The Letter

By Marion

Author's Note: The Ponderosa and the Cartwrights are not mine (except for Annie, of course) Thank you to Mr. Dortort for allowing me to play on the Ponderosa for a little while. This story is purely for entertainment and is not intended to infringe on the rights of anyone else involved with Bonanza and Ponderosa. As always, thanks to Nancy for her beta reading and encouragement. The incidents with Annie are based on real life, LOL.

The Ponderosa Ranch

Eagle Station

Utah Territory

February 185-

My dear Abel,

I put my pen down and sighed deeply. I owed Abel a letter, and I enjoyed writing to my old friend and captain. But I couldn’t think what to tell him. Winter on the Ponderosa was not generally a newsworthy time, as we tended to be confined to the yard for most of the season. In fact, I think the only thing newsworthy is that we make it through this time without killing each other.

I groaned slightly. I could hear Abel scolding me now. I’m the father, and I’m supposed to set the example. No, that sounded more like my Uncle John, for I remember him saying those very words to my own father, many years ago, when Father had done something foolish. Neither man had known I was eavesdropping when Uncle John had scolded Father, which had been just as well for me.

No, Abel would scold me, but he would remind me that I had endured closer quarters than this ranch when we had sailed aboard the Wanderer. I suppose he would be right, for although the ship was larger than the house, I am generally able to get into the yard. The days in which we found ourselves housebound this year were few, thank God.

And yet, I don’t remember ever having the sense of such profound isolation on board ship that I tend to get every winter, when the snow cuts us off from town, and most of our neighbors. Perhaps it’s because I was younger then, and every voyage held out the hopes of adventure and exploration, with new worlds and lands waiting just over the horizon. My life was spread before me then. Now as I watch the swirling snow, I realize there were no more worlds, no more lands waiting. I have docked in my last port of call.

I stood abruptly. Now I know that Uncle John and Abel and my father would scold me for such morose thoughts. Yes, I outlived my father, but my great uncle had lived well into his eighties, and his son, my father’s cousin, was in his sixties. I was in good health, and had no reason to suspect that would change.

I poured myself a glass of brandy and settled back at the table. Picking up my pen, I dipped it in the ink and continued my letter.

Thank you so much for your letter of last September. It did not actually reach me until a month ago. I am glad to hear of your continued good health, and hasten to assure you that we enjoy the same.

We have been fortunate this winter to have Adam’s book of stories to occupy us. Annie reads one or two stories a night, and I find myself transported back in time as I listen.

Those stories had been a wonderful treat this winter. As I listened to Annie reading the words that Adam had written, I could hear Abel’s voice, or Charlie’s. I haven’t heard either of them speak for more than two decades, and yet their voices called to me from across the years. Abel’s voice, rough after a lifetime of shouting over the wind and waves, Charlie’s voice, his thick accent as full of New England as I ever heard in a man. Other voices mixed with theirs – Father’s, Mother’s, Uncle John’s. I could hear Aunt May calling us across the dunes, and my brothers’ childish giggles answering in response. And Liz, my beautiful Lizzie. The thought of her soft tones whispering my name filled me with joy and I set my pen to paper again.

I cannot thank you enough for telling Adam stories of Liz, even if they were less than flattering about me. Ed once admonished me because I found it difficult to tell Adam stories about his mother; even when I was able to tell those tales, I don’t know if I ever really conveyed to him what a wonderful woman his mother was. Hearing these stories, and reading his letters, I know that he has heard as many stories in the past months as he had heard in his life, and I know that seeing the places his mother loved has made her more real to him than my stories.

Thank you, too, for telling me that Liz would have been proud of our son. I have always felt that, but to hear it from you is gratifying. He is an exceptional young man, and I am as proud of him as a father could possibly be. When I see him, I see her, and I know she has never really left me.

The house shuddered as the wind whipped up, reminding me that it was still winter here in the Sierra. I moved to sit closer to the fire. I was hoping the weather would hold, so that I could send Hoss and Joe to town for supplies tomorrow. I needed to finish my letter so the boys could post it. Whether or not it leaves Eagle Station before spring is anyone’s guess, as we are completely at the mercy of the weather.

Winter in the Sierra is not an easy time of year, and our lives are ruled by the weather. I think I have always lived at the mercy of the weather. As a boy, we were buffeted by gales and blizzards in Plymouth and in Boston. I don’t need to tell you of the weather’s vagaries when we sailed, and I have never had the sense of having no control over my fate as I had when we faced those fierce gales on our way to Asia. Even on the trail west, we were prone to hail and rain, and fierce thunderstorms. But there is something about the winters here that is more powerful than anything I have ever experienced.

I think my perception of winter must necessarily be clouded by my experiences in the winter of 1846 and I wondered briefly if Adam had told his grandfather of my part in the rescue of the Donner Party. I shook my head. That was not a tale to be told through a letter.

Adam has written to tell me that he has learned the hard way that you are not to be trifled with. I warned him – after all, who would know that better than me. But he has never been a lad for learning from the mistakes of others; he must always learn the hard way. I have every confidence that you are able to deal with him and I leave him in your hands.

