She watched from the door as he walked to the wagon, put his foot on the sideboard, and then paused. She sighed as he returned to the house. “Joel, if you—”
Whatever she was going to say was silenced by his kiss. “There,” he said when he drew back. “I knew I’d forgotten something. See you later tonight!”
This time she wrapped up in the thick shawl she kept by the door, and she accompanied him to the wagon. “Give Brother Jensen my warmest wishes for his recovery,” she said as Joel slid onto the wagon’s seat.
“Rotten luck for him, breaking his leg like this,” Joel said, “although better now than during planting or harvest, I’d say.”
“It will cheer him to see you, I know.” She pulled the wagon robe tighter around his feet. “And I hope the cookies will be enjoyable for him. Don’t eat them on the way.”
Brother Jensen, the aging man who served as the pastor of their tiny congregation, had broken his leg in a fall from his barn loft. A widower, he had lain alone for thirty hours until someone stopped by and found him. The leg was slow in setting, and the church members were taking turns bringing him food and companionship.
Elizabeth was almost looking forward to Joel’s absence. It gave her an entire day to work on the fruitcake. She tidied up the kitchen, made the bed, and swept the floors. Straightening the small house didn’t take long. There were really only three tiny rooms: the kitchen, the living room, and the bedroom.
With a fresh apron tied around her waist, she set forth to make fruitcake. Joel had fed the chickens and gathered the eggs that morning. They were in a bowl on the table, with a note beside them. Lizzie, where’s the egg basket? Couldn’t find it. Elizabeth breathed a sigh of relief. If he’d gone looking for it, her secret would have been exposed.
The tins of flour, salt, and baking powder went next to the eggs. The tub of lard joined them. Then she reached into the far corner of the top shelf, where she’d hidden the ingredients she’d bought at the store. They were still tucked in the egg basket, where she was sure that Joel wouldn’t bother to look.
As her hands closed around the woven handle, something small and gray and very quick scampered out of the basket, leaped to the edge of the nearest chair, and jumped onto the floor. Without a second thought, Elizabeth grabbed the broom and chased it outside, where it vanished under the woodpile.
The field mice were getting worse. Every morning she had to chase them out of the house. She’d have Joel look into traps when he went into town next.
This is the prairie, she told herself. I’m not the only creature out here. I have to expect that there will be mice and snakes and—
She broke off the thought before she could go any further with it. She was alone in the house for several hours, and the last thing she needed to do was start thinking about what could scare her.
What she needed to do was make a fruitcake.
She took the basket down and set it on the table. A clean bowl, a baking pan, a spoon—she scurried around the small kitchen, gathering the utensils.
At last it was all ready for her to begin. She reached into her pocket and unfolded the recipe, although she didn’t need it anymore; she had read it so many times, it was etched in her memory. She took the brightly checked cloth off her egg basket and nearly fainted.
The mouse had been busy. Every single packet had been gnawed into. The candied fruit peel had apparently not been to his liking, for he’d chewed into the package and then abandoned it after one piece. The raisins were a mess, and the brown sugar had teeth marks all around the cone. Even the tiny envelopes containing the spices had been torn into.
Elizabeth sank onto the floor and buried her face in her hands.
How was she going to make the fruitcake now? And how was she going to make this Christmas as good as the ones Joel had had before? She should have put the supplies in tins. She knew about the field mice, and she hadn’t taken the appropriate precautions.
Everything was ruined. Everything.
Joel pulled into his pastor’s farmyard and was greeted by the familiar figure of Brother Jensen at the door, waving to him.
The man hobbled out onto the hewn rock step and motioned to him with a rudimentary crutch. “Come on in, Joel! You didn’t have to come all this way, although I’m mighty glad you did. It gets a bit lonesome out here, being stove up like this with my bum leg.”
The inside of the pastor’s house was tidy, but the fire was laid awkwardly and burned too cold. Brother Jensen apologized for it, explaining that, thanks to his broken leg, he couldn’t bend over far enough to get it done correctly.
