The next time he entered the house, he carried a large cedar chest secured with an old leather belt. “When Miss Ada went to the Lord, Mr. Chase packed all her stuff away and put it in the barn loft.”
“Thank you, Bill. You might put it in the bedroom.” She didn’t know how Pearl would react to seeing her mother’s things again. It might be a good idea to go slowly with that.
Bill nodded, as if he’d understood her thinking. “I’ll just see to the tree now, and then I’ll be back to chores.”
Bridget wondered if Pearl might not be happy to have a reminder of her mother. Chase had been the one packing up Ada’s things, but a grieving daughter might have different needs than a grieving husband.
Besides her mother’s dress, Bridget only had one thing to remember her mother by—a picture of her parents on their wedding day, both looking solemn and very, very young. Her mother had a light of hope in her eyes, and her father was proud and resplendent in his “Fighting 69th” uniform. She’d kept that photograph for reasons she couldn’t explain. Perhaps because the idea that her mother had been happy once had given Bridget hope that she might one day be happy too. Or perhaps she simply kept it because she wanted a reminder that her father hadn’t always been this way, and that it was possible the person he used to be was still inside him.
After checking that the girls were engrossed in whatever game they were playing, she shut herself in the other bedroom and knelt down to undo the belt buckle.
Inside, the chest was a jumble. As if everything had been thrown in hastily by a grieving, angry man.
She rummaged through Ada’s things, glimpsing a bit of fine grey wool that must be a dress, and the finger of a soft leather glove. Some lace edging a handkerchief or a collar. A shoe buckle. Bright skeins of yarn. She felt the smooth glass of what might be a picture frame, but didn’t allow herself to look. Toward the bottom, she spied a large paste box with a bit of tinsel peeking out. Ada must have come from wealth, to have been able to afford it. Or perhaps Chase’s ranch was more profitable than he had let on in his letters. He had been quite generous with them already.
Bridget drew the box out and set it on her lap, opening it. Inside, in addition to the silvery tinsel, were more than two dozen beautifully wrought glass balls in a variety of colors, little brass bells on red ribbons, and dozens of tiny candles. A charming green felt tree skirt lay folded underneath.
Curiously, there was also a lovely box inlaid with the nativity scene. Expecting it to hold more ornaments, she opened it. Tiny gears began to turn. Only after the first few notes did Bridget recognize the song. Silent Night.
A music box! There was a handle on the side to wind it, like a clock. It was a little tinny, but absent a piano or fiddle, the music would be a pleasant addition to their celebration.
But there was something else—another noise she couldn’t place. A noise that didn’t belong in the Christmas carol. She paused to listen more closely, then shut the lid to make sure.
Sheep. The men had returned. She wasn’t expecting the joy that swelled in her at the thought of seeing Chase again, especially after his anger last night. Better not let him catch her going through his first wife’s things unless she wanted to see that anger again.
She hastily gathered the decorations, shut the chest, and returned to the front room, calling the girls. She wanted Chase to walk in and see Pearl playing happily with Mary, to smell food cooking and a fire in the hearth, and to show him that she could be a good wife and mother. That she was doing her best.
She went to the big front window, and watched as two men on horses drove the frosty, fluffy sheep into their pens. One rider peeled off as a couple of black-faced ewes broke loose and tried to circle around, but Britches cut the renegade sheep off, making the men’s job easy.
As the riders got closer, she realized that both were too small to be Chase. She scanned the horizon, thinking maybe he was bringing up the rear, but the sun glinted off the snow over an empty plain.
Frowning, she thought there must be some explanation, some ranch thing she didn’t know about. Bill might tell her but he had left the house after putting the tree in the metal stand. She glimpsed him outside now, leading Hob’s horse to the barn, a very excited Tom beside him.
Well, there was nothing to be done but wait. Mary was impatient too, begging to see the “sheeps.” Bridget finally distracted the girls by suggesting they decorate the tree. She had hoped to put it off until Chase came home, but the waiting was starting to get to her. She needed the distraction as much as the girls did. Pearl and Mary dove into the task with such joy that she couldn’t help but smile at their utter delight.
