Ghosts of Christmas Past

By Marion

Author's Note: Christmas is a remembering time for me, I suspect because Thanksgiving and Christmas were important holidays in my childhood. My best memories don't focus on gifts received (although I wouldn't be a red-blooded American kid if I didn't love getting toys) but rather they are about family – my brother coming home unexpectedly on leave, my whole family gathering together, waking my sister and niece up early in the morning. It's in that spirit of remembrance that I wrote this.

Rating: G

The wind howled as the family sat around the fireplace. Ben Cartwright sat on one side of the sofa; his middle son, Hoss sat on the other side. Ben's niece, Annie, sat curled up between them, resting against Hoss's massive frame. His eldest son, Adam sat on the chair, long legs stretched out in front of him, head tilted back. Joe Cartwright, the youngest of the Cartwright clan, lay stretched out on his stomach in front of the fireplace shaking the popcorn popper over the flames.

Ben stood and stretched. "Good thing you put that rope out to the barn, Adam. I don't think this storm is going to end anytime soon. We'll be having a white Christmas this year." Ben headed to the hutch, from which he retrieved five glasses and the decanter of brandy. Settling back onto the sofa, Ben filled three glasses and poured a small amount in the other two. He handed two of the full glasses to his oldest sons. Joe scrambled to sit up as his father reached down with one of the other glasses. Annie smiled as her uncle handed her a glass.

"Just this little bit, you two, and only because it's Christmas Eve." Ben raised his glass. "Merry Christmas to you all. May our New Year be as good as this year has been."

"Merry Christmas, Pa" and "Merry Christmas, Uncle Ben" was followed by the sound of Joe trying to cover up his coughing after he tasted the brandy. Annie snickered as she poured the popcorn into smaller bowls.

"Uncle Ben, tell us a story about Christmas when you were a boy, please? I'd like to hear a story about my father."

Ben sat back, head tilted and thought. "Well," he said slowly. "We didn't really celebrate much. Father and Mother would give us a small present and we would go to church, but we wouldn't make the fuss that we make today." Ben looked at his children and smiled at the look of disappointment on their faces. "But I do remember one Christmas when we visited Uncle John and Aunt May. Aunt May's people had come from England and they had celebrated Christmas. She liked to keep up their traditions as much as possible. I think I was seven, your father was five and that was the only Christmas I remember spending on the Cape…."

Three boys ran along the beach. The wind was blowing and the air was cold, but they were bundled up warmly. Every once in a while, one or other of them would bend down to pick up a shell.

The oldest boy reached down and picked up a rock. He tried skipping it in the surf, but scowled as it splashed once and sank to the bottom. He glanced over at his youngest brother.

"Aw, Eddie, stay outta the water, would ya? If ya get wet, I'll be the one to get in trouble."

The youngest boy stopped just short of the advancing tide and grinned maliciously at his older brother. He took one more step.

The oldest boy grabbed at Eddie. "Eddie, if I get it cuz you get wet, I'm gonna pound ya when Father's not around."

The third brother sighed and stepped between his older and younger brothers. "John, you know Father always catches ya. 'Sides, it's Christmas Eve. Ya don't wanna go fightin' on Christmas Eve. It's not right."

John shrugged and walked back towards the dunes. Suddenly he shouted for his brothers to come see what he found. The three boys crowded around a pile of small white shells.

Ben held one up. "Look at this – it's got a hole drilled right through it."

Eddie reached down and picked up a handful. "They all do!"

John sat down, oblivious to the cold, damp sand. "Look at 'em all." He looked up at his brothers. "Let's find the best ones and we can put 'em on a string for Mother and for Aunt May. We can give the necklaces to them tomorrow."

All three boys diligently dug through the shells to pull out the best ones. Ben was scouring the nearby area to see if he could find more when suddenly all three stopped what they were doing and listened. Over the sound of the surf they could hear someone calling.

"John! Benjamin! Edward!"

Their father's voice got closer and closer. John looked up. "Oh, damnation. We can't see the lighthouse."

Both of his brothers hushed him. Bad enough they had wandered out of bounds, for they were told to stay within sight of the lighthouse, they didn't want John to make things worse by swearing. He did it to act older than his nine years, but Father had promised John a thrashing if he said it again.

