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<\/p>\nSummary:\u00a0 Not everyone enjoys the Christmas season, but maybe, just maybe\u2026<\/p>\n
Rating:\u00a0 G\u00a0\u00a0 2,280 words<\/p>\n
Morning Star<\/b><\/p>\n
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Stealing Christmas<\/strong><\/p>\n With inspiration by Theodore Geisel<\/em><\/p>\n Every man, woman and child in Virginia City liked Christmas.<\/p>\n They liked it a lot.<\/p>\n C.H. Ring (short for Charles Hamish) did not like Christmas. No, he did not.<\/p>\n Every December, C.H. would journey into town from the mine he worked within a stone\u2019s throw of the Ponderosa to trade a sack of silver for winter supplies. Always hoping to be left in peace, he was always disappointed when town folk tried to include him in their holiday cheer. Since no one seemed able to take a hint, he became more direct with each passing year.<\/p>\n When approached with smiling greetings, he\u2019d snarl, \u201cGo away.\u201d When confronted with the sounds of carols merrily sung, he\u2019d shout, \u201cStop your caterwauling!\u201d until the choristers gave up in dismay. His responses to requests for charitable donations had been known to blister paint. Parties? Anyone na\u00efve enough to offer an invitation was treated by a sullen glare before being treated by the sight of his back.<\/p>\n No one knew why C.H. hated Christmas. In point of fact, he couldn\u2019t explain his feelings on the subject even to himself. He simply couldn\u2019t remember a time, even when he was a little shaver, when Christmas had been anything more than sorrow and disappointment.<\/p>\n Naturally, the citizens of Virginia City had some opinions on the subject. Ernie and Dutch, pleasantly tipsy on that chilly December afternoon, had made the mistake of shouting \u201cMerry Christmas!\u201d at C.H. when he stepped into the Silver Dollar to wet his whistle before the long ride home.<\/p>\n After recovering from getting their ears pinned back, Ernie announced to the crowded saloon, \u201cI don\u2019t think this \u2018un\u2019s head is screwed on just right.\u201d His audience chuckled under their breaths, but mostly kept their peace\u2014no one wanted a Christmas season brawl with old C.H.<\/p>\n But, when Dutch piped up, \u201cI thinks his shoes is too tight. Makes a man a sour puss,\u201d everyone burst into laughter and voiced their own ideas. C.H., whose back was getting straighter and jaw tighter with each comment, threw his money on the bar and left without finishing his beer and sandwich.<\/p>\n Hoss Cartwright had been enjoying the shenanigans until C.H. got so wound up and stalked out. It had been a little dadburned funny, after all. But a guilty conscience from participating in hurting someone\u2019s feelings (especially at Christmas) had Hoss out of his chair and following the old codger before the batwing doors stopped swinging.<\/p>\n \u201cHold up, there!\u201d Hoss called. C.H. merely walked faster. Hoss broke into a little bit of a trot that soon brought him up even with C.H.<\/p>\n \u201cLook, C.H.,\u201d Hoss said, \u201cNobody meant nothin\u2019 by what was said in there. I\u2019m real sorry if it hurt your feelins\u2019.\u201d C.H. scoffed and kept walking.<\/p>\n \u201cWait! What have you got against Christmas, anyhow? Most folks show a lot of heart \u2018round this time of year.\u201d<\/p>\n C.H. stopped walking. He made an about-face and marched right up to Hoss. Shaking a finger in the younger man\u2019s face, C.H. sneered, \u201cWell, I reckon my heart must be two sizes too small, then. Leave me alone.\u201d<\/p>\n Hoss watched the old fellow turn on this heel and make his way to the cart hitched to an old horse. C.H. paused and patted the horse\u2019s neck before swinging up to the seat and driving out of Virginia City.<\/p>\n XXXXXXXXXX<\/p>\n Old C.H. was steamin\u2019 mad the whole way home. Why should anyone care what he thought about Christmas? He wasn\u2019t pokin\u2019 his nose into anyone else\u2019s business\u2014why should they botherin\u2019 him? So what if he didn\u2019t like Christmas? Did the cock-eyed bunch of \u2018em want a list? He could make them a list!