Joel realigned the logs so they were slightly angled, bark side down. “Where’s the fatwood?” he asked, looking around the stove for the soft wooden sticks that would get the fire going.
“I’m out,” Brother Jensen admitted. “I’m using what’s at the bottom of the woodpile.”
“And how are you doing that?” Joel asked suspiciously. “You shouldn’t be digging around there with your leg.”
Brother Jensen waved his objections away. “I didn’t. Well, not much. Earlier this week Karl Lund stopped by and filled a pail full of kindling. It’s nearly empty now.”
“I’ll fill it before I leave,” Joel said, smiling with satisfaction as the logs caught and began to burn cheerfully.
Brother Jensen passed Joel a plate of the cookies Elizabeth had sent over. “Would you like one? Your wife certainly is a good cook.”
Joel accepted one of the oatmeal cookies. “Elizabeth is a wonderful cook. There isn’t anything in this world she can’t make if she sets her mind to it.”
“She brings my departed Abigail to mind. Now there was another fine woman. You’re a fortunate man, Joel.”
“Amen to that, Brother Jensen. She is a godsend of a wife, and I am truly blessed.”
The two men visited about the price of wheat, the usefulness of the new threshing equipment that had arrived in Omaha, and the impending weather.
Brother Jensen grinned broadly when Joel told him his mother was coming. “We’ll pray, then, whatever winter storms are ahead for us will hold off until the new year is settled in,” the pastor said. “That’ll give you time for a visit and time for her return.”
“I appreciate your prayers,” Joel responded, “although I’m not convinced God always listens to what we order up when we talk to Him.”
The older man laughed. “Oh, He listens, all right. What’s hard for us to accept is we might, just might, be asking for the wrong thing, and He’s simply fixing things for us up there in heaven.”
“So,” Joel continued, smiling, “are you saying if we pray for calm weather and He delivers us a blizzard, there’s a reason?”
Brother Jensen nodded. “We don’t always see it right away, sometimes not for years, maybe not for centuries, but the Lord never puts down His hand on this earth without good cause.”
His voice was getting hoarse, and Joel realized the pastor needed some rest.
“I think I’d better get back,” Joel said softly, rising to his feet. “Let me bring more wood in now. You’re running low on logs.”
“I’d appreciate it, Joel. You know what the Good Book says, ‘Where no wood is, there the fire goeth out.’ “
As he refilled the woodbox inside the pastor’s house, Joel’s thoughts turned to Elizabeth. The sun was starting to set, and he’d just make it home in time for dinner. What delightful meal would she make tonight?
Elizabeth sat in the middle of her kitchen, the precious contents of the egg basket now relegated to the garbage. Outside, the sun set in a vivid blaze over the prairie, pouring liquid purples and vibrant crimsons over the snow-whitened land. Only when the glorious display was gone, swathing the land in darkest night, did she realize that Joel soon would be home, and she had nothing ready for him.
Even as she thought it, she heard the sound of the wagon approaching. She hurriedly sliced some meat and bread. It was not much, but it would have to do today.
; Stamp, stamp, stamp, stamp. Joel walked into the house.
And her heart overflowed with joy.
Chapter 5
I have to go into town,” Joel said the next morning.
“Again?” Elizabeth turned from the shirt she was mending, rose, and walked over to the window. The sky was a clear, promising blue. Not even one fluffy white cloud marred the scene.
He came up behind her and put his arms around her from the back. Together they stood, gazing at the prairie spread out before them, a vision of white snow and blue sky, all so startlingly clean and pure, it almost hurt to look at it.
“I doubt that it’ll storm today,” he said at last.
The prairie could, at any moment, turn menacing. They both knew that. A storm could blow in quickly, true, but she’d pack an emergency food bundle, and the buffalo robe would keep him warm and dry until the storm blew over.
“Anything I can pick up for you while I’m there?” he asked.
