Spirits of Christmas
by
Janice Sagraves

This is simply for fun and no infringement is intended.

ONE (1863)

Ezekiel Blige was not a liked man. In fact, some would even boast of hating his guts. He had been in Virginia City for two years now, and he had no friends. He sat hunched over his desk – his fingers strangling a pen – while snow swirled in eddies outside the window. He had taken little notice that it had steadily picked up since noon. His soul interest for the moment was sending a letter to his lawyer in San Francisco. What he had coveted for so long had finally fallen into his lap, and he trusted no one here enough to let them in on his windfall.

He laughed with diabolic glee. “I have you now, Ben Cartwright.”

The scratch of the pen’s nib over the paper stopped as someone knocked at the door. A frown creased Ezekiel’s lined brow, and his slate gray eyes rose to the door. He wasn’t in the mood for interruptions.
“Come in if you must.”

The door opened and young Jeremy Potter stepped inside.

“Yes, Potter, what is? And it had better be good enough to warrant this disturbance. You only work here at my discretion.”

“I know that, Mr. Blige, and I’m grateful. But this being Christmas Eve and nearly nine o’clock, I thought maybe I could go home. I promised Sarah that I would ask you if I could leave early.”

“And I suppose you want all day off tomorrow.”

“It’s Christmas and it does only come once a year.”

Blige slammed the pen down on the blotter. “For which I am eternally thankful. I don’t know why people make such a fuss over a holiday.”

“It’s not the holiday, Mr. Blige, but what it represents, and the feeling one gets from it. You know, if you would let yourself, I think you would enjoy it.”

“The only thing I enjoy is making money! Now get back to your desk! You’ll go home at eleven o’clock like you do every night! Is that understood?”

“Yes, sir, Mr. Blige.” The young man’s slim form slithered back out and the door closed.

Blige bowed his head and returned to his writing. “I don’t know why I keep that young upstart on. It’s not like there aren’t plenty more waiting for a job opening.” He huffed and dipped the pen into the ink well. “When the Ponderosa finally belongs to me maybe I will fire him, and good riddance.”

^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^

The evening passed like molasses from a cold pitcher for Jeremy. His eyes continually darted to the clock by the front door, and he wished he could will its hands to move faster. He did so want to get home to his Sarah, now in the end of her eighth month with their first baby. Mrs. Gresham had kindly agreed to stay with her through the day without payment. But he knew that she had to go home every night at seven to feed her own family, leaving Sarah alone for four hours. And after Dr. Martin made it plain that he worried about both her and the child, Jeremy had grown increasingly concerned.

When the clock finally struck eleven Jeremy nearly flew from his stool. But the last year in Ezekiel Blige’s employ had taught him prudence, if nothing else. He kept his eyes on the hand as it moved to one minute after the hour, then two and three. It was ten minutes past when Blige emerged from his office like some animal coming out of hibernation.

Blige took his watch from his vest pocket and compared its time to that of the big clock then snapped it shut. “I suppose now you want to go home.”

“Yes, I do. I don’t like leaving Sarah alone these days and…”

“I don’t care to hear about your problems. Now go ahead, and remember that I want you here bright and early on Saturday.”

Jeremy took his frayed muffler from the coat stand and wrapped it around his neck. “I will, sir, you have my word.”

“You had better unless you want to find yourself looking for another position. And with a wife and baby coming I know you need the salary I give you.”

“That I do, sir, though I do wish it could be a little more.”

“It could be nothing at all! Now go home before I change my mind and you stay another hour, maybe even two!”

Jeremy hastily finished buttoning his coat then stuck his hat on his head. “Merry Christmas, Mr. Blige.”

“Hooey.”

Jeremy knew better than to push things any more than he already had so he pulled the collar up around his neck and went out into the frigid night.

Blige grunted and shook his head. “The poor shouldn’t be permitted to get married. They do and breed just like rabbits then it’s left up to people like me to pay through the nose to take care of them.” With another grunt he went into his office and slammed the door.

^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^

Ezekiel Blige’s routine had become as commonplace to the people of Virginia City as the rising and setting of the sun. Every night at midnight – regardless of weather – he followed the same route home. Through a foreclosure, he had gotten the large Sutcliff mansion at the western edge of town after Mr. Sutcliff had passed away. His widow had been forced to return back east on what she had been able to scrape together and what relatives had sent to her. The big house – once one of the nicest in Virginia City – had deteriorated much in two years through shameful neglect caused by Blige’s stinginess. But many said it was because love no longer dwelled within its walls.

Blige made his way along the front walk, kept shoveled clean by a local boy that he paid as little as he could get by with. The heavy blanket of snow hid the way the yard had been allowed to grow up and Louise Sutcliff’s once prized rose bushes had died.

As he crossed the long porch to the weathered front door the wind whistled through like the breath of a wraith. He never burned the lamp that hung near the entrance, since oil was too costly, making it a long black tunnel. Taking the key from his coat pocket he fumbled with it in the darkness. It landed with a clatter followed by a curse, and he bent down to pick it up.

“Ezeeeeekiel…. Ezeeeeekiel.”

He rose quickly with the key clutched in his fingers. “What? Who is it?” His eyes probed the gloom but he saw no sign that he was anything but alone. “Hooey. It’s only the wind and your own fatigue.”

The door’s sharp creak filled the large foyer as he entered the darkened void. Once nature’s fury had been sealed out he took the candle stick he kept on a table in front of the octagonal widow and lit it. Its warm glow immediately enveloped what had once been a grand entryway, its furniture now covered with sheets and draped in cobwebs.

With his leather business folder tucked over his left arm and the light held before him, he started up the winding staircase. A shiver shook him as he headed up, but he would soon be in his room.

The bedroom door made the same kind of sound as the front one had as Ezekiel entered. The candlelight cast shadows from the substantial bed and other furnishings that the widow had been forced to leave behind. This wasn’t the largest bedchamber in the house so it was easier and less expensive to heat.

He placed the folder and candle on an ornate cherry wood lowboy then got out of his coat and hat. Hanging them on a peg, he went to the Italian marble fireplace and began laying a small fire. After he managed to coax a tiny blaze to bud he went to a matching wardrobe, undressing along the way. It had been a long day – as were all his days – and he was eager to turn in for the night. Just because tomorrow was Christmas he wouldn’t take the day off. No, he would leave that to the other addle headed fools who subscribed to such things. He had a lucrative business to run, and he didn’t have time for such nonsense.

TWO

In spite of the fact that it was quite late, Ezekiel sat in a worn wing chair going over his business ledgers, as he did every night. The fire crackled in the hearth and spread its warmth barely past the andirons. It touched his ankles – exposed beneath his moth-eaten robe – and held the chill around him at bay.

So engrossed in his chore was he that he didn’t notice the flames begin to dance and flutter as if caught in a fierce downdraft. Then a sudden blast of glacial wind shot down the chimney and everything went perfectly black. Ezekiel jerked to his feet, precipitating everything into the floor. But his startle quickly subsided, and he cursed under his breath.

He had just started to relight the fire when flames came to life and reached up the flue in tongues of yellow and orange. Flinging himself back, he caught his foot on a leg of the chair and nearly fell but was able to catch one of the arms.

“What in the world made it do that?”

“Ezekiel,” came as if on a breath of air.

This time the voice had form, and he knew he recognized it. Without giving it much thought he spun around, his hands in tight fists. “Ben Cartwright. How did you get in here? I’m going to get the sheriff and have you thrown out bodily.” He made a dash for the door, but just as he reached it the bolt slammed into place as if by an invisible hand. He whirled back on the invader. “How did you manage that parlor trick? It doesn’t matter. I’ll have you thrown out yet.” He stomped to the window and was just about to throw it open when the outside shutters banged shut and the bar fell noisily into place.

“We are going to talk.”

Ezekiel trod heavily over to him. “I’ll be hanged if we are.”

“I didn’t ask your permission. Now sit.”

Ezekiel rested his balled hands defiantly on his hips. “I’ll not.”

Ezekiel found himself lifted by what felt like unseen hands and placed in the wingchair. But instead of being frightened, he was furious. “Oh, this is all just a bunch of tommyrot!”

“Not quite, Ezekiel. This is very important to a good many people, but especially to you. I’ll tell you who I really am.”

“I know who you are!”

“You only think you do because I am presenting myself in a form that is familiar to you. The truth is…” he crossed his arms over his broad chest, “I’m you’re guardian spirit, and have been since the day you were born. I’ve guided you through a part of your life. When you were a child, did you ever do something that you weren’t quite sure why you did it?”

The skepticism in Ezekiel’s hard eyes was replaced by distrust.

“I see that you did.” The spirit proudly jabbed himself in the chest with his thumb. “Well that was me. But that all changed when you turned thirteen and it got progressively more difficult until it became impossible. And I have come to help you change your ways before it’s too late. So that, my dear Ezekiel, is who I am and why I’m here.”

“Hooey. I don’t believe a word of it, and even if I did I like my ways just fine.”

“That may be so, but those I answer to don’t, and I must say that I don’t either. You’re hateful, grasping, greedy, selfish, and unyielding; just to mention a few of your less than admirable attributes.”

Ezekiel bolted up from the chair. “I take offence at that! After the way I had to live I promised myself that I would never have to again!”

“If you’re using poverty as an excuse, don’t. You aren’t the only one to find his or herself in that position. Abraham Lincoln was raised poor and look at him. Even the man you’re trying to destroy, the man whose form I appear to you in now, came from humble roots where money wasn’t always in great quantity. Now sit down.”

Once again Ezekiel found himself pushed down into the chair by the same invisible force.

“That’s better.” The spirit began to stride back-and-forth before Ezekiel, its arms clasped behind its back. “You are not an easy man to help, Ezekiel, and we’ve given long deliberation as to how to go about it, but we saw that there was only one way that had any hope of success.” He stopped and turned to his charge. “You will be visited by three spirits who will be of great help to you. The first…”

“You must think I’m pretty stupid. I wasn’t sure at first, but now I know exactly what you’re up to, Ben Cartwright. I know all about Charles Dickens’ A Christmas Carol. I have been regaled with that wretched story by those who have read it one time too many. And this is all straight out of its plot.”

