Jubilant Montana Christmas (Bear Grass Springs Book 5)

by Ramona Flightner

  “Are you upset to have married me?” He shifted in an attempt to better see her. When the silence lengthened, he pulled her so she lay on her side and off of him.

  “Karl,” she whispered, “when we are like we’ve been tonight, of course not. But we’ve resolved nothing.”

  He rose, pulling on his clothes, his movements jerky. “I’ve listened to the advice. I’m trying to understand your perspective.” He crawled around on the floor as he searched for his socks. “I resent that you won’t do the same for me.”

  “Karl,” she stuttered out as her throat clogged with tears. “Please don’t go. Not when there is so much more to say.”

  He spun to face her, his shirt misbuttoned, his hair on end and his eyes blazing with anger. “You paused again, Leena.” He shook his head. “Know your answer when I ask you the third time. For there won’t be a fourth.”

  He tugged on his half-dried boots, marched out of the room and, after a few moments where she heard more rustling of clothes as he pulled on his jacket, the rear door slammed shut. She rose, tiptoeing across the freezing floor to flip the lock on the back door before racing to her bed. She pulled the covers around her, tugging his pillow to her to breathe in his scent.

  “Fool,” she whispered as she cried herself to sleep.

  Chapter 5

  Karl eased open the barn door, hoping not to cause any sound. The interior was darkened, and he stumbled down the inner aisle of the barn. Although cold, it was much warmer than outside with the heat the animals supplied. Rather than attempt to find a lantern to light, Karl found an empty stall with fresh hay and bedded down for the night, tugging his coat around him.

  He jerked awake a few hours later when his leg was kicked, and he jumped to his feet, fists ready for a battle. He relaxed when he saw Bears watching him curiously. Karl scratched at his head, pulling pieces of hay from his blond hair.

  “I never expected to find you here, lumberman,” Bears said. “Thought you had more sense and would spend the night with your wife.”

  Karl nearly growled at Bears, earning a grunt of understanding.

  “At least you tried,” Bears murmured before he moved away to the tack room. “There’s breakfast in the main house, if you’re hungry. They always have food for ten.”

  Karl rubbed at his grumbling stomach, remembering he hadn’t eaten much of last night’s supper due to his attempted reconciliation with his wife. He looked for Bears to thank him, but he had disappeared into the tack room. After Karl grabbed his hat, he walked the short distance from the livery to the main house. Rather than barge into their kitchen, he knocked on the door.

  Fidelia Evans opened the door with a confused smile. “How may I help you, Mr. Johansen?” Her chestnut-brown hair was tied back in a bun, and she wore an apron over a sky-blue wool dress that matched her eyes.

  He pulled off his hat and rubbed at his hair, flushing as more pieces of hay flitted out. “I … Bears told me that I might find some breakfast.”

  “Did you sleep in the barn?”

  “Ja,” he said, his jaw firming as though expecting criticism.

  “Next time, knock on the door. You could have slept in the parlor. And Sorcha’s room is unused right now.” Fidelia opened the door fully and allowed him inside. The large stove heated the kitchen, and a blanket was tacked over the door leading to the front hallway to keep the warmth within the room. In the half of the room that served as the kitchen, there was a large stove, a sink with a hand pump, an icebox and cabinets for holding plates, serving dishes and china. A round table with six chairs sat in the other half of the room with a cheerful red-and-white tablecloth covering it.

  He shook his head in consternation. “I don’t understand you.” At her raised eyebrow, he let out a deep breath. “You give my wife a place to live away from me, but you would also give me shelter?”

  Fidelia frowned as though disappointed in him. “It was the middle of a blizzard, Mr. Johansen. There are few we would turn away.” She motioned for him to sit and then poured him a cup of coffee. Soon a plate of eggs, ham and potatoes with a piece of buttered toast was set before him.

  “Thank you,” he said as he waited for her to sit. “I only have breakfast like this on the days Leena doesn’t work.”

  Fidelia gave a sniff of disgust. “That’s no reason to keep her tied to your house. Your wife has a skill that she enjoys sharing with the townsfolk, Mr. Johansen. I hope you will take pride in what she accomplishes.”

