Summary: Thrice upon a time there was a father with a young son in want of a mother at Christmas. Written for the 2025 Advent Calendar.
\nRated:\u00a0 K+\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0(1,500 words)<\/p>\n
BONANZA The Cradle<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n <\/p>\n Christmas Eve, 1830 \u2014 Abel Stoddard\u2019s House, Boston Massachusetts<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n <\/p>\n Adam, my first-born son, lies sleeping in his mahogany cradle beside the fireplace. He is dressed in a flannel nappy and a long linen gown over multiple petticoats and covered with a red and white Burgoyne Surrounded quilt made by his mother in anticipation of his birth. I purse my lips together to keep my chin from quivering as an image of Liz knitting a matching red wool cap, mittens, and long booties the previous Christmas fills my head.<\/p>\n Thanks to neighbors, the trestle table in the dining room is laden with Christmas ham, mincemeat pies, cherry tarts and sugar cookies but neither of us are hungry. This is the first Christmas since Elizabeth\u2019s death and neither Abel nor I are in a festive mood. Instead, we speak of holidays past and hear a familiar voice echo in every snap and crackle of the logs.<\/p>\n This is likely our last Christmas together as a family. Come spring my son and I will head west in search of the dream Liz and I shared, leaving Abel free to return to his first love\u2014the sea.<\/p>\n The room is bitter cold despite the heavy drapes at the windows and a roaring fire in the hearth. I envy my baby son snug as a bug in a rug and I shiver.<\/p>\n \u201cA tankard of rum will remedy that, Mr. Cartwright,\u201d Abel says.<\/p>\n \u201cI thank you for the offer, Captain, but I never did care for the taste of rum.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYe drank enough of it aboard the Wanderer, I recall.<\/p>\n \u201cAye, but there wasn\u2019t much of a choice, was there?\u201d I fill my pipe and light it, drawing deeply until the tobacco glows red.\u00a0A warm toddy would be nice.\u00a0<\/em>\u201cIs there any mulled wine?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThat was Elizabeth\u2019s specialty. I\u2019m sorry I didn\u2019t think to arrange for someone to make it this year.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThe household was always shipshape when Liz was alive, wasn\u2019t it?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cAye, Mr. Cartwright, in proper Bristol fashion, it was,\u201d Abel sighs, staring into the fire. After a time, he clears his throat. \u201cThere is a keg of whiskey in the shanty, however.\u201d<\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n Christmas Eve, 1836 \u2014 A Connestoga Wagon, Ash Hollow, Nebraska<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n <\/p>\n My second son Eric, not yet two weeks old, nearly fills his older brother\u2019s hand me down cradle. That this motherless boy thrives without Inger is a Christmas miracle in my eyes. Adam, now age 6, rocks his baby brother gently, humming Silent Night.<\/p>\n \u201cHe\u2019s a big one, Pa.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThat he is, son.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cLook, he\u2019s smiling.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cHe\u2019s too young to do that, Adam,\u201d but I look all the same. Maybe it\u2019s the lit lantern hanging in the wagon casting a shadow on his chubby cheeks or an unexpelled burp or the power of suggestion, but I swear I also see a toothless grin.<\/p>\n \u201cI think we should call him Hoss like Uncle Gunnar said.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhy\u201d<\/p>\n \u201c\u2019Cause he\u2019s going to be a big and friendly man, don\u2019t you think so, Pa?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI do indeed, Adam.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWill we have a real home next Christmas?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI hope so.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhat will it look like?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWell, I imagine it will be a cabin like the ones we\u2019ve seen on our journey.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cBut not a soddy.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNo. Not a soddy,\u201d I smile. \u201cA log cabin with a wooden floor, shingled roof, and real windows.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cAnd a great big fireplace, right?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cBig enough for you to stand in, son.\u201d<\/p>\n And maybe I will build a lean-to shanty in which to keep a keg of whiskey.<\/em><\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n Christmas Eve, 1847 \u2014 Ponderosa Ranch, Alta California<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n <\/p>\n Joseph, my third son, turned five years of age less than two months ago and this is his first Christmas since Marie died. I am in a piss poor mood, angry the fates have decreed that yet another son must endure a motherless Christmas.<\/p>\n Adam does his best to keep his brothers entertained and occupied while I wallow in misery. They are playing hide and seek upstairs while I drown my sorrows in the last of Hop Sing\u2019s cooking sherry which is too sweet for my taste. I grimace as I swallow.<\/p>\n Suddenly there is a loud thud, and a squeal that sounds more like scream.\u00a0What in tarnation!<\/em><\/p>\n I shout, \u201cAdam! What is going on up there?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNothing, Pa.