A Christmas Trilogy

A CHRISTMAS TRILOGY
By
Gerald J. Furnkranz

Dedication
To my mother Amelia Furnkranz and my father Ferdinand J. Furnkranz,
who taught me so much about life and what a Merry Christmas is.

*Gerald J. Furnkranz Press*
Copyright 2001 by Gerald J. Furnkranz

A Christmas Trilogy

TABLE OF CONTENTS
Foreword
A Holiday Homecoming
Traveling Home
Christmas Anticipated
Return to the Sea
Mr. Hanson
Franchot Kelly
The Horn
Whaling
The Sperm
The Rescue
Keel
The Massacre
The Smell of Home
Sailing Heaven and Hell
The Seal
Sailing the Sea Again
Rescued Again
Farewell to Friends
The Return

page 1
page 2
page 6
page 13
page 31
page 42
page 43
page 46
page 51
page 61
page 67
page 70
page 78
page 83
page 88
page 92
page 100
page 106
page 112
page 115

Foreword
The Spirit and Meaning of Christmas
The spirit of Christmas comes from the magical, mysterious corners of our hearts
and minds, perhaps combined become our souls. As we grow up we often lose access to
those enchanted places. Relinquishing our way, the meaning of Christmas often
disappears in the harsh light of life’s realities.
The inspiration behind A Christmas Trilogy was the loss of the innocent spirit of
Christmas, when children become adults. This was a loss I personally felt upon reaching
manhood. At sea, as a young man, away from the trimmings of the holiday, I yearned for
the warmth of family and friends. I sought the simple things that made Christmas so
special to me as a youth. Surprisingly, the sea helped me to rediscover them.
A Christmas Trilogy is molded to reach deep within individuals to harness lost
emotions and feelings about Christmas. It seeks those emotions surrounding the
Christmas season and attempts to rekindle the embers of feelings that inspire us all; this
spirit, so often lost in adulthood.
Through this story I hope to plant the seeds that gave me the essence of feelings I
have about the season. As a young man, away at sea much of the time leading up to
Christmas, I experienced very profound feelings, shrouded in loneliness. Loneliness was
not an anchor dragging me down, but a catalyst, pulling my spirits up.
I learned to savor those intense feelings, reveling in the emotions that were
brought from the depths within. It helped me to enjoy the season no matter where I was,
or what I was doing. It taught me to take the isolation from people as a lesson, and enjoy
being around people that much more.
I learned about loneliness through experience. Loneliness taught me to appreciate
its absence. It guided me to find the beauty in the presence of solitude. I was able to
savor the feelings and those things that generated them, even when those things were not
present. It became a treasury of memories when loneliness surrounded, not a dependence
on them. Instead of an enemy I feared to encounter, solitude became a friend I needed to
seek out.
Exalting the merriment of Christmas in a crowd or alone in silence there is always
something to be enjoyed. Perhaps it is merely looking at a dark sky filled with stars. This
takes a strength and willingness to fight for the meaning and spirit of Christmas, which
has as its source the birth of Jesus Christ. Peace on Earth, Good Will To Men and all
living creatures is the theme.
Though I may forget to send a Christmas card or convey my sincere wishes
someday, do not hold a grudge. Here is a greeting to you always and forever.
Should I forget or be unable to communicate my wishes please read within. You
will find the dreams I have for you. You will share my most intimate thoughts, reverie
and fears. After all, this is the most precious gift I have to offer. My hope is you will
accept it in the spirit it is given. Merry Christmas to you my family and friends!

1

A CHRISTMAS TRILOGY
A Holiday Homecoming
The ship eased forward, stretching the spring line already made fast to the pier.
Lines shot to the shore fore and aft and were secured. The ship settled back, being pulled
by the tension in the spring. The back spring tightened. The tension dispersed among all
the lines made fast ashore, caressing the ship into the pier. The gang plank swung out,
bridging the gulf to the ship.
It was the end of a journey as a new beginning lay at his feet. From the ship, a
man looked down the gang plank. The sun showing like a midsummer's day, made him
squint, even though it was making its briefest appearance of the year.
The first day of winter 1818, John Gance soaked up the late December sun.
"Thank God," he murmured to himself. He always celebrated the shortening days
reaching their trough. Now he would see that sun more as the days began to lengthen.
The freezing cold air caused him to miss a breath. He wheezed slightly as his
inhale was obstructed and exhale began. Still, it cleared his mind and awoke his brain
from the monotony of months at sea. Wakened from his dreams he entered reality. Still,
this reality of home almost seemed a dream. He became keenly aware of the joys of
living and the wonderful approach of Christmas, which had eluded him for so long.
John stepped onto the gang plank, surveying the bustle of life ashore. He watched
the activity on the wharf below, ships being loaded and unloaded with cargoes for and
from distant shores. Men wearing expensive suits carried on business as they moved
about. Conversations had money hanging on every word.
He listened as the crisp cold day magnified the sounds about him. Voices cracked
from everywhere, streaking through the icy air. Carriages, freight wagon wheels and
horse's hooves on the cobble stone streets, rumbled in his head. Seagulls laughing in the
distance sounded as though they were just above.
John stood tall. Looking down, in one easy motion, he threw his bag over his
shoulder and stepped. His steps echoed as his feet made contact with the plank. It
bounced back in response to his weight, as one foot, then the other made contact on the
board beneath them. The energy of the board added spring to his step. It vitalized his
stride, almost getting away from him and nearly throwing him into the water. He used his
lack of balance and his spring from the board, miraculously landing on the wharf, lighting
like a seagull flying in from sea.
Over two years at sea had left him aching for home. He craved the company of
people. The people passing along the piers and streets of New York, going about their
business, were inviting. It felt good to be around everyday people again.
He felt greater satisfaction being around these strangers than the crew he had been
with for two years. Even in distant and strange corners of the world, he felt more at home
than he did aboard ship. Obliviously separated amongst different races and cultures, he
could find peace and contentment. He could see himself in those people, though he could
not communicate with them.

2

There seemed a normalcy that was not present aboard ship and among shipmates.
There was a natural solace in being ashore. Perhaps it was just the comfort of knowing
he could not be swept away by a wave at any moment. Maybe it was the solid land under
his feet that made him feel secure. It could have boiled down to him being a landlubber.
The contact he was now enjoying lacked much when compared to being with
family. These people filled his need for humanity. Still, he remained distant. It was only
being near to them that gave him satisfaction. He never felt close.
He needed to be amongst people with whom he could feel closeness. The
intimacy of being with family was what he craved so ravenously. Like the longing for
food when hungry, or the yearning for warmth when cold, he needed to curl up and hide
in the bosom of family. He wanted to pull up the drawbridge and escape from the world
behind the walls of his home.
There was no warmth at sea, nothing to make him secure and safe. Trust was a
luxury not readily available. The wooden ships wrapped in rope and canvas, were filled
with a hard and brutish lot. They were not opened to sharing ones hopes and dreams
without a laugh of disdain.
Sharing his inner most feelings and dreams was important. He hadn't had that
opportunity for years. The kindness and love he had once felt within had been bottled up.
He had shared no more than a ship and a battle for survival. His dreams remained
unspoken, merely distant thoughts in his mind.
He looked along the pier, the breath taking sight of hundreds of masts, yard arms
and booms rising against the sky. A macabre forest of leafless trees, covered with a
gigantic spider's wed of hemp rigging lie between him and the sea. On one hand the
vision of great and majestic beauty was repulsive in its massive loneliness held within the
wooden hulks below.
John frolicked in being alive and near people. They drew him like iron drew the
compass needle. He walked off the timbered pier onto the cobblestone streets, the
conflicting sound from wood to stone beneath his feet. The change was magnified even
more by the steel rimmed wagon wheels as they made the transition. Leaving his old ship
Mirabell behind, he never looked back.
He intended to leave life at sea behind for good. Never again would he have to
endure those long, cold and lonely nights. Day after day, month after month draining into
years of thoughts he would never share, would come to an end.
As he walked up the street, there was a bounce to his step. Though the stone did
not aid his step as did the plank from the ship, it mattered not. The feel of earth beneath
his feet made him secure. It added great joy to energizing each stride.
He greeted each person he met with a merry, "Good Day." Most he encountered
turned to watch him walk by. They sniggered at his silly gate and clownish grin.
Though he seemed silly to them, his childlike naiveté brought a moment of enjoyment
into most of their lives, like the cool breeze on a hot day.
He browsed in the windows of the shops lining the cobblestone streets. Eagerly
exploring the scenery along the sidewalks, he searched. He looked at people and things
as if he had never before seen them. Like a child in a candy store, he stared. He sought
out the special shops to search for Christmas gifts to bring home.
He bantered with the shop keepers, laughing and joking. If they were women, he
flirted with them, no matter what their age. His lack of social contact was now bubbling
to the surface. Chuckling, he carried on like a half-witted buffoon.

