Just a Bunch of Shepherds - Part 1

 Good morning,

Are you enjoying your December so far? I can't figure out how it could be the 10th already! I don't think it should even be the 10th of November, let alone December. What do you think?

This week has actually not been as busy as other weeks have been. I finally feel like I'm catching up on things which is so nice. And I've had time to read and even time to write! I haven't gotten back into writing 1k words every day, but compared to what I have been writing, I'm not doing badly. Plus the story I'm working on needs some research.

Today's story was going to be the first part of the Christmas story we put in our Christmas cards this year, but I was informed by my editor that it needed to be longer. Well, I haven't made it longer yet, but I thought I'd share it anyway. I hope you enjoy it.

By the way, I am hoping to post more often than just on Friday's this month. What would you all like to see? 

• Christmas decorations
• Christmas stories
• Recipes
• Tidbits about Christmas traditions
• Story prompts
• Other ideas

Let me know in the comments below what you'd like to see.

 And now, enjoy part 1 of this story.

Just a Bunch of Shepherds

Part 1

 

    The wind was blustery and cold. Frost lay heavy on the ground as the rancher, his face leathered by years of working in the burning sun and biting cold, tramped from his snug house out to the barn to begin the morning chores. The lantern he carried didn’t shed much light but it was enough. Old Sawyer, as folks called him, didn’t really need the lantern; he knew his entire ranch like he knew the layout of his home, but it was cozy somehow. Perhaps it was the suggestion of warmth and comfort as the flame flickered and glowed. Perhaps it was memories of the many hands which had carried the lantern. Whatever the reason, he always carried it on dark mornings.
    Reaching the barn, Old Sawyer opened the door which creaked a little and stepped inside. The barn was warm compared to the biting wind outside. A horse nickered.
    “I’m comin’, Tunia,” he said, his voice low and gravely. “Looks like we’re goin’ to have a cold Christmas tomorra.”
    One of the barn cats rubbed against his leg with a meow. The lone milk cow mooed, and another horse stamped in his stall.
    “I know,” the old man went on, taking down the bucket and stool so he could get to milking. “It ain’t much of a Christmas we’ll be havin’ this year with my Bessie passin’ away in the spring. But the Good Lord didn’t have much that first Christmas neither.” As he began to milk, he kept up a one sided conversation with the animals as he was in the habbit of doing. “I’m plannin’ on havin’ a nice dinner tomorra, and I think I’ll sit and read the Christmas story tonight by the fire. Or maybe I’ll read it in the mornin’. No, I reckon tonight’ll be better seein’ as how chores keep an old man like me busy even if it will be Christmas Day.”
    The cat rubbed up against him and he squirted a stream of milk into her mouth chuckling a little as he did so.
    “Stan used to do that. Remember that, Millie?”
    The cow continued to chew her cud but a gentle flip of her tail seemed to indicate that she was listening.
    “Yep,” Old Sawyer went on, “he used to milk the cows and send streams of milk to the couple cats we’d keep ‘round the place. They’d all sit and wait for him in the mornin’s.” He gave a sigh as he stood up slowly with the full pail of milk. “None of the other boys could do it like Stan could.”
    As he fed the animals and went out to break the ice in the trough, he found memories of his children and wife in almost every action.
    “Sarah Lou did love the chickens. She never lost a single one when her ma put her in charge of taking care of ‘em. Katie May was always forgettin’ to shut the gate, or couldn’t find the hidden nests, but she was plum handy in the garden an’ always knew where to find the wild berries.” A fond smile wrinkled up the old man’s eyes.
    Walking back to the house with the lantern and pail of milk, Old Sawyer watched his breath show in little clouds of white. “Cold enough for snow. But it don’t look like we’ll be gettin’ any.” He looked toward the east where the sky was turning a pale pink. “Jest cold, I reckon.”
    Before long he was busy in the kitchen fixing his breakfast. “It jest ain’t the same, Bessie,” he said, looking at the tin type hanging on the wall. “Ain’t the same at all ‘thout you bein’ here. Won’t seem much like Christmas, me bein’ alone.”
    Sitting down to eat his solitary breakfast and drink his one cup of coffee, Old Sawyer wondered what his children were doing that day. All had moved away. The girls had gotten married and one lived in the city and the other on a ranch two days ride away. As for his sons, only three were still alive. Stan had married but had died in a train accident many years before. The others were scattered across the country from California to New York and down south to Texas.
    “Dear Lord,” he prayed, “bless ‘em, where ever they be an’ whatever they are doin’. Don’t let ‘em wander from You. And Lord, if’n there’s someone in need a me this Christmas I’d be right grateful if’n ya’d let me know.”

    The morning slipped into afternoon. Old Sawyer saddled up Petunia and rode out to check on the cattle. He’d sold off much of his stock in the fall but he still had enough to keep himself busy. As he returned to the barn, he looked across the yard toward the house.
    “It’s a sad lookin’ place, ain’t it, ‘Tunia? No lights in the windows an’ it bein’ Christmas Eve an’ all. I reckon maybe I’ll put some candles in the windows like my Bessie used ta do.” He dismounted. “I weren’t goin’ ta, seein’ it’s only me that’d see ‘em, but–” He stopped and looked again at the house.
    The windows were dark and no friendly smoke rose from the chimney. Not a trace of Christmas cheer could be seen.
    Old Sawyer sighed.
    His horse nudged his shoulder, and the older man nodded as he led Petunia inside the warm barn. “I reckon yer right, ‘Tunia. Someone might come down the road an’ it might put a spark a cheer in ‘em an’ remind ‘em of the Savior Who came an’ brought light to this dark old world.” As he talked, he unsaddled his horse, brushed her down, and then said as he started on the evening chores. “That house is a might too big for a lone feller like me. Maybe I should think of movin’. But I ain’t young like I used ta be.”

Do you put candles in the windows?

Does this month seem to be flying?

What do you want to see on this blog?