One Gold Rush
Country Christmas
Elke
von Schlosser
©
2014 Elke von Schlosser
Story dedicated to my cowboy friend Reno and his horse
"Whiskey" ...who are both the true spirit of Christmas... every day!
Jim’s car slid to a sudden halt as it slammed
irreverently into the snowbank that had just minutes before been the major
thoroughfare between the small rural towns of Kelsey and Georgetown in the
north-western part of the California Gold Rush country. He looked around
to see if anyone was hurt and frowned when he saw his brand new car more than
half buried in the snowdrift.
For as long as he could
remember he had wanted a luxury car and seeing his recently fulfilled dream
sticking out of the snowbank like the blade of a knife made him wish he was
just having a really bad dream. The sharp contrast between his black
beauty and the white snow made him wince all the more. As he shook his
head in disbelief he secretly admitted to himself that he should have heeded
the persistent warnings about the blizzard that was due to dump snow at
unusually low elevations. But that proved little consolation when he
thought how often the weather forecasts were the butt of office jokes.
Jim and his children
had been on their annual pilgrimage to the country to cut their Christmas
tree. Normally they picked the weekend after Thanksgiving to trek up to
the country, but this year his schedule had not allowed him to leave the office
until the weekend before Christmas. The kids had been more than annoyed
that it was taking “forever” to get their fathers tree, and Jim was not going
to let anything get in the way of their final chance that year to procure the
sapling…not even the weather. Not wanting to fight the freeway traffic,
the back roads towards home had seemed like a good idea. Now he felt uncertain
that it had been a wise decision. Jim became increasingly worried
watching the snow coming down with more intensity by the minute.
Brilliant blue skies
that had greeted them as they drove out to the country from their upscale
suburban home in the San Francisco Bay Area. But Jim had had an
increasingly foreboding feeling as the day wore on and he watched the clouds
darkening all afternoon. He and his children had spent the afternoon
driving from one picturesque ranch to another in the popular Apple Farm area
near Placerville for that time honored quest that so many families made each
year to find the “perfect” Christmas tree.
An assembly of local
ranchers had banded together many years before to attract city folks to the
countryside with the promise of an unforgettable day in the country during the
pumpkin, apple picking and Christmas seasons. Wildly popular, the farms
attracted people who came from as far away as San Francisco and
beyond. From early September through Christmas Eve, determined
families traversed the neatly manicured fields to pick their pumpkins, cut
their trees and breathe deeply of the fresh clean clear country air in the
beautiful foothills of the Sierra Nevada Mountains East of San Francisco.
The region and its surrounding spattering of historic gold rush towns, upscale
boutique wineries and scenic country roads provided visitors with plenty of
family friendly photo opportunities. On fall weekends tourists could be
seen snaking their way patiently through the picturesque roads and byways,
cameras in hand, looking for pumpkins and those ubiquitous slices of pie a la
mode that would remain etched in their minds and framed on their desks as a treasured
memory in perpetuity. Romantic couples or friends on weekend getaways enjoyed
wine tasting at the ever increasing number of elegant wineries and breweries
that dotted the area, or perused the myriad of little shops containing unique
one-of-a-kind treasures one could almost never find in more urban areas.
It was indeed the stuff that memories were made
of and Jim was keeping the tradition started by his own parents of making a
yearly outing to find their Christmas tree and etch another notch in the album
of family tradition. His kids would call out with delight, reminding
their father that this farm or that ranch was where they just had to stop to
enjoy some local specialty…hot apple pie, apple fritters, apple donuts or
countless other local specialties which were washed down with a hearty helping
of hot apple cider or steamy cocoa. In fact at the end of the apple
excursion they all felt that they had eaten enough apple treats to last them
until next year if not beyond. And even with his busy schedule, Jim had
somehow found the time each year for this annual event, looking forward to this
ritual which had begun when he himself was just a small boy.
Despite the increasing
clouds and gathering gloom, the perfect tree was eventually found and tied with
great care to the top of the car so as not to put a scratch on his newly
acquired possession. Now Jim shook his head in disbelief at
the grim situation he found his family in, and the car was the least of his
worries. His cell phone proved no use on the rural roads. The snow
began falling even harder and it was getting colder by the minute. He
knew that there was no chance of getting a tow on this now deserted road that
he had earlier proclaimed was a “shortcut”. Outdoor survival was not a
skill that he had mastered nor had he seen the need to do so. He was a
busy executive who barely had time to take a break from his business pursuits
and it was only because his children had begged him repeatedly to take them to
the country that he had agreed to put aside the day to keep this hallowed
family tradition alive… despite some looming deadlines at work.
As he surveyed the
increasingly serious situation a sense of panic began to overtake
him.
His children needed him
for guidance, and he was determined to put on a show of strength despite his
fear that what had begun as a lighthearted outing was rapidly becoming a very
serious situation.
“We need to find
somewhere to stay for the night” he instructed his shivering clan.
“I thought I saw a
light on a few minutes ago down the road” said the youngest of his
children.
“Let’s try to walk back
to where the road curved and see if we can spot the light.”
Jim knew that leaving
the safety of the car might be unwise, but he saw no alternative and quickly
determined that with every darkening minute staying with the stranded car was
no longer an option. He gathered his little band and headed on foot in the direction
from which they had come.
It seemed like forever
before one of the children shouted “Look, Look, I see a light” and they
all trudged in the direction of the barely visible glow that appeared to beckon
them through the cascade of falling snow.
In the waning twilight
the faded door of the rustic home looked tired and shabby, and except for the
warm glow emanating from the front window there did not appear to be any sign
of life. No barking dogs, no footprints in the snow, no smoke climbing
upwards from the chimney. They ran to the cabin ahead.
