Summary:  A storm is raging outside, and the children are fearful because their father is very late getting home. They ask the woman to read their favorite story – it distracts and soothes them. It’s a very romantic story.

Rated K (3,875 words)

Our Favorite Story 

By acspeej

“Read to us. Pleeeze!” whined four mouths in unison.

The woman smiled as she gazed into four pairs of young eyes. None of these children would ever go to sleep tonight unless she read to them. Usually, the father would put them all in one bed where each child would sit or sprawl and then he would sit wherever there was room on the bed and the woman would sit in a rocking chair and read until the young ones’ eyes would droop – or close completely. Then she and the father would scoop up each child to be taken to his or her own bed to sleep through the night.

Tonight was different. The father should have been home hours ago and both the children and the woman were uneasy. The wind was howling outside, bending the trees and causing things to bump against the sturdy house. Rain was pouring down, pelting the roof and the windows constantly. Thunder rolled and the sky lit up from frequent bolts of lightning. If the father was away on a round-up, or if he was out of town, nobody was uneasy. But the father had only made a trip to town for supplies and he was now long-overdue.

The woman looked through the window, peering into the rain and the darkness, and began to worry in earnest. Supper had long been eaten and she had grown weary of playing games with the children to keep their minds busy.

“Pleeeze!” whined one small voice as the small hand tugged at her skirt.

“Okay,” said the woman. “What story shall we read tonight?” She already knew the answer, for there was only one story that always calmed the children.

“Our favorite story!” Again, the answer came in unison.

The woman’s dimples deepened as she smiled and walked towards the bookcase. “Let’s see if we can find the right one.”

But the eldest child was already snatching the book, with its homemade leather cover and rawhide strings which held the seven-year old, slightly-yellowing pages safely within the front and back covers. The woman took the book and, dragging a rocking chair closer to the roaring fire, she pulled a lamp closer and turned up the wick. The children ran to grab blankets from their beds and scurried back to place them around the woman. Once each child had spread individual blankets and plopped down on them the woman opened the book.

“Once upon a time…” she began.

The children looked at her expectantly. One would think they’d never heard this story before but they all knew the story by heart.

“…there was a woman who lived all the way back East in a city called Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. This woman was able to sketch pictures with special charcoal pencils or to paint pictures with water colors or oil paints. She had been able to do this since the time when she was very young. As she grew up, her abilities grew by leaps and bounds.”

“One day, when she was twenty years old, she met a woman whose name was ‘Emily’. The woman and Emily became very good friends and soon the woman met Emily’s husband, ‘Tex’. Why was he called ‘Tex’?”

“Because he came from Texas!” answered the second eldest child.

“Right!” the woman said as she nodded.

“Tex always spoke of the beautiful lands in the West and he really wanted to take Emily and return there some day. Now, Tex had a good job with a newspaper in Philadelphia. He was a very good photographer. Can anybody tell me what a photographer is?”

“A person who uses special instruments to record the likenesses of people and things,” the eldest child answered with certainty.

The woman smiled and nodded and then continued.

“Well, one day Tex was talking to the editor of the Philadelphia newspaper, and the editor wanted Tex and Emily to go out West and record the likenesses of people and the land there. These likenesses were called ‘pictures’. Already there were pictures in books and leaflets and newspapers telling people that they should join wagon trains and move out West where there was land for the taking. And there was a precious metal called ‘gold’ and another precious metal called ‘silver’. Families were leaving their homes in the East by the hundreds and were making a very long trip to start new lives out West. Some would live in California, some would live in Texas or Wyoming or Montana or Nevada. Some would even go to Mexico where they would have to learn a new language called ‘Espanol’.”

“Spanish,” said the third child confidently.

The rain continued to beat on the rooftop of the house and the wind continued to blow. The woman rocked in her chair and continued the story as she turned each hand-written page.

“Emily and Tex did go out West, taking hundreds of pictures wherever they went, and then sending the pictures back to Philadelphia to be published. The woman continued her sketchings and her paintings and these were sent back East also. But the woman began to take quite an interest in the art of photography and learned quite quickly how to work the instruments and the flash powder used for lighting. She had an ‘eye’ for just the right picture and the right angle to make the photograph more interesting. She soon became as well known as Tex. Instead of being upset that the woman’s works were attracting more attention than his own, he was very proud and encouraged the woman even more.”

