The 12 Brides of Christmas Collection

by Mary Connealy

  Her words warmed Jacob’s heart, though he told himself she meant all of them, not just him.

  “All right.”

  Polly glanced toward where the team stood and then away. Jacob feared the sight of the one dead horse had upset her.

  “We had to put him down. That is, Billy Clyde did. He’d broken a leg, and he was screaming awfully.”

  She nodded, and he wondered if he had said too much.

  “Anyway, I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  She reached out her mittened hand and touched his sleeve. “Tell Billy and the others to warm themselves thoroughly before they set out. It’s a good two miles, and it was quite a journey out here.”

  Jacob helped the three men get the horses ready. Mr. Percival and Mr. Thomas assured him they could ride the two miles without saddles.

  “Can’t get much colder than we are out here,” Thomas said. “I’m game.”

  Jacob gave Billy Clyde a boost up onto the large wheeler’s back. Billy Clyde moaned before he straightened and took the single rein in his good hand.

  “You sure you’ll be all right?” Jacob asked.

  “I’ll make it.” Billy Clyde clucked to the horse and moved out ahead of the other two.

  When Jacob got back to the fire, Mrs. Ricker and the two uninjured men were huddled around it. The others had brought over two large satchels from the luggage boot and were now seated on them.

  “Shove that timber in a little farther,” Jacob said to one of the men.

  Polly was at the fringe of the circle of light, patting snow into a low barrier behind where the sick men lay.

  “Is it sticky enough?” Jacob asked.

  “I think so. We used to make snow forts when I was a child.”

  “I’ll help you.” The wind gusted, throwing a bushel of loose flakes into the air.

  Polly shook them off her head.

  “It seems awfully flaky and dry for this.” Jacob scooped up handfuls and tried to pack a snowball, but it wouldn’t hold together. “If we had a shovel …”

  “We just have to keep at it,” Polly insisted.

  “Maybe what you’re using is closer to the fire.” Jacob settled in to work beside her, determined not to quit, no matter what. He hoped the next gale wouldn’t blow away their wall. At least this exercise kept Polly moving. The others seemed content to stay seated on their luggage near the fire.

  “It could be hours before your father comes back,” Jacob said. “I’m thinking of busting up the coach wheels to burn.”

  “I think we’ve exhausted the supply of bushes nearby,” Polly said.

  “Yes. I’m not sure I can break up anything else without tools, though. And I hate to start busting up the coach.” Jacob looked toward the damaged stagecoach. The division agent would be upset enough when he heard about the accident, let alone if they burned the whole coach, but the broken wheel at least could be sacrificed.

  “There’s my Christmas tree,” Polly said.

  So, she had seen it. He was surprised the passengers hadn’t already tried to burn it. “I really don’t want to use that,” he said. “It’s small, and it would burn up fast. I don’t think it would do much good, really.”

  Polly smiled at him. “All right, but if we get desperate, it goes on the fire. Agreed?”

  “Agreed.”

  Mrs. Ricker walked over to where they worked.

  “I hate to trouble you, Mr. Tierney, but if you could find my husband’s valise, he had another jacket in it, and I thought perhaps I could get it on him. He’s shivering violently.”

  “Of course.”

  Jacob left Polly to work on the snow wall and went to help Mrs. Ricker. One of the other men came to the overturned coach and helped him retrieve Mr. Ricker’s valise. Jacob wrenched three loose spokes from the broken wheel and added them to the fire.

  Polly’s barrier was now nearly two feet high and about eight feet long. Mr. Ricker and the other injured man were sheltered behind it, and Jacob could feel the difference it made.

  Polly smiled up at him. “This work is keeping me warm.”

  “Good, because I don’t think we’ll find anything else to burn.”

  Jacob set to work with her, and they completed a semicircular snow wall that he estimated to be thirty feet long. Toward the last of it, one of the disgruntled men came to help them.

  “Might as well move about,” he muttered, and began to pack more snow along the top of the barrier.

  The fire burned down, but the snow had stopped falling, and the wall helped cut the wind. “Come on over here,” Jacob called to the other man, who sat stubbornly near the cooling ashes. Jacob, Polly, the two male passengers, and Mrs. Ricker sat shoulder to shoulder, near the makeshift pallet for the two wounded.

  “I suppose we could play Twenty Questions,” Polly said.

  One of the men laughed at her suggestion, but soon they all joined in, and the grumblers quit complaining.

  Jacob judged that two hours had passed since Mr. Winfield left them. Finally, he spotted a speck of light in the distance. He rose stiffly and plodded onto the trail. The tracks of those who had gone on were no longer visible, concealed by drifting snow, but he could still see the contour of the road. Far in the distance was the light he had glimpsed. He was now sure it was a lantern, shining for the oxen that trudged along pulling the sled.

  He turned back toward the group. “It’s Mr. Winfield. He’s coming!”

  Polly rose and staggered toward him. Jacob seized her hand and pulled her along through the snow.

  “Is it over your boot tops?” he asked.