Jim became even more
anxious now and started knocking vigorously on the door. He knocked
harder and harder and then began wildly banging the door like a man frantic for
an answer. In desperation he tried the knob and to his surprise it moved
and the door opened with a low groan, as if it hadn’t been opened for
ages. He let out a sigh of relief.
Inside the scene
mirrored the sparse exterior of the abode. A wooden table showed many
years of wear and tear and it seemed more like a work bench than a table.
A large couch faced the dark hearth, and in the glow from the one oil lamp they
had seen from the window the profile of an old rocking chair could be spotted
in the corner of the room. Jim called out to see if anyone was about but
there was no answer. The temperature inside mirrored that of the outdoors
and was steadily dropping with each passing moment. Jim knew that there
was not much time to get his family situated and there did not appear to be any
phone to call for help. Besides the roads were clearly impassible even if
help could have been located.
In the corner next to
the hearth they spotted some firewood, and Jim tried to recall how to
light a fire. It was a skill he had learned from his Boy Scout days long
ago and hopefully not forgotten. His own home had fireplaces that operated with
the click of a switch, and knowing how to start a fire the old-fashioned way
was a skill he was suddenly very grateful to have learned. As the fire
grew in intensity the flames licked the sooty walls of the hearth and he began
to breathe a small sigh of relief. The soft flicker spread through the
room and he glanced around at the space that surely would be their home for the
night.
Although simple, the
home was clean and comfortable. A small closet off to the side seemed
well stocked with canned food, a few mismatching dishes, and thankfully a can
opener. Jim quipped off a quick “Thank You God” and proceeded to
open a few cans. He supposed that it would be OK with whoever owned the
cabin that they helped themselves to a meal considering the circumstances, and
cans of beef stew, green beans and corn were hastily warmed in a pan over the
now cheerfully glowing flames. Of course he would leave behind a more than
adequate sum of money to cover any inconvenience to the owner should he or she
not show up before they left.
Jim was surprised that
his children were so calm and cooperative despite the obvious discomforts
brought about by this unexpected turn of events. He sensed that now that they
were out of immediate danger they had taken a decidedly positive outlook on
what was proving to be a real adventure. He was more than pleased that
despite everything they had not grumbled much. He sensed that they were just
plain happy to be together; something that was nearly impossible in the life
they had temporarily left behind. They were probably aware, consciously
or not, that their mishap was giving them some precious time to be together
which would not have happened had they sped back towards home at the end of the
day.
Even Jim secretly took
pleasure with the fact that his deadlines would now have to be missed in favor
of spending time with his children, and time with his children was what he
desired the most in the world on those days when he could peek out over the fog
that had become his daily life and see what really mattered more clearly.
Throughout the afternoon his mind had wandered back like a boomerang to his
work, his office, his deadlines…stealthily tugging him away from the happy
scene he had found himself in, and robbing him of that joy like it did all too
often. It was only the persistent laughter of his young children that had
brought his attention back to the outing that he had so much looked forward to
all year.
A small room off to the
side of the main room held a bed big enough for the children to share if they
didn’t mind snuggling together, and snuggling suddenly seemed like the obvious
choice given the chill in the room. Jim stretched out on the couch in
front of the fire and it wasn’t long before the only sound was the gentle
breathing of sleepy children and the flames slowly dying into embers. Jim
threw one last log onto the fire for good measure and turned his head into the
pillow.
He whispered a
quick “Thanks” and looked up towards the ceiling.
The following morning the squeal of young voices
abruptly woke Jim out of his slumber, and he jumped up trying to remember where
he was and how he had gotten there. His children were bounding out the
door into the wintery white snow-scape, clearly oblivious like children often
are to the real tenor of the situation. Indeed the night had brought them
the gift of a magical world of snow & ice, but unlike his children, Jim was
not as pleased. It quickly became clear to him that they were not going
anywhere soon, and he felt the urgent need to assess the situation to determine
exactly where they were and what to do. He wondered where the cabins
owner was, why the light had been left on with no one there, and why no one had
returned in the night. He could only imagine that the cabins owner had
likewise been caught out by the storm, and was intending to return just as soon
as the weather cleared up enough to allow it. In the meantime there was
little that they could do but stay put and make the best of what could have
been a much more terrifying situation had they not spotted the light in the
window.
The children had begun
to make a snowman and Jim was happy to see them preoccupied while he searched
for some breakfast supplies. Once again the pantry proved more than
adequate and a box of cereal and some canned milk was
procured. It was clear to him that whoever lived there did
not intend to go hungry.
Jim planned to feed the
kids and trek back to the road to see if it had been plowed yet. It was
his intention to sleep in his own bed at the end of the day and to put their
adventure to rest in the annuals of their family history as nothing more than a
gentle hiccup in what had otherwise been a well-orchestrated plan to spend much
needed time bonding with the kids. It would be a good story to tell his office
mates. Surely the snow plows were marching towards their location
with dogged determination by now, and in short order they would be back on
track and on their way home.
The snow proved deeper
than expected and the roads were probably impenetrable. The spot where he
thought he had left his car was not to be found and not wanting to go too far
from the cabin Jim decided that risking going down the road made no sense
anyway. It was clear that no one was going anywhere in any motorized
vehicle anytime soon, and from the look of the gray skies things were only
getting worse.
When he returned to the
cabin Jim thought it wise to find some more logs for the fire. A
shed out back contained carefully stacked logs just waiting for the
fireplace. The glowing embers had miraculously lasted through the
night…for the most part because his scout troop leader had taught them how to
bank a fire. The cabin now seemed quite warm compared to the
temperature outside.
It had not taken
anyone long to become accustomed to walking the short distance to the outhouse
(a word that the children had never even heard of before that day) and
everyone seemed to be in surprisingly happy spirits given the situation.