Thunder boomed outside, startling the woman and the children. Lightning crackled. But the story had just begun and, to calm herself and the children, the woman turned yet another page and continued to read.

“Months after the woman and Tex and Emily arrived out West, their travels brought them to…”

“Virginia City, Nevada!” piped up the youngest child.

The woman laughed and rumpled the child’s head.

“Right. Virginia City, Nevada. There, Tex rented a small building and set up his photography shop; the living quarters were above the shop – just enough room for 3 people. By this time, Tex and Emily were wealthy enough to have three photographic instruments and were well on their way to being able to buy their fourth. At first, business was slow. But when the townspeople saw the quality of Tex and the other woman’s work, Emily was forced to make specific times in her log book for people to come and have their pictures taken. The other woman made money of her own by displaying some of her charcoal sketches and some of her water-color paintings.

Quite often, people wanted pictures taken of them and their families in front of their very own homes. Tex would pack up two of the instruments in the covered wagon (he took two in case one didn’t work correctly) and would go to his clients’ homes. This idea became quite popular; both Tex and Emily were busy.

The other woman stayed in the building, either making sketches of people or taking their pictures. But she longed to be outside admiring the landscape with its aspen trees and the Ponderosa pines and the flowers that bloomed everywhere. Soon, Emily stayed in the building and Tex and the woman began driving out in the wagon.

On a warm, sunny day, the woman was trying to take a photograph of the mountains known as the Sierra Nevadas but she just couldn’t get the right angle to make the picture quite perfect. The sound of approaching hoofbeats caused her to turn and soon she was looking up at a man with dark hair who was dressed all in black.”

“You must be the photographers I’ve been hearing about,” he said with a smile as he dismounted. “I’m Adam Cartwright. I’ve been meaning to stop to meet you all.”

“Tex introduced first the woman and then himself as they all shook hands. The Cartwright name was not unfamiliar to them, nor was the reputation of the holdings of ‘the Ponderosa’. The Ponderosa was off-limits to strangers, and Tex and the woman were well aware of that fact, so they had steered clear of trespassing.”

“I’ve been trying to get just the right angle on those mountains but I just can’t seem to capture the feeling I want to convey,” the woman said sadly.

“Adam, who was looking at all the equipment, turned and smiled. ‘Let me take you to a place on the Ponderosa where there is a magnificent view of both the mountains and Lake Tahoe. If you can’t get a decent picture there, you’ll never have a better chance!’”

“And you took the pictures!” the children chimed in. They seemed either to have one mind or to have the story told so often that they knew when to butt in.

The woman turned another page and raised the lamp wick a bit more. Thunder continued to roll and still the father hadn’t returned.

“…and he was right. The woman took as many pictures of everything she could possibly want to send to the East or to display in the rented building or to keep for herself to use for models for oil paintings. She didn’t know it then, but it would be these paintings that would help to make her famous all over the country.

When the sun began to dip low on the horizon, the woman and Tex shook Adam’s hand and thanked him for his generosity for allowing them access to Ponderosa land. Adam invited them to supper, but they had to get back to town to develop the photographic plates and had to decline the supper invitation. When told that the pictures would be finished on the next day, Adam was very interested in coming into town to see what the photographs looked like. Tex and the woman drove their wagon to Virginia City, and Adam returned home.”

The woman stopped reading long enough to sip from her water glass and to look out the window. She could see nothing.

“Adam was impressed by what he saw in the photography shop. He was certain that his father would want to purchase a few of the pictures and he was also certain that a photograph of his family was in order. He rode home while the woman, Tex and Emily closed up the shop for a time, loaded the wagon, and headed to the Ponderosa – carefully following Adam’s directions to find the house.

By the time the wagon arrived, the famous Cartwrights were in coats and string ties and ready to have their picture made. Introductions came first. There was Ben, the father, with his mane of white hair. Adam, the eldest brother, only Emily had not met. Hoss, the middle brother, a startling giant of a man with a broad smile and a twinkle in his eyes. Little Joe, the youngest brother, with a wonderful lop-sided grin. Hop Sing, the Chinese cook, who alternately spoke in Chinese and English when he was excited about anything.