My own hands were busy with the three still at home, although I wouldn’t admit that to Abel. I thought keeping young children occupied during the winter was difficult; keeping three grown, or almost grown children from each others’ throats during the long months was taking all my skill as a father. I considered my next words carefully as I wrote to Abel.

Hoss has set up a small blacksmith shop next to the barn, and he spends much of the winter mending tools and fixing wagons. It’s a solitary pursuit, and I suspect he enjoys the peace, if indeed such a thing is possible amid the clanging of the hammer and anvil. He spends his evenings playing checkers with Joe or working with leather, repairing our tack or making new gear. He has been courting a young woman, Lucinda, and he rides to her ranch whenever the weather (and his father) permits.

Of course, Hoss is the most placid of my sons, and as long as he has time to himself periodically, he is fine. I wish I could say the same for my youngest son.

Joe, on the other hand, finds himself at a loss during the winter. He hates to be cooped in the house, and he would much prefer to be riding. He has turned into a superb horseman in the past several months, by the way. Now that he is done with school, I am hard-pressed to find ways to occupy him this time of year. I have spent many hours these past several weeks trying to teach him – and Hoss – to understand contracts and how to keep the ranch’s books. Joe is as uninterested in the business part of ranching as I was in Father’s chandlery, but he is slowly realizing that he needs to understand this if he is to be a successful rancher.

Oddly enough Annie has proved to be the most exasperating – and the most amusing – of the three this past season. Winters are always a touchy time with her; she is cooped up in the house more than the boys, as her chores are generally indoor ones. Add to that the fact that she hasn’t been able to see her friends much, and that Mitch hasn’t been able to visit as frequently as she would like, well, Annie’s temper has been shorter than usual.

Adam tells me that you consider Mitch to be my just reward and I must confess to understanding your reaction to my courting Liz now. Not that I regret a single moment of that time, but I do understand how you felt. But Mitch is a good lad, and he treats Annie well, as I like to think I treated Liz. Certainly watching the two of them together brings back pleasant memories.

Normally Annie shares responsibility for the kitchen with Hop Sing, but our friend spent several weeks nursing members of the local Chinese community to health after an outbreak of influenza. (Another reason I am glad we keep apart from the community this time of year; many people in Eagle Station were struck, although I am pleased to report that none died.) So Annie had sole responsibility for running our household, a task she normally handles with aplomb.

Not this winter, though. She tried my patience every minute that Hop Sing was gone, and sixteen or not, she came close to some serious consequences more than once. It all began shortly after the first of the year. I came into the house from the barn, only to hear Hoss talking with Annie. ‘If Pa hears you talkin’ like that, you won’t be sittin’ up for anything.’

I hadn’t heard what Annie had said to prompt his warning, but I did hear her response that she would be more careful. She would do well to heed Hoss. While I know that my sons use words of which I disapprove, I also know they won’t do it within my hearing, and so I ignore it. But I think there is little that is less becoming in a young lady than swearing. Annie might say that makes me a hypocrite, but I will not tolerate foul language from her.

Annie turned when I closed the door, and I could see she was visibly annoyed. "Uncle Ben," she said as she held something toward me. "Uncle Ben, look at this." She stomped her foot slightly as she held out a loaf of bread.

"It’s bread." I couldn’t see what had caused her distress.

She thrust it toward me. "It’s been eaten, and not by a person!"

Sure enough, when I looked more closely, I could see the telltale signs that a small creature had been nibbling at the edges of the bread. Well, it wasn’t the first time we’ve had a mouse in the house, and I told her as much. "You’ll need to be extra careful when you clean, that’s all." I regretted the words the minute they left my lips.

Annie pulled herself to her full height – she almost reached my chin – and glowered at me. "Are you saying that I’m not keeping the house clean?"

I tried to hide my smile as I shook my head. "Not at all. I only meant that you need to keep food out of the mouse’s reach."

She looked like she was about to retort, but thought better of it. She glared once more at the bread before she tossed it in the garbage pail. I didn’t want to tell her that when I was at sea, I had shared more than one loaf of bread with rodents.

The next couple of days were quiet, with no sign of Annie’s little friend. But on the third day, I woke to the sound of Annie shrieking. I bolted from my bed and pulled on my trousers, almost tripping as I opened my door. Annie was whacking the floor with her broom, shrieking the entire time.

"Anna!"

She didn’t even turn to face me, but kept hitting the floor with the broom. "I saw him! I’ll get him!"

I crossed the room and tried to grab the broom from her hand. "What the…" I ducked as she took another swing. "…devil…" I reached out again, but jumped back as the broom headed toward me. "…are you doing?" Finally my hand closed around the handle and wrenched the broom from her hand. I resisted the urge to smack the bristles across her bottom. I did not appreciate my morning starting this way.

"I saw the mouse, Uncle Ben. I was trying to get him!" Annie pointed to the worktable.

I knelt on the floor to peer under the table, but saw nothing, not that I was surprised. Any creature with half a brain had fled from Annie the moment the shrieking began. I grunted as I pulled myself up.

"It’s gone." I gestured toward the coffee pot with my chin. "If that’s ready, pour me a cup. I’m going to get dressed."

