She determined to ask Jacob if he would find a tree for her. They may not have relatives to share the holiday with, and there may be no ornaments for the tree, but a Christmas tree would fill a small piece of the gap in her heart.
Chapter 2
Jacob was reading in the room he shared with Billy Clyde when someone knocked firmly on the door. He laid aside his book and went to answer it. Polly stood under the overhanging eaves at the back of the house, smiling at him with her dimples showing in her cheeks.
“Hello,” Jacob said.
“Hello, yourself. Ma thinks we should do laundry since it’s warm today. Got anything you want washed?”
“That’s very kind of you. Hold on.” Hastily, Jacob gathered up a few things. He hadn’t put on his long johns this morning, so he rolled them up in his dirtiest shirt, along with a pair of socks. He was glad he had spread up his bunk earlier, as Polly stood in the doorway, gazing unabashedly around the room. Billy Clyde’s bunk was a heap of quilts and linen, and Jacob hoped Polly wouldn’t take offense.
“Here you go.” He passed her the bundle, a wave of heat passing over him as he realized she’d be seeing his longies. “Uh, what about Billy Clyde?”
“I asked him before he and Pa went hunting, and he said he didn’t need anything washed.” Polly wrinkled her nose as if she disagreed strongly with Billy Clyde on what constituted “clean enough.”
“Well, thanks.”
Polly looked up at him suddenly and grinned. “Say, would you get me a Christmas tree?”
Jacob couldn’t have been more surprised if the tenders had brought a team of bison out of the barn for his next run.
“A Christmas tree?”
“Yes. Pa says he’s too busy to look for one, but he said I could ask you fellows if you’d have time.”
“Well, now, I’d have to think on where I could find one.” Jacob scratched his chin.
“I know it’d be a ways. Pa has to go miles and miles to find any firewood.” Polly’s blue eyes held a wistful, faraway look.
“Means a lot to you, does it?” Jacob asked.
She smiled as though a little embarrassed. “More than I realized. It’s pretty out here, but it’s so different.”
“I guess you had a lot of forests where you came from.”
She nodded. “My friend Ava and I used to hang our skates around our necks and walk to the pond.”
“Ice skates? I never had any,” Jacob said. “It hardly froze for a minute down in Arkansas.”
“You poor thing. I loved skating on the pond. It was grand fun. Sometimes Pa would build a bonfire on the bank at dusk, and everyone would come from miles around to join in the party. It was almost like going to a dance.”
“Sounds like a good time. But what’s all that got to do with trees?”
Polly chuckled ruefully. “I thought of it when you asked me about the forest. To get to the pond, we’d pass through a big pine grove, where it was all shadowy and spooky some days. But in summer, it was cool and shady in there.”
“Which did you like best?”
“Summer, I guess, but winter wasn’t so bad. Here, it’s lonesome. Everything’s dead as far as you can see. The line shuts down. Nobody comes to visit. And last Christmas, we didn’t even have a tree. It just seemed wrong and sort of … depressing.”
She looked lost then, and more than anything, Jacob wanted to bring the merry smile back to her face. He squared his shoulders. “There’s some scrub pines in the hills between here and Fort Laramie. I’ll see what I can do on my next run.”
Her whole face lit up, and she clutched the bundle of laundry tighter. “Thank you ever so much!”
“It’d be an honor. That is, if I can find one.”
“We always had a balsam fir in Massachusetts.” Her eyes took on that yearning look again. “We had a few ornaments—not many. I’m not even sure Ma brought them along. But we’d string popcorn and cranberries and cut stars and snowflakes out of paper. And when it was all trimmed, it looked grand.”
“Well, I don’t know as I can find a fir tree. Would a pine or a cedar do, if I can’t?”
Polly laid a hand on his sleeve, and Jacob felt her warmth through the flannel. “At this point, I’ll take any kind of an evergreen. Just a small one—I don’t want it scraping the ceiling in the parlor—but maybe six feet or so. Of course, I don’t want you to spend days and days looking for one, but it would mean so much to me.”
