Silver Belles and Stetsons

by Caroline Clemmons

  He half-raised himself and called, “Mama, Mama.”

  She jumped to her feet. Her son hadn't called her “Mama” since he was three years old. She rushed to his side and took him in her arms. And almost screamed when she touched him.

  He felt as if he was on fire!

  He curled into her and whispered, “Mama, I'm so hot. Can I have a drink of water?”

  Panic sluiced through her, squeezing her heart and knotting her stomach. With a shaking hand, she grabbed the jug of water on the bedside table and poured a glass. She held the glass to his mouth, and Kevin gulped down the water.

  She eased him down and pulled the covers to his chin. “Kevin, let me get some cool compresses. Try to rest and I'll be back in a minute.”

  He groaned and sank into the bed.

  She pulled open the door and started toward the servants' back stairs for Elisa and Juan's room, which was situated off the kitchen. But with her hand wrapped around the newel post, she hesitated.

  Clint had told her to call on him if she needed help, and he was great at lifting and turning Kevin, allowing her to apply the compresses to her son's feverish body. On the other hand, someone needed to send Juan to the springs for fresh water. She dithered for a moment, fear for her son muddling her thoughts and making it difficult to come to a decision.

  She needed Clint—he would know what to do.

  She sprinted up the stairs to the third level and knocked on his door.

  “Who's there?” he called out, making her wonder if he ever slept or maybe he'd just returned from his late night rounds.

  “It's me, Clint. Kevin is worse. His fever is spiking,” she raised her voice, not caring if she woke the other boarders. “Can you help me?”

  She heard the sound of his feet hitting the floor and then he flung open the door. He combed his hand through his tousled hair. His shirt gaped open, revealing his well-muscled chest.

  “You say he's worse. When did this happen?”

  “Just a few minutes ago, I think. Should I send Juan to the springs?”

  “No, I have a better idea. I've been reading some medical journals.” He pulled his shirt together and started buttoning it. “I'm going to help Juan haul the hip-bath to Kevin's room. I want you and Elisa to bring up buckets of lukewarm water, not cool, but lukewarm.”

  She grabbed his arm. “Not cool and immerse him in a bath? Oh, Clint, are you sure?”

  “It's the latest treatment prescribed by John Hopkins.”

  “Who or what is John Hopkins?”

  “It's the best new hospital in Baltimore. Their doctors are the smartest on the East Coast and I read an article that said—”

  “You've convinced me.” She pulled on his arm. “Let's go. There's no time to waste.”

  An hour later Kevin sank against the back of the tub and closed his eyes with a sigh.

  Abigail brushed the hair from his forehead. He was cool to the touch. She sobbed and crumpled beside the hip bath.

  Clint grabbed a towel and moved to the other side of the bathtub. “Here, son, let's get you dry and back in bed.” He helped Kevin to his feet and dried off the upper part of the boy's body. Then he lifted Kevin out and finished drying his legs.

  “Does he have a fresh nightshirt?”

  “What, what?” Abigail lifted her head and dashed at her eyes with a corner of her apron. It was the first time she'd allowed herself to cry in front of Kevin. He was sick enough without witnessing his mother's fears.

  But this time, she hadn't been able to control herself. His high fever had been both terrifying and gut wrenching. At first…at first…she'd been afraid she would lose him.

  Clint had come to her rescue again.

  She sniffled. “Yes, in the chest of drawers.” She pushed to her feet. “I'll get it.”

  Together they pulled the clean nightshirt over Kevin's head, gave him another glass of water and tucked him into bed.

  Dawn was breaking outside her son's window, a gray December dawn. Arm in arm, she and Clint staggered to the window and looked out.

  “Thank you, Clint,” she murmured. “He might have…might have…if you hadn't read about the bath.” She turned her face into his chest. “I don't know what I would have done without you.”

  “Shhh, it's all right now. Everything's all right.” He stroked her hair. “You need some rest, too, Abby…Abigail. I can stay with Kevin while you sleep for a few hours.”

  “Please, call me Abby. I shouldn't have…shouldn't have…” The words wouldn't come; she was too tired to talk.

