"Mamas, don't let your babies

grow up to be cowboys…

Cowboys like smoky old pool rooms

and clear mountain mornings,

little warm puppies and children

and girls of the night.

And them that don't know him won't like him,

and them that do sometimes won't know how to take him.

He ain't wrong; he's just different.

But his pride won't let him do things to make you think he's right."

- "Mammas Don't Let Your Babies Grow Up to Be Cowboys," Ed & Patsy Bruce, sung by Willie Nelson & Waylon Jennings

.

.

The next morning Isaac woke and ran out of his room to find that both Eliza and Arthur were already up and sitting on either side of the fireplace. They looked up and smiled at him.

"Merry Christmas, dear."

"Hey, Isaac! Merry Christmas, partner."

Isaac beamed. "You're still here!" he said as he ran up to hug Arthur.

"'Course I am. Wouldn't miss Christmas. What kind of a friend would I be?"

Isaac looked at him. "We are friends, aren't we?"

"You bet," he said patting his back as Isaac squeezed him tighter. Arthur smiled. "You like me now, wait 'til you see what I gotchya."

Isaac pulled back and gasped. "What is it?!"

"Well, hold on now," Arthur chuckled. "You open your mother's gift first."

Eliza handed Isaac something thin and rectangular, wrapped in parcel paper and tied with twine. Isaac took it, hurriedly pulling at the string and tearing the paper.

He looked at the cover of the book. "T-twen…ty…" Isaac read.

Arthur peered over his shoulder and read, "Twenty Thousand Leagues under the Sea."

"Arthur…" Eliza groaned, cocking her head at him.

"What?"

"He could've read it on his own. Have some patience."

Arthur scoffed through his nose. "You know who you're talkin' to, right?"

She rolled her eyes at him.

"Another book for my shelf!" Isaac said.

"You like it?" Eliza smiled.

He nodded.

"Bookshop keeper told me it's about a special underwater vessel, and all the adventures they find deep in the sea," Eliza said as Isaac came to her lap. "I thought you might like a new story."

"Thank you, Mama," he said kissing her cheek.

Arthur took a sip of coffee as he watched them. "All right," he said. "Mine ain't gonna keep much longer."

Isaac gasped and hopped off his mother's lap. "What is it? What is it?!"

"Wait right here," Arthur said as he set his mug down and went out the front door.

Isaac scrunched his eyebrows and looked at his mother, who looked at him and shrugged. Isaac squirmed, trying to resist the impulse to go to the door and peek out.

Several seconds later Arthur returned with a lidded red box about the size of a large bread loaf that he held in both hands. Isaac's eyes went wide as he set it on the floor in front of him.

When Isaac reached out to open it, the lid popped on its own, and Isaac gave a slight jump. As Isaac looked at his mother in confusion, disbelief, and slight fear, Arthur grinned wide and bit his thumbnail to keep from laughing.

Isaac looked up at Arthur, his eyes wide.

"Go on," Arthur said.

Isaac inched closer to the box and stuck a finger out to push the lid off. When he did, a small red puppy with long, droopy ears slowly stuck its head up.

Isaac's eyes went wide and his jaw dropped as he began to scoop the puppy up. "A puppy! Mama, look! My very own puppy!"

Eliza was speechless. She looked at Arthur, her eyes big as oranges. "Arthur Morgan!" she whispered.

At that, Arthur lost control and erupted into snickering.

Eliza noticed Isaac was having trouble lifting the pup, so she told him to sit on the sofa as she brought it to him.

"This is the best Christmas," Isaac whispered as he stroked the pup's head. "Arthur here and a new book and a puppy. The best Christmas."

Arthur smiled and shook his head. "It was a hell of a time trackin' down someone who had an actual pup to sell, and not just pickin' up a stray dog."

Isaac lifted the pup under the arms, looked at it, and pursed his lips. "I'll call him…Alfred."

"It's actually a girl, Isaac," Arthur said.

"How do you know?"

