Daniel and Annie were first to arrive on Christmas morning and found Jesse lying on the couch in the quilted pink robe Evelyn had given her the year before. While Daniel drank coffee in the kitchen with his brothers, Annie went to sit beside her.
Adam saw Jesse take Annie’s hand and press it against her stomach. The baby evidently gave a good kick and Annie’s face lit up. He’d known his brother’s wife since the family had first moved to Arizona; still she was an enigma to him, with her child-like innocence and her seer’s eyes. He was glad she was now so close to Jesse, for her assurances had brought much comfort to his wife. They both believed she was fey.
His mind wandered back to the times he and his three oldest brothers had played with Lowell. Always had Annie tagged along. First she followed her brother, then gradually she became Brian’s shadow. Just as Daniel became hers.
She’d been afraid of nothing, and they’d had to curtail their adventures whenever she was too small to follow where they led, but Daniel would help her over the rough spots. Yet for all her tomboy ways, Annie was an utterly feminine being—her long, fine hair the color of sun-bleached wheat, her body lithe and graceful even through the awkward years. But it was her eyes that had enchanted Adam, and he’d wondered at times if her ancestry included oracles or priestesses.
One incident was vivid in his memory: she’d been brought to her knees and rocked in silent agony as the pains shot through her head. She’d fallen face-down, unconscious, and they’d thought she was dead. Daniel had opened her dress enough to feel for the pulse at her throat. When he found it, they all breathed again. His brother had carried her into the shade, laid her on a soft mat of pine needles and cushioned her head with his shirt. They’d waited hours, it seemed, until she opened her eyes. With great relief, the other boys went back to their play, leaving her in Daniel’s care.
Amazing that none of us ever realized how much he loved her.
BY NOONTIME THE CABIN was filled to overflowing with Donovans. Every one of them had brought their gifts, and there they sat in piles under the tree—big packages and small, wrapped in white or brown or bits of colored paper—some even wrapped in wish-book pages—and all tied up with bright yarn or ribbon in red, green and blue.
Jesse still sat on the couch, still in her quilted robe. Irene had tied a green ribbon in her hair, Annie sat as before on the stool at her side, and Jake stood at her feet looking down in silent worship. Adam stood behind the couch and stroked her shoulder and she responded with a radiant look.
Molly and Evelyn had brought an ample lunch—sliced meats and bread, butter beans baked in molasses and cinnamon, hot cabbage with apples and honey. But they had to eat in groups of six, for no one had thought to bring extra plates. There was much laughter, and threats from those who were waiting against those who were eating. Brian took a plate with the first wave and somehow held on to it through the second and third.
“Hey,” he said, “I live here, I’m entitled!” But they booed and jeered and slapped him resoundingly on the back. Rebecca’s rum punch was passed around and the younger twins returned to the bowl again and again, until their father snuck outside and came back with two huge snowballs to rub in their faces. At that, all the men and most of the women ran out into the snow.
From the window Jesse could see the flying missiles, and also hear each grunt of surprise or pain as one found its target. She dozed off for a while with little Adam at her side, while Molly and Rebecca cleaned up. When Adam came in, he knelt beside her and kissed her forehead. Behind him came the wave of antagonists, all in various states of dishabille. Frank had evidently taken the brunt of the offense—he was covered in white from head to foot and the brothers were teasing him.
“You shoulda stood still,” laughed Brian, “then we none of us coulda hit you!”
“Yeah,” came Daniel’s granite sally, “you shoulda stood like a mountain sheep—you’d’ve been safe then!” With that, the tide of teasing was turned and Brian became its next victim.
After the noise diminished somewhat, John Patrick clapped his hands together and demanded, “Who gets the first gift?”
“JESSE!” They all shouted at once.
“Good choice. Adam, you’ve something for her?”
From under the corner of the tree, Adam took a tiny white box and handed it to her. He’d put a red ribbon on it and her hands shook as she untied it. When she opened the box, she gasped.