<\/p>\n Number one\u2014Christmas was too durned noisy. Come Christmas mornin\u2019, every Tom, Dick, and Harry was up at dawn shootin\u2019 into the air, firing off Chinese rockets, or just shoutin\u2019 \u201cMerry Christmas.\u201d Alongside the bells of every church in Virginia City ringing, it was just too much commotion for C.H. He wouldn\u2019t live by himself out in the middle of nowhere if he didn\u2019t like it quiet.<\/p>\n Number two\u2014people stuffed themselves silly with the Christmas feast. Wasteful was what it was. Didn\u2019t these good church-going people know that there were people going hungry? Kids who didn\u2019t have someone to stuff them with sweets. Kids who had to scrounge for whatever they could find or face the day with an empty belly. That thought made C.H.\u2019s gut clench and his eyes sting a little.<\/p>\n Finally, and to top it all off was the singing. How could folks sing about joy and hope and miracles in a world as miserable as this world was? All that singing was a lie, that\u2019s what it was. It was pretending that everything was all right when most things never went right.<\/p>\n If folks wanted C.H. to be happy, then they\u2019d fix it so Christmas never came. Yep, that would be the ticket. No Christmas at all. What would that be like?<\/p>\n C.H. was passing the turn-off to Ponderosa while stewing on the possibilities of a year without Christmas. It was his poor luck to live as close to the Ponderosa as he did. Some trick of geography and wind current made the ranch house seem to be practically in his back yard sometimes. He could hear their dinner bell clanging, their ranch hands whooping, and Little Joe\u2019s target practicing. Naturally, every single year he heard the \u201cjoyous\u201d noise of the Cartwright Christmas celebration. Nope, it wouldn\u2019t hurt C.H.\u2019s heart none if the Cartwrights missed a Christmas or two . . .<\/p>\n At just that moment, C.H. had an idea. An awful idea. A wonderful, awful idea. What if Christmas didn\u2019t come to the Ponderosa?<\/p>\n XXXXXXXXXX<\/p>\n For the next week, C.H. was a busy fellow. Sure, he spent his time buttoning up his homestead for the real winter soon to come. But this year, he had a project to occupy his mind and energies. By Christmas Eve, his plan with all of its preparations were in place. He\u2019d sorted through his old rag box and found enough red fabric to stitch together a simple coat and hat. He\u2019d pulled the sleigh he used when the snow got too high for his cart and cleaned it up. Finally, he didn\u2019t touch a razer for the entire week. By the day before Christmas, his beard had come in good and full\u2014and as white as the snow that fell thick that day.<\/p>\n Night fall came\u2014dark and moonless with only a sky full of stars to light his way to his destination. Throwing a bunch of sacks into the sleigh, C.H. clucked his tongue. His old horse, Max, neighed in response. When the old nag ambled up to him, C.H. offered the apple from his pocket. Good old Max made no objections to being hitched to the sleigh at the strange hour of night. No dog could have been more loyal or faithful. C.H. stepped back to consider the effect. Well, Max wasn\u2019t no reindeer. Maybe, with a couple of spindly branches tied to the bridle? Max turned a baleful eye on C.H.\u2014just as if he could read the old man\u2019s mind. C.H. decided not to push his luck. He had a sudden inspiration. Dashing back into the house, he pulled an old red and white quilt from the trunk at the foot of his bed. Returning to the yard, he tied his grandmother\u2019s morning star quilt across Max\u2019s broad back. Perfect.<\/p>\n Time to get moving.<\/p>\n XXXXXXXXXX<\/p>\n At the Ponderosa, all the windows were dark. Quiet snow filled the air. All the Cartwrights were dreamin\u2019 sweet Christmas dreams. C.H. didn\u2019t care.