Chapter Text
Beecher's Hope, Great Plains, WE - December 1, 1910
"Jack, get a move on!" Abigail called through the closed bedroom door, giving it a rap with her knuckles for good measure. A groggy groan was all the answer she got, her boy no more articulate than his father usually was first thing in the mornings. She sighed, resisting the urge to roll her eyes, and knocked again, louder. "Up 'n at 'em son, it's already past eight. Your uncles will be over to help us decorate any minute and you still need to get yourself some kind of presentable." She waited a few moments, listening for a response, and felt the edges of her already short patience fraying. "Jack!"
The door creaked open an instant before she could turn the knob herself, revealing her surly fifteen-year-old in all his disheveled glory. His unruly mop of ash brown hair stuck up in all directions, one side smashed down flat, and Abigail's nose crinkled in amusement when she spied the trail of saliva that had dried on his cheek overnight.
"Sorry, Ma, 'm up," Jack muttered, stretching with a jaw-popping yawn and running his fingers back through his tangled hair. "Did you say Uncle Arthur and Uncle Charles were here?"
"Not yet, but they should be any minute," Abigail answered. "Your pa rode out to meet them before sunup and cut us a tree, and they'll need you to help haul it in when they get back, 'specially since we all know Uncle won't be lifting a finger to do anything around here."
"Hey, I heard that!" Uncle grumped from the living room sofa, although he noticeably made no attempt to move from his sprawled position and prove them wrong. "Haulin' trees ain't no job for a man with terminal lumbago. Could put me into an early grave!"
Abigail snorted. "If only. Now," she turned her attention to Jack, placing one hand on her hip and fixing him with a stern look. "Are you gonna hurry up and get yourself ready on your own, or do I have to help you?" She licked her thumb and reached toward his chin as if to wipe off the smudge of drool, but he dodged her, making a quick beeline for the bathroom with a laugh.
"Ack, no, alright! I'll be out in a minute, Ma, I promise!"
Satisfied, Abigail spun on her heel and made her way to the living room where a small stack of wooden crates sat in the corner, holding their modest collection of Christmas decorations which were ready to unpack for another year. She shooed Uncle off the sofa and out onto the porch to watch for John and the others, humming quietly to herself as she began pulling ornaments out one by one and arranging them in neat piles around the room. She ran a dust cloth over them as she went, trying to remember how she had arranged everything last year.
None of their holiday décor was anything extravagant, but that didn't matter; it was theirs, and that made it all more special than any set of fancy trinkets she'd ever seen in a store window. She and John had spent years adding to it a little at a time, starting in the winter of 1900 with a heavy iron tree stand and a red and green tree skirt Abigail had crocheted just after they finished building their home at Beecher's Hope. The following year brought a trio of hand-blown glass baubles purchased from a vendor in Blackwater, one for each member of their family, and every year since then John had bought her another, a new Christmas tradition shared just between the two of them.
In the winter of 1902, after Arthur and Charles finally got tired of traveling the country and decided to make their own home at Lone Wolf Stead a few miles up the road, they'd brought over a veritable hoard of ornaments Charles had carved from scrap wood. There was a set of eight leaping reindeer, complete with little hemp strings tied through their backs to let them "fly" through the branches of the tree, a roaring grizzly bear standing on its hind legs, a snowy owl in flight, and a fox whose fur somehow looked fluffy even in wooden form. Her favorite was the grazing bison so large and detailed it looked like it might take off running across the plains at any moment; it had earned a place of honor atop the mantelpiece every winter since, usually dressed up with clusters of pine needles or holly berries adorning its blocky head.
At some point during her reminiscing, Jack had finished getting himself dressed and joined her in front of the crates. He picked up one of the reindeer and traced a finger over its curved antlers, returning Abigail's smile with a little one of his own when she leaned over and kissed the top of his head.
"How'd Uncle Charles get so good at this kind of thing?" he asked, not for the first time. "I'd like to learn too, but I can't see myself ever being able to carve anything like this."
"Same way Arthur learned to draw, or he and your pa learned to shoot." She paused, wincing a little. "Or, well, maybe that's a bad example. But I imagine it's all the same, Jack, lots and lots of practice. I'm sure Charles would try and teach you if you asked him."
"You really think so?"
"Of course I do. You're his favorite nephew."
"I'm his only nephew, Ma."
"Lord help me, Jack, I think you may actually grow into a bigger smartass than your father one day."
Jack opened his mouth, surely about to follow that with another witty retort, when a sudden shrill whistle broke the relative silence, loud enough to be heard even inside. Jack sprinted for the front door, Abigail right behind him, and the two of them stepped out onto the porch just in time to see Arthur, Charles, and John coming up the road, John driving their small wagon and the others at his sides on horseback. All three of them had their bandanas pulled up over their noses and mouths, eyes narrowed as they squinted against the dry dust that churned up around the horses' feet like freshly-sifted flour.
