{"id":35071,"date":"2020-12-25T00:05:19","date_gmt":"2020-12-25T05:05:19","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/bonanzabrand.info\/library\/?p=35071"},"modified":"2025-09-25T15:38:54","modified_gmt":"2025-09-25T19:38:54","slug":"grandpas-gift-by-inca","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/bonanzabrand.info\/library\/?p=35071","title":{"rendered":"Grandpa’s Gift (by Inca)"},"content":{"rendered":"

Bonanza
\n~*~*~ Advent Calendar ~*~*~
\n* Day 5 *<\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n

Summary:\u00a0 \u00a0A posthumous gift from his grandfather brings back memories and an important realisation to Adam.<\/p>\n

Rating:\u00a0 G\u00a0 2,110 words<\/p>\n

Note:\u00a0 This story was written for the Bonanza Brand 2020 Advent Calendar, originated in the Forums.<\/em><\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

Grandpa\u2019s Gift<\/strong><\/p>\n

5th<\/sup>\u00a0December 1852.\u00a0\u00a0A letter came from Boston to tell me my grandfather was dead.<\/p>\n

He was eighty-two, a good age.\u00a0\u00a0And he\u2019d lived a full life.\u00a0\u00a0In my heart I\u2019d known that letter would arrive sometime soon.\u00a0\u00a0His health had been failing for a while, but in my mind, Boston and my grandfather are inseparable.\u00a0\u00a0I can never think of one without the other.\u00a0\u00a0Now Boston has a hole in it\u2014an Abel Stoddard-shaped hole\u2014and I shall never think of it in the same way again.<\/p>\n

The letter was from his housekeeper, Mrs. Turnbull, and told me my grandfather\u2019s solicitors would be in touch in due course regarding the settlement of his estate, but that she had wanted to write personally to let me know the sad news.\u00a0\u00a0I have never met this long-suffering lady.\u00a0\u00a0My grandfather had agreed\u2014grudgingly, as was his wont\u2014to a full-time housekeeper after I departed from Boston, a reluctant capitulation to his advancing years and deteriorating health.\u00a0\u00a0I\u2019d only ever encountered her before in my grandfather\u2019s letters.\u00a0\u00a0Very few people have ever lived up to my grandfather\u2019s impossible standards and Mrs. Turnbull was no exception.\u00a0\u00a0She must have been a remarkable woman to tolerate his critical eye and short temper for the last few years, although reading between the lines, I believe there must have been a genuine fondness between them.\u00a0\u00a0My grandfather\u2019s bark was always worse than his bite and Mrs. Turnbull was obviously a resilient lady.<\/p>\n

With the letter was a small parcel, carefully wrapped in brown paper.<\/p>\n

Your grandfather was\u00a0very particular<\/u>\u00a0that I should send you the enclosed,\u00a0<\/em>wrote Mrs. Turnbull.\u00a0\u00a0He had me promise many times over that I would not forget to\u00a0make certain<\/u>\u00a0you received it.<\/em><\/p>\n

I smiled at the image of my irascible grandfather pestering the poor woman with his stubborn determination.\u00a0\u00a0When he got an idea in his head, he was like a terrier at a rabbit hole and would not give up.<\/p>\n

Hoss and Little Joe, neither of whom had ever met Grandpa Stoddard in person, had sat in respectful silence while I read out the news of his death.\u00a0\u00a0Now, as I picked up the parcel, I sensed that relax into natural curiosity, and Little Joe couldn\u2019t stop himself from jumping up from his seat to stand beside me.\u00a0\u00a0But then, what ten-year-old isn\u2019t going to be fixated by the mystery of a wrapped parcel?<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat is it, Adam?\u201d<\/p>\n

Whatever it was was wrapped in several layers of protective paper.\u00a0\u00a0As I laid them aside, one by one, Little Joe\u2019s nose wrinkled.<\/p>\n

\u201cPhew, it smells!\u201d he said.<\/p>\n

Hoss sniffed the air.\u00a0\u00a0\u201cI think it\u2019s a packet of baccy,\u201d he said, grinning.<\/p>\n

\u201cNot quite,\u201d I said, as I unfolded the last piece of the brown paper, \u201cbut close.\u201d<\/p>\n

