A Flock of Geese

by jfclover

It’s difficult to picture one without the other. They were more than just brothers; they were joined at the hip the day Joseph was born. As soon as Hoss peeked into that crib and said, “My Little Joe,” I understood what Marie already knew in her heart. A special bond between brothers was created when our new addition to the family was only minutes out of the womb.

Not only was Hoss Joe’s protector, he often became involved in Joseph’s outrageous schemes. Nothing immoral or destructive I’ll admit, but sometimes a bit farfetched for my taste. Though Hoss might have balked in the beginning, he was a ready participant and Joe coached his big brother through to the end.

Hoss is gone now, and we’re left with only memories of days gone by. I often find solace when I take time to sit back and remember little incidents like an elephant named Sheba joining us on the Ponderosa or Joseph forcing his oversized brother to diet on celery and carrots in order to win a contest. During each event, I was beside myself. The house was in an uproar for days, but when I look back on all the antics, I find myself smiling and wishing we could relive some of the craziness that brought my sons closer than any two brothers should be.

Not everyone deals with death the same way and with locked elbows; Joe pressed his hands to the hitch rail and stared at nothing. It was no surprise. I’d seen the stance often, and the faraway look as though he was searching for something that wasn’t there. To say we’d had a rough few weeks was an understatement, but Joseph’s grief had taken him far, far away and I had no idea how to bring him back.

Not to say I hadn’t tried. I’d offered trips to San Francisco, Boston, and New Orleans, but I was turned down every time. They were foolish gestures but still, I tried to come up with a plan. I tried everything to bring my son back to me and to a living future where the past brought memories and a smile to his face. Memories that wouldn’t break his heart.

The loss has been far too great. I, too, fell into a dark depression but life goes on. There’s a ranch to run and there’s Jamie, who’s not yet grown into manhood and needs companionship and guidance from his older brother. Joseph has so many gifts to share and so many years ahead of him that I couldn’t sit back and watch his slow and all-consuming demise, and I vowed that by Christmas this year, I’d find a way to end his terminal grief.

What was Christmas without a tree? It was nothing and I sent Joe and Jamie and Candy on a trek up the mountain to find the perfect tree. Joe and his brothers had made the trip for years, and I thought that the camaraderie of friends and family might have some effect on his sullen mood. The holidays should be a joyous time, and I wanted Joseph to remember that joy and focus on the Christmas spirit rather than the cruelty of death. At least, that was my thinking.

While the boys were out, I went to the attic, dug out boxes of decorations, and carried them down. If the tree didn’t do the trick, maybe the colorful ornaments would give him a lift. I piled everything behind the stairs. The tree would need a day to relax and then I could hit the boys up with step two by making this the most beautiful tree we’d ever had on the Ponderosa.

I’d pulled Candy aside earlier in the week. If anyone could help, it was our foreman. He had a way with Joe. Often, it seemed as though he’d taken on some of Hoss’ traits when it came to handling the more tightly wound member of the family. Candy was a good man. He understood things others let pass. I trusted him as I would my own sons, and he assured me he’d do what he could.

When I heard the wagon pull into the yard, I grabbed my coat and headed out the front door. With a smile on my face, I hoped I’d see smiling faces in return. What I found, though, were four weary men—if I could call Jamie a man—who hadn’t returned on a high note.

“Hey, fellas,” I said as walked toward the wagon. “That’s a beauty.”

A nod from Jamie was all I received in return.

After Joe and Jamie unloaded the tree, Candy took the horses to the barn. My family members weren’t having anything to do with the Christmas spirit as they hauled the ten-foot tree into the house. I could only surmise, but it was apparent their outing hadn’t gone as well as expected. These weren’t the joyful faces I hoped to see upon their return.

“Everything go all right?”

“Fine,” Joe snapped.

“You don’t sound fine.”

“Just forget it.”

Taking a step back, I let Joe and Jamie maneuver and anchor the tree in place. “Little to the left,” I said without thinking whether I was ruffling feathers or not. Jamie seemed to have gotten through that stage but Joseph—I never knew what to expect.

“Whose left?”

“Yours. Good. That’s good. Perfect.”

“Happy now?”

“As a matter of fact … ” At that point, Jamie slipped past Joe and headed straight upstairs. “Wash up for supper, son,” I called but quickly turned my attention back to Joe.

What had him in such a foul mood now? I was growing tired of the whole thing and was tempted to throw in my fatherly two cents, a grown man or not. Thankfully, Candy slipped through the front door and ended any discussion I had in mind.

