Montana Bride

by Joan Johnston

  Griffin was hopping around like a rabbit on Easter. Wrong holiday, she thought glumly. Hopping around like a reindeer?

  “All right. All right,” she muttered. “Give me a minute to get some clothes on.”

  “I can’t wait, Grace. Come in your nightgown. I’ll bet no one else is awake yet.”

  “We can’t open presents until Hetty and Karl are up,” she said.

  “Then let’s get them up,” Griffin urged.

  Grace had heard Hetty and Karl arguing last night. It was the last thing she remembered before falling asleep. She’d gone to bed worried about whether they were still going to have a home on Christmas morning, and all Griffin could think about was what presents he might find under the tree.

  The last thing she wanted to do was remind Karl Norwood what a pestilential brother she had. So maybe she’d better be the one to wake up Hetty and Karl. She would do it a lot more gently than her brother.

  “I’m coming,” she said, yawning as she stretched her arms high over her head. She noticed Griffin was shivering with cold, dressed only in his smalls and a long john shirt.

  “Put some socks on,” she ordered. “You’ll catch cold in your bare feet.”

  “Anything to get you moving,” he said, sitting down to pull on the pair of socks he’d left on the floor when he’d undressed.

  Grace had worn her socks to bed because her feet were always cold. She had on a voluminous gray flannel nightgown and would have added a robe before leaving the bedroom, except she didn’t own one.

  “Let’s go,” she said. “But be quiet!”

  Grace eased open the bedroom door and discovered Hetty and Karl already sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee in front of each of them. Her mouth dropped open in astonishment. “What are you two doing up?” she asked as she crossed to Hetty.

  Hetty smiled. “We’ve been sitting here at least a half hour. We didn’t think you two sleepyheads were ever going to wake up.”

  Grace found herself smiling back. She turned to Karl and saw he was smiling, too. It was going to be all right. They weren’t going to find themselves out in the cold on Christmas Day.

  “Look at this, Grace!” Griffin shouted.

  “What are you doing, Griffin?” Grace said as she hurried over to join her brother at the fireplace.

  “Look at all this loot!” he said as he dumped his stocking onto the braided rug in front of the fire. He held up each item as he identified it. “Instead of sticks, peppermint sticks. Instead of stones, rock candy. And instead of coal, pecans!” Griffin beamed up at her. Smirked up at her was more like it, she thought as he added, “Guess I’ve been a good boy after all.” He jumped up and tugged Grace’s stocking free and handed it to her. “Empty yours, Grace. Let’s see what you got.”

  Grace was aware that Hetty and Karl had left the table and were standing right behind her. She wanted to chastise Griffin for being so impatient, but she would have been reminding Karl that Griffin was impatient. So she held her tongue and dropped to her knees and dumped her stocking onto the rug.

  “You got the same thing!” Griffin sounded disappointed.

  “Of course I did,” Grace said, soothing his ruffled feathers. “I’ve been every bit as good as you. It’s only fair that we both get the same thing in our stockings.”

  “I better not find the same gift as you under the tree,” Griffin muttered.

  Grace glanced up to see if Hetty or Karl had heard Griffin grumbling. Both were still smiling. She stood and gave Hetty a hug, then met Karl’s gaze and said, “Thank you very much. I love everything.”

  She shot a look at Griffin and jerked her head toward Hetty and Karl. Her brother stood and scuffed his sock against the rug and said, “Yeah. Thanks a lot.”

  “There are more presents under the tree,” Hetty told him.

  “I didn’t see anything there for me last night before I went to bed,” Griffin replied. Which meant he’d checked, despite Grace’s warning not to be nosy.

  “Saint Nicholas came during the night and left a few things,” Hetty said.

  Griffin surveyed the array of packages under the tree and asked, “How do I know which one is mine?”

  “Your name is written on the package,” Hetty said. “There are several under there for you.”

  Griffin looked at her with wonder. “Several?”

  “I believe so,” Hetty confirmed.

  “Come help me, Grace.” Griffin dropped to the floor in front of the tree and began sorting packages into piles, and Grace settled on her knees beside him.

