by Hebby Roman
In Langtry’s mild climate, not all of the grapevine leaves had fallen. Woven into the grape arbor, they’d put bright-green branches of cypress and the native chaparral plant with their red berries. Lanterns, along with bunches of mistletoe, hung suspended from the live oak and mesquite trees. The lanterns twinkled in the dusky light of early evening, and the mistletoe looked bright and cheery, wrapped with red ribbons.
They’d also hung a paper mache piñata shaped like a burro from the big pecan tree in the middle of the yard. It had been made by one of the Mexican ladies, and Lindsay had bought the hard candy to fill it with. It was a Mexican custom for blind-folded children to take swings with a stick at the piñata until they broke through the sides and the candy spilled out.
And the Browns had cut down a small piñon tree and had the local children help decorate it with strings of popcorn, hand-colored paper chains, and bows made from the left-over fabric they’d used to sew the children’s clothes.
They’d recruited a local fiddler and banjo player, and they were softly strumming the melody to “O Christmas Tree.”
And off to one side, a long trestle table groaned under the weight of two Christmas turkeys, a brown-sugar-coated ham, mashed potatoes and sweet potatoes, gravy and dressing, green peas and beans, and more cakes and pies than Lindsay had seen in one place. The rich aromas of the bird with the earthy smell of potatoes, intermingled with the sweetness of the desserts.
The whole yard was magical—and reminded her of the Christmases when all her family had been together—making her teary-eyed. Not that getting teary-eyed was unusual. The closer she got to her time, the more her emotions seemed to run away with her.
She wasn’t surprised at what a wonderful job the Browns and their helpers had done. She’d watched and helped with some of the decorations herself. And the Browns had been invaluable during shearing time at the ranch, fetching and carrying the heavy pots and pans, filled with food for the shearing crew.
They’d helped to organize the barn dance, too, celebrating the shearing. Bart hadn’t attended the social. And Lindsay had stayed in the background. Other than missing Bart and wondering if he’d ever forgive her, the one blight on their barn dance had been the unexpected news her brother had gotten himself engaged to Vi Lea.
Lindsay pulled her thoughts back, and her gaze found the brown-paper-wrapped packages for the children heaped under the Christmas tree. Most of the packages had the child’s name written on them. And just in case one of the children brought a friend, they’d made some extra packages, too. Each package held a shirt and trousers for the boys and a dress for the girls, along with a small toy and a pair of sandals.
Gazing at the packages, she couldn’t wait to give them out and see the joy on the children’s faces.
After supper was over, she got her chance, seated in the grape arbor, with Minnie by her side, handing out the packages. She gave the last gift to a six-year-old boy, Pedro Salinas, and watched as he tore into the wrapping.
He held up his new clothes and sandals, along with a bright-red spinning top, and said, “Muchas gracias, Señora Houghton.” Then he ducked his head and scuttled away to where the other children were lining up to take a turn at hitting the piñata. Isabella was making certain each child had the blind-fold on before they took their turn at trying to hit the brightly-colored burro.
The fiddler and banjo player started a Virginia reel, and Lindsay watched as Theo Henderson, Vi Lea’s second cousin, grabbed her hand and joined the dance. She crossed her fingers, hoping Chad would see his chance and ask Ginny to dance.
Lindsay had spent hours teaching Ginny how to dance. Now, she hoped, all that practicing wouldn’t go to waste. At the shearing dance, Chad and Ginny had shared only one dance. Her brother had seemed preoccupied with his fiancé that night.
Now, Lindsay prayed the magic of Christmas and realizing he’d been engaged for one full year without setting a date for his marriage, would make him reconsider in spite of his sense of honor and duty.
As if her thoughts had propelled him, she watched Chad approach Ginny, who was helping to clear the trestle table. He bowed from the waist and held out his hand to her.
She held her breath, praying Ginny would accept. When Ginny nodded and Chad swept her into his arms, Lindsay exhaled. And she couldn’t help but smile as they whirled by her.
