Cristabelle_The Christmas Bride

by Hebby Roman

  Her heart stuttered in her chest, and she wanted to shout at them. Now she’d confessed and put their sordid past behind them, here was her mother, her sick mother, looking as if she wanted to take up her old profession again.

  Her mother pushed away from the doctor, but he frowned and shook his head, keeping his arm around her. Ellie, poor little tuckered out thing, was still sleeping, curled up in bed by herself.

  “Crissy, I’m glad you’re here. I want to talk to you about your mother’s condition,” the doctor said.

  “Seems y’all have been doing a bit more than talking.”

  Her mother gasped. “Crissy, you shouldn’t—”

  “Mary, let me handle this.” Dr. Irving held up one hand. “It’s true, I’ve a tender regard for your mother, but it’s not what you think.”

  “No, Crissy, it’s not,” her mother interjected. “Dr. Irving has been nothing but kind.” She caught his hand and nestled her cheek in it. “And he’s a perfect gentleman, too—a refined and cultured gentleman.”

  He stroked her mother’s cheek, and the look in his eyes was tender.

  A frisson of something slithered down Crissy’s spine. At first, she thought it was disgust, but she soon realized the truth. She was pea-green with envy. Davie had looked at her the same way… but now it was over. She’d demanded more than he could give, and he’d let her down.

  “Does he know about everything?” She couldn’t help but ask.

  It was craven of her, she knew. But how, after having the courage to confess, was it fair for her mother to find happiness, while she was left with nothing?

  “Yes, Crissy, he knows everything, and he’s trying to help, by sending to Sacramento for records, to find out what happened to my husband.”

  “Couldn’t you write to Calum, his brother, in North Carolina?” Crissy asked. “You told me about my uncle and how he kept the family farm. Wouldn’t he know where his brother was?”

  “Crissy, over the years, I’ve written Calum several letters, and he’s never answered me but once.” She slumped, curling her shoulders. “I didn’t want to tell you how cold-hearted your uncle was, but he’s a tight-fisted man. He knew I needed money to come home after Ian ran off.”

  “Oh, no, that’s terrible,” Crissy huffed. “But why do you care about what happened to your husband, Mama?”

  “Doesn’t your mother have a right to some kind of closure, Crissy?” Dr. Irving spoke up. “After all, she’s a practicing Catholic and until your mother knows whether her husband is dead or alive, she’s a prisoner to her past.”

  Crissy had never thought of it that way. The doctor and his big words, like “closure.” She had to admit, he was a learned man, a gentleman, as her mother claimed. And her mother, by herself, wouldn’t have known how to send for records or had the money to make inquiries. She worried, though he might be a gentleman, what the doctor wanted in return for helping Mama?

  Please, not that.

  She fished ten silver dollars out of her pocket and placed them on the table. “We can pay now, Dr. Irving. I want you to know. For medicine and records, anything my mother needs. Commander Gregor has hired me to take care of his house and daughter.”

  “Oh, Crissy!” Her mother got to her feet and came to her, throwing her arms around her and hugging her. “I’m so happy for you! What wonderful news.”

  “Yes, it is wonderful news. I’m glad the commander recognized your efforts, now Miss Phillips will be leaving us,” Dr. Irving chimed in. “But I don’t want your money.” He glanced at her mother. “I told you, I’ve a tender regard for your mother, Crissy, and I want to help you take care of her.”

  He held up both hands, palms out. “And there’s no need to pay me, either you or your mother. I won’t be doing anything dishonorable—”

  “What he’s trying to say, is he cares for me, to sit and talk and be good friends, Crissy,” her mother interrupted. “We’ve been seeing each other for several months, during the day, while you were working.”

  Her mother held her by the shoulders and gazed into her eyes. “Nothing dishonorable has gone on. Nothing. We play checkers or pinochle, sometimes, like you and I. Do you understand?”

  Crissy wet her lips and tried to smile. She lowered her head and blushed, realizing how wrong and awful she’d been. “Of course, Mama, if you say so, I understand.” She licked her lips again and raised her head. “And… and I’m glad for you, Mama. Very glad.”

