The WESTWARD Christmas BRIDES COLLECTION: 9 Historical Romances Answer the Call of the American West
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Walter’s face flamed as his eyes narrowed into tiny slits. “What exactly is that supposed to mean?”
“You haven’t gone hunting, not even once, and you don’t—”
“Now hold on a minute, missy. I may not be good at firing a gun or gutting a deer, but I have managed to drive the oxen pulling our wagon, and that ought to count for something.” Walter’s finger shook as he pointed at Cynthia. “And don’t forget that you have agreed to become my wife, so your loyalty should be to me, not some fellow who thinks he knows everything.”
“This isn’t about loyalty,” she argued. “I just think you should realize that Cole has done his best by us and try to be more grateful.”
Walter’s face hardened, and his gaze bored into her. Just as quickly, his expression softened. “My dear, we are all quite tired. So let’s stop quarreling and go see what this cabin is like. I suppose it’ll be better than me sleeping in a tent, or you and Mable taking refuge in the cold wagon.”
Cynthia relaxed some, and when the wagons headed out, she was almost glad for all the obstacles that had slowed their travels these last couple of months. Maybe there was a reason for the delays, giving her time to rethink things. Right now, she wasn’t sure she was ready to become Mrs. Walter Prentice. But did she have the nerve to tell him that? If she could choose another man, who would it be?
Chapter 8
Dear Diary,
I can’t believe we’ve been cooped up in this cabin together for eight long weeks with no letup in the weather. If anything, the snow and frigid temperatures have gotten worse. There’s so much snow piled on the cabin’s roof, I’m afraid it might cave in.
Wild animals are scarce, and fishing is almost impossible due to the frozen river. We’re running dangerously low on food, and if the men aren’t able to find fresh game soon, they’ll be forced to slaughter our oxen. It’s hard to find wood for the fire as well, and everyone is sick of eating beans.
Tempers are flaring and sharp words have been exchanged, especially between Walter and Cole. Last night Walter accused Cole of trying to kiss me, which is ridiculous, since we are never alone. I think the stress of what we are going through has caused Walter to have irrational thoughts. I have to admit, though, Cole looks at me strangely sometimes. Is it a look of desire I see on his handsome face, or does he feel sorry for me, being engaged to a man like Walter?
Jack’s children grow restless, and little Alan whines much of the time, which I’m sure gets on everyone’s nerves. Virginia and I take turns trying to occupy the children, but there’s only so much we can do with them.
Remembering the words of Colossians 4:2, I pray every day that God will bring us out of this travesty, even though, at this point, it seems futile. Short of a miracle, we could very well die in this tiny cabin.
“I hate being cooped up like this,” Cynthia’s mother complained. She wrapped her shawl tightly around her shoulders and moved closer to the fireplace, where Cynthia, Virginia, and the children were huddled.
“I know it’s hard, Mama,” Cynthia said, setting her journal aside. “At least we have a place to keep dry and somewhat warm, and it’s a lot better than the protection we would get from trying to live in our covered wagons.”
“You’re right about that,” Virginia agreed. “I’m thankful my brother found this abandoned cabin when he did, or we’d have frozen to death by now.”
Cynthia looked around their simple dwelling. Since arriving, the womenfolk had cleaned the cabin the best they could, using a broom Virginia had in her and Cole’s wagon. Each of the women had brought in a few other things as well, to give the cabin a homey feel. A red checkered cloth covered the table, and they’d used a piece of material from Mama’s trunk to drape over the window. It wasn’t the frilly curtains that had adorned the windows in their home back East, but it added some color to the once-drab room. Jack had used the wheel grease to plug a few drafty holes they’d found in the cabin walls, and it was definitely warmer in the tiny abode than what they’d been used to in their drafty wagons.