In fact Jim could not remember when he had felt this content in a long
time. They had provisions, they had shelter, and they were
together. The outside world seemed as distant as last year’s news and Jim
decided that he too would just have to make the best of it. There was
really no point in doing otherwise.
As the afternoon wore on
the initial excitement of the adventure wore off and the children began to miss
their phones, electronic games and friends back home. Jim was dreading
the impending meltdown knowing full well that his kids were not used to
entertaining themselves… they were used to being entertained. Once the
novelty of country fun wore off they would be expecting the fast track
entertainment they had been raised on. Anyone or anything that got between
his kids and their electronic devices was taking their chances.
Jim was a good father
when he was around. But that was not all that often, and he was no expert
on entertaining children, having left that to his former wife and a series of
weekend babysitters that had paraded through his home for years. It was
only rarely that he was left completely alone with the children and he suddenly
felt quite unprepared for the duties at hand.
“Let’s put up a
Christmas Tree” he suggested hoping the children would be excited at the
prospect.
“But there are no
ornaments, no lights, what should we use for decorations?” they asked.
“Well let’s find a tree
and search around for what we can find to decorate it with” stated Jim.
It wasn’t long before a
small tree was found, and Jim chopped it down with the ax he had found next to
the pile of kindling. The kids scavenged the area around the cabin and
found some “treasures” to hang on its branches. Pine cones and red
berries were carefully hung and it wasn’t long before the tangle of twigs began
to transform into the semblance of a Christmas tree more reminiscent of the one
in the Charlie Brown cartoons than in Country Living magazine.
Between trimming the
tree and warming up another can of lunch, the afternoon wore on and it was only
when the light outside began to grow dimmer that Jim realized that twilight was
near. Where had the day gone anyway?
He had half dreaded what
he thought was going to be a miserable day of dealing with bored and unhappy
children, unable to hand them over to an experienced babysitter and scurry out
the door with the excuse of office deadlines putting the stamp of approval on
his disappearance. Yet the day had turned out amazingly well despite his
trepidation.
The kids spotted a
couple of well-worn decks of playing cards and a few other games tucked away in
a corner of the room. Jim had to really stretch his memory back to a time
when he played cards with his roommates in college. Luckily a good memory
had always served him well and he was able to teach the kids a few games that
kept them entertained for a few more hours.
Jim was surprised that
the kids had so much fun together. For a change they were really laughing
and playing with one another despite their differences in age. Eventually
he carried them one by one into the small darkened bedroom to put them to rest
for the night. If all went well he would be able to get them all out of
there in the morning. Surely the roads would be cleared by then.
Sometime in the night Jim was awakened by the
shuffle of footsteps on the front porch and the turning of the knob on the
door. His heart skipped a beat wondering if it was an angry owner, a
hungry bear or perhaps just another stranded traveler. No sooner had he
opened his eyes than a dark figure loomed over him as he lay prone on the couch
afraid to move. Jim heard the click of a trigger pressed into service, a
sound he only recognized from all the Sunday afternoon westerns he had watched
as a kid. His heart beat so wildly he thought it would jump right out of
his shirt.
“Ev’nin” said the
intruder in a low grumble. “I see you have made yourself right at
home.
A feller can’t
even go away for a couple of days without squatters taking over nowadays” he
quipped.
Jim lay motionless,
afraid to upset the looming figure of the man who was aiming a pistol way too
close to his face.
“I am sorry sir but my
kids and I were stranded in the snowstorm and we saw the light on in the
window.
We knocked and found the
door open. We don’t mean any harm. I have cash to pay you for the
food we ate and anything else you want us to pay for” he said in a pleading tone
of voice.
The figure un-cocked his
gun and returned it to the holster at his side. He surveyed the room and
walked to the opening where the bed stood. There he saw a jumble of small
arms and heads protruding irreverently from the blankets heaped high over the
outlines of small bodies. Apparently satisfied he turned to face Jim who
by now had regained some color on his previously pallid complexion.
“That’s a mighty big
bunch of arms & legs in there” the stranger quipped. “Nevada’s the
name…Nevada Thompson”.
The man reached out a
powerful hand and Jim, still in the prone position, pulled his hand out from
under his blanket like a child peeking out from under the covers after a
nightmare. He was almost afraid to get up for fear he might feel
light-headed. Once he regained the ability to do so he found
himself standing in front of a tall well-built man dressed entirely in black
with long hair protruding from his cowboy hat. A neatly trimmed
western-style moustache, beard and sideburns made the stranger look like he
just stepped out of a sepia-tone photo from the 1800’s. Jim
reached out his trembling hand and replied: “Jim Sanders…my name is Jim
Sanders”.
Nevada walked across the
room and threw open a set of what Jim had thought to be shutters. To his
surprise a giant head appeared out of the darkness beyond, and the nose of what
was unmistakably a large black horse found its way into the room through the
opening.
“This is Mustang…Mustang
meet Jim” said Nevada.
The horse obediently
stretched out his long head and nuzzled Jim with the end of his
nose.
Jim shrunk back never
having been comfortable with large creatures the size of a horse, especially
finding one who was now halfway extended into the room.
“He won’t hurt you”
Nevada chuckled.
“He’s as friendly
as they come.
Loves to be indoors with
people. I ride him right into the Hangman’s tree in Placerville where we
are known to share a beer or two on a hot summer’s night.
In winter he prefers a
chug of whiskey”.
Jim peered into the darkness
beyond Mustang’s head and saw a neatly appointed stall clearly meant as the
horses’ part of the cabin. The cabin temperature had plummeted when the
cold air from the stall swept into the room. Clearly neither Nevada nor
Mustang took any notice, and they both seemed perfectly happy in the frigid
temperature outside.
