Part 1

He knew it wasn’t going to be easy, his first Christmas with the Barkley’s. He had lived with the family since July, nearly five months now. Boy howdy, some days it seems like he’d always lived here and yet other days, he still felt like an outsider, an intruder.

For the past few weeks, each night as he lay in his bed, sleep would elude him. Instead, his mind would spin and spin like a millstone, trying to grind out a solution to his dilemma. Heath groaned aloud and rolled over on his other side. He could feel the imaginary Christmas noose tightening around his neck. He could sum up his problem in one word … PRESENTS! He wondered again for the umpteenth time who came up with the idea of exchanging presents on Christmas. Probably some storeowner who saw it as a good opportunity to unload overstocked merchandize. Perhaps, it was some rich person that had nothing better to do with his time than search for the perfect gift (or make his wife do it). Certainly, a poor, hard working cowboy like himself did not think up Christmas presents.

Poor. . . Christmas. . . Presents. . . it left a bad taste in his mouth. When he was a small child he never looked forward to Christmas morn like some of the town children. They would wake to find neat gifts like toy soldiers, wooden horses and popguns. Why he even knew a rich kid that got a miniature train set! Imagine that!

What did he wake to? On good years maybe a small toy; some years patched, hand-me-down clothes; maybe a bag of sweets. On other years, it was just an extra big smile and hug from his Ma. Never a toy train set that’s for sure.

As Heath got older and understood their situation, he never minded that he did not get elaborate gifts from his mother. He knew how tough it was, how hard his mother worked to provide them with the basic necessities of life. He didn’t need Christmas presents. His mother’s smile was enough for him. Still, he could see the hurt in her eyes. She wanted him to have more and though he would tell her he was happy, she still got that look in her eyes that said she felt guilty about not being able to provide better for them.

What was even worse in his mind, was the gifts that he gave her each Christmas. Each holiday season, he would gaze longingly in the General Store window at the wares displayed there in. There was the totally impractical, like the beautifully gilded clock that played musical notes on the quarter hours. Or the jewelry, all sparkly and shiny like the sun glistening off of a crystal clear mountain stream. Even the practical items drew his eye, like the pot. Ah, how his mother could use that brand new shiny pot in the window, the one that was so highly polished he could see himself in it. Their cooking pot was old and many times patched over. But like his reflection in the side of the round pot, the scene was distorted; he didn’t have the money to buy his mother that pot or anything in the General Store window.

He’d move down the wooden planked boardwalk to the next window, the dress shop. There, in the window, were pretty dresses and hats. His beautiful, petite mother would look wonderful in the satin and crinoline creations that hung there, much better than some of those fat old cows he saw prancing about town in their finery. But alas, his mother had to resort to patching the few dresses she had worn for years. She had a hard enough time trying to keep clothes on his ever-growing frame. She could not afford to buy anything new for herself. . . and neither could he.

No, when it came to a Christmas present for his mother, he would have to resort to making her something with his own two hands. He remembered some of the crude whittlings he made for her as he first learned to handle a knife. How pathetic they were. Yet, she had glowed over them as if they were the crown jewels. This embarrassed him even more. Heck, he knew his gifts were trash and he longed to buy her pretty things but. . .

‘Get your mind back on the present Heath Barkley’, he scolded himself. Reminiscing over the past is not going to help solve the current problem, what to get his new family for Christmas.

‘It is kind of ironic,’ he chuckled to himself. As a kid, when he was as poor as a church mouse, all’s he could dream about was having money to buy proper presents. Now, that he had plenty of money, he still found it hard to buy Christmas presents! Well, that was not entirely true. Some people in his new family were easy to buy for, like Audra for example.

Audra liked pretty dresses; that was no secret. While it might have been a bit awkward for Heath to pick out a dress for his new sister, Audra had dropped so many hints about the dress that she wanted, that she practically had picked it out, wrapped it up and dropped it in his lap with a tag on it that said from him to her! When he had walked into the millenary shop, the nice lady that ran the store greeted him by name, steered him to the correct dress, picked out Audra’s size, placed it in a box and put a big ribbon around it. Why, the nice shopkeeper had even suggested a stylish hat to go with it.

‘Ha’, he crowed triumphantly. The hat would be a surprise for Audra. At least he thought it would be a surprise. But the more he thought about it, the more he wondered if he’d been set up by his sister on the hat too. Bet she had that hat picked out all along. Oh well, in any case, his Christmas shopping for Audra was done.

