Katy, in her father's arms, wasn't quite sure what to make of the strange white coating upon the ground.
She frowned and said, "I'm cold."
Pa had laughed and hugged her.
"Baby Kate wants back inside so's she can get first crack at them presents under the tree. Hush and be grateful, child. Santa finally got hisself some snow to land them reindeer on."
The gathering war clouds of the Civil War could not have been further from the safe world of that little girl, who knew nothing but the cocoon of familial security.
The fight that morning around the Christmas tree between her and her naughty brothers—even little Cole joined in against her, who had formerly been her ally since after her he was the youngest—began with them tugging at her pigtails and calling her names like monkey-face and puddin'head. As an adult she could never recall exactly what spurred what happened next. Some line must have been crossed in the world of childhood and four-year-old Kate blew her top. She didn't run crying to her parents, as she sometimes did. This time her spirit rebelled and she only wanted to get away from her tormentors.
Escape!
Her short legs propelled her down the short hallway and out through the front door while her brothers cackled. The adults, involved in their own doings, failed to notice. Outside, it had started snowing again. A quiet, gentle but heavy snowfall. The snowflakes were plump and moist. Kate ran from the house.
She ran and she ran and she ran, her bare feet plowing on through the deepening snow. She stuck out her tongue and tasted snowflakes. It was fun! She laughed as she ran, her arms spread out like a bird flying. She laughed with the joy of fleeing from everything that displeased her. She ran some more until she became aware of the numbness and the cold that began to cramp her feet.
She drew to a stop. Her breath formed little clouds that quickly evaporated in the cold air, reborn with each new breath. Everything around her looked the same and yet unfamiliar, shrouded behind a veil of falling snow. She had lost her way.
She was lost!
Kate had never before known such a sense of fear and panic as she felt now. This snowy world was a place of complete silence. She was alone! That realization brought panic. She had never been alone before!
Then she heard it.
The quiet, steady, menacing growl of a wolf...
Then she saw it!
Not twenty feet from her, sleek and dark in contrast to snow. Licking its chops. Kate would swear from that day on that its eyes glowed a hellish red. The wolf started a slow and gradual advance, baring its fangs.
A half-dozen wolves materialized behind the first.
All she could hear was her own ragged breathing and the growling of the wolves. They drew closer. They were almost upon her. She must have sensed even at such a tender age that it would be vain and foolish to turn and run. Doing so never even crossed her mind. She remained rooted to the spot where she stood.
The little four-year-old said, "Go away! Go away!"
The wolves did not obey her. Snarling, salivating, the wolves prepared to devour this easy prey.
A rifle shot rang out like a thunderclap in the snowy stillness. The first wolf dropped dead. The rest of the pack turned tail and scattered from the approaching humans.
"Katy! Katy!"
Carter reached her first. The big brother she hated scooped her up and hugged her to his breast as if she were the most precious thing on earth.
Pa came up to them, reloading his musket. The others tagged along behind him. Ma effortlessly scooped her from Carter with her free arm and commenced hugging and kissing and scolding Kate.
Kate tried to pretend that it was no big deal. Even at that age of four, she sensed somehow the importance of not letting on to anyone how vulnerable she'd felt.
A Christmas to remember. Its lasting gift to her was that first-time experience of knowing what it was like to feel lost and alone.
And her introduction to snow.
She'd hated snow ever since.
Chapter 21
J.D. shouted to be heard above the wind. The storm grew worse by the second. The air was bitter cold.
"Reckon our best bet is to hike along the tracks. Mayhap another train'll come by, or we'll find shelter in a shanty they built for the workmen."
Kate's cheekbones were burnished red from the raw, driving snow.
She shouted in reply, "That ain't much of a bet but if that's all we've got, let's get to moving!"
Mrs. Mitchell said, "My son...they're going to execute my son in Lordsburg."
The poor woman was lost in her private hell, as if snow was not swirling and blowing and enveloping them. Kate placed a hand to the woman's elbow, another around her shoulder, assisting Mrs. Mitchell in remaining upright.