The woman posed the family in front of the house in such a way that the pictures seemed natural. Tex had long-since learned that the woman’s idea of posing people made for a much better picture, and he told everybody that very fact. There was no objection. Several plates of pictures were made so that the Cartwrights could pick which one (or ones) they liked best. More pictures were taken – individual ones, some of the house, some of the large barn, some of the ranch hands.”

“And the Cartwrights bought them all!” shouted the eldest child, clapping his hands in glee.

The woman nodded and ignored the crack of lightning nearby.

“Tell us about the Indians,” said the second child with eyes like saucers.

“Well, the best-known Indian around was Winnemucca, Chief of the Shoshone tribe. Ben Cartwright himself escorted the woman, Tex and Emily to the village of this powerful war chief with whom he had already spoken about the ‘images’ that were becoming so popular. Never before had the woman or Tex or Emily been allowed in an Indian camp although they had been fortunate enough to find Indians in many other towns. How excited Tex, Emily, and the woman were!

The Chief spoke some English and used some sign language to converse with the head of the Cartwright clan. Ben told the photographers that Chief Winnemucca would return soon and to sit quietly and watch the camp as it went about its daily business. The woman immediately fetched her sketch book and pencils and drew quickly the things that interested her. Young braves making arrows for hunting (they used rifles only when at war). Young women grinding corn into cornmeal. Older women scraping buffalo hides or cutting up fresh buffalo meat. A naked child playing happily with a pet dog.

The woman’s hand fairly flew across the paper, and she quickly made mental notes of the silver and turquoise jewelry that the women wore around their necks and on their clothing. Most of the Indian braves wore nothing but breechcloths but some had necklaces of bear claws or they wore head bands studded with bright bird feathers. These were fascinating, beautiful people.

Chief Winnemucca returned in full war regalia but without war paint. The Indian village became quiet as they watched their leader approach the group of ‘white’ people to see what he was going to do. Ben got to his feet quickly and encouraged the photographers to do the same, telling them that it would be rude to stay seated if the chief was standing. As the woman rose, she dropped her sketch book. When she picked it up, Chief Winnemucca held out his hands and she surrendered her sketches. A small smile played about the lips of the great chief as he looked at each drawing and nodded his approval.
Then he returned the sketch book to the woman and indicated that he would like his own image put on paper. The woman was nervous and her hand shook slightly as she began to draw but, when she was finished, she had captured the essence of this mighty man – from his full head dress of eagle feathers that started at his head and flowed down to the ground to his intricately beaded and painted leather shirt to his leather breechcloth with fringed leather leggings to his beaded moccasins. When handed the finished sketch, the chief smiled his approval.
Many photographs would be taken that day. Many would be sent to Philadelphia to be put in books, many would be purchased by Virginia City residents, and many would be bought by people in wagon trains as they passed through town on their way to places farther West. But the oil painting that the woman made from her sketches of the great chief would end up in a famous museum back East, and the woman’s name would then be recognized across the country.

“What happened next?” the youngest child prodded. She was tired of hearing about Indians and was eager to get to the next part of the story.

“One day, as the woman was tending the shop, one of the Cartwright brothers came in and invited the woman to supper in town that night. And she agreed. Over the next few weeks, the woman and the man went out together many, many times, and the woman became aware that she had very deep feelings for this man. Back in Philadelphia, the woman had been out with quite a few gentlemen callers, but none had captured her heart. She had been more interested in her photography and her paintings and sketches then. But she knew that Tex and Emily would soon be leaving this part of Nevada and going someplace else. The woman had no idea how the man felt about her.

Eventually, the woman and the man went on their first of many picnics. Having finished the meal, the two of them sat in comfortable silence. The woman felt the man taking her hand in his. And she knew by the pressure of his hand and the look on his face that he had the same feelings for her as she did for him.

Now she was in a quandary. She wondered if she should stay in Virginia City and see what would happen with the man or if she should leave with Tex and Emily to travel to Utah and take pictures of the Great Salt Lake. With the money she had earned from working with Tex and Emily, and with the additional money she had made from her sketches and paintings, she could afford to keep the shop and buy two of Tex’s now four photographic instruments and accessories.

She decided to stay. And the sad day came when she had to say goodbye to Tex and Emily. But they all promised to stay in touch by writing letters. So the woman ran the shop alone at first and then hired a promising young man with a good eye for pictures as her helper. Her business flourished.