  He lifted her into his arms. “I'm taking you to your room and putting you to bed…Abby.”

  She nodded and snuggled against him, comforted by the familiar masculine scent of him, horseflesh and leather.

  Chapter Ten

  "Joy to the world! The Lord is come

  Let earth receive her King!

  Let every heart prepare Him room

  And heaven and nature sing

  And heaven and nature sing

  And heaven, and heaven and nature sing

  Joy to the world! the Savior reigns

  Let men their songs employ

  While fields and floods

  Rocks, hills and plains

  Repeat the sounding joy

  Repeat the sounding joy

  Repeat, repeat the sounding joy."

  The warbled notes of the Christmas carol sounded beneath Kevin's window. Abigail turned and looked. Kevin was slumped against his pillow, listening to her read the serialized edition of “Treasure Island” by Robert Louis Stevenson. But when he heard the singing, her son perked up and he threw back the covers.

  Abigail reached out to touch his forehead, but her son dodged and said, “Aw, Ma, I'm fine. I haven't had a fever in three days.” He pointed at the window. “And they're singing outside. Can I go and see?”

  She picked up his robe and threw it over his shoulders. “Okay, put this on before you go to the window in your nightshirt.”

  With her hand on his shoulder, they both went to the window and looked below. Standing in the front yard of the boardinghouse was an assortment of adults mixed with children, holding hymnals and candles, and singing in a variety of voices, some on key and some slightly off.

  “What are they doing, Ma?”

  “They're caroling. But it's the first time I've seen it in Del Rio. Carolers used to go around in St. Louis where I grew up.”

  Kevin tugged on her sleeve. “But what's caroling?”

  “Uh, it's where some people, usually from church, gather together before Christmas and go around to their neighbors' homes, singing Christmas hymns.”

  “Oh, looks like fun, 'specially getting to go around at night with candles. Not as good as my jack o' lantern but still… I wish I could go caroling.” He tugged again and she glanced down. “And you promised I could go back to school tomorrow and visit Esther.”

  She smoothed his unruly hair from his forehead, and this time, he didn't duck away. “Yes, you're going back to school tomorrow. And you'll have to work hard to catch up, as much school as you've missed and with Christmas coming.”

  Kevin's brown eyes lit up. “How many days until Christmas, Ma?”

  “About ten days.”

  “And this Christmas will be different, right? You promised me while I was sick. Remember?”

  “Yes, I promised you and I meant it. We'll go to church like we always do, but we'll have a big feast with lots of sweets. And after dinner, we'll light the Christmas tree's candles and open the gifts under the tree.”

  Kevin clapped his hands and skipped across the room. “Aw, Ma, I can't wait.”

  She smiled and said, “I know, Kevin, I can barely wait either.” But she was concerned, too, knowing she'd need to get busy to give Kevin the kind of Christmas she'd dreamed about but had never experienced.

  Living under her father's stern and miserly rule, Christmas had always consisted of church-going, a nice meal with the customary one dessert, and maybe a sto
cking filled with a few pieces of hard candy.

  A hard candy Christmas—it was all she'd ever known.

  She wanted more for her son, wanted Christmas to be a special time for him to remember. But she'd better get busy, if she wanted to pull it off.

  Luckily, when Kevin had fallen ill and demanded all of her time, she'd had extra help. Elisa's widowed sister, Rosa, had stayed on. And the boardinghouse had run smoothly and still turned a profit even though she'd had no time to help.

  She'd hired Rosa permanently the day before. Abigail would continue to supervise the running of the house, ordering supplies, paying bills and balancing the ledgers. But the day-to-day cooking, carrying, scrubbing, and laundry would be done by Elisa, Rosa, and Juan.

  When Kevin had turned the corner, she'd taken the past couple of nights to balance the boardinghouse books, and she'd been surprised to learn her father had paid his personal expenses through the house, while contributing nothing of his salary. His salary had been scrupulously put into the Del Rio National Bank each payday and the Presbyterian Church had been the beneficiary.

  But she refused to be bitter—the past was the past. Knowing and learning to love Clint, after all she'd been through, she had to believe in second chances.

