Montana Sky Christmas: A Sweetwater Springs Short Story Collection

by Debra Holland

  “Marriage?” she prompted, still looking down.

  “I’d like to marry you, Lucia. I’ve—”

  She raised her face. Her dark eyes glowed, and pink tinged her cheeks. “Sí.”

  He stuttered to a stop, and then firmly reached for his next sentence. “I’ve saved—”

  “Sí, Pepe!”

  Half-exasperated, he dropped his carefully prepared speech. “Sí, what?”

  “Yes, I will marry you.” She enunciated each word in English as if to make him understand.

  Pepe couldn’t have been more surprised if a horse had kicked him across the barn. “But, wait,” he stammered in protest. “I didn’t ask you. I didn’t kneel. I didn’t tell you about the money I’ve saved.”

  Lucia’s smile looked warm and wise, and not shy at all. She reached up and cradled his cheeks between her gloved hands. “I’ve waited a long time for you to approach me, Pepe.”

  Dumbfounded, he looked at her…at the love in her eyes. All he could do was stare at her beauty.

  “I don’t care about living in a stable. The Holy Family did it, and so can we. Maybe our first son will be born in a stable too. We can name him Jesús.”

  Those words snapped Pepe back to reality. His mind balked at the thought of a baby in the livery, especially one named after the Savior. Thank goodness babies take time before they appear.

  In a daze, he put his arms around her. “Are you never going to let me finish what I have to say?”

  Lucia laughed, the sound husky and infectious.

  Pepe grinned and dropped a tentative kiss on her forehead.

  Breathing out a sigh, she relaxed against him.

  Emboldened, he brushed her lips with a gentle kiss, then closed his eyes and lowered his cheek to rest on her head. “I was going to build you a house before we married…”

  She pulled away to look up at him, her eyes wide. “A house?”

  He told her about Señor Mack’s gift, and his plans for the coming months.

  Lucia stepped back and put her hands on her hips. “I’m not waiting over a year to get married, Pepe Sanchez. You and Señor Mack need a woman to take care of you. Señor Mack is too thin.”

  “Hey,” Pepe protested. “I take good care of us.”

  “I know.” Her expression softened. But now with me to take care of you both, you can…” She waved her hand at the Madonna. “Make more.”

  Amused at this unknown assertive side of his wife-to-be, Pepe held up his hands in a gesture of surrender.

  With a joyous laugh, she grabbed his hands, swinging them wide, then together. “Father Fredrick comes in two weeks.”

  Two weeks!

  Lucia was like a flash flood, knocking him off his feet and sweeping him downstream. He couldn’t even catch his breath. He scrambled to change his carefully thought-out course for the next year and swim with the impetuous suggestions of his lady. Heck, I’m already in the water. Why not plunge all the way in. “Two weeks,” he agreed, knowing his life was about to change in more ways than he’d imagined. “I’ll need to ask your father’s permission. Will he agree?”

  “Si, he will.” Lucia reached up for the Madonna with one hand, and slipped her other hand in his. She took two steps toward the barn door, and then gave him a tug to follow. “Let’s go tell everyone.”

  Pepe sent a prayer of thanksgiving to the Lord and his Blessed Mother. Then, handing the reins of his heart over to his beloved, he allowed himself to be led toward the small house, to the people he soon would call family.

  A CHRISTMAS PAGEANT

  Banished from her own kitchen by her husband, Nick, and the new housekeeper her brother had sent out from Boston, Elizabeth Sanders placed a hand over her bulging belly and walked with care into the parlor. Even the beauty of the room, furnished with her favorite belongings, didn’t give Elizabeth the usual lift to her spirits.

  She paused by a blue velvet wing chair, debating whether to sit and read. But she’d finished the latest book and felt too restless for sedentary activity. Nick had promised a walk with her later, but he had a mare to shoe first. He’d forbidden her to walk alone lest she slip on the ice.

  If ever there was an overprotective husband… But even as Elizabeth chafed at the restrictions Nick imposed, deep down she agreed. The baby kicked, and she smoothed her hand over the spot. This long-awaited child, the one she’d given up hope for when her fiancé died so long ago, was a little miracle made by the unexpected love she’d found here in Montana. Elizabeth felt as fiercely protective of the child as Nick did. She just was tired of her body looking bigger than a horse and was impatient for the baby to make an appearance.

