Bonanza
~*~*~ Advent Calendar ~*~*~
* Day 9 *

Summary:  The most treasured family heirloom are our sweet family memories.

Rating:  G  3,115 words

Note:  This story was written for the Bonanza Brand 2020 Advent Calendar, originated in the Forums.

My Story Index

Heirlooms

By nature, Henry Cartwright was patient towards grown-ups, tolerating their antics graciously (as long as they didn’t ruffle his hair, but that’s neither here nor there)—in particular if they were accompanied by home baked biscuits, hot chocolate, and stories from his father Adam’s childhood—but his uncle Hoss making gooey eyes at Miss Susan instead of playing games or pulling funny faces at Henry from across the table was hard to bear. And so the six-year-old wasn’t too enthusiastic when Hoss brought Miss Susan to the second of this year’s family Advent teas.

His mother, of course, who was good friends with Miss Susan, was very happy to see her. She hugged Miss Susan extra tightly, and then they both tiptoed to baby Florence’s cradle near the fireplace, peeked into it, cooed softly and had a short conversation that was too soft to understand and they exchanged that knowing smile that grown-ups smiled when they had secrets.

But then Miss Susan admired the flurry of paper snowflakes hanging from the chandelier above the coffee table and Henry, who’d singlehandedly made them all by himself with only the tiniest little assistance from his Mama, thought that maybe it wouldn’t be so bad after all. Besides, Henry’s other uncle, Joe, hadn’t brought anyone and therefore was at Henry’s disposal. And the best and most easily persuadable storyteller was Henry’s grandfather anyway.

Mama had set the coffee table with her best porcelain and silverware, she’d spent the week prior with baking biscuits (which by now every Cartwright and other person who wanted to get their share of the best cookies available in the whole Comstock area called them) and Christmas pudding and cooking quince bread. Everything was arranged on silver trays, and the table was decorated with fir sprigs and cranberries. It looked almost as fine as the arrangement Mr. Hop had laid out for them the Sunday before. There was something missing, though. Something that had occupied Henry’s thoughts for days now.

That was why he blurted out, “I’m sorry we don’t have a broken sugar bowl, grandpa,” as soon as they’d settled around the table. “I wanted to break one, but Mama didn’t let me.”

Grandpa almost laughed, but he bit his lip and glanced at Mama, who, to Henry’s utmost astonishment, smiled and rolled her eyes and shook her head at the same time, and then Grandpa smiled, too. “Henry,” he said, “that would have been an exceptionally bad idea. You know better than to break things on purpose. And one broken sugar bowl tradition is enough for this family anyway.”

Papa leaned over and ruffled Henry’s hair. “We’ll have our own Christmas traditions, Son. You can’t just adopt some, they’ll have to arise of their own.”

“Well, I might help with that,” Grandpa said. “The story I told you last Sunday—”

“About the sugar bowl,” Henry interrupted. Then, turning to Miss Susan, he added, “It was Grandma Inger’s, and Hoss broke it and my Pa mended it when they were small, and Grandpa wanted to tan Pa then, but he didn’t because he found out it was Hoss who broke it, and it was an accident anyway, and now the bowl’s a Christmas tradition and reminds Grandpa of Inger and much more, and…and…so.”

“Yes, that’s the gist of it,” Papa said, ruffling Henry’s hair yet again. “More or less. You were saying, Pa…?”

“Well, yes, anyway… The story brought back many memories. Of Inger, and then of Joe’s mama, Marie and your Pa’s mama, Elizabeth, too. And of the little heirlooms I’ve left from them, things that carry memories. Things like this.” He pulled something out of the pocket of his vest and handed them to Henry.

It was two woollen socks, approximately Henry’s size, but clearly old and worn. They were of a greenish colour, with white ribbons threaded through the cuffs and some frilly lace edging. On further investigation, both were filled with tiny candy canes, walnuts and small candies in colourful wrappers.

“Christmas stockings?” Henry asked incredulous. “You can’t have them before Christmas morning, Mama says.”

“They aren’t Christmas stockings. They are Advent stockings, and you can have what’s inside right now.” Grandpa threw Mama a pointed look, just as she interrupted pouring everyone tea, quite clearly to complain.

