The WESTWARD Christmas BRIDES COLLECTION: 9 Historical Romances Answer the Call of the American West

by Wanda E. Brunstetter, Susan Page Davis, Melanie Dobson, Cathy Liggett, Vickie McDonough, Olivia Newport, Janet Spaeth, Jennifer Rogers Spinola

  She turned and smiled at Beryl. “Merry Christmas to you, dear. But won’t you call me Clara?”

  “Thank you, I will.” Beryl’s gaze landed on a large ham resting on the worktable. “Oh my! We are in for a feast.”

  “Yes, my husband always butchers a hog before he leaves. I fix one ham at Christmas, though with only James and me here most years, it seems a bit pretentious.”

  “When do you cook the second one?”

  “The day after Mr. Lassen gets home. That is always a time for celebration.”

  “Yes,” Beryl said, tying on her apron. “Now, what shall I do for you?

  “While the oven heats, you can peel the vegetables, and I’ll set the bread dough. And then, once the ham’s in the oven, we can work on pies.”

  The festive dinner tasted wonderful but was made even better by their camaraderie. Afterward, Clara suggested they all sit down.

  “It’s time to present the Christmas gifts,” she said.

  An uneasiness crept over Beryl. She had nothing to give her generous hosts. Would they do even more for her and Sam that she could not repay?

  James brought a wooden box from his bedroom and set it down next to his mother’s rocking chair. Out of it he pulled a book.

  “This is my gift to you, Ma.”

  She took the book from him. “Poems of Lord Byron. Thank you, James. So very thoughtful, and we can enjoy it together in the evenings.”

  James smiled. “I thought you’d like it. The rest of these things are from Pa. He brought them last spring and asked me to stash them away for you.”

  “What? All this?” Clara peered into the box. “Besides the things he gave me when he came home?”

  James looked so happy in that moment that Beryl wished every day was Christmas. He seemed most joyful when he was able to do something for someone else.

  Clara took the items from the box one by one and showed them to Sam and Beryl. A new teakettle, shining bright; a dress length of wine-colored checked silk; four skeins of soft, pearl-hued wool; a set of bone knitting needles; and a cookbook.

  “New recipes!” Clara glanced inside the book and then set it aside. “I can’t believe you’ve hid all this since May.”

  “You never look under my bunk,” James said.

  “That’s true. You’re a tidy young man, and I never see the need of cleaning your chamber.” Clara looked over the bounty of her gifts and sighed. “Your father is a kind and generous man.”

  “He is,” James agreed.

  “Well, here is my gift to you. I wrapped it in brown paper so you wouldn’t see it.”

  James took the package and untied the string. Inside were a new shirt and a set of leather reins.

  “Your father said you needed new reins,” Clara said.

  James nodded in satisfaction. “He’s right. These will last a good, long time.” He folded the paper carefully so they could use it again in the trading post.

  Clara stood. “And now, Beryl, my dear, James and I would like to give you this.”

  She walked to the far end of the room where the quilt they had worked on for the last few weeks lay folded on a bench. As Clara gathered it into her arms, Beryl gasped. Surely she didn’t mean to give away the quilt she had worked on so long.

  A smile wreathed the hostess’s face as she carried the quilt to Beryl. “With love, my dear.”

  Beryl rose and laid a hand on the bright patchwork. “You can’t! Surely you don’t mean it.”

  “I do.”

  “But …” Beryl glanced at James, but he was grinning, too. “Sam and I have nothing to give you, and you’ve put so much work into this.” Tears welled in her eyes.

  “My dear,” Clara said, “you have no idea how lonely I’ve been the past three winters while Wolf went away for supplies. And poor James, without a soul to speak to but me and the livestock for nearly half the year. While we love each other, your presence has been a gift. Although you’ve had sadness here, I hope you’ll remember us with warmth.”

  “Oh, I will,” Beryl said earnestly.

  “Just talking to you is satisfying,” Clara went on, “but watching young Sam learn new things has been pure joy. The past few weeks have flown, and I hope the rest of the winter will be as enjoyable.”