Jarrod had also been a piece of cake. He knew his dark-haired, eldest brother enjoyed playing chess. The last time Heath was in San Francisco, he’d come across a marvelous chess set. The pieces were carved out of green and white marble. Why even the board itself was made out of solid marble. The attention to detail was extraordinary and he thought Jarrod would enjoy this fine set. He’d bought it right then and there and had the shopkeeper pack it up so he could take it back with him on the train. Boy howdy, had that been a chore. He’d not considered how heavy a marble chess set would be. He thought his back would break by the time he lugged Jarrod’s gift back to the ranch. Why, if nothing else, Heath mused, Jarrod could use it as a weapon to defend himself. He was pretty sure if you threw one of those pieces at a robber it would make a sizable dent in their head, not to mention what a whack in the face with that marble board would do! It really was a very versatile gift!

Nick, now there was a fun gift with a little added kick you could say. Last time he was up in the foothills, Heath had seen a beautiful bay mare with black points; one that he thought would make not only a wonderful broodmare for the ranch, but also a swell cowpony for Nick to use when he wanted to give Coco a rest. It had not been easy, catching that crafty little mare but with a bit of perseverance he finally had managed to accomplish the task. What a little spitfire the creature had turned out to be. Heath only had time to partially train her, as he wanted to bring her along nice and easy and not damage the wild spirit of the mare. Besides, he’d figured Nick might get a kick, both literally and physically, out of gentling the mare the rest of the way. The mare and Nick were well suited to each other, Heath thought rather naughtily. They both had a stubborn streak in them. That little mare would give it to Nick as good as she took and Nick would deserve every kick, bump and bruise she gave him. Yes, he was very pleased with the Christmas gift he’d got for Nick too.

That only left one person in the immediate family that he had yet to get a gift for; Mrs. Barkley. . . Victoria. . . the person who was keeping him awake at night while he tried to think of the perfect gift. . . and perfect it had to be. He could not begin to express how much Mrs. Barkley had come to mean to him in the few months he’d been with the family. As much as he was a black eye on the reputation of her husband and the good name of the family, she’d had never treated him with anything but kindness and yes, respect. She made him feel at home treating him like, well, like her own sons. She had given him his space when he needed it, yet all the while letting him know she was there if he needed her. It had been she, who found the letter that helped ease his hatred over Tom Barkley abandoning him. Why, Tom never even knew he had existed! That was a lot easier to live with then the thought that Tom Barkley had abandoned him and his mother. He could spend half the night listing the kindnesses that Victoria had shown him since he arrived. It was that kindness that he now wanted to acknowledge with the perfect Christmas gift.

Heath groaned again and glanced out the window. The sun was just starting to peak over the horizon indicating another night had passed. He decided he mine-as-well get out of bed and do something productive, laying here wasn’t going to bring sleep or a solution to his dilemma it seemed. He got dressed and quietly slipped out to the barn to saddle up Charger. He had enough time to patch that broken fence on the north line and still be back in time for breakfast.

Part 2

Heath slapped the trail dust off his chaps on the front porch before entering the house. It felt good to be up early and accomplish some real work before breakfast. He whistled a little tune as he walked across the portico. The smell of breakfast greeted his nostrils as he opened and strolled through the front door. Glancing to his left, he could see the rest of the Barkleys were already gathered about the table. As he walked towards the dining room, he passed the Christmas tree. His whistling stopped short and his suddenly shoulders slumped. The gaily-decorated presents residing under the tree seemed to mock him. They chanted ‘Christmas is tomorrow’. ‘Christmas is tomorrow’. Yes, Christmas was tomorrow and he still did not have a gift for Mrs. Barkley. Fence fixed, present problem not. He clumped over to his accustomed spot to the left of Victoria and dropped wordlessly into his chair.

"Well, look who’s here. You’re up early Heath," Nick said as he poured himself a second cup of rich, dark coffee. "Any particular reason you are so energetic this morning?" he said in a teasing manner.

"Nope," was the only reply he got from his brother as he loaded his plate with ham and eggs.

"I hope you accomplished something worthwhile in your early morning endeavors, that is while the rest of us slept in," Nick prodded trying to get his brother to rise to the bait.

"Yep," was the short reply his younger sibling supplied.

"Humph," Nick said. Bored that he could not get his brother’s goat, Nick turned his attentions on Audra. "So pretty little sister, what are your plans for the day? More shopping? Perhaps for Christmas presents for your older, dashingly handsome brother?"

"Oh, I already have Jarrod’s present," Audrey replied innocently. "No, Mother and I are going to the orphanage to deliver the presents for the children."

