Lost and Found

by

Beppina

Joe Cartwright squinted hard and tugged his hat lower over his eyes as the snow fell like lace curtains across the Ponderosa. It was Christmas Eve, and the trail home wound through pines dusted white like icing sugar. The world was so still that even Cochise’s hoofbeats sounded muted, swallowed by the thickening drifts. Not a bird stirred. Not a coyote called. The air was icy and sharp, but Joe’s spirits were warm. A roaring fire, his family, and Hop Sing’s Christmas Eve feast waited for him at the ranch.

The Ponderosa, that stretched for miles in every direction, was now wrapped in a soft winter blanket. Towering pines lined the trail, their branches bending beneath the weight of fresh snow as if guiding him home.

Joe inhaled deeply. The air tasted of pine and promises—promises of laughter, music, and Pa fussing over last-minute preparations. He pictured Hoss humming carols while tending to the livestock, Adam reading by the fire or tuning his guitar for later, and Hop Sing bustling between kitchen and dining room, defending his dishes from any “sneaky tasters” named Hoss.

The thought quickened Joe’s pace.

He was cresting a gentle rise when something dark caught his eye—a lone shape half-buried at the base of a pine. Joe reined in Cochise and slid from the saddle. Snow crunched beneath his boots as he crouched and brushed the powder aside.

A glove.
Small. Dainty. Leather, stitched with delicate blue flowers.

Joe frowned. This wasn’t the kind of thing a ranch hand dropped. And out here? In this weather? He scanned the woods. No other tracks visible—only his own. The snow had buried any sign of earlier movement. He slipped the glove into his pocket and mounted up again, unsettled.

People didn’t just lose gloves on a night like this.

The sky darkened, and clouds hung thick and low. Joe’s thoughts drifted unbidden to stories he’d heard—travellers lost in storms, wagons stuck in sudden drifts, Christmas miracles and near-misses. A shiver crept through him that had nothing to do with the cold.

As the snowfall deepened, he spotted something—a faint line of footprints weaving through the otherwise blank whiteness. Joe swung down again and studied them. Small. Light. Uneven, as though whoever made them had stumbled or staggered.

A child?
More likely a woman.

A jolt of urgency hit him. Someone was out there, in the deepening snow. Out there, alone and freezing.

He followed the tracks, trudged through the snowdrifts. Dusk had settled around him, turning the silent world into shades of blue and silver. Trees loomed like dark sentinels as he crossed a clearing—and then he saw her.

A figure lay huddled, collapsed beneath the lower branches of a fir. It was a young woman, obvious from her clothing. She was dressed in what looked like a dark coloured dress and wrapped only in a thin red shawl. The one visible hand was blue with cold, the other hidden; her lips trembled as she tried to speak. Relief shone in her wide grey eyes as tears welled up and threatened to fall.

Joe dropped to one knee beside her and brushed the snow from her shawl.
“You wouldn’t happen to be missing a glove, would you?”

He held it out. She let out a soft, shaky laugh and pulled it on.

“I thought I’d never see it again… or anyone else.” Her voice was weak. “My wagon got stuck in a drift. I’ve been walking for hours.”

Joe felt a surge of sympathy—and said a silent thank you to his Pa for insisting he wear that heavy blue coat he’d complained about. He wrapped it around her shoulders and helped her to her feet.

“Come on, let’s get you home and into the warm,” Holding her close, Joe led her through the powdery snow to Cochise.

Once she was settled in the saddle, Joe climbed up behind her and turned toward the shelter of home.

As they rode, he introduced himself, “I’m Joe. Joe Cartwright.”

“I’m Clara,” she whispered. “Clara Finch. I was supposed to meet my uncle in Virginia City. The wagon got stuck, then something spooked my horse when I tried to unharness her. She bolted, and I… I got lost.”

“Pleased to meet you, Clara. You’re way off course for Virginia City. This is the Ponderosa. We’re not too far from the house now.”

Joe’s voice reassured her as the lights of the ranch flickered through the trees like homing beacons.

Ben Cartwright opened the door at Joe’s shout; a frown creased his features as he saw Joe and the half-frozen girl. Hoss grabbed a blanket, while Adam made room by the fire. Within moments, Clara was wrapped in warmth and handed a steaming cup of coffee by Hop Sing, who fussed over her as a treasured guest.

