New Traditions

By Christine

Ben shrugged into his coat and stepped out onto the porch. He paused for a moment, allowing his eyes to adjust to the dim light. It was cold, and he tugged at his collar, pulling it up around his ears. The wind was blowing from the north and clouds chased each other across the sky. Ben had experienced enough of this weather to know there would be snow by morning. Glancing toward the corral, Ben saw the silhouette of his young son, leaning against the fence. Taking a deep breath, Ben stepped off the porch and headed to the corral.

Ben stood quietly, gently rubbing his hand up and down his son’s back. The boy’s sobs were easing now but Ben waited patiently, content to give his son as much time as needed to regain his composure.

Finally, Joseph looked up, eyes red and swollen from crying. "It….it’s not fair, Pa," he sobbed. "Why did she have to die? N…nothing’s ever going to be the same, n…never going to be the way it used to be."

Ben knelt down on his heels, looking directly into the boy’s eyes. "You’re right, Joe. Nothing is the way it used to be. No one knows how to be your mother and no one could ever replace her." Pulling Joe into an embrace, Ben rested his chin on top of the curly head. "It’s alright to be sad, son. It’s alright to miss her. She always made Thanksgiving such a special day for all of us, didn’t she?"

Ben felt the boy nod against his shoulder. "You know, Joe, Adam and Hoss were only trying to make sure tomorrow would be enjoyable for all of us, but especially for you. They know how much you love the day and how much your mother loved it too. That’s why they wanted to try and do all the things your mother used to do to make Thanksgiving special for our family. But you’re right, it’s not the same."

Joe stepped back from the comfort of his father’s arms and wiped at his eyes with the back of his sleeve. "Pa?"

"Yes, Joe."

Looking down at his boots as he kicked the toe of his right boot into the dirt, Joe asked softly. "Pa, do you miss Ma too?"

Ben felt his throat tighten. How could he explain the despair and loneliness he felt when Joe’s mother had died? How could he explain that sometimes he doubted his ability to continue with his dream? That in the end it was only his love for his sons and theirs for him that had pulled him through. Taking Joe’s chin in his hand, he raised the boy’s face so he could look into his eyes. "Joe I miss your mother so much. There’s not one day goes past that I don’t think about her and wish she was here. I miss her smile. I miss the way she would laugh, and make everyone else laugh along with her. But you know, Joe? You do that too."

"Do what, Pa?"

Ben smiled at his son. "You laugh, and make everyone else laugh with you." Ben tousled the boy’s hair. "You remind me so much of your mother at times."

Joe smiled gently at his father.

"Well, young man, I think it’s time we got back inside and warmed up." Sensing reluctance on Joe’s part to come back to the house, Ben looked at his young son and spoke gently but firmly. "You will apologize to your brothers for your poor behavior, Joseph. I think you’ll find they will understand."

"Yes, sir," Joe answered softly.

Placing his arm around Joe’s shoulders, Ben looked up at the sky. "The temperature’s dropping quickly. We’ll have snow by morning."

Joe’s eyes lit up. "Snow, do you really think so, Pa?"

Laughing at his son’s enthusiasm, Ben replied. "Yes, Joe. I’m sure tomorrow will be a day to remember."

Joe woke early the next morning. Anxious to see if his father was right, he pulled back his covers and raced to the window, pushing his nose against the pane. The scene was one of such whiteness it took his breath away. Rubbing the window with the sleeve of his nightshirt, so he could see better, he pushed his nose to the pane again. Everything was covered in a thick layer of snow and all around soft flakes kept falling. The branches of the pine trees, close to the house, groaned under the weight of snow. The ground was like a soft, white blanket and in some places he could see tracks where animals had crossed during the night. Snow had piled up against one wall of the house and the drift was about three feet deep.

"Joe, you’d better get some clothes on before you freeze to death." Adam’s voice broke him out of his reverie.

Joe turned to his brother, eyes wide. "Adam, come and have a look at this. It’s white everywhere!"

