by Hebby Roman
The offer hadn’t appealed. All she wanted was Davie. A job was a job, she’d learned, working for the commander. Not all jobs were the same, of course, and she’d been singularly blessed to become his housekeeper.
But nothing took the place of being with the person you loved, heart and soul.
She twisted her hands together and glanced at the grandfather clock. The scout had said the troop would arrive around noon. Another hour to go, and the time stretched like a desert in front of her.
She tried to think of other things, like her wedding dress. She’d picked a white satin fabric from one of Maxine’s catalogues. They’d ordered the material, and they’d had to back order it. The satin, along with the lace to trim the gown and for her veil, had finally arrived, last week.
There were three weeks left until Christmas. She and her mother had a lot of sewing to do in a short time, if she wanted to have her dress ready. Her mother had started to plan a Christmas feast to follow their wedding, as a double celebration. They’d wanted to ask a few friends from the fort and town, along with Davie’s parents.
But when she’d invited Commander Gregor and Peggy, he’d scotched the idea of a small celebration, wanting them to take the place of honor at the annual fort’s Christmas feast. It was very kind of the commander, and she felt honored.
Like the Fourth of July, the woman’s auxiliary would decorate the mess hall, provide food, and gather the orchestra. There would be lots of holiday treats and dancing. But no fireworks. At some point, she and her new husband would slip away to spend the night in the Sergeant Hotel.
Crissy had no doubt, once they were alone in the hotel, she and Davie would make their own fireworks.
She gazed out the window, trying to see if horsemen were coming. So much to do and so little time. Besides sewing and planning her ceremony, there was the church decorating she wanted to share with Davie.
Desperate to keep busy, she’d used the time she had to obtain candles from Maxine, who’d given them, albeit grudgingly, saying she was a Protestant, not a Catholic, and didn’t hold with idolatrous practices.
Thinking about how tight-fisted her former, gossipy landlady was, she almost giggled.
Her mother had bought some red velvet from Maxine, though the cost was dear, and made several large bows for the wreaths and greenery. Crissy had located a piñon tree, down by the pond, which was the perfect shape and height, and she’d experimented with various ever-green trees, deciding cedar boughs would work best for the greenery.
At the same time, she’d found several of the strangely-named Possumhaw Holly trees. They’d lost their leaves, as Davie had said, but the branches were thick with bright, red berries.
She’d discovered some wild ivy, which kept its leaves during winter, to add to the greenery. And the live oaks were full of mistletoe. Of course, mistletoe was a heathen plant, and she couldn’t hang it in the church. But her mother was going to decorate the doctor’s quarters. She’d promised Crissy to make a kissing ball for their parlor.
And she couldn’t wait to kiss Davie under the mistletoe.
Gathering brightly-colored rags to make garlands for the tree had been easy enough. Isabel’s laundry, where worn-out clothes often disintegrated when washed, had turned out to be a treasure trove. She and her mother had already fashioned the multi-colored garland to drape around the tree.
The decorations were another story. She’d attempted to make her own from paper and oil paints, but she was no artist and they’d looked poor and flat. Davie could probably do better, considering how talented he was. She hoped so.
She’d canvassed the town, asking people if they’d ever owned a Christmas tree or seen one. And if they had, she asked what kind of ornaments had decorated the tree. She’d gotten a variety of answers: more bows, candy canes, pine cones, popcorn strung on thread, and apples. Jubilee Jackson had said she’d seen a Christmas tree decorated with children’s old toys, especially brightly painted ones.
From the families with children, she’d collected a box of broken toys. She’d made some smaller bows and bought candy canes from Maxine. There weren’t any pine trees near Brackettville, but she’d gathered some purple-colored buds from the prickly pear cactus and carefully scrapped off the thorns.
One thing everyone had agreed upon and what she remembered, was you needed a star for the top of the tree. She hoped, along with the candle holders, Davie could get the blacksmith to make them a star from some shiny metal to top off the tree.
