The elegant room was filled with rarities – stylish handmade French Chantilly bobbin-lace tablecloths, sumptuous silk drapes from China, sterling silver tea sets, Staffordshire pearlware and fine pieces of deep red Czechoslovakian glass, the facets of which glinted in the dying rays of the sun piercing the rippled window glass.  The woman who stood by the window wasn’t old.  Nor was she young. Her ringletted honey-blonde hair had been captured this day in a snood made of interwoven ribbons and very fine netting with a crystal placed at each intricate intersection.  One of her favorite pins – a sterling silver horseshoe embedded with iridescent pearls – bedecked the high neck of her pure white blouse.  She wore a fashionable day dress with jacket and skirt cut of deep red and emerald green moiré taffeta.  After all, it was Christmas.

So it was imperative one resemble a Christmas tree!

Clementine Hawkins crossed to the closest table and smiled at its occupant. “Coo, love, but there’s a right storm brewin’ out there!  You might just have to spend the night, ducky.”

Ben Cartwright laughed as he returned his tea cup to its saucer.  “Well, then, it’s a good thing you’ve got plenty of rooms!”

It was a game they played – and one they both enjoyed.

Clementine placed her hands on the back of the Chippendale chair opposite the handsome rancher and leaned in.  “No need for that, lovey. The one I have is big enough for two.”  Her gaze shifted to Ben’s middle son Hoss, who had come with him to call.  “Or maybe three!!”  Then, with the expertise of a long practice she batted her long black slightly enhanced eyelashes – and stifled a chuckle.

Ben’s boy looked like a circus horse caught in the limelight and ready to bolt!

“Thank you Ms. Hawkins,” Hoss said, “but I’m sure Pa and I can make it back to the Ponderosa before dark.”  His glance at his father was pleading.  “Don’t you think so, Pa?”

Ben rose and walked to the window where he lifted the drape and looked out.  “I don’t know, son.  It’s coming down hard.”  The rancher turned back into the room.  “We wouldn’t want to get lost on the way home.”

Hoss rose and went to his side.  “But Pa!  Little Joe and Adam is expectin’ us and….”  The boy’s voice trailed off as he realized his leg was being pulled.

The snow barely covered the boardwalk.

“Goldangit, you two….!”

Clementine grinned from ear to ear as Ben Cartwright bellowed.  Since their…adventure…with the Burma Rarity earlier in the year, she and the handsome rancher had come to an understanding.  They would never marry – but they would never admit that to anyone else!  Ben’s heart was still with his last wife.

As hers was with Harry Hawkins, the World’s Strongest Man.

The older woman’s gaze grew teary as it traveled to the elaborate John Henry Belter parlor table with its carved floral and fruit motifs that now rested against the wall and under the poster of her late husband.  The table had been the reason for the Cartwrights visit today.  Hoss had chosen it specifically to replace the one he broke and had been the one to carry it in.

He’d also been the one to ever so gently place Harry’s 500 pound weight on its surface!

“You’ve never spoken about him,” Ben said quietly.  “You late husband, that is.”

Clementine sniffed as a tear escaped to trail down her rosy cheek.  “Ah, my Harry.  He was somethin’, he was!  God only made one like him.”

“Will you tell us about him, Ms. Hawkins?  I’d sure like to know.”  Hoss paused.  “I mean, I don’t know too many men could lift a weight of that size!  He must have been….”

She smiled.

Harry had been a bit like Hoss.  Smaller in stature, but just as big of heart.

“If it’s too distressing to speak of, Clementine, we understand,” Ben added.

The diminutive woman drew a breath before crossing the room to stand under the circus poster and gaze upon the man she loved.  What she saw made her smile.  Harry had been muscle from top to toe, with slender legs leading up to a well-formed chest and beyond that to his handsome mustachioed face.  She’d been a dance hall girl when they met, on the road to who knew where.  He’d rescued her, taking her under his wing and, in time, sweeping her off of her feet and marrying her.  Together they‘d been ‘The Magnificent Hawkins’, Clemmy and Harry, a dynamite duo that trod the boards and walked the sawdust before the Kings and Queens of Europe.

The heart went out of her when he died.

“Ms. Hawkins?”

She looked over her shoulder at Hoss.  “Yes, pet?”

“Can I…  Well, Ma’am….”  He pulled at his collar.  “Can I ask you a question?”

The older woman glanced at Ben, but could see he had no idea where his son’s thoughts had flown.

“Certainly.   What is it you’d like to know?”

Hoss nodded toward the wall.  She looked but saw nothing out of the ordinary – just the poster and Harry’s circus tights with their red sash.

“What is it, son?” the rancher asked.

Clementine hid her smile. The boy was actually blushing.

“Well, Ma’am, pardon me if this ain’t the right kind of thing to ask, but how come you got a pair of mens’ drawers hangin’ on your wall?  And…”

Ben had his face in his hand.  She was sure he was trying not to laugh.

