She lifted her head and sniffed. Her expression of total concentration paired with a twitching nose was too much for Hiram. Laughter rattled from his chest.
Bea smacked his arm. “You’re teasing, aren’t you?”
He chuckled. “No ma’am, I’m not. The ability to smell snow is a proven fact.”
“Well, I don’t smell a thing,” Bea said. “Besides, I like snow. In New York, we fall back and make snow angels. Like this…” She held out her arms and waved them up and down. “Then we bring snowballs inside and pour honey over them. It’s delicious.”
He tapped her chin. “You’ll have to be the only angel in Medora, I’m afraid. You won’t be making the other kind very often. It gets too cold to play outside.”
Muted voices near the house drew their attention. Hiram’s pa leaned on his cane, watching Jonathan, perched halfway up a ladder. Flushed and straining, the poor man struggled to lay in a fresh-cut square of earth.
Hiram set the brake and hit the ground running.
The girls were fast on his heels.
“Hold up there!” he called. “Let me help.”
Placing one foot on a rung of the ladder and the other against the house, he raised himself level with Jonathan and heaved the crumbling block of dirt into place.
Back on the ground, Jonathan brushed off his shirtsleeves and offered a shaky smile. “Much obliged, mate. It’s easier with an extra pair of hands.”
He glanced at the roof. “I had it up there once. It didn’t stay.”
“Might’ve done, if you’d heeded my advice,” Pa grumbled. “Hiram, I told him to stretch tarp paper over the opening first, but he wouldn’t listen. So a whole blessed square of sod wound up in the kitchen sink.”
Jonathan scowled. “How did I know you’d be right for once? Nothing you’ve said so far has been.”
Despite the short time they’d known each other, the two men squabbled like old friends.
Noela leaned on the house and peered through the smudges on the window. “There’s a block of dirt inside?”
Pa patted her back. “We shoveled most of it out. It needs to be swept, but I couldn’t find a broom.”
He wound his arm through hers. “Your pa’s worked mighty hard to make the place nice for you girls. Would you care to see?”
With a forlorn set to her shoulders, she nodded.
Hiram folded his arms to keep from pulling her close and smoothing her hair. The urge to comfort a female in distress was an untried impulse until Noela, but it felt right somehow.
Jonathan led the way, ducking beneath the low entrance, then standing aside while the others filed in.
The last to enter, Noela gripped the door frame and stepped over the threshold. Her stoic face revealed nothing. Her anguished eyes were another matter. The struggle to put on a brave front sapped all the color from her cheeks.
The interior of the soddie looked better than Hiram had expected. Aside from the remaining dirt Pa had mentioned, the room gave an impression of tidiness. Unlike most sod houses, this one had a raised wooden floor instead of cold, wet dirt.
A quick assessment of the furnishings revealed that Pa had generously contributed to the project. Striped paper on the kitchen wall came from the leftover rolls stored in the barn at home. The new window and wooden frame had once rested in a corner of the shed, along with the tarp paper tacked to the remaining walls and ceiling. Two blankets, hanging from the rafters for modesty’s sake, Hiram last saw in his linen closet.
Noela stood with folded arms, surveying the room. Deep creases marred the smooth skin of her forehead. Hiram narrowed his eyes and tried to see the place from a woman’s point of view.
The planks beneath their feet were rough and buckled. Without a good sanding, a barefooted walk across the floor would be risky. The tarp paper would keep out some of the mice, but not all. Meanwhile, the unseemly evidence of their presence dotted the crude tabletop and the corners of the built-in shelves.
A gust from outside blasted the north-facing wall. The girls’ hems and sleeves ballooned and tendrils of their hair lifted. The dirt that fell from the ceiling rose like a giddy specter, becoming a small, swirling tornado in the kitchen floor.
Beatrice stared with bulging eyes. “Father?” Her plaintive cry sounded frightened.
Noela clutched her sister’s shoulders and drew her away from the uninvited twister.
Jonathan sprang into action. Kicking the roll of tarp against the wall, he jerked up a long sheet and held it in place. “No worries, lamb. We missed a few spots, is all.”
