by
Stacey256
Disclaimer: The characters and situations of the TV program
"Big Valley" are the creations of Four Star/Republic Pictures and
have been used without permission. No
copyright infringement is intended by the author. The ideas expressed in this story are copyrighted to the author.
In
my alternate universe there’s an extra Barkley brother, Peter, who ran away
from home at the age of 14. This
Christmas story actually is a prequel to “Play it with Finesse,” the story that
introduced Peter and his family. It
occurs in New Orleans on the Christmas just prior to the family reunion.
Leaning back in his office chair, Peter Barkley grinned at
his brother-in-law, Robert Laseuer, “Too bad you didn’t get in a few days ago. You missed the Armisteads’ banquet.”
“How was the infamous centerpiece?”
Peter laughed, “Pretty awful. Sam could hardly keep from laughing. You also missed the Trudeaus’ ball and our open house; both were
great fun.”
“Ah, ferere, I
have been to too many New Orleans balls.
I will survive missing these,” Robert shrugged. “How is mon
petite seuer?
“Good, considering.
She’ll be happy to see you.”
“Considering?”
“Considering that there is a new little Barkley on its
way, and she’s having to deal with morning sickness again,” Peter wiggled his
eyebrows.
“Another one?
Ah-hah, mon ferere, very
good. I am sure that Samantha is
pleased,” Robert just barely hid his surprise.
Given the near tragedy at his younger nephew’s birth, Robert was
surprised that another child had been conceived so soon.
“She is that; I just wish she would get past this morning
sickness stuff,” Peter knew that his brother-in-law was stunned. Had Peter had his way there would have been
no more children, but Samantha was determined to have a daughter and Nathaniel,
their physician, had said Nicky’s breach birth would likely never be
repeated. So Peter had given into his
beloved wife’s entreaties.
“Hmm, well, this seriously changes part of my plan,”
Robert sighed.
“Plan?”
“William asked me to talk with you about the problem.”
It was Peter’s turn to sigh, “I told him I’d like to help,
but I just don’t know how I can get away.
There’s the bank and the family.”
Peter’s former boss in the federal marshals had asked for his help in
uncovering who had been behind last year’s bloody attack on the train carrying
the coin dies to the San Francisco mint.
Peter had lost friends in that attack; he had truly been torn by
William’s request.
“Ah, see, I was going to offer to stay here and look after
things while you did your little reconnaissance,”
Robert studied his brother-in-law’s face.
“I don’t know, Robert,” Peter frowned. “I would hate to leave Sam now, especially
after all the problems she had when Nicky was born.”
“We would get you back long before the baby was born. We are talking just six weeks or so,” Robert
encouraged.
Peter was obviously torn, “Look, don’t say anything to
Sam, but I promise I’ll think about it.
Let’s just enjoy Christmas right now.”
“All right,” Robert shrugged and smiled. “So how will we handle Christmas morning if
my little sister is, how do you say it, trying to hack up her toenails?”
The other man grimaced but then said, “We’re keeping the
boys up extra late tonight and taking them to the Christmas Eve mass. We’re hoping they’ll sleep later . . . at
least until Samantha can get past her bad hours.”
Robert just nodded his head and then waited quietly while
his brother-in-law finished the work he needed to complete in the office that
had once been Robert’s father’s. Robert
had long known that the smartest thing his late father had ever done was to
bring Peter Barkley in as his successor.
The man had a natural talent for banking. He loved the work; one had only to look at Peter to see that he
was thriving. But, of course, the man
had many natural talents, Robert knew, and that was why they were asking him to
leave his family and temporarily return to his old life as a deputy federal
marshal. He wondered if his
brother-in-law would succumb to their pressures.
When Peter finished his work, the two men wished the other
workers at the bank a merry Christmas and then started toward home. As they passed the newsstand, the vendor
called out, “Mr. Barkley, I got a San Francisco paper in.” Peter walked over and paid for the paper,
folded it, and tucked it under his arm.
When Robert raised his eyebrows and questioned, “San Francisco?” Peter
just teased, “Hey, unlike you, I’m a serious banker. I pay attention to what’s happening on both coasts. I regularly read the financial news from New
York, too.”
