The Mary Alice Christmas
Nothing had been the same since September of that year. That's when Mary Alice was sent to live with her aunt in Louisiana. Bret Maverick and Mary Alice Tompkins were fifteen-year-old sweethearts until her father was killed in a freak accident, and they'd done everything in their power to find a way around her enforced leave-taking, including running away to get married, which didn't work. When even marriage wasn't successful the inevitable happened, and with Mary Alice's departure it had gotten awfully quiet in the Maverick house. Bret had ceased speaking to either his father or his younger brother, Bart.
Beauregard Maverick wasn't worried at first; he assumed when enough time passed and Bret got over his anger, everything would return to normal. As September faded into October and Bret still wasn't talking to anyone in the little house, concern began to take hold. Bret's unwillingness to speak became the main topic of discussion between Beau and his brother Ben when they rode into town at night to play poker. Beauregard and Bentley were both professional gamblers, and most nights could be found in one of the Little Bend saloons earning their living.
"He still hasn't said anything to you? Not one word?" Ben asked his older brother on this particular night.
"Not a sound," Beau answered. "I don't know if he can still talk."
"Oh, he can talk," Ben assured his brother. "He talks to me whenever he's at the house. And he talks plenty to Lily Mae and Beau. I've heard him chatterin' away." Beau was Ben's son, younger than Bret but older than Bart, and named for his Uncle Beauregard. Lily Mae was their long time housekeeper.
"Well, he won't speak to either me or his brother."
"What's he mad at Bart for?" Ben asked.
"He found out Bart told me they ran off to get married. He ain't talked to Bart since."
Ben couldn't help but laugh. "Must be awful quiet around your house."
"It is, most of the time. Bart and I talk to each other, but there's no three-handed card games at night anymore. Kinda hard to play poker when ya don't say nothin' to the men you're playin' against. Ain't you noticed he don't go into Little Bend with us? And if we're playin' poker in the same saloon, he don't ever sit at either of our tables?'
"Now that you mention it, yeah, I did notice. I just figured he didn't wanna play against us. Can't blame him for that," Ben reminded his brother. "Beau don't wanna play against us, either."
"That's different. At least your son talks to you."
"Have you tried askin' him a question?"
Beauregard nodded. "Yep. He don't answer me. Or he nods or shakes his head, if that'll work. He's about to drive me crazy."
'That ain't a far trip,' Ben thought, but said nothing. They rode a bit further before he finally asked, "Do you want me to talk to him?"
"Naw, not just yet. I'm willin' to wait a little longer and see if he comes around. I'll let ya know if anything changes."
"Alright, Beauregard. You just tell me if you want me to have a sit down with your oldest."
XXXXXXXX
October turned into November, and what passed as fall came to Little Bend. Slowly, over a matter of weeks, Bret broke his silence with part of his family and began speaking to his brother again. Bart was overjoyed to have him back, and Beauregard's distress temporarily eased somewhat. Much as he tried to make progress with his oldest son, however, nothing worked. Ben watched his brother become more and more withdrawn and finally resolved that something had to be done.
A week or so later, Bret and Bart were in Beau's room playing poker when Bentley decided the time to talk with his oldest nephew had come. Ben waited until Bret wandered downstairs for a drink and offered him a cup of coffee, on the condition that Bret sit for a while.
"Is this about Pappy?" Bret questioned as he drank his coffee.
"Yeah, it is, nephew. How long you gonna punish him?"
"I'm not punishin' him. I'm just not speakin' to him. And you know why."
"I think you've made your point." Ben was determined to change Bret's mind.
"Have I, Uncle Ben? Why couldn't Pappy let us get married? Why'd he have to stop us? Mary Alice and I write to each other, but it ain't the same. She's got a life there, an I'm stuck here with no life at all. Ain't never gonna forget what he did to us."
Ben shook his head and sat down at the table. "He did what he thought was best, boy. He didn't do it to punish you or Mary Alice. You was too young, and if you think about it you'll know he did the right thing."
