A Texas Christmas

by Thomas, Jodi Jodi Thomas

  “Because if I tell it to anyone, then you’ll look like some kind of saint and I a damn fool for gossiping about you. And I don’t think I can stand the thought of becoming your friend.”

  “Then don’t. We’ll just stay enemies. It will keep things more interesting between us. I just wanted you to know the truth.” A laugh bubbled up in Anna’s throat and percolated there until it erupted into tears of laughter.

  Izora, to Anna’s great surprise, began laughing too.

  Jane and Marjorie rushed into the room and stared at both of them as if they’d lost their minds.

  Izora and Anna reached across the table, shook hands, and silently agreed that they would remain friendly enemies.

  Chapter 10

  “Tomorrow’s Christmas Eve,” James announced to all who gathered in the candlelit study, sitting with their legs crossed on the Aubusson rug that decorated the entire floor. “The ladies thought we should play a game that would help us recall the reason that you all came together for the party in the beginning. They want us to tell a story about someone here who has been kind to them.”

  Some of the men grumbled, but others encouraged them to participate and catch the spirit that they were trying to inspire.

  Others came in late and took a seat. James waved them in. “There’s room for all of us. Come on in.” When everyone looked settled, he continued, “I was asked to lead the game because I am new to your community and several of you were afraid I wouldn’t have anything to say. This was your way of allowing me to participate.”

  James searched through the crowd and was glad to see Anna sitting with Jane and Marjorie at the back of the group. The ladies had kept their word and managed to get Anna to join in. Jack was curled up on her lap, enjoying the strokes of her hand on his back. Lucky dog, James thought. He wished she would touch him so freely again, but he could only hope that what he was about to tell would help her change her mind about not getting close to him anymore.

  “Well, I beg to differ. I can participate in another way,” James said and stretched out his injured hand to encompass the crowd in his explanation. “I can tell the first story of how someone in this community has been kind to me in the past. My past with you is only three days old, but it’s been a wonderful three days. Anna saved my life. Jane and her father took me into their home and gave me food, drink, and a warm rug to sleep on. Little Jack there marked me as his.”

  Everyone laughed when someone said, “Hasn’t he done that to all of us and everything in this house?”

  Jack barked and threatened to hike his leg. Anna soothed him. “It’s okay, fella. They’re just teasing.”

  “And the rest of you have been kind in ways you never knew you were being kind. Sharing your knowledge of Anna with me when I asked you about her.” He faced Anna. “That’s what I was doing, Anna, finding out everything I could about you so I could do the very thing you told me to do—decide for myself which side of the fence I stood on with you.” James turned his attention back to the crowd. “Now let me tell you a story about myself. I faint at the sight of blood.”

  Some of the men guffawed.

  “It’s true,” James admitted, “but Marjorie never laughed, even while she stitched me up while I was unconscious. I consider that terribly kind.

  “Some of you have asked me to say it in Texan instead of whatever I was speaking in my own peculiar way. You didn’t horsewhip me or throw me out into the snow. You just let me know you wanted to understand me better. I’d say that was an act of kindness. But most of all, every one of you showed me that I don’t have to be perfect to be welcomed among you. That whether I’m James Elliott the Third, or the Third,” his eyes met Anna’s gaze and held it, “or Trey, you’ve accepted me into your fold as all those things that I am.”

  Everyone clapped their hands.

  Trey held up a palm to stop them. “It’s yourselves you need to applaud. I learned something of the giving spirit from you. And isn’t that what Christmas is all about? Not the physical presents we receive, but the gift of giving yourself to others however they need you. I needed to know I didn’t have to be perfect to become your friend. You gave that to me, each of you in your own special way, and I thank you for it.”

  He got up and made his way to Anna. “May I sit by you?”

  She looked up at him and patted the floor beside her, scooting over to give him room. He folded his long, lanky legs and took her hand in his, linking his fingers through hers.