The man brought out a
few more oil lamps from a storage bin and began to place them around the
room. The gentle light that filled the cabin showed Jim things that he
had not seen before. For one there was a pot-bellied stove in the corner
of the room that had escaped Jim’s attention. In his haste to warm the
cabin he somehow had not noticed the stove. Nevada unearthed it from
under some things he was “storing” in the corner and soon had it piping hot
with a pot of rich dark coffee bubbling merrily away on the burners.
“Fireplaces are for
flatlanders” he remarked after having put his cabin aright. “They look
nice but make no sense in the cold. Just a waste of wood in my
mind. A proper stove is what a body needs to be warm in the mountains”.
Jim nodded in agreement
and felt grateful for the warmth and the light and the sweet smell of hay
emanating from Mustangs stall. He also felt a whole lot better knowing
that someone, anyone, had appeared on the scene. He was beginning to
worry about how long it would take for them to find help and now it seemed that
help had arrived on their doorstep.
“Have you heard when
this weather is going to clear up?” asked Jim as the man proceeded to pour the
two of them steaming cups of coffee without even asking him if he wanted some.
It seemed that
Nevada just had a sense that Jim would appreciate a kind gesture, and was not
going to refuse anything that reminded him of the civilized life he had left
behind…even if it wasn’t a Starbucks Latte.
Hot coffee now sounded
oh so good to Jim even if it was the middle of the night.
“I reckon it looks like
it’s not going to let up till after the weekend, at least that’s what Mustang
tells me and Mustang is always right about the weather aren’t you boy?” asked
Nevada in that ever so slight drawl that distinguishes country folk from the
“flatlanders”.
The horse pawed his hay
with approval. Jim looked on with astonishment because it seemed the man
and his horse had a strange rapport.
“So Mustang is a weather
man” Jim quipped. “I am sure he is much more accurate than the Channel 5
guys”
He reminded himself
secretly that had he heeded the Channel 5 guys weather warnings he wouldn’t be
sitting in a remote mountain cabin across from a horse that doubled as a
weather man!
Jim sensed that Nevada
was a man of few words, more used to talking to his horse than with humans, and
he seemed in no rush to engage in conversation. Jim had to be content to
watch him settle back into the rocking chair with his coffee and a stick of
jerky. He was curious about this man who had appeared to come in from the
snow out of nowhere with his jet black horse like a storybook character, but
sensed that Nevada was not the kind of man who was anxious to share his
history. There was undoubtedly more to him than a few stories over an
open fire would reveal, and Jim wished he had the chance to really delve into
the secrets that the cowboy must have held close to his chest.
After some time Nevada
asked Jim: “How’d you happen upon this place?”
Jim proceeded to tell
Nevada about the accident and his desire to return home before Christmas.
The kids needed to be back; office deadlines were looming, his former wife
would be frantic and besides he just plain wanted to go home.
Nevada nodded with a
twinkle in his eye that gave Jim the strange sensation that the man he was
sharing the night with had more to him than his horse and cowboy ways alluded
to.
“You get a good night’s
rest and tomorrow I’ll take you into town where you and the kids can get
properly situated for the duration” he said. “There’s no leaving the
hills for a couple of days now but I can get you into town where you will be
more comfortable.”
Nevada pulled a blanket
over himself and before Jim could offer him the couch as a bed he heard the man
drift off into a deep sleep. Jim could hear Mustang chewing the last of
his hay, finally finishing his meal with a loud snort.
Looking back on
the turn of the day’s events was like recalling a distant dream, and Jim
marveled how it had actually come full circle from the nightmare he had
expected. It wasn’t long before he too was fast asleep along with all
those who were now resting comfortably in the warm and cozy cabin along the
side of the road in the California foothills.
Jim awoke to the delighted shrieks of his
children who had discovered Mustang leaning into the cabin, pulling his
blankets off of and tossing things about the room like a seal tosses a fish at
feeding time. The horse it seemed had a sense of humor and delighted in
surprising people and playing pranks on them. Nevada had trained him to
count to three, to bow and to answer yes or no. It seemed that there was
no end to the entertainment that the black horse could offer the strangers in
his cabin.
In the light of day
Mustang proved to be a handsome horse of significant size; jet black with a
splendid crested neck and long mane & tail. His heavy coat proved why
he was not cold in the snow or winter weather, and as Nevada led him out into
the morning sun his shiny hide showed him to be a fine animal in good
condition.
After a hearty breakfast
of hot oatmeal Nevada told everyone to gather their things for the trek into
town. He tied Mustang to a post with a handful of hay to munch on,
and proceeded to hook up the horse to a kind of sledge.
The town of
Georgetown was several miles down the road and in the heavy snow the going
would be too difficult for the children. Mustang was willing to oblige by
pulling them with the sledge while Jim and the cowboy went on foot.
The morning wore on with
Mustang struggling valiantly to pull the sledge without turning it over and
just about the time that Jim thought he had lost all feeling in his toes Nevada
pointed towards a dark spot between the trees.
“This is as far as I go”
he said. “If you head on into town and to the far end of the street,
you’ll find the Gold Rush Inn on your left. The proprietors there will be
able to put you up until you can get things sorted out”.
Jim tried to encourage
Nevada to accompany them to the Inn hoping to buy him a hot meal, but the man
only smiled his uncanny smile that looked like a cross between Santa Claus and
the Grinch, and stated that he and his horse had important business to attend
to before Christmas.
Jim was naturally
curious about what he was alluding to but before he knew it the kids were
bounding in the direction of the town. Jim bade Nevada & Mustang a
thankful farewell and handed the cowboy two $100 bills wrapped together with a
rubber band, the sight of which made Nevada’s eyes roll around in his head.
