A Christmas Promise

by Wendy Lindstrom

  “Leeks? No thanks.”

  Adam grinned. Leeks weren’t his first choice either, but he ate them. “We get water cress, cattails and colt’s foot there, too.”

  “Do you eat all that stuff?”

  “Not all of it. Faith uses some things to make salves and oils and poultices.”

  “For what?” Leo asked, ducking beneath a low tree branch.

  “Aches and pains, mostly. She makes ointments for rashes and syrup for coughs and powder for headaches.” Adam shrugged, noticing fresh tracks in the snow. He wasn’t hunting hare today, so dismissed the tracks and continued to scan the area. “She has something for just about everything.”

  “It’s giving me a headache just thinking about all this.”

  Adam laughed. “I’ll get some willow bark and make you tea for your headache.”

  Leo snorted. “How do you know so much about this stuff?”

  “Faith has been teaching me since I was four years old. She’s doing the same with Cora.”

  “I guess it would be good to know, but right now I’m more concerned about what type of animal is stalking us.”

  “It’s probably a coon,” Adam said with a laugh. “There’s a slew of them in these woods.”

  “I hope it’s not a bear.”

  “Naw. Most bears will be hibernating by now. I suppose it’s possible to come across a black bear if she’s chased out of her den for any reason, but I haven’t noticed any tracks.” Suddenly, he slowed and pointed into a dense cluster of pines. “Look at that wood hen,” he said quietly, eyeing the chicken-like bird.

  “You gonna shoot it?” Leo whispered.

  Adam shook his head. “I’ll save my shots until we get to my lucky hunting spot. We’ll get our birds there. Scout will flush ‘em for us and we’ll have a better chance to get more.”

  No matter how difficult the walk in, or how miserable the weather, Adam loved hiking the woods and fields. There was less chattering and scurrying in the winter months, but the forest was still very much alive.

  Tracks of coon, deer, hare, and coyote peppered the snow. Adam observed every track, every sound, until he came across the telltale arrow marking. He turned to Leo and pointed at the fresh track. “Turkey,” he whispered. “And it’s heading right toward my hunting spot.”

  Slow and quiet they approached an area about a hundred yards from the beaver dam, and settled in. The cold seeped into his clothing and down the neck of his jacket. He shivered and inhaled the icy air, using the freezing sensation in his chest to keep alert.

  Within minutes, Boyd joined Adam’s hunt and brought down two quails.

  Adam was about to bring down their third bird—a big fat tom.

  With a slight movement of his hand, he set Scout into motion. The dog shot through the woods and flushed a rafter of turkeys.

  Three shots rang out. Two birds fell. Two families would be fed.

  Scout collected the quail and brought it to Adam. He dropped the bird on the ground then darted off to retrieve the turkey.

  “Scout’s not a bird dog,” Leo whispered from a few feet away. “How did you train him to do that?”

  “My uncle Boyd taught him.” Adam returned Leo’s grin as Scout struggled to drag the heavy turkey back. With a quiet laugh, he fetched the bird himself. He gave the dog a good scratch behind his ears then gestured for him to sit.

  Amazement filled Leo’s expression. “I want a dog like that.”

  Adam nodded in acknowledgement, hoping this was the beginning of a new and better friendship with Leo. “I got to watch him, though. Sometimes he forgets the birds aren’t his.”

  Leo grinned.

  Together they field dressed the birds, bound the tom by its feet to a rope and put the quail in a burlap sack. Carrying the roped birds and sack over their shoulders, they moved deeper into the woods and continued the hunt.

  The snowfall grew heavier, and by the end of the morning the cold and snow forced them to head back to the wagon.

  Leo hoisted the burlap sack of quail over his right shoulder and two roped hens over his left. “I guess you do know these woods,” he said. “Best hunt I’ve ever been on.”

  Grinning, Adam carried a tom on each shoulder. The trek back to the wagon with the extra forty or fifty pounds on his back was going to be rough. With each step he felt the spurs of the fat tom poking into the back of his jacket. Despite the struggle of carrying them he smiled thinking of what he and Leo had accomplished together.

