A Home for the Heart

by Michael Phillips

  The legislature was in Christmas recess, so Pa was home all the time, and he and Christopher worked every day together—sometimes just the two of them, sometimes with Zack and Tad. For about a week they just took care of odd jobs around the place that had been put off. And then, suddenly, they were making big plans.

  It was only three or four days before Christmas when all four of the men burst into the house together for supper, all talking among themselves so fast and excitedly that none of us knew what was going on.

  One thing I was sure of, Christmas was not on their minds right then!

  “That ground between the creek and the path up to Uncle Nick’s is perfect, Pa,” Zack was saying.

  “Yep, I like the idea,” Pa replied.

  “Might even be able to plant it with pasture grass—part of it anyway.”

  “What was that you were saying about a watering hole, Tad?”

  “Just that with the slope of the creek along there, it ought to be easy to dig a trough into the corral with a sluice that we can shut when it’s full.”

  “Why not just let them water in the stream?” asked Christopher.

  “Too many folks downstream use it for drinking water. Some of the town too,” answered Pa.

  “So we’d have to fence off the stream?”

  “We’d make the stream the edge, and run a fence all along it, around in both directions to the new barn.”

  “What are the four of you talking about!” I finally asked.

  “We’re going to build a new horse corral and barn,” beamed Tad. “We’ve been walking it off and we’ve just about got everything figured out.”

  “But why?” asked Becky.

  “So we can get more cattle and more horses,” answered Pa.

  “Little Wolf’s got more’n he can handle up at his place now,” Zack explained. “This way I can keep some of the horses down here, and we can get some more besides.”

  “And I’ll be able to bring in some of my own,” added Tad.

  “And with the other barn and stables empty of the horses, we’ll be able to bring in maybe another dozen head of beef cattle,” said Pa. “It works out good all the way around.”

  Almeda suddenly burst out laughing.

  “What’s so funny?” asked Pa, throwing Christopher a wink.

  “I was just thinking about something Zack once said.”

  “Me? What did I say?”

  “Do you remember when you left for the Pony Express—”

  “If it was something I said on that day, I’d rather forget about it!” sighed Zack.

  “You complained that everything around here had to do with women and babies—don’t you remember?”

  “Yeah, yeah, I remember—don’t remind me!”

  “Well, you’ve turned the tables on me now.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Now the talk’s about all your men things, and we women are the ones left out!”

  Everyone had a good laugh over that, and we sat down for supper.

  Actually Almeda was right. Pa and Tad and Zack and Christopher were having so much fun working together that I couldn’t help envying them a little. Zack was spending less time up at Little Wolf’s, and Tad less time at the livery stable. I wanted to go out and be part of it too!

  Chapter 30

  Christmas Eve

  Christopher was invited to celebrate Christmas Eve with us and all of Christmas Day too. I had been wishing he didn’t have to stay in town Christmas Eve night, and Uncle Nick must have read my mind, because he invited Christopher to come spend the night with them. Pa and Almeda would have made room for him too, under any other circumstances, but it wouldn’t have been proper for him to stay under the same roof with me, even if we hadn’t had a houseful.

  The biggest surprise of all was that my sister Emily and her husband Mike appeared two days before Christmas with my little niece Sarah. Nobody knew they were coming for a visit, and the excitement still hadn’t worn off two weeks later when they had to leave.

  Christmas Eve was so wonderful. Our whole family was together again . . . and I had Christopher besides!

  We ate early and then piled into several wagons—all of us and Christopher and Uncle Nick’s family—and headed into town for the community Christmas Eve get-together.

  While I’d been gone, the town had built a small building near the church. It served as a town hall and a meeting room and an extra school building all in one.

  “You know, Corrie,” said Uncle Nick as we got down and began walking toward the hall, “this is going to be the biggest Christmas party Miracle Springs has ever seen.”

  “Why?”

  “Because everybody wants to see your new feller.”