  He paused and stared at a woman he knew he should scorn but who sat with great propriety with him at the table. “What has she accomplished?”

  “She ran the bakery when Anna had her child. She runs it alone on days Skye is ill or when Anna is too tired to bake. Leena has introduced the town to her favorite Norwegian baked goods and has them clamoring for more.” Fidelia smiled. “This is a group of people who think that pepper is an exotic spice, and now they are excited about gingerbread and the use of cardamom in their breads.”

  Karl frowned and listened as Fidelia continued to speak. He ate but barely tasted the food, his focus on the information he learned about his wife.

  “She knows every customer by name, even though she is rarely out front. She only has to meet someone once, and she will remember them. Then she charms them, and they buy more than they had planned. And they return the next day to the bakery, delighted with what they had purchased.” Fidelia paused as she half smiled. “The best thing Anna ever did was hire Leena as a partner. She is a hard worker, funny and intelligent.” She looked at Karl, sobering. “And loyal.”

  He paused in eating. “What do you mean, Miss Evans?”

  Fidelia leaned forward, her cup of coffee ignored. “Do you believe that your wife hasn’t had more than one indecent proposition in the time she’s worked at the bakery? Many men would be eager to marry such an enterprising woman.”

  Karl shook his head. “No. When I go to the saloon, they tell me that I am the man who can’t control his wife. That I am a joke of a man.”

  Fidelia looked him up and down, and shook her head. “I know men, Mr. Johansen, and you are no laughingstock.” She paused as she flushed. “Are any of those men your friends, or do they sidle up to you with a glass of whiskey and act like they are delighted to make your acquaintance?” At his nod, she glowered. “Have you no experience in this world?”

  He sputtered, but her glare silenced him.

  “Those men are cunning. They want discord in your marriage. They hope you and Leena will divorce. And, if not divorce, that she will be so miserable that she will look for consolation outside of her marriage.”

  “Why would anyone do that?” he asked as he shook his head in confusion.

  “Men will always covet what another has.” She shrugged. “Well, most men. I’ve met a few who aren’t that bad.” She waved away that concession and said, “Who wouldn’t want a woman who can cook better than most? Plus they see how successful she is and can imagine how much she earns. What man wouldn’t want that? Especially a miner who is working hard to earn nothing?”

  Karl sat back in his chair as though he had been poleaxed.

  She pointed at him, her expression one of defiant earnestness. “You should have your own good reasons for Leena not working in the bakery. But have them be valid. Have them be your reasons. Not some trumped-up excuse fed to you by drunken miners envious of your wife and what you have.” She rose, waving at him to remain seated. “I must go to the bakery. I hope you have a good day.”

  He watched her depart, his mind whirling by what she had said. After another swallow of coffee, he rose to return to the barn to hitch his sleigh.

  Ewan poked his head into the livery, surprised to find Karl Johansen striding up and down the central aisle as he waited for Bears to curry his horse. “It’s included in the cost, and ye might as well save yer energy,” Ewan said as he leaned against one of the posts. He caught Bears’ gaze and fought a smile.

  “I need to return to the sawmill,” K
arl snapped as he continued his pacing.

  “What ye need to do is speak with yer wife, no’ tramp around like a fool,” Ewan said.

  Karl spun to face him, his arm striking out as though to pummel Ewan.

  Ewan dodged the blow and held up his hands in a placating manner.

  “Don’t tell me what to do with my wife. I’m tired of all the advice, ja?”

  Ewan nodded and kept his gaze on the irate man, although he noted that his brothers now stood behind Karl, poised to aid Ewan were it necessary. “I never meant ye any harm, Karl. When I acted like a daft idiot about Jessamine, I needed advice too. Ye may no’ like what ye hear, but that often means it’s what ye most need to hear.”

  Karl dropped his hands and spun over to the stall where Bears had finished readying his horse. Karl jerked on the bridle, earning a growl of displeasure from Bears, and led his horse from the stall and out of the livery to hitch it to the waiting sleigh.

