Summary: While serving a self-imposed sentence in the barn on Christmas Eve, Little Joe learns a lesson in the forgiveness that lies at the heart of Christmas.
Written for day 20 of the 2021 Advent Calendar.
Rating: G
Word Count: 1903

Bonanza
~*~*~ Advent Calendar ~*~*~
* Day 20 *

A Peculiar Penance

Through the open barn door, Little Joe Cartwright could hear muffled strains of music from inside the house.  He spared a small, self-sympathizing sigh at the sound he couldn’t be part of, even though he knew he’d brought it on himself.  Walking to the most familiar stall, he stroked his pinto friend’s muzzle and wondered aloud, “Why is it I always pick right before Christmas to mess up, huh, Cooch?”  He wasn’t a little kid anymore, so he wasn’t worried about finding switches in his stocking.  Pa wasn’t that mean, but he could sure lecture a fellow hard enough to make him wish for switches, instead, and Little Joe was feeling hard put to remember a Christmas when he hadn’t earned one of those lectures.  This one was no exception.

Cochise shook his head, as if to say he didn’t understand it, either, and that notion brought a small chuckle from the sixteen-year-old.  “At least, you’re gonna get a treat,” Little Joe said, as he opened a sack filled with apple wedges and fed one to the horse.  He’d begged enough from Hop Sing for all the other horses, too, at least the ones in the barn, but the best one in the world would get the first piece—well, pieces, ‘cause Cochise was also destined for the lion’s share.

He took an apple wedge for himself before moving on to the other horses in the barn, as he wondered whether there’d be any cookies left inside by the time the annual Christmas Eve party was over.  Pa hadn’t said he couldn’t come in, of course, as long as he did his assigned punishment chore first, but he didn’t feel very welcome there, especially by a certain older brother.

Adam had good reason to bear him a grudge, although Little Joe had only intended to perturb his brother, take him down a peg.  Adam deserved that much for being bossy and critical and every other kind of bothersome only he could concoct!  However, the simple prank had gone woefully wrong.  All he’d done was poise a bucket of pig swill atop the barn door, so the smelly contents would cascade down on Mr. Full-of-Himself, and it had worked like a charm.  What Little Joe hadn’t foreseen was that the muck would temporarily blind Adam or that he’d stumble around the barn, knock over a pitchfork left where it shouldn’t have been (by Joe, of course, but purely by accident, not part of the prank) and then stumble over it and fall directly onto the upturned prongs.  Three of them went straight through his calf; the fourth only scratched a long groove on the surface of his leg.  He’d yelled a bunch of epithets that Pa wouldn’t have approved of, but fortunately, Little Joe didn’t hear every name his brother called him as he raced into the house for help.

He moved to the stall that held his brother’s horse and offered Sport a wedge of apple and then another, a sort of peace offering he so far hadn’t been able to give Adam directly.  Little Joe couldn’t really blame his older brother for being angry.  His innocent prank (okay, probably not so innocent) had cost Adam kind of dear.  Considering the pig swill and traces of manure and hay stuck to the pitchfork, infection had been inevitable, and they were lucky that Doc Martin, who knew better than most how to handle such things, had been available.  So, gangrene hadn’t set in, and Adam wasn’t gonna lose his leg or anything drastic like that, but missing out on the dancing that went with the music pouring out from the house was nigh onto tragic.  At least, it would have been to Joe, which might be why he was sentencing himself to missing it tonight.  If Adam couldn’t, he shouldn’t.  Seemed like plain justice to him and, he was positive, to Adam, too.

Adam sure hadn’t thought much of Pa’s assigned punishment: feed the horses from the time it happened clean through to New Year’s Day.  “That’s all?” Adam had demanded in the first flush of pain and fury.

“Trust me, son; it’ll be enough,” Ben had said and calmly gone on washing out the wound, but the exasperated whoosh of air that gusted out of older brother said he didn’t agree.

Frankly, neither did Little Joe.  Just feed the horses for ten days?  He liked working with horses!  He figured something like cleaning the outhouses in the middle of a snowstorm was more what he deserved.  That punishment had seemed like getting off scot-free, at least until tonight, when he’d had to feed not only the family’s mounts, but those of all the guests who had arrived for the party, too.  Ordinarily, he and his brothers worked together on that chore and it went fast.  Tonight, it meant that Adam wasn’t the only one missing out on the dancing, but in a way, that made Little Joe feel better.

That realization hit about the time he’d finished the chore and could have gone back in to the music and the dancing (hopefully with pretty Marjorie Landers).  That was also about the time the “if Adam couldn’t, I shouldn’t” philosophy hit, so he’d sentenced himself to a night in the barn with the horses, instead of any lovely ladies.  And about the time he’d gone to the kitchen for the apples, too.  Might as well give the horses a merry Christmas, if he wasn’t gonna have one himself.  After all, they hadn’t hurt Adam, unless you counted supplying the manure on that pitchfork that had infected his leg and kept him from dancing away the hours ‘til Christmas morn.  Now there was nothing left to do in the barn, and the hours were likely to stretch out as long for him as they did for . . .