“We’ll be out of wood soon, and then what will we do for heat?” Mama asked, frowning. “Nothing we experienced on the trail before the blizzard hit was as bad as this—not the broken wagon parts, seeing those Indians, ferocious thunderstorms, deep rivers to cross, steep mountain trails, hordes of mosquitoes, or frightening wolves.” Her voice trembled, and Cynthia knew her mother was close to tears. Cynthia felt that she must try to put on a brave front in order to offer courage and hope to her mother. The trouble was, she didn’t feel courageous or hopeful at the moment. In fact, she’d never been more scared or discouraged. If worse came to worst, would they have to start using things they’d brought along to burn in place of real firewood? And when they ran out of food, how long would it be before they starved to death?
Of course Jack, in his gentle, positive way, kept telling his children that everything would be okay. When little Alan mentioned Christmas and asked if Santa Claus would find them, Jack had patted his son’s head and said he was sure Santa would come and that they’d have a Christmas no matter what.
But what kind of Christmas can we have here, with no tree to decorate, no gifts to give, and so little food to go around? Cynthia asked herself. There is certainly nothing festive or tasty about bean soup or chewy venison jerky. I hope Cole and Jack have success wherever they are hunting right now. She glanced toward the back room, where Walter had gone to rest on a cot. He’d complained of a headache earlier and said he needed to lie down. Mama had gone in to check on him awhile ago and returned to the main room, saying he’d fallen asleep.
I wonder if he faked a headache to avoid going outside in the cold and helping Jack and Cole look for a deer or some other wild game. He certainly doesn’t carry his weight around here like the other men do. The only thing Walter’s really good at is complaining and telling others what he thinks they should do. I’m beginning to believe he must have been quite spoiled when he was growing up, used to getting his own way and pouting when he didn’t.
“Let’s try to make the best of things, Mable, and trust the Lord to see us through,” Virginia said, smiling and pushing Cynthia’s thoughts aside. Cynthia could see, though, that Virginia’s smile was forced. Truth be told, she was probably frightened, but for the children’s sake, sweet Virginia was trying not to let on.
“Let’s read some verses of scripture,” Virginia suggested. “Hearing God’s Word always makes me feel better.”
“That’s a good idea,” Cynthia agreed. “It’ll help pass the time while Jack and Cole are out hunting.”
Virginia went to get the Bible from her reticule, and the women took seats at the table while the children reclined on a blanket near the fire. Opening the Bible, Virginia said, “Here’s a verse from 1 Peter 5 that offers hope when we feel depressed: ‘Casting all your care upon him; for he careth for you.’ ” She turned to another passage. “Psalm 31:24 says, ‘Be of good courage, and he shall strengthen your heart, all ye that hope in the Lord.’ ”
Mama sighed and clasped her hands. “It’s hard to be strong and wait for the Lord when we’re not sure if He will rescue us from this seemingly hopeless situation.”
“That’s why we must continue to pray and trust Him to answer our petitions,” Virginia said.
“I believe what you’re saying is true,” Cynthia interjected, “but my faith has weakened. Things really do look hopeless,” she whispered, in case Alan and Amelia were still awake.
“When our hope is lost, that’s when we need to rely fully on Him, for with God, all things are possible.” Virginia clasped the other women’s hands. “Shall we pray?”
Both women nodded.
“Heavenly Father,” Virginia quietly prayed. “Calm our fears and give us hope. Help us to trust You, even when things seem hopeless. Protect the men as they search for food, and we ask You to provide for all of our needs. Amen.”
When Cynthia opened her eyes, she saw Amelia staring up at her with an angelic expression. It tugged
on Cynthia’s heart. She didn’t know how, but she was determined to see that Jack’s precious children had a merry Christmas.
“If we don’t bag a deer or even a rabbit today, we’ll need to come up with something else to feed our group,” Cole said to Jack as they traipsed through the woods on the snowshoes they’d made.
“We’re not quite out of beans yet,” Jack reminded.
Cole rolled his eyes and groaned. “I’ve never cared for beans that much, but I can honestly say that if I never saw another bean again, it would be fine with me.”
Jack smiled. “I agree. That’s why we need to bag a deer.”
“Let’s hope that won’t take too long, ’cause if we don’t find food, we may not have long to live.”
Jack’s smile turned upside down. “I wish you wouldn’t talk like that.”
