The panicked look on Miss Adams’s face brought out a chuckle from Martin. “I refuse to give a gift to someone I call by their last name. I’m Martin. Mrs. Gibbs, you won’t mind if I call you Sally, will you?”
“I wish you would. And you are—?” Mrs. Gibbs turned the question to Miss Adams.
“Caroline.” This situation was impossible as long as they kept up barriers between them.
“While we’re at it, let’s each share three things about ourselves that might give us an idea for a gift.” Martin grinned.
“Good idea. Let’s do that while we eat.” Mrs. Gibbs—Sally—spooned beef stew into their bowls, which sat next to their mugs with coffee that was worth drinking and a plate overflowing with biscuits. “I’m Sally Gibbs. I came to Kansas fifteen years ago, after my children were grown, and then my husband died. But since then, God has given me the whole town of Horse Flicker as my family, so I can’t complain. Oh, one more fact, besides the fact I run the general store and restaurant, because you already know that.” She lifted a finger in the air. “My favorite color is the same as God’s. Green.”
Martin laughed. “And why do you think green is God’s favorite color?” As his surname, it struck him as special.
“Why, because He uses so much of it in His creation. It’s as clear as the grass on the prairie. Now you, Martin.”
Martin grimaced. “You know my name, so enough said. I was already working for the Pony Express when they needed someone to check on Chelan Station. I had been riding for a few months, and thought living in a station would be better than hurling myself across the country. I have no family to speak of.” His father had died, and his mother was safely ensconced in the loving embrace of his sister’s family. “Green is not my favorite color. How about brown? God used all kinds of the color brown to make people. He could have made us purple, or green, or blue—”
That brought a snort of laughter from Caroline. “Blue skin with orange eyes, perhaps.” She giggled.
“Or green and red. It is Christmas. But God chose brown.” He held out his hands and washed them in the sink and stuck them in front of the ladies. “Even once I wash the dirt off them, they’re still brown. Baked by hours in the sun. While you, Caroline, are almost the color of fine porcelain, a pale cream with a blush of pink.” That was too personal. “I’ve run into freedmen out west, and Indians, and Chinese folk in California. Mexicans, too. We’re brown, one and all.”
Caroline stiffened. “I take it you’re a Yankee, Martin.”
“I leave the politics to those folks in Washington. On the trail, I learned to accept a man for who he was, not what he looked like.” He needed to get onto another topic. “And one more fact. My favorite Bible verse is Numbers 6:24–26. ‘The LORD bless thee, and keep thee: The LORD make his face shine upon thee, and be gracious unto thee: The LORD lift up his countenance upon thee, and give thee peace.’ Your turn.”
Caroline sighed. “My favorite color is yellow. A forsythia bush in spring, a rose bush, even dandelions on a wild field, or sunflowers so tall they come up to my shoulder. And I like sunny days better than gray skies like this one.” A smile replaced her frown. “Or yellow like the fire on the hearth. I love horses, although I’ve never owned one. I hope to learn how to ride better now that I’m out west. And my favorite Bible verse is—” She opened her mouth, then closed it, as if changing her mind. “My favorite Bible verses for this time of year have to come from Luke 2. Mama would always read it before she’d let me open a single present on Christmas morning, but now I love it. I can just about quote it from memory.”
Mrs. Adams had done a good job raising Caroline, in spite of her husband’s absence.
“That was a mighty fine supper, ladies. Since you were kind enough to cook that food, I’ll clean up. Maybe you can figure out Christmas presents to give away tomorrow.” He bowed toward them. “Although the presence of two such fine Christian ladies is a present enough.”
Chapter Three
A lifetime’s experience jolted Caroline awake early Christmas morning, and then she remembered her surroundings. She had made it to Chelan Station, but her father had left already. Aside from the kindness of two strangers, she would be absolutely alone. Of course, her father would also have been a stranger, but there must be some connection between them.