A loud yell from the center of the yard caught her attention, and she glanced up to see a shower of hard candy raining down. Then there was a mad scramble of children, arms and legs pumping, as they scooped up the candy. Minnie jumped down and joined the confusion, circling the children, barking and yelping.
She smiled again, watching them, and then she heard another shriek, but this time, it came from the far side of the yard, beside the wooden dais where the fiddler and banjo player stood.
Chad and Ginny emerged from the shadows. Chad looked grim. Ginny looked guilty. Vi Lea had stopped dancing and had her fists on her hips. And from the look on her face, she must have been the one who screamed.
Chad reached for Vi Lea’s arm, but she reared back and slapped him. Then she shouted, “You’re a lying cheat, Chadbourne MacKillian. I won’t be treated this way, and I don’t want to marry you.” She turned to her dance partner and said, “Take me home, Theo. I don’t want to have anything to do with the MacKillians.”
* * *
Lindsay’s mouth dropped open, as she glanced at the puddle beneath her feet. Emma, had warned her about this—that her water might break—a sure sign her baby was on the way. But so far, she hadn’t had any real pains, just a few twinges and the small of her back hurt.
Of course, it was the dead of night—midnight. The grandfather clock in the parlor had just chimed, waking her. Ginny’s mother had warned her about that, too. Most birthing labors seemed to start in the middle of the night. And based on everything Emma had told her, she might have hours to go.
She grabbed a dishtowel and leaned over, trying to mop up the mess. But she couldn’t see her toes, much less touch them. Her brother would have to clean the floor.
Instead, she pumped water into a glass and spread the dishtowel on one of the ladder-back chairs at the kitchen table. That was what she’d gotten up for, a glass of water.
She sipped the water, thinking it was still two days to Christmas, a long time to go, being in labor. And she had so wanted to have her baby on Christmas Day.
Since the ugly scene at the Christmas social two days ago, she’d been hopeful Ginny and her brother would get together. But so far, Chad wouldn’t talk to her about it, and she hadn’t had a chance to talk to Ginny, either.
Ginny had disappeared at the Christmas social after Vi Lea had slapped her brother and stormed off. When she’d gone looking for Ginny, Emma had told her that she was asleep. With her impending delivery, she hadn’t chanced going to see Ginny. She still hoped Ginny and her brother would work things out.
She felt a sharp stab of pain and breathed deeply, wanting to think about something else. Something nice.
Abby and her family had sent an early Christmas gift. They were active in the Methodist church in Del Rio, and they’d taken up a collection for the church she was trying to build. With their help and the donations she’d collected, she had more than enough money for the mortar, lumber, and nails for the new church. And during the slow season, the men could chip in and build the structure, just like they’d built Bart’s cabin.
Thinking about Bart made her dizzy with yearning and sad with longing. How she’d hoped he would forgive her. But Chad had told her he still planned on leaving after the baby came and their divorce was filed in the county courthouse at Del Rio.
She finished the glass of water and got up, putting the empty glass in the sink. She hung her head and sobbed, wishing Bart wouldn’t leave.
And then another pain ripped through her, and this one was so intense, she doubled over and almost went down on her knees. Her labor had started!
She was scared to death. Women died in childbirth. And even without Bart’s love, she wanted to live, and most of all, she wanted her child with a fierceness she’d never felt before. How could she have considered giving up her baby? Having seen Abby and her newborn son, Timothy, had brought that point home. She crossed herself.
Bless Bart. Even if he did divorce her and go away. At least, he’d given her child a name and a way she could raise the baby. But she wished Bart was here, right now, beside her and holding her hand. And she wished this was his child she was carrying.
She closed her eyes and crossed herself. She still had her mother’s gold wedding band on. She couldn’t get it off; her fingers had swelled so.
Another pain sliced into her, and she decided it was time to wake her brother. He’d go to town and get the Browns and Constanza.
She was so frightened, but with the Browns and the mid-wife, she was sure to be fine. Wasn’t she?
* * *
Lindsay writhed on the bed, vicious pain tearing at her, like a pack of wolves she’d seen once, ripping apart a newborn lamb. She’d lost track of time, but the shadows were long on the floor of her bedroom.