“Thank you,” Henry said before there could be any objection from either his mother or his father, and proceeded to pull the sweets from the socks and laid them, one after the other, on his cake plate. Then he handed everyone at the table one of the candies, even Miss Susan, and finally went to put a candy cane on the rim of Florence’s cradle.

Back at the table, he fiddled with the socks. “They look old,” he offered, fully aware that there had to be more to them than being “Advent stockings”.

“They are old,” Grandpa confirmed. “They belonged to your father.”

Looking at his father’s feet, Henry crossed his arms and raised a single eyebrow (a trait that came naturally with being the son of Adam and Juliet Cartwright.)

“Hoss wore them, too,” Grandpa continued.

Now Henry knew he was being made a fool. “Never in a million years would they fit Hoss.”

Henry was only six, but he knew when he his leg was being pulled, and there was absolutely no reason for Uncle Hoss to chuckle or for Miss Susan to giggle.  “Or Papa,” he added for good measure.

“Oh, but they did fit them once,” Grandpa said. “Remember: Your father once was a little boy, too. Like everyone, he started his life as baby.”

Miss Susan, for whatever reason, giggled again. And Mama, too. “There are times I cannot believe that myself,” she said, and now everyone chuckled. Even Papa.

“And then there are times,” Mama went on, “I feel it wasn’t that long ago after all.”

Now Uncle Joe laughed. Everyone else was smart enough to hold their breath.

Papa glared at Joe. And Mama. “Oh, really? Would you like to elaborate?” he said, although his tone made clear he didn’t want any elaboration of it at all.

He should have known his wife was immune to that tone. She smiled brightly. “Let me think.” She put a finger to her temple and looked into nowhere. “Ah, yes. Last night? When I caught you red-handed next to the biscuit jar?”

Now Papa didn’t glare anymore. Instead, he looked rather sheepishly. “I told you I didn’t…”

“You had biscuit crumbs in your stubble,” Mama said and smiled very sweetly.

Uncle Joe laughed again, and said, “Convicted by growth of beard. I feel your pain, brother, but I’ve always told you to shave again in the afternoon.”

And with that Papa was back at glaring at Joe.

But before they could pursue further on that rather uninteresting grown-up stuff, Henry brought them back to the really intriguing. “So Papa wore them socks when he was a baby?”

His grandfather gratefully picked up on that. “Yes, he did. Well, not exactly when he was a baby, actually. Although they were meant to be baby socks. But, as you can see, they are huge for baby socks.” He made a pause here, took a sip of tea and put a piece of Christmas pudding on his plate. He played with his fork for a moment, then put it down and continued. “Elizabeth knitted them. When she was expecting. She was a woman of many talents, loving, caring, sharp as a whip. She was an avid reader, even aspired to write her own book. She kept the books at your great grandfather’s store.”

“So that’s where Papa got it from?”

“Yes, I guess so.” Grandpa chuckled. “Knitting was her last favourite needle work, though, and I suspect that’s why she wasn’t very good at it. But she desperately wanted to follow tradition and create something knitted for her child—so she started to knit socks. I’m not sure if she had no inkling of how tiny baby feet are or if she simply couldn’t translate her idea into wool. In any case, when the socks were completed, they were far too big.”

“And you couldn’t put them on your baby.”

“Not at first, no. Although, on our way to the West, when the nights were cold, I pulled them over his feet, right up the thighs. When he was about five he would wear them properly, and he did so until the day Hoss was born.”

“Who started his life as a baby, too,” Henry helpfully provided. “The socks couldn’t have fitted him either.”

“You’re right, Hoss was a baby, too. A baby with very big feet, though, and with very cold feet. Hoss’s ma, Inger, had knitted baby socks, too, but she knew how to do needlework and how tiny baby feet are. She didn’t know, though, that her baby would have bigger feet than any other.”

At that Miss Susan giggled again, and Uncle Hoss mumbled something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like, “you don’t have to tell everything, Pa.”

And Papa said cheerfully, “No one could have imagined that. He was the largest baby I’ve ever seen.”

“His baby feet were as large as Papa’s at five?” Henry’s infinite adoration for his uncle grew even more.

