Unable to sleep, Lucinda sat up and stared into the fire. “This is the most amazing Christmas I’ve ever had, but I feel as though something more will happen,” she said to no one in particular.
“It has been a sacred experience,” Pearl agreed and rolled to a sitting position.
David roused up and looked puzzled. “It does seem incomplete, somehow. I, too, feel like I’m waiting for something more.”
“Maybe that’s why I don’t want the night to end.” Lucinda felt David’s loving eyes on her, and they smiled across the fire.
Soft drumbeats sounded from a dark stall at the back of the room. With great dignity, Yarrow Woman in her white buckskin dress with its heavy beaded designs, her dark hair in two thick braids down her back, came to the fire. She pulled up a log stump and sat. “Before we sleep this night, we must give thanks for this lowly stable as refuge from the storm and protection from the disease in the cabin beyond. Please bow your heads.”
Lucinda closed her eyes and listened intently to the prayer. Yarrow Woman expressed all that was in Lucinda’s heart and warmed her with peace and gratitude. When Yarrow Woman pronounced the amen, Lucinda and the others echoed it.
Again Yarrow Woman softly beat the little drum. “It is now Christmas Day. Would you like to hear the legend based on the birth of our Savior as told by my people?”
Lucinda’s breath caught. Was this what they had been waiting for? “Yes. Oh yes.” Her voice chimed in unison with the others.
“In the country north of us,” Yarrow Woman began in her firm but soft voice, “there is the he sapa, a range of pine-covered mountains so green that from a distance they look black. At the foot of the he sapa are the mysterious mako sica, or Badlands, a mass of buttes and spires that stretch as far as the eye can see. The Badlands end at the sweeping prairie, long and wide and rolling. To the Northern Plains tribes who live there, all of creation—animals, birds, insects, plants, and humanity—are part of the sacred hoop. The Lakota express this as mitakuye oyasin.
“A very long time ago, the people who had been full of goodwill and generosity of spirit began to lose those virtues. The wise men were much concerned and fasted and prayed diligently to the Great Spirit for help. He heard their prayers and told the grandfathers to bring the people together on the longest night in the month of the moon.
“Out of curiosity, they came, hard of heart, selfish and arrogant, to wait and watch. They were not disappointed, for as the light darkened, they saw an eagle. It soared in high, wide circles above the Black Hills and out over the mysterious Badlands until the setting sun struck fire upon its wings. This was the signal, the grandfathers said. For what, they refused to say.
“The night settled like black velvet, and the people lit a huge bonfire. They encircled the fire and sat, watching the sparks rise among the stars. The air, cold and crisp, was scented with the sweet smoke. The night sky was radiant, the silence vast, peaceful, expectant.
“When the hush became so deep the titmouse could be heard, the representatives for mitakuye oyasin began to arrive—Those Who Fly and the Four-Leggeds—and take their place in the circle. They sat together around the glowing coals until all their heartbeats were as one.
“Then the snow goose stepped forward. ‘The people have gone astray from the cycles of their journey and are lost. I will teach them the patterns of the seasons.’
“The chipmunk came to the fire. ‘The Two-Leggeds wander, hungry and without purpose. I will teach them to gather and store the harvest. I will share my store of nuts.’
“The great buffalo lumbered up and stood with lowered head. ‘The people waste what they take and share nothing. I will give my flesh to feed them and, to warm them, my coat. I will give myself away.’
“The eagle flew up and landed in the forming circle. ‘The Two-Leggeds are blind. They do not see the aftermath of their actions. Perhaps if I give them my eyes, they will see beyond the present.’
“Each representative moved to the circle to tell of a gift, the most precious portion of themselves, that they wished to share until all had spoken and the night was silent again.
“When the very air quivered with anticipation, from inside the night came the deep, sad voice of the Creator. ‘Those Who Fly and Four-Leggeds, you waste yourselves. They will accept your gifts and take the credit unto themselves.’ There was heavy silence. ‘It is I who must give myself. I will come, innocent and small.’
