Enchanted Christmas

by Craig, Emma

  “But slavery is bad!” Maddie looked up at him, righteous outrage on her piquant face.

  “Lots of folks would agree with you on that issue, Miss Maddie. I know I do. But it’s hard to get folks to change their whole way of life because other folks—folks who live hundreds of miles away—think it’s wrong.”

  “You din’t live hundreds of miles away, and you think slavery’s wrong too.”

  He couldn’t argue that one. He nodded, ceding the point and wondering what to say now. Maddie didn’t give him a chance.

  “‘Sides, slavery is wrong! How come they wouldn’t change if something’s wrong?”

  Ah, the mind of a child! Noah could hardly remember a time when things had been all black and white to him, his entire life had been gray for so long. Too long. Much too long. He sighed, contemplated explaining the economic implications in changing a system that had been working for a hundred years and more, and decided it was too big a job for him. Like Maddie’s mother before him, Noah opted for the easy way out. “Well, I reckon I wondered the same thing, Miss Maddie. That’s why I joined the Union army. That, and because I didn’t want the nation to be split in two.”

  Maddie swiveled in her saddle and peered up at her mother. “We were for the Union army, weren’t we, Mommy?” Noah held his breath, fearing for her safety. But she was a good little rider, and she didn’t so much as wobble.

  “We believed in the Union cause. Yes, dear.” Grace’s voice was so benevolent, Noah wished he could bottle it and take it out on those occasions when he was feeling particularly crazy.

  “And the Union won, didn’t it, Mr. Noah?”

  Now Maddie’s clear gaze was upon him, and Noah bit off the retort he’d been about to spout. He’d been going to say that no one ever won a war, but Maddie was too young and innocent to understand that. He compromised. “Yeah. I guess.”

  Maddie didn’t like his equivocation. She turned back to her mother. “We did win, didn’t we, Mommy?”

  “Yes, dear.”

  “How come Mr. Noah said that, then?” She cast an accusatory glance at Noah, who sighed.

  Grace smiled at her daughter. “I think Mr. Partridge is trying to tell you that the cost of war is very high, Maddie, and that even when one side emerges victorious, the losses of war far outweigh the benefits, both financially and in human suffering.”

  “Yeah,” Noah said. “That’s right.” He wondered if it was. Then he decided that he really, really didn’t want to think about the war any longer.

  The weather was lovely—at least thirty degrees warmer than it had been for a week or more—he was actually enjoying the company he was in, and the war was long over. At least for most people, it was. If it occasionally paid Noah visits at inopportune moments, it wasn’t doing so now, and he didn’t want to chance inviting it in.

  “So, where are you leading us, Mrs. Richardson?”

  She gave him one of the smiles that went through him like a tiny ray of sunshine and warmed his cold insides. “I thought it was time you saw the lakes, Mr. Partridge. There are several of them a few miles off. They’re quite pretty, and they’re very deep. I believe some of Mr. Chisum’s cowboys have tried to find the bottom of a couple of them by tying lengths of rope together and dangling them in the water, and no one’s hit it yet.”

  He lifted his eyebrows. “They sound awfully deep, ma’am.”

  “Indeed, I expect they are. Although Mac says they’re probably fed by underground streams, and the current moves the rope, making them appear deeper than they actually are.”

  “Makes sense.” Hell, Noah reckoned the rain water had to go somewhere. It sure didn’t stick around on the surface out here. This land was as hard as flint. Like him. He was liking it more and more every day.

  “Yes, it does. Anyway, the cowboys have taken to calling them the bottomless lakes. I don’t know about that, but I do know that they’re pretty, and they’re deep, the fishing is good in them, and Maddie loves to wade in the shallows.” She glanced up into the blue, blue sky. “And the weather’s warm enough today for some wading.”

  “Yes!” Maddie’s face beamed up at him like sunshine.

  “Maybe we can catch some fish for lunch.”

  “Maybe so.”

  Grace heaved a big sigh. Noah glanced at her, wondering if she was upset about something. She looked happy, though, her clear eyes gazing about with eagerness, and he guessed maybe her sigh had been one of contentment. It seemed odd to him that anyone would be content in his company. He liked the idea, though, and he looked around too.