“Supper ready,” Hop Sing called.

If it hadn’t been our hired hand, Hop Sing would have rivaled my discussion. This couldn’t go on much longer. Upsetting the whole household wouldn’t do, not during the holidays. It wasn’t fair to Jamie or me or even the hired hands.

Tomorrow. We would talk man to man, not father to son but on equal terms. I would pick my words wisely, and thoughtfully, so I didn’t embarrass or harass. For Jamie, Candy, Griff, and all the other hands on the ranch, a discussion had to take place. Although I don’t think Joe realized how cruel his comments could be, he’d taken his grief out on every one since his brother’s death, and it was high time he conducted himself properly.

Joseph usually turned in early. No playing checkers with Jamie or sipping a shot of brandy with his old man, but this night was different. Joe sat in Adam’s old chair, leaned his head back, and seemed more content than usual. After Jamie said goodnight, I started to speak although I hadn’t thought enough about what I wanted to say or how to approach the son I barely knew. And then he stood from his chair.

“Think I’ll get some air,” he said.

“Good idea. I’ll join you.”

We slipped on our winter coats. I’m sure he wondered why I was following him outside, but the time seemed right. We walked to the hitch rail and Joe took his familiar stance, one foot in front of the other. Elbows locked. We both stared into the darkness.

“Remember old man Milbank?”

His question caught me off-guard. “Jedediah?”

“You know how we all ended up in the mud? A flock of geese flew overhead and Hoss … ”

“Hoss what?”

“Nothing. It doesn’t matter.”

“But it does, son.” Joe’s glaring eyes meant the conversation was over, but I was far from finished. “It matters a great deal.”

“Adam and I blamed Hoss, but it was the flock of geese that caught his attention. He whirled around with a big old log in his hands and”—Joe chuckled softly—“knocked the two of us senseless.”

Joe hadn’t spoken his brother’s name once since his death. Maybe this was the breakthrough I hoped for. Maybe if I kept the spirit of Hoss alive just a bit longer …

“Remember all those years of spring fever?”

“How could I forget?”

I hoped for another smile. That wasn’t the case but I continued. “It was the year he took off and none of us could find him but remember what you said when we took the bucket of molasses up to his room?”

“What I said? That was a hundred years ago, Pa.”

“Hoss had fallen out of bed. He had that dazed look in his eyes and you called it that faraway look. Like he hears wild geese flying overhead.”

Joe glanced upward as though that same flock might make an appearance. “Those were good days, Pa.”

“Yes, they were. But as you said. That was a hundred years ago.”

“Well, maybe not a hundred.”

“No. Not a hundred.”

“What’s this all about?”

I dug my hands in my pockets and scraped my toe through the dirt. “Oh, I don’t know. Just remembering, I guess. Nothing wrong with remembering, is there?”

“I suppose not.”

“Good memories, son. Memories are what carry us through when we miss someone so desperately that our lives are nearly destroyed.”

“Is that what you think?”

“It’s what I know, Joseph, and I can’t let you continue to drown yourself in sorrow.”

“You come out here to save me from myself?”

“Yes.”

“You want me to remember the good times? Is that it?”

“I think it’s a start. I think you were doing just that when you brought up Jedediah Milbank.”

“Have I been that bad?”

It was my turn to chuckle.

By Christmas Eve, the road to finding his way back was evident in more ways than I’d hoped for. A gentle smile and a lot of effort on his part made the holiday a joyful event for all. His eyes glowed with the gift of renewal. Perhaps the hellish times were behind him and he could rely on the treasured memories of his brother to see him through.

For the first time in years, I didn’t invite guests to our home. Loved ones only. Candy and Griff, as they’d become part of our family, and Joe and Jamie filled the seats at our table. A reconstructed family of five. In spite of the loss we endured or maybe because of our loss, we were able to find comfort in those who took Christmas dinner with us. We would look for those unique traits that made each of us individuals, but we would also remember the special traits of the man we called brother and son.

Epilogue:

Later that evening and before Joseph came up to bed, I slipped into Hoss’ room and removed the folded quilt from the foot of his bed and placed it on the foot of Joe’s. He wouldn’t understand and maybe he’d balk at the idea of removing a treasured item from his brother’s room, but I had my reasons and Hoss would gladly understand.

The pattern of little triangles on the lap quilt my lovely new bride had packed for the trail west and then wrapped around her baby son was called A Flock of Geese.

The End

2018