  “Nah,” chimed in Pa behind us, “it’s Corrie herself they want to see. Some of the folks still ain’t seen her since she’s been back.”

  “Shoot, Corrie,” added Zack. “Nobody really wanted to have a Christmas party. They just wanted an excuse to hear about your escapades back East. Heck, they’re probably even going to want you to give a speech or something.”

  “You got a speech ready?” teased Uncle Nick.

  “No,” I laughed. “Everybody’s seen me already at church or one place or another. It’s Emily they’ll be coming to see. But look how nice the hall looks with the windows all lit up!”

  “Should be,” said Tad. “We all helped build it.”

  “Yep,” added Pa, “bought and paid for by the citizens of Miracle Springs.”

  “I object t’ that remark, hee, hee, hee!” sounded a voice behind us.

  “Hey, Alkali!” said Uncle Nick, turning around. “They even invited an old goat like you?”

  “Yep, they did, hee, hee, hee. But what you doin’ callin’ ol’ Murphy a citizen, Drum?” he said to Pa. “He weren’t one heck of a citizen and you knows it. Why the only reason—”

  “We know, Alkali,” put in Uncle Nick. “But the extra financing had to come from somewhere, even if it had to be him.” He winked over his shoulder at Pa.

  We could already hear music coming from the open door, and we walked on inside.

  All three of us turned out to be right. I visited with several people I hadn’t seen since I’d been back. And since there hadn’t been a church service since Mike and Emily had arrived, a lot of people were surprised to see them, and they were the center of attention. But there was still a lot of curiosity about Christopher too, and more than once I saw eyes looking his way from some of the more gossipy groups of women.

  The hall looked bright and festive in the lantern light. A few colorful piñatas—red, yellow, and green—hung from the ceiling, donated by the few Mexican families that had moved into the community. A refreshment table off to the side boasted huge bowls full of fresh eggnog some of the women had made, and platters and platters of Christmas cookies. The aroma of refreshments mingled with the faint smell of paint, which you could detect when the hall hadn’t been used in a while. The logs in the fireplace were just starting to blaze cheerfully and get the hall nice and warm.

  The music we’d heard came from the end of the hall opposite the refreshment table, where Patrick Shaw sat on a stool picking his banjo. Several children had gathered around and were asking him about it. Tad had brought his guitar along, and within another minute or two they had joined together in picking and strumming out “Unclouded Day.”

  “Still pickin’ at that banjo of yours, I see, Pat,” said Pa as he walked up.

  “Yep—keeps me outta trouble.”

  Now Christopher joined the small crowd, intrigued. Pa introduced him to Patrick Shaw and they shook hands.

  “I’ve never seen a banjo up close like this, Mr. Shaw,” said Christopher.

  “Call me Pat.”

  “All right, Pat.” Christopher paused, gazing at the instrument. “What a wonderful sound! How do you get your fingers to move so fast without having them stumble all over each other?”

  Mr. Shaw laughed.

  “Hour
s and hours of workin’ at it,” he answered. “My old man gave me a banjo when I was a boy, and for years I didn’t do much else.”

  He finished off his sentence with a fast-fingered break up the neck of the instrument that ended with higher notes than it seemed any banjo ought to be able to make.

  “Play something else,” said Christopher.

  The fingers on Mr. Shaw’s right hand leapt into action again, so fast you could hardly see them, while his left moved up and down and all about the neck for about forty seconds. By the time he was finished, nearly everyone in the hall was clapping and stomping their boots on the floor, and applause exploded when he finished.

  “Hey, Pat,” said Pa, “I think you’re even better’n the last time I heard you!”

  Mr. Shaw laughed. “I still manage to learn a new tune or work out some new break every now and then. Once a banjo picker, always a banjo picker, they say!”

  “Do you know ‘Angel Band’?” asked Christopher.

  In answer, Mr. Shaw began to play the old familiar waltz. A moment later and Tad was picking his guitar, and then Christopher began to sing. A few people wandered over and joined in, and pretty soon half the room was singing it with them. When it was over, another began, followed by another.

