A Cowboy's Christmas Carol

by Brenda Harlen

  “I wouldn’t say that,” Dorothea protested.

  “You don’t have to say it, you just have to show Winona your sketchbook.”

  So Dorothea did, and as tea and cookies were distributed all around, Winona thumbed through the pages, admiring her daughter’s talent.

  Daphne hadn’t seen the sketches, but Evan had told her about them. If there had been a time when she might have felt unnerved to learn that his grandmother had been able to draw the faces of the biological parents she’d never really known, that time had passed when she’d started communicating with a ghost.

  “Maybe there is something of me in you after all,” Winona said to Dorothea. “Which is only fair, considering that, only a few weeks after I told Josiah we were going to have a baby, his family packed up in the middle of the night and left town without a word.

  “I was devastated,” she continued. “I cried for days, maybe weeks. I could barely eat, but I forced myself to do so because I was carrying Josiah’s baby and I believed—needed to believe—that after she was born, we would find a way to be together again.” Her smile was wistful. “To be a family.

  “When my pregnancy started to show, I was sent to a home for unwed mothers, as was the usual fate of girls who got themselves into trouble in those days.”

  “As if you did it all by yourself,” Vanessa said, unable to remain quiet about such an obvious injustice. “Because of course boys can’t be held responsible for doing what comes naturally, but girls are expected to know better—and be the sole bearer of the consequences if they don’t.”

  “I’m not saying it was right,” Winona assured her great-granddaughter. “Just that it’s the way it was.

  “And it wasn’t a bad place, really. We had chores to do around the house, and although the expectation was that most of the girls would give up their babies for adoption, we were taught how to keep a house and care for a child.

  “I went into labor in the middle of the night. I didn’t realize what it was at first, except that the pain was almost more than I could stand. Nothing they’d taught us about childbirth had prepared me for that—or maybe nothing really can.”

  “As somebody who’s recently been through the experience, I’d agree that nothing really can,” Erica said.

  “But you were a champ,” her husband said. “And most of the feeling has come back into my hand now.”

  Winona smiled, amused by the banter between the new parents.

  “Then you know that you somehow manage to focus on breathing through the pain, because when it’s all over, you’ll finally be able to hold your baby in your arms.”

  Erica nodded, looking down at the sleeping infant snuggled against her chest. “And in that moment, you know that every minute of every hour of labor was worth it.”

  “It was twenty-seven hours for me,” Winona said. “At the end of which I was more than exhausted, but then I heard my baby cry—I was certain I did—and suddenly I was crying, too.

  “‘A girl,’ the doctor said. But I wasn’t surprised. I’d known somehow, almost from the very beginning, that the life inside me was a girl. A daughter.” She looked at Dorothea now. “My Beatrix Frances, named for Josiah’s grandmother and my mother, because you were part of both of us.”

  “My middle name is Frances,” Dorothea told her. “Because it was my mom’s—my adoptive mom’s—name, too.”

  A coincidence? Daphne wondered.

  Or more proof that fate had played a big part in this family’s history?

  As she believed fate had brought Evan to Happy Hearts—and into her life—four weeks earlier.

  Winona’s smile faded as she picked up the story again. “I asked for you. I told the nurse that I wanted my baby—my Beatrix—but she shook her head and said, ‘I’m sorry. She didn’t make it.’

  “I demanded that she give me my child. But the nurse hustled away with the baby and the doctor gave me a shot, to help calm my grief, he said.

  “I lost Josiah, then I lost my baby. I had nothing left. No reason to live. They locked me up—for my own safety, they said. But I didn’t feel safe. I felt empty...”

  Dorothea took the tissue that Evan offered and dabbed at the tears that trembled on her eyelashes.

  Daphne put a hand on his arm, a gesture of comfort and understanding. Because she knew that he was experiencing a lot of the same emotions that his grandmother was, albeit with much less intensity.

  “All these years, you’ve been alive, living only a few hours away.” Winona marveled over that fact as she brushed away her own tears.

  Evan handed her a tissue, too, and she murmured her thanks before asking, “Who were your parents? Were they good to you?”

  “They were very good to me,” Dorothea said. “I had a good life. A happy family.”

  “And now you’ve got a beautiful family of your own.”

  “I’ve been fortunate,” Dorothea agreed. “And, in addition to having been raised by one wonderful woman, I now have the opportunity to get to know the other one who gave birth to me.”

  “We’ve lost so much time,” Winona said sadly.

  “But we’ve got now,” Dorothea said.

  “We do, don’t we?” her mother agreed.

  “And the holidays are almost here,” Wanda said. “Do you have any plans?”

  Winona shook her head. “Not much of anything.”

  “Would you like to come to Bronco to spend the holidays with us?”

  Fresh tears filled the old woman’s eyes. “I can’t imagine anything I’d enjoy more.”

  Daphne had always believed that Christmas was a time for making memories, and she was glad that Dorothea and Winona would have the chance to make some together this year.