As she hung one of the ornaments on a branch that the girls couldn’t reach, Bridget watched Pearl for any sign of recognition or sadness at seeing her mother’s things. Her little face betrayed no sign of distress, however. She seemed completely absorbed in the task of deciding where the next ornament should be hung.
“These are ‘bout the prettiest things I’ve ever saw!” Mary exclaimed, holding a red ball.
“Seen,” corrected Bridget automatically. Then she took a deep breath and said, “They belonged to Pearl’s mother.”
“You’re lucky!” Mary said to Pearl. “My ma didn’t have anything pretty. I bet your ma was pretty too, ‘cause you sure are.”
Pearl looked at Bridget with a questioning look—almost as if she were wondering whether Bridget would be offended by the comparison to Ada. It made Bridget’s heart ache to think that the little girl might be worried about her, when Pearl had suffered so much herself. Bridget smiled to reassure her.
Her breath caught as Pearl reached out a soft hand and touched her cheek lightly. The little girl smiled, as if to say “You’re pretty, too.”
“So it’s all right that we’re decorating the tree with these ornaments, Pearl?” Bridget said softly.
Pearl’s nod, and the trust in her soft blue eyes, conveyed more than any words she might say.
Chapter Twelve
They were almost done decorating the tree when Tom burst in.
“The sheep are back!” he announced, as if the girls had somehow missed the commotion outside. “And Hob let me brush his horse. A Christmas tree? Can I have a cookie?”
In between shoveling bites of cookies into his mouth, Tom described the wonders of sheep and horses, interspersed with a report on Lady and the puppies. Bridget noticed he didn’t cough once.
Busying herself with a bit of tinsel, she asked, “And Chase? Did they say when he was coming back?”
“There were a couple of ewes that strayed, and Mr. Chase went to find them. Hob said he’ll be back directly.”
Bridget breathed a sigh of relief. Somewhere in the back of her head, she’d been entertaining the fear that he’d been hurt. Or that the cold he’d so adamantly warned her about had taken him. Or that he just couldn’t bear the thought of seeing her again, and had decided not to come home at all.
“Tom, can you get more wood for the fire?” she asked. It was suddenly chilly in the cabin. The fire didn’t seem to have gone down that much, though. It seemed darker outside, too. How could so much time have gone by?
They all jumped as the wind hit the side of the house with a shriek. Bridget ran to the window. Outside, all she could see was a wall of white.
Another blizzard, so soon? And Chase, where was Chase? Had he made it back to the barn in time? Fear squeezed her heart. She couldn’t wait any longer. She had to know if he was safe. She was putting on her coat to go to the barn and ask Bill, when he blew through the doorway in a cloud of snow.
“Now, that’s a Wyoming blizzard!” he cried. “‘’Most to knocked me off my feet!”
His beard was full of ice, and his coat was...moving.
Bridget squinted. How could a blizzard get inside a man’s coat? A tiny, furry head poked out of one of his pockets.
“Splotch!” Mary yelled as Pearl began to jump up and down, clapping. Not to be outdone, Mary jumped too. �
�Can we please please please hold him?”
“Hope you don’t mind, ma’am,” Bill said, drawing one tiny dog after another from his coat pockets. “It’s just that Lady ain’t quite strong enough to nurse, so they still need to be hand-fed.”
The four puppies wagged their little tails and yipped joyfully at the girls and Tom. One squatted and made a small puddle on the floor, which Bill hastily wiped up with his bandana.
“Seems they don’t quite know where the outhouse is yet,” he apologized.
Bridget would never have brought a dog into the cramped confines of their family’s Chicago apartment. Was it normal to keep puppies inside? What else did they need besides milk? Bill undoubtedly knew more about caring for puppies than she did. If they got sick, she wouldn’t know the first thing to do.
“Could they stay in the bunk house?” she asked.
“Frank’s terrible allergic to dogs. Just a whiff of fur and he starts coughing and sneezing to beat all.” Bill lowered his voice conspiratorially. “He’s real ashamed of it, too, so don’t say nothin’.”