  Just two more months….

  Elizabeth wandered over to the piano and sat on the bench. She began to play one of Chopin’s nocturnes, and then her fingers flowed into the hymn they’d sung in church last Sunday, and from there to a Christmas Carol. In the middle of “O Come All Ye Faithful,” an idea came to her, and she stopped mid-chord.

  I can organize a Christmas Pageant. Her mind flew over ways and means, thinking of choirs and decorations and presents. She’d need Reverend Norton’s permission, of course, but that shouldn’t be a problem.

  Elizabeth hurried into her sitting room, situated next to the parlor, opened the drawer of the desk, and pulled out sheets of paper and a pencil. Perching on the edge of her desk chair, she began a list of everything she’d need and everyone who could help her.

  The click of boot heels on the wooden floor tore her attention from what she was doing. Nick appeared in the doorway. He’d discarded his coat, and his navy-colored shirt made his green eyes turn blue. He raised an eyebrow. “Let me guess. You wrote Genia yesterday, so today must be a letter to Sylvia?” He referred to Elizabeth’s dear friend in Boston.

  Elizabeth held out a hand in his direction, which he clasped. His fingers were cold from being outside. Even after a year of marriage, she still warmed to his touch. “I’ll write to Sylvia later. I’m making a list for Christmas.”

  He glanced down at the paper. “That’s a mighty long list, my love. Remember that I’m only a poor rancher.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “It’s not for me. I’ve decided Sweetwater Springs needs a Christmas pageant, and I want to organize one.”

  Nick released her hand to brush a finger across her cheek. “You’ve been listless lately. Sounds like this is just the thing for you. What do you need me to do?”

  “Nothing right now. I’ll talk to Reverend Norton after church tomorrow. If he agrees, I’ll enlist my friends and write to Boston. Sylvia will be glad to help, and she’ll find a way to force Genia’s cooperation as well. I want them to send me some toys and clothes and other things I can use as presents. Enough for everyone.”

  “That will be some doing. But Christmas isn’t for a month.” He held out his hand to her. “Now, wife. It’s time for that walk you wanted. The wind’s picking up a bit, so dress warmly. I think we might have a storm by tonight.”

  With Nick’s strength to lean on, Elizabeth eased to her feet.

  He wrapped an arm around her and gently touched her stomach. “Our little shaver keeping busy?”

  She made a face at him. “Kicks like a little bronc. But I think she’s sleeping now.”

  Nick grinned. “Only two more months.” He leaned over to kiss her, then gave her a husbandly pat on the fanny. “Get going, darlin’.”

  ~ ~ ~

  On Monday after school, Elizabeth stood at the front of the church, facing the rows of children who filled up the front pews. The wintery light from the plain glass windows illuminated the faces turned toward her with expressions varying from boredom to eagerness.

  With the help of the teacher, Harriet Gordon, she’d rounded up all the students who’d agreed to be part of the Christmas Choir from their afternoon playtime. Both she and Mrs. Gordon had decided the children needed a fifteen-minute break between school and choir practice to let off steam before sitting longer indoors, and the students were re
d-cheeked from cold and exertion.

  Standing in front of them, Elizabeth had to suppress some unexpected nervousness.

  Harriet smiled and nodded encouragement.

  Heartened by the gesture of support from the woman who only a few months ago had become a friend, Elizabeth took a breath and explained her idea for the Christmas pageant. Even the most bored-looking boys brightened when she mentioned presents for everyone.

  Elizabeth sat down at the piano and played the music for “Away in a Manger.” During lesson time, Mrs. Gordon had already given the children the task of memorizing the words she’d written out on the blackboard.

  Once she finished playing the first verse, Elizabeth started over, this time singing the words. When she finished, she stopped. “Now, I want everyone to sing with me.”

  The children joined in with more enthusiasm than sound. A few seemed to know the song, but the rest sang too fast or too slow or missed the notes. Trying not to feel overwhelmed by the task she’d set herself, in the next go-round, Elizabeth played the chords to keep the children on the beat.