“‘How is that possible?’ asked the relations. ‘A Babe will be born, the Son of the Great Spirit. He will be born among the Four-Leggeds and Those Who Fly. He will give hope where there is hopelessness. He will bring love where there is hate. His name will be great among the people of the world.’
“And the people’s hearts grew soft and loving. They looked at themselves and asked what they could give to the Small One. They were told they were free to give anything, anything at all, as long as the gift required the giver to make a great sacrifice.
“So the people went in search of perfect gifts to lay at the feet of the Small One. Some found their gifts at once; others searched longer; but many searched most of their lives before they found gifts perfect enough. Some never found a gift, because once more they strayed far from the virtuous life, the Red Road. The Small One was sad about that.
“On the longest night in the month of the moon, each gift was honored and the giver given a blessing and a promise. And for a little while, the people were once again full of goodwill and generosity of spirit.
“And so it is in our time, on the longest night in the month of the moon, we bring a perfect gift to somebody and give it in the name of the Small One. Tonight I give my gift—this drum given to me by the grandfathers, that I have cherished for many years—to Baby Henderson, in the name of the Small One, our Savior and Lord, Jesus Christ.”
A holy silence filled the stable and was disturbed only by an occasional snap of an ember.
Lucinda remembered all the lavish Christmas celebrations and presents of her past. Nothing had stirred her heart like the message of this simple story. She fingered her necklace and thought how she had counted on it for her strength. It had become an idol to her! This knowledge came with a shock. Do I have the faith to give it away? It was a perfect gift and would help the young couple. She herself could never sell it for money. Giving it was truly a sacrifice.
She looked at David and found him studying her, his eyes filled with a love she had never known. As though he read her mind, he smiled and nodded.
Slowly, Lucinda returned the nod and sent her love to him. She understood. I must trust God to take care of me and not depend on things. With a prayer for strength to release the necklace and the past it represented, she slid from beneath the robe and knelt before Gigi. “In the name of the Small One, I give this necklace, cherished by generations of the House of North. It is the last tangible object from my past. It will become the foundation of the future for the House of Henderson.” And she fastened the necklace around Gigi’s neck.
Lucinda entered into the silence that once again settled over the stable as the gift was honored and the spirit of the season entered each heart.
Then David rose from his bed and walked to Kambur’s stall. He returned with the bridle and saddle blanket, knelt, and laid them at Andy’s feet. “Lucinda and I will be traveling west by train. We’ll go as far as Nebraska, where I have something I must settle with my brother. After witnessing all that Lucinda has been through, all that she has suffered, I realize I have some fences I must mend. I need to find work and let Lucinda get to know me and my family.”
“I would like that,” she said quietly.
A broad smile lit his face, and he turned back to Andy. “You have a gift with horses, so I know you will treasure Kambur and take good care of him. If you choose to breed him, the charge for his services will support your family well. Kambur is a choice animal, and I give him to you in the name of the Innocent One who left His heavenly home to come to earth and sacrifice H
imself for us.” He moved to sit beside Lucinda, cradling her in his arms.
Again the silence descended and deepened. Lucinda, safe now, felt the very air change. God’s presence seemed to come into the stable to watch with approval. Soft tears streamed down her face, and her heart burned with joy.
The fire burned low. David stirred the coals and added a log. The smoke carried sparks up through the smoke hole in the roof and left the scent of apple wood inside the stable. He returned to his place beside Lucinda, and she leaned her head on his shoulder. He again put his arms around her and held her close. “You realize that all we have in this world is eighty dollars.”
She smiled and dug into her coat pocket. “I have twenty-five cents. We are rich. Very rich.”
They both looked over at Yarrow Woman. David then looked back at Lucinda and framed her face with his hands, kissing her gently, tenderly. “We are indeed rich beyond our grandest fantasies.”
The straw rustled as Pearl pushed back her robe and stood. All eyes focused on her. “I have been praying to know what I should do. I have raised Lucinda from babyhood, and she is like my own. But she is grown now and has found a wonderful man to love and who loves her. I need to let you go and make your own way.”