Jim shouted at the kids
to wait for him as he watched them scamper on towards town as best as they
could through the deep snow that held everything in its grip. The
terrain was easy for the kids to traverse…it would be less so for Jim. He
turned to shake hands and give Mustang a pat on the shoulder but the cowboy and
his horse were both strangely gone. Gone? How was it possible for a
horse with a sledge and a cowboy to have vanished in just a few distracted
moments? Sure the snow was falling steadily but to have them vanish seemed more
than odd to Jim.
However his young
and energetic charges were running off in the direction of town and Jim needed
to be quick on their heels or lose them altogether and there was no time for
sentiment or contemplation. Still the image of the tall mysterious stranger and
his dark horse lingered in the recesses of Jim's mind for longer than he cared
to admit.
The outline of the
historic Gold Rush Inn, its gingerbread woodwork glistening in the noonday sun,
was a welcome sight to the now weary travelers. It appeared at the end of
what seemed to Jim to be an inordinately wide thoroughfare, but it turned out
the wide streets were the result of a desire not to repeat the disastrous
effects of the fires that decimated Georgetown before the turn of the
century.
As he neared the
imposing structure, Jim wasn’t even going to think about anything but getting
into a hot bath and pouring a warm drink down his gullet. He had never
wanted a hot soak as much as he did now, and he hoped that the three story
structure that looked to be an old fashioned hotel would have at least one
cavernously deep claw-foot tub he could luxuriate in.
The kids were already in
the lobby when Jim joined them, trying to catch his breath. A classic
hotel from the gold rush period, its Victorian charm welcomed the stragglers
with open arms. The current proprietors had cared for the “grand old
dame” with loving attention for years. The children were already chatting
it up with the proprietor and his wife, firing words at them with the rapidity
of a machine gun, and poor Mr. Williams had to tell them to slow down and speak
one at a time so he could understand what they were saying.
The hotel was choc-
a-bloc full of stranded travelers, and the proprietors were hard pressed to
find a room that could accommodate the whole bunch. Eventually Mr.
Williams and his wife agreed to rent Jim and his family a small room that was
not really in service because it had some peculiar issues with a heater that
had a mind of its own. They were not really sure if it was a faulty valve
or an itinerant ghost but whatever it was the room was only rented as an
absolute last resort under normal circumstances. Still, there appeared to
be nothing normal to Jim about this trip, about the sudden storm or about any
part of the past few days and Jim was most pleased to have a place to take a
hot bath and rest the heads of his now weary band of nomads.
They checked into their
room and were instructed to meet downstairs at precisely 5pm that evening for a
social hour followed by a special event at the local hall just down Main
Street. Tonight the whole town would be turning out for a caroling party,
accompanied by homemade soups and a plethora of cakes, cookies, pies and
desserts that the local ladies made for the annual Christmas bake sale.
The money from the bake sale went to buy gifts for some of the families in town
that were struggling financially. It was a good cause and everyone turned
out to support the event.
Having luxuriated in an
old-fashioned tub so full of bubbles that he thought he would begin to float
upwards towards the ceiling, Jim felt revived and ready for another chapter in
their adventure. Heading downstairs he heard the hotel staircase creak
from the burden of thousands of footsteps they had supported over the 150 years
or so that they had been pressed into service. Jim felt somehow comforted
by the lovely old-world decor and historic sepia tone photographs that greeted
him as he passed down the hallway. It was obvious that the old girl had
been quite glamorous for her day.
The formal parlor where
they were to meet downstairs was lit with candles and gas lamps, lending an
old-fashioned charm to the scene, and the flicker of tiny lights on the soaring
Christmas tree in the corner almost took his breath away. He walked over
to inspect the hundreds of ornaments that had been hung with flawless
precision, and wondered what stories each and every one of them could tell if
only he had the time to
listen.
“Good evening Jim…are we
feeling revived?” asked Mr. Williams with a twinkle in his eye that curiously
resembled the one he had seen on Nevada’s face earlier that afternoon, although
it didn’t have that same “Grinch-like” aspect to it. Jim did a double
take
.
“Yes sir, that’s quite a
tub you have in that bathroom. Just what the Doctor ordered you might
say”.
Mr. Williams beamed with
delight as he always did when a guest expressed pleasure about any aspect of
their stay. He and his wife had made it their life’s work to bring a
joyful and unforgettable experience to every one of the unsuspecting travelers
that appeared on their doorstep.
Unsuspecting because
travelers assumed that a backwater Inn like theirs would only afford them at
most a well-worn mattress and a hard pillow. But judging from the reviews
of the Inn, the outside world truly appreciated all that they afforded their
visitors. Mr. and Mrs. Williams took extreme pleasure in making sure each
person had whatever they needed, and their uncanny ability to pre-empt the
needs and desires of travelers was legendary. It seemed that no matter
what a guest had need of, the cavernous nooks & crannies at the Inn would
produce at least one of them. Perhaps it was just that the Inn had
collected so many lost and found items over the years, or perhaps it was
something more uncanny.
In addition, Mr. Williams
was known as an unsurpassed repository of countless jokes. He could make
you laugh even if you did not want to, even if you tried your darndest not to,
and guests charmed by his good humor and his wife’s excellent cooking returned
year after year for a glimpse of old-fashioned yesteryear and a break from the
busy word outside “The Divide”- as this area between the North and South
forks of the American River had come to be known.
Mr. and Mrs. Williams
also had the uncanny reputation of being far older than they appeared.
For years now guests
swore that neither of them seemed to have gotten any older. In fact those
that knew them, both locals and visitors, could swear that they gave the
impression of being almost frozen in time. Jim glanced at some photos on
the walls of the proprietors and their guests, some of which were clearly from
a much earlier time, and he could see that neither the lines on their faces nor
their general appearance had changed even the slightest.
