This story was written for the 2017 Advent Calendar – Day 16<\/p>\n
Summary:\u00a0 It’s a season of miracles, when a lost son returns home.<\/p>\n
Rating:\u00a0 G\u00a0 \u00a04,980 words<\/p>\n
And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host\u00a0praising God<\/strong><\/b>\u00a0and saying:…”<\/em><\/p>\n Unto us a son 1<\/strong><\/b><\/p>\n \u201cHe will come,\u201d said my wife, as I set the candlestick in its customary place in front of the darkened window.\u00a0 \u201cI know he will.\u00a0 One day.\u00a0 Soon.\u201d<\/p>\n It was the night before Christmas Eve.\u00a0 The candle flame, newly lit, swayed and flickered, then steadied and grew tall and bright.\u00a0 Outside, the storm had passed and the blackness beyond the window was undisturbed by the swirling snow of the earlier blizzard.\u00a0 Each night for the last four years, we had followed this vigil, setting the light in the window to guide our son home, even though I knew he would not come.\u00a0 It didn\u2019t matter how many hours Martha spent watching from the window, how many candles she burned to guide him back through the darkness, Andrew would not be coming home.\u00a0 He was dead.\u00a0 What other explanation could there be?\u00a0 If he had been alive, he would have returned by now.\u00a0 We had found his horse, down by the river, but no sign of the boy, even though we searched and searched for days and days.\u00a0 Finally, in my heart, I had known.<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019ll make some coffee?\u201d I said.<\/p>\n Martha smiled a sad smile.\u00a0 There was a time when that smile would have lit up her face with a radiance as bright as the candle behind me, but when Andrew disappeared, the light inside Martha had died with him.\u00a0 Even when I spoke to her and she looked at me, it was as if she searched beyond me for a face that never appeared.<\/p>\n She sat in her chair, thin now and fragile, a ghost of the woman I had married, eyes fixed on the window.\u00a0 Her constant worry was that the candle might go out.\u00a0 If it were to die before morning, she said, how would Andrew find his way back through the darkness?\u00a0 I had long ago stopped arguing with her, explaining that Andrew had lived in this same cabin for fourteen years.\u00a0 The boy would have found his way home through the blackest of nights.\u00a0 If he had been able.<\/p>\n I missed Andrew too, but I also missed my wife. \u00a0Sometimes I wondered which one I mourned the most.\u00a0 Andrew had been special to us both, of course he had.\u00a0 All children are special to their parents.\u00a0 But Andrew had been extra special, because of all the others we had lost before ever they were born.\u00a0 Just as we had given up all hope of a living child, Andrew had come along, our own special miracle.\u00a0 For fourteen years, he had been more precious to Martha than her own life.\u00a0 Now there was an emptiness inside her where her child had been, and I was helpless to ease the ache of that empty space.<\/p>\n I put the coffee on to heat. \u00a0I had grown used to the silence, but that night seemed doubly quiet.\u00a0 The snow, lying thick on the cabin and the world outside, muted even the smallest, insignificant sounds of night.<\/p>\n \u201cI don\u2019t like to think of him out in the cold,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n I took cups off the shelf and set them on a tray, and tried not to think about the pain and loneliness inside me.<\/p>\n \u201cShould I fetch your sewing?\u201d I asked her, but her eyes were fixed on the window and she didn\u2019t answer.\u00a0\u00a0 Whenever I looked at her, I wanted to weep inside at how thin and frail she had become in four years.<\/p>\n We sat facing each other across the kitchen as we sipped our coffee, but I might as well have been alone.<\/p>\n \u201cAt least the wind\u2019s dropped,\u201d I said.\u00a0 \u201cHope the snow hasn\u2019t drifted too high against the barn.