Joseph Cartwright came over the dune and stood in front of his sons, hands on his hips. He looked sternly at the three boys. "What did Uncle John tell you this morning?"

Two sets of eyes slid to John; as eldest he was their spokesman. John shifted his weight a little and looked up at his father. "We were to stay in sight of the lighthouse."

Father turned and looked back down the beach. "And can you see the lighthouse?" He looked back down at John.

John shook his head slightly. "No, Father."

Eddie held out his hands. "But look, Father, look at what we found. We're going to make necklaces for Mother and Aunt May."

"Edward, did Uncle John say you may go out of sight of the lighthouse if you found pretty shells with which to make necklaces?" Eddie shook his head slightly, blinking back tears.

"Then you shall have to be punished." He reached out and grabbed Eddie's collar. "You'll be first, boy-o!" Then Father grabbed hold of Eddie's trousers and lifted him, startling Eddie so much that he dropped all his shells.

The two older boys looked on in amazement as their father headed towards the water, swinging their little brother.

"I think a dunking is in order for you, boy!" Eddie's high-pitched giggles could be heard above the waves. Suddenly John and Ben realized that Father was teasing. As Father stumbled away from the water, the two boys jumped on him, knocking Father and Eddie to the ground. The four rolled on the ground, wrestling, not caring that they were quickly covered in sand.

Suddenly Father sat up. "Oh, boy-os, look at us. Your mother will have some choice words for me tonight!" He grinned conspiratorially. "C'mon. If we're going to get in trouble with her anyway, let's have some more fun." He winked and the three boys scrambled after their father.

Ben looked down at his children. "My father worked six days a week in the chandlery that he managed. When he was home, he was usually tired or doing chores. That was the first time I ever remember Father relaxing with us and playing like that. We spent the afternoon exploring the beach. He told us that snails had drilled the holes in the shells, and then he helped us find more. He taught John to skip rocks and he taught us the names of the birds we saw. We were gone so long that the evening fog rolled in." Ben grinned at the distant memory. "Mother didn't scold, in fact I think she smiled when she saw my father's disheveled appearance. Uncle John on the other hand, scolded us all, even Father, for being out in the fog. He threatened to box Father's ears, the way he had when Father was a boy. We spent a week on the Cape that winter and we spent the whole time with Father." He stared into the fire, lost in the thoughts of his childhood.

Annie stood and walked over to the kitchen area. "I just remembered, Beth's mother sent some cookies for Christmas." She rummaged around and soon bustled over with a plate filled with cookies. She set it on the table and returned to her seat by Hoss.

Adam leaned over and picked up a thin gingerbread cookie. He studied it for a minute, then glanced at his father. "This brings back memories, doesn't it, Pa,?" Ben smiled and reached for a cookie of his own.

Adam leaned back in his chair and looked over at Hoss. "I have two favorite Christmas memories. One is the first real Christmas I remember, with Mama Inger. Your mother made the best gingerbread cookies, Hoss. I don't remember much about that Christmas, except for helping Mama make the cookies. They were wonderful. I remember feeling warm the whole time."

Joe sat up. "What's your other favorite Christmas, Adam?"

Adam smiled slightly. "That would be the Christmas before you were born, Joe."

Joe's face fell.

"Not because you weren't there, but because I finally realized how lucky I was…"

Ben Cartwright turned back to his oldest son. "And you'll stay in this room until I call you for chores tomorrow morning. I want you to think about how disrespectful your attitude has become. If I see another display like the one we just had, you'll enjoy our next discussion even less than you enjoyed this one." With that, he left the room and closed the door behind him.

Adam wiped the tears from his eyes and started to sit on the side of the bed. He quickly though better of it and decided to lie on the bed instead. "It's all her fault. If she hadn'ta come here…."

The next morning Adam did his chores and ate breakfast without comment. Sitting on the school bench was uncomfortable and he was relieved when school let out for the afternoon. He headed home with another boy who lived a few houses down from the Cartwrights.

"What's amatter Cartwright? Couldn't sit still on the bench – did ya get in trouble for sassin' your stepmother again?

Adam shrugged; he was embarrassed that Tom realized why he was uncomfortable.

