Summary: The vastness of the heavens speak to the poetry in a young man’s soul, offering comfort during the lonely times. Created for the First Quarter 2025 Chaps and Spurs Challenge. My deep gratitude for Cheaux’s willingness to beta read; the story is better because of it. (1,462 words)
Note: image used with permission of the Brandsters and Bonanza Ventures.

HOW SWEET THE MOONLIGHT (by Pat D in PA)

I’ve always enjoyed a night ride—free of younger brothers and … well…  a father too, I suppose.  I love them all, of course.  But there are times when I feel the need to get away from the hurly-burly. God bless Shakespeare!  I’m truly in his debt, as he always had a perfect word to describe a circumstance.  Anyway, night rides restore my ability to just be. 

Whenever I ride under the light of a full moon, I’m always reminded of my time back east.  When I got homesick for Pa, Hoss and Joe, Hop Sing—everyone who was part of my life back home— Grandfather Stoddard would remind me of the lesson he had taught both my mother and my father, one on dry land and the other on board the deck of a clipper at sea.

One evening in early October, after an especially challenging week of difficult classes, grade disappointments and other emotional ups and downs, Grandpa had seen I was particularly melancholy and dispirited.  I’d been hoping for a letter from home, but there’d been nothing for nearly three weeks, and as a result I wasn’t so much eating the good roast, mashed potatoes and vegetables we had for supper as I was pushing food around on my plate.  After eyeing me for a bit, Grandpa firmly walked me out into the back garden of his house, where two chairs rested and pointed at one for me to sit. He said they were perfect for stargazing, and indeed, they were.  They had long supporting backs that reclined a bit, allowing a person to rest their head and gaze into the heavens.  But tonight, I wasn’t particularly feeling like looking at the stars.  When I started to protest and beg off to just go to my room and mope, I was met with a ‘no-nonsense’ glance. I might not have been in Boston long, but I clearly recognized what my father called Grandpa’s ‘quarterdeck command.’  Sighing, I walked to the chair he’d pointed at and plunked myself into it.  

After a few minutes of letting the quiet and peace of the star-studded sky settle me a little, Grandpa pointed up at the full moon that looked close enough for me to grab with my hand and pull down.

“When you’re missing those people who love you, lad, look up at the night sky.  The same stars shine down on them, wherever they are, all over the world.  Oh, the stars may be in slightly different spots,” he smiled, holding up a hand to forestall my interjections, hearing me start to peevishly argue about astronomical positioning.  “The moon is the same, Adam, and the stars themselves are the same.  It’s just we who’re moving around on this blessed earth.”

I’d settled back then, thinking. I found myself remembering that awful time after Marie died. I recalled how my poor baby brother, so upset about losing his mama, tried so hard to make sense of everything—pretty hard to do when you’re only five, as I knew well. And then one night after supper we were all sitting outside on the porch, mostly because it felt like everything inside reminded us of her, and we none of us could stand it. I remember Little Joe, sitting on Pa’s lap, gazing up at the stars.

“Pa?”

“Yes, Joe?”

“My Mama went to heaven, didn’t she?”

I could hear Pa try to clear his throat and get control of himself.  Hoss was closest and gently moved his boot over to just lightly touch Pa’s foot in comfort. I saw Pa send Hoss a gentle smile of thanks. “Yes, Little Joe, I’m absolutely sure she did.”

Joe nodded, in satisfaction.  “Then she’s a star now,” he said, with great decision. “Always lookin’ out for us.”

The three of us looked at him in surprise.  He sounded so sure!  I couldn’t help but smile, even as sad as I felt.

“Well, now, Joseph, I think you’re probably right,” said Pa, tenderly, gazing down at him. “Which one do you think she might be?”  And for the next half an hour or so, he and Joe discussed the merits of various brilliant stars up there in the heavens. 

