Tracie Peterson, Tracey V. Bateman, Pamela Griffin, JoAnn A. Grote

by Prairie Christmas Collection

  “While the women pull taffy!” Crystin inserted eagerly. “Nana told me that.”

  “Yes.” Gavin’s word came softly. He stared into the distance, and Ivy wondered if he was thinking about his brother.

  “What about you, Ivy?” Crystin suddenly asked. “What’s your favorite thing about Christmas?”

  Ivy stopped kneading the dough, surprised the child would ask but heartened that she had. She thought back to happier Christmases. “In Boston my grandmother gives a festive party and a grand ball during the Christmas season. Everyone of importance is invited, from the mayor to the wealthy ship merchants to the doctors and their families. People come from miles around to enjoy one of her affairs. There’s dancing until all hours of the night and lavish banquets with roast goose and plum pudding. Among the many pastries she has her chef make are ladyfingers, since she knows how much I fancy them.”

  Crystin looked horrified. “You eat ladies’ fingers?”

  Ivy shared a smile with her mother. “They are thin white cookies the size of a woman’s finger. That’s how they got their name, I suppose. You dip them in chocolate, or they have chocolate spread over them. I’ve eaten them both ways.”

  “A cookie with white sugar? I can’t remember the last time I had white sugar.”

  “Brown sugar is just as good, Crystin,” Gwen said, a sting in her voice. She ducked her head back toward her book before her father could see, but the look she shot Ivy spoke volumes.

  Ivy knew the white variety was expensive because it was scarce. Most settlers used brown sugar instead. Seeing Crystin’s wistful expression, Ivy wished she hadn’t spoken.

  She pounded the dough, placed it in a pan, then covered it with a towel and left it near the warmth of the stove to rise. Thankfully, this time she hadn’t forgotten the yeast. Last time she’d made bread, her thoughts had been centered on Craig instead of the contents she mixed in the bowl, and she had omitted that most essential ingredient. Gwen had teased her mercilessly about her flat bread, and Ivy had bitten her tongue so as not to respond sharply.

  She recalled the last time she’d seen Craig, in late November when he’d taken her for another ride in his sleigh before that first snow melted to mush. He’d told her then that he also had a stepmother and stepsister, and adjustments had been difficult for him, too, at first. None of them were able to get along, so he could sympathize with Ivy’s plight.

  Then he’d said something to make her think. He told her that one day his stepsister went missing. During the search, Craig realized he didn’t actually want her gone, as he’d often thought after one of their rows. The dread he’d felt until they found her safe in the tall grasses helped to dissolve the distance between them, and he was able to open his heart and see that his stepmother and stepsister weren’t quite so bad as he’d thought. In fact, according to Craig, they had formed a caring relationship before the women had moved with his father farther west to California.

  Ivy wondered why Craig hadn’t also gone but was glad he’d decided to stay. To her amazement, she’d found him good company.

  Ivy looked at Gwen and Crystin. They could be a trial at times, especially Gwen, but Ivy wouldn’t wish evil upon either of them. Again, memory of Craig’s words during that first sleigh ride revisited her—that if she would only adjust her thinking, she might find some good in Leaning Tree. Ivy pondered the idea and recalled the past months of living on the prairie.

  She hadn’t been fond of the inch-long worms that appeared on the walls, ceiling, and floor after a hard rain months ago. Nor did she like the dirt that sifted down and once landed in her bowl of fried corn mush. And she detested the snakes that liked to hide in tall grasses—and the one that preferred the soddy this past summer and had suddenly dropped down from the inside wall, landed at the foot of her cot, and frightened her silly. She had jumped out of bed and run outside screaming, while Gwen had doubled over laughing. Still, Ivy had to admit that the little sod house stayed warmer in winter and cooler in summer than a wooden one, and since her stepfather had plastered and whitewashed the inside walls, the place even seemed somewhat cheerful.

  She enjoyed the huge canopy of sky that was often a rich, robin’s egg blue and stretched on endlessly without any buildings or trees to mar it. Wildflowers in spring dressed the grass with abundant splashes of crimson, gold, and purple, pleasing to the eye. And when she stood outside and looked in all four directions at the miles of windswept grassland, an exhilarating feeling of freedom sometimes surged through her.