Arthur rubbed his neck. "Well, uh… Your mother can talk to you about that…later," he cleared his throat. He could feel Eliza eyeing him and couldn't resist glancing over. When he saw the look she was giving him, he shrugged.

She grinned and shook her head.

"What should I call her then?" Isaac asked.

"Well," Arthur said, "if you wanted Alfred, why not just call her…Allie?"

Isaac smiled. "I like it!"

"Allie it is then," his mother said.

Arthur reached over and rubbed the pup's head. "She ain't just any pup, neither. She's a redbone coonhound. One of the best kinds of dog there is." He took the pup's velvet ear between his fingers and eyed Isaac, who was enthralled with the dog, cooing and whispering to her. "Now, this ain't like any of your toys, Isaac. Listen to me. Sit up, now, and listen."

Eliza watched as Isaac sat up straight and looked at Arthur.

"Isaac, this is a living thing," Arthur said. "You have to take care of her. Do right by her. That means you pay close attention to her, all right?"

"Yes, sir," Isaac said quietly, nodding.

"This is your job. Not your mama, not nobody but you. Hear me? You feed her, clean up after her, and make sure she doesn't get sick. It's all part of takin' care of somebody else. I don't wanna hear from your mother that you're neglectin' her. I wouldn't have gotten her for you if I didn't think you could handle it."

"Yes, Arthur. I will. I promise."

"Good," Arthur said with a single nod. "You do right by a dog, you'll find you have no better friend." He smirked as he watched Isaac go back to snuggling and whispering to the pup. "Happy?"

Isaac nodded profusely.

Arthur chuckled and let his head fall back slightly, reveling in his triumph as he came to sit beside Eliza.

She was still dumbfounded. "How did you…?"

"Couldn't rightly leave her in the barn overnight; she would've frozen to death or been eaten up by wolves. Hid her in my jacket when I got back yesterday, put her behind the tree when you weren't lookin'. Kept her on the porch this mornin'."

Her face softened with understanding, and her jaw fell open. "Arthur…" she smiled and shook her head as she looked back at her son.

He saw the slightest hesitation on her face. "What is it?"

She sighed and struggled with the words. "I know you mean well, Arthur. And look at the smile on his face. He needs as much of that as he can get." She looked at Arthur. "I'm not complaining; truly, I'm not. I'm glad he's engaging with you, and that he has a new friend. But I won't lie when I say I shudder at the thought of another mouth to feed."

He eyed her. "Money I've been leaving ain't enough?"

"It lasts us…a couple months. If we're frugal."

He shook his head and grumbled, "I'm sorry. I didn't realize." He looked at her again. "How you gettin' by for that last month?"

"I take odd jobs here and there, while he's at school."

His expression turned hard, and he shook his head. "No. I can't have that, Eliza. You've got too much work as it is. You'll spread yourself too thin."

She could see how disappointed and hard on himself he was just at learning the truth of how they got on. She'd known he would be; it was why she'd tried to avoid letting on all this time. "We're makin' it work, Arthur, honest. Don't think for a second I'm not grateful, and don't think I have it on my mind to ask for more."

"I know you don't, and you wouldn't. You're too good," he said, frustration edging his voice. "But you've gotta tell me these things, Eliza," he said with a shake of his head. He went into a lower whisper, "It's not just your son; it's mine we're talkin' about too. And if I can do more to take care of him, I will. But I've gotta know about it first."

She nodded. "All right," she said. "You have my word. From now on. You'll know the real state of things."

He nodded. "Thank ya."

She took a breath and decided to try to lighten the mood. Looking at Isaac she smiled as she shook her head. "Arthur Morgan, you sure can keep a secret. So that's what you were doing in town…?"

He looked over at her and grinned in response. "Well, that, and this," he said turning to reach behind him. When he turned back around Eliza was holding something out to him, with a big smile on her face.

"Merry Christmas," she said.

"What's this—for me?" he chuckled. He took it and unfolded the parcel paper to reveal a portrait photograph of Isaac.

