Willow Creek Christmas

by Graison, Lily

  She reached in with a trembling hand, scooped out a bit with two fingers and brought them to her mouth, tears scalding her throat as she tasted it. It was still warm, just as the woman said. She turned her head to one side, wiped her tears away with a shrug of her shoulder and grabbed the handle on the bucket, lifting it and turning. That's when she saw him. The dog the woman had called. He was as pitiful a sight as she was.

  His brown coat was filthy with dried mud. He looked as emaciated as she felt and Keri sighed when he came to a stop a few feet away. He whined, lowered his head, his floppy ears dangling in his face and Keri felt something inside her break. Tears filled her eyes again and she blinked them away, put one hand under the bucket and dumped a good bit of the old stew onto the ground for the animal. She stared at him, hoped what she'd given him was enough to appease his hunger, and resolutely put him out of her mind. She had to. She had children to worry about. Worrying about the welfare of a dog would do her no good when she couldn't do anything about it anyway.

  She sighed and turned, running around the side of the building before anyone saw her. Stopping at the corner of the building, she eyed those on the street. Music from the saloon filled the air and her eye was drawn to it the same as it was every time they ventured to town. She'd been tempted more than once to enter the building but her stomach always rolled at the thought and stopped her. She may not have a choice soon. They couldn't keep going like this and they certainly couldn't walk to California. She needed money and whoring herself out in the saloon may be the only option left.

  Pushing the thought away for now, she scanned the street before venturing out of her hiding place. It took a bit of maneuvering to get back to the other side of town without being seen but she walked into the clearing behind the mercantile a few minutes later to find her children right where she'd left them.

  Her heart nearly broke to see their gaunt faces but she smiled at them to hide her sorrow. Setting the bucket on the bench, she blinked away more tears. "It's stew," she said. "There's even a bit of meat in there, I think."

  The kids looked into the bucket, their eyes wide and expectant. When they reached in, scooping the stew and potatoes out by the handfuls, Keri nearly suffocated, her throat tight and swelling as more tears threatened to fall. She sucked in large amounts of air, willing herself to be strong for them and sat down as they ate.

  It was nearly nightfall when they'd finished. Aaron looked up at her, a frown marring his face. "Are you not going to eat, Ma?"

  Keri smiled at him. "No love. You and your sister eat it. There will be more later for me."

  When the residents of Willow Creek settled in for the night and the bucket was empty, Keri stood, held a finger to her lips to silence the children and crept to the back door of the mercantile. It opened with little resistance and she peeked over her shoulder, making sure Aaron and Sophie were still on the bench before she snuck inside.

  She could hear the woman who ran the store in the upstairs loft talking to someone, and Keri paused when the floorboards under her feet creaked. She listened and held her breath before venturing farther into the room.

  As before, she took only what she needed. Two loaves of bread, a jar of preserves, and a small bag of beans. She snuck back out, ran to the bench and gathered Aaron and Sophie, hurrying toward the outskirts of town and praying no one had seen her.

  The walk back to the shack they'd been calling home was long, the night bitterly cold, but Keri smiled as she clutched her purloined loot. They would be able to eat for a week now thanks to her stolen goods. She looked toward the sky, the moon and stars blotted out by gathering clouds, and she hoped the weather held. If it snowed now, they were as good as dead.

  Chapter Two

  The chicken coop was void of eggs again. Noah scratched at his beard while staring at the hens. He wasn't sure what was wrong with the critters but he hadn't seen an egg in over a week.

  He shut the door to the coop and ventured to the barn. The cow had been milked but she was raising a fuss about something. He looked in on her, figured she just felt like bellowing this morning, and turned to tend his horse. He bridled him but left his saddle on the railing and led him out into the morning air. Clouds filled the sky and Noah looked up, staring at the darkening horizon and knew snow was coming. He could smell it on the breeze.

  Taking up the brush, Noah groomed the horse until he shined, rubbed his neck and talked to the animal as if he were a real person. He'd found out pretty early that living alone took its toll if he never spoke, so his animals got a daily dose of stories and history as he'd seen it unfold, retold by an ex-confederate soldier who saw more death and destruction than any one man should have to endure.

