Christmas Under Western Skies

by Anna Schmidt

  They stood for a minute holding each other under the star-filled sky. “I love you, Mrs. Cook.”

  “Captain, my captain,” she whispered and stood on tiptoe to kiss him.

  Inside, she stirred the embers of the fire they had left that morning and considered putting on some water for tea, then hearing the whinny of the Putnam’s horse, she ran to the window instead. She wanted to see him, to never let him out of her sight. She wanted to remind herself just how blessed she and the children were that this good and gentle man had come into their lives. “Thank you, God,” she whispered as she watched him stroke the horse’s mane and lead the animal under shelter for the night. “Thank you for all the blessings you have brought to this house.”

  She had bowed her head and closed her eyes on this last prayer, and when she opened them, she noticed tiny green shoots peeking out of the black earth of several tin cans. She ran to the other window hardly daring to believe her eyes. It was the same there.

  She ran to the door and threw it open. “Nathan, we have apple trees,” she cried. “Come see.” She grabbed his hand and pulled him to the window.

  “Well look at that,” he said huskily, and closed his eyes for a long moment. When he opened them he took Julianne in his arms and held her, rocking from side to side.

  “Come on,” he said grabbing a quilt from the bed and wrapping her in it.

  “Nathan, it’s nearly midnight and it’s freezing,” she protested, but she was laughing and she followed him willingly.

  Outside, he led her to the small grove of apple trees. “Think of it, Julianne. Trees to the horizon and just there…” He pointed to a low rise that protected a part of the land nearest the river. “We’ll build our house and raise our children and cradle our grandchildren and—”

  “Stop. You’re making us old before our time,” Julianne protested, but she was holding him, hugging him to her as they dreamed of the future they would share with God’s blessing. She looked up and saw the stars lighting the black of the night and she felt a peace she had not known for over a year.

  “Thank you,” she whispered to the heavens just before Nathan kissed her. Then he scooped her into his arms and continued kissing her all the way back to the little sod house that in that moment she decided they would always keep to remind them of how truly blessed they had been.

  Dear Reader,

  It always amazes (and inspires) me when I reach a point in the story that calls for some detail that will be unique to the story. I was very troubled by what gift Nathan might choose to give Julianne for Christmas. Then, without even being aware of my writing dilemma, my husband surprised me on Christmas morning with the most beautiful alabaster heart, and a note that is mine to keep and yours to imagine, that made this heart very, very special for me. The next time I sat down to write the scene where Julianne opens the gift Nathan has left her, I had no problem at all knowing what was inside that box. It was his declaration of love—his heart given to her. Whether you are reading this over the holidays or at some other time of the year, I hope you will find the story of Julianne and Nathan’s return to faith and love one that touches you and inspires you to remember that opening your heart to others is a sure path to everlasting joy.

  All best wishes to you in this season of faith, joy and love.

  QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION

  Have you or someone close to you suffered the loss of your first love, and if so, what are your memories of the journey that followed that loss?

  How would you answer someone who had suffered a tragedy and asked you how God could let such a thing happen?

  What role does faith play in Julianne’s reaction to the death of her husband, Luke? How does that role change by the end of the story?

  In many ways, the homesteaders who formed the community of Homestead are extended family for one another. What makes the bond they share so unique?

  When Nathan chooses marrying Julianne over going to California to reunite with his brother, do you think he made the right choice? Why, or why not?

  Is Julianne making the right choice in insisting that she secure the land for her children, or is she simply being stubborn? What are your reasons for choosing one decision over the other?

  Think about an issue you may be wrestling with in your life, and consider whether or not there are ways that God is guiding you in a certain direction.

  A COWBOY’S CHRISTMAS

  Linda Ford

  Christmas is a favorite holiday made all the more special by family gatherings. This book is dedicated to my family. Without you my Christmas celebration would be dull and uneventful.

  Thanks to each one of you for making my life full, busy and joyful. I love you.