The spirit smiled knowingly. “Of course it is. Where do you think Dickens’ got the idea to write it? And before you go thinking you’re so special; just let me say that you aren’t the only one we’ve ever used it on. It’s quite effective, but the subject has to come to a certain point in his or her life before it’ll work and stick. You have reached that point.”

Ezekiel snorted and shook his head, the end of his nightcap jingling like a bell. “Well you just might as well give it up because I’m wise to you and it won’t work.” Ezekiel’s fingers dug into the arms of the chair like talons. “I refuse to be duped.”

With the suddenness of a gust of arctic wind the spirit streaked forward until its face was less than two inches from Ezekiel’s. Its eyes burned like red hot embers and the mouth had fallen open like the great black maw of a cave. The rest of its body seemed to have disappeared, leaving only that terrible face, which now bore no resemblance to any Cartwright known to man. “You will do as I tell you!” it shrieked. “You have turned your back on mankind for far too long, and I am here to see that that is rectified! Do you understand me?”

Ezekiel cringed before its wrath and had sunk back into the chair until it appeared as if he would vanish into the stuffing. He nodded, but his voice wouldn’t come.

“Good! Now shut up and let me finish!” Then, with equal suddenness, the spirit returned to the form of Ben Cartwright as if nothing had happened. “Now, as I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted, you will be visited by three spirits, and they too will appear in familiar form. The first will come exactly on the stroke of one, the second on the stroke of two, and the third when he gets a good ready on him. You will do exactly as they instruct you to, and we will keep a close eye on their progress.”

“And what if…? What if I refuse to… go along with this?”

Again the spirit transfigured into the frightening apparition; its arms raised over its head with fingers curled into great claws. “I’ll be back, and I guarantee you won’t like that!” Then it began to twirl like a cyclone, the vortex it produced threatening to suck Ezekiel along with it, but he clung to the chair. It rose upward and disappeared through the ceiling, leaving Ezekiel quite alone.

Then its ghostly voice floated around him. “Remember, the first on the stroke of one.”

A minute passed and turned into four, and nothing else happened. The fire in the hearth had returned to its miniscule status, and the candle on the mantelpiece burned without a care. The muscles in Ezekiel’s body had begun to relax, he eased forward to look cautiously about him, and nothing was out of sorts. It was as if the whole thing had never occurred.

“Hooey.” His thin lips drew into a dour pucker. “It was only your imagination. It must have been that last brandy you had before you ventured out of your offices.” Now he grew angry at himself. “You never could imbibe late anyway, but you never seem to take heed. It was all in your head.” He tittered derisively. “My spirits came out of a glass.”

In an instant, the small fire flared and Ezekiel’s head jerked around. The face of Ben Cartwright – with those same reddened eyes – appeared among the wildly flittering flames. “A glass can’t hold me. Now remember, the stroke of one, and don’t make me come back.” Then it was gone, and the fire returned to its unimposing nature.

THREE

As hard as Ezekiel had tried staying awake, fatigue and the lateness of the hour had overcome him, and he had drifted off in the chair. Not to mention that his visitation had unnerved him more than he would ever admit, even though he was still convinced it had been brought on by the brandy. The tassel of his cap fluttered as he breathed heavily through his mouth. And except for what the small fire and the candle put out, the room was shadowy.

Stark, harsh light cut through his eyelids like a hot axe through snow. His face scrunched as wakefulness came abruptly, and he put his hands over his eyes. This effort, however, was futile as the brightness seemed to go through them as well. Taking them away, he blinked and focus slowly returned.

A pure white light – gradually growing in intensity – filled the room, obliterating every bit of shadow and blackness. Mesmerized, his gaze fixed on what appeared to be the formation of a figure about three feet before him. He wanted to run, he wanted to jump out a window, he wanted to do anything to escape, but he couldn’t will his body to cooperate.

Slowly, the long blob in the middle became more solid and began to take human shape. As it took on dimension, clothing also took shape. It appeared to be cowboy in origin, though in pristine white from head-to-foot. A head full of snowy, curly hair peaked from under the hat but no features were yet discernible. In fact, the last thing to come in clearly was the face, and it didn’t take Ezekiel long to recognize it, right down to its vaguely green eyes. Then it spoke, and its voice was soft and boyish with an almost feminine quality to it. “I am the first spirit whose coming was foretold to you by your guardian.”

“Jjjoe Cartwright.”

“No, Ezekiel, I am the Ghost of Christmas Past, your past, and I am here to help you.”

“Hhhhelp me to what?”

“That too was told to you by the guardian, but I will tell you again. You are squandering your life as well as doing harm to others and being unkind to your fellow man. I am here to help you mend your ways before it is too late.”

The last sentence snapped Ezekiel out of his entrancement and the temper went with it. “I’ve done very well for myself, thank you, and I don’t need anyone telling me what to do. I have more money than I’ve ever had in my life, and it’s all from hard work and frugality.”

“And what do you have to show for it? Too miserly to spend and enjoy what you make, you live like a pauper. You have no kindness in your heart for others and the less fortunate is of no consequence. And it disturbs you not in the least to take what is not rightfully yours simply to make more money from it.”

Ezekiel jerked to his feet. “If you’re talking about my getting my hands on the Ponderosa that is strictly a business venture.”

“With Ben Cartwright and his sons the Ponderosa is more than what you so casually call ‘a business venture’. It is their home and they love and respect it. They have worked long and hard to make it what it is today, but each one would gladly give it up for the others.” The Joe-like figure stepped closer, his boots making less sound than a cat’s soft padding. “Still, I know they would not want to see a railroad come through their home, even though it no longer belonged to them.”

Ezekiel’s eyes widened and grew sharp. “Who told you that?”

“No one had to tell me. I, like the others, know every aspect of your life. You have been working behind everyone’s back since word of a possible railroad coming to Virginia City brought you here two years ago. That is why you have been working so diligently to seize the Ponderosa in any way you can. And by any method available, be it strictly aboveboard or not.”

“You have no right to question the way I go about achieving my goals.”

“And what gives you the right to steal what isn’t rightly yours.”

“It isn’t stealing, it’s purely business.”

The corners of the spirit’s mouth turned slightly. “Theft by any other name is still theft.” The faint smile vanished, and it held out its left arm. “Take my hand.”

Ezekiel stared at the proffered hand as if it were a loaded gun aimed straight at his belly.

“I said, take my hand, and it is not a request.”

Ezekiel jutted his bewhiskered chin out defiantly. “I don’t think I will.”

The green of the spirit’s eyes grew more intense. “I can be unpleasant, too, and I seriously don’t think you want me to. Now take my hand.”

Ezekiel gulped as he recalled the frightening specter that had come before when it too had been angered, and he had no desire to repeat the ghastly experience. With trembling fingers, he reached out and found his hand taken in a firm, cool grip. And he was amazed by the downy softness of the skin pressed against his. “What now?”

“We are going on a journey.”

Ezekiel swallowed hard again. “A journey? Now? At this hour and in this weather?”

“You needn’t worry about that. You will not feel the cold. And are you tired?”

Ezekiel’s bushy, wiry eyebrows rose. “No, I’m not. And I should be after the day I’ve put in.”

“It doesn’t matter why.” The spirit patted the back of Ezekiel’s hand. “Now let us go. I have much to show you.”

Ezekiel’s heart rate sped up as what possibly lay before him raced through his mind. And an idea of how they would get there was even more unsettling. Strangely enough, however, the spirit didn’t seem to be making any effort to take him anywhere. But then Ezekiel became aware of slight changes as the room began taking on a different appearance. The ceiling lightened and softened as heavy gray clouds began drifting overhead. He looked down and found that they were standing in several inches of snow that came up over his slippers and around his bare ankles, though he felt no cold at all.

“Do you recognize this place?”

Ezekiel let his eyes wander until they came to a small, dreary shack backed by a cluster of winter-deadened trees. A thin wisp of smoke rose from the stone chimney, but there were no other signs of life. His breathing quickened, but his breath left no telltale plumes in the air. “That’s the cabin I was born and grew up in. This is New York. But how did we…?”

“It doesn’t matter. We’re here, so shall we go inside?”

Ezekiel tried pulling back. “No, I don’t want to. I don’t want to see anyone in there.”

“Why not? You have no reason to be afraid of who is in there.”

“I’m not afraid, but I have no good memories of this time, and I don’t want to relieve them again. And I don’t want them to know I’m here.”

“They won’t hear or see us. They are simply shadows of the past.”

Ezekiel felt himself being drawn irresistibly closer to the house with no will of his own. He wanted to take flight, but something compelled him to go with this spirit.

In the batting of an eyelid they were standing at the front and only door, and Ezekiel looked over his boyhood home. He recalled the story of how his father had been too poor to buy any windows for it.

Ezekiel didn’t want to go in and see the poverty and squalor he had been raised in. In all these years he had fought to eradicate it from his memory, not so much his family but what had been forced on them. And now he found himself about to relive it all over again.

He and the spirit walked through the door as if it were nothing more than an image cast on smoke. A lean, sapling thin man sat in a rough chair at the rickety table with a young girl in his lap, and a towheaded boy sat at his feet playing with a crude wooden horse. A delicate woman – her golden hair pulled to the back of her head – stood at the fireplace stirring a small cast iron pot.

Ezekiel clandestinely daubed at the corner of one eye. “My family. And that’s me in the floor.” He glanced at the spirit and a light of happy pride shown in his eyes. “My father carved that little horse for me for that Christmas.”

“Do you know what year this is?”

Ezekiel smiled for the first time in many years. “It’s 1815. I was six-years-old, and Gertrude was four.” His expression saddened. “Phillip would have been three, but he died of the ague that spring. Mother was never really quite the same after that.”

“She loved all of you very much, as did your father.”

“Yes, they did…. We were so impoverished that one room was all the cabin had. I slept on a corn shuck bed, even in the winter when the floor was so cold.” Ezekiel frowned. “We all look so happy.”

“You were. You have conveniently let yourself lose sight of the good things you had as a child to condone what you do now for the sake of making more money.”

“What good things?”

“You’re about to find out if you’ll simply watch and listen.”

The man put his daughter down in the floor with her brother and went to his wife as she sliced bread on a chopping block. His arms encircled her petite waist, and he nuzzled her neck.

“Ephraim, the children.”

