Author’s note: Originally, this was to be my offering for Day 16 of the 2022 Advent Calendar.  My ‘hero’ was to be Hop Sing with Roy Coffee as a secondary character.  Roy moved right in and took over the story and my prompt (he’s got a gun, so I had to let him!), and so I decided this one wouldn’t work and wrote another one with Hop Sing at its center. I hope you enjoy them both.

Rated G

Word count: 4121

Baubles

It was a very cold and bleak wintry day in Virginia City in the year of the Lord eighteen-hundred-and-sixty-one; so cold and bleak that it elicited a sigh from the lonely man who stood looking out of his office window.  Rarely had he seen so much snow in all of his livelong days.  At least two decades had passed since that kind of snow had come rollin’ down from the Sierras.  He’d just returned from wadin’ through it and was plumb tuckered out.  ‘Neither rain, nor snow, nor sleet, nor hail shall keep a man from his appointed rounds’ might have originated with those who carried the post.

It went for lawmen too.

Roy Coffee wriggled his stockinged toes, hoping to bring some life back to them.  He’d given a thought to soakin’ his frost-nipped digits in the cup of hot coffee he held, but decided it would do him more good warmin’ his insides.  The heavy snow had driven most everyone in and kept them there.  Other than one miserable wreck of a drunk he’d found in a back alley half-froze to death – who was snorin’ it off in one of his cells right now – he hadn’t seen a soul, Christian or otherwise.  ‘Course there was another reason for that.  It was Christmas eve.  Roy dropped the curtain he’d been holdin’ and turned back into the room.

It was gonna be a lonely one.

Most Christmas Eves it was all he could do to get his decorations up.  Seemed like folks come out of the woodwork to wish their local sheriff a “Merry Christmas’.  Roy glanced at his office desk.  The heavily marred surface was empty.  Generally, by this time of day, it’d be brimful with brightly wrapped boxes and bottles of cheer – and, if he was lucky, maybe even a fat roasted turkey for his supper.  The older man shook his head as he crossed to his desk chair and sat down.

Weren’t no one crazy enough to come to Virginia City tonight.  Not in this weather.

He s’posed the ones he missed the most were the Cartwrights. Of all the inhabitants here about, they was the ones he thought of as ‘family’.  Weather permittin’, Ben and his boys always come by on Christmas Eve to wish him a happy holiday and spend a few hours shootin’ the breeze.  Sometimes, Ben’s boys would regale him with song – usually, that was Adam’s idea.  The lawman chuckled.  At one point or another durin’ the visit Little Joe would start shoutin’, and he’d have to grab his keys and let the boy out of the cell them two ornery brothers of his had locked him up in.  Adam, Hoss, and Little Joe would usually move on then, headin’ for their friends’ houses, or maybe a stop at Sam’s for a glass of the bartender’s famous egg nog.  That’s when he and Ben would settle in and get to reminiscin’.  Roy ran a finger over his mustache, ticklin’ his nose, and sniffed.  Reminiscin’ wasn’t much fun when a man was alone.

In fact, it was downright melancholy.

Since he spent more time in the jailhouse than he did at his home – or so it seemed to him – he usually set his Christmas tree up right here.  He had the tree, a little green fir near his height and pretty as any filly.  It was sitting in the corner.  Next to it was the wooden box full of Christmas baubles he meant to decorate it with.  He’d thought about puttin’ the two together tonight since he didn’t have nothin’ else to do, but somehow the whole dang thing seemed like a waste of time.  Wouldn’t be no one in tonight, tomorrow, nor the next day neither to see it, not with the snow comin’ down’ like a banshee.

Looked like Christmas was gonna pass him right by this year.

There was another man in Virginia City that night, just as alone and just as discouraged.  He’d come to town several days before in a wagon laden with Christmas presents for his family.  The place he now called home was far away, so he set out early, taking no chance that he would miss them.