  Beryl threw her arms around Clara. “Thank you so much.” Through her tears, she looked at James and nodded to him, hoping he knew he was included, as she didn’t think she could say another word.

  She took the quilt from Clara and sat down with it on her lap. Sam came over and ran a finger over a line where a blue strip met a yellow block. Beryl cleared her throat. “Isn’t it lovely, Sam? This will be so nice and warm.” She glanced anxiously at Clara. “But don’t you need it?”

  Clara shook her head. “I quilt in the winter to keep busy and to save any scraps from going to waste. In the storeroom, we have more blankets than we’ll ever use, and this is my fifth scrap quilt since we’ve been here. I’ll be pleased if you can use it.”

  “I’ll treasure it always,” Beryl said.

  “And Samuel, this is my gift to you.” James walked over to the boy, carrying a ledger, and placed it in Sam’s hands. He knelt down so they were eye to eye. “It’s full of stories. I wrote down every one I could remember—the ones I’ve told you and a few you’ve never heard. This way you can read them after you leave here, as a remembrance of your time with us.”

  “Lovely,” Beryl said.

  Instead of voicing his thanks, Sam tumbled into James’s arms, with the precious book between them. “It’s the nicest present I ever got,” Sam said. “I want to learn to read it for myself.”

  “I shall teach you,” Beryl said.

  Sam turned to look into James’s eyes again. “Thank you.”

  James drew him close for another squeeze and then let him go. “You’re very welcome. Now I’d better bring in some more coal.”

  A week later as James and Sam prepared to go out and tend the stock, Beryl reached for her cloak. “May I go with you to the barn?”

  “Of course.” James was always glad for Beryl’s company. “Do you want to see the animals?”

  “I’d like that,” she said, “but I also thought it might be a good day to get some things from our wagon. I want to start Sam’s lessons, so we’ll need the slate and a few other things.”

  James nodded. “If you’re lacking anything we can supply, let me know.”

  James had shoveled a path through the snow to the barn, and the banks on each side were nearly to Sam’s chin. The boy ran ahead, and Beryl followed with James. The cattle and horses had trampled and dirtied the snow in the corrals, but on the other side of the path, the sun glittered off the unbroken expanse of white.

  “I haven’t played in the snow in years,” Beryl said, “but this scene makes me want to.”

  James laughed. “I have a sled I haul wood on. Perhaps we can take Sam over to the hill beyond the encampment this afternoon.”

  “I’d like that, and Sam would adore it.” Beryl gazed off toward the deserted camp and sobered. “He’s such a pensive child. I know Pa’s death has hit him hard, and I’d like to give him any scrap of pleasure I can.”

  James glanced up at the sun. “It’s a fine day. Let’s do it.”

  In the barn, he led her to where the Jenner wagon was parked.

  “You’ve got to work around this all winter,” she noted.

  “It’s all right. Pa made this place big enough so a freight wagon could be driven inside if need be. Indians, you know, or severe weather.” James held out a hand. Beryl put her gloved hand in his and climbed to the wagon seat. “I’ll light a lantern for you,” he said. “Sam, go ahead and feed the horses and Daisy.”

  They kept the saddle horses and the milk cow inside during the winter, but the draft animals had to make do in the pasture or corrals except for during the most extreme weather. If a blizzard was coming or if the temperature dropped to bitter cold, James would drive them all inside to shuffle about in the bar
n throughout the night. He hated to do that, however, because as they tried to get at the feed, they knocked down things that hung on the walls and left a mess on the floor.

  When he took the lantern to the wagon, Beryl was rummaging inside a large wooden box.

  “Oh, thank you. You’re right—I could barely see a thing in here.” She reached for the lantern and hung it on a hook on one of the bows. “James, I don’t want to embarrass you, but I’ve been thinking about Pa’s clothes. It will do me no good to take them with me. Could you possibly use them? I don’t think he was as tall as you, so his trousers mightn’t fit …”

  He gazed into her eyes. “I … I can take a look. And anything I can’t use, we could put in the trading post for you. Sometimes people who come through need new clothing or boots or a coat.”