He shot the little ones a shrewd look then his attention returned to his wife. “It’s not like they haven’t seen this before, and it doesn’t hurt them to see that I love their mother.” His arms tightened, and he sniffed. “That smells good. You certainly have a winning way with ham.”

“It wouldn’t do us any good if Mr. Harland didn’t give us one every year. It surprises me that your pride lets you take it.”

“I still remember those hams, and Mother always did them just right,” Ezekiel said and his sight never strayed from his parents.

Ephraim Blige looked around at his family. “I have mouths to feed, and children don’t grow and thrive on pride. And a little extra work for him through the spring and summer and at fall harvest more than pays for it.” He kissed her on the ear lobe.

“Ephraim!”

The children giggled.

Ephraim turned to them and spread his arms. “Come here, you two.”

They rushed to their father, young Ezekiel still clutching the little horse. Ephraim scooped up his daughter and tousled his son’s silky hair. “Maybe we don’t have much money, but we have family and friends and a roof over our heads. And we have plenty of love, so I don’t think we’re doing so badly. Now when is that food gonna be ready, woman? We’re starving here.”

She crouched at the fire and jabbed a long tined fork into the large ham that roasted on a spit, and succulent juices ran into the flames. “It’s ready now, so go to the table.”

They sat at the table, Gertrude once again in her father’s lap while her mother took up the ham. No one noticed that the platter on which it sat and the bowls holding the cooked, dried beans and fresh baked bread were chipped. The aromas made children smack their mouths and their eyes glow with anticipation.

“I wish I could smell that,” Ezekiel said vacantly as he watched his mother take her place next to her son.

The family clasped hands around the little table that wobbled when bumped and lowered their heads. Ephraim said grace with a reverence that had eluded Ezekiel’s memory for a very long time.

“When have you done that?” the spirit asked.

But Ezekiel said nothing and appeared not to even hear the question.

“Amen,” Ephraim said as he took up the carving knife and fork. “Now let’s partake of Mr. Harland’s gift that your Mother has turned into another of her masterpieces.”

As his father carved Ezekiel decided that he couldn’t stand this any longer. “Let’s get out of here.”

“Why?” the spirit asked with a puckish glint in its pale green eyes. “The family is…”

“I just wantta get out of here. I can’t stand this anymore.”

“Very well.”

They went back outside, leaving the family to enjoy their meal and each other. The clouds had grown heavier and more stationary and perfect white flakes drifted to earth.

“Now take me home.”

“Not yet. There is still more that I want to show you.” The spirit held out its hand to him.

Ezekiel absentmindedly took it. He didn’t much care where they went, just so it was away from here.

FOUR

Ezekiel wasn’t aware of any change, and a lack of inaction infuriated him. “Well aren’t we going to go?”

“We already have.”

“We most assuredly have not. We’re still right where we were.”

“Take a closer look.”

Ezekiel wasn’t in the mood for parlor games, but he decided to humor the deceitful spirit. On closer inspection he could see that there were subtle differences. It was earlier in the day, there was more snow on the ground, and a hint of sunshine tinted everything a pale buttery yellow.

“This is the same place but a different time. I thought you were taking me somewhere else.”

“I did. Yes, this is your home, but it is different.”

The corners of Ezekiel’s mouth drew in, and his brow creased. “Now you’re playing with semantics. Of course this is my home, and I see nothing different about it.”

“Years bring great changes, even the ones we can’t discern from the outside. Nonetheless, they are there. Now let’s go inside. Our time is running short.”

“If it’ll get this nonsense over with sooner then by-all-means let’s do so. It’s late and I need my rest.” Ezekiel extended his hand toward the cabin. “After you.”

“We will go together.”

In the winking of an eye they were back in the one room of the ramshackle house. This time, however, there was none of the love and brightness as before, only sadness and gloom. Ephraim Blige sat on a stool stirring the contents of a large black kettle that hung over the fire. His face was long and lined and his empty walnut brown eyes followed the motion of the spoon.

Gertrude pulled herself away from the table where she played with a disreputable looking rag doll. With some apparent trepidation, she went to her father but only stood before him, her small hands clasped in front of her.

After a long second, he finally looked up at her. “Yes, Gerty, what is it?”

“I’m hungry, Daddy…. When are we gonna eat?”

A sad smile turned the corners of his mouth and went nowhere near his eyes. He reached out and tenderly patted his daughter’s cheek. “Soon, sweetheart. I’m afraid I’m not the cook your mother was. And for some reason Mr. Harland didn’t bring a ham this year.” Then he suddenly let go of the spoon and it slid down into the pot. He threw his arms around his daughter and clutched her to him then his gaze went to his son. “Come here, Ezekiel.”

Young Ezekiel got down from his chair and scuffed over to his father. Ephraim pulled him next to his sister and hid his face against his children. His soft sobs filled the empty room.

The spirit looked at the adult Ezekiel’s grim countenance. “Your mother was?”

“She died in child birth in the early fall of 1817, so did the baby…. A brother.” He blinked hard to contain the tears that flirted with the edges of his eyes. “My father changed after that. The light and his zest for living went out of him. Oh, there were a few times now and then but it was never like it had been. All he cared about was doing his best for me and Gertrude and giving us what little he could offer. But he always loved us until he worked himself to an early grave nearly seven years later.”

“But he did love you, and that’s worth remembering.”

“Yes, it is. But I can’t help but thinking what could have been if he…”

A knock at the door interrupted them.

Ephraim’s head raised, and he wiped his reddened eyes and the dampness from his face. “I wonder who that could be on Christmas day.” He untangled himself from the children and went to answer it.

The spirit gave the adult Ezekiel a sly sideways look. “Do you know who it is?”

Ezekiel’s eyes narrowed. “Yes, it’s…”

“Mr. Harland, what’re you doing here?” Ephraim asked, his children gathering behind him. “I would think you would be with your family on today of all days.”

“My wife sent me to fetch you. She has been fretting herself senseless about you and the children over here with nothing to eat.”

“We have food, we’re all right.” Ephraim’s arms stole around his son and daughter.

“I know that, but this is Christmas, and you know how women are when they get a thing in their head,” Harland said with a chortle then leaned closer and lowered his voice. “But she reminded me that if your cooking is like mine…,” his face wrinkled. “And she certainly knows what children like.” His eyes roved to Gertrude and her brother. “We have turkey with a golden skin that’s filled with chestnut stuffing as well as puddings and cakes and pastries.” He jabbed his employee in the ribs and winked. “And for us there’s a Wassail Bowl. So what do you say, Ephraim? I sure would hate to go back to her without you three in tow.”

Ephraim crouched before his children. “Would you like to? Would you like to spend Christmas in the big house?”

“If you want to, Daddy,” young Ezekiel said. “We don’t mind as long as we’re together like Mama would want us to be.”

Ephraim’s mouth turned, and his face lit like a candle. “All right then, by golly, we will.” He stood to face Harland. “Just let us get cleaned up so we’ll be more presentable and we’ll be ready.”

“Nonsense,” Harland said with a robust laugh. “You all look just fine.” He slapped his hands together with a loud crack and turned to the children. “And I would guess that you’ve never ridden in a sleigh before. Am I right?” Two small heads bobbed. “All right, get your wraps and let’s go. And who knows, there may even be some gifts under the tree for you.”

Little Gertrude danced in place with excitement while her big brother did his best to contain his since he was more grown up.

“All right, you two, go get your wraps and your mufflers. We mustn’t keep everyone waiting.” Ephraim watched his children dash for their coats then turned back to his employer. “I want to thank you and your wife for this, Mr. Harland. Without your kind invitation, my children…”

With a laugh Harland gave him a slap on the arm. “This isn’t just for your family but mine as well. Katharine has always loved children, and after our Teddy died spring before last she can’t get enough of them. So this is for everyone concerned.”

Ezekiel and Gertrude came back ready to go – such as they were – with coats buttoned wrong, hats askew and mufflers haphazardly poked into collars.

Harland laughed robustly. “All right, let’s go.”

Ephraim took his own hat and coat from a peg by the door and they followed the children out. Young eyes widened as they saw the gleaming red sleigh drawn by a brace of glistening coal black horses. Cyrus gathered the little girl into his arms and they all trooped to the big conveyance. Gertrude was allowed to stroke one of the animals and it made her giggle giddily. They all piled in and lap robes were spread then the driver snapped the reins and they were off.

“Cyrus Harland was a silly man, wasn’t he? One of those addle headed fools, I think you call them.”

Ezekiel watched wistfully as the sleigh headed away from the house, the bells on the horses’ harnesses jingling merrily. “He was one of the finest men it’s ever been my privilege to know. And if not for him and his dear wife we would’ve had the worst Christmas a child could know that year.”

“Still, he was frivolous and foolish, wasn’t he?”

Ezekiel’s severe eyes flashed around on the spirit, but he said nothing.

The spirit held out its hand again. “Now we have two more places to go.”

“Not back here, I would hope.”

“You’ll see. Take my hand.”

Ezekiel dutifully followed orders, and his gaze trailed back to the departing sleigh. He had forgotten the exhilaration of this day, and he let it return freely.

FIVE

Ezekiel instantly recognized the grand front parlor of the house they were now in. A fire crackled in the large brick fireplace and the mantle was festooned with evergreen boughs and scarlet velvet bows. A handsome young man with reddish blond hair stood before it looking down into the hearth.

“Do you recognize him?” the spirit asked.

“Of course I do. It’s me when I was seventeen. I had to borrow those clothes from a friend so I could go to the Harland’s for Christmas.”

“Just like you did every year.”

Ezekiel’s brow sank into a deep frown. “Yes, just like I did every year.”

“That is until…”

The spirit was interrupted when a slim brunette girl who appeared not any older wafted into the room.

“Martha,” the older Ezekiel said on a breath.

“Ezekiel,” she said with a voice like soft chimes.

The young man turned toward her. His face instantly brightened. “I waited in here like you asked me to. What is this all about? I can always tell when you’re upset about something.”

“We need to talk, and I didn’t think a room filled with gaiety and joy would be proper.”

“Why not? What is wrong? Can it be so bad?”

The skirt of her dress rustled as she went to him. “For me it is. But it concerns us, so I’m not so sure about you any more.”

“How can you say that? You know how I feel about you.”

A heavy breath rushed into her, making her delicate bosom swell. “I thought I did.” He touched her cheek and started to kiss her, but she pulled away. “No.”