Later, after Pa had taken Little Joe upstairs to tuck him in, Hoss and I carried the dirty coffee and hot chocolate cups into the kitchen and washed them up, both of us silent as we worked, filled with our own memories of Marie. Once finished, we walked into the great room, Hoss moving toward the stairs to head up to bed and me to read by the fire.  At the stairs, he turned to me and confided that he even though he might be near growed (I kept the smile I was feeling damped down, and wisely refrained from pointing out that though he IS almost as tall as I am, eleven years old was hardly ‘near growed’), he felt kinda better thinking of Mama that way, too; like a star always watching over us.  I watched him walk up those stairs, looking as though a heavy weight was set aside.  It occurred to me that I was ‘near growed’… and I felt kinda better thinking that way, too.

That night had started what I’ll bet will be a life-long love of astronomy in Joe.  By the time I left for college, the little fellow could recognize the Big and Little Dippers, Cassiopeia, Cygnus and many, many more thanks to the hours of stargazing he and Pa had done together, just as Pa and I had done on all those long years traveling west.

Thinking of that while sitting there in Boston with Grandpa Stoddard made it feel like Pa and Joe were right beside me, and I’d closed my eyes, almost imagining I could smell those things I always associated with Pa… his pipe tobacco, the musky scent of horses and the distinctive aroma of good, supple leather, well broken in.  I could almost sense on the air the sweet lavender and bergamot soap that Marie used to make, and which Hop Sing still used to soap Joe’s curls. And it brought me more comfort than I could have believed possible.

I remember asking Grandfather if the same was true of those who’d passed away, that they watched the stars as well.  His bushy brows drew together in thought. “Well, lad, think of it this way.  I’m of the belief that our departed loved ones are in the palm of God’s hand.”  He turned slightly to me, his eyes both sad and filled with trust. “If the Almighty is all powerful, how could he deny them that sight?” he demanded, gesturing to the majesty above us.

I still smile, just remembering that.

Tonight, as I rode, I found my mothers on my mind, all of them.  I thought of the joy Inger brought to everything she did, everyone she met.  She could turn something as mundane as an evening meal after a long day’s journeying on a wagon train into a special, fun-filled picnic, making up games to make me laugh, tired as I was—it was a lot of walking for a five-year-old— but my Ma, Inger, always lightened the load.

And then there was Marie. No one could throw a party like Mama could!  For six wonderful years, we had Christmas parties, harvest suppers, spring flings, celebrating the cow having healthy twin calves, memorializing three fractious boys just plain getting through a winter’s cabin fever without maiming each other, and anything else she could come up with as a reason to bring people together to celebrate with music, dancing and revelry!  She taught everyone for miles around what it meant to love life… including me.

And I found that even my own mother, Elizabeth, was on my mind tonight.  Pa had called her Liz, while Grandfather used the more formal Elizabeth, though now and again I’d hear him refer to her as Lizzie, which always made me smile.  It made her more… I don’t know, more accessible, maybe.  It let me imagine her as a mischievous and fun young girl.   It’s next to impossible to explain how one could be in mourning for something they’d never had, but I could mourn the concept of there no longer being a Lizzie Stoddard, the dark-haired little girl who always ran to the wharf when Wanderer came home to port.  I could mourn the idea of Liz Cartwright, gone from Pa’s side, my father’s first love, the energy source for all his dreams.  And I very much mourned the reality of my mother, dying within hours of giving birth to me, Pa saying that as she died, she’d reached out to try to touch my then-tiny hand—a touch I never got to feel.

Yeah… the stars and the moon make the loneliness a little easier. When it’s particularly bad, I ride out into the meadows and go to a hilltop.  There, I can feel the night sky wrap around me like a dark, paint-spattered blanket. I mean, just look up there! Who could truly feel lonely in the middle of a glorious parade of fire such as that sky?!

At those times, like Puck, “I thank thee, Moon, for shining now so bright…” *

* A Midsummer Night’s Dream, Act V, Scene 1, also the source for the story’s title

The prompt words for this Spurs and Chaps Challenge were:  moon, debt, picnic, revelry, mourning