"Hellooooo, the house!" Arthur shouted from beneath his mask, waving at them from the saddle of his amber champagne Fox Trotter, Horchata. Charles gave a casual wave from his spot at John's other side, seemingly content to let Arthur announce their arrival.
"Hello to you!" Abigail called back with a wave of her own. It didn't take long for the men to make it the rest of the way up the path, and then she and Jack were down the steps to greet all of them. She threw her arms around Arthur and Charles in turn as they dismounted, pressing a kiss to John's cheek when he climbed down from his seat on the wagon. He walked around the back to begin untying the ropes around their new tree and she followed behind, deft fingers working the knots loose in near-record time.
"Uncle Arthur, Uncle Charles!"
"How have you been, Jack?" Charles asked warmly, pulling his kerchief down and squeezing the boy against his side in a quick one-armed hug. "Read any new books since we saw you last?"
"I've been well, sir," Jack answered with a shy smile. "Not many new books, but I was hoping later you might be able to teach me t -" He stopped short, eyes widening when Arthur pulled his own neckerchief down and he caught sight of the older man's face. "Uncle Arthur! What happened to you?!"
At this Abigail peeked around the wagon to look too, and her lips thinned when she spotted what Jack had seen. A long gash trailed across Arthur's left cheek about an inch beneath his eye, still sluggishly bleeding down his face and into his short beard. Not deep enough to need stitches, but it would probably leave a scar.
Arthur scoffed, starting to swipe at the wound with his sleeve before thinking better of it, and gestured over his shoulder toward where John had suddenly become very engrossed in untying one last stubborn knot from around the trunk of the tree.
"Oh, this? Weren't nothin', Jack. I just believed little Johnny when he said he could hold the branches out of the damn way while we passed through them. After all these years, I shoulda known better than to take him at his word."
"I did... hold them out... of the way," John grunted, hoisting the trunk of the bulky pine up onto one shoulder and starting to slide it forward out of the wagon. "Wasn't my fault you... decided to... slow up halfway through without telling me."
"I ain't slow up nothin', Marston," Arthur griped, rolling his eyes even as he came around and helped John wiggle the stubborn tree loose from the wagon. "You -"
"Maybe we can save that discussion until after we get this in the house," Charles cut in, likely not for the first time that day, and Abigail had to stifle a laugh as Arthur practically pouted, falling silent with a huff and giving his husband a look of near-betrayal. Charles ignored him for the moment, catching the top of the tree in his hands as it finally slid forward and dropped free of the wagon. With a grunt of effort, he held it at waist level, walking backward toward the house as Arthur and John repositioned themselves to better assist. Jack squeezed in next to his father, unsure exactly what to do, but after readjusting his hands a few times until their position mirrored John's, the four of them were inching their way up toward the house, the two-hundred-pound weight of the tree held easily between them.
"That's it, boys!" Uncle called down from his chair on the porch. "Just remember to lift with your legs!"
"I see you're still here suckin' everyone dry, you old leech," Arthur growled. "If you ain't gonna help us get this in, least you could do is get the horses put up and fed instead."
"I am helpin'!" Uncle retorted indignantly. "I'm supervisin' you fools to make sure you do it right."
"Do as he says, Uncle," John ordered. "And I don't wanna see you back in this house until after we're done."
Uncle looked around at the entire group, searching for a sympathetic face. Finding none, he sighed and shoved himself to his feet, shuffling around the four men and down toward the horses. "You have no heart, John Marston."
"Oh, I got one, old man, hard and black as the coal you'll be gettin' for Christmas if you don't shut your damn mouth."
Charles snorted in amusement, backing carefully into the house while Abigail held the door open wide for the four of them. "Where do you want this, Abigail? That corner there?" He angled his chin toward the right side of the living room, where there was an open spot of floor just in front of the large window overlooking the entrance to the ranch.
"That'll be perfect. I'll hold the stand."
It took only a few moments for them to have the tree upright again, the narrow trunk held fast in the sturdy wrought-iron tree stand. All four men stepped back to admire their handiwork, dusting their hands off on their trousers, and John clapped Jack on the shoulder. "Nice job, son."
"We'll make a work horse of you yet, Jack," Arthur remarked with an easy grin, stepping forward and taking the opportunity to finally give his nephew a bone-crushing hug. "It's good to see you again."
"You too, Uncle Arthur."
"Alright, darlin'," John said, linking his hands together and stretching his arms up over his head until his back cracked audibly. "What should we put up first? You know I ain't got any kinda eye for decorations." He gave a sheepish smile and his eyes flicked over to the gun-slinging squirrel statue at the center of the mantel, which Abigail had finally given up trying to put away years ago after it just kept reappearing every time she did.
"I've got a little project for us, before we put everything up," Abigail answered. "Jack, grab my sewing kit for me, please. Rest of you boys, grab a chair and come set yourselves up in here." She led the way into the cozy kitchen, the others following behind carrying chairs taken from the dining table, and gestured for them to sit at the covered counter opposite the stove.