"I took him to have it taken on his sixth birthday. Was keepin' it for the next time you were here," she said. "He looks so darn much like you, it's uncanny."

"He's beautiful," he said quietly. He touched the corner of the photograph and swallowed. "Thank you, Eliza. I'll keep it pressed tight in my journal."

"I'm glad," she said standing.

"W-well, hold on a minute," he said pulling her back. "You didn't think I'd forget you, did ya?"

Her eyebrows came together as she sat back on the sofa. He pulled what he'd had behind him and handed it to her. "Didn't have the time nor patience to wrap it."

She turned it over to see it was a small framed sketch of a landscape scene, with one side clearly ruffled from a neat tear.

"It's a page from my journal, from when I was on the road," he said. "I had 'em put a little frame on it when I was in town. It's not much by any means, but…I figured of all people, you might like to have it."

Eliza's eyes began filling as she touched the glass of the frame. She hugged it to her chest and smiled at him, then looked down at it again.

"Well, I'm no Rembrandt, but…I reckon she likes it," he grinned.

"Thank you, Arthur." She stood looking for a place to hang it but caught herself. "Oh, I'll need to go get a hammer and nail."

"Ah, I can do that. Just point to where you want it."

"Right here should do," she said holding it up against the wall.

"Well, right there it is then," he said. "Won't take me but a minute."

Later that day Arthur came up to Eliza when the three of them were outside. "Hey. Forgot to pick this up yesterday. Would you mind goin' into town to get it for me?" he said handing her a slip of paper.

She took it and looked at what he'd written. "Arthur, I was just about to go inside and begin cooking Christmas dinner. And I doubt the bookstore will be open on Christmas Day."

"No, but the mercantile might. They'll probably have that one today."

She eyed him. "Why can't you go get it yourself?"

"Well, I thought I heard you say you needed some other things. Guess I thought you'd be goin' into town anyway."

"Yes, but not today of all days!"

"Well, now you've got one more thing to get. Better get a move on."

"I don't know, Arthur, I've got a lot to do today—"

"Come on," he groaned, shooing her towards her horse. "It shouldn't take you long."

She shot him an incredulous look. "A trip to town always takes a while!"

He chuckled wheezily, "Damn it, Eliza. Humor me."

Once she'd gone, he called Isaac over to him. "Hey. Isaac. I've sent your mama into town—"

"On Christmas?!"

"Yes, on Christmas! Now, listen. We're gonna make your mama supper for once. Now the only thing I know to make is a nice, hearty stew. But we can still do that up fancy-like. Remember that buck I brought home the other day?"

Isaac nodded.

"I'm 'on chop that up, and I need you to go into the garden and pick some nice, big carrots and parsnips. Think you can do that for your—" he caught himself before he said pa and cleared his throat, "your old pal Arthur?"

Isaac smiled and nodded.

"Well all right then. Let's get to it."

Isaac made a move towards the garden, then turned back. "Hey, Arthur," he said.

"Yeah?"

"Is this a secret surprise?"

"Yeah, this is a secret surprise," Arthur chuckled. "Now go on. Make sure the foliage is good and big before you pick it," he called as Isaac darted into the garden.

A while later Isaac walked through the front door carrying bunches of root vegetables by the leafy stems and dumped them on the kitchen table.

"Ah, nah, nah!" Arthur shouted, but it was too late. He watched as the black soil bounced across the table. "Isaac, you can't bring these onto the table—this is where we eat! You gotta go wash 'em off. Go on now."

Isaac dipped his head and gathered up the vegetables. He stopped at the doorway and looked back to see Arthur grumble, "Ah!" as he wiped the table. Isaac washed at the water pump and returned with clean vegetables.

"All right, now, I'll chop these up," Arthur said. "I've already got the venison chopped and in the pot with the stock." As he chopped, he noticed Isaac's forlorn look. He nudged him. "Hey, it was an easy fix. You know I'm not cross with you, don't you?"

Isaac nodded and smiled.