"No disrespect, Uncle Ben, but I'll never believe that. And nothin' you can say is gonna make me."
Before Ben could say anything else, Bart and Beau came hurrying in. "You in trouble, brother Bret?" the youngest Maverick questioned.
"No, Bart, he ain't in trouble. We was just talkin'."
It didn't take long for Bart to figure out what they were talking about. "Pappy?"
"Yeah," Bret answered. "About Pappy."
"Somethin' wrong with Uncle Beauregard?" Beau asked his father.
Ben reached over and patted Beau's arm. "No, son, nothin's wrong with your uncle. He's just . . . he's just unhappy, is all."
"Because Bret don't talk to him?" Bart asked.
"That's right. Because I don't talk to him."
Bart grinned. "That's easy to fix." He turned to his brother. "Start talkin' to Pappy again, why don't ya?"
"Can't."
"Why not?" Beau asked.
Bart jumped in. "Because of what Pappy did to him an Mary Alice."
Bret glared at his brother but answered Beau anyway. "That's right, Cousin Beau. Pappy wouldn't let us get married. And I ain't never gonna forgive him for it."
Ben sighed. This was not going the way he'd hoped it would. "Bret . . . "
"No, Uncle Ben. No more. C'mon Bart, we're goin' home." Bret stood up from the table and headed for the front door.
"Bret, wait!" Bart called, and went running after his brother.
"What're you gonna do, Pa?" Beau asked.
"Not much I can do, son. Just wait and pray that your cousin changes his mind."
"Don't hold your breath for that, Pa." Beau's words would prove prophetic.
XXXXXXXX
November passed much the same as October had, with no change in the war of silence that raged between Beauregard and his eldest son. Bart was as miserable as his father and brother, and the closer Christmas got the gloomier the Maverick household became. Bret wondered what was happening in Louisiana, as Mary Alice's letters were fewer and farther between. Worst of all, he began to suspect that his father had been right in preventing him from getting married.
The last week before Christmas, Bart and Beau discussed the situation while they walked home from school. "Can I come over and stay with you and Uncle Ben?" Bart asked.
"Are you serious?" Beau responded.
"Yep."
"Bret still not talkin' to your Pa?"
"Nope."
"Since September?"
Bart nodded. "It's like livin' in a jail. Bret talks to me, and I talk to Pappy. I can't even get 'em to agree on havin' a Christmas tree. It's just like the year after momma died. Remember when the three of us went out and cut down that Virginia Pine?"
Beau thought about Christmas so many years ago and laughed. "Yep. Took us dang near all night to get it down and back to your house. You think we're gonna have to do that again?"
"Gosh, I hope not," Bart answered. "Maybe if I left for a while they'd work it all out."
"You think?"
Bart shook his head. "Nope. But it's worth a shot."
"It's alright with me if it's alright with Pa. You know we got the room." That was certainly true. Uncle Ben's house had so many rooms that he laughingly referred to it as 'the mansion.'
"Sure would be nice to live with people that talk to each other."
"Not so much as you'd think," Beau replied, and they both laughed nervously.
Instead of heading towards home at the fork in the road, Bart walked on to his uncle's house. The boys found Ben in the kitchen with Lily Mae, and Bart wasted no time.
"Uncle Ben, can I come stay with you and Lily Mae for a while?"
"Is it that bad at your place?" Ben asked the boy.
"Yes, sir, it wears one down after a while. Pappy don't sleep much, and Bret's always in a state about somethin'. It's worse than after Momma died. An nobody cares about Christmas. I need to be someplace happy for a while."
Lily Mae and Ben exchanged looks. "Mr. Ben . . . " the housekeeper started.
"I know, Lily. Alright, nephew, let's ride over an talk to your pa. We'll see what he has to say about it."
XXXXXXXX
Beauregard shook his head. "Don't surprise me one bit. I know poor Bart's been beside himself for a while." Beau and Ben were sitting at the kitchen table drinking coffee, discussing what was rapidly becoming the untenable situation. "You think it's for the best?"
