‘The Rifle’ - A story of Christmas Eve, 1881

In the spirit of the season I wish to pass on an abridged version of ‘The Rifle’

written by Rian B. Anderson

It was Christmas Eve 1881.

I was fifteen years old and feeling like the world had caved in on me because there just hadn't been enough money to buy me the rifle that I'd wanted so bad that year for Christmas.

"Come on, Matt," Pa said. "Bundle up good, it's cold out tonight." I was really upset then. Not only wasn't I getting the rifle for Christmas, now Pa was dragging me out in the cold, and for no earthly reason that I could see.

Pa went into the woodshed and came out with an armload of wood--the wood I'd spent all summer hauling down from the mountain, and then all fall sawing into blocks and splitting.

Finally I said something. "Pa," I asked, "what are you doing?"

"You been by the Widow Jensen's lately?" he asked.

The Widow Jensen lived about two miles down the road. Her husband had died a year or so before and left her with three children, the oldest being eight.

We rode the two miles to Widow Jensen’s.

Widow Jensen opened the door and let us in. She had a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. The children were wrapped in another and were sitting in front of the fireplace by a very small fire that hardly gave off any heat at all.

"We brought you a few things, Ma'am," Pa said and set down the sack of flour. I put the meat on the table. Then Pa handed her the sack that had shoes in it. She opened it hesitantly and took the shoes out one pair at a time.

She bit her lower lip to keep it from trembling and then tears filled her eyes and started running down her cheeks. She looked up at Pa like she wanted to say something, but it wouldn't come out.

"We brought a load of wood too, Ma'am," Pa said, then he turned to me and said, "Matt, go bring enough in to last for awhile. Let's get that fire up to size and heat this place up."

I wasn't the same person when I went back out to bring in the wood. I had a big lump in my throat and, much as I hate to admit it, there were tears in my eyes too.

My heart swelled within me and a joy filled my soul that I'd never known before.

Out on the sled I felt a warmth that came from deep within and I didn't even notice the cold. When we had gone a ways, Pa turned to me and said, "Matt, I want you to know something.

Your ma and me have been tucking a little money away here and there all year so we could buy that rifle for you, but we didn't have quite enough. So, Son, I spent the money for shoes and a little candy for those children.

I understood, and my eyes became wet with tears again. Just then the rifle seemed very low on my list of priorities.

Pa had given me a lot more. Pa had given me much more than a rifle that night, he had given me the best Christmas of my life.