Bonanza
~*~*~ Advent Calendar ~*~*~
* Day 14 *

Summary:  It’s looking more and more like lumps of coal are likely gifts this year.

Rating:  G
Word Count:  3,070

The Tipping Point

December 23

Joe and Hoss wrestled the large pine through the front door, shedding needles and smearing muddy boot prints as they made their way to the spot cleared for the tree. Adam rubbed his hands together before extending his arms towards the fire to thaw them out.

Ben closed the front door behind him and said, “You boys get this mess cleaned up. Hop Sing is still in a foul mood from spending two days cleaning the kitchen.”

“We didn’t expect him home early,” said Joe as he and Hoss muscled the tree upright.

The Cartwrights had dirtied every dish, utensil, and pot or pan in Hop Sing’s absence. They’d intended to clean it up before their cook returned but their good intentions didn’t get the job done.

“Get a broom, Adam,” said Ben. “Sweep up those needles before Hop Sing sees them.”

“Too late,” said a familiar voice.

All four Cartwrights stopped what they were doing.

Hop Sing stood near the dining table, arms across his chest. His glare could have set the pine tree ablaze.

“House mess. Live like barbarians.” The cook’s scowl echoed his tone of voice.

“We’ll clean this up,” said Ben.

“Bah! Humbug!” said Hop Sing.

Joe turned away from the tree, leaving Hoss to keep it from toppling over. Hoss peeked through a gap in the branches. Adam tucked his thumbs into his pockets and studied a spot on the rug.

Hop Sing trembled for a moment as a dark flush crept up his neck. “Make more work when plenty to do. Alla time leave mess for Hop Sing clean up.”

“Calm down,” said Ben. He held his hands up in an attempt to defuse the situation.

“We appreciate you, Hop Sing,” said Hoss.

“You only think with belly.” Hop Sing turned on his heel and said, “Go where appreciated—Honorable Father’s house.” He muttered in Chinese as he turned the corner to his room to pack his carpet bag.

*****

Ben drove Hop Sing into town in the wagon used to carry home the tree. The fresh scent of cut pine didn’t cheer either man.

Ben handed his cook money that would have normally been placed within an envelope and tucked inside Hop Sing’s Christmas present.

Hop Sing reached for the money but hesitated. Loyalty to his employer battled with the desire to throw it back at him and tell him to find another cook. He took the money without meeting Ben’s eye and mumbled his thanks. Clutching his carpetbag, he shuffled up the street towards the Chinese section of Virginia City.

Reaching his father’s small home, he hesitated, unsure whether to knock or open the door. He opted to knock.

A few minutes passed and Hop Sing was about to knock again when the door opened.

The older man gazed upon his son with a quizzical expression. He stepped to the side, allowing Hop Sing to enter the snug room.

“What bothers you, my son?”

Hop Sing set his bag down and walked over to the small fireplace, noting the faint streaks of dust on the floor. “Not appreciated by Cartwrights.”

The chair creaked as his father sat down.

“Clean and cook all the time, never a grateful word.”

“It is not their way,” said Hop Ling. “Do they not treat you as more than a servant?”

“Place to sleep not problem.” He turned away from the fireplace, searching his father’s face. “If I go away tomorrow and never come back, they will find someone else. I will be as forgotten as the dirt on the bottom of their boots.”

Hop Ling leaned back into his chair and steepled his fingers. His son was middle-aged and made a good living working for the Cartwrights—he lived on the Ponderosa, not in the confines of Chinatown. His son could walk into any business in Virginia City and be welcomed because of his employer.

“You sleep on this dilemma. An answer will come to you.”

*****

December 24

In the morning, Hop Ling was meditating when he was disturbed by a knock on the door. He cracked open one eye, hoping whoever it might be would go away. At another knock, the elderly man shuffled across the room. He opened the door and was surprised at the sight of Adam Cartwright. The Chinese man bowed in greeting.

“Good morning, Mister Adam. How can Hop Ling be of help?”

Adam took off his hat and rubbed his fingers on the brim. “I was hoping to talk with Hop Sing.”

“My son is out back, feeding my few chickens.”

“Thank you,” said Adam as he put his hat back on. He walked around the side of the little house to the pen at the rear.

Hop Sing sprinkled corn to lure the chickens into a false sense of security in order to catch one for the pot. Something out of place caught his eye and he looked over to see Adam. He turned back to the chickens.

“I’d like to have a word,” said Adam.

The cook kept his attention on the birds.

Adam stepped into the pen and turned a bucket upside down for a seat. Once settled, he cleared his throat. “I remember coming here as a boy. With Pa.”

There was no reply.

“We were newly arrived and Pa needed someone to cook and help look after Hoss. Someone had told Pa that there was a man in Chinatown with a son looking for work and gave us directions. Your father introduced you and I said I was too big for a minder.” Adam chuckled a low sound. “Pa and I had a necessary talk that night.”

Hop Sing hesitated with his hand in the bowl of corn. “Next morning, Hop Sing come where you stay. You sit very careful.”