She reached under her pillow for the presents she had put together last night. To think that Mrs. Gibbs—Sally—would set her own plans aside to bring both food and the makings for Christmas for someone she’d never met. That lady was meant for a room full of grandchildren surrounding her, but God had left her without family.
Sweet cinnamon teased her nostrils, and she realized the other side of the mattress was empty. Sally was humming “Silent Night.” The outside door opened, alerting Caroline to the fact that Martin also was awake. She pushed up on her elbows and made a show of stretching. “I feel as though I have slept half the day away.”
“Lah, child, when was the last time you slept in a proper bed? Merry Christmas.” Sally came to the mattress. “I’ll hold up a blanket while you get dressed.”
Since Caroline had slept in her lady’s things, it didn’t take long to get dressed. She had put on her best dress yesterday, since she hoped to see her father. Today she chose one of her other two dresses, red and yellow on a field of green, as close as she could come to Christmas finery. “You can drop the blanket. I don’t mind if Martin sees me brush my hair.”
He peered over the kitchen counter. “Maybe you’d like me to bring the currycomb I use with the horses. All that beautiful red hair must have taken a beating on the road.”
Currycomb, indeed. Heat sped up from her feet, which were at least covered, gaining temperature as it swept past her core and to her face, until her face was probably similar in color to her hair. Maybe she did mind him watching her, after all. She faced the fireplace and started the first of a hundred brush strokes. Maybe Sally had a tie to keep it back.
As she brushed her hair, water splashed in a pan and the curtain next to her mattress rippled as Martin went in. Perhaps he would shave and she could see the face beneath the beard.
She reached one hundred strokes and slipped on the pearl earrings her father had given to her mother, and had passed from mother to daughter.
“Let me tie your hair.” Sally acted as though she had read Caroline’s mind. The red and green matched the occasion perfectly. “Breakfast is ready.”
Caroline swayed a bit as her feet complained of being asleep. She hadn’t a proper walk or a proper night’s sleep for days on end. God once again was so good to her, sending Sally and the wagon for when they could leave.
Martin stood by the window, leaning against it, his warm breath clearing a small space. Aside from that, large crystals covered the window. “It’s still snowing, isn’t it?” She came up next to him, lifting her head underneath his arm.
“Yes. And it’s beautiful.” He grinned. “And of course the weather slows down the riders, so I can enjoy your company without interruption today.”
That might have embarrassed her, if she hadn’t been so busy looking at his freshly shaved cheeks, his pale skin underneath his beard like a banner on a flag. It revealed a strong jawline, a cleft in his chin. He was handsome enough to be a dandy, but instead he was working in a lonely job on the Pony Express Trail. He had welcomed her without a word of complaint. “Merry Christmas, Martin.”
He looked at her, his eyes lingering on her hair, the bow, the earrings. “Merry Christmas, Caroline. I regret that I am not the man you hoped to spend your holiday with.”
“I should have known it was a fool’s dream, except I believed God had directed me to take the trip. Believed it more strongly than anything I have ever believed in my life.”
“Then I would say God brought you here for a reason. Just maybe not the reason you thought.” He turned them around and headed for the table. “I for one am glad to have company today. I tell myself I don’t mind being alone on holidays, but s
ometimes it’s hard.”
God hadn’t made her leave everything she had ever known behind so he wouldn’t be alone on Christmas, but she didn’t say so. “Hopefully that is the first of many reasons. Besides, I still have hopes we can find my father, if not today.”
His smile dimmed, but by the time he held her chair and reached his seat, it beamed brightly again.
Sally laid something on their plates. “I fixed cinnamon rolls. If you’re hungry later, snack on the stew. We’ll have a real feast later.”
A single roll filled a plate. Caroline didn’t know how they would finish them all, unless Martin had a big appetite. They chatted and talked about everything and nothing while they ate one roll each. Martin settled back, his hands behind his head. “Now that we’re not hungry, why don’t we read the Christmas story from Luke? And then maybe we’ll have room for more food.”