"I don't know why you put up with her," Tom continued. "If my father married a bitch like that…"

Adam swung around on the boy. "Don't you call her that!"

"Why not, that's what she is, isn't it?"

Adam pushed the boy. "Cuz I said not to!" He balled his hands into fists.

The boy punched Adam in the nose, knocking him to the ground. "Yeah, take that, Cartwright!" he shouted as he ran off.

Adam picked himself up and wiped at his nose. He grimaced when he saw that his hand was streaked with blood. This was all Pa needed to see now! Christmas was only four days away and Adam knew he'd be getting that switch that Pa always talked about. He dragged his feet toward home. Would Pa tan him today and then again on Christmas when he found the switch in Adam's stocking?

"Mon dieu!" Marie rushed towards Adam when he entered the kitchen. "Are you all right?" She quickly wet a rag and held it to the boy's nose, tilting his head as she pressed. After a few minutes, she removed the rag and examined the nose. "The bleeding has stopped and I do not think the nose is broken." She dropped the rag on the table, folded her arms and looked down at her stepson. "You were fighting?"

Adam nodded miserably. "Pa's gonna be real mad."

Marie nodded. "Adam, what caused the fight?"

He glared at her belligerently but didn't say anything. He sure didn't want her to know it was about her!

She wagged her finger at him. "You may tell me or you may tell your father. You decide."

He looked at her suspiciously, then muttered "Tom said a bad thing about you."

Marie tried not to smile. "About whom, Adam? Please, I cannot hear you when you talk to your feet."

He looked up at her. "About you." He waited, eyes downcast.

She nodded. "Very well, then, Adam. You will spend tomorrow morning watching Erik so that I may finish my errands."

Adam started to protest, but then looked at her curiously. "You're not gonna tell Pa?"

"There is no need. I have punished you. Now hurry to do your chores."

True to her word, Marie didn't tell Pa. Adam puzzled over that as he lay in bed that night. Maybe she wasn't as bad as he thought? He thought back to a conversation several days ago in the market. He had been with Marie and Erik when an older lady came to Marie.

"Madame Cartwright?"

"Yes?"

"My grandson goes to school with Adam. Adam has been very helpful to Marius; he has spent all his recesses for two weeks helping my grandson with his studies. I just wanted you to know that you should be proud of Adam."

"Merci. I am indeed very proud of my son."

Thinking back, Adam realized it didn't rankle him to hear her call him her son. In fact, it felt kinda good.

The next morning after breakfast, Marie asked Adam to bring down a box from the attic. She opened it carefully and began to pull out small statues of people and animals. Erik stood right next to her, looking at each piece. Adam stood a little away from the table, just watching.

"What's that, Mama?"

Marie shooed Erik's hands away. "Careful, mon petit. These are easily broken." She rested another figure on the table. "This is my crèche. It is a symbol of the Holy Family and of Christ's birth. It is for me a remembrance of Christmas with my family. Every year, Maman would bring out the figures and Jeanette and I would help her arrange them, just as this year, I will do this with my sons."

Adam was surprised once again to realize that he wasn't bothered to hear her call him her son. He was even more surprised to hear her mention him again.

"Erik, this is the Christ Child. Adam will place the baby in manger after le Réveillon."

"How come Adam? I wanna do it!"

"Mais non, my oldest son must do it. It is the custom of my family." She tapped Erik playfully on the nose. "Oh, mon petit, you must not pout. Pere Fouettard will know."

"Who's that?"

"He is the one who brings spankings to naughty children on Christmas morning." She giggled as Erik's hands flew behind him to cover his bottom. "Adam, come help us."

"Yes, ma'am." They quickly set up the crèche on a small table by the fireplace. Adam looked in the box and pulled out another box. "What's this?"

Marie took it from him and placed it in front of the table. "It is the Christmas Crib. It is another custom of my family, but I have not used it for many years. The children of the house place straw in it to prepare it for the Christ Child, but they may only place the straw in if they have been virtuous during the day. The more virtuous the children, the more comfortable will be the Christ Child." She surveyed the decorations. "But where is the ox?" She turned to the box, but could not find it. She looked around the room to see if it had been misplaced. "Ah well, it is a pity. But now, I must be off to my errands. Erik, you mind your brother if you do not wish a visit from Pere Fouettard."