"I’ve seen snow before, little brother."

"Yeah, Joe, you’re the only member of this family who hasn’t seen snow." Hoss laughed, walking quickly to the chair where his clothes were hanging.

"I’ve seen snow before, just not this much."

"Yeah right, little brother," Hoss replied, grabbing Joe around the waist and pushing him gently toward his bunk. "Now get dressed before Pa sees you."

Joe pulled his clothes from the end of his bunk and dressed quickly. He had almost made it to the front door when his father’s voice stopped him.

"You’ll need warmer clothes than that if you’re going outside, Joseph."

Joe turned to face his father, ready to argue, but a raised eyebrow from Ben was all it took to send Joe scurrying back to the bunkroom for jacket, scarf, gloves and hat. This time when Joe returned to the main room, he received a nod of approval from his father.

Joe ran out the door anxious to be in the snow. He was quickly joined by Adam and Hoss and before long they were engrossed in building a snowman. The boys worked well together, shouting instructions and ideas, laughing and joking. In next to no time a shape emerged, complete with body, arms and head. Joe was sent inside to find a coat, hat and scarf and only when they were added and the figure was finished to their satisfaction, did the boys step back to admire their handiwork.

Hoss squinted at the figure and then glanced at Adam. "Hey, Adam, does it remind you of anyone?"

Adam took a long, critical look at the snowman. A slow smile of recognition dawned. "Maybe it’s because of Pa’s coat and hat, but it does have a certain look of Pa about it."

Joe giggled, but the three brothers turned quickly as their father cleared his throat behind them.

"Oh, hi Pa." Joe tried hard to control himself.

"Hi yourself, young man." Ben turned his gaze to the frozen figure and then back to his sons. All three boys shifted on their feet and looked down, trying to wipe the grins from their faces. Ben smiled to himself, but kept his voice stern. "I believe you boys have chores to finish before breakfast."

Three "Yes, Sirs," were the hurried replies.

Ben turned to return to the house. The snowball hit him square in the back of the neck and trickled down the inside of his shirt. He paused for a moment, surprised, and then turned back to his sons, his face stern. The next snowball hit him smack in the middle of his chest. Glancing down, he watched as it slid slowly down the front of his shirt. Placing both hands on his hips, Ben looked at his three sons. Adam and Hoss peered at him with the look of innocent babes. Joe stood transfixed, eyes wide with surprise. A slow smile curved Ben’s lips and his eyes took on a menacing glow. Well, if that’s how they wanted it. He leaned forward and grabbed a handful of snow in both hands. The first ball hit Joe in the chest and knocked him backwards into the snow. The second caught Adam on the side of the face.

War had been declared and the battle raged in the front yard of the Ponderosa. At some point Joe teamed up with his father, against his two older brothers, both of whom made fierce opponents. The only sounds were a grunt or gasp as a snowball found its target, whispered words of strategy and revenge and the distinctive sound of Joe’s laughter. Gradually the intensity of the battle diminished until all four combatants lay in the snow, gasping for breath. Not one of them could have said who the winner was.

Joe lay back in the snow, arms and legs spread eagled, like a starfish, his cheeks under the freckles a rosy, red. "Adam," Joe gasped. "Do you remember, in New Orleans, you told me that snowball fights were much more fun than flicking shells at each other?"

Adam smiled and nodded. "Yeah, I remember, Joe. I’m surprised you remember though, that was a long time ago. You would have only been about four or five." Adam stood and pulled his little brother to his feet.

"Well," Joe grinned at his older brother. "You were right. That was so much fun."

Ben and Hoss stood slowly, dusting their pants to remove the snow. It was dry and powdery and brushed off easily.

Placing an arm across Joe’s shoulders, Ben smiled gently at his son. "That was a lot of fun, Joe. I think we’ve created some new traditions here this morning."

"What do you mean, Pa?" Joe looked up, eyes questioning.