  That was the sole thing about Boston that Ivy didn’t like. Sometimes she’d felt confined. Here, anytime she felt the need to leave the cramped soddy, she could walk outside for miles with nothing but the constant, whispering wind for company—and Old Rufus, when the hound chose to trot beside her. The hard work that resulted from living on the prairie and all the walking she’d done had trimmed her figure and given her muscles a strength they’d never before had. Town wasn’t so far away that she couldn’t visit, and often she did, though she had yet to make friends. Unless she could count Craig Watson as a friend …

  A rush of warmth tingled through Ivy, and she attributed it to standing so near the cookstove. She stepped over to the window and parted the curtains made of flour sacks embroidered with green flowers. A thick frost covered the ground, and a half moon provided little light. She might not want to admit it, but she was growing accustomed to living in this place.

  “Gwen, Crystin, come with me to tend the animals,” Ivy’s stepfather suddenly said.

  “Yes, Dada,” they both replied.

  Once the three left the soddy with Old Rufus trotting beside them, Ivy watched their trek to a smaller soddy that her stepfather had made to house the cow, the horse, and the chickens in winter.

  “Ivy, a word with you.” Mother’s soft voice bore a trace of sobriety, and Ivy knew she must have signaled Gavin to leave with the children so that the two of them could speak privately. She turned to face her mother.

  “I know life has been difficult for you here and that you miss Boston a great deal,” her mama began. She sat down on the bench and laid one work-worn hand over the other on the table, then stared at them. “To understand why I wouldn’t allow you to stay with your grandmother, as you asked of me, I would have to recall the past and speak of issues I long to forget. Suffice it to say, my mother and I had opposing views as to what was important, and I didn’t want you under her sole influence.”

  Ivy took a seat across the table, waiting for her to go on.

  “I love my mother, but we see things differently. She wasn’t pleased when I married your father. She wanted me to wed someone wealthier, though your father wasn’t poor. When he died, I was devastated and chose to move in with her. You were only six at the time.”

  Ivy knew this already but nodded in acknowledgment.

  “Wealth and position are of paramount importance to my mother. It’s true that I enjoyed many luxuries while growing up in my parents’ home, but your father helped me to see that there were more important matters in life, such as God and family.” Her mother reached across to take hold of Ivy’s hand. “I wanted you to learn this, too. Your father would have wanted it.”

  “I know, Mama,” Ivy said, her voice a wisp.

  “You will soon be seventeen,” her mother said. “A woman of marriageable age. I know I cannot keep you with me forever if you wish to go, but I ask that you remain here until early summer. You see,” a faint blush touched her face, “I am expecting and will need your help. Mother Morgan told me that you knew.”

  Ivy looked at her lap and nodded. She’d never spoken of that first telegram she’d sent to Grandmother but wondered if Mama might have somehow learned of it. Once Ivy found out about her mother’s delicate condition, she’d sent another telegram, this one telling her grandmother that she would have to delay her travel plans until after the baby came.

  “I only want what’s best for you, Ivy, and I considered it best to bring you with us to Nebrask
a. I wanted us to be a family. If I erred in that respect, forgive me. I don’t want us to drift apart as Gavin and his brother have done.”

  Ivy’s head snapped up. “Oh no, Mama!” She moved off the bench to hug her mother. “I could never feel any ill will toward you. I know that you love me.”

  Her mother smoothed Ivy’s hair, much as she had done when Ivy was a child. “I spoke to you of this because you’re old enough to understand such matters now. You’ve matured in the months we’ve lived here, and I thought it time that you know the lay of things. However, your grandmother loves you as well, Ivy. It is not my wish for you to bear any ill feelings toward her.”

  “I don’t, Mama.” Ivy thought about the money her grandmother had given her with explicit instructions not to tell her mother. Grandmother often did things like that, allowing Ivy to have anything she wanted against her mother’s wishes and without her knowledge. As Ivy grew older, she’d felt uneasy about the duplicity. Perhaps she should tell Mother of the fifty dollars.

  “Well, then!” her mother exclaimed, her voice light, signaling an end to the serious discussion. “If I’m to learn how to make a pink sugar mouse, I must find a way to do so with the ingredients I have. I shall make one tonight once the girls are asleep.”