“Oh, please please please, Bridget!” Mary begged. “Me and Pearl and Tom’ll take care of them and you won’t even know they’re here.”
Pearl echoed Mary’s pleading with her eyes.
“It is almost Christmas, Bridey.” Tom grinned. “You wouldn’t make these babies spend Christmas in a barn, would you?”
“Oh, so they’re like baby Jesus now, are they?” Bridget couldn’t help smiling at Tom’s cleverness. “All right, until Lady’s able to care for them.”
One puppy ambled up and sniffed Bridget’s toe. They were awfully cute, she had to admit. But before she focused on the puppies—“Any idea when Chase will be back?”
Bill looked at the girls meaningfully. “He’s staying put right now. It isn’t safe to travel in a blizzard.”
“You know where he’s staying, though?”
“He should have had time to make it to the hunter’s shack between here and the pasture before the storm hit.”
Should have. That meant he might not have. But Bridget didn’t want to say something that would make Pearl worry that her father was in danger. So she thanked Bill and let him return to the bunkhouse with a box of treats.
The rest of the day passed in a haze of worry. Thankfully, the girls couldn’t have been happier playing with the puppies. Under Tom’s supervision, Mary and Pearl took turns feeding the little things, petting them, even tucking a towel around them as they slept in a huddle near the hearth. Bridget did her best not to jump or flinch when the winds roared louder, for the sake of the children, but by the time the midday meal was over, her nerves were shot.
Returning to the chest full of Ada’s possessions, she pulled out the yarn she’d seen there. Luckily there were knitting needles too. It had been years since she’d knitted, but Ma had shown her how when she was younger. She’d just start, she decided. Start a line of simple stitches, and just keep knitting until the blizzard ended and Chase returned. If he came home soon, she’d have a potholder. If not…it’d be a scarf.
Supper came and went, no Chase. Just the blizzard, shrieking and howling its fury outside. The sick feeling in Bridget’s stomach just kept getting worse, and soon she wished she hadn’t eaten at all. As the evening wore on, it became harder and harder to smile.
She settled by the fire, knitting needles clicking, but she kept dropping stitches. Where was Chase?
Wolves aren’t the danger here, Bridget. The cold, it’s the cold that kills. The last words he’d said to her. Were they an omen?
What if he was out there in that blizzard right now, trying to get to the house before he froze to death? Looking out the window, she thought it would be hard to see even a few feet in front of her face if she were out there.
She moved the kerosene lamp from the table to the windowsill. It wasn’t much, but maybe it would guide him home to her.
“Why’d you put the lamp there?” Mary asked, looking up from tying a doll’s bonnet around a not-so-cooperative puppy.
Bridget glanced at Pearl, who looked at her with expectant eyes. “For Bill. In case he needs some light to see his way from the barn.”
Bridget spent the rest of the evening knitting by the fire as the children played with the puppies. In lieu of venturing outside in the storm, they piled old newspapers in the corner for the puppies to use.
Every so often, she would glide to the window, peering out at the unrelenting whiteness. The only prayer she could manage was “Lord, please keep him safe.” She promised to try to be a better wife, to try not to make so many foolish mistakes, if only the Lord would see him safely home.
The minutes seemed to drag by, but when the big clock on the mantle finally struck eight, she jumped in her chair. “Bed time!” she tried to call out brightly.
“Can the puppies please please please sleep with us?” Mary begged.
It would have been easier to say yes. But what if the girls rolled over in their sleep and unwittingly injured one of the tiny animals? “They need to stay by the fire tonight. It’s warmer there.”
“Pearl and I are puppies,” Mary replied without hesitation. “We need to stay by the fire too.”
It took a Christmas cookie each and Bridget’s promise that she would watch over the puppies while the girls slept to get Mary and Pearl into bed. There was too much giggling from Mary for Bridget to believe they slept right away, but at least they stayed put so she didn’t have to keep pretending she wasn’t worried about Chase.
