Peter appeared to be dozing in and out as Tom led his horse toward the farm. Dark, thunderous clouds rolled in as the sheriff found himself fighting fatigue. A storm is all I need now, he thought. It’d been a long two days. Weariness threatened, and for a second, Tom closed his eyes. The blow hit him unexpected, and he was thrown off his horse. He landed on his side on the ground, and pain bolted through him.
Shocked by the ambush, Tom scrambled to regain control of the situation, however, Peter leapt on him, and used his handcuffs to choke Tom. Thinking of Teresa, he fought hard, but blackness edged in that he could no longer battle. The world went black.
* * *
After rummaging for the keys to the handcuffs, Peter climbed on his horse and headed toward the farm. He was taking his family back and this time his wife wouldn’t have the sheriff protecting her. In the dim light, Peter jumped over stumps and fallen trees, pushing his horse ever faster. He wasn’t about to be caught in this storm.
Thunder clapped above his head. Lightning lit up the sky. He drove the beast beneath him rigorously. “Come on!”
Another belt of streaking yellow burst through the sky, striking an old, gnarled tree that sliced through the air like an axe. With a high whinny, the horse reared, and Peter lost his grip. He fell hard, his head ricocheting off a tree stump.
The world disappeared. Moments later, his vision edged in, though fuzzy. Agony like he’d never known sliced through his back and chest. Had something punctured him?
Mustering every bit of his strength he had, he tried to move. Pain circulated in crashing, harsh waves, and Peter drifted in and out. Each breath he took hurt worse than the one before.
Was he dying?
The thought of Emma singing ‘Jesus Loves Me’ consumed his mind. His sins appeared in front of him as if they were slapping him directly in his face. Conviction overwhelmed him, and a tear rolled down his face. With his last breath, he uttered the words, “Jesus, forgive me.”
* * *
Huston checked Peter’s pulse and then covered him with a blanket. Seizing the horse Peter had rode, he placed his body on the saddle and tied him to it. Drops of rain pelted Huston’s face, becoming heavier, and soaking him to the bone. Searching the perimeter and finding no sign of Tom, he feared the worse. Could his dear friend also be dead? How had Peter escaped?
Thunder roared again, and lightning flashed in the sky. Storm or not, Huston had to look for Tom. He might be hurt.
* * *
The rain revived Tom, coldness jolting through him as if someone were shaking him. Rolling over with a groan, he slowly raised himself. He scurried toward a clump of thick bushes to use as shelter until the storm passed. With his horse nowhere in sight, he leaned his head against the bark of a tree. His throat throbbed with intense agony, as did his skull where Peter struck him with a hard object. A tree limb, maybe. Gently touching the area the pain emanated from, Tom found a cut about the size of a quarter. Discomfort permeated from his rib cage. He closed his eyes, trying to think of Teresa and Emma instead of his anguish.
* * *
The torrential downpour stung Huston’s face as he headed toward the last place he’d seen Tom. The rain belted down forcefully. Huston could see only a few feet in front of him. Identifying a rock formation, Huston took cover.
As the clouds finally began to roll away and the storm shortened its fury, Huston led the horses into the light drizzle and resumed his journey. An hour from the farm, Huston came across Tom’s horse standing by a group of old logs. Clearly, the animal was distressed. He slid from his saddle and walked over slowly, careful not to spook him. After gaining control of the reins, he tied him to a tree, along with the other two horses. Then, Huston started yelling Tom’s name.
* * *
Tom, still dazed and stricken with pain, opened his eyes. Did he hear his name being yelled or was he dreaming? The rain had stopped, and Tom was chilled to the bone. With all his endurance, he tried to rise up, but his strength eluded him. Closing his eyes, he prayed a little more rest would help him regain the capability to stand and head back to the farm. To return to the one woman he yearned to spend the remainder of his life with.
Shouts came in a blur. Huston hollering in his face. Fighting to stand amidst incredible agony.
The next thing Tom remembered was being helped down from the horse. A deputy assisted Huston in carrying Tom into the house.
