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

  “Oh, that’s right!” Winnie exclaimed. “She’s been so looking forward to this.”

  “Go ahead,” Tom said, the two words wreathed in hopelessness.

  Harrison took Suzette’s hand and they left the house.

  “Thank you for giving them some time alone,” Suzette said. “I’ve never seen Tom so down.”

  “He probably bit off more than he could handle, and he’s trying to do it alone. We’ll help.”

  She thought of how inept she’d been in St. Paul. She couldn’t make a flower arrangement, let alone a decent loaf of bread. Now she could do much, much more. But could she and Harrison fix this?

  He freed the horses and turned to Suzette. “I don’t know where the saddles are—if they even have any. Mine is back in town. We’re going to have to do this bareback.”

  Despite the way the day had gone, she found herself smiling. Bareback!

  “Wait a minute, please,” she told him.

  She went into the barn and took the old hat off the nail where it was hanging. With reverence, she put it on her head. It was too big, but that didn’t matter.

  She was going to ride a horse. Bareback. And she was going to wave her hat just like the woman in the picture.

  Quickly she rejoined him, and he smiled broadly when he saw her. “A true Wild West girl, indeed. Are you ready?”

  “Ready!”

  He lifted her onto the back of Whirlwind, who looked over his shoulder curiously at his new burden. She gathered her skirts as modestly as she could, knowing that he was seeing more boot than was proper, but not caring. Her mother would have been aghast.

  Then he got on the back of his own horse, clutched the mane, and with a click of his heels on the horse’s side, he took off.

  “Come on, Suzette!”

  Whirlwind stood stock-still.

  “You need to tell him what to do,” Harrison called, coming back to get her. “He’s a farm horse.”

  She copied him, holding on to Whirlwind’s mane with one hand, and urged him with a tentative pat on his neck with the other. “Let’s go,” she said to him.

  The horse didn’t move.

  Harrison moved close and slapped Whirlwind’s flank.

  “Don’t hit—” she began, but the horse began to walk.

  It wasn’t like in the picture she’d treasured, but it was good enough. Whirlwind obligingly plodded across the farmyard while she waved her hat in the air. Her hair came undone, and the breeze wrapped it around her face and neck.

  She’d never been so happy.

  Together she and Harrison made their slow way down to the road. Whirlwind never varied his steady pace, the clopping of his hooves on the packed ground making a completely satisfying sound.

  At the place where the road met the access path to the farm, Whirlwind stopped.

  “I think he wants to go back,” she yelled to Harrison. “How do I make him turn around?”

  He grinned. “I suspect he’ll do it on his own.”

  Sure enough, the horse turned around and headed back to the barn, not trotting along but simply walking, as if he knew that his rider was a novice.

  At the door to the barn, Whirlwind stopped again, and Harrison pulled up next to her. He hopped off his horse and helped her down from hers, and took both horses over to the water tank.

  “So how was it?” he asked.

  She couldn’t stop smiling. “Perfect. Just perfect.”

  He walked with her back to the door of the house. “Let me just pop in for a minute and talk to Tom.”

  Inside, Tom was asleep in the chair, and Annylee was on a blanket on the floor.

  “He’s so tired,” Winnie said softly, “and I know it hurts his pride to even admit that he needs help.”

  Suzette remembered him saying the same thing about Winnie when he’d brought her here the first day. They cared so much for each other.

  “I’m serious,” Harrison said. “I’ll be over as often as I can.”

  “Thank you,” Winnie said. “It means more than you could ever know.”

  “I’ll see you in church tomorrow?” he asked as he got his jacket.

  Now that she was here, she could help Winnie and Tom get to church. “Yes.”

  Suzette walked him to his wagon and waited as he hitched the horse to it again. “You’re a good man, Harrison,” she said to him.

  “And you, my dear Suzette, are a good woman. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  With those words, he got back into his wagon and left. Again, she watched him until he vanished into the sunset. The wind was indeed cooler, and she shivered as she felt the change of the seasons coming.