With the draft blocked, the swirl lost its legs and fell, salting the entire room with soil.
Jonathan cast a desperate glance over his shoulder. “Pass me the hammer, will you? It’s there on the window sill.”
Hiram grabbed the mallet and a handful of tacks while his pa limped to help Jonathan hold the tarp. Between them, they got the opening secured.
Laughter bubbled in Hiram’s throat, but the girls’ stricken faces choked it down. “There you are, ladies. All fixed.”
Pa chuckled. “It’s a good thing we found it before the weather turned, or you’d wake up one morning with a snowdrift instead of a whirligig.”
Jonathan shuffled over and touched Noela’s arm. His sagging shoulders added years to his appearance. “I’m sorry, love. It’s not the standard you girls are accustomed to.”
Her pale lips faintly trembled. “It needs a woman’s touch, to be sure.” She raised her chin defiantly. “But we’ll get along all right.” She tightened her arm around her sister. “Won’t we, Beatrice?”
Staring up at Noela, the doubt in Bea’s eyes began to fade. “Y–yes. We’ll be just fine.”
“There’s my girls!” Jonathan shouted, clutching them in a crushing hold, his booming laughter echoing off the walls.
Noela’s brave words opposed the despair shining beneath her lowered lashes. With her proud pa so close to tears, she let him believe what he needed to.
Relief flooded Jonathan’s face. “You girls are just what this house needs. In no time, you’ll have the place as cozy as our parlor in the brownstone.”
Frowning, Noela peered up at him. “And what of the brownstone, Father? I know you sold it along with the furnishings, but where are our things? The personal items we left behind?”
His excitement sputtered and died. Shifting his stance, he rested his hands on his hips. “Blast it. I never know when to can it.”
Chapter 7
Father’s shoulders tensed and his guilty gaze flickered up. “I left your things behind, Noela.”
Her breath caught. “Left them where?”
“In the house. I let the new owner dispose of them. I had no heart for the task.”
She stared. Struggled to comprehend. “Everything? The photo album, our hope chests”—she swallowed against the painful lump in her throat—“the family Bible?”
“What choice did I have? I didn’t want you to realize we weren’t coming back.”
Deathly cold flushed Noela’s veins. Her body swayed as the blood rushed from her head. “Not Mum’s sitting room. You left the piano? Her chair?”
He stood quietly, pain brewing in the eyes she knew so well.
Bile rose in her throat. “Tell me you didn’t do this.”
He lowered his lashes, turned his face aside.
Noela struggled for breath. Rage choked her. Fire roared from her heated glare, spilling onto flaming cheeks.
“How could you?” Censure oozed from every bitter word.
His outstretched arms took in the surroundings. “We couldn’t bring them here, could we? Besides, Mummy’s things upset you girls. You said so, remember?”
Sordid emotion welled in Noela’s chest. An angry spew of pent-up accusations leaped to the tip of her tongue. She bit them back until she tasted blood.
Father reached for her, but she jerked away, gripping the edge of the table to steady herself. “I need some fresh air. Please don’t follow.” Spin
ning away, she stumbled out the door with Beatrice’s anxious voice an echo behind her.
Frigid gusts assailed Noela from behind, driving her across the yard. She staggered mindlessly, unaware of where she headed until she reached the barn door. Her legs quaking, she leaned against the threshold for support, but it sagged beneath her weight.
Large black shapes arose and flapped in the overhead loft. Gasping, she drew back then clutched her heart in relief as her eyes adjusted to the dimness. Only more unsightly tarp paper rustling in the wind that blew past the missing wall.
Groping her way to a protected corner, she sank to her knees on a thatch of moldy hay and buried her face in her hands. Why have you forsaken me, God? First Mum. Now this?
Tears flowed from a wellspring inside. Noela curled into a tight ball and wept like an abandoned child, her body wracked with shuddering sobs.
Strong hands lifted her. Gentle arms gathered her from behind, drawing her close. “There now, honey. Come here.”
“Oh Hiram,” she whispered. Cradled against his strong, steady heartbeat, she clung to his shirt and vented her grief.