There was a moment of silence as we all surveyed the contents of the parcel, now revealed in my lap: two small leather objects, both worn and both exuding the pungent reek of tobacco.<\/p>\n

\u201cNavy cut,\u201d said Pa.\u00a0\u00a0\u201cYour grandfather\u2019s favourite.\u00a0\u00a0You can smell the rum, can\u2019t you?\u201d<\/p>\n

Hoss looked puzzled.\u00a0\u00a0\u201cWhy d\u2019your grandpa send you two old tobacco pouches?\u00a0\u00a0You don\u2019t even smoke!\u201d<\/p>\n

I smiled, more to myself than at Hoss\u2019s question.\u00a0\u00a0Funny how a smell can evoke such intense memories.\u00a0\u00a0The pungent odour of that navy cut took me straight back to my grandfather\u2019s hearthside; the evenings we would sit together, I with my nose in a book, and he with his pipe in his hand.\u00a0\u00a0My grandfather was never a contented man by nature, but when he was in his armchair, by the fire, with his pipe glowing in his hand, he was at his most mellow.<\/p>\n

I picked up one of the pouches, the larger and less worn of the two.\u00a0\u00a0It was a folding wallet design, fashioned from a rich chestnut brown leather, decorated on the outside with an image of a ship in full sail.\u00a0\u00a0I unfastened the small brass clasp that held it closed, and there in the bottom left-hand corner, just as I had known they would be, were my grandfather\u2019s initials\u2014AMS<\/em>\u2014tooled into the leather.\u00a0\u00a0I ran my fingertip over the tiny letters, remembering how I had worked late into the night, with only a candle for light,to add that finishing touch to the pouch.<\/p>\n

\u201cI made this for him,\u201d I said, turning it over in my hand and letting my finger trace the details of the ship I\u2019d worked\u2014oh so painstakingly!\u2014into the front.\u00a0\u00a0\u201cThe last Christmas I was with him in Boston.\u00a0\u00a0I wanted do something special for him, as a thank you for all he\u2019d done for me.\u00a0\u00a0Everyone thought he was grumpy and ill-tempered and\u2014well, there\u2019s no denying it\u2014all too often, he was.\u00a0\u00a0But he was kind and generous too, and he kept a roof over my head all the time I was in college.\u00a0\u00a0I couldn\u2019t have managed without him.<\/p>\n

\u201cI wanted to make him something practical.\u00a0\u00a0He had no patience for fripperies so I didn\u2019t want to give him something he wouldn\u2019t find useful.\u00a0\u00a0He never was one to mince his words so, whatever I made for him, I knew he\u2019d be sure to tell me exactly what he thought, for good or for bad.\u201d<\/p>\n

I picked up the second pouch in my other hand.\u00a0\u00a0This one was of the drawstring variety, clearly older than the one I\u2019d made; the leather fragile and thin and bearing evidence of more than one repair.\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Once there had been an anchor painted on the front.\u00a0\u00a0It wasn\u2019t visible any more because the calfskin was so worn with handling, but I knew it had been there because Grandpa had told me.<\/p>\n

\u201cThis was the pouch I always saw him use.\u00a0\u00a0I\u2019d seen how old and tatty it was, so I had the idea of making him a new one, as a surprise.\u00a0\u00a0Working leather was something I was good at so it seemed like the perfect present.\u201d\u00a0\u00a0I frowned to myself as I thought back.\u00a0\u00a0\u201cGrandfather was a hard man to impress.\u00a0\u00a0I wanted so much for him to be pleased with it.\u201d<\/p>\n

Strange.\u00a0\u00a0Even now, several years older and wiser, I still can\u2019t explain why Grandpa\u2019s approval meant so much to me.\u00a0\u00a0Maybe it was because he was the only direct link I had to my mother, and she had been so precious to him, I wanted to prove I was worthy of her.\u00a0\u00a0It\u2019s not something I\u2019ve ever adequately been able to put into words.\u00a0\u00a0Suffice to say, I spent endless secret hours laboring over that small calfskin wallet, late at night in the privacy of my small bedroom in the eaves.\u00a0\u00a0Even when it was finally finished and I hid it away in preparation for Christmas, I found myself compelled to get it out again and again, examining it with the most critical of eyes, and I would inevitably see minute flaws in the work and worry he would be unimpressed.\u00a0\u00a0I knew Grandpa would pull no punches with his apparaisal of my handiwork.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou did a good job,\u201d said Pa, reaching out to take it from me so he could examine it more closely.\u00a0\u00a0\u201cSo much detail in that ship!\u00a0\u00a0It\u2019s very impressive.\u201d<\/p>\n