Adam nodded. “That I did.” He clasped his hands around one knee and leaned back. “You were the first up and the last to bed, working as hard as Pa. Lord only knows how you never cut off any fingers while keeping one eye on Hoss and the other on the potatoes you chopped for stew. We didn’t have a lot of money but it didn’t matter—you made sure we had food in our bellies and clean clothes. You became part of our family.”

The chickens pecked the ground at Hop Sing’s feet and squawked for more corn. Memories of those lean years flickered in Hop Sing’s memories. Helping Mister Ben chop trees for the large house. Collecting nuts, berries, and wild vegetables with Hoss to go along with the fish or game cooked over an open fire. Lecturing Adam on a son’s duty to respect his father as they collected firewood. Mending frayed clothing until another shirt or pair of pants could be purchased. Mister Ben dozing in his chair after a long day of planting grass for pasture or hewing logs for the house. Adam reading a borrowed book by flickering firelight. Hoss playing with small toys carved from chunks of wood discarded from logs being prepared to build the house. Despite the lack of material goods, the cabin was filled with a warmth created by love.

Adam stood and righted the bucket then headed to the other side of the pen to leave. He stopped and looked over his shoulder at Hop Sing. “Turned out I did need a minder. Someone to tell me I wasn’t yet a man but no longer a boy, show me which chores I should take from Pa and how to do them well, and remind me I would be missed if I ever went through with a threat to run away.”

Hop Sing threw more corn at the chickens as Adam departed. Part of Hop Sing longed to go back to the Ponderosa but his pride was still wounded.

*****

Another visitor arrived at Hop Ling’s house in the early afternoon. At a knock, Hop Ling set his cup of tea down and crossed the small room. He bowed in greeting. “What brings Mr. Hoss to my door?”

Hoss took off his hat and smoothed down his wispy hair with the other hand. “I came to talk to Hop Sing. Is he around?”

“My son is at the laundry.”

“Thank you, Mr. Ling,” said Hoss. He set off for the tents where the Chinese scrubbed the stains out of clothes for a pittance.

Entering the tent where Hop Ling did business, Hoss found Hop Sing up to his elbows in a bucket of sudsy water. Hoss cleared his throat.

“No more clothes today. You bring clothes tomorrow,” said Hop Sing.

“I ain’t here for laundry,” said Hoss.

An awkward silence passed between the men.

“You gotta come home, Hop Sing. It won’t be Christmas without you.”

“Your belly will be filled even if Hop Sing not there.”

“I ain’t talkin’ about food,” said Hoss. He rubbed a finger under his nose.

Hop Sing wrung out a shirt and scrubbed a stubborn stain against the washboard. He hoped Hoss would go away if he didn’t talk.

“Dadburnit, Hop Sing. I know we done wrong by leavin’ your kitchen a mess. We meant to clean it but dishes kept pilin’ up as we had to check for sign of wolves or panthers in the pastures. A couple of line shacks also needed fixin’. Then we got caught up in findin’ a tree for the house. We plumb got caught up in the excitement of Christmas.”

“Cattle treated better.”

“That ain’t true. We get you the best pots and pans and any vegetables or spices you need. You know we all appreciate the hampers you make for the hands so they can have Christmas dinners. It’s a lot of work to cook for every man on the ranch but you make it seem easy. If we offer to help, you chase us out of the kitchen. I know it ain’t because we ain’t capable of helping, but the kitchen is your piece of the Ponderosa.”

The cook remained silent so Hoss turned to a subject other than food.

“Joe an’ me come to you, not Pa, with problems we can’t solve because we trust you’ll keep our secrets. All of us come to you for doctorin’ cuts and sprains.” Hoss jammed his hands into his pockets and scuffed a boot against the thin floor boards. “You’re part of our family.”

Seeing that Hop Sing wasn’t going to stop laundering the shirt, Hoss gently squeezed the cook’s elbow. Hop Sing let the shirt fall into the bucket of water. The two men stepped into the narrow street and Hop Sing shielded his eyes against the glare with his hand. Two children, playing outside a tent, saw the large man and ran over to him. Hoss reached into his vest pocket and pulled out two licorice bits, handing them over with a smile. The children thanked him in Chinese, popped their treats into their mouths, and resumed their play.

Hoss rested a hand on Hop Sing’s shoulder. “Folks’ sons and daughters have work in houses and other ranches ‘round here, thanks to you. Anyone lookin’ for a cook or housekeeper knows they can trust your word when you vouch for someone as a hard worker. If you leave, what’ll happen to those young’uns as they grow up? Will they find work in places other than the laundry?”

Hop Sing studied his shoe, battling back a feeling of shame. He felt a weight of responsibility for the children of Chinatown. His knew his father boasted of the generosity of the Ponderosa and it was that generosity that had brought in money to build small cabins to replace the flimsy tents.

“You put as much sweat and blood into the Ponderosa as me or Joe or Adam or Pa. It’s your home as much as ours. We’ll try to do better.”

Hoss gave the cook’s shoulder a gentle squeeze before heading out of Chinatown.

Hop Sing watched the large man until he was mounted on his horse and enveloped in a cloud of dust. The cook always pretended he didn’t have a favorite but, deep in his heart, Hoss held a special place. He was the one son who was slow to judge and quick with an apology. A healthy appetite didn’t hurt, either. He returned to the laundry to finish the day’s washing before going back to his father’s cabin.

