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

  For Winnie, she dug into her trunk and pulled out a pink silk blouse. Why on earth she’d brought it, she had no idea. She’d never had any use for it here. She took it apart and cut it into even pieces and resewed it. The hems weren’t store quality, that was for sure, but she knew that Winnie would treasure the soft scarf, and the soft rosy color would brighten Winnie’s pale cheeks.

  Annylee was a challenge, but the baby was growing and becoming more aware of her environment. Suzette found a slender rod and some washers and nuts in the barn, and with the addition of pieces of ribbon taken from one of her slips and some shiny jewelry tied on, it became a bright mobile.

  Harrison’s gift was the most difficult of all. It had to be heartfelt but, at the same time, acceptable for a friend. She couldn’t think of a single thing.

  Winnie, though, told Suzette that she had the best gift of all: being able to celebrate without being burdened by her immobilized arm and leg. The casts had come off, and although she still limped, she was able to walk and do more in the house.

  Suzette tried not to think about what that might mean. She couldn’t stay with them much longer now that the reason for her being there was gone. She’d have to decide what to do, and soon.

  Instead, she focused on what to give Harrison for Christmas. It was almost time, and she had nothing.

  The last Sunday in Advent, as she sat next to him in Hope Church, she saw him flipping through his beloved Bible as he looked to find the day’s Gospel reading. She saw that he was using an old note card to keep his place.

  He looked over and noticed her staring at the piece of card stock, and shrugged. “I used what was near me.”

  She nodded, trying not to let her face give away what had just happened. She knew what she could do for him.

  That evening, she took apart her own beloved picture of the Wild West girl and removed the velvet backing of the picture frame.

  She cut it carefully and fringed it—this time more expertly than she’d done with her father’s coat years earlier—and made him a bookmark for his Bible.

  Yet it seemed unfinished. This was, she had to acknowledge, a gift for the man she loved. The revelation stunned her, but there it was.

  She loved him.

  The gift was supposed to have meaning. Through him, she’d come to love the land and had gotten closer to God. And, above all, she was giving a gift to the man she loved. It needed more than secondhand velvet.

  That night she took a piece of kindling from the basket by the stove. It was left over from when he had fixed the front door, just the right size, and thin enough for her purposes. She sanded it until all the weathered stain had come off, and then, with a black pen, she carefully lettered on it: Thy mercy, O Lord, is in the heavens; and thy faithfulness reacheth unto the clouds. Psalm 36:5. It was the line he’d recited earlier, when they had stood near the cottonwoods and looked out over the prairie.

  It was the perfect verse for the land, where all was heaven and clouds.

  It was the perfect verse for him.

  With a nail, she made a hole in the tag, and using some of the remaining yarn from Tom’s gift, she tied it to the black velvet bookmark.

  She smiled as she wrapped it. He would like it. She knew that.

  Christmas Eve arrived. Winnie and Annylee were wearing their new Christmas dresses, and she put on her best skirt and blouse. She grinned to herself as she thought of the navy silk that her mother had had her wear to dinner when she’d decided to come to Hope. It seemed like that evening was years ago. Silk dresses, kid boots, little feathered hats—they were all a lifetime past.

  “Let’s bring our gifts with us,” Winnie said at the last moment. “I have one for Harrison, and he’s alone, so maybe we can make this more of a celebration if we open gifts with him.”

  Suzette gathered the socks, the scarf, the mobile, and the bookmark, and added them to the basket Winnie had placed in the wagon and covered with a red cloth.

  They bundled under blankets and robes for the ride into Hope for the church service and Annylee’s baptism. The sky was bright, even at night, and she’d never seen anything as beautiful as the prairie, white with snow, washed in moonlight. A low cloud hovered on the horizon, and as she watched, it moved toward them.

  A night cloud! And on Christmas Eve!

  She had no idea what it meant, but it was interesting to watch it grow and spread across the sky.

  The church was warm when they arrived, and Harrison waited for them outside the sanctuary. “It’s filling up. We should go in.”

  The minister motioned them to the front and whispered, “I’m putting you up here to make the baptism easier.”

