The 12 Brides of Christmas Collection

by Mary Connealy

Ma smiled. “So did I. A vest for each of them. Did you make socks?”

  “No. I barely got Pa’s done. I made a tobacco pouch for Billy Clyde and a muffler for Jacob. You saw the gray and white yarn.”

  “Oh yes, and a muffler’s much quicker than a pair of stockings.”

  “Much simpler, too,” Polly said. She’d had trouble turning the heels on Pa’s socks, and her mother had helped her redo them.

  “Ma, this was going to be the last run.”

  “I know, dear. Likely the division agent canceled it.”

  Polly sighed and walked to the stove for a dipperful of hot water. She poured it over the clean biscuit pan to rinse off the soap. “I’ll try not to fret about it, but I keep thinking of them all huddled in a stagecoach in some snowdrift, slowly freezing to death.”

  She tackled the stewpot then dried all the clean dishes. Ma helped her put them away.

  “Want me to take the things off the dining table?” Polly asked.

  “Let’s leave the place settings, just in case. If no one shows up by suppertime, we’ll put it all away.”

  Pa opened the door from the family parlor. “Bertha, I thought I’d saddle my horse and ride down the road a ways.”

  “In this storm?” Ma’s eyebrows shot up almost to her hairline.

  “The snow’s let up some,” Pa said.

  “How much is on the ground?” Polly asked.

  “Three or four inches so far. They could make it through that, with a stout team. But I doubt they ever left the fort. I just want to make sure.”

  “Let me come with you, Pa.” Polly tossed her apron onto its peg.

  He frowned. “I don’t know, Polly. It’s cold, and you’re not dressed for it.”

  “I’ll bundle up. Wait for me, please? I won’t be long.”

  She dashed to her room and opened her top dresser drawer. She had a long, thick pair of woolen stockings that she wore in coldest weather. She pulled them on over her regular stockings and added a pair of sturdy cotton pantalets. They were old-fashioned things, but in extreme times, warmth was more important than fashion.

  Knowing her father was waiting, she jerked on a second petticoat—this one flannel—beneath her skirt. A hood, a muffler, boots, her thick woolen coat, and mittens lined in lamb’s fleece completed her ensemble.

  She ran back to the kitchen. Her mother was putting food into a basket.

  “Where’s Pa?” Polly asked.

  “He went out to saddle the horses. Take these things.”

  She placed a small box in the basket, tucked a clean towel over the top, and handed it to Polly. “There’s a few bandages and things in that little box. And here’s your pa’s canteen, full of water. Now, Polly, you be careful. And do whatever your father says.”

  “I will.” Polly scurried through the dining room and outside. The chilly air snatched her breath, and she slowed down. The snow still fell, and the ground, the roofs, even the fence posts, were frosted in several inches of white fluff. The only tracks were those Pa had made. Polly tried to walk in them, but her stride was shorter than his, and the heavy basket threw her off balance. At least the snow was not deeper than her boot tops. Lifting and setting each foot carefully, she made her way to the barn.

  Inside, the air was warmer. The fresh team of horses for the coach stamped in their stalls. Pa’s horse, Ranger, was already saddled and tied to an iron ring in the wall. In the dimness, Polly made out Pa, saddling the buckskin mare she sometimes rode, and Ernest throwing a blanket across the back of a mule from the extra team they kept on hand, in case anything happened to the horses regularly used on this run.

  “Are you going with us?” Polly asked Ernest.

  “Thought I would. Getting a little batty just sitting inside all day.”

  “We’re only going a mile or two down the track,” Pa said. “I don’t want your mother to be left home worrying about us very long.”

  Polly nodded and carried the basket over to him.

  “What’s this?”

  “Things Ma packed. Food, mostly, and medical supplies.”

  Pa sighed and pulled the dish towel off the top of the basket. “Have you got saddlebags on your rig?” Pa called to Ernest.

  He shook his head.

  “Well, take the canteen.” Pa nodded at Polly, and she took the water over to Ernest.

  When she got back to her father’s side, he was tying the basket as securely as he could to the back of Lucy’s saddle. He already had a blanket rolled up and tied to the cantle of Ranger’s. “Try not to jostle this too much.”

