Log Cabin Christmas

by Margaret Brownley

  His green eyes twinkled in his charming sunburned face. “Have you changed your mind since last winter? I’m headed west, Molly. Bring your pioneer spirit with me, and see fresh land. That young’un must be old enough to leave by now.”

  She shook her head. “Ye be too much an adventurer for me. We don’t want the same things.”

  “How can you be sure? I’ll buy you a horse.”

  Molly patted his horse’s neck. “Ye be tempting me with a horse, but no.”

  She heard the leather of his saddle creak as he leaned down. “What do you want, Molly? You’re always giving to others. I remember when you traded your mare for a milk cow on the trail.”

  “Andy needed milk more than I needed a mare.”

  “You can’t give everything away. You’re too fine a woman to sacrifice her life for others. What’s the matter with the bucks around here? Or are you too particular?”

  Molly shook her head. “Are ye staying for the meeting?”

  “If I can watch you and eat vittles, sure.” He swung out of the saddle and reached for her.

  Molly easily spun away and joined Ana at the back of the arbor fluttering an elaborate lace fan. Luis stood nearby, arms crossed over his chest. “Who was that?” he asked.

  Molly scrunched her nose. “Eli Parker from Tennessee. He rode with us in the wagon train.”

  “Does he live around here?”

  “Nay. Eli be going west. He doesn’t want to settle down.” She took a deep breath. “Ma Hanks asked if ye be washed in the blood of the Lamb.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Ye confess Jesus as your Savior and the forgiver of your sins.”

  Luis looked away. “You don’t know the sins I carry.”

  “I can see ye be burdened,” Molly said. “Do ye seek God’s will, Luis?”

  Mamacita’s fan slowed.

  He answered after a thoughtful pause. “There’s a place in the Bible about beating swords into plows. That’s what I’d like to do. I won’t worship a soft God, but I’ll follow the will of a just God.”

  “He be a just God. The Bible tells of a just God who be firm with those who fight against him and his people.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “Would not a just God expect his people to return what has been taken away from a man?”

  “Aye,” she whispered. “But if a man bought and paid for something with his sweat and blood, believing the authorities who said it be his, God would see that different.”

  “I wonder.”

  Molly wished Pappy Hanks were near to help. What words did she have for such a question? “I would give ye back the land be it in my power and if it would make a difference to your soul. It would please me to see the stranglehold of disappointment ye carry given to Jesus so ye could be free and forgiven.”

  His face softened before he whispered, “Would you like me better if I believed the same way you do?”

  “I already like ye mighty fine.”

  Pappy Hanks stood beneath the arbor and shouted out a verse from his open Bible. “Come now, let us reason together!”

  “Ah, Pappy,” a man shouted from the back. “Let’s eat first.”

  Three Anglo men, including Eli Parker, surrounded Molly during dinner. Luis settled Mamacita with two Tejano women and then drifted off to discuss livestock with the men. Several Anglos wanted horses. Luis could turn this week into a profitable business venture if he and Manuel broke a few horses.

  His father had told him many times, “You must understand the Anglos and what they value before you can do business with them.” Two days of camp meetings had given him insight into the Anglos’ business interests, even as it expanded his unease with his own past.

  His Anglo tutor had insisted Luis read the Bible for his English skills, but also for his spiritual life. Their many discussions had convinced him God existed, but Luis knew he no longer measured up. He also realized Molly saw too clearly what he didn’t want to acknowledge—the personal disappointment and sadness he had brought home from war.

  The men who’d fought and died beside him in the south had spoken of God in harsh voices of anger or with whimpers of fear. Luis felt exhausted whenever he thought of them. He tried not to remember lest he feel their pain all over again; or at least that’s what he told himself. Unfortunately the camp meeting stirred the ghosts from the graves where he thought he’d buried them.

  After dinner, folks gathered under the pine-scented arbor for hymns. It was a pity Molly made such an appealing saint, Luis thought as he watched her sing. Her face glowed with the ardor of her enthusiasm and made her even prettier.