The three of them started trudging forward into the sheer wall of winter. The snow whipped madly in the wind, so thick you could barely see. The wind kept rising, growing stronger, blowing hard. The wind-driven snow was already starting to drift. The cutting wind not only burned at exposed flesh but provided brute resistance to forward movement, a giant, invisible, throttling force.
J.D. always made a habit of keeping himself in top physical condition, and yet he felt his strength being rapidly eaten away by the unending assault of the raging elements. Kate was in equally good condition. It was Alma Mitchell who concerned him, and so he turned to assist Kate.
Something caught Kate's eye.
"What in holy moses—?"
J.D. pivoted for a look at what she saw...and for the briefest moment his jaw dropped in disbelief.
A Conestoga wagon, the so-called "prairie schooner" that had been a constant presence in westward expansion for decades, drawn by a team of four trudging oxen, emerged from the wall of snow like a manifestation materialized by some grand stage illusionist. Its canvass cover snapped briskly, loudly in the fierce wind. The covered wagon was about an eighth of a mile away, at first visible in only brief glimpses amid the puffing, billowing snow.
J.D. whistled, shouting at the top of his lungs. He semaphored his arms wildly. Kate added to the shouting, hailing the wagon. The wagon gradually changed course. The ox-team drew the Conestoga in their direction. J.D. and Kate guided Mrs. Mitchell toward it. They intercepted the prairie schooner.
Three women in heavy coats and bonnets sat on the bench seat beneath the arched front of canvas top.
Kate said, "Oh my gosh, it's the three wise women!"
"Shush," said J.D., apprehensive about getting things off to a shaky start as things sometimes did when Kate spoke her mind.
The woman in the middle, working the reins, was small-boned and yet emanated a steely determination. Her hair, strands of which danced wildly from beneath the bonnet, was the color of the snow. She could have been seventy, she could have been ninety. She called down to them in a firm, steady voice.
"Seems like you pilgrims could use a lift."
Soon they were boarding the Conestoga wagon, settling within the relative comfort of quilts that helped protect the wagon bed from the storm.
The woman gave the reins a couple of sharp, practiced snaps. She made encouraging sounds, speaking to the oxen who seemed content to resume drawing the wagon with the additional weight of three new passengers.
The woman working the reins called over her shoulder.
"I'm Vonnie." She indicated the other two, who matched her in approximate age and appearance. "This is May, and that's Joyce."
May said, "Pleased to meet ya." She had an outgoing, sunny demeanor that was at pleasant odds with the bad weather.
"And where might you pilgrims hail from?" Joyce said in a quiet, modest voice.
J.D. sighed. He felt like the sigh came all the way up from his boots.
"It's a long story. Got thrown off the train."
"You mean you couldn't pay your fare?"
"No," Kate said patiently, "he means we got thrown off a train. I'm Kate Blaze, by the way. This here's my husband, J.D., and this is Mrs. Mitchell."
Joyce's eyes grew round. "J.D. and Kate Blaze? Why, you're—"
Kate sighed. "Yeah, that's us."
May said, "A heck of a day to be caught in a storm, it being Christmas Eve and all."
At the mention of Christmas Eve, Mrs. Mitchell began weeping again.
Vonnie called back, "What's wrong with your friend?"
And so Kate explained as briefly as she could about the failed attempt to reach Lordsburg; about Nate Mitchell sitting in a jail cell and his execution, scheduled for tomorrow.
Moisture sparkled in Joyce's eyes. "The poor dear. There's no way we'll reach Lordsburg tonight."
J.D. said, "If you don't mind me asking, ladies, how were the three of us so lucky as to encounter the three of you?"
Vonnie spoke to Kate. "Heard what you said, dearie, about us being three wise women and you've got that right. You're looking here at three lifetimes of accrued wisdom. Me and my sisters, we got us a late start this morning and then this storm hit, dang its ornery soul."
May chimed cheerily, "Joyce is down from Frisco for the holidays. Vonnie has a spread over in Tucson. Me, I call New Mexico home. We're together for the holidays."
