The Christmas Turkey

by Joefan1

Joe Cartwright glowered at the ominous clouds filling the sky. He had been keeping a close eye on them all morning, and about an hour or so ago they had started moving rapidly in his direction. Now they were directly overhead, threatening to drop their load. 

He had snuck out of the house early that morning intent on getting a turkey, a big turkey for Christmas dinner, and he had yet to even catch sight of one. Now, with the storm overhead, he’d be returning home empty-handed. 

“Dang it all,” he muttered, and turning the paint in the direction of the ranch house, he started for home. 

“Did you hear that, Cochise?” Joe asked several ‘dangs’ and ‘doggone its’ later. “That’s our Christmas dinner, if I’m not mistaken.” He peered out over the brush and long grass, searching for some sign of the bird. ‘It had to be out there,’ he thought. ‘He could hear it gobbling.’ He checked out the sky again and frowned. At the very most he had a couple of minutes before that storm broke.

“So close,” he griped, “so close.” He took one last look out over the field. His face slowly lit up. Something was moving over to his right. With a gentle tap of his heels, he put Cochise into an easy walk. 

Just before he reached the Tom’s haven, he reined in the gelding, dismounted, and grabbed the rifle out of its scabbard. Gun at the ready, he strode into the brush and long grass, stomping about, making as much noise as possible, trying to flush the bird.

Suddenly, flapping its wings and emitting a loud, shrill gobble, the turkey charged out of the field, straight at Cochise. The paint reared its head, kicked out at the bird, and bolted, hightailing it for home.

Joe exhaled loudly. “Pa’s gonna skin me alive,” he mumbled to himself as he watched his horse gallop off. “Slowly,” he added, as an afterthought, when a soft, wet snowflake fell on his face, followed by a second flake landing on his long lashes. Moments later, a myriad of snowflakes fell to the ground—the storm had begun.   

   He pulled his collar up around his neck, tightened his coat, and set off for the main road. ‘If he was lucky,’ he thought, ‘he’d run into someone and get a ride back to the Ponderosa. At the very least he’d be on a well-marked road, not trying to find his way through featureless forest and brush. 

The storm quickly intensified, letting loose with all its fury. Snow rained down, drifting into deep piles, and a cold, bitter wind sprung up out of the northwest. It scooped up the snow and hurled it about every which way, reducing visibility to a few feet.

Joe was cold and disgruntled. His pant legs were soaked to his knees from ploughing through the drifting snow; his shirt was wet from snippets of snow straying under his collar; the blowing snow stung his face, and the driving wind tore right through his coat. And although he had been tramping through the raging storm for what seemed like hours, he had seen no sign of the road. 

Hoping to get a better sense of where he was, Joe stopped and scanned the area. He peered through the blowing snow, straining to see as his eyes passed over snow-ladened brush and pines. ‘Wait a moment,’ he thought, and glanced back at an old pine not far from where he was standing. He plodded over to it. Reaching out, he ran his fingers along the trunk and felt the indentations. His lips curved into a tentative smile, and slowly, he traced the letters, J O S E P H C A R T W R I G H T.  Relief flooded through him—he knew where he was, and the road wasn’t that far ahead. Cold, but optimistic, he resumed his trek through the winter storm.

  “What the heck!” he shouted as he catapulted through the air, landing in a deep snowdrift. He glanced back, scrutinizing the area, but there was no sign of whatever had tripped him up. He gave himself a moment to catch his breath and then tried to stand. Pain shot through his right ankle, and he dropped back into the snow. Before long the pain subsided, and he tried again. He placed his weight on his good foot and carefully pushed himself up. Balancing on his left foot with as little weight as possible on his right, he took in the surrounding area, and smiled. The wind had died down. The snow was still falling, but it was no longer swirling about and obscuring his view. And there, closer than he had hoped, was the main road. He struggled out of the snowdrift and started hobbling towards it, each step a little quicker than the previous one, and that was his downfall. 

  ”#@@$%$!’ he yelped as his left foot shot out from under him. He tumbled into a nearby tree, banging his already injured ankle. Waves of pain swept over him. Everything went foggy, and he lost consciousness. 

  “Wake up! You’ll freeze if you don’t get up.”  

The loud, demanding voice slowly broke into Joe’s consciousness, and his eyes opened. 

“All right, you don’t have to yell,” he said and looked around to see who owned the grating voice. But the only thing in sight was a deer, the weirdest-looking deer he had ever seen. A good-sized buck, it had huge antlers, wide, divided hooves and long, thick hair all over its body. Heck, there was even hair on its hooves and on its nose.