“Let’s see!” they demanded. “What is it?”
She held up a delicate pin that matched the gates to the Rocking Chair Ranch. “It’s beautiful,” she said breathlessly. “It’s beautiful.” She turned her face up for his kiss.
“Now you know how this works,” John Patrick said. “The one who got the last gift gives a gift, but not to the person who just gave the gift. Understand?”
They understood. It had been tradition ever since they could remember, and the younger twins had explained it to their wives. So the gifts went round and round and round until there were only three left under the tree. Annie had received the last gift—a long coat of shearling wool which Daniel had made for her. She was still wearing it when, with her husband’s help, she took up an awkward, heavy package and brought it to Jesse.
“But you already gave me one,” Jesse protested. She’d gotten a coat just like Annie’s, except it was a deep tawny color to match her hair while Annie’s was an ivory hue. And in the pocket of the coat she’d found a little jointed puppet.
“This one’s for baby,” Daniel said. Jesse’s eyes got big and bright as she struggled with the wrappings. Annie helped her uncover a cradle—a hand-made oak cradle with deep sides and a hood to protect the baby from the sun. On the head and foot were carved replicas of Katie’s design—the letter “D” with the Celtic symbol of eternity surrounding it.
“You made it.” Tears streamed down Jesse’s cheeks. “You made it for me.”
“We all did,” Daniel told her. “I designed it. Dad and Geordie made the body, Brian and Jake made the rockers. Frank did the carving. Patricia and Suzette made the mattress, and Mother and the girls made the little quilt. Annie made the pillow.”
Jesse was speechless but the rapt look on her face was thanks enough for all of them.
“Thanks, y’all.”Adam imitated his twin’s drawl. They nodded at him but continued to watch Jesse as she caressed the wood, the quilt, the pillow.
“Well, little miss,” John Patrick broke in. “Have you anything left to give?”
“Oh, yes! That little one there.” Irene brought it to her and she handed it to her husband. “It’s for you,” Jesse whispered. “Merry Christmas.”
He took the gift and her hand, kissed her fingers. He opened it, stared at it, then at her.
“Oh, Jesse,” he murmured. He took the ring from the box and handed it to her, and she slipped it onto his finger. He caught her hands and held them as the family crowded around to see the heavy signet ring whose design was identical to the one carved on the cradle. His grandmother’s design. The Donovan brand worked in silver. His heart was full, his lips were trembling. He bent to kiss her face.
“Thank you, my love,” he whispered into her hair.
After surreptitiously wiping his eye, John Patrick cleared his throat. “There’s still one left here. Whose is it?”
“It’s mine,” Adam answered in a voice not quite steady. They passed it to him and he took it to Jake. “Here you go, boy-o.”
Jake whooped as he unwrapped a pair of Mexican silver spurs. “Wow! These are great! Thanks!”
Adam had to reach up to ruffle his hair. “You’ve earned them,” he said. And there was something in his words that made Jake proud.
As the day advanced, friends and neighbors dropped in—Tommy and Alec, Eli Sykes, the doctor and Miss Jane, Ray and Mary Benson. The Rileys and Flahertys, William Thatcher and his wife Nellie, even Owen and Carolyn. Before they left, the assembled guests built a snowman in the yard for Jesse, with buttons for eyes and a carrot
for the nose. They used twigs for the smile and the eyebrows, one of which turned one up at the middle. Sticking a cigarette butt in its mouth, they hung an old gunbelt from its left side. Annie ran in and grabbed Adam’s new black hat to complete it. When he carried her to the door to see it, Jesse laughed until she cried. She waved in response to their goodbyes, and called out, “Thank you—all of you! For everything!”
And they shouted back, “Merry Christmas!”
ANNIE SNUGGLED UP AGAINST Daniel in their buggy, half to ward off the cold and half for the pleasure of being next to him. She’d felt so close to him since their quarrel, so sure he had done the right thing. She was grateful, but even more, she was impressed by his wisdom.
