The Third Christmas

by Joefan1

It was December 22, and in three days it would be Christmas—the third Christmas since Hoss’ passing. And Joe Cartwright was eager to get home. He was determined that his father would not spend Christmas alone and that he would get home in time to help with at least some of the holiday preparations.  

It would be just the two of them this year. His brother Adam, who last year had kept them amused and distracted with his tall tales, wasn’t able to make it. He had sent word that he’d be spending the holidays preparing for his new position as head of the English Department. Candy had left to visit a critically ill friend a few days before Adam’s telegraph was delivered, and Jamie had gone off to spend Christmas with his grandfather. And then he had been called away on pressing business, business which had taken far longer than expected. But, at last, he was on his way home, and, provided the weather held, he should arrive late tonight.  

But things just weren’t going his way. He had been riding for less than an hour when ominous dark clouds began to appear, and within minutes, the first snowflakes drifted softly to the ground, heralding a winter storm. Soon the road was wet and slippery with falling snow, and the temperature plummeted. The wind picked up and whipped the snow about making it difficult to see any distance ahead. The storm continued to escalate, and Joe pulled the collar of his coat tighter around his neck. He slowed Cochise to a walk and gave the paint his head, allowing him to pick his own way around slippery spots and drifting snow. 

As they pushed on, the blizzard, and it was now a full-blown blizzard, continued to rage around them, reducing visibility even more. All signs of the road had disappeared, and he was relying on Cochise to get them both safely home. 

Joe sighed. With the treacherous conditions and their slow pace, he’d be lucky to make it home by tomorrow morning, and he was already feeling the effects of the weather. As the hours passed, his hands became so cold that he could barely feel the reins, and his feet felt like chunks of ice. His teeth chattered, and his body was shivering uncontrollably.

And he was tired—so very tired that it was becoming a struggle to keep his eyes open. Mile after mile, he battled the fatigue and lethargy. But it was a losing battle. Eventually his eyes drifted shut, and he came to rest against Cochise’s neck.

Trodding carefully through the blizzard, sure-footed, with a slow, even stride, Cochise covered several miles before the inevitable happened, and his friend and companion, since he had been a colt, slid off his back into a pile of snow. He stopped and reached down, nuzzling his friend’s neck, trying to rouse him, but there was no response. He nickered in his ear, but still there was no reaction.

Joe lay still in the cold snow, unmoving except for his eyes, which were darting about under his closed eyelids. He was dreaming, dreaming of his big brother Hoss. They were at their favourite fishing hole, and Hoss was laughing. But the laugh didn’t sound like Hoss. It sounded more like a horse neighing. And when the neighing Hoss started to push him, Joe’s eyes slowly opened, and he found himself looking into the face of Cochise. The paint was nickering loudly and nudging him. 

He reached up and gently stroked the velvety nose. “Okay, Cooch, I’m getting up,” he assured the animal, and struggled to his feet. He leaned his head against the horse for a few minutes and then attempted to mount. But the cold and his weariness had taken their toll, and as he lifted his leg to mount, he slipped, landing with a thud and banging his head against the ground. His eyes closed, and everything went black.

“Wake up, boy,” Hoss demanded, gently tapping his face. Joe looked up at his big brother and best friend and smiled. Then he watched in bewilderment as his brother’s face transformed into that of his father’s. 

“Pa?” he stammered as the man lifted him out of the snow and wrapped him in a warm blanket. 

“No, I’m not your pa,” his father told him as he morphed into Santa Claus and laid him on a sleigh. 

Then the sleigh turned into a bed, and Joe found himself lying on a cot under a wealth of blankets. Heat was coming from a nearby stove, and the smell of coffee and food cooking permeated the air. He slowly opened his eyes and looked about. He was in a small cabin, sparsely furnished but cozy. The only other person in the room was an old man standing at the stove, cooking what smelled like breakfast. 

  “That smells good,” he croaked.

“Well, you’re awake at last.”

“Where am I? The last thing I remember is falling into a pile of snow.”

“You’re in my cabin. My name is Nicholas Bishop.” 

“Joe, Joe Cartwright,” Joe said, holding out his hand. “How did I get here?”

“I was on my way home when I heard your horse whinnying and making a ruckus. I stopped to see what the trouble was and found you lying, unconscious, in the snow.”

“Cochise, is he okay?”” Joe asked.

“He’s warm and cozy in the barn, munching on a pile of hay.”

“Thanks,” Joe said. “How long have we been here?” 

“Since last night.” 

“So it’s the 23rd?”

“Yes”

‘If I leave straight away,’ he thought. ‘I can make it home today and be with Pa for part of today, Christmas Eve, and Christmas Day.’ He smiled and hopped out of bed, moving just a little too fast. The room started to spin, and Joe started to sway.

“Whoa there, young fella. Take it easy. You had a bout of hypothermia. You need to rest and to eat something.” Nicholas cautioned, helping him back into the bed.

Joe lay still, eyes closed, until the room stopped spinning. Then he slowly sat up and tried again to get to his feet. But the old man was in his way. 

“You really do need to take it easy,” he said.

Joe took a deep breath and tried to explain that he had to get home today. And to do that, he would have to leave soon. But his rescuer was having no part of it.

“Young man, you wouldn’t get more than a mile before you were lying in the snow again,” he admonished, hoping to make this stubborn young man see sense. “And this time you might not be so lucky as to have someone come along and find you.”

Joe looked at the old man with determination in his eyes and a stubborn set to his lips. 

Nicholas shook his head and frowned.