  Though his words were especially for Anna, he made sure everyone heard. “You see, Anna, I was lucky and was adopted by a very loving family one Christmas. They took me in and gave me everything a little discarded boy could ever want. But I thought I had to prove myself worthy of the magic that had happened to me. That I had to be as perfect as they seemed to be. They never once said anything to me about being more. I just didn’t want them to ever regret taking on such an imperfect little boy. I wanted to be worth the love they extended to me. To reward them for their kindness to me.”

  Anna held his fingers up to her lips and kissed them, staining them with tears that trickled from her eyes. “You’re perfect to me, James. I want nothing more, nothing less than who you are since I met you.”

  “And that’s why I’m glad I came here. I was on a search for a myth—pure perfection. A pink bluebonnet. Well, I don’t know if I’ll ever find one, but the old curandera who told me that I would find what I was looking for up here in the place where the buffalo last roamed was right. You are my perfection, no matter what anyone says you’ve been before.”

  “Well, I can tell you what she’s been.” Izora Beavers stood up to her full four feet, eight inches in height.

  It seemed as if everyone in the room except Anna sucked in their breath.

  When Anna’s hand squeezed his, James started to demand that Izora not utter another word.

  “Let her speak, James.” Anna watched the faces of the crowd and met Izora’s gaze with her shoulders squared.

  James thought her the bravest woman he’d ever met.

  “She’s been kind to me and my family,” Izora began, surprisingly gentle in her speech. “My children would not be having Christmas if not for her. Enoch just told me.” The woman started sobbing. “She delayed the payment we owed her so Enoch could buy toys and Christmas dinner.”

  Cloris Crawford stood. “And she donated money to the bazaar that’s being held for the children of the orphanage.”

  “She paid for medical supplies that will be waiting for the new children coming in on the train,” Marjorie Schroeder informed them.

  “She’s done a lot of things for the community the past few years that she never let anyone know about but me.” Jane added her knowledge in the matter. “And she only told me so that I would make sure it got to the right sources. Funds coming from a teacher versus a saloonkeeper were more willingly accepted by some of you.”

  “I think some of us have been wrong about Anna.” Izora’s gaze swept over the crowd. “Myself included. I don’t know about you, but I think we were all brought together by this storm on purpose, and I’m never going to forget what it’s taught me.”

  “What’s that, honey?” Enoch asked beside her.

  “That I can be just as naughty as the next person if I don’t know what the hell I’m talking about.” She burst into tears and threw herself into his arms.

  “What got into her?” Marjorie asked, looking stunned.

  “I think some of that Christmas spirit you ladies wanted to stir up,” James said, thinking that there was indeed a little magic going on in the house.

  Izora’s confession inspired others to speak up, and the guests began sharing their tales of kindnesses experienced among the Kasota community.

  A sweetness of spirit settled over the crowd, a gentleness that they had lost trying to endure the storms both outside across the Panhandle and inside their own personal lives.

  All of a sudden a loud rapping sounded from below. Jack began to bark a
nd jumped up and ran for the study door.

  “Someone’s pounding on the door. We’ve got a visitor,” Newpord shouted. “Let’s get ’im inside.”

  A dozen feet jumped up and scurried out of the study and bounded down the huge staircase. The door that hadn’t been opened in days now flung open wide to reveal a man dressed in a large white Stetson and yellow slicker. Standing behind him was a horse, frosted with a layer of snow.

  “Evening, folks,” the man said, “could I come in?”

  “Look, everyone. It’s stopped snowing!” Marjorie noticed and pointed behind the man.

  “Come in, come in, stranger, and welcome,” Newpord invited the man inside and helped him to take off his hat and coat. “Newpord Henton’s the name and these are my guests. Make yourself acquainted.”

  “Bob’s my name. Bob Schroeder,” the man introduced himself.

  Jane glanced at Marjorie. “Any relation?”

  The nurse smiled and gave the man a good look from Stetson to boot. “No . . . not yet. That was a white horse you rode in on, wasn’t it, Bob?”