3

The elderly women were more outgoing, teasing back at this brash young sailor.
The younger ones became flustered and stepped back, embarrassed by his silly demeanor.
He made an impression wherever he went, though perhaps not the best impression.
The morning passed into afternoon as he continued his shopping junket. In one
shop and out again, he rubbed elbows with humanity as he traveled. Pleasantly nudged as
perfume wafted under his nose as a lady passed by or a bump, even a brush alerted his
notice. Each incident, no matter how small, burned indelibly on his mind.
He journeyed through the streets of New York, drinking in everything his eyes fell
upon. Horses, drawing wagons and carriages or carrying riders, filled the streets. People
crowded the sidewalks, barring his path with interest. Like a hound enthralled with the
scents of the woods, his attention was captured for a moment, until it was captured by
something else.
He wandered upon a shop of glass and crystal. As he looked in the window he
was entranced by the way it sparkled in the winter sun.
Upon entering, he noticed light coming from the outside was shattered into a
million pieces. Rays were strewn about the room with fragments of many different colors
scattered everywhere. Heavenly colors fell like crystalline snow flakes upon the
landscape. Similar to the day after an ice storm, the rising sun shown like a million
prisms amongst the ice coated leafless branches of trees. Refracting through the layers of
ice clinging to those branches, diamonds filled the air, and John's heart sparkled.
He followed a beam to where it fell upon a glass star. The white beam shattered
into a million colored shard's, falling on the tree that it sat upon. Only then did he notice
the beautifully decorated tree in front of the store window. The star glistened like an
enormous gemstone. It shown like it was the real Christmas Star, shining its light upon
the world.
The moment he saw it, he thought, "This is the present I must get for Mother." He
knew he had to have it.
The grizzled old shopkeeper watched John as he observed the star. Carefully he
scrutinized John's face as he went through a spectrum of emotions. From amazement to
enchantment, the little old elf absorbed the younger man's pleasure.
"How much is the star?" John asked.
"That's real crystal," remarked the old shopkeeper.
"I know," replied John impatiently. "I want it for my mother."
"It's not for sale!" He informed. I only put it up to brighten the shop over the
holidays. I had it shipped from a glass maker in Philadelphia."
"I would give you three dollars for it," John said confidently.
"Three dollars," the shopkeeper said, barely able to hold back his laughter. "It
cost me ten dollars. This is a work of art, young man."
"I'm sorry," said John, shrinking from his stupidity. Timidly he asked, "How
much would you take for it?"
"If I were going to sell it, I would have to sell it for no less than twenty dollars."
John's words were torn from his lips. He could not answer. Then he fumbled,
"Bu.. Bu.. But that is a tenth of the money I labored over two years to earn." He objected,
but he wanted the star. He thought it would somehow bring that special feeling of
Christmas he'd had as child. "I don't know," he said. "That's a lot of money."
"Okay," said the shopkeeper, "I'll give it to you for fifteen dollars, no less. With
transportation costs, I'm not making any profit."

4

Still, John hesitated. Fifteen dollars was a lot of money. That money could be
better spent on his new life ashore. It would help in his coming life with Maura when
they were married. The practical side of him saw the advantages of using his money
more wisely.
Then his quest for his childhood feelings of Christmas was overwhelming. He
wanted so much to find them again. They had been absent the two years he had been
away, and probably before that. He fought against adulthood in a tremendous battle
within.
"I'll take it," John burst out, jumping at the chance to give his earnings for the
glass star. Besides, he thought, this is my first Christmas home in several years. I
deserve this.
John handed the fifteen dollars to the shopkeeper. The shopkeeper had enjoyed
John's childish innocence so much, he could not help himself. Without wanting to, he
said, "Ten dollars will do it. As long as you and your family enjoy it, it is enough
payment." Then he added with a gigantic smile splitting his big round face, "May that
star always guide your course home to your mother and family."
John thanked the shopkeeper, stuffing the rest of his money back in his pocket.
As he walked out the door, package in hand, he turned back and said, "Thank you" and
gushed a "Merry Christmas" with all the feelings he could muster.
He continued toward the end of his journey, his step even lighter and his heart
even brighter. The excitement of going home grew greater. He looked at the swarming
people on the streets with satisfaction.
Then his gaze was caught by another window. Once more it was the sparkle
within that attracted his attention. A breaking wave of light rolled to his eyes from a blue
sapphire attached to a necklace on display.
He entered the door, walking inside to get a closer look. Like a lookout at the
masthead, he strained for a better view. Was he seeing what he though he saw? Was he
being fooled by the beautiful sight before him? Then he retreated from the store. He
stared through the window, like an urchin, outside the toy store, looking in.
He entered again, walked around the store, circled, like a beast stalking its prey.
Checking each position, he decided when and where it was best to attack. He walked
around, in and out, looking at the beauty of the necklace from every vantage point.
As he was inspecting, a satiny voice sounded sweetly from behind him. "That is a
beautiful necklace. Any woman would love to get it for Christmas," she said releasing
her words in a longing sigh.
John turned abruptly, startled by a voice that should have comforted him. So
entranced in the blue of the sapphire necklace, he had no idea she was there. The
gentleness of her voice struck deeply like a dagger to his heart. His legs faltered. The
soft sounds falling upon his ears were like snowflakes gently floating to the ground in the
silence of the forest depths.
It had been so long since such a gentle female voice had been directed to him.
Such a feminine voice had not touched his ears in years. His heart began racing and his
face became hot and flushed. His voice was silenced as he stared at her.
His breath gone, John's gaze fell upon her. Her face was as soft and silky as her
voice. His breath had been stolen more decisively than when the cold winter air had
absconded with it as he left the ship. He was truly speechless. He was sure the pounding
of his heart could be heard.

5

Ambushed by this beautiful lady, he was completely at her mercy. She laughed a
sensitive giggle as she began to speak. "You would do well to buy that necklace if you
are interested. I know I would love to receive such a thoughtful gift for Christmas."
"You would?" John inquired. With the tact of a man drinking in the beauty of a
woman, like some silly child, he asked, "Why?"
"It would be a special gift from a sailor such as you. The blue of the sapphire
would make me think of the ocean. It would always remind me of you."
It was almost comical to see the young sailor swooning at the sweet voice directed
to him. Truly, her words were from the heart, stemming from some romantic scenes she
dreamed. Still she sold him as though she were a charlatan hitting her mark at the bazaar.
His face glowed with the passion she had ignited.
Though he had been two years away, his thoughts were with Maura every day. As
the time went by, the memory faded and began to slip away. There were times when he
grasped desperately to pull her image back. In the daily life and death struggles, it
became difficult to hold on. He did, and never let go.
John did not pursue women when he was in port. He did want to see them and
hear them to experience femininity that had been so removed from his life. He may have
looked and listened, but the contact only reminded him of Maura. He would not even
consider betraying her.
This exquisite young lady had stoked the fires that made Maura more real. She
was in his mind, but more like a distant dream than a reality. As enchanting as this angel
standing before him was, it was Maura that flamed up in his thoughts. Her image coming
clear once again in John's mind, he knew exactly why he was coming home.
John purchased the necklace for Maura. The young lady handed an artistically
wrapped box to him, tied with a beautiful blue ribbon and large azure bow. She smiled at
him saying, "My name is Bonnie. Have a merry Christmas. I hope I see you again."
"Thank you," John replied as he took the box. The flirting warmed him, but only
for Maura. "You have a wonderful Christmas too," he replied. "Thank you for your
help."
John left the store. He looked back and smiled at the young lady, lifting his hand,
half saluting in a gesture of appreciation. She had set his heart fluttering, uncovering
emotions long since held dormant. He had to bury them in Maura's absence in his
unfeeling world. It was necessary or he would not have been able to continue. Still, the
thought of her face, no matter how blurred it became, aided his survival.
He re-entered the street prancing and bouncing even higher than before. He was
walking on air with passion ignited, almost lifting him above the sidewalk. Now
everyone he passed stopped and turned to look as he so obviously walked by. He was a
spectacle, though unaware. If he had been, he wouldn't have cared.
Snow began falling out of the dusky winter sky. Clouds had grown across the sun
as the afternoon passed. Slowly, night began sneaking over the city. The gently falling
snow lightened his heart till he felt it would burst. Two years imprisoned at sea had not
changed John's love. He was in love with life, and even more so with Maura.
Traveling Home
John meandered through the streets, killing time, restlessly waiting for his coach
to depart for the north. He noticed the Christmas trees in the windows of the houses

6

along the street. He saw shadowy hands reaching in front of the windows, hanging
decorations on the tree branches. Silhouettes moved around the rooms, engaged in
dressing the trees in their Christmas fare. When they came closer to the window, they
evolved from shadows to real human beings.
He looked in upon the pending Christmas, as families worked and waited
anxiously. He felt the warmth of feelings, intimate bonds, the kind he had suppressed for
so long. He felt lonely, a terrible longing to be in the bosom of his family. He could not
wait, but he had to. It was an aching he could not remedy. He wanted to be home, now!
The cold, loneliness of the absence of Christmas for two years had left a yearning.
Christmas aboard ship on the long voyage was no more than recognizing what they didn't
have...what was gone.
The harshness of the sea only contrasted with the thought of Christmas. It
magnified the roughness of their life. It was a painful reminder of loss and loneliness.
Christmas at sea was the absence of relationships and family. The sea was for
rugged, hard men, not given to the search for warmth and intimacy. Those that did give
in were weeded out. The sea usually killed them in one way or another, breaking their
hearts, or hardening them. Then they were dashed upon the jagged rocks of solitude. If
they were lucky, they escaped in time.
The sea would break many a man, even if it didn't kill them. Many of those
broken would have been better off dead. It ruined some and imprisoned others. It left
many without souls, on an endless search to find them. But, those that kept their
humanity, or found it, became men.
This was to be John's last trip. He felt he had miraculously outwitted the sea. It
did not claim him as one of its soulless victims. He had not become one of the walking
dead; those zombies crammed into huge wooden community coffins to travel the world in
an endless purgatory and at times a painful hell.
John needed and wanted the warmth. He sought the warmth of family, friends
and the love of someone special. It was a craving, and he feared life without it.
To John the sea was contrary to the need for warmth. It was the polar opposite,
separating him from the possibilities. He almost viewed the sea as evil, an enemy that
fought to deprive him of his life. The sea was a way to his goals, but on the other hand it
was an adversary to his achieving happiness.
Well over a full day of continuous travel lie ahead. If all connections went well
that is. However, the time between connections from coach to ferry to coach could often
add days to the trip.
At last, the coach pulled up. John anxiously handed his ticket to the driver. He
threw his bags up, on top of the coach. The driver tied them down. He entered the coach
as it began to roll toward home.
He looked out the coach window, viewing the life ashore as it traveled by. With
the sound of horses' hooves on cobblestone streets and wheels turning, the coach rolled
out of the city. He again looked upon the homes where families were preparing for
Christmas. Children were playing in the snow, in their yards and on the streets. John
squirmed in his seat. The spirit of Christmas loomed all about. It was so intense, John
could hardly stand it.
Uneasiness grumbled in his stomach and his skin tingled with excitement. He
couldn't wait. Still, he had no choice. He would have to, as he tried to push the coach
ahead by will. The anticipation of seeing Maura and his family was unbearable.