Ben could see the toll Bret's stubbornness was taking on his father. Generally so easy to get along with and respectful, Beauregard's oldest son was behaving every bit as pig-headed as his father was capable of being. Probably more so, since this had now been going on for more than three months.
"Might do Bart some good," Ben offered. "Sure wouldn't hurt him none. Maybe his brother'd come to his senses."
Beau was willing to try almost anything to get through to his firstborn, including allowing his youngest to move in with Bentley temporarily. "Alright. Let's see what happens." He raised his voice loud enough to be heard down the hall. "Bartley, come here please."
Bart came in a hurry, hoping for good news from his father. "Pappy?"
"Do you really want to stay with your uncle and cousin for a while?"
Bart nodded eagerly. "Yes, sir. I'd be real pleased if I could."
Beauregard sighed heavily. "Alright, pack some clothes. You can ride back with Ben."
"Thanks, Pappy." Bart turned to go back to the boys' bedroom, then faced his father again for a moment. "Sorry."
"It's alright, boy, I understand why you wanna go. I ain't upset with you."
"Don't be mad at Bret, Pappy. He's . . . he's all messed up right now."
"I'm not mad at him, Bart." Beauregard weighed his words carefully. "I'm disappointed in him. He's too much like me, and he's hurtin' people he don't intend to. And I don't know what to do about it." Unexpectedly he reached out and grasped his son in his embrace. Bart was almost startled; Pappy wasn't given to displays of affection. "I love you Bartley; don't ever forget that. I love your brother, too; he just can't see it right now. Now scoot," and Beau smacked Bart on his backside. The teenager walked back to the bedroom, where his older brother was lying on the bed petting one of the hounds.
"You in trouble for somethin'?" Bret asked.
"Nope," Bart answered as he gathered together a few pieces of clothing.
"What are you doin' then?"
Bart set the clothes on his bed. "I'm goin' to stay with Ben for a while."
"Why?" There was just a trace of distress in the question.
Bart stopped what he was doing and turned to face his brother. "That oughtta be easy to figure out."
"Well, it ain't. Why you goin' to Uncle Ben's house?"
"Because of you."
"Me? What did I do?" Bret sat up and rested his feet on the floor. The hound jumped down from the bed and waddled out of the room.
The younger boy wondered if his brother really didn't know what he'd done, or if he was just being difficult right now. "Not what you do. What you don't do."
"Oh. You mean not speakin' to Pappy?" Bret asked ironically.
"That's what I mean. You know how much that bothers me. And it bothers Pappy, too. When you gonna forget it and start talkin' to him again?"
The words were casual enough, but the tone of the voice was anything but. "Never gonna forgive him, Bart. I just can't. I've . . . I've tried."
Bart sat down on his bed, next to the stack of clothes. "You hafta find a way, Brother Bret. He's our Pappy, and he did what he thought was best. Even if you don't agree with him."
Very softly his brother answered him. "I know that."
"Then why . . ."
"Because. I love her, Bart, and I think I'm losin' her. And that wouldn'ta happened if we was married."
They sat in silence for a few minutes, each on his own bed watching his brother from across the room. "I'm sorry, Bret, if that's true. But it ain't gonna help any to keep up this not talkin' to Pappy. Start talkin' to him again, huh? If you can't do it for him, do it for me."
There was genuine sorrow in Bret's eyes as he answered his younger brother. "I . . . I can't, Bart. I'm sorry."
Bart stood and picked up the few clothes sitting on his bed. "I'm sorry too, Bret."
XXXXXXXX
Two days later Bart and Beau were in the corral attempting to fix a broken spot in the fence when a horse and rider approached. It took Bart a few minutes to realize it was his brother. "Hey, Bart!" came the cry from the horse.
"Bret, what are you doin' here?"
The older brother dismounted and tied his horse up to the fence. "Hey, Beau. How are ya?" He turned to Bart. "Can we talk? I got somethin' to ask you."
"Sure." Bart ducked through the fence and the two brothers made their way towards the house. "What's wrong?"
"How do you know somethin's wrong?"
"Because you're here. Is it Pappy?"