  Ivy pulled away. “A pink sugar mouse?”

  “A Welsh custom. I don’t want Gwen and Crystin to be disappointed on Christmas morning when they look into their stockings.”

  “Can’t Winifred or her mother do it, since they likely know how and we plan to be at their house on Christmas Eve?”

  “Winifred has enough to do preparing for the social that she plans to hold for anyone who will come. It will be the last gathering before she turns her home into a boardinghouse this spring.”

  “Still, Christmas is a week away.”

  “Yes, but I need the practice. I’ve never made anything remotely like a sugar mouse.” Her mother smiled. “Will you help me?”

  “But, Mama, you know I haven’t yet learned to cook without burning what I do make!”

  “I know. Yet this can be something we learn together. We can help one another. Mother Morgan told me some of how it’s done, but I’ve no idea how to make the mouse pink! Berry juice from preserves perhaps? What do you think?”

  Ivy smiled. “That might work.” Suddenly she felt lighthearted and looked forward to the event. Who would have thought the idea of making a pink sugar mouse with her mother could give her such joy?

  “Will all the townspeople come to Winifred’s on Christmas Eve?” she asked.

  “All have been invited. Whether they will come or not is another matter.” A gleam lit her mother’s eye. “Was there anyone in particular you were inquiring after?”

  Ivy rose from the bench to sort through the freshly pressed laundry and collect her things. “Of course not.” Yet when thoughts of Craig visited, she realized that wasn’t entirely true.

  Chapter 5

  Christmas Eve arrived cold and windy with a few inches of new snow. Yet the weather wasn’t bad enough for Gavin to cancel their outing to his sister’s place. They bundled up for the ride in the wagon. Before they could leave the soddy, Old Rufus barked and ran to the door. Soon the jingling of bells alerted them to company. Ivy hurried to the window to see, as did Gwen and Crystin.

  “It’s Craig, and he’s in his sleigh!” Crystin announced. Gwen threw open the door. “Hulloa!”

  For a moment, Craig seemed uncertain. “Hello. I came to ask permission to take Ivy to the social.”

  Ivy felt her face warm while her stepfather seemed to mull over the request. From the twinkle in his eyes, Ivy wondered if this was the first he’d known about Craig’s invitation. “I think you’d best ask Ivy,” Gavin instructed.

  “Ivy?” Craig looked her way, his brown eyes hopeful. “Will you accompany me?”

  She hesitated, not wanting to seem too eager, then nodded and walked toward his sleigh. She did enjoy his company, even if considering him for a husband was out of the question. Instantly he scrambled from the conveyance to help her into it.

  “Can we go, too, Dada?” Ivy heard Crystin ask from behind.

  “Not this time. There is a pout; now then, I’ll have none of it,” he said a little more sternly. “Or you will have no taffy pulling this night.”

  “Oh no, Dada, I’ll be good,” Crystin hurried to say.

  As though afraid he might indeed change his mind, both Gwen and Crystin scampered in the direction of the wagon, which sat hitched up and waiting by the barn. Gavin chuckled and nodded to both Craig and Ivy before he and Ivy’s mother set off in that direction.

  The sleigh whizzed over the snow the short two miles to Winifred’s, while the wagon bumped over small drifts at a much slower pace. Ivy noticed that the Bradfords’ wagon was coming from the east, from the direction of their claim, and also headed toward town. All sixteen of the Bradfords appeared to be packed inside.

  “I’m surprised they’re taking the time to go to something like this,” Ivy mused.

  “A social is good enough reason for everyone to put off work for a few hours,” Craig explained. “They’re few and far between, especially this time of year. I worked extra hard this week at the smithy getting orders filled so that I would have today to enjoy with my neighbors.”

  Despite the chill air blowing on parts of her face not covered by the woolen scarf, Ivy’s skin and insides warmed with embarrassment. She hadn’t reckoned on Craig hearing her observation about the Bradfords. The man must have the hearing of a hound! Yet she was glad that he would be there—just as a friend, of course. Ivy certainly had no other reason for desiring his company.