  “Good. I’m pleased it’s settled,” her mother said, giving her another hug. “Now, you must listen to the doctor explain about my condition. All right?”

  “Yes, please.” She pulled out a chair and sat down.

  The doctor glanced at Ellie, who was still sleeping. “I’ll explain, and then I need to waken the girl and examine her for injuries.”

  “Of course, doctor,” Crissy said.

  She glanced at the pot-belly stove. It was cold-looking with the banked embers a dead gray color—there was no fire. Last night and this morning had been full of distractions; she’d forgotten to fetch wood and make coffee. She got to her feet.

  Her mother reached out and touched her arm. “Sit, honey. We’ll get the fire going and coffee brewing in a bit.”

  “Yes, Mama.”

  She took her seat again, and the three of them gathered at the table.

  “All right, first, let me explain about the word, ‘consumption’ as a medical term. It is not the name for one particular disease,” the doctor began. “Unfortunately, my profession, for lack of a better word or term, uses it to cover a range of lung diseases from a simple chill to bronchitis to… to… a deadly form of a disease some European doctors are trying to prove is contagious.”

  “Contagious?” Crissy asked. Another big word, but the Ursulines had taught her well. “You mean the disease can be given to another person, by being around them. Am I right?”

  “Precisely, though, doctors and scientists are still researching how certain diseases are transmitted from one person to another.” He inhaled and slowly released his breath. “Most doctors don’t know how. At least, not yet, but science marches on.

  “I believe when your mother first took ill, she had a severe bronchial infection with perhaps, the beginning of something worse,” he continued. “But because you were willing to take care of her and let her rest, she’s doing better. Coughing less and less with your simple home remedies.”

  He pulled out a large brown bottle and placed it on the table. “This is laudanum, a drug much used, but I wish it was used with more care. However, for now, it will control your mother’s coughing. I’ve sent, again, to Austin, for a mixture of laudanum and an herb called bugleweed or Virginia horehound. The two, mixed together, are excellent for a bad cough, and the strength of the laudanum is less, which is always preferable.

  “As I mentioned to you earlier, too much unrestrained coughing can damage other organs in the body—”

  “What about the blood I saw on her handkerchief?” Crissy asked. “I could tell you were concerned when I mentioned it.”

  He pulled out her mother’s handkerchief and laid it on the table, smoothing it with his hands. “See here.” He pointed to the spots. “It’s why I was asking you about the color, but I didn’t want to alarm you until I could explain.”

  “Yes, I see the stains.”

  “They’re a brownish red, not bright red, which in my experience, means your mother has irritated her throat from coughing. Bright red is another story… the killer disease of true consumption.” He spread his long fingers on the table. His nails were close-clipped and perfectly clean. “Now, you understand my initial concern when you mentioned it at the fort.”

  “Oh, yes, I see.”

  She sat very still, her hands folded in her lap, trying to remember what Davie had said about consumption and all the people dying in Ireland. Though it had been yesterday, she guessed she’d not been paying proper attention, so taken with Davie, as s
he’d been.

  Love… or what she knew of it… was a strange thing. Making you forget what was important, leading you on a wild goose chase, like Alice, the character in “Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland,” one of her favorite books.

  “I believe,” the doctor continued, “with your care, rest, daily exercise, and nourishing food, your mother can get well.” He nodded. “In fact, I’m very hopeful, indeed.”

  “Exercise? But I thought you said my mother should rest.”

  “Yes, but I mean gentle exercise, not working twelve-hour days… or nights.” The good doctor blushed. “Simple walking, a little at first, then a bit more. But daily, around the town, working her way up to a mile or so.”

  “So much?” Crissy asked.

  “In time.”

  “And you’ve mentioned nourishment. I cook as much as I can on our little stove, but…”

  “Yes, three meals a day is what the New York doctor is advising. And he wants the patients to eat vegetables, fresh if possible, along with meat and staples, like bread.”

  “Oh, fresh vegetables, I don’t know…” She pursed her lips, considering. Maxine carried canned vegetables in her store, but fresh vegetables were hard to find. Then a thought occurred to her. “Jubilee Jackson.”