  He finished up another tale of bloodshed, remembering his old friend Dwight Lytle, when he looked out across the valley. He saw smoke in the distance, lingering near the top of the trees that lined his property. Noah lowered the horse brush and stared at the thin ribbon of smoke. Was something on fire? His heart started racing at the thought.

  Turning back to the barn, he raced in, tossed the brush away and grabbed his saddle, making quick work of getting it cinched on the horse. He ran to the cabin, grabbed his gun from the hook above the mantle―only an idiot traveled into the woods without one―and stored the weapon in the scabbard on the saddle before mounting.

  The leather creaked under his weight and Noah adjusted his hat and pulled his collar up around his ears when the wind shifted. The first tiny flakes of snow drifted toward him, fluttering by his face as he took up the reins, giving them a small flick to get the horse moving.

  The ride across the valley was slow. The snow fluttering in on a wisp of a breeze turned into a downpour within minutes, whiting out the countryside. Noah debated on going back to the cabin but that smoke was still there, black and thick amongst the trees.

  He urged the horse forward and realized long moments later the smoke was coming from an old line shack that sat on the edge of his property. The building wasn't fit for anything other than firewood. It used to house cowboys watching over a herd in some long ago past, but Noah hadn't had a use for it. It leaned to one side, the roof sagging in the middle, and he was surprised it was still standing at all.

  Dismounting, he tied the horse’s reins to a nearby tree, pulled his rifle from the scabbard, and crept quietly toward the building. He could hear voices, a bit of laughter. Someone was in the shack. Squatters. Noah felt his blood race through his veins at the mere thought. His empty chicken coop came to mind and he knew why there were no eggs. Someone was stealing them. He'd bet his farm on it.

  The horse chose that moment to nay and snort, stomping one hoof into the gathering snow. Noah looked back over his shoulder at the animal and scowled, willing him to be quiet.

  The noise inside the shack stopped, someone making a shushing noise and Noah's blood pressure soared. He straightened, raised the rifle and aimed it at the door. "I know you're in there! Come on out."

  He waited, watching the door, the silence deafening.

  The snow slacked off, the flakes once again fluttering in front of him and the clink of small ice pellets began to fall. Noah waited, watching as his breath clouded the air in front of him and grew impatient. "Open up," he yelled, sighting the door with his rifle.

  When the door hinges creaked, Noah eyed the opening, waiting. The darkness inside the small shack was disconcerting. He took a step forward, sleet and snow pelting his face. When he was close enough to touch the door, he lifted his leg, kicking it open while readying his rifle.

  Startled gasps were followed by fright filled screams and the dirty faces of the street urchins he'd run into in town the day before filled his vision. They were huddled near the crumbling fireplace, the cherub-faced girl staring at him wide-eyed while she sucked on her thumb.

  He stepped into the shack, lowering his gun as he stared at them, and narrowed his eyes. "What are you doing on my property?"

  When they didn't answer, Noah took two more steps into t
he shack, his gaze landing on the boy. He met his stare head on and held it, but the slightest flicker to Noah's left side caught his attention moments before he realized someone was behind him. He turned to see the woman brandishing a frying pan, a startled look in her eyes as she lowered her arms, swinging the pan his way.

  The metal caught him square in the forehead. He saw bright flashes of light as her face wavered, her large luminous eyes fear-stricken as the world seemed to shift. His knees buckled, his bones jarring as he hit the floor, both knees driving into the wooden floorboards. The woman lifted the frying pan again, holding the weapon above her head as the world tilted on its axis. Noah fell, his head connecting with the floor, her quiet, "I'm so sorry," ringing inside his head as he lost consciousness.

  * * * *

  "Is he dead?"

  Keri scowled at Aaron's question. "No, he isn't dead." At least she hoped he wasn't. She glanced back at the man's prone form. He hadn't made so much as a twitch since she'd hit him. She wasn't even sure he was breathing. It was hard to tell with the way he was lying.