  He handed her Lucy’s reins and led his gelding to the large rolling door. When he pushed it back, a gust of wind blew in, bringing a cloud of swirling snow. Polly adjusted her muffler so that it covered most of her face and led Lucy outside. Ernest brought his mule out and rolled the door shut behind them. Already, the snow seemed deeper than when Polly had come to the barn. A skim of fresh flakes had softened her footprints into dimples in the surface.

  “Need a boost?” Pa asked.

  Usually Polly didn’t, but with all her extra clothing weighing her down, she decided it might help.

  “If you don’t mind.”

  She got her foot to the stirrup, and Pa helped her bounce up into the sidesaddle.

  “All set?”

  She nodded. The harsh wind blew snowflakes into her eyes, and she blinked at them.

  “Having second thoughts?”

  “No,” she said. “I want to go.”

  Pa hesitated. “All right, but we won’t stay out long, like I said. That wind won’t be kind to us.”

  He and Ernest mounted, and the three of them set out, with Ranger and Pa breaking trail. The snow drifted before the angry wind, sometimes making a sheet in front of Polly that nearly prevented her from seeing Ranger’s black tail. At other moments, she could see for yards all around. Small eddies of wind picked up snow and whirled it around before dropping it again. She couldn’t tell how much new snow was still descending until she looked up and saw myriad flakes falling, always falling.

  A huge boulder loomed beside the trail. That landmark told Polly they had come a mile from the house. The small part of her face exposed to the wind began to feel stiff, and the cold seeped through her sturdy boots and layered socks. She clamped her teeth together so they wouldn’t chatter, but she wasn’t sure how long she could keep this up.

  By the time they rounded the bend that was another half mile along, she wondered if they had made a mistake. The snow was coming down harder, and she could barely make out Pa’s white-covered form ahead. Lucy plodded along with her head down. Polly didn’t want to stop Pa, but she didn’t want them to get off the trail and lose the way or to be overcome by the cold and unable to return home.

  Her unease grew, and just as she was about to shout to her father over the wind, Ranger stopped, and Lucy nearly ran into his hindquarters. She stopped, too. Polly clucked to her and pressed her leg against Lucy’s side to ease her up next to Ranger.

  Pa said nothing but raised his arm and pointed ahead, down the trail. Polly squinted. A shadowy figure materialized out of nothing then disappeared again behind a whoosh of snowflakes propelled by the wind.

  “Hey!” Pa’s shout was blown back at them by a gust, but the cloud of snow passed, and now the form was closer—so close that Polly jumped.

  A muffled cry reached them, and they waited. She could see now that a large horse was coming toward them, and hunched over, clinging to its back, was a person. Only when the horse’s nose nearly touched Ranger’s could she tell that it was one of the regular coach horses, still wearing his harness. The man perched on his back, clutching one of the straps and a handful of mane, was Jacob.

  Chapter 5

  “What happened?” Pa yelled.

  Jacob leaned toward them. “Wreck!”

  “How far?”

  “Maybe a mile.”

  Polly shivered. A mile might as well be a thousand in this storm. At least the stage was closer to
the Winfields’ than to the next station.

  “Anyone hurt?” Pa bellowed, and she realized the wind had momentarily dropped.

  Ernest edged his mule up next to Lucy so he could hear what was said.

  “Two of them are bad,” Jacob said. “I would have set out sooner, but I stayed to build a fire for them.”

  “Billy Clyde?”

  “He fell on his arm, but he’s trying to help the others.”

  Pa nodded. “How many horses do you have?”

  “Two more that can travel,” Jacob said. “I only set out with four, though I asked for six.”

  Polly grimaced. That meant one horse was badly injured or dead.

  “I’d have brought people along on them, but I wasn’t sure I could make it through,” Jacob said. “Figured they’d do better to stick together.”

  The wind picked up again, howling around them and driving a maelstrom of snow into their faces. Polly ducked her chin and closed her eyes until the worst of it had passed, but its icy fingers pierced even her woolen coat now.