When they arrived home . . . at the house that Robert’s
father had built for his mother more than 30 years before, they were greeted
enthusiastically by Peter’s wife and Robert’s little sister, Samantha Laseuer
Barkley. She chided her big brother for
staying away for so long and for not arriving until Christmas Eve. “I was worried about you,” the diminutive
dark-haired beauty scolded her tall brother with just the same voice she used
for her two small sons. Robert
obligingly ducked his head, shuffled his feet, and begged her forgiveness,
which she gave immediately.
Samantha had very skillfully delayed her sons’ afternoon
naps so that they had just gotten up and were having a snack. Her plan was to stall their dinner until
just before they went to the Christmas Eve mass. If they were lucky, the sights and sounds at the cathedral would
be enough to keep the boys awake until they got home. Putting them to bed that late ensured that they wouldn’t be up
until late morning . . . giving her plenty of time to get past her morning
sickness. Of course, tomorrow she would
face the challenge of getting the two little boys back to their regular
routine.
Robert was surprised, once again, at how much his two
nephews had grown in the six months that he had been away. Three-year-old Tom was eagerly talking and
asking “why” over and over again.
Little Nicky had gone from barely walking to out-and-out running. His vocabulary was somewhat limited with
“Mamma,” “Pappa,” “Tom,” “Nicky,” “no,” and “me, too” representing the vast
majority of what could be deciphered. A
confirmed bachelor, Robert nevertheless enjoyed playing with the two little
boys. He and Peter were successful in
keeping the boys entertained until it was time to eat. Then Samantha and the children’s nurse,
Jacqueline, were able to get them quickly changed and ready for the trip to the
cathedral.
Samantha felt that God was smiling down on them. Her sons were little angels during the
service . . . a nice change from their usual behavior. Afterwards, she and Peter and Robert paused
to visit with a number of friends and neighbors, just enjoying the goodwill of
the season. As they walked down the
streets, Peter began to sing “Les Agnes
dans nos Campagnes” and Robert and Samantha joined in. When they arrived back home, both little
boys were changed into their nightclothes but then brought downstairs for a
little family time beside their Christmas tree. Both boys made a beeline for their father who gathered his small
sons onto his lap.
“Tell a story, Pappa,” little Tom begged.
“Ah, a story, hmm.
What kind of story, my little man?” Peter bounced his older son on his
knee.
The little boy’s forehead wrinkled in thought. After a few moments, he said firmly, “Cowboy. Cowboy and Cismas.”
“How about I tell you about the first time I got to go
with my father and older brothers to cut our Christmas tree?” Peter suggested and got an eager nod from
Tom, which Nicky immediately copied.
“Well, I was about 10 years old and my little sister Audra was about
Tom’s age and my little brother Gene was about Nicky’s age. My big brother Jarrod had been away at
school in San Francisco. Father said we
had to wait until Jarrod came home to get the tree because that was our tradition
. . . the way we had always done things.
I had never gotten to go before, but this year your grandfather said
that I could ride up to the high country with him and Jarrod and Nicky.”
“Nicky!” the smaller boy chirped.
“Yes, Nicky, just like you,” his father smiled and reached
out to tickle the boy’s ribs.
“So you had a Christmas tree . . . even back then?” Robert
queried.
“My mother’s grandmother was German. She had brought the tradition with her when
she immigrated to this country. From
what I understand, my mother had always insisted on having a Christmas tree so
we had the tradition even before it became the fashion,” Peter explained.
“Pappa,” Tom urged, afraid that his pappa would forget to
finish the story.
“Oh, yes, the story.
Well, we went to town and met the stage that was bringing Jarrod
in. It was amazing how much older he
seemed even though he had only been away five months. I remember that your grandmother even cried just a little when
she hugged him; I think she had missed him very, very much. The next morning, I got to saddle up with
Jarrod and Nicky and your Grandfather Tom.”
“Tom!” this time it was Tom’s turn to point out his
connection with someone else.
“That’s right, your Grandfather Tom, whom you’re named
after,” Peter tapped his older son on the end of his nose. “We started early, because Grandmother
wanted us to go up and get the tree and make it back all in one day. I remember her telling your grandfather that
she didn’t want us to be out sleeping on the cold ground.”