Jim thought it strange
but his attention was quickly diverted by a toast called for by the host and
hostess to celebrate the start of what promised to be a wonderful evening of
music, food and community spirit. Mrs. Williams had poured everyone some
eggnog and Mr. Williams was pouring something a bit stronger into the glasses
of the adults, which he claimed was the secret elixir that kept him looking and
feeling so young … along with the good fresh air in the foothills. It
tasted like a really good Kentucky bourbon to Jim but who was he to doubt Mr.
Williams and his recipe from the fountain of youth?
Jim was afraid to
consider how it was even possible that this charming couple seemed so ageless
when his attention was drawn to the other side of the room where a crowd had
gathered amidst a flurry of activity on the part of the hostess. Although
there were now quite a few mysterious things that needed a good explanation,
Jim earmarked them for further analysis when he returned home.
His list of seemingly
unexplained phenomena was getting longer!
Mrs. Williams had set
out quite a spread on the sideboard, and it became clear that no one would go
hungry that night. Lit by a myriad of tiny candles, Jim spotted favorites
from his youth, treats that he had not seen since the days when his mother
hosted their annual family holiday celebrations. Simple delicious treats
unlike the complex creations touted by aspiring chefs that were served at the
upscale parties Jim attended back home.
Here were the crackers
& dips he remembered from his childhood, the pate he recalled his mother
slathering onto toast points, various canapés, cheese balls, cocktail wieners,
onion dip with potato chips, ham puffs and meatballs like his grandmother used
to make with her precious recipe brought back from the “old country”.
There was so much Jim had forgotten, or maybe just pushed back into the
recesses of his mind. And there, right in the middle of the whole
smorgasbord was the piece de la resistance…a giant plate full of creamy
devilled eggs. His favorite! Jim hadn’t seen nor tasted food like
this in years. He dug in like a hungry soldier back from the front.
Despite his penchant for “gourmet” food it all tasted soooo
good.
The mood was merry and
Jim was tempted to pinch himself wondering if he had hit his head a bit too
hard when his car landed in the snowbank. He couldn’t recall a time in
the recent past when he had felt so light hearted and happy. Before the
mishap he had been tense, driven, almost ravenous for success.
Back home the desire for
success drove his every waking moment, colored his relationships and dictated
his activities. Now he felt like he was content to simply see what the
evening would bring. For tonight he was more than happy to live in the
moment, to experience not what he orchestrated, but what he was being
served. It felt good to let go of his need to control, to direct
everything, to focus.
An ancient brass hand bell rung by Mrs. Williams
signaled their impending departure towards the community hall down the
street. The icy cold night was a welcome contrast to the warmth of the
fireside they had just left at the Inn. The streets had been decorated
with dozens of Christmas trees along the sidewalks, and there was not a window
or doorway that did not display a wreath or bow. Along the side streets
houses dating back to the gold rush were festooned in holiday décor. The
wind was still and they peered up into the cold clear night sky. The
stars that twinkled in the distance seemed to sparkle just for their
amusement. They looked like millions of tiny diamonds on a backdrop of
darkened velvet. It was magical.
The short walk took them
to the entrance of a grand old building at the other end of town. Its
high paned glass windows framed their homemade pine wreaths laced with big red
ribbons that lent old-world charm to a structure that had no doubt seen many
years of celebrations. The hall seemed to emanate an otherworldly glow from the
old fashioned gaslight fixtures inside.
Inside the pungent scent
of hot cider laced with cinnamon and spice drew Jim in like a bee to a honey
pot. Steamy homemade soups were being ladled into bowls by an army of
volunteers, and the long tables at the end of the room were well stocked with
something a bit stronger for adults in need of more sustenance than the local
cider had to offer. The band of men assigned to this post were merrily pouring
generous doses of liquid from the vast array of bottles in all shapes and
sizes, and Jim headed over to the makeshift bar to have them add a few drops of
adult beverage to his hot apple cider…..”Just to cool it down a
bit”.
There was a crowd
gathered around the bake sale table where cakes, pies and cookies of all sorts
could be procured for a small sum which benefitted the local holiday charity.
Everyone looked forward to taking some goodies home for Christmas. The offerings
were clearly homemade which lent a certain charm to the items piled high on the
groaning table. Unlike the fancy confections displayed in stores and
bakeries back home, most of the decorating on the cakes and cookies seemed to
have been made with the help of small hands.
Jim was assured by a
woman standing next to him that each and every one of the items would be
delicious, and that no matter what he choose he couldn’t go wrong with his
purchase. Additionally, each item had its own recipe attached just in
case the recipient might want to take the time to recreate it in their own
kitchen. Most of the recipes looked to date back to the days of the gold
rush, and included old-fashioned baking instructions like warnings to bank the
wood fire or recommendations about how to store the suet obtained from the
local butcher. Although not a baker himself Jim thought that this was a
nice touch and added an air of country charm to each acquisition. Still
it seemed a bit peculiar to him, but then what hadn’t been peculiar about the
whole adventure? He pulled out some cash and filled a bag with goodies
that could easily be transported home.
Jim mingled with the
townsfolk who greeted him like a long lost friend. Back at home no one
would have even acknowledged his presence at an affair where he was a
stranger. His children had already made fast friends with the local kids,
and they were happily engaged at playing hide and seek in the crowded
hall. Never before had he been anywhere where he felt more welcome, more
at home.
Eventually he confided
in a group of men that his car was stuck in a snowdrift. The men
indicated that one of them was a mechanic and another had a tractor and that as
soon as possible they would have the whole thing sorted out and the car brought
to the Inn. Jim felt a sense of panic overtake him as he thought about
what could happen to his precious car when a couple of locals pulled it out of
a snowdrift with a tractor. Still, at their insistence and against his
better judgment he handed over the keys to his newly acquired pride and joy and
gave them to 3 perfect strangers… then he took a gulp of his cider and
rum. He was determined to roll with the punches for the duration and to
really enjoy this holiday despite all that had happened to set his well laid
plans off track. He headed back to the bar for a bit more bottled
reassurance.