\u201d<\/p>\n She didn\u2019t reply.\u00a0 I was used to conversations with myself.\u00a0 Still I talked, pretending she was listening.\u00a0 It kept me sane.\u00a0 Soon I would go to bed, and Martha would remain in her chair, watching the candle, in case it went out.<\/p>\n I\u2019d just swallowed my last mouthful of coffee when I heard the noise.\u00a0 Martha heard it too.\u00a0 Her back went rigid, her eyes grew wide.<\/p>\n \u201cIt\u2019s him,\u201d she whispered.\u00a0 \u201cIt\u2019s Andrew.\u00a0 He\u2019s come back.\u201d<\/p>\n I shook my head.\u00a0 She made to rise from her chair, but she was weak. I stood first and pushed her back.\u00a0 \u201cNo, you wait here.\u00a0 I\u2019ll see what it is.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cIt\u2019s Andrew,\u201d she breathed, her hollow cheeks flushing faintly.\u00a0 \u201cI know it is.\u00a0 It\u2019s Andrew.\u00a0 He\u2019s come home.\u201d<\/p>\n A fleeting moment of foolish hope made my heart jump, but hope played tricks like that all the time: a lone rider in the distance; a curly-haired child across the street in town.\u00a0 I had grown wise to the treachery of hope, and reached instead for my gun.<\/p>\n \u201cAn animal, I expect,\u201d I said, pulling on my coat. \u201cYou stay here in the warm.\u201d<\/p>\n Outside, the night was strangely bright.\u00a0 The clouds that had brought the snow were gone, and the moon was up, its eerie light illuminating a world transformed by whiteness.\u00a0 Where once had been a barn and yard, a fence, a trough, now all was undulating softness, and unfamiliar shadows deceived the eye.<\/p>\n One of the shadows moved, detaching itself from the corner of the barn and crumpling into the pristine blue-whiteness of the yard.\u00a0 I lowered my gun and stared.\u00a0 \u201cAndrew?\u201d I whispered.<\/p>\n Something pushed past me, rousing me from my doubt.\u00a0 Martha cried out her son\u2019s name as she fell on her knees beside the dark shape in the snow.<\/p>\n \u201cAndrew!\u00a0 Oh, Andrew!\u00a0 My Andrew!\u201d \u00a0She threw herself over the prone body half buried in the snow.<\/p>\n In the moonlight, I caught a glimpse of a boy\u2019s face, youthful and smooth, curly hair crusted with snow, and for a moment I could barely breathe.\u00a0 Only Martha\u2019s sobs brought me back to reality.<\/p>\n Forcing my voice to sound normal, I seized his wife\u2019s thin shoulders and pulled her back.\u00a0 \u201cLet\u2019s get him inside, Martha, before he freezes.\u201d<\/p>\n She wouldn\u2019t let go, clutching at the boy\u2019s coat, stroking his hair, his arm, his face, making my task doubly difficult.\u00a0 And not a boy after all, I thought as I turned the prone body. This was a man.\u00a0 A young man.\u00a0 Four years would have turned my boy into a man such as this.\u00a0 Could it really be true?\u00a0 Had God answered our desperate prayers and finally brought Andrew home?<\/p>\n His clothes were half solid with snow, melting against me as I lifted him and carried him into the warmth and light of the cabin.\u00a0 I set him down on the couch, and while Martha hung over him, I brought the lamp closer so we could see him better.\u00a0 The boy\u2019s eyes were closed, but the hair, the face, they were Andrew\u2019s \u2013 at least Andrew\u2019s as they might have been, four years on.\u00a0 My beautiful boy had matured into a fine-looking man.<\/p>\n But there was blood in his hair.\u00a0 And he was cold.\u00a0 Very cold, face bloodless, lips tinged blue.<\/p>\n \u201cBoil water,\u201d I said to Martha.\u00a0 \u201cWe need bed warmers.\u201d Still she hung weeping over the boy, pressing her face to his bloodied hair, hugging his head to her breast.\u00a0 I took hold of her, by the shoulders.<\/p>\n \u201cListen to me, Martha.\u00a0 You have to do as I say or we could lose him again.\u00a0 Do you understand?\u00a0 We must get him warm.\u00a0 And he\u2019s hurt.\u00a0 Look at his head.\u00a0 Now, get some water on that stove.