Adam laughed. "Or from Pere Cartwright!"

Marie smiled. "Mais oui!"

Adam looked at the crèche under the tree, thousands of miles and fourteen years away from the first time he had seen it. The crudely carved ox lay proudly in front of the manger waiting for the Christ Child that Adam would place in the crèche in the morning. The box in front of the fireplace was full of straw, testament to the fact that all the Cartwright children had been on their best behavior in the days leading up to Christmas.

"That Christmas Eve we all went to Midnight Mass and then we ate what Ma called le Réveillon, an incredible feast. I was very anxious about her gift the next morning. I had no money to buy her something and I didn't have much time to make it. It had to be special. I didn't need to worry, though. She loved it." He paused. "Just as I finally knew that Christmas that she loved me," he added softly. "The crèche and the crib were the only possessions she insisted on bringing with her from New Orleans.

The family was quiet for a while, lost in their thoughts of Marie. After a while, Annie leaned her head back to look up at Hoss. "How about you, Hoss? What was your best Christmas?"

"Well, I like them all, but I reckon the best's gotta be the one when Joe wasn't quite two. Ya see, Adam wasn't around much then. I'm not sure was he helpin' Pa in the store or was he in trouble all the time, but either way, he wasn't around to explain to Joe about Christmas, like he done for me. So, that job fell to me, and I reckon that was the first time I really felt like I was someone's big brother."

"No, Joe, you cain't touch that. Mama will be angry." The older boy slapped the younger boy's hands away from the crèche on the table.

"Whazzit?" The little boy looked, but didn't touch.

"It'sa cretch. Mama says her family puts it out on Christmas for the Baby Jesus. Christmas is his birthday."

"Cake?" As young as he was, Joe already associated birthdays with treats.

"Yeah, Mama makes a good one. She calls it a bush denoel, but it don't look like no bush I ever saw."

"Why?"

"Why does she make it?"

Joe nodded.

"I don't know. I reckon she makes it cuz Christmas is special."

"Why?"

"Gee, Joe, don't ya know nothin'?" Erik looked at his little brother. "No, I reckon ya don't. Ya need me to teach ya." He grabbed his brother by the hand and dragged him to the sofa. Settling himself down next to Joe, he pointed to the family Bible sitting on the table. "It's a story from that book, only I can't read it to you on accounta Pa don't want me touchin' it. I didn't mean ta rip the page, I just wanted ta see it, but he got mad, like he does sometimes and he told me not to touch it. I don't want Pear Futard comin' and spankin' me."

"Pa?"

"Yeah, him neither. Joe, you gotta know that it's real important to not get in trouble at Christmas time. Santa don't come if you do."

Joe's eyes widened and he nodded. "'tory."

"Yeah, all right. See there was this lady, Mary, and she was really great and she was gonna have a baby and she and her husband Joseph…"

"Me?"

Erik laughed. "Nah, not you, just the same name. Anyways, she was gonna have this baby and she didn't have anyplace to stay so she hadta stay in a stable with animals and she had the baby…" Erik paused. He wasn't sure he should be talkin' ta Joe about havin' babies. He sure hoped Pa wasn't gonna get mad, not after he'd spent all that time bein' good, even when he didn’t wantta. But then he reckoned Pa's been tellin' this story as long as he could remember, so it must be all right. "Anyway, a buncha angels came and sang some songs and then some shepherds came cuz the angels said ta not be afraid, but I wouldn'ta been afraid, any way, Mary didn't have no real clothes, she only had waddlin' clothes for the baby. Then after the shepherds came, three really smart men came and gave some more gifts and then Santa came and brought gifts.

"Santa!" Joe knew all about Santa. Erik had been telling him stories for weeks about Santa. Erik had even helped Joe write his letter to Santa. Pa promised to send both letters. Erik sure hoped that Pa remembered.

"Yeah, 'sept Mama calls him Pear Noel. He doesn’t look like a pear, but that's what Mama says and I'm not gonna argue 'cuz then I'll get in trouble for bein' disrespekful."