"Well, Joe," Ben said, motioning with his arm in the direction of the snowman. "Building a snowman and having a snowball fight are very different to what we did in New Orleans on Thanksgiving Day." Although Ben knew in his heart Joe wanted Thanksgiving to be the same as it had been when his mother was alive. Ben knew it could never be the same again. The family had known tragedy this year. Marie had meant so much to all of them. They all missed her, never more so than on this day, which she had always made so special for them.

Joe smiled gently and wiped the back of his hand across his eyes. "Yeah, I guess we did start some new traditions." Tilting his head back to look at his father, Joe surprised everyone by saying, "But we don’t have to wait until next Thanksgiving Day to have another snowball fight, do we?"

"No, Joe, we don’t have to wait until next year," Ben laughed and ruffled the boy’s hair. "But right now you boys have chores to do. I’d like to see them finished before breakfast."

Adam put a hand to Joe’s back and directed him toward the barn. "Come on, let’s get the chores done so we can get back inside and warm up."

Later in the day, the family gathered around the fire in the main room. The wind had picked up and the snow which had eased earlier in the day had begun to fall again. Eli and Ruth, who had joined them for Thanksgiving dinner, had left to return to Eagle Station, anxious to get back before the weather set in. A sudden gust of wind rattled a window. Ben stood and placed another log on the fire, sending a shower of sparks up the chimney.

"Adam, tomorrow, if the weather holds, I’d like you to ride out and check the herd."

Adam looked up, placing a finger between the pages of his book, to hold his place. "Sure, Pa, if this keeps up we may have to move them down earlier than we thought."

"Yes, I was thinking that too," Ben said as he settled back into his chair. Glancing over at his youngest son, he smiled softly. Joe was almost asleep, his head resting on Hoss’ shoulder. "Joe." When that drew no response, he tried again a little louder. "Joseph."

Joe raised his head slowly looking sleepily at his father. "Yes, Pa."

"It’s been a long day, Joseph. Go and get ready for bed. I’ll be in soon to say goodnight."

Trying to stifle a yawn, Joe nodded. He did feel tired and bed sounded good. He walked slowly to his room and shut the door behind him. He changed into his nightshirt and then climbed onto his bunk pulling the covers up around his shoulders. He was almost asleep when his father opened the door to the bunkroom and sat down on the edge of his bed. Joe shuffled over trying to make room.

Ben looked closely at his son for a moment. "Have you had a good day, son?"

Joe’s eyes lit up as he answered. "I really enjoyed playing in the snow, Pa. And Hop Sing made a real good job of the turkey. It tasted different to the way Ma always cooked it. I think it was all those herbs he uses, but it was real good."

Ben laughed softly. "Yes, the turkey was delicious."

Ben was surprised when Joe looked away and began plucking at the edges of his quilt.

"Is anything wrong, Joe?"

When the boy refused to look at him, Ben cupped his son’s chin in his hand and gently turned his face toward him. Wiping the tears away with his thumbs, Ben drew Joe into an embrace, rubbing the small back, trying to comfort him. "You know, Joe, your mother wouldn’t want you to be sad forever. She would want you to be happy."

Joe turned to face Ben, eyes bright with tears. "Why did she have to die, Pa?

How could Ben explain this to his son when he found it almost impossible to answer the question himself?

"You mother brought love and laughter into our lives, Joe, and we will never forget her for that."

Joe looked away for a moment and then returned his gaze to Ben.

Sure he had his son’s attention again, Ben continued, his voice soft. "Your mother would not want us to dwell on what we have lost, son. She would want us to be grateful for what we have. Do you understand that?"

Joe nodded, giving Ben a smile that warmed his heart. Reassured, Ben held out his arms and Joe leaned into the embrace. "I love you, Pa."

"I love you too, son."

Later that evening as Ben looked in on the boys as they slept, he gave thanks for his family and for the many blessings in his life. He had much to be grateful for.

The End