7

As the sun was setting, they traveled up river, north along the Hudson. Buildings
became sparse along with the vision of decorated windows slowly fading as homes
disappeared from the scene. City turned to country. The man made signs of Christmas
were fading along with the daylight, while nature's signs became more real, reaching out
to greet him.
Wreaths on doors and evergreen garlands on porches were replaced with stands of
evergreens blanketed with natural garlands of snowy lace. Rolling drifts of white carpet
brought greetings from the farm houses that didn't have all the frills. Homes alone along
the road were decorated naturally for the season about to begin.
Snow covered fields and forests resounded beyond the shadows with the spirit.
Choruses of wind sang crisply in the cold country air. Choirs of pine trees surrounding
homes added their interpretation to the wind's song. Dried leaves blown to the four
winds scattered on the trees, mixed with the snow, added to nature's art.
The barren maples and oaks stood envious of those tenants of the forest still
green. Their presence cast solemn, thoughtful silhouettes across the snow. They brought
the mind to places it needed to visit during this season. Filled with living nests of birds
and squirrels, glorifying their existence during the day, during evening they reminded of
the solemnity of the season. Later still they rested as a hush settled over the land along
with night’s veil.
On the other side of the coach was the Hudson River, flowing back toward the
ocean. The running ribbon of water shimmered in night's light.
It was a broad river. Yet compared to the oceans he had traveled, it was a tiny
expanse of water. Still, it always connected him with home. Running by his family
house, it was linked to the same waters that had carried him half way around the world.
No matter how far from home, he was still connected. In his mind, he was not so distant.
Feelings rose and fell like a coming wave, advancing onto the beach; withdrawing
as it dissipated and trickled back to the sea. Warmth engulfed him, like diving into
sympathetic tropical waters, when thinking about home. Then it drained away, as an icy
blast of night wind through the open window cut deep, sending a sharp chill to his very
core.
Warm and cold, loneliness and love, his emotions ebbed and flowed like the tide.
One second he was happy and content in his thoughts of the intimacy for which he lusted.
Then he shivered with thoughts of his seclusion from civilization and feared it was his
destiny.
He would shudder no more from the cold loneliness. After he reached home this
time, he would feel it no more. He would not travel into the icy domains of loneliness
again. He would give it a wide berth, setting his course to steer well clear.
He would build his new life around his family. He was bringing home enough
money to start. He would be able to buy his own place and Maura Lathrope would
become his wife. They would live and love together for the rest of their days. He would
live happily ever after, just like in the fairy tales his mother used to read to him as a child.
The coach rolled on, along the river where children skated in the silvery light of
night, in bright little coves able to secure ice, sheltered from the rushing water. Sounds of
the laughing and playing warmed him. Greedily he stretched his neck out the window to
drink in the sight of the children. When they were gone, into the night behind the passing
thicket of trees, he looked longingly.

8

He thought about Anne and Alex, his younger sister and brother. He could see
them playing in the fields, with spring flowers blooming all about. He could hear their
laughter, triggering a remembrance of the affection he held for them. He hoped they
could feel it back. He bathed in memories of their young innocence.
In the same thought, he mourned the loss of his own. He cursed those things he
experienced and witnessed at sea that had devoured his naiveté. He had strongholds deep
within that were still soft, while other citadels of his humanity had surrendered.
He scanned out the windows on both sides of the coach, desperately searching.
When he saw something he thought familiar, he greedily savored the sight.
As the coach rolled on, hour on hour, the tides of emotion altered. Eager to be
home, he was satisfied to be heading there. Still, anxiety flooded in when he had not yet
arrived.
The appearance of dawn saw the coach rumbling along the way, disturbing the
population along the road side. John took pleasure in rabbits running through the woods.
Squirrels were playfully chasing each other around tree trunks and limbs, jumping from
tree to tree. Deer grazed and gazed in the forests and fields. Crows sang from the tree
tops in their coarse and annoying voices. The spirit of Christmas and home made even
their unpleasant carols comforting. It was as if they were passing announcements of his
arrival from the tops of the trees.
He remembered the last time he had seen Maura. He was at her front door in early
fall. The trees surrounding her house were blazing in reds, yellows and oranges. It was
as if the forest surrounding them had burst into inflammable, cool flames.
He stood in the door with her. Mr. and Mrs. Lathrope were standing back from
the door, but looking at the two of them. John said good-by to her parents, and then stood
uncomfortably looking at her.
He had kissed her good-by in private, but now felt uncomfortable in front of the
Lathropes. She looked into his eyes. He knew she would only get in trouble if he kissed
her now.
He gazed deeply into her eyes with all his passion mustered to communicate his
feelings. He put one hand on each of her shoulders. He said his farewell with all the love
he could gather together from his heart to his voice.
He melted when he saw the tear flowing down her cheek. His heart was aching as
he tried to reassure her; but how could he? He was leaving her to sail halfway around the
world. He looked at her intensely and said, "I love you with all my heart. I promise I will
be back."
She stared into his eyes, emitting a hot love ablaze with a cold burning pain. Then
he stepped back to leave, her hand reaching out, gently lighting upon his sinewy upper
arm. Her touch melted him.
She floated toward him, looking like a fragile fairy, pulling herself closer. She
rose up on her toes, moving her lips toward his face. Softly she placed a short, yet
passionate, kiss upon his cheek.
John's face immediately flushed red with passion. Luckily, Maura's parents saw it
as embarrassment. John wanted to gather her up in his arms. He did not want to leave.
He did not want to allow an inch between her and him. He wanted to leave no room for
anything to come between.

9

They had agreed. This would be the start in life they needed. It would just take a
little sacrifice. Without ever wanting to, John had to turn and walk away. It was the
hardest thing he ever had to face.
His legs weakened, barely carrying him. As he stepped off the porch, they almost
collapsed. As he turned to say good-by, again he stumbled.
He wanted to show Maura he was strong enough to survive. He did not want her
worrying about him. He kept turning to look at her till he lost her around the bend in the
road. When she was finally out of his sight, he felt empty. He wanted to go back and
look again. He kept going. He had to.
He wanted to turn and run back, never to leave her. He had to go on this journey.
It was best for both of them he thought. Wasn't it?
The coach rolled on, over hills and through valleys, through wooded thickets,
forests and fields. Obscured from the river, then suddenly back, it ran along the river
again. Through daylight and darkness, black cold, light briskness and warmth, the coach
rolled on.
In the dullness they stopped at the river's edge. John could hear the river running
past the shore and around the pilings of a dock. The driver shouted, "The ferry is on the
other side. You'll have to wait for it to return with passengers. I'm told there are enough
passengers at the inn to make an immediate return trip possible. Let's go in for some
refreshment and rest while we wait."
Once inside, John was surprised to see the inn so crowded. After all, it was only a
few days till Christmas. Didn't these people have better places to spend their time, he
wondered? Perhaps they were all travelers like himself, making the effort to get home for
the holiday.
John went to a table obscured in the corner, yet close to the fire. He did not seek
socializing with people. He wanted to be with his own thoughts. Still, he wanted to soak
up the feeling of their presence around him.
He ordered ale and a venison steak. The innkeeper brought the drink. John
thought about the beautiful deer he had seen that day. He envisioned them grazing in the
field. The sight had helped to instill the Christmas spirit in him.
In the dim light he watched. Most of the people were in their own worlds, like
himself. At the bar, there was laughter and merriment among several of the customers. A
buzz of conversation would explode into a din of boisterous laughter. Then it would
recede into a silent pause and the buzzing would begin again. It would crescendo into a
swell of outburst and again dwindle like a wave on the beach.
John considered how many of these people were just passing through. Perhaps
many were travelers heading home from the trip of a life time. They might never pass
this way again. Others dropped by this inn, embarking on journeys that would shape their
lives. Some probably had no better place to go during the approaching holiday.
He was sure most of the people were travelers. As silly as it seemed, the broken
down dock and this inn were a crossroads. There were only a few ferries along the length
of the river. It was necessary for the traveler to seek out one of them to find
transportation across the river to the country beyond. John looked around the room,
viewing the inn quite differently.
The door opened slowly. A dim light fell on a darker figure entering. The
contrasting light and darkness highlighted his weathered face in a frightening way. The

10

wrinkles in his skin made his face appear as jagged rocks in aged and broken cliffs. Like
the erosion of mountains over the centuries they scarred his aspect.
This was no mere ferryman. It was a deep-water sailor with his history written on
his face. Stories of hardship were chiseled into his being. They were a visible part of
him no matter his harbor in life.
"Who wants to get to the other side of the river?" Snarled the ferry-man. I want to
get back home tonight. I'm making a trip immediately. Get your bags together. We're
leaving in twenty minutes."
The announcement roused few of the people at the inn. At the secluded tables
around the room, a person here and there began to move. They swilled their drinks and
casually grabbed for their belongings.
John clutched his sea bag and his packages, pulling them closer to him. Then he
guzzled a drink from his mug. He quickly bit off another a piece of meat. He stood up,
bent toward the table and took another swallow into his already overflowing mouth.
Picking up his packages, he hurried toward the door, more interested in catching
the ferry, than filling his belly. His hunger would wait till he got home. Choking down
the few mouths full he stole would hold him over.
John noticed a small group left the inn to catch the ferry. Six men and one woman
hauled their bundles to the boat. This crossroads must be more to some of these people,
he thought. It must be a gathering place for some of the locals.
A small boat with one mast lay at the dock. Though small, it accommodated
everyone on deck comfortably. Old and weathered, like her master, she was shipshape
and Bristol fashion, the perfect mate for her captain.
Single handed the ferryman jumped into action, slipping lines from their
moorings. Smoothly the boat warped from the pier, as the gaff rigged mainsail rose up
the mast. The jib followed, pulling the bow, beating upstream against the current. In the
Westerly wind, it took an hour to travel three quarters the width of the river and gain
headway above the dock on the other side.
When the ferryman tacked to fall off downstream, he was in complete control,
setting down upon the landing. When just above the dock, he resumed the original tack.
The boat headed upstream again. He eased the sails out and let the current slightly
overpower the wind. Together, they laid the boat gently against the dock. The sails were
loosened, while the boat was quickly made fast. Then the sails were dropped, stowed and
made fast.
The ferryman collected the fare from each passenger as they debarked. His once
frightening face softened, as it shown in the glow of complete darkness. In a soft voice
he wished each passenger a merry Christmas, smiling warmly at each one. A smile from
him initiated one to appear on the face of each passenger as they departed.
Then they scattered to the four corners, each on the path to take them home. As
John walked to a nearby coach, he looked over his shoulder to see a woman following
him.
"Oh, I'm sorry," said John. "I didn't know you were heading my way." He offered
a hand to help her with her bag.
"That's not necessary," she replied. "It's just a small bag. I've been hauling this
for days. Besides, you look as if you have enough to handle."
Almost to the coach now, John heeded her refusal of help. She was right. There
was no point taking the bag.