“And…?”

“How come they’s pink?!”

Clementine returned to the table and took a seat.  She drew a deep breath as memories rushed over her in a tide.  She wouldn’t drown, she knew that, but she might very well go under if she wasn’t careful.

“Have you ever been to a circus, pet?” she asked the young man.

Hoss nodded.  “Sure have, Ma’am.  They come through near every year.”

“Coo!” the former entertainer laughed.  “That’s a mud show and not a circus!  If all you’ve seen is a one-horse show trudgin’ along the road, then you haven’t seen a circus at all!  I’m talkin’ about a big top with three rings and dozens of performers lit by the magical glow of gaslights!”  Clementine’s eyes widened as she saw it all unfold again.  “You should have been there, pet! You’d of seen trapeze artists and tightrope walkers, star riders and clowns; sword swallowers and fire eaters and…”  She glanced at the poster.  “A very handsome strong man.”

“That sounds wonderful Ms. Hawkins, but – and pardon me again – it don’t explain them pink tights!”

She leaned back, warming to her tale.  “Well, you see, Hoss, my Harry took to the ring when he was just a lad.  Always a strong one, he was, that one!  He worked alongside his father and older brothers in the fields pullin’ flax until them infernal machines did away with the job!”  She scoffed.  “And just about every job in the land!  Anyhow, jobs were scarce, so Harry set out with his brother Mike to look for work in another town.  Blimey, but it was hard!  They did all sorts of odd jobs until one day a man came lookin’ for my Harry.  He ran a mud show out of a fancy exchangeable-wagon with one man what walked the ropes, a toothless tiger, and a paunchy pachyderm.  Someone had told him Harry was the man for him!”  The small woman laughed.  “The man was gettin’ older and needed someone to take on the task of setting up the show wagon and turning it into a stage.  His name was….”  She frowned.  “Oh!  Let’s see….”  Clementine snapped her fingers.  “Coo!  Now, I remember!  Professor Whizbang Wiggly!”

“No!” Ben said, amazed.

“Yes!  The professor saw my Harry’s potential and knew he was wasted as a roustabout, so just a few months later he introduced him to the stupendous Atlas Thunderbrawn, a strong man known all over the world!  Weren’t no time at all ‘til Harry was lifting that old pachyderm over his head!”

“Really?” Hoss gasped.  “I wonder if I could lift an elephant?”

“Don’t you ever try!” his father said.

“Yes, sir.”

Clementine leaned in close to the young man.  She raised a hand and spoke behind it in a stage whisper.  “If you do, love, be sure you don’t ever tell the old man!”

“I beg your pardon!” Ben protested, his ears sharp as ever.

“If the shoe fits, ducky,” Clementine said with a wink. “Anyhow, it wasn’t long after that Harry and I met.  What a whirlwind!  We were no more married than we were off to the big top!  The professor was sorry to lose the pair of us, but when the Sells Brothers Circus came askin’ to hire Harry as their strong man, well, we had to go!”

“Seems like the two of you were on top of the world,” the rancher remarked.

“Wearin’ pink tights,” Hoss muttered.

“I’m gettin’ to them, love.”  Clementine leaned back in her chair.  “One day my Harry comes to me and says, ‘I’m done, flower.  I can’t do this anymore.”  “Whatever is wrong, Chuck?” I asked.  “I feel like I’ll faint each time I pick up that pachyderm, Clemmy.  I don’t know what’s wrong.  It’s like someone’s shoved my ass in the witch’s furnace.”

“What was wrong?” Hoss asked as Ben’s black brows popped.

“Strongest man in the world, and my Harry was allergic to wool!”  She chuckled.  “He wore a handmade body suit of heavy knit wool.  Covered him all over, it did, and made him hot as Hades!”  She smiled at Ben.  “Not that a bein’ a hot man is always a problem, Ducky.  There’s lots of good uses for it!”

The rancher cleared his throat.

“There’s plenty of snow outside,” she advised with a wink.

“Yes, well….”

“Was your husband really gonna leave the circus ‘cause his suit made him too hot, Ma’am?”

“I’m afraid so.  We were scheduled to perform that weekend before the Queen and her consort at the Theater Royal on Drury Lane.  Now, I wasn’t going to miss that!  So, I played detective and found out there was a new material just come on the market called ‘cotton jersey’.  It was softer and breathed more than wool and could be dyed all sorts of brilliant colors.”

“Like pink?” Hoss asked with a grin

“You bet, pet!” she replied.  “Coral blush, Cherry Blossom, and…Candy Floss Pink!”

“So them tights on the wall is the ones Harry got so’s he could keep on workin’?”

She rose and crossed to the wall again.  “No,” the older woman remarked as she reached out to touch them.  “This is a special pair.”

“How ‘special’?” Ben asked.

Clementine went to stand by the rancher.  She leaned in to whisper.  “Coo, ducky.  You’ll have to visit me boudoir to find out!”

