I hope they had a real Christmas this year. Not sure if he meant that as a prayer or…or what? You decide, Lord, and thanks.
And you haven’t even written to them for how long? He tried to ignore the voice, but this was Christmas. He should have, he should have, he should have…
In the main room, Mrs. Stedman was nursing her baby. He figured he should give her some privacy, hard to do in such small spaces. Yet whole families—even two families—lived in spaces like this for years. It made the house he grew up in look huge in his memory.
Today his memory was more enemy than friend.
“Mr. Jennings?” Abel opened the door and stuck his head out. “We can eat now.”
Abel and his mother were already at the table with an empty chair waiting. The chair that would always be empty. How was she managing so serenely? After all, this was Christmas. He’d expect she would be dissolving into tears whenever the thoughts of her husband returned.
“Would you please say grace, Mr. Jennings?”
He bowed his head. How long it had been since he had said grace at a table with a woman and child present. “Dear Lord, we thank Thee for food and shelter and new life, and for Thy Son who saved us. Amen.”
They joined in his amen. He looked up to see a smile so beautiful it made him catch his breath. She might as well be wearing a halo and be dressed in pure white. He swallowed and blinked and was able to breathe again. What had he seen?
“Are you all right, Mr. Jennings?”
“Yes, I am much more than all right. Thank you. And thank you for sharing your meal with me.”
“A blessed Christmas, Mr. Jennings.” The baby in the cradle beside her chair squeaked, for certain not a cry but—
“Please pass the corn cakes, but help yourself first.”
He did as she asked and felt his ears get red. What was the matter with him, daydreaming—if that’s what he could call it—like this? Even all those nights just him and Sanchez, his mind had not turned on him like this.
“Is everything all right, Mr. Jennings?”
“Thank you, ma’am. It will be.” What will you live on with no supplies this winter? Do you have enough wood or peat for the stoves? He’d not seen an overly large wood pile anywhere outside. But then, surely the mister had left them with wood. But out here on the prairie, there was most certainly a lack of trees. What did the farmers burn?
“Would you care for more?”
“No thank you. I had plenty.” He thought a moment. “I have some jerky and hard tack in my saddlebags. Would that help?”
“We can’t use up your supplies. Thankfully, you already brought us that bag of beans. That will be a big help.”
“Did your husband hunt? Surely there is game around here.”
“He planned on that, but the weather has been so miserable even the animals went into hiding.”
“We saw some…” Abel screwed up his face. “Four or two deer down by the river. They drink there, but now the river is solid frozen.”
“Are there rabbits?”
“In the spring.”
“Pa said they turn white in the winter so we can’t see them.”
“I see. Perhaps I could get you a deer?”
“That would be wonderful, but I hate to keep you from your destination. You already helped Anson.”
“Not enough, I’m afraid.”
Rusty yipped at the door, and Abel went to let him out. “Ma, come see.”
Belle rose. “Excuse me.”
Jeremiah pushed back his chair. “Wait. There might be….” But no one listened to him. Strange, she had met him with a gun and now went outside without even checking for strangers. Another strange thing to ponder about this place and situation. She drew her shawl around her shoulders and stepped outside with her son. Jeremiah got to the door as she sighed an ooh of pure delight. He stepped out and looked up where they pointed. The aurora borealis danced in every color of the rainbow against the cobalt sky, arcing and spearing to music no one heard but everyone always felt.
“I’ve never seen it so bright.” She turned to Jeremiah, her hand on her son’s shoulder. “Only the Lord could create such glory that it stops your breath.”
The cold is what is stopping your breath. “Please go back in the house before you freeze out here.”
They all rushed to the fireplace and warmed themselves.
“I’ll be saying good night then,” Jeremiah said when Abel started to yawn. “Do you mind if I sleep in the barn?”
“That would be fine, but perhaps you would like to sleep in the lean-to tonight? Up against the chimney would be warmer than the barn.”
“Thank you. I will do that.”
“Do you have enough bedding?”
“I have my bedroll.” He rose and reached for his coat. “I’ll go on out to the barn and get it.” Hat in place, he tipped his head. “Thank you for welcoming me into your home.” As he stepped into the night, he heard her say, “Lord bless your sleep, Mr. Jennings.”
He stared up at the sky so deep blue as to be almost black with pinpoint stars tacking it in place. “You coulda done better by her, Lord. How on earth is she going to make it through the winter?”
Chapter 5
Good morning, Mr. Jennings. I’m sorry we have no real coffee, but I have some oats roasting, and that makes an adequate morning drink.” She motioned to a pan over the fireplace fire.
“That smells good enough to eat.”
“I know.” She checked the sleeping baby under the blanket against her shoulder and lowered her gently into the cradle.
“Your rooster sure likes getting up early. Near to lifted me right out of bed.”
“Yes, he figures getting the sun going is all up to him.” Her smile made it real easy to return one.
He caught a yawn behind his hand and stretched his neck. “That cow looks like she’ll be calving today,”
“Oh, I hope Abel can watch. The last calf was born out in the barn, and he was sad he missed it.”
Jeremiah warmed his hands over the stove where snow was melting in the pot. “Did you never sleep?”
