by Danni Roan
Christmas Kringle
Tales from Binders Clump
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Epilogue
Prologue
“Sara, be careful,” Maud Adams called, twitching the long rope in her hands.
“Mama, I’m fine,” a cheerful voice shot back from the darkness beneath the limbs of the tall evergreen.
“Mama, let go of the rope, you’ll pull her down.”
Sara could hear her sister’s voice echo up toward her. “Prissy, don’t distract her,” Maude chided.
“Mama,” Aquila's voice was quiet and Sara could feel the rope tied to her waist shiver as her oldest sister took it from her mother’s hands. Mama always fussed too much.
“Sara has climbed trees before, she will be fine.” Leave it to Quil to be rational.
“I know, but this time she’s so far up.”
Wrapping one leg around the tree’s base, Sara pulled the small handsaw from her belt and began drawing its sharp teeth back and forth along the rough bark of the fragrant evergreen. She loved the smell of pine, the feel of the tiny threads of sawdust as they sifted onto her hand.
Snow that had settled onto the upper limbs of the tree shivered with every draw of the blade and sifted down onto her head, making her giggle.
Sara Adams, the youngest daughter of Maude Adams, loved to climb trees and despite the unlady-like reputation it fostered, she continued to do it even at the age of seventeen. In recent years she had learned to keep this favorite pastime a secret, but she still indulged as often as she could in the deep woods behind her home.
“I’m almost through,” she called, looking down the tall trunk at her family below. Her mother, silvery hair piled loosely on her head, turned worried eyes upward, ringing her hands with concern while Priscilla and Aquila’s bright eyes shown with merriment.
“Let me tie it off and when I’m done, you give it a good tug.” Sara smiled, her eyes twinkling at the fun of cutting this particular tree top. It would be the perfect Christmas tree, its sloping branches thick with dark green needle and speckled with tiny cones.
“There!” she called, securing the knot and trying to shimmy away.
She felt the rope spring tight a second too soon, her grip on the thin trunk slipping as the trunk cracked like a rifle shot, tipped, and bounced off her shoulder.
Sara felt herself falling and pushed away from the rough limbs and toppling treetop, sending her body into open air. Her mother’s panicked scream was the last thing she heard as icy wind whistled past her ears.
Chapter 1
“Seraphina! Seraphina!” The frantic calls in her mother's voice broke through the ringing in her ears as Sara gasped for breath, opening her eyes.
“Easy there now,” a warm baritone voice vibrated through her as her stomach clenched trying to aid her lungs in drawing air. “You got the wind knocked out of ya,” the man leaning over her continued, his warm hand coming to rest on her abdomen.
Sara felt like she was dying, felt like all of the air in the world had been drawn away into space and this angel had come to take her home.
A warm, sharp pressure on her middle caused a groan to jump from her throat, then blessed cold, biting air filled her lungs.
“There ya go.” The man’s voice tickled her ears. “Just breathe.” She felt his arm slip beneath her knees, causing the rough fabric of her father’s trousers to bunch around her ankles as she gazed into soft brown eyes.
Gently he lifted her legs, then laid them straight again, causing her lungs to draw more air even as her long, calico skirt pooled around her hips.
Sara’s heart seemed to beat a little faster as a smile broke out across the stranger’s handsome face. “Do you think you can stand?” he whispered, his brown eyes never leaving hers. She nodded.
With gentle hands, he helped her to her feet, a strong arm supporting her as her head spun. “Are you hurt?”
“Seraphina Adams!” Her mother’s sharp words cut through the spell that the man’s eyes had cast. “How could you have worried me so?” Tears sparkled in her mother’s eyes and Sara turned to look at her.
“I’m alright, Mama,” she answered, her voice sounding raspy.
“Mrs. Adams,” the man said, drawing all eyes back to him. “She only had the wind knocked out of her. This fresh snow saved her from any real harm.” He stretched his hand wide to encompass the vast area of white.
Sara watched as the young man tipped his gray Stetson back on his head of sandy hair and looked up at the decapitated pine. “That’s a far ways to fall, though,” he added, shaking his head. “You’re one lucky young woman.”
Sara smiled, thinking that she truly was lucky, especially with this handsome man’s arm still wrapped securely around her waist.
“If you don’t mind my asking, what were you doing cutting the top out of that particular tree anyway?”
“That’s none of your business, Rafe Dixon,” Maude barked, taking Sara by the arm and dragging her away from the man’s warmth and strength. “It’s my tree and we’ll do whatever we want with it.”
Rafe Dixon pushed his hat back again until it barely rested on the back of his head and scratched at his temple. He’d been out riding fence when he’d heard the older woman scream and flogged his pony to the rescue. As his cow horse had made the last leap over the drifted snow, he’d watched in awe as the pretty girl with the long, red curls had plopped with a humph into the snow.
He’d not given a thought to where he was or who he was with, but had leapt from the saddle, kneeling next to the prostrate figure as she’d gasped for breath.
“Ma’am,” his voice was hesitant. “I’m not so sure that is your tree,” he said, ducking his head at the sharp look the older woman gave him.