  He wasn’t the only one who noticed her, either. Eli Parker didn’t bother pretending to sing; he stared with such interest that Molly blushed.

  The music washed over Luis, swirled around his sore soul, and trickled into his brain. He picked out a refrain:

  The sorrows of the mind,

  Be banish’d from the face,

  Religion never was design’d,

  To make our pleasures less.

  Hallelujah,xybWe are on our journey home.

  What does it mean? he wondered. He examined the other bachelors; were they here for the religion or the pleasure?

  Luis could guess.

  Mamacita tugged on his arm as the chorus ebbed away, and pointed to the front. The man they called Pappy Hanks took the wide-brimmed hat from his shaggy silver head and opened his Bible. “Now, we will reason together as God ordained in the Good Book. Let us pray.”

  Luis bowed his head as the preacher prayed about his thankfulness for returning safely and God’s blessings for the meeting. But the man’s voice jostled a memory, and Luis leaned forward to hear this Pappy Hanks better.

  “Lord, the trials of this new Republic have wounded and killed both the souls and the bodies of too many people, but we thank Ye there is no sin too big for Ye to forgive. We pray for those who died along with those who did the killing. None of us can ever hit the mark of perfection Ye demonstrated. We all are lost without the shed blood of Jesus. We cast ourselves upon your grace and mercy, resting in Jesus and know we be saved. Amen. Thanks be to God.”

  Luis bolted upright and stared.

  Pappy Hanks opened his eyes and gazed directly at Luis. His mouth broke into a wide grin.

  “Mamacita,” Luis said. “It’s Tomás!”

  Chapter 8

  October

  Molly raked the embers into the back corner of the rock fireplace, setting the iron pot close enough to warm. Jamie had eaten his fill of rabbit stew before heading to Hat Creek. He’d stay several days with other men and finish the harvest for the widow Hunter. At least that’s why he said he went. The days would stretch lonely unless Luis stopped on his way past, but she hadn’t seen him in weeks.

  Andy sat on the hard dirt floor beside the old family trunk and played with blocks his father had whittled for him. Molly touched his sweet blond head as she reached above to open the shutter and peer out the window. The sky stretched clear above.

  Andy pointed. “Outside?”

  “When I’m done.” She returned to the wooden table Jamie had fashioned from thick planks, and tied up wild lavender with willow string. She hung the flowers to dry on pegs on the roof beams. With bunched herbs and flowers drying overhead, Molly often felt like she lived in an upside-down garden.

  She sighed in contentment. Cooking implements hung on the wall. The colorful quilt she’d pieced as a child covered the straw tick. Molly straightened it with a tug on a green calico corner—a friendly scrap from her mother’s best dress.

  With the nights turning colder and the fireplace burning constantly, Molly examined the chinking daily to ensure it hadn’t gaped to let in cold air. She wanted to make sure the cabin was tight before clay became too difficult to dig. Everything appeared solid, so she pulled a warm shirt over Andy’s head and opened the door.

  The boy ran before her, headed to the log shed Jamie’d built to house the livestock when they roofed the
dogtrot cabins. Andy loved to chase the chickens that evaded his chubby hands with squawks and fluttering stubby wings. His simple words made Molly laugh.

  “Chick,” he said as she let them out. The cow lowed when Molly set the bucket down to milk.

  The routine chores were nearly done when Belle barked, and she saw Ma and Pappy Hanks approaching on two brown horses. “Neigh-neigh.” Andy pointed in their direction.

  His grandparents swooped him up for kisses before hugging Molly. “We thought we’d visit ye since Jamie’s off to help with the end harvest.”

  “Are ye staying long?” Molly felt relief at the thought of a long visit.

  “Until he gets back.” Pappy Hanks studied the property. “Ye have prospered the place.”

  “Jamie be a hard worker.” Molly picked up the milk bucket. “It be a good farm.”

  “Aye.” Pappy Hanks scratched Belle’s ears. “Jamie be enthused to go to Hat Creek. Which one do ye think he means to wed, the sassy redhead or the Hunter widow?”

  Molly turned away. “I don’t know.”

  “Surely ye prefer one o’er the other?” Ma Hanks asked.