“Well, I can’t stop you,” he acknowledged. “But at least have some breakfast before you go.”

“It does smell good,” Joe admitted, and made his way, with the old man’s help, to the table.

“More coffee?” Nicholas asked as Joe started to rise.

“No, I think I’d better be going while the weather holds. Thanks for everything,” Joe said, and reached out to shake hands with his host. 

“You’re welcome. Your coat and things are on the hooks beside the door.” Nick said, shaking Joe’s hand. But before he let it go, he warned, “If you leave now, you’ll never make it home. You need rest.”

“I’ll be fine,” Joe said, and with slow, deliberate steps, he walked to the door, reached up, and removed his coat. With a concerted effort, he slipped it on and buttoned it up. Then, hat and gloves in hand, he reached out to the door. But instead of opening it, he just stood there with his eyes closed and his head resting against it. His strength had completely dissipated.

Nicholas, who had been watching him unobtrusively, strode over and helped him back to the bed. 

“Guess you were right.” Joe admitted, and within seconds, he had drifted off. He slept until early evening, when he once again awoke to the smell of food being cooked.

“Stew?” Nicholas asked. 

Joe nodded and sat down at the table. 

“I guess it’s too late to start out now,” Joe uttered more to himself than to his companion. 

“It wouldn’t be the safest thing to do, for you or your horse.” Nicholas observed, setting two dishes of rabbit stew on the table. 

As he sat enjoying the simple meal, Joe took a really good look at the old man. He was probably in his seventies, he surmised. His hair was thick and white, as white as the snow outside, and it was long—longer than his own hair. His eyes were the same colour as Hoss’ and had a definite twinkle in them. He had a full white beard, and he was plump—quite rotund in fact. 

  Joe smiled, and then started to giggle. 

“Anyone ever tell you that you look like Santa Claus?” he quipped. “I don’t suppose you have a magic sleigh that could fly me home.” 

“Well, I do have a sleigh, but it’s drawn by a horse, not by flying reindeer.

“Too bad.” Joe commented.

“Why is it so important that you get home today?” 

“My father’s alone.” Joe stated.

“You’re his only son?”

“I’m the only one who’ll be there this Christmas,” he explained, and then found himself telling this stranger about Hoss and about how much he missed his big brother. 

“You remind me a lot of him,” he said, speaking barely above a whisper.  

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” the old man said.

“It is,” Joe confirmed, and then he started to talk about Alice. When he had finished, he sat still and quiet, his eyes alive with unshed tears. 

“Finish your stew,” Nicholas suggested in a light, gentle voice. “And tell me about your pa.”

Joe smiled and told him about his father, about how great a dad he had always been, and about how important Christmas and family had always been to him. He talked well into the night until he was exhausted, and it was past the time to turn in. 

When he woke the following morning, he felt good, very good, better than he had felt in a long time.

“You’re looking well,” Nick announced, entering the cabin. “How about some breakfast?”

“I’ll fix it,” Joe offered, trodding towards the stove.

The Santa lookalike nodded his thanks and went about laying the table. 

“How’s Cochise?” 

“Ready and eager to get going.” Nick poured two cups of coffee and set them on the table. “As soon as the storm blows itself out, that is.”

“Storm?”

“Started a few minutes ago.”

Joe beelined for the door and looked outside. Sure enough, snow was falling and the wind was starting to pick up. Scowling, he returned to the stove. 

“How long do you think it will last?” he asked as he carried the eggs and beans to the table. 

“Probably several hours from the looks of that sky.”

Joe grimaced. “Let’s hope you’re wrong.”

But Nicholas wasn’t wrong. The storm raged on relentlessly until early evening. Then the wind died down and the snow eased off. 

“Do you hear that?” Joe asked excitedly as he put away the last dish.

“Hear what?” Nicholas asked. 

“Quiet! It’s quiet out there,” he practically shouted and dashed over to the door. Opening it, he beamed with pleasure as he looked outside. The wind had died down, and the snow had stopped.  

‘Get your things together while I ready the sleigh.” Nicholas told him.

Joe looked at the man, astonished. “You’re offering to drive me home in your sleigh?” he asked.

“Yes, we’ll have to take it slow, but you’ll be home for Christmas Day.”

Smiling Joe grabbed his belongings and hurried outside. He threw his things into the sleigh along with Cochise’s tack, secured his horse to the back of the sleigh, and climbed onto the seat. Waiting for Nick, he looked around. ‘Strange’ he thought. ‘I don’t remember there being a cabin around here.’ But what did it matter? He was on his way home. 

A few minutes later, Nick climbed onto the sleigh, and they were on their way. The two chatted for a while, and then they slipped into a companionable silence. Joe sat quietly, enjoying the pristine countryside and listening to the jingle of sleigh bells and the crunch of snow under the horses hooves. The sounds lulled him into a deep sleep. 

He woke up hours later, sitting on the settee in his father’s house. His new friend was wrapping Hoss’ old guilt around him.”

“Go back to sleep,” he ordered in a soft, mesmerizing voice, and Joe once again drifted off. 

The white-haired man looked at him fondly and whispered, “I love you, Little Brother!” Then, turning towards the stairs, he shouted into the dreams of the man sleeping upstairs, “Merry Christmas, Pa. There’s a present for you on the settee.” 

Taking one last look at his baby brother, he turned and walked out the door.  Smiling, he drank in the home he had always loved before climbing up onto the sleigh. Taking the reins in his hands, he drove along a road imperceptible to the human eye, up beyond the stars, and into the heavens. 

The End