Unforgettable Christmas Dreams: Gifts of Joy

by Rebecca York

  “Antelope. We try not to eat our beef, since beef is our ‘cash crop.’ Same with our hens, although we do eat most of the roosters. We get our hunting licenses each year, so we can take as much wild game as we need. Bison, antelope, deer, or goat,” she started out.

  “Duck, pheasant, goose, trout...” Todd added. “Even bear. We have plenty of meat. And a huge freezer. Just no dollars to pay the mortgage.”

  Helen nodded. “We also sell the game to some of the restaurants. As do other ranchers around here.”

  “Which is why you sell the eggs. For extra cash.” He was beginning to understand why she’d been so upset about those eggs.

  “Yes.” Helen said. “And we grow a garden each year. I dry and freeze as many fruits and vegetables as I have time for.”

  “You and Todd,” he said, and she nodded. So no husband, Carlton realized. Their situation was the reverse of his. He had money, just no food at the present. Should he offer to pay for his meals while he was with them? Would it insult their hospitality if he did so? He decided to wait until he was ready to leave.

  He’d need to contact his bank for a money order, as he hadn’t bothered to bring his checkbook, and he didn’t figure Helen took credit cards. Or he could send the money directly into her account. He could tell money was tight for her, just looking at the house.

  The ranch house was furnished well, nothing elaborate, but nothing new. The couch and matching chair looked to be old and well-worn, the end table held a few cattle magazines, and an upright piano that looked to be over a hundred years old stood against an inside wall. The curtains and rugs had a worn look to them. Even the mirror looked old.

  She could use the money, that was for sure. Maybe he could rent a room from her until he finished his PhD. He’d wait to see if that was feasible.

  Where was her husband? He started to ask, then stopped. Sometimes it didn’t pay to ask questions. It might be a touchy subject, especially if he was in jail.

  “How many French hens do you have?” he asked instead.

  “We had six, but an eagle got one and a coyote killed two. Now we only have three French hens. We gather their chocolate brown eggs to sell, as the millionaire actors who live around here consider them a delicacy. They fetch seven dollars an egg, twenty if we deliver them the same day.”

  “Seven?”

  “The money means nothing to those folks, and they love to show off the eggs. They think they are healthier than other eggs. Maybe they are. I don’t know.”

  “That much? Oh, no. I thought the color was unusual. I only left five dollars. For three eggs. I’m sorry.” The five-dollar bill had been all the cash he had in his wallet, as he typically used credit cards. “I can pay you for them. Somehow.”

  “Don’t bother. But thanks.”

  He would definitely pay her when he left, he decided, and pay retail prices, as if this were a dude ranch. That seemed appropriate to him. “This food is excellent,” he said. “I’ve been living out of cans. Nothing fresh at all. I had some apples for a while, but now even those are gone.” He put his fork into a solid chunk of potato. “How do you keep your potatoes from rotting?” His had spoiled after a few weeks.

  “We have a root cellar. And we don’t wash our potatoes after we dig them up. The ones you buy in the stores have been washed clean, which is why they don’t keep.”

  “I see. I bought a big bag of them, thinking I could always live off potatoes. But they turned rotten.” He would have been wiser to buy potato flakes.

  Helen nodded. “An old-fashioned root cellar maintains the right temperature and moisture. Lots of farmers still have them, as they’re not too hard to build.”

  He nodded. A wise woman as well as good-looking. She was probably managing very well, her and her son.

  Carlton made sure he helped with the dishes. Afterward he found himself yawning. “Where should I sleep?” he asked. After staying up most of the night, then struggling through the deep snow to get here, he was exceptionally tired. “Do you have an extra bed?”

  “No.”

  “Then I’ll sleep on the floor tonight. Anything’s better than that shack without a roof. I brought two blankets with me, just in case I had to spend the night outside.”

  “I doubt you would’ve survived.”

  “I agree. I think you saved my life, just being here.”