\u201d<\/p>\n Martha, face streaked with tears, bodice stained with the boy\u2019s blood, lifted her head and stared at me, eyes wide and frightened in her pale face.\u00a0 \u201cDon\u2019t let him die, Will, don\u2019t let him die.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI won\u2019t, but you have to help me.\u201d<\/p>\n I saw comprehension in her eyes.\u00a0 She headed for the stove while I got the boy\u2019s wet clothes off him and wrapped him round with blankets.\u00a0 I struggled to reconcile the memory of a boy with the body of the man in front of me, and it was hard not to doubt.\u00a0 Was this Andrew?\u00a0 Had fate really delivered my son back into my arms, or was this just another cruel trick?\u00a0 I wished I had Martha\u2019s faith.\u00a0 There was no doubt in her face as she tucked an extra quilt around the boy, the way she\u2019d done when he was a small child, then leaned in to stroke the curls from his face and touch her lips to his forehead.<\/p>\n I cleaned the gash on the side of his head.\u00a0 There was a nasty swelling beneath it.\u00a0 Then we packed stone water bottles at his feet and along his sides, and I stoked the fire while Martha heated milk on the stove.\u00a0 I pulled her chair close to the couch so she could sit beside the boy and spoon the warmed milk into his mouth.\u00a0 As the boy swallowed the milk, he stirred back to consciousness.\u00a0 His eyes opened, fixed on nothing.\u00a0 My heart jumped.\u00a0 Eyes of green-brown.\u00a0 Andrew\u2019s eyes.<\/p>\n \u201cAndrew,\u201d said Martha, through her tears.\u00a0 \u201cI knew you\u2019d come back.\u201d<\/p>\n The boy\u2019s eyes focused on her face, looked confused.<\/p>\n \u201cDrink the milk, son,\u201d said I.<\/p>\n Martha put the spoon to the pale lips, and the boy swallowed dutifully.\u00a0 His lips formed words.\u00a0 I leaned in to hear him.<\/p>\n \u201cWhere am I?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cHome,\u201d said Martha.\u00a0 \u201cYou\u2019re home, my love, safe and sound.\u201d<\/p>\n The boy\u2019s brow furrowed deeper.<\/p>\n Staring into my son\u2019s eyes, my heart rose into my throat so that it was difficult to get the words past it. \u201cAndrew, it\u2019s us; your ma and pa.\u00a0 You\u2019re home, son, you\u2019re home.\u201d<\/p>\n The boy\u2019s eyes met mine, stared without recognition.<\/p>\n \u201cJoe,\u201d he muttered.\u00a0 \u201cMy name\u2019s Joe.\u201d<\/p>\n 2<\/strong><\/b><\/p>\n The sky was lightening to a pale grey over a world starkly beautiful, alien beneath its mantle of smooth whiteness.\u00a0 I rubbed rough hands over my unshaven face, my eyes gritty from lack of sleep.\u00a0 Through the open bedroom door, I could see Martha, asleep in the armchair beside the mounded cocoon of blankets shrouding the boy, a rug around her shoulders and another across her lap.\u00a0 I had not been able to persuade her to leave her place at the boy\u2019s side.\u00a0 I studied her sleeping face for a long moment and wondered if her dreams were peaceful.\u00a0 I had always striven to make her happy.\u00a0 Once, it had not seemed such a difficult goal.\u00a0 How had happiness proved so elusive?<\/p>\n I went quietly so as not to wake Martha.\u00a0 Sleep did not come easily to her these days, but I needed to see the boy again, look at his face and know for sure that it was my son; dispel the doubts that had troubled my sleep and disturbed my dreams.<\/p>\n The young man was asleep too.\u00a0 His face, although still pale, had lost the bluish tinge of the night before.\u00a0 I studied his features closely, looking for clues to the son who had ridden away from home four years earlier. \u00a0After that day that would stay with us forever, I had struggled to hang onto the image of my boy, and as the weeks became months and the months became years, I could no longer see his face clearly.