“I don’t blame her,” Samantha spoke up. “I can just imagine all of you coming down
with colds. That would have made for a
wonderful Christmas.”
“Spoken like a true mother,” Robert chuckled.
“It’s a mother’s job to worry about her family’s health,”
his sister said with authority.
For a moment, Peter just gently stroked his younger son’s
dark curls. After a few moments, he
managed to continue, “Well, it was a long ride up to where the good pines were
but it was fun because both my big brothers were there. When we got up to the area where we always
got our Christmas trees, my father sent we three boys off in three different
directions. We were to fire our rifles
off in the air when we found what we thought was the perfect tree. I started off carefully inspecting each tree
that was about the right height, but I couldn’t find one that was the right
shape. I kept walking and walking,
expecting to hear rifle shots any minute.
But there weren’t any shots so I kept looking and looking and then, I
saw it. The very perfect tree, it was
the right height and the right shape and the right color. I real quick fired off two shots and then
waited for my father to come. It seemed
like FOREVER before I heard him coming toward me. He called my name and I shouted so he would know where I
was. Then I saw him. He was leading my horse and his, and right
behind him were my two brothers leading their horses. All of them were coming to see the tree I had picked.”
In his mind’s eye he could see the way his breath had
marked the air with little white clouds.
He had been so nervous, afraid he had not picked well, afraid he would
disappoint his father, afraid that his older brothers would tease him for
jumping the gun. “I stayed beside the
tree I had spotted. I remember holding
my breath, watching my father as he circled the tree, waiting for his
judgment. When he came back around
where I could see him, he was smiling.
I knew then that I had picked right.
He said it was perfect and he got out the cross saw. We each took turns, working as teams to cut
the tree down. Because I had found the
tree, I got to make the last few cuts with my brother Nicky. Father had rigged a couple of lines so that
the tree wouldn’t come crashing down; he wanted to be sure that we didn’t break
any of the branches. After we very
carefully dropped the tree, he rigged up a travois to carry it on for the same
reason. The travois was tied onto my
horse and, since I had found the tree, I got to pull it down to the valley and
back to the house.”
Peter smiled gently, “I remember it was dark when we got
back down to the ranch headquarters.
The house look so warm and inviting, all the windows lit up. Your grandmother was waiting for us. She made me and my brothers come straight
into the house and drink some hot chocolate she had fixed while my father
nailed the crosspieces on the trunk, then we all four wrestled the tree into
the house. I was right; it was the
perfect tree. I remember my father
bragging to my mother how far I had walked to find the right tree. She hugged me and kissed my cheek. Jarrod said it was our best tree ever. Even Nicky said it looked pretty good. I was so proud.”
“Pretty tree?” Tom asked in his little boy lisp.
“Very pretty tree,” his father smiled down at him.
“Like our tree?” the little boy queried.
“A lot like our tree,” Peter nodded.
“Go get tree?”
“Well, maybe one of these days you and me and Nicky can go
cut down our Christmas tree,” his bright blue eyes twinkled.
“That was a wonderful story, Pappa,” Samantha stood and
came over to kiss her husband’s cheek.
“I think, however, it’s time to put these two little boys to bed.”
“No,” Nicky understood and protested immediately.
“Yes, Nicky,” his father was unswayed. “Mamma has spoken and we must obey.” He stood, holding a son in each arm. “Robert, I think we’re going to bid you good
night now. After we get the boys to
bed, I think my wife also needs to call it a night. If not, we’ll have no hope of waking her up at 6 tomorrow
morning.”
“Good night,” Robert raised his glass in salute. “Sweet dreams to you all.”
Samantha tucked one small hand into the crook of his arm
and leaned against him as they walked upstairs together. He set Tom down on his bed and then turned
to place Nicky in his crib.
“No!” Nicky’s high little voice was firm. “Tom!”
His father looked over to his mother for a translation and
she, like all good mothers, understood immediately, “Do you want to sleep with
Tom tonight?” The smaller boy nodded
his head so hard that his dark curls bounced.
“I think that would be all right,” she continued easily. “Let Mamma slide an oilcloth beneath the
sheet, just in case.”
