An Orphan for Christmas

by P. Creeden

  A lump formed in Clara’s throat as she nodded. “Thank you,” she said again, but barely could push the words passed the lump. She honestly hoped that this would work out and that it was truly providence.

  Chapter 9

  It was a little before dark when Tom decided to make camp. The setting sun wasn’t the only factor in that decision, Tom had caught sight of a clutch of hares, and was able to use his small round rifle to pluck off two of them. Even though it was more food than he could eat alone, he knew that he wasn’t alone. At about noon, when Tom had stopped to water his mare, Ginger, he’d caught sight of movement out of the corner of his eye. He’d worried, at first, that the bushwhackers had caught up to him, but then he saw the white and brown spotted pony half-hidden by the brush. For five more hours, the boy followed him. Tom had been careful that he shot his gun with the boy at his back when he was hunting for the hares. Once he’d prepared the two rabbits, he started a fire and put them both on spits. The little bit of fat in the meat sparked and crackled as it finished cooking over the open flame. By then, it was full-on dark, and the smell from the meat was intoxicating to his hungry stomach.

  Tom wondered if the pie the boy stole yesterday was the last thing he’d eaten. After pulling the two hares off the spits and onto the metal pan he’d brought with him, Tom stretched out under the stars and waited for the boy to approach. Just when he’d about given up on the boy and started tucking in, a twig snapped behind him. The boy’s breath even became audible. Tom smiled. “Come on over and eat your fill. I promise not to hurt you.”

  For several seconds, Tom received no answer. He took one of the hares out of the metal pan, finding the meat had cooled enough to eat and touch, and then he held the metal pan with the other hare in it out to the side. Two seconds later, the boy rushed out of the brush and grabbed a hold of the hare then ran to the other side of the campfire. Like he’d not eaten in days, the boy tore into the meat quickly. Swallowing the biggest bites possible with his wide eyes staring at Tom.

  “Slow down. No one’s going to take it from you. The last thing you need to do is choke.”

  And just as Tom had finished saying it, the boy did choke. He coughed, trying to dislodge the meat from his throat, and barely succeeded, but not before his face reddened and his eyes filled with tears of pain. Tom offered the boy his canteen.

  The boy snatched that out of his hand as well and then took several long pulls from it.

  “Slow down, boy. You don’t need to eat fast or worry that I’m going to take anything away from you. I promise not to hurt you or take anything that’s yours.”

  The boy huffed. “I’ve heard that before.”

  Sadness slipped over Tom’s shoulders. He believed the boy. There were too many men in this world who were willing to lie and cheat and steal to get what they wanted. And that was the kind of environment this boy was living in. He nodded to him. “What’s your name?”

  The boy eyed him but didn’t answer.

  Tom shook his head. “I’m Tom. Tom Crowley. I’m heading back home to Oklahoma, in case you didn’t notice by the direction I’m going. You’re welcome to travel with me as long as you like. I’ll keep catching food, and we can stop in the next town and get something to eat there, too.”

  The boy shook his head, sadness filling his eyes. “I can’t go into town. I’m on the run... a horse thief now. White men hang horse thieves.”

  Everything the boy said and did seemed to break Tom’s heart just a little more. He shook his head. “You didn’t steal that horse. You just took back what belonged to you. And no one is hunting you for it.”

  The boy’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

  Tom let out a slow breath. “I paid your debt with the livery man. You owe him nothing and no one is coming after you.”

  The boy’s eyes went wide, and then he shook his head. “You’re lying again.”

  Tom finished the bite of hare he’d taken and shook his head. “Believe what you like, but you don’t need to worry about anyone chasing you. What you do need to do is find out how you’re going to make your own way. Eight years old isn’t old enough to be a man. Not for a white man, and I’m sure not for an Indian. You’re going to need some help, and that’s all I’m offering you.”

  For several minutes, the two of them ate in silence. Finally the boy looked up and asked, “Why? Why would you help me?”