\u00a0 Memory blurred and sometimes it was only when I caught a passing expression on Martha\u2019s face, or on my own in the mirror, that I could see Andrew\u2019s face clearly again, and then only fleetingly. \u00a0It scared me that I was losing all I had left of my son. \u00a0The Andrew to whom we had bidden goodbye on that fateful autumn morning had been little more than a child, small in stature, wiry and lean, with a smooth, round face beneath a tumble of wayward curls. The memory his carefree grin and the laughter in his bright eyes caused my stomach contract with a sharp tug of pain.<\/p>\n Now I tried to imagine how those lost years would have changed Andrew from boy to man, and, thinking about that, everything about the young man in front of me was right.\u00a0 The thick brown curls hadn\u2019t changed.\u00a0 He was taller and broader, of course, but still lean of frame.\u00a0 His face was no longer childishly soft, but defined by the firmness of the bones beneath.\u00a0 He\u2019d always been a good-looking boy and he had grown into a fine-looking young man, everything I would have wished for.\u00a0 Pride and sadness welled inside me, and I could not help himself.\u00a0 I leaned over and touched the untidy tangle of curls framing the sleeping face.<\/p>\n The young man\u2019s eyes flicked open.\u00a0 I felt the sharp tug inside me again as the familiar hazel gaze met mine.\u00a0 We regarded each other in silence.\u00a0 There was recognition in the young man\u2019s face, and some anxiety.\u00a0 I forced myself to breathe.<\/p>\n \u201cHow do you feel?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m all right.\u201d\u00a0 His eyes roamed the interior of the cabin, stopped when they came to Martha in the armchair.\u00a0 Our voices had roused her.\u00a0 She never slept deeply.\u00a0 She drew a sharp gasp, her eyes widening, like a child waking on Christmas morning.<\/p>\n \u201cAndrew!\u201d she whispered.\u00a0 \u201cMy darling.\u00a0 Andrew.\u201d \u00a0She reached over to touch his hair and he drew his head away.\u00a0 \u201cWhat is it, my sweet?\u00a0 Are you hurting?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cMy name\u2019s Joe,\u201d he said.\u00a0 \u201cJoe Cartwright.\u201d\u00a0 He looked to me for help.<\/p>\n Martha recoiled as though someone had slapped her.\u00a0 She too looked at me, pleading in her eyes.<\/p>\n \u201cYou don\u2019t know this place?\u201d I said.<\/p>\n The young man cast his eyes around the cabin for a second time, then shook his head.\u00a0 The looks on our faces apparently baffled him. He drew his brows together in a troubled frown.\u00a0 \u201cShould I?\u201d<\/p>\n I would have answered but Martha got there first.\u00a0 \u201cIt\u2019s your home.\u00a0 Don\u2019t you remember?\u201d<\/p>\n The boy looked at her, uncertain.\u00a0 \u201cNo,\u201d he said.\u00a0 \u201cNo, ma\u2019am, I don\u2019t remember.\u201d<\/p>\n Tears sprang in Martha\u2019s eyes.\u00a0 \u201cIt\u2019s your home,\u201d she repeated, her voice shaking.\u00a0 You must remember your home.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cMartha,\u201d I said, taking her arm, \u201cwhy don\u2019t you make some breakfast?\u00a0 We\u2019ll talk about this when we\u2019ve had some coffee and some food.\u201d<\/p>\n The young man watched us uneasily.\u00a0 \u201cI think I should be on my way,\u201d he said, and made to sit up.\u00a0 \u201cWhoa!\u201d he groaned, pressing his hand to his head.<\/p>\n \u201cYou\u2019ve hurt your head,\u201d I told him.\u00a0 \u201cTake it easy.\u201d\u00a0 I touched Martha\u2019s shoulder.\u00a0 \u201cWhat the boy needs is food, Martha.\u00a0 How about fixing him some eggs?\u201d She rarely cooked at all now.\u00a0 Even little tasks sapped her energy, but I wanted to distract her, and the boy\u2019s presence seemed to have given her fresh strength.<\/p>\n \u201cOh yes.\u201d\u00a0 She gave an eager nod, and with one last lingering touch to his curly hair, she turned away to the kitchen.\u00a0 \u201cI\u2019ll fix them just the way you like them.