Her thoughts flew to the ingredients for the cake. She could hardly ask him to pick those up for her without arousing his suspicion. She turned to him and smiled winningly. “Can I go, too?”
“Uh, sure,” he answered. “If you want to.”
A flicker of something passed across his face as he said the words. Had she imagined it? It looked almost like—disappointment.
Her heart dropped like a stone. Didn’t he want to be with her? Was he bored with her, with their small house on the plains, already? It had been his idea to live on the prairie. If he was tired of their life, if he wanted to be alone, she must be letting him down somehow.
She strengthened her resolve. She had to go with him to town. She had to make the fruitcake. It was a link with the home and the traditions he’d left behind for the flat Nebraska farmland.
Yes, the fruitcake. That would make him happy.
Joel was quieter than usual on the ride into town, but Elizabeth couldn’t read his expression or his thoughts.
Every once in a while he’d look at her and smile, and all her doubts would evaporate, no more substantial than the tiny puffs of snow kicked up by the horses’ hooves as they followed the worn path through the snowy landscape. But for the most part, he kept whatever was going through his mind to himself. She would have given anything to know what he was thinking about so intently.
Fear, or maybe worry, washed over her, a feeling so overwhelming, she felt as if she were drowning in it. She had to do something to break into his thoughts.
“So what are you going to get in town?” Her words, unnaturally loud, rang through the still winter air like shots.
He glanced over at her and smiled almost guiltily. “Oh,” he hedged, “something. Nothing.”
“Well, is it something or is it nothing?” Her voice sounded more impatient than she had intended. “It’s neither. It’s both.”
She nodded. “Very well. Just as long as we’re clear about it.”
He laughed and let the reins drop onto his lap as he reached across the wagon seat and enclosed her in his arms. Day and Lily, used to the trip, plodded along methodically.
“You silly goose,” he said as he held her closely. His lips were cold against her forehead. “Why do you think I’m going into town? It’s not quite two weeks until Christmas.”
How could she have been such a ninny? Of course he’d get her a present, just as she was making something for him: the fruitcake.
Curiosity caught hold of her. “What are you getting me?”
He shook his head. “Oh, no. You’re not charming that secret out of me.”
“Please?” she wheedled.
“No.”
“Is it a hat?”
He shook his head.
“A new bowl.”
“No.”
“A necklace.”
“No. You can quit asking. I won’t tell.”
“Oh, Joel.” She sank back and pretended to pout.
“But you can tell me what you got me,” he said as he picked up the reins and tched to the horses to go faster.
“I can’t!” She tried to keep the panic out of her voice but was unsuccessful.
“Don’t I even get to guess?” he teased.
“No. I mean, I’d rather you didn’t.”
He shrugged happily. “Then don’t ask me any more questions about your present.”
The remainder of the ride into town she spent half asleep, dreaming of Christmas secrets. The wagon rumbled to a stop, and she woke with a start. They were already in town, in front of Mr. Nichols’ store.
“I’ll be back pretty quick,” Joel said. He glanced at the sky, and Elizabeth’s gaze followed his. Along the horizon, thick white clouds were scudding toward them, the kind of clouds that carried snow, and lots of it.
“I’ll hurry,” she said.
They both stood beside the wagon uncertainly. “I’m going to Mr. Nichols’ store,” she said pointedly.
“Yes?” He grinned.
“If you, um, need to go in there, too …”
“Why would I need to go in there?”
It was indelicate, but there was no way around it. “For my … you know.”
Her husband pretended surprise. “They sell you-knows in there? And all the time I thought they grew wild!”
She rolled her eyes. “My present, you lunatic. You said you were getting my present today.”
“I am.”
“But don’t you need to go in there?”
“Not getting it there,” he said, shoving his hands in his pockets and beginning to whistle.
“Where are you getting it, then?” she asked.
He lifted his shoulders and looked innocent, and at last she sighed and went inside the store, her curiosity still unresolved.