  “As a matter of fact it was, miss. I’d sure appreciate if you’d let me get him in out of the cold. He’s brought me a long way to seek your help.”

  “What kind of help is that, Mr. Schroeder?” Jane asked.

  “We need some men to help us clear the tracks. The train’s stalled with lots of people aboard. We happened to see all the buggies and carriages near your barn and hoped that meant there were men available to help.”

  “You come in and have some coffee. We’ll brush down your horse and give him some feed and saddle up some of our horses as well as hitch up a team of oxen. We’ll be glad to help you and the crew, Mr. Schroeder.”

  “Here, let me take your hat, Bob,” Marjorie offered. “Bob, that’s a wonderful name. Is it short for Robert?”

  James tugged on Anna’s hand. “Will you come with me, Anna?”

  “Wherever you want to go,” she said. “To Kasota. To Boston. On your search for the pink bluebonnet.”

  “Right now, somewhere alone will do,” he insisted. “I’ve got something I need to ask you, and I’m not sure when I’ll get to once we go to help the people on the train.”

  James led her upstairs to Jane’s room, pulling her into his arms once the door was closed. He kissed her with all the longing that he’d barely contained since Wednesday. His world was perfect now. He’d found where he truly belonged—where he was meant to be for the rest of his life—in Anna’s arms.

  Minutes later, they both came up for air, laughing from the sheer joy of knowing that each of them were loved and would never forget this particular Christmas that had brought them together.

  Anna sat on the bed and pulled him down to sit beside her. “Ask me what you were going to ask me, Third.”

  James laughed. “What if someone comes in and sees us sitting here together? You’ll start all kinds of rumors.”

  “Not if you ask me the right thing.” She traced his lips with a slow fingertip. “And ask me fast, because as you know I’m not a patient woman.”

  James got down on one knee. “Anna Ross, will you become my bride and love me forever, come blizzard or shine? Love me for this Christmas and for every one from this day forward?”

  “Uh-huh.” She nodded and smiled. “But on one condition.”

  “What’s that?”

  “That if you feel yourself faint, make sure it’s me reviving you and not Marjorie or Jane. I’m going to be a very jealous woman.”

  “I think you only have to worry about Jane now. Marjorie’s got Bob.”

  Author’s Note

  The Lone Star flag was designed from the sight of albino bluebonnets in a field of blue ones.

  The Texas state flower comes in a variety of colors—traditional blue with white tips, the pure albino bonnet, and even the pink-tipped ones that live along the walls of the Alamo. Legend says that the pink are the faded drops of blood that was spilled in that hallowed place when Texas won its freedom. So to find a full-colored pink one is a rare find indeed, and hints where a Texas hero now sleeps.

  Yes, they really do exist.

  THE CHRISTMAS BELL

  LINDA BRODAY

  Chapter 1

  December 1887

  Texas Panhandle

  The morning was one of those where it paid to stay inside by the fire. Unless a man had cattle to feed and water.

  Oh, the glorious life of a rancher.

  Sloan Sullivan sighed, his breath creating vapor in the frigid air that stung when drawn into his lungs. His right leg had been injured when a horse fell on him several months ago and now protested the extreme temperature. He didn’t have time to give it so much as a rub. He’d hurry and get the chores done so he could get off it and back to the cheery fire blazing in the old stone fireplace.

  Shivering, he turned up the collar of his wool coat and pulled his hat down low, bracing himself against the biting wind that swirled around him like an insistent saloon girl wanting to dance. The heavy snowfall created a blanket of white in all directions and wiped away all traces of the footsteps he’d just made.

  He’d seen storms like this on the Texas Panhandle, where no living thing survived long without refuge. But this particular storm was one of the fiercest he’d seen in years.

  A faint black outline through the curtain of falling snow caught his eye. He squinted. It looked to be the train, Engine 208 unless he missed his guess.

  And it wasn’t moving.

  Furthermore, there was no smoke rising from the smokestack.