\u201d<\/p>\n I watched her go, then looked back at the boy.\u00a0 \u201cWe thought you were….well, the fact is, you look just like our son, Andrew.\u201d<\/p>\n The boy shook his head.\u00a0 His voice was tired, but his eyes were lucid, his words dispelling the last, tentative strands of hope to which I\u2019d been clinging.\u00a0 \u201cI\u2019m Joe Cartwright, from the Ponderosa ranch. I was trying to get home for Christmas. I took a shortcut across country, but the storm caught me out. I lost my way. Then my horse put his foot wrong in the snow, and fell.\u00a0 I hit my head but he broke his leg.\u00a0 I\u2026 had to shoot him.\u201d<\/p>\n I could see the memory upset him. \u00a0I put a hand on his shoulder.<\/p>\n \u201cI stayed there, huddled down beside him until the storm stopped,\u201d he went on.\u00a0 \u201cI had no idea where I was by then, and it was dark.\u00a0 I thought I might as well walk as die there.\u00a0 Then I saw a light\u2026.\u201d<\/p>\n I knew he was telling the truth, even though the truth was like a cold lump in the bottom of my belly.\u00a0 This was not Andrew.\u00a0 But what about Martha?\u00a0 How was I going to convince her this was not her beloved son?\u00a0 She had clung so long to the belief her boy would one day return, and she was not strong.\u00a0 I worried what the truth would do to her.<\/p>\n As Martha clattered in the kitchen behind us, I tried to explain to the boy how things were with her, how Andrew\u2019s disappearance had broken her heart, how his absence had drained the strength from her body and the joy from her heart, but my words were clumsy.\u00a0 I didn\u2019t know if he would understand.\u00a0 Then Martha came back with the eggs.\u00a0 The boy smiled and thanked her.\u00a0 He was polite, well-spoken; a son any father might have been proud of.\u00a0 And Martha, unable to restrain herself, clutched at his hand, and powerless to stop the tears, lamented, \u201cOh, Andrew, where have you been all this time?\u00a0 We\u2019ve been so worried.\u00a0 So very worried!\u201d<\/p>\n The boy looked troubled.\u00a0 \u201cI\u2019m sorry about your son,\u201d he said, \u201cand I\u2019m sorry to be all this trouble to you, but I\u2019m not Andrew, truly I\u2019m not.\u00a0 My name\u2019s Joe.\u00a0 Joe Cartwright.\u00a0 I have a father of my own, and two brothers, and I live over by Virginia City. I\u2019m sorry, ma\u2019am.\u00a0 I know you miss your boy, but I\u2019m not Andrew.\u201d<\/p>\n Martha raised her head, her eyes dark with pain, her face contorting as though someone had stabbed her.<\/p>\n \u201cDon\u2019t!\u00a0 Don\u2019t say things like that!\u201d\u00a0 She cupped his face with her hand.\u00a0 \u201cI know my own son.\u00a0 Of course I do.\u00a0 I don\u2019t know why you\u2019re saying these things to me.\u00a0 Have you forgotten us?\u00a0 Have you forgotten your own mother and father?\u201d<\/p>\n I took her by the shoulders again.\u00a0 \u201cMartha, listen to me,\u201d I pleaded, but she wouldn\u2019t.\u00a0 She was weeping, pressing her hands to her chest.\u00a0 I wrapped my arms around her, tried to comfort her while the boy stared at us in bewilderment and some alarm.<\/p>\n \u201cIt\u2019s all right\u201d I told him.\u00a0 \u201cYou eat your eggs.\u00a0 I\u2019ll talk to her.\u00a0 It will be all right.\u201d<\/p>\n I took Martha through to the bedroom.\u00a0 She didn\u2019t want to go and grew even more distressed, but I persisted, for her own good and for the good of the boy.\u00a0 I would have liked to spare him what passed between us there, but the walls were thin and I knew Martha\u2019s protests and cries of dismay were clearly audible as I tried to reason with and console her.<\/p>\n Finally, I persuaded her to take one of the powders the doctor had left for her.\u00a0 She needed to sleep.\u00a0 I sat with her while she fell into a troubled slumber, then I went back out into the main room.\u00a0 The boy who was not my son regarded me from a pale, anxious face.