  “Pardon me, who is Jubilee Jackson?” he asked.

  “She’s a wife of one of the Seminole scouts. She lives here in Brackettville, and she raises lots and lots of fresh vegetables. Lettuce, okra, cabbage, corn, collard greens, squash, string beans… Lots and lots of vegetables. Jubilee can grow anything.

  “I have money now, and Jubilee sells her vegetables. I could buy my mother some.”

  The doctor reached across the table and touched her hand. “That’s perfect. Your mother needs to regain her appetite; she’s been losing weight.” He turned and gazed at Mary. “I think the exercise will help, too.”

  Crissy’s mother placed her hand on his arm and met his gaze. “I’ll do anything you say, Isaiah. I want to get well.”

  Mama had used his given name, Isaiah, addressing him as friend or something more. Her heart squeezed, wanting what her mother had found.

  * * *

  Crissy and her mother walked from the commander’s office, having delivered the orphaned girl, Ellie. Dr. Irving had examined her and found nothing serious. And Bless the Virgin Mary, Ellie Anderson had remembered where she came from, Nashville, Tennessee, and both her parents had relatives there.

  Commander Gregor, good man that he was, had put her with Captain MacTavish and his four children until telegraphs could be sent and received, letting her kinfolk know of her plight and what they wanted to do about Ellie.

  Crissy had initially wished the commander would have taken Ellie in, but she understood why he didn’t offer and had sought another solution. His home was in mourning, and it was difficult enough for the girl to have lost her parents. Better she be distracted by MacTavish’s rowdy brood than sink into sadness at the commander’s house, which Crissy expected to deal with starting tomorrow.

  She had her head down, watching her feet, striding beside her mother and pleased her Mama wasn’t coughing or out of breath, when she felt a light touch on her shoulder.

  Whirling around, she confronted Sergeant Davie Donovan. “What do you want?”

  “You found the child from the stagecoach massacre?” he asked.

  “Yes.” She glanced at her mother. Her mother turned to the side and walked away, a few paces.

  Crissy crossed her arms over her chest. “Why do you want to know?”

  He shrugged. “She’s an orphan now. I wondered if she had kinfolk who would—”

  “Don’t concern yourself, Sergeant, she has kinfolk in Tennessee. The commander will be contacting them.”

  “That’s good. I’m glad.”

  “But you must have had a reason for asking.”

  He looked up at the sky and down at his feet. “No one should be orphaned.”

  He pulled back his shoulders. “I know some of the ranchers around these parts—the Shahan’s come to mind. They’ve lost three children. Their youngest was born at Christmas last year, but he didn’t survive past a day or two.”

  She gasped, and tears gathered in her eyes. “Christmas is a special time, to lose your child then must have been…”

  He grimaced and nodded. “I agree. They’re due to have some happiness, and I know they’re looking to adopt a child.”

  “Well, I wish I could help the Shahan’s, and I will keep them in my prayers. But Ellie has kin she can go to.” Gazing at him, and knowing his heart was in the right place, she couldn’t help but soften her tone. “It was kind of you, thinking about the child.”

  He touched her sleeve and inclined his head. “Yesterday, you have to know I didn’t mean anything dishonorable. I don’t seem to know my own mind… or yours. Would you want to marry a soldier, shunted around from fort to fort? Not knowing if there would be decent housing for us and our children?”

  What was he saying?

  Was he asking her to marry him? And if he was, it was the most awful proposal she’d ever heard.

  “Sergeant, I have no idea what you’re getting at. The gossip you heard about my mother is true.” She raised her head and faced him. “We’ve told everyone there is to tell. I’m not my mother. I thought you wanted to take me cheaply and—”

  “Crissy,” he hissed. “You know that’s not true. I never meant to dishonor you, and I didn’t believe the rumors about your mother.” He glanced at Mama. “I don’t know how to take a wife, how to care for her, if I want to stay in the Army—”

  “It’s obvious, you don’t care enough. Otherwise, you and I would talk it out and find a way. Wouldn’t we?”