Hop Sing sighed as he walked to the window of the new building that housed his father, Hop Ling’s, laundry.  The old building had burnt down two years before during the riots that followed Alpheus Troy’s evil attempt to kidnap Ben Cartwright’s youngest son.  This new one was located not in Chinatown, but in the heart of Virginia City and across from its jail.  No white man would choose this place for fear an outlaw might escape and bring them harm.  His father did not worry about such things.  Like him, Hop Ling believed he was taken care of.  Though they kept their ancient ways, both he and his father had come to respect and believe in the white man’s God.  This was due to the Cartwrights.  Many white men went to church.  Most did not live as the Lord Jehovah’s Word called them to live.  Ben Cartwright and his sons did.  The Asian man glanced at the tinsel and greens hung above the laundry door, and then turned to look at the crèche lovingly placed just below the Hop family’s shrine.  In China, where he came from, there was no such thing as Christmas.

Hop Sing thought that was a shame.

He had hoped to visit with his family and share this joy with them, and then to return to the Ponderosa in time to prepare for Christmas Day.  For this reason he had come to town early, so there would be more than enough time for his return.  How could he have known a white dragon would appear, breathing snow instead of fire; coating everything with its icy breath?  The Asian man’s gaze shifted to the piece of paper he’d left lying on his father’s work table.

How could he guessed that his family would choose such a time to take a journey?

He had arrived to find the door to his father’s laundry locked.  Pinned upon that door was a notice that read:

Hop family no here.

Gone to big city San Francisco.  See cousin number twenty-one.

White man wash own clothes till come back.

Seeing this, he fished in his pocket for the key.  Upon opening the door, he stepped in and called out.  Perhaps someone had remained behind to watch the shop?

No one answered.

He called again and waited.

He was still waiting.

The wagon he quickly emptied, taking care to guard from the never-ending snow the presents he’d brought for his family, as well as those intended for the Cartwrights’ friends.  All sat unopened beside his father’s work table, which was lit by a single oil lamp that cast a cheerless glow.  One night came and went, and then another, and now the four men he loved would be sitting down to eat a supper he should have prepared.  Hop Sing chuckled in spite of the ache in his heart.  It was his hope that Mistah Joe had been the cook.  There was much the boy had learned of cooking at his knee.  Little Joe would know the larder was full of cans of sweet corn, beans, and other vegetables, as well as jars of sweetmeat and fruit that could be opened.  He kept it well-stocked for just such a calamity.  Hop Sing sighed.  At least those he loved would not go hungry.

The Asian man crossed the empty room to the window. He pulled back the curtain and looked out.  He too was hungry.

Hungry for company.

Roy was at the window again.  He chuckled at his stubborn hope.

Like somethin’ was gonna change!

He’d just dropped the curtain when something caught his eye that caused him to lift it again.  There was a light in the window across the street.  You couldn’t miss it.  The lawman stood stock-still, contemplatin’ what might be goin’ on, and then decided he’d better take a look – just in case it was somethin’ what shouldn’t be goin’ on.  Then, without puttin’ on a coat or coverin’ his thinnin’ hair with a hat – which went a long way toward provin’ he was thick as a boardwalk plank! – Roy opened the door and stepped onto the porch.  Miracle of miracles!  At the same time the door of the building opposite opened and a man came out.  The snow was blowin’ so hard, he couldn’t see who it was.

Didn’t matter.

He was so desperate for company, he’d have hollered and invited that there outlaw Frank ‘Pistol Pete’ Eaton over!

Roy made a broad gesture that he thought said ‘Come here!’ loud enough.  The man  nodded his head like he understood, but then, instead of startin’ across the street, disappeared back inside the laundry!  The lawman scratched his head.  Maybe it was one of them there Chinamen what didn’t speak no English come lookin’ for his freshly washed drawers.  The older man snorted.  If so, he probably wasn’t full of no Christmas cheer neither!  A moment later the door opened again and a stout figure came out bundled from head to toe and carryin’ a big sack on his back.  Roy kept a keen eye on the man as he stepped off the porch and plowed his way through the thigh-high snow.  Even in the middle of town, in a snow like this, a feller could get turned around in a second and disappear.

By the time they arrived, he could of mistook his unexpected visitor for a snowman!

The lawman stepped out of the way so the man could enter, and then closed the door behind him.  It was warm enough in the jail that the snow he’d picked up along the way started meltin’ right off.  Weren’t too soon afore there was a modest-size puddle under his feet.