“Guess what?” she whispered.
“Mmmm?”
“It’s a boy.”
He looked deep into her sea-green eyes and smiled. “Good. That’ll make her happy.” They rode along silently for a while then he bent to kiss her.
“I love you, aroon. Merry Christmas.”
Chapter 55
The hour was early, before daybreak, when Annie rolled over and nudged her husband awake.
“What is it, aroon?” His hand went instinctively to her temple.
“No, not me. Daniel, we’ve got to go.”
“Right now?”
“Yes.”
While she dressed and stuffed a carpet bag full of towels and sheets, he threw on his clothes and lit the brazier, put two bricks on top of the coals, and hitched the horses to the buggy while a fine, wet snow fell. Then he went back inside to start a pot of coffee.
“We don’t have time,” Annie said as she tied her cloak.
“We’ll have time. The bricks have to heat up—it’ll take fifteen or twenty minutes. And you need to be dressed more warmly.” She began to protest but he put his hands on her shoulders. “Aroon, I don’t want you sick. It won't help Jesse if you are.” He stroked her cheek with one finger. “And you know you have to stay warm.”
It was the doctor’s advice and it, along with Molly’s medicines, had reduced the number of severe headaches she suffered. She stood on her toes to kiss him and went to the bedroom to find more layers of clothing.
She’s better. And she’s beginning to believe it. It had been a gradual change—Molly had warned them it would be. For his mother had gone to the doctor with the information she’d gathered, Barber had given his opinion readily.
“I know what the specialists have said, but I’ve also known Annie for a long time. I always thought she had two conditions, and not just one. But when I tried to ask her questions about her cycle, she’d just freeze up. She was so embarrassed, it was painful to watch her.
“What you’ve told me confirms my feelings. The headaches she gets in her temple and her eye—the ones she wakes up with in the night—these are tied to her cycle. They’re called megrim, and they’re caused by the fluctuation of hormones and chemicals in the body. At least that’s what the scientists say. She gets them once or twice a month, according to what you’ve told me, and always at the same phase of the moon. Well, Molly, I don’t have to tell you how those phases tie in to a woman’s body.” Molly nodded and the doctor wondered why he’d never asked her to talk to the girl before.
“The weakness she experiences,” he went on, “could be related to the megrim, or it could be from an unusual loss of blood. You’ll have to ask her and see if she’ll answer you. If her flow is very heavy, we can try to build up her blood before it—about a week before, we could start giving her some extra red meat. Or they say some of the root plants are rich in minerals, ’cause I know Annie doesn’t like meat too much to start with. Anyway, that’s the condition we can deal with. It may sound cruel, but thousands of women experience this kind of pain every day and live through it. It’s frightening, it’s agonizing, but it’s not fatal. We can’t make it go away, but it’ll gradually disappear after she’s forty-five or so.”
The doctor paused in his explanations and took a deep long breath. Molly knew somehow that the worst was still to be revealed.
“The other condition,” Barber finally said, “is the one that makes her faint. I think it’s caused by pressure on her brain. I think there’s a growth that presses on her brain from time to time.”
“A growth?” Her voice was low with fear.
“A tumor. She told Lowell she could sometimes feel it growing. I think it’s at the base of her skull, where there are a series of tiny arteries that bring blood to the brain. When it presses on them, it inhibits the flow of blood and makes her lose consciousness. And sometimes it causes her great pain. In a matter of hours or just minutes, the pressure shifts away from these vessels and she comes back to us again.
“Molly, someday it will kill her. But I don’t know when. It could be tomorrow—it could be when she’s seventy. There’s no way to tell and, as far as I know, there’s nothing we can do. But if you find something in Katie’s books, I’ll be more than happy to let you know if I think it will help. Although,” Theo added, “maybe we don’t have to know it will help. Maybe we just need to know it can’t hurt her.