  Pacing nervously in front of him, Keri nearly chewed her bottom lip raw with worry while stealing glances at him. She recognized him. He was the man from town. The one she'd found Aaron and Sophie standing with on the sidewalk in front of the mercantile, the one who nearly ran her over in the street.

  He'd scared her half to death when she first saw him. Nothing about the man had seemed friendly, his gray eyes cold and angry. Now, seeing him lie lifeless at her feet only intensified that earlier fear. What if she had killed him?

  Aaron inched closer, his questions non-stop, and Keri pointed back toward the fireplace and waited until the boy did as she silently asked.

  She stared at the man lying near her feet for long moments, then went to her knees in front of him. Sliding his rifle away, she reached out a hand, pushing his scraggly hair away from his face and laid one finger under his nose to see if he was still breathing. He was, thank the Lord.

  Staring at his face, Keri's attention was drawn to a nasty scar running from his temple, down past his right eye and disappearing into his scraggly beard. The scar was puckered and white, which told her it was placed there years ago. She raised her hand, tentatively touching the furrowed skin. Whoever stitched it had done a poor job. The edges weren't even and it varied in width as it traveled down the length of his face.

  He was a big man, his shoulders wide, and she knew the added bulk wasn't the thick coat he wore. His hands were big, the material of the black gloves he wore straining at the seams. His dark hair hung past his shoulders, the strands unkempt, his full beard long and bushy, and even though he smelled of soap, he looked as filthy as she was.

  When he stirred, Keri scrambled to her feet and backed away. He blinked a few times, moaned, raised a hand and laid it against his forehead. Then he looked up at her.

  His eyes were so pale gray they looked silver in the low light but it took only seconds for anger to darken his irises like storm clouds, his fury nearly tangible as the air in the room seemed to dissipate. When he moved, laying one hand on the floor in front of him and trying to sit up, she grabbed his rifle and lifted it, her hands shaking as she pointed the barrel in his direction.

  It took him long minutes to climb to his feet and Keri's nerves were rattled by the time he stood to his full height in front of her. She swallowed a sudden lump forming in her throat and stared up at him, willing him to not harm them.

  He locked eyes with her again, his cold gray stare piercing her where she stood and the gun barrel wavered. She gripped the weapon more securely and took another step back. "Don't move," she said, her voice cracking as she spoke. "I don't want to shoot you, but I will."

  His gaze stayed with the gun and Keri was confident he wouldn't try to rush her. She lowered her shoulders a fraction and motioned to the door. "You just get on out of here. I don't want no trouble."

  He leaned his head to one side, his hair falling over the scarred side of his face as he narrowed his eyes at her. "This is my land, woman, so you're the one who'll be leaving."

  Sophie made the smallest of noises and Keri glanced in her direction. It was a mistake. The man snatched the gun from her hands and had it turned, lifted, and pointed at her in a matter of seconds.

  * * * *

  Noah studied the woman, taking in her bony arms, her short, limp hair, and the gauntness of her face. She was deathly pale, dark circles lay under her eyes like two large bruises and the clothes she wore weren't fit for cleaning rags. He turned his gaze to the children. His earlier assessment of them hadn't changed. They looked only slightly better than their mother did but not by much.

  The inside of the shack was bare except for the fireplace. A bundle of twigs lay off to one side, and a small pot sat close to the coals, the aroma of beans filling the air. A half-eaten loaf of bread and a jar of what looked like preserves of some kind lay on the edge of an old blanket that was stretched out in front of the fire. There wasn't anything else. No furniture, no other clothing, nothing.

  The woman made a small move and he turned his head to her. She froze and stared at him, her gaze flicking to the side of his face and he knew she was staring at that damnable scar. Heat surged through his body, embarrassment and anger filling him until he thought he'd burst from the need to scream at her. To tell her to stop staring at him like he was something foul. His pulse raced and every taunt he'd endured over the last decade assaulted him again with that one small glance. He met her gaze and lowered his head a fraction. "Get out."