  She walked back into the house, and Winnie asked her, “Did you forget to read the letter from your family?”

  Suzette picked up the envelope from the table and held it, unopened. “I suppose I should.”

  She pulled the flap apart and pulled out the letter. It was written on creamy vellum in her mother’s elegant script. The first part was about the changes in the solarium, the progress on the city park, and the events at the church, followed by assurances about her parents’ health.

  The second part, though, was the plea she knew was coming:

  The Ladies’ Guild is preparing the Christmas baskets for the needy. At this point, we’re gathering the nonperishables, but there is much to be done. Your assistance would be much appreciated. You said you would be back by Christmas, and I do sincerely hope that Winnie’s fractures are healing enough that she can manage without your help.

  We are aware that Harrison is nearby you. I am a bit concerned about the propriety of this. You know that we have never wanted anything more than for the two of you to find a home together, in marriage, but without that assurance, we must insist you return.

  Please prepare to come home. The weather will soon be unpredictable, so as soon as you can manage, you should make travel arrangements. If you need more funds to do so, let your father know. Know that our love goes with you.

  She sighed.

  “Bad news?” Winnie asked.

  “No,” Suzette answered, pasting a false smile on her face. “It’s just—a letter.”

  She couldn’t return. But, at the same time, she couldn’t stay forever in this little house. Tom and Winnie would need their home back, and, as for her …

  But she couldn’t leave Dakota. Not now, and possibly not ever.

  Harrison stood in the back of the church, scanning each worshiper who entered, watching for a set of familiar faces.

  Just as the minister was about to begin, the door opened and Suzette, Winnie, Tom, and Annylee tumbled in.

  “It’s so hard to measure time out here,” Tom said. “It took longer than we expected.”

  Annylee fussed as Suzette unwrapped her from her blankets. “It’s really chilly this morning, and she was not happy to go outside.”

  “The clouds are rolling in across the horizon,” Tom added. “I’m a bit worried. But we’ll talk about that later. I think we need to get seated.”

  “It’s been so long since we’ve been here,” Winnie said as they entered the sanctuary, “what with my injuries. I hope I remember the hymns!”

  The service began just as they slid into the back pew. Annylee snuggled against Suzette and fell asleep.

  The message was one she needed. It was based on Genesis 8:22: While the earth remaineth, seedtime and harvest, and cold and heat, and summer and winter, and day and night shall not cease. Nothing could stop God’s will, the minister said. They were the tenants of the land, keeping it for the Lord’s good.

  He asked them to think about the “seedtime and harvest.” It meant more than wheat. They needed to consider what they were planting in their own souls—and what the harvest would be. Was it love? The danger, he warned, was ignoring the plight of their fellow men. Complacency in their own lives, and the resulting apathy, were what could bring the harvest down.

  Exhorting them to plant the seeds of providing for others and thus reap the
crop of caring, he led them into the hymn, “Come, Ye Thankful People, Come.” She thought about the words as she sang along. Indeed, they were God’s field.

  The minister ended the service with the announcement that pie and coffee were being served in the anteroom, and Suzette smiled. Her church in St. Paul did the same thing, and her father had always said that there was nothing like a good rhubarb pie to confirm God’s love.

  As the congregation filed out, many stopped to greet them. They asked about Winnie’s leg and arm, and cooed over Annylee, who had woken enough to smile charmingly at them all. They introduced themselves to Suzette and looked from her to Harrison and nodded approvingly.

  “We can’t stay,” Tom said. “I have an uneasy feeling about what those clouds hold. I’m afraid I’m going to have to break my own rule about not working on Sundays. I need to get into the fields today. If I don’t, I’m afraid I’ll lose the entire crop.”

  “I’ll help you,” Harrison said as he buttoned his jacket. “Let me stop at the store and get some work clothes, and I’ll meet you at your house.”