Jarrod glanced up from the paper he had been skimming. "Am I next Nick, or are you going to give up?"

"So pardon me for trying to start a little conversation with the family at breakfast," Nick huffed as he looked down and reapplied himself to his plate.

Jarrod merely smiled and caught his mother’s eye. "Well, brother Nick. Just remember, you’d better be on your best behavior or Saint Nick, the real Saint Nick I might add, might take your presents back."

Nick raised his head to retort when Victoria broke in. "Enough. I swear, Christmas brings out the worse in you children", she said placing the emphasis on the word ‘children’.

Victoria noticed out of the corner of her eye that Heath seemed to slink even lower in his chair at the mention of ‘presents’ and if possible, his face took on an even dourer expression. Was Heath having troubles with getting presents for his brothers and sisters? She seemed to recall seeing him placing gifts under the tree. Come to think of it, she knew he had gotten a gift for Audra, because the seamstress had told her Heath had bought the dress that Audra had been so shamelessly hinting about. She paused, lost in thought.

As Jarrod, Nick and Audra continued to banter with each other about Christmas presents, Heath turned redder and redder.

She had to try to put Heath at ease. "After all," Victoria said breaking into the conversation again. "Christmas is not about presents. It is about the birth of our Lord and his message of love, peace and good will towards your fellow man. "

"Well put Mother, as always," Jarrod said saluting his mother with his coffee cup. "And on that lovely note, I must depart for the office. No rest for the weary, even on Christmas Eve," Jarrod exclaimed as he rose, gave his mother a peck on the cheek and headed out of the room.

"There is no rest for us hard working ranch hands either," Nick shouted after his departing brother. "After all, those cows aren’t going to feed themselves, holiday or no holiday," Nick concluded as he made his way out to the kitchen.

Audra placed her napkin on the table and rose from her chair. "I’ll go get ready to go to the orphanage. Shall I have Ciego hitch up the team, Mother?"

"Please," Victoria replied as Audra headed out the kitchen door after her brother.

That left Victoria and Heath alone at the table. She studied her new son unobtrusively as he bolted his food. He looked so ill at ease again. He had made such great strides adjusting to his ‘new family’. Why these last few weeks he had appeared ‘right at home’ so to speak with all his siblings. She too, had hoped maybe they were beginning to bond but judging from his current appearance, it appeared they were not as far along as she had thought.

"Heath, you don’t have to do anything that makes you uncomfortable, you know. Just because we may have certain traditions in this family, doesn’t mean that you must hold them sacred too. If you’d prefer not to do something, or need help doing something, I hope you will feel free to come and seek me out," Victoria finished awkwardly. She wondered if Heath would get anything out of her obtuse speech.

"Yes Ma’am. Thank you. I gotta go," Heath mumbled as he bolted from his chair, his napkin flying through the air like a sheet come loose from the wash line on a windy day.

Victoria sighed at the retreating back. "If I could have a Christmas wish, it would be that that boy would learn to call me something other than Mrs. Barkley or Ma’am. Mother would be nice but I suppose that is too much to ask for, all things considered," she said out loud to the walls, or so she thought.

Part 3

"I just thought it would be easier," Heath said to no one in particular as he sat at the kitchen table biting the head off a cow-shaped sugar cookie. The only other person in the kitchen was Silas, who was preparing the food for the Christmas Eve dinner.

"You talkin to me Mister Heath?" Silas said as he looked up from the vegetables he was paring.

"No, not really. I was just sort of talkin’ to myself out loud I guess, unless you have an idea what I can give Mrs. Barkley for Christmas. Something I can get between now and tomorrow morning considering all the shops are sure to be closed. "

Silas placed the knife on the counter and wiped his hands on the nearby towel. The stately black family servant made his way to the sink with the freshly peeled vegetables. "Well Mister Heath. I reckon I might have a idea for you."

Heath looked up from the table, a gleam of hope in his eye. "Really Silas? You’re not joking with me are you? Something I can give her tomorrow morning when we open presents? I got gifts for all the rest of the family but I am plumb stuck on what to give her. I mean, she has been so nice to me since I arrived, I wanted to get her something extra special and the only thing I have for her to open on Christmas is a big fat box of nothing," Heath rambled.

"I’ve been with this family for a long time, ands I likes to think I know them pretty well, even Mrs. Barkley. She likes you Heath, yes she does. She thinks of you as one of the family, she does."

Heath looked at Silas. Could he really be right?

"Yes," Silas continued slowly, "I do believe she thinks of you as her own son, even though you may not be of her flesh and blood. Still all the same, she thinks of you as such. And that’s why it hurts her so."

