Merry Merry and Happy Happy
1
Christmas on Red Dog
Road
by
RD Larson
Seamus
straightened up, arching his back. He yanked off the battered hat by
its rounded crown and squinted up through the new pale nubs of live
oaks. The creek ran red, stirred up too much by rains coursing down
the banks.
"Matthew!
Matthew! Bring me down a pail of water, son, and a piece of
hardtack. Bring some for yourself."
Seamus's
voice, though gentle and kind, it carried far up the hill. The boy
heard his father clearly as he stood in front of the one-room cabin.
The dappled sunshine played over his grimy home-sewn shirt. The
shirt was much too small, pulling tight over the boy's shoulders.
His slingshot was tucked quickly into the patch pocket of the cloth
trousers.
He
went to the long bench at the front of the cabin, and taking a
dipper, filled a small pail with the cool, clean water. Slowly, he
untied the rope that held the grub bag high in the huge oak tree. As
it lowered, the boy whistled "Amazing Grace" between his
two front teeth. Rummaging in the bag, he found thick bread in the
burlap and took out two pieces. Matthew went to the bench to set
them by the water pail; he returned to the tree to pull the grub sack
up again.
Still
whistling his mother's favorite hymn he took a clean handkerchief
still drying on the manzanita bush and lay it down on the bench.
Suddenly, he heard a great crushing sound off to the left of the
cabin.
Matthew
peered into the dry underbrush. The leaves had blown off during late
fall. Yet in the thick brush, he made out the outline of a heavy
dark animal. It’s eye’s were looking right at him.
"Pa,
Pa!" The boy hollered, grabbing the handkerchief, hardtack and
pail as he ran headlong down the hill. "Pa, that bear's back!
She looked at me."
Seamus
chuckled as he was nearly tossed in to the creek when hit by the
hurtling boy. Matthew was so like his mother, with his soft fair
hair and emotional nature.
"Son,
these bears live here. It surely can't be old One-Ear that Grandma
Beebe was telling you about down at the Henley's last summer. She
was just telling stories to the newcomers; that's what folks do.
They tell stories for enjoyment."
"Well,
she said One-Ear would've eaten her alive if it hadn't been for her
dog. Can we get a dog, Pa? I mean, may we?" The boy had bitten
off half his hardtack and crumbs littered his chin and shirt. In his
fast talking he sprayed his father with crumbs as well. Seamus
laughed again.
"Now, son,
don't worry; that bear won't bother us since we keep food tied up
high and as long as we don't bother her. Not unless her cubs are
about to be hurt. Right now, Matthew, we need to give thanks to the
Good Lord for this food. We thank Thee, Father, for your bountiful
harvest in these Sierra Foothills and for your love and forgiveness."
Seamus fell silent and they both ate. After a time, he leaned back
and looked at his son.
"I've
been thinking we'd best hitch Pearl to the wagon and ride into town
before the weather takes a turn for the worse. Back home in Indiana
it would be cold and snowy. This is like summer still. It‘s bound
to be winter sometime soon.. But then a man never knows the future;
only God knows.”
"Why'd
God let Ma die?" Matthew hung his head between his legs. It
hadn't been six months since his mother had died delivering the much
expected baby. They were buried together, the infant girl wrapped in
her mother's arms, in a grave up on the ridge under a massive ancient
pine tree. Every Sunday Seamus and Matthew walked up there. Seamus
read Scripture from his tattered Bible and they prayed. Young
Matthew felt the loss and no amount of prayer seemed to help.
Seamus, being a minister, found his comfort in prayer. He just
couldn't forgive himself, even if God did, for bringing Mary Margaret
to this rough land only to die in childbirth without her family,
without a doctor, even without him that grim morning.
"You
can see the locket again, tonight, Matthew." Seamus knew
Matthew was afraid he'd forget what she looked like, although the boy
often said how he remembered her laughter and her singing. Matthew
would sit with the wedding locket for hours in the beginning; now, it
was a couple times a week. Seamus felt the boy would accept the will
of God given time.
"Let's
check our traps; maybe we caught ourselves a squirrel or a rabbit for
dinner. Then we'll get us a good night's rest for tomorrow's
journey. Just have to lay in some winter supplies."
Matthew
enjoyed the rare trips to town. The rowdy miners, the Chinese, the
Maidu Indians, the trades people, and even few women were a sight for
him.. The boy always told his father that someday he would write
about all the excitement over the discovery of gold so folks would
know just what it was like to be a boy in the Gold Country in the
year of 1852.
They
had their rabbit cooked over the fire with a few gone-soft potatoes
and more hardtack. A sudden chill fell with darkness and Seamus lay
another oak log on the fire. Then he reached up, taking down the
locket from the peg above the hand-hewn bedstead. He handed it to
Matthew. The youngster nestled it in his cupped hands for long
moments before he opened the heart-shaped, scroll-covered memento.
The
boy sat cross-legged on the board floor just out of the dirt in front
of the fire place; Pa was going to rock the hearth over during the
winter he'd said. Matthew opened his mother's locket and stared into
the wedding faces of his mother and father. Pa had side whiskers,
not a full beard like now. But Ma looked like an angel, with her
pale hair woven up around her face. Matthew looked and looked.
Suddenly, he handed the locket to his Pa and stumbled to his corner
pallet, asleep almost before he'd taken off his shoes.
Seamus
frowned. The boy forgot his prayers again. He did understand and so
rose to lay another log on the embers. Going out, he checked Pearl
in the lean-to. Although she hadn't spilled her water, she did seem
skittery. Seamus rubbed her bony, old nose until she calmed. Seamus
sighed and went back into the cabin. After a mighty and fervent
prayer on his knees at the side of his bed, Seamus slipped, cold,
under the quilt his wife had sewn for them.