Arthur reached over and ruffled his hair. "Good boy." After he finished chopping, Arthur wiped his hand on his shirt. "Now…your mama got any herbs around here?" he asked, looking around.

Isaac rose on his tip-toes and stretched to point at a top cupboard. "She dries 'em for the winter."

"Perfect," Arthur said, taking a jar down from the shelf. He threw a couple pinches into the pot. "Now it's time to take it to the fireplace." He grunted as he hefted the large pot off the counter. "I only know how to make big pots of stew, for lots of people."

Isaac laughed.

Arthur hung the pot over the fire. He stirred it a few times then let it sit, and after several minutes the stew was boiling. Arthur watched as the flames licked the bottom of the pot, and he leaned over to stir again.

"Mm-mm! Smell that?" He wafted the steam in Isaac's direction, and Isaac took a step closer to breathe it in.

Isaac watched the thick broth bubble. "Smells awful good," he said.

"Crack an egg in it, make it even better," Arthur thought aloud.

Isaac scrunched his face and looked up at him. "Huh?"

Arthur laughed. "You heard me."

Isaac bolted out of the house and ran to the chicken coop, pulling out an egg the way his mother had shown him. He came back to stand next to Arthur.

"Crack it straight into the soup?" he asked.

Arthur nodded.

Isaac pushed his thumb into the shell and dropped the egg in. He saw it sink down into the soup and watched as its white tendrils rose up to the surface.

"Whoa," Isaac said. Arthur gave it a single stir, and Isaac watched as the color of the stew changed. "It's…creamy!"

"Yup," Arthur smiled.

Just then Eliza walked through the front door to see both boys hunched over the fireplace. A rich smell hit her in the face.

"Think mama'll like it?" she heard Isaac say.

"Like what?" she said hanging her coat on a hook.

They immediately jumped and turned. She saw a startled look on their faces as they scrunched close side by side, trying to hide whatever was behind them.

"Uh…it's nothing, Mama," Isaac said. "I was just wondering if you liked your ride into town."

"Ah, what's the point, Isaac," Arthur grumbled. "We're gonna give it to her now, ain't we?"

"I guess so." A wry grin spread across Isaac's face as he looked from Arthur to her, and she was struck again by just how much he looked like his father. "Surprise!" Isaac said as he stepped aside to reveal the pot. "Merry Christmas!"

"What's this?"

"Sit at the table, Mama! We made you Christmas supper!"

"You did?!" She sat as Arthur spooned her a bowl.

"Take a bite! Take a bite, Mama!" Isaac was almost dancing with anticipation, his eyes wide.

She took a spoonful and was surprised to find how good it was. She closed her eyes. "Mm… It's actually…wonderful!"

"Don't sound so surprised," Arthur chuckled as Isaac gave a jump and nudged him in triumph.

She looked up at Arthur. "You helped him make this?" she asked with half a mouthful.

"It was all Arthur's idea!" Isaac said.

Arthur turned his head to Isaac past where he thought Eliza could see and gave him an exasperated look. "Come on, kid," he grumbled. He sighed and rubbed his neck as he turned back to Eliza. "You cook for us every day; I figured…wouldn't be right to let you do it on Christmas too."

She smiled and tried not to let the ridiculous girlish blush she knew was coming show.

Arthur saw how her eyes lit up and a rosy flush filled her face, though she tried to hide it.

"Thank you," she said taking Isaac's hand. "Both of you. It was very thoughtful." She got up as if just remembering something. "Well, I'd prepared you a surprise too! I just need to heat it."

"What is it?!" Isaac asked.

"Your favorite," Eliza smiled brightly, her eyes twinkling.

"Sweet potato pie!" he exclaimed.

Eliza pulled out a cast-iron skillet from the cupboard filled to the brim with sugared sweet potato mash and stuffed it in the iron oven.

"Guess I couldn't succeed in havin' you completely avoid cookin'," Arthur said. "I'd have needed to have got started a week ago," he chuckled.

She looked at him with a sarcastic smile. "Are you complainin'?"