11

He stepped aside, helping the lady up into the coach. She seated herself and
thanked him. Then he handed his bundles up to the driver. Stepping into the coach, he
closed the door and they were off.
In the darkness, both passengers sat silently. Sleepy stillness shrouded the
interior. The rocking of the coach over rough roads, sounds of the wheels rolling and the
horses running could not drown out the serenity.
Slowly the darkness dissipated, dawn arriving gradually. The interior of the coach
emerged from blackness to half shadows. Then a recognizable face emerged from the
dimness across from him.
With the dawn the eerie silence broke. The two passengers seemed startled to
find there was someone else there. "So, where have you been carrying that bag?" John
asked.
"I was with a patient on the other side of the river," she answered. "I left four days
ago."
"Are you a nurse?" John questioned further.
"No," she answered. "Nurses seldom travel this far. Even fewer doctors travel
this distance. They usually stick close to the city. There is more need for them there. I
am a midwife."
"That's a long trip just before the holidays," John pointed out.
"We have to do what we can to help one another up here. That's how we survive."
The conversation went on for several hours before they ever exchanged names.
They would fall into silence and watch the snow covered wilderness pass. Conversation
broke out as they learned about each other by sharing experiences.
For a second time on this trip, the light had passed into darkness and the
conversation deadened under its weight. An occasional word passed between them
during the periods of silence and restless slumber.
They were both startled when the coach came to a sudden stop and the driver
announced they were at the end of the line. The company and conversation had occupied
John's mind, helping the trip to pass faster.
Debarking from the coach, each collected their belongings. Once organized, they
wished each other a merry Christmas and proceeded on their journeys.
John stretched as he walked toward the stable. Trying to recover after stifling
hours of stiffness setting in, he welcomed the prospect of a horseback ride. Find a horse
to carry him the rest of the way home was all he needed to do. He was close now. He
could feel home. His excitement became overwhelming.
He arranged his bags and packages slung over the horse. Mounting, he wanted to
prod it into a run all the way home. The load of packages dictated that he and the horse
casually walk the last ten miles. It would not be safe for them to tear along the dark,
slippery roads.
John could feel the familiar country, even as he traveled home through the
darkened landscape. The sounds of the wind and the night were like old friends he had
not seen in many years.
Hearing the friendly bluster darting through the tree tops, he instinctively
compared it with the alien wind at sea. The trees' topmost extremities gently harnessed
the wind, pacified by the caress of hill and dale. Masts, yards and sails harnessed the
unrestrained wind, but only as much as it wanted to be. The ocean wind blew
unobstructed, pushing frail ships unknowingly.

12

It could be a friend that could assist to a desired destination. On a whim it could
turn into an enemy that brought bitter cold destruction and prevented a sailor from ever
getting home.
A light breeze playing in the rigging could be like an aria...light and airy. Heavy
winds could conduct a brutal symphony. A monsoon could make ships and men scream
in agony. Such ugly gales could bring out man's nobility, creating a triumphant song or
devastation, writing a melancholy funeral march.
The casual night ride through the forest was welcome. John's mind nestled in
pleasant thought, brought on by the fresh, brisk, winter breath. His mind raced as he
savored his proximity to home. "This is Christmas," he said to himself. "This is the
Christmas I lost when I became a man."
The ride through the woods was the prelude to the Christmas he was anticipating.
Home, family and the familiar were the song.
Emerging from deep thought, he noticed he was within a stone's throw of the
house. It was early morning and hours on a horse made his back ache.
The horse climbed the hill walled in by trees. They disappeared within the wall,
coming to the very top. The house loomed from the protected clearing. Like closed eyes
dark and sleepy windows left shadowy spots on its face.
The snow reflected light all around. It glowed, contrasting against the spectral
image of the house. He could see the dark path of the river below. It meandered through
the landscape of bluish snow covered hills, painted by the veil of night.
"Whoa," he groaned, stopping the horse. The horse craned his neck, pointing his
nose toward John accusingly.
He sat on the horse, surveying the land, as the horse questioned the strange stop.
Upon the hill and the horse, John sat atop the world, looking down.
A dim light, muffled by the curtains, appeared in an upstairs window. He gazed a
few minutes more, verifying its authenticity. Signs of life coming to the dormant house
appeared, then disappeared as quickly.
John wondered if it were a phantom light as often appeared at sea. Suddenly it
reappeared downstairs. Another light sprung up, setting two windows aglow, like a pair
of sleepy eyes opening to see who was there. The house, just barely awake, waited for
John's approach.

Christmas Anticipated
John nudged the horse with his heels, moving him forward. Seconds saw the last
hundred yards covered. The door opened to reveal the pale light inside, scarcely enough
to flow through the door. A ghostly silhouette entered the doorway from within.
"Is that you John?" A soft and sleepy, shuddering voice came from the doorway.
John recognized the voice, striking his heart to jump. He knew he was home now.
"Yes Mother," he answered. "It's me."
She stepped from the doorway into night's light. He could see the fragile little
lady with gray hair. The petite body standing before him was the lady who raised him.
Within that tiny frame was the stature to hold the family together.

13

She looked up at John astride the horse. His six feet sat tall. Long, sun-bleached
hair, almost white from exposure, glowed in the dark. His hair tied in a ponytail and skin
tempered by the sun and wind, gave him the appearance of a barbarian atop his war-horse.
She was startled to see this wild man. Under his coat, she saw a body hardened
and strong. At first she did not recognize this image the sea had hammered into form.
Still, among the steel, stone and wood that had forged John, she recognized his voice.
When she drew nearer the shadows softened and she saw the fleshy face of the boy she
knew.
John threw one leg across the horse and slid down out of the saddle. His hair
rose, like a halo around his head, as he descended. Hitting the ground with his knees bent
to absorb the shock, he straightened up. Standing tall to stretch, he arched his back,
trying to get the kinks out.
Striding toward the door, he met his mother moving toward him. He threw his
arms around her. She sobbed into his chest. Knowing he had caused her to cry, John
held her frail little body with great discomfort.
"You should get inside," he said. "You'll catch a cold. I'll tie up the horse and
take him to the barn later."
He tied the horse to the porch railing. Gathering his packages, he turned and
entered the house. His mother was at the fireplace, putting wood in to revive the fallow
gray coals. She blew gently into the gray bed of ashes. They began to flicker, an orange
glow randomly appearing. Small tongues of yellow, orange and red reached up as the fire
came to life. The gray darkness gently... gradually grew into light.
She began preparing coffee, moving to fix him breakfast. As always, it was just
like her to wait on his needs, without thought of herself. Her life was dedicated to
waiting on every member of the family.
On the other hand, she was not a servant. She was the leader of the family. Sure,
Father worked in the fields and did the hunting, both of which Mother could do. She was
the glue that held the family together and made it stick. Dad was strong and that strength
was necessary to the family. Yet she was the strength.
John chuckled to himself. "Slow down Mother," he said. "Sit down for a minute.
Let's talk. I can wait to eat."
"Aren't you hungry?" She asked.
"I haven't even had a chance to feel hungry," he answered. "My behind aches too
much to feel any hunger pains. Besides, what are you doing up at this hour?"
"I was sleeping," she said. "I heard your horse coming up the road. I knew you
would be home soon. I just knew you would be home for Christmas." She began to cry.
"There's no need to cry," he comforted, putting his arms around her.
"How long will you be home?" She hesitated, sounding afraid of his answer.
"I'm home now," he answered.
She looked at him questioningly. "I'm home to stay," he announced. "I'm ready
to settle down right here on the river."
"I'm glad you're home," she replied.
John looked at her face, expressionless as though she didn't understand what he
was saying. I'm home to stay for good," he said again. "I'm not going back to sea."
Her face softened. A look of recognition rose as she rejoiced, "I'm so happy you
are home to stay. The sea takes you so far away from us," she said, regaining her
composure.

