by Ford, Linda
“That’s amazing.”
Yes, it was, though she understood he meant how the texture had changed. But what amazed and pleased her was the way he’d forgotten to be nervous and distant around her.
Little Joe leaned forward, his mouth open, his tongue out, begging to taste the sample.
“Can he eat it?” Colt asked.
“Certainly,” Becca answered.
Colt let the boy lick up the candy, and Little Joe smacked his lips. “Good.” He angled toward the kettle. “More.”
“It’s not ready yet. But it’s almost time for the fun part.” She poured the mixture into the prepared pan. “We all have to wash our hands while it cools.”
They washed and then waited, rather impatiently, for the candy to cool.
Pa came in and sat at the table, anticipating the time for pulling.
Becca turned the candy from the edges several times so it would cool equally. She tested it. How hot could the children handle? “It’s still a little warm. Pa, what do you think?”
“I’ll partner with Marie and show her what to do. You can show Colt and Little Joe how to pull it.”
That wasn’t exactly her question, but she readily agreed. Pa took half and showed Marie how to stretch and double it. Becca did the same with Colt as he held Little Joe in his lap. They held the candy mixture gingerly. She folded her end toward his, and their hands brushed. She was again so aware of him that her insides felt liquid. “We are working in air to make it light. Sometimes, if there’s any left overnight, it turns all creamy. Yum.” Think of candy. Think of how everyone will enjoy this. Think of anything but this silly reaction to a simple task.
Somehow she managed to explain every step until the candy was too stiff to work further, and they put it on the pan and cut it. “We could wait for it to cool and harden more. Or—” She let her voice trail off and laughed as three faces looked at her with wide-eyed begging. It felt so good to see all of them relaxed and enjoying themselves. Step one in making this the best Christmas ever for them.
“Or we could have some right now.” She grabbed the big knife and sliced off a piece. She handed a small piece to Little Joe. He plopped it into his mouth and his eyes grew big.
“Good.” Drool dribbled from his lips.
She grabbed a wet cloth and patted it away. “Anyone else want some?”
Marie nodded and received a piece.
“I do believe I’ll have some,” Pa said.
She cut a piece for him, then faced Colt. His eyes brimmed with eagerness, but his mouth remained flat. As clearly as if the words were written on his forehead, she understood he wanted to enjoy himself but feared to venture too close, perhaps cross a line that had always brought repercussions.
“It’s very tasty,” she teased, cutting off a piece and waving it before him.
“I wouldn’t know. Never had the stuff before, but I’m game to try it.” He’d asked for it without really asking.
Laughing, she let him take it from her fingers. She waited as he sucked the treat. Her heart felt light with success when his eyes widened with pleasure and he made appreciative noises.
They ate several more pieces until she suggested they should save some for the next day. “Wouldn’t want anyone to get a tummy ache.” She washed the children’s hands and faces.
“Pa, didn’t you put a box of my old trinkets in the back closet? Maybe Marie and Little Joe would like to play with the things we saved.”
“I suspect they would. I’ll fetch it.” He went to the closet past the two bedrooms and returned with an old satchel. He brought it to the table, where he opened it and began to pull out items.
Becca grabbed a little rag doll. “Ma made me this for Christmas one year. It was the first year we were in Fort Benton.” Her heart full of sweet memories, she smiled at Pa. “Just before she met you. Before you married her and became my new Pa.” She handed the doll to Marie. “Would you like to play with it?”
Marie took it gently. “I’ll be very careful.”
Becca let her gaze find Colt. But instead of the pleasure she expected, she saw a harsh expression.
“What’s wrong?”
“What if she damages it?”
“I don’t expect she will, but if she does it’s only a toy.”
“A special toy,” Pa said.
Becca shot him a questioning look.
“I think Colt is asking, will the child be punished if something happens?”
Becca’s insides twisted. “Do you think I would be angry with her?”
Colt’s eyes narrowed, and she sensed a heap of pain.
Her annoyance died as quickly as it came. “It’s what you’ve experienced, isn’t it?”
“Anger can make people very cruel.”
He didn’t need to explain further. She didn’t want him to. Her imagination filled in the details and they weren’t pleasant, but she knew Colt had experienced the cruelty of anger. Knowing the forms that could take brought the sting of tears to her eyes. She blinked them away, but not before Colt noticed.
The hardness in his face fled. “A person learns to be tough.”
“Sometimes a person can learn to be too tough.”
Pa paid them scant attention as he explored the contents of the bag and pulled out a wooden horse with moveable legs. “Do you remember this?”
“Uncle Martin sent it to me from Toronto one Christmas. I played with it for hours at a time. Look, Little Joe.” She showed him how she could make the horse walk across the table, then handed him the toy.
He scrambled from Colt’s lap, and the two children sat on the floor nearby playing.
Pa took the satchel back to the bedroom and set it on his bed. He stayed there, his back to them as he looked through the contents.
