“Shouldn’t you be workin’ on Violet’s cupboard?” Seth shot a sidelong glace at Gabe Noell, who was sitting beside him on the buckboard. Resentment rose in Seth’s chest. Once again he’d been roped into doing something he didn’t want to do, and worse, with the meddling old wood-carving preacher. True, in the two weeks since Thanksgiving, the old man had said nothing more to him about angels, God, or even Bridget. Still, Seth was less than happy when Andrew asked him to help Gabe with some work on the orphan house.
Gabe gave him a bright smile that did nothing to improve Seth’s mood. “It’s coming right along. Should be done well before Christmas Eve.” He winked. “I told Mr. Barton I needed another project to keep Mrs. Barton from getting suspicious.”
Seth only grunted and focused on the weathered farmhouse in the distance, partially hidden by a stand of tall pines.
The sooner they got there and got the work done, the sooner they could leave the place.
“Mrs. Barton tells me the staircase railing needs several posts replaced, including the bottom newel.” Gabe seemed determined to keep up some kind of conversation.
“Wouldn’t know. Never been inside.”
“And why is that?”
“Never had any business in there.” Seth flicked the reins against the horses’ rumps, urging them to a quicker pace.
Out of the corner of Seth’s eye, he saw Noell dig into his pants pocket, and he groaned inwardly. He hoped the old man wasn’t fixing to carve him another wooden angel like the one he had handed him Thanksgiving evening. A dozen times or more, Seth had thought to pitch the thing into the fire but hadn’t been able to bring himself to do it. Even that simple little piece showed the old wood-carver’s exceptional talent.
When Seth reined the team to a stop in front of the house, he saw that Gabe held not a knife, but a nail.
“Do you know what this is?” The old man gazed at the object he held between his thumb and forefinger as if he saw something beyond a sliver of pointed iron.
“A nail. Looks to be a horseshoe nail.” Seth sighed. He was wearying of the old man’s games.
“A broken horseshoe nail,” Gabe said. “It came loose from the horseshoe it was holding and caused my brother’s horse to stumble. My brother broke his neck. He died the instant he hit the ground.”
“I’m sorry….” Amid a rush of sympathy, Seth touched the old fellow’s shoulder. He wondered why the man would share such a personal sadness.
“Would you like to know why I kept it?”
“S’pose you kept it to remember your brother.”
Gabe shook his head, still gazing at the nail. “No. I kept it to remember the horse.”
Seth stared at the old man. Maybe he was touched in the head.
A sad smile crept across Gabe’s bewhiskered face. “You see, the day we buried my brother, I shot that horse. I was eighteen and grieving. I thought the only way to ease my pain was to make somebody pay for my loss. I’ve learned better since.”
Seth understood what Gabe had felt. He couldn’t count the times he’d itched to make a Comanche—any Comanche—pay for taking his family from him.
Gabe rolled the two-inch spike between his thumb and finger. “This nail reminds me that only forgiveness takes away the hurt.” He fixed Seth with a knowing gaze. “Nails much like this one, only bigger, pierced our Lord’s hands and feet, yet He asked the Father to forgive us, then died to buy us that forgiveness.”
Realization of what the wily old coot was up to dawned on Seth. Irritation crawled up the back of his neck. If Gabe Noell thought his horseshoe nail story would make Seth abide the sight of a bunch of Comanche orphans, the crazy old man had another think coming!
Seth shot Gabe a slicing glare and jumped to the ground. “If you want to work in there, go right ahead.” He cocked his head toward the house. “I’ll stay out here and dig holes for the new fence posts we brought.”
The sound of pounding horse’s hooves yanked his and Gabe’s attention eastward. Seth’s eyes popped to see Bridget, atop Violet’s old mare, Rosie, galloping at a breakneck clip right toward them.
Fear curled in Seth’s belly. If the horse should stumble at that speed … It didn’t bear thinking. With Gabe’s story fresh in his mind, his pulse quickened and sweat broke out on his forehead. But before he could call out for Bridget to rein in her mount, she reached the front fence and did just that.
Seth rushed to her with Gabe at his heels. “Are you all right? Did somethin’ spook the horse?” His heart thumping against his chest, Seth reached up to help her down from the mare’s heaving sides.
