The man to the right of the reverend turned with a smile that encompassed his entire face.
At the reverend’s slight nod, a woman started to sing. “Holy, holy, holy, Lord God Almighty.”
Belle repeated her vows to love, honor, and obey with a firm voice, looking into eyes that searched clear to her soul.
Angel chortled from the front row. Abel snickered, and a titter ran through those present. This was too special an occasion not to smile and rejoice.
“You may kiss your bride.” Belle floated into Jeremiah’s arms and heard Angel again. Angels singing? How appropriate. With her cowboy at her side, Belle took the first step in the journey to her new life. And all would be well, for the God who had brought them together and guided them to this point would never leave. When Reverend Swenson gave the blessing, everyone said, “Amen.” And Angel, who had stolen the cowboy’s heart at their first meeting, chortled again.
A Badlands Christmas
Marcia Gruver
Dedication
To Noela Nancarrow, my Australian angel and new best mate. Thank you for the blessing of your friendship and for the gracious loan of your delightful name. This book belongs to you.
Acknowledgments
First and foremost to Noela, Allen, and Nathan, the Nancarrow family. Without you, I couldn’t have written my Aussie characters. Any mistakes made in this endeavor are entirely my own and due to no lack of enthusiasm on your part. Your help was invaluable. You’ve given me enough information and research material to write a series set in Australia. Maybe one day.
To my husband, Lee: You faithfully whisk me away to the most amazing book settings. Medora, North Dakota, will remain one of my favorites.
My thanks to the town of Medora, North Dakota (www.medora.com), gatekeepers of the rich history of an incredible land. And to the Theodore Roosevelt National Park (www.nps.gov/thro), a region of indescribable beauty. Thank you for guarding the memory of one of our country’s great statesmen. He loved Medora, too.
And Jesus said unto him, Foxes have holes, and birds of the air have nests;
but the Son of man hath not where to lay his head.
LUKE 9:58
Chapter 1
New York City
October 1885
Fifth Avenue bustled with grand carriages pulled by splendid teams, their manes neatly braided, the equine bodies brushed to a sheen. Twin muzzles proudly tossed, though not as high as the well-bred noses of the passengers the horses conveyed. The pompous, high-stepping mares appeared to tiptoe through puddles along the sodden street, and the drivers, sitting tall in their seats, pretended no splatter of mud dotted their top hats and coats.
Noela touched her mouth to hide a smile.
Glancing at the midday sun, she stepped up her pace. Father had rolled the pastry for beef steak and kidney pie before she left. Considering his fondness for meat pies, he wouldn’t appreciate holding lunch.
The autumn breeze chilled her back, and the scent of burning leaves wafted on the air. She tucked her hands inside her wrap and wished she’d aired out Mum’s warm coat. She adored the fitted sable garment lined in black velvet. The auburn fur looked nice against her fair complexion and set off her russet hair.
That morning she’d run her fingers over the luxurious collar then left it on a hook in the closet.
“New York society considers furs and gaudy ornamentation unfit attire for unmarried ladies,” Mrs. Baumann’s strident voice rang in her head. “And one must always adhere to the dictates of New York society.”
Noela smirked. Even if one happened to be a true-blue Australian girl from the shores of Coolangatta?
“I say, young Miss Nancarrow…what folly amuses you today?”
She glanced up, and her heart lurched. Butterflies took flight in the pit of her stomach, and the glee she fought to suppress twitched at her lips.
Julian Van der Berg strolled her way, looking smart in a knee-length topcoat and fleece collar. Tilting his carefully groomed head to the side, he slapped his gloves playfully against the palm of his slender hand. “Oh yes, my dear, I saw. You can’t hide a smile as bright as sunrise.”
He tucked his handsome, dimpled chin. “Care to share? I could use an occasion for mirth. Pleasurable diversions are few in this dreary city of ours.”
“G’day, Mr. Van der Berg, and kindly mind your tongue. New York is ace in my book.”