“Strangest-looking deer I’ve ever seen,” Joe mumbled to himself, inspecting the creature from top to bottom and from left to right. 

“Not a deer, boy, a reindeer.”

Joe gaped at the small man, wearing a strange-looking hat, who had suddenly appeared on the back of the deer.

“Where did you come from and what are you doing sitting on the back of a deer?” Joe stammered, partly from the cold, partly from surprise.

“It’s a reindeer, not a deer, and we’re from the North Pole. Blitzen, here, spotted you while we were flying overhead. Now hop on behind me.”

Joe eyed the odd-looking little man and the even odder deer. ‘They couldn’t possibly be real,’ he mused. ‘He had to be dreaming.’ 

“Well?” the little man challenged.

‘Why not?’ he reflected. ‘It’s only a dream.’

“Okay,” he said, pushed himself up, and hobbled over to the reindeer.  

“Hurt your ankle, did you, boy? You do get yourself into trouble, don’t you?”

“Sometimes.” Joe admitted, as the little man helped him onto the reindeer’s back. “But how do you know?

“Santa knows everything, and so do his helpers.”

Joe rolled his eyes and said, “My name’s Joseph. What should I call you?”

“Inuksuk, and this is Blitzen,” he answered. “You all set?”

Joe nodded. 

Inuksuk shouted, “On Blitzen,” and the reindeer shot off the ground, straight into the air.

  “Wow,” Joe exclaimed, “this dream is getting better all the time.”

“And it’s going to get even better,” the little man assured him as Blitzen touched down in front of a tiny, white house. “Welcome to the North Pole.”

Joe regarded him incredulously. “North Pole? But we just left the Ponderosa a few moments ago.”

“Christmas magic.” 

Rolling his eyes, Joe lifted his right leg over the reindeer’s withers and jumped off.

“Dang,” he muttered as pain shot through his ankle.

“Forgot about our ankle, didn’t we?” Inuksuk observed and helped him into the little house. 

Joe stepped through the doorway and stopped.  His eyes widened and his jaw dropped. ‘This is impossible,’ he thought. ‘Something can’t be bigger on the inside than on the outside.’ Dumbfounded, he limped over to the nearest chair and sunk into the soft leather upholstery, trying to make sense of what he was seeing. The house was no bigger than a line shack on the outside. But it was enormous on the inside. Impossible! 

“You just sit there and rest while I let the boss know you’re here,” Inuksuk said, interrupting Joe’s thoughts. “We don’t want you getting lost now, do we?”

Joe gazed around the room, and his eyes immediately fell on a large red book sitting on top of a massive desk. He could read the title from where he was sitting, NAUGHTY AND NICE. Quietly, he pulled himself out of the chair and hobbled over to the book. He gazed over at the door, listening intently. Nothing. He waited another few seconds and then opened the book. He started with the present, 1859, and worked backwards to the year he was born, 1842. 

‘That’s strange,’ he thought, frowning. His name was at the top of the naughty list almost every year. Well, that wasn’t really unexpected, but finding it also listed at the bottom of the nice list was. ‘How could his name be on both lists for the same year?’ he wondered.

“Young man, did Inuksuk not tell you to remain in that chair?!”

Startled, Joe shot around and landed on his injured ankle. He grabbed the desk for support and breathed in deeply. 

“Yes, sir,” he answered. looking up into the face of an ageless man with twinkling blue eyes and a long white beard. 

“Then please sit down. That ankle needs rest.”

“Who are you?”

“Nicholas, or if you prefer, Santa,” the white-haired man said, taking Joe’s arm and helping him back to the chair. 

Joe looked up into the startling blue eyes. “Santa?” he quipped. “I’m seventeen, sir, not seven.”

“Believe or don’t believe, young man,” the old man stated and turned towards the door. “Ah, Inuksuk, bring the bowl over here.” 

Joe gaped at the bubbling concoction as Inuksuk carried it over and set it on the floor.“What’s in that?” he demanded.

“Herbs. They will make your ankle feel better,” Nicholas assured him, gently removing his boot and placing his foot in the water.

“Doggone it!” Joe protested, yanking his foot out of the water. “that feels like someone’s sticking needles in my foot,”

“The tingling will go away in a few minutes, and the herbs will draw out the soreness,” Nicholas assured him, gently placing his foot back in the water and holding it there. 

“Look, my ankle is fine. I don’t need any…”Joe began to argue, but then the herbs started to work their magic, and he sat back and relaxed.

“Sir?”

Nicholas looked up at him. 

“Not that I was snooping, but I happened to get a look at your book and”

“And you were wondering why your name was at the top of the naughty list and also at the bottom of the nice list.”

