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

by Prairie Christmas Collection

  “It is also well to have you as part of our family, Ivy,” Bronwyn continued. “There is kind, you are, to be a good sister to the girls. To you as an example they look.”

  If Ivy wasn’t well trained in social etiquette, she might have gawked or allowed her cup to clatter to the saucer. Gwen definitely didn’t regard her as a friend!

  Bronwyn seemed to read her thoughts. “Gwendolyn is like my youngest son, Dai. Stubborn he is, with a strong will. The voyage to America and losing her mother years later to fever made troubles for Gwendolyn. She was made to tend Crystin much, and she, only a child herself. She is angry but does not dislike you. Many times I see her watch and imitate what you do. As she does now.” Bronwyn smiled and barely nodded to a corner of the room.

  Ivy’s gaze followed. Gwen stood, adopting the same well-postured stance as Ivy, with her little finger in the air as she sipped her tea and smiled politely at those nearby.

  Suddenly Ivy heard raised voices, and she looked to see that the Bradfords were leaving. Mr. Bradford, his face flushed, said something to Wesley. The boy grabbed the hand of one of his young brothers and hurried outside. Two of his sisters followed. Had Mrs. Bradford been offended by Mrs. Johnson’s remark or the taciturn look she’d given? She didn’t look happy. Nor did Mr. Bradford.

  Bronwyn rushed toward the couple to offer her farewells, Ivy assumed. As the front door swung open, she noticed that the sky had grown murky and a heavy snow fell. The Johnsons and another couple gathered their outer wraps, making for home as well.

  “Will you also need to leave since the weather’s taken a turn for the worse?” Craig’s voice came from near her elbow.

  Ivy managed to keep her grip on the saucer, though her cup gave a telltale clatter. She hadn’t heard him come up beside her. Perhaps there was a disadvantage to having a carpet cover the floor.

  “No,” she said. “My mother and sisters and I plan to stay and take part in the late-night taffy pulling. My stepfather will return to the soddy to tend the animals. He’ll come back for us in the morning.”

  Craig nodded. “I imagine this isn’t anything like the fancy socials you’re used to. But admit it, Ivy—you did have a good time today, didn’t you?”

  Why his words should irk her so, especially since there was a ring of truth to them, she didn’t know. She raised her chin a notch. “Why should you think that?”

  “Because your cheeks are glowing like summer-ripe strawberries, and your eyes are sparkling like blueberries after the rain.” His grin was teasing, his gaze admiring.

  Ivy felt the hot blush spread toward her ears and down her neck. She lowered her voice to a whisper so only Craig could hear. “If my face is glowing and my eyes are shining, it’s due to annoyance regarding your improper behavior, Mr. Watson. Kindly desist from further talk of comparing my features to fruit.”

  Craig let out a loud laugh, bringing a few glances their way. He shook his head, still grinning. “Boston, you are the only woman I know to get offended by a compliment. But in the future, I’ll keep your wishes in mind.”

  “Miss Ivy.” A child’s voice spoke to her right.

  Ivy swung her gaze in surprise to see Amy Bradford standing there.

  “Do you know where my mama is?”

  Alarm filled Craig as he looked at Amy, whose tousled golden hair and heavy-lidded eyes suggested she’d been sleeping. “I was hidin’ from Wesley, but he never came and found me. I don’t see none of my family here, neither.”

  Craig quickly bridged the distance to the door and opened it. Behind him the fiddle playing stopped. The wind blew the snow harder, and some of it swirled inside. He could see the Bradfords’ wagon in the distance, slowly making its way home. He closed the door and strode to the fireplace. Winifred had joined Ivy, who had an arm around the girl’s shoulders. Amy now looked wide-awake, her eyes uncertain and a little afraid. Apparently she’d just learned that she’d been left behind—again. Why the Bradfords couldn’t keep track of their children, Craig didn’t understand. Fourteen kids was a lot for any couple, but this kind of situation happened far too often to be called accidental. More like negligent.

  He hunkered down in front of the child and smiled. “Ever ride in a sleigh, Amy?”

  She shook her head no.

  “Would you like to? We can catch up to your folks in no time.”