It wasn’t long before
the whole company was engaged in singing carols. A small choir of local
children that had gathered on the stage at the end of the room sounded like
angels, their voices more beautiful than the professional choirs Jim heard back
at home. They wore no fancy clothing, and they sang the words to the
carols from faded booklets that no doubt had witnessed many a happy Christmas
celebration in this grand old hall.
The conductor was a
large woman all dressed in Christmas red wearing an elf hat for good
measure. She looked like a cartoon character and the whole scene made Jim
smile with a smile he hadn’t donned in years. It reminded him of the
pageants of his own childhood, and then it reminded him of all the performances
his own children had been in that he had missed due to business deadlines and
trips away for work. How he now wished he could turn back the hands of time
and re-live those moments that were gone forever.
Looking around the room
Jim realized that he had not bought a single Christmas gift for any of his
children. He was well known among his office mates for last minute
shopping, or rather having his secretary go last minute shopping, and with
deadlines at work he had plum forgotten to make arrangements. He hoped his
trusty secretary had already penciled the assignment in her datebook months ago
and that the gifts would be awaiting them under the tree when they got
home. Jim thought that the children would certainly be disappointed with
a Christmas morning without gifts, but vowed to console them with the promise
of a proper pile of gifts under the tree the day after Christmas if
necessary.
He looked around the
room to see if there were any tables with the ubiquitous auction or raffle
items that he could substitute for a proper gift, at least for the time being,
but hard as he tried he was not able to locate anything for sale other than
food and drink.
Then he spotted a
collection plate circulating from hand to hand around the room. When it
came to around to him he noticed that there were two $100 bills tied with a
rubber band just like those he had given Nevada, tucked under some smaller
bills on the plate. Anxious to see if the cowboy was in fact at the
gathering he looked around the room but did not see him. “How strange” he
quietly murmured to himself. He added a few bills to the collection and
passed the plate.
The caroling was the
highlight of the evening and despite the vast array of local voices, some on
key, some off, Jim couldn’t remember being more moved by the ancient tunes that
the locals sung every line and verse to. He was amazed that some of the
carols had so many stanzas, because back home caroling seemed to be more of a
form of entertainment than worship. Here each hymn was sung with such
intensity and reverence, that it set the hairs on the back of his neck to stand
at attention like toy soldiers.
The lights in the otherwise
brightly lit room had been dimmed for the concert, and Jim could now see in the
afterglow of the gas lights the outline of the swags which had been picked
right from the timeworn pines outside, their branches now festooned the walls
of the splendid old hall.
Clearly loving hands had
spent countless hours preparing for this grand and joyous celebration.
From his seat in the
rear of the room he could take in the whole picture. The hall was packed
with families enjoying the simple pleasure of being together with loved ones
and friends. Most of them knew one another from the many local
organizations, churches or schools. People here seemed to have more time
to get involved, to support their community. That was very clear to Jim
now.
Jim thought how his own
life revolved around his work. He didn’t know a single
neighbor. His office mates had
become his sole “friends”. He saw his children on alternate
weekends. Most weekends he spent
his time just catching up with the myriad of things he had pushed aside when
deadlines ruled his life which was most of the time. He wondered who & what
had he become.
The evening ended with a
beautifully sung rendition of ‘Joy to the World’ and the crowd slowly disbursed
to return to their homes. Jim gathered his children for the short walk
back to the Inn, holding hands as they walked through the icy sidewalks that
went crunch, crunch, crunch with each step. Jim felt peculiarly happy,
content, and vowed to say a prayer of thanks that night before bed. It had been years since
he had even thought to communicate with The Almighty, and somehow he felt the
need to do so that night.
For once in his life Jim
felt small, vulnerable and very very grateful. He surmised that there was
a reason why he took the shortcut, why his car was stuck in
the snowbank, why he was destined to meet the cast of colorful characters that
were touching his life.
As they neared the Inn
there was raucous laughter coming from the gathering room, and Jim could see
that the fireplace flames still licked at the brick walls of the hearth that
had no doubt seen many Christmases. But Jim headed straight up the
stairs to the small room that they would share for the night, and it wasn’t
long before his head hit the down pillow following his promised prayer of
“Thanks”.
The next morning the guests awoke to the hearty
smell of thick slabs of country fried bacon coming up the stairway from the
kitchen below. Mrs. Williams was no doubt cooking up a breakfast morning culinary
storm not to be missed!
Jim rubbed his
eyes and looked around the room. The décor was right out of the 1800’s
and he felt like he might as well have spent the night in a museum. The
cozy rocking chair, the brass bed with hand-made quilt, the lace curtains,
were all a homey and sharp contrast to his own decorator inspired
home. Somehow the sparse and modern flavor in his own house seemed cold
and inhospitable now. It was utilitarian, expensive, designed to
impress. Here the rooms were all about comfort, warmth and
intimacy. Jim wanted to lie back and take it in a little longer.
Hearing the happy peals
of laughter from the guests below signaled that he should probably get
downstairs for breakfast. Being Christmas Day Jim hadn’t a clue what he
would tell the children about not having any gifts for them that year. But the
children were already running up the stairs with 2 small packages that they had
found under the branches of the tree in the parlor.
One had a tag that read
“To Jim’s Kids”. And the other simply said “To Jim”.
The children begged to
open the gifts but Jim told then they had best wait until they got back
home. He thought that coming home to a bare house without even a little
Christmas surprise waiting for them would be too hard for him to bear.