“Well, yes.”

“You’re on the naughty list, young man, because not only are you always in trouble,” Nicholas admonished, pointing his finger at Joe, “but you drag your friends into it with you. And that poor brother of yours, I will not even begin to try to describe the trouble you get him into. But,” he continued with a warm smile on his face. “You have such a loving heart and innate kindness about you that I could never leave you off the nice list. Hence your name appears on both lists.”

Joe gave the big man a smug look.

“You know, Hoss doesn’t really mind when I drag him into my schemes.”

  “Yes, I do know, but that doesn’t excuse your dragging him into them. Now just sit back and relax. It’s Christmas Eve, and we have a big night ahead of us.”

“Christmas Eve,” Joe repeated, and numerous joy-filled memories floated through his mind as his eyes slowly drifted shut. 

“Time we were on our way,” Inuksuk advised, popping into the room. 

“Everything ready?”

“Yes, Boss.”

Nicholas nodded, tapped the side of his nose, and relocated himself, Inuksuk, and Joe into a large red sleigh. He picked up the reins and shouted, “Now, Dasher!…”

“We’re here,” Inuksuk announced, unnecessarily, as they landed on the roof of the Cartwright home. “I’ll take the boy.”

Nicholas nodded and then materialized in the great room. Seconds later, Inuksuk appeared beside him. 

“Everything taken care of upstairs?” he asked.

The little man nodded. 

Nicholas smiled and turned towards the big clock, staring intently at its hands. Slowly, they started moving backwards, one hour, two hours… twenty-four hours. “Done,” he said, and he and Inuksuk instantly disappeared and reappeared in the sleigh.

“Did you take care of the other?”

“Sure did, Boss.”

Nicholas picked up the reins, gave the command, and the red sleigh and eight reindeer took flight.

“That has got to be the strangest dream I’ve ever had,” Joe mumbled to himself as he sprinted down the stairs to breakfast. 

“What’s that about a dream?” Hoss asked, filling his plate with eggs and ham.

“Nothing,” Joe said, making light of the dream. He wasn’t about to let anyone know about that particular dream, ever. “You ready to track down our Christmas dinner, Big Brother?”

“Sorry, boys,” Ben interrupted. “But there won’t be any turkey hunt today. There’s a winter storm brewing, and it looks to be a bad one.”

“A storm?” Joe mumbled, heading for the door to have a look for himself. 

“The clouds are hovering in the northwest,” he informed his father and brother as he returned to the table. “We can go out, get a turkey, and be back long before it hits.”

“Absolutely not!” Ben declared. “That storm could start moving at any time, and then where would you be?

An answer crossed Joe’s mind, but wisely he left it there. 

“Pa’s right, Joe.” 

“Good, then it’s settled.” Ben declared.

But it wasn’t settled as far as Joe was concerned. He was, after all, seventeen and knew everything. And he knew he could get a turkey and be back before the storm hit. He just had to find a way of slipping out unseen.

Forty minutes later, gun in hand, he slipped out the kitchen door and headed towards the barn. Halfway there he froze. ‘It couldn’t be,’ he thought and crept around to

the back of the barn. He stopped and stared in disbelief.

Then, grinning, he raised his rifle, took aim, and fired. 

“Our turkey dinner,” he remarked to himself. picking up the bird. “Merry Christmas to me and a—“

“And a ho, ho, ho.” Joe flung around at the sound of the words. 

“Inuksuk?” he stammered as his eyes lit on the little man, standing at the edge of the barn.

“Greetings from the North Pole, my boy,” the little man said, then winked and vanished. 

Joe stood, bird in hand, staring at the empty spot. “He can’t be real,” he thought out loud. “It was just a dream. It had to have been a dream.”

“What had to be a dream, Little Brother?” Hoss asked as he hustled towards Joe. “Wow,” he continued, not giving his brother a chance to answer, ”that’s the biggest turkey I’ve ever seen. How did you know it was back here?”

“Heard it gobbling.” 

“Pa, Adam, look at that turkey Joe shot. Have you ever seen one that big?” Hoss asked, turning towards his father and older brother. “Looks like we’ll be having turkey this Christmas after all,” 

Joe glanced at his father and waited. He knew his father knew he had been sneaking out to hunt down a turkey. And he knew what was coming next. 

“No, I haven’t,” Ben replied. “Good shooting, Joseph.” 

“Th-Thanks, Pa,” he replied, bewildered.

Ben put his arm around his youngest son, smiled, and whispered, “Merry Christmas,” in his ear. 

Joe smiled back and put his arm around the greatest father ever.

THE END