  Her eyes began to shine. “You mean that sleigh with all those pretty ringin’ bells? Oh yes, Mr. Watson. I’d like that awful much.”

  “Then let’s hurry.”

  While Craig shrugged into his outerwear, Ivy buttoned Amy’s threadbare coat, which looked a size too small. “Is this all you have to wear, Amy? Have you no hat or scarf?”

  The girl shook her head.

  “I’ll just go upstairs and get a quilt to wrap her up in,” Winifred offered.

  The wind raised its voice, an angry foe, and now Craig could hear it shrieking through the eaves. “Better make it fast, ma’am. I want to get back before the weather gets worse.”

  “You think it will?” Ivy asked, concern edging her voice. “Are you certain you should risk it then? I’m sure Amy’s parents will know that she’s here and safe with us.”

  He grinned. “You worried about me, Boston?”

  “Me worried? About you?” Pink stained her cheeks. “I’ve never heard of anything so vain. Why would you think such a thing? My concern was solely for Amy.”

  He chuckled. “Methinks the lady doth protest too much,” he teased under his breath so Amy couldn’t hear. “Shakespeare. Hamlet. And yes, I can read, too.”

  The pink swept up to cover Ivy’s entire face. Winifred returned with the quilt, and Ivy quickly claimed it, kneeling down to wrap the child inside. “Merry Christmas, Amy. Mr. Watson will see that you get to your family safely.”

  “Thank you, Miss Ivy,” the little girl whispered.

  “I will be back shortly,” Craig said to Ivy. Maybe he shouldn’t have teased her, but he hadn’t meant the words in a negative way. He had only positive feelings with regard to Ivy. Yet he was beginning to wonder if she would ever feel anything for him. Eight months of trying to win her favor was a long time. Maybe such an effort really was wasted, as he’d been told often enough, and he should just give up.

  Craig bent to scoop the bundled child in his arms. He could feel her tremble against him.

  “Still cold?” he asked as he headed for the door.

  “No. I’m just hopin’ Pa won’t be mad about this fix I’m in.”

  “It’ll turn out all right. It wasn’t your fault you got left behind.” Sensing that she was still upset, he added, “Know what I do when I’m nervous or scared?”

  “Pray to God to make it all better?”

  “That, too. I also whistle. It relaxes me. Shall we whistle?”

  She grinned and nodded. Yet, as they stepped outside, the angry wind snatched their cheerful notes from their pursed lips, and Craig fought the wintry beast all the way to the sleigh.

  Staring out the window at a world of white, Ivy stood with folded arms and rubbed them. Craig had left with Amy some time ago. Not long after his sleigh took off in the direction of the Bradfords’ homestead, the wind increased to gale force, whipping snow first one way and then the other. Only for periodic snatches of time had Ivy been able to see farther than a few feet past the porch. A short time ago, the storm calmed some, though the snow still blew in whirls. At least she could see for a much greater distance than before.

  Why had she snubbed Craig yet again when he’d asked her if she was worried about him? True, she’d been embarrassed that he’d so accurately discerned her thoughts. Regardless, she shouldn’t have treated him so shamefully.

  “Ivy, come away from that window,” her mother gently commanded.

  Ivy turned. “He should have been back by now.”

  “Perhaps he went home. The smithy is only across the road.”

  “No, he told me he’d be back shortly. Something’s happened. I just know it.” She g
lanced toward the window again, as if by doing so she could summon Craig back.

  “Worrying won’t help matters, dearest. All it will do is put wrinkles in that pretty forehead of yours. Now come here and let’s pray.”

  Ivy did so, and her mother took her ice-cold hands in her own. “Father, we ask that You protect all Thy children out there. Help everyone to reach safety, and—”

  Her mother’s prayer was cut off as Ivy’s stepfather and Winifred’s husband walked into the room. Doc Miller and Mr. Llewynn were right behind them. All the men wore coats, hats, and mufflers. “We’ve talked it over, and we’re going to look for them,” Gavin explained quietly. “There is no way the Bradfords could have reached home in time. And Craig cannot have gotten far.”