  The sanctuary was illuminated only by candlelight. The message was the Gospel story of the birth of Christ, and Suzette followed it, mentally saying the words with the minister as he began: And it came to pass in those days, that there went out a decree from Caesar Augustus that all the world should be taxed.

  Toward the end, the minister announced that Annylee was going to be baptized that night, and the congregation, in unison, sighed happily.

  Annylee was transfixed by the candles around her, and her face shown. Suzette could barely breathe, it was so beautiful.

  As the minister took little Annylee in his arms to start the baptism, Harrison reached out and took Suzette’s hand. She looked at him and saw that his eyes were wet.

  The minister began the familiar words, “Jesus said, ‘Let the little children come unto me,’ ” and she couldn’t restrain her tears.

  God had been so good to her. He would, she knew, be good to Annylee, too. As the minister reminded the worshipers, they had a responsibility to her, too. When he asked if they accepted it, with a single voice, the answer came, “Yes!”

  Too soon, it was over, and the people of Hope came up to coo over Annylee and to wish them all a merry Christmas. Annylee smiled at everyone, and Winnie gasped.

  “Look! There’s her present to us! She has her first tooth!”

  Sure enough, a shiny ivory tooth was making its way out in Annylee’s mouth, and Winnie and Tom proudly showed it off to everyone.

  “That’s why she was drooling and fussy,” Winnie said. “I thought that might be it!”

  As the church emptied, they went into the hall outside the sanctuary.

  “I’m so glad you chose to do this,” Harrison said, and Tom nodded.

  “Sometimes Winnie has the best ideas, doesn’t she?”

  “Oh, speaking of my wonderful ideas, we have our gifts in the wagon. Let’s go get them and we can—”

  Winnie stopped as she opened the door of the church. Blizzard winds swirled outside, and icy crystals of snow blew into the church.

  “We can’t go in this weather,” Suzette said. “Annylee can’t be exposed to this!”

  “My store is close by. Let’s go there, and you four can stay in my lodgings upstairs. I can bunk down in the storeroom,” Harrison declared.

  “We can’t impose—” Tom said, but Harrison shook off his objections.

  “I won’t hear of any other way.”

  Winnie wrapped Annylee tightly in two blankets, draping a light one over the baby’s face to protect her delicate skin. Tom took her, put her inside his coat, and held her close.

  Her muffler pulled over her head, Suzette followed Harrison outside.

  After a stop at the wagon to retrieve the gifts and a few supplies for Annylee, they made their way to the store, covered as well as they could be against the frigid onslaught. The blizzard was fierce.

  Inside the store at last, they clattered upstairs to Harrison’s rooms, and he built a fire in the stove. Soon they were clustered around it, their hands stretched out to the blessed warmth.

  “We can’t thank you enough for this, and for all you’ve done,” Tom said.

  “Truly, it’s my pleasure,” Harrison assured him.

  Suzette looked around her and smiled. Silvery streams of tinsel and bright green garlands draped the furniture,
the windows, and the doorways. He caught her eye and grinned. “I found boxes of garland in the storeroom and thought I’d use it.”

  She was touched by this side of him. Every day she learned more about him. He was such a good man.

  On the table by the window was a nativity set, not as grand as her parents’, but just as beautiful. She crossed the room to examine it. Each piece was carved from wood and painted.

  “Did you—?” she asked, and he nodded.

  “Woodworking has been my hobby for years.”

  “I had no idea,” she murmured. How could she have known him so long and yet not had any idea he had this talent? Because, she answered herself, she hadn’t taken the time to find out.

  “Gifts! Let’s give our gifts!” Winnie cried.

  They settled around the fire, warmed at last, and began the exchange.

  Tom and Winnie and Annylee gave Harrison a picture of Jesus, taken from a book and framed by Tom himself, who said, “I’m not nearly at your level yet, Harrison, but I’ve developed some talents living here, and I’m now proud to say that I can nail strips of wood together.”

  Winnie gave Suzette a patchwork apron made from scraps of material. She nodded happily. It was bright and colorful, and above all, she needed an apron. The entire time she’d been in Hope, she’d used Winnie’s.