"What? What hurts her so? Something I did? Tell me Silas. Tell me and I’ll correct it, or apologize for it. I never meant to hurt her," Heath said sincerely.

"Oh, it ain’t nothing you did or can apologize for. It is what you do, most every day I reckon."

"I don’t understand," Heath pleaded.

"Mister Heath, you always call her Mrs. Barkley or Ma’am. Now that be alright coming from me, but like I said, she considers you her son and well Mrs. Barkley sounds kinda cold comin' from a son. Kinda disrespectful," Silas said tactfully.

Heath leaned back in his chair and pondered what Silas had told him. Yes, he could remember the pained look that sometimes escaped across her face when he called her ‘Mrs. Barkley or even worse ‘Ma’am’. He even recalled her saying to him, in a joking manner, that he made her feel ‘old’ when he called her Ma’am. But what should he call her?

"I don’t mean to be tellin' you your business Mister Heath, but if I was to guess, I’d say Mrs. Barkley might like it if you called her Victoria, but would be really down right pleased if you was able to find it in your heart to call her Mother," Silas concluded.

‘Mother.’ The word caught in Heath’s throat. Could he really call her mother? Would it be disrespectful to Jarrod, Nick and Audra? To her? To his mother? He cleared his throat as he rose from his chair. "You’ve given me a lot to think about Silas. . . and I thank you."

"My pleasure Mister Heath. You gotta do what feels right to you."

Heath nodded silently as he climbed the back stairs to his bedroom. Somehow he thought he was in for another sleepless night.

Part 4

He still had not worked up the nerve. He had tried during breakfast. ‘Please Mother, would you pass the ham?’ ‘Here mother, let me help you with your chair.’ ‘Mother, Merry Christmas.’ But they all stuck in his throat like a fish bone.

The presents had been open and exclaimed over. Audra had loved her dress and it fit perfectly, (no surprise there). Jarrod had been suitably impressed with the chess set and Nick had been overwhelmed by the mare who proceeded to try to kick him as he fed her a Christmas carrot. No one mentioned that there was no gift to Victoria from Heath.

Christmas dinner had been eaten in a festive manner with some of the neighbors joining them for dessert and caroling around the piano. Everyone had had a Merry Christmas, except for Heath who had still brooded about not being able to work up the courage to give his gift to Victoria.

Finally, they had all retired for the night. Heath lay in bed, feeling like a louse and a failure. Unable to sleep, he decided to go downstairs and get a glass of milk. After procuring the milk, he sat in a chair in front of the fire and brooded some more. He was so deep in thoughts, chastising himself, that he did not hear the other person slip into the room. He startled and nearly dropped the glass of milk on the floor when a hand descended on his shoulder. He instinctively reached for his gun, which of course he was not wearing with his pajamas.

"Oh, I am unarmed and not very dangerous," Victoria, said as she settled herself into the chair across from Heath with a small smile.

Heath glanced at her and then quickly returned his gaze to the fire.

"Did you have a nice Christmas?" she inquired.

"Yes M," though he stopped himself short of saying Ma’am. If he could not get ‘mother’ out, the least he could do is stop calling her ‘Ma’am’.

"I guess it is hard, this being the first Christmas since your mother passed on. You must miss her terribly."

"Yes, I suppose I do. She was a good woman. She deserved better," came his quick, static, short reply.

"Well, she raised a beautiful son in you Heath. She must have been very proud. You know, I’m proud of you too."

Heath raised his eyes to meet hers and gave her one of his bashful half-smiles.

"Heath, I hope this doesn’t embarrass you. . ."

‘Oh no, here it comes,’ Heath thought as he quickly dropped his gaze again. ‘She is going to ask why I did not get her a present. She must think me a heel.’

. . . but I want you to know that I am happy you came to live with us, to be one of the family and I love you, my son. Oh, I know that I did not give birth to you and I can’t take place of the woman who did and loved you so much, but I hope you can find it in your heart to make a little room for me too."

Heath’s pale blue eyes sparkled with unshed tears in the dim firelight. He couldn’t believe his ears. To hear those words, ‘family’, ‘son’; it was more than he hoped for, ever dreamed of. . . and without a bit of hesitation, he reached over and took her hand, looked deep into her eyes and said "Mother".

Tears rolled down her finely chiseled features as she rose, and walked over to embrace Heath. The clock struck mid-night.

"Merry Christmas, Son. You have given me the best gift of all."

Merry Christmas, Mother"

The End