Martin enjoyed reading the Bible aloud, even when he was by himself. He moved about the room, using different voices for different characters. He had enjoyed it ever since he was a boy; he had played every role in the annual Christmas pageant from the year he was born until he played the role of Joseph at the age of twelve. After that, he reluctantly handed over the roles to younger children.
Caroline watched with interest. When he reached the angels’ song, she jumped to her feet and shouted the news with him. “‘And on earth peace, good will toward men!’”
“Hallelujah!” Sally shouted after Martin finished the passage in a whisper. “Now let’s eat another cinnamon roll.” She shoveled one onto Caroline’s plate.
“I can’t possibly.” Caroline cut the roll in half, and then a bit more, which she returned to the pan. “Especially with the promised feast.”
“I have one present to finish, if the two of you don’t mind cleaning up in the kitchen.” Sally assumed their acceptance.
Martin dropped the dishes into the sudsy water. “That was quite an addition to the angels’ song.”
“Oh.” Caroline blushed—something people with her red hair coloring did all too easily. “I liked to sing the part of an angel in the Christmas play. Mama used to say I had the voice of an angel and Papa—Papa called me his angel.”
With that, a warm feeling grew in his heart and up through his chest and out of his mouth in a smile. “Then let’s finish the dishes so we can exchange gifts.” Moments later, they finished, and he reached for a package about ten inches in length, slender, wrapped in newspaper but tied with yarn.
Oohs and aahs started as she unwrapped the head, hair falling down the back, wings extending from the shoulders, the robe reaching the feet.
“How did you do this in one night?” Caroline asked. She ran her fingers over the wings, feathered back like meadowlark, so smoothly sanded it almost felt like silk.
“If you let me have it back for a few hours today, I’d like to varnish it.”
“Oh, wonderful.” In spite of her words, she didn’t let go. “But why an angel?” Awe filled her voice. “My own Christmas angel. I need this so very much.”
“You know that verse in Hebrews that talks about entertaining strangers, because some people entertained angels that way?” He took the figure and spoke to it. “I don’t think you’re an angel from heaven, but I do believe God sent you to me yesterday.”
“Oh, Martin.” She jumped up from her chair and hugged him. “It sounds like God planned my trip down to the very day I arrived. I have to believe”—her voice wavered—“that God wanted me here, and I hope He will still help me to see my father.” She swallowed and said, “So are we exchanging gifts now or what?”
“Come on in,” Sally called. “This is a gift for both of you.”
Somewhere, somehow, Sally had found the top of a tree—or a tiny tree—no more than four feet tall. She had placed a lace angel at the top. A rope of popcorn and mistletoe berries twisted around the tree. Martin glanced at his windowsill. Some of it was gone, but not all. She also had tied ribbons to the branches and every time something touched a branch, a jingle bell sounded. “I thought the bells could do double duty—we could use them on the harness while we drive back to town.”
A ride through the snow, with the horses’ hooves kicking up snow along the side, jingling bells, the laughter of the two women with him. “Caroline, are you from South or North Carolina?”
“North. So while I have read of sleigh rides in the snow, I have never taken one. I’m not certain if I’m frightened or excited.”
“You should be excited.” Sally’s voice echoed Martin’s. “Provided you are properly dressed. But that’s no matter. Between Martin and me, we can arrange something warm for you.”
“The tree is lovely,” Caroline said.
Someone had folded away the trundle bed and pushed the curtain back, making the room larger again. Caroline? She looked and talked like a proper lady, but she knew how to work hard.
She’d have to, to make it to Chelan Station from North Carolina.
She reached into her valise and placed two small gifts under the tree. “Look, there are already gifts here, from Sally. If anyone is our Christmas angel, it’s you.”
Martin hid a smile. Sally had been looking for a way to get him to her house ever since he arrived at the station. Caroline’s arrival gave her the perfect opportunity to bring her house to his. If she was a lonely woman who took lost souls under her wing, she could help Caroline. He was doing fine on his own.