“I think I know my own tree,” Mrs. Adam’s spat, her blue eyes flashing as she placed hands on hips and leaned toward him.
“I’m just saying that it’s mighty close to our land,” he tried, his voice reasonable.
Maude Adams raised an index finger, preparing to give the young man a piece of her mind.
“It doesn’t matter now,” Quil spoke, placing a soothing hand on her mother’s arm. “All that matters is that Sara’s all right.” Her voice was beyond reasonable as she pulled her mother away.
Sara rested a hand on Mr. Dixon’s arm. “Thank you for your help,” she said sweetly, her green eyes doing something funny to his head.
“What kind of knight in shining armor would I be if I didn’t come to the rescue of the damsel in distress?” he smiled mischievously.
“Are you sure the damsel really needed rescuing?” Sara asked, her smile matching his. Behind them, her sisters were wrapping the tree with the rope they’d used to pull it down. “I think Aquila may have rescued you just now.” She nodded at her mother.
Rafe shook his head. “Your ma sure got riled up about the tree, didn’t she?” he asked, placing his hand over hers where it rested on the sleeve of his heavy winter coat.
“I’m afraid our families have never been very friendly,” Sara agreed.
Rafe nearly choked on his laugh. “That’s an understatement.” He looked down at her small hand. “Your hands are cold,” he said, rubbing it gently.
Sara looked into his dark eyes and sighed.
“Seraphina Adams, you come along now.” Her mother’s words were terse, grumpy.
“Yes, Ma’am,” the girl replied, slowly pulling her hand away. “Thank you again,” she said and trudged through the snow to grasp the rope with her sisters, dragging the pine over the soft white glitter of the snow.
As the voices of the women faded behind him, Rafe looked up, up, up to where the tall tree had been neatly topped. “Fools and children,” he muttered, judging the point of separation to be at least thirty feet in the air.
Only Seraphina Adams was definitely no child. He replayed the scene in his head again, wishing to preserve it clearly for future review. The lean young woman had fallen from the tree without a sound.
He wondered if he would have known anything was amiss if Mrs. Adams hadn’t screamed.
Riding into that tiny clearing, his breath had been taken away as he watched the slim, red-haired angel fall to earth. Her arms had been spread wide, her faded skirts fluttering in the wind caused by her descent, and she’d landed with only the slightest grunt, leaving a perfect impression in the snow.
Walking to his horse, Rafe pulled the reins into his hands and swung aboard, turning to study the spot where only moments ago he’d knelt over the prostrate young woman. He chuckled to himself, understanding now why she’d worn britches under her skirts.
How anyone could climb a tree like that was beyond him. Squinting his eyes against the glare of the sun reflected on the winter-white forest, he could just make out the huddled figures of the four women as they headed to their home on the other side of the rise.
He smiled again as his eyes followed the strange trail the tree top and their heavy skirts had left in the snow.
A soft wind stirred, blowing flicks of snow into his face and Rafe shivered, buttoning the front of his heavy sheepskin and leather coat. With a sigh, he reached in his pocket for his gloves and pulled out not a pair, but one poor lonely mitt.
Shaking his head, he patted his speckled pony’s neck. “Looks like I lost another one, Chester,” he said with a groan as he turned his horse toward home, a pair of sparkling green eyes dancing in his head.
Chapter 2
Sara wiped the last dish dry and settled it onto the shelf with the others, then turned to gaze out the window at the row of white birch trees that bordered their yard. The tall trees’ bare branches swayed in a soft breeze and a flicker of white caught her eye.
Looking around the quiet kitchen to see that no one was there, she lifted her heavy coat from its peg by the back door and silently slipped out into the frosty snow.
Through the trunks of the trees she caught a glimpse of brown and the flick of a horse’s white tail.
“Mr. Dixon,” she called, stuffing her hands in her pockets as she stepped through the trees. A tall Appaloosa bobbed its head at her, huffing softly and causing steam to trail from its nostrils into the crisp air.
“Ms. Adams?” Rafe stepped around his horse, a small, bent pick in his hand that he'd been using to pull clods of snow from his horse’s hooves. “I was wondering how you were doing?” he offered shyly. “After your fall, I mean.”
“Oh, I’m fine,” Sara smiled, “I’ve had worse falling out of bed.” She blushed, realizing what she’d said, but the handsome young cowboy only smiled.
“Why didn’t you come up to the house?” Sara continued, studying his face as she stroked his horse's neck.
“I didn’t know if your Ma would let me in,” Rafe replied honestly, “and after the night I had with my Pa…” He shook his head disgustedly.
“What happened?” Sara’s eyes were wide with worry. “Surely he wasn’t angry with you for helping us?”
“He had a downright conniption when I told him what happened.” He ducked his head at the memory. “He said he’s gonna go to the sheriff about your Ma cuttin’ down his tree.”
Sara gasped. Would old Mr. Dixon really do that? “But I thought that was our tree,” she said lamely.
Rafe shrugged, twisting his hat in his hand. “I don’t see what the big deal is, either way,” he offered. “I mean, it’s just a tree and taking a bit off the top won’t hurt.” He lifted his brown eyes to hers and Sara’s heart skipped a beat.