  Ivy’s mother rose to hug Gavin, and Bronwyn did the same to her husband. Mrs. Llewynn wrapped the scarf a second time around her husband’s neck and fussed with his coat. Then they watched the men walk outside into the dancing snow. Ivy moved to stand beside her mother and slipped her hand into hers, both to take comfort and give encouragement. “Heavenly Father,” she said, taking up the prayer where her mother had left off and trying not to let her voice shake, “we earnestly ask that Thou wouldst be a guiding light and protect our husbands and fathers and friends so that they may find and help any who are in need.”

  Ivy’s mother squeezed her hand gently. “Amen,” she whispered.

  Chapter 6

  Minutes after Craig left the Pettigrasses, the blizzard had started in earnest. Though he wore thick gloves, he had ceased feeling his hands long ago. The unforgiving wind whipped stinging particles into his eyes, the only part of his face exposed to the blinding snow. He couldn’t tell if the constant, faint ringing he heard was in his head or from the sleigh bells. The wind drowned out most other sounds. He should have listened to Ivy. If he had, Amy would be safe by the fire right now instead of curled up in fear under the lap robe beside him.

  If only he could sense direction; if only he could see something around him besides a curtain of white. He hadn’t driven that far before the storm worsened, so he’d turned back in what he assumed was the direction of town. Now they were struggling against the wind.

  Father, my own stupidity got me into this mess. I was so sure I could beat the storm. Please don’t let a little child’s life be lost because of me. Show me where to go.

  Traveling blindly on in a foreign world of nothing but white, Craig urged the horse forward. If they stopped, the horse might freeze. He might freeze. With that thought, he moved his limbs to try to keep the blood flowing while taking care not to drop the reins. Amy’s thin arms suddenly clutched him tight around his waist. He couldn’t blame her for being scared.

  “Help, please.”

  Craig blinked. Did his ears deceive him? Had that been a human cry for help? He strained to hear against the forceful wind.

  “Help.”

  Sensing the call was coming from his right, Craig directed the horse that way. He pulled down his muffler from his mouth. “Call again so I can find you.” The wind snatched his words from him the second they reached the air, and he doubted he could be heard.

  “Over here!” The reply came, stronger this time.

  A shift in the wind made the dancing snow seem to stop and swerve. In that instant, Craig spotted a sod house with light coming from inside. He remembered it as belonging to a family who’d moved back East two summers ago after a prairie fire destroyed their crops.

  Craig guided the sleigh less than a foot from where a boy stood in the open doorway. A lamp glowed inside the rundown one-room house, devoid of all furniture except for a small bed and table. Craig questioned the intelligence of leaving Amy in the sleigh, even for a short time, but he did not know what he would find when he entered the soddy.

  “I hear the bells and know help has come.” A boy of perhaps eleven with shoulder-length black hair, brown skin, and liquid-dark eyes looked up at him. “Please to help my mama,” he implored in broken English. “She very sick.”

  Craig stepped inside. No fire burned, though a flame steadily shone in the lamp’s glass globe. Chicken feathers littered the earthen floor and table, and what was left of a stew sat in a pot. Craig would guess that he’d just discovered the identity of the chicken thief. Across the room a smaller boy sat on the cot, upon which a young woman lay stretched out, fully clothed. A baby nestled beside her.

  “I am Roberto, and that is my brother, Paulo,” the boy at the door said. “Mama sick many days, since my sister, Carmelita, come two months ago.”

  “Where is your father?” Craig asked.

  “He died when we come West. We find this place, me and Mama, and stay here now.”

  Craig moved forward. “Are you all right, ma’am?”

  The huge, dark eyes of the beauty surveyed him, but she didn’t answer.

  “Mama speak no English.”

  “How is it that you do?”

  Roberto smiled. “Boys in wagon train teach me some. Other words I learn after we leave our band.”

  Gypsies. That explained it.

  “And did you learn to steal chickens, too?”

  The boy’s eyes glittered in defense. “The store owner has many birds. My mother and brother are hungry. I am head of family now.” He puffed his small chest out. “My duty is to feed them.”