Joyce nodded. "We're heading to Lordsburg for the Christmas celebration."
Vonnie said, "May's idea. Of the three of us, May always did know how to have a good time. And the Lordsburg celebration is something, I must confess. Sure haven't heard tell of no hanging."
May said, "We're going to have us a time," and she let out a yee-haw that echoed through the snow.
"When do you reckon we'll arrive in Lordsburg?"
Vonnie eyed the darkening sky. "Reckon late tomorrow morning. Noonish, if we push it some."
The wind had died down to practically nothing, allowing big, dry, powdery snowflakes to fall straight down, unimpeded.
J.D. said, "You're traveling through the night?"
"Shucks, no. The oxen need their rest and so do three old ladies, wise or not.""
Joyce added, "See, we was raised round these parts. The family owns land."
May chuckled in anticipation. "And here we are at my favorite place of 'em all!"
Vonnie leaned back, drawing on the reins, slowing the Conestoga wagon to a gradual halt.
Kate whispered to J.D., "Now what?"
Her arms were around Mrs. Mitchell. The woman's head nestled like a child's in the crook of her arm
J.D. parted the rear flaps of the Conestoga.
He said, "Let's find out."
With one hand on a holstered pistol, having no idea what to expect, he left the wagon.
Chapter 22
A well-constructed log cabin, barn and corral and several out buildings were blanketed in the falling snow. Without the wind there was an eerie stillness as premature dusk and the darkening sky laid claim to the land.
Kate stepped down from the wagon, followed by Mrs. Mitchell. Kate noted with satisfaction that the woman was no longer murmuring to herself or crying. Her expression remained pale and drawn, but there was the determined set to her chin that Kate remembered from earlier.
She offered to help the elderly ladies down from their bench seat high up. Vonnie and May waved off the offer nonchalantly and lowered themselves unassisted as if they'd been doing it all their lives, which perhaps they had. Joyce, a bit more careful than her sisters, accepted Kate's strong hands about her waist. Kate hoisted Joyce effortlessly to the ground. She gauged that none of these ladies weighed more than a hundred pounds each.
J.D. led the oxen toward the barn, Vonnie having assured him that he would find feed for the livestock stored there.
The cabin was comfortably furnished, dry and sealed tight against the inclement weather. There was wood in the stove and the oil lamps were full. The stove burned bright within minutes. By the time J.D. rejoined them, the cabin was warm enough for them to take off their coats and warm by the fire.
A few minutes later, stored canned goods were opened. A pot of snow was melted and a modest meal was prepared, providing nourishment around a rough hewn wooden table.
Of the sisters, May exhibited the most liveliness, which Kate suspected was her natural state. May told them, "We girls have never missed a Christmas together since we were children!"
Joyce nodded. "Sometimes it drove our husbands crazy, always having to make the trek every December so we could be together."
Vonnie chuckled. "Oh, those men folk of ours would grump now and then but they had much fun as we did. We saw to that." Then, a trace of sadness. "One by one they left us. It was hard each time. But it drew us girls even closer together until now it's just the three of us."
Mrs. Mitchell spoke up. "You have been wonderful to us. J.D. and Kate risked their lives to help me, and the strength you women have shown has renewed my spirit. Thank you."
"Pshaw," said Vonnie. "You would have done the same for us. If anyone sees their brother or sister in need and yet closes their heart of compassion, how can the love of God be in them?"
The tendril of a memory, of something familiar, tugged at Kate's mind and she realized what it was. Vonnie reminded Kate of her own long deceased mother! Vonnie had the same sparkle in her eye. A game nature and an inner, unshakeable reserve of strength. Kate blinked twice. The likeness in her perception refused to diminish.
Maybe, thought Kate, Vonnie is Every Mother, embodying the maternal wisdom, strength and compassion of motherhood throughout time. You could say the same about each one of these lovely sisters, different in their individual appearance and ways perhaps but quite alike in the grace and wisdom that their lives, lived well, had bestowed upon them.
