A Cowboy Writes to His Sweetheart at Christmas

By Heather Blanton

This is a letter from my collection. I have no information on the author or the folks he references, no last names, location, nothing. I don't know who Mary and Charlie were, but I hope they never spent another Christmas apart. I have left the letter as-is verbatim, though I did clean up some spelling. I am struck by Charlie's vivid imagery. But back then, letter writing was an art. He seems to just let his heart and his mind wander dreamily. At least that's my impression. What's yours?  Merry Christmas, y'all!

December 26, 1881

My dearest Mary,

 You asked me to tell you how we spent Christmas on the ranch. I venture to guess, it was a far cry from how you spent yours in New York City. I can just see you in the December twilight, hurrying down the snowy sidewalk, your silk hem leaving swirly prints in the powder like little snakes, your dainty black books becoming wet and shiny as you bustle about. Then you dashed up the stairs to your brother’s brownstone to enjoy hot chocolate, the embraces of your family, and a true smorgasbord of food. I bet you had ham and goose, maybe even pheasant. Fresh fruits and vegetables. And desserts. Not just pies, either, but cookies and candy, because sugar is plentiful in the city.

You decorated your tree with delicate glass ornaments, glistening tin cut-outs, perhaps white porcelain stars? You hung presents on the tree as well--store-bought presents. I can imagine the pearl necklace from your parents only pales in comparison to your beauty.

On the ranch, things were different as different can be. I rode fence Christmas Eve. The wind howled and the snow fell in blustery, biting swirls. The air was so frigid it liked to have froze me to death. If not for the fence, I most likely would have lost my way more than once. Upon my return, I can say I was never so glad to see the warm glow of the bunkhouse windows.

Us fellas gathered Christmas Eve night in Mr. Chester’s parlor. Mrs. Chester and the two little girls did a fine job of decorating the tree with popcorn, red ribbons, cookie dough ornaments, and some holly berries. The family then presented all us hands with new neckerchiefs, wool socks knitted by Mrs. Chester’s sweet hands, and our own plate of butter cookies. Much to my surprise and delight, Mr. Chester promoted me to foreman as Jack has given his notice and will be leaving in a few weeks. To celebrate the occasion, Mr. Chester presented me with a new lariat. I am very gratified by this change in my status, Mary, for reasons you may deduce.

The boys and I went back to the bunkhouse and exchanged a few gifts. Pete. S. gave me a fine buck knife from his collection, and I gave him a pair of my spurs. I am ashamed to say I had lamented the gift a little until I was told of the promotion. The jump in pay will much ease the loss of the spurs. I suppose, though, a gift that is easy to give is not much of a gift.

I have several small gifts waiting here for you when you return, and one of greater import. We shall have Christmas in January, you and I, and celebrate not only the season that has passed but a bright and sparkling future. Especially so now. If you see things the way I see them, that is.

I cannot tell you how empty Christmas was without you, Mary, and I hope never to be parted from you again. That is bold of me to say. You know my heart, though, the words I long to say, the dreams I hope to share with you.

I can only say in this letter that I hope you will hurry home.

With deepest affection,

Charlie

Sing Along

The things I end up researching, just to be sure I’ve got something correct and the rabbit holes I vanish down on the Internet while researching. Last week, while researching for my current WIP (work in progress), it was whether or not terrycloth was manufactured in the mid to late 1870s. Yep, it was. Still can’t find a definitive answer as to why it was called “terrycloth” but that will have to be another rabbit hole I scamper down on another day.

While also looking for information for the WIP, I needed to find out which Christmas carols would have been sung at this time. I admit, I liked diving into that rabbit hole. It smelled like pine trees. There were little lights everywhere. And, people were happy. (Okay, so that was my imagination at work.) 

Some of the carols I could guess were around in the late 1870s. However, I don’t like to guess when including historical information so I had to verify my guesses. Carols such as “The First Noel”, “It Came Upon A Midnight Clear”, “O Come All Ye Faithful”, “God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen” (and, no the comma is not in the wrong place), “The Holly and The Ivy” were all popular during this time. So also is my favorite traditional Christmas carol—“What Child Is This?” I’ve always been perversely amused that my favorite carol is set to the tune of a “crying in your beer” drinking song.

I did learn that in 1867, a book was printed for Christmas carolers entitled Christmas Carols New and Old. This book was reprinted in 1871 with a whole new list of songs and again in 1878 with all new carols. The 1867 and 1871 editions were combined into one. Carols we all probably know very well were included in these books. Many of the carols I love to sing have been around long enough to be used, if necessary in my WIP.

And, yes, there will be a midnight Christmas Eve scene in the WIP. I spent the better part of an hour writing, deleting, rewriting, deleting again, writing AGAIN to get the details correct of this small country church bathed in the muted flickering glow of candle-light, scented with freshly cut pine boughs, while the snow softly falls outside. (I think I just described a Thomas Kinkade painting.)

I also discovered something about the hero in this WIP. Try as he might, he can’t carry a tune in a bucket.

I will leave you with this version of “What Child Is This?” and wish you happiness, peace, and joy. May the blessings of this season be upon you and with you.

What Child is this who, laid to rest

On Mary's lap is sleeping?

Whom Angels greet with anthems sweet,

While shepherds watch are keeping?

            This, this is Christ the King,

Whom shepherds guard and Angels sing;

Haste, haste, to bring Him laud,

The Babe, the Son of Mary.

2. Why lies He in such mean estate,

Where ox and ass are feeding?

Good Christians, fear, for sinners here

The silent Word is pleading.

Nails, spear shall pierce Him through,

The cross be borne for me, for you.

Hail, hail the Word made flesh,

The Babe, the Son of Mary.

3. So bring Him incense, gold and myrrh,

Come peasant, king to own Him;

The King of kings salvation brings,

Let loving hearts enthrone Him.

Raise, raise a song on high,

The virgin sings her lullaby.

Joy, joy for Christ is born,

The Babe, the Son of Mary.