  When they finally staggered out of the woods they came out ahead of Boyd. They unloaded the heavy game then drove the wagon back onto the rutted path and waited for the others.

  Boyd unloaded a burlap bag and trussed hen slung over his strong shoulders. He peered into the wagon and whistled. “Looks like you boys did all the hunting today.”

  “We sure did. I thought you’d bring Sailor with you,” Adam said, wishing his uncle would have brought his dog along.

  Boyd grimaced and leaned against the wagon. “That boy is a menace. He would have been a bad influence on Scout.”

  “Probably,” Adam agreed with a laugh. “But Sailor knows the best tricks,” he said to Leo. “Wait until you see what he can do. He’s a great dog.”

  “That he is.” Boyd knelt to scratch Scout’s head. “And so are you. Did you get any birds?”

  Scout madly wagged his tail, trying to lick Boyd’s face.

  “Where’s your dignity, boy. You’re making a spectacle of yourself.”

  Leo and Adam laughed as Boyd hand-wrestled Scout. The dog rolled in the snow, growling playfully and doing his best to clamp his jaw over Boyd’s gloves. The horses blew and stepped in place, rocking the wagon as if to hurry them along.

  Adam’s father exited the woods about twenty feet away, bundled up and covered with snow like the rest of them. Cyrus followed him out. When they got to the wagon, Adam’s dad shook his head and looked at Boyd. “I reckoned you’d be at the center of the commotion.” As they placed their birds in the wagon, his eyebrows lifted. “Who got all of this?”

  Adam proudly gave him the count. “Together we got two toms, six hens, and seven quails,” he said with excitement. “That should feed ten or more families, and that doesn’t count what the others are contributing.”

  His dad clasped his shoulder. “I guess it wasn’t my lucky hat that made you a good shot.”

  “No, sir. I think Leo was wearing the lucky hat today. He got the most game.”

  “Good job, boys. Let’s get home and ready these birds for the oven.”

  Preparing them would take a good bit of time. They had field dressed their birds and saved the gizzards, which would have to be soaked in salt water, but the birds would have to be boiled, plucked and cleaned, which could take hours.

  The thought of waiting hours to eat made Adam’s stomach growl. “Let’s eat first,” he said, shivering as he climbed into the back of the wagon. “I’m starving.”

  Leo climbed in behind him, dusting a good inch of snow off his hat and shoulders. “Me, too.”

  Scout barreled in with a happy yip and immediately began sniffing the birds.

  “I won’t argue,” his father said, climbing onto the seat with Boyd and Cyrus. “I’m hungry enough to eat my hat.”

  “Might as well,” Boyd said, “it didn’t bring you any luck today. You got two measly hens. I suppose you’ll blame that on your old shoulder injury.”

  With one quick shove, Adam’s father pushed Boyd off the seat. The youngest Grayson brother landed feet first, stumbled sideways and sprawled onto his backside in the snow.

  Stunned, Adam and Leo sat in speechless shock.

  Cyrus laughed so hard he nearly rolled off the wagon seat.

  Duke rotated his arm and shoulder and looked at his brother. “Shoulder seems to be working fine.”

  With a laugh, Boyd bounded back onto the wagon and plastered a fistful of snow down his brother’s neck.

  Duke yelped, but he was smiling ear to ear.

 
Adam exchanged a look of disbelief with Leo. He had heard the Grayson brothers bait and jest with each other every day at the mill, but he’d never seen them tussle.

  As Duke dried his neck, he spoke over his shoulder. “Don’t worry, boys, we’ve been doing this for years. Our roughhousing is all in good fun.”

  Filled with surprise and wonder, Adam sank onto the cold wagon bed beside Leo. So this is what it’s like to have a brother...

  Chapter Eight

  At dawn on Christmas Eve, Adam hurried out of bed. This was the day to give others hope!

  He had a long list of things to do, but first he needed to finish his father’s gift. He had made a potato box for Faith, and blocks for Cora, but he needed to finish sanding and varnishing the bootjack he was making for his father.

