Montana Sky Christmas: A Sweetwater Springs Short Story Collection

by Debra Holland

  Still holding the ornament, she closed her eyes and gave thanks for her very own Christmas miracle.

  FELIZ NAVIDAD

  Jose “Pepe” Villagomez Sanchez sat in a pew in the middle of the church, attending the monthly Catholic Mass given by Father Fredrick, the traveling priest. The afternoon sun’s weak rays bounced off the snow and through the plain windows, sparkling on the silver crucifix and communion chalice set upon the white cloth-covered altar. The sweet fragrance of incense filled the wooden building.

  The morning had loomed overcast, looking to storm, so only a few people attended the Protestant service held earlier in the day. But by noon, the clouds blew away, making traveling to Mass possible for the Mexican, Irish, and Italian population of Sweetwater Springs.

  “Kyrie, Elèison,” the priest intoned. “Christe, Elèison...”

  Pepe should have been listening to Father Fredrick chant in Latin. For the most part he tried to concentrate, but his attention kept straying to the young woman, wearing a plain black mantilla, in the pew across the aisle from him. Madre de Dios, she’s beautiful.

  Lucia Perez had hair as dark and glossy as a raven’s wing, large expressive eyes, and a slight figure that he often dreamed about. During the service, he peered at her from the corner of his eye so often that he sometimes caught her casting shy glances his way from under her long lashes. When their gazes tangled, a rose blush would stain her dusky cheeks, and she’d quickly look away.

  He savored these rare glimpses of her. In the summer after the monthly Mass, the small congregation would set up trestle tables under the old oak next to the school and share a meal together. The adults talked, the children played, and a lot of quiet courting took place among the young people.

  While he enjoyed the time with the parishioners, Pepe avoided the young—and some not so young—women who cast flirtatious glances his way. He couldn’t afford to provide for a wife. Yet he couldn’t help wishing for one.

  Although he never spoke with Lucia, or she with him, Pepe had plenty of opportunities to watch her with her family. Her voice was light and pleasant to his ears, and, even though she wore faded, out-of-date clothing, she carried herself in a regal way that made Pepe wish he could drop to one knee before her. Lucia was kind to her young sister, Sanchia, who was lame and sickly, teased back and forth with her older siblings, and was solicitous and obedient with her parents and abuela.

  In winter, Pepe had little chance to moon over Lucia. Night fell early, and everyone headed home after church, although they might make a quick stop at the mercantile, which the Cobbs opened for an hour to take advantage of the extra business. So Pepe only had these quick glances during Mass and maybe a chance to exchange smiles before or after the service. He strove to make the memories of Lucia’s smiles last through the lonely winter nights until the next Sunday Mass.

  “Gloria in excelsis deo,” Father Fredrick chanted, his long Irish face solemn, although his green eyes glowed with religious fervor.

  Pepe turned his attention back to the Mass, sending up a prayer to God for a miracle that would give him the means to court Lucia. For good measure, he added one to the Blessed Virgin Mary, who surely remembered being a girl in love with her Joseph, and might take pity on him.

  After Mass ended, the congregation filed out. Pepe stood at the end of the aisle and waited for Lucia to glance his way so he could smile at her again. When she did, he watched her blush and give him a slight nod, which sent him out into the wintry air with his body flushed with warmth.

  Raul Vega, a hand at the Sanders’s ranch, also watched Lucia, trying to catch her eye. Pepe’s hands fisted. He’d never liked the slick, handsome cowboy, and he had to resist walking over and punching the man. For the first time, he realized that he had competition for Lucia. A ranch hand made more money than he did at his job working at the livery. And he’d heard that Nick Sanders was allowing his men to marry and even providing quarters for the couples.

  Lucia leaned over to smooth her younger sister’s hair, deliberately it seemed to Pepe, to avoid looking at Raul.

  Seeing her ploy made him relax his fingers but didn’t ease the clench of fear riding in his middle. Lucia was a dutiful daughter. If Raul offered for her, and her parents insisted she marry, she might obey them.

  Pepe hurried to the livery to help the church-goers who’d stabled their horses to saddle or hitch up their wagons or buggies. Finally, the initial stream of people heading home trickled off.