Raw fear shone from Bridget’s wide eyes. Her rusty curls tumbled about her face, and her cheeks flamed as crimson as a swamp hibiscus flower. Shaking, she slipped into Seth’s arms, and it took all his willpower to not pull her trembling body close against him.
Her breaths came in gasps. “I—I guess I just got her running too fast.”
Anger suddenly swamped Seth’s fear. Grasping her shoulders, he glared at her. “I thought you were smarter than that, Miss O’Keefe. You could have broke your silly little neck! Don’t you ever do anything like that again, you hear?”
She jerked away from his grasp, and her pretty face puckered up in an angry scowl. “I appreciate your concern, Mr. Krueger. But I’m not one of your cowhands and will do as I please!” Turning, she walked to the house, her back stiff as a branding iron.
Gabe clapped Seth on the shoulder. “You should go after her and apologize, son. I know she scared the liver out of you, but it’s been my experience that women don’t respond well to orders.” He grinned. “Proverbs chapter twenty, verse three says, ‘It is an honour for a man to cease from strife.’ “
“‘But every fool will be meddling.’ “Training a glare on the old man, Seth finished the verse, wondering how he remembered that.
To Seth’s surprise—and aggravation—Gabe laughed. Smiling, he glanced skyward, then back to Seth. “God does work in mysterious ways, my boy. He does indeed.” He went into the house still chuckling and shaking his head.
“Crazy old coot.”
Seth strode to the back of the wagon and lifted out the posthole digger. He stomped to the fence line and shoved the twin spades into the moist earth, a tangle of emotions balling up in his gut. “Angels and nails. None of it makes a lick of sense.” He gave the handles of the auger a mighty twist. He shouldn’t have agreed to come out here when there were at least a dozen other chores he’d rather be doing back at the Circle B. So why did he?
One word: Bridget. She’d burrowed deep under his skin and into his heart.
He glanced back at the dingy gray building behind him. Next thing he knew he’d be slapping a paintbrush across that sorry house. And in the bargain, he had to listen to old Noell preach about God’s love when right behind him was a passel of Comanche kids, reminding him how God had turned His back on Seth’s family.
Seth dug into his coat pocket and pulled out the little wooden figure of an angel Gabe had handed him Thanksgiving evening. The wings were etched to suggest feathers, and he could even see the folds in the robe. The angel’s upturned smile seemed to mock him.
With a flick of his wrist, Seth tossed the thing in the dirt at the base of the post oak tree near the corner of the house. If only he could toss away his feelings for Bridget as easily.
Chapter 8
Tad, stop it!” Bridget giggled as Tad dropped a wreath of popcorn on her head. “It belongs on the tree, not me.” She raked the fluffy kernels from her hair and tried her best to look perturbed.
A roaring fire popped and crackled in the enormous fireplace, washing the Bartons’ parlor in a warm, cheery glow. The scents of pine and popcorn filled the room. Yet Bridget’s heart ached, missing the one person who would make the tree decorating festivities complete.
Earlier, when Seth had helped Andrew and Tad carry the ten-foot-tall pine into the Bartons’ parlor, he’d avoided Bridget’s gaze. They hadn’t spoken since last week when he’
d scolded her for riding Rosie too fast.
Bridget’s heart raced at the memory of Seth’s arms around her, holding her safe, chasing away the terror that had gripped her. She’d sensed that if it hadn’t been for the presence of Gabe Noell, Seth might have kissed her.
Somehow she’d mustered the courage to kick Rosie into a gallop and escape Jake Tuley. But the man’s veiled threat had prevented her from sharing with Seth and Gabe what had transpired. She had no doubt Seth would have gone after Tuley. It sickened her to think the buffalo skinner might have somehow caused Van’s and Sally’s deaths. She couldn’t chance putting Seth in danger. Feigning anger at Seth’s rebuke had given her an excuse to hurry into the house so he wouldn’t guess there was more to her fright than Rosie galloping too fast.
“Popcorn angel, that’s what I’ll call you. You’re no bigger’n a kernel of popped corn.” Tad laughed and ducked around the Christmas tree’s fragrant branches, evading Bridget’s swipe at his arm.