  For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life.

  —John 3:16

  Chapter One

  1888 Canadian Rockies

  A murmur of voices warned eighteen-year-old Winnie Lockwood she’d overslept. Hay tickled her nose and throat. Cold touched her back where the hay had shifted away leaving her exposed.

  Exposed! If she was discovered…

  She wiggled, but her movement made so much noise she drew in her breath and held it, praying she hadn’t been noticed. She cupped her hand to her nose and mouth, forcing back a cough from the dust. The hay had been fragrant and welcoming last night, when she’d sought refuge and warmth. Today she was aware of the musty scent and imagined bugs creeping along her skin. It took every ounce of self-control to keep from squirming.

  “I’ll fork up feed for the animals,” a male voice called.

  Was it friendly? Harsh? Dangerous?

  One thing Winnie had learned was, you could never be certain what lay beneath the surface of a voice or a face. A kind face readily enough disguised a mean spirit and kind words often enough proved false.

  “We need to head for town in good time.”

  The voice had grown perilously close. She could almost feel the tines of a feed fork pierce her skin, and she bolted upright, gaining her feet in a flurry of hay.

  She sneezed and swiped her hands over her very untidy coat.

  “Who are you? What are you doing in my barn?”

  The masculine voice had deepened several degrees and carried a clear warning.

  Holding her arms out in a gesture she hoped indicated she meant no harm and had no weapon, she faced the man. Not much older than she, his chin jutted out in a challenging way. Knowing her life depended on a quick evaluation, she took in his dark eyes, the way he’d pulled his Stetson low, how he balanced on the balls of his feet, the pitch fork at ready for defense. A man who would not give an inch, who would tolerate no nonsense. The thought both frightened and appealed.

  “I mean no harm. Just looking for a place out of the cold. I’ll be on my way now.” She glanced toward the door and escape, and made as if to lower her arms, testing his reaction.

  “Now hang on. How am I to know you didn’t steal something?”

  She grinned openly. “Don’t hardly see how I’d fit a horse or even a saddle under my coat.”

  A deep chuckle came from behind the man. “Think she’s got a point.” An older man, with a grizzled, three-day growth of beard and eyes flashing with amusement, stepped closer. “Seems you should be a little more concerned with why a pretty young woman is sleeping in your barn, than whether or not she might hide a horse beneath her coat.”

  The younger man grunted. “More likely she’s a front for something else.” He shook the fork threateningly. “How many others are there?”

  Winnie wiggled her hands. “I’m alone.”

  “Head for the door and no sudden moves.” He waved the fork again and she decided she didn’t want to question his sincerity in using it.

  “I tell you, I only wanted someplace to get out of the wind.” She was on her way to Banff and a job at the sanitorium, but had run out of funds at Long Valley and started walking, hoping to arrive under her ow
n steam or get a ride. Instead, darkness and cold had found her searching for a place to spend the night. She’d planned to slip into the barn for a few hours and be gone again before anyone discovered her.

  “Now, Derek—” The older man sounded placating. “Don’t be hasty.”

  “Hasty? Kathy is alone in the house. If your accomplices have—” He indicated she should move.

  “My bag.”

  “Uncle Mac, grab that.”

  Winnie edged across the expanse to draw the door open and stepped outside, breathing deeply of the fresh air. The day was sunny with a promise of warmth later on. A welcome change from the cold wind of last night that threatened snow and drove her to sleep in the barn of this man. At least there was a Kathy. That gave her hope for a little generosity that would let her get on her way without any more complications.

  Sensing the man would not take kindly to her bolting for freedom, and knowing she’d never outrun him, she marched toward the simple ranch house, one-story with a verandah across the side. Welcoming enough under normal circumstances. She kicked the dust from her shoes before she stepped to the wooden floor of the verandah.

  “Wait right there.” It was the man called Derek. “Your friends have any sort of firearm?”