“Just statin’ facts as I see ’em.” Cole stopped walking and looked up. The snow had stopped, but it was still extremely cold, and he seriously doubted that the snow already on the ground would melt before spring. “I’ve been wondering about something, Jack.”
“What’s that?”
“Do you think Cynthia’s in love with Walter?”
Jack shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know, but they’re planning to get married, so I guess she must love him.”
Cole huffed, “I don’t see how any woman could love a crotchety, stuffy man like that, much less a lady as sweet and pretty as Cynthia.”
Jack’s eyebrows lifted as he stared at Cole. “Are you interested in Cynthia? Is that why you’re wondering if she’s in love with Walter?”
Cole rubbed his chin as he thought about the best way to answer Jack’s question. The truth was, if Cynthia wasn’t engaged to be married, he’d have already made his intentions known. But it didn’t seem right to move in on another man’s territory, even if that man was an irritating fellow like “Mr. Fancy Pants.”
“Cole, did ya hear what I said?” Jack asked, bumping Cole’s arm.
“Yeah, I heard. Just wasn’t sure how to answer.” Cole paused and rubbed his chin. “Uh, you’re not interested in Cynthia, are ya, Jack?”
“Well, um … You’re right. She is pretty, and my kids like her, too.” Jack’s gaze dropped to the snow-covered ground. “Truth is, I …”
Hearing a sudden noise, Cole turned in time to see a nice-sized buck step out of the bushes a few yards away. Immediately, he took aim and fired. The buck dropped to the ground, and Cole breathed a sigh of relief. They wouldn’t go hungry tonight, at least. For that matter, the venison they’d get from this big fellow should last a good many days. Maybe, as Virginia often said, God was truly watching out for them. If that was the case, Cole hoped God’s mercy would continue until the spring thaw.
Chapter 9
Dear Diary,
Tonight is Christmas Eve. Mama, Virginia, and I have been busy all day preparing for tomorrow, hoping to make it special for Jack’s children. The men brought in a small pine tree with soft needles. We’ve decorated it the best we can with pinecones, paper snowflakes, and pieces of colorful yarn we tied into bows on the tips of each bough.
Earlier in the week, Cole brought in some freshly broken pine branches that worked perfectly for making garland. We women were able to bind enough together to hang over the cabin’s one window and doorway. Now, with both the tree and garland, it even smells like Christmas here in the cabin. Virginia cut out a star and Jack put it on top of the tree.
I went outside to get a few more pinecones this afternoon, and Walter followed. I thought at first he’d come to help, but then he pulled me into his arms and tried to kiss me. When I turned my face away and said I was saving my kisses until our wedding night, he said I was acting like an immature child and that he had every right to kiss me. I was relieved when Jack walked past, interrupting us, but Walter looked none too happy about it. I quickly returned to the cabin to help Virginia and Mama wrap a few gifts for the children in pieces of cloth and place them under the tree. We each found some things in our wagons we thought Alan and Amelia might like. I’m giving Amelia the china-head doll Papa gave me when I was a child. I probably shouldn’t have brought it along, but I just couldn’t part with it. Now it seems more important to give it to Amelia than to hang on to it for sentimental reasons. For Alan, I have a set of dominoes. I think he’ll have fun playing with them.
Virginia plans to give both children a small blackboard with eraser and chalk. They should enjoy that as well. My prayer is that the children will have a special Christmas and we’ll all make it safely to California in the spring.
Since our food supply has dwindled to almost nothing, there will be no fancy Christmas meal tomorrow. Instead, we’ll each have a bowl of venison stew, for which I know I should feel appreciation, but I’d really hoped for a turkey. I guess I ought to be grateful that we haven’t starved to death. Prayers and faith to believe that God is still with us are what’s keeping me from giving in to despair.
Cynthia looked around at the dwelling that had been their home for a good many weeks. When they’d first settled in, they had plenty of arguments from being cooped up in such cramped quarters, but after a while, the nitpicking stopped, and they realized what had to be done. Knowing their survival depended on it, the weary pioneers settled into a routine and worked together.