Her social life flourished. But her social life was with only one man. She and the man spent many an afternoon and evening riding around the Ponderosa or sitting at the big dining room table happily eating a meal with the rest of the Cartwrights. The woman and the man took walks together, attended church together, and went to parties and dances together. They took to holding hands when nobody else was around. When the man first kissed her, she was swept away by the feeling of her full heart. The man’s strong arms around her made her feel protected – safe from any harm. When he was not with her, she would think about him and a smile would spread across her face. She knew that she was in love with this man.

One night, after the Spring round-up barn dance, they went outside to get some fresh air. And…”

The third child added to the story. “He kissed her and asked her to marry him!”

Not to be outdone, the youngest child squealed, “And she said ‘yes’!”

“But first he told her that he loved her,” the eldest child prompted.

“And then she said she loved him,” added the second child.

“And then they kissed again!” The eldest child always wanted to have the last word.

The woman rocked in her chair and laughed, her dimples looking even deeper in the shadows of the lamp and the firelight. She added more wood to the fire and looked out the window again, hopefully. No rider, no horse. Just rain. But the thunder and lightning had moved farther away and the rain had begun to slacken.

“The man and the woman got married soon after and the ceremony was held outside the big house on the Ponderosa. There were garlands and wreaths of flowers everywhere; the day was clear and bright; birds sang; and the yard was so full of people that there were not enough chairs and some people had to stand. And Tex and Emily were there! Tears of happiness were shed many times over.

After the wedding, the man and the woman – together with the help of the Cartwrights and many townsfolk – threw themselves into building a house in a clearing surrounded by wild flowers, aspens, and Ponderosa pines. With so many hands helping in the building of the house, it was soon completed and was ready for the man and the woman to live in. It was a sturdy house with many windows to allow the sunlight to stream into every room; there was a large fireplace in the living room, and there was even a water pump at the sink in the kitchen. Great care had been taken to furnish the house with every piece silently beckoning to come in and be comfortable. The man and the woman were proud and entertained often.

The next six years brought forth babies – the first one was a boy. The man wept with joy. The second child was a girl – and the man wept with joy again. And he wept with joy when the woman blessed him with another son and then another daughter. The man was a wonderful, loving father, often found rolling around on the floor and laughing as he allowed his young sons to pin him down. With his young daughters, he made many forays into the woods and showed them the wildflowers and then helped pick some to make garlands with. The children adored both the man and the woman. Of course, Grandpa and the uncles would have spoiled the children mercilessly if the man and the woman didn’t put a foot down firmly every once in a while. It would’ve been hard to find a happier family anywhere!

And then the woman had more news to tell the man. She had been excited all day and had planned to tell the whole family at supper, but the man had not come home. She was worried now….”

The wind died down completely, and the woman looked toward the window. Did she hear the sound of a horse’s hooves splashing through the mud and the puddles? The children gathered with her around the window and peered out as a lone figure rode into view.

“Papa!” the children screamed, again in unison. And before the woman could stop them, they had bolted out the door in their nightclothes, bare feet spattering mud everywhere, and the man scooped them up in his arms, laughing joyously as they fought to give him hugs and kisses.

The woman stood on the front porch, arms akimbo. “Hoss Cartwright! We were afraid that something had happened to you!”

Hoss climbed the steps onto the porch, still holding four wriggling children, and picked up the woman too. Hoss was soaked to the skin, despite having worn his rain slicker, and his boots were filled with water. He was muddy, the children were muddy, and now the woman was muddy.

“Aw, my darlin’ Jenny,” he said comfortingly. And then he kissed her soundly. “Nothin’ could keep me away from my family. You know that! I just got caught in this terrible rain, and Chub kept slippin’ and slidin’. We waited in Indian Cave ‘til the storm passed.”

“Hoss, you’re squishing us all,” Jenny chided gently. “And this is not the time to squish my tummy.”

Hoss deposited his wife and children on the floor. “You mean…?”

Jenny smiled. Another room would have to be added. Again, Hoss wept with joy. And later, when the children had calmed down, Jenny sat and wrote another page in her book, the same one she had started the day she arrived in Virginia City. The very same book that the children called “Our Favorite Story.”

END