  “We’ll put the couch cushions on the floor. We’ve done that before. The couch is too short for you, but with the chair cushion added, it’ll be long enough. I’ll get you a pillow. But first, the presents. Todd, go get yours.”

  Carlton watched as Helen and Todd exchanged presents, his gift to her a new sweater, her gift to him a new pair of boots. Also a pistol that had belonged to his father. They tossed Rufus an antelope bone.

  “Rufus gets presents year around,” Helen kidded, as she gave the dog a homemade dog biscuit. “Here’s something for you.” She handed Carlton a piece of pumpkin pie from the refrigerator. “It’s a day old,” she apologized.

  “Doesn’t matter. You sure know what I like,” he said, as she put whipped cream on the top, cream that didn’t come out of a can. “Home cooked meals are what I want the most.”

  “Good.”

  “I could live on the bread and butter you served with supper. How do you find the time?”

  “I have a bread machine which makes it easy to make, and Todd churns the butter in the mixer.”

  “I wish I had something for you and Todd.” With no other way to shop, he had ordered presents online for both his grandparents and his parents, mailing them directly to them. They should have them by now.

  “That’s all right. Of course you didn’t.” She looked at him, cocking her head to one side. “Do you like to sing?”

  “Yes. Love to. Why?” He had a deep baritone, and enjoyed singing. He might be tired, but not too tired to sing.

  “Because we always sing some carols at this time. It’s tradition.”

  She walked over to the piano, opened it, and then opened the bench in front of it. Looking through the music there, she pulled out a book, set it on the piano, and looked at Todd and him. “What would you like to sing?”

  “Jingle Bells,” Todd said.

  She smiled. “You always pick that one. How about you?” she asked Carlton.

  “Um... ‘Three French Hens.’ Whatever that song is. I don’t remember the title.”

  “The Twelve Days of Christmas.”

  “Right. And what do you want to sing?” he asked her.

  “I’ll Be Home for Christmas. It was Ken’s favorite. My late husband,” she added.

  He nodded. That was one of his favorites too.

  Helen sat down and began to play. And sing. She skipped some notes on the piano to keep up, but it didn’t matter. He and Todd joined in.

  It was probably the most fun he’d had since he was a child at home, singing with his parents and brothers. They used to always sing on long road trips, going from song to song until they were all hoarse. Singing was part of his life. His parents taught them songs that could actually be sung, old songs that had an easy melody and words that rhymed. Like these carols.

  Both Helen and Todd had good strong voices, and the three of them sounded well together. They laughed and sang and enjoyed each other’s company in a way he hadn’t done for years. He didn’t want to quit, it was so much fun. He felt thankful he had come to their home, despite taking their eggs. Just look what he would have missed if that cabin hadn’t dropped the roof on him.

  Afterwards Carlton made up a place to sleep. The cushions looked like they would work fine, even if they did separate during the night. Which they did, but he was so happy not to be out in the cold, it didn’t matter.

  He was startled awake the next morning with a heavy paw on his chest and a wet tongue swiping his face. Rufus was making him feel at home.

  He went outside with Helen and Todd before breakfast to tend to the livestock. Todd milked, while he fed the chickens and the goat, t
hen helped Helen pull apart a fresh bale of hay and put it in the mangers for the horses to eat. They scattered two other bales over the snow for the cattle.

  With a feeling of contentment, he watched the cattle come running up for the hay. It was Christmas morning. He was safe. The family here was friendly. Things were looking great. He needed to learn to milk a cow, he decided. It looked like a job he’d enjoy.

  Beyond the barns Rufus started barking. Todd came out of the milking shed, turned and set the full milk bucket down inside the door, then went to see what was going on.

  Chapter Three

  Helen stopped working to listen to Rufus. He didn’t usually bark like that.

  “Mom! Help!” Todd’s shout sent a chill through Helen, as it sounded so desperate, so like the time he had found his father injured, caught in the hay bailer. She never wanted to go through that again.