“Howdy, stranger!” Roy exclaimed.  “I’m right glad to see you!  Still, I gotta wonder.  How come you’re here in Virginia City on Christmas Eve and not sittin’ at home in front of the fire with the wife and kiddies?”

The man stamped his feet, releasin’ an avalanche of snow that added mightily to the puddle.  He didn’t speak until he’d finished peelin’ away all the layers.  The first words that come out his mouth told Roy he’d been wrong on all counts.  It wasn’t a Chinaman couldn’t speak English or one of Hop Lings’ customers.

It was Ben Cartwright’s cook, Hop Sing!

“Things not goin’ the way you expected, eh?” Roy asked in reply to the string of Cantonese.

The China man blew out an exasperated sigh.  “Hop Sing not expect to be in Virginia City so long!  Hop Sing should be home at Ponderosa!  Come to see Hop family, only Hop family no want to see him.  They all gone.  All gone!”  The Asian man sighed and his head shook.  “Honorable father and mother not wish to be with most humble son.”

“Now, hold on, Hop Sing.  That just ain’t so.  I know for a fact that your pa sent a rider out to the ranch with a message to let you know they was going.  I spoke to him myself.  That cousin of yours, number twenty, was it?   Well, he come down with the influenza and your Pa wanted to make sure he got to see him…just in case, you know?”  The lawman counted up the days on his fingers.  “Must have been about a week back.”

“Number twenty-one cousin.  He long-time friend of father, so father have to go.  Hop Sing come to town same time.  Must be he pass messenger on road.”

“I’m right sorry that happened,” he replied.  “It ain’t good to be without family on Christmas Eve.”

Hop Sing looked at him sharply. “Mister Roy alone.  He not with family.  That not good either.”

Roy scratched his head.  “Well, I suppose so, but only on account of I ain’t got no family in these here parts.”  He jerked a thumb over his shoulder.  “Lessen you count Jake Rider who’s sleepin’ it off back there in a cell.”

“Mister Roy not able to get to his home because of snow?”

He shrugged.  Truth was, he didn’t want to go home.  It was even lonelier than here.

“Yeah,” he replied.

The Asian man nodded again.  Then he beamed.

“Now, neither Mister Roy or Hop Sing be alone!”

Hop Sing knew something of Roy Coffee’s story.  Over the years he’d overheard bits and pieces when the lawman talked to Mistah Ben.  Sheriff Roy had a wife who died many years before.  He had never married, but he had loved, and so he knew of the pain that time did not take away.  Mistah Cartwright and sons invited the lawman to the Ponderosa each Christmas so he would not be alone.  Some years he would stay and this made everyone happy.  This year all of his deputies were gone and sheriff had to turn down Mistah Ben’s invitation.  He could not leave the town with no one to keep watch.  The Asian man glanced at the lawman who had gone to stand by the window.  He understood this man.  There were things to wish and things to want.

And there was duty.

“Why you not trim your tree?” he asked suddenly.

Mister Roy turned to look at him – and then glanced at the tree.  “Didn’t seem no reason too. With this storm, weren’t no one gonna see it.”

“Hop Sing here to see it now.”

The other man stared at him.  Then he laughed.  “Yeah, I guess you are.  You like trimmin’ trees?”

“Hop Sing no get to trim tree whether he like or no.  Mistah Ben’s sons fight over who gets to do so.”  He paused.  “Usually it number three son who win.”

A smile brightened the lawman’s face.  “Without cheatin’?”

The Asian man grinned as well.  “That Christmas secret.”

Roy motioned toward the sack Hop Sing had carried through the snow.  “You gonna tell me what you got in there?”

Hop Sing shook his head. “No can tell yet.  Tree come first.  Need Christmas tree to put present under.”

The sheriff’s eyes lit up.  “You got a present in there for me?”

“First decorate tree,” he replied.  “Then maybe Sheriff Roy find out.”

The older man’s gaze returned to the wooden box.  “I don’t know….”

Hop Sing wondered what was in this box that held such mystery?  “Mister Roy have reason he not want to open box and get out decorations?”

