Cold December Night by Buckskin

Word Count 1,131

Thanks to Cat for the beta

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Then and Now

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December 23, 1848

It doesn’t seem possible that I am finally holding my newborn son. Though the weather has unleashed its worst as the raging storm and icy rain beat against the windows, the warmth in my heart chases it all away. I have waited an eternity for this moment, and at last, he arrived with a healthy cry, and as he wrapped tiny fingers around my thumb, I was amazed by the strength in his hand. Here in this room, it is quiet and peaceful, filled with hopes and dreams of a future, and blessed as if the brightness of day has bathed me in the sun’s rays and showered me with its glory. A new beginning… with my son!

I can’t stop the tears that trace over my cheeks, but they are tears of joy; they are sweet, made of love — love for my baby boy.

Maria lies in exhausted slumber from hours of labor endured to bring this little one into the world, and I watch her beautiful face, still creased with the struggle and pain of birth but nonetheless beautiful! Her breath escapes with the rise and fall of her chest in healing, peaceful sleep and gives me a chance for these treasured observances of both — my beloved wife and my cherished boy — and fills me with a happiness I’ve never known!

A tear fell on Johnny’s face; gently, I wiped it away. My tear on his velvet cheek; funny, I wonder how many tears he will shed, like nectar, that I will dry from the perfect face and those beautiful eyes?

His silken hair is long and thick. Never have I seen a baby with hair like his- his mother’s hair, yes, he has so much of her in him, and I believe he will grow to be a handsome man. I wonder what traits he will take from me, the Lancer side? I’ll have to wait and see and will enjoy the journey of watching him grow into manhood.

In awe, my eyes are drawn to his perfect features; his hands are flawless, with long fingers and strong, too, as they clasp around my thumb, not letting go. What will these hands accomplish in his lifetime? What good deeds and kindnesses will he accomplish?

I have so many plans for this boy — my son! And I vow that he will know his brother, and the two of them will inherit all that is Lancer. Together, they will grow into strong and honorable men, brave and true to all that is Lancer and beyond all that is Lancer.

Thank you, Maria, you’ve given me a most precious gift! Sleep well, my love! I have a feeling that when you wake, we will have our hands full!

And two years later, they were gone… My life shattered into a million pieces.

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December 23, 1861

Once again, I find myself sitting in this room; it’s December 23, and I’m still alone. Thirteen years he’s been gone — is Johnny alive? I’ve searched, often leaving the ranch for months at a time, and it’s always the same — there was no sign of Johnny. Am I not looking in the right places? Am I not searching hard enough?

I think about the night he was born and the tiny baby in my arms; I remember wiping the tears that clung to beautiful long lashes… and now I wonder how many tears he has shed that went unknown to me. How many times had he needed my help, and I wasn’t there for him? It angers me and saddens my heart; I feel paralyzed with hopelessness.

How many birthdays have I sat in his room on this day and wondered where he was? All the years of bearing this day alone, not knowing if he was safe, did he have food…  and wondering if he was even alive. It leaves me sick inside. And I have no choice but to keep on keeping on. Will I ever have my son back home?

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December 23, 1865

The room is quiet as I sit in the chair next to the empty bed. Is it silly that I removed the crib and replaced it with a large, comfortable bed that will be ready for him if… when he returns to Lancer? My hopes cannot be stilled, and I refuse to think he’s gone forever… but it’s hard to hold onto that hope. There has been no word from the Pinkertons. There is nothing to go on and my hope is nearly gone…

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December 23, 1866

The Pinkerton Agency’s report arrived today… on his birthday. The cruel irony bit deep with the awful news — news that no parent wants to hear. My son, my beautiful baby boy is a gunfighter — bitter grief overwhelms me. My heart splinters. How can I stop the pain? But he is alive.

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December 23, 1870

With the utmost care, I tucked the heavy blanket around him as he lay sleeping in front of the fire. It was a long, hard, and cold day working with the cattle. Johnny came home chilled and fell asleep as the warmth of the flames wrapped him in a soft embrace. I watched as his eyes grew heavy with sleep; he finally gave in to the comfort, and drifted toward the rest he needed.

I cannot believe my eyes! He is home! Both my boys are home where they belong! At long last, my family is together. The only comfort I took in Scott’s absence was that he was cared for in Boston; he had clothes and food and a roof over his head. Johnny did not. He survived by his wits, and I cannot bear to think what his life was like.

But he is here now. Dwelling on the past will do no good. My son is home. With me. Forever.   

With tears in my eyes, I study the face and remember the tiny babe I held twenty-three years ago this very night.

Thinking back on all the years, I’ve felt unbelievable joy and unspeakable pain and sorrow. But now, as I watch him in exhausted slumber, I know he is home to stay on this cold December night!

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November 2023

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