  Craig decided this wasn’t the time for reprimands. Realizing the situation wasn’t dangerous, he went to collect Amy from the sleigh. Roberto’s eyes widened when he saw the girl in Craig’s arms, and his fascinated gaze focused on her snow-covered fair hair. Craig set Amy down, shut the door, and searched for fuel to make a fire. He must get the place warm. Then he would figure out what to do next.

  “Put a table by the front window,” Bronwyn ordered a few minutes after the storm worsened and the wind increased again. “Fill it with every candle and lamp in the house. Do the same with the upstairs window, Winifred.”

  Her directives caused the women to hurry into action. Soon a yellow blaze lit up the rattling pane from the inside, and the aroma of honey from many beeswax candles filled the room. The rest of the house was dim, but if sacrificing light with which to see might help bring the men home safely, Ivy wasn’t going to complain.

  She prayed nonstop for Craig and the Bradfords, for the search party, and for her stepfather. She was surprised that she felt so strongly about her stepfather’s safety and realized she didn’t dislike him at all. Now that she was being honest with herself, she silently admitted that she approved of her mother’s husband even though he had chosen to make his home on the prairie. He took care of Ivy and never ceased to treat her as one of his daughters despite how she behaved. She burned with shame when she thought of the caustic remarks she’d flung his way upon her arrival in Nebraska. He wasn’t her own dear papa, but he was a good man, a strong man, and he obviously loved her mother. Ivy owed him her respect.

  When her thoughts returned to Craig, she forced her hands to any task that presented itself to help her forget. She couldn’t think of him right now or she might cry. It had taken a blizzard to make her realize she loved the man. She didn’t know what she would do if Craig were killed, if she never saw his sunny smile or heard his warm, teasing words again. How she wished she could retrieve every occasion on which she’d acted indifferently toward him or ignored him outright.

  As they waited, Bronwyn took the chair beside Ivy and began to speak of her son Gavin and of how proud she was of what he’d achieved. Her reminiscences brought up the conflict between Gavin and his brother, something about which Ivy often wondered. Ivy’s heart ached for the brothers and their mother, who felt torn by the anger between sons. Gavin, the oldest, strongly felt the responsibility for his family and had worked hard to keep them together. Upon reaching America, his brother had other ideas. Gavin assumed Dai would help him stake his claim during the five years necessary to possess the land, but Dai had not wanted to be a farmer. Harsh words arose between them, ending in fisticuffs, before Dai st
alked off, angry. That had been seven years ago, and to this day, Gavin and Dai had not seen one another or written to each other.

  “I pray for them, every night, to end their quarrel,” Bronwyn admitted, tears trickling freely from her eyes. “I miss my Dai. There it is. Only the Almighty can work in my sons’ stubborn hearts.”

  Ivy thought about Bronwyn’s words as she took her mother some tea with mint. “Winifred said this will help ease the sickness, and it might help to calm your nerves, too.”

  Her mother took the saucer. Ivy noticed how her hand trembled and the small amount of liquid that sloshed from the teacup.

  “Mama, please don’t be upset. We’ve prayed, and now we must trust. We mustn’t worry, as you said. My stepfather is an intelligent man; I’ve seen this. He’s not one to make foolhardy decisions.”

  Her mother laid a palm against Ivy’s cheek. “Bless you, dearest. Thank you for being such a comfort to me.”

  Ivy took her mother’s hand—a hand that had once been so smooth and pale but was now rough and brown—and kissed the inside of her callused fingers. Then she moved around the room to serve tea to the other women. She found that she enjoyed helping by doing what she could; it gave her a sense of purpose and helped to keep her thoughts off Craig.

  “Ivy,” Winifred said, “in the spring when the weather warms, the women will meet for a quilting bee each week. We would like for you to join us.”

  “Thank you, but I don’t know how to quilt.” She felt embarrassed to admit it.

  “We will teach you,” Winifred said with a faint smile. “It will be a time for us to encourage and pray for one another’s needs also. As we are doing this day,” she said more softly.

  Ivy felt tears prick her eyes at the sense of unity she suddenly felt toward these women. “I’d like that.”

  “Listen!” Adella Miller lifted her head of tight curls higher. “Do I hear bells?”