The sheriff shrugged as a light sparked in his eye that might have been a tear.

“I guess it’s okay,” he said.  “Now that I ain’t alone.”

Roy lifted the box from the floor and placed it on his desk, and then reverently laid a hand on its worn lid.  Hop Sing followed close behind.  The Asian man looked over his shoulder while he worked the latch and opened it.  Most of what lay inside was just plain old baubles.  His wife wasn’t one for fancy things and she always made sure their tree was right and proper in case the parson came by for a visit.  Fact is, she made most of the ornaments herself.  Over time some had fallen to pieces.  Gingerbread men and women made a right good Christmas feast for a mouse!  There was only one left, and that was what he pulled out first and handed to Hop Sing.

The Asian man sighed as he took it.  “Mistah Hoss always asks for gingerbread men on Christmas day.  Not there to make them for him this year.”

“Maybe he made ‘em himself.”

The horrified look Hop Sing gave him made him laugh and laugh and laugh.

Once he’d stopped snortin’, Roy drew out the next item – a set of fancy tinsel stars – and handed them to the other man.  The missus thought they was acceptable since Jesus had a star and, after all, a sheriff wore one too!  What followed after that was the usual strings of wooden beads, a couple of prune chimney sweeps, and a trio of orange baskets with jingle bells tucked inside.  The tussie-mussies the missus had made looked a mite tattered, but that Hop Sing, he had a knack.  He made them fancy paper cones with their paper flowers look elegant enough any woman would have been proud to have one hangin’ off her arm!  Roy bit his lip as he checked the box.  There was only one bauble left.  He glanced over his shoulder to make sure Ben’s cook wasn’t lookin’ and put the lid down.

“Why Mister Roy close box?  Hop Sing see something inside.”

Dang!

“It ain’t nothin’,” he said, reaching for the latch.

“What sheriff mean ‘nothing’?  It ‘something’.  Hop Sing see it shine in light.”

Roy closed his eyes and sighed.  ‘Well, old girl,’ he thought.  ‘I guess you aren’t gonna let me get by without I use it.’

The lawman opened the box again.  On its rough bottom lay one last Christmas bauble – an exquisite string of hand-blown glass beads.  They was old when he bought them.  The man what sold them to him told him they was made in Germany in the forties.  Each bead was about a quarter-inch in size and was mouth-blown from a hollow tube of glass and then “silvered” on the inside so it gleamed with an inner fire.  Some of the beads were painted as solid colors.  Others had dots and stripes, and a few were wire-wrapped.

Roy held them in his hands, but made no move to put them on the tree.

The friend of his employer remained still.  He held the strand of glass beads and looked upon them as if they were a treasure of surpassing value.  Hop Sing wished now he had not pressed the older man to open the box again and draw them out.

He recognized a sacred moment.

“You must forgive this one,” he said softly. “I did not know.”

The lawman sniffed.  “It’s okay,” Roy said.  “It’s just, well, these beads ain’t seen the light of day for quite a few years.”

The string of glass beads was curious to him.  Missy Cartwright had been very fond of them and had a great many, most of which still decorated the Ponderosa’s Christmas tree.  Sheriff Roy held what appeared to be only a part of a strand; long enough to grace the neck of the tree, but far too short to ring its belly or skirt.

The sheriff’s finger traced a red bead as he asked, “I bet you’re wonderin’ what’s so special about these this here string of glass beads, ain’t you?”

“Yes,” he replied honestly.  “Hop Sing cannot help but wonder what meaning is of Mister Roy’s extraordinary beads.”

“Extraordinary?  That’s a fine word.”  His voice was soft; his smile, sad.  “These here beads have a story, Hop Sing.  They was meant to ring a tree, but that ain’t where they landed.”

“Would Mistah Roy honor Hop Sing with this story of his extraordinary beads?”

The Asian man watched the friend of his employer cross to the tree.  The lawman contemplated it for a moment before taking hold of the pretty fir and shifting it into the light.  Then he reached up as far as he could and placed the garland near the top of the tree.

A second later Hop Sing heard the distinct ‘click’ of a clasp.