Violet Barton stood in the middle of the parlor, shaking her head. “You two are as bad as a couple of children. We’ll never get this tree trimmed if you don’t stop the silliness.” She chuckled. “Now, you both behave while I go look for the tree skirt.”
“He started it,” Bridget called after Violet, who headed up the stairs chuckling.
“I started it?” Tad pointed at his chest. “Who threw the first piece of popcorn?”
Bridget enjoyed the childish banter with Tad. It reminded her of her growing-up days at the orphanage. Like an overgrown puppy, Tad lived to play, never seeming to take anything seriously.
Without warning, he scooped Bridget up in his arms, and she let out a shriek. “Maybe we should just put you on top of the tree, popcorn angel.”
“Tad!”
Seth’s stern voice silenced their laughter, and Tad lowered Bridget’s feet back to the pine floor.
The muscles of Seth’s jaw worked as he trained steely blue eyes on Tad. “Did you replace those broken boards in the south end of the paddock like I asked?”
Heat suffused Bridget’s face. She wondered how long he’d been standing in the doorway. Then, indignant anger leaped inside her at his frown. Just because he’d declined Violet’s invitation to help decorate the tree didn’t give him the right to ruin their fun.
“Not yet, boss.” Tad reached down to fetch a shiny red glass ball from an excelsior-filled wooden box. “I’ll get to it just as soon as we finish the tree,” he said, his voice devoid of concern.
“Reckon I’ll have to fix the fence myself while you play Christmas,” Seth mumbled as he headed for the doorway.
Tad affixed the ornament to a branch and glanced over his shoulder at Seth. “Hey, boss, before you leave, would you bring me that box from the far end of the fireplace?”
“Get it thyself.”
Bridget watched Seth stomp from the room, her jaw dropping at his use of the word “thy.”
“Wonder what’s put a burr under his saddle?” Tad murmured, seemingly unbothered by Seth’s cross reply. He chuckled. “He sure must be mad, though, if he’s revertin’ to his Quaker talk.”
“Quaker?” Stunned, Bridget stared at Tad. Seth Krueger a Quaker? Suddenly she remembered how he’d used the word “thou” in the barn. She’d thought his comment was an attempt to mock her faith.
At the sound of footsteps, she looked up. Violet descended the stairs with a small red, green, and white quilt in her arms.
“Seth is a Quaker?” Bridget asked and watched Violet’s smile disappear.
“His pa was. I’m thinking he said his ma was Lutheran. In any event, theirs was a very religious family from what I understand.” Violet crossed the room and knelt to spread the material around the base of the pine. “He seems to have turned his back on it all. Blames God for what happened to his family. Lord knows, I’ve prayed for him and tried to steer him back toward God’s grace, but …”
Violet stood and raised her hands in a helpless gesture. “Andrew said Mr. Noell was surprised, too, when Seth mentioned his Christian upbringing.” She gave Bridget a conspiratorial smile. “I suspect that may be why Andrew is finding little jobs to keep the wood-carver here even though he finished the lovely gingerbread work around the porch weeks ago. I think Andrew is hopeful that Mr. Noell can help in our efforts to nudge Seth back into Christ’s fold.”
For a moment Bridget’s heart sang. Seth had been raised in a Christian home, so he knew of God’s love and Christ’s salvation. He just needed to be convinced that God still loved him. But why hadn’t he told her he was raised in the faith? Everyone else seemed to know, even Gabe Noell.
The intentional omission sent Bridget’s heart oscillating between hurt and anger. Seth cared for her. She had no doubt about that. He’d shared the story of his family’s tragedy with her, so why had he kept from her something as important as his Christian upbringing—something that could draw them closer?
“Here.” Bridget thrust a string of popcorn into Tad’s hand. “I’ll be back in a bit.”
Her legs pumping with purpose, she ran out of the house, down the porch steps, and toward the south side of the paddock.
“Seth!” His name exploded from her lips.
Seth turned from pounding a nail into a new fence board. “You here to scold me for hollerin’ at your beau?” His voice sounded as chilly as the December wind whipping at her skirt.
“Tad is not my beau.”
“No? You two looked pretty cozy to me.” He dug into his jeans pocket and pulled out two nails, sticking the flat end of one in his mouth.