  Then Christopher suggested “Brightest and Best.”

  Patrick and Tad were so good that it only took them ten or twenty seconds to get into the same key and figure out how they were going to do it, and then they could play just about anything anyone suggested.

  For the next hour we all sang Christmas carols, with Mr. Shaw and Christopher leading the whole thing.

  I couldn’t believe it. For someone who said he was shy, Christopher could sure be the life of the party. He was such an interesting man! I hoped I never got tired of finding out new things about him.

  The biggest surprise of all was that I’d never heard him sing before. Not only could he lead singing, he had a wonderful voice.

  “That’s quite a man you’ve got there, Corrie,” said Rev. Rutledge to me as we were standing off to one side mingling our singing with talk. “A natural-born leader if ever I saw one. If I need any help with my church work, I’ll certainly know who to call upon.”

  “I’m sure he would like that,” I said. “His one and only experience with a church wasn’t altogether pleasant.”

  Just then his wife joined us.

  “Merry Christmas, Corrie.”

  “Merry Christmas, Harriet.”

  “How are you feeling, Avery?” she asked Rev. Rutledge.

  “A little better—still tired.”

  “Are you ready to go?”

  “I think so,” he answered, then looked back toward me. “I think we are going to go home now, Corrie,” he said. “Why don’t you and Christopher drop in on us after the Christmas bustle settles down. We would like to get to know him better.”

  “Good . . . we will.”

  “Fine. We’ll look forward to it.”

  “And we’ll see you out at the house tomorrow?”

  “Wouldn’t miss it.”

  “Merry Christmas, then.”

  “Merry Christmas to you too, Corrie.”

  “Good night.”

  The minister and his wife got their coats, and I watched them as they walked slowly toward the door. Even with her limp, Harriet suddenly seemed to have so much more energy than Rev. Rutledge.

  After a moment, I turned and went over to rejoin the boisterous carolers.

  Chapter 31

  The Most Wonderful Christmas Ever

  I had hoped for a snowy Christmas, but it didn’t happen. It was a cold day, but the sun was shining bright and cheery.

  Emily, Becky, Tad, Zack, and I were up at the crack of dawn with Ruth and baby Sarah—all excited and eager for the day to begin. Christmas brought out the child in all of us! We five brothers and sisters hadn’t all been together for years, much less for Christmas, and it was so wonderful to pretend we were young again. Mike and Christopher watched and laughed, but there was something special between us five. We’d been through a lot together, and the bonds of love between all of us ran deep.

  Christmas always unites past with present, bringing with it memories of times that have gone before. I found that all the more true on this particular Christmas.

  Pa and Almeda must have sensed what a special occasion it was for us, for when we got up on Christmas morning we found five of Pa’s big white stockings hanging from the hearth right along with the stockings we’d hung last night for Ruth and Sarah. Each had one of our names on it and was stuffed to the top with fruits and nuts and candies and other goodies.

  I was nearly thirty, but I squealed with delight as I ran into the living room, and so did all the rest. Pa, I think, was happiest of all to see his children part of a family where love was the foundation.

  Such a festive spirit filled that whole day!

  Delicious aromas had been wafting through the rooms for a week before the day actually arrived, but they were absolutely bursting with the smell of Christmas. Fruitcakes and cookies and fresh bread all had to compete with the fragrance of hot coffee, along with sage and onion for the stuffing and all the other dishes being prepared for the day’s feast later in the afternoon.

  The house looked like Christmas too. Wreaths we had all made, ribboned in red and sparkled with tinsel, hung on all the doors. The needles of the tree cast a subtle fragrance of the forest about the corner of the room where it stood. A special red and green knit coverlet lay on the sofa.

  Uncle Nick and Aunt Katie came with Christopher and the children for a late breakfast about nine. Then the Rutledges and Alkali Jones came about eleven. By then the kitchen was warm and bustling and full of women, all trying to help, but mostly enjoying being together on the day.