  “I told you—”

  “Answer the question.” He nudged her with the tines of the fork. They didn’t pierce her coat, but she jerked away, not caring to tempt him to push a little harder.

  “Now, son, don’t be doing anything rash.”

  “Uncle Mac, I am not prepared to take any chances. Especially when it comes to Kathy’s safety.” His voice grew gravely, as if Kathy meant more than anything else to him. Seems he was a man who cared deeply. Something quivered in the pit of Winnie’s stomach—a familiar, forbidden feeling rolled up in denial. She tried to force anger into that place to quench it but failed miserably. Something in the way this man was prepared to fight assailants, numbers and strength unknown, poured emptiness into her soul. She pushed aside the foolishness. She was headed for Banff and a job. She wanted nothing more.

  “I understand that.” The older man, Uncle Mac, edged forward. “Why don’t I have a look?”

  “Be careful. I don’t trust her.”

  Winnie snorted. “Who’d have guessed it?”

  Uncle Mac shot her an amused look that fled in an instant when Derek made a discouraging sound. The older man edged forward, slowly opened the door and peeked around. “Don’t see nothing.”

  Winnie bit back a foolish desire to ask if they lived in an unfurnished house.

  “Do you see Kathy?

  “Nope. Nothing.”

  “Go in slow and easy. We’ll be right behind you. And I warn you, miss, don’t make a sound to alert your friends or I’ll be forced to jab this fork in up to its hilt.”

  Uncle Mac drew his head back and glanced over his shoulder. “You’ll do no such thing.” Without waiting for Derek’s reply he slipped into the house.

  Winnie followed. She’d laugh at all this unnecessary drama except she wasn’t sure what Derek’s reaction would be and he did carry a sharp pitchfork with long tines.

  As if to reinforce her doubts, he murmured, “Don’t think I’m a softy like Uncle Mac.”

  “Oh, no, sir. I surely wouldn’t make that mistake.” She tried her hardest to keep the amusement from her voice but wondered if she’d succeeded. What would it be like to have a man as ready to defend her as Derek was to defend Kathy? Aching swelled in a spot behind her eyes.

  She stepped into the room. A big farm kitchen with evidence of lots of living. Messy enough to be welcoming…for the people who belonged here.

  “Check her bedroom.”

  Uncle Mac tiptoed through a doorway.

  Winnie grinned, grateful the man behind her couldn’t guess how much enjoyment she got from all this.

  Uncle Mac returned, a little girl at his side. Winnie put her at about nine or ten.

  “She was playing on her bed. As blissful as a lamb.” He ruffled the child’s already untidy hair.

  This must be Kathy.

  Winnie studied the girl. Brown hair, beautiful brown eyes, with the innocence of childhood tarnished. Where was the mother? Which of these men was the father?

  The child’s eyes widened with curiosity when she saw Winnie. “Who’s that?” She bent sideways to see Derek. “How come you got a fork pushed into her back, huh, Derek?”

  Guess that meant Uncle Mac was the father.

  Derek parked the fork by the door. “So you are alone?”

  Alone? In more ways than he could imagine. “Just like I said.”

  “About time we showed some hospitality.” Uncle Mac headed for the stove. “Kathy, set the table for four and we’ll have breakfast.”

  Winnie’s stomach growled in anticipation. She pretended she didn’t notice.

  Kathy giggled.

  “Kat.” Derek warned. “Your manners.” His voice was as gentle as summer dew. Winnie blinked as the ache behind her eyeballs grew larger, more intense.

  The child scurried to put out four plates, and Uncle Mac broke a stack of eggs into a fry pan.

  Winnie followed every movement of his hands. She hoped she’d be allowed a generous portion of those eggs. She’d eaten only once yesterday, and heaven alone knew where she’d get the next meal after she left here. Lord, you know my need. Provide as You have promised.

  “Sit,” Uncle Mac nodded toward a chair. “Tell us your name.”