  “That makes sense. I’ll set them aside, and whatever you can’t wear can go in your inventory. I’d suggest your father could use some of it, but he’s such a huge man …”

  James laughed. “Yes, he always has trouble finding boots large enough.”

  “James,” Sam called from near the horse stalls, “I’ve fed them all. Are we giving the mules some hay today?”

  “I’ll be right there,” James replied. He smiled at Beryl. “We’ll be a few minutes.”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  Her cheeks were touched with rose in spite of the chill in the barn. With her reddish-brown hair spilling out of her hood and her eyes gleaming with reflected lantern light, James thought she was the most beautiful woman who had ever passed through Chiswell Rock. He realized he was staring and cleared his throat.

  “Right. See you soon.”

  Chapter 6

  Beryl made Sam’s schooling her biggest project for the winter, and Clara joined in, listening to Sam recite and setting him small problems in arithmetic while she cooked or sat with her stitching. Even James took a hand, though he wouldn’t have called it teaching. Every time he and Sam were in the storeroom or the new addition, James answered Sam’s many questions and asked a few of his own.

  “Look, Sam,” Beryl heard him say one day, “I’m making these bins for the hardware, and I want twenty. I’ve got twelve so far. How many more do we need?”

  After a moment’s silence, Beryl thought Sam was stumped. She peeked around the door frame. Sam was contemplating the wooden bins. He walked in front of them, silently touching each one. At the end of the workbench he stopped and turned, frowning.

  “Eight?”

  James grinned. “I believe you’re right. Eight more it is.”

  By mid-February, Sam was reading well from the primer Beryl had packed, as well as from some passages of scripture and the Lassens’ books. He could write all his letters on the slate and was learning to spell out words.

  “I fear his coordination is lacking,” Beryl told Clara one morning as she swept the floor and Clara kneaded the week’s bread dough.

  “Ah, that’s a boy for you. Great at running and throwing and chasing, but not so good at fine work. James was that way, too. Give him time.”

  “I expect you’re right.” Beryl stood the broom in the corner and untied her apron. “He can write his name legibly, and that’s something for just-turned-five.”

  “It is indeed. James turned out all right. He keeps neat ledgers now.”

  Beryl smiled. “Sam’s begun puzzling out the stories James wrote for him. I offered to read one to him yesterday, but he turned me down. He says he wants to read them for himself.”

  “Good for him,” Clara said. “If he wants to read badly enough, that will spur him on in his studies.”

  Four cavalry troopers stopped by that afternoon on their way from Fort Laramie to Fort Hall. James invited them to have coffee in the warm kitchen while his mother and Beryl prepared a hot meal for them. Noontime was long past, but Clara didn’t seem to mind the extra work.

  “We like to have their presence known,” she told Beryl as she fried some potatoes and bacon. Beryl mixed a double batch of biscuits. When they were in the oven, she helped Clara throw together a dried apple cobbler.

  “The first year we came, we had renegade Indians stealing our stock. They took supplies and tools from the barn. That’s why we lock everything up at night, even the barn. Back then we had to keep the animals inside or the corral would be empty in the morning.”

  “How did you stand it?” Beryl asked.

  “It wasn’t pleasant, though I must say the Indians never harmed us. I was more afraid of the trappers who would come in and demand liquor. Of course we don’t stock it, but they could make quite a ruckus anyway when they were disappointed.”

  A few minutes later, they carried plates in to the soldiers. Sam was watching them carefully from his corner by the wood box, while James sat with the visitors to get the latest news.

  “Ma,” James said eagerly, “the sergeant brought along an Independence newspaper. He’s letting us keep it until he passes back through.”

  “How kind of you.” Clara eyed the folded newspaper in James’s hand with anticipation. Beryl wondered at her restraint. Even she had the urge to snatch it from James’s grasp and read every word.

  “Seeing much traffic over the road?” the sergeant asked James.

  “Hardly any the past two months,” James said. “The snow kept most folks away, I’m sure.”

  “It were bad this year,” said one of the troopers. “We kept close to quarters last month.”

