The Perfect Tree

by jfclover

We’d done this so many times before.  Finding a good-sized tree that would fill the corner by the stairs was an annual job that my brother and I had
taken care of for several years.  Roaming the silent wilderness was a gift for two busy ranchers on a mission.  Riding through such a vast expanse gave a man pause and made him wonder about his place in the world.

When I was a young man, three of us scoured the backwoods for the perfect tree, but there’d always be a difference of opinion, and tempers flared.  That was years ago, and my eldest brother had found a new life away from the ranch.  Pa still kept in touch through letters he received, and he returned a comprehensive missive several times a year, but Hoss and I had quit writing.  Adam had been gone so long that we’d lost interest in his travels.

Maybe it was because Hoss and I never planned to leave the Ponderosa. 
Whereas my brother sought adventure in faraway places, we were content to live
and work on our father’s ranch in western Nevada.  There was plenty of space and enough work to keep a man busy for the rest of his days.  There might be times when Hoss and I were clearing a beaver dam or chasing down runaway calves that we’d dream about faraway places, but I’d say we were both quite content with the way our world played out around us.

Hoss and I rarely squabbled over minor things like perfect trees.  Had it not been for my father and his traditions, I’m not sure my brother and I would’ve set out on this venture three days before Christmas, but tradition was everything to Pa.   Without the institutions that mark our places in time, my father would be lost, and his sons would be less likely to carry on the customs he brought to life every year.

It had been a tough time for all of us.  Disease had taken half of our herd, and the Ponderosa was struggling financially, but that didn’t stop my father from celebrating the holidays as if nothing were amiss. My father was like that. Traditions were part of his soul.

“Most problems take care of themselves,” he’d say.  “We can’t stop living just because life takes a turn.”

I wasn’t always like my father, and I didn’t always see the bright side.  Hoss would agree with Pa because that was his nature.  He could be persuaded to believe most anything, and if he could reason the situation out in his mind, he was good to go.  He and Pa knew how to make the most of a bad situation and move on.  I tended to dwell on the negative, so it was a godsend that I had two strong and positive men to equalize my life.

Sitting comfortably on Cooch, I didn’t dare turn around and look at Hoss andChubby.  The trail up the mountain was steep, and if a horse lost its footing on an uneven bank of snow, a man or his mount could be injured.  The last thing we needed was an accident this far from home and under these conditions.  We were more than halfway to Crescent City; we’d ridden too far, and we’d never get a tree cut and get home before dark.  God only knows what we were thinking.

Hoss had a tendency to hunch down in his woolen coat to keep out the cold, but I found it just as easy to turn my collar up to block the icy wind.  A hot toddy or even a cold beer sounded better than trekking through snowdrifts looking for the right tree.  I hadn’t spotted anything worthwhile, and neither had Hoss.  Out of all the trees on the Ponderosa, you’d think finding a healthy pine would be an easy task, but I was starting to get irritated by the entire venture.

When we reached a lower meadow, I stopped my horse and turned in the saddle
to face my brother.  “Let’s just pick one and be done with it.”

“I ain’t seen anything the right size yet, have you?”

“No, but what does it matter?  Let’s just cut one down and start for
home.  It’ll be dark before long.”

“Pa don’t want just any old tree.  You know how he is.”

“I’m tired and I’m hungry, and I don’t want to be out here any longer than I have to.”

“What’s wrong with you?  Why are you such a grump?”

My shoulders fell.  I didn’t have an answer so I nudged Cooch to go a little faster and that’s when I realized where we were.  The large grove of trees was where she’d pointed that double-barreled pistol at me and fired.  My hands shot high in the air, and my legs quivered as I tried to stay seated on my horse.  When the rush of excitement ended, I looked down at the old lady still pointing her gun toward my head.  She had one more shot, but I wasn’t ready to die.

I stopped and turned my horse to face Hoss.  “Do you know where we are?”

Hoss had pulled Chubby to a stop and stared up at the trees.  “Should I?”

I chuckled.  “This is where Kerri Picket pulled a gun on me and told me I would be doing her chores until her hand healed.”

“When I try to picture that little old lady pulling a gun on you, I know I shouldn’t laugh, but it’s hard not to.”

“It wasn’t funny, Brother.  That woman was serious.”

“I bet she was.”

“You know … maybe we should cut down a nice little tree for her cabin.”

“You know what time it is, right?”

“Yeah, I know, but what do you say?  Just a small tree, and we’ll only stay a short while.”

“Fine.”

“Thanks, Brother.”

Within five minutes, we found perfection, a young sapling about three feet tall.  If Kerri had any adornments, she could set the tree on a table and trim it to her heart’s delight.  We were doing the right thing, and it was
the best I’d felt in a long time. 

When I met the old woman, she was nursing an animal bite, but that was a while ago.  A lot can change in a few months, and I was anxious to see her again.  I doubt Hoss was thrilled with the prospect, but he’d put up with my whims since the day I was born.  Today wasn’t any different.