Home. He’d made it home.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Tom opened his eyes, disoriented and dazed. Raising his head caused the throbbing to become unbearable, forcing him to fall back on the pillow.
Teresa entered the room, carrying a tray with a bowl of soup. “Good, you’re awake.” Setting the lunch down, she opened the curtains, allowing light in. Tom shielded his sight at the brightness until they adjusted.
“Do you remember what happened?” Teresa asked as she shifted a pillow under Tom’s head and he moaned.
“I’m sorry. The doctor who examined you earlier said you have two broken ribs and that your back is badly bruised. That’s why you’re in such pain when you move. Not to mention the slight concussion and wound on the side of your head.”
“What day is it?”
“It’s Christmas Eve.”
“Emma and Huston…they’re okay?”
Teresa sat on the edge of the bed and picked up the tray of soup. “Yes, they’re fine. Do you remember Huston finding you and bringing you here?”
“Not really, but some. Everything is still a little fuzzy. What about Peter...is he in jail?”
“Peter died, Tom. Huston found him half a mile from you. He believes he was thrown from the horse, but we may never know what really happened…” Teresa glanced down at the tray, her sadness evident.
“I’m sorry. Are you okay?”
“Even though I wasn’t in love with Peter, still…he’s the father of my child and—”
“It’s all right to grieve him.”
“That’s just it. I…I’m ashamed I don’t feel worse about him passing. It’s honestly such a relief that we’ll never have to worry again. Am I selfish?”
“No. Not at all.” Tom reached out and touched her hand. “You’re a good woman, Teresa. After all he put you through, it’s understandable.”
“Anyway, I bet you’re hungry.” She took the spoon and started to feed Tom. With each swallow Tom managed, he felt better. The lack of nourishment in the last two days had left him weak. As he finished the final mouthful, he tried to raise his upper body. Teresa assisted him, placing more pillows behind him for support. “Would you bring Emma to visit with me now?”
“Okay. If you are sure you’re up for it. She can be excitable at times.”
“I want to see her. I’ve prayed that she would be brought home safe and sound to you and Mary, and I want to see my answered prayer.” Smiling, Teresa left and returned with the bouncy four year old.
“Mr. Tom, you’re awake!” Rushing over to his bed, she reached out to hug him before her mother pulled her away. “Do you know what?”
“What?”
“Santa comes tonight.”
“I know.”
“You look tired again, Tom. I think that’s enough for now.” The mother claimed Emma’s hand and led her away. The door clicked behind them, leaving Tom drained, and lonesome. He couldn’t wait to be back on his feet.
* * *
When Emma and Teresa came into the living room, Mary was quietly sitting in her late husband’s recliner. “How is Tom?”
“Better,” Teresa replied. “He’s asleep now.”
“Good. That’s the best thing for him.”
The youngster stood in front of the Christmas tree, starring at the bright lights that surrounded the tree.
“So pretty,” she cooed.
Mary smiled, remembering last year, when her husband was alive. In her mind, she pictured William hanging the ornaments, fussing about all the ones that broke in storage. The memory of William caused her to
wipe away a tear, a gesture she hoped no one noticed.
It wasn’t long until it was time for dinner, which consisted of leftovers. Teresa periodically checked on Tom to make sure he still rested soundly. The pain meds knocked him out, but that was best.
After they had finished eating, Mary, along with her little helper Emma, cleaned up the kitchen. With a few last minute gifts to wrap, Teresa disappeared into her bedroom and tackled that chore. Then, it was Emma’s favorite time—making cookies for Santa.
Helping the youngster, Mary carefully measured the ingredients for ‘Angel Cookies.’ Half an hour later, they each had tried at least one. Cookies and milk were placed out for Santa, as well as carrots for Santa’s reindeer—especially the one with the red nose.
Reluctantly, Emma drifted to sleep in front of the tree. Lifting her little girl, Teresa carried her to bed. Then Mary added some last minute gifts under the tree, followed by Teresa, who brought out Santa’s gifts and arranged them.