  As he walked quickly back to the store, he glanced overhead. The clouds were indeed menacing. He knew nothing, absolutely nothing, about bringing in wheat, but he would do what he could.

  God would understand. It was His field, after all.

  Chapter 5

  The two men worked steadily as Suzette and Winnie sat nervously in the living room, playing with Annylee and trying desperately to pretend that everything was going to turn out well.

  “It might be,” Suzette burst out at last. “The harvest, I mean. It might be all right. Those are two of the godliest men I’ve ever met, and I—”

  She stopped, afraid that if she said more, she might cry.

  “I’m scared,” Winnie said. “If we lose the crop, we lose it all. The house, everything. We’ll have to go back and start over again. We owe money to the bank. If we can’t pay it back …”

  Suzette patted her friend’s hand. “We have to trust. And pray.”

  They didn’t speak, each of them talking privately to God about their concerns.

  The sun began to set, and the air grew chillier. Still, they sat in the room, waiting and praying.

  At last the two men came in, exhausted but happy. “We got most of it,” Tom said, dropping into the threadbare chair by the door. “I’ve got it covered in the barn, and we’ll take it in tomorrow. Right now Whirlwind is sharing his quarters with a load of wheat that should hold us through the winter.”

  “And none too soon,” Harrison said. “It’s raining. Actually, it’s sleeting.”

  Winnie offered him a cup of tea, but he passed on it. “I need to get back to town while I can. The store will be busy tomorrow with people coming in to get extra provisions.”

  “We can’t thank you enough,” Winnie said.

  He looked at Suzette. “Some things,” he said, “are worth everything.”

  “And everything is worth something,” Suzette responded.

  He stopped. “Amen. Absolutely, amen.”

  The first snow fell that night, early even for Dakota. From his position in his chair near the stove, Harrison could see the flakes, large and full, through the window, drifting downward in the faint moonlight. Summer was over. Fall would be short-lived, and then—and then, it would be winter.

  He was huddled under a quilt and a knitted throw. He’d never get warm again, and if he did, he wouldn’t be able to move. Today had nearly killed him. If he’d ever needed proof that he was city-bred, this day in the fields had done it, as the rain turned to sleet, and he learned that harvesting didn’t mean that the wheat kernels leapt into the wagon, and that his horse really had no idea what to do in the crop rows and was waiting for him to issue commands, and that a bushel of wheat was very heavy indeed.

  What little he could feel in his arms and legs ached.

  Please, God, let this be enough for Tom.

  He had to admit that this was a heavily self-centered prayer, as he would only care to do this once a year, and definitely not two days in a row—not unless there was a hospital nearby to take him in.

  He wanted desperately to escape into the cocoon of sleep, but his brain wasn’t ready to let go of him yet.

  He’d meant to talk to Suzette today. During the service, while his soul was soaking in the message, his heart was composing what he was going to say. Inspired by the sermon, it had to do with planting and harvesting, and he’d come up with a poetic approach to telling her what she meant to him. It was time, he’d planned to say, to begin sowing the seeds of their life together and—

  Not that he could remember where it went after that. At the time, it had seemed a fitting way to express his feelings, but now he couldn’t put it back together again. In God’s own time, he told himself, he’d find the perfect moment. It just hadn’t been today.

  Christmas, maybe?

  He closed his eyes, intending to discuss it with his God, but instead blessed sleep overtook him and let him rest.

  October raced into November, and the snow fell and fell and fell. As often as possible, Harrison came to the house, his book of home management in hand, and they all worked together to make the house ready for the intense cold. They’d laid a hearth by the stove so the chance of fire was diminished. They’d built a surround over the well pump so it wouldn’t freeze so easily. Windows had been secured and the door rebalanced. Even the furniture had been refinished as much as possible.

  Through it all, Suzette found herself softening as she worked at Harrison’s side. She couldn’t imagine life without Harrison, and yet he still hadn’t said anything. He hadn’t asked her about courting, and he certainly hadn’t said anything more about marriage.