“Why not? You’ve never objected before.”

“I’ve never had reason to before, but you worked until you gave me one.”

He cupped her face in his hands and started again to kiss her.

“I said, no.” She wrenched away from him and backed into a small table, tipping it over. The silver dish that had been on it clattered against the hardwood floor. He grasped her arm to keep her from falling. “Please don’t touch me.”

“You would like it better if I let you fall?”

“Maybe I would, but please don’t touch me.” She pried his fingers from her arm.

“Martha, what is it? You’ve never acted this way before. Have I done something so wrong that it would make you turn against me? And if I have, please tell me what it is because I don’t know.”

“The sad thing is that you really don’t.” She turned away from him and focused her attention on the fire. Its warm glow accentuated her elegant features and heightened the sadness in her cerulean blue eyes. “I have always believed you when you professed your love for me because I never had any reason to doubt it…, but now I do…. I’ve found out that you have a new love that you have put above me.”

He gripped her shoulders and turned her to him. “How can you say that? We’ve loved each other since we were children. There is no one else but you. There is no other love but you.”

“Yes, there is…. It’s money, and you love it more than you ever have me. You’ve become so driven to obtain it that you have no time or use for anyone or anything else. I was surprised that you came for Christmas this year. And I fear that it won’t be long before you have no time for that either.”

He released her and stepped to one of the windows. He looked beyond the frosted panes, and his fingers dug into one of the heavy brocaded draperies. “I vowed that I would never let what happened to my father happen to me.” His head jerked about, and his eyes burned fiercely. “For all his hard work there never seemed to be enough, and after Mother died he worked even harder to provide for me and Gerty.”

“My father always paid him well, as he does with all those who work for him.”

“But Father was already so deep in debt by that time, and with more piling on top of him it didn’t help.” His expression softened and some of the fire dissipated. “I remember the Christmas hams…,” sadness crept in, “and our being brought here that year after we lost Mother.” The fire returned. “But I will never take charity like my father was forced to.” His fist clenched around the heavy fabric. “Me and mine will never bow and scrape to anyone!”

The elder Ezekiel watched as a mixture of emotions flitted over her face.

“Is that what you call doing whatever you must to take care of those you love.” Now her flames flared. “What my father did was an act of kindness, and was never meant to keep your father subservient to him. And if that’s what you think… then I can see that your new love has indeed changed you into someone I don’t know and don’t want to.” She tossed hear head back. “Now you can come eat with the rest of us or go. I don’t much care which you do…. And after this I don’t think we should see each other again.” She whirled from him and stomped from the room, her shoes clicking against the floor like angry crickets.

“Martha!” He reached out as if he could pull her back to him, but she was gone. His arm slowly dropped, and he just stood there.

The spirit’s pale green eyes roved over its charge. “You should’ve gone after her.”

Ezekiel shook his head as he watched his younger self. “I couldn’t do that. I’m not one to run after anyone who can’t accept me for who I am.”

“And as the result she married somebody else, and you never married anybody. You simply wound up a lonely old man with only money to keep you warm at night and tell your troubles to.”

Ezekiel’s stern glare turned on the spirit. “That’s none of your business…. I’m happy enough.”

A rascally light danced in the spirit’s eyes. “Who are you trying to convince? Me or you?”

The young Ezekiel returned from the cloak room with his long cape and put it on then his high hat. He looked about him while two unknown entities watched him then he quietly opened the immense front door and went out.

“You never came back here, did you? But then I suppose it wasn’t something that would keep you up at night. Conscience has never interfered with your sleep. ”

Ezekiel was fed up with this spirit’s cocky, flippant attitude. “I’ve had enough of this sentimental drivel. I demand that you take me back to my house at once.”

“You’re not in a position to demand anything. Now I said two more stops before so we have one left.”

The spirit held out its hand, and Ezekiel took it without any thought behind it. He simply wanted to leave.

As if turning the page of a book Ezekiel found himself standing on the outer fringe of a copse of snow shrouded elms. A stately two-story house in the Georgian style sat on a slight rise, and flagstone steps led up to its circular portico. “I don’t know this place.”

“Of course you don’t, you’ve never been here, not that you were never invited. You were always too busy to accept the invitation. Now shut up and watch and listen.”

In a minute a horse drawn sleigh stopped at the walkway that led to the house. The front door opened and a couple in their early thirties with five little girls came out in their winter finery, all chattering merrily.

“Gerty.”

“That’s right. It’s your sister and her family. And you never let yourself get to know him or your nieces; you’ve simply never been able to. Regis Clark is a fine man and desperately loves your sister to this day. The girls all made fine women with families of their own except for the youngest one who died of pneumonia when she was seven.”

“I know. My sister wrote to me.”

“Living not more than a few miles apart and she had to write a letter. Can you imagine how painful that was?” The spirit clicked its teeth and shook its head, the soft, buoyant hair moving with it. “And you didn’t even have time to go the funeral.”

“Gerty understood.”

“Did she?”

As the children were piled into the sleigh by their father, Gerty separated from them and began walking with slow deliberate steps in the direction of the trees. When she stopped she stood not more that a couple feet from her brother, but she obviously didn’t see him. Bringing her ermine trimmed cloak around her, she seemed to be seeing what was there.

“Gerty,” Regis said as he came up behind her, “we’re ready.”

But she simply stood, her eyes fixed into the trees. “I wish Ezekiel would come with us…. I think he would enjoy it.”

Regis began rubbing up and down her arms. “You know better than that. It isn’t like we’ve never asked him, and he has always found an excuse not to.” He tittered. “Except for last year when he just flat told me that he didn’t want to with no excuses attached. That’s when we decided that we wouldn’t ask him any more to join us for anything, and we both know that it is for the best.”

“I know, but…” she turned to him, “he has no one else but us.”

“I’m afraid not even us, and that is of his choosing, and there’s nothing we can do about it if he won’t let us.” A bright smile washed away any gloominess, and his sage green eyes sparkled in the morning light. “Now the girls are waiting for us, and you know how impatient they can get.”

“I do suppose you’re right.”

“Of course I’m right. And since I so seldom am you might allow me this.”

She placed a gloved hand against his cheek, and adoration filled the space between them. “Then let us go before the children drive poor Sturgis mad.”

She let her husband lead her toward the house, but glanced back at the trees as they went. Her eyes seemed to connect with Ezekiel’s, and his pulse raced. His sister was going from his life once again.

With a sudden jerk Ezekiel came awake. His fingers gripped the chair’s soft worn arms and it didn’t take him long to realize where he was. The small fire in the hearth had nearly burned itself out, and the flame of the candle on the mantle had been drowned out by melted wax. His sluggish eyes ran about him, and he snorted. “It was all just a dream. I never even left my own room or this chair.”

SIX

Ezekiel was barely aware of the clock striking two, and he didn’t really care so he flopped over in bed and tried going back to sleep. That is, those were his plans until he found himself roughly poked in the ribs.

“Come on, Ezekiel boy, git up. We got places to go and things to see.”

Ezekiel fanned his hand at the disembodied voice without looking at its purveyor. “You’re only a dream, so go away.”

“I ain’t askin’ but once. So you best just git up before I do it for you.”

“I’m not getting up for a stupid dream.”

With a sudden yank the covers flew away, and Ezekiel sat straight up in bed now wide-eyed awake.

“That’s better.”

Ezekiel gulped. “Are you… Are you the second spirit whose coming was told to me?”

“I sure am. I’m Christmas Present and time’s a’wastin’.” It took a huge bite from the large turkey leg grasped in its beefy fist.

This one looked for-all-the-world like Hoss Cartwright, and because it did Ezekiel felt a little more at ease. The big man was known for his kindness and gentle ways, and Ezekiel could only hope they extended to this spirit. “Are you sure about that?”

The spirit threw its head back and laughed heartily, the long pheasant feathers stuck in the brim of the large hat fluttering with the motion. “Do you think I’d be here if’n I wasn’t? I’d be off someplace sittin’ at a big table just plain loaded with food. In fact, that’s where I was ‘til I hadta come pay you a visit. Now let’s git this done so’s I can go back to it.”

Ezekiel swung his wiry legs over the side of the bed and slipped his feet into his slippers. He then went to retrieve his robe from the bed’s footboard.

“You ain’t gonna need that.” The spirit held out the tail of its long coat made of brown curly fur. “Take a hold of my buffalo robe and let’s git goin’. We gotta be finished before the next spirit comes.” Mild disgust tinted the shiny blue eyes. “Goodness only knows when that’s gonna be, an’ he don’t like waitin’.” It shook the garment and took another bite.

Ezekiel hesitantly did as he was told and it was warm and soft beneath his hand and fingers. As they stood in place the room began spinning around them. It soon became a blur as it spun ever faster and faster, and it made Ezekiel dizzy so he held on tighter. All he needed was to precipitate himself onto his face and get laughed at by this roguish spirit.

Suddenly, everything stopped. Ezekiel’s stomach lurched, and he had to gulp it down.

“Do you know where we are?”

Ezekiel looked around him at his new surroundings. They were standing at the center of a large parlor, an immense stone fireplace to one side of it. The furnishings were elegant while at the same time rustic and homey. Red dominated the windows and a masculine air permeated the space. A large decorated pine sat near the foot of the substantial staircase to add its own festive touch. Then he saw the silver-haired man sitting in the red leather chair staring into the hearth, his arms crossed on his knees. “I know him. That’s Ben Cartwright.”

“It oughtta be since you’re in his house.”

“I didn’t know it was this refined,” Ezekiel said with apparent awe. Then his gaze traced the lines of worry in the big man’s face. “What’s wrong with him? I thought he’d be happy at Christmas.”

“Like most fools?” the spirit said and took a bite of the drumstick.

“That’s beside the point. I asked you what’s wrong with him.”

“As if’n you don’t know.”

Ezekiel had grown frustrated. “I don’t. That’s why I asked. So would you please answer my question?”

“Well if’n you’ll just shut up an’ open your ears an’ eyes you’ll find out.”

Just then the three Cartwright sons blustered in, a swirl of snow accompanying them. They didn’t notice that they had been joined by two apparitions as they divested themselves of their outer trappings.

Joe Cartwright’s emerald eyes drifted to his father as he removed a tan wool scarf from around his neck. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen Pa so worried.”