<\/p>\n He tied Max to the porch post\u2014close to the front door. Santa might come down a chimney, but C.H. wasn\u2019t trying that.<\/p>\n Instead, C.H. tried the front door latch. Amazing. The door wasn\u2019t even locked. Richest people on the Comstock, and they didn\u2019t lock their door on Christmas. Seemed like they deserved what they got.<\/p>\n Easing into room, he took a couple of minutes for his eyes to get accustomed to the light. Embers were still glowing red, banked in the massive fireplace of the great room. Bulging stockings hung from the mantel. A huge tree was set up, decorated with ornaments and candles waiting to be lit. Beneath the boughs, gaily wrapped presents were piled. C.H. smothered his glee with difficulty.<\/p>\n \u201cThose stockings,\u201d he murmured. \u201care the first to go.\u201d<\/p>\n C.H. was so quiet, so light of foot, he fairly slithered around the room. The stockings went into one of his sacks placed by the door. Each present was gathered up and stealthily carried away. C.H. had planned on stripping that monstrosity of a tree bare of all ornaments, but he hadn\u2019t planned on such a tall tree. Maybe . . . it would probably be more dramatic to leave the tree without any presents.<\/p>\n C.H. took a quick trip through the kitchen. He piled pies, and cake, and cookies into the baskets that were so conveniently available. Anything that looked festive was put into a sack or basket and bundled out to the sleigh. It didn\u2019t take too long before the sleigh looked pretty darn full. Max was dozing at the post, covered in grandma\u2019s quilt, oblivious to the larceny his owner was conducting.<\/p>\n Back into the house, C.H. went to check for anything he\u2019d missed\u2014especially anything that might point the way to a certain near neighbor. He was crouched down low beneath the tree-searching for anything that was left when he heard a sound that made his bowels nearly turn to water.<\/p>\n Backing out from under the tree, C.H. straightened up to see Hoss Cartwright watching him in the dim light. Clad in nightshirt, robe and tall white hat, Hoss was looking at him as if he couldn\u2019t quite believe his eyes.<\/p>\n \u201cSanta,\u201d Hoss inquired in a mild, curious tone of voice, \u201cwhy are you taking Christmas away?\u201d<\/p>\n No one had ever called C.H. a coward. Saying a quick prayer that Hoss was nearsighted, C.H. decided to count on the disguise and dim light to enable him to brazen the situation out.<\/p>\n \u201cMy dear lad,\u201d C.H. explained in what he hoped was a Santa sort of voice, \u201cI\u2019m merely exchanging the things that were left here by mistake.\u201d Hoss\u2019s eyebrows crawled toward his forehead.<\/p>\n \u201cYour Christmas went to um, someone else. I have to, um, you know, go get your stuff from there, and bring it back here. Ho, ho . . . ho?\u201d<\/p>\n Hoss didn\u2019t say a word. C.H. held his breath.<\/p>\n \u201cFair enough,\u201d Hoss said finally. \u201cI reckon it\u2019s important to have the right Christmas. Got your sleigh on the roof?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cOf course,\u201d \u201cSanta replied, hoping Hoss wouldn\u2019t peer out the window.<\/p>\n \u201cOkay, then. I know ya got a lotta work to do. Merry Christmas.\u201d Hoss patted him softly on the shoulder and headed back up the stairs.<\/p>\n \u201cMerry Christmas,\u201d C.H. whispered. As soon as his heart stopped trying to hammer its way out of his chest, he scuttled out of the ranch house as quick as he could.<\/p>\n XXXXXXXXXXXX<\/p>\n He and Max were nearly a mile down the road before it hit him. He\u2019d done it. He\u2019d kept Christmas from coming to the Cartwrights. He was giggling, and there was no telling how long it had been since he\u2019d done that.<\/p>\n Poor old Max. The horse had been standing in the cold and was struggling up hill with the heavy sleigh. Didn\u2019t seem right to make the horse suffer. C.H. drew them to a stand still and climbed out. He unhitched the horse, and pushed the laden sleigh behind a small stand of trees. Satisfied that no one would find it any time soon, he and Max began their walk home.