THREE
oooooooooo
The clock struck three as Ben Cartwright climbed the stairs, cookies in hand. He stopped at Joseph's door and looked down the hallway. It pained him to think that he wouldn't have a chance to talk to his middle boy, but he had made up his mind to go. His sons would be better off without him. He'd seen a few things in the kitchen as he scrounged around that indicated Hop Sing was not adhering to his order that Christmas be ignored. Of course, none of them had expected him back. He hadn't intended to come back, but after the deal he was brokering fell through something – he had no idea what – had drawn him home a surely as a bee drew a bear to honey. Perhaps it was a need to see his boys and to make sure they were well. He'd look in on Hoss after he left the plate for Joe. That way, he would have seen him at least.
And then he would excuse himself from their lives again.
Ben didn't know what he expected as he stepped in the door, but it was certainly not what he found. He'd crossed all the way over to the bed and placed the plate on the table beside it before he noticed – and when he did, he was stunned. Apparently, where his order was being circumnavigated downstairs, in Joseph's room it had been completely ignored. A small, three-foot-tall fir tree stood in front of the boy's window, bathed in tinsel and hung with handmade ornaments, most of which glinted in the silvery moonlight. There were packages under it – some wrapped by Hoss no doubt as the paper was asymmetrical at best in its application. As his indignation rose, Ben noted idly that the tree had no topper.
Good.
At least there was one thing in the house as empty as his soul.
"Are you mad, Papa?" a small voice asked.
Mad? He was furious!
Rounding, Ben glared at the small figure in the bed with its wide eyes and tousled curls – and then felt like a jackass. His son was terrified. Joseph's face, where it showed above the coverlet, shone with tears as bright as the tinsel on the tree.
"I'm sorry, Papa, if I made you mad. Adam said it would be...be all right..." The little boy shuddered. "...he didn't think you'd be home."
Feeling about as low as the belly of a snake, Ben crossed to the bed and sat by his son. When he reached out, Joseph flinched. He held still until the boy recognized that he meant him no harm, and then laid his hand alongside the child's cherubic cheek.
"I'm sorry, son," he said, his voice quivering.
Joseph looked t him as if he was a loon. "You ain't done nothin' wrong, Papa. I've been a bad boy."
Ben turned and glanced at the tree. It sparkled in the moonlight, condemning him. Turning back, he said, "Because you had Adam put up a tree?"
"I know'd you didn't want one in the house. I know'd it would make you sad."
Ben sighed. "And how did you know it would make me sad?"
"Cause, like me, it reminds you of Mama."
The older man was struck like a blow by memories. He saw them all gathered in the great room, their voices lifted in song. Marie sat on the settee with Joseph in the crook of her arm, smiling, as his older sons decorated the tree. There were parties. Guests. And then, after the guests had gone and the boys were in bed, that kiss under the mistletoe and the journey up the stairs to their room.
Dear God, how he missed her.
"Papa?"
Ben blinked back tears as he came to himself. "Yes, Joseph?"
"How come thinkin' about Mama makes you sad? Don't you love her anymore?"
That stopped him cold.
"Of course, I love your mother."
Little Joe cocked his head. A frown marred his precious face. "Don't love make you happy? You ain't happy."
The older man shook his head. He'd have to talk to Hoss about his grammar. "I'm 'not', son," he corrected.
Joseph's little head bobbed up and down. "That's what Adam says. You ain't."
"Adam?" Ben thought of the teenager standing there, staring at him from his position behind Marie's settee. "What does your brother say?"
Joe looked frightened again. "Will I get him in trouble?"
Ben shook his head. "No, son. Just tell me the truth."
"Oh...kay. Adam says you're sad 'cause of Mama. He says, when Mama went away she took your heart with her and there ain't nothin' but a big ol' hole there now." His youngest hesitated and then reached out. His tiny fingers touched his vest. "Can I find it for you, Papa?"
Ben fought back tears. He drew a breath to steady himself before taking Joseph's small fingers in his own. "You don't have to find it, son. It's here." He touched the boy's golden curls. "With you..." He cleared his throat. "With you and your brothers."
Joseph sat there, silent, for some time. He seemed to be considering all he had said. Finally, scrunching up his nose, his child said, "I gots me presents for Adam and Hoss under my tree. I made them myself." He hesitated. "Is it...is it okay that that there's one for you too?"
Ben glanced again at the little Christmas tree – nearly as small as its owner – and the wrapped boxes beneath it. "One of those is for me?"