  “I don’t know. I can’t feel my feet.” But she managed to advance toward the ox team.

  Mr. Winfield shouted, and when they at last met, Jacob saw that Ernest had returned with him.

  “We’ve got four hot soapstones,” Polly’s father said. “Is everyone all right?”

  “Nearly frozen,” Jacob told him. “We ran out of wood. Bring the sled closer, and I’ll help you load the two injured men. Can Mrs. Ricker ride as well?”

  “Yes, and there’s room for Polly,” Mr. Winfield said.

  “Pa, if you just let me warm my feet on one of those stones first, I’ll ride Lucy back,” Polly said.

  “If you’re sure.” Her father eyed her doubtfully. “We met Billy Clyde and the others a mile out from the house. I’m sure they made it in, but those horses were about done.”

  “You brought the mules,” Jacob said, peering through the dimness toward the shadowy forms behind the ox sled. Ernest rode one of the mule team and appeared to have the rest strung together on a lead line.

  “They don’t like it, but they’ve come along in the track of the sled. We’ve got only four, so you decide who rides what.”

  Jacob helped situate the injured men on the sled while Polly warmed her feet and her father got the other passengers onto mules. Mr. Winfield gave soapstones to Mrs. Ricker to use for the patients, and she settled down to ride beside her husband. Jacob and Ernest took the other two mules, and Polly’s father boosted her into Lucy’s saddle. The poor little buckskin would be glad to get back to the shelter of the barn, Jacob was sure.

  He took a last look back at the stagecoach and remembered one more thing.

  “I’ll be right back,” he told Polly.

  He urged his mule over to the side of the coach. It was mostly covered in snow now. By leaning over and scooping off six or eight inches of fluff with his arm, he was able to uncover his prize—the scraggly little tree he’d tied to the top of the vehicle.

  His fingers were too stiff to untie the knots, but he took out his knife and sliced through the rope. A moment later, he had the tree dragging behind him. The mule didn’t like it but was too tired to put up much of a fuss.

  Polly’s eyes were huge above the fold of scarf covering her mouth. “You’re going to bring it!”

  “Why not?” Jacob said. “After all the trouble I went to to get it, I don’t want to leave it behind.”

/>   She laughed. “Thank you! Come on, even the oxen are ahead of us.”

  They started out for the trek through the snow.

  Chapter 6

  Ma had lanterns burning on the front porch, and lamps cast their cheery light out the dining room windows. Polly’s heart cheered when she saw the welcoming glow. Billy Clyde, Mr. Thomas, and Mr. Percival waded out into the yard to meet them.

  “Go right in and get warm, folks,” Billy Clyde shouted. “Mrs. Winfield’s got a roaring fire going and hot vittles for ya.”

  Mr. Percival stepped forward to take Lucy’s bridle. “Are you all right, Miss Winfield?”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  “Your mother was quite worried about you,” he told her.

  “I was in good hands, but I’ll go right in and show her that I’m safe.”

  Mr. Thomas and Pa carried Mr. Ricker inside on a woolen blanket. Polly hurried past Jacob, who was untying the rope on his saddle horn so Billy Clyde could take the mule to the barn and unsaddle it.

  “Ma,” Polly shouted as she entered the house.

  Her mother came out of the kitchen, her cheeks rosy and her hands covered with flour.

  “Polly! You must be near frozen, child.”

  “Not so bad.” As she unwound her scarf, Polly hurried through to the kitchen stove. The guests could have the fireplace in the dining room, and no doubt her parents would let them into the parlor, too, by the small coal stove. “What can I do to help? We’ve all these extra people for at least the night, probably longer.”

  “Yes, I’ve thought of that. Billy Clyde helped me work out the arrangements.” Her mother wiped her hands. “First we’ll feed them and get them warm. I shall help with the injured gentlemen if needed. You’ll have to sleep in my room with me tonight, dear. We’ll give the Rickers your room, and your father can bunk with Jacob and Billy Clyde.”

  “That makes sense.” Polly doffed her mittens and stretched out her aching fingers toward the kitchen range. “What of the others?”

  “The men who aren’t hurt can sleep in the tenders’ room with Ernest. It will be snug, but at least it’s warm out there, and we’ll have more privacy. The injured ones will have to be in here, where we can care for them.”

  Polly unbuttoned her coat. “Well, I’m ready to work. Just tell me what to do.”

  “Take the biscuits out of the oven and put the sheet cake in. The stew has been simmering all evening. If you can serve it up and give them all hot coffee, I’ll distribute bedding. I expect your father will be tied up in the barn for a while, caring for the livestock, but we can make Mrs. Ricker comfortable and provide whatever she thinks will help her husband.”

  Polly put on her apron and went to work, humming a hymn as she flitted about the kitchen. When she entered the dining room with four steaming soup plates on a tray, the four male passengers who were able were seated at the table, along with Billy Clyde.

  “Hungry, gents?” Polly asked with a smile.

  “Famished,” said Mr. Percival. “Young lady, that smells delicious.”

