continued, “and I guess it says that I left out a very important part of your life…those memories that are as precious as the life itself.” He held the boy as the emotions and fears of a lifetime were finally released in a torrent of tears.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

When Little Joe and his father came back downstairs, almost an hour later, they were surprised to find a houseful of women in the great room.  Most had come bearing gifts of food; for the dining table was covered with baskets with delicious smells.  In addition, a pile of baby clothes, blankets, and diapers were stacked beside Sarah.  A small group of women were engaged in some fun conversation with Sarah, that was obvious.  Ben had to search to find Josie, locating her in Mary Blake’s large lap.

 

“Good afternoon, ladies,” he greeted them.  “And a Merry Christmas.”

 

“Merry Christmas to you, too, Ben,” they responded.

 

“Mrs.  Thompson, the preacher’s wife, came over and squeezed Little Joe’s cheek.  “Merry Christmas to you, too, young man.”

 

“Yes’m,” he mumbled, searching frantically for a way out of this crowd of women.

 

Sensing his discomfort, Ben suggested he help Hoss and Adam in the barn.  Grateful for a way out, Little Joe wished them all a Merry Christmas, stooped to give Josie a kiss, grabbed his coat and hurried out the door.

 

Ever the gracious host, Ben saw to his guests until, one by one, the women bid their farewells as they headed back to their families.

 

Relieved that his family and friends had survived a trying ordeal, pleased by the response of Virginia City’s civic leaders and local ranchers, Ben leaned against the door after saying good bye to the last of the visitors.  As his family and the Ennis family gathered in the living room for Ben’s reading from the book of Luke, the rancher closed his eyes and said a silent prayer of thanks…for peace on earth and the goodwill toward men.

 

The End

 

Tags:  Adam Cartwright, Ben Cartwright, Hoss Cartwright, Joe / Little Joe Cartwright