  “This one’s yours, Grace,” he said, setting an oblong package in front of her.

  “This one’s mine!” He stopped sorting packages and began opening the gift.

  “Wait!” Grace said. “What about sorting everything first?”

  “We can sort later,” Griffin said. “I’m going to open mine now.”

  Grace turned to see what Hetty and Karl thought about this childish behavior and found Karl sitting cross-legged in front of the fireplace with Hetty right next to him, her skirt tucked under her, both watching expectantly.

  “Go ahead, Griffin,” Karl said. “Open it.”

  By the time he spoke, Griffin already had half the brown paper torn off. A moment later he was holding a tooled-leather knife sheath in his hand.

  Grace kept her gaze focused on her brother’s face as he carefully eased an incredibly shiny, incredibly sharp knife from the sheath. Griffin’s gaze met hers, and Grace saw the sheen of tears in his eyes. He turned to Karl and said, “Is this really mine?”

  “All yours,” Karl said. “Merry Christmas, son.”

  Grace saw Griffin’s jaws clamp on whatever retort he’d been about to give Karl for calling him son. Griffin kept his eyes lowered as he said, “Thanks, Karl.”

  Karl flinched when Griffin called him Karl instead of Pa, but Grace figured, all in all, things were going pretty well.

  Griffin reverently set aside the knife and sheath, then reached under the tree and pulled out two badly wrapped presents—Grace had offered her help to wrap them, but Griffin had refused—and handed one to Hetty and one to Karl. “These are from me,” he said gruffly.

  Grace had been surprised when Griffin told her he had presents for Hetty and Karl, and even more surprised when Griffin had refused to show her what he was giving them. So she watched with equal interest as they surveyed their presents.

  “You go first,” Karl said.

  Hetty hesitated, then carefully unwrapped her gift. She gasped and held out a carved miniature horse with a flowing mane and tail. “Oh, Griffin. It’s beautiful!” She leaned forward to hug him, but he sidled away and said, “Open yours, Karl.”

  “I’m almost afraid to see what you carved for me,” Karl said with a smile. “Probably a skunk.”

  Grace realized her brother’s whole body was so tense he couldn’t enjoy Karl’s joke. Whatever Griffin had carved for Karl, he wanted Karl to like it. Grace held her breath, praying that he would.

  Once Karl had the wrapping off his gift he sat perfectly still, staring at it. Grace was suffering from a lack of oxygen, but she didn’t dare breathe. No one was breathing. No one was saying anything. Grace heard Karl swallow with a little gurgle. Then he focused his gaze on Griffin and said, “I have never, in my entire life, seen anything so wonderful.”

  Grace turned to look at Griffin, whose face had turned beet red.

  “I tried to make it perfect,” her brother said. “The mane isn’t quite right.”

  “The mane is amazing,” Karl said as he held up the carved horse head, its mouth wide as though the animal was screaming a challenge, mane flying, ears forward, nostrils flared, the strong neck proudly arched.

  “I will treasure it always,” Karl said.

  Grace noticed that Karl made no attempt, as Hetty had, to embrace her brother. He simply looked at Griffin with appreciation. And maybe a little awe. Then he put out his hand and said, “Thank you, son.”

 
; Grace waited to see if Griffin would reach out and shake Karl’s hand, especially after he’d used that blasted word again.

  Her brother hesitated so long that Grace thought maybe he was going to insult Karl after all. At last Griffin reached out his hand and took Karl’s. They shook once, and Grace sighed with relief, figuring that was the end of it.

  But Karl used his hold on Griffin to pull him close enough to give him a quick hug. Just as quickly, he released him. Griffin scuttled back to his spot by the tree and stared at Karl with a frown furrowing his brow.

  Grace couldn’t figure her brother out. Why carve such a beautiful present for Karl if he didn’t like him? What did he want from Karl, anyway? If he wanted Karl’s approval, he wasn’t going to get it glowering at him like that.

  To break the tension, Grace said, “I have gifts for both of you, too.” Although hers weren’t nearly as beautiful or original as the ones Griffin had made. She turned to her brother and said, “Can you find them under there?”