While Caroline placed her presents beneath the tree, Martin went for Sally’s gift, hidden among the vegetables, the last thing he expected her to seek on Christmas morning. His ruse had succeeded.
What would Sally give him? She had already given in to her whimsical picture of a perfect Christmas morning, so her other gifts might be more practical. Running the store as she did, she had a better handle than almost anyone in town as to what new settlers would need. Of course, they didn’t know if Caroline would stay. She had her mind set on finding her father, which he doubted was possible.
Martin looked at the ceiling, where George Adams had left a few marks during his time with the Pony Express, and hit his forehead with the heel of his hand. He had forgotten the most important gift of all.
He almost tripped over the ladies on his way to the business counter, where he reached underneath his records as station manager for a worn black leather book.
He returned to the fireplace. Sally bounced on her seat, but Caroline simply looked up with interest. “Is that your Bible?”
“No.” There was no way to say it but plain. “I believe it’s your father’s journal. He left it behind.” He handed it to her before she could grab it out of his hands.
Chapter Four
The room faded in the background as Caroline opened the brittle pages. “The Travels of George W. Adams, January 1, 1845.”
The first new year after he left his family. “Oh my.” The story she had wanted to know—why? And how?—in her hands, at last. “I did find my father on Christmas Day.”
Martin came up behind her, his strong shoulders reminding her of the father who always made her feel safe. She leaned back for a moment, then reminded herself Martin was there because her father had deserted his post.
Every cell in her body wanted to hide in a corner and read until she finished the last page of the journal, hopefully with some clue of where he had gone.
“This is the next step on the journey. It has to be.” She wrapped the journal in the newspaper from the angel figurine. “Papa kept it for fifteen years before he left it behind. He wanted me to find it.”
Martin let go of her shoulder and stepped away, mumbling under his breath. Sally replaced her frown with her determined cheerfulness. “That sounds like a wonderful idea. The storm will keep us here for at least another night, so you’ll have plenty of time for reading. Now how about some more presents?”
Caroline wished she had something better for Sally, although she had been so kind. “This is for you, Sally.” She had stitched together a patchw
ork gift bag from the scraps her hostess had brought with her.
“What a lovely bag. I’m sure I’ll have many opportunities to use it.” Sally pulled out a small glass bottle. “Essence of mimosa.” She dabbed some on her shoulders and wrists. “Why, it’s like summertime in the middle of winter.” Sally sniffed the open bottle then held it out for Caroline. “You brought this with you. I can’t accept it.”
Caroline called on the fortitude that allowed her to leave Charlotte behind without regret. “It is yours. It came from my mother, and you have treated me like a daughter since we met.”
Sally’s eyes locked with Caroline’s and she nodded. “I will use it with honor. I hope you’ll like my present.”
As curious as Caroline was, she put off opening it. “It’s time for Martin to open something.” She pulled her gift from behind the tree and handed it over. “I bought this with my father in mind, but I believe you will enjoy it as well.”
“I’m not your father.” Martin’s voice ground as bitter as the taste of overbrewed coffee. “I don’t want a sentimental doodad for a man who left you behind.” He grabbed his coat. “It’s time I check on the horses.”
“What did I do wrong?” The distress of not finding her father had receded in the joy of the celebration, but Martin’s departure brought it back. Caroline blinked back tears.
“You’re a woman, and he seems to have a prejudice against the lot of us. Most of the men out here appreciate a good woman, but some are like Martin, hurt bad by something in their past.”
With that, Caroline’s tears fell and Sally opened her arms. “Come here, child.” She patted her back while Caroline’s stream of tears grew into a flood. “You did a good job holding on to those tears while Mr. Coldheart was around, but you need to cry. You’ve been looking forward to seeing your father for a long time.”
The Pony Express Romance Collection Page 15