Grandpa laughed. “No, not quite that big. But they were too big for Inger’s socks, and so she threaded ribbons in to secure them around Hoss’s ankles. Those yellow ribbons, they are from Inger.”

“Now you’re sayin’ that, I remember them socks.” Hoss reached across the table and picked one sock up. He fingered the green wool, and, reverently, the ribbon. “I’ve done wore them a couple of years. Didn’t need the strings anymore one day, but Adam told me they were from my Ma so I left them in.”

“It’s remarkable that you do remember that,” Papa chimed in. “You cannot have worn them beyond being three, four at most. After that you almost fit in my shoes.” He smiled at Henry’s incredulous face. “Well, almost. But everything I’d outgrown was handed down to Hoss immediately, and it never took too long for things to fit him perfectly.”

Henry wondered if it would be the same with him and Florence, who were six years apart, just like Papa and Hoss. But Florence was by no means a very large baby, not that Henry had much experience with that, just everyone always said how tiny she was. And she was a girl. She wouldn’t wear his hand-me-downs anyway.

Looking at the socks again, Henry found one more thing to investigate. “Did Inger put the lace on them, too?”

“No,” Grandpa said, “that was Marie. The morning after Joe’s birth, I took Adam and Hoss to see Marie and their new brother. Very solemnly, each of them gave Marie one of the socks then. At first, she didn’t know what to make of it, but after I explained their history, she felt very honoured. The socks didn’t match anything Marie had prepared for Joe, though. They were plainer than everything else.”

“Truer words were never uttered. Marie did love frilly things, there’s no way around it,” Papa said, and then he pursed his lips and his shoulders started shaking.

Hoss didn’t show that much restraint. “Lordy, I remember Joe’s baby outfits. He looked like a custard pie with all them ruffles and frills. And everything was white or pastel pink or yellow, and he always got himself dirty after the shortest time. But Marie always had enough fresh clothing to redress him.”

Mama and Miss Susan could hardly contain themselves. Hands pressed to their mouths, they both shook with silent laughter, Henry, smiling brightly, looked at Uncle Joe and tried to picture him in frills, all the while Joe was squirming in his seat and still trying to look as if he wasn’t even there.

“Well,” Grandpa said after everyone had calmed down, “be it as it may, Marie added the lace to the socks to make them match the rest of his attire.”

And the room erupted with giggles yet again.

Looking at Joe, Grandpa shrugged his shoulders. “What can I say? It’s how it was.” He took another sip of tea, and Henry was certain he did it more to hide his smile than to enjoy the taste of Lapsang  Oolong with a dash of cinnamon and coriander. “I have to admit I almost had forgotten those socks. But when I was in the reminiscing mood after last Sunday’s story, I went through the strong box that I keep in my office for memorabilia of the old days. If you want, I can show you more of them the next time you come to the Ponderosa.”

Henry nodded eagerly. “Yes, Grandpa, I want that. Can I come tomorrow?”

“May I,” Papa said in his stern-father-voice.

“You wanta come, too?” Henry gave him a broad smile.

His father returned a smile, albeit one that looked a little strained. He eventually shook his head and smiled properly, and said, “Tomorrow you’re going to school. I guess you’ll have to wait for next Sunday.”

“I’ll show you then,” Grandpa said and held an arm out to Henry, who instantly rounded the table and slid into the space next to him on the settee, snuggling up against the man who kept all the secrets of the years past.

“The socks,” Grandpa went on while he ruffled Henry’s hair, “I found at the bottom of the box. I thought you should have them. They might even fit you for a year or so. I regret I didn’t think of them earlier or I’d have given them to your mother on your birth.”

Grandpa ruffled Henry’s hair yet again while he looked at his daughter-in-law with a tender smile on his lips. She lowered her head, then gazed up again and smiled back. It was that sort of silent communication that usually only Henry’s father could have with his mother, but his grandfather seemed to have finally mastered it, too. When Henry looked up, he saw an expression of surprised content on Grandpa’s face.

“I’m gonna wear them, promised,” said Henry making the conversation audible again. “Not at school, though.”

“Wise decision,” Joe deadpanned.