  Tom swallowed, sadness still overcoming him at the thought that the boy would even need to ask. Shouldn’t he have been innocent enough to be able to accept help without worrying what strings might be attached? “I was taught at a young age by my parents that if you see someone in need and you have the ability to help them, you should. The bible says that people have served angels in the form of strangers because of this.”

  “Bible?” the boy asked. “That’s white man’s religion.”

  Tilting his head back and forth, Tom nodded. “Truth is truth—religion is religion. Even if you don’t believe in the religion part, you can put faith in the truth part.”

  The boy turned silent again, eating the last of the meat off the bones and then breaking the bones in half and sucking out the marrow. The boy even ate the skin, the organs and the cartilage. That was good. Someone had taught the boy how to survive well. Many men went sick if they tried to just eat the meat off the rabbits, when in order to keep from getting ill, it was best to eat every edible part off the carcass. Afterward, the boy sat, threw what was left of the bones into the flames, and then stared into the fire with Tom’s canteen in his hands.

  Tom continued to eat the last bit of his hare, doing the same with the offal parts as the boy had. Then he threw the last of his bones into the fire as well. The boy looked up. “My name is Boyd. It’s the only one of my father’s names that my mother knew. She wanted to name me after him, as if she had some affection for him. But the white man ruined her life. Ruined my life. Nothing has gone right since my mother was taken by a white man in that way. She should have stayed with the tribe. If she had, maybe I wouldn’t have ended up like this. Maybe I could have been raised by a good father, like other boys. Instead I was raised by women... my mother and my grandmother. But when my mother died two months ago, my grandmother said it was time for me to go out on my own and become a man.” He swiped at the tears that had slid down his face as though they offended him. “For a month, I’ve been on my own, trying to find a way to live among the Caddo, but they want no part of me. Then I try to live among the white men, but they want no part of me either. I have no home, no haven. No tribe, no family. I... All that I have is Minninnewah. I could not let that man take him from me.”

  “Minninnewah is your horse?”

  The boy nodded, swiping at his cheeks again.

  “What does that mean?”

  A small smile played on the boy’s lips as he looked up from the fire for the first time and met Tom’s eyes. “Wild Wind.”

  Chapter 10

  Over the next few days, Clara got to know Mrs. Crowley and Samantha very well. They were both warm, welcoming women, even though Samantha seemed a little stiff and rough around the edges at first. The women sewed together, cleaned, cooked, and tended to the garden. Those things on their own seemed to make the days go by so quickly, that Clara was surprised when Sunday came, and it was time for them all to attend church together. There, she met the pastor of the church at the fort, his wife, and several of the congregation. Most of those who lived at the fort were a part of the military installation. One woman came up to her and asked, “Did you labor outside much back home in where was it? Virginia?”

  Slowly, Clara shook her head. “I was a nurse and I took care of my grandmother. Why do you ask?”

  The woman delicately made like she was going to touch Clara’s skin and said, “You’ve got such a natural honey color. I was wondering if it was because you spent more time in the sun. I wonder where it might be from?”

  One of the woman’s eyebrows raised as if she knew exactly why Clara�
��s skin was a shade or two darker than most everyone else’s in town. A frown tugged at Clara’s lip, but she’d been taught to be more gracious than that. Instead, she forced a toothy smile. “God’s blessing, I suppose,” she said in answer and then took that time to step away from the biddy and head out the front of the church where she saw Samantha had brought around the cart for her mother.

  On the way back to the Crowley house, Clara remained deep in thought. She’d come out west, and as far as she could tell, she was in a town filled with mostly white folks. Most had assumed that she was like them, but that one older woman already suspected Clara might be different. What if she started a rumor? What if she made it so that Clara couldn’t find work, or worse yet, so that Tom didn’t want to marry her? She looked over at the two women she’d already begun to love like family just because the potential was there. They both sang one of the last hymns that the congregation had celebrated together at the end of the meeting. The words of the song were about peace beyond understanding. Listening to them now made Clara have hope that she could actually find that kind of peace.