The bedrooms opened off the kitchen so Becca was able to watch him. She wondered why he chose to look at her toys in his room. Then she saw his shoulders rise and fall in a huge sigh, and a tiny suspicion grew in her thoughts. She knew he missed Ma. But perhaps he was also remembering the first time he saw her. Recalling all the fun they’d had together. Maybe even regretting their promise for her to leave. She didn’t want him to be sad when she left, though they’d both find the separation difficult.
If only they hadn’t promised Ma. If only Becca hadn’t insisted they return home.
Was she in any way responsible for Ma’s death because she’d begged to come back? She’d never asked, never considered it a possibility. And now it was too late. Responsible or not, she had given a promise and she meant to keep it.
But glancing at Colt, she wished she could stay. Yes, Colt made it very plain he meant to move on, but surely he’d come back. For supplies, if nothing else.
Perhaps if she stayed, another reason for him to return might develop.
If ifs and ands were pots and pans, there’d be no work for tinkers’ hands.
Ma had said it often when Becca got caught up in wishing for things to be different. It was a good reminder for her again now. There were things she could not change.
She could not change her promise nor, likely, Colt’s desire to be alone.
But she could make this a Christmas they’d never forget.
Chapter Six
When had he felt so immune to anger? Colt watched Becca studying her pa. Pain and regret filled her expression. She loved her pa and didn’t want to leave him, but because of her guilt and a promise, she would.
Too bad the stagecoach wouldn’t stay parked for the winter. It would mean he could stay, too.
What was he thinking? He knew better. He’d already extended his stay longer than was wise. Not that he had much choice. He’d given his promise to help the kids have a good Christmas. He wasn’t sure it was a promise wisely made. Would having such a memory
make the reality of the future better or worse?
Becca sighed and turned toward the children, a smile erasing her worries as she watched them play.
An unfamiliar warmth flooded Colt’s chest. She truly seemed fond of these little half-breeds. How was it possible? She was a white woman—a fine white woman with proper upbringing.
Yet she shared her quarters, her table and even her toys with him and the kids. And she went out of her way to amuse them. She made plans to brighten their days, going so far as to make candy.
When had he ever partaken of such pleasure? Only his thoughts weren’t of the candy, but of Becca’s sweet smile. Guilt cooled his insides. A man could be shot for looking too long at a woman like Becca. Good thing a man couldn’t be shot for his thoughts. He pulled his lips in to hide a grin. But there were men who would shoot him simply for being so bold as to sit at the same table. If he had a lick of sense, he would immediately head toward that mountain cabin.
Instead, he watched Little Joe playing with the toy horse. After all, if he tried to leave Becca would fuss, and it didn’t seem fair to cause her concern after she’d been so kind.
Little Joe turned and held the horse out to him. “Make horsee run.”
Grateful for the diversion, Colt sat cross-legged on the floor beside Little Joe and played with him. Marie moved to the table and talked to Becca about the doll.
An unfamiliar peace settled about Colt’s shoulders. It was temporary, but maybe for a few minutes he’d let himself experience what it felt like to be part of a family, and maybe even, foolish as it was, he’d pretend he belonged.
Little Joe trotted the horse up Colt’s leg and arm, across his neck and down again, making funny little horse sounds. The feel of the little boy’s hands and legs as he climbed over him did strange things to Colt’s guarded thoughts. Peeled away layers. He discovered he liked being touched. Didn’t realize it was something he’d missed until this very moment.
Little Joe trotted the horse up again. This time he went over Colt’s head. The horse tangled in Colt’s hair. Little Joe tugged.
Colt squinted against the pain of having his hair pulled.
“I’ll get it.” He tugged and twisted, but the toy would not come free.
“My horsee.” Little Joe whined and screwed up his face in preparation for a yowl.
“Don’t cry,” Colt begged. He’d never be able to get the toy out of his hair if he had to cover his ears.
“Do you need help?” Becca asked.
He couldn’t look at her. “I can get it.” He yanked, bit back a groan, yanked again. The toy did not come free.
“You’re only making it worse.” She stood behind him. “Let me.”
He felt her with every nerve in his back. He itched to put more distance between them. She touched his head. His scalp tingled, and he knew an unusual sense of comfort. He held his breath, expecting her to jerk the toy free without consideration for his tender scalp, but her fingers gently separated strands of hair from the toy. Each touch was like a kiss. A blessing. A calming massage. He closed his eyes against the pleasure. He should never have allowed her to do this.
A smile caught at the corner of his mouth. She hadn’t exactly waited for permission.
“Got it.” She handed the toy to a tearful Little Joe and stepped back.
Marie stood before him. “He didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“I know. He was only playing.”
“You aren’t angry?”
“No.” He couldn’t even manage to be angry at himself. Whatever line he had crossed was worth it for the pleasure of her touch. He’d gladly face whatever repercussions came.
Marie edged closer and patted his cheek. “Are you okay?”
He smiled, letting all his happy emotions surface for a moment. Being touched in loving, gentle ways felt so right and good, he wondered how he had survived up until now. And facing the future knowing he would not experience it again filled him with bleak despair.
