Free A Father's Love by Lorhainne Eckhart

The Gift – December 24, 1926
    “Make sure you and Rose are back before sundown.”
    Fourteen-year-old David Lattimer couldn’t contain his excitement, no more than he could hold back a big toothy grin as he waved to his father outside their four-room log cabin. Smoke drifted neatly from the stovepipe into the chilly island air.
    David trudged through the damp underbrush wearing three pairs of thick wool socks in his father’s old, loose leather boots. Rose, his ten-year-old sister, dogged his he e ls as she did every day. Her pigtails stuck out from under the ridiculous wool green hat he’d swear had been a cast off from the poor box. Rose was a tiny sprite of a girl, with freckles and brown eyes, wearing his old brown coat over his too small overalls. She had to roll up the pant legs and stuff the edges into her black boots, which did come from the poor box, to be able to wear them.
    Rose skipped ahead of David, swinging her arms.
    “Rose, stay behind me. The path’s too narrow up here, and you’re going to be soaked before I find the goose.” He expected her to whine, complain and to argue. However, she surprised the heck out of him when she obediently pulled in behind him on the narrow path in the thick forest, filled with old fir and cedar, on the forty acre parcel owned by his family near Cameron Lake, on Vancouver Island.
    David’s longish hair drooped in front of his eyes. He yanked off one of his red wool mitten with his teeth and tucked his thick brown hair under his dark wool cap. He knew it was time for a haircut when his mother teased he was beginning to look like a girl.
    Over his left shoulder, David cradled the Winchester ten-gauge single load shotgun. The one bequeathed from Grandfather George. He took his role as big brother seriously, making sure the gun wasn’t pointed at Rose.
    David grinned; he still couldn’t believe his father’s surprise this morning. This year, David got to hunt the Christmas Goose. A tradition passed down by his grandfather to his father. He patted his right pocket, double checking the ten spare shell casings were still where he’d put them.

    “How far do we have to walk? And where are we going to find the goose?” Rose had such a high-pitched voice, at times chattering non-stop, his poor ears ached from listening to her rattle on. If he didn’t answer her, she’d keep asking.
    “We’ll head down towards Cameron Lake. That’s where Dad and I saw a flock of winter geese the other day.”
    “But that’s an hour away.” Rose trailed behind, her voice squeaked like a wagon wheel that needed greasing. David was tempted to tell her to go home. But he wanted a goose and knew his father would be angry if Rose went home alone.
    “Would you stop complaining? You didn’t have to come.” David walked faster because he knew that’d really piss her off.

    A tightly packed snowball slammed into the back of his head, causing David to stumble. He spun around and glared at his stubborn little sister. What stung more, his head or pride, David wasn’t sure. Short, tough and determined, described Rose to a tee. Her lips scrunched up and she looked like a mad little bee. David knew, first hand, her fiery temper would lead her, head on, into a scrap. Why, just last week she sucker punched him with a solid jab to the bridge of his nose and he’d swear he’d bled like a stuck pig. But then, she’d caught him off guard, entirely by surprise, which was a low blow. Even his parents had been furious, but then they didn’t know he’d goaded her by laughing at the silly nickname. The boys at school had cat-called Rose “Sweepy” over and over. And that was all because Mama waved goodbye to Rose, calling her “Sweet Pea” in front of the town kids.
    Nevertheless, his daddy drilled into him some hard honourable lessons; no matter what, you don’t hit a girl, ever. Right now he wanted to shoot a goose, not scrap with Rose. So, David swallowed his pride and nearly choked on the