She looked at the clock and found it had been only ten minutes since the last time she’d checked. She sighed.
Peggy, who she’d set to doing her multiplication tables, appeared at the door to the parlor, saying, “Miss Crissy, I think I’m done, though, you might want to check some of the bigger numbers, like fourteen by fourteen. I hope I carried the number right.”
Crissy smiled and put her arm around Peggy. She’d miss the young girl, but there was no help for it. The commander was being transferred, and for the next eighteen months, she and Davie would stay at Fort Clark or go where the Army sent them.
Peggy sat at the kitchen table, where they did her lessons on weekdays. The fort had a school but being the commander’s daughter, could have its drawbacks. Brackettville had a one-room school house, but some of the places the commander was sent were frontier outposts, lacking a town. Fort Davis was one of them.
Martha Gregor had decided the best thing was to school her child at home. It had solved some of the problems a commander’s child faced, but it had left the little girl isolated, too.
Peggy did have two girlfriends, Mrs. MacTavish’s daughter, Mavis, and Mrs. Bullis’ daughter, Cathy. But they had chores and homework, and Peggy didn’t see them more than once or twice a week.
Crissy understood what it meant to not have many friends. Though her Mama had given up her life as a ‘lady of the night’ and lived with Renzo as husband and wife, her unsavory past had been well known in San Antonio. Only a handful of Crissy’s fellow students, like Aggie, and a couple of the neighborhood children had been friendly.
She hated to leave the little girl, realizing Peggy clung to her, in place of her mother. Since she’d moved to the commander’s house, the child’s nightmares had tapered off, and Peggy was comfortable to sleep in the dark again.
Crissy was touched by the child’s love, and she loved Peggy back. She hoped their parting wouldn’t be too wrenching.
During her mother’s illness, Peggy’s schooling had been neglected. Nurse Phillips had made a few tentative attempts, but she’d had her hands full, especially toward the end. How well Crissy knew.
Peggy was behind her grade, due to the break in her education, and Crissy, when she became housekeeper, wanted to help Peggy catch up. She had a solid grammar school education from the Ursuline nuns, and the fort’s schoolmaster was kind enough to share his lesson plans and textbooks.
The commander’s daughter was smart and quick to learn. All in all, she was a joy to teach. Crissy sat beside her and scanned the multiplication tables. Peggy had gotten most of the exercise correct, except for fourteen by fourteen and nineteen by nineteen.
The grandfather clock chimed the half hour, and Crissy jumped.
Peggy looked at her and grinned. “It’s almost noon. Why don’t you go to the parade ground? Maybe they’ll come early. You never know.”
Crissy patted the child’s hand. “Bless you, it’s hard for me to sit still, waiting. It’s been such a long time.”
“I know,” Peggy said.
Crissy got up and grabbed her bonnet and cloak. West Texas winters were mostly mild, but it was a bit chilly today.
“Don’t you want to come, too?” Crissy asked.
“No.” She scrunched up her face. “I think there’s going to be a lot of kissing and hugging going on. You won’t even miss me.”
“Well, I don’t like leaving you alone for long…”
“Why not? I’m a big girl
, and the fort is safe enough. You made me a sandwich for lunch. And Papa doesn’t usually stop for lunch.”
Peggy bobbed her head and affected a deeper, almost-grown up voice when she said, “I think we’ve been neglecting my history lessons. I’m already three chapters behind. I could catch up on reading my chapters.”
“But you hate history, and I’ve been begging you to read those chapters—”
“Got you!” Peggy laughed and made a shooing motion with her hands. “Go! He should be here any minute.”
* * *
Crissy watched as the fort’s gate swung open and the cavalry troop, vivid in their dress blue uniforms and with the metal harness of their tack shined to a high polish, trotted through the gate.
Davie led the squad. Seeing him, handsome and commanding on his chestnut gelding, made Crissy’s heart gallop in her chest. Her hands itched to grab him and never let go. But Army protocol must be observed first.
The commander emerged from the headquarters’ building and stood at attention, waiting.
