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”.
Take time to read,
relax, refresh, renew, pray, meditate. 