“And when they’re too small I give them to Florence, and when they’re too small for her, we’ll give them to— Give them to…” He looked at his parents.

His father was, strange as it seemed, struggling to find words. His mother just looked pained. No-one uttered a sound.

Papa finally said in a strained voice, “You know how long it took to have Florence, right? We might not…” and he looked for words again.

“We are very happy to have you and Florence,” Mama said then. “Everything else is in the Good Lord’s hands.”

And there was silence again. Miss Susan had her eyes fixed on her hands, Uncle Joe fiddled with his napkin, and Grandpa squeezed Henry so tight that he almost couldn’t breathe anymore.

Then Uncle Hoss cleared his throat. “Well, y’know…ahm…mebbie…er, one day…if…iffn…in case…or…er…” He shifted a little away from Miss Susan and turned so they were facing each other. “Just, er, mebbie one days you can give them there socks to me. Us. I mean, me and…and…this here…Sus…Miss Susan, that is. I mean…Iffn you’d be of the mind, I mean, if you’d be willing…. What I’m trying to say…”

Miss Susan sat there ramrod straight, stiff as a poker, quiet as a mouse her face red as a beet. Hoss took one of her hands and kept it between his giant paws, rubbing it tenderly. “What I’m about to say is—” He broke off yet again.

Joe leaned over and stage-whispered, “Get on your knee, Hoss.”

Like a puppet on a string, Hoss slid from the settee and got on his knee. “As I was sayin’…Do you…I mean…You’ve gotta know, if you say yes, I’d be the luckiest fella in the territory.”

Nothing in Miss Susan’s behaviour indicated that she ‘d heard even a single word. She kept staring at Hoss.

“Do you…say…I mean…. What do you say?”

“You haven’t asked her a question yet, Hoss.” Mama didn’t even try to stage-whisper.

“I…oh.” Wide-eyed Uncle Hoss looked at Papa, who smiled and nodded.

“Go ahead, Hoss, you’re doing great.”

Henry made a mental note to ask his father later why it was all right for grown-ups to lie so blatantly. And how to accomplish doing that without batting an eye.

His uncle Hoss apparently fell for the lie. He took a deep breath and, despite the fact that he had to be aware that everyone was watching him closely, suddenly looked confident. And determined. “Susan,” he said with a steady voice, “would you want to marry me?”

All eyes went to Miss Susan now.

Miss Susan, incredible as it seemed, even redder in the face than before, took her fogged spectacles off. “Hoss, I…” She looked down at where Hoss still clasped her hand, then up again with a smile. “Yes, I would want to marry you. Very much.”

And again the room erupted, this time with cheers. Everyone was on their feet suddenly, there were hugs and kisses, congratulations, many male hands that crashed down on Hoss’s shoulder and slapped his back, a female hand that clasped Miss Susan’s, Grandpa’s voice roaring “finally!” over and over again. Bottles of champagne appeared from somewhere, fine crystal glasses, and even Henry was allowed to have one (“careful, do not drop it”) with the tiniest sip of the grown-up beverage (which tasted very peculiar. Henry honestly had no idea why they made such a fuss about it.)

It took quite a while for the grown-ups to calm down. When they all were back at their seats again, Hoss and Miss Susan very close to each other, hands clasped and eyes only on one another, Henry picked the socks up. He put what was left of the sweets back into them, fastened Inger’s ribbons to secure the treats from falling out. He arranged the socks in a way that seemed decorative to him next to a plate with candied apples, and then just sat and let the adult’s chitter chatter wash over him.

He had a mug of hot chocolate in front of him, the coffee table bent under all the Christmas delicacies, he’d gotten a lot of glimpses into his family’s past, and Uncle Hoss had a bride now.

A perfect Advent Sunday. Truly.

________
Our most treasured family heirloom are our sweet family memories. The past is never dead, it is not even past. ~William Faulkner

 

My character was Elizabeth

The gift, a pair of socks

Inspired by:  Elizabeth, My Love
Director:  Lewis Allen
Written by:  Anthony Lawrence, David Dortort (creator)

Link to Bonanza Brand 2020 Advent Calendar – Day 10 – Mama’s Brooch by Sierras