Had a whole day passed?
Ginny sponged her forehead with a cool cloth, and for a brief moment, she was comforted, then the grinding agony started again. Ginny gave her the corner of the towel to bite on, and she gnashed her teeth together, gnawing at the terry-cloth. She couldn’t scream anymore. Her throat was sore and her voice was a mere croak.
Emma and Constanza stood at the foot of her bed, huddled together, whispering. She realized they thought she couldn’t hear them, and that she didn’t smell the familiar but distinct coppery scent of spent blood—her blood—this time. But between the birthing pains, it was as if her senses were sharper, if only for a few brief moments.
“Señora Brown, the baby, she is breech and the waters have broken.” She shook her head. “Too dry. I fear hurting her if I try to turn the baby.” Constanza glanced at her patient. Lindsay’s sodden nightgown was bunched around her waist. “And she is beginning to bleed.”
Emma closed her eyes and lowered her head. She was obviously praying. Then she raised her head and asked, “Is there nothing we can do? There must be something.”
Constanza held up her index finger. “I know of only one way. You must send for Doctor Rodgers in Del Rio. A doctor has the forceps. I have seen them used once, and if he knows how, he can turn the baby.” She crossed herself and kissed the crucifix she wore. “If God is willing.”
Emma nodded, her lips thinned. “I will have her brother telegraph the doctor to come right away. He can be here on the morning train.”
Constanza hung her head. “I hope it is enough.” She glanced at Lindsay again. “She weakens by the hour.”
“What more would you have me do?” Emma asked.
“Send the telegram, but her brother must leave tonight to find the doctor and bring him.”
“You’re right. It will be a hard ride, but it’s for the best.”
Ginny must have overheard them, too, because she bunched up her apron, covering her face and sobbing.
Emma took another washcloth from the nightstand and dipped it in the basin of water and sponged Lindsay’s face. Then she folded the cloth and laid it across Lindsay’s forehead.
She touched her daughter’s arm. “You heard what we need.”
Ginny lowered the apron and sniffed, trying to fight back the tears. “Yes, I heard.”
“Can you tell Chad? Explain to him about the telegram, but that he needs to ride there to ensure he finds the doctor.”
She nodded. “Yes, I understand. I’ll do it.”
“Good, and tell him to hurry.”
* * *
Chad folded his arms on the kitchen table and laid his head on them. He’d been up since the middle of last night and heard his sister’s screams and groans. Now she was quiet, but he didn’t know if that was good or bad. All he knew was he’d descended into hell, listening to Lindsay suffer, hour after hour.
He felt a hand on his shoulder and glanced up to find Ginny’s face, creased with worry. “Chad, Lindsay needs a doctor. The baby isn’t coming. Constanza and my mother want you to send a telegram to Doctor Rodgers in Del Rio, so he will come on the morning train.” She gulped and blew her nose. “But Mama wants you to ride there, too, in case the doctor is out and doesn’t get the telegram.” She looked at him and he could see the agony in her eyes. “There’s no time to waste.”
He gazed at Ginny. Her face was pale, with deep lines, he’d never noticed before, bracketing her mouth. The gravity of his sister’s situation hit him like a ton of bricks.
Lindsay might be dying.
And he’d move heaven and earth to help her. God willing.
“I’ll tell Bart. He can keep the house fires going against the chill.”
“Be quick, please.” Ginny turned away and sobbed.
“You love my sister. Don’t you?”
She nodded and wiped her eyes with a handkerchief. More tears sparkled on her eyelashes.
He pulled her to him and wrapped her in a hug. And she didn’t resist, didn’t push him away. Maybe his apology had helped. He hoped so because he still wanted her. Now, if he could just get her to listen.
But right now, his sister’s life hung in the balance. He released Ginny and grabbed his Stetson and gun holster. “Wish me luck.”
“Go with God. I will be praying.”
Chad ran to the creek but before he could knock on the door, Bart pulled it open, a lantern in his hand.
“Lindsay? How is she?” he asked.