“Well what would you expect?” Adam Cartwright said as he took off his snow dappled coat. “Ezekiel Blige has been trying to take the Ponderosa almost from the time when he first arrived in Virginia City.” His dark hazel eyes went more somber, and his heavy brows knit. “And now it appears as if he may succeed in his endeavor.”

“But ain’t they nothin’ we can do?” Hoss Cartwright asked as he dropped his hat onto the bureau.

“I don’t know. I was talking to Bill Stewart yesterday morning while we were in town.” Adam began unbuckling his gun belt. “After Christmas he’s gonna go to Carson City and see what he can find out there then he’ll let me know.”

“And then?” Joe asked as if suddenly unable to move.

“It all depends on what he finds.” Adam laid his gun belt next to his brother’s hat. “And if it’s what I’m afraid of I’ll be going to San Francisco to try and stop this from that end.”

“When’ll you go?” Hoss asked, his distressed blue eyes flicking to his little brother.

“That also depends on what Bill finds out.” A wide, toothy grin flashed across Adam’s dark face, and he got between his brothers and slapped his hands on their backs. “This is supposed to be a happy time, not a time for worrying and fretting. We won’t mention any of this to Pa just yet. So let’s put this behind us at least for tonight and do our best at cheering him up. I mean, Christmas only comes but once a year so let’s make the most of it.”

“I can git behind that,” Hoss said and rubbed his hands together with relish.

Joe still looked troubled. “But, Adam, what if you can’t stop it?”

Some of Adam’s smile faded. “I don’t know, but as long as we’re together as a family I think we can handle whatever comes at us.”

“That’s right,” Hoss said and thrust out his massive chest. “They ain’t invented a trouble the Cartwrights can’t tackle. An’ besides, why you gotta always go lookin’ on the black side all the time for? Ol’ Zeke’s only got this far ‘cause he ain’t never seriously butted heads with our older brother.”

“Be-that-as-it-may,” Adam said with that one eyebrow raised dubiously, “it won’t be easy. Ezekiel Blige is as sharp as a new axe and greedy as a starved dog so don’t underestimate him.”

“Young Cartwright is right about the first part, though I don’t care for the second analogy.”

“I wouldn’t brag about any of it, if’n I was you,” the spirit said with a frown.

“I’m still worried.”

“We all are, Joe,” Adam said and gave his little brother a pat, “but like I said, right now we need to put it on the back of the stove for Pa’s sake.”

Joe agreed with only a halfhearted nod and they joined their father. After a long moment Ben finally looked up at them and his half ended smile was obviously forced.

Ezekiel had heard of the legendary closeness of this strong family but had never experienced it first hand. These young men were obviously devoted to their father as well as one another. He had also heard people talk about how one would willingly lay down his life for those he loved.

Just then a diminutive oriental man wearing a cook’s apron bustled out of the kitchen to break the spell. “Supper leady. You come to table chop-chop.”

“That reminds me, we gotta git goin’,” the spirit said as he stuffed the remains of the turkey leg into a coat pocket. “We still got more to see an’ I wantta git back to my vittles.”

“Can’t we stay a little longer?” Ezekiel asked as he watched the family sit down at the dining table.

The spirit eyed his warily. “All right, but when I say we go we go.”

Ezekiel agreed. Soon the table was filled plates, bowls and platters of all sorts of delectable things to eat. Then hands were clasped and heads bowed and, as always, Ben led them in grace.

“Thank you, oh Lord, for thy bounty that has been placed before us. And thank your for thy gifts that have been bestowed upon us and we continue to receive, most especially the gift all mankind received so long ago at this time and each other. And let us keep the spirit and love of this wondrous and joyous season in our hearts all year long. Amen.”

Ezekiel’s head had drooped slightly, and his shoulders sagged. “Amen,” he whispered.

“What was that?” the spirit blurted.

Ezekiel’s head rose sharply. “Nothing. Now we can go?”

“I thought you might think so.”

Then they passed through the front wall and were gone.

SEVEN

The house before them – if one wanted to stretch the imagination and call it one – was little more than a shack. It had been around for a while and had definitely seen better days, but the pale orange light coming through its only window gave evidence that someone did indeed live there.

“You mean someone actually lives in this hovel?” Ezekiel said as his gaze ran over it.

“They sure do.”

“Who?”

“Let’s go in and find out.”

A frail-looking chestnut-haired woman – quite evidently with child – sat in a rocking chair before a small fireplace. A man placed a threadbare quilt over her lap then turned to the hearth and poked up the meager flames.

“Potter. He works for me.”

“That he sure does, and if’n he didn’t need what piddlin’ little bit you give him I doubt he would.”

Ezekiel’s fiery eyes turned on the spirit. “Well if it’s so insignificant then why does he?”

The spirit nodded toward the woman. “For her. Pretty much everything he does is for her. And you was the only one who’d hire ‘im.” He snorted. “But he didn’t figger on slave wages.”

Sarah Potter’s lovely features contorted, and she placed both hands flat against her full belly but made not even a whimper. Jeremy dropped the poker and whirled, attentively grasping one of her hands.

“Are you all right?”

“Just a slight pain. It’s easing off now.” Gentle amusement covered her face, and she lovingly touched his cheek. “Don’t be such a worrier.”

“I can’t help it. I can still hear every word Dr. Paul said about you and the baby not getting the proper nourishment.” He knelt before her on the cold plank floor and took both her hands. “I can’t stand the thought of any harm coming to you. And it’s all because I can’t make enough money to even feed you.”

“We’re not complaining.” She pulled his head down into her lap and stroked the soft ash brown hair.

“Is she going to lose the baby?” Ezekiel asked with a quick glance at his companion.”

“Whadaya you care?” the spirit said as he crossed his arms over his broad chest. “She’ll just have another one an’ another an’ another. They breed like rabbits, you know.”

Ezekiel cringed as his own unfeeling words were hurled back at him.

Sarah carefully slipped a soft bundle from her apron pocket. “Here.”

Jeremy’s head rose, and he stared at the brown paper wrapped package tied with twine. “What is it?”

“It’s your Christmas present, silly. And you’ll have to open it to find out the rest.”

Jeremy frowned at it then took it and carefully tore away the paper and let it drop. “A beautiful muffler.”

“Mrs. Davis was kind enough to give me the yarn.”

“So that’s what you’ve been so secretive about lately.” He wrapped it around his neck. “Thank you, sweetheart. Now it’s your turn.” He gave her a peck on the lips then pulled himself to his feet.

“Oh, Jeremy, I hope you didn’t throw away your money on me.”

“Money spent on you is never thrown away.” He went to the fireplace, removed a loose stone and took out a small box. He returned to kneel before her and handed it to her. “Merry Christmas.”

Her eyes glittered in the firelight as she eased off the box’s lid and gasped. “Oh, Jeremy, it’s too lovely.”
She took out an intricately carved onyx and ivory cameo brooch edged with small, perfect pearls.

“It belonged to my mother, and I’ve been saving it for the right occasion.” He took it from her fingers and pinned it at the throat of her faded gingham dress. “You belong in jewels and furs and fine clothes.” He went crestfallen, and his eyes lowered from her face. “And I can’t even give you enough to eat.”

With a single finger under his chin, she raised his face to her. “Have I ever said that I want all that finery? No, I haven’t, and I don’t. I have you, and as long as we’re together I’ll be happy.”

“Oh, Sarah, love you so much.”

“And I love you, my dearest.” She took his face in her hands and kissed him tenderly.

His arms closed around her, and she put her head on his shoulder, nestling her face against the curvature of his neck.

“They don’t have two bits to rub together, and they’re happy,” Ezekiel said with complete awe. “How can that be?”

“Oh, don’t be such a knot head, Zeke. Money ain’t everything, an’ if’n you’d figger that out you could find some happiness for yourself an’ give it to others. Now we gotta go.”

“Can’t we stay just a few minutes longer?”

“Nope, I got a deadline to meet an’ my stomach thinks my throat’s been cut besides.” The spirit put a brawny arm around Ezekiel’s shoulders, and they went out through the wall.

“So where to now?” Ezekiel asked.

“This is where we part company.”

“You aren’t just going to leave me here alone, are you?”

“Yep, but don’t fret yourself over it. You won’t be that way for long. Now I gotta git back to my banquet.” The spirit began walking up the deserted street and fading into the darkness.

“Wait! You can’t just leave me like this!”

“Sure I can.”

Ezekiel tried running after it, but the spirit was gone, and he found himself completely abandoned. An icy chill ran through him, and he hugged himself with his arms. The nightshirt was useless since the chill came from within and had nothing to do with the cold.

EIGHT

Ezekiel couldn’t be sure how long he had been wandering one of the seedier parts of town, but he did know that he simply wanted to go home. A sudden gust twisted up a whirl of snow and moaned around the sides of the shadowed buildings. The tinkle of an out-of-tune piano spilled into the night along with a pallid glow from the windows of a bawdy house.

As Ezekiel stood in a yellow pool – uncertain what to do or where to go next – the faint thump of boots made him turn. In the haziness of the light mottled street he could make out a figure coming toward him. All he could tell for sure was that it was tall and wearing something that flapped about its legs as it walked. He sensed that this must be the third spirit, and it made his innards clench.

As it drew closer and the steady cadence of its step became louder, Ezekiel wanted to flee. But if he did how would he ever get back to the sanctity of his room? The intense urge continued to strengthen, but he stood his ground.

The being stopped only a few inches before him, and Ezekiel’s mouth parched. He could hardly swallow, and his teeth stuck to his lips. The lean figure was clad in the starkest black from head to foot. It wore a long duster, unbuttoned down the front, and its raven hair shown beneath the hat of the same color. A large .44 Colt rested on each hip in low slung holsters. But none of that was what jarred Ezekiel so. It was the very image of Adam Cartwright with one glaring exception – the usual warm, expressive hazel eyes were deep bottomless wells of lifeless ebony that devoured all traces of light.

“Are you the spirit of Christmas that will be…,” Ezekiel gulped, “that has been foretold to me?”

The spirit gave one nod of its head but made not a single sound.

“You frighten me, spirit…. Should I be afraid?” Again the spirit nodded once, and Ezekiel’s chest squeezed his heart. “Do you mean me harm?”