  Tom proclaimed his socks splendidly warm and put them on right away. Winnie wrapped the scarf around her neck and rubbed it against her cheek. “Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve touched anything silk?” she asked.

  Annylee reached for the scarf but was diverted by the mobile Tom dangled over her.

  Suzette handed Harrison his gift and watched him as he opened it. He didn’t say anything, but when he looked up, his face was soft in the crackling light of the fire. “You remembered,” he said simply. “Our walk.”

  He didn’t give her a gift in return, though, and she fought back the hurt. Awkwardly, he stood. “I’d better leave you alone to rest. Thank you for the presents, and above all, thank you for being my friends.”

  He left, and as Winnie and Tom played with Annylee, she sat to the side, nursing the pain in her heart. He couldn’t have been any clearer.

  She swallowed her pride and excused herself. If nothing else, she wanted to thank him personally for all he had done.

  As she entered the store, she saw him. He was silhouetted against the window, and with the sound of the blizzard roaring outside, and in the diffused light from the moon’s reflection on the wild snow, he stood there, holding the bookmark she’d made him against his heart.

  He turned and wordlessly came to her. He wrapped his arms around her and pressed his lips against her hair in a cascade of kisses as he murmured to her, “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

  She knew she was crying, but she couldn’t stop.

  “I do have a gift for you, but it’s not much. I hope you understand.”

  He reached under the counter and took something out. “Have you seen the picture on my mantel upstairs?”

  She shook her head.

  “Take a look when you go back. Then it’ll all make sense, I hope.”

  He handed her the hat she’d worn when she rode Whirlwind. He had wound tinsel around it so it was nearly entirely silver and gold.

  She held the hat in both hands, unable to speak.

  He rushed to apologize for it. “I’m not artistic. I’m sorry, Suzette. I thought—”

  “I know what it is,” she said at last. “It’s my Wild West hat, isn’t it?”

  “I wanted to give you as much of your dream as I could,” he said. “That’s all I ever want to do. Give you your dreams and make them our dreams.”

  In the magic of a Christmas snowstorm, between a pickle barrel and a bolt of calico, he dropped to his knees. “Suzette, will you marry me? I can’t promise you a Wild West life, but I can assure you a life filled with adventure and love and God.”

  She nodded, unable to say more than, “Yes. Yes. Oh yes!”

  Surrounded by tools and sugar and thread, they sealed their future with a kiss.

  Together they walked back up the stairs and went into the living room.

  Immediately she looked toward the mantel—and smiled when she saw what was there. It was a picture of a man on a rearing horse in a Wild West show. “I’ve had it for over ten years,” he said to her in a low voice.

  “Like mine,” she said in wonder.

  “What are you two chattering about?” Winnie asked.

  “We have an announcement,” Suzette said. “We’re going to get married.”

  Tom and Winnie beamed happily. “It’s about time!” Tom said. “When?”

  Suzette and Harrison looked at each other and chorused, “Christmas, maybe.”

  Christmas, maybe? Or Christmas, definitely?

  Or Valentine’s Day?

  The Christmas Bread

  by Jennifer Rogers Spinola

  Chapter 1

  September 6, 1865

  Push! Push!” Juliet held Elizabeth’s hair back from her sweaty forehead in the little corridor of patchwork quilts and smooth sheets hung from ropes between the wagons for privacy. “You can do it. She’s almost here, Elizabeth—don’t give up!”

  “That’s it. Take a breath.” Posy squeezed Elizabeth’s hand while two older women held her up. “She’ll be born before you know it.”

  Elizabeth gasped and groaned, her cheeks rosy with effort. “I can’t do it, Juliet—I just can’t.”

  Juliet grabbed her satchel of medical supplies as she looked deep into Elizabeth’s eyes. “Yes, you can.”

  Juliet quickly moved to check the baby’s progress. “In less than an hour, I bet. Stay with me, and try again. Hear me? Push, Elizabeth, with all you’ve got.”