  Chapter Eleven

  Noah leaned back against a boulder. He didn’t know beans about geology, but this particular rock was striped with layers and layers of different colored strata, and he expected a geologist would have a field day out here. Maybe even find some fossils.

  Grace had been right about the beauty of these lakes. There were several of them, and they all sat in hollows that looked as if water had carved them out of the surrounding cliffs thousands of years ago. The cliff sides were so sheer in some places, he was pretty sure they couldn’t be scaled without real mountain-climbing equipment, even though they weren’t very high.

  A buzzard floated over the top of one of them, lazily riding the breeze and making Noah envious. He’d like to be able to do that; float away on the wind. He was surprised to see the bird because he’d assumed the buzzards must all have flown south long since. It was pretty, though, soaring way up there like that. Really pretty. Strange that a carrion-eater should add such a fine, peaceful touch to a beautiful day.

  This was the oddest country he’d ever seen. Near as Noah could tell, there wasn’t a tree within a hundred miles or more that hadn’t been planted by settlers. He didn’t count the scraggly mesquite bushes; they didn’t properly look like trees, although their red wood added a bright note to the relentlessly beige landscape.

  He wondered how this place would look in the springtime. Would it still be tan and brown, or would greenery liven it up? Mac claimed that flowers bloomed after the rains came, but Noah somehow doubted that the land would ever, even in the rainiest of springs, resemble his native Virginia. He was glad of it.

  “Wonder how long it’ll take folks to plant trees around here and for the trees to grow big enough to shade their picnics.”

  Grace looked up from the pan in which she was frying the perch Noah’d just caught. Actual 176176 ªly, he and Maddie had caught them together. He’d had to help her, of course, but it hadn’t been the burden he’d anticipated. She’d been eager as anything, and happy as a clam. Her cry of joy when she pulled out the first one, a whopper that wiggled and fought for its freedom, had lit him up inside. He’d had to help her land it. Grace had been right about the fishing; those were some of the biggest fish he’d ever caught, and they smelled like heaven as she tended them over the fire he’d built from a bunch of dried mesquite branches they’d gathered.

  His stomach growled, and his even his hunger suited him. Made him feel human, connected somehow with the rest of his fellow creatures on this earth. The feeling was a pleasant novelty.

  “I don’t know. Frank and I planted some willows and cottonwoods on our land, but they’re still very small.” She shot him an apprehensive look, as if she wished she hadn’t mentioned her land.

  Noah sighed and wished she hadn’t mentioned it too. But he wouldn’t spoil this picnic by bringing up his lust for her land. He’d lull her into forgetting about it, is what he’d do. Immediately his cynical side reared its ugly head and he thought what a damned imbecile he was. As if he still had the wherewithal to lull a lady into any kind of compliance about anything at all. Cripes, who did he think he was? He was a lunatic, for God’s sake. Well, he’d not talk about Grace Richardson’s land today in any case.

  “Yeah,” he said. “I saw them.”

  “Mac’s planted trees too. Some oaks and willows, and even some cottonwoods by the swamp. Did you know there’s a swamp close by his property, Mr. Partridg
e?”

  “A swamp?” In spite of himself, Noah chuckled. A swamp! In this desert?

  Grace nodded. “Indeed, there is. You’d never believe it, would you? But it’s no more than half a mile north of his wagon yard, where the Spring River flows through Rio Hondo. It’s quite green up there in the springtime and summer, and the fishing’s good there too.”

  “I’d never have guessed.”

  “Maddie likes to hunt for tadpoles there during the summer.”

  “I bet she does. I remember doing that when I was a kid.” He looked at her from under his hat brim. When she wasn’t messing with the fish, she sat with her back against another boulder, her knees drawn up and her arms around them. She looked relaxed. Approachable. As if she might not slap him silly if he were to go over there, put his arms around her, and—

  Lord above, where had that thought sprung from? He jerked his head in the other direction and looked at Maddie.

