The Gifts of Christmas

By Bakerj

Chapter 1

Joe

“That’s enough!  If you three can’t stop arguing, I suggest you go be alone.”

Pa’s bellow cut me off mid-sentence.  I shut my mouth but shot those rattlesnake brothers of mine a glare to let them know this wasn’t over.

Hoss moved first.  With his hands dug into his pockets, he swiveled on his heels and trod up the stairs like he was on a Sunday stroll.  Adam slunk back into his chair and buried his head in a book.  He would.

This left two options – the kitchen or my room.  Getting stuck washing dishes wasn’t my idea of fun.  I took my room.

Pushing my thumbs down the back of my pants, I tightened them against the churning in my gut and paced the floor.  It didn’t help.  If Adam had left, I could’ve stayed downstairs.  I’d rather deal with Pa than stare at these four walls.  I’d counted every crack and crevice a dozen times.  But, of course, Older Brother would stay put.  Anything to throw a spoke in my wheels.  Desperate for a different view, I yanked open the shutters and stared at the blizzard obliterating the landscape.  I couldn’t see the edge of the house, let alone the guide ropes strung from it to the barn.  Heck, I couldn’t even see the barn! 

Rubbing my hands together, I checked the fire.  A few jabs with the poker sent puffs of acrid smoke up the chimney and stirred the blackened timber and dying flames back to life.  I held off adding more wood.  We had no idea how long this storm would last, and I’d seen the woodpile.  It wasn’t a comforting sight.  Slapping my hands together, I continued pacing. 

Jingling nerves took me back to the window.  I leaned one hand on the glass before the chill under my palm forced me to remove it.  We’d already taken care of the stock, but perhaps something else needed doing in the barn. 

My head came around.  Footsteps marched past my door.  Adam.  I grinned.  Pa must’ve tried to talk to him.  My smile vanished.  My whole life, I’d put up with my brother’s cracks.  ‘Baby brother can’t do that.’  ‘You can squeeze in there, Little Joe.’  ‘Baby brother’s got nothing better to do.’  ‘Watch out for the wind, Little Joe.  You’ll likely blow away!’  And always at the end, ‘We’re only joshing!’  As if that made it all right.  Well, this time, I’d had enough of being the butt of their taunts.  I was entitled to respect.  With a vicious jerk, I kicked the leg of my bed.  I shoulda known they’d make it into a big joke.  Those two idiots were begging to be straightened out!  Of course, Pa wasn’t happy.  But what did he expect?  No way am I gonna be called ‘baby brother’ forever!

I cursed the damn storm.  Having lived on top of each other for weeks, we were all on edge.  But they’d been out to get me.  My hand ran over my mouth, and guilt prickled the back of my neck.  I’d said some stuff too.  Darn it!  I needed something to do.  Maybe I should’ve gone to the kitchen?  The restless search of my room continued.  Through the door of my open closet, my gaze found my saddlebag slumped inside, where I’d tossed and forgotten about it after my last trip.  I pounced. 

My fingers fumbled with the strap of one pouch.  I pulled out the shirt stuffed inside and gave it a sniff.  The smell of leather, oats, and horses curled around my nostrils.  With a grunt of satisfaction, I put it to one side, ready for repacking.  Same with the bandana.  The leather pouch holding the bandages and small bottle of whisky Pa made us all carry ‘in case of emergencies’ came out next.  My right shoulder twitched.  It still ached from the last time I’d needed them.  I groped about, looking for what else might be tucked inside.  The soft roughness of the interior slid under my fingers when, touching the cold hardness of metal, they closed around it.

I turned the little tin in my hands.  The copper, worn a deep orange and gold from use, shone in the light.  The Christmas I’d received it still hung sharp in my memory.  It had been glorious.  I’d woken to the warm, rich smell of cinnamon buns, which filled the house like a delicious hug.  Adam had returned from college a few weeks earlier and given Hop Sing the bag of small sticks carefully wrapped in oilcloth.  Over the moon to have the spice, Hop Sing saved using it until Christmas.  Always a special time.  The air crackled with excitement that year.  Four years’ absence was a lot to catch up on. 

When Adam handed me that brown package, my fingers trembled so bad I struggled to pull off the string.  What had he brought me back from Boston?  When I saw the tinderbox, my heart seemed to double in size and pressed against my chest so hard I couldn’t speak.  It was an essential piece of equipment for any cowboy on the trail, where matches couldn’t be relied on to stay dry, but it represented far more. 