<\/p>\n \u201cShe\u2019s sleeping now,\u201d I said.\u00a0 \u201cShe\u2019s not well, and…\u201d\u00a0 I sighed, \u201cshe holds onto too much hope where there is none.\u201d\u00a0 I saw then that the eggs were still untouched in the boy\u2019s lap.\u00a0 \u201cYour eggs are cold.\u00a0 I\u2019ll make you some fresh ones.\u201d<\/p>\n Joe looked down at his plate.\u00a0 \u201cNo, please don\u2019t worry.\u00a0 These are fine.\u201d\u00a0 He hesitated awkwardly.\u00a0 \u201cWill your wife be all right?\u201d<\/p>\n I tried to look reassuring even though my heart was heavy for Martha\u2019s future.\u00a0 But that was not this young man\u2019s concern.\u00a0 I watched as he ate a few mouthfuls of his cold egg.<\/p>\n \u201cI must be on my way,\u201d he said.\u00a0 \u201cYou\u2019ve been very kind to me but I don\u2019t want to distress your wife any more than I already have.\u00a0 And I wanted to be home in time for Christmas.\u201d<\/p>\n I nodded. \u201cOf course you do.\u00a0 But that\u2019s a nasty knock you took on your head.\u00a0 You must be sure you feel well enough.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019ll be fine,\u201d he said, with all the assurance of the young.\u00a0 He frowned.\u00a0 \u201cIs there somewhere nearby I can hire a horse?\u201d<\/p>\n I looked out of the window at the snow-clad world.\u00a0 \u201cI can take you into town, provided the road is passable.\u201d<\/p>\n He looked relieved at that.\u00a0 \u201cI don\u2019t have much money,\u201d he said, \u201cbut I\u2019ll make sure I pay you back, once I get home.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cDon\u2019t you worry about that.\u201d\u00a0 I nodded at his plate.\u00a0 “You should eat.\u00a0 I have to feed the animals and check everything\u2019s all right after the snow.\u00a0 Then I\u2019ll hitch up the wagon and we\u2019ll try heading into town.\u201d<\/p>\n I tried to sound bright, although I was troubled by the knowledge that Martha\u2019s heart would be broken afresh if she woke to find the boy gone.\u00a0 But he was not Andrew and we had no claim on him.\u00a0 Of course he wanted to get home to his family for Christmas, and it was my Christian duty to help him do that.<\/p>\n It took me about an hour to do the necessary chores and hitch up Tully, our old horse, to the wagon, by which time Joe was dressed and ready to leave.\u00a0 Just stepping through the door and seeing him there made my heart skip a beat.\u00a0\u00a0Andrew, oh my Andrew, I know now how you would have turned out if only you had lived!<\/em><\/p>\n I left a note for Martha, saying simply, \u201cBack soon. Don\u2019t worry.\u201d\u00a0 My hope was that the draught she had taken would keep her asleep until I returned.\u00a0 I tried not to think further ahead than that.\u00a0 It filled my heart with dread.<\/p>\n Joe climbed up beside me on the wagon and I turned the horse\u2019s head in the direction of town.\u00a0 The snow obscured everything, but I knew well enough where the road lay beneath the white shroud.<\/p>\n \u201cAre your family expecting you back today?\u201d I asked Joe.<\/p>\n \u201cI was held up in Placerville,\u201d he told me, \u201cotherwise I\u2019d have been home before that snowstorm came along.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThey\u2019ll be worried about you then?\u201d<\/p>\n I looked round at him as I asked the question and he gave me an unexpected grin.\u00a0 \u201cThey always worry about me.\u00a0 I\u2019m the youngest.\u00a0 They never let me forget that.\u201d<\/p>\n I could tell by the warmth in his voice he wasn\u2019t really complaining.\u00a0 I tried to ignore the sharp pang of envy as I thought of his father and brothers.\u00a0 Their son and brother might be late returning, but he would be coming home.\u00a0 My boy never would.<\/p>\n \u201cI hope you don\u2019t mind me asking, sir, but…\u201d Joe hesitated as if unsure whether to proceed with the question, \u201c\u2026what happened to your son?