This time the spirit shook its head solemnly then turned sideways and raised one arm. A black leather gloved hand pointed along the wide rutted street.

“Is that where we need to go?”

Again there came a nod, its eyes never coming to Ezekiel’s face.

“I think, spirit, that you only mean me good, but what lies up that road frightens me even more than you do.” Ezekiel took a heavy breath and held his head erect and stiffened his spine. “I’ll follow where you lead me.”

The spirit started on and Ezekiel followed close behind. They left the town but hadn’t gone very far when they came to a low lying fog, and Ezekiel hesitated. The spirit jabbed its finger at the misty curtain, and Ezekiel reluctantly obliged.

In a twinking they came through it and found themselves standing on a slight rise.

“What is this place you’ve brought me to, spirit?”

The spirit pointed ahead, and Ezekiel let his gaze follow the gesture. Not so many yards ahead at the edge of a stand of stunted poplars stood a small ramshackle cabin. Light filtered out through tattered cloth hung over the two front and only windows, brighter spots giving evidence of ragged, irregular holes.

“Do the people in that shack have something to do with my salvation?”

The spirit nodded and started forward, and Ezekiel walked alongside.

The inside of the cabin wasn’t much better than the outside. Flickering flames in the stone fireplace sent shadows darting across the rough walls and sparse, coarse wood furnishings. One piece, however, stuck out. A tall-backed blue chair sat at the edge of the hearth, and someone sat it, both hands clasped around a tin cup. A big man crouched before the fire and took up a battered coffee pot. Then he stood and turned to the one in the misplaced chair.

Ezekiel’s mouth fell agape. “Joe and Hoss Cartwright! “What’re they doing here? Is this a line shack?”

The spirit shook its head.

“They can’t possibly live here! What happened to the Ponderosa? And where’s the rest of their family?”

With a curt wave of the spirit’s hand, Ezekiel knew to shut up and pay attention.

Hoss poured dark brown liquid into the waiting cup, and his little brother grimaced. “I know, Joe. I ain’t so partial to chicory myself after I got used to that high priced coffee.” He poured some for himself then replaced the coffeepot. He stood and looked down at the burning logs. “You know, it’s still hard to take a hold of Pa being gone for almost a whole year now, an’ Adam for close to three.”

“Yeah, and we know whose fault that was. If it hadn’t been for Ezekiel Blige trying to steal the Ponderosa Adam would’ve never been on that stage.”

Ezekiel’s eyes shot to the spirit.

“Nobody knew it was gonna go off that mountain pass,” Hoss said lifelessly and took a sip.

“I know that. But if Bilge hadn’t been trying to take what he had no right to Adam wouldn’t’ve been on it in the first place.” Joe heaved a sigh. “I can’t help but wonder what would’ve happened if Adam had made it to San Francisco.”

“We wouldn’t be living in this drafty cabin, is what.”

“That’s probably true.” Joe’s mouth turned in a saddened smile. “Adam had a wicked business sense, and those foolish enough to cross him soon regretted it.”

“That’s for durn sure.” Hoss tittered. “He woulda turned ol’ Blige every which way but loose.” Then he went somber again.

Joe’s hands began strangling on his cup. “I’ll never forget the night they brought Adam’s body home in the back of that wagon.” His eyes squeezed together. “I’ve never seen anybody so broken up. Some of his bones were…”

“Joe, don’t.”

Joe’s eyes opened, and returned to the dark depths of his cup. “That’s the night Pa started to die…. Then we lost the Ponderosa and that was just more than his mind could stand…. I was over there yesterday.”

Hoss’ keen eyes flashed on his little brother. “Joe, we decided we wasn’t gonna do that.”

“I know, but I couldn’t help it…. Sometimes the urge to see my home just gets so strong I can’t fight it.”

“It ain’t our home no more.”

“No matter how much it changes, it’ll always be that…. When’ve you been?”

“Not since we left for good and all, an’ I don’t intend to.” Hoss shook his head. “We couldn’t even put Pa next to Marie. But he’s with Adam, so I guess it don’t much matter.”

“I find myself wishing now that I hadn’t…. That railroad cuts right through its heart. You wouldn’t recognize Hoss Heaven.”

Hoss’ back slumped, and he turned around to the fire.

“So many of the trees we watched over like Pa wanted us to are gone. Only jagged stumps are left…. But I guess the worst thing is what they’ve done to the house…. They’ve turned it into a hunting lodge for the rich railroad people and their friends. I heard some of the workers talking about how they plan on adding on behind so more guests can stay.”

“Joe, I just don’t wantta hear no more. This is Christmas, and not the time for such things.”

“I know, but I…” Joe’s head fell.

Hoss came to him and put a large, comforting hand on his shoulder. “I know.” Then his cheerless expression brightened. “Let’s drink a toast.”

“What’ve we got to toast?”

Hoss held his cup aloft. “To Pa an’ Adam and the good times.”

Joe’s face raised and some of the despondency left as he raised his cup. “To Pa and Adam.”

As they drank quietly Ezekiel turned to the spirit. “I don’t understand. All right, so they lost the Ponderosa. But they were wealthy beyond words. Why have they been reduced to living in such poverty?” Then the light dawned, cold and harsh. “Oh, my Lord, they it lost all fighting me. Is that the truth of it? Am I the reason for all of this?’

Slowly, the spirit’s head turned, and there were those empty eyes that left him hollow. It nodded once, and Ezekiel felt as if the ground opened beneath his feet. His attention returned to the brothers, and for the first time in his life, he clearly saw the fruits of his labors.

NINE

Ezekiel found himself suddenly whisked away from that scene of such despair and loss. He was once again standing outside the Potter house.

“Why have you brought me back here, spirit?”

But the question was punctuated by a slurred voice raised in inebriated song. To Ezekiel’s horror he saw Jeremy Potter being half carried along the boardwalk by the sheriff.

“On top of old Smokeeeee, all covered with snow,
I lost my true lover from courtin’ too slow.”

Jeremy’s face twisted in melancholy as he leaned against the sheriff. “Not my sweet Sarah. I coulda never done that to her.”

Roy Coffee’s nose wrinkled, and he shied away as much as he could. “No, boy. Now let’s get you to bed where you can sleep this off.”

“This isn’t right,” Ezekiel said as he watched the sheriff fling the door open. “Jeremy isn’t a drinker. He claims not to like the taste of alcohol. That it makes him sick.”

Ezekiel and the spirit followed them in. Roy dumped the young man – again gleefully singing, only a different song – on the rickety bed. He brought the edge of the quilt over Jeremy’s legs, shook his head and left.

Ezekiel stepped with the spirit to the foot of the bed. “What could have driven him to this?” Then his eyes shot to the empty rocking chair by the fireplace.

“Merry Christmas, my sweet Sarah.”

Ezekiel looked back to Jeremy, who had begun to weep.

“My sweet, precious Sarah…. Why did you leave me? Why did you go and take our baby with you?”

“She left him? But I thought she loved him.”

Jeremy’s sobbing grew harder, and tears coursed down the sides of his face like storm rivulets. “Oh, Dear God, why did you havta take her? Why did you havta take ‘em both?”

Now Ezekiel knew what he didn’t want to. His eyes returned to the old rocking chair as an ache ensconced itself in his chest then he looked to the spirit again. “Was it because she didn’t have proper care and enough food to eat…? Could I have…?”

Jeremy’s arm staggered out to the small table next to the head of the bed, and his fingers gently closed on the soft crocheted shawl draped over one corner. With a hard tug he pulled the worn wrap to him and hugged it to his heart. And he didn’t notice that it sent the lamp crashing to the floor. Ezekiel could only watch – terror-stricken – as flames caught the tail of the coat hung on a peg and began licking toward the ceiling. But Jeremy, so lost in grief that nothing could penetrate it, took no notice, even as the inferno began closing in around the bed.

“Jeremy, get up! Jeremy!”

“Sarah…. My Sarah.”

“Jeremy! Spirit, do something!”

But the spirit stood as a figurine carved from jet as the glint of the flames was consumed by its eyes.

“Spirit, for the love of God, do something!” But he got no acknowledgement so he took it on himself. Ezekiel ran around to the side of the bed, but when he tried flinging his arms around Jeremy, they passed through the boy as if he were already a ghost. Now Ezekiel turned his wrath on the pitiless spirit. “What are you that you can let this happen? You can stop it!”

But the spirit simply turned sideways and pointed to the door.”

“No! I’ll not leave! Not without him!”

At that moment Ezekiel felt himself yanked hard, intangible fingers clutching his arms.

“Fire!” a masculine voice shouted and was followed by the drumming of feet.

Ezekiel could only stand and watch – the spirit next to him – while the conflagration consumed the house.

The crowd of men that gathered made a vain effort to douse the fire. Roy Coffee pushed his way through them and tried dashing forward but was held back. “Let go o’ me!”

“It’s no good, Roy. You cain’t git in there. They ain’t no way anybody can now. First his wife then his job…. So who’s to say it ain’t better this way?”

Soft, giant white flakes started to fall like chicken feathers dumped from a sack. Slowly, they did what the men had been unable to.

Ezekiel buried his face in his hands and they muffled his words. “Jeremy. Jeremy…. What have I done?” A sharp finger jabbed into his shoulder, and his head jerked up with blazing eyes.

The spirit pointed toward the end of town.

Ezekiel’s eyes danced with hatred. “No. I’ll absolutely not go with you.”

It wasn’t like he had any choice in the matter, for he found himself hoisted and carried like a leaf in the wind. He tried not looking down since he and heights had never exactly been the best of friends. When he was finally set down it was in the cemetery at the edge of town, and the sky seemed much blacker here. The spirit awaited him, and Ezekiel was less than happy to see it.

“Now what? Why have you brought me here most decidedly against my will? Am I to see them bury poor Jeremy?”

The spirit turned and pointed in the opposite direction, and for the first time Ezekiel became aware of voices. The spirit went up a slight embankment and Ezekiel reluctantly followed. Two men, menial laborers judging from their mien and shabby attire, were in the process of filling in a six-by-six hole.

“Dang it all, Gus, they’s gotta be a better way o’ makin’ a livin’.”

Gus threw in a shovelful of stony dirt and it thudded on top of the casket. “They is, Lute, but folks ain’t so interested in the likes’ o’ those as you an’ me.”