  “Damn fool,” Cailean muttered as he marched to the livery door and shut it after him.

  “He’s actin’ no differently than we did,” Alistair said. “His wife has him tied in knots, and he doesna ken how to untie them.”

  “He’ll have to learn, or he’ll ruin what he has,” Bears said as he moved to the tack room.

  Cailean turned and focused on his youngest brother. “What brings you by, Ewan?” At thirty-eight, Cailean acted as the family patriarch, although he often needed his brothers’ counsel.

  “I’m worried about Jessamine,” he murmured as he sat on one of the stools near the closed door that led to the paddock. He paused and nodded his thanks as his brothers remained quiet as he thought through his concerns. “I think she might be expectin’ our bairn.”

  Alistair slapped him on the back. “Wonderful.”

  Cailean frowned. “Why aren’t you celebrating? Shouting it to all who will listen?” He watched his youngest brother fidget, and his concern intensified. Quiet worry was not how Ewan usually responded to joyful news.

  “Should I wait for her to tell me or talk with her about what I suspect?” He rubbed at his face. “I’m no’ sure she wants a child. No’ after the way her father treated her.”

  Alistair reared back. “But that wouldna be fair to ye or to her. Why deny yerself the joy of havin’ a child merely because …” His voice broke off as he looked at his eldest brother.

  “Because of fear,” Cailean murmured. “One of the best days of my life was when Belle told me that she was expecting our child. Our Skye. I think it meant a lot to her to be able to tell me, in her own time. I think you should trust in J.P. Give her the time she needs now and then celebrate your good fortune.”

  Ewan nodded. When he met their gazes, his was filled with cautious hope. “I want to be a da so much.”

  Cailean squeezed his shoulder. “Aye, I ken,” he rasped as a deep emotion overcame him, allowing his suppressed Scottish accent to emerge. “Ye’re a wonderful uncle, and ye’ll be a fantastic father.”

  Alistair smiled. “If what ye suspect is true, ye’ll have much to celebrate this Christmas.”

  Ewan smiled and then rose, clapping each of his brothers on the back. “Dinna tell yer wives.” He saw them frown and then nod in agreement. After a few more moments Ewan slipped from the livery to return to the house he worked on.

  True and Tantalizing

  Have you become as addicted to Leena Johansen’s gingerbread as I am? Do you dream of apple cakes when you wake? Does the prospect of learning she has more Norwegian Christmas delights to share with you fill you with joy? If so, then this is for you.

  Leena arrived in Bear Grass Springs in 1883 with her brother, Nathanial Ericson, and family friend, Karl Johansen. They lived in a sod house their first year here as they built their new house and Karl’s separate cabin and reestablished the town’s sawmill, previously destroyed and abandoned in a fire. During her solitary time, Leena pined for her family in Norway. For the times she cooked with her mother and four sisters. For the camaraderie shared among women.

  Thus she began to bake Norwegian delights. She badgered Mr. Sutton until he ordered the spices she needed. When she inhaled the scent of cardamom for the first time since leaving Norway, a small ache in her heart healed.

  Now, as Christmas approaches, she will prepare her favorite dishes, for you and for the gnomes that keep her home safe from mischief. The Nisse also bring small presents on Christmas, so she likes to keep them happy.

  Leena will make her gingerbread, known as pepperkake, and will remember her mother teaching her how to mix the batter when she was a girl. She will prepare the traditional hot rice pudding, or risengrynsgrøt, and leave a bowl out for the friendly gnome living in the barn and protecting her animals. If you are fortunate, she will share some with you, so your home will be equally protected. Her special Christmas cake, the julekake—filled with candied peel, raisins and the exotic spice cardamom—will be baked with the echoes of the times she shared just such a cake with her family, sitting around her family table in Norway. Her baking will enrich your holiday season, as Leena’s presence has enriched our town.

  At home she will have a special candle lit for each night between Christmas and New Year’s. Her Christmas tree will be decorated with julekurver, small paper baskets in the shape of a heart. And she will wish all she meets, God Jul. Merry Christmas.