"Who's being disrespectful?" Both boys looked up as their father came into the room.

"No one, Pa. I was just explainin' to Joe that if I argued with Mama, I'd get in trouble and I don't wanna get into trouble right now or Santa won't come. Not that I want ta get into trouble any time."

Ben smiled slightly. "I'm glad to hear that, son. What are you two boys doing?"

"I've been teachin' Joe about Christmas, Pa." Erik slid over so Pa could join them on the sofa.

"I remember when Adam taught you all about Christmas, Erik. That's something big brothers do for their younger brothers." Ben winced as Joe clambered onto his father's lap.

"Ya reckon so, Pa?"

Ben winced again at Erik's grammar, but he knew that trying to correct the boy would lead to a longer conversation than he wanted to have right now. "Yes, Erik, I know that's what older brothers do. My older brother taught me, and I taught my younger brother. Joe's very lucky to have an older brother like you."

Erik sat up straight and fairly preened at his father's compliment.

Hoss grinned. "Pa never mentioned how much trouble I could get into having a younger brother like Joe!" Everyone laughed. "I tell ya, I sure don't like it much when I'm gettin' yelled at cuz of somethin' Joe thought up."

Adam mumbled something.

"How's that Adam?"

"I said, how many times do I have to tell you to tie yourself to the bed whenever Joe's ideas start making sense?"

Joe stuck his tongue out at Adam while Hoss laughed.

"I don't know, Adam, seems to me Joe's not the only brother who's led me into trouble with Pa." Anxious to change the conversation away from getting his into trouble, Hoss leaned down to look at Joe.

"Joe, how's about you? Which one's your favorite?"

Joe shrugged. "Any of 'em with Ma," he said sadly. He sat up. "But I reckon if I hadta pick one, it would be the one where Adam came back."

Annie looked at her oldest cousin. "Back? Where did you go?"

Adam smiled. "I went into the mountains for several months, but that's a story for another day. Joe, why was that one your favorite?"

Joe smirked. "Bet your thinkin' it's cuz you came back, aren't ya?" Suddenly the smirk was gone. "Well, it was."

"Mon petit Joseph? Please come help me with the crèche and the manger?" Marie Cartwright looked at her youngest son, sitting forlornly on his bunk.

"What's the point, not gonna be much of a Christmas without Adam."

"But mon cher, Adam wouldn't want us to be sad that he is not here. He will return soon, you will see. He would not want you to miss your Christmas."

"Oh, yeah? Well maybe I don't care what he wants or don't want!" Joe stood up and stomped across the room.

"Joseph!"

Joe hesitated. His mother didn't often raise her voice, but he knew that she didn't tolerate disrespect any more than his father did. His lips trembled as he turned back to her.

Marie took one look at her son's face and held her arms open. He ran to her and allowed her to lead him to the sofa.

"How come he had to leave, Mama? He said he'd be back before winter, but it's winter now. Isn't he going to come back?"

Marie could do nothing more than hug her son close for several minutes. She didn't know how to answer his questions; she was worried about her oldest son and she wanted him home as much as his brother did.

Joe wiped the tears from his eyes. "You know, Ma? I wish I still believed in Santa and Pere Noel, so I could tell them all I wanted for Christmas is for Adam to come home."

"We must trust to God, mon cher. And what better time of year to remember that than this, when God gave man His greatest gift? Come, help me with the crèche and we will add our prayers for Adams' safe return, non?"

Joe nodded and helped his mother up from the sofa. They carefully unwrapped the precious pieces and set them in their place. "Ma, do you remember last year? Adam and Erik had to get the tree cuz Pa wasn't here, he was doin' something' for Mr. Orowitz. Only they picked a tree that was too big and they had ta chop most of it off before they could get it in the door." Joe giggled at the memory.

Marie laughed along with Joe. "Yes, and do you remember your father's reaction when he went to use the axe and it was covered in pitch because each of your brothers thought the other had cleaned it?"

Joe giggled even more. Like any youngest brother, Joe loved to see his older, wiser brothers in trouble with their father.

"Mama, how come Christmas don't stay the same? How come people gotta leave?"

"Oh, mon cher, it is a part of growing up. Your father left his father's house, just as his father did. Some day you and your brothers will be married and then you will have your own children."