“Oh yes, but when a baby wants to eat every two hours or so… I’ve been up for a while. I don’t mind—she is such a miracle.” She stretched and crossed to the fire to use her apron to remove the dutch oven from the fire.
“Now I can use some of that water to make the coffee. In a couple of days, we’ll have cream for the coffee again.” As she talked, she poured water over the oats and put them back over the fire.
“Breakfast will be ready soon. Cornmeal mush, but at least it will be hot and filling.”
He laid a once-white bag on the table. “Put some of that jerky in with the beans for flavor. I’m going to see if I can find rabbit or deer trails out there.”
“Eat first.”
“Ma, is Pa coming today?”
She watched her son’s face collapse upon itself as awareness hit him.
“I want Pa to come back.” Tears leaked down his cheeks, but he dashed them away.
She held out her arms, and he ran to them. Hugging him close, she smoothed his hair down and laid her cheek on his head, crooning softly all the while. She guided him over to the rocker and sat, lifting him to her lap. They rocked, and when she glanced up, Mr. Jennings was closing the door behind him. At her knee, Rusty looked toward the door and snuggled up as close to his boy as he was able, his quivering body doing everything he could to comfort.
Abel laid his hand on the dog’s head. He sniffed and knuckle-rubbed his eyes. “He is with Jesus.” His matter-of-fact tone said the tears were done for now. He slid to the floor and reached up to pat his mother’s cheek. “I will feed the chickens.”
“Mr. Jennings said Tulip might have her calf today.”
“Good.” He returned to the rope-strung bed he shared with his mother and pulled on his clothes. “Need more snow?”
Belle watched her son. Not yet five and so grown up. When his pa said he was to take care of h
er, Abel seemed to have left childhood behind and stepped into the role of a small man. How sad. How necessary. If she allowed her mind to go screaming forward, she would start to shake again. Instead, she did what her mother had taught her: thank God for what she had, for all His blessings, and rest in His mighty arms so He could take care of her. And He would. That baby sleeping in the cradle was proof of His mercy.
Abel finished tying his boots, stood, and stamped his feet. With a sniff he shrugged into his coat and stepped out into the lean-to.
Anson always did that. The thought sent an arrow straight through her heart. Sniffing back tears, she raised her chin. Abel did not need to see his mother dissolve into a puddle of tears. She’d cried plenty of them in the middle of the night when Angel let her know it was time to eat. That was when she’d comforted herself with the same words she gave her son. Someday, Anson, I will see you again.
But in the meantime… Angel started fussing in earnest. Saved by a baby’s needs. Putting the light blanket over her shoulder, she set the round-faced baby to her breast and the rocker to creaking. In the quiet of the night, the rocker song had spoken to her of Anson’s care for her and his family. He’d crafted this chair as a gift, a tangible proof of his caring that would stay with her. But he never had said he loved her.
She made the coffee, and she and Abel ate the mush. They poured the hot water over more snow to water the chickens and offered some to the cow, but she turned her head. It looked like their guest had shoveled the manure out the door. With the packed-dirt floor, it was relatively easy to clean up after the cow and the chickens.
After setting beans to cooking, adding small pieces of jerky, and moving the pot back to simmer, she swept the floor and brought in more snow to melt.
“A rifle shot!” Abel leaped up from playing with bits of wood on the floor in front of the fireplace. Together they ran to the frond-frosted window and blew on the glass enough to peek out, only to see snow and more snow. Footprints led toward the river. She motioned to Abel, and they stuck their heads out the door. Rusty pushed past them and headed out across the snow, his feet throwing up miniature snow clouds. She started to turn away when she saw a brown, flatbrimmed hat rising from the riverbank. As the man appeared, she realized he was dragging something. Something brown and, from the looks of it, very heavy.
“A deer. He shot a deer.” Visions of chops frying and a haunch roasting over the fire floated through her mind. She could smell the fragrance and hear it sizzling. Thank You, Lord. Food to make it through at least the worst of the winter, especially if she hoarded it like a miser did gold.
Rusty darted back and forth, barking at the carcass, then danced around Mr. Jennings, yipping delight and throwing snow everywhere. True, even the dog would enjoy the spoils. “Oh Lord, thank You for providing again.” Although she knew how to shoot a gun—Anson had made sure of that—she’d never shot at anything. Or killed something other than chickens. But she knew that if she had to learn to hunt, she would do that. With their nearest neighbor several miles away, the visits were few and far between. The homestead between this one and the other had been abandoned when the summer sun burned out the wheat crop. The oat harvest had been meager.
But she had hauled water from the river to water their garden enough to get at least some food that lasted through early December. After Anson left for supplies. She should have hoarded the vegetables more wisely.
“Come on, Ma, come see.” Abel beckoned her from the door. He had gone outside shortly after he heard the shot.
Belle wrapped her shawl over her head and pulled on her winter coat. Stepping outside, she wished for a hat brim. Amazing how it could be storming one day or even one hour, and the next the sun blinded your eyes, reflecting off the sparkling snow.
“He was too heavy to carry,” Mr. Jennings called. “I’ll take the carcass to the barn. Did your husband set up a pulley system there for hanging game?”