Mr. Nichols beamed at her as he hurried to her side. “Mr. Evans with you?” he asked after a surreptitious look around.
She shook her head. “He had some other errand.”
“Then tell me—how did it turn out?” Mr. Nichols waited in anticipation.
Elizabeth twisted the ties of her bag in her fingers. “Not quite as I’d hoped,” she said at last, her words so low that he had to lean forward to catch her answer.
He rubbed his hands together gleefully. “Even better! Then it exceeded your expectations?”
“Well,” she hedged, “it didn’t turn out at all the way I’d thought it would. It didn’t … it didn’t turn out at all, truth to tell.”
He rubbed his chin. “Not at all? I’ve heard the texture of fruitcake is unusual. Perhaps that’s the problem?”
She shook her head miserably. “I didn’t get to make it at all. A mouse got into the supplies before I could.”
“A mouse?” Mr. Nichols frowned. “Those miserable little creatures are certainly an annoyance. Everyone struggles with them invading their homes during the cold months of winter.”
“I do the best I can,” she said, looking down. “But there they are, no matter what I try.”
“Well, I certainly wish replacing your ingredients were something I could do without extra charge, but I’m sorry, Mrs. Evans, I can’t.”
“I know.” Her voice was almost a whisper. “I brought eggs.”
She handed the basket to him. “There aren’t as many as last time,” she said. “But I’m hoping …”
“I need eggs badly,” he told her as he lifted the cover of the basket. “Everyone in town is busily baking for Christmas, and I can’t keep up with the demand. Let me do some figuring.”
As he pulled a sheet of paper from the counter and did some quick calculations, Elizabeth picked up the hank of yarn from the display. What a horrid color.
“Interested in the yarn, Mrs. Evans?” Mr. Nichols leaned in, as if to close the sale.
“Is this the only yarn you have?” She knew she shouldn’t even be inquiring; she didn’t have any way to pay for it. She almost sighed with relief when the shopkeeper shook his head.
“No, I’m sorry. That’s all I have left. The colorful s
keins went earlier, for Christmas knitting, I assume.”
“Well, then,” Elizabeth said, giving the yarn one final pat, “I’ll stay with what I have.”
“It looks to me like we’re about even, Mrs. Evans. I can replace your ingredients in exchange for the eggs.”
“I can’t pay for it,” she said, “and I won’t buy on credit.”
“I’d be glad to extend you a line of credit,” he said. “You’re a regular customer, and your chickens are reliable. You can pay me later.”
She paused. Mittens would be nice, but she could not bring herself to take something she had not paid for. “No,” she said, “I can’t, but thank you for your offer.”
The sound of a cough behind them alerted them to the fact that Joel was there, too.
“Time to go?” she asked, gathering the ingredients Mr. Nichols hastily assembled.
He nodded. “Looks like we have a storm to outrun.” His voice sounded cheerful, but she detected an undercurrent of worry.
Elizabeth gathered up the supplies, checked to see that they were nestled in the basket. This time all of the ingredients were in tins. They were her last hope for a good Christmas for her husband.
Then she went out to face the storm with him.
Chapter 6
The flakes swirled with increasing intensity as Joel and Elizabeth ventured across the prairie. Snow gathered in thick heaps and piles in the folds of the buffalo robe and quilts Elizabeth had tucked around them. What had begun as an easy winter snowfall drastically increased in strength until it became a full-bore blizzard. The temperature dropped measurably, and although his legs and feet were warm enough under the covers, Joel had to drive with his elbows tucked tightly against his chest to hold the blankets in place as the wind increased. An icy finger of frozen air slipped its way in as a gust lifted the top quilt, and he shivered involuntarily.
Joel reached up to wipe away the icy whiteness from his eyebrows and eyelashes, and snow cascaded down his sleeve. He didn’t dare take his eyes off the road to shake the melting snow from his arm. He had to move them forward.
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