14

"It won't anymore," he stated emphatically. "I'm ready to settle down and stay
home. I have enough money to get started. I'll farm and build boats down by the river,"
he said revealing his dreams.
"What else do you have planned?" His mother asked inquisitively.
"Oh," he said, "I have lots of plans. I'm hoping to build a house and a barn," John
said teasingly. He knew she was asking about something else. She was inquiring about
Maura, without coming right out and asking.
"Yes, yes," Mrs. Gance said, impatiently listening to him. She knew he was
teasing. She sat smiling and just listened to his whimsy.
Overplaying his hand, John out smarted himself. When talking about his dreams,
he could not keep Maura out of his mind. Just thinking about her made him excited about
their future. He could hold back the announcement of his dreams no longer. He
exploded, the words bursting forth from his lips. "I plan to marry Maura," he revealed as
though it was some sort of secret.
His mother was not surprised but she pretended to be. She knew when he decided
not to go to sea, Maura was the reason. "Oh, that is so wonderful," she said so as not to
burst his bubble.
John looked at her only to realize he was stating what she already knew.
Embarrassed John asked nonchalantly, "Have you seen Maura lately?"
"Not much in the last few months," she answered. "She has been by a couple of
times to ask about you. There was little we could tell her."
"Oh," said John, his face showing disappointment. He had thought Maura would
be spending more time with his family. She had become very close to them.
"She said she had been away at her aunts in the city. It is quite lonely out here for
her with no brothers and sisters to keep her company," his mother added.
"That's why I told her to come over and spend time with you. I knew you would
welcome her. Then she would be less lonely while I was away."
"And she was here often," she said with reassurance. "Still, she does have family
and getting away was good for her. It helped her not to think so much about you being
away."
John was excited and anxious. He wanted to see Maura immediately. I'll go over
and see her later," John said. "I want to see her as soon as I can."
"You're home now," his mother reminded comfortingly. "Sleep today and go over
and see her tomorrow. You'll feel better after you get some sleep."
John went on with the conversation, ignoring her advice. "How is everyone else?"
John queried. How are the children? How are Joseph, Jean and Father? Oh Mother, tell
me about all of them."
"The children have grown," she began. "You'll barely recognize them. They're
full of pepper, always into something and making a lot of noise. They'll be so happy to
see you. They wonder every day, if you'll be home. Especially now that Christmas is so
close."
They talked for hours amidst the silence of early morning. It filled the house, with
only the buzz of their whispered words to interrupt. The gloomy fire light and oil lamps
shed a veil of peace over the sanctuary. The talk continued until the surrounding silence
was broken by the house slowly coming awake.
A step here and a bump there signaled movement above. A thump from one side
of the house, a bang from another, announced the awakening. A floor board creaked, first

15

from one direction, then another, sounding where life was looming. It was as though the
house itself were alive. Like an elderly human or animal, its bones creaked as it moved
and squirmed to emerge from sleep. The lamentation of the house was that of the people
emerging from a deep and contented sleep.
They had been discovered. An occasional sound became more frequent noise.
The ceiling sighed as they walked about. The house was wiping the sleep out of its eyes,
as the family was opening theirs, to see this early morning intruder. Life sprang up with
the family and the house slipped into the background as an inanimate object, while the
mystery of night disappeared.
One at a time, each member of the family drifted down the stairs. First down was
John's youngest brother Alex. His face lit up seeing John, shaking off the last remains of
sleep from his eyes. Alex ran and jumped into John's arms, hugging him upon impact.
John pulled a piece of candy from the pocket of his pea jacket draped over the back of the
chair.
Mother scolded, "Not now. You save that for later. John, you should know better
than that," she chided with a reluctant smile.
John made Alex put the peppermint stick away.
Lost in the commotion, John's father sneaked up behind him, with a startling slap
on the back. He let go a boisterous." Hello! It's good to have you home son!"
Even with his limp, John's dad entered soundlessly. Hiding in the tumult, he
moved lightly, his gray head of hair infiltrating the family. The grape he had taken in his
leg while serving aboard the Constellation in the War of 1812, slowed him a little, but not
much.
He was only a bit taller than John. It was in John's mind where he was a much
bigger man. Ben, as John's mother called him, was bent slightly forward and to the left
when he moved because of the wound. When he stood still, he was straight, tall and
impressive. Like an old oak, he was gnarled, but unquestionably strong.
As they gathered, the excitement grew. Each one surprised by his presence, let it
be known. Then came Ann, his younger sister, running when she heard John's voice. She
squealed, "This will be a wonderful Christmas. We'll all be together again."
The quiet peace of early morn was pre-empted by the fanfare of coming dawn.
Gathering about the table, the light of day was upon them. The whispering that attempted
not to wake anyone became the inevitable buzz of activity beginning a new day, making
sure all were awake.
Both Ann and Alex looked up to their big brother as though he were a hero. In
truth, John worshipped them too. Enamored by their innocence, he was always cognizant
of their feelings.
With Alex already hanging from his neck, Ann flew to cling on. He spun them
around, laughing and giggling until they were all dizzy. Just as he was about to fall over,
he made his way back to his chair. They hung on as he sat down. Letting go to hear what
yarns he had to spin, they pressed close.
Jean, his older sister, drifted in calmly with a smile on her face. "It's good to see
you home," she greeted. "Now you can help us get ready for Christmas."
"Putting me to work already," John kidded. "Now I know why you're happy to
have me home."
"We haven't had you here to work in a long time," Jean teased back. "You have a
lot to make up."

16

Mother spoke up protecting, "He's been traveling all night. Let him rest. I think
he should have a chance to sleep before we expect to put him to work."
"He doesn't need any rest," Alex chimed in.
"No, tell us some stories," Ann agreed, trying to climb into his lap.
"Not right now," John resisted. "I'd like some breakfast. My stomach is
beginning to growl. Then I would like to hear what is going on with all of you."
Settled down around the table, the family began their presentations. It was just
like the old days. Mother and Jean were preparing breakfast, hovering around the
conversation. Each family member in turn began telling John what had happened in their
life.
"Where is Joseph?" John asked about his older brother. "Is that lazy bum still in
bed?"
"No," Father answered. "He isn't here right now."
"Well, where is he? Did he go on another hunting trip," John inquired.
"He doesn't live here anymore," Mother revealed.
John knew something was amiss. He was gone but there was no sadness on their
faces. "Where is he?" John demanded impatiently.
"He got married," Father laughed. "He lives with his wife Abigail just down the
road a piece."
Surprised, John laughed, "What? That Don Juan finally settled down? Who got
stuck with him?"
Mother chided, "Don't you talk about your older brother that way. Look at
yourself, traipsing all over the world. It's about time you decided to settle down!"
"You're right Mother," he said. "Still, I am surprised Joseph got married."
"He married a wonderful girl from up the river a ways," his mother told him. "She
is a very nice girl. I think he did well for himself."
They ate breakfast as the family continued to tell John what was happening in
their lives. Politely each took the floor to tell him about the events that had taken place
while he was away. Each got their chance to speak without interruption, as was the
custom in the Gance house. Those awaiting the floor listened intently to the speaker.
The way conversation took place in the Gance household was one of the things
John treasured and missed the most. Evenings, after dinner, the family sat around the
table and talked about everything that was going on.
Well, almost everything. They did not discuss matters of the heart in a group.
Those things were usually discussed in private with Mother. Or perhaps the older
children would get together and share their thoughts on the subject.
John listened with great interest to every detail. When Alex and Ann told their
stories he took particular pleasure. He enjoyed listening to their childish tales and
adventures. Though he was interested in anything any member of his family told him, the
innocence and joy emanating from the children touched his heart. They reintroduced him
to the meaning of home. Perhaps he longed to be a child just like them.
The morning passed as noon approached. John's eyes became heavy. Even
though his interest was sharp, his mind was not. Dad pointed out, "Look, the morning is
gone. We have chores to do. Tomorrow is Christmas Eve. That means we have even
more to do."
Exhausted, John went upstairs to his old room. It had not changed. The Spartan
room consisted of the bed and the table with a lamp next to it. A dresser was tucked in

17

to the right of the door he entered. It was small, but a child in the wilderness was lucky to
have his own room. Compared to the ship, they were luxurious accommodations.
The house they had built as a family was a part of them. It was the center of their
world. Like the image of Maura when times were rough at sea, recalling home helped
him survive.
He took off his clothes and crawled under the covers. As he slid under the
blankets between the cool, clean, dry sheets, his skin tingled. The smoothness against his
chafed and battered skin sent a warm wave through his body.
The contrast from the cold, damp and dirty hammock, bending his body into
deformity was stark. There he lay in pleasure. The smell of clean was so pleasing. Soon
he passed out into sleep as he had done every night for the past two years.
Noise from below awoke John with a start. He jumped up wondering what time it
was. His heart raced questioning why the watch had not called him. The pounding in his
chest almost immobilized him. How could they let him sleep and be late for his watch?
There would be hell to pay.
The noises he heard had an old but warm familiarity. What was he hearing? The
clangs and bongs of pots alerted him. Except for that, there were few other sounds in the
background. Everything else was quiet.
This was not a sound of recent memory. He didn't hear the sounds of the wind in
the rigging or the creaking of the ship's timbers as it rolled. It was not the chaotic sound
of the cook in the galley. Yes, it was familiar, but more inviting.
He was not late for watch. The noises that woke him were the social sounds of
family activity downstairs. His fear subsided. Still, his heart was pounding. He had to
lie back in bed to gain control of his breathing, concentrating and reassuring himself.
He settled back breathing a sigh of relief. Waiting for his heart to slow, he took a
deep breath. The panic subsided as he snuggled into the cozy, clean sheets beneath him.
He was home and he was safe.
The room lay in the darkness of the early winter's eve. Grateful he was to be
home and not on the ship. There was nothing pressing him. There would be no facing
the cold and merciless night alone. He would go down stairs and see friendly, familiar
faces. His heart slowed back to normal as John smiled to himself.
Looking for his clothes in the dark, he reached into the drawer. He located the
wick to light the lamp. He walked to the light in the hall and got a flame from the lamp.
He went back and lit the lamp next to his bed.
With the lamp lighted it revealed his sea bag placed inside the door. It had been
left for him, while he was sleeping. There was a pitcher and wash basin on the dresser.
The water had turned cold, but it did not deter him. He wanted to get the dirt from the
trip off him.
The frosty water and the cold room made it a struggle of will to wash himself.
The struggle was often lost aboard ship. The need to leave it all behind and put on some
clean clothes was overwhelming. He happily noticed an entirely clean set of clothes on
the chair next to the dresser.
This was even better...really clean clothes to wear. The clothes in his bag, though
considered clean aboard ship, had been sea washed. Tied to the end of a rope and thrown
overboard into the ocean, the clothes were dragged...towed through the water, excess dirt