  She was also inspired by their ability to connect so easily after seventy-five years apart. And as she drove back to Bronco with Evan, she thought that maybe it wasn’t so foolish to believe that a reconciliation with her own family was possible after all.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “I can’t believe it’s Christmas Eve and I’m only now wrapping presents.” Daphne rolled her shoulders, already starting to feel tight. “I should have started this last night when we got back from Rust Creek Falls.”

  “We had more pressing matters to deal with last night,” Evan reminded her.

  “There was some pressing involved,” she admitted, her lips curving at the memory. “But that could have waited until after Christmas. This can’t.”

  “I’d offer to help,” he said. “But I have a feeling that you’d want to refold every crease of paper and realign every piece of tape—just like you moved every ornament I hung when we decorated your Christmas tree.”

  “Our Christmas tree,” she said.

  He nodded an acknowledgment. “Instead, I have two words to offer that will greatly simplify your task.”

  “What are the two words?”

  “Gift bags.”

  “You’re right,” she said, then she sighed. “Except that I don’t have gift bags. I’ve got paper and ribbon and bows and—” she glanced at her watch “—I have to be at the adoption center in half an hour because Rick Howard is coming to pick up Penny.”

  “Maybe I could do ribbons and bows,” he suggested.

  “I just might take you up on that.”

  “But you’re not jumping at the offer right now,” he noted, “so would you mind if I borrowed your truck to run a couple of errands?”

  “Of course not,” she said. “The keys are in the top drawer beside the stove, registration and insurance are in the glove box.”

  He tipped her chin up to brush a light, lingering kiss on her lips. “Do you need anything while I’m out?”

  She nodded as she pulled the last piece of adhesive off the roll in her hand. “Cellophane tape.”

  * * *

  When he return
ed, more than an hour and a half later, he had the requested cellophane tape, at least a dozen gift bags of various shapes and sizes and three bags of groceries. Because Daphne had realized, when she started to assemble the ingredients for her chestnut Wellington for Christmas dinner, that she didn’t actually have chestnuts, so she’d texted a short list of groceries for Evan to pick up while he was out.

  But maybe the list hadn’t been as short as she’d thought, if he’d filled three bags with the requested items.

  “You are a lifesaver,” she told him.

  “Because of the tape or the chestnuts?”

  “Both. And the gift bags.”

  “Is Penny on her way to her new home?”

  Daphne nodded. “And Rick promised to record Fiona’s reunion with Penny and tag Happy Hearts when he posts it online.”

  “Hashtag-Best-Christmas-Gift-Ever?” he guessed.

  “I hope so,” she said, but her attention had been snagged by the courier label on the box on the counter. “What did you have delivered from Wisconsin?”

  “Let’s find out,” he said, carrying the box into the dining room where she’d been doing her wrapping so that he could use the blade of her scissors to slice through the tape.

  Curious, she peered over his shoulder as he opened the flaps, a little disappointed to see nothing more than packing peanuts.

  But Evan must have had some indication of what was inside, because he didn’t hesitate to reach in and pull out—

  “It looks like an urn,” Daphne said, studying the covered vase in his hands.

  “Because it is,” he said.

  “It’s not... Is it... Russell’s ashes?”

  “I sure hope so.” He slid his hand into the box again, sifting through the foam pieces until he came out with an envelope. Inside was a certificate of cremation for Russell John Kincaid dated December 20, 1960.

  “How did you find him?” Daphne wondered.

  “Actually, Callie Sheldrick, my assistant, did a lot of the legwork. She tracked his family tree through six cities across four different states until she found a second—or maybe it was a third—cousin of Russell’s.”

  “So you made a phone call and the cousin just put his remains in a box and shipped them by overnight courier?”

  “It was a little more complicated than that,” he explained. “But the bottom line is, the urn had gone into storage along with the rest of the contents of a house that was sold after the death of a great-aunt or uncle or someone, because apparently none of the surviving family members wanted the ashes of some distant relative they’d never met sitting on their fireplace mantel.”

  Welcome home, Russell, she thought.

  But that was an emotional response, and the practical question that needed to be asked was, “What are we supposed to do with the ashes now?”

  “I thought we could bury the urn under the peachleaf willow tree where Alice is laid to rest.”

  “Are we allowed to do that?” Daphne wondered. “From a legal perspective, I mean.”

  “In order to bury Alice here, Henry Milton would have gotten approval for part of the land to be designated a family cemetery. Since that’s already been done, there’s no prohibition against burying Alice’s fiancé beside her.”

  “Then let’s go do it,” Daphne said.

  “Now?”

  “Yes, now,” she said. “Alice and Russell have waited long enough.”

  So they put on their boots and coats, got a shovel from the barn and trekked across the snow-covered fields with Barkley to the marker beneath the peachleaf willow tree.

  “Or maybe we should wait until the spring,” Daphne said after several minutes had passed and Evan was still struggling to break the frozen ground.

  “You better be joking.”

  Daphne smiled at the sound of Alice’s voice. “I wondered when you were going to join us.”

  Evan paused with his foot on the step of the shovel when Daphne spoke aloud. “Alice is here?”

  “I’m always here.”