  Her eyes widened, her mouth opening as if to speak but she closed it with a snap. She glanced toward her children before meeting his hardened gaze again. "Please," she whispered. "We've nowhere else to go."

  "And I care, why?"

  She flinched, her eyes turning glassy. For a split second, the notion of letting her stay entered his mind but common sense prevailed a moment later. "Get your things and go," he said. "You've taken advantage of me enough as it is." He stared at all of them in turn before asking, "You been taking my eggs?"

  The woman took a small step toward the kids and the boy sent an angry glare in Noah's direction. He lifted his chin, defiance shining in his eyes. "Them chickens barely lay any eggs," the kid said. "I've only taken four all week."

  Just as Noah suspected. He knew his hens were still laying.

  Turning to the door, Noah opened it and stood there staring at them. "There's other farms nearby. Go steal their eggs."

  He watched them gather their few belongings, the little girl starting to sniffle, her eyes filling with tears, and Noah tried to ignore the voice in the back of his mind screaming what a miserable bastard he was. What sort of man would throw a defenseless woman and two youngins out into the cold?

  One who didn't give two shits about anything anymore, that's what kind.

  The threesome left the shack and headed deeper into the woods. Noah watched them until they were out of sight, his conscious nearly eating him alive as a silent battle went on inside his head.

  He looked around the shack again, saw the pitiful fire still burning and crossed the room, disturbing the few coals still burning with the toe of his boot. When he was sure it wouldn't blaze—not that there was anything there to continue to burn—he left, pulling the door closed behind him, stored his rifle back in the scabbard and climbed into the saddle.

  The ride back to his cabin was filled with a war of words inside his head. He was near deaf by the time the barn came into view. His back burned as if the woman's accusing glare was scorching his flesh and he clenched his jaw, trying to push her image from his mind.

  Her gaunt face wouldn't leave.

  Regardless of how hard he tried, those tired, soulless eyes of hers were still there, haunting him, begging him to let them stay.

  "Damn it all to hell," he muttered, finally pulling on the horse’s reins to get the animal to stop.

  Snow was still falling, the fluttering flakes hitting his face and sticking to his beard
. He lifted a hand, brushed most of it away and turned his head, looking back over his shoulder toward the woods.

  Where had they gone? There was nothing out there, regardless of what he'd told them. Nothing but trees and the creek. No shelter from the wind or the snow. They'd be dead by morning if they had to sleep on the ground.

  A barrage of hateful words filled his head, all of them directed at himself, and he realized in that moment, all the taunts he'd heard since the war ended were coming true. He really was a monster. He'd just turned a woman and two helpless little ones out into the cold.

  Only a monster would be so heartless.

  Chapter Three

  Keri heard the horse’s heavy footfalls hitting the frozen ground seconds before she saw him. His misty figure slowly came into focus and she stopped, staring into the clearing, watching horse and rider with her heart in her throat. She ushered the children behind a large tree and waited, her blood rushing past her ears as she straightened her spine, trying not to look as terrified as she felt.

  The man’s anger was still evident, his eyes cold and menacing. He stopped, the horse dancing underneath him, and their gazes locked. He said nothing for long moments and Keri held her breath as she watched him. He was a terrifying sight. The black stallion he rode was powerful, his snorts crystallizing the air in front of him. She glanced back at the man astride the beast. The look on his face told her he'd rather be a hundred different places than sitting in front of her and she wondered what he wanted. Wondered if he'd come back for payment of those eggs Aaron had taken. At least he didn't know about the milk his cow had given up for them.

  "What's your name?"

  Keri was jarred from her silent musing by his question. He had a distinct Southern accent she hadn't paid much attention to back in the cabin but the drawl was unmistakable. She wondered why he was in Montana but dismissed the thought when he shifted, one eyebrow lifting as he waited on her to answer his question. "Keri," she said, clearing her throat when her voice cracked. "Keri Hilam." He looked to her left and she saw Aaron out of the corner of her eye. He'd walked out from behind the tree. She frowned at him for not staying hidden, then said, "That's my boy, Aaron. He's ten."