Without invitation, he took her arm and walked alongside, gazing at her with bold admiration. “I do believe you mean it. I detect a sparkle in those pretty green eyes.”
Folding down the brim of her hat, she turned away from the biting north wind and stared toward the East River Bridge. “I’m ever so chuffed you got the color right. I’m told you miss on occasion.”
He feigned shock. “Would you suggest I’m a philanderer?”
She met his saucy pout with a grin. “No worries, sir. I believe only the best of you.”
Amusement flickered in his eyes. “And I of you, my trusting lamb.” He drew her arm closer and held it snug against the warmth of his body. “Now then, where have you been this morning? Are you up to any mischief ?”
“I was summoned to Mrs. Baumann’s house.” Her chest swelled with joy at the unexpected honor. “She appointed me to the planning committee for the Christmas ball.”
“Of course.” He sniffed as though he’d caught a whiff of something foul. “The annual soirée of black tie and beaded gown waltzing beneath the crystalline glow of Edith Baumann’s chandelier, the watchful eyes of her cherished Degas—resplendent in gilded frame—overseeing the terpsichorean display.”
Julian prided himself on the liberal use of multisyllabic words, blithely slipping them into the conversation each time an opportunity presented itself.
Without an inkling of what he’d just said, Noela frowned. “I sense a lack of enthusiasm.”
Julian reclined his head and closed his eyes. “My dear, I can hardly wait for one more boring social affair.”
His weary gaze shifted down to her. “Then again”—he raised one tapered brow—“you, my dear, hold the power to make the night seem somewhat bearable. Have I mentioned how utterly charmed I am by your accent?”
She affected a flirtatious simper. “You should book passage to Queensland without delay. You’d stay well charmed there, because everyone sounds the same as I do.”
“No one could compare with the magic of your lilting tone.” He studied her lips as if contemplating a kiss. “I can’t imagine anything more desirable than your voice in my ear all evening.”
She tensed, anticipation crowding her throat. An invitation to accompany him to the ball would surely follow. As for the kiss, he wouldn’t dare be so bold in the middle of Fifth Avenue in broad daylight.
She swallowed hard, her legs weak beneath her. Or would he?
His undeniably feminine lashes swept up and down in a languid blink. “Promise to save a dance for me?”
Her stomach fell, but she fought to recover. “Of—of course I will.” It wouldn’t do to let him sense her disappointment.
“Delightful!” He tipped his chin at something behind her. “And here you are, delivered safely to your door.”
And so she was. His presence had engaged her so fully, he could’ve marched her off the Hudson River pier. She might’ve noticed once the water closed over her head.
She beamed her brightest. “Thank you for seeing me home, Julian.”
“My pleasure.”
Reluctant to see him go, she gripped the banister of the two-story brownstone. “Won’t you please join us for lunch? There’s always plenty, and we’d love to have you.”
A cocky glint returned to his eyes. “Your father won’t share your enthusiasm.”
“Rubbish. If he were standing here now, he’d extend the invitation himself.”
Julian backed away, bowing slightly. “Let’s not test your theory, my dear.” He winked and shot her a rakish grin. “Farewell, little lamb. Another time perha
ps?”
Struggling to return his smile, she fingered the threads of her crocheted waistband and nodded. “Very well then. Another time.”
Noela stared after him until he reached the end of the block. An invitation to share one dance wasn’t exactly what she’d hoped for, but it would do for now. She’d find a way to persuade him.
She opened the door to eerie silence. Her steps clattered in the entry hall and bounced off the great room’s high ceiling.
Curious, she ducked to peer up the deserted staircase. One might assume the quiet house was abandoned, yet nothing could be further from the truth.
Somewhere inside the ornate walls dwelled a high-spirited father and an exasperating young sister. She loved Beatrice, but since the dawn of the girl’s fourteenth birthday, she’d made every effort to try Noela’s patience.
Like a siren’s song, the little sitting room to the left of the fireplace beckoned. Crossing to it, she stood on the threshold, her fists knotted at her stomach, before entering the room with quiet, measured steps.