"No, no!" he said holding up both hands. "Not me. Never. Sweet potato pie? No complainin' from me."

Several minutes later she pulled it out and set it on the counter. After it had cooled a bit she returned to it, admiring the golden crust and caramelized edges—her favorite part of the pie—a sign of her good work.

Just then a hand came into her view, its finger swiping a scoop of the edge she'd just been admiring. She followed the finger as it rose to see Arthur stick it in his mouth and raise his eyebrows with a mischievous smile.

"Mm. Pretty good," he mumbled.

Her eyes went wide and her jaw dropped; but try as she might, when she looked at him she couldn't keep from smiling.

At her expression, a boyish grin split his face; and he winked one of his bright eyes at her.

As he walked away, she was left entranced by how comfortable he was in their home, by how beautiful he could be when he was childlike, and by the simple fact that she hadn't scolded or swatted him. It was all she could do to take a deep breath and smile to herself.

After supper, when they were all finally resting by the fire, Eliza leaned across to him and whispered, "Oh, by the way, here's the book you wanted. You were right. They had it on display today." When he took it, she was surprised to see something akin to a bashful smile creep across his face.

"Thought I'd read him some Dickens before bed tonight."

Surprised again by the sweetness of the gesture, she smiled. "That would be lovely. I think he'd really like that."

"Isaac, how's about a Christmas bedtime story?" he said. "I had your mother pick this one up special for you today."

"Do we get to keep it?" Isaac asked.

"Yes," Arthur chuckled. "It's for you to keep."

Arthur cracked open the new book binding and read aloud as Isaac sat next to him on the sofa.

"'Marley was dead, to begin with…'" he began.

When Arthur got to the first ghost, Isaac was glued to him, hanging on his every word.

"'"Not to know that no space of regret can make amends for one life's opportunity misused!" Arthur read, employing the use of a dusty, decrepit voice to invoke the image of an old ghost. Isaac's eyes went wide; and he rested his elbows on Arthur's thigh, putting his chin on the heels of his hands. "'"Yet such was I! Oh! such was I!"'"

"You didn't tell me this had ghosts in it, Arthur!"

Arthur's eyes slid over to him. "Why would I tell you anything about it? A good reader doesn't give the good bits away."

Isaac squinted and smirked at him.

Eliza shook her head as she mended a tear in a pair of Isaac's breeches.

Arthur continued reading as the moon hung low, the owls hooted, and his son crept closer to him. "'It is a fair, even-handed, noble adjustment of things, that while there is infection in disease and sorrow, there is nothing in the world so irresistibly contagious as laughter and good-humor.'"

He glanced down when he felt his left arm being pushed up. He watched as Isaac crawled under his arm and into his lap.

"Don't stop," Isaac whispered. "It's just getting even better. I can tell."

Eliza watched as Isaac let his head fall back against his father, and Arthur gazed down at him and swallowed, finally bringing his hand around to Isaac's belly.

She smiled and tried to clear her few quiet tears so she wouldn't miss a bit of the scene as Arthur resumed reading.

As the evening wore on Isaac began to yawn, and he turned and nestled deeper into his father's chest as his eyelids began to drift to half-mast.

"'And it was always said of him,'" Arthur read quietly, his chin resting on Isaac's head, "'that he knew how to keep Christmas well, if any man alive possessed the knowledge. May that be truly said of us, and all of us. And so, as Tiny Tim observed, God bless us, every one.'"

As he read the final line of the story, he drew back and looked down to find Isaac's cheek pressed against his chest, his eyes closed and his mouth ajar. He silently kissed the top of his head once before rubbing his back. As he started to get up to carry him to bed, he caught a glimpse of Eliza watching from her seat.

He patched together an awkward, embarrassed smile and whispered, "He can't last, can he?"

She smiled. "Just like any six year-old."

They took him to bed and Eliza tucked him in, but as they were leaving the room, they heard him say, "Mama?"

Both she and Arthur turned, surprised he was still awake.

"Yes, dear?"

"You forgot," Isaac said.