  Once he’d finished with the last of them, Pepe stood in the entrance, leaving the door open just enough for him to see out. He leaned against the frame and watched Lucia’s family walk past on their way back to the ranch where Mr. Perez worked.

  The hooves of horses and wagon wheels had churned the snow on the street, which made for slushy walking. The family had a trip of several hours, and by the end, he imagined they’d be wading in snowdrifts in the failing light. With only their thin winter garments, they’d be chilled to their innards by the time they reached home. Yet you’d never know the arduous journey they faced, given the way they chatted and laughed, the oldest son carrying lame Sanchia on his back.

  The November sun did little to warm the air, but it shone on Lucia’s shiny hair, now free of the veil and tumbling down her back. She carried a woolen hat in her hand and pulled it over her head, then gave him a shy smile. For the first time, she lifted her mittened hand in a brief gesture of goodbye.

  Startled, Pepe almost didn’t react in time, but he made up for his lateness with a vigorous wave that almost unbalanced him. Sudden hope spiked through him. Then he remembered Raul, and his feet became heavier.

  His boss, Mack Taylor, sidled up to him. Thin and gray-haired, he had an intent expression on his narrow face. “See you staring at that little gal after every one of your church services. When you gunna stop watchin’ and start courtin?”

  With a shrug, Pepe jerked his thumb toward his little room in the stable. “No place, Señor Mack, for a wife and family.”

  Mack’s faded green eyes saddened. He scratched the stubble on his white-bearded chin.

  Pepe knew without saying that the livery didn’t bring in enough to support Mack, enable him to send money to his daughter in Chicago, and raise Pepe’s salary.

  Pepe knew he was lucky to have room and board and a bit of money to go with that. He loved his work with horses, and had more free time than a farmer or cowboy. Maybe he could support a wife, if she didn’t mind living poor in a small room in a barn. But with a wife came children. Even Mary and Joseph had left the stable where Jesus was born, taken the baby, and moved to a home.

  Mack stiffened his body and looked off into the distance. “You know I can’t pay you what you’re worth, Pepe.”

  “I know, Señor Mack. Don’t worry about it.”

  “Maybe you should get a job on a ranch. Sanders is hiring. I could give you a reference.”

  Pepe shook his head. “I’m not leaving you, Señor Mack.”

  His boss relaxed his posture. “Tell ya what, Pepe.” Mack stabbed a finger in the direction of the back of the stable. “There’s the land behind the livery. Space for a house with two rooms maybe, and a loft for those children you want. A small garden. Some chickens. If you ever have the money to build your home, I’ll let you have the dirt to set it on.” He gestured in the direction of Pepe’s room, located at the side of the stable. “Won’t be much, but it will be better than that.”

  Joy welled in Pepe. My own home! I’ll have to find a way to build up my savings. “You’d do that for me?”

  “You’ve worked for me now what, five years?”

  “Six.”

  “Came to me when you were still a whippersnapper. Couldn’t speak much English. And what little you could, I barely understood, your accent was so strong.”

  Pepe laughed. “You still sometimes can’t understand me.”

  Mack let out a cackle. “I keep on trying, boy. We’re halfway through that dang dictionary. We keep studying e
very night, before we reach the end, we’re both gunna have more words than a politician.”

  “That’s a lot of words, Señor Mack.”

  Mack’s expression became serious. “You’ve been a steady worker, a good listener to my stories, and you’ve put up with my pipe smoking with nary a complaint. And there was that stretch when I was ill. You looked after me like a son and kept up all the work at the livery to boot. You’re family, Pepe. More so than my own blood, since I haven’t seen my Constance since she was five.”

  Emotion clogged his throat. Pepe hadn’t had family for a long time, and had come to love this man, even on what his boss admitted were his curmudgeon days. “Thank you, Señor Mack. I will work hard, and someday you may find a mansion like the banker’s behind the stable.”

  Mack cackled again and clapped his hand on Pepe’s shoulder. “I look forward to that day, son.” Still laughing, he snugged up the lamb’s wool collar of his winter coat, and strolled out of the stable. “Think I’ll go have me a cup of coffee.”