Peter gently bounced the boy in his arms as they watched
Samantha prepare the bed. When Nicky
was deposited beside his brother, both boys immediately settled on their knees,
ready to do their nighttime prayers.
The short prayer was finished with a good “amen” from Tom and a quickly
echoed “men” from Nicky. After both
boys were tucked into bed and the lamp extinguished, Peter and Samantha
lingered beside the doorway until both their sons were asleep. Only then did Samantha slip her arm around
her husband’s slender waist and urge him toward their bedroom.
“Hmm, what is your hurry, ma chere?” Peter teased.
“I thought you and I could celebrate Christmas a little
early,” she batted her long lashes.
“Celebrate?” he pretended he didn’t understand.
“Give each other early presents,” she gently tugged him
into their bedroom and pushed the door shut.
She rose on her toes and wrapped her slender arms around his neck. “Kiss me, Peter.”
“A kiss is all you want?” he bent down and pressed his
lips to hers, amazed once again how a simple kiss from her would cause his
heart to skip. Oh, how he loved her.
“No, I want more than a kiss,” she slipped her hands from
around his neck and caressed the muscles of his hard chest. “Much more.
And I intend to reciprocate in kind.”
“Hmm,” he leaned down and again caught her lips with
his. As he toyed with her mouth, his
hands removed the pins that held her dark curls up, loving how the soft strands
fell into his hands. “I’m afraid you’ll
have to show me exactly what it is you want.”
She laughed softly and now pulled him toward their bed,
“Come, my husband. I will show you.”
Much later, when they lay spooned together, their damp
flesh clinging, Samantha whispered softly, “It was a beautiful story that you
told tonight, Peter.”
Her husband’s voice was drowsy, “Mmm, thank you.”
“It is too bad that we live too far away from any place
that there are trees to be cut. It
would be nice if we had a tradition like your family’s. The boys would love to go with you to cut
down our tree,” she continued.
“Mmm,” her husband was obviously slipping away from her.
Because she knew he was relaxed, because she knew he was
content, and because she knew he loved the Christmas season, she dared to cross
into dangerous territory, “You should write them, Peter. Let them know you’re all right. Where you are and what you’re doing.”
“Mmm,” this time, however, the sound was not murmured
drowsily. It was more like an irritated
buzzing.
“Peter,” she knew he wouldn’t like what she said. “It’s the Christmas season. Please do it.”
And, surprisingly, his voice was gentle with no hint of
his usual annoyance whenever this subject was brought up, “I’ve tried, Sam, but
there’s just no explaining it to them . . . why I’ve stayed away all these
years. It’s best if we just let things
stay as they are. I’m sure they’ve
pretty much forgotten me.”
“I’m sure that isn’t true, Peter,” she dared to
argue. “They are your family.”
“You and Tom and Nicky and Robert are my family,” he
tightened his arms around her. “You are
all the family that I need.”
“I’m sure they miss you, Peter,” and she added with
conviction, “as much as you miss them.”
After four years of marriage, she knew him so well of
course. For all that he had now, a
beautiful wife, darling children, a successful career, a comfortable lifestyle
with many caring friends, he missed them every day, but “Sam, it’s been too
many years. I’m sure that they think
I’m dead. I think it’s just best to
leave things that way.”
“Peter, if they thought you were dead, don’t you think
your miraculous rebirth to them would only bring them joy,” she continued to
press.
“Sam, I’m anything but a prodigal son,” he said
firmly. “Look, darling, it’s not going
to happen so let’s not argue about it tonight.
You need to go to sleep now, mon
amie. You must get your rest; it’s
important to the baby. You know that.”
He, of course, struck at her Achilles’ tendon; she would
do anything for her children . . . even the one not yet born. She gave up her argument . . . for this
night and snuggled more closely to him.
She did love him so; even when he was being unreasonable. And, just as she was beginning to doze off,
she heard him whisper, “I love you, Samantha.
You are my life.”