As she thawed, Clara told her story—her long journey west to Carson City and of her hopes of a new start with her uncle, Curtis Finch, in Virginia City. She told how the storm had swept in with frightful speed, how she had missed the turn for Virginia City and ended up on foot in the drifting snow. The Cartwrights listened without interruption and marvelled at the good fortune of Joe finding her.

Outside, night had fallen. The dark sky was invisible as the snow continued to fall and erased the traces of Joe’s ride home.

Ben insisted that Clara stay the night. “It’s not fit for man nor beast out there,” he said. “And, besides, we’ve plenty of room.”

Clara accepted without hesitation.

Dinner was a veritable feast: roasted beef, golden roast sweet potatoes, cellar vegetables, fresh-baked bread, and a fragrant pudding whose spicy aroma filled the house. Joe watched as  Clara enjoyed her meal. At last, she had relaxed. She was safe now, drawn into the warmth of a family Christmas she hadn’t expected.

Later, the family and their guest gathered in front of the blazing fire. Each nursed a glass of Ben’s best brandy, ready for his telling of the Christmas story. The tall, green tree was decorated with small glass baubles that reflected the flickering candles. Little keepsakes the boys had created during their childhood, along with pinecones and strands of popcorn draped between the boughs, 

Ben read from his old family Bible, his voice steady and rich with meaning. The words of peace and goodwill wrapped around the room like another layer of warmth.

After Ben’s reading, Adam sat in the red velvet chair, his guitar tuned and balanced on his knee.

“Shall we sing a few carols?” he suggested, with a reassuring smile in Clara’s direction as he strummed the first notes of Silent Night. It wasn’t long before the room was filled with music and singing. Adam’s baritone countered Hoss’s booming bass. Joe’s tenor harmonised with his father’s deeper tone. Clara soon overcame her shyness, and her lighter voice joined with the men’s. In the warm heart of the Cartwright family, Clara’s fear vanished like the smoke curling up the chimney.

Clara’s eyes glistened with unshed tears. Tears of happiness.

On the mantel, the little, blue-stitched glove now hung among the decorations. It had been Hoss’s idea, and Clara had blushed at his suggestion. After being teased by Joe and Adam, she laughed and agreed, and the little glove had pride of place where all could see it.

That night in his room, Joe gazed out into the darkness. The snow had stopped, the yard was pristine and pure, not a footprint marred the surface. He reflected on how things could have gone differently. A lost, almost hidden glove. A strange, unexpected shape in the snow. The decision to look back twice. And the Ponderosa, always a sanctuary, had become a beacon to someone lost in the storm.

 Joe’s thoughts turned to Clara Finch. She appeared to be a pleasant young woman; she was a couple of years older than he, though not as old as Hoss. She wasn’t what Joe would have called beautiful, but she had an attractive way about her. Brother Hoss was enamoured with her. Maybe it could lead to something special for him. With that thought swirling around his head, Joe snuggled under his thick eiderdown and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

Morning dawned with a bright, cerulean sky. Fingers of golden sunlight found their way through the trees, creating jewel-like glitters in the snow. It was icy cold, the air clear and fresh. Bundled up against the cold, Joe and Hoss set out to retrieve Clara’s wagon. It took a couple of hours, but they found it battered, but salvageable, and her frightened horse not far away. By noon, all had safely returned to the house.

Hoss announced it would take a day or two to get the wagon fixed up and make it ready for the journey to Virginia City. Ben invited Clara to stay at the Ponderosa as their guest until then. Hoss suggested that, after Christmas, he would escort her back to town and deliver her to her uncle, thus ensuring she didn’t have any more mishaps along the way. Much to Hoss’s chagrin, and to Joe’s amusement, Ben decided Joe would ride along with them. Two were better and safer than one with the current weather conditions.

After a wonderful few days in the bosom of the Cartwright family, Clara bid her farewell to Ben and Adam. Hop Sing made a picnic basket of goodies for her to take to her new home. He, too, had taken the young woman to his heart.

Clara thanked them again and again. She promised she would visit once she was settled with her uncle. Before she left, she smiled at them all.

“You are my Christmas angels,” she kissed Ben, then Adam, “I’ll always remember this Christmas.”

And the glove remained on the mantelpiece. A small reminder that the best Christmas gifts often arrive unexpectedly. Clara had found friendship and safety. The Cartwrights gained a new friend and the memory of a special, unexpected Christmas, and maybe, just maybe, romance was on the horizon for Hoss.

                                                            The End.