“As for the megrim,” he said after a short pause, “we can try to build her blood up, and maybe regulate her hormones. And keep her warm—it seems strange, but she shouldn’t let her hands and feet get cold. On a day when there’s high wind and a glaringly bright sky, she should stay indoors in a darkened room. They say it helps even though, again, they don’t know why.” He pushed himself to his feet and took the hand she offered him. “I’m sorry, Molly. I wish I could have given you better news.”
“’Tis better than I expected. At least we may be able to help with the pain.”
“Anything you find, you let me know. If it can’t harm her, we’ll give it a trial, see if it helps. Who knows? Maybe there’s something that got lost along the way. Maybe we’ll find the cure for all the ailments in the world.”
After a private discussion with Annie, Molly returned to the doctor with some of Katie’s medicinal digests, and he agreed the treatments she recommended could do no harm. If the old ones were right, they might even help.
“I’ve seen things in the mountains with the Navajo,” Theo said, “that I know shouldn’t have worked. And yet they did. Sometimes it’s a chant or a dance over somebody who should already be dead. But the next day, they get up and go about their business.
“I think a lot of illness is in our perceptions—in our minds. Maybe if we give Annie some hope, then her mind will accept it and make her feel a little bit better.”
Molly wasn’t sure the doctor’s words were realistic, but in her knot garden she found feverfew, which was said to relieve pressure on the brain; licorice root, which she knew would control the hormones; and red clover, which she’d read would reduce the rate of growth of a tumor. Then she diced some beets, hung them over the stove in bleached muslin bags to dry, and pounded them into a powder. The old books recommended it for those with weak or pale blood. The first three ingredients she mixed into a tisane. The fourth, she poured into a glass jar and took to Annie with the recommendation that it be added to her soups, stews, and any other dishes she might want to try it in. From time to time, Daniel grew tired of the taste of beets, but had only to look at his wife’s cheeks, glowing now with health, to subdue his complaint.
She came out of the bedroom in her new sheepskin coat, wearing so many layers of clothing beneath it she was almost shapeless. She had a pair of leather gloves Owen had made for her in one hand, and a furry hat in the other. She put them on the table and accepted a mug of hot milky coffee. Daniel poured the rest into a glass jar and wrapped it in a small towel—it would keep her hands warm for a while and then they’d drink it. He’d collected a sheepskin and bearskin rug.
“Ready?” he asked. She nodded and drew on her gloves and he handed her the jar of coffee, then draped the cloak around her with the opening in the back—if her face got too cold, he’d draw the hood up over it.
“My hat,” she remi
nded him.
He pulled it down over her ears and tied it under her chin, then kissed her quickly.
“Let’s go,” she said, “it’s awfully warm in here!”
He laughed, but put his own coat on and gathered up the skins. He spread the sheepskin on the seat and lifted her up onto it, then took the hot bricks wrapped in burlap and placed them beneath her feet. Finally he climbed in beside her and tucked the bearskin in around her.
“I can’t move,” Annie complained.
“Are you warm?” he asked, and she gave him a pout. He moved in close to her, sharing the heat of his body, and clicked the reins over the horses’ backs.
As they drove, the stars began to fade in the west. The sun came up behind them. It was the time of day he liked best. And today would be a good day—another little baby would come into the world. Annie had told him everything would be fine; she only wanted to go in case Jesse needed her reassurance.
They didn’t use the trail which led to the Donovan ranch but skirted instead to the south, making the trip shorter by several miles. As they rode along, Annie told him of a conversation she’d overheard between Jesse and Adam a few days earlier.
He already knew that, since Christmas, both Adam and Brian had found excuses not to leave the clearing where the cabin stood. They popped in frequently during the day. Jesse had laughed, for Rebecca never left her side and Annie was usually there, too. But the day had come when Adam wouldn’t leave her for more than a minute.
“When’s this baby supposed to be born?” he demanded a few days ago.
“In January,” Jesse responded.
“Isn’t it January now?”
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