Poignant mementos of her mother’s life rushed from every corner.
Distant strains of “Wild Colonial Boy” echoed in Noela’s heart as she passed the piano. She could almost see her smiling mum bobbing on the bench, her dancing fingers pounding on the keys.
Picking up the snow globe, Mum’s most treasured bauble, Noela gave it a shake. Staring into the miniature storm that mirrored the tempest in her soul, she slid into a nearby chair.
Rosewater scent lifted from the upholstered arms, along with a fine misting of dust. Noela’s chest ached, and tears sprang to her eyes. Two years hadn’t erased Mum’s fragrance any more effectively than easing the pain of her loss.
Leaving Queensland was meant to heal their grief. Parting with their home in Coolangatta and all they held dear felt dreadful then and no less wrenching now.
Father promised it would help. He said nowhere in the homeland could they escape the reality of Mum’s lingering illness and painful death. He hadn’t realized the memories lived in their hearts and would follow them to America.
Noela lifted her face to the heavens and released a shuddering sigh. “We’re stuck, God, the three of us. We can’t return to the past because death stands in the way. Yet we can’t go forward into the future for the same reason.”
Looking around, she bit back a sob. If Father wanted to forget, why had he shipped her mum’s things to America and fashioned this room into a shrine?
Pushing out of the chair, she left the study and made her way down the hall. Composing her face, she entered the dining room and slipped into her place. As she hoped, Father remained buried in the New York Times.
Beatrice scrunched up her nose, the sprinkle of tiny freckles across the bridge disappearing in the folds. “You’re late. We’ve already said grace.”
Noela’s eyes flashed a warning.
“Well, you are late. I saw you from the window. Talking to that silly Julian Van der Berg. How can you cling to the arm of that strutting peacock?”
Noela longed to reach across and yank her blond curls. “Oh be quiet.”
“And the way he talks. Admit it—you don’t understand half of what he says.”
“The way he talks? We’re the ones fresh off the boat.”
“Yes, but we don’t spout Webster’s dictionary with every breath.”
Noela shrugged and looked away. “Big words come naturally to Julian. He’s an educated man.”
“He’s a rogue, and you know it. Every girl in Washington Square has found him out. You can do better than that pompous lothario.”
“Beatrice, where do you pick up such vulgar words?”
Her brow furrowed. “I’ve asked you to call me Bea.”
Noela shook out her napkin and placed it in her lap. “Well, I won’t. You have a perfectly nice name. Bea is too common.”
“Like your lothario?”
“No.” Noela glared. “Like your vocabulary.”
“Girls,” Father growled from behind the paper—a sufficient deterrent to further discussion.
Noela tucked her chin and took a demure bite of her meat pie.
Beatrice followed suit, signaling a temporary truce while they finished their plates.
“Pass me the biscuits, please,” Noela said, lifting the kettle and pouring a steaming cup of tea.
Beatrice rolled her eyes and lifted the silver platter. “Cookies, Noela. They call them cookies in America. Why must you be so dense?”
Noela bit a chunk from the crisp round confection. “Call it what you will, it’s delicious.”
Without warning, the forbidding newspaper lowered, revealing their father’s resolute face. “I’ve made my decision.”
Noela tensed. Those particular words, spoken in that tone, had never boded well.
He tossed the folded paper aside and slapped his hands down on the table. “Daughters, we’re going away.” The last time he’d made the same announcement, they’d journeyed to America.
Noela blinked across the kettle at her sister.
Beatrice seemed to take the news with a little more cheer. “Where, Daddy?”
He took off his reading glasses. “To Medora. In the western Dakota Territory.”
He might have said the moon.
“Medora?” Traitor Beatrice beamed. “What an odd-sounding place.”
“It’s a new settlement. A rather small town in the heart of the wilderness.”
Noela’s heart raced. “This is all very sudden, isn’t it?” She swallowed hard and tried to think. After all, we’re finally beginning to adjust to New York.”
Beatrice made a sassy face. “You’re not. You still call a cookie a biscuit.”
