Summary: An unexpected obstacle on Christmas night invokes a fond and bittersweet memory.
Rating:  G  (1,137 words)

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

Realization and Memory

Angry Chinese muttering drifted up the staircase to meet Joe as he padded down, feeling carefully for each step in the darkness and making certain not to trod on the small form curled beneath a thick quilt on the landing. He hesitated, wondering if he should take Eric up to bed as planned before inquiring after whatever had upset the little cook, but Hop Sing was going to wake the boy if he wasn’t careful to keep his voice down. The thought of trying to explain to a six-year-old why Papa and Hop Sing were sneaking around downstairs in the dark on the night before Christmas, though—instead of in their beds where Mama had insisted everyone needed to stay until morning—was enough to send him on down to the main level.

“Hop Sing?” He tried to keep his voice low enough that his son wouldn’t hear … but then, if the steady stream of Cantonese hadn’t disturbed the little guy, a whispered conference was probably safe enough. Joe drifted toward the candle on the hearth and the flailing shadow in front of it, catching at one arm when it nearly smacked him in the face. “Hop Sing! What’s wrong?” He glanced around, trying to make out the mound of presents the cook had been hiding in his bedroom for the past month. “Did we lose somethi—”

“Fire out!”

It was pretty cold down here. Really cold. And now that Joe paid attention, the warm glow of banked embers was absent from the massive fireplace. He frowned, trying to remember what he’d done differently. “I don’t know why it woulda—”

“Wood wet!”

Wet? Joe stepped up onto the hearth and laid a hand on the nearest log.

It wasn’t just wet. It was downright soggy. Almost like … Oh.

Oh ….

Realization and memory hit him in a quick one-two punch, leaving behind an odd double vision of his son Eric—standing now on the landing, very much awake, staring down at him and Hop Sing and what wasn’t left of the fire—and his brother Hoss, in the same place doing the same thing. Hoss had been a bit older, of course. A big bigger. And Joe had been much, much younger. Still young enough to be watchin’ the whole thing from his mama’s arms, there on Christmas morning beside the big tree and the dark hearth.

Actually, Joe was never sure if his memory of the event was a real recollection or if he’d just been told the story so many times …

“I’m sorry!” Eric slapped a hand over his mouth, looked toward the upper level where his mother and sisters and the rest of their family still slept, then scurried down the stairs.

“What boy do?” Hop Sing scowled, though a lot of the fire had gone outta his tone. Joe could just bet the little cook was remembering, too.

Eric gulped, shot a hunted glance toward the front door where Joe would lay money an empty bucket was tucked behind the credenza, then squared his shoulders. “Had to. It’s not safe for Santa otherwise—how’s he supposed to get down the chimney if it’s on fire? He’ll burn up his suit, and be hurt and … and I just had to!”

Hoss’s garbled explanation had included something about the reindeer burning themselves on the chimney too, if Pa remembered right—which, of course it did, it was Hoss—but otherwise the reasoning was pretty similar. It wasn’t the first time Joe had reflected that he and Lina had named the boy well.

They woulda been thick as thieves, Eric and his Uncle Hoss.

Joe’s eyes prickled and his throat grew thick, but Hop Sing musta known. Hop Sing knew pretty much everything. He jostled Joe on his way past. “Santa Claus come last year, yes?”

Eric’s eyes were large and dark in the light of the candle flame. “Yeaaaahhh…”

“Boy wet down fire last year?”

“Well … no.”

“Nope.” Joe squatted down and motioned to his son. Eric scampered over, ducking into his papa’s arms. “It don’t matter to Santa Claus if the fireplace is burnin’. Santa’s magic keeps him safe—and the reindeer, too.”

Hop Sing’s bony hand squeezed Joe’s shoulder, then the cook started toward the back door. “I bring in wood now—take too long to get going in morning.”

Joe stood. “I’ll help you light it.” He looked down at Eric. “You get to bed now. Mama said to stay there, didn’t she?”

Eric nodded slowly, peering around his papa at the Christmas tree and the empty floor beneath its branches. “He ain’t come.”

Joe snorted and snatched the boy up, squeezing tight. Then he pointed toward the window. “What color is it out there?”

“Black.”

“Right.” Joe set Eric back on his feet, pointing him toward the stairs. “Santa’s got lots of time left before mornin’. Don’t you worry.”

“Kay.” The boy flashed a quick grin and then was gone, pausing long enough on the landing to drag the heavy quilt with him. Joe watched him disappear, then shook his head and turned back toward the fireplace.

Wet wood. And—he held the candle over the hearth—wet everything else. Great. How long would it take them to get the old wood carted out of the house and the dry wood set and lighted? Then he and Hop Sing still needed to play Santa, and by then morning really would be pretty much upon them.

“Not gettin’ much sleep tonight,” he sighed, reaching in to grab a couple of wet logs.

It took less time than he would have expected to get the wood switched out and the surroundings at least marginally dry. Joe expected to have trouble even then, as the grate was still damp no matter his efforts, but the fire, as if in recognition of the day, permitted itself to be lighted without the display of obstinacy which generally tried his temper the most. He sat back, and watched the small flame crackle merrily, and sent up a prayer of gratitude for a little Christmas miracle.

“Number Two Son laughing at us now,” Hop Sing whispered, standing at his side.

Joe grinned, rising to his feet. “I just bet he is.” He clapped Hop Sing on the shoulder, able to chuckle about it now that the first shock was over. The dry wood snapped, and the garland and star and ornaments glittered in the slowly growing light, and the shimmering magic of the night was full upon them despite the minor detour. “Actually, I’m sure of it.” They stood together for a moment longer, thinking of a small boy and a huge man—both with hearts of gold—then Joe shook his head and turned away. “Come on, Santa. We got presents to put out.”

Merry Christmas!

🎄

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Prompt: The fire, as if in recognition of the day, permits itself to be lighted without the display of obstinacy which generally tries our tempers the most.

Link to the Bonanza Brand Advent Calendar – Day 21 – The English Visitors #2 – sklamb