As I had done that Christmas morning, my thumb flipped open the lid.  I ran a finger over the flint.  The surface, smooth under my touch, was hard and solid.  The section next to it held the pieces of linen.  The originals, long since used and replaced dozens of times.  Pa had written to Adam and kept him up to date with everything about the ranch.  He must’ve let him know next year was gonna be my first cattle drive.  It was a big deal and a huge responsibility.  Sure, I was more excited than I’d ever been, but I was scared too.  Not that I’d admit that to anyone.  This gift told me Adam saw me as a member of the Ponderosa crew, like him and Hoss, and I could do the job.  That meant the world.

My fist closed around the box.  A reluctant smile curled my lips.  Big brother could be a bossy granite-headed Yankee, but I’d looked up to him my whole life.  That wasn’t about to change.

***

Chapter 2

Adam

“Don’t.”  The moment Pa opened his mouth, I shut him down.  I wasn’t interested in hearing excuses for Baby Brother, not today.  “He was asking to be put in his place. We gave it to him.  Now, if you don’t mind, I’m reading.”

The words on the page refused to make sense.  I tightened my jaw and tried to slow my breathing.  Damn, Little Joe and his insolence.

I might’ve known Pa wouldn’t leave it alone.  “We’ve all been couped up.  Tempers are bound to fray.”

“Maybe so, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to put up with his cheek.  Or be the one to rise above.”

“There didn’t seem to be much of that from any of you.”

I ground my teeth.  “If you’re going to keep talking about it, I’ll follow their example.”

My bedroom door snapped shut.  I tossed my book onto the bed and resisted the urge to throw a boot at the wall.  Hands-on hips, I drew a long breath and released it and my temper.  No longer in the mood to read, my gaze lingered on my desk and the letter I’d received from Frederick.  I’d been meaning to write a reply for weeks.  My old college friend enjoyed all my tales of the west and the stories about Little Joe’s antics.  It would be a useful way to vent my spleen.

My pen nib snapped, half a page into a satisfactory annihilation of Little Joe’s character.  I pushed my chair back, impatient at the interruption.  Which drawer held my spares?  I prided myself on my excellent memory and soon settled on the bottom right.  A quick search found what I wanted and … something I’d long forgotten.

Another winter, when a blizzard had hit us hard, I’d gotten caught in it and came down with a nasty chest infection.  Pa told me it had been touch and go and confined me to my room with strict orders to rest.

A shiver ran through me as it had back then when the blast of cold air took my gaze to the window.  Four frozen fingers appeared, curled under the bottom window, and inched it up bit by bit until Little Joe could squeeze through.

What a rascal he’d looked tumbling over that sill, all bright-eyed, red-cheeked, and hair tousled by the wind.  I laughed just as I had back then.  A finger snapped to his lips to hush me in case Pa heard.  He’d told them on no account was I to be disturbed.  Typical of my youngest brother to ignore that edict.  My hand brushed over the box I’d found.  He’d risked Pa’s wrath to relieve my crushing boredom with this early Christmas present. 

I never guessed inquisitive ears were listening when I’d described to Pa Grandpa Stoddard’s peg solitaire crafted from whalebone.  It had been something I’d admired, and I’d enjoyed the game.  But that was Little Joe.  Nosy to a fault and always flapping those ears to catch any news or gossip, but the kid had a heart as big as Lake Tahoe.

He’d oiled the pine box until it glowed.  The shine had faded, but the surface was as silky as the day I first held it.  Thirty-seven holes had been pierced with patience and care into the lid.  Inside were the little pegs needed to play, each individually whittled.  All thirty-six were still there.  Exactly what I’d needed to occupy my brain and help me through that trying time.

Leaning back, I placed one of the pegs.

***

Chapter 3

Joe

I released the other strap on the saddlebag and dumped the contents onto the bed.  Inside their sack, the little fry pan, plate, cup, coffee pot, and spoon clattered together.  Lying tangled up on top was the hook and line I carried.  My mouth watered.  I’d caught the biggest, delicious trout with that.  Winding it neatly again, I laid it aside and lifted the bag of utensils.  Underneath, snug within its leather sheath, lay my knife.