"But you'll be here, still, won't you, Ma?" Joe looked around their little rooms. "I don't mean in the boardin' house. You won't leave me, will you?"

Marie reached out to brush the hair from Joe's eyes. "Oh, mon cher, I cannot make that promise. That is for God to decide." Joe looked down quickly and she lifted his chin so she could see his face. "But if I am not here in person, I will always be in your heart, mon cher. My love for you knows no end."

Joe had moved so that he was leaning on his father's long legs. Ben reached down to comfort Joe as the boy wiped the tears from his eyes.

"Christmas Eve, just as we were gonna start our feast, the door opened and we could hear someone comin' up the stairs. I hear someone sayin' 'Ho, ho, ho, any food for Pere Noel?' It was Adam, and that was the best Christmas present we coulda got. Anyway, it was the last Christmas we were all together." Joe looked over at the crèche. "But I think Mama was right," he said softly.

Annie chewed on her lip. "I guess it's my turn. All right, I guess I'd have to say my favorite Christmas was the Christmas I learned that God didn't kill my mother. I was eight." She felt Hoss's arms hold her a little closer. Taking strength from him she continued. She laughed a little.

"I guess it'll come as no surprise to you Uncle Ben that it started with me speaking without thinking. In fact, if Papa had been there, he wouldn't have waited for Santa to put a switch in my stocking…"

The little Anglo girl followed close behind the Mexican woman as they entered the mission church. Her father's admonitions to be polite and respectful still buzzing in her ears, Annie said nothing as Concetta dipped her fingers in a small bowl and crossed herself. Annie couldn't remember having ever been inside a Catholic church and she found herself staring at the ornate statuary that lined the church.

Concetta walked reverentially towards the altar. She was here to help prepare the altar for midnight mass and she had spent the year embroidering the beautiful linens to be used this Christmas Eve. Concetta considered it an honor that her poor work would be used to celebrate this holy night. Annie had tried to tell Concetta that her work wasn't poor, that it was the most beautiful embroidery, but Concetta had shushed her. One must remain humble before God, Concetta said.

Just before Concetta reached the altar steps, she genuflected. She was surprised to feel Annie's hand grab her arm. She turned and whispered in Spanish, "What are you doing?"

Annie answered, also in Spanish. "I thought you were falling. I was trying to help you."

Concetta smiled slightly. "No, I was only paying reverence to the Presence of God." She spied a nun approaching behind Annie. "Ah, Sister Agnes. I have brought the linens for Mass." She turned back to Annie. "You may go look at the church, but touch nothing."

Annie dutifully turned away from the altar and walked towards the nearest wall of the church. She was studying the statue on the wall when she heard footsteps behind her.

"The Blessed Virgin is beautiful, especially at this time of year." A man's voice spoke to her in Spanish. "I find her presence relaxing."

Annie whirled about. A young priest with red hair stood behind her, smiling up at the statue. His smile turned to surprise as he looked down at her.

"I'm sorry," he said, switching to English. "Most of our parishioners are Mexican and I just assumed…"

Annie shrugged. "I speak Spanish as easily as English. Sometimes I get confused and don't know what language I'm speaking. Who did you say she was?"

The priest glanced up at the statue again. "She is the Blessed Virgin of course. Surely you have seen statues of her before?"

Annie shook her head. "We don't have them in my church. I haven't been to a Catholic Church before, at least not since I was little. My mother was Catholic and I think I went to church with her."

The priest sat on a pew and gestured for Annie to sit beside him. "How is it that your mother is Catholic but you are not?"

"She's dead." Annie's tone was flat and she stared at her hands, the way she always did when someone mentioned her mother.

The priest reached out to touch her hand in comfort. "I am sorry, child. But sure and your mother would have wanted you to be raised in the Church?"

Annie bristled slightly. "We go to church. Papa and I go every Sunday."

"I meant that your mother would have wanted you to be raised in the Catholic Church, child. That's God's will."

Annie glared at the priest. "Then God shouldn't have killed my mother."

The priest looked shocked. "You don't believe that, do you child?"

Annie sat back, arms folded. "I'm not a child. Everyone treats me like I am, but I'm not."