I nodded.\u00a0\u00a0I could appreciate that now, even if I\u2019d had no faith in my abilities at the time.<\/p>\n

\u201cDid he like it?\u201d asked Little Joe, impatient to hear the rest of the story.<\/p>\n

I couldn\u2019t answer him straight away.\u00a0\u00a0I kept my head down, still holding the other small, fragile remnant of leather in one hand while the sharp memory of that Christmas morning came back to me on a pungent waft of navy cut.<\/p>\n

Grandpa had unwrapped the little gift without a word, and without a word stood holding it in his hand, much as Pa was doing now.\u00a0\u00a0I\u2019d expected some kind of acknowledgement, for better or for worse, and when he said nothing, I\u2019d found myself squirming.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s a tobacco pouch,\u201d I\u2019d said, stating the obvious in my awkward attempt to break the silence.\u00a0\u00a0\u201cI saw how old and worn out your other one is, so I thought I\u2019d make you a new one.\u201d\u00a0\u00a0When he still didn\u2019t speak, I added, \u201cI hope you like it, sir.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou made this?\u201d he said, at last.<\/p>\n

\u201cYes, sir.\u201d<\/p>\n

There was another long silence during which my hope evaporated.\u00a0\u00a0It didn\u2019t meet his impossibly high standards.\u00a0\u00a0How could it?\u00a0\u00a0I was just an incompetent boy and he was a seasoned sea captain who\u2019d sailed the world and seen sights I couldn\u2019t even imagine.\u00a0\u00a0My handiwork was bound to appear feeble by comparison.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou know why I\u2019ve never replaced this pouch with a new one?\u201d\u00a0\u00a0He reached into the pocket of his jacket where he kept his pipe and tobacco, and pulled out the shabby little drawstring bag I knew so well.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, sir,\u201d I said, my self-doubt deepening as I realized with a sinking sensation in my stomach that there was more to this situation than I\u2019d considered.<\/p>\n

\u201cThis little pouch is very special.\u201d<\/p>\n

We both stared at the little bag, he with an expression I couldn\u2019t interpret, and I with deepening apprehension.<\/p>\n

\u201cThis was made for me by your mother.\u00a0\u00a0My little Lizzie.\u00a0\u00a0When she was no more than a girl.\u201d<\/p>\n

It was painful even now to remember how foolish I had felt in that moment.\u00a0\u00a0Foolish and clumsy.\u00a0\u00a0As though I\u2019d inadvertently dug a hole in my mother\u2019s grave.\u00a0\u00a0Why hadn\u2019t I considered there would be a reason why Grandfather kept such an old and tatty object on his person.\u00a0\u00a0Of course it had to be of some special import.\u00a0\u00a0I just hadn\u2019t thought about it hard enough.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ve carried it with me always,\u201d went on Grandpa\u00a0\u00a0\u201cEvery day.\u00a0\u00a0It\u2019s like a good luck charm for me.\u00a0\u00a0I always said, if the ship went down, as long as I had this with me, everything would work out.\u201d<\/p>\n

I didn\u2019t know what to say to that; I just stood there, mutely, like the foolish boy I was.<\/p>\n

Grandfather raised his face to me and\u2014inexplicably\u2014he smiled.<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd now,\u201d he said, his voice oddly gruff,\u201d her son has made me another.\u00a0\u00a0What do we think of that, eh?\u201d\u00a0\u00a0Still holding my mother\u2019s pouch in his fingers, he ran his hand over the front of the one I\u2019d made for him.\u00a0\u00a0\u201cYou did this yourself, did you?\u201d<\/p>\n

I didn\u2019t trust myself to speak at that moment, so I nodded.<\/p>\n

He nodded too, his eyes still fixed on the picture of the ship that I had taken such pains to get right.<\/p>\n