Jacob smiled and nodded, feeling kind of like his insides had turned to pudding. Like his smile was crooked, and maybe his thinking was, too. Polly didn’t have the dignified beauty of a fairy princess, but she was pretty, and she sure did make him see that pond in the woods where she skated and the tree festooned with popcorn garlands. If he could keep that look on her face for a few days by bringing her a scraggly little pine tree, it would certainly be worthwhile. Somehow, the thought of making her happy made him happy.
That evening, Jacob enjoyed dinner with the family, Billy Clyde, and the tenders. Mrs. Winfield outdid herself with fried chicken, potatoes, and gravy. She’d cooked up a squash and some beets, too. Jacob didn’t see too many fresh vegetables this time of year. The Winfields must have a well-stocked root cellar. And the cake that came after—now, that was something. Mrs. Winfield let on that Polly had made it. Polly blushed and giggled and thanked the men prettily for their compliments. Jacob thought that was fine—that a girl who worked hard and showed winsome ways could cook to boot.
The tenders headed out for the barn when the cake and coffee were gone, and Billy Clyde followed shortly after. Mr. Winfield pushed back his chair and said he thought he’d go and check the stock.
“Those Mormon fellows that came through from Fort Bridger said there’s a band of Arapahoe on the move. Seems late for them to migrate to their winter camp. I want to make sure they don’t take a fancy to any of our horses or mules.”
“Can I help you, sir?” Jacob asked.
“Maybe so. I think I’ll run them inside for the night. The boys won’t like it. They’ll have to clean out the barn in the morning.”
“That’s better than losing your teams,” Jacob said.
When Jacob came back to the house twenty minutes later, Polly was elbow-deep in dishwater, and her mother was putting away the supper things.
“Anything I can help with, ma’am?” he asked from the kitchen doorway.
“Oh, thank you, Jacob,” Mrs. Winfield replied with a smile. “I think we have it in hand. Everything all right in the barn?”
“Yes, ma’am. All the horses and mules are inside now. Well, good night.”
Polly looked at him over her shoulder with that saucy little dimpled smile. “Good night!”
Oh, she was pretty all right.
Two wagons full of supplies for the winter arrived Friday, and Jacob and Billy Clyde helped Pa and the tenders unload it. They lugged sacks of feed to the barn and boxes to the lean-to behind the kitchen.
Polly helped her mother bake bread and pies for the stagecoach trade that would come on Saturday, and she and Jacob smiled at each other every time he passed through the kitchen with a load.
“Guess the rest will have to go in the barn,” Pa said after they’d made about a dozen trips each.
“I just toted two buckets of axle grease in,” Jacob said, “but I guess it should go to the barn.”
“Land, yes. Anything that’s for the stagecoach or the livestock, put out there,” Pa said. “Just foodstuffs and coal in the lean-to.”
“Yes, sir.” Jacob looked a little embarrassed that he had made such a mistake. He went into the lean-to and returned with two five-gallon buckets.
“Oh, Jacob, when you’re finished, I’ve got your clean clothes for you,” Polly called after him.
“Thank you kindly.” His face was a dull red as he went out.
“Now, Polly,” Ma said gently, “men don’t like to think of ladies handling their unmentionables. Best let me give him his things when he comes back.”<
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“All right.” Polly went back to rolling out piecrust. How was she supposed to know these things if no one told her?
Jacob and Billy Clyde were invited to spend a leisurely evening with the family. Pa played checkers with the other two men in turns, but neither of them could beat him. Polly sat demurely on the settee beside her mother in the cozy parlor, embroidering a special center square for her next quilt, while Ma knitted. With a coal fire in the potbellied stove, the room stayed warm, though outside the wind buffeted the station.
“I won’t wonder if we get snow soon,” Ma said.
“Maybe you boys will get snowed in here,” Pa added.
“It’d have to be a lot of snow to do that.” Billy Clyde moved his checkers with a click-click-click. “There! King me!”
Pa chuckled. “Pratt sent word with the supply wagons that they’ll keep the stages running as long as they possibly can.”
“I don’t fancy getting stuck in a snowdrift with a stage full of drummers,” Billy Clyde said.