The little tree was tied to the back of my saddle, and we rode straight to the cabin by the lake.  Nothing had changed, but I was surprised there wasn’t any smoke coming from the chimney.  Surely, she’d started a fire on a cold December day.

“Something’s not right, Hoss.”

“Ain’t no smoke.”

“Right.”

I galloped up to the house and banged on the front door.  I called her name, and when no one answered, I pushed the door open and walked inside.  Darkness plagued the cabin.  There were no signs of life.  No lamps had been lit, and I breathed in air that was stale and sour and smelled of years of decay. 

When I flew out the door, coughing and covering my nose, I ran right into my brother.  He grabbed my arms and shook me.  What did he think that would do?  Erase the godawful smell that nearly choked me to death?

“She’s not there.”

“What’s the matter with you?”

“I don’t know.  The cabin smells like … it’s awful, Hoss.  I don’t know if she died in there or not, but … let’s get out of here.”

“Wait, Joe.  You ain’t thinking straight.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?

“Let’s ride into Crescent City and find out what happened to her.  We ain’t gonna make it home tonight anyway.

I nodded.  “Maybe you’re right.”

“You ain’t never gonna get a good night’s sleep until you know what happened inside that house.”

My brother was right.  I dumped the tree off the back of Cochise, and Hoss and I rode into town.  It wasn’t a long ride, but all I could think about was Miss Kerri.  I shouldn’t have waited so long to come back and check on her.  I left her in Doc Belden’s care, and  I thought he’d keep her safe, but I’d been neglectful.  I only had myself to blame.

Belden M.D. was burned into a shingle hanging over his door.  No longer was he involved with Milburn and his henchmen; he reopened his practice, and I hoped he’d have the answers I needed before moving on.

Hoss and I dismounted, and I knocked on the doc’s front door.  When a
woman answered, I asked for Dr. Beldon.  “Is the doctor in?”

“Yes.  Follow me.”

She was pretty enough.  A long blond braid fell past her waist, and with her light blue dress and white apron, she gave every indication that she was a skilled professional.

“Joe Cartwright!”  The doc and I shook hands, and he slid his hand
across my shoulders.  “It’s good to see you, Son.”

“Good to see you too, Doc.”

“What brings you to Crescent City?”

“Miss Picket.”

“Oh.”  His hesitation made me shudder inside.  Would I rather not
hear the answer?

“My brother and I stopped by the cabin to deliver a Christmas tree and .…”

“Let’s go to my office, Joe.”

“All right.”  I glanced back at Hoss and motioned for him to follow.  The three of us took seats in Belden’s office, and I braced myself for anything the doc had to say.

“Kerri’s dead, Joe.”

“I figured as much.”

“It’s my fault she died.”

“I doubt that, Doc.”

“I’m afraid it’s true.”

Belden pulled a bottle and stout glasses from his desk drawer.  He
poured three shots and scooted two toward Hoss and me.

“What happened, Doc?  How long ago?”

The doctor seemed to have difficulty forming the right words.  I
couldn’t imagine what caused him to feel so uncomfortable.  An old woman
who knew how to do for herself was dead.  It was a simple question, but
was it old age or something more sinister?

“She died three months after she secured her land.”

“Milburn?  Did he kill her?”

“No, Joe.  I told you it was my fault.”

“Then tell me what happened.”

“Gangrene.” 

I leaned forward in my chair.  “What?”

“I thought I had all the infection drained from her hand, but ….”

I glanced up at my brother, who’d opted to stand in the doorway of Doc’s
office.  He knew how I felt about the old woman, and he dipped his eyes to
let me know he was sorry.  Belden was a good man. I didn’t blame him for
her death, but I could see how he’d feel at fault.

“I’m sorry, Joe.  I wish I could’ve done more, but she’d hardly let me
check under the bandage after you left.  Without you to fight for her, she
was afraid.”

“Don’t blame yourself, Doc.  That’s the way she wanted things. 
Taking her hand off when you first diagnosed the problem would’ve killed her
just as fast.”

“I appreciate that, Joe, but a part of me will always feel guilty.”

“Guess that’s part of life, Doc.”

“What’s gonna happen with her quarter section of land?”  Hoss
asked. 

I understood his reason for the question.  Jason Milburn and his so-called legal practices could slip right into the land office and end up owning the entire area around Crescent Mountain before anyone else had a chance to buy the property.

Doc smiled.  “I’m glad you asked, Mr. Cartwright.  I think you’ll
be pleasantly surprised.”

Chapter 2

My brother and I saw it at exactly the same time. The perfect tree had grown
strong and tall in Kerri Picket’s piney woods.  After cutting and wrapping
the tree so we could drag it home and not damage any branches, we rode adjacent
to Milburn’s destruction. 

“Joe, look.” 