“I’ll check on Tom one more time before I retire,” Mary said.
“Okay, then I will look in on him later in the night. I’m headed to bed. I know Emma is going to rise with the sun tomorrow.” Teresa hugged Mary.
“Goodnight, sweetie.” Mary walked down the hall to Tom’s room, opening the door to blissful snores coming from the wounded sheriff. Leaving the door slightly ajar, Mary went to bed. Tomorrow would a busy, joy-filled day for everyone.
* * *
“Wake up. Wake up, Mommy! It’s Christmas!” Emma shook her mother.
“Ohhhh…it’s so early…”
“Santa came, Mommy!” A sleepy Teresa forced herself to rise and dress. Ordering her disappointed daughter to wait in the hall, she went into Tom’s room to check on him. There was an alertness about him that was not present yesterday.
“Merry Christmas.” He slowly moved his legs to the side of the bed. “Would you mind helping me?”
“Of course.” Teresa helped the sheriff to stand, looping his arm around her shoulder, and assisting him to the living room.
Mary rose from her rocker. “Thomas! What are you doing up?”
“I am not going to be stuck in that room today and miss all the celebrations. Besides, I feel better. It’s amazing what a little rest and a wonderful nurse will do for you.” Tom winked at Teresa, causing her to blush. “Mary, there’s something I need to tell you about what happened out in the woods.”
Settling in beside Tom on the couch, Mary nodded. “I’m all ears.”
“When I first tried to rescue Emma, Peter caught us and pulled out a gun. He sent Emma back to the tent while he held the gun on me. Out of nowhere, a wolf—or at least that’s what we thought at first—rushed the campsite and knocked Peter down with such force that he dropped the gun. But, when I shined the flashlight, I realized it wasn’t a wolf after all. It was Major.”
“Major! Are you sure?”
“Mrs. Mary, I’m telling you what I saw. A white German Shepard.”
A smile came across Mary’s face and her eyes welled up. “I believe it was Major. I’ve felt William with us here the whole time, along with our Heavenly Father.”
Regaining her composure, Mary turned her attention back to Tom.
“Just so you know, I’ll be watching you today, young man, to make sure you don’t overdo it.”
“Mommy…please can I open what Santa brought me…please?” Emma begged with huge eyes.
“Okay, okay. Let’s go see what’s under that tree.”
After taking several pictures and video of Emma opening her gifts, Mary left to start breakfast.
* * *
Both Teresa and Mary worked steadily that afternoon preparing Christmas dinner. Emma played passionately with the kitchen play set Santa had left, mimicking her mother and grandmother. Tom watched in awe at the family scene. Never had life felt more…just right.
As they all gathered at the table, Mary took her place as the head of the family. Tom said a prayer. Then, with great enthusiasm, Emma turned to Mary and asked if she could call her Nana.
“That would be the best Christmas gift I have ever received.” With all the people who called her Grandmother Jones, never had the sentiment touched her so.
With great pleasure, Mary looked at each person at the table. Teresa’s face glowed. The worry and fear had disappeared, replaced by joy. Tom radiated too, despite his injuries. He had clearly found his soul mate in Teresa, and Mary was certain he was planning to ask the girl to marry him soon. Emma…why she seemed as blissful as fly on sugar, with no apparent injuries from the kidnapping. And as for Mary, she was the happiest she had been since her beloved William passed away. Breathing deep, she thought of those times she’d sensed him about the farm. Maybe it was just a notion, but she felt that William had given her one last Christmas gift—a family. A daughter, granddaughter, and future son-in-law. A future filled with laughter and closeness.
She had not realized how lonely she’d become. But not anymore. And never again. Thank you, William.
And Thank You, God.
Then her granddaughter turned to her and said, “Nana, may I have a pony?”