  The letters from her mother continued to come. “You said you’d be home by now. ‘Christmas, maybe’?”

  And each time, Suzette wrote back, “Not yet.”

  Christmas on the prairie. How could she even think of going back to St. Paul?

  One evening, as they gathered in the little house, a gentle snow falling outside, they began to discuss Christmas. Winnie’s casts were due to come off in mid-December, and she wanted to celebrate all the triumphs they’d had. Harrison had brought popping corn, and they were enjoying the treat.

  “Let’s make this a special year,” Winnie proposed. “We will all make a gift for each other. Nothing store-bought. Everything should be from our hearts.”

  Harrison looked as if he’d been shot. “I have to make something? I have two left hands!”

  Winnie laughed. “You’ll think of something. And I have another idea. I want to have Annylee baptized on Christmas Eve.”

  “Now that’s a lovely idea,” he said. “But this notion of handmade presents?”

  Suzette thought about it as the others talked. What could she make? She had no skills, and certainly no materials.

  “I have a whole store filled with all kinds of things. Why can’t I give you something from there?” he asked, his voice brimming with consternation.

  “Because this year has been built by us. Let’s make our gifts the same way, from the talents the Lord has given us,” Winnie answered. “No fair telling each other what we’re making either. It’ll be fun!”

  Suzette only half-listened to the conversation, trying to figure out what she could do. It was a good idea, but was it possible? She’d always shopped for her Christmas presents. It had been easy enough in a city the size of St. Paul. But here?

  She also, it occurred to her, should do something about decorating the house for the holiday. Her mother always draped garlands over the mantels and ceremoniously placed the antique nativity set that had come with her grandmother from Norway when she was a child in the entryway so that all guests might see it.

  Here there was nothing. Tomorrow she’d ask Tom to find them a tree, and at the very least they could make paper chains, and if Harrison would bring more popcorn, they could thread popcorn strings. Some families in St. Paul were already usi
ng electric lights to adorn their trees, but that was a fancy on the prairie.

  Her spirit suddenly filled with the joy of the forthcoming Christmas. It was going to be good.

  The house was filled with pre-Christmas secrets. Tom had been reluctant to chop down a tree for the simple sake of having it in the tiny house. “What if Annylee gets ahold of it? She’s rolling over now, and we can’t watch her every second,” he’d pointed out sensibly, so she had abandoned that idea.

  Instead, she and Winnie had cut apart the old magazines she’d been saving for fire starters, and they had draped chains of multicolored paper over the windows, out of Annylee’s curious reach. It added a festive touch, and she found herself humming Christmas carols as she worked.

  The gift projects were under way, and they were all taking them very seriously. Frequently, she’d come into the kitchen, only to see Winnie tuck something under her apron. Tom spent a lot of time in the barn, “tending to Whirlwind.”

  Even Annylee seemed to catch the spirit, smiling more than usual and drooling. Occasionally, though, she grew restless and finicky, nuzzling anxiously into her mother’s shoulder.

  “I think she’s getting sick,” Suzette said to Winnie one evening as Annylee simply would not be comforted. Back and forth they walked across the tiny room, so much that she was sure they were wearing a rut in the floor. Annylee gnawed furiously on her chubby fist and rubbed her nose against Suzette.

  Winnie smiled. “I think she’s working on a Christmas surprise of her own.”

  After some thought, Suzette decided what to do for Tom. She took apart an old sweater she’d found in the barn. It must have been Tom’s, but it was snagged and torn. She unraveled it, wet the yarn, and wrapped it around a thin slat of board until it was straight.

  Then, using Harrison’s book, which he’d left there, she taught herself to knit. She undid more than she knit, and eventually a pair of socks took shape. The stitches were uneven, but they would keep his feet warm, and heaven knew the socks he wore were more holes than cotton.