Annie was smart and had an apology ready when she handed me my coffee. I accepted both the apology and the coffee, and warned her not to wake me up like that again.

Life was peaceful for a few days…

Or as peaceful as life got on the Ponderosa. I didn’t think Abel needed to know about the mischief Joe got into, with his hare-brained scheme to earn money, or Hoss almost burning down his blacksmithing shed, or the fight Annie had with Mitch – although perhaps Abel would find the humor in that last incident. I chuckled as I dipped my pen in the ink and continued my letter.

But that peace was quickly shattered by the sounds of Annie shouting one morning.

Shouting wasn’t quite what Annie was doing. The day had been comparatively warm, and so the windows were slightly open. As I came from the barn, I heard words rolling from her mouth that I had not heard since I sailed with my younger brother. I dropped the bucket of water and strode across the porch. I threw open the door and demanded to know what was going on.

Annie held a burlap bag in one hand, and something green in another. When I entered the house, she held them out to me. I won’t relate what she said exactly, suffice to say she was upset because the mouse had chewed through the sack and eaten the food.

I stared at her for several moments, not comprehending what she was shouting about. Then I realized that she was holding the remains of avocados, no doubt the avocados that Tomas had brought back from his last trip to California. How he had managed to get avocados this time of year was beyond me, but to Annie they were the finest treat she received this past Christmas. Her anger was understandable, but her expression of that anger was not.

Do you remember when Ed first came on the Wanderer? Something had angered him, and he let loose with a string of epithets. I seem to recall that he had the misfortune of doing so within your hearing. I was reminded of that incident as I listened to Annie that day. Fortunately for her, I felt more beneficent than you did.

I listened to her for only a brief moment before I interrupted. I was furious with her behavior and lack of decorum, and I laced into her with a lecture guaranteed to keep her ears stinging. Indeed, despite the fact that she is sixteen, I was sorely tempted to sting other parts of her as well.

That temptation grew stronger when she threw the pieces of avocado at my feet and started to stomp away. I grabbed her arm and gave her a little shake. She cleaned up her mess as I continued explaining how she might more appropriately express her anger.

I believe she was mindful of her luck that day, for although we saw other evidence of rodents during the next several days, Annie kept her temper in check. I sat back and watched her try to out-smart the mouse.

She created mousetrap after mousetrap, each one more complex than the last. Adam would have been proud of her ingenuity, although each attempt was a bitter failure. In the end, however, it was not her clever traps that accomplished the deed. That honor went to Maddy, Annie’s little dog.

I don’t remember if I told Abel about Annie’s dogs. Certainly Adam would be surprised to find out that we had adopted dogs. Or rather, that the dogs had adopted us. They were two small terriers of mixed parentage, and they showed up one day when Annie and Hop Sing were working in the garden. I allowed Annie to keep them against my better judgment, but they have proved to be good ranch dogs. In a fit of fancy, she named them Luath and Madigan, or Maddy for short. Luath, I knew, was a dog from a Robert Burns poem, but I had to take Annie at her word when she said Madigan meant ‘little dog’ in Gaelic.

The dogs are not allowed inside except during the coldest weather. They spend their days roaming the yard chasing away squirrels and birds foolish enough to fly into their trees. This morning, though, I could hear Annie shrieking outside. I went running out, only to find her standing by a brush pile that we had stacked as kindling earlier in the fall.

"Uncle Ben, Maddy has a mouse. We have to save it!"

Save it? After weeks of enduring Annie’s battles against a mouse in the house? "Annie, there’s nothing we can do to help a mouse." I reached down and pulled Maddy away. She dropped her prey, and I could see the injured creature. "If it’s meant to get better, it will. Or else it will die."

Annie looked at her little dog with abject horror. "I can’t believe Maddy did that." She shivered as she pulled her shawl closer about her.

"Well, these types of dogs are breed to be ratters. She was doing her job." And doing it well, although I kept that observation to myself.

Annie moped about until I left. I was away for most of the day, checking the herds. When I came back, Hoss stopped me before I went into the house.

"Pa, the dog found the mouse again. I heard Annie screamin’ and when I came running, I saw the little one sittin’ on the porch, the dead mouse hangin’ from its mouth." Hoss shook his head. "It’s the dangest thing, Pa. I’d swear she was smilin’ at me."

I laughed at the image Hoss presented, but I have to admit that Maddy looked very smug when I saw her sitting on her rug under the bench. And I gave in to Annie’s plea that the dogs be allowed to sleep inside tonight. Truth-be-told, I’m not sure Maddy had caught the culprit, and I’m hoping she might finish the job tonight. I glanced at the two dogs, curled tightly together in front of the fireplace and I rubbed my eyes. Sleep sounded like a good idea. I picked up my pen for the last time.

The hour is growing late and I must close. Thank you again for all that you are doing for Adam. God keep you both safe until we might meet again. I remain,

Most Affectionately Yours,

Ben

As I signed the letter, I wondered if I would indeed ever see the old man again in this lifetime. I sighed deeply. Probably not, although it would be a treat. I set the pen down and blew out my lamp. Time for me to sleep.