  I was amazed to see how many children were in the house—a whole new generation was coming up. Life goes by so quickly. You grow up, and before you know it there are youngsters looking up and thinking you are one of the adults . . . when it seemed such a short time ago that you were just like they are now.

  Uncle Nick and Aunt Katie had brought their three—Erich, who was ten, and seven-year-old Joan, and little four-year-old Jeffrey. The Rutledges brought six-year-old Mary. And of course we had our Ruth, who had turned eight since I had come home, and eighteen-month-old Sarah, who was charming everyone as she enjoyed her first “real” Christmas.

  That made six people under ten years old at the dinner table. Then Christopher and Mike and we five Hollister kids would make seven who were between twenty and just barely over thirty. And then there were Pa and Almeda and Uncle Nick and Aunt Katie and Harriet and Rev. Rutledge and Alkali Jones—yet another age group, except that some of them were mixed in with our generation. I reckon it would have been a little confusing for a visitor, but it sure made for a lively Christmas!

  While the women were working in the kitchen, Pa and Mr. Jones and Uncle Nick and Rev. Rutledge sat in the living room and talked. Mike was busy outside trying to explain the game of baseball to Christopher, who, though he had been in the East, had never heard of it. Before long the two of them, along with Tad and Erich and Zack, were tossing and hitting a ball around. The two younger Belles and the youngest Hollister were running back and forth between all three groups, while Emily did what she could between the kitchen and taking care of Sarah.

  “How you feeling, Avery?” I heard Pa asking.

  “Little better,” answered Rev. Rutledge. “It was a difficult autumn for me, though. I think I’m on the mend.”

  I glanced over and couldn’t help but see on Harriet’s face an expression of mingled pain and concern, as if she didn’t know whether she agreed. I looked away again and wondered but didn’t say anything.

  The men’s conversation, as so often happened, drifted to mining.

  “I take it, then,” Rev. Rutledge asked, “that all of you still think there’s gold yet to be found.”

  “We ain’t been successful at finding where
it is,” answered Pa, “but there’s reasons to believe that’s exactly the case.”

  “Hee, hee—we been chasin’ the blamed vein for years,” cackled Mr. Jones, “and if y’ ask me, it heads straight into the mountain.”

  “Or quits right where we did,” added Uncle Nick. “If you ask me, we got all we’re gonna get outta that hill.”

  “Why don’t you explore farther in?” asked Rev. Rutledge.

  “We always planned to,” said Pa. “But I’m away so doggone much, and the boys is always doing other things. And who knows but what Nick’s right and there ain’t no more gold? I reckon we just ain’t ever figured it was worth all the work it’d take to find out.”

  The conversation was interrupted as the door burst open.

  “I’m famished!” exclaimed Mike, heading straight for the kitchen to see what he could steal to tide over his still-young appetite.

  “You get out of here, young man!” admonished Almeda with a laugh. “You just had breakfast, and dinner’s a long way off.”

  Christopher made a dash for a plate of deviled eggs behind her and caught up two just as she turned around.

  “Christopher Braxton!” she cried.

  But he was out of reach in an instant, handing one of the eggs to Mike with a wink as they made good their escape from the kitchen.

  Zack and Tad followed inside a minute later, but instead of heading for the kitchen they joined the group of men and sat down, breathing hard.

  “What have you two rascals been up to?” said Pa.

  “Just a little game of chase . . . like the old days,” said Tad.

  “Except that now I can’t outrun you!” rejoined Zack. “When did you get so fast anyway?”

  “When you weren’t looking!” answered Tad. “Hey—” he exclaimed, “Zack, let’s you and me show Mike and Christopher how to play fortress.”

  “Let me get my breath first—what teams?”

  “I’m the youngest, Christopher’s the oldest. How about me and him against you and Mike.”

  “Fair enough,” replied Zack. “What about Erich?”

  “We could get both him and Ruth—then it’d be even.”