18

was replaced with brine. Stiff with dried salt, it toughened his skin, giving it a leatherlike crust. It was rough and hard, allowing him to avoid the constant itch of a rash.
John braved the cold water, determined to put a clean body into those fresh, clean
clothes. He enjoyed the touch of the soft, clean cloth to his skin, finally, free of dirt with
which he had been long acquainted. Dressed, he descended the stairs refreshed.
He was filled with the same excitement to see his family he had that very
morning. Having finished supper, they scattered about the house. Each member became
involved in some sort of activity.
Alex and Ann were playing in the corner of the living room. Sitting on the floor,
they acted out scenes with wooden horses John had carved for them years ago. Jean was
near the fire reading a book. Father was smoking his pipe and looking around the room,
savoring the presence of the family. He sat contentedly as each was engaged in
something they wanted to do.
John looked at the kitchen where Mother was still moving about, picking here and
puttering there. She spent much time with the children, but seldom did she sit, till
everything was done.
Her work created sounds becoming songs that made the home warm and friendly.
It was a sign to all of the children and father that someone was watching over them.
Mother seemed to be helping God in that endeavor. She was the guardian of the family.
Father was its protector.
The sounds she composed, though sometimes abrupt and in other settings, could
be unnerving or annoying had become familiar and pleasant. The bang of a pot or a
dropped log was the sounds of everyday life around the home. When the activity stopped,
everyone took notice. When it disappeared and total silence erupted, emptiness emerged.
As she entered the living area, they turned to her, the center of their attention.
Mother went to her chair by the fireplace to sit in the hallowed half light. It was
the routine John had experienced since his childhood and left behind more than two years
ago.
Alex and Ann were immediately aware of the change. They put their toys in the
corner and scurried to Mother. She sat down and picked up a book. The young ones
crawled into her lap as she began reading.
Sometimes it was the Bible. Other times she read fairy tales or mythology. Any
book she could get her hands on with stories about people and far off places would do.
It was evenings like this that started John on his dreams of adventure. He saw
clouds of sails in his mind and in the sky when he looked up on a spring day. Disguised
trees became tall masts propelling him and his ship to distant shores. These were the
seeds spawning the ideas that sent John to sea.
Though Dad never had the opportunity to go to school, he taught himself to read.
He encouraged them to read. Money was used sparingly in the household. Those things
needed to grow food were a necessary expense. Books were an expense of just slightly
less importance.
This reminded John that they never spent money on Christmas presents. They
always made gifts for one another. Some of the carved wooden figures the children were
playing with represented Christmas gifts of long ago, when he was a child.
Passed down the line, some might even have belonged to Mrs. and Mr. Gance as
children. Family tradition had left Alex and Ann with a miniature farm of their own. It
consisted of presents representing memories from Christmases long past. Their play

19

would take them on the same flights of imagination as the stories Mrs. Gance read to
them.
Carved human figures were dressed with clothes Mrs. Gance and Jean had sewn.
Some were garbed in the same outfits Jean played with as a little girl.
John's entrance did not disturb the atmosphere in the room. He was glad it hadn't.
He wanted to share this experience he had been deprived of for so long. He desperately
wanted to listen to them and their stories. Most of all, he just wanted to feel their
presence close to him.
Silence surrounded Mother as she took center stage, reading aloud. Though the
story was not of intimacy, the room was filled with it. John absorbed his surroundings as
the family gathered together body, mind and soul, to share thoughts and ideas and grow
together. It was the ultimate in sharing and closeness, a sensual experience that made him
human again.
The evening continued with the children snuggled in Mother's lap. Jean stopped
reading her book to listen, caught up in the same feelings. Dad sat back and smiled
contentedly and listened, surveying his intimate little empire.
Separation from the fireplace left John physically chilled on his side of the room,
yet mentally he was warm and comfortable. No draft could assault him, or bring
harshness to his thoughts.
John leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes. He savored the treasure that had
been returned to him. He felt safe in the bosom of his family. Nothing in this world
could harm him, neither the sea, nor the howling gales could touch him now. He was in a
safe haven.
He thought of Maura, wanting to see her that very evening. He couldn't; it was
too late. He had slept too long and was still exhausted; barely conscious. He would sleep
the night and make the trip tomorrow.
The evening slipped away, ending when Mrs. Gance closed the book and said, "It
is time to go to bed."
"Aw, Mother," moaned Ann, "read some more. It's still early."
Ann was not the only one disappointed. John's hunger was still unsatisfied. He
wanted to gorge himself on the feelings that had surfaced.
"We have a lot to do tomorrow," she answered. "We have to clean and go out to
cut a tree. Then we have to decorate the tree and the house."
Ann did not argue any further. Now she was eager to get to bed so they could
begin the fun of Christmas Eve that much sooner.
It was earlier than usual when the family entered the kitchen the next morning.
The meeting, in the darkness, was like that of the morning before when John had arrived
home. Unlike the night before, they asked him a thousand questions over breakfast.
After breakfast was finished, they talked for a while longer. Then Mrs. Gance said, "We
have much to do today. We should get moving."
They scattered, all in their own directions. With the break of dawn, John, Jean,
Ann and Alex left the house dressed for the winter trek to find a tree. They scoured the
hills to discover just the right one. Each made a choice and rejected the others. Marching
on through the knee deep snow, they were searching high and low.
They watched rabbits scampering, squirrels spiraling up the sides of the trees
chasing one another. If the squirrels had red paint on their tails, the trees would have

20

looked like peppermint sticks. The chickadees flew in and out of the evergreens that
obscured the abundant life within. Every one of nature's creatures looked as if they were
in the mood to celebrate.
Deer walked among the thickets of pine trees grazing on the long, brown grass
protruding from the snow. It was the best beginning of Christmas anyone could wish.
Ann spotted a tree standing alone at the top of a cleared knoll. She yelled out in
excitement, drawing all their attention. It looked fine, they decided. They walked around
the knoll from a distance. They perused the tree from all sides; then pondered it as they
sneaked closer. They moved around it, stepping nearer, as if the tree would bolt and run
if frightened. Like the squirrels, they to spiraled closer to the top. When they arrived, all
agreed it was the most beautiful tree they had ever seen.
Within reach of it, a mass of birds flew out, frightening them all. Startled, they
screamed, ducked and jumped back, the birds grazing their heads. They could feel the
wind from their tiny wings as they rushed by.
Once the threat was over, John handed the saw to Alex. He would have the honor
of cutting it down. Alex bent his leg and knelt down on the snow. Digging the snow
away to gain access to the trunk, he put the saw to it just above the ground.
Ann shouted, "Wait! There is a bird's nest in the tree."
"It is probably an old abandoned one," Jean answered.
"No! No, it's not," Ann argued. "Why would all those birds have been in the
tree?'
"They were just finding shelter there," Jean answered.
"Hold up Alex," John warned. "Let's take a look at it and see."
John stepped closer, reaching into the tree. He pushed some branches aside with
his hand. Suddenly, one of the birds came flying out, again just missing his head. Then
he saw it. Sure enough, the nest was being used and there were several other nests there.
"Well, what should we do?" John asked.
"This is the tree we want," Alex argued.
"We don't want to destroy their home," Ann pleaded. "How would you like it if
someone came in and destroyed our home?"
Jean agreed. "Ann is right. Many birds flew from the tree as we walked up. They
use it for protection. We can find one, in the thicket down there, that won't be missed as
much."
"I agree," John added. "It won't hurt us to find another one."
They walked through the maze of the thickets, searching. John heard a giggle.
Suddenly a snowball exploded on the back of his head. "Oh, you," he turned, reaching
down for a hand full of snow, expecting to see Alex. Instead, he faced Jean, laughing at
the surprise on his face.
The fortress of trees broke out in a battle with snow flying everywhere. The four
were running around, hiding in the trees and ambushing each other. Laughing and
giggling, they created chaos all around them.
Birds in the trees became agitated. Their songs sounded nervous and insistent.
Animals fled from the craziness on their once quiet land. Christmas merriment was one
thing, but this was too much noise for them.
They ran every which way through the unbroken snow. The skirmish marred the
serenity of the landscape. At length they realized these crazy humans were no threat. The
birds and animals returned to watch their silly antics and judge their childishness.

21

Out of breath, the four of them stood hunched over, their hands on their knees
supporting themselves. John could feel the air whistling as it entered and exited his
lungs. The cold air burned as he breathed in.
Trying to gain control, John watched as Ann flopped down. Landing flat on her
back, she began waving her arms, making an angel in the snow.
Exhausted, John saw no better way to collect himself, than flopping backwards,
just as Ann had done. Jean and Alex followed. They lay there for minutes. John
collapsed to catch his breath...the rest, to make angels in the snow.
Still tired from his journey, John could have lain there for hours. Yet, rested from
the battle, he was the first to rise. Following his lead, they all got up, laughing all the
while. Walking around the snow angels, they admired their work. They saw it as a work
of art, not the marring of a field of the beautiful, untouched, white snow.
As though they had forgotten their mission, they walked in circles doing nothing,
lost from the task at hand. "We need to find that tree," Jean reminded. We still have
much to do."
Traversing one hill, then another, through bush after brush and often the same
thicket from the other side, they wandered without ever knowing. Time passed so they
could not help crossing their own path.
The search had become desperate. It seemed hours had passed since they voted to
spare the tree. There it was. The second time in the same day, they laid eyes on the most
gorgeous tree ever.
It was tall, straight and nicely shaped. The branches were spaced so there were no
bare spots and the ornaments would hang freely. Yes, they all agreed it was the best blue
spruce tree they had ever seen. Once decorated, mother always said, that this year's tree
was the most beautiful.
Alex went down on his knee in the snow, placing the blade to the trunk. It started
easily as the blade slipped through the wood, sliding back and forth. Sawdust sprinkled
to the snow around the tree trunk.
Then it slowed, inducing a grunt from Alex. A bead of sweat formed on his
forehead. Then another and another appeared, like the stars in the sky at dusk. The saw
stuck with a shriek as it approached the center of the trunk. The blade was pinched by the
weight of the tree.
John watched Alex struggle for a second. Then he gave pity and leaned against
the tree. The saw sped up, slicing through the remainder of the trunk. The tree fell to the
ritual shout of timber, just as if they were lumberjacks.
John put the rope on the tree, tossing the ends this way and that to give the
impression he was tying some intricate sailor's knot. Alex and Ann marveled at his skill.
Jean laughed duplicitously, sharing in his deception.
"With the tree secured," John said in a superior tone, "let's haul her away.
Heave!" He yelled. "Ho!" He chuckled. Jean giggled at the ridiculous procession. They
walked miles through the snow, dancing and singing Christmas carols, laughing all the
way. They dragged it through the snow, over hill and gully, completing the pilgrimage
home.
The house in sight, they picked up the pace. Alex and Ann yelled, announcing the
arrival of the majestic tree. The door opened and Mr. and Mrs. Gance stepped onto the
porch, smiling, waving as though to a special visitor. They hailed the approach of the
conquering heroes.