The troop dismounted and stood beside their mounts.
Lieutenant Colonel Gregor called out, “Attention!”
The men brought their heels together and stood up straight, shoulders thrown back. They raised their right hands and saluted. The commander returned their salute.
“Sergeant Donovan,” the commander said, “please, report to me at once. The rest of the troop is dismissed. Take your leisure for the remainder of the day.” The commander turned smartly and marched back to the headquarters’ building.
Crissy saw her chance, though, they’d need to be quick. She flew across the parade ground, not caring what anyone thought, and threw herself into Davie’s arms.
Davie laughed and caught her, lifting her off the ground and swinging her around until she was dizzy. He set her down, held her at arm’s length and said, “You’re still my beautiful Angel.”
Crissy could feel the heat rising to her face, and she knew she was turning as red as one of those Possumhaw berries.
Davie leaned down and kissed her… and kissed her… his mouth devouring hers. His hands were tight on her shoulders, holding her close.
One of the corporals, who Crissy didn’t know, cleared his throat, and said, “Begging your pardon, Sergeant, but the commander is waiting.”
Davie broke their kiss and gazed into her eyes. They were both panting, as if they’d run all the way to the pond. “See you after supper?”
“Yes, uh, but Mama made a special supper for your homecoming. It’s a surprise. I don’t know what she’s cooked. But she’d like for you to join us at six o’clock. I’ll make supper for the commander and Peggy and leave them to serve themselves. The commander already knows. There should be no problem.”
“I can’t wait.” He caressed her face with his white-gloved hand. But at the same time, she caught him, glancing over her shoulder.
“Well, I’ll see you then.” She turned to see what had caught his attention, but there was nothing to see. All of the troop had dispersed, leading their mounts toward the stables, except for one private.
He stood awkwardly, half-hidden behind a brown mare, peering out and scanning the parade ground, as if he was looking for someone. Did the man have a sweetheart or a wife, who he’d expected to greet him?
If he did, he’d been disappointed. Crissy’s heart went out to him.
Davie turned to the man and said, “Private O’Rourke, you may stable your mount. Then meet me at headquarters.”
O’Rourke swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing, and nodded. He saluted.
Crissy thought it was an odd exchange. But she really didn’t care. All she cared was Davie had returned, safe and sound. And he’d kissed her silly, in front of God and everybody. In a little over three weeks, they would be married.
She was so happy, she could cry.
* * *
Crissy licked her lips and swallowed—her throat had gone suddenly dry. Davie had peeled off his shirt—it was one of those unseasonably warm days in December, and he was about to chop down the piñon tree she’d chosen.
She’d never seen Davie’s bare chest before, and it was a sight to behold. His chest was washboard flat with the ripple of powerful muscles. Dark hair dusted his chest, and each time he moved, she could see the bunch and slide of his muscles beneath his white skin, contrasting sharply with his deeply tanned face.
He spit on his hands, leaned over, and grabbed the ax handle. He leaned down, gauging the thickness of the tree’s trunk and then he straightened. He pulled back the ax, and she glimpsed the formidable swell of his biceps.
Her heart fluttered in her chest, and her breasts swelled. Between her thighs, she felt warm and sticky, like a pot of heated molasses.
She glanced up. Their everyday shadow, Private O’Rourke, wasn’t around, but it didn’t mean he wasn’t close by. They’d sent him into the cedar breaks to gather more Possumhaw Holly branches.
If she wasn’t afraid he’d appear suddenly, like the gremlin he was, she would have thrown herself at Davie and stroked her hands over his naked flesh.
Chop, chop, the metal biting into the hard wood of the piñon tree rang out across the pond. It was as if the water amplified the sound.
Davie straightened and glanced at her, grinning. He chopped the tree’s trunk one more time and yelled out, “Timber!”
He was such a tease. The tree was about seven feet tall, hardly worthy of a shout-out, but the perfect size to fit in front of the lectern. The thick, evergreen tree toppled to the ground.