  He gazed at her and thrust his thumbs in his belt loops. “Yes, I suppose we would. But my enlistment isn’t up for two more years. And I’m to go to México tomorrow. I don’t know if we’ll be raiding or—”

  “Don’t concern yourself, Davie.” She sniffed. “It’s a weak excuse. My mother’s husband told her the same thing, when he left in ’49, to go to the goldfields. He claimed he didn’t want to expose her to danger.” She looked down. “But he never sent word, never returned.”

  “Crissy, I’m not like that.” He grabbed her arm. “I’m seriously trying to make this work between us. And if you want to sit down and talk, when I get back, we will.”

  She pulled free. “We’ll see, Sergeant, when you return.”

  He stood back. “All right. I hope you’ll be waiting for me.”

  “We’ll see.” She held out her hand to her mother.

  Her mother joined her, and they walked toward the fort’s gate.

  “Crissy,” her mother whispered, “the young man I saw in your cards. He’s the one.”

  “God Bless him then, Mama, because I don’t know if I can count on him. He’s a rogue, and I don’t know if his intentions are honorable.”

  Her mother pulled apart a space and stared at her, catching her eye. “He’s your Dr. Irving, Crissy, make no mistake about it.” Her mother clucked her tongue. “He’s a good and kind man, don’t let him go.”

  Chapter Six

  Davie laid the long fuse carefully on the ground. It started under Dawes’ saddled horse and ended in a clump of bushes. Every few inches, he gathered some dirt and covered the fuse.

  He and his fellow soldiers from Company C, headed by Captain MacTavish, had returned from México two days ago. The fort had been in an uproar, preparing for the July Fourth celebration, and the load of fireworks had arrived.

  Davie had managed to buy a string of firecrackers and several long fuses from the ordinance officer. He’d experimented with the fuses, counting off the necessary length and the seconds it took for them to burn.

  He’d waited and bided his time. In fulfilling his duty as the new First Sergeant, Dawes would be responsible for riding out with a dozen men from Company C to keep watch around the fort while
the festivities were underway. They should be mounting up in a few minutes.

  Davie dusted off his dress uniform and crouched in the bushes. He hoped he could time this right because the fuse would burn quickly. It was all a matter of timing.

  Discordant notes of music from the mess hall assailed his ears. The orchestra, which would play tonight, some soldiers and some locals, was already tuning up.

  Soon, the ladies would bring the food. Then, the celebrants, soldiers, citizens of Brackettville, neighboring ranchers, and all the Mexican citizens they’d invited, would arrive.

  He’d been surprised when his few words with Captain MacTavish had been taken seriously by the commander. They’d been sent into México on a mission, and it had been clever of Lieutenant Colonel Gregor to invite the neighboring hidalgos and alcaldes, hoping to find a connection with the bandits who had attacked the stagecoach line.

  Colonel Mackenzie was still revered on the border for having pursued hostiles and outlaws, of both Mexican or American origin, who made their livelihood by preying on local towns and ranches. His had been a heavy-handed approach, raiding into México and meting out “justice” to anyone who fell under suspicion.

  But there had been objections by the Mexican government concerning Mackenzie’s approach, and he’d been transferred to fight hostiles on the Llano Estacado, in what was known as the “Red River War.”

  The War Department must have chosen Lieutenant Colonel Gregor for his even-handed approach, hoping he could keep the fragile peace Mackenzie had wrought, while facing any new threats with discretion and a focus on proving who the real predators were.

  Davie had used his Spanish while in México, kept his eyes opened, and tried to befriend the Mexicans. To his way of thinking, most of the hidalgos and alcaldes, had appeared blameless. There were two places which had given him pause, the largest ranches, south of the border: the Márquez spread and the de Los Santos operation.

  At both these ranches, the men and their bosses had seemed secretive and guarded. Even so, their owners had been invited to the fort’s July Fourth celebration. Javier Márquez had promised to attend, but Miguel de Los Santos had been ailing, and Davie didn’t know if he would travel to Fort Clark.