22

Arriving at the door, they stopped not a second. The tree was lifted and carried
inside in one motion. Without hesitation, they placed the severed end in the wash tub.
Mr. Gance held it as he was given directions from all sides to insure it was straight.
Alex and Ann dropped stones into the tub. They kept filling it to the sound of
clunks and thuds depending upon whether the rock hit another rock or the bottom of the
tub.
As the tub filled, the stones gathered about the tree's trunk. They fell into place,
caressing the trunk so it was supported solidly. Still, all held their breath while Mr.
Gance let go of the tree. Silently they stood, staring at the tree standing straight and tall
before them. All at once the sound of their exhale filled the void of silent anticipation.
The Christmas stones had fulfilled their destiny another year. From the Christmas
pile behind the barn, they came to make the tree stand straight and tall in the tub. The
pile of stones behind the barn was left there year round for just that purpose.
Years before, they had learned rocks were difficult to retrieve from the frozen
ground of winter. As difficult was fishing rocks from the ice cold stream bed. Ironically,
the Christmas pile was born one summer long ago.
The tree was up, adorning the room in its natural splendor. The smell of pine
filled the house. Still morning, John announced, "I'm going over to see Maura to let her
know I'm home. I'll ask her over for the evening."
"Yes, you do that," Mrs. Gance encouraged. "Ask her parents too. It will be nice
to see them again. We haven't enjoyed their company in a while."
"Yes, yes," Ann jumped around in excitement. "I want to see Maura. She is so
nice! I really like her!"
Jean added, "It will be good having her over to celebrate Christmas Eve with us."
The excitement of Christmas was beginning to bubble. Everyone was feeling the
giddiness brought on by the excitement of the season.
John wanted this Christmas with his family to be a celebration of the past. He
wanted it to make up for those Christmases he had missed. He was excited to usher in
the future he hoped to enjoy. He needed to make up for what he had lost.
He was looking to the future, yet was somehow stuck in the past. Maura was
John's future. Anxiously he set out on that path as he headed out of the house. With
scarcely a glance, he strode down the road, descending the hill. Now rested and coherent,
he was on the road to Maura's house.
He enjoyed the accompaniment of the birds whistling while he walked. Their
songs gave his more depth. Musical sounds emerged, echoing like an orchestra playing
deep within the woods.
The bounce in his walk turned to skipping as he continued. Springing down the
road, all the joy and anticipation of a child bubbled up in him. Gradually, he broke into a
sprint over the snow covered road. He stretched his legs with each step, reaching as far as
he could with one member. Once placed firmly on the ground, he followed with the
other. He extended his arms pulling himself forward harder and faster, like swimming
through the fresh, country air.
A wild animal, he raced through the forest dashing as hard as he could. He looked
at the landscape covered with white, as he galloped freely over the snow. More than a
mile passed beneath his feet, with lungs burning, from the friction of the icy air forced in
and out. He felt as if they were about to burst.

23

The pain brought John to an abrupt stop. Bending over, he placed his hands on
his knees to support himself. He struggled to catch his breath and overcome the pain in
his lungs. Sweat was cascading down his face, dripping from the tip of his nose and chin.
When he recovered, John walked slowly to compose himself. His breathing
slowed. The wheezing of air through his lips silenced. The fire in his lungs was slowly
extinguished. John continued along the road. Pain did not matter. It was only a minor
inconvenience along the path to his happiness.
Nothing mattered except Maura. He remembered the last Christmas they had
spent together. They were little more than children. She was but a young girl, he
entering upon the road to manhood.
She had been so flirtatious that Christmas. When John gave her the special
present, a necklace, she was as excited as a little girl. That one was almost junk compared
to the one he now carried in his pocket. When she asked him to fasten it around her neck,
she matured.
His fingers grazing her neck in his attempt to clasp it, she brushed the satin
softness of her neck against his hand. Like a feline rubbing against someone's leg,
expressing emotion, she did it again.
Gently leaning against his hand, it was almost as though he could feel her purring.
Then she sighed, breathing, "The touch of your hand is so gentle." She turned, slipping
between his arms as she did. He opened his arms to her, maintaining a hold on the clasp
of the necklace. Luckily, he had just secured the clasp as she moved, or the necklace
would have fallen away.
She leaned against him, two young adults not yet ready to enter the room in whose
portal they stood. Still, John could not resist kissing her. She melted into his arms, their
bodies becoming one. Her soft, moist lips danced upon his.
A flash of raging heat flared from her body. He was amazed at the effect she was
having on him. He was frightened by the way she made him feel. The fire rose between
them, ready to engulf them both, as a wild fire consumes trees. "This is wonderful," he
thought, wanting to show her how much he cared.
The blood was pounding in his temples. His heart was racing as it never had
before. A great storm brewing was about to blow its way right out of his chest.
He held her tightly, but gently, as though protecting her with his muscular arms.
He wanted to show her how much he cared by not taking liberties. Using all his strength,
he held her and held himself back. He hoped she understood how strongly he felt.
Mr. Lathrope stumbled before he entered the room. They parted quickly. Now
they were assured no further liberties would be taken.
The remainder of the evening, he looked at her differently. He always sensed
Maura was very special to him. They had been friends since they were children. When
they first met that first year of school, they were friends, always doing things together.
At that very moment, John knew he was in love with her. She was the only
person that could step to the head of his life. Only she could come before his family if
need be. He could lay his heart in her hands and trust that she would treasure it. He
dreamed of their uniting and sharing an adventurous life together.
He rounded the bend and climbed the road to the Lathrope house. The road broke
from the trees. It led him to a clearing surrounded by more trees. The house was nestled
in a bright and bubbly forest glade. Just in the threshold of winter, the scene screamed of
spring. It was a wonderful place of many pleasant memories for John.

24

He walked up to the front door and knocked. Quickly the door opened to reveal
Mrs. Lathrope.
"John! John Gance! You are the last person I expected to see on this day. Come
in! Let's have a look at you." She was surprised anyone was there, let alone John.
"Thank you! How have you been?" He said restraining himself. He wanted to
find out where Maura was.
"I'm just fine, thank you," she answered. "What have you been doing?" She
laughed. "As if I didn't know."
John was becoming restless. His attempt at being polite had backfired. Now he
was caught in small talk with Mrs. Lathrope. He wanted desperately to get out of it and
on to Maura.
"My ship landed a few days ago. I just arrived home yesterday," he continued.
"It's so nice that you arrived home in time for Christmas. Maura will be so happy
to see you."
"Where is Maura?" John blurted. Now that they were on the subject, he did not
want to get sidetracked. "I can't wait to see her," he emphasized, hoping to add weight to
his expression of desire.
"She's out in the barn feeding the animals," Mrs. Lathrope informed him. "She'll
be back in a few minutes. You can wait in here."
"No," replied John. "That's all right. I think I'll go out and surprise her. I really
can't wait any longer," he stammered anxiously. "I've been waiting for this a long time."
John went out the door. He walked around the house and headed for the barn.
The back yard was like an open court yard in the middle of a thick, lush forest. It was not
in its full glory with many of the trees bared for winter. Still it was a sight as enchanting
as in the fairy tales his mother had read to them.
He went to the small door, next to the large double barn doors. Quietly he opened
it, so as not to warn her of his arrival. He wanted so much to surprise her and see the
look on her beautiful face.
He stepped into the shadows within. Gently, he closed the door behind him.
Blinded by the darkness, he stood silently. His eyes were useless, adjusting to the dark
from the bright reflecting light outside. The light reflecting from the snowy landscape
made the darkness much darker.
The rustling of the animals came from throughout the barn. Alternating here and
there, the sound bounded around the shadowy space. Still, he could see only suggestions
in the murky darkness. Slowly, as he stood there, his eyes grew accustomed to the gloom.
The horses in the stalls noticed him. They turned back in the direction they had
been looking. An occasional rustle came from the shadows. He heard a movement. John
tried to focus and locate it, anxious for his first sight of Maura.
He heard her giggle. His heart raced with the sound of her sweet laughter. He
had been so close for over a day. Only now did he realize he would soon lay eyes upon
her, hear her voice and hold her in his arms. He could not wait much longer to behold his
beloved.
He walked around the half wall from where he had heard the laughter. Then he
skirted the pile of hay from which there had been some movement. His heart was leaping
with joy.