  Winnie gave it as she moved the stack of socks and mittens to the floor and sat. Her mouth flooded with saliva like a river suddenly thawed. Her plate had a rim of grease but she didn’t wipe it off. She’d have eaten off the table if she had to. Or the floor for that matter.

  “I’m Mac Adams. You’ve met my nephew, Derek. This is my niece, Kathy.” His expression softened as he turned to the girl.

  Winnie nodded a gracious hello.

  Uncle Mac scooped generous piles of eggs to three plates and a tiny portion to Kathy’s. He sat at Winnie’s right. “Shall we give thanks?”

  Grateful for the food and the temporary reprieve, Winnie silently poured out her thanks as Uncle Mac spoke his aloud.

  “Amen,” he said.

  “Amen,” Winnie echoed with heartfelt sincerity.

  Kathy giggled.

  Derek cleared his throat, his warning glance full of affection, and Kathy ducked her head over her breakfast.

  Winnie pushed away the longing that threatened to unhitch a wagonload of tears. She only wanted to be on her way to Banff. Winnie forced herself to eat slowly, ladylike.

  Uncle Mac picked up the dishes as soon as he was certain she was finished, and added them to the stack on the cupboard by the stove. “Now, young lady, let’s hear why you’re alone and spending the night in a barn.”

  She’d known this question was coming, but still hadn’t figured out an answer. Her conscience wouldn’t allow her to lie. But neither would she tell the whole truth. “Got lost.”

  “From who and from where?” Derek’s question was far more demanding.

  “I thought I was on the main road. Obviously I was wrong.” She pushed her chair back. “Thank you for the food. Much appreciated. Let me clean up the dishes in exchange, then I’ll head back to town.”

  “No need,” Derek protested. “We can manage without help.”

  Kathy leaned forward, her expression eager. “I don’t mind if she helps.”

  At the same time, Uncle Mac said, “If it’s a ride to town you’re needing, we’ll take you when we go.”

  They all ground to a halt and tried to sort their conversations out.

  Winnie chuckled. “I’ll be happy to do the dishes and I’d welcome a ride to town.”

  Derek looked ready to protest, but Kathy bounced from the table and Uncle Mac slapped his thighs. “It’s settled then.”

  Derek got to his feet so fast Winnie wondered if something had bitten him. “You two stay here while I finish chores and get the wagon ready.�
��

  “I’ll be along,” Uncle Mac said.

  “Stay here.” He paused halfway across the room and muttered, “No way I’m leaving Kathy alone with her.” The door banged shut after him, then swung open again and he grabbed the fork. The slap of the second closing echoed through the room.

  And reverberated in Winnie’s heart, striking at the feelings she struggled so hard to deny. To have someone who cared that much was a dream beyond her reach.

  Winnie pushed to her feet and tackled the stack of dishes, using water hot enough to dissolve the buildup of grease and redden her hands.

  Uncle Mac wandered out of the room, leaving her alone with Kathy. She handed the child a drying towel.

  Kathy’s chin jutted out. Her eyes flashed all sorts of emotions.

  She’d try to sidetrack the child. “Shouldn’t you be in school?”

  Kathy lifted her head. “I get to miss school today because we’re going to get my new nanny.”

  “I see. What happened to your last one?”

  “She got married.” Tears welled up. “Why couldn’t she be happy with us? Now I got to get used to someone else. I hate it. They always have new rules. It makes me sad and mad all at the same time.”

  Sad and angry explained perfectly the way Winnie felt most of her life. A bitter tenderness touched a place in her heart, that this child should experience the same pain. She closed her eyes and steeled away the gall in her throat, the churn in her chest. As soon as they were under control she concentrated on the girl at her side. Lord, help me say something to help her before I depart. “I’ve felt that way many times. It’s pretty confusing.”

  Tears glittered in Kathy’s eyes as she nodded.

  Winnie dropped her hand to a thin shoulder, felt the child tense but didn’t remove her hand. “It sometimes seems the feelings are eating up your insides, doesn’t it?”