  Grace and he were both keeping an eagle eye on the little girl, who had shucked her shoes and stockings, hiked up her skirt around her waist, and now waded in the clear water of the lake. Noah could hear her singing “There is a Balm in Gilead” at the top of her lungs from where he sat. She was a tuneful little kid, Maddie Richardson, although he did wonder, when she sang “to heal the sin-sick soul,” what possible sins could lie within her blameless breast. She was only a kid, for the love of God. She couldn’t have racked up enough sins to fill a thimble.

  “Bet that water’s freezing,” he said, thinking of Maddie’s toes and trying to forget his recent, indiscreet thoughts concerning Maddie’s mother.

  “I imagine it is, but the weather is so fine, I’m sure she won’t take cold.”

  “No, I’m sure she won’t. It must be seventy-five degrees today.”

  Grace looked up, as if gauging the temperature from the looks of the sky. “I do believe you’re right, Mr. Partridge. Isn’t that something? Why, only week or so ago, it was snowing.”

  “Reckon the weather’s unpredictable out here, ma’am.”

  She chuckled. “It certainly is. It might snow again tomorrow. We can get some tremendous thunderstorms too.”

  “Yeah, I can imagine.”

  “We generally only get the thunderstorms during the summertime.”

  He nodded.

  “The winters aren’t as hard here as the winters in Chicago, though, even if the landscape isn’t as friendly.”

  “They call Chicago the windy city for a reason, I expect.”

  “They certainly do.” She laughed again.

  Grace lifted the fish pan from the fire and conversation lagged. Noah twirled a grass stalk in his fingers and watched Maddie. She was having the time of her life out there in the shallows of the lake. It must be nice to be a kid and to be able to entertain yourself by doing nothing more than collecting shiny rocks and sing hymns at fish.

  “Ever eat frog legs, Mrs. Richardson?”

  “Sometimes. They’re quite tasty, but I don’t like to cook them. They jump out of the pan if you’re not careful, and I always feel sorry for the frogs.” She gave him a sheepish grin, as if she expected him to consider her a fool. He didn’t. He’d always felt sorry for the frogs too.

  “My mama used to cook up a mess of frog legs every now and then. I liked them a lot.”

  “I prefer fish. They don’t jump so.”

  “I reckon not.” He gave her a smile, to let her know he understood. “What about the jackrabbits I see around here? They any good to eat?”

  She sighed. “Not very. They’re tough as old boots, actually. There are cottontails out here, though, and they’re pretty tasty. Mac made Maddie a blanket out of cottontail hides sewn together. She loves it because it’s as soft as feathers. It’s her favorite blanket. Won’t go to sleep without it at night.”

  “I can imagine.” Noah shut his eyes for a moment and tried to envision sleeping with something as soft as rabbit fur. He’d rather sleep with Grace Richardson. His eyes popped open, and he blinked, annoyed by his sudden fantasy. Criminy, he hadn’t thought anything like that in years until he met Grace. Now he could hardly think of anything else. He was damned near a virgin reborn, if men could be virgins.

  Grace transferred the cooked fish to a dish and put another cleaned fillet on to cook. As the fish sizzled, they watched Maddie for a while. She seemed to be collecting a fine pile of shiny, water-polished stones. The occasional lurid daydream aside, Noah couldn’t offhand recall the last time he’d felt so completely at peace with himself and the world. This picnic had been a good idea on somebody’s part.

  “And then there are the antelopes. There are lots of herds out here.”

  “Yeah, I’ve seen several. Deer too.”

  “I understand some folks eat mountain lions, although I don’t think I’d like to try them.”

  Noah shrugged. “Reckon a body does what he has to do when it comes to food. If all you had was a cougar, I expect you’d eat it.” A few years ago, Noah himself would have killed for a piece of meat. He wouldn’t have cared what animal it came from.

  “I suppose.”

  He saw a soft smile play at Grace’s lips and felt an unexpected compulsion to kiss her. Damn, he’d gone loony as a March hare. He looked away quickly and his gaze fastened on Maddie once more.

  They didn’t talk again until Grace said, “I think this is the last of the fish. If you’ll get Maddie, I’ll serve up our lunch.”

  “Sounds like a fair swap to me.” Noah sighed, heaved himself to his feet, and walked the twenty or so yards to the lake.