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNo,\u201d I said, \u201cI don\u2019t mind.\u201d And I told him about that terrible day.\u00a0 When I\u2019d finished, he looked somber.<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m sorry,\u201d he said, then he added, \u201cand I\u2019m sorry too that I remind you so much of him.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNo,\u201d I said, \u201cyou mustn\u2019t feel bad.\u00a0 You\u2019re not to blame.\u00a0 In a way, I\u2019m glad this happened.\u00a0 I think maybe it was meant to be.\u00a0 It\u2019s as if\u2026it\u2019s as if you were sent to show us how Andrew might have been, had he lived.\u00a0 It\u2019s as if we\u2019ve been given another glimpse of our boy.\u201d<\/p>\n Tears sprang to my eyes as I spoke and I turned my face away so he wouldn\u2019t see them, and we drove on in silence.\u00a0 That\u2019s when we heard the shout from behind us.\u00a0 Joe turned faster than I did, and clutched my arm with an urgent hand.<\/p>\n \u201cIt\u2019s your wife, sir.\u00a0 She\u2019s following us.\u201d<\/p>\n Martha!<\/em>\u00a0 I reined in the horse and flung myself down from the wagon, knee-deep into the soft snow of the verge.<\/p>\n \u201cMartha!\u201d\u00a0 My wife was a small figure in the distance, dark against the surrounding snow.\u00a0 Slipping and stumbling, I ran back the way we\u2019d come.<\/p>\n She threw herself into my arms.\u00a0 She had run from the house in nothing more than her slippers and indoor clothes.\u00a0 No coat, no boots.\u00a0 Snow crusted her dress.\u00a0 She must have fallen several times.\u00a0 Now she collapsed, panting Andrew\u2019s name, sobbing against me.\u00a0 I tried to calm her, shrugging off my coat to wrap around her.\u00a0 She was so thin, so frail.<\/p>\n \u201cLet\u2019s get her into the wagon.\u201d<\/p>\n It was Joe\u2019s voice.\u00a0 I looked round and he was at my shoulder.\u00a0 He\u2019d turned the wagon around and come back after us.\u00a0 I nodded and hustled Martha into the back of the cart, climbing in with her so I could wrap her in my arms for warmth.\u00a0 Joe got back in the driver\u2019s seat and urged the horse back towards the house.<\/p>\n Martha was cold, wet, distraught.\u00a0 I hurried her into the bedroom and got her under the warm covers while Joe made hot coffee.\u00a0 All the time she wept, and wailed Andrew\u2019s name.\u00a0 Joe knocked at the door and came into the bedroom, two steaming mugs in his hands.\u00a0 He didn\u2019t say anything, just looked at Martha, then back at me.<\/p>\n \u201cAndrew!\u201d\u00a0 She tried to sit up in bed, her hands reaching for him.<\/p>\n Joe set down the cups on the nightstand and dropped to his knees beside the bed, catching the two flailing arms in his own hands.\u00a0 \u201cI\u2019m here,\u201d he said.\u00a0 \u201cIt\u2019s all right, I\u2019m here.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cAndrew?\u201d\u00a0 She clutched at him as if her life depended on it.\u00a0 \u201cOh, Andrew, I thought I\u2019d lost you again.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNo, Ma, he said, \u201cI\u2019m here.\u201d<\/p>\n She pulled him towards her in a clumsy embrace, and he went, unresisting.\u00a0 \u201cIt\u2019s all right, Ma,\u201d he said again.\u00a0 \u201cI\u2019m not going anywhere.\u00a0 I\u2019m going to stay right here beside you, don\u2019t you worry.\u201d<\/p>\n I stood uselessly, too startled to move or speak as I watched my wife clutching the boy she believed was her son, and Joe, enfolding her thin shoulders in his strong, young arms.\u00a0 It was a few minutes before she relaxed her grip on him enough that he could turn his head to look at me.\u00a0 I saw then that he understood.\u00a0 I had to leave the room because the emotion inside me was too much to contain.<\/p>\n Joe appeared in the doorway a short while later, leaning against the frame to look at me.\u00a0 By then, I was back under control, but I could not meet his eyes for fear I\u2019d give myself away.