  Soon Elizabeth could distinguish individual voices. Tim Cassidy Thompson’s beautiful soprano rang out, a crystal chime among the gongs. In contrast, his twin brother, Jack, standing next to him, croaked like a frog.

  Hunter, the Indian boy the Thompsons adopted, possessed a nice tenor, but he tended to sing flat and not follow the notes.

  Not many minutes passed before Daniel Rodriquez was fidgeting and looking out the window. He distracted the children around him. And they started elbowing and poking each other.

  Elizabeth glanced at the watch pinned to her shirtwaist and was relieved to see that the half hour was over. She dismissed the children, then collapsed in the front pew, one hand on her swollen belly, and wondered if she’d ever whip this choir into giving a star performance for her Christmas pageant. I should have started last summer.

  Her husband found her in that position. He slid into the pew next to her and took her hand. “Didn’t go so well, sweetheart?”

  “How did you know?”

  His eyes twinkled. “Don’t you think I know you by now?”

  She leaned into him a bit, wishing they were home so he could put his arms around her. They probably shouldn’t hold hands in church either. But since this wasn’t a service, and no one was around to see, she didn’t remove her hand from his.

  She described choir practice.

  At times she could see his mouth quirk, as if he suppressed a grin, and she gave him a friendly elbow in the side to remind him to remain suitably concerned.

  “Guess you’ll have to choose between sound and participation.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “If you want a fine-soundin’ choir, then you’ll have to reject some of the children, like Jack. If you want one that includes everyone, then you’ll have to settle for one that might not be so pretty.”

  Elizabeth let out a long sigh. “You’re right. As much as I’d love to have the children match the picture in my mind of how I want that night to go, it wouldn’t be right to exclude any who wanted to sing.”

  “You can always ask them to mouth the words.”

  She laughed, then sobered. “No. I couldn’t do that either. You know I feel there’s something about singing that connects me with God. And I bet the good Lord doesn’t care what we sound like, just what’s in our hearts when we raise our voices.”

  Uncaring that they were in church, she leaned her head against his. “I guess it’s me that will have to change—do the best with what…who I have, and let go of the idea of a perfect choir.”

  “That’s my girl,” Nick said in an affectionate tone. He stood and helped her to her feet. “Come, my love. Let’s go home.”

  ~ ~ ~

  Three weeks later, a weary and irritable Elizabeth reclined on their four-poster bed while her accommodating husband massaged her tired feet. She’d changed into her nightgown and had propped pillows behind her so she could relax and breathe.

  When Nick pushed on a tender spot, she let out an appreciative gasp.

  “Easy, girl,” he said.

  “This pageant, Nick,” she complained. “Why did you let me start it? We have the oddest assortment of presents.” She shook her head. “Some people’s idea of charity is to send us all their cast-offs. Which,” she paused to appreciate him kneading the arch of her foot, “I wouldn’t mind, if they were in good shape. But some of the clothes are practically rags. I wouldn’t give them to the dog.”

  Elizabeth caught the telltale quirk of Nick’s lips and sent him a don’t you dare laugh look. “If,” she reached up to ruffle his brown hair, “the dog wore clothes.”

  “That would be quite a sight.”

  He was being mock serious, and she ignored him…well she couldn’t help enjoying the delicious things his fingers were doing to the ball of her foot. “Some of the children still aren’t singing on key.”

  Nick gave her a solemn nod, but she suspected a twinkle lurked in his eyes.

  Determined to prove the seriousness of her grievances, Elizabeth forged on. “The candles I ordered turned out to be pink, not red.”

  This time, Nick laughed. But he picked up her other leg, feathered his touch down the calf, and started on the foot. Oh, mercy, that feels good.

  “The mercantile has run out of sugar,” she said, but the sting had gone out of her words.

  “Sounds serious,” he murmured.

  “The women need to bake cookies and cakes for the party after the pageant.”

  “Christmas isn’t for a week, Beth. I’m sure the Cobbs will have the sugar in time.”

  “Worst of all, Tim has a cold and has lost his voice.”

  Nick lost his amused look. “Just a cold?”