AUNT BARBARA’S ANGEL COOKIES
4 egg whites
1 cup chopped dates
Pinch of salt
1 cup chopped nuts
2 cups powdered sugar
Preheat oven to 300 degrees. Beat egg whites with salt for 3 minutes. Add powdered sugar and beat 10 minutes. Fold in dates and nuts. Drop by tablespoons on greased and floured cookie sheet. Bake for 25 minutes. (Watch—they burn easily.) Makes about 30 cookies.
Please enjoy this sample from The Christmas Answer by Kimberly B. Jackson.
Donna slowly made her way toward a rustic log cabin. Chickens pecked and darted across the yard. There was little grass, mostly dirt, with an old washing machine placed just outside the porch. Not certain what to expect, Donna made her way up the steps, startled when the door swung open.
“Welcome, welcome. Come in. You must be from the missionary group.”
“Yes, I’m Donna Dubois.”
“Hi, Donna Dubois. I’m Sara Cagle.”
Donna extended her hand only for Sara to reach out and hug her instead. The cabin was small and dark. A wood stove burned, presumably providing the only source of heat for the small home. Sara, a tall, slender, fifty-something woman with long gray hair, moved around some clothing sprawled across the couch.
“Make yourself at home. Please sit down.”
Donna dusted off the couch before she sat, only to wish she had not made that gesture in front of Mrs. Cagle.
Mrs. Cagle offered a smile. “Tell me a little about yourself. Are you married or do you have any children?”
“I am married, but we have not been blessed with children.”
“You’re still young. It will happen when it is supposed to happen.”
“I’m sure you’re right.” Choosing not to discuss the circumstances surrounding her life with a person she just met, Donna feigned a smile. Sara stood and lifted two of Donna’s suitcases.
“Let me show you where you will be sleeping.”
Grabbing the third bag, Donna followed Sara to a back room that was divided in two by a quilt hanging across a rope.
“I’m sorry, but you will have to share a room with the little ones. I’ve moved the older boys out to the back porch.”
Shock pulsed through her as she took in her accommodations. Sara placed her luggage close to the bed, and Donna followed suit with the bag she carried.
“Let me show you the rest of the house and where you can freshen up.”
I hope they have running water at least, Donna thought—uncharitably, she knew. Sara led Donna back to the living room, and then into the kitchen where a small table butted against the wall. Walking past it, they exited onto the back porch that was enclosed with plywood. Two makeshift beds were placed on the floor. Donna then followed Sara into a tiny room that contained an old claw tub, a commode, and an aged, crack
ed sink that contained rust and a dripping faucet. Leaving Donna there to freshen up, Sara walked off.
Donna looked around the small bathroom. Trying not to be judgmental about her living arrangements, Donna resolved to put on a happy face. But, as she looked down at the rusted, old sink, her smile quickly deteriorated.
With much vigor, Donna cranked a faucet on, but nothing came.
“Great, no hot water.”
Facing the inevitable, she turned on the cold faucet to a small steady stream. Cautiously, she positioned her hands under the freezing cold water and placed her hand on her face to refresh her appearance. The cold water cut through her whole body, giving her chills.
What did she get herself into?
This lady didn’t appear as if she could afford to feed her own family, much less a complete stranger. Donna looked around for a towel to dry her hands with, but found none. She was forced to wipe her hands on her shirt. “This is ridiculous. I could be at home resting instead of living in some rundown shack.”
Resolving to make the best of matters, she stepped out of the bathroom and went into the living room where Sara waited. Donna sat, careful not to look at the couch this time. “Well now, Sara, tell me a little about yourself. I know you have some children.”
“I actually just have two boys, sixteen and eighteen. They work at the coal mines just as their father did before them.”
“Coal mines?” Donna couldn’t hide her shock. They were so young!
“Their uncle is the foreman. Daniel is too young to go in the mine yet, but his uncle pays him under the table for labor work. Christopher just began mining after his birthday last month.”
“You mentioned something about little ones.”
Sara nodded her head. “Yes, my little gifts from God. Jessie is the oldest—she’s seven and Lexie is five. They came to live with me after my cousin, Eloise, died. Her husband had passed on two years earlier from black lung.”
A Christmas Gift for Mary Jones Page 6