His tender touch moved over her face—cupping her chin with his palm, sweeping away tears with a nimble thumb, smoothing her hair with his fingers—soothing her soul. She hadn’t felt small or vulnerable in a very long time. In that moment, she felt like a babe in its mother’s arms.
The thought brought reminiscences of her mum along with a fresh wave of tears. Hiram held her until the last sigh and hiccup.
Noela pressed close to him, the heat of his body shielding her from the cold. Hidden away in the dim, cozy corner, a blanket of hay beneath and the wind whistling overhead, they seemed tucked away in a secret den.
Hiram lowered his face and brushed her cheek with his. “So smooth,” he whispered. His heartbeat raced beneath her hands.
Unsure if he drew her or she rose to meet him, Noela’s free arm snaked up and wound around his neck, her fingertips teasing his hair. She’d never drawn so deeply from another’s soul. Never felt their warmth, inhaled their breath.
A fleeting thought of impropriety crept in, but her befuddled mind cast it away. He was bringing comfort. That was all.
Hiram sat up, easing her arm from around him. Settling her against the wall, he pushed a curl from her eyes and plucked a straw from her hair. “Feeling better?”
He seemed to be avoiding her eyes.
Cheeks blazing, she lowered her gaze to her hands. “Yes, thanks to you.”
“I wasn’t sure I should barge in on you, so I waited.” He jerked his thumb toward the door. “Then I heard you crying and figured you needed a…friend.”
A smile tugged at her lips. She understood his pause. The last few moments hadn’t felt like friendly communion.
Noela glanced at him, and his dark lashes swept up, revealing pain in a determined stare. “Forgive me if I got out of line. I didn’t mean to—that is, I’d never…”
“I know you wouldn’t.”
His shoulders eased, and he returned her smile. “I’m glad.”
She sniffed and swiped her nose with the back of her hand. “I must look a fright.”
He shook his head. “You’re beautiful.”
“You’re being a gentleman. I’ve seen myself after a good cry. My lips swell and my nostrils flare.”
He chuckled and tweaked her nose. “Maybe a little.”
She laughed. “I have my mum to blame. I inherited her fair complexion.” Father’s terrible betrayal crushed her again, and she glanced away, pain throbbing in her chest.
Hiram lifted his brows. “Would you like to talk about it?”
She clenched her fists. “I’m so frightfully angry, Hiram. I did say my mum’s belongings upset me. I said it over and over again.” A lingering sob brought a catch to her throat. “But to hear him use it to excuse what he did—”
He shook his head. “I’m sorry, Noela.”
“Now that her things are gone, I realize how much I needed them.” She leaned her head against the wall and let the tears flow unchecked. “They were all I had left.”
Hiram gripped her hand and squeezed. “We kept a few of Ma’s things. Her reading glasses. Her hairbrush. It helps to take them out sometimes and look at them, remember her using them.”
Noela nodded. “I slipped into her sitting room several times each day to touch her scarves or sit in her chair. It helped me feel close to her.”
Confusion furrowed his brow. “I’m a little baffled by this room you speak of. I thought your ma passed away in Australia.”
The question caught Noela off guard. “W–well yes, she did. Father brought over her favorite things, you see, and set them up in our new home. A tribute of sorts.” She’d never realized before how peculiar it sounded.
He gave a firm shake of his head. “That wouldn’t do for Pa and me. Too hurtful.”
Crossing her arms, Noela peered over his head in deep thought. “To be perfectly honest, it was a mistake for us as well. The space became more of a shrine than a tribute.”
“I’m thinking it would make letting go a hard thing to do.”
She bit the corner of her lip. “You must be right. I haven’t managed it yet.”
Past the opening in the barn door, snowflakes danced like the little storm in Mum’s snow globe—the one Noela would never see again. Perhaps it was a good thing.
She sat up and pointed. “Your sensitive nose was spot on. Look, it’s started to snow.”
As if he hadn’t heard, Hiram sat with a distant haze in his eyes. “This Christmas will mark three years since Ma died.”
The familiar ache resurfaced, and she touched his hand. “On Christmas? How dreadful.”