Nothing had changed. Nor did he expect it to. These few moments would make his future less lonely. Or would they make it worse, having learned the beauty of the human touch?
Becca went to the stove to start preparations for the noon meal. Marie hurried to her side to help.
Colt watched. Every step of Becca’s work was slowed by letting the little girl assist, but she didn’t seem to mind as she gently explained things, always smiling as she did.
If only Marie and Little Joe could find such a home.
If only frogs could fly.
He’d seen the children in the teacher’s care. She insisted on a certain standard of behavior, as well she should. Orphaned children—especially if mixed race—faced unreasonable criticism. The kindest thing the teacher could do was teach them to act in such a way as to avoid repercussions. But from what little he’d observed, the teacher offered minimal affection. She appeared to consider the task of caring for the children her duty. And she did it well. No one could fault her for the fact that she seemed to find little joy in it.
After the meal, the children again fell asleep on Becca’s bed.
Colt headed for the store. He would spend time with the horses in the barn and help Macpherson with whatever chores that needed to be done.
“Wait.” Becca’s word stopped him in his tracks, his hand suspended at the door. “We need to talk.”
Talk? Talk meant bad news. Had she changed her mind? Would she ask him to leave? His heart hit bottom as he realized how much he wanted to stay.
“Come. Sit down. Have another cup of coffee.”
She waved her hand to indicate the chair opposite her. As he considered his options, she poured coffee.
He sat, cradled the cup and waited.
“I’d like your help in planning gifts for the children.”
He stared in disbelief. “You just gave them toys to play with. That’s enough.”
She shook her head. “I want them to have something they can take with them and keep. I want them to look at the gifts and remember their Christmas with us.” Her words slowed and her voice softened. “I plan for them...you...us to have the best Christmas ever.”
His mind swirled worse than the wind during the recent snow-storm. Best Christmas. Welcome memories.
“What’s the matter?”
He realized he shook his head back and forth. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”
She frowned, and he almost retracted his words so she’d smile again. But he couldn’t.
“What’s wrong with it?”
“They’ll be going to the fort. Likely whatever they own will be shared with anyone else the teacher is sheltering. You’re just setting them up for hurt.”
She sat up straighter. “Won’t they be allowed to have their own things?”
Wishing he’d never started this conversation, he shrugged. “Can’t say for sure one way or the other.”
“But I take it your experience makes you think they can’t.”
“They’re orphaned half-breeds.” He wanted her to be clear how that affected the way the kids would be treated.
“It shouldn’t make a difference.”
He stared at her. Her blue eyes blazed like a bright summer sky. Her chin jutted out. And she looked ready to fight anyone who argued with her. Did she really think it shouldn’t matter? Did she mean in a general sense? Did it matter to her? Sure seems it didn’t.
“But it does.” The words were as much a reminder to himself of the facts as they were for her. “But they’re strong. They’ll survive. And they have each other.”
Her gaze probed his thoughts. He felt her questions, although she didn’t voice them. And he turned away because he didn’t want to delve into his past. He faced the future as a man of mixed race, making the best of his life, but not dreami
ng of enjoying a family such as he glimpsed here. Yes, someday he might find someone like himself, an outcast, who might be willing to share his life. But every time he considered the idea he balked at it. Didn’t seem right to bring more children like himself into the world, knowing they would never be accepted by more than a handful of people. Best he restrict his friendships to horses.
“It is unacceptable that they aren’t allowed their own possessions.”
He shrugged again. Her opinion didn’t change the facts.
“Marie and Little Joe are going to get presents to take with them and remember happy days here, and if anyone says otherwise—”
He could have told her there would be plenty of people who would say otherwise, but heeding his well-developed sense of caution, he decided he wouldn’t be the first.
Taking his silence for agreement, she gave a decisive nod. “Good. Now what can we make for them?”
“We?”
“You do want a part in making this a time they’ll remember with joy, don’t you?”
Well, shoot. If he said no, he would sound cruel and he’d be lying. But if he said yes...he had no idea where it would lead him.
“I thought you would. Now this is what I have in mind.” She rattled on about things her pa had in the store that he’d be willing to give them. “But we should do something extra special.”
“Uh-huh.”
“I think I can make a doll for Marie. She certainly seems to enjoy the one I lent her.”
“Uh-huh.” He had nothing to add to this discussion.
“What do you think a little boy would want?”
He swallowed hard.
“What did you like as a boy?”
A thousand long-buried memories burst, forbidden, into his mind. A long eagle feather he’d found. A shiny rock he’d hidden in the far corner of a barn. A broken wooden wheel off some other child’s toy. None of them had followed him in his many moves.
He realized Becca watched him, and he steeled his expression to indifference. “Nothing special.” Aware of the sympathy in her face and hoping to keep her from probing deeper, he rushed on. “Little Joe enjoys the horse you gave him to play with. If your father wouldn’t mind letting me use some scraps of lumber, I could make one like that.”