  “I don’t really know either one.”

  “They both be fine Christian women,” Pappy Hanks said. “I expect to be marrying several couples come Christmas. How about ye? Ye get much help with the harvest here?”

  Molly stopped in surprise. “How did ye know?”

  “How many of them were bachelors?” he teased.

  “Enough to get the work done. I didn’t see ye here.”

  “I don’t need to be here,” he laughed, “as long as Jamie has an unwed sister.”

  Molly put up the milk while Pappy Hanks inspected the dogtrot. “I hear Clay Ramsey helped with the roof. I can see his careful fitting at the peak.”

  “Aye.”

  “Lily’s baby be coming soon,” Ma Hanks said.

  “Aye, she looked done in at the camp meeting.” Molly’s questions burst from her. “Ye spent a lot of time with Luis Carvajal at the camp meeting, Pappy. What did ye say to him? Where did he go?”

  “He be hunting wild mustangs. He’s probably breaking ‘em now.”

  “Don’t tease the girl, Tom,” Ma Hanks said. “Tell her about Luis.”

  He took off his hat and rubbed at a worn spot. “I suppose I can tell Molly. Can ye keep a secret, gal?”

  She nodded.

  Ma Hanks drew a circle in the ground and showed Andy how to toss pebbles into it while Molly and Pappy sat on stumps nearby.

  “I been riding the circuit into Texas since 1821. Until this year, preaching the Protestant Gospel was against Mexican law. Up here near Nacogdoches, theofficer said we weren’t doing nobody any harm, so he let us have our meetings.”

  Molly nodded. Pappy Hanks’s comings and goings were familiar events in her childhood.

  “Still, I was breaking the law, and it made things easier if I had an excuse for being here when the officials stopped me. I met Antonio Carvajal early on. His wife, Ana, loved God but had no priest in the neighborhood. He invited me to stay at his home. He wanted me to pray with her and talk about God and the Bible. He also wanted me to teach the whole family how to speak English. Antonio was particularly concerned about his son, Luis, who was maybe thirteen years old.”

  “Ye were his tutor?” Molly said.

  “Aye. He reminded me of my own boys. I spent many months, broken up by circuit riding, with the Carvajal family. It be one of the reasons we settled here. Antonio invited us.”

  Molly gasped. “You bought the land legal?”

  “I bought mine from Antonio long before we came. But I don’t know about yours. Jamie told me about his worries over the land’s title.”

  Weeks on the trail with his brother-in-law would try the patience of a saint, and God knew Luis was no saint. Manuel’s ego knew no bounds, and his drinking grew out of control until Luis seized the wineskins. Fortunately, they found a half-dozen wild mustangs immediately afterward, and Manuel’s hands were soon filled with more important activities.

  “Three mares, two yearlings, and a filly; we split them, no?” Manuel asked.

  Luis knew better. “We’ll discuss it when we return.”

  Luis had plenty of time to think while they drove the horses home, and his mind often returned to Tomás and Molly.

  Anglos! First they invaded his homeland, and now they tormented his mind.

  Except what they said made too much sense to be denied. Brain warring with heart warring with culture warring with experience. “I’m a vaquero,” he said aloud. “I can make my own decisions.”

  “Qué es eso?” Manuel asked. What is it?

  “Niente.” Nothing.

  Nothing for Manuel, but for Luis a revelation. Tomás, the man who had taught him to speak English and read the Bible, had listened to his nightmares about the last three years. To no one else could Luis have spoken with honesty and admitted so much. Even his father would not have understood.

  Tomás had been in the south. He had seen the chaos and the horror. He knew men who had died as well as men who killed. Tomás did not blink when Luis told him what he had done. Over and over, Luis reviewed the conversation with relief.

  “We read the scriptures all those years ago, Luis. What did you learn about God’s thoughts on forgiveness?” Like Molly, Tomás went to the heart.

  “If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins, and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness,” Luis remembered

  “Ye got it right with your words. Ye have confessed your sin to me. As an ordained servant of God, I, Thomas Hanks, pronounce ye forgiven. Believe the truth, and it be yours.”