“What about you, Jacob?” Pa asked. “Do you like driving in snow?”
“I don’t mind, so long as I’ve got warm gloves and a good wool hat.” Jacob stacked up the checkers Pa had already taken from Billy Clyde. “I hope we can keep on for a couple more weeks at least.”
“Wanting to draw your full pay for the month, eh?” Billy Clyde said.
Jacob nodded. “This position’s just temporary for me. If I’m going to be out of a job soon, I’d like to have enough to buy a good saddle horse, so’s I can set out and find another place to work.”
Polly’s spirits plummeted. She had hoped Jacob would stay in the area. If he was leaving soon for parts unknown, the hopes she had nourished were nothing but childish dreams.
She tried not to look at Jacob too often, but the next time she glanced his way, their gazes caught and he smiled at her. The shock of warmth that washed over her almost knocked her off the settee.
After an hour or so of checkers, fancywork, and placid conversation, Ma put aside her knitting and stood. “Would you fellows like some gingerbread before you go to bed?”
Polly stuck her needle through the material of her quilt square and tucked it into her workbag while her mother took beverage orders. She hurried to the kitchen to help.
“I left a jug of milk in the lean-to,” Ma said. “Will you get that?”
Polly retrieved it and poured a cup for Jacob and one for herself. Ma had poured out mugs of coffee and opened the pie safe. She set the pan of gingerbread on the table.
“You cut that, and I’ll whip some cream.”
Polly cut generous squares of the fragrant gingerbread for each of the men and more modest ones for herself and Ma. She took the men’s beverages into the parlor on a tray. Pa was engrossed in his checker strategy, but Jacob smiled up at her as he took his milk.
“Thanks, Polly.”
“Makes me hate to leave this station.” Billy Clyde raised his cup and blew on the surface of his steaming coffee. “Why, if I had my druthers, I’d stay here all week.”
“You could sign on as a tender,” Pa said grimly. “We’ll likely lose Roberts soon.” He’d been having some trouble with the men lately, getting them to stick to their tasks of keeping the harness in good shape and the horses immaculately groomed. Polly knew that the stocky man called Roberts wasn’t happy at the prospect of getting stranded here for the winter and was talking about quitting.
Billy Clyde snorted a laugh. “As if I’d take less pay to sleep in the barn and never get to town. Although Miz Winfield’s vittles would be a benefit to consider.”
“You’d get so fat and lazy, come spring you wouldn’t be able to roll out of your bunk to harness a team,” Pa said.
Polly smiled at that. Billy Clyde was so thin, she doubted he would ever be fat, even if he spent a whole winter eating Ma’s cooking and getting no exercise.
“It might be nice to have friends here at Christmas,” Ma said.
“Was you all alone last year?” Billy Clyde asked.
“You should know,” Pa said, looking over the checkerboard. “You left with the tenders, a week before Christmas, and then the snow came. I didn’t mind. It was restful. But I began to think Bertha and Polly would go a mite crazy.”
Ma smiled. “We three had to celebrate Christmas and New Year’s alone and didn’t see a soul for most of January either. Finally a bunch of troopers came through, breaking trail.”
“I wish we could go back East for Christmas,” Polly said. Pa frowned at her, and she added, “Oh, I don’t mean to stay. The holidays just don’t seem the same without the decorations and the carols and our loved ones all around us.”
“I’ll try to bring you that tree you hanker for,” Jacob said.
“Oh, so this is the one you’ve drawn into your scheme.” Pa shook his head.
“I don’t mind.” Jacob looked at Polly, as if for support.
“He said he might have time, Pa, and you did say I could ask.”
“Yes, I did.”
“Better you than me,” Billy Clyde said, reaching to move one of his checkers.
They said no more about the tree or Christmas, and Polly hoped she hadn’t embarrassed Jacob too badly by enlisting his help.
While Ma resumed her knitting, Jacob said quietly, “That was mighty fine gingerbread, Mrs. Winfield.”
“Thank you, Jacob. Now, tell us where you’re from and how long you expect to be driving this run.”
“I’m from Arkansas originally, ma’am, but I came out here from Independence. The division agent hired me just temporary.”