“Do you even know why my Ma and your father are at such odds with each other?” she asked, hoping that for once in her life she’d get a straight answer to this question.
“I have no idea,” Rafe said, his voice echoing the same confusion she felt. “All I know is something happened a long time ago and neither one of them has been able to stand each other since.”
“It seems silly to hold a grudge for so long,” Sara said, shoving her hand into the pocket of her winter coat.
“Are you cold?” Rafe asked, stepping close, his breath making soft wisps of steam in the air as he rested his hands on her arms.
“I’m alright,” Sara replied. It was nice standing here in the snow, talking to him. “If it’s any consolation, the tree top makes a beautiful Christmas tree,” she offered with a smile.
“So that’s what you wanted it for.”
“Why else would I go to all that trouble?” Sara laughed. She looked down at his hands where they rested on her arms. “Where are your gloves?” she asked, turning her eyes toward his.
“I must have lost one,” he said, stepping back to clear his head. For a minute, he’d been tempted to kiss the girl. He’d only come to see that she was alright. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the one forlorn glove and dangled it before her.
“Oh dear, that’s terrible. Did you lose it when you were helping me?”
“Maybe, I don’t know. I had it when I was riding fence, but you get on and off so many times there’s no telling when I dropped it.” He patted his horse on the rump. “Poor Chester here could probably ride the fence line himself, we’ve done is so many times.”
“Why’d your father build that fence, anyway?” Sara asked, her bright eyes inquisitive.
Rafe’s face heated, “He said he didn’t want any of your raggedy…” He paused, realizing what his father had said, exactly. “Your, ah, ragged cattle mixing with his.”
Sara scowled, her soft brows the same deep reddish-brown of her hair drawing downward. “Our cattle aren’t raggedy,” she mused. “They’re all good stock and well-cared for.”
“According to my father, nothing good can ever come off this patch of land.” His brown eyes were warm as they studied Sara’s face, and he couldn’t help but think that something very good had come from this little bit of earth.
“Do you feel the same way?” Sara asked. “Do you think we’re worthless?” Her voice was a troubled whisper.
“No,” he answered simply, running a finger along the edge of her cheek. “I think some mighty fine stock can be found in these parts.”
Sara dipped her head, feeling suddenly shy, a feeling that was altogether unfamiliar.
Rafe took a step back from the pretty young woman he was so drawn to. How had he never noticed her before? He’d been away a couple of years to study, but the rest of his life he’d lived right next door to the Adams clan, and Sara had somehow completely eluded his notice.
“I’d better get moving,” he commented, his voice soft. “I’m glad you’re alright,” he added, smiling.
“Thank you for coming by,” Sara offered awkwardly. “Perhaps I’ll see you around town.” Her green eyes were hopeful.
“That’d be nice,” Rafe replied, running the dark leather reins through his fingers and wishing it was her hair instead.
Chester, growing impatient, tossed his head and snorted, tugging on the reins, making both Rafe and Sara smile.
“Good night, then,” Sara finally spoke as he swung into the saddle and turned away.
For several moments Sara watched the tall, lean cowboy on the white horse with the black and brown spots as they melded into the gathering dusk of a winter’s night. She shivered delightedly as she headed back to the warmth of the house.
Chapter 3
“You each have your money?” Maud Adams questioned, looking up at her
daughters as she pulled her gloves a little snugger on her hands.
They were all bundled up for their trip to town and her fingers tingled from the cold. Driving the buggy always left her fingers cold in weather like this.
“Yes, Mama,” all three girls replied, gazing around the sleepy streets of Biders Clump.
“Good, now don’t be wasteful, but I hope you’ll all have something special to share for Christmas. Things are still a little tight until next round up,” she added, smoothing the vast expanse of gray fabric that made up her skirt. The dress itself was at least five years out of style, but was still pretty.
“I’m headed to the post office first to send letters, but we’ll meet for lunch at the Grist Mill at noon.” She tilted her head, exposing her cheek and each young woman placed a kiss as expected before scurrying off to do their own shopping.
“Mind you stay out of trouble,” Maud shot as an after-thought as Sara gave her a perfunctory kiss and stepped off the boardwalk.
Sara sighed as she left her mother behind. On the far side of the street, she could see Aquila striding toward the tiny book shop. Quil was four years older than Sara, and book smart as well as pretty. She had dark brown hair streaked with gold and dark eyes the color of a midnight sky.
Sara always felt like the runt next to Quil, who towered over her at five feet eight inches. She’d once heard a dress maker refer to Aquila as regal.
Further along, she could make out Pricilla as she stepped into the mercantile, her blonde bun bouncing with her jaunty step. Prissy, Sara’s senior by only two years, was shorter even than Sara, standing only five foot four in her stoking feet. Prissy’s smaller stature seemed to run to plump but with all the soft curves Sara's lacked.
Sara was the tomboy of the family. She’d always preferred being outdoors with the animals to household chores, and when her father had been alive, she’d often ridden with him until the sun made her nose freckle and her hair shine with golden light. She sighed, missing her father.