Peter remained perfectly still beside his wife until her
even breathing told him that she was sound asleep. He carefully eased her from his arms and slipped from the
bed. He tucked the bedclothes around
her bare shoulders and placed the softest of kisses on her cheek. The sliver of moon just barely provided
enough light for him to find his sleep pants, robe, and slippers and to slip
them on. He navigated across the
bedroom without bumping into any furniture and quietly slipped out of the
room. In the hallway, he lit the lamp
and used it to light his way downstairs and to his office. There, on his desk, was the newspaper that
he had discarded early this evening. He
poured himself a glass of brandy and then turned up the wick on the lamp and
quickly spread the paper open. He was
use to quickly scanning newspapers, reading what he needed, skipping the rest,
so his eyes moved quickly over the small print until he found what he was
looking for, there in the society pages.
He couldn’t stop the smile that broke across his face; it was like a
Christmas gift.
“Among the organizers for the charity ball was Mrs.
Victoria Barkley, widow of San Joaquin Valley rancher and entrepreneur Thomas
Barkley. Mrs. Barkley was escorted by
her eldest son, San Francisco and Stockton attorney-at-law Jarrod T. Barkley,
esq. Mrs. Barkley’s daughter, Miss Audra
Barkley, was one of this year’s debutantes who graced the ball. She was presented by her older brother, Mr.
Heath Barkley of Stockton. Also
attending the ball were her other brothers, Mr. Nicholas Barkley, who manages
the family ranch outside Stockton, and Mr. Eugene Barkley, a student at Berkeley.”
For a moment, Peter closed his eyes and tried to conjure
up the images of his family. He
wondered if his mother’s hair was all white now. When he was a boy, there were already the light streaks running through
her dark locks . . . he could almost hear her complaining to his father about
how she was going to be white-headed before her children were grown. He was sure, however, she was still just as
beautiful as he had always seen her.
Even though he had been only 14 when he left, he had already passed her
in height. He was sure now that he
would dwarf her; she was probably no bigger than Sam. But, he smiled to himself, she was probably still a force to be
reckoned with.
Jarrod . . . Jarrod would be smooth and sophisticated; his
strong voice probably even deeper now, his blue eyes so intense, shining with
intelligence and wit and charm and all those other wonderful attributes Peter
had always ascribed to this all-wise big brother. Pappy, Nicky had nicknamed him when they were just boys. Serious, responsible Pappy had always been there
to watch over them.
And Nicky . . . was he still as loud and energetic as he
had been when they were boys? Nicky had
been like a whirlwind, always stirring up something. He and Nicky had spent all their growing up years wrestling and
boxing and generally trying to best each other. Nicky was two years older and had always been a little stronger
but Peter had always been certain that one day the match would be even. He remembered, too, how Nicky had held him
when Doc had had to set Peter’s broken arm.
And he remembered how a 15-year-old Nicky hadn’t even bothered to hide
his tears when their favorite dog had been killed by an angry bull. They had dug the grave together and then
stolen a bottle of their father’s whiskey to have a private wake for the good
friend. Nicky had been his best friend;
they had shared everything until Peter had made the mistake and run off to sea.
It was harder for him to imagine Audra and Eugene. They were just small children when he had
left. His skinny little sister, with
the long blonde braids and the scattering of freckles on her nose, now a
debutante to be presented at San Francisco balls. And Gene, the gap-toothed five-year-old who had always wanted to
tag after him, now a student in college.
Peter wondered if he would be a lawyer like Jarrod or did the boy’s
future lie elsewhere.
The one face he couldn’t conjure up, of course, was
Heath’s. The Pinkerton agent that Jacob
had hired for him had said that this half-brother of his probably looked more
like him than any of his full brothers.
They both had obviously taken after the father they shared. The agent had said that Heath had been fully
accepted into the family . . . obviously so if Audra had wanted him and not
Jarrod or Nicky to present her at this ball.
Of course, gentle little sister, who had always been collecting strays,
would have been the first to have welcome this new brother into the
family. What was more interesting . . .
and a little more painful . . . was that the agent had said that Heath was now
Nicky’s full partner in running the ranch . . . that they seemed like the best
of friends. But, Peter tried to be
philosophical, he had left and the family had moved on. It was the way things had to be.
He finally opened his eyes and looked back down at the
black print. He took another sip of his
brandy and let the smooth liquid warm him.
Slowly he raised his fingers to his lips and kissed them. He laid them gently on the paragraph that
had been his special Christmas gift.
“Merry Christmas,” he whispered to the family he would never see. “And God bless.”