<\/p>\n \u201cThank you,\u201d I said.\u00a0 I didn\u2019t need to explain what for; he knew.\u00a0 I gestured at the door.\u00a0 \u201cTake the wagon.\u00a0 You can still make it home today.\u00a0 Howie at the livery will see to it Tully gets back here safely.\u201d<\/p>\n I waited but he didn\u2019t move.<\/p>\n \u201cGo on,\u201d I urged him.\u00a0 \u201cYour pa and your brothers will be worried about you.\u201d<\/p>\n He shook his head.<\/p>\n I raised my eyes to his and saw that, in spite of his youth, he\u2019d understood more than I\u2019d realized.\u00a0 I had known for many months how sick Martha was, but it was then, as I looked into the eyes of the stranger who wasn\u2019t a stranger, that I finally came to terms with the finality of the situation.<\/p>\n \u201cWhat about your family?\u00a0 Won\u2019t they be worried?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThey\u2019ll guess I\u2019ve gone to ground somewhere when the snow came.\u201d<\/p>\n My gratitude was more than I could express in words, but somehow, I knew he understood that too.<\/p>\n Martha drifted in and out of sleep all that day, and Joe was there to comfort her whenever she woke.\u00a0 She never doubted once that he was Andrew.\u00a0 For that, at least, I was grateful because she was the happiest I had seen her in four years, in spite of the obvious fact that she was growing weaker by the hour.<\/p>\n During the times Martha slept, Joe told me all about his home and his family.\u00a0 He\u2019d lost his mother when he was four years old.\u00a0 When he told me that, he gave me the kind of radiant grin I\u2019d almost forgotten was possible, and added, \u201cBut this Christmas, I\u2019ll have a mother one more time.\u201d<\/p>\n We spent Christmas Day much as we\u2019d spent Christmas Eve, by Martha\u2019s bedside.\u00a0 She was calmer now than I\u2019d seen her for years, smiling to see her boy each time she opened her eyes, reminiscing about things that he had said or done when he was young.\u00a0 He\u2019d squeeze her hand and nod and laugh, and she was content.<\/p>\n She slipped away the day after Christmas.\u00a0 I had gone into the kitchen to make coffee.\u00a0 As I came back into the bedroom, Joe lifted his face to me and his eyes spoke for him. Such eloquent eyes.\u00a0 Would my Andrew\u2019s have been the same?<\/p>\n Together we carried Martha to the wagon and together we drove through the snow into town.\u00a0 Even then, he did not leave me until all was done at the undertakers.<\/p>\n I said goodbye to him at the livery.<\/p>\n \u201cWill you be all right?\u201d he asked me.<\/p>\n \u201cYes.\u201d\u00a0 I found I could even smile in spite of all that had happened.\u00a0 \u201cMartha found peace at the end.\u00a0 I couldn\u2019t ask for more than that.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019ll come back and visit,\u201d he promised.\u00a0 \u201cIn the spring.\u00a0 Once the snow\u2019s past.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cIf Andrew had lived,\u201d I told him, \u201cI would have been a very proud man if he had turned out like you.\u201d<\/p>\n He held out his hand and I took it, but it seemed inadequate for all that had passed between us, so I pulled him towards me, and hugged him the way I used to hug Andrew, and he hugged me back.<\/p>\n I drove home, grieving my wife, yet at the same time\u00a0praising God<\/strong><\/b>\u00a0for the miracle that had sent this young man to us at this time.\u00a0 I had lost Martha, but what Joe brought to us that Christmas was the greatest gift of all.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Link to the 20167 Advent Calendar – Day 18 –\u00a0<\/span>Our Little Piece of Snow-Covered Heaven<\/a>\u00a0by BluewindFarm<\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n Tags:\u00a0 Joe \/ Little Joe Cartwright<\/p>\n
\n~~ by Inca<\/strong><\/b><\/p>\n
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