Summary:  When hop Sing faces a difficult Christmas season, he discovers the true value of time.
Rating:  G  1,835 words

Written for the 2024 Bonanza Brand Advent Calendar

Bonanza
~*~*~ Advent Calendar ~*~*~
* Day 8 *

No Time

Two weeks. Just two weeks left until Christmas. It wasn’t enough time. If he had cousins to help him, perhaps. If his father hadn’t just . . . well, there was no time for grief, either. Christmas was coming, getting closer with each passing hour. The Cartwrights and their friends expected the usual lavish Christmas dinner, the home trimmed in festive array, and the annual Christmas party – oh, the Christmas party. It made his head hurt just thinking about everything that needed to be done.

Get moving, foolish one! Fretting about work to be done — what would his father say? Certainly, it would have been loud, detailed and . . . magnificent. He’d suffer a hundred scoldings if it meant hearing that dear voice again.

He allowed himself a moment to wipe his eyes before gathering his list and heading to the front door. Little Joe was taking him to Virginia City to pick up supplies. This was no time for foolishment.

XXXXXXXXXX

It had taken too long, far too long to go to town and complete their errands. Hadn’t he planned for this, hadn’t he given his order to the mercantile weeks ago?  Wouldn’t a competent business owner have had the order prepared and ready to be purchased and loaded onto the wagon? Of course! But, not today, when time was precious. Rather than ready and waiting for them, the order still had to be gathered and double checked, the purchases had to be calculated and paid for, and the cargo stacked and tied to the wagon. He’d hoped (although he wouldn’t admit to hoping) that there would be time to visit his cousins before they departed for San Francisco.

“Why don’t you go see your family?” Little Joe had prodded him.

“No time. Take too long at mercantile. Too much to do at home.”

“We can make time for family, Hop Sing.”

He’d known he was being unreasonable. He’d known Little Joe was being kind. But knowing didn’t stop the sharp words.

“Make time? There is no ‘make time.’ Only have time we have. Time . . . gone before we know. Time not care if family leave. See cousins in springtime . . . maybe. Who know what may happen.” He’d stopped shouting when he caught sight of Joe’s stricken face. Patting Joe’s arm, he continued in a quieter voice. “Too much to do at home. Christmas is coming.”

XXXXXXXXXX

The wind was howling, breaking upon them in great, icy gusts. There was no time to deal with a storm. He’d lost so much time already.

“Hurry! Hurry!” Why couldn’t Little Joe listen to him? The hours it had taken to travel back to the Ponderosa fueled his anxiety. “Must have supplies inside house before storm breaks!”

Couldn’t these men do anything right? No matter, Hop Sing would take charge. He pointed and explained to the Cartwright men where each box should go. He stopped Hoss from peering into the sacks. He poked Adam, who was unharnessing the horses to step aside so he could help Little Joe untie a stubborn knot.

All the time, the wind blew stinging snow into their faces and drowned out his voice no matter how loudly he shouted to be heard. Snow was being blown into the house, through the door Mr. Cartwright was holding open against the blast. The floor would be wet now, filthy from boots tracking inside the warm house. The polished wood would need to be mopped and dried.  Something else to be done when there was already so little time.

At last, Hop Sing had the final boxes out of the wagon, stacked precariously in his arms.  The ground beneath his feet was slick with new snow, and he prodded cautiously with one boot toe to find the corner of the porch. Just a little farther, and he would have everything in the house. Then he would clean the floor, start dinner, polish the good silver, and begin . . .

Preoccupied, he failed to remember that the porch boards were often icy.  When his feet slipped out from under him and the boxes crashed to the ground around him, the back of his head suffered an agonizing blow. He could only surrender to the inky darkness, sighing, “No time for this.”

XXXXXXXXXX

Pain. Throbbing, nauseating pain. Blood pounded in his ears. Even so, he could hear the low murmur of familiar voices, maybe voices of ancestors? Maybe, Cartwrights? Dead? Not dead? It was hard to tell. Fear and frustration forced a whimper from his throat.

“Shhhh, you’re gonna be all right. You took a hard lick to the back of your head. Bled a lot. Head wounds always do. Anyway, I sewed you up.”  Ah, not dead. Hoss’s quiet, cheerful voice steadied him.

“Make big mess, I think.” It was a relief to find he could speak. Still, he didn’t trust trying to open his eyes.

“Had to give Shortshanks somethin’ to do. He took care of it. Don’t you scare the boy again, Hop Sing.”

“Not mean to scare.”

“I wasn’t scared.”  Even with his brains trying to pound through his eye sockets, Hop Sing would recognize his Little Joe’s voice, defensive and watery with tears. Instinctively, he turned his head toward the sound. Big mistake. Nausea no longer merely threatened; instead, it arose and overflowed in excruciating waves.

Through it all, he was cared for. Capable hands held the basin close, ready and produced in the nick of time. Strong arms embraced him, supporting him. Gentle hands wiped his face and mouth, offered him a soothing sip of water.