“He ought to keep you on,” Billy Clyde said. “You’re doing all right driving.”
“Thanks. I’ve always wanted to drive stage. I was driving a freight wagon in Independence, but that’s not the same.”
Billy Clyde snorted. “Not hardly.”
“I do need the job badly. I don’t know where I’ll go when they turn me loose.”
“Well, don’t waste time on your run looking for a tree for my daughter,” Pa said.
“He can’t do that,” Billy Clyde assured him. “Can’t stop the stage unless it’s an emergency.”
“Yeah, I’d lose my place for sure if I did that.” Jacob looked over at Polly and smiled. “Don’t you worry, though. I’ll keep my eyes open, and if I see a likely tree, I’ll ride out on Monday and get it.”
Polly couldn’t help smiling back at him. Pa’s thoughtful frown may have dulled the radiance of that smile a little but not much. Jacob Tierney was the sweetest man she’d ever met.
Chapter 3
The next morning at precisely ten fifteen, Polly stood with her mother on the front stoop and waved to Jacob and Billy Clyde as the stage pulled out, heading east.
“Thank you again for looking for a tree,” she called, and Jacob touched his whip to his hat brim in reply.
Polly let out a big sigh and leaned back against the doorjamb.
“He’s a nice young man,” Ma said.
Polly tried to guard her expression, but Ma could always read her. “Sure, he is. He’s polite, hardworking, and considerate.”
“Not to mention long on looks.”
“Ma!” Polly knew her cheeks were red. She ducked inside and began to clear the dishes left by the latest batch of passengers. No matter what time the stage arrived, they always got “dinner.” Ma made sure the travelers got their money’s worth, too. Today’s chicken pie and spice cake had disappeared like magic—the same as every Saturday.
“Well, we’d best change the sheets out back,” Ma said as she came in and shut the door. Every time the driver and shotgun rider left and the incoming pair took their place, Ma changed their beds. When bad weather prevented her from doing laundry, she stripped the beds anyway and kept each bundle of sheets separate, so that when the men returned, they could at least sleep in their own linen, not someone else’s. If Billy Clyde were to be believed, this was not the case at every home station. In the summer, when
things were busy, he’d sworn one station agent hadn’t changed the beds for all of June and July, regardless of who slept in them.
The chores tired Polly out, and she was glad the next day would be their day of rest. The tenders, Harry, and the shotgun messenger who accompanied him—Lyman Towne—did not share the Winfields’ faith or Pa’s belief that Sunday should be a day of rest and contemplation. They came for their meals on that day and, for the most part, avoided the house the rest of it. Ma said they probably carried on with the poker games in the barn, even on the Lord’s Day, but Polly had never ventured to find out.
After breakfast and the kitchen work were done on Sundays, Polly sat with her parents in the parlor. Pa would read scripture for an hour. Then they would pray aloud for all their kinfolk back East, for daily sustenance, for the safety of the drivers and shotgun riders, and for the souls of the tenders. Today Pa’s petition for Roberts was especially fervent, and Polly wondered what the man had done now.
After the amen, she opened her eyes.
“Pa, why don’t you just fire him?”
“Who?” her father asked, as though he hadn’t a clue.
“Roberts. If he’s so bad …”
“Never you mind, missy.”
“Really, Russell,” Ma said. “Polly may be right. If he vexes you so …”
Pa sighed. “I suppose he’s no worse than most—at least most that are available out here. I found an empty whiskey bottle in the hay, and he admitted it was his. Seems he’s been having Towne bring him bottles on the Saturday run.”
“You’d be justified in letting him go,” Ma said.
“But no one will come to replace him this time of year.”
Ma shook her head. “No matter. The stages will stop soon. You can get by for a couple of weeks.”
“I’ll think about it.”
After dinner, Polly was allowed to go to her room and read, and she took a nap before joining her mother to prepare supper. On Sunday evening they put out bread, meat, cheese, fruit preserves, and pickles, and the men were invited to help themselves while the family ate in the kitchen.
The 12 Brides of Christmas Collection Page 21