Cole and Jack searched for firewood and went hunting, occasionally coming back with small game. Thankfully, the little rabbits and squirrels provided meat and also helped to make their dwindling food supplies last a bit longer.
The women took turns bringing in buckets of snow to melt in the pot they used for cooking. Between them, they were able to prepare simple dishes, adding to what the hunters had been able to provide.
Walter was another story. He kept busy doing mediocre tasks, but mostly sat at the table, pen and tablet at hand, figuring out details concerning the businesses he planned to open once they got to California, and checking his watch for the time. Sometimes he would surprise everyone and bring in some firewood while Jack and Cole were out hunting. But if the other men were there, Walter let them do most of the work. Cynthia was surprised there weren’t more arguments, especially where Walter was concerned. But everyone seemed tolerant. What was the point in arguing with him when he was so set in his ways?
Cynthia couldn’t help being a little excited though. She’d always loved the Christmas holiday, and with the special touches they’d managed inside the humble abode, it actually felt like Christmas. The little pine tree, with its few decorations, almost seemed prettier than the Christmas trees Cynthia remembered from the past. While there weren’t any store-bought ornaments or fancy garland, this tree, in all its simplicity, was like no other. It was amazing how a little tree could do so much to lift one’s spirits, and in their precarious situation, it was certainly needed.
“Sure wish I could give my kids a better Christmas,” Jack said as he and Cole began cutting up a tree that had recently fallen. Just as they’d been about to run out of the fallen deadwood they’d been able to gather in the area, a huge dead white fir tree, not far from the cabin, had toppled over, unable to bear the weight of the snow. It was a miracle from heaven that would provide them warmth for a while longer. Despite their situation, it seemed that God was intervening, giving hope each time they felt defeated.
“Kids are kids. I’m sure they’ll be happy with the few gifts Virginia and Cynthia are planning to give ’em,” Cole said.
“That may be, but I do have a gift for each of them,” Jack responded. “I have a small wooden horse that I carved for Alan, and I’m givin’ Amelia her mother’s locket.”
“I’ll bet they’ll like those things.” Cole bent down and picked up an armload of wood. “Guess I’d better take this to the cabin. Then I think one or both of us oughta go hunting. We haven’t had any fresh meat since I shot that deer a few weeks ago, and the women will be cooking what little we have left for our Christmas dinner.”
“You’re right,” Jack agreed. “If w
e don’t find some game soon, we’ll once again be in jeopardy of starving.”
“Didn’t want to say anything in front of the kids, but I saw wolf tracks beyond those trees yesterday mornin’. We’ll have to be careful when we go hunting and make sure we stay close together from here on out.”
“Good idea. I haven’t forgotten what happened before. Why don’t we go out on Christmas morning and see what we can find? It’s a cinch that Walter won’t make an effort to help us find any game. He sits around with the women all day, checkin’ the time, counting his money, and making plans for those businesses he wants to open if we ever make it to California.”
Jack grimaced. “You mean, when we get to California, don’t ya?”
“Yeah, that’s what I meant,” Cole corrected. Truth was, at this point, he wasn’t sure they’d ever make it out of these mountains.
That evening after everyone had eaten their venison stew, Cynthia suggested they sing some Christmas carols.
“That’s a good idea,” Virginia agreed. “But before we sing, maybe one of the men would like to read the Christmas story from the Bible.”
“I’d be glad to do that,” Jack said, smiling at Virginia. “It wouldn’t seem like Christmas without reading how God sent His Son to earth as a baby.”
“Is Santa comin’ tonight after we go to bed?” Alan asked, looking hopefully at his father.
Jack gave the boy’s back a light thump. “There’ll be a few Christmas presents for you and your sister in the morning; don’t ya worry about that.”
Apparently satisfied with his father’s reply, Alan climbed onto Virginia’s lap, while Amelia rested comfortably on Cynthia’s lap, and they listened to Jack start the story.
Cynthia looked at her mother and wondered if she was remembering past Christmases. Oh, how she missed Papa reading them the same story. She closed her eyes and could almost hear her father’s deep voice repeating the words Jack now read.