  “But it looks like we’re in for a thaw at last,” the sergeant said. He took a big bite of a biscuit. “Mmm! Ma’am, these are right tasty.”

  “Why thank you,” Clara said, “but Miss Jenner prepared those.”

  Beryl smiled. “I only assisted Mrs. Lassen. She’s the real cook.”

  Clara took their praise with good nature and kept the coffee flowing. When she brought out dishes of apple cobbler a few minutes later, the compliments multiplied.

  At last the sergeant wiped his lips with his kerchief and sighed. “We ought to move along or we won’t reach our next stop before dark. Mrs. Lassen, Miss Jenner, this was a real treat. And James, thank you for your hospitality.”

  “Anytime,” James said.

  The troopers retrieved their mounts from the corral and departed with a flurry of hoofbeats and creaking leather.

  “I hope he’s right and we’ll have spring soon,” Clara said as they stood waving to the soldiers. The air outside was well above freezing, and the icicles on the trading post’s eaves dripped steadily.

  “I expect we’ll see a few trappers soon, bringing their furs in to sell,” James said.

  His mother smiled. “If spring comes early, maybe your father will return early.”

  Sam went into the curtained-off sleeping area. A moment later, he emerged with his storybook ledger in his arms.

  “Going to read some more?” Beryl asked. Sam was beginning to puzzle out James’s handwriting, but occasionally he asked her to help him.

  He nodded gravely. “I’m going to make it last. When I finish the first story, I won’t read any more until Sunday. If I read one story a week, how long will it last?”

  “Let’s see.” Beryl took the book from him and paged through it. “There are twelve stories. Twelve weeks is about three months. It should last you until May, I think.”

  “May. That’s summer.” Sam’s eyes opened wide.

  “It’s late spring. May is when we left Missouri last year. What’s the first story about?”

  “It’s a boy named Bob who is a working on a ship. He’s the cabin boy. The ship’s mast broke, and they’re hoping someone will come and help them.”

  “That sounds exciting.”

  “He’s climbing up to the crow’s nest to see if he can wave a signal flag at another ship.”

  Beryl ruffled his hair and let him go to the kitchen. She hoped that by the time Sam finished reading all the stories, they would be on their way to a new home.

  The weather broke the last week in February, and by th
e middle of March a trickle of riders came over the trail. They all stopped at Chiswell Rock, and short letters from Wolf began to arrive, updating them on his progress in outfitting his freight wagons and securing merchandise.

  On March 12, a detachment of soldiers came through from Fort Laramie and brought news written on February 16. Wolf planned to leave St. Louis by the end of the next week, barring heavy rains. Too much water would make the roads impassable for his heavily loaded wagons. James and his mother prayed for dry weather.

  Coming with five big freight wagons full of goods for the trading post, Wolf would probably need at least eight weeks to get to Chiswell Rock. He would push his teams hard, but he always started out with stout, fit animals and would travel farther each day than the typical emigrant train did.

  At the end of March, James began riding east each morning to a high outcropping of rock. From there he could see several miles along the trail. Often he met scouts and trappers along the way. Occasional mail riders came through, either troopers for the army or a small group of Mormon men carrying news to their settlement in Deseret.

  Parts of the trail were still too muddy for wagons. The new grass began to come in, and the prairie greened up. Wolf would need grazing for his mule teams—ten pair to pull each wagon—as he couldn’t carry enough feed to sustain them the entire way. Once they arrived at Chiswell Rock, Wolf would begin fattening them up to be sold to travelers who needed replacement animals.

  On April 2, James got the first word of his father’s outfit on the road. A scout riding through to the Columbia River had passed him a week earlier.

  As he sat on his horse looking eastward one morning three weeks later, James counted the days in his mind. It was really too early to look for Pa yet, but he couldn’t stop himself from going each day. His father should be nearly across Nebraska by now. But there were still many miles of rough trail between him and home. He turned and walked his horse carefully down off the bluff then let the gelding lope toward home.

  Beryl was out in the side yard hanging wet clothing on the line, with Samuel beside her, handing her clothespins.

  “See anything?” Beryl called as James dismounted.