Mister Roy wiped his nose again.  Then he turned and nodded at the sack he’d brought.  “You happen to have a bottle of Christmas ‘cheer’ in that?”

He did, and it was only after they had opened the bottle of James E. Pepper 100 proof bourbon whiskey Ben Cartwright had sent his friend as a Christmas gift – and shared a glass or two – that Roy Coffee began to talk.

“It was back in eighteen-thirty I met the missus, only she wasn’t ‘the missus’ yet.”  He smiled.  “I was kind of wild back then, a young man sewin’ his oats, if you know what I mean?”  Hop Sing nodded, though he had always wondered what ‘oats’ had to do with such a thing.   “Now, the missus?”  Sheriff Roy took a sip of the whiskey and savored the fire on his tongue.  “She was as prim and proper as they came.  Carried her Bible with her near everywhere.  Fact is, she didn’t want nothin’ to do with me at first.  I had to ‘mend my ways’, as the preacher likes to say, before she’d even say ‘how’d you do’.”  The sheriff looked over rim of his cup at him.  “Nothin’ law-breakin’, you understand?  Just a young man havin’ a little fun.”

“Like Mistah Little Joe?” Hop Sing asked, barely masking his smile.

Roy chuckled.  “Now that you mention it….  Yeah, I was kind of like that.  Anyhow, I cleaned up my act right fast.  Matter of fact, that was when I first started thinkin’ about the law as a profession.  Finally, I done good enough to make up for the bad she thought I’d done, and when I got down on one knee and asked her to marry me, she said ‘yes’ instead of smackin’ me with her parasol.”  The sheriff glanced at the tree.  “We were married on Christmas Eve?  Did you know that?”

“No.  Hop Sing did not know.”

“Well, we were.  That first year, we didn’t have much.  Nor the second neither.  ‘Course, on account of the way she believed, she didn’t want much.  Christmas was about goin’ to church, she told me.  Nothin’ else.”  He smiled and took another sip.  “When the missus got a little older, she let me get a gift for her, but it had to be practical.”  His gaze returned to the tree.

“Such beads from Germany are not practical.”

Roy snorted.  “They sure ain’t!  My wife was hoppin’ mad when she unwrapped them.  Told  me plain old popcorn and cranberries would do, and ordered me to return them to the store and get my money back!”  He chuckled.  “Even if I could of, I wouldn’t have done it.  So I had to find some practical use for them.”

“That when Mister Roy take beads to jeweler and have clasp added?”

The other man nodded.  “I can see her still, standin’ in the parlor, glarin’ at me with them little glass beads ringin’ her neck.”  He chuckled.  “She was mad as a wet hen, but she sure did look pretty!”

Hop Sing was enthralled.  “What Missus Coffee do next?”

Sheriff Roy took another swig.  “At first, I thought she was gonna taken them off and throw them at me.  So I took her to a mirror right fast and showed her how the spark from those beads caught in her eyes and lit up her whole face.”  He paused.  “Every year after that, ‘til I lost her, she’d pull that strand of glass beads out of the bauble box and put them around her neck and we’d laugh and dance and….”

The bereaved man wiped away a tear.

“Honorable sheriff not want to remember what makes him sad.”  Hop Sing rose and bowed deeply.  “This one apologizes for prying.  Not right to make him do so.”

The other man put his glass down.  He stared at it for a moment and then looked right at him.  “You know, Hop Sing, I might of thought that to begin with, but I don’t anymore.  If you hadn’t of come, I never would have opened that box and, well, I would have missed seein’ her again.”

“Hop Sing thank Mistah Roy.  He too see his ‘missus’, through the sheriff’s eyes.”  The Asian man crossed to the tree and looked up at the garland.  “He see her love of her husband  in her glass beads.”  The Asian man turned back to look at the man behind the desk.  “Hop Sing think maybe there very good reason Sing family go to San Francisco.”

Roy rose and came to stand beside him.  The sheriff handed him his glass and then raised his own.

To the tune of a crystal clear ‘clink’, Roy Coffee replied, “I don’t think so, Hop Sing.  I know.”

END

Tags: Christmas, Holiday