The longest sigh yet surfaced as he pictured poor, pitiful Adam with nothing to do but sit and watch the others dance around him.  Having a few apple wedges left, Little Joe decided, maybe, it would be all right if he consoled himself with the remains of the horses’ treats, in lieu of all the sugary ones inside.  He’d only consumed one, however, when he heard footsteps crunching through the snow toward the entrance to the barn and, looking up, he saw his brother Hoss come in, hugging himself in his coatless cold.

“Hey, Shortshanks,” Hoss said, rubbing his hands up and down his arms.  “What you doin’ out here?”

Since Hoss already knew about his assignment to feed the horses, Little Joe gave the only other answer he could think of, “Eatin’ apples.”

Hoss chuckled.  “There’s heaps better things to eat inside, little brother.  Ain’t you through with the horses yet?”

“Yeah, I’m through.”  Another sigh escaped, squelched at the last second.

Hoss was the kind of man who could catch the slightest sign of a troubled spirit, especially in his little brother, and with Joe it usually didn’t pay not to give it heed.  Plumb terrible stuff could happen if he didn’t, and he wasn’t about to deal with plumb terrible on the night before Christmas.  “What is it, punkin?” he asked, sitting down on a tackle box next to the one his little brother occupied.

If it had been Pa or, worse yet, Adam, Little Joe would have said, “Nothing” and hoped to get away with it.  However, this was Hoss, his best friend and confidante through all the sometimes-turbulent days of his boyhood, so it all poured out, freer and freer as he went along: the merriment of plotting revenge, which turned into horror when Adam was hurt, which led to shame and then to pity and, finally, to the self-imposed sentence that was somehow supposed to make up for it all in the eyes of angels above, though never, of course, in the eyes of Adam himself.

Hoss took it all in and then, taking a wedge of apple from his little brother’s hand, said, “That’s the biggest load of manure I’ve ever heard.”  He chomped down on the fruit while he waited for Little Joe to digest his words.  It usually worked better than saying more.

Now, had Adam told him he was full of manure, fireworks would have immediately flared, but, again, this was Hoss and, therefore, it had to be considered.  “How so?” Little Joe asked and took another apple wedge himself.

“You done your punishment,” Hoss said.  “That’s all that Pa expects.”  Seeing his brother start to object, he held up a big palm to silence him.  “If you’re thinkin’ Adam bears you a grudge, you’re wrong.”

“Aw, Hoss” was all Little Joe got out, but the palm came up again.

“Who do you think sent me out to check on you?” Hoss demanded, some firmness getting into his voice.

“Hop Sing?” Little Joe suggested weakly.

“Joe.”  The single word was drawn out in a voice that grew low and as close to censorious as Hoss ever got with the boy.

“Not Adam,” Little Joe insisted.  He’d known all along who Hoss meant, but it didn’t seem possible, not after all the trouble he’d caused.

“Of course, Adam!  He ain’t the one holdin’ a grudge; you are.”  Then Hoss became flustered and at a loss for words, though he stammered some out.  “That ain’t exactly what I meant.  It ain’t a grudge you’re hangin’ onto, more like”—again words failed him.

“Guilt?” his little brother supplied.

“Yeah,” Hoss said, relieved.  “That’s the one . . . and there ain’t no need.  Doggone it, Joe, it’s Christmas and you’re brothers.  If peace on earth, good will to men is meant for anyone, it ought to be brothers.”

“Ought to be,” Little Joe conceded.

“Then let it be,” Hoss pressed.  “Adam ain’t mad no more, I promise you, so there ain’t no need for you to be feelin’ what you are, either.  Let it go, Little Joe, and let’s get back inside, where it’s warm and where there’s still plenty of good food and Pa’s once-a-year wassail.”  He tapped his little brother’s ribs with a comradely elbow.  “And pretty girls to dance with.  They been askin’ for you, too.”

That did it.  As the picture of sashaying around the festive room with Marjorie Landers in his arms slid into Little Joe’s mind, he stood up.  Hoss did, too, and with an arm wrapped around the younger boy’s scrawny shoulders, headed back to the house.  The door opened on a scene filled with light and music and laughter, but after hanging his jacket on the rack over the credenza, Little Joe hesitated.  He chanced a nervous glance toward the blue chair, where Adam had been condemned to spend the evening, but older brother didn’t look like a condemned man.  He looked like a man getting solicitous attention from half a dozen pretty girls—and unfortunately, from old-maid schoolmarm, Abigail Jones, too.  Even taking that into account, however, older brother looked like he was enjoying himself.

Just then, Adam looked up and gave him a smile and a nod, and in that instant Little Joe knew he was forgiven.  Words could wait.  For now, peace reigned over the Ponderosa, joy had returned to their world, and there were lovely ladies to dance with.

The End

Character:  Little Joe

Activity:  Feeding the horses

Link to Day 21 of the Bonanza Brand 2021 Advent Calendar:  Song of the Bells by SJR Cartwright