The most important tools I carried were my gun and knife.  Admiring the bone and leather hilt set at the bottom in silver, I juggled it in my hand the same way I’d done the Christmas I’d received it.  Hoss had bought it during his trip to San Francisco earlier in the year.  He’d winked and told me, ‘Finest English Sheffield steel.’  I believed it.  The balance was beautiful. 

The knife slid smoothly back into its handmade sheath.  My fingers explored the tooled leather, the precise stitches, and the initials Hoss had burned into it. 

I treasured every gift from Hoss, but I treasured his gift of friendship the most.  Hours had been spent trailing after that big moose.  Some might’ve resented having a kid brother for a shadow, but not Hoss.  And oh, boy, the tricks I played on him.  I won’t say Hoss was an easy target, but he never minded, unlike Adam.  Hoss was no pushover, though.  My fingers massaged the back of my neck.  He’d cuffed me good when I needed it.  But I’d say this much for Big Brother.  He never stayed angry for long.  At least until now.  The knife turned in my hand, and a weight settled on my chest.  I guess I had something to do with that.

***

Chapter 4

Hoss

I heard Adam’s door open and close.  It weren’t a slam, but it weren’t far short.  And I thought Adam was the smart one.  Not so smart to stay downstairs where Pa could try to talk him around.  I knew he would.  Pa never liked us being at loggerheads, and that one turned nasty.  I reckon Little Joe were to blame.  He’d been getting a mite too big for his britches.  We were only teasing, and he had no business blowing up at us the way he did. 

With a grimace, I looked out the window.  The storm weren’t helping us none, keeping us trapped together like a couple of prickly skunks who wandered into the same burrow.  There wasn’t much we could do about that until the storm lifted.  Since we had a few hours till supper, taking a nap seemed as good an idea as any.  Lifting my arms to link my hands behind my head, they brushed the braided ropes I kept hanging from the nail at the side of my headboard.  Reaching around, I tugged one off.

Ever since Pa showed him how, Little Joe had been braiding these fine, short ropes.  Twisting like the sweetening candy I’d sneak when we went to town, the tightness of each braid held as sharp as the day he’d formed them.  I always kept five or six tied to my saddle.  If one broke or got lost, another waited at home.  Little Joe just kept braiding the dang things.  All because of that nightmare trip a few years back.  

Just about everything went wrong.  I ended up returning home with half the money for the sale of three mares, minus my rifle and rope.  I still get the willies crossing a desert, thanks to that dad-blamed dust storm.  Short of anything to hobble my horse with, I had no hope of hanging onto it.  The dryness in my throat returned.  For three days, I’d walked with my skin baking red and then black under the sun.  I’d reached Spring Wells more dead than alive.  Course Pa didn’t care about the money, horse, or rifle.  Nothing mattered to him except that I’d got back safe, but the look on Little Joe’s face when he saw me and heard what happened weren’t something I’d likely forget. 

Tucked under the tree that Christmas, wrapped in a piece of rawhide next to the belt buckle he’d made, I got my first bundle of braids.  It didn’t matter what else Little Joe gave me.  I always got the same bundle.  The little cuss was determined I’d never be in that position again.

The braid wound and unwound around my finger.  My brother was quite a man.  The word took me back to our fight and Little Joe’s insistence we always treated him like a kid.  But I didn’t think of him that way.  Sure, we’d been teasing him, but we always had.  My hands stilled.  Maybe that was the problem.

***

Chapter 5

Ben

Giving up on my book, I laid it aside.  Concentration deserted me.  Above, doors opened and closed; first Little Joe’s, followed by Hoss’s, and finally Adam’s.  Each one had its own music, and I knew them well.  But that was a father’s job.  To know and be prepared for whichever son came down to talk out their worries.  Those trips were becoming rarer, but I still recognized each door’s tune. 

The dull murmur of voices floated down the stairs.  What were they talking about?  Were they settling their grievances or starting the fight all over again?  Raising three strong-willed boys hadn’t always been easy.  I’d tried to teach them the importance of family and being there for each other.  Getting up, I fought the impulse to tiptoe up the stairs and eavesdrop.  What was I thinking?  My sons were grown men, capable of sorting out their arguments.  They’d had their differences before and always ridden through them.  I shook my head at my foolishness.  Why had this fight bothered me so much?  Was it because of the season?