Bridget piled more logs on the fire, hoping it would dispel the dark fear in her heart. If only she had some sense, she remonstrated herself. Then Chase wouldn’t have gotten so angry, and maybe he would have sent Frank or Hob after the lost sheep and come home. She felt guilty as soon as she thought it. She didn’t really wish one of the ranch hands lost in the blizzard, she just wanted Chase to be safe.
The thoughts came unbidden. If he didn’t come back, if she were widowed, what would she do with the ranch? She couldn’t run a ranch. She didn’t even know enough to take her wet boots off. And what would it do to Pearl, losing two parents? The girl might never recover.
Bridget sat in the rocking chair, head in hands. “Please, Lord, bring him home safely. If not for me, then for Pearl.”
The minutes ticked by, but Bridget couldn’t bear the thought of trying to sleep. The first muffler finished, she began a second for Pearl. Then one for Mary. The lamplight began to grow low, so she trimmed the wick and added more kerosene, then peered desperately outside. The storm seemed to be almost over. Fluffy snowflakes drifted lazily down to the ground, and she could make out the silhouette of the barn out back. That cheered her a little. No more blizzard. It would be safe for Chase to travel soon. Maybe he was already on his way.
The fire in the hearth was burning low again. Bridget hurried to the kitchen and threw open the door to the lean-to. She reached for a log, but as her fingers touched the roughness of bark, something scurried over her knuckles. Barely stifling a shriek, she leapt back, banging her behind on the table.
Something soft and warm brushed her ankle. Bridget yanked her feet up off the floor and scooted back, perching on the table. Her heart hammered. She wished Chase was here. But he wasn’t. She had to be brave. She peeked over the edge…
…and saw Splotch’s big brown eyes looking up at her.
“Don’t sneak up on me like that,” she muttered as she got down again. But it hadn’t been Splotch in the lean-to. That had probably been a spider.
She couldn’t let the fire go out. But she really didn’t want to stick her hand back in there. What if whatever it was bit her?
Bridget retreated to the front room and fetched the kerosene lamp, then examined the woodpile. The remains of a half-spun web dangled from the roof—she’d stuck her hand right through it, and disturbed the spider. The spider had probably been as startled as she had been.
She set the lamp down on the table, grabbed the broom in the corner, a
nd swept away all remnants of the web. Then she lifted the biggest log she could managed, practically staggering as she carried it into the front room and placed it on the fire.
There. Now she could really use a cup of tea.
As she bustled back into the kitchen, she pulled a small log out of the lean-to and wrestled it into the cookstove. By the time she had the stove stoked, the kitchen had taken on a real chill, cold air seeping in from the lean-to. She shut the door, then paced the kitchen while she waited for the water to boil. By the time her tea was ready, she was feeling reasonable warm again.
She drank the tea.
She dusted the mantle and the table.
She rearranged the ornaments on the tree.
She sat in the wingback chair, Chase’s chair, trying to breathe in the good, pure smell of him in the leather.
Unable to stand it any longer, she fetched the music box and wound it up, tried to sing along. But nothing drove out the sound of the wind screeching against the windows.
Slumped in his chair, the music box in her lap, Bridget’s eyelids finally grew heavy and she fell asleep. She dreamed of a night of blessed silence, where all was calm and bright, and Chase looked at her with love...
Chapter Thirteen
Chase eased open the front door slow as he could, not wanting to wake Bridget and the children up. Chilled to the bone and exhausted from staying up most of the night, all he wanted was to fall into a warm bed. But he couldn’t, not until he knew everyone was safe.
Huddled in the hunter’s shack in the hills all night, listening to the blizzard rage, all he could think about was how frantic Bridget must be. Her first blizzard, and he’d abandoned her to it.
Not to mention Pearl. He always hated leaving her. No matter how long he was gone, whether it was an hour or a day, Pearl always hugged him desperately, as if he’d come back from the dead. He hated leaving her, even with someone he trusted.
All Is Bright: Bridget’s Christmas Miracle (Mail-Order Brides of Laramie County 1) Page 6