  One of the women poured a little more whisky for the pain into Elizabeth’s panting mouth then put her hands on the laboring woman’s back and shoulders, steadying her. Elizabeth scrunched her knees and bent forward with a groan, and this time Juliet saw a glimpse of pale baby hair on a healthy pink curve of scalp, like a tender peach.

  “She’s coming, Elizabeth—she’s coming!” Juliet knew she shouldn’t cry—a nurse was supposed to remain calm and impartial—but the sight of a downy baby head made the prairie grass blur like green stained glass. “Push again—one more time.” She braced Elizabeth’s knees with shaking hands. “One. Two. Three. Push!”

  Elizabeth gripped Posy’s hand and pressed forward, the muscles in her neck straining, mouth open in an anguished cry.

  And the baby slipped forward, smeared with blood, almost into Juliet’s hands.

  “You did it,” Juliet whispered as she reached for a damp cloth and wiped the baby clean. Posy helped dry the newborn with a towel, rubbing the fuzzy hair and round cheeks, and gently wiping out her eyes. The baby opened her mouth with a toothless whimper and then a wail.

  And throughout the camp, a cheer went up. Hands clapped; pots rattled and banged.

  “It’s a girl!” Juliet called out, and they cheered again. She reached forward and squeezed Elizabeth’s trembling hand. “You were right, Elizabeth. Congratulations. She’s so beautiful.” Juliet had to steady her emotions again. “What are you going to name her?”

  “Carrie Ann,” said Elizabeth between shaky breaths as tears streamed down her cheeks. Her face, still round with pregnancy fullness, glowed rosy and joyous and exhausted all at once. “If only Tom were here to see her.”

  And she slipped into sobs.

  Juliet exchanged glances with Posy then looked down, occupying herself by cleaning her hands with a fresh cloth dipped in lye soap and running it underneath her nails. She tried to think of anything but Thomas Baker’s pale, lifeless face and gashed crown, blood soaking through his hair. A wagon accident: an ox had dragged him, trampled him. The heavy wagon wheel had rolled over part of his shoulder, crushing his sternum instantly.

  From all her years at her doctor father’s side, Juliet knew enough about death to have re
cognized that Thomas wasn’t going to make it. From the gray color that ringed his eyes when they brought him to her, Juliet had guessed five minutes.

  He lasted three.

  And it took every hour of the following four weeks to make sure his grieving young wife didn’t give birth prematurely.

  Juliet’s hands worked, clamping and cutting the cord, so her mind could forget. She wrapped fine cloth around the stump of the umbilical cord and handed little Carrie Ann, warm and squirming, to Elizabeth.

  “I’m so proud of you, Elizabeth,” she whispered, as Elizabeth brought up the fragile, sweet baby, skin smooth as petals, to her own tear-streaked cheek. “And so is Tom. I’m sure of it.”

  Trying to keep her emotions in check, Juliet turned to her medicine kit and counted all the herbs and tinctures she’d administered, touching each cork top with her fingertip to make sure—then closed the lid.

  “Come on, Posy. Let’s give Elizabeth some space with her baby,” she said softly. “The other women can help her until we get back.”

  Juliet, ready to stretch her numb legs, lifted one of the quilts and ducked through the space with Posy. They slipped between a cluster of women noisily shaking out laundry, past some children shouting as they played beneath a wagon. They steered far away from the Hendersons’ temperamental dog and were careful not to step on any of the Wilsons’ chickens. Which had, yes, accidentally hatched from some too-warm eggs.

  The memory of Tom Baker’s bloody hair and unblinking eyes made Juliet’s head feel fuzzy and light, and she didn’t stop until she reached the edge of the creek. As a group of boys fished on a lazy bank, she leaned against the smooth bark of a slender cottonwood, willing the images not to come.

  “You’re all pale, Juliet,” said Posy, looking up at her. “You all right?”

  Juliet breathed deeply, trying to focus on the smells of river stones and wet leaves and the rare tingle of moisture in the normally dry air. Then she wouldn’t have to recall the screams—the moans—the last gasps of dying men dressed in Union blue, and the terrible stillness when they breathed their last. The gray tinge of skin like she’d seen on Tom Baker and the stink of infected flesh.