  # # #

  Lunch was delicious. Grace had noticed before that fish tasted better when freshly caught. And there was something about eating them in the open air on a beautiful, clear fall day that perked up one’s appetite too.

  Company counted a lot toward the enjoyment of meals as well. She glanced at Noah Partridge from time to time and marveled that she should be taking pleasure in his company. He was such a hard, aloof man, yet from time to time his humanity showed, and he seemed almost friendly. Grace found herself wanting to tempt his sociable qualities out into the open, to pamper them so that they would surface more often and stick around longer.

  Don’t be foolish, Grace Richardson. She knew good and well that people never changed in essentials. If Noah Partridge was an unfriendly, reserved individual, there was nothing she could do to draw him out.

  Of course, if he had merely been damaged by circumstances, like Uncle Henry, and her friendship could help him, she’d be glad to oblige. He had given Maddie that locket, after all. He must have some finer qualities, besides being quite the handsomest man Grace had ever seen—in a hard, chiseled sort of way.

  Bother. There she went again. She shook her head and wished she could get her mind to dwell on things other than Noah Partridge. Her thoughts seemed to linger over him entirely too much.

  “Delicious fish, Mrs. Richardson.”

  As if answering her mind’s probing, Noah’s voice penetrated her thoughts. She glanced up from her plate. “Yes, you two caught some good ones.”

  He grinned. “I think it’s the cooking makes them taste so good, ma’am.”

  There was no reason for her to be blushing. Grace was annoyed with herself. “Fish always tastes better fresh,” she said, snapping the words out curtly. She felt even more embarrassed when Noah’s eyebrow lifted. To cover her fuddled state, she fussed with her daughter. “Do you want another fish, Maddie?”

  “No, thank you.”

  It was a point of pride with Grace that Maddie was such a polite little girl. There weren’t many folks to practice on in Rio Hondo. It would have been easy for Grace to let her daughter’s manners slide, but she didn’t do it.

  “If there’s enough, I’ll take another one, ma’am.”

  Grace glanced up to find Noah holding out his plate as if in offering. She scooped up another fish and plopped it down. “There’s plenty. You two caught enough for an army.”

  Maddie giggled.
“The Union Army.”

  Grace shot an uneasy look Noah’s way, and was relieved when he smiled. Good. She didn’t want Maddie’s innocent comment to stir up old memories. She could tell he hadn’t enjoyed their chat about the war earlier in the day.

  “Can I have another pickle, Mommy?”

  “May you have another pickle? I should say you may.” Grace speared a stalk of dilled okra out of the jar and put it on Maddie’s tin plate. Mac and Maddie both enjoyed her pickled okra. Grace preferred cucumber pickles herself. “There are dried-apple tarts for dessert.”

  “Yummy!”

  Noah’s deep chuckle was music to her ears. Almost as soon as they’d finished the last fish, Maddie began to rub her eyes.

  “Let’s find you a shady spot, Maddie, and I’ll lay out a blanket so you can take a nap.”

  The little girl didn’t object. She yawned hugely. Grace walked her behind a big boulder, helped her with her underdrawers, and let her relieve herself before she led her back to the blanket. She was intensely aware of Noah’s gaze on them both when Maddie settled down on the blanket. His dark, brooding scrutiny made her nervous, so she sat on Maddie’s blanket too, leaned back against a rock, and let Maddie rest her head on her lap.

  “Sing me a song, please, Mommy.”

  “All right, sweetie.”

  “You can sing, too, Mr. Noah.”

  Grace felt Maddie’s head turn in her lap and realized her daughter was smiling at Noah. She gave her shoulders a little shrug, trying to let him know that he didn’t have to sing if it embarrassed him to do so.

  She nearly dropped her teeth when he said, “Well, I reckon I could do that, Miss Maddie.” Then he launched into a rendition of “Barbara Allen,” that took her breath away.

  Merciful heavens, he had a beautiful voice. A rich, clear baritone, it would have done any choir in the world proud. He was musical through and through, Noah Partridge. It seemed a shame to Grace that he had to live in these terrible modern days, when civil war could shatter a musician’s life and soul to pieces. He should have been some aristocrat’s son during the Renaissance, when his talents could have been nurtured and allowed to bloom unhampered.