*****

A quick trip up the stairs brought the trio to Clementine’s bedroom.  It was decorated with items she had collected from her travels all over the world including fanciful automatons that sang and danced, classical marble statuary, and colorful costumes she had worn when she was a prestidigitator.  The furniture was ornate, the bed coverings bright; each and every piece reflective of her childhood home in Piccadilly.

Each and every piece but one.

In a corner sat a plain wooden box perched on two metal legs.  Unlike the box, the legs were ornate and made of cast iron decorated with whirls and swirls of crimson and gold paint.  Clementine walked to the box.  She placed a hand on it.  “Do either of you have any idea what this is?” she asked the bewildered men.

Ben shook his head.

Hoss followed suit.  “I gotta admit I ain’t never seen anything like it, Ma’am.”

Clementine pressed something that released a panel of wood in the box’s top.  She put it aside before reaching into the interior and drawing out a black serpentine machine.  After securing it in place, her gaze returned to father and son.

“Gentlemen.  I’d like to introduce you to Harrietta.”

One black brow peaked.  “Harrietta?” the rancher inquired.

“Ain’t that?”  Hoss turned to his father.  “I saw one of them new-fangled things in the Mail Order catalog this year.”  He looked at Clementine.  “Ain’t that a Singer Patent Model Sewing Machine?”

“Oh, she sings right enough, pet!” Clementine sniffed as she stroked the shining metal.  “T’was twenty years ago to the day – on Christmas Day – my Harry gave me Harrietta.  I’d been working my fingers to the bone makin’ them tights for him by hand year in and year out.  What a marvel this was!  Cut the time by half and freed me up to do other things with these fingers.”  The older woman wiggled her fingers – as well as her plucked eyebrows.  “Come back later, Ducky, and I’ll show you a few of them!” she said, her eyes on Ben.

Hoss was so focused on the machine that he missed his father’s blush.  “So them tights on the wall, you made them?” he asked.

“They’re the last pair I made for my dear departed Harry.  Candy Floss Pink, they was, once upon a time.”

Clementine Hawkins sighed.

The tights might have faded and lost their color, but not her memories were bright and crisp as the day they’d been made.

*****

“Well, goodnight Clementine,” Ben said as he stopped near the door.  “Thank you for sharing yours and Harry’s story.”

“Yes, Ma’am!  That was real interestin’!” Hoss exclaimed.  “I sure wish I could have seen Harry lift a pachyderm over his head!”

“With me on its back,” she added with a smile.

“Gosh!  Really?”

“Are you sure you won’t come to the Ponderosa with us?” the rancher asked.  “We’re having a little Christmas party tonight and we’d love to have you attend.”

“Come now, Benjamin!  I’ve heard about your ‘little’ parties.  Little!?  Half of Virginia City will be there.  I think…”  The older woman sighed.  “I promise I’ll come next year, ducky.  You’ll make my apologies to Tiny Tim, won’t you?”

Ben rolled his eyes.  “Only if you promise not to sit here alone in the dark like Ebenezer Scrooge!’

Clementine turned to look at the circus poster and the faded tights proudly displayed beside it.  “I won’t be alone.”  She sniffed.  “I’ve got me memories to keep me company and that’s more than enough.”

“I’ll check on you tomorrow anyway,” the rancher said, his tone concerned.  “The boys want to come to town to visit their friends and I might as well tag along.”

“Just can’t get enough of me, can you, lovey?” the older woman asked; lashes fluttering.  “S’pecially now you seen me in my boudoir.”

Ben spluttered.  “I…well….”

Clementine chuckled as she turned to Hoss.  Seeing the boy’s bewildered expression, she pointed up.  There, hanging from the gilt and crystal chandelier, was a beribboned mass of mistletoe. “You wouldn’t want anyone to say a Cartwright didn’t respect tradition.  Now would you, pet?’

Hoss chuckled as he leaned in and planted a chaste kiss on her cheek.  “Thank you for everythin’, Ms. Hawkins.  Specially the story of Harry and his pink tights.”

“You’re welcome, pet.”  She turned to Ben as his son stepped out the door and crooked one finger.  “It’s your turn, ducky.  Like son, like father!”

Ben smiled.  “I said it before and I’ll say it again, you are one amazing woman, Clementine Hawkins!”

Then he shocked her by placing both hands on her waist and giving her a kiss to remember!

“Why, ducky,” she said, slightly out of breath, “I didn’t know you cared.”

He winked.  “Maybe not in the way you think, but I can tell you this.  I care enough to keep you on your good side because I sure as shootin’ want a Candy Floss pink shirt!”

*****

END

*****

My character was obviously Clementine Hawkins and my invention, the sewing machine.  The idea for Harry’s troubles with the wool cloth came from the fact that the famous ballerina, Margot Fonteyn, nearly retired because she could no longer get the older type of silk stockings she had worn throughout her career.   A friend gave her a trunk load and she kept on dancing!