  Griffin handed her the two small presents she’d wrapped with such great care. She handed a gift to Karl and said, “Why don’t you open yours first?”

  He untied the neat bow and took off the carefully folded paper, then held up the large leaf she’d encased in candle wax.

  Grace could tell he had no idea what it was. “It’s a bookmark. So you can mark your place when you’re reading. It’s Populus tremuloides.”

  The smile grew on Karl’s face as he met her gaze and said, “The first leaf you asked me to identify on the trail.”

  Grace smiled back with relief. “You remembered.”

  “How could I forget the Trembling aspen?” He rose and, before she could object, grabbed her head between his large hands and kissed her on each cheek before letting her go. “Thank you, Grace. I’ll keep it with me always.”

  Grace’s stomach felt funny. It was doing all kinds of flip-flops, like a dying fish. She broke eye contact with Karl and turned to Hetty. “This one’s for you.”

  Hetty took the tiny package, untied the bow, and carefully unwrapped the gift in her lap. She held up a delicate silver chain to which a very small silver butterfly was attached. “How lovely!”

  “It’s the only thing I owned that I thought you might like,” Grace blurted.

  Hetty suddenly looked unhappy. “Oh, Grace. I appreciate the thought, but I can’t take this. You should keep it for yourself.”

  “I’m giving it to you.”

  “I can’t accept it,” Hetty protested, holding it out to Grace.

  Grace didn’t want to explain, but she was afraid Hetty would refuse the gift if she didn’t. Her throat had a horrendous lump in it. Hetty had been a better mother to her during the past two months than her own mother had been during her entire life. She was nearly old enough to be a mother herself, and yet she couldn’t help wanting—needing—a mother. Griffin didn’t know how lucky they were to have Hetty fill those shoes, but Grace did.

  She managed to rasp, “The necklace belonged to my mother. I want you to have it.”

  Grace saw the moment Hetty realized the significance of the gift. Will you be my mother for now and always?

  Hetty’s chin quivered and her eyes filled with tears. “Oh, Grace. I would love to have it. Will you help me put it on?”

  Grace took the necklace from Hetty and leaned over to attach the clasp behind her neck. Hetty held the silver butterfly in one hand as she leaned over and kissed Grace on the lips. “Thank you, Grace,” she whispered. “I will wear it always.”

  Grace put a hand to her lips. She had a mother. For now and always.

  “Is the mushy stuff over now?” Griffin asked.

  “Unless you’d like a kiss, too,” Hetty said with a mischievous grin.

  “Heck, no!” Griffin shoved the oblong box he’d first taken out from under the tree in Grace’s direction and said, “Why don’t you open your present? Who’s it from?”

  Grace glanced at the writing on the brown paper and said, “From Karl.”

  She took so much time carefully unwrapping the present that Griffin finally said, “Hurry up, Grace. What’s taking you so long?”

  Grace was savoring the fact that she had a present, let alone several presents, to open. Griffin didn’t remember the years when there had been no Christmas, because Grace had done her best each year since he’d been old enough to know what Christmas was to provide him with some little gift.

  She tried to recall a Christmas when her mother had given her a Christmas gift. She remembered getting a silver dollar once, but her mother had borrowed it back a week later. She remembered getting a pair of wool socks, but they were too big, made for a man, not a little girl. She remembered wishing for a special something—she had a specific something in mind—wrapped in bright paper with real ribbon to surprise her on Christmas morning.

  Even though Grace had wished and hoped and prayed, she’d never gotten that special something. And now, here she was, opening a present, and wishing and hoping and praying it would be…

  “Oh! Oh!” Grace sobbed as she stared down at the open box in her lap.

  “Grace? I’m so sorry,” Karl said. “I know it’s not the sort of thing you probably wanted. I bought it when I thought you were younger. You probably don’t—”

  “I love her!” Grace cried, grabbing the doll from the box and hugging it to her chest. She could hardly see Karl through her tears. If she could have described the perfect doll, it would have looked like this one: a rosy-cheeked face, blue eyes and dark, painted eyelashes, long blond hair in two braids tied with ribbons, and wearing a frilly pink dress. She even had on black patent-leather shoes and white lace-trimmed socks.