  Riding Maximo through the falling orange and golden leaves, Luis savored his release from killing guilt. Consequences remained; he would never forget the faces of those he’d consigned to death. But he claimed the cross for his forgiveness and no longer feared God’s judgment. Who would have thought an Anglo could help him find peace?

  But then, how could he have known the one Anglo he trusted would return to his life?

  Only one?

  What was he going to do about the woman with the rosy laughing face and bluebonnet eyes? The one who liked him mighty fine?

  “What are you smiling about?” Manuel asked. “The ponies?”

  Luis inspected their new stock and nodded. The palomino filly would do very well.

  Chapter 9

  November

  The harvest moon rose full in the east and shone a dazzling light across the clearing bright enough they could work long after supper. The frosty air nipped beneath her shawl when Molly stacked the cow’s winter straw. As they worked in the livestock shed, Molly wondered if she would need to bring the chickens into her half of the dogtrot for the winter.

  She pondered the fowl huddled together on their roost. “Remember how cold it got last winter at Pappy Hanks’s place? Will the chickens survive?”

  “They should be fine.” Jamie raked up more straw. “Look there.”

  A fat raccoon ambled across the stubble field, pausing to turn his bandit face in their direction before skittering into the woods. “Belle be inside with Andy, or she’d be after him,” Jamie said.

  “That old dog be slowing down. I’d best check on ‘em.” Molly picked up a wicker basket of dried corn and headed to the cabin Jamie shared with the little boy.

  Andy lay with his arms spread wide on the straw tick, quilts pushed off. Embers burned in the fireplace, just enough to take the chill off the air and let Molly see. She tucked in the boy and prayed about the changes ahead. She tried not to think of the redheaded Eliza from Hat Creek living here and mothering the young’un Molly had cared for since birth, but she knew it would have to be. Jamie had decided. Andy would have a new ma by the spring planting, and Molly would …

  She swallowed back a lump in her throat. Molly didn’t know what she would do.

  Belle sprawled before the hearth, and Molly rubbed her ears. The dog moaned an
d squirmed onto her back. Molly obliged with tummy scratching. “What do ye think happened to Luis?” she murmured. “Have ye seen him in the woods? Do you think Pappy Hanks scared him away?”

  Belle wagged her tail, Andy shifted, and embers settled. Molly patted the dog a final time and rose. She had chores to do yet.

  She closed the door and paused near the neatly stacked firewood in the sheltered area between the cabins. An owl hooted, and bats flew over the shed where Jamie soothed the cow. The night poised on a moment of change. Molly sighed.

  “Bring the rifle.” Jamie’s hushed words seemed more like a feather brushing her ears than an actual request. Sounds carried on the silent night, and in the icy moment Molly heard rustling and a dampened shuffle from the woods. She eased into the cabin and plucked the loaded rifle from its pegs.

  She stayed in the shadows. Was that movement along the edges of the clearing?

  “I’m going to run to the cabin,” Jamie whispered. “Cover me.”

  Belle began to bay.

  “Now!”

  He dashed across the moonlit area between the shed and the cabins. A scratchy shriek echoed from the woods, and Molly glimpsed a line of skulking figures. Injuns.

  Jamie grabbed the rifle, and they hustled inside. Andy sat up, and Belle growled. Jamie shoved open the shutters and crouched on the bed, rifle ready. Molly bolted the door and retrieved brother Samuel’s gun. She propped it within Jamie’s easy reach and pulled Andy onto her lap, rocking to calm him. “Quiet,” she ordered Belle.

  They watched the moon rise high over the clearing, an owl’s silhouette in its light. The rustling eased. They neither saw nor heard the Injuns again.

  Jamie finally breathed a sigh of relief and relaxed his shoulders. “Carvajal said Injuns be headed west about now. That must be ‘em going.”

  “Thanks be to God.” Molly’s heart raced. “Where did you see Luis?”

  “Over to Pappy Hanks’s place when I got the news about Lily and her baby.”

  Her heart ached. She’d think about Lily later.