  Faith was already working in the kitchen when he came down. His aunts and Anna and other ladies would all be up now putting the turkeys in the oven, and later adding quail that would go in the gift baskets. While Adam delivered the baskets, the ladies would begin preparing dinner for their own holiday gathering.

  The Grayson family would celebrate Christmas Eve together in the hall above the greenhouse. Christmas Day they would celebrate at home with their own families.

  While Faith put the coffee kettle on, Adam loaded the woodstove to surprise his father. As soon as he had a roaring blaze, he pulled on his hat, jacket, and warmest gloves and headed outside to haul in wood for their bin.

  When he came inside, his father was drinking his morning coffee in the parlor, resting his stocking feet on the warming rail of the woodstove.

  “Are you giving me my gift early, son?” he asked, his smile wide as he wiggled his toes.

  “No, sir. I just thought you might like to come downstairs to a warm house for a change.”

  “It’s a change I could get used to. My toasty toes thank you.”

  Adam laughed. “Tell your toes it’s time for breakfast. My stomach is growling.”

  “Tell your sister I’m too comfy to move.” Duke lounged in his favorite gentleman’s chair, a spoon-back two-seater armchair, as if he was about to fall asleep. “Let’s eat right here by the stove.”

  Adam raised his eyebrows. “Really?”

  His dad nodded.

  “Think she’ll let us get away with it?” he asked.

  “Remind her that it’s Christmas Eve and help her carry in our plates.”

  “All right,” Adam said, grinning in disbelief as he headed to the kitchen. They never ate in the parlor.

  But they did that morning. Just the three of them. While Cora slept upstairs, they talked and laughed quietly, stealing a few minutes for themselves while they had breakfast together.

  “You’re becoming quite a young man,” Duke said. “I couldn’t be more proud about what you’re doing today. He pulled Adam into a playful hug that immediately turned into a bout of wrestling on the davenport.

  “Now this is exactly why we eat at the table,” Faith said, towering over them with her hands on her hips and a smile on her face, looking pretty in her simple green frock and ruffled apron. “Eating in the parlor is uncivilized and promotes bad behavior.”

  “I agree.” Duke snagged her hand and pulled her down on top of them.

  Her hoot of shock sent them into a fit of laughter that probably woke Cora.

  “Unhand me, Mr. Grayson,” she said, smiling into her husband’s eyes, but doing nothing to free herself from his strong arms.

  “Never.” He snuggled her against him, trapping Adam’s arm between them.

  “I’m still here, you two!”

  Laughing, they released his arm, gave each other a quick kiss, and gathered the breakfast dishes.

  It was times like these that made it so hard to share Faith and his father with anyone.

  “Off with the both of you,” Duke said, waving them away. “I have important business with this wood stove.”

  Adam rolled his eyes and helped Faith carry the dishes to the kitchen.

  As she worked in the kitchen, he headed to the greenhouse to finish his project. It took two hours to finish sanding, staining and varnishing the bootjack, but he did each step with care wanting it to be perfect for his father. After adding a final coat of varnish, he went back outside and headed into the woods along Canadaway Creek.

  He knew right where to find ground holly to decorate the hall. Getting there wasn’t easy while walking through knee-deep snow and it was still coming down. Fluffy flakes covered him, turning his shoulders white in minutes. What should have taken an hour took two, so by the time he returned home it was late morning, and he still had several porches and walking paths to shovel.

  “Looks like you could use some help,” his father said, meeting him on the porch, dressed for outside work. “I’ll shovel on this side of the street. You catch the other side.”

  “Thanks, Dad. I still need to get the wagon from the mill and I’m running out of time. The ladies plan to have everything ready by one o’clock.”

  “Don’t fret, son. Everything will work out.”

  “I hope so,” he said. “I haven’t heard from Rebecca whether or not her father will let her help. I’m not sure I can make all the deliveries if I have to drive the wagon and deliver the baskets alone. It will be dark by five o’clock.”

  “You won’t have to do it alone.” His father handed him a shovel and grabbed one for himself. “Let’s get these jobs done then we’ll talk about delivering baskets.”

  Adam went to work feeling relieved that his father would help him, but disappointed he hadn’t heard from Rebecca... or Leo.