The children scampered back down the stairs and Jim packed the 2 gifts into his
duffle bag and went down for breakfast.
After breakfast Jim
stepped outside and was surprised to see that his car was parked in front of
the hotel. When he turned the key the engine started up with a
spurt. The car had been delivered to the Inn as promised, and a
handwritten note on the dash read “Merry Christmas…no charge”. Jim was
astounded. Despite a few dents from the snowdrift that could easily
buffed out, his precious car was almost none the worse for wear.
As much as he hated to
leave, the roads looked passable and he knew that his world was calling
him. Having said their “goodbyes” with a promise to return he loaded his
tribe into the car and headed off in the direction of home.
But first he was
determined to knock on the door of the little wayside cabin to thank Nevada
again for the use of his home where he had found shelter and sustenance and a
helping hand. He thought it would be a nice gesture to bring Nevada one
of the pies he had purchased the evening before. He found it remarkable,
almost unbelievable that he had spent several anxious nights in an unfamiliar
place until a perfect stranger had put him and his family at ease and guided
them to safety despite the stormy circumstances. He wondered if he would
have done the same for a neighbor or a
stranger?
Jim headed out along the
road and was certain he was at just about the place that his car had been
buried in the snowbank. He had calculated the distance from there to the
cabin within a reasonable sum but he was unable to find the cabin anywhere
along the roadway. Things do look very different when they are
covered in snow but surely the little cabin would have to be within a few miles
of where his car had spent their weekend stuck in the snowbank.
Finally he stopped at a
house near where he thought the cabin should have been. A young woman
with a small child on her arm answered the door. She was not aware
of any cabin in the neighborhood but pointed to the home of old timer further
down the street that might shed light on the whereabouts of Nevada and Mustang.
Jim rang the doorbell of
the house and an old man appeared from around the corner of the porch, clearly
having come out of his garden. He seemed friendly enough as were most of
the citizens he had met on The Divide, and when the man heard that he had
questions about the cabin he invited Jim inside. It seemed this wasn’t the
first time that someone had knocked on his door wishing to locate the cabin and
its owner to thank them for some kindness or another.
Jim retold his story and
the man smiled and shook his head. He had heard the story about a man and
his horse greeting stranded travelers before. All he knew was that there
had been many stories of a cowboy who would help people in need although he
always reckoned they were just folk tales. Whether they were stranded by
weather, ran out of gas along a lonely highway, or worse yet hurt in an
accident, the stories of the cowboy and his dark horse who came to the rescue
of travelers was the stuff that legends were made of, although the man claimed
he never really believed in the tales himself.
The man said that there
were additional accounts of the cowboy’s good deeds as well. Local
children from poor families would mysteriously find a bike or new toy on their
doorstep on Christmas morning, with a note that said ‘From
Mustang’ attached to the gift, although no one knew who Mustang really
was.
“I think it’s Just
a lot of local gibberish” proclaimed the man vehemently.
“Well-wishing
pranksters no doubt”.
As for the cabin,
yes there had once been a cabin down the road. But a fire had reduced it
to ashes ages ago, and all that was left was a lonely chimney now overgrown
with vegetation. No one knew who owned the property, or if the owner ever
returned after the fire.
Jim left the old man’s
house and proceeded to drive towards home. It seemed he now had more questions
than answers. As he drove on slowly through the bucolic country roads leading
back to the highway, his thoughts kept coming back around to the same crazy
notions. In fact no matter how hard he tried to put it out of his mind,
he gradually became aware that in his heart he already knew the answer to his
questions about the stranger. He also began to see the whole weekend with
a new perspective. It had been much more than a major
inconvenience.
The weekend had allowed
him to reconnect with his children, to recall previously lost cherished
memories that he has long ago pushed into the background of his mind and to
realize that although work was important, the reason for all that hard work was
really family… family and friends. Not having that balance had already
cost Jim so much in his life; his marriage, his health, and lost years that
would never return. Striving for what he had thought were the best things
distanced him from what really mattered, and the importance of being with his
family, just being with them, experiencing life together, and making
memories come slowly into focus.
He had also learned that
there were still places not so far away where people were welcoming, friendly
and cared for both strangers and friends. Places where people somehow
found the time for simpler pursuits and pleasures and might expect nothing more
than a sincere “Thank You” for some kindness done with the hope that someday,
if they needed it, someone would return the favor.
And Jim also knew now
that despite ‘logical’ explanations for the seemingly unexplainable events he
had experienced that weekend, there were still some things that would…and
should remain a mystery no matter how hard anyone tried to explain
them. And those things, like the identity of the shadowy cowboy
named Nevada and his black horse, would linger not only as a mystery, but as a
cherished memory. They would be the true gift of Christmas, given by a
stranger.
Back at home the house
seemed sterile and cold compared to the warm and cozy Inn they had left behind
just a few hours ago. The children drew straws to see which of them would
tear the paper off their gift and once decided the package quickly revealed the
2 packs of playing cards they had enjoyed so much in the tiny cabin.
A note attached said
“From Mustang”.
The kids seemed more
excited with those cards than with so many of the gifts they had received over
the years, and they arranged themselves around the coffee table in the living
room intent on spending a few hours playing with them before dinner.
Jim looked at the
package that he held in his hand. It felt unusually heavy and the paper
was faded and tattered, like it had been used before at more than one Christmas
celebration.
He sat on the edge of
the couch and slowly opened the package.
In his hand was a rusty
horse shoe, clearly worn from many miles of use.
And there was one
slightly bent nail… no doubt intended for hanging.
A little piece of paper
slipped out and fell to the floor.
Carefully penned in
large black letters were the words…
They
said simply:
“FOR LUCK …ALWAYS”.
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