While they got themselves situated, pouring mugs of coffee and moving the big iron kettle down to the floor so they had a clear workspace, Abigail set a pan with a few tablespoons of lard to heat on the stove. As it melted down she retrieved a measuring cup and a small glass jar from the cupboard, the contents rattling inside like a diamondback. Her fingernails tapped the glass in slight impatience while she waited for the heat to be just right, but finally it looked ready. A cupful of kernels went into the pan, and in just seconds they were popping wildly, hopping up and down in the sizzling grease as they multiplied into a mountain of white fluff. Just before the delicate kernels could burn, she took the pan off of the heat, tipping it over into a large bowl she had lined with an old towel earlier in the morning.
"Okay, boys," she said, setting the bowl in the center of the counter before accepting her sewing kit from Jack and removing the lid. "I've never tried this before, so I'm not sure how well it'll work, but it seemed fun. We're gonna make some of those popcorn garlands for the tree, like you see in all those big, fancy store windows. Best I could tell, you just have to poke a needle through a piece at a time, until it's as long as you want, and then hang it up. Shouldn't be too hard, right?"
"I guess we'll find out soon enough," John answered, reaching for a piece of popcorn and lifting it toward his mouth before Abigail swatted it out of his hand.
"Don't you dare eat all that popcorn, John" she warned, pinning her husband with a hard stare until he held his hands up in surrender and set them back in his lap. "I still have to make more, and it's all going on the tree." Before turning back to the stove she handed them four needles from the kit, along with a few spools of thread. "Let's see if we can't get this done before lunch."
With everyone assigned to their tasks, they all set to work, and before long the kitchen was buzzing with cheerful sounds, the hiss of sizzling oil and staccato snapping of the popcorn providing a cozy layer of background noise beneath the chatter and laughter. The men worked to string their garlands as fast as Abigail could bring them more supplies, and despite her earlier warning, about half of the popcorn she made found its way into their mouths rather than onto the strings. Even Rufus managed to grab a few pieces, snatching them quickly whenever they fell onto the floor. Charles tossed a few pieces of popcorn across the table at Arthur, laughing deep in his belly when he failed to catch a single one in his mouth and almost tipped his chair over backwards trying.
After a few hours that seemed to fly by in the blink of an eye, they finally finished, and the five sets of willing hands made light work of decorating the rest of the house. By noon the Marstons' living room had fully blossomed with the spirit of the season, and the ten-foot tree stood proudly at the center, encircled by its vibrant crocheted skirt and all trimmed up with tinsel and popcorn and all the beautiful ornaments they'd been gifted over the years.
"So?" John began, hanging the last of the ornaments on a fluffy branch near the bottom of the tree. "How'd we do this year, Abi?"
"I'd say it's mighty fine, boys," she said proudly, hands on her hips as she surveyed the finished tree. "Mighty fine. Thank you, all of ya. Arthur, Charles, I appreciate you more than you know."
"Ah, 's nothin'," Arthur scoffed, rubbing the back of his neck to hide his slight blush. Even at nearly fifty, the man never had learned to accept compliments with much grace.
"It's our pleasure, Abigail, any time," Charles added softly, always a little smoother and softer in the places Arthur was rough and hard. "Is there anything else you need before we head back home?"
"Nothin' I can think of, no. Guess someone ought to check the barn and make sure Uncle ain't died in there, and Jack can get the table set. You two are staying for lunch, right?"
"Not if they still want to be around next Christmas - oof!" John started, cut off when Abigail's bony elbow jabbed him sharply in the ribs. "Ow."
"Ah, y'know, we would," Arthur answered quickly, making a beeline for where his hat hung on a peg near the door. "But after all that popcorn earlier I'm just about full to burstin'. How about you, Charles?"
"Right, yes," Charles agreed quickly. "I couldn't eat another bite. Thank you for the offer, though."
Abigail laughed, shaking her head and opening the front door for the two of them. "Alright, alright, you don't have to humor me, I'm just teasin'. I know I still ain't no Mister Pearson." She followed them out onto the porch, leaning one side on the rail as they mounted up. "I do mean it, though, thank you both. We always love seeing you, especially Jack."
Arthur smiled gently before pulling his neckerchief back up over his face. "Us too, Abigail. Us too. We'll probably drop by again 'fore long, but let us know if you hear anything from Dutch and Hosea before then, would you? Far as I know they're still planning to be here by Christmas, but it's been a while since their last letter, so hopefully one of us'll hear soon one way or another."
"'Course I will. Now get home safe, both of ya!" She watched the men she considered brothers turn and ride away, until they finally disappeared further up the trail behind a cloud of fine dust. John wrapped an arm around her shoulders, and she sighed and leaned into his embrace. The festive season had only just begun, but if the warm and comfortable feeling already spreading in her chest was any indication, this Christmas-time was truly going to be one to remember.