Hoss pointed to a low spot—a protected spot—where seedlings had taken root
from fallen pinecones.  Milburn had destroyed the forest, but new life was
beginning and gave hope for the future.  Streams would soon be flowing
again and relieve a potential dustbowl at the bottom of the mountain.  The
cycle of life was ever-changing.

By the time we arrived home, Pa was beside himself.  We hadn’t planned
to make our little venture an overnight trip, but after talking to Beldon, we
took a room in the saloon where Hoss, Pa, and Mr. Jenks had spent the
night.  Hoss said the steaks were better than most, so we ate supper, had a
few drinks, and hit the sack.

Chapter 3

The scent of pine filled the room, and after seeing the “perfect” tree
standing tall next to the stairs, Pa slid his hands across our shoulders, and
all was forgiven.  Besides, my father wasn’t one to carry a grudge,
especially during the holidays.  He was glad we were safe, and as Hoss and
I stood and admired our handiwork.  Hop Sing roared like an angry cat from the
dining room.

“Food get cold.  You eat now!”  Pa may have forgiven us, but Hop
Sing was another story.  When he roared, we obeyed like diligent
soldiers. 

After losing half of our cattle last spring, we had decided not to exchange
gifts for Christmas, something Pa wasn’t fond of at first, but Hoss and I can be
persuasive.  Even with that in mind, I had something I wanted to give my
father.  As optimistic as he tried to be, there was a side of Pa that
fretted and feared the worst.  Often, he’d become preoccupied with matters
he couldn’t change.  I thought I could relieve one of those fears.

As always, I was the last one to wake on Christmas morning, but with Hoss
standing in my doorway, giving orders, I had no choice but to open my eyes and
start the new day.

“Time to rise and shine, Little Brother.”

“I’m coming, I’m coming.”

Pa would be on his fourth or fifth cup of coffee before he lost patience
with me and sent Hoss up the stairs.  Breakfast would be served in front
of the fire, and Hop Sing would go all out with several sugary treats we didn’t
normally find on our plates.  I bounded down the stairs like a
youngster.  Anything to change my father’s mood from disgusted to pleased
with his youngest son.

“Morning, Pa.”

“Good morning, Son.  Did you sleep well?”

“I sure did.”  I glanced down at the platter of sweets.  “Look at
all the goodies.  Hop Sing outdid himself this year, didn’t he?”

“Coffee?”

“Sure, Pa.”

I soon found out that I wasn’t the only one who broke the rules.  Hoss
was the first to speak up.

“I gotcha a little something, Pa.  It ain’t much, but I couldn’t let
the holiday go by … well, you understand.” 

Hoss handed Pa a gift wrapped in brown paper with a string binding it
together.  Pa loosened the string, and the paper fell away.  A new
pipe and a nice leather pouch of Pa’s favorite tobacco sat on his lap.  He
fingered the pipe and took a long whiff of the tobacco. 

“Thank you, Son.  It’s perfect.”

“Welcome, Pa.”

Pa reached down between his leg and the arm of the chair and pulled out two
small gifts.  He handed one to me and one to Hoss.

“So much for no gifts this year.”

“Relax, Joseph.  If Pa wants to give us a token gift, who are we to
complain?”

“All right, Big Brother.  I’ll race you.”

We both ripped off the string and paper and gazed down at skillfully
engraved pocket watches.  I clicked mine open and read the inscription
from my father.  Tears stung my eyes when I looked up. 

“Thanks, Pa.”

“You’re welcome, Son.”

“Thanks, Pa.”

“You’re welcome, Hoss.”

My brother and I leaned against the back of the settee, each admiring our
gifts from Pa.  Inscriptions were personal.  I didn’t ask Hoss, and
he didn’t ask me.  We left that part to the imagination.

From my shirt pocket, I reached for the legal document Doc Belden had kept
in his care until we saw each other again.  He could’ve mailed it or
written me about Kerri’s death, but that never happened.  Had believing he
was to blame caused him to keep the news to himself?  I’ll never know the
reason, but in the end, Kerri deeded her piney woods to me.  The doc had
filed it with the land office, and I deeded it over to my father.  If
owning the quarter section put his mind at ease, I was more than happy to give
him my gift from Kerri.

I handed him the paper.  “Merry Christmas, Pa.”

He looked bewildered at first, but Pa was quick to catch on.  “Kerri
Picket?”

“That’s right.  She deeded that quarter section over to us.”

“To you, not me, Joseph.”

“Merry Christmas, Pa.”

“If you ever decide you want—”

“I won’t.  I want you to have it.  I wouldn’t have it any other
way.”

“Thank you, Son.”

And so the story goes.  None of us was able to pull off a Christmas
without a token gift for the people we cherish the most.  I’m not sure why
we even tried to change a natural custom.  We thought too much of each
other to believe we could sit next to the perfect tree and not show each other
how we felt.

My father was right.  Traditions were a valuable asset in a man’s
life.  They kept a man on track, kept him true to himself, and to those he
cared about.  I doubt I’d ever be too old to not cherish advice from my
pa.

The End

Merry Christmas 2023