Crissy clapped.
Davie looked at her, the heat in his gaze blazing across the yards of meadow separating them. She put one foot forward, wanting to run to him, but as she’d half-expected, a shadow emerged from the tree line, his arms full of red berry branches.
Davie winked at her and grabbed his shirt, shrugging it on. He’d won his stripe back, too, succeeding in setting up the base camp and repelling bandits, trying to cross the border.
He’d wanted to tell her about some of the skirmishes, but she’d demurred, feeling faint when he talked about fighting. Together, they’d decided, once his enlistment was up, he’d work with his father in Galveston. She was blessed he was willing to give up the Army because she feared for his safety.
“O’Rourke, give Crissy the branches. I’ll need your help, taking the tree back to the church.”
“Yes, sir.” The private approached her and handed off the branches.
She cradled them against her chest and followed the men. Davie carried the trunk end with O’Rourke taking the top.
Crissy often wondered why Davie included O’Rourke every day, getting the church ready for Christmas. Was he a kind of chaperone? But it was silly, they would be married in eight days. And Davie had arranged for them to work together, getting ready for Christmas.
He’d obtained a furlough from Commander Gregor until the new year when Lieutenant Colonel Shafter would formally take over the fort. And he’d arranged for Sylvie Pedersen to take over her housekeeper duties.
She met with Peggy during the morning to oversee the child’s lessons, but Crissy’s afternoons were free. And the days had passed in a whirl of activity, getting the church decorations together. The garlands and wreaths were mostly done. She wanted to add more berries, but then they’d be finished.
The luminarias had been set up, and about twenty of the townsfolk had agreed to participate in the Christmas Eve posada. Jubilee Jackson, who was a strict Baptist, wanted to join the Catholic tradition, saying it sounded like fun.
The last, but most important part, was getting the tree up and decorating it. And today was the day. She couldn’t wait. It was hard to keep from bouncing up and down like a jack-in-the-box; she was more than excited to see how the tree would look.
They’d waited until close to Christmas Day, hoping the tree would remain fresh. Davie had set up a bucket with sand for its stand.
As
for the tree’s decorations, the bows were made, as was the multi-colored garland. The blacksmith had fashioned twenty, tin candle holders but not a star.
Davie had opposed the star, saying he had something far better, and it was a surprise. Mystified but thrilled Davie was planning a surprise, she’d given in and was crazy with waiting to see what he’d done.
The other decorations, she’d pulled together, based on people’s suggestions. It was an interesting array, from fruit and nuts and prickly pear buds to colorful, discarded toys. But she couldn’t get the image of those glistening pendants, hanging from the Christmas tree in San Antonio, out of her head.
She’d moved back in with Mama. Isaiah had cleared out a storeroom in his cabin and fixed her a temporary bedroom. It was handy because she and her mother spent most evenings sewing her wedding dress, working until their eyes were scratchy and tearing at the corners.
They’d made progress, but Crissy knew it would be close, getting the dress done in time and fitted.
She trailed after the men to the church and watched as they secured the plump tree in its stand. When it was straight, Davie stood back and dusted his hands, saying, “I didn’t know a tree could leak so much sap. I’ll need to clean up with soap.”
He leaned down and brushed her lips. “You’re frowning. What are you worrying about? We’re ahead of schedule, and we can start decorating the tree.”
“I was worrying about my wedding dress, hoping Mama and I will get it finished in time.”
He bumped her with his shoulder, obviously not wanting to touch her with his sticky hands. “Have faith. You’ll have the dress ready.”
She gazed up at him, wanting him to take her in his arms and kiss her and touch her breasts, as he’d been doing lately. His touch thrilled her, and each night, after supper, they met for a few private moments. It was their time, when Private O’Rourke was at the mess hall.
She’d be resentful, if she didn’t believe Davie was being cautious about her reputation, and he needed O’Rourke to help him with some of the heavier tasks. Still, why O’Rourke and no one else? Usually, the privates rotated duties.