  “How many people in all?” Pa shouted.

  “Seven passengers and Billy.”

  “Ernest and I will go back for the oxen and the sled.”

  That made sense to Polly. More than six inches of snow now covered the ground, and it was drifting much deeper in some spots. But the oxen Pa was fattening to sell in the spring could break through it. They would go slowly, and it might take them a couple of hours to reach the stranded travelers, but Pa would see to it. The injured passengers could ride on the sled that he used in winter to haul supplies and firewood.

  Jacob nodded. “I’ll stay with the stage.”

  “Can I go with Jacob?” Polly yelled.

  Pa frowned at her then said to Jacob, “Can she get warm if she stays with you?”

  “Fuel is hard to come by,” Jacob said, “but there are a few scrub trees. I think we can keep the fire going until you come back if we burn the broken tongue off the coach.”

  Pa’s eyes flickered, and he hesitated. Burning the equipment was a drastic step, but people were badly injured, and the tongue would have to be replaced anyway, by the sound of things.

  “All right. Polly, take the food and this blanket.” They transferred the items from Ranger’s saddle and the canteen from Ernest’s.

  “We’ll try to be there in two hours,” Pa said. “It may take longer. Don’t give up on us.”

  “I could send some of the passengers out on the coach horses,” Jacob said.

  Pa swiveled in the saddle and gazed at their back trail. “They might not be able to see our prints all the way. It’s blowing and drifting something fierce.”

  “I could send Billy Clyde with them. He knows this trail better’n just about anyone.”

  Pa nodded. “Do it. We won’t stick around waiting for them, but we’ll look for them on our way back with the ox team.”

  Polly watched Pa and Ernest ride off, back toward the station. She was shocked by how suddenly they disappeared into blowing snow. The wind howled around her and Jacob.

  “We’d better get moving,” he said.

  “I’ll follow you.” She had to shout again to make him hear. He pivoted the coach horse. The big animal seemed clumsy compared to Lucy. Riding close behind, Polly had the benefit of shelter. The coach horse’s body broke the force of the wind. She huddled low. Lucy didn’t need much guidance now. She followed the bigger horse, walking in the trail he had carved in the new snow. They plodded on for what seemed a long time.

  Polly grew so cold she thought about unrolling the blanket Pa had given her and wrapping it around her, over her coat. She looked ahead at Jacob’s back, wondering if she could make him hear her. Then, to one side and still a ways ahead, she saw a warm orange glow and took heart.

  The horses slogged along slowly until they came to the fire. It had burned low, and Polly could see that for lack of fuel it would soon go out. A few yards away, the stagecoach lay on its side. One wheel looked hopelessly smashed, with several of the spokes broken.

  “We got off the trail in the storm,” Jacob said. “Ran over some rocks. The front axle’s bent. It’s my fault.”

  Before Polly could reply, he turned toward Billy Clyde and the seven passengers huddled around the fire and shouted, “This is Polly Winfield, from the next station. I met her and her father and another fellow. Mr. Winfield and Ernest are headed back to the station for an ox team and sled so we can carry the injured people in.”

  Several of the passengers got to their feet, staring at Polly, as if she were a ghost appearing out of the snowstorm.

  Billy Clyde came over, holding on to his left arm just below the shoulder. “Miss Polly, you oughtn’t to be out here! We’re like to freeze to death.”

  “We brought you some sandwiches and water.” Polly ignored his dire prediction and swung the canteen toward him. “I have a blanket, too. You can put it over the two hurt folks.”

  “That sounds mighty good,” Billy Clyde said. “I’d help you down, but I think my arm’s busted.”

  “I’m sorry.” Polly didn’t need any help swinging down off Lucy’s back, and in a moment she stood beside him in the snow.

  “We need more fuel for the fire,” Jacob said. “Mr. Thomas and Mr. Percival, could you help me, please? Mr. Winfield said we can burn the broken wagon tongue. I don’t have an ax, but we can burn the two pieces that broke off from the end.” He looked at Billy Clyde. “Let Miss Polly warm herself.”