  It was likely that Rebecca’s parents wouldn’t allow her to go along.

  Leo was delivering more wood with Cyrus, but he probably wouldn’t want to help anyway. He’d been friendlier during their hunt, but like a dog that had been kicked, his manner was still wary.

  So it appeared Adam would spend a couple of hours delivering baskets with his dad. He hadn’t wanted to share his father with Leo, and now he wouldn’t have to, but a part of him felt hollow and sad. While trying not to lose his place as an only son, he was losing what he wanted to become—a man like his father and uncles.

  That thought gnawed at him while he shoveled his neighbors’ porches and cleared paths to their doors.

  It was well after lunch when they finished, and he was beginning to panic. He had half an hour to walk to the mill, hitch the team and drive to Anna’s house. He was going to be late, but his father made him come inside to warm up. His gloves and hat were caked with snow and his hands were freezing.

  He ran upstairs to use the watercloset and warmed his hands under the faucet. As soon as his fingers began to throb, he dried his hands and rushed to his bedroom to change his damp socks and trousers.

  A couple minutes later, his father called up to him, “Adam, your rig is here!”

  Perched on the edge of his bed, he paused while pulling on his last sock. What rig?

  “You up there, son?”

  “Yes, sir!” He lunged to his feet, hopped two steps to finish pulling on his sock, then thundered down the stairs.

  His father was waiting in the foyer ready to go.

  “Is someone taking us to the mill?” he asked, jamming his feet into his boots and yanking on his coat. It would save time if they could catch a ride.

  Bells sounded out front as he buttoned his jacket.

  Faith handed him a dry hat and gloves. “Be safe, Adam.”

  “I will.” He pulled open the door expecting to see Cyrus or one of the mill hands waiting with a wagon.

  But it was Radford and his family pulling up in a bedecked six-passenger sleigh pulled by two beautiful bay Morgans. Rebecca sat up front on the coachman’s seat with her father, wearing a bright smile and a blue wool coat trimmed with a wide fur collar and cuffs.

  She looked so pretty that Adam could barely drag his eyes away from her to wave to her younger brothers who sat in the rear facing seats with their mother. Evelyn, looking just
as beautiful as Rebecca, held Hannah on her lap and a large wicker hamper at her side.

  Bright red ribbons and several clusters of bells decorated the harnesses. Lanterns were mounted at each corner of the sleigh. Strapped to the leather boot on the back was a small wooden keg. Two wooden lockers sat on the floor between the seats.

  Adam had never seen a more magnificent sleigh.

  “Your rig has arrived,” his father said, nudging him out the door.

  “What?” He followed his father, trying to understand what was going on. Was his uncle giving them a lift to the mill in the sleigh?

  Radford stepped down. “This should make delivering all those baskets a bit easier,” he said, gesturing toward the brown broadcloth-upholstered seat he just vacated. “It’s all yours.”

  Adam stared at the magnificent sleigh certain he had misunderstood. “You want me to take the sleigh?”

  “With all this snow I think it’s more suitable than a wagon.”

  His heart pounded as his uncle waited. “You’re going to trust me with this?”

  Radford nodded. “What you’re doing today is special. The sleigh will be easier to drive and it will be a festive and fun sight for those folks receiving the baskets.”

  A wild thrill shot through Adam’s chest and stomach. “It’ll be fun for me, too, sir.”

  “Don’t make it too fun. Driving a sleigh is much different than a wagon. Keep to a walk or a trot. Give yourself plenty of time to make your turns. At all times respect and protect the team.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “No horseplay while driving,” his father added.

  “Aren’t you going with me?”

  “You’ve already got a helper.” His father gestured to Rebecca. “Mrs. Leven’s will ride along with you.”

  Stunned, Adam glanced at Radford and caught the subtle warning in his eyes.

  “When you leave here drive straight to Mrs. Leven’s house,” he said.

  “Of course,” Adam replied. At one time Radford may have issued the directive because he questioned Adam’s character, but the man was just looking out for his daughter.

  “All right then,” Radford said, putting his hand on Adam’s shoulder and nudging him toward the sleigh. “Rebecca can manage the team if you run into trouble.”