“She was a frail woman but stubborn as a post. Tending Pa and me was all she lived for, and in the end, it took her life. She wound up with pneumonia brought on by exhaustion.”
“I’m so sorry. She sounds wonderful.”
His eyes glinted with unshed tears. “Ma wasn’t afraid to die”—his voice quavered—“but the thought of leaving us alone scared her senseless.”
Noela released a breath. “Three years, and you’re still grieving. I thought it got easier.”
“I suppose we’ll always grieve. When I start to miss her, I remind myself what the Bible says about the death of a saint.”
“Share it with me, please.”
He glanced up, blotches of color rising in his cheeks. “You know, the part that reads, ‘O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory?’ ” He shrugged. “I can’t quote the rest exactly, but it says our labor in the Lord is not in vain. As hard as Ma worked, it’s a comfort to think she traded a bent back and calloused hands for robes of righteousness and eternal rest. So I try not to be selfish and wish her back.” He smiled. “Most days I succeed—until I burn the biscuits or Pa tries his hand at the skillet.” The wounded look returned, his attempt at humor failing him. “Or until I wake up hearing her footsteps in the hall and realize it was just a dream. Or I catch Pa staring at the hearth with tears shining in his eyes.”
Noela’s heart swelled to bursting. “Oh Hiram…”
She scooted closer, and they clasped hands. The distance between them felt like miles instead of inches. She longed to slip back in his arms and press her cheek against his chest, to hear his heartbeat, to smooth his face as he’d done hers and try to ease his pain.
Their eyes locked, and bittersweet emotion churned in her chest. She swayed to meet him, and—
“Noela!”
They sprang apart. “Beatrice Nancarrow, you frightened the life out of us.”
Her sister peered into the gloom, her head and shoulders dotted with snow. “Pa’s in a terrible state. Please come inside and forgive him.”
Minutes ago, the request would’ve stung Noela to the quick. Now, thanks to Hiram, her heart yawned as wide as the Dakota skies.
“Go tell him I’m coming.”
Beatrice darted away, and Hiram helped Noela to her f
eet. “Why the sudden change?”
She smiled up at him. “Our discussion helped me realize something important. We must cherish the parent we still have, wouldn’t you say?”
His grin lit up the shadowed barn. “Yes indeed.”
“And Hiram, the scripture is a lovely tribute to your mum. I plan to memorize it for myself. Thank you for telling me.”
He widened the door for her to pass through. “No worries, mate. After all, what are…friends for?”
Chapter 8
You’re up early, Son.”
The flapjack Hiram flipped in the air landed half in the skillet and half in the fire, the drips of batter dotting the stovetop and sizzling into tiny round cakes. Hoisting the pan, he juggled the hotcake with the spatula until he had it wrangled into place.
He scowled over his shoulder. “It’s too early to be sneaking up on a man.”
Pa chuckled. “I haven’t been able to slip up on you since I got this cane. What’s got your mind so busy your ears can’t hear?” He crowded in beside Hiram to pour coffee in his battered tin mug. “Or should I say who?”
Hiram pretended to glare. “You’re not so smart, old man.”
Pa nudged him with an elbow. “I may be crippled, but I’m not blind.”
“I like listening to her, that’s all.” Hiram grinned. “She sounds funny.”
“Funny, eh? And that’s the extent of her charms?” He snorted. “I don’t suppose she’s ever heard the likes of you before either. We brought a big load of Texas to Medora when we came.”
He watched Hiram over the rim of his cup, amusement dancing on his face. “Be sure and give my regards to the Nancarrows this morning.”
“What makes you think I’m going out there?”
Laughing, Pa hobbled to the table and sat down. “It’s not hard to figure since you spent all your time there before you left on your stint at the ranch. And considering you haven’t seen her in two weeks, well…”
Hiram made a wry face. “Show off.”
He stretched across the table and plopped a thick slice of fried ham on Pa’s plate. “It’s not just about Noela. Jonathan needs my help.” Worry gnawed his insides. “Pa, I’ve never seen a man less suited for wilderness living. His clumsy efforts were funny at first, but now it’s downright concerning. I fear they won’t make it in Medora.”
A Pioneer Christmas Collection Page 40