"Never, baby," she said walking back. "I thought you were asleep, after Arthur's beautiful story."

"Did you like it?" Isaac asked as she sat by his bedside.

"Yes, very much. Did you?"

He nodded.

Arthur watched from behind the threshold as Eliza made a show of tucking their son deeper into his blankets.

"Goodnight," she said quietly and slowly, "sleep tight, wake up bright, in the morning light, to do what's right, with all your might."

Arthur saw Isaac's eyes follow her, enthralled by her every word.

Eliza squatted by his bed, looking down at him. "You know I love you, don't you, baby?"

He nodded.

"Do you know how much?"

A tight smile sprang across Isaac's face, and he shook his head.

"You see that bright moon?" she said looking up through his window, and Isaac followed her gaze. "All the way up to the moon, around it, and back down again."

He giggled, "That's a lot of love."

"That's right. That's a lot of love."

"I love you too, Mama."

She leaned down and kissed him. "What are you gonna dream about tonight?"

He thought for a moment. "You, and Allie…and Arthur."

Arthur smiled to himself.

"Arthur too, huh?" Eliza asked.

He nodded and tried to talk through his yawn. "And pirates!"

"Okay," she chuckled, getting up.

"Mama? Will you sing to me?"

"All right. One song, and I think you'll be asleep, little pirate. Turn over."

He turned onto his side facing away from her, and she began stroking the back of his head.

"Silent night, holy night," she sang softly, "all is calm, all is bright…"

Arthur left his place at the threshold and went into the kitchen, though he could still hear Eliza's singing and humming.

When she came out several minutes later and closed the door behind her, Arthur was pulling a mug from the shelf.

"He's finally asleep," she whispered.

"Whispering sweet nothin's?" he said.

"Oh, it's our bedtime routine. Sometimes he has me go on so long, I fall asleep beside him."

"Well, I don't blame him. You've got a beautiful singing voice, Eliza."

She nodded. "Thank you," she said quietly, trying not to blush. "More so than anything on me, huh?" she joked.

"Nah, I didn't say that," he chuckled, shaking his head and holding up a hand. "Now you're puttin' words in my mouth."

She looked at him and smiled. "You brought laughter back into these walls. Arthur, you…you really made this Christmas wonderful, from beginning to end."

"Ah, I think he did," he said nodding to Isaac's door. "He's the meaning of precious, that one."

"Yes, he is," she smiled, then peered up at him. "Something about Christmas…really brings out the little boy in you, Arthur."

He grinned. "'For it is good to be children sometimes, and never better than at Christmas,'" he quoted from the book he'd read earlier. "'Sides, you know…all work and no play makes Arthur a dull boy, and all that." He smiled at her, then looked down at what he was holding. "Here," he said, handing her the mug. "Made you a hot toddy."

"Oh," she said as she took it. "Thank you."

"Merry Christmas," he said quietly as she took a sip.

She watched from over the rim as he went to the sofa, sat down, and began removing his boots. He lied down across the cushions and pulled a blanket up over him, closing his eyes.

She watched him for a minute, then set her mug down.

Arthur opened his eyes when he felt a hand slip into his. Eliza was standing over him, a warm, rosy expression in her eyes. He sat up, and she pulled him beside her.

She drew him by the hand to her bedroom, shutting and latching the door behind them and turning the kerosene lamp all the way out.

Standing before him in the moonlight, she slipped a hand underneath the collar of his shirt and slid it across his chest, watching the cloth fall away from his broad shoulder. She leaned forward and kissed him.

"Merry Christmas, Arthur."

.

.

"You and I are complicated,

an old and tender bruise,

troubled waters separated,

islands in the room.

You and I try to ignore this

house of mirrors here,

every glance and tone distorted

year after year.

So I will swallow hard to say this,

though it might be a little rough:

If the world wants peace for Christmas,

could it not begin with us?

Maybe love is bigger.

Maybe love is stronger.

Maybe just for Christmas,

but maybe longer."

- Nichole Nordeman, "Maybe"