25

Suddenly the breath was pulled from his lungs. His eyes were cast upon Maura.
She was sprawled in the hay mound. Outside light from a small window fell magically
upon where she lay. A glow surrounded her.
Her dress flowed over the small hill of hay that was a pillow beneath her. His
eyes still struggling, he saw someone on top of her. She giggled again.
"You naughty boy," she scolded. "What if someone should walk in and catch us?
My dad would be very upset."
"Don't worry," returned a masculine voice. "He isn't going to come in now. He
went to town. It will be some time before he gets back. Your mother never comes to the
barn."
John's heart sank. A sick feeling arose in his stomach. It took all his
concentration to keep himself from throwing up. His first instinct was to walk out
unnoticed. Then he felt the urge to run. Suddenly, he found himself saying her name,
"Maura." It just popped out before he could stop himself. It sounded like a weak cry for
help.
The man jumped up, frantically tucking his shirt into his pants. He ran past John,
pushing him aside, at the same time trying to hide his face. John reached out for him
weakly and grabbed the trailing shirt. He had not the strength to hold on and detain the
fleeing scoundrel.
John recognized the face, but could not place a name to it. Stunned, he let the
man go running out the door.
"Maura," he said again. He stood dumbfounded, waiting in silence, with nothing
more to say.
Scrambling to gain her footing, she jumped up immediately. She stepped toward
him scolding, "I haven't heard from you for at least six months. How did I know you
were coming home. How could I know if you were even alive?" She bombarded him
with her rationale.
"I have the letters right here in my pocket," John defended. "We did not sight any
other ships that were returning home. When we were finally heading home, there was no
point sending them with someone else."
"I didn't know that," she snapped. "How was I supposed to know? You have been
gone so long. Even when I did get letters, you were still so far away. You shouldn't have
gone away," she chided.
"Do you love him?" John asked, his voice shaking.
"No,.. I don't know," Maura answered showing great frustration.
In his worst days, hours atop the mast in freezing cold and driving wind as they
rounded the Cape of Good Hope, John had not felt the pain and loneliness he was feeling
now. The emptiness and desolation within were more than he could bear. Without
another word, John turned and walked out of the barn. Acting on his first instinct he ran,
dragging his feet, as though he had not the energy to lift them.
He wanted to run like a shamed little boy. His legs would not allow him to do so.
He made a slow withdrawal, looking back sheepishly but once to see Maura standing in
the doorway of the barn. The sickening feeling in his heart and stomach was
overwhelming and he could not distinguish the two. He felt he would die. The image of
her, who was once his life, could no longer reach him to make him feel better.
He retraced his steps along the road at a much slower pace. He could not find joy
or beauty in his surroundings. A gray gloom overtook him, making him blind to the

26

sights and deaf to the sounds of the woods. The bird's songs or rabbit's and squirrel's
scurrying held no interest for him.
His head spinning, John could not focus as the forest passed. His mind consumed
by the disorder within was helpless. The knot in his guts pulled tighter. Pain could not
be willed away as he had learned to do aboard ship.
All his strength was gone. Maura was the reason he could endure the sea. The
thought of Maura being there for him had always pulled him through.
His reason for pushing himself beyond what he could endure was no more. As he
walked the road, his legs could barely carry him. They were on the verge of failure, his
weakness becoming dominant. Like a drunk, he staggered the road in a stupor, oblivious
to his surroundings.
Arriving home, he was uninterested in preparing for Christmas Day. This was the
occasion he had been longing for these many months. Seeing his family work together in
anticipation of the Christmas celebration was to fill a great hole in his life. Being with
them, feeling their warmth would make up for his years of absence.
John sat back to watch the family decorate. A tradition he very much enjoyed. In
the past he derived great pleasure watching everyone else hanging the ornaments on the
tree.
This time he found no joy watching those people so dear to him. He looked
through Alex as he hung the pine cone with dried berries attached. He was blind to Ann
placing his hand carved bird on a branch of honor. Oblivious to his mother's and father's
look of joy as they watched their children decorate the tree, he was lost.
With the hanging of each ornament, a story was told. Memories of the making of
it and events of the Christmas it first appeared were recounted. Small carved wooden
ornaments, some made of cloth and stitched, others found in the woods donated by
nature, contributed to the tales. The Christmas tree was an extension of their family
history and the love they had built for each other over the years.
A vast gulf formed between them. Events so joyous, John found joy less. The
laughter was there, but sounded faint, as though in another far off room. The family his
existence revolved around had lost meaning for him. As like poles of the compass repel,
his lost love repelled love from him, and he could not feel.
His head was spinning like the hands on the clock, reaching out but grasping
nothing. Those things he knew: his family, Christmas, the excitement of being ashore,
seemed of little substance. Though before his very eyes, he could not touch them,
seeming just beyond his fingertips.
Family came to him to try to comfort him, but he would not be comforted. The
warmth of the intimate family relationship only made him feel more severely the pain of
his loss. Maura was supposed to be there, an addition to that warmth. Now she was
stealing it all from him. She sucked the warmth from his heart turning it cold, his icy
spirit inert, surrounding him to the depths of his soul.
Christmas Eve melted into Christmas Day. The arrival of Joseph and his new
wife brought nothing of the old John back. The family celebration continued while he sat
outside their lives looking in.
The days between Christmas and the New Year were indistinguishable as they
passed. They became days crossed off the calendar.

27

The arrival of the New Year was unbearable, a gateway to the hell of his life
without Maura. He felt unloved, while surrounded by people that loved him dearly. The
love within the family could not change the desolation consuming John.
He did not want to hurt his family, yet he could not be with them. He did not have
the sum and substance within. All their love made him feel the loss of Maura's all the
more. His spirit had been ripped from his body as his heart was torn from his chest.
Alex and Ann were devastated by the transformation. So suddenly John became a
man they hardly knew. John's malady was contagious. Though in the same house, he
felt farther away than if he was on the other side of the world.
It was the day after New Year's when he could endure no more. John announced
he was heading back to sea. "It is a good time to earn some more money for when I settle
down at my own place," he excused.
It was difficult for John's mother. "Stay home and think about your next step,"
she urged. "Don't just jump into something. Think about what you are doing. This could
affect the rest of your life."
She knew when he came home he was ready to settle down. He was on a course
for a new life. Now he seemed determined to get on the same lonely path he had
abandoned just a week ago.
As his father pulled the wagon up to the front door, John slowly walked to it. He
threw his bag in the back. The rest of the family stepped out on the porch.
John walked up to them stiff and lifeless, hugging each one, as he told them he
loved them. He picked up Ann and Alex, one in each arm. "I love you both. I will be
back, so don't worry," he said in an emotionless voice.
His feeling could not flow to the surface though this farewell burned more
intensely than the pain he had been feeling over Maura. Saying this good-by was
something he thought he would never again be doing. He was leaving once more, for a
destination he knew not. Nor did he know for how long. He was off again, alone. As
the wagon rolled away, he left them on the porch crying.
The wagon ride was quiet. John had as little to say to his dad, as he did to his
family over the last week. His dad had found there was nothing he could do to comfort
John. The wagon just rolled away from the house as the life John loved so much was
being left behind. The farther away they went, the life he feared drew closer.
Arriving at the depot, the coach was waiting. John pulled his bag off the wagon
and threw it up to the coachman, relieved there would be no waiting. He walked back to
his father who stood by the wagon, and held out his hand to shake it. His father put his
hand in John's, then used that hand to pull him closer. He put his bear like arms around
John and squeezed.
A tear came to John's eye. His dad was not prone to this kind of display of
affection. Then he thought about the family he left on the porch. He knew it was wrong
to leave this way. He was causing them much distress.
He couldn't take it. He just couldn't face his shame in front of them. The hurt was
too much to endure in their presence. He said, "So long, Father. I'll be seeing you. You
can bet on that."
"I know son," his father said. "Take care and we'll be seeing you soon." The tone
in John's voice did not make his father confident he would ever see him again.

28

Like a wounded animal, John hopped into the coach. It rolled away into the gray
winter's day. John looked back to see his dad standing there. He could tell his father was
stunned and hurting, yet John had nothing left inside to comfort him.
The coach rolled out of sight. John did not look at the scenery or the life in the
forests along the way. He did not recognize the wonder as he had just more than a week
ago. He traveled this same path home. Now he was heading away.
He leaned his head back in a half sleep. As long as the coach was rolling he would
doze, trying to avoid his thoughts. Minutes here and there he dozed in a foggy world. He
stayed half conscious till he could no longer sleep. Still, when he was awake he was only
half astir. The difference between his sleep state and conscious state was very little.
He looked out the coach window seeing nothing. Staring intensely, he looked
right through the things that were in front of his eyes. Then he dozed restlessly, trying to
avoid having his eyes opened. His head rolled around his shoulders as the coach rumbled
over the rough and rutted road. Morning faded to afternoon and evening into the night.
They arrived at the ferry, crossed the river and then boarded another coach. The
coach rolled further away, along the river and through the woods. The surroundings held
no interest for John in his stupor.
Arrival in New York gave no sense of relief. Down at the docks there were no
ships leaving for at least a week. John met a sailor who told him there were whalers
leaving from New Bedford daily. They were always looking for good seaman. Those
captains were willing to teach young men the skills of the sea and whaling. The money
on a whaler could be much greater if hunting were good.
John found a coach heading up the coast. He was happy to be on the move again.
Waiting made him think, images of Maura flying in and out of his head. He saw her as a
cute little girl growing into a beautiful young lady.
As the coach rolled on, he thought about the money he would make. He would
come back one day a rich man. He would show Maura what she had lost. He would
come home triumphant. He would make her sorry, he thought.
On the road north, John's pain began to turn to anger. Then he would slip back
into pain. He would sleep to avoid thinking. Suddenly he would wake and stare into the
space outside the coach. Even with his eyes open, he saw nothing as it passed. Only the
scene of his beautiful Maura in the hay was visible to him.
Over and over he traveled the same road in his mind. Other passengers came and
went. He was glad when they left. Their polite conversation was annoying to him. It
took his attention away from his troubles and the self pity. He answered with rude grunts
and impolite groans to discourage their courtesy.
The coach rolled over rough and bumpy roads. It rolled on through cold
mornings, afternoons, evenings and nights. In half sleep, half awake, pain and anger,
John rolled on to meet his future.
On the morning of the third day from New York, the journey to New Bedford
ended. The coach stopped at the depot located directly on the waterfront. John got out of
the coach, his legs barely straightening from their confines in the cold, winter dampness
of the road.
Unable to unbend his knees and back, he moved around leaning forward like a
chicken. He chuckled as he thought about his father's affliction and how much he must
look like him at that moment.

29

A Christmas Trilogy

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A Christmas Trilogy