  Pepe ducked out, too, walking into the middle of the street to see the Perez family, looking like tiny dolls in the distance. He watched until they disappeared from sight. Then he let out a sigh and turned back inside, pulling the door shut behind him.

  In the dim light, he inhaled a breath of the familiar horse-and-straw-laden air and crossed to the nearest stall. Royal, the gelding that often pulled the surrey the livery rented out, stuck his nose over the stall door, hoping for a treat.

  Pepe still had on his Sunday clothes, so his pockets weren’t full of dried apple or carrot slices, or even a twist of sugar. “Lo siento, chico,” he said, rubbing the horse’s forehead. “No treat for now. I’ll change clothes and find you something.”

  One last pat, and then he turned and walked down the aisle to his room. He pushed open the door and surveyed the small space. Mack’s living quarters lay on the other side of the opposite wall. The stove in the kitchen backed up through the wall into Pepe’s room, so he had heat in the winter. His bed was pushed against the near wall, which divided the space from the livery—solid material, rock and clay, to prevent fire. A small glass window above the head of his bed let in light and, in the warmer months, air.

  A little table squeezed between his bed and the stove wall. A glass oil lamp, a comb, his mother’s rosary, and a tattered dime novel about Buffalo Bill, rested on the surface.

  Around the top of the room ran a shelf, holding various carved wooden figures, the result of the last year of his labor. Although he’d worked with wood for many years, Pepe had always given away his earlier efforts, mostly to the children in the congregation. Lately, he’d taken pride in his creations and kept them. But the little figures of people and animals had started to crowd the shelf. Time to start giving them away again.

  He picked up the doll he was making for Sanchia for Christmas, fished his knife out of his pocket, and sat on his bed. But before he set knife to wood, he envisioned how Lucia’s face would light up at her sister’s pleasure in the toy. Just thinking about his beloved made his heart ache as he longed for the impossible.

  For what good would a piece of land do him when he didn’t have the means to build a house?

  ~ ~ ~

  A few days later, Pepe had finished the doll, a fat wooden baby with jointed arms and legs, made by attaching the limbs with strips of leather, running through the holes he’d bored in the body. He could imagine the child’s squeal of joy when she saw it. Or maybe she’d silently take the doll into her arms, but her brown eyes, normally so full of pain, would be soft and happy.

  Pepe felt good just thinking about it. More important, Lucia would be pleased. He doubted even Raul could come up with a gift that would make more of an impression on her.

  But as he looked at the bare little thing, Pepe realized that he couldn’t give Sanchia a naked baby. He looked around his room for inspiration.

  Nothing.

  He walked out the door of his room and across the barn’s aisle into the tack room. A wooden box in the corner held a pile of rags. He fished around, hoping to find a clean one, without stains, but to no avail.

  A bit disappointed, he returned to his room and stood, studying the clothes hanging from pegs on the wall. Should he sacrifice a shirt? He only owned three. A good one for Mass, and two work shirts—one in cotton for the summer and the flannel one he wore. But he didn’t think the crude garment he could fashion would meet with Sanchia’s approval.

  How could he marry Lucia when he couldn’t afford a new shirt? Or, if he bought a new shirt, the purchase would take away from his scanty savings, which he needed for his house. Despair reached dark fingers around his good feelings and started to squeeze them away.

  Before he could decide what to do, he heard a female voice call out, “Pepe? Mack?”

  Pepe recognized the voice as belonging to Señora Rodriguez. No, Señora Thompson. There’d been a wedding in late summer. He hurried out to the main part of the barn to see what she wanted.

  Señora Thompson stood just inside the entrance, holding the reins of her mare, Bianca, a black beauty with four white stockings and a blaze down her nose her husband had given her after their marriage. The morning sun falling through the doorway glinted off the tendrils of red hair that escaped the señora’s knitted cap and highlighted her pale skin. An attractive woman, but even more important to Pepe was the kindness he always saw in her blue eyes, and how she’d speak to him in Spanish—the only white woman in Sweetwater Springs who could do so.