“You hush,” Noela warned then sought her father’s eyes. “Why now? And why into a barren wilderness?”
“For the adventure!” he said, pounding the table. “For the thrill of the quest.”
Beatrice clasped her hands. “Hurrah! We’re going on holiday.”
“Vacation,” Noela corrected. “Why must you be so dense?”
Her sister stuck out her tongue.
Gathering her wits, Noela tried again. “This is hardly the best time for a trip, is it, Father?”
“Rubbish. It’s the perfect time.” By the set of his jaw, he’d made up his mind.
Noela’s jumbled thoughts leaped in circles. “Very well. We should go soon, if we’re going, so we can be home in time for Christmas.”
His eyes shifted to the side. “We won’t be in New York for the holidays.”
Noela rose with a whoosh of her skirts. Bracing her arms on the table, she leaned to stare at him. “That’s impossible. I’m on Mrs. Baumann’s planning committee.”
Cutting a deliberate bite from his pie, he shook his head. “They’ll have to do without you, Noela. You’ll see no Christmas ball, I’m afraid.”
A vision of swirling across the ballroom floor in Julian’s arms turned to mist and wafted to the rafters. “How can you just decree this? You’re forgetting that we have a life here at last. We have friends and plans and…well, prospects.”
He put down his fork, his brows lofty peaks. “Julian Van der Berg? You’ll find I side with Beatrice on the matter of that prospect.”
“You haven’t given Julian a chance.”
“Forget him, Noela. He was never a proper match for you.”
Her eyes narrowed to slits. “Where has all this come from?”
He cocked his head. “I’ve never warmed to that boy, and you know it.”
“I’m referring to this sudden trip of yours. Who’s been filling your ears with adventuresome tales this time?”
Averting his eyes, he tugged at the offending earlobe. “I did have a bit of a chin-wag with Theodore Roosevelt.”
Beatrice frowned up at him. “Who, Daddy?”
“Your sister remembers him. He’s that young politician Edith Baumann invited to her masquerade ball. She paraded him around the room, serving him to her guests like swe
ets on a platter.”
Noela cast him a dubious frown. “I remember him. Go on.”
“He said the Dakota Territory is a wild and free land, wide open to stouthearted men.” He hooked his thumb at his chest. “Men like me, for instance.”
“You? But you’re—” Halting, she bit her lip. Her brawny, handsome father had always been the daring sort. He sported a head full of hair and the build of a younger man, but he’d aged since Mum’s death in subtle, troubling ways.
She sighed. “I suppose I should be grateful he wasn’t quoting lines from Robinson Crusoe, or else we’d be castaways battling savage cannibals for our entrails.”
Her father released a weary breath. “Spare me, Noela, and kindly sit.”
She kept to her feet, quaking inside at her boldness. “We’re not going on holiday, are we? This is another scheme you’ve cooked up to line your pockets.”
He ducked his head. “I reckon I do have a bit of business there.”
Her shoulders slumped. “Oh Father…”
Cornered, he tried out his boyish grin. “You’ll like Medora, love. I’m certain of it. Mr. Roosevelt spends most of his time there.” His smile lit up the room. “Tamin’ the Badlands.”
Agitation building in her chest, Noela tapped her toe beneath the table. I pray he works fast. If there’s any taming to do once we get there, you won’t be around long enough to contribute.
Father’s grin eased into a sober stare. “The man lost his wife last year, you know. His mum as well. On the same day, if you can imagine the luck.”
Pain throbbed in Noela’s chest, and she shivered. “How dreadful. How could he bear it?”
Alarm widened Father’s eyes. He’d stumbled too close to their own heartbreak.
Pushing his plate aside, he stood. “Decide what you’d have the servants to pack, and give them instructions. We’ll be leaving right soon.”
Slumping into her chair, Noela pleaded with her eyes. “Don’t do this, Father.”
His expression hardened. “I fear it’s done.” Pulling his gaze from her brimming eyes, he crossed to the door. “Bring plenty of clothes, girls. We’ll be gone a fair spell.”
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