Lucinda felt stricken. It had never occurred to her that Pearl would not want to be with her and David. “You’re not leaving us for good, are you?”
“Never that.” She smiled, kissed Lucinda, and crossed to where Gabriel lay. Dropping to her knees in front of the baby, she said, “I have no worldly possessions to bring, but I can give myself in service to the Lord by serving Gabriel and his family. Will you accept my gift?”
Andy and Gigi gaped at Pearl, and disbelief filled their eyes. Gigi finally found her voice. “Oui, oui.”
“Then I shall see David and Lucinda safely to their destination in Nebraska and return to you by the time you are ready to travel.”
Andy wiped away a tear and nodded. “We will love you, and you will have a home with us all the days of your life.” He turned to David and Lucinda. “Earlier we discussed this. Gigi and I would like you to be godparents to our firstborn.”
David and Lucinda nodded, unable to speak. Pearl hugged them and then moved her bed next to the baby.
Yarrow Woman stood and raised her arms. “The circle is complete. We recognize that the true meaning of Christmas is Christ’s sacrificial birth, life, death, and resurrection for us. These gifts are our poor attempts to remind us of His great sacrifice and to show our gratitude for it. May the Spirit of the Lord abide with us this day and every day during the coming year. Amen.”
EASY FRUIT COBBLER
½ cup butter
1 cup flour
1 cup sugar
1½ teaspoons baking powder
3/4 cup milk
2 cups fruit
1 cup sugar
Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Melt butter in oven in 9 x 9-inch pan. In bowl, mix flour, 1 cup sugar, baking powder, and milk. Blend well. Pour batter into pan with melted butter; don’t stir. Pour fruit over the top and sprinkle with remaining 1 cup sugar. Bake 25 minutes. Serve hot with vanilla ice cream.
A Christmas Gift of Love
by Darlene Mindrup
Chapter 1
Rose Johnson clutched the edges of the rough plank table and stared out the window at the bleak November landscape. A brisk, chill rain was pelting rhythmically against the glass pane that was the kitchen’s sole source of light. Perhaps she should light the lantern on the table and dispel some of the gloom, but her lethargy wouldn’t allow even that much effort.
Sighing, she allowed her thoughts free rein as they pushed insistently against the forced shield of her mind. For the first time in days, the tears came as relentlessly as the precipitation outside.
Papa was gone, and she was alone in the world. What was she to do now? She had nowhere to go, no one to care. If she had any relatives, she didn’t know about them. For the last twenty years, it had been just Papa and she; and before that there was Mama.
She smiled as she remembered her mother’s gentle face. Mama had died when Rose was just fifteen, and Rose had thought the pain would never go away. But it did. Slowly. Inevitably. Just as this pain would pass, too; but from experience Rose knew it would take time. Lots of time.
She could see her own reflection in the darkness of the glass. Her wide blue eyes were her only good feature. Her brown hair looked almost black against the darkness of the pane. Papa had named her Rose, but she bore no resemblance to the beautiful flower. She had never had a beau, and she knew now that she never would. At thirty-five years of age, she was well past her prime here on the prairie of the Dakota Territory.
She could hear conversation reverberating from the other room and knew that she would have to return soon. But not just yet. She needed time to herself. Time to grieve.
Since tomorrow was Thanksgiving Day, Rose had decided to forego the more formal wake that would last all night. It was well past four o’clock already and several of the others were preparing to leave, to return to their homes and their lives celebrating a national holiday established in 1863, less than six years ago, by the then president, Abraham Lincoln.
She thought about this Thanksgiving, so different from the past few years that she had spent with her father, and more recently with Ward Taylor, a good friend of her father’s. This year there would be no cooked venison with savory stuffing, no wild berry pies, no celebrating of thanks to the Lord.
Well, that was not entirely true. Although Papa was gone, she knew that she still had much to be thankful for. God had given her thirty-five wonderful years with the best papa a girl could have. Now, he was with her mother and she was truly thankful for that. The future without them she refused to consider, for it seemed terribly bleak.