“Why didn’t you tell me you’re a Christian?”
“Because I’m not anymore.” He turned and stabbed a nail into the board, then drove it flush with two solid blows of his hammer.
“You were raised to believe that Jesus is your Savior. How can you turn your back on that?” Bridget couldn’t tell if she shook more from cold or anger.
Seth’s torso heaved with a deep sigh. He turned to face her. “Look, I’m not sure what I believe anymore. Except that the God I prayed to for the first twelve years of my life allowed the Comanches to take my family from me.”
“Seth, this world is not perfect. It’s full of sin. Sin causes our troubles and griefs. In the book of Job the scriptures tell us, ‘Man that is born of a woman is of few days and full of trouble.’ No one is guaranteed a certain number of years on this earth.” Bridget could not hold back the tears of frustration stinging her eyes. “Your family, my parents, and Van and Sally Taylor all went home early to God. But they were all Christians and will be celebrating Christmas together in heaven.” She swiped at a tear, her fingers trembling across her cheek. “I want that for you, too, one day.”
“Why? Why do you even care?” he asked around the nail dangling from his lips.
“Because that’s what Christ has commissioned all Christians to do. ‘Go ye into all the world, and preach the gospel to every creature,’ “she quoted.
“Is that the only reason?” He took the nail from his mouth and pounded it into the board.
“You know it isn’t.” Shivering, she hugged her arms, rubbing the chill from them.
He turned his attention to the new fence board, pulling at it as if to check its sturdiness. “Stick with Tad. He’s a church-goin’ boy.”
“I like Tad, but I don’t feel that way about him.” Surely Seth knew how she felt. Surely in that moment when their lips met he’d felt it, too….
He gave her a critical glance. “You should go back into the house. It’s too cool for you to be out here without a wrap.”
So, that was it. He’d closed the subject. Anger dried her tears and raised her chin. “Why do you care?”
He dropped the hammer with a thud. Two quick strides brought him to her side. “You know why.” His voice turned husky, and his smoldering gaze bored into hers.
Bridget gasped as he wrapped her in a canvas-coated embrace, pulling her to him. Hot tears slid down her face.
I mustn’t
allow this. I mustn’t!
He pressed his mouth on hers. His kiss deepened, then gentled to a tender caress that curled Bridget’s toes. Her body weakened along with her resolve, and she melted against him, her lips returning the sweet pressure of his.
“I love thee, Bridget O’Keefe,” he confessed in a breathless whisper. “I loved thee the moment I first saw thee. And every day, I love thee more.” He let her go, and his shoulders slumped as if the strength had drained out of him.
“You still use the words of your father’s faith you learned in your childhood. Christ is knocking at your heart, Seth. Just open the door for Him. He still loves you and He never left you.”
Glancing from the ranch house to the paddock, she waved her arm in a large circle. “He’s given you a home and people who love you, and He can give you peace about what happened to your family. The peace that passes all understanding.”
Seth did not answer. He simply turned his back to her, walked to the paddock, and with a savage blow pounded another nail into the fence.
Her heart crumbling, Bridget plodded back to the house. She’d tried to plant the good seed like Gabe Noell said. But tomorrow she’d move out to the orphanage. She couldn’t bear to see the man she loved day after day, knowing that unless he came back to Christ, they could never be together.
Chapter 9
Missy Teacher, man from ranch here!” Ming Li gave two sharp smacks of her hands. The sound echoed like shots around the cramped space inside the orphanage’s front door and, Seth assumed, all the way up the stairway where the woman had directed her summons.
Ming Li shuffled away, and left alone, Seth tried to rein in his heart. It bucked like a wild mustang with a belly full of locoweed in anticipation of Bridget’s appearance. He must be a fool or a glutton for punishment to put himself through this torture. But when he learned that Bridget had moved to the orphanage, it was as if she’d ripped open his heart and scraped it clean. After what had happened between them yesterday, he couldn’t leave things as they were. He grudgingly admitted that Gabe Noell was right—Seth had to try to fix things. At least maybe he and Bridget could part friends. So when Mr. B. asked him to cut a Christmas tree for the orphan kids, Seth had seen a chance to make things right with Bridget.
Woodland Christmas Page 5