  She only hoped that she’d find it here in Fort Towson, Oklahoma and not somewhere else.

  For the last two days, Tom had been teaching Boyd how to use a rifle to hunt for small game as they continued on the trail toward the Crowley homestead in Oklahoma. Boyd was a patient kid and learned quickly. He’d never been taught how to hunt or do the things that men did often in Caddo villages, simply because he’d been shunned by everyone but the women in his own family. Tom taught the child how to skin the rabbits and dry out the furs so that they could be sewn together and made into other useful items like jackets and such. “Using snares is an easier thing to do so that you don’t use up all of your bullets while catching small game. But we’re not staying still long enough for snares to be useful for us. When we get back home, I’ll show you how to set traps.”

  “Home?” Boyd asked, his eyes wide and full of fear.

  Tom nodded. Somewhere along the way, he’d decided that if the boy wanted to stay with Tom, Tom wouldn’t discourage him. They had plenty of room on the homestead, and the boy could even go to school with Samantha and learn. Maybe he could even go with him on a few trips that weren’t too dangerous and learn how to hunt bounties as well. Either way Tom knew he had a lot to offer Boyd if the boy wanted to stay with him. “My mom is a great cook and my sister will teach you how to read and write and do math. These are all things that you need in order to survive in the world.”

  “The white man’s world,” the boy whispered with a frown.

  “Maybe,” Tom said as he stoked the fire under the rabbits that were nearly done cooking. “But you need to live in the world anyway. You might not be accepted by everyone, but it’s not as big a deal as you think. I’m not accepted by everyone and they don’t come much whiter than me.”

  Tom exposed his arm to the boy, causing the kid to laugh and shake his head. Then a twig snapped behind them and all laughter died in the back of their mouths. Tom stood quickly, a hand going to his sidearm, but then he pulled the hand away and raised both of them in a sign of surrender. Because behind him, not more than ten feet away, stood four Caddo warriors. Beside him, Boyd began talking to the warriors in their own language.

  The men nodded then said a few things and pointed in the direction where they’d come from. Throughout the five minutes of conversation, Tom stood perfectly still so as not to provide a threat to anyone while the boy talked for them both. He really hoped that was what Boyd was doing, anyway. Finally, the warriors nodded and then turned back around and disappeared into the darkness as quietly as they’d approached. Tom had to wonder if they’d snapped a twig on purpose for as quietly as they seemed able to travel.

  He swallowed hard, lowered his hands and then met eyes with Boyd. “What was that about? What did they say?”

  Boyd shrugged and then took one of the hares off the spit. “They saw that I was with you and have one of the ponies from the tribe. They wanted to make sure that I wasn’t a captive and was free to go at any time.”

  “You are. You know that, right?”

  He nodded and took the second hare off the spit. “I know.”

  Tom let out a slow breath and then sat down once more, suddenly feeling a weight off his shoulders. “Did they say anything else?”

  The boy nodded as he sat down and gave one of the hares to Tom. “They said that we’re being followed. There is a group of about eight white men six miles back. They seemed to have camped for the night.”

  A shiver ran through Tom as his heart leapt into his throat. “We should get out of here.”

  “No need,” Boyd said waving a hand. “The warriors said that they would take care of it.”

  It might have been the acrid air from the smoke, but suddenly, Tom couldn’t stop blinking at the boy. “Why would they take care of it?”

  “I asked them to. I told them that the group was after me because they think I stole my own horse back and if they caught up to me, I might no longer be free.”

  “That’s not true, though. You know that?”

  “I know.” Boyd took another bite of his meat. “But I also knew it would get them riled up. This is a breed of horse raised by the Caddo in the south and Nez Perce tribe in the north. To claim that one of our own people stole it is a grave sin. They won’t be quick to forgive them.”

  Tom couldn’t help but huff a laugh and dig into his hare, even though he didn’t feel much like eating it. What he really felt like was putting some distance between him and the men behind them. Six miles? That wasn’t enough space.