  She met Carlton’s glance, and they both turned and ran through the snow, in the direction of Todd’s shout. Rounding the corner of the barn, she could see the small pond, fed by an artesian spring, and Todd struggling with something in the water. Rufus.

  She staggered, her breath, her heart seeming to stop at the sight. A swirl of blackness—shot through with pinpoints of bright light—encompassed her. She shook it off, gasped in more air, and lifted her head.

  The ice had broken, dropping Rufus and a calf into the pond, at the point where the spring came in underneath. Carlton ran ahead of her, towards the pond.

  That wouldn’t do. She knew better than to approach broken ice without a pole or a rope. Even though instinct wanted her to run to her son, she turned aside, running into the barn, then into the tack room, where she grabbed a rope that she kept coiled and ready, hanging on a peg.

  It was the rope she used for roping cattle during branding time. She had used it to pull more than one animal out of that pond. It was too deep, and the ice too thin at one point to hold anyone’s weight.

  She had told Todd never to try to rescue anything out of the ice without a rope or long pole. He must have run out onto ice before he realized how thin it was. They could all drown if she didn’t get the rope to them in time.

  Coming out of the barn, Helen pushed one end of the rope through the small hondo, forming a long loop, her hands shaking as she ran, her heartbeat thundering in her head with the effort of reaching them in time.

  When she arrived, she saw that Carlton had stretched himself out onto the ice. It looked like he was trying to grab Todd’s hand. If he went in, she would have to try to pull all of them out by herself. He and Todd were both wearing heavy parkas, and just the weight of the clothing could pull them under.

  “Wait,” she shouted, stopping at the ice edge. “Don’t go any closer. I’ve got a rope.”

  Even as she yelled the ice cracked under Carlton, dropping his upper body into the water. One foot came up as he slid in, waving for a moment before it followed him down.

  Helen brought her arm back and then slung it forward, a hoolihan toss, sending the loop snaking out towards him. She’d roped calves since she was eight, and Carlton’s foot in the air was the easiest thing she’d ever dropped a loop over.

  She yanked it backward, and it was enough to keep him from sliding the rest of the way in. Once his forward momentum stopped, she ran with the other end of the rope to the closest fence post and tossed it around it.

  That worked like a pulley, and she was able to pull against the post. Hand over hand she hauled Carlton out of the water. Because it was cold outside she had her gloves on, and that helped her keep her hold on the rope as she pulled.

  He had hold of Todd! The sight of her son’s head appearing above the ice gave Helen renewed energy. She stopped and slung the rope over her shoulder, then pulled harder, using her whole body. She kept pulling, digging her feet into the snow for greater leverage, and they slid toward her together. Once they were both on solid ice, she stopped and put slack in the rope.

  Todd rolled over and slowly stood up. Water poured off him, across the ice and into the black water of the pond. He breathed heavily, taking several deep breaths in and blowing them out, then in again, filling his lungs with fresh air while shaking the water off his arms by flapping them, bird-like. He still had his hat on.

  Her heart rejoiced at the sight. She had imagined he’d been underwater so long that they would have to use artificial respiration on him, but he was good at holding his breath, and must have done so while immersed.

  She wanted to run up and hug him, but there was still too much to do. She’d hug him later. She would never have to remind him again not to go out on the ice without a rope or pole.

  “Go to the house, Todd. Now!” she shouted. “Get into the shower.”

  “But Rufus...” he protested. The dog was still struggling in the water.

  “I’ve got him. Go!” she commanded, and her son turned and ran toward the house. Instant obedience was sometimes needed on a ranch, and most rural children learned early not to argue.

  “You too,” she said to Carlton, who was now standing up.

  “We’ll get the dog first,” he said, water running off his head and upper body. “I’m still ok. I didn’t go all the way in.”

  Just headfirst up past your waist, she thought. “Then take off the rope so I can throw it,” she said, realizing that he was still tied on.

  He worked the loop free from his leg, his hands looking steady as he did so. Not shaking yet, which was the first sign of hypothermia. Good.