“They’s always the mines.”

“True but I ain’t about to spend the rest o’ my days – which’n could end at any time – in no blamed pit fer no amount o’ gold an’ silver. I ain’t no mole.”

This elicited cackling laughter from the men as they continued throwing dirt in on the hapless soul they were consigning to the earth.

“Someone needs to teach them the proper respect,” Ezekiel snarled.

“Shew,” Lute said and swiped the back of his hand over his forehead, “this is gonna take all durned night. An’ when we could be in some nice saloon spendin’ our hard earned wages on whiskey and frillies. If’n ya know what I mean.”

“I do.” Gus gave him a lascivious wink. “But we gotta git this ol’ skinflint proper put away first or we ain’t gonna have no wages to spend.” Then he stopped and leaned on his shovel. “Unless.”

“Unless what?”

“What if’n we switch markers with one what’s already been filled and hid this’un with brush, just in case somebody comes snoopin’, collect our pay, an’ then go have some fun?”

“But what if’n we git caught?”

“Aw, shucks, we’ll come back an’ do it up proper in the mornin’ an’ switch the markers back.”

A deceitful gleam flooded Lute’s bloodshot eyes. “Then what’re we a wastin’ time fer?” He smacked his mouth. “I can almost taste the whiskey right now.”

With devious glee they went about their artifice then started toward town, shovels clutched in their fists.

“Those two need to be fired on the spot,” Ezekiel said as he watched them go. “Imagine treating someone’s loved one that way. It’s shameful, and it needs to be dealt with severely.”

The spirit pointed to the new marker, and Ezekiel felt a bitter chill run through him like an icy arrow. “What? I know it’s the wrong grave.” The spirit shook its finger, and comprehension dawned in Ezekiel’s brain. “You want me to look at it? But why?”

The spirit got silently insistent.

“All right, all right.” He slowly crept forward, but as he started to bend down to look in the faint light, he found that he simply couldn’t. “No. No, I can’t. I don’t know why, but I just can’t make myself do it.”

The spirit came to stand behind the marker, and those dead eyes conveyed more than any gesture.

With great reluctance, Ezekiel got down on his knees and leaned closer to the simple wooden cross. A gasp of snow laden air froze his lungs. Ezekiel Munford Blige had been burned deep into it, but it came as no greater shock than the date of death. 1867!

“No, this can’t be!” Ezekiel jerked himself quickly to his feet and backed into another marker, nearly dislodging it from the ground. “That’s only four years from now. Oh, please, spirit, tell me this isn’t what will be but what could be. Please tell me if all this tragedy can be changed.”

The spirit only stared at him.

Ezekiel again dropped to his knees, and the snow crunched beneath his weight. “I have never meant anyone any harm, but I can see now that I have caused a great deal. Oh, please, spirit, I beg of you, tell me that all this may be altered.” Then a notion struck Ezekiel, and it shone brightly in his face. “But yes, yes. Why would you show me this if it couldn’t be?” A nervous chuckle passed from his lips. “I am so very, truly sorry. I let my fear of poverty taint my judgment and make me mindless to others. I never saw before, but my eyes have been opened wide now. Oh, spirit, I know now that Christmas isn’t hooey. It was a wondrous time when I was a boy – though I let myself lose sight of that – and it can be again if I’m only given the chance.” Ezekiel drove his fists against his forehead and began to weep. “Please, I want that chance. I promise that I will treat my fellows on this Earth as they should be, and not just at Christmas but all the year long. And I will keep the spirit of this joyous season always in my heart.” His sobs grew more staggered, and it seemed as if he would strangle on them. “Please let me make amends for my wrongs!” He finally looked up.

The spirit only stood staring down at him then turned and walked into the darkness.

Ezekiel held his clenched hands out after it. “Please, spirit, come back and tell me that all is not lost! Spirit!” Then he slumped onto his bent legs and wept like a frightened child.

TEN

When Ezekiel awoke with a start, narrow shafts of pale light entered through the cracks of the window shutters. He pushed himself back from where he leaned against the side of his bed, wads of bedspread held like death in his tightly clasped hands. No fire burned and winter’s nip had descended into the room. He pushed himself back and blinked heavily and looked about him. “I’m in my own room…. I’m home.”

As slumber’s fog cleared from his brain events began to reformulate, and he became aware of the peal of church bells. He pulled himself up from the floor and willed his stiffened legs to take him to the window. It complained when it was raised and the shutters squeaked as they were thrown open.

A shabby looking boy of twelve or so years was in the process of clearing the walkway of the fresh snow that had fallen through the night. And he seemed unaware of anything except his chore.

“Boy...! Boy!”

The boy quickly looked toward the voice, a tag of sandy-colored hair sticking from under the faded red muffler tied about his head. “You yellin’ at me, Mr. Blige?”

“I should say I am, my fine lad. What day is this?”

“Are you funnin’ me?”

“Not at all. Now I need to know what day this is”

“It’s Christmas, o’ course.”

A broad grin pasted itself over Ezekiel’s mouth. “Then I haven’t missed it,” he said to himself then turned his attention back to the boy. “Well then this is no day to be shoveling snow. You should be home with your family.”

“There’s only my ma and my sisters, and I need the money for ‘em.”

“Good enough. You wait there. I’ll be right down as soon as I get dressed.” Ezekiel pulled his head in then stuck it back out. “Now you wait. I have something for you.”

The instant the window closed Ezekiel spun around and kicked off his slippers, sending them high into the air. “Whoopdeedo! They did it all in one night! Christmas is here, and I’m alive to enjoy it!” He held his widespread arms out to the ceiling. “Thank you, spirits! I’ll keep my promise!” He took off his nightshirt and held the sleeves out and began dancing with it, singing giddily out of tune. “Christmas is here, Christmas is here.” Then he swung the garment onto the bed and laughed boisterously.

He quickly dressed, humming and laughing the whole time. Once finished he went to the cherry wood lowboy by the door and opened the top drawer. From it he took out three small leather pokes and hastily stuffed them into his coat pocket then scurried out.

The boy had just completed a clear path through the snow when Ezekiel came out and tugged on his hat.

Ezekiel lightly tripped down the steps, which had yet to be cleaned. “Splendid job, my boy, splendid.” He went to him and took one of the gloveless hands and ran his fingers over the reddened skin. “Where’re your gloves?”

“I don’t have any, but after a while you don’t notice so much.”

Ezekiel’s heart twisted and he swallowed down a lump. “Well that we’ll soon remedy.” He reached into a coat pocket and took out one of the small, bulging leather sacks and stuffed into the boy’s hand. “This should help. Now you take it and yourself home to your mother.” He shook a chastising finger – backed by an ebullient grin – at the boy. “And don’t lose it along the way.”

The boy looked inside, and his eyes seemed to nearly pop. “No, sir, I won’t. Thank you, Mr. Blige.” Dragging the shovel behind him, he took off, slipping but undeterred. “Merry Christmas, Mr. Blige!”

“And a merry Christmas to you too, boy!” He shook his head and giggled as he watched the child race off with his newfound booty. “A fine boy. An excellent boy. I think I would like to have him around here more often.” He turned to the sorry state of his house and took his chin in his hand and nodded. “There’s plenty around here to keep a boy busy and well paid.” He tittered and eased along the cleaned walk and started on into town.

Ezekiel had a destination in mind, and he was in a hurry to get there. He tittered. But winding up in a heap or face down in a snow drift wouldn’t help,” he thought and slowed his pace.

^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^

Sarah Potter had just put a covered pan of biscuits in the ashes of the fire to bake when a knock came at the front door. “Now I wonder who that could be, and so early on Christmas morning?”

Jeremy finished buttoning up his vest. “I don’t know, but I only know of one way to find out.” With a wary glance at his wife he went to answer it, and his mouth fell open. “Mr. Blige! What’re…?” He looked to Sarah again. “What…?”

“Don’t just stand there blithering, boy. Invite me in out of the cold.”

“Yyyyes, sir, Mr. Blige,” Jeremy said and stepped aside.

Ezekiel removed his hat as he entered the dismal abode and realized that it wasn’t much warmer inside.

Jeremy closed the door and put himself protectively between his wife and his employer. “What brings you here, Mr. Blige?” His face sank. “You don’t want me to come to work, do you?”

Ezekiel chortled and slapped a hand on his back. “No, it’s nothing like that. I just wanted to wish the both of you a merry Christmas,” he stepped to Sarah, “and to meet your charming wife.” He took her flour dusted hand and kissed the back of it. “And indeed a lovely lady she is, too.”

She clutched the front of her dress and blushed. “Thank you, Mr. Blige.”

“That’s much better, my dear. You should have color to your cheeks.”

She ducked her head girlishly.

“Mr. Blige, I still don’t understand why you’re here. You say you don’t want me to come to work but…” The words froze, and Jeremy gulped. “Did you wish us a merry Christmas?”

“I sure did, and I meant every word. And that’s not all.” He took out another sack and placed it securely in Jeremy’s hands. “This is back pay for all these years you’ve worked so diligently without complaint.” He lightly touched the side of Sarah’s face. “And for your family.”

Jeremy cautiously looked inside and grasped a dining chair to steady him. “This is a fortune!”

“And not near as much as you deserve for putting up with me. And it is only a start.” He laid his hat on the eating table and took both of Sarah’s hands. “I know of a doctor in New York City who is very good at bringing babies into this world. He’ll see that you and your child are well taken care of.” He felt her grip tighten.

“Oh, Mr. Blige,” she said and batted at the tears that misted her eyes.

He got between them and put his arms around their shoulders. “I have been too long without family, and after the three of you return from New York, I would like it very much if you moved in with me. Granted the house needs some work, as well as a woman’s touch, but I think you’ll be comfortable there. And there is a lot of room for a little girl or boy to run and grow.”

“Don't get me wrong, Mr. Blige, this is more than either one of us could’ve ever dreamed or wished for. But I don’t understand. I thought…”

“I know what you thought, Jeremy, what everyone thought, and you were all right.” Ezekiel felt a rush of shame flow through him. “For way too long I’ve made those around me miserable and of no consequence. I’m a hated man, I know that, and I have no one to blame for it but myself. But that is all about to change. I had a lot of time to think last night, and some very good friends showed me that money isn’t the most important thing…. Humankind is…. Please say you’ll come live with me. And before you say anything, this isn’t charity. In fact, it’s a little selfish. I’ve come to realize that I am a very lonely man, and I live in such a big empty house.”