  The carolers had finished “Joy to the World” and “Silent Night” beneath Kevin's window. With calls of “Merry Christmas” and lots of goodbye waves, they moved down the street, starting another carol, “O, Little Town of Bethlehem.”

  Abigail waved back and called down to her neighbors. Kevin stood on tiptoe, looking over the windowsill and waving, too.

  The door opened behind them, and they turned. Clint stood on the threshold, a new bright-blue bandana tied at his throat, making the blue in his eyes appear even brighter.

  “Sheriff!” Kevin shouted and ran to him.

  Clint scooped her son up and gave him a hug. He glanced at her and smiled his lop-sided smile. “When is your Mama going to let you out of jail? Do I need to spring you?”

  “She says tomorrow I can go to school and visit Esther.”

  He set Kevin down on his feet. “That's good.” He grinned at the boy. “I was beginning to think you were in for a life sentence.”

  “Nah, Ma would never do that.” Kevin grinned back.

  “And what are you going do as soon as you're back in school and on your feet?”

  Kevin stared down at his feet and then his face brightened. “Ask around town for odd jobs so's I can take care of Esther.”

  “That's my boy.” Clint squatted down and poked Kevin in the chest. “And what did you think of the carolers?”

  “You sent them?”

  “Yep, needed to get you out of your sick bed and into the Christmas spirit.” He rose and exchanged a grownup look with Abigail over Kevin's head. “Time's a'wasting and Christmas is almost here.”

  “I've never seen carolers in Del Rio before,” she said.

  “They came over from the Methodist Church. Told them we had a convalescing boy who needed some Christmas cheer.”

  “That was kind of you.” She pursed her lips. “Maybe we'll go to the Methodist Church for Christmas services.” She looked up and caught Clint's eye. “I've not much cared for the Presbyterians.”

  Clint nodded. “We'll all go, come Christmas morning.” He scrubbed a hand over his jaw. “I've always been partial to the Methodists. They helped me and my Mama some times when we got into scrapes.”

  “What else are we gonna do for Christmas, Sheriff?” Kevin asked. “Ma said we could get a tree. I've never had a Christmas tree before.”

  “Yep, we need a tree. We'll ride out on Saturday and get us one,” Clint said.

  “Yippee!” Kevin whooped. “And I'm coming with you on Esther?”

  “You bet.” Clint tousled Kevin's hair. “I wouldn't think of picking a tree without you. You're my chief tree picker.” He grinned. “Now scoot back to bed. You need to rest up for tomorrow.”

  “Yes, sir, Sheriff.” Her son drew himself up and saluted.

  Clint chuckled and followed her son to bed where he tucked him in and turned down the wick on the kerosene lamp.

  Clint turned and faced her. And the look in his eyes was filled with yearning and a kind of hunger, too.

  She lowered her head, not certain how to respond, especially in front of her half-asleep son. She knitted her fingers together. “Where will y'all find a Christmas tree in west Texas?” she asked, thinking of the lush-branched pine and fir trees she'd seen in pictures.

  “You know those fat piñon trees in the hills. We'll get one of those.”

  Abigail clapped her hands. “I hadn't thought of a piñon tree. They're so short and squat.”

  “Yeah, but they decorate pretty. Plenty of your neighbors get them for Christmas.”

  Sadness swept her, thinking about what he'd said…and what she'd missed. Before, she'd been closed up in this house with no neighbors or friends to speak of and no one to share special times with. Clint had brought the carolers and now he and Kevin would get a tree to decorate.

  Thinking of it, her heart lifted and she was excited. Like a little girl, she didn't want to wait another day for Christmas. But the grownup part of her cautioned there was much to be done: baking, making ornaments for the tree, and buying gifts. She knew exactly what she wanted to give Clint and Kevin for Christmas. And for once, she had the money to pay for her purchases.

  It was an exhilarating feeling.

  Clint closed the gap between them and took her hand. “Can you figure out some decorations for the tree?”

  She smiled. “I think I can come up with something.”