His son crawled out of his covers and came to sit beside him. His curly head bobbed up and down.
Ben hesitated and then wrapped an arm around Little Joe's waist. "Did you make it?" he asked.
Joseph looked uncomfortable. Finally he admitted, "I didn't think you'd want one so it ain't from me. Sorry."
"Really?" He was surprised. "Then who is it from?"
"The pretty lady with the yellow hair."
It took him a moment. Then, that night of laughter came back to him again– along with the memory of the following day. "Joseph, you know there is no such lady."
The boy looked affronted. "I ain't lyin'. You don't let us lie."
"I didn't..." Ben cleared his throat. "I didn't mean to imply that you were lying, son. I'm sure you believe she is real. Perhaps, you were dreaming?"
"She is real, Papa! She is! The pretty lady with yellow hair comes to my room and sings to me and laughs with me and tells me all about mama." His voice grew quiet. "She tells me about you too."
Ben didn't know what to think. "What does she tell you about me?"
Little Joe's green eyes grew wide.
"That...you ain't gonna learn to live 'til you learn to laugh again."
oooooooooo
Several hours later Ben Cartwright sat in the chair by his youngest's bed, blinking back sleep as he stared at the Christmas tree his sons had erected – despite his wishes. It sparkled with the light of the stars that spilled in the window and seemed to glow. Ben blinked and the light diminished. Then he leaned forward and dropped his head into his hands.
He felt like a complete failure.
"You are too hard on yourself, Benjamin."
Startled, he looked up. The light around the tree had returned. It intensified and coalesced into the form of a small, slender woman.
A woman with yellow hair.
She was about his age. He blonde hair was upswept and, as his son had said, touched with silver at the temples. She wore a simple pale blue dress. Behind and about her there was a sort of pale pink light, like the shimmer on pearls.
Ben sat straight up. He blinked and rubbed his eyes. When the vision persisted, he asked, "Who are you? How did you get into my son's room?"
"I have always been here. You simply lacked the faith to see me."
"No. I would have known..."
"Non, mon cher fils," she said, her eyes sparkling. "Not unless I had wished it."
Mon cher fils.
My dear son.
"Who are you?" he asked again.
The woman moved from the window to his side, bringing the shimmering pink luminescence with her. Holding his gaze, she reached out and laid a hand alongside his cheek. "Once upon a time, mon cher fils, you would have known me. I am love and light and laughter. I am a reminder of all that you have forgotten."
"You're...French?"
She laughed and the sound was like tinkling bells. "I was...once upon a time."
There was something about her – something familiar. It was close. He could almost grasp it.
Almost.
"You try too hard," she said, as if reading his thoughts.
"I have to," he sighed. "I have a ranch to run. Sons to provide for. They need a place to sleep, clothes on their backs, food in their bellies..."
"You have forgotten to mention the one thing they need most."
"What is that?" he demanded.
She moved away from him. Crossing to the other side of the bed, she gazed down lovingly at his young son. "You, Benjamin. They need you." She laid a hand on Joseph's curls. "Especially this little one. It is not too late."
"Too late? What do you mean?"
The blonde woman looked up. Her gaze pierced his heart. "Shall I paint you a picture, mon fils? A portrait of a fiery young man whose life has been formed by loss. Who desperately seeks his father's attention in the only way he knows how. Whose days end not in joy but in grief – at the end of a rope."
His eyes went to his sleeping son, so young , so innocent.
"No."
"Oui." The woman returned to his side. Reaching out, she took his hand in hers. "Joseph is as fiery as his mother. Just as strong and just as fragile."
"What do you know of Marie?" he challenged, his voice choking as he spoke his late wife's name.
Her hand moved to his heart.
"I know she would want you to laugh again."
oooooooooo
Ben started awake. He blinked and looked at the window. Joseph's Christmas tree was there, the tinsel and ornaments glinting in the dawning light. Outside, snow was falling. He was surprised to find that the sight filled him with joy and not sadness.
"Morning, Papa," a small voice said. "Is it okay to wish you Merry Christmas?"
The older man closed his eyes. He drew in a breath as he did and then let it out slowly. Once he had regained his composure, Ben looked at his boy. "Yes, Joseph, and a Merry Christmas to you."
Little Joe studied him. Finally, he asked, "Did you talk to the lady with the yellow hair?"
There was no reason to deny it – dream or reality, he had talked to her.
"Yes, son, I did."