  Leena looked up expectantly from kneading dough when Fidelia entered, Leena’s shoulders stooping with regret at her friend’s arrival.

  Fidelia looked at her and then nodded as though understanding her sadness. “He’s not coming, Leena. He ate breakfast, and I think he’s returning to the sawmill.” She frowned as Leena’s eyes filled.

  Leena backed away from the bread she kneaded and grabbed a handkerchief from her pocket to wipe at her face and nose before washing her hands. She placed the bread in greased bowls and covered them with clean cloths for the first rise. “I’m such a fool.”

  “Why?” Fidelia asked as she pulled on an apron and moved to the sink to wash the early morning bowls and pans.

  “I thought the worst thing was to be barred from working at the bakery,” she said around her tears. Even though she swiped at her cheeks, the tears continued to fall. “I was wrong.”

  Fidelia sat on a stool beside her friend, the dishes in the sink forgotten. “What is worse?” When Leena stared at her like she was related to the village idiot for not intrinsically understanding, Fidelia said in a low voice, “I’ve worked so hard for what I have now. My self-esteem. My needlework that I sell. I can’t imagine being denied that.”

  Leena sighed and sat facing her friend. “What if you were offered love and threw that love away not once, but twice?”

  Fidelia smiled and shook her head. “I know you didn’t do that, Leena.”

  She looked at her friend with wide guilt-ridden eyes. “But I did. I hesitated, both times, when he asked me if I regretted marrying him.” She frowned. “When he asked if I was upset I had married him.”

  Fidelia played with a stray piece of drying bread dough. “Why did you hesitate?”

  Leena dropped her head onto her arms. “When he’s the Karl I remember from when I was a girl or when we first married, I’m happy I married him. But there are times he’s resentful and angry and jealous. I don’t like him then.”

  By this point Fidelia had formed the discarded bread dough into a small ball in her hand, and she rolled it around. “Why does he act that way?” At Leena’s blank stare, Fidelia asked, “When does he act that way?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Of course you do. You need to pay attention. Men act out when they feel threatened or insecure. Your husband is a big strong man, but he’s still human, Leena,” Fidelia said with a soft smile. “Don’t make the mistake of believing he’s not as vulnerable as you are.”

  Leena sat in silence for a few moments. “Ja, I see what you mean.” She took a deep breath and then jumped at the tap on the front door. Her gaze flew to the clock,
and she groaned as she realized she was late opening the bakery. “No more time for chatting,” she said as she rose.

  Leticia was home with Angus and would not be in to work the front counter. Fidelia rushed to the front with a broad smile as she welcomed in the first customers of the day. Later that morning during a small lull, Fidelia was elbow deep in soap water, and Leena was waiting for apple cakes and pepperkake to finish baking in the oven. She heard the front door jingle, and she swiped at her palms as she moved to attend the customer. Her stride hitched as she saw who awaited her. “Good morning, Mrs. Jameson,” she said as she clasped her hands in front of her.

  “I’m surprised any God-fearing townsfolk are willing to frequent a store with three women of ill repute.” She glared at Leena. “Or should I say four?” Mrs. Jameson clung to her bitterness and spite the way a preacher did the Bible. She loathed the MacKinnons and anyone associated with them. First, because none of the MacKinnon brothers had agreed to marry her daughter, Helen. And then because they had befriended her daughter after she had married Warren Clark. Unable to acknowledge the part she had played in her estrangement from Helen, Mrs. Jameson relished lashing out at all who would listen.

  Leena stood tall and glared at Mrs. Jameson. “I do not understand what you mean.”

  “Don’t act like an ignorant foreigner when I know you speak English better than I do,” she snapped. “The very beginning of it all was the whore’s sister tempting a good businessman into marriage by kissing him in public. Then there was that scandalous so-called schoolteacher who bamboozled another fine man into marriage.” Mrs. Jameson blinked as though she were trying not to cry at the mention of Leticia marrying Alistair MacKinnon. “Then the town harlot comes to work here, welcomed by all and forgiven by nearly as many.” She glared daggers into the kitchen as though able to do Fidelia bodily harm with a stare.