  ***

  Abigail stood on the threshold to the boardinghouse's parlor and gazed in wonder. It was Christmas Eve and this would be a holiday to remember.

  Clint, with the help of her son, had outdone himself, finding a huge, round, six-foot tall piñon tree. Elisa and Rosa had helped, too, cutting and gathering fragrant cypress branches and armloads of the native chaparral plant with its bright red berries and light-green leaves.

  The mantel and all the window frames were festooned with the evergreen branches and crimson berries. Fat, yellow-wax candles nestled among the branches overlaid on the mantle, dancing and twinkling in her mother's best brass candelabra, rescued from the attic and polished to a golden glow.

  She glanced over her head. Trust Clint to have remembered the most important item—a big branch of white-berried mistletoe, suspended from the doorway overhead.

  Last night, the few remaining boarders had been banished from the parlor, and she, along with her son, Clint, Elisa, and Juan had made merry into the wee hours of the night, decorating the Christmas tree.

  They'd popped corn in the fireplace and strung it on thread and circled the tree with it. She and Elisa had spent afternoons sewing sparkling ornaments of sequins and bright-colored braid. Kevin had colored countless strips of paper and glued them into loops, stringing them together as another chain, circling the piñon tree.

  Along with her mother's candelabra from the attic, Abigail had found small toys that had belonged to her family: a stuffed bear and some other stuffed animals, a few dolls and tin soldiers, some tops and yo-yos and hoops, old agate-eye marbles she'd pierced and strung on yarn, and even a pair of silver bells Leanna had fastened on her ice skates in St. Louis. All of these reminders of her childhood got some spit and polish and were hung from the tree branches.

  Then they'd attached small candles cupped in tin foil to the ends of the biggest branches and tomorrow, before they opened their presents, she'd light each one of the candles and they would enjoy the magical glow of their first real Christmas tree.

  Clint, with his usual dash, had added the final adornment—the only store-bought ornament—an enormous and glittering silver-painted star, to represent the Christ Child's Star of Bethlehem.

  Looking at the tree, Abigail couldn't quite take it in. The wonder and awe of it, the festive and glorious sight. She sighed.

/>   How good was life? How good and sweet it could be.

  And tonight after they went caroling, they'd return to their rooms to wrap their Christmas gifts for one another. And she couldn't wait to see everyone's faces tomorrow when they opened her gifts.

  She'd gotten Elisa a bolt of shimmering blue crepe for a dress and a new sombrero for Juan. For her son, she'd bought him a new bridle and bit for Esther. And for Clint, she'd noticed, the first time she'd cleaned his room, how threadbare his toiletry kit was. She'd purchased him a new comb and brush, along with a silver-handled razor.

  What a joy to give gifts. For her, that was the essence of Christmas—remembering the Christ Child by giving with an open heart.

  And wouldn't her son be surprised by Clint's gift? Clint had wanted to give Kevin a new rifle. She shuddered, not wanting to remember Lucas' fascination with firearms.

  She'd told Clint the second-hand saddle for Esther was more than enough. But with his usual generosity, Clint had deferred to her wishes about the rifle, but he couldn't resist having a gift for Kevin to open. He'd sent away for a baseball mitt and ball. He wanted to teach her son the sport, saying it would hone Kevin's reflexes…whatever that meant.

  Hugging her midriff, she couldn't help but wonder what Clint had gotten her. Excitement, like a troop of butterflies, rioted in her stomach.

  She heard the scrape of boots and the jingle of spurs against the hardwood hallway floor and knew Clint was coming.

  Glancing up, she saw his broad shoulders filling the doorway. Underneath his right arm, he had a paper-wrapped package. Was the gift for Kevin or for her? Or for someone else?

  She loved wondering and guessing about their gifts for one another, along with all the decorations, making Christmas such a joy.

  “Happy Christmas Eve,” she said.

  He tipped the brim of his Stetson. “Merry Christmas to you too.”

  He put his package and hat on a side table in the foyer and took her elbow. Swinging her around as if she weighed no more than a rag doll, he drew her into his arms. His gaze raked her form, taking in her new red velvet gown, trimmed with white lace.