  Chapter 11

  “Tom’s coming!” Samantha shouted the minute she entered the door to the house. She’d just come from collecting the eggs outside. “I can see him. He’s kicking up a cloud of dust in the west. And it looks like he has company.”

  Clara’s heart leapt into her throat as she put down her knife and the potato she’d been peeling. She wiped her hands on her apron. She wasn’t ready. How could he be coming already? With such short notice? She didn’t have time to prepare. He was going to be here in minutes, and she was going to have to meet the man that she’d only heard things about over the last week. She wasn’t even certain that he knew about her. What if he rejected her on sight? What if he saw the color of her skin and knew she wasn’t right, just like that older lady in the church?

  What if?

  “Go ahead and get cleaned up a bit, Clara,” Mrs. Crowley said, putting her hand upon Clara’s shaking one. “We’ll talk to him and get him settled a minute. Then we’ll introduce you.”

  “Should... Should I change my clothes? Fix my hair.”

  A smile spread across the older woman’s face. “You look just fine, dear. If it makes you feel better to do those things, do them, but it won’t make any difference. You are good just the way you are.”

  Good? What did that mean? Presentable? Maybe? Panic clawed at her insides like a trapped animal wanting to get out. Her stomach churned, and she thought she might be sick. Without delay, she headed toward the room that she and Samantha had shared since she’d arrived. Just before she closed the door, she heard a man’s deep baritone say, “Mom, Sam, I’m home! And I have company. Could we set an extra place at the table?”

  The panic made every joint in her body want to freeze in place. No. She didn’t have time for panic. She rushed over to the wash basin and washed her hands and face quickly. Then she picked up the brush and ran it through her hair a couple times. In the mirror, she saw that her countenance looked stricken and pale. It would have to do. She tore off her apron and set it on the chair by the dressing table. She didn’t have time to fold it, and it needed to dry.

  After taking a deep breath, she stepped out of the bedroom and into the parlor of the house.

  His eyes snapped up to meet hers immediately. He was handsome, in much the same way that Samantha was. Red hair, green eyes, but his came with a chiseled, strong jaw, and a large eyebrow ridge over
top. He lifted a brow curiously. “I didn’t realize that we already had company.”

  Mrs. Crowley laughed. “No, dear. This is Clara James, and she’s not company. She came here all the way from Virginia to live with us. You told me to present you with a bride that would meet the description that I gave you before and you would marry her. Well, here she is.”

  Tom’s jaw dropped. She was pretty and slender and tall. Clara James looked as lithe as a dancer with skin a honey, sun-kissed tone and eyes as brown as maple syrup. If Tom had been one to believe in love at first sight, he might have said he fell for her right there. But he didn’t believe in fairy tales, never had, even when he was a young child and their father used to read them to all the children. It just wasn’t in his nature to believe things that couldn’t possibly be true. And Clara James, if she fit into all the things his mother had described, would be another thing that was too good to be true.

  But that was no reason to be rude to her. He bowed slightly to her. “A pleasure to meet you, Miss James, though I’m not quite certain that you won’t be disappointed in me now that you get the chance to find out what your prospective husband might be like.”

  “Tom!” his mother scolded him. “That’s enough of that.”

  He shrugged and grabbed two rolls off the counter—handing one to Boyd before taking a bite out of the one in the other.

  “It’s bad enough that you’re going to spoil your own dinner, you have to spoil the child’s too?” Mrs. Crowley sighed in exasperation. “Don’t you two have some horses to take care of? And wash up while you’re outside, all right? I can practically see the dust from the road falling off of you as we speak.”

  Boyd’s eyes were fixed on the pretty woman who’d continued to stand against the wall like a wallflower. She didn’t seem to have much personality. Maybe she’d been a good servant for his mother while he’d been gone. Maybe his mother had taken a shine to her, like a pet. But now that he was home, he’d need to put a stop to it. They were already going to have an extra mouth to feed with Boyd. They didn’t need two. He elbowed the kid and then thrust a chin toward the door. “Let’s go take care of the horses.”