<\/p>\n XXXXXXXXXX<\/p>\n Dawn came\u2014lighting up the snowy landscape with a rosy glow. C.H. stepped out onto his porch. Just about this time on Christmas mornings past, the commotion would start. Bells clanging, whooping, singing the works.<\/p>\n C.H. was betting on different sounds this year. Wails of misery perhaps, sobbing would be nice. It was too much to hope for cursing from that crew of mealy-mouthed do-gooders. C.H. walked a little way down the trail to hear better.<\/p>\n He strained his ears. He could hear something stirring and sailing in on the morning breeze. He took a deep breath. He wanted to savor the moment, And then . . . and then . . .<\/p>\n He heard sounds of joy. He heard a chorus of hope. He heard singing. What was wrong with those stupid Cartwrights? Why would they sing? They didn\u2019t have any presents. They didn\u2019t have their feast. They didn\u2019t have Christmas because he had kept Christmas from coming.<\/p>\n C.H. stumbled backwards in shock. He sat down hard on an old tree stump and dropped his head into his hands. He hadn\u2019t stopped Christmas from coming, he\u2019d taken their presents and their feast, but Christmas had come anyway.<\/p>\n All that work. He\u2019d taken such a risk\u2014breaking into a neighbor\u2019s home and stealing from them. Everything he\u2019d planned had come to nothing. He\u2019d never felt so, so . . . relieved.<\/p>\n Christmas came without presents, stockings and treats. Maybe Christmas was more than what could be set on a table and pushed underneath a tree. C.H. felt something stir inside him, and he felt his chest swell until it felt as if his heart had suddenly grown three times larger. The moment his heart settled down\u2014he smoothed his crimson coat and settled his cap at a jaunty angle. He wanted to find out what more Christmas had to offer.<\/p>\n XXXXXXXXXX<\/p>\n The sleigh was discovered, safe and untouched within moments, C.H. was headed down the trail toward the Ponderosa. He met Hoss, riding his favorite mount, about halfway to the ranch house.<\/p>\n \u201cHowdy, Santa!\u201d Hoss greeted him with a wide smile.<\/p>\n The return \u201chowdy\u201d was just as cheerful. In fact, C.H. had to stop for a minute to stretch out his jaw\u2014he wasn\u2019t used to smiling so much.<\/p>\n \u201cThem other folks\u2014they still need that Christmas?\u201d Hoss asked him.<\/p>\n C.H. shook his head. \u201c I think they need your kind of Christmas.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWell, come on, then. We\u2019ve got a passel of kids waitin\u2019 for Santa.\u201d<\/p>\n To say that C.H. wasn\u2019t a little concerned about his reception from Ben Cartwright wouldn\u2019t be accurate. But, C.H. has feelin\u2019 so fine, he decided not to worry about it.<\/p>\n Ben Cartwright was pacing the outside, stamping his feet and swinging his arms to stay warm.<\/p>\n \u201cHoss, C.H.! Good work, there\u2019s still time.\u201d Ben Cartwright smiled and gestured his welcome. \u201cGet your brothers to take everything back inside. C.H., we need to talk.\u201d Ben gestured to the bunkhouse. After a moment\u2019s hesitation, C.H. followed.<\/p>\n Ben closed the bunk house door behind them. \u201cQuick, they\u2019re already here, but I believe there\u2019s time to talk.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhat? Who\u2019s here?\u201d<\/p>\n The county orphans. We\u2019re having a party for them. Seeing you as Santa will be real treat.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cMr. Cartwright, there\u2019s something you should know . . .\u201d He stopped speaking, uncertain how to say what needed to be said. Ben waited, patiently . . sympathetically. C.H. decided that difficult conversations could come later. Instead, he straightened his shoulders and took a deep breath.<\/p>\n \u201cMerry Christmas! Let\u2019s go see them children.\u201d<\/p>\n
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