*****

Father and son were taking their evening meal of soup when there was a rap against the door. They exchanged quizzical looks and Hop Ling shoved away from the table to greet their guest.

“Little Joe. You should be home.”

“I was delivering a few Christmas presents in town. I’d like to talk to Hop Sing, if I may.”

Hop Ling allowed Joe entry into his humble home. “I must deliver soup to one who is in need of a hot meal.” He ladled soup from the pot and set a bowl in front of Joe before filling another bowl he covered with a napkin. He gave a slight bow to Joe before leaving on his errand.

Hop Sing looked into the patterns in his soup as he dragged the spoon around. At a gentle pressure on his arm, he met Joe’s eyes.

“You have to come back. The Ponderosa is your home.”

“Stay here. No more disrespect.” The corners of Hop Sing’s mouth turned down.

Joe realized he was on the verge of losing before he’d begun. He took a moment to swallow down a couple spoonsful of soup then rested his arms on the table so they enclosed the bowl. “Mama left, then Adam. You were always there, the one person who didn’t abandon me. Oh, I know Pa and Hoss were still around but they were off working cattle and sometimes Pa was away for a week or so on business. I always knew where to find you if I had a problem with kids at school or after a night of bad dreams. How would I have turned out without you to steer me right?”

“Trouble,” said Hop Sing. He couldn’t prevent one corner of his mouth turning up.

Joe reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a tarnished chain with a small medallion hanging from it. He held it out and Hop Sing turned up his hand to receive it in his palm.

“This belonged to Mama. I remember pulling it away from her neck so I could get a better look. When I asked her what it was for, she said it was to remind her that she no longer needed to ask Saint Jude for help every day.” Joe let the chain and medal puddle in Hop Sing’s hand. “When I was older, I asked Father Krauss about Saint Jude and he told me Jude is the patron saint of hopeless causes.” Joe placed his palm across Hop Sing’s and gave the other man’s hand a gentle squeeze. “I know it seems we’re hopeless a lot of the time. Without you, the Ponderosa would look as if a strong wind blew through the house all the time.”

Hop Sing couldn’t hold back a chuckle.

“Come home, Hop Sing. We’ll try harder.”

Joe finished his soup and stood to leave. “I left a horse in the first stall over at the livery.”

Hop Ling returned to his house as Little Joe walked out the door. “I hope your Santa is good to you, Little Joe.”

Joe placed a finger against the brim of his hat and gave the older man a smile. “Merry Christmas.”

Hop Ling closed the door behind him as his son studied the medal in the candlelight. “What do you have?”

“Cartwright charm for talk to ancestors.”

“What is it they say?”

“I don’t know,” said Hop Sing. He set the chain on the table and took the bowl from his father. Gathering up the dishes on the table, he washed them while his father read.

“Have you made a decision, my son?”

Hop Sing sighed and set the bowl in its place. He crossed the room and knelt at his father’s feet. “My head says pride more important but my heart says to forgive.”

Hop Ling placed his hand on his son’s head. “The Cartwrights are not bad people. You say they had many other things to do and did not find time for cleaning. Sleep on your dilemma, my son. You will have your answer in the morning.”

*****

Hop Sing was too restless to sleep and he rose from the pallet. He stopped in front of the small ancestral altar and whispered a plea for guidance. After several minutes, he paced to the table and the glint of the chain caught his eye. Picking it up, he rubbed his thumb across the medal, feeling the faint outline of a person’s head. “Is it hopeless, saint?”

*****

December 25

In the morning, the Cartwrights were in the kitchen, determined to fix a Christmas feast. Hoss and Joe had gone out before dawn to bag a goose when the sun came up. They’d succeeded in shooting a large one for their dinner and brought it home to prepare.

“Joe, you’re making a dadblamed mess with that bird,” said Hoss.

“You’re just jealous because I shot it and you didn’t.”

“That ain’t true.”

“Where’s that large pan Hop Sing uses for the Christmas goose?” asked Ben as he rummaged through the pots.

Adam swore under his breath as he spilled flour down his leg and on the kitchen floor.

“You tryin’ to turn yourself into a snowman?” Hoss asked as Joe cackled at the sight. Joe didn’t help matters any by sprinkling flour on Adam’s back.

“Mess, mess, mess!”

The Cartwrights stopped what they were doing as if they were children caught with their hands in the cookie jar. Hoss gave Joe’s shoulder a light punch and both men smiled at the cook.

Hop Sing walked to a drawer and pulled out the tools for preparing the goose and accompanying vegetables. “Get out of kitchen before Hop Sing go back China!”

“Merry Christmas,” said Ben as he ushered his sons out of the cook’s domain.

The cook rubbed his fingers on the medal. “You speak truth, saint. Cartwrights hopeless without Hop Sing.” He then tucked the chain back into his shirt, put on an apron. and began preparing the goose for cooking.

The End

Merry Christmas!

Link to 2019 Advent Calendar – December 15:

Christmas Child by AC1830