Finally, he lay back, panting softly, exhausted.

“Now, we’re fixin’ to let you sleep.” Thank you, number two son. “But, first, I wanna take a listen to your heart.”  Hop Sing’s night shirt was shifted, and he felt the soft touch of the stethoscope against his chest. Such an amazing device – part of the kit given to Hoss by the religious lady.

“Well, Hoss?” Adam’s voice-he’d been quiet, allowing his brother to take the lead. Hop Sing can hear the curiosity and worry smudging the edges of his words.

“Strong and steady, as always. You go on and rest, Hop Sing. Don’t worry about a thing. At least one of us is gonna be right here next to you.  And . . . try not to move.”

Rest, good idea.  Not moving, even better idea.

XXXXXXXXXX

Healing took a long time. Time enough for the doctor to visit and use his own stethoscope – listening to Hop Sing’s lungs for signs of illness. Of course, there was nothing to hear. Illness didn’t stand a chance against the Cartwright personal brand of nursing.

True to their words, someone was always close at hand while Hop Sing lay in the big guest bed waiting for the pain to subside. Helpless against the pain and nausea, Hop Sing was forced to rely on his employer for everything.

Aware of Hop Sing’s sensitivity to sound and bright light, the curtains were always drawn and the lamps turned low. Slamming doors no longer slammed, and rough housing ceased lest it bother the invalid. Broth was spooned into his mouth when he was too weak to manage, and his sick room was relentlessly tidied.  Given nothing to do but lay there and fret, Hop Sing took full advantage of the time to worry.

A few days into his convalescence the boys were out doing other chores, leaving Mr. Cartwright to aid Hop Sing with tending to necessary personal business. Mortifying.

“Hop Sing very sorry to be such trouble. Mistah Cartwright have many more important things to do.”

“Don’t be silly,” Ben Cartwright took a moment to smooth the coverlet. “I can’t think of a thing.”

Was that so? Perhaps Mr. Cartwright could make use of Hop Sing’s list. “Mistah Cartwright, Christmas is coming. Will not wait because of me. Need house clean, decorations, food, the party . . . nothing is done. Only a little time left.”

He couldn’t help himself. He closed his eyes against an onslaught of embarrassing emotion.

“Well, I suppose you have a point.  I’ll talk to the boys.” Hop Sing heard his employer slip out of the room quietly.

If only he had more time. He was just so exhausted. Perhaps tomorrow, he might feel well enough to leave the bed.

XXXXXXXXXX

When Hop Sing finally awoke, he sensed that several hours had passed. Squinting in the quiet gloom of the lamp-lit bedroom, he wondered if he was still dreaming.

“You sure are good at sleeping,” Joe was sitting in the corner chair, a book casually tossed aside. “We were sure we were going to wake you up.”

“What have you done?”

It might have been better to ask, ‘what hadn’t they done.’  The guest bedroom had been transformed.  Pine boughs and strings of dried apple rings and popcorn festooned the windows and framed the doorway.  A small table had appeared adorned with a basket of fruit surrounded by a display of messages and cards wishing him good health and blessings of the season. Wreathes replaced the pictures on the wall. Even the quilt folded at the end of the bed had been swapped for a seasonal red-and-green blanket.

“As you said, Christmas is coming.” Mistah Ben was all smiles.

“These things belong in house, for party!”

“The big party can wait for the new year.  I’m sure we’ll all be in much better spirits to enjoy it then. In the meantime, we’ll enjoy a smaller, family-only Christmas right here.”

Every Cartwright stood there, around his bed, beaming with apparent delight at the thought of missing out on their traditional Christmas feast and celebration with friends just so they could spend it there, in this small room. . . with him.

Hop Sing released the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. A weight on his chest lifted; he felt lighter and more at ease than he’d felt in weeks despite the ever-present pain in his head. It didn’t happen often, but he was at loss for words.  He could only say, “Thank you.”

XXXXXXXXXX

Hop Sing was dreaming.  He knew he was dreaming because he knew he wasn’t dead. Yet his father stood in front of him at the foot of the bed in the Cartwright guest bedroom.

“I wanted more time with you,” he told his father. “You were gone before I knew it.” He watched his father, who’d been painfully crippled with arthritis in the last years of his life, move easily around the room to settle on the edge of the bed.

“It was enough,” Hop Ling said. “We only have the time we have. You made good use of it. I am grateful.”

“My cousins have left me” Perhaps he pouted, just a little. Surprisingly, his father laughed merrily at the complaint.

“It doesn’t look as if your cousins are necessary. Enough foolishment, son. Enjoy your family time this Christmas.”

“Wait! Will I see you again?”  Before Hop Sing’s eyes, the specter of his father began to fade.

“You may be sure.”

XXXXXXXXXX Merry Christmas XXXXXXXXXX

Link to Day 9 of the Bonanza Brand Advent Calendar – A Catalogue of Memories by Questfan