  Picking up the rope, she formed a new loop, and cast it over the struggling dog’s head. One paw came forward as it paddled, and went inside the noose.

  This time Carlton took hold of the line and pulled Rufus up to the edge of the ice, giving the dog enough leverage and then a final pull, so it was able to climb out.

  It wasn’t choking from the noose, as it was around its body as well as its head. Carlton quickly worked the rope free, its long, shaggy hair probably keeping its skin warm. It stood there on the ice and shook itself, sending water flying everywhere.

  “Take him in and dry him off,” she said, while looking at the calf, whose head was still showing. She didn’t even glance back to see if Carlton left, she just built her loop and tossed it again. She waited for it to settle around the calf’s head, then began to pull.

  Carlton was still with her. He grabbed the rope and together they pulled the calf up to the edge of the ice. It was not quite a year old, one of last spring’s calves, but still plenty heavy.

  It took almost a full minute before the calf could get its front feet up on the ice and they could pull it the rest of the way out of the water. The animal was shivering hard, and barely able to stand.

  “I’ll dry him off in the barn,” she said, as Carlton eased the rope around its neck. “Now please, take Rufus to the house and get both of you dry. If Todd’s still in the shower, make him share. I don’t want you getting sick on me.”

  She formed the rope into a quick halter and pulled the calf toward the warmth of the barn. Carlton waited until he saw that the calf was able to walk and was following her, then called Rufus and ran toward the house, small pieces of ice crystals flying from both of them.

  Once in the barn, she grabbed an old gunnysack and began to dry the calf down. Helen was shaking hard, gasping for breath, and decided she might be in worse shape than the calf, a little heifer.

  Suddenly exhausted, she sat on a bale of hay, her legs feeling too weak to hold her while she continued to dry off the animal. She felt like crying in relief.

  As she gradually relaxed, she gave silent thanks for Carlton being there. He had reached Todd in time. He had grabbed her son and held onto him even when his own life was in danger. There was no way she would be able to thank him enough.

  If she had lost her son, so soon after her husband, she didn’t know what she would have done. Todd was all that mattered in the world to her now.

  Farming and ranching were both so dangerous. Accidents happened without warn
ing. And yet she wanted no other life.

  She had grown up a farm girl, and she remembered her father’s constant warnings, making her always consider the safest way to do anything. He would ask her to stop, and have her think it out: what could possibly go wrong, and how could she prevent it. It had made her extra cautious, often slowing her down as she worked, but she had stayed relatively uninjured during her life.

  She took extra care to dry the calf’s delicate ears with a soft flannel cloth, as they were the most prone to freezing. Then she placed an old wool horse blanket over the calf as it lay in the straw, hardly moving. It was probably exhausted from its struggle in the icy water.

  Next Helen removed the rope halter, recoiled the rope and hung it back on its peg. Afterwards she made up a small mixture of rolled oats and molasses. Not much, but the calf ate it all, licking the sides of the bucket.

  She left the calf in the straw while she found the bucket of milk and carried it inside, needing to see how Todd and Carlton were doing. By now she had enough confidence in the man, Carlton, to know that he would make sure Todd was all right before he took care of himself. Anyone who would stay to rescue a dog would not neglect a child.

  Helen felt a rush of gratitude at having Carlton around. They had been fortunate to have him here, this morning. He had not hesitated, nor shown fear when he went out onto the ice to save her son.

  A stranger, and yet not so much a stranger any more. With that one act of self-sacrifice for Todd, he had gained her confidence and respect more than if she’d known him for years.

  He seemed to be a fine man.

  ***

  Carlton stood under the hot shower, soaking up the warmth and finally ending the shivering that had coursed through him after he reached the house and pulled off his soaked clothing. Todd was ready to step out when he arrived, trading the shower for a pile of towels. The first thing the boy had asked about was his mom, then his dog. Rufus was already in the house, and Todd dressed quickly so he could go care for him.