  “So Dr. Cameron says. But, he’s lost his voice. Samantha says he croaks like a frog. Actually, she said now Jack actually sings better than Tim.”

  “Worse luck, sweetheart.” His thumb dug into a sore spot on her arch, and she stopped complaining to hum with pleasure.

  “Tim’s solo is the highlight of the pageant. I don’t know what I’ll do without him.”

  “You’ll think of something.”

  The quiet confidence in her husband’s voice and the blessed relief from the pain in her feet cheered up Elizabeth. “It’s just that I want everything else to be perfect, even if the choir isn’t.”

  “It will be,” Nick assured her. “We’ve never had a Christmas pageant and party here. So whatever you do will be special. You’ll see.”

  The baby chose that moment to kick. She felt a tiny foot push out her skin. “Quick, Nick. Come feel.”

  Nick set down her leg and scooted closer.

  Elizabeth guided his hand to the area. Tonight wasn’t the first time he’d felt their child move, but the feeling of awe for both of them only increased with each opportunity.

  In perfect accord, in silence, they felt the baby move around. Sometimes, they glanced at each other, sharing the wonder and joy—a magical moment too precious to break with words.

  ~ ~ ~

  A week before Christmas, eight-year-old Marta Heisman followed her twelve-year-old cousin, Mattias Mueller into the mercantile. Mattias wanted her to help him choose Christmas presents from the money he’d saved by delivering bread and pastries to the outlying farms and ranches.

  Together, they selected a length of lace for his mother, for his baby brother a wooden pull toy of a sheep, and a pair of suspenders for his father. While he paid the man behind the counter, Marta wandered through the shelves of the store.

  Curious about the various goods, many she’d never seen before, she soon began to hum. Her humming turned into a song, and as she fingered the silk dress of a China doll, she allowed the words of a German lullaby to flow out.

  “What are you doing?”

  The harsh words jerked Marta out of her trance. The shopkeeper stood there, hands on hips, her close-set brown eyes narrowed. Although Marta couldn’t understand
what was said, the look of contempt on the woman’s face spoke a clear message. Another flow of angry words had Marta shrinking back in fear.

  Mattias stuck his head around the shelf but didn’t step into the aisle. “Mrs. Cobb doesn’t want you to touch anything because you might get it dirty or break it,” he explained in an anxious voice, not looking at the shopkeeper. “And she doesn’t like you singing in German.”

  Marta wanted to sink into the floor. She muttered an apology, which Mattias translated, before she turned and hurried out of the store.

  Gulping to hold back her tears, Marta ran down the street. She headed for the safety of the bakery and her mother.

  I want to go home. I wish we’d never come here!

  ~ ~ ~

  The next day, Marta huddled on the steps of the schoolhouse, watching the other students throw snowballs at each other. They yelled words she didn’t understand, although she could figure out a few of them. The children mostly kept to the side yard, dashing around the oak tree and using the wide trunk to shield themselves from the attackers.

  She wrapped her arms around her knees to keep warm. The chill breeze tickled up the sleeves of her coat, where the edge of her mittens didn’t cover the skin. She’d grown, but after Vati’s death, her mother didn’t have money for a new dress or coat.

  But even the sting of the cold on her wrists and face didn’t hurt as much as the cold emptiness she’d felt ever since her father died. Just thinking about Vati made Marta’s heart ache, and she had to work hard not to burst into tears. She’d cried and cried when Vati died, and Mutti took them away from their village and all her friends and brought them across the sea to America. But tears hadn’t changed anything. In fact, her tears often made her mother cry, and Marta couldn’t bear that.

  Traveling on the ship had seemed like an adventure, even though they’d crammed together in the hold. At least, some passengers spoke German, and she’d made friends with the other children.

  In Sweetwater Springs, her Tante Helga and Onkel Ernest and her cousin Mattias were the only ones who spoke German. When they were all together in the rooms behind the bakery, the house filled with the scent of fresh bread and pastries, things weren’t so bad. But when she was thrust across the street to the schoolhouse, forced to sit on a hard bench and listen to a teacher she didn’t understand, and be teased by the other students…. Even if she didn’t know the meaning of the taunts, the tone and expressions were enough to hurt.