  “Hola, Pepe,” she said, her Argentinean accent different from his. “Bianca is limping. Left rear leg. I’d like you to check her out. I’ve snuck away from the ranch to do Christmas shopping, and I want to return home before Mr. Thompson realizes I’m missing and interrogates Mrs. Toffels. I’d like to think our housekeeper could withstand him, given it’s for a good reason, but I’m not sure how long she’ll be able to hold out.” Her gaze fell on the doll, and her eyes widened. “What do you have there?”

  Pepe felt silly at being caught with a girl’s toy in his hand, but he held it up and explained what he wanted to do.

  Señora Thompson’s expression softened. “I don’t think I’ve seen the girl you’re talking about. I would have remembered her. But your idea is lovely.” She extended her hand for the doll, and, when Pepe gave her the baby, she held it up to a shaft of light and examined the little face, moving the arms and legs. “Beautiful work, Pepe. I’m sure Sanchia will be quite happy to receive such a special gift.”

  Pride puffed up his chest. “Gracias, Señora Thompson.”

  “I think I can solve your problem. How about I make a diaper and dress? I’ll be glad to contribute.”

  Overwhelmed, all Pepe could do was stammer his thanks, grateful they spoke in Spanish; otherwise his accent might be so thick from emotion that she couldn’t understand him.

  She handed back the doll. “Do you have anything else like her?”

  “Oh, yes, Señora.” He waved toward his room.

  “I’d like to see your work, Pepe. If I may?”

  He rapidly reviewed his room to make sure his bed was neat and all his clothes hung up, and then realized he couldn’t allow a lady into his room, or at least, not with him there too. “You go take a look, Señora Thompson. I’ll stay here. See to your horse.”

  Pepe tied Bianca’s reins to a ring set in a post. He absently went about the familiar task of checking the hoof and picking out a small stone. But all the while, his thoughts stayed with Señora Thompson. I shouldn’t have let her see my work. She’ll think them crude. Heat from embarrassment flooded his cheeks, and he tried to pretend to himself it was just his bent-over position that made the blood flow to his head.

  He set down Bianca’s leg and straightened. Then he grabbed a half-full pail from outside Royal’s stall and watered the horse.

  Carrying a figure in each hand, Señora Thompson walked back into the main part of the barn. Her apricot-colored eyebrows pulled together, pinching
the skin of her forehead.

  She doesn’t like them.

  Pepe thought he hadn’t allowed himself to hope, but the feeling must have slipped into his body. Now, his hopes crashed to the hard-packed dirt floor. He couldn’t turn to face her completely. Instead, he rubbed the horse’s head as if that was the most important task in the world. “She had a stone in her hoof, Señora. I took it out.”

  “Muchas gracias, Pepe.” Señora Thompson raised both hands to hold up the Mary and Joseph figures from the crèche. “How long did you take to make these?”

  He shrugged. “The work’s faster in winter, when we’re not so busy. During a storm, I can make one in a day, maybe less. In summer…a week.”

  “I think they’re magnificent, and I’d like to buy them. Would you sell them to me?”

  Pepe was so shocked, his knees weakened, and he struggled to remain stoic. He shook his head and waved his hand, no, then stepped back and sank onto a straw bale.

  Disappointment crossed Señora Thompson’s pretty face. “I’m sorry, Pepe. I shouldn’t have presumed.”

  “No, no.” He waved his hand harder, before realizing his silence was making the situation worse. “No sell. You take, Señora.”

  Señora Thompson smiled, crinkling the skin around her eyes. She seated herself on a straw bale across from Pepe. “I’d planned on buying Mr. Thompson a Christmas gift today, and your crèche will be perfect. But, I insist on paying you for it. I think five dollars should suffice. What do you think?”

  Five dollars! The sum sounded like the moon. His head spun and shock made him unable to summon words for either English or Spanish.

  Señora Thompson gave the figures a thoughtful look. “Do you think you could paint them?”

  Paint them? The idea had never occurred to him. Pepe wondered how he could make that happen.

  His bewilderment must have shown on his face, for Señora Thompson reached over and patted his knee. “If Mack will let you…come by the ranch tomorrow. I want you to see a wooden statue of the Virgin Mary that I brought with me from Argentina. She’s painted, and I think she would make a good model for you. You can borrow it for a while.”