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cIt certainly sounds like something.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cLittle Joe, let go, you\u2019ll break it,\u201d Hoss yells.<\/p>\n \u201cWill not! I found it, I get to carry it!\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cIt\u2019s too heavy for you, kid, let me have it!\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNo! It was my idea!\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou boys come down here. NOW!\u201d<\/p>\n Sullenly, my two youngest sons march down the stairs, chins tucked to their chests. Adam brings up the rear carrying a bulky item wrapped in a sack.<\/p>\n \u201cJust what have you got there?\u201d I ask.<\/p>\n \u201cI found it, Pa,\u201d Little Joe boasts. \u201cCan we put it in the barn?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cPut what in the barn, boy?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWe were in the attic, Pa,\u201d Hoss says, \u201cand Little Joe fell over it. We want to use it for baby Jesus.\u201d<\/p>\n Little Joe thumped his chest. \u201cIt was MY idea, not yours!\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cEnough yelling!\u201d I sit down in my red chair and gather my two youngest sons near. \u201cLet\u2019s remove the bag and take a look at what you have here.\u201d<\/p>\n I untie the twine holding the burlap shut and pull out the old mahogany cradle wrapped in wool and rub my hand over the polished wood.<\/p>\n \u201cGrandfather Stoddard made this for Adam when he was born and each of you boys slept in it in turn.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI remember, Pa,\u201d Adam says, smiling.<\/p>\n Hoss elbows his older brother. \u201cHow could you remember? You was just a baby.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI remember YOU barely fit in it even when you were only a week old!\u201d Adam says.<\/p>\n Hoss scrunches up his face and then brightens. \u201cAnd I remember Little Joe was so tiny, even bundled up he barely filled half the cradle.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThat\u2019s right,\u201d Adam says. \u201cWe had to line it with a folded quilt so he could be rocked without rolling around.\u201d<\/p>\n Little Joe exclaims, \u201cI would have liked to rock and roll!\u201d<\/p>\n I can\u2019t help but laugh. \u201cI\u2019m certain you would have but I doubt your Mama would agree. Now why would you want to put the cradle in the barn?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWasn\u2019t baby Jesus born in a barn?\u201d<\/p>\n Hoss laughs, \u201cSilly, he was born in a manger!\u201d<\/p>\n Frowning, Little Joe asks, \u201cWhat\u2019s the difference?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cA manger,\u201d Adam says, \u201cis a feeding trough like the ones we have in the barn for the horses. After Mary gave birth, she placed Jesus in a trough filled with hay.\u201d<\/p>\n Little Joe eyes widen in horror. \u201cSo the horses could eat him?!\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cOf course not, son. Mary used the trough because she had no cradle. So you see, you are both right as the manger was in the barn.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cTold ya!\u201d Hoss and Little Joe say simultaneously.<\/p>\n \u201cI tell you what\u2026 instead of putting the cradle out in the barn where it is cold, why don\u2019t we set it under the tree so we can enjoy looking at it by the warmth of the fire.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThat\u2019s a great idea, Pa,\u201d says Hoss. \u201cAnd then all our Mamas will be with us this Christmas after all.\u201d<\/p>\n I bend over to pick up up the bag from the floor so my sons won\u2019t see my tears. \u2018Why don\u2019t you boys get cleaned up for dinner while I go out to the barn and get some hay for the manger.\u201d<\/p>\n As Hoss and Little Joe scramble up the stairs, Adam turns to me and says, \u201cPa, I think you\u2019ll find something else you\u2019re looking for in the last stall on the right.\u201d<\/p>\n Puzzled, I put on my hat, coat, and muffler and trudge through the newly fallen snow to the barn. Nested in the hay of the trough, is a purple velvet bag with a tag that reads \u201cTo Ben. Merry Christmas, Abel.\u201d<\/p>\n Hop Sing has set a magnificent table and at each place setting is a glass of eggnog, Adam\u2019s and mine laced liberally with whiskey from Abel\u2019s keg.<\/p>\n \u201cWait, Pa!\u201d cries Little Joe as he jumps from his chair, nearly knocking it over and rushes to my study, returning with the hinged silver frames holding pictures of Elizabeth, Inger, and Marie. With Adam\u2019s help he places it in the middle of the table.<\/p>\n We raise our cups and drink a toast to all our mothers\u2026everywhere.<\/p>\n –The End–<\/p>\n ______<\/p>\n Author\u2019s Note:\u00a0\u00a0 In 1847, the Ponderosa was located in Alta California. It wasn\u2019t until 1848 that the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo ceded the land to the United States and the area on which the ranch existed became a part of Utah Territory.<\/p>\n As Joe was actually born in Mexico, in addition to wishing you all Merry Christmas, I say Feliz Navidad and add Fr\u00f6hliche Weinachten to Faust!<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Prompt:\u00a0\u00a0 There is a keg of whiskey in the shanty.<\/p>\n Link to the Bonanza Brand Advent Calendar \u2013 Day 13 – Merry Christmas, Clementine! – DJK<\/a><\/strong><\/p>\n
\n<\/strong><\/span>~*~*~ Advent Calendar ~*~*~<\/strong><\/span>
\nDay 12<\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n