  Grace rocked the doll for another moment, then threw herself into Karl’s arms, hugging him around the neck with one arm, while she held on to the doll with the other. It was every Christmas dream she’d ever had come true. “Thank you, Karl. Thank you, thank you! Julie’s beautiful.”

  “Julie?” he asked in a gruff voice.

  “That’s her name.” Grace pulled herself free of Karl’s enfolding arms, suddenly self-conscious. She really was too old for a doll. In a few years, she’d be having babies of her own. Nevertheless, she found herself explaining, “I always said if I ever had a doll, I’d name her Julie.”

  Grace glanced at Hetty and saw the shock on her face. And realized what she’d revealed. So I’ve never had a doll. What’s the big deal? Lots of girls have never had dolls. But it was clear from the stunned look on Hetty’s face that she’d had a doll when she was a little girl and was amazed that Grace hadn’t.

  Grace sat back down, anxious to get the focus off of herself, and blurted, “What the hell else is under that tree?”

  Karl felt overwhelmed by the children’s responses to his presents. He’d bought Christmas gifts in Butte that he’d thought his brand-new stepchildren would enjoy, worried that the boy’s knife was too dangerous for a child his age, and wondering if the little girl already had a whole chest full of dolls and would find one more tiresome. Only to discover that Griffin revered his knife and sheath, and that Grace was receiving the very first doll she’d ever owned.

  He was awed by Griffin’s talent with a knife and wood. The carved horse head the boy had given him was exquisite. It almost breathed with life. In contrast, Hetty’s horse figure seemed filled with energy, as though it might leap off the table if you set it down. Much like Hetty herself.

  Karl still wasn’t sure what to make of what had happened last night with his wife. He’d made love to Hetty, but she’d also made love to him. Maybe he was putting too fine a description on what had happened between them. He tried to remember the exact chain of events.

  He’d said, I want you.

  She’d replied, I want you, too.

  Maybe love had played no part in what had followed, but there had been plenty of passion on both sides. Hetty had surprised him with her willingness to explore his body. To taste. To satisfy his craving to be touched. And to be ta
sted and touched in return.

  Karl didn’t realize his mind had wandered until he heard Grace say, “What the hell else is under that tree?”

  “Grace!” Hetty said. “That’s entirely the wrong kind of language for Christmas morning.”

  Grace flushed and said, “I’m sorry.”

  “Here,” Griffin said, tossing a small gift at Karl. “This one’s from Hetty.”

  Karl saw the grateful look Grace shot Griffin for drawing attention away from her use of profanity. Those sorts of slips happened more often now that their secret was out and they weren’t trying to act like something they weren’t. Karl appreciated the honesty, even though he felt the same way Hetty did about curbing the profanity.

  The children were also no longer indulging in the pretense of calling Hetty Mom. Karl thought that was a shame, because as far as he could tell, Hetty had been—still was—a good mother.

  “Hurry up and open your gift, Karl,” Griffin said.

  Karl smiled at the boy’s eagerness. He’d been equally excited on Christmas morning when he was Griffin’s age. But without family around, he’d seldom celebrated Christmas over the past ten years. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed the holly wreaths and spruce tree, the exchanging of gifts and the carol singing, which reminded him they hadn’t done any of that yet. Maybe he could talk Hetty and the kids into singing a song or two before the day was done.

  “Did you fall asleep, Karl, or what?” Griffin said.

  He’d been daydreaming again. “I’m untying this knot as fast as I can.”

  “Just push it off,” Griffin said.

  Karl laughed and did as he was told. He unwrapped the brown paper and discovered a small, framed sampler.

  “Bao helped me frame it with pine from the mountain,” Hetty said anxiously.

  Karl held the embroidered cloth up so he could see it better in the dawn light. It took him a moment to decipher what it was. Two entwined bitterroot flowers delicately embroidered in white and pink and green thread, and beneath them, in green, the Latin name, Lewisia rediviva, and the date, 1874.