"So what's your name then? I am Father O'Beirne."

"I'm Annie Cartwright. My father owns the Cartwright Ranch outside of town. I came here with Concetta. She's our housekeeper and she made beautiful embroidered linens for the altar, only she says they aren't beautiful because she's supposed to stay humble for God. But I don't see why she should."

The priest ignored her last comment. "Annie Cartwright, then. Does your father agree that God killed your mother? I can't believe he does, if he takes you to church every Sunday."

Annie shook her head, then shrugged. "He never talks about Mama. If I ask about her, he changes the subject. But she's dead and so's my baby brother that was being born and God could have stopped it. "

The priest nodded; he understood now what had happened. "Annie, sometimes women do not survive childbirth. God can't stop that."

Annie stuck her jaw out and folded her arms again. "Sure he can. God can do anything."

Father O'Beirne ran his fingers through his hair. How to explain this to a child? He wasn't used to talking with children. Father Rodriguez taught catechism. He thought for a while as he picked imaginary lint from his black cassock.

"Annie, do you know the story of the Garden of Eden?"

Annie looked indignant. "Of course I do. I'm not dumb." She looked around worriedly. "I'm sorry. That was disrespectful."

Father O'Beirne tried to look stern. "I'm sure your Papa wouldn't like you to be disrespectful to a priest, even if you do not go to this Church."

"No, Father. But what about the Garden of Eden?"

"Well, when God made Adam and Eve, He gave them the power to make their own decisions and He gave man dominion over the earth." Father O'Beirne looked heavenward for inspiration. He wasn't sure his teachers at seminary would approve of the way he was explaining this. "As part of that deal, He also decided that even though He could interfere in the lives of man whenever He wanted, He wouldn't. Sometimes He does, and those are miracles, but most of the time He doesn't."

"So he could have made a miracle and my mother could have lived? Why didn't he? Papa says that not helping when you can help is a sin."

Father O'Beirne started to explain that God was without sin, but he decided to try a different tact. "Annie, what happens to good people when they die?"

"They go to Heaven."

"Your mother was a good person, wasn't she?" The child nodded. "Then she is in Heaven." He glanced up at the statue of the Virgin. "Just as Mary, the Mother of our Lord, watches over all of us, so your mother watches over you. She is with God, child, and if you are a good girl, you too will be reunited with your mother."

"Do you think she loved me?"

Suddenly the priest could almost hear his mother's words spoken as he left Ireland three years earlier. He had worried that he would never see her again. "All mothers love their children, and they love them even though death should part them. As Mary loved Jesus, so your mother loved you."

"So God didn't kill my mother? He could have stopped her from dying but He didn't because He wanted her to come live with him in Heaven? And she still loves me and she's watching me and I'll see her again someday if I'm a good girl?" Annie still looked doubtful.

The priest nodded. He didn't add that she needed to participate in the sacraments, too. That was a conversation for her father. But he could see that Annie didn't quite believe him. He needed to tell Mr. Cartwright how his daughter felt. Surely Mr. Cartwright didn't realize that his silence about the child's mother was hurting the poor girl. Father O'Beirne resolved to visit the Cartwrights that Christmas afternoon when he was brining the sacrament to his housebound parishioners.

Annie opened her eyes and returned to the present. "Father O'Beirne came to talk to Papa that day and after he left, Papa spent a long time talking to me about my mother. He told me how they had met, he told me how he proposed, how they had sailed to America. He told me…" She stopped to wipe away the tears that filmed her eyes. "Anyway, it was like he gave me my mother for Christmas. That's why it was my best Christmas ever."

Ben cleared his throat. "It's time for you children to be in bed."

Adam stood and retrieved the family Bible from the hutch. He handed it to his father. "You still need to read to us, Pa."

Ben nodded. He opened the book and smiled at Hoss as he touched the tear in the page. He looked around at his children, all waiting expectantly. Each of them had recognized that the true importance of Christmas lay not in material gifts, but rather in the gift of family. What father wouldn't be proud of that? How blessed he was in the gifts that his wives and his brother had left him.

Taking a breath, he began. "And it came to pass in those days, that there went out a decree from Caesar Augustus, that all the world should be taxed…"

The End