“Not good.” He shook his head. “I have to telegram Doctor Rodgers to come. But there’s no time to waste, so I’ll be riding to Del Rio to make certain he’s on the morning train. Can you watch the house and be sure there’s enough wood in the fireplaces to keep—”
“No, you stay, Chad. You can send the telegram, but I’ll take Dancer and be in Del Rio before first light.”
“But—”
“No one can outrun Dancer.”
Chad knew that was true. When Bart became a rancher, he’d bought a black stallion with thoroughbred lines. Bart’s horse was the fastest mount in three counties.
“And I know a shortcut. If you cross the bend of the river into México near Comstock, it saves ten miles.”
Chad nodded, wanting to hope, needing to hope. “Go then. I’ll ride to Langtry and send the telegram.”
* * *
Bart swiped at his eyes. He didn’t cry and he didn’t pray. But he’d spent all of last night, doing both. And he’d ridden Dancer so hard, the stallion had pulled up lame. A small price to pay to save Lindsay.
He’d made it to Del Rio in the early morning hours, made certain Doctor Rodgers had gotten the telegram and wasn’t away at any of the outlying ranches. He’d stabled Dancer and ridden back on the train with the Doc.
The crisis was past, and still he couldn’t stop crying. The good Doc had delivered the baby, a girl, and Lindsay was resting.
And in the darkest hours of last night, he knew, without a doubt, he loved Lindsay. More than he anything, he loved her.
He’d been a stubborn jackass, not realizing it sooner. She wasn’t perfect, far from it. But he was more than flawed, too. That didn’t mean they couldn’t have a life together.
Ginny came into the kitchen and said, “Lindsay is sitting up and feeling better. You wanted to see her?”
Lindsay dragged a brush through her hair and pinched her cheeks. Ginny had told her Bart had ridden overnight to Del Rio to bring the doctor. She couldn’t quite believe it.
Did he care about her after all? Had he finally forgiven her?
Bart opened the door and stood on the threshold. Ginny and her mother nodded to him and left the room.
He came to her and kneeled at the side of the bed, taking her hand. “Lindsay, I… I, uh, I don’t know what to say.” And then
he folded her into his arms and stroked her hair. “God in heaven, I’m so happy you came through and didn’t—”
“Die?”
He took her hands and held them against his heart. “I couldn’t lose you, Lindsay. Not you.” He gazed into her eyes. “I love you with all my heart. I think I loved you from the minute you got off the train in Langtry but was too stupid to realize it.”
She pulled her hands free and threw her arms around his neck. “Oh, Bart, I love you, too.” She sniffed. “But I thought you couldn’t forgive me. Couldn’t love me if I was so judgmental—”
“You’re not, Lindsay.” He stroked her cheek. “Well, maybe a little. But I know you’ve changed, I could tell it that day at the boardinghouse, but I didn’t know if I could believe it. Didn’t want to trust again and be hurt.” He hugged her again. “Hell, I don’t give a damn. I love you as you are.”
“But I was judgmental and demanding, you were right about—”
“And I’m a stubborn ass. There are no perfect people. But love makes us perfect, at least for each other.” He cupped her chin in his hand and brushed her lips with his.
“You believe that?”
“Yes, I do.”
She lowered her head. “You have a daughter, Bart. She’s not really yours but—”
“She’s mine, and I’m proud to be her father.”
She turned her face into his shoulder and sobbed. “You don’t know how much that means to me.”
He lifted her chin and kissed her, long and deep, just the way she liked it. “Can I see her?”
“Of course, she’s in the cradle at the foot of the bed. Should I have Ginny—”
“No, I can get her.” He rose and leaned over the cradle, lifting out the newborn. He gazed at the child, as if awestruck. “My God, Lindsay, she’s beautiful. And she has your golden hair.” He held the baby carefully and kissed her forehead.
“I’m glad you like her. I’m so glad.”
“Does she have a name?”
“No, I wanted to name her for your mother, but I don’t know her name.”
He shook his head. “We don’t know much about each other, but I intend to rectify that.” He looked up and said, “You want to name her for my mother?”
