Ghosts of Christmas Past

By Helen Adams

Big lacey snowflakes drifted through the clear cold air, lazy and unhurried in their journey toward the waiting earth, where more of their kind had already come to rest and form the beginnings of what would soon be a blanket of white.

From his perch on the wide front steps of the family ranch house, Joe Cartwright watched them fall with a melancholy expression on his face. Some of the flakes caught in his thick grayish-brown hair and balanced upon his eyelashes before being blinked away and settling on his coat instead.

He closed his eyes for a moment, breathing deeply through his nose and enjoying the way that chilled pine air mingled with the faint waft of freshly baked cinnamon apples and the stronger smell of wood smoke drifting from the chimney far above his head. It was the smell of home, the smell of Christmas, now just a day away.

Joe’s eyes opened, revealing a sparkle of tears as the familiar homey scents drove a spike of pain through his heart. Everything looked the same, sounded the same, and smelled the same as every other Christmas he could remember, but appearances were deceiving. Nothing could ever be quite the same way again.

The sound of the front door opening behind him brought a flinch to Joe’s shoulders and he hastily dashed the tears away, not wanting whoever it was to see him. He was not ashamed of his tears but he had no wish to ruin anyone else’s holiday mood.

“Oh, there you are!”

He turned his head slightly, confirming the identity of the person who went with that anxious tone. “You need something, Jamie?”

The young man seemed to catch the dark note in his voice, the hope for a negative response, for he closed the door and ventured out into the cold, shoulders hunching as he wrapped thin arms around his ribcage. He seemed to debate for a moment, then sat down on the worn pine boards next to Joe. “Pa wanted you to know that supper is almost ready,” he ventured. “I’ve been looking all over the house for you.”

“Needed a breath of air,” he explained shortly. Noting the shivering in Jamie’s lean form, Joe shrugged his right arm out of its warm coat sleeve and wrapped the thick fleece-lined material around him, allowing him to move in close.

“This is Hoss’s coat,” Jamie exclaimed in surprise as it registered that the garment was actually big enough for them to share if they squeezed together tightly enough. Then his eyes widened as something else occurred to him. “You came out here to be alone, didn’t you? And I got in the way. I’m sorry, Joe. I’ll go back in and tell Pa you’ll be along soon.”

He began to struggle out of the warmth, but was stopped when Joe’s hand clasped his arm in a tight grip. “It’s okay. Stay a minute if you want to.” Brushing a hand through his hair, Joe smiled at the small cascade of snow he dislodged. “I was just thinking.”

“About what?”

A convenient lie came to Joe’s mind and was quickly discarded, the need to share suddenly overwhelming him. “About Hoss and how much he liked this time of year. Especially how much he loved a good snowfall on Christmas Eve.”

Jamie settled back against the inviting warmth of Joe’s broad chest and grinned at the words. “He sure did. The first year I lived on the Ponderosa was a dry year, and everybody said we weren’t going to get any snow. Then on Christmas Eve night it started up and Hoss couldn’t wait to get outside and watch it. You remember? He was out here dancing around the yard, laughing and yelling about how Santa would be sure to find his way now.”

Joe nodded, smiling at the recollection.

Jamie laughed. “I was still worried about how I’d fit in here and wanting to seem grown up to you all, but when I saw him having so much fun, I couldn’t resist joining him. Then the next day we made snowmen and snowballs and Hoss showed me how to make a Christmas angel.”

“He taught me how to do that when I was a little kid,” Joe revealed. “And Adam introduced us both to the finer points of snowmen.”

“You miss them both a lot.” It wasn’t a question and Jamie nodded in agreement with himself as he added, “I always miss my pa more than usual this time of year, too. And now Hoss. I reckon we always will, but at least he’s still watching over us. Hey, tomorrow, you want to help me build a new snowman and make a couple of angels? Maybe Hoss and Pa will be able to see them from Heaven.”

Joe turned his head, studying the earnest young face next to his. Jamie’s face was thin and pointed, cheeks dotted with the typical scars of adolescent boys, his bright red hair frosted with new fallen snow, but in this moment there was nothing remotely childish about him. He spoke with the wisdom of experience and the serenity of acceptance. Joe felt humbled by the faith shining in his adoptive brother’s bright blue eyes; the offer of comfort so freely given.

Giving the thin shoulders a squeeze, Joe levered them both upward, releasing his arm from the heavy coat and allowing Jamie to carry it back inside the house.

Ben Cartwright stepped back from the door as it opened, clearly having just been about to go out looking for his missing sons. “Joe?” he said, a thousand questions in the simple address.

“Jamie and I were just watching the snow, Pa. Talking about how much Hoss always loved Christmas.”

Ben’s eyes softened with a fond look that was tempered by sadness. It wasn’t often these days that Joe spoke openly about his lost and much-loved brother. “He sure did, son. It was his favorite time of the entire year.”

Joe did not miss the play of emotions on his father’s face. He hesitated a moment, then said, “I was just thinking that after dinner, maybe you wouldn’t mind telling us about some of the Christmases when Hoss was a youngster. The first one I can remember didn’t happen until Hoss was about twelve; the year he and Adam decided they were going alone to hunt for the feast.”

Laughter brightened Ben’s sad eyes, warming them with nostalgia. “That’s the year that we all wound up having bread and popcorn for Christmas dinner, as I recall.”

Jamie chortled. “You’re kidding. Hoss was a great hunter!”

“Not then,” Ben corrected, still smiling. “He couldn’t bear to shoot any of the rabbits or deer or other animals that they found, because it was Christmas. Adam was disgusted and let everybody know it, but I noticed he didn’t bring anything home that day either.”

“And I was no help because to a six-year-old, popcorn and stories by the fire for Christmas was the most fun idea ever,” Joe chuckled.

“So, what else happened?” Jamie asked eagerly, leading the way to the dining room table where Hop Sing was laying out the last dish and grinning happily at the conversation.

Ben began outlining the day in the rollicking animated tones of a born storyteller for his captivated young audience, and Joe smiled. Neither of his absent older brothers seemed as far away as usual tonight, and as the last of the gathered snow melted away from his hair and clothing, it seemed as if a different, more persistent cold was melting away from Joe’s heart.

As Ben urged Jamie to tell of a Christmas he’d spent with his birth-father, the feeling of warmth grew. Embracing the present did not mean that one had to lose contact with loved ones from the past.

Joe felt eyes upon him as he slowly chewed this thought along with his roast beef and gravy. He looked up and found Hop Sing watching from the kitchen doorway. There was a deep understanding in the small man’s almond eyes and Joe knew that he had somehow given away the direction of his thoughts. Raising his glass in Hop Sing’s direction, Joe nodded, smiling as the other man returned the gesture.

“Are you two sharing a toast without us?” Ben asked, having caught the motion out of the corner of his eye as Jamie’s story wound down.

Seeing Hop Sing retreat into the kitchen, Joe raised his glass higher and addressed his father and brother. “Here’s to family, past, present and future. Merry Christmas to us all.”

As their glasses chimed together, Joe swore he could hear the echo of Hoss’s hearty laughter ringing through the sound.

THE END

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