Last night she had lain down to sleep wishing that she could join her parents during the night, but she had awakened this morning before the sun was up, as usual, and knew it was a fruitless wish. God must still have a purpose for her, but right now she couldn’t even begin to know what it might be. Her tired mind refused to function properly, and concern for her future continually twisted her mind with worry.
She could hear Ward’s deep voice rumbling in the outer room. Rose was always uncomfortable in his presence, even though he and her father had been friends for several years. When he came to visit she usually found an excuse to absent herself. That he knew it was obvious. Still, he hadn’t let it affect his friendship with Papa.
Frowning, she tried to think what it was that stirred that sense of panic she felt whenever he was near. He had been only kind to her. Perhaps it was the fact that he was such a large man, and when he spoke she felt he would surely rattle the walls of the small shanty where she lived. He seemed such a powerful man, such a contrast to the other men she had known. Men like her quiet, gentle papa.
And Ward’s eyes were the most incredible color of green that she had ever seen, like the shifting prairie grass in the spring, yet they seemed so vacant of any emotion. Almost cold. At least it had always seemed that way to her, but when she mentioned it to Papa, he had vehemently disagreed with her.
She shook her head slightly and tried to banish thoughts of the man from her mind. Going to the cupboard in the corner, she tried to reach the extra mugs she kept stored on the top shelf. Papa usually fetched them for her, but Papa was not here to do so now. Well, at least his body was, but not his spirit. That had been freed from the pain of the last several days.
She closed her eyes against the anguish of that memory. Papa’s twisted, broken body that had been brought to her after his horse had spooked and he had been thrown from it. He had lived for three days in excruciating pain before his spirit had finally been put to rest.
She shuddered as she thought of her present company keeping watch on the now cold body of her beloved father. She had always hated the custom of wakes. Why couldn’t they just have buried him yesterday and have done with it? If they thought he was merely
unconscious and might waken at any moment, she could tell them otherwise.
A small moan escaped her and she leaned her head against the cupboard. She had heard the stories before of people being buried alive, thence the custom of wakes, but nothing would bring her papa back again, no matter how much she might wish it. If only it could be so, she would gladly let the others keep watch forever.
“Here, let me get that for you.”
Rose tensed at Ward’s voice, the timbre of it sending little chills skittering down her spine. He reached around her, pushing against her back as he stretched to the top shelf. Rose stiffened against him, turning slowly when he moved away.
Quietly, he handed her the tray of mugs, his eyes never leaving her face. Rose felt the color spread across her cheeks and unconsciously she lifted a hand to her hair to make sure her bun was still in place. Drawn back from her face so tightly, her hair only added to her wan appearance, but of this she was unaware.
Rose turned away from him and began readying the coffee, pouring the steaming brew from the blue-speckled pot she kept on the back burner of her woodstove. She pulled some sugar cookies from the jar on the counter and added them to the tray.
Feeling his eyes on her, she grew suddenly clumsy, her fingers failing to do what she required of them. When she snapped a cookie in two, she sighed with exasperation.
“Sugar cookies are my favorite,” he told her, his kindness twinkling in those green eyes. A small sound escaped from her throat before she could stop it.
Ward reached to take the tray from her, and set it on the table. When he pulled her gently into his arms she stiffened, and then suddenly she collapsed against him, her tears releasing her of the past hours of stored-up grief. He drew her closer still as he murmured soothing words of comfort.
Rose acknowledged to herself the warmth and security she felt in Ward’s arms as he rocked her gently back and forth, and while she longed to remain just where she was, a part of her told her it was not a very good idea. Finally, Rose pulled away, rubbing angrily at the wetness on her cheeks. She refused to look at Ward. “They were Papa’s favorite, too,” she told him, as though that explained everything. Lifting the coffee tray from the table, she hurried from the kitchen, Ward following close on her heels.
Tracie Peterson, Tracey V. Bateman, Pamela Griffin, JoAnn A. Grote Page 27