  Fear tightened his chest. The Fort Worth and Denver City locomotive appeared stuck in the mountainous drifts that covered the tracks. The passengers would freeze when their supply of wood ran out . . . if it hadn’t already. He had no way of knowing how long they’d been snowbound.

  In the west pasture a good mile from the ranch house, Sloan limped to the rear of the sled he used to haul feed for the cattle during the winter months when snow and ice covered the ground. Grabbing the pitchfork, he made short work of forking the hay to the hungry, half-frozen cattle.

  Throwing the implement into the back, he climbed up and prodded the horse into action. He had to hurry.

  When he reached home, he drove the sled up to the kitchen door. Inside, he grabbed all the blankets and quilts he could find. Then he filled a wooden crate with food and supplies.

  He loaded all of that into the sled and drove around to the woodpile. He filled the remainder of the space with enough kindling and logs to last for a few days. Covering everything with a length of canvas to keep it dry, he crawled into the seat and urged the horse toward the train.

  It was slow going.

  The animal floundered in the high drifts, doing his best to keep his footing.

  The wind howled, pawing at the cracks of the passenger car like an icy snow monster bent on getting to them. Inside the Fort Worth and Denver City train, Tess Whitgrove shivered, chilled to the bone along with the other travelers who were trying to get home to Kasota Springs for Christmas.

  Her desperate glance lit on the small black stove at the front end of the car. It had long grown cold. Each fall the engineer removed the first two rows of seats and added the stove to warm the travelers. Little good it did them without wood.

  The blizzard had them in its grip and wasn’t letting go. They’d been stuck since last night and were running out of patience, hope, and endurance.

  And to make matters worse, the train engineer had put her in charge of the passengers while he, the conductor, and brakeman had worked tirelessly to try to free the locomotive. Unfortunately, their efforts had been for naught.

  Tess had never asked for the responsibility of the passengers’ welfare, and the heaviness weighed her down.

  Despair filled her. Now, gazing desperately at the sea of white, she saw something move. She wiped a thick layer of frost from the train window and leaned closer to the icy glass.

  All of a sudden a horse pulling
a sled appeared in the breaks of the blowing snow. Whoever it was inched ever closer to the train.

  Hallelujah! Their prayers had been answered.

  Tucking a thin blanket, the only thing that had been available, more firmly around Ira Powell’s feverish body, she turned to his wife, who hadn’t left her husband’s side. “Mrs. Powell, I have to find the engineer, but I’ll be back soon.”

  “All right, dear. There isn’t much else we can do anyway except pray.” Weariness lined Omie Powell’s sweet face.

  Tess hurried to find Roe Rollins, the Fort Worth and Denver City Railroad engineer, to relay the good news that it seemed help had arrived.

  She prayed the man coming was a doctor. Ira Powell wasn’t going to last long without medical treatment. She couldn’t be certain, but she feared he had black scarlet fever. Lord knows, Tess had done all she could, and it was pitiful little.

  If they could just get a fire lit in the stove at the front of the frigid passenger car, it would be an immense help. They’d exhausted their supply of wood over six long hours ago.

  With thoughts rolling around inside her head like so many loose marbles, she found the train’s engineer Roe Rollins doing his best to calm a prickly woman by the name of Mrs. Abner. She was traveling with four small children. The woman had certainly tried Tess’s patience. From the exasperation written on Roe’s face, it appeared he’d reached the end of his rope as well and was about to cut his red suspenders and go straight up.

  “Now, Mrs. Abner, I don’t care what kind of fit you pitch, you ain’t getting off this train until I say.” Rollins’s words came through gritted teeth.

  “You can’t stop me, you old crow.” The stout woman pushed back her black lace poke bonnet, which had slid over one eye. The hat had once been fashionable but now was a rather sad affair that had lost its ribbon.

  Tess put her hand on the woman’s arm and spoke gently. “Mrs. Abner, you wouldn’t get more than a few feet before you’d freeze to death. You don’t want that, do you? You’re frightening your children.”