I looked around the great room.  Usually, the sight would comfort me, but not today.  Christmas was almost here, but the room bore no sign of the festive time of year.  It should be filled with the scent of pine from the boughs that decorated it and, since Adam’s return from college, the tree.  

German emigres brought the tradition with them, but they had been few and far between when I’d left Boston.  The memory of our first was hard to forget.  A chuckle rumbled through me.  Joe’s interest had grown as he listened to each of Adam’s stories.  I remembered the sparkle in his eyes when Adam told us about the parties at his friend Frederick’s house and described the beautiful tree they’d displayed.  I could see the idea struck a chord with my youngest, and it didn’t come as a surprise when he’d insisted we get one the following year.  Of course, the others expected him to forget all about it, but they’d underestimated their younger brother’s tenacity.  Next December, right on cue, he reminded them of the task ahead.  Little Joe’s enthusiasm was always catching, and he soon had Hoss on board.  They couldn’t wait to venture out on their expedition.  Adam had cooked his goose.

I opened the shutters.  Instead of the blizzard, I again saw that ridiculous tree being dragged behind the pony.  Beside it, covered in snow and freezing, came my laughing sons, delighted with their choice.  I laughed now.

“What’s funny, Pa?”

Turning, I saw a fine tableau.  Little Joe leaned on the banister, his smile brighter than any sunshine.  Hoss towered behind, with a hand resting companionably on his younger brother’s shoulder, and beside them, Adam.  I breathed easier again.

“I was thinking about the first Christmas tree you three brought home.”

Hoss let loose a great belly laugh.  “It must’ve taken us half an hour to get that thing through the door, and then it were too tall to go up.”

“And whose fault was that?  A certain person here insisted on that monster.”

“What?  It stood, didn’t it?”

“Only after I sawed four feet off the bottom.” 

Little Joe slapped Adam on the back, “And we sure had fun watching you.”

They came down the stairs.  I joined in their laughter before turning back to the window and getting a surprise.  

“Well!  Will you look at that?” 

One by one, they joined me, their presence a wall of strength and warmth.  Outside, nature had performed a miraculous transformation.  Calm replaced the tempest.  The biting clarity of cerulean filled the sky to the horizon, while Velvet cobalt tipped the far edge, announcing the approaching twilight.  In the dying sunlight, the snow sparkled as if it had been dusted with jewels.  Not even a breeze whispered to disturb the serene drifts of white. 

We took a moment to admire God’s beautiful gift when Little Joe’s hand clapped onto my shoulder.  “Hey!  How about we go get the tree tomorrow?”

Adam groaned, and Hoss guffawed.

***

Chapter 6

Ben

From the top of the stairs, I watched my youngest leap down the last few steps and head for the tree.  One by one, he placed the packages he carried around the base, nestling them amongst the others already there. 

His hand stopped and hovered over my gift to him.  The rogue never could resist having a feel to guess the contents.  I cleared my throat.  He leaped up and scratched his forehead. 

“Oh, hi, Pa.”

From the kitchen, Hoss appeared carrying a small tray of glasses.  Behind me, I heard Adam’s door open and close.  As we always did, we gathered in front of the fireplace.

I replaced the stopper of the brandy decanter and handed each of my sons a glass.

“Christmas Eve, Boys.”

They all knew what that meant.  We turned and admired the tree.  Pine needles gleamed in the soft light of the candles scattered through its boughs.  Hanging from the end of branches were the straw ornaments they’d made the Christmas they’d first brought one home.  Others adorned it now.  Added over the years to reflect our travels and the loved ones come and gone. 

“It’s looking good.”

I smiled at Little Joe before lifting one hand.  “One, two, three …”

On the beat of my wave, we launched into the traditional song Frederick and his family taught to Adam.

“O Tannenbaum, o Tannenbaum,
[O Christmas Tree, o Christmas Tree]
wie treu sind deine Blatter”  …
[How green are your branches]            …

When we finished, Little Joe gave Hoss a light prod in the ribs and joked, “I think you were a little off-key in the middle there, Brother.”

Hoss laughed and slapped his younger brother on the back, almost making him spill his brandy.  I gave him time to recover before raising my glass.  My chest expanded with pride.  I was a blessed man.  Without my boys, my world would be an empty place.  They were my gift from God, and I was grateful for another year together. 

In unison, we toasted with our traditional salute, “Merry Christmas!”

… and the same to everyone.

**  The End **

[Dec 2022]