"Did you open her present yet?"
Ben looked at the tree. There were several presents under it. They all looked the same – except one. It was wrapped in a beautiful pale pink paper than shone like the inside of a Queen conch shell and looked quite out of place next to the other, very masculine boxes. He rose and went to the tree and picked it up.
"This one?" he asked his son.
"Yes, sir."
The rancher returned to the chair by the bed and started to sit, but then changed his mind. He looked at his son. "Would it be all right, Joseph, if I sat beside you on the bed while I opened it?"
His son looked a little frightened, but nodded his head.
That look pained him.
As he slipped in beside the boy, Ben said, "Joseph, can I ask you something?"
The little boy nodded.
"Please, call me Pa."
Joe's eyes lit up. "Like Adam and Hoss do?"
He nodded. "Just like Adam and Hoss do." He held out his hand. "Is it a deal?"
Solemnly his small son shook it. Then he asked, "You gonna open the lady's package...Pa?"
He was almost frightened to.
"I'll help if you're scared."
Ben looked at the boy, surprised by his perception. Then he nodded. "Thank you, son."
Together, they took hold of the ends of the ribbon bow on top and pulled. It seemed to magically fall away, leaving a small box wrapped in pink paper. Next. he indicated to Little Joe where to place his finger and instructed the boy to run it along the seam, dislodging the glue. He did the same on the other side and then to two of them – together – pulled the paper away to reveal a printed paper box covered with drawings of angels.
"It looks like the ones Mama had. The ones she kept her hats in," his son said and then winced as if he had said something wrong.
"Yes, it does. Mama had a lot of pretty things."
Joseph looked up at him. "Mama was pretty. Wasn't she, Pa?"
Tears entered his eyes. "Yes, she was." He hesitated. " Joseph, you know I loved her very much. Just like I love you."
His son' eyes narrowed. "You're different, Pa. How come?"
He winked. "I met your lady with the yellow hair."
As his son watched, Ben lifted the lid off the box. When he saw what it held, he began to laugh. In fact, laughter bubbled up in him and spilled over until tears of joy were running down his cheeks.
Joseph was clapping his hands. "See! See, I told you! She said you needed to learn to laugh again!"
Ben ruffled his son's unruly golden curls. Then, he ran his sleeve over his face to wipe away the tears. "Why don't you take it out, son," he said.
Little Joe's eyes danced with excitement.
He watched as the boy pulled out the yellow-haired lady's present . Then he picked him up – present and all – and carried him over to his tree. Joseph looked at him. When he nodded, his son soberly planted the gift on the tree's piney top.
Stepping back, Ben gazed in wonder at the handmade angel with her cornflower-yellow yarn hair, pale blue dress, and pink pearlescent wings.
Joe was looking in the box. "Pa, there's a note in here." He pulled out a piece of paper. "I can't read it. Can you?"
"A note? Really?" Taking his son and crossing back over to the bed, Ben took his seat as he accepted the note from him. His eyes quickly scanned its content. A moment later he lowered it to his lap.
"Who's it from, Pa?" Little Joe asked as his fingers sought the lightly scented paper.
It took a moment for him to reply. "It's from your grandmother."
"Grand mother? Does that mean she's really big like Hoss?"
He chuckled. "No, just really old like me."
Joseph blinked. "Okay."
That made the laughter bubble up again. The note in his hand silenced it – with awe.
"What does it say, Pa?"
He hadn't realized Marie's mother was still living. His wife had never spoken of her, and he wondered now if they had parted on less than friendly terms. Ben's eyes returned to the tree in the window. The little yellow-haired angel gazed back at him, its blue eyes wide and wise.
Clearing his throat, he read:
'Fille chérie, It has been more than a year since your maman has heard from you. One of the late Marius Angeville's friends informed me that you had moved to the Nevada territory and have a little one. I pray this letter finds you there. With all my heart, mon petite Marie, I wish I could see you again, but it will not happen in this lifetime, and so I send your dear little Anne in my place. Do you remember the beautiful lady with the yellow hair who kept watch over you? I told her you have need of her now. Place her on your tree each year at Christmas and she will watch over your small son and remind his dear mama and papa of what is important...'
"Love, light, and laughter," Ben read, his voice soft as the fall of snow outside.
"Was she right, Pa?" Little Joe asked. "Are you all better now that you learned how to laugh again?"
He circled his son's small form with an arm and drew him in close.
"Yes, son. I'm all better now."