Sarah directed her satiny eyes at her husband. “This is like a dream come true, Jeremy. And it will give the baby a chance it wouldn’t have.”

“Before you answer that, my boy, I would be negligent if I didn’t inform you that I won’t accept a ‘no’.”

Jeremy’s frown gradually faded to be replaced by the hint of a smile. “All right, Mr. Blige, I do accept. But it isn’t for me, you understand.”

Ezekiel gave the young man a fatherly squeeze. “Of course I do, my boy. Of course I do.”

“Mr. Blige, we would be very pleased if you would stay to supper with us.” Her face flushed with embarrassment. “I’m afraid it won’t be much, but you are certainly welcome to what we have. Isn’t that so, Jeremy?”

“Absolutely, he is. Would you, Mr. Blige?”

“I would be honored to dine at your table, and we’ll talk more about the fare when I return.”

Jeremy’s eyebrows rose. “When you return?”

“I have one more call to make, and then I’ll come back posthaste to my new family.” He turned full to Sarah and kissed her lightly on the cheek. “I would like for you to be the daughter I never had.”

“Now it’s my turn to be honored.”

Ezekiel went to the door, snaring his hat from the table as he went. “And don’t you dare start without me.” He shook an admonishing finger at them then took his leave.

As Ezekiel left the walk and started up the street, someone was headed toward him. “Merry Christmas, Sheriff Coffee,” he said as they passed and he tapped hat onto his head and never broke stride.

Roy watched him walk on, goggle-eyed and too stunned to respond.

ELEVEN

Ben Cartwright and his sons had just settled down to open gifts when a knock sounded on the sturdy oak front door.

“Now I wonder who that could be,” Hoss said from where he knelt at the base of the large decorated tree, a wrapped package in his hand.

“Well whoever it is, all I can say is that their timing stinks,” Joe said, his face contorted with aggravation.

“Then why don’t you find out who it is, Joseph?”

“Yeah, it could be a girl,” Hoss said with an elfish twinkle in his blue eyes.

Joe bobbled his head and crimped his upper lip. “Ha, ha, very funny.”

“That’s all right, Pa, I’ll get it,” Adam said as he pulled himself up from the settee. “I’m closer, and you know how I hate to put Joe out.”

Joe gave him the same reaction as he had Hoss, but without words.

The minute Adam opened the door both eyebrows shot up. “Ezekiel Blige.”

This was enough to bring the other Carwrtights to their feet and presents were temporarily forgotten.

Ezekiel removed his hat, and a subdued smile touched his mouth. “Good-morning, Adam.”

“What do you want, Blige?” Ben asked, his dark eyes burning black. “Are you here to spoil our Christmas by throwing us out of our home?”

Ezekiel peered around the eldest Cartwright son. “I know I’m the last person on the face of the Earth that you want to see, and for that I don’t fault you. But I have a gift for you and your sons. May I enter your fine house on this glorious morn?”

The looks exchanged between father and sons left no doubt of their confusion.

“Is this some sort of trick to lower our defenses?” Ben said and cocked back on one foot.

“No trick.” Ezekiel took a thick envelope from inside his coat. “I simply have something to give you.”

Ben’s gaze connected with that of his first-born, and he got a nod in return. “All right, Blige, but please don’t take any longer than you need.”

Ezekiel thanked him and stepped inside past Adam. He went straight to Ben and held the packet out to him. “Merry Christmas, Ben Cartwright. ”

Ben frowned as he eyed the apparent gift with suspicion.

“Please take it. By rights, these are yours anyway.”

Ben’s sons gathered around him as he cautiously took the envelope. He took out a sheath of very business-looking papers then looked to Ezekiel. “Are these what I think they are?”

Ezekiel’s smile – faint though it had been – dissolved completely. “I’m afraid so.”

“What are they?” Joe asked as he looked around his father’s shoulder.

Ben’s eyes set dead on Ezekiel Blige’s face. “They’re the papers that turn the Ponderosa over to Mr. Blige. Isn’t that so?”

“I’m sorry to say that it is.” Ezekiel wished he could ignore the harsh glares turned on him, but he deserved them so he didn’t even try. “But they’re yours now. Yours and your sons’.”

“But why?” Adam asked as the lone eyebrow rose. “You’ve worked for too long to get it just to give it up now. So what’s the catch?”

“No catch.” Ezekiel sighed, and his eyes briefly lowered to the floor. “For the first time in way too long… I’ve come to learn what pain my actions cause others…. I wasn’t aware of it before because it was better to turn an ignorant, blind eye. But I’m not any longer. So please take them with my blessings. And after the New Year, if you’ll have a brandy with me, I’ll tell you how I did it so you can take steps to make sure that it never happens again. I’ll even enlist the aid of my attorney.”

“I don’t trust him, Pa,” Joe said, his emerald eyes flashing in the firelight.

Hoss edged closer to his father. “Me neither.”

In an instant, Ezekiel snatched the papers away from Ben, stomped to the fireplace and threw them in. The flames licked hungrily at them, and the paper curled and turned brown. “Now, Adam, there’s no need for you to go to San Francisco.”

“How did…?” Adam glanced at his father and brothers as if for help. “How did you know I…?”

“Because that’s what I would have done, and you are the oldest. But now there’s no reason for you to make such a long journey.”

One side of Adam’s finely sculpted mouth turned. “No, I don’t suppose there is.”

Ezekiel stepped around the low table and stopped before Ben. “Only a fool who is too wound up in making money to look could miss how much this all means to you and your family. I’m only glad I got my eyes opened before I made the biggest mistake of all our lives.” He held his hand out. “Please accept my deepest apologies.”

Ben glared at the proffered hand then his expression softened, and he grasped it firmly. “Only if you’ll accept an invitation to dine with us, and afterward we’ll talk over a fine bottle of Napoleon I have in the cellar.”

“I would like that very much, but I promised my clerk that I would sup with him and his wife.”

“Then bring them along. I believe that a house filled with people is one of the joys of the Christmas season.”

“I’m sure they would be delighted, so I will accept for all three of us, and we’ll arrive before the noon hour. Now I really must be going if I hope to accomplish everything before then.”

“I’ll see you out,” Adam said and extended his hand toward the door.

Ezekiel thanked him and bid them all a ‘Merry Christmas’ then excused himself graciously and left.

“I still don’t believe him,” Joe said with a disconcerted frown.

“Truth ain’t one o’ ol’ Zeke’s long suits.”

“Did either of you take a good look into his eyes?” Ben asked.

“No, and I didn’t really care to,” Joe said with a sniff.

“Me neither.”

“I did,” Adam said with one of those knowing looks at his father.

“So did I and I saw a different man.” Ben glanced toward the front of the house and the sound of a sleigh leaving the yard. “I have no idea what brought about this reformation, and I’m not one for looking a gift horse in the mouth, but I believe that it’s sincere.” His mouth spread nearly from ear-to-ear, and he rested an arm on his first-born’s shoulders. “And he is right about one thing. Now there’s no need for you to go to San Francisco.”

Adam sniggered. “And that’s another thing I’m grateful for. I wasn’t looking forward to that long, cold trip. But I would have gladly made it for my family. And died in the doing, if need be.”

Ben grimaced and shuddered. “Let’s not talk of such things on this most blessed of all days.” He rubbed his hands together and turned to the tree. “Hoss, I believe you were about to hand out a present.”

“That I sure was, Pa.”

Ben simply stood back and watched as his sons gathered around the splendid tree and joy and love swelled within him. This could turn out to be the best Christmas in a long time, maybe even ever. He would not lose the Ponderosa, and he had his boys, so what more could any man want or need. He didn’t know what had softened Ezekiel Bilge’s hardened heart, but he wasn’t going to question one of the many miracles the season had to offer. No, he would enjoy all that he had, and give thanks for what he hadn’t lost.

EPILOGUE (1868)

The big house at the western edge of town – no longer called the Sutcliff house but the Blige house – sat as testimony to what Ben Cartwright had called a man’s reformation. Bright anemones turned there faces to the late spring sunshine while a profusion of roses scented the air. White lace curtains fluttered from the open window of the kitchen as if flirting with the breeze.

Ezekiel Blige and Jeremy Potter made their way along the neatly manicured walkway toward the house. Two chestnut-haired children came out onto the long porch, the four-year-old boy leading his little sister’s hand. “Daddy! Uncle Ezekiel!”

Ezekiel – as was his custom – made it to them before their father did and scooped them into his arms. “I hope you two have been behaving and doing as your mother tells you.”

Sarah, beaming like the aforementioned sun, stood in the front doorway, wiping her hands on her apron. “They have not. But they always behave like they have ants in their britches when you two are coming home. Now come eat your dinner before it gets cold.” Her smiled broadened, and she went back into the house.

“Uncle Ezekiel?”

“Yes, Zeke, what is it?”

“Will we be going to the Ponderosa again for Christmas?”

“Zeke,” Jeremy chided, “it’s not even June yet.”

“I know, but I got to thinkin’ about it, and I got worried we wouldn’t.”

Ezekiel grinned. “We always have, and I don’t think the Cartwright’s would like it if we didn’t come.”

The boy mused this over for a few seconds. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure,” Ezekiel said, and his arms squeezed around the children.

“And will you read ‘A Christmas Carol’ to us like you always do?” the boy asked.

“Of course I will.”

“Jeremy!” came from inside the house.

“We’d better get in there like your mother wants.” He held his arms out. “Why don’t you let me take Jenny? They both make such a load.”

“We’re just fine, and I like this load. Now let’s go eat.” Ezekiel sniffed the air. “I smell spice cake.” He shifted the children in his arms and went up the steps followed by Jeremy.

Yes, Ezekiel Blige had been a man as good as his word. Money and the making of it no longer held the highest position in his life, but rather, what he could do with it. And instead of being the most hated man in Virginia City he had become one of the most loved. He had made a promise on Christmas nearly four years ago, and he had kept it and lived it every day. And the ghosts of the future that had so terrified him never came to pass. Yes, Ezekiel Blige truly knew how to keep Christmas all the year long.

THE END

RETURN TO LIBRARY