  Polly hated displacing anyone at the meager fireside, but she couldn’t deny that she needed the heat. Her fingers began to warm soon, but what little warmth radiated from the remains of the fire didn’t penetrate her woolen skirts or her boots. The poor fire flickered, and the flames threatened to die.

  “It needs more kindling,” she said.

  “We busted up all the branches we could find,” one of the passengers said, and Polly realized the speaker was a woman.

  “Ma’am, are you hurt?”

  “No, but my husband is. He was thrown from the stage. Thank you for bringing the blanket. I’ll put it over him and Mr. O’Neal.”

  “I’ve got bandages, too,” Polly said. “Perhaps that would help.”

  “It would indeed.”

  Polly hurried to her horse and took the basket down. “They’re in here, with some food my mother sent.” She handed the basket to the woman. “Could you please ask someone to distribute the food? There are a few sandwiches and some apples and oatmeal cookies.”

  “That sounds wonderful,” the woman said. “I’m Mrs. Ricker.”

  “I’m sorry you’re not enjoying my mother’s hospitality this minute, ma’am. But if you’ll see to passing out the food, I’ll scrounge around and see if I can find anything else burnable. Jacob will need something smaller to feed the fire, if he wants it to catch onto that broken wagon tongue.”

  The men had struggled with the equipment while she spoke, and now Jacob came to the fire carrying a five-foot piece of the broken timber.

  “We need something else,” he said, eyeing the smoldering embers.

  “I was just going to look for more fuel,” Polly said.

  “All right. Stay within sight of us. And do you have anything we can use for a sling for Billy Clyde’s arm?”

  Polly thought for a moment. “There’s a towel covering the food in my basket. Ask Mrs. Ricker for it.”

  Jacob nodded and pointed beyond the overturned stagecoach. “There were a few scrub trees over that way. But I meant what I said about staying close. We don’t want to lose you.”

  She went in the direction he indicated, wading in snow that was nearly as deep as her boots now. She rounded the coach and stared at the luggage spilling from the back. Tied to the roof of the coach, which was now vertical, was a bushy form that could only be one thing. Jacob had brought her Christmas tree.

  Jacob helped Mrs. Ricker tend her husband and the other injured man, Mr. O’Neal. Meanwhile, Polly went off into the darkness. Two of the
able-bodied passengers helped her look for wood, and they came back with enough small branches among them to perk up the fire until it took hold of the wagon tongue. Everyone couldn’t get around the small blaze at once, so they took turns, with the two seriously injured men on one side of the fire, huddled under the blanket, and the others standing around the circle, extending their hands toward the flames.

  “It was kind of your mother to send food,” said Mr. Percival, a drummer from Kansas City.

  “She was happy to do it,” Polly said.

  Billy Clyde, who was now wearing the towel tied around his neck for a sling, came over to stand beside Jacob. “I could make it to the station on one of those horses.”

  “Yes, I think you could,” Jacob said. “Take Percival and Thomas and head out, while Mr. Winfield’s tracks are still visible. I’ll wait here with the others.” He ticked them off mentally—Mrs. Ricker, the two badly injured men, along with two other fellows who had received no more than a good shaking up and a bruising. They would probably want to know why they couldn’t be the ones to ride the horses to the way station, but they hadn’t been as ready to help out as Percival and Thomas, so Jacob thought those two had earned the privilege.

  “What about Polly?” Billy Clyde asked.

  “I’ll ask her if she wants to go.” Jacob walked over to where Polly stood.

  Her smile gleamed in the firelight. “I was thinking that we might do well to build a snow wall around the patients, to shelter them from the wind. It’s not too bad right now, but it could pick up again.”

  “I’m sending Billy Clyde and two others off on the three good coach horses,” Jacob said. “Do you want to take your mount and go with them?”

  Polly hesitated. “I’d rather stay here, if you think I could be of some help.”

  “I do. You’ve already been very helpful, and I’m sure Mrs. Ricker is glad to have some female company. But it may be some time before your father gets back here with those oxen. You could go along with Billy now and be safe at home.”

  Polly’s smile looked a bit sad. “I should feel very guilty if I did that, and I would go wild, wondering if you were all right.”