  “I heard her.” A grin split across Evan’s face. “She talked to me.”

  Daphne couldn’t help but laugh. “You realize you’re getting excited about talking to a ghost, don’t you?”

  “But she’s not only a ghost,” Evan said. “She’s family.”

  Her brows lifted. “Did your research of Russell’s family tree reveal something more than what you told me?”

  He shook his head. “No. But if I’ve learned anything over the last few weeks, it’s that biology isn’t the only thing that connects people. For reasons that I’m not even going to try to understand, there’s a connection between Alice and you and Russell and me and all of us together. That makes us a family.”

  “Well said.”

  Evan turned toward the direction of her voice and nearly dropped the shovel. Startled by his reaction, Daphne followed the direction of his gaze and gasped.

  Alice was there. The ghost was sitting on the top rail of the split rail fence, wearing a halter-style dress (pretty but totally inappropriate for the winter weather) with cowboy boots on her feet. And though Daphne had never seen any photos of Russell Kincaid, there was no doubt that the apparition standing next to Alice was the man she’d loved. He was tall and handsome, as dark as she was fair, and dressed in faded jeans with frayed hems and a Western-style shirt. Russell had an arm around her waist and his head tipped back against her shoulder.

  They were both smiling, and there was such a feeling of love and contentment in the air, Daphne knew that Happy Hearts had never been so apt a name for the farm as it was in that precise moment.

  She glanced at Evan and saw that he was no longer looking at the ghosts—but at her. Warmth spread through her. “I think we should stop staring and start digging, don’t you?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Evan grinned, and they got to work.

  * * *

  “Christmas at the Cruises”—as Wanda referred to the occasion—was totally chaotic and absolutely wonderful. Puttering in the kitchen beside Evan’s mom, Daphne found herself reflecting on what he’d said the previous day about family, and realized it was true. Family was about more than blood—it was about shared connections. And through all those numerous and various connections ran one common thread: love. Being here with four generations of Evan’s family, she felt surrounded by love and grateful that they’d welcomed her not just into their home but their hearts.

  Maybe she was a little sad about the distance that had been allowed to develop between herself and her father, but she couldn’t bridge the gap alone. And when Evan sat down beside her and linked their hands together, she realized that she wouldn’t have to—because he was by her side.

  “Why’s there an extra place setting?” Vanessa asked when everyone had been seated around the table.

  “That empty chair is for the Ghost of Happy Hearts,” Evan teased.

  His sister glared at him from across the table. “You’re lucky that you’re too far away for me to kick.”

  His teasing smile turned into a wince as he absorbed the sharp rap of her shoe with his shin.

  “Or maybe you’re not,” Vanessa said in a deceptively sweet voice.

  “Children,” Wanda said. “Can we please sit down together for one family meal without the two of you bickering?”

  “He started it,” Vanessa said.

  Before Evan could respond to that, the doorbell rang.

  “That will be our last guest,” Wanda said as she started to push her chair away from the table.

  “I’ll get it,” Sean said. “I’m closer.”

  “Are you eager to answer the door or planning to make a mad dash out of here?” Grandma Daisy teased.

  “I’m not going anywhere,” Sean promised, looking at Wanda.

  And proved it when he returned a minute later with Eva
n’s admin assistant.

  “We’re happy you could join us, Callie,” Wanda said after all the introductions had been made.

  “I appreciate the invitation,” Callie said shyly.

  As Evan had explained to Daphne earlier, he’d found his assistant fighting back tears in the office a few days earlier. Apparently she’d just broken up with her boyfriend and her parents were going to be on a cruise over the holidays, so she was going to be alone for Christmas—a prospect that obviously made her miserable.

  So Evan had impulsively asked her to join his family for the traditional holiday meal—an invitation that had probably surprised him as much as her. But he hadn’t been certain, until right now, that she would accept it.

  And now that all the seats around the table were filled, Wanda invited her grandmother to say grace. Winona kept her prayer brief, but there were few dry eyes around the table by the time she finished expressing her thanks for the family that had welcomed her into their fold—and the platters of food waiting to be passed around.

  Topics of conversation ping-ponged across the table throughout the meal, touching upon everything from politics and current events to movies and local sports and other holiday plans. When everyone had finished eating, Daphne was pleased to note that there was nothing left of the chestnut Wellington or glazed parsnips that she’d brought—and not much of anything else, either. Callie had contributed a pumpkin pie to the feast—not homemade, she confided, but still delicious, and that had disappeared, too, along with both of the pecan pies that Grandma Daisy had made for the occasion. Of course, Evan had a generous slice of each dessert—the former with whipped cream and the latter with ice cream.

  Callie spearheaded the cleanup effort after the meal, forcing Evan to acknowledge that his assistant might have more gumption than he’d given her credit for. Vanessa and Daphne were happy to help, and they dragged Evan into the kitchen, too, refusing to perpetuate the antiquated notion that cooking and cleaning were women’s work.

  The tidying was almost done when Vanessa approached her brother with an outstretched hand. “I want the key to your apartment.”