\u201cMeans a lot, boy,\u201d he said.\u00a0\u00a0\u201cIt means a lot.\u201d<\/p>\n

I looked round at Little Joe and smiled as I nodded.\u00a0\u00a0\u201cYes.\u00a0\u00a0He did.\u00a0\u00a0He liked it a lot.\u00a0\u00a0And I learned something that day; something special.\u00a0\u00a0I learned that the reason he\u2019d hung on so long to this old pouch was that my mother had made it for him when she was a girl.\u201d<\/p>\n

Although they held their tongues out of politeness, I could tell Hoss and Joe were underwhelmed as they took in the tatty, stained scrap of a pouch.\u00a0\u00a0But Pa\u2019s face softened with surprised wonder.<\/p>\n

\u201cLiz?\u00a0\u00a0Liz made that?\u201d<\/p>\n

He didn\u2019t need to ask.\u00a0\u00a0I held out the little bag and he leaned forward to take it from me, caressing it between his fingers, as I had done, with a kind of reverence.\u00a0\u00a0I understood.\u00a0\u00a0To touch an object that she had once held in her own hands was to be close to her again.<\/p>\n

\u201cI never knew,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n

\u201cGrandpa wouldn\u2019t have wanted anyone to accuse him of sentimentality.\u201d<\/p>\n

Pa smiled at that.\u00a0\u00a0\u201cNo, you\u2019re right.\u00a0\u00a0He certainly wouldn\u2019t.\u201d<\/p>\n

Until now<\/em>, I thought.\u00a0\u00a0Grandpa had never mentioned my mother\u2019s tobacco pouch after that Christmas morning.\u00a0\u00a0I knew he continued to carry it with him in his pocket, but from that day forward, it was the one I\u2019d made him that he pulled out whenever he filled his pipe, and whenever I saw him do that, my heart would swell with the knowledge he approved me.<\/p>\n

I stared across at the two pouches in Pa\u2019s hands, knowing that was why Grandpa had sent them to me.\u00a0\u00a0I might never have had the chance to know my mother, and only a short time to get to know my grandfather, but my grandfather had wanted me to know there had been a place for me, next to my mother, close to his heart.<\/p>\n

\u201cMeans a lot, boy,\u201d I heard him say.\u00a0\u00a0\u201cIt means a lot.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Character: Abel Stoddard<\/p>\n

Gift: tobacco pouch<\/p>\n

Inspired by:\u00a0 Elizabeth, My Love
\nDirector:\u00a0 Lewis Allen
\nWritten by:\u00a0 Anthony Lawrence, David Dortort (creator)<\/p>\n

Link to Bonanza Brand 2020 Advent Calendar – Day 6 – Homesick by Patina<\/a><\/p>\n

<\/div>\n

<\/g><\/svg><\/i> \"Loading\"<\/p>\n

<\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Summary:\u00a0 \u00a0A posthumous gift from his grandfather brings back memories and an important realisation to Adam.
\nRating:\u00a0 G\u00a0 2,110 words<\/p>\n

Note:\u00a0 This story was written for the Bonanza Brand 2020 Advent Calendar, originated in the Forums.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":18,"featured_media":5835,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"template-full-width-post.php","format":"standard","meta":{"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[1005,23,30,40],"tags":[1062],"class_list":["post-35071","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-adam-cartwright","category-drama","category-prequels","category-challenges","tag-advent-calendar","wpcat-1005-id","wpcat-23-id","wpcat-30-id","wpcat-40-id"],"a3_pvc":{"activated":true,"total_views":1048,"today_views":0},"jetpack_featured_media_url":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/bonanzabrand.info\/library\/wp-content\/uploads\/2014\/05\/Christmas-Traditions.jpg?fit=639%2C480&ssl=1","jetpack_likes_enabled":true,"jetpack-related-posts":[{"id":49984,"url":"https:\/\/bonanzabrand.info\/library\/?p=49984","url_meta":{"origin":35071,"position":0},"title":"The Brightest Gift (by wx4rmk)","author":"wx4rmk","date":"December 25, 2024","format":false,"excerpt":"Summary: Adam finds an old miner\u2019s lamp and shares the history with his family. 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