May was saying with a thoughtful frown, "Mrs. Mitchell, I don't want to build false hope but, well, frankly, I hope someone's not pulling your leg with a rotten prank."
Mrs. Mitchell frowned. "Prank?"
Joyce nodded in agreement with her sister.
"The Christmas Day celebration in Lordsburg is known far and wide. There's going to be a big community dinner, folks who make crafts and such bring their goods in to sell or barter and there'll be a string band for folks who like to dance."
May said, "That would be me! But what my sister's saying, Mrs. Mitchell, is that it hardly seems proper that your boy would be sentenced to a legal hanging on the day of the big shindig, much less without any word of it being spread about."
Joyce made a wrinkled face. "Public hangings have been known to draw a crowd...but on Christmas Day? Why, that's just in bad taste if you ask me."
For a moment Kate thought Mrs. Mitchell might relapse into murmuring and a trance, so she was relieved when, instead, the woman drew her back erect as if her spine was a steel ramrod.
"The only way to settle this is to get to Lordsburg."
Vonnie said, "We'll be heading out early, you can bet on that."
The word "early" seemed to trigger a yawn from Kate, and her yawn triggered a yawn from J.D. Noting this, Vonnie showed them to a bedroom that would be theirs. The sisters and Mrs. Mitchell would share the remaining rooms.
Kate already felt like she was sleepwalking after the grueling day. She too felt something out of kilter about the Lordsburg situation regarding young Nate Mitchell and his role in a deadly bank holdup. True, the gunning down of innocent bystanders, a woman and her baby, was a heinous crime. Kate wouldn't argue that a cur shouldn't hang for a crime like that. Still, something didn't feel right about the situation…
Before they turned in for the night, with Mrs. Mitchell and the sisters remaining at the table, J.D. went to the door, opened it a crack and peered out. Cold air rushed in. He snapped the door shut.
Kate said, "See anything?"
J.D. nodded good night to the ladies at the table. He spoke in a lowered voice to Kate once they stepped into the bedroom.
He said, "The storm's breaking. It'll be a cold night but we'll have a clear day for travel tomorrow."
Kate could already feel the soft pillow receiving her weary head, but she heard something in his voice.
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"What else, J.D.? What else did you see?"
"A whole lot of nothing. Sure seems like we're a million miles from nowhere." J.D. sat in a chair next to the bed. He said, "You catch your beauty sleep, hon. I'll stay awake, and then you can take over."
"Take over what?"
"I'm not sure. When I looked outside, I just got that itchy feeling I get sometimes when I know I'm being watched. I can't explain it but it felt to me like somebody out in that cold night world is spying on this here cabin."
Chapter 23
When Les and Skid Waddell first saw the light of the cabin through the falling snow, Les knew his prayers had been answered. Until that moment, it looked like he and his little brother did not have a prayer. They were going to die on a cold, windswept prairie.
Les had to admit that his late mother would have considered his pleas for mercy, with the word God liberally sprinkled in, more blasphemy than prayer. And Ma would have been right. Les could take religion or leave it alone. Didn't have much use for it either way. Ma Waddell had taken her boys to church every Sunday when he and Skid were growing up. Les didn't mind. He liked listening to the people sing hymns. He'd also grown exceptionally good, right there under the nose of his mother and the preacher and God, at palming bills from the collection plate when he passed it along.
Their train had outrun the Indian attack, Les and Skid had been the only passengers to disembark at a whistle stop jerkwater town. Les never did learn what happened to the preacher who some said had climbed to the roof of the train and then been thrown while fighting the Indians. The same fate had befallen J.D. and Kate Blaze. That was good enough for Les. They were as good as dead.
Les figured it would be smart not ride the train all the way to a town like Lordsburg, where the law could be waiting for them. The run-in with J.D. Blaze and that wife of his had been a close enough call. He didn't want to take any more chances with the money-packed saddle bags he was toting.
They stole a couple of horses in the jerkwater town and rode off in an easterly direction. The clouds had been started moving in, the temperature dipping with every passing minute and dusk was coming on.
Blaze! The Christmas Journey Page 8