Bret shook his head. "No. Well, sorta. I been thinkin' bout what you said when you left. About Pappy doin' what he thought was best. Do you think he was right?"
That was the one question that Bret hadn't asked before, and Bart wondered how to answer it. In the end, he opted for the truth. "Yeah, Bret, I do. What happens when I'm done with schoolin' and I'm ready to leave Little Bend? You and Mary Alice are married, maybe with kids, and you can't go. How would you feel, watchin' me ride off into the rest of my life alone? Leavin' you there day after day, doin' what to scratch out some kinda livin'? How long before you'd hate us all for lettin' you get married before we got to do what we been waitin' our whole lives to do? Huh? How long?"
They'd stopped under the shade of a Cottonwood tree, and Bret leaned back against the trunk. "When'd you get so smart, little brother?"
"Shoot, it ain't smart. I had nothin' to do but think about it for three months. Even I can figure out what Pappy was tryin' to do if you give me enough time. Now what?"
Bret dug the toe of his boot into the dirt before he looked up. His voice was quiet, and steady, and more sure than it had been in months. "It's almost Christmas, Bart, and I miss you, and him, and . . . us. All of us, together. I can't do it no more." He looked out across Uncle Ben's land before he continued. "I can't stay mad at him forever. It ain't doin' nobody no good. Not you . . . not Pappy . . . especially not me. If I promise to start talkin' to him again, will you come home with me?"
Bart grinned. "When?"
Bret grinned back at him. "Now. Tonight. He's goin' into town with Ben. We can be there when he gets home in the mornin'. Whatta ya say?"
"I'd say it's about time."
XXXXXXXX
Bart gathered up his clothes and rode home in the dark long after Ben left to meet Beauregard for a night of poker playing in Little Bend. When he reached the house, Bret was sitting at the kitchen table waiting for him. A freshly cut Virginia Pine tree stood in the corner of the front room, and there was a fire burning in the fireplace. "Couldn't wait for me, huh?" Bart asked when he saw the tree.
Bret laughed, a decidedly Bret-sounding laugh. "Nope, thought I'd save us some time. Remember where the ornaments are?"
"How could I forget?"
Bret made coffee while Bart went to their father's room to retrieve Momma's ornaments. Two trips for the ornaments, one for the angel that went on top. They took their time and reminisced about that second Christmas after the household had shrunk from four to three; the first year they had a tree after Momma died. They laughed together when they realized this tree was bigger than last year's, and once again they were gonna need a deck of cards as additional ornaments to fill in the bare spots on it. They expected to be long done by the time Beauregard returned from Little Bend, but the hours had gone quickly and they were just finishing the decorating when they heard Pappy's horse. "I'll make more coffee," Bart volunteered, and was in the process of doing just that when the front door opened. Beau hesitated in the doorway – what was Bart doing home? His eyes strayed towards the newly erected Christmas tree, and he smiled. His youngest son headed towards him with a fresh cup of coffee. "Mornin', Pappy. Hope you don't mind, we put up the tree without you."
"We?" Beau asked tentatively.
That's when his oldest son came out from behind the tree and headed his way. "Me and Bart. Merry Christmas, Pappy. Sorry we didn't get it up sooner."
Beauregard shook his head. Had he heard correctly? Was that really Bret speaking to him? Was it just for Christmas, or was the war really over? "Bret?"
Bret lowered his head and looked away. "Yeah, it's really me, Pappy. Thought it was about time. You got any objections?"
A shake of the head. Beau wasn't sure he trusted his voice to answer. He set down the cup of coffee and gathered his youngest son towards him. He reached out his other arm towards his firstborn, who was as tall as he was, and wrapped him in a similar embrace. "Why?"
"Somethin' Bart said. He got me to thinkin' about what Mary Alice told me once."
"What was that?" Bart asked.
"She told me I had to forgive myself, so I could learn to forgive others."
The father held both of his sons close, in a show of affection and joy. "Then let's have a Mary Alice Christmas, shall we, boys?"
And all was forgiven.