“He did. You’ll find the rope tied to a stall post. He carved the pulley himself.”
“This should feed you for much of the winter.” He stopped, his breath blowing clouds of steam around his face. His smile caught at her heart. What a shame he didn’t use it more often. Anson had a smile, too, that had not had enough exercise. She wasn’t surprised. This land stole smiles from lots of faces.
“You can fry the liver for dinner. And the heart could bake real well in that dutch oven in the fireplace. Come on, Abel, you can help me.” He tipped his hat to Belle. “He can bring the liver up while I skin the rest.”
“What a gift. Thank you, Mr. Jennings.”
Some minutes later, Abel brought a bucket up with the heart and liver and grunted as he lifted the bucket up on the table. “Mr. Jennings said I am a good helper.”
“He’s right. You most certainly are. I think I heard a hen cackle when I was feeding Angel. You want to check for eggs, too?”
“Ma, come quick!” He motioned for her to hurry.
“Now what?”
“Tulip—she’s falling apart.”
Belle dipped her hands in a bucket of water heating on the stove and, drying them on her apron, joined him in the lean-to. Tulip lay on her side with two small hooves showing. She moaned, and the ankles appeared as the contraction did its job.
“That’s the calf. Stay back. Now the legs, and see the nose is coming on top of the legs.” Oh you poor girl, I know just what you feel like. “Come on, Tulip, push some more.”
Abel looked up at his mother, eyes round as his mouth. “The calf is inside her.”
“Yes.” She steeled herself for his next question. Sure as that calf would soon be here, her son stared from her to the cow and back at her middle.
“Was Angel inside you?”
“Yes.”
The cow moaned again and gave a mighty push, and the calf slithered out onto the hay scattered on the floor.
“Ooh, look.” He started forward, but she stopped him with her hands on his shoulders. “You stay back in case she starts to move around.” Belle bent over by the calf and, using a wisp of hay, cleared the mucus from the baby’s nose. The cow lurched to her feet and started cleaning her now-alert baby up.
“Good girl,” murmured Belle, looking around to see if there was anything to help dry the calf. “Go get one of those rags behind the stove.”
Abel returned quickly and handed it to his mother. “Can I pet it? Is it a boy or a girl?”
He stepped forward, and the cow raised her head, glaring at him. “How come she doesn’t like me anymore?”
“Because she has a calf and knows it is her job to protect her baby. And I don’t know yet if it’s a boy or girl.”
The calf shook its head. The cow made noises deep in her throat and kept licking her baby. Within a few minutes, the calf tried straightening its legs. Rump in the air, it tried to do the same with the front legs but toppled back to the ground. On the third try, it stood.
“We have a male calf, a little bull.”
“Like me.”
Belle rolled her lips together and nodded, standing back to watch the little guy find his mother’s udder and latch on to a teat.
“He’s eating.” Abel looked up to his mother, a grin splitting his face. “Tulip is a good mother.”
“Ja, she is.”
“Well, look at that.” Jeremiah stopped in the doorway from the kitchen. “Looks to be a right smart calf there. What will you name it?”
Belle smiled down at her son. “You choose.”
“I have to think about it. Can we eat now? I’m hungry.”
“As soon as I fry the liver. Sorry, Mr. Jennings, we got a bit sidetracked here.”
“The deer is hanging. I do hope it doesn’t freeze tonight. We might want to hang it in here. Plenty cold but not freezing.”
“Whatever you think best. I’m just thankful we have meat.” Meat and beans and cornmeal, with milk soon. What a Christmas season this was turning into.
Chapter 6
I’m sorry, R
everend Swenson,” Belle said to her pastor, who had arrived just as she was getting ready to cook up the liver. “I just cannot put someone out like that. Not unless it is absolutely necessary. I know my neighbors. They don’t have any more than we have. And besides, Anson and I agreed if something happened to one of us, the other would stay right here.”
Of course she didn’t tell him that they never figured the mule would not be here and that one of them really would die. So soon at least. Although the fear of dying in childbirth had not really left until the angel came. Somehow, ever since that, she’d not been afraid of anything, not the wind and the wolves that howled, not being alone.
Had she really heard him say, “Do not be afraid”? Or? Or what? She most certainly had more questions than answers.
“Good of you to come check on us like this. I appreciate it.”
“You are indeed welcome.”
But what if Jeremiah leaves?
When had she started to think of him as Jeremiah? It wasn’t like he had been here long, but somehow it seemed like half a lifetime.
“Well, the way that wind is picking up, I’d better be on my way. You know my wife will nail my hide to the cabin wall when I come back and tell her all this and you are not with me?”
“I’m sorry to hear that. You’ll definitely do better with your hide in place.”
He had the grace to smile at her attempt at humor. He stood and set his cup on the table.
“I’ll get the heart for you.” She headed out to the lean-to and the box they stored food in where she had set the heart and liver for protection. Tulip watched her, the calf peeking around his mother’s dewlap. “I’m not going to bother you now, but tonight I will be milking you, so you better be prepared.”
A Pioneer Christmas Collection Page 33