  Sleigh bells ringing, they soon arrived at the white timbered house. A curl of gray smoke rose into the sky from the chimney. Craig took care of the horse and sleigh, while Ivy hurried up the wooden steps. Thankfully, they weren’t coated in ice.

  Winifred met her at the door. “Hello, Ivy. I’m glad you could make it! But …” Her brow creased, and she looked behind Ivy in the direction of the road. “Where are my brother, your mother, and my nieces?”

  “They took the wagon. Craig brought me.” Too late, she realized the slip of using his first name in public.

  Winifred smiled. “Come in and get warm.”

  Ivy did so, though she left her cloak on. It was cold inside even with the fire to warm the parlor. From what Ivy knew, the Pettigrasses were the only people in Leaning Tree to own a genuine parlor, but then, Winifred’s husband was wealthy, though not as wealthy as Ivy’s grandmother. As Ivy drew nearer to the blaze, she noticed wood didn’t burn there but the usual “Nebraska coal,” as her stepfather chose to call the cow refuse. She looked toward the corner where someone had chopped down a wild plum bush to use as a Christmas tree and had decorated it with strings of popcorn.

  “Greetings, Ivy,” Bronwyn said, coming from another room, a fine china cup and saucer in her hand. “Have some wassail to warm yourself.” She offered the steaming cup to Ivy, who gratefully took a short sip. Piping hot apple, cloves, and cinnamon teased her tongue while delicious warmth filled her.

  The door constantly opened as more people arrived. A few were Welsh immigrants who’d also settled in Leaning Tree like the Morgans. It appeared that everyone who lived nearby was making a showing, and the parlor soon felt cramped and warm. Men and women talked and visited. Older children rushed outdoors to amuse themselves, while the younger girls sat in a circle to play with the corncob dolls they’d brought from home.

  As the afternoon progressed, some of the families left the gathering early. Mrs. Llewynn’s husband, Milton, brought out his fiddle, and lively music filled the place. A few men, including Craig, circled the baldheaded fiddle player. They clapped their hands and stomped their feet to the frenetic melody while the women flocked together and chattered away like magpies who hadn’t seen each other for an entire season. The topic was the second theft of one of Mrs. Llewynn’s chickens just that morning.

  “Well,” Mrs
. Johnson, the feed store owner’s wife, said, “I think it’s just horrendous. And on Christmas Eve, besides. Whoever would do such a thing? A definite ill-bred churl, if you ask me.” Her gaze speared Mrs. Bradford, and Ivy felt the look was deliberate. Did Rowena Johnson suspect one of the Bradford children of being a chicken thief?

  “I’ll be thankful when we get a sheriff for this town,” Mrs. Llewynn said. “As well as a preacher.” Suddenly she was all smiles. “I hear, dear Winifred, that the men of Leaning Tree asked your husband to act as our first mayor.”

  “Yes,” Winifred said. “It is all so exciting.”

  “Then he has agreed?” the doctor’s wife, Adella Miller, asked.

  Ivy’s attention was diverted to Bronwyn, who offered each of the guests their choice from a platter layered with fancy iced cookies and sliced fruitcake. Ivy had never seen Crystin’s eyes go so round as they did when her grandmother held out the tray toward her. The child moved her small hand in the air over each item, as though uncertain of which to take, then opted for a slice of fruitcake. Ivy took a cookie. It was brittle, but it wasn’t bad.

  “Your mother tells me of the pink sugar mouse and your attempts to make one for my granddaughters,” Bronwyn said, eyes twinkling.

  Ivy felt the blush rise to her face and was thankful no one was within hearing distance. Crystin had taken her cake and moved toward one of the Bradford children. “Yes, and sad attempts they were, too. They crumbled to nothing.”

  Bronwyn chuckled. “Tonight, after the girls sleep, I will show you both how it is done. Pleased I am that your mama tries so hard to be a good mother to Gwendolyn and Crystin. The Lord smiled the day Gavin met your mama. Before she came, lonely were the girls to have no mother.”

  Ivy saw the truth of what the elderly woman said, though her poetic way of speaking was a bit difficult to follow at times. Ivy’s mother was kind and unselfish, wanting only the best for her family. She had adapted to this wild prairie life and was a good wife to Gavin, too.