  “My mother made it, so of course it is.” She set a dish before him and made her rounds of the table, setting a serving before each passenger. “Billy Clyde, I’ll bring yours in a trice, along with coffee and biscuits.”

  “Take your time, missy. It’s not like I’ll eat more than the tablecloth if you don’t hurry.”

  Polly laughed and scuttled into the kitchen to reload her tray.

  By the time the men had eaten their stew and were starting on the cake, Polly’s mother came in from the family quarters carrying an armful of quilts and linen.

  “Gentlemen, I apologize for the lack of order here. We don’t often have overnight guests.”

  “You owe us no penance, madam,” Mr. Percival said. “We’ve eaten like kings, and I’m told we’ll have a warm place to cast our bedrolls on the floor.”

  “Yes, there’s a stove in the tenders’ room,” Ma said. “I’ve brought out every extra blanket and sheet we own, and I’ll let you divvy them up as you see fit. We’ve settled Mr. O’Neal on the parlor sofa so we can keep an eye on him.”

  “How are he and Mr. Ricker doing?” Billy Clyde asked.

  “I think they’ll be much better for some warm broth and a good night’s sleep,” Ma said. “Mr. O’Neal seems to have a broken arm and quite a bump on his head. It’s Mr. Ricker I’m more worried about. He appears to have taken a blow to the head when the coach overset, and he’s terribly bruised. Broken ribs, I shouldn’t wonder.”

  “Too bad we didn’t have a doctor among us,” said Mr. Thomas, holding his cup out to Polly for more coffee.

  Pa, Jacob, and Ernest came through the front door after stamping the snow off their feet on the porch.

  “Time for the second sitting, gentlemen,” Polly told those at the table. “Perhaps Billy Clyde will show you your accommodations.”

  The four passengers went out carrying the bedding, and some of them their coffee mugs. It seemed very quiet when only Pa, Jacob, and Ernest remained.

  “I’ll take these dirty dishes off and bring you some stew,” Polly said.

  “I ate my supper,” Pa said, “but I could do with some of that cake, and I expect Jacob wants his stew.”

  “Whenever it’s convenient,” Jacob said.

  Ernest laughed. “Listen to him. You’re too polite, boy!”

  Jacob looked a little flustered, but he reached for one of the dirty plates. “Let me help you, Miss Polly.”

  “Sure,” Ernest said. “That way, we’ll get our eats quicker.”

  Polly piled her tray with crockery and flatware, and Jacob came around the table.

  “I’ll take that out for you. It looks heavy.”

  Ernest laughed again, and Polly felt her cheeks go scarlet.

  “Don’t mind him,” Jacob said when they reached the sanctuary of the kitchen.

  “He’s got no manners,” Polly said. “I’ve never once heard him offer to help Ma or me.”

  “Perhaps he didn’t grow up in a home with a nice mother who taught him to be polite and lend a hand,” Jacob said.

  Polly smiled as she lifted dishes into the dishpan. “I never thought of it that way.”

  Jacob’s return smile made her stomach queasy.

  “By the way, I left your tree out on the porch. Didn’t want to bring it in with snow all over it. I’ll see about it tomorrow, though. Where do you want it?”

  “In the parlor, if Mr. O’Neal’s not too sick to have us working around him.” Polly set the last of the dishes off the tray and took it from him. “Thank you, Jacob. I really appreciate that you took extra trouble to get that tree for me and that you thought to bring it here from the stage.”

  “I was glad to do it.”

  Their gazes held for a moment, and Polly thought she could stare into his twinkling brown eyes forever. Jacob looked away first, a half smile on his lips. “Shall I get my own stew?”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I need to wash a bowl for you. We ran out of dishes tonight.”

  She washed and dried one of the soup plates and ladled it full of stew. “I’ll bring in the biscuits, but the fresh coffee won’t be ready for a few minutes. Would you like water now?”

  “That’d be fine.” Jacob carried his dish into the dining room. While Polly put the last half-dozen biscuits on the serving plate, her mother came in with another tray of dishes.

  “I’m pleased. Mrs. Ricker got her husband to take some broth, and she ate a good supper herself. She’s a very sweet woman.”

  “I hope Mr. Ricker is going to be all right.” Polly hesitated then said, “Ma, how does a girl find a husband out here?”

  Her mother set her tray on the worktable. “You like Jacob, don’t you?”

  “Well, yes. Don’t you?”

  “He’s a very nice young man. Oh, Polly, back in Massachusetts, you’d meet suitable young men at church, or in town, or at neighbors’ houses. Here we have only those who pass by on the road. So far, I think
Jacob is the best of the lot.”

  “So do I,” Polly said, smiling.

  “But you must be careful. And your father and I must get to know him better and make sure of his intentions. Just because he is the first decent, eligible man to come along, does not mean he’s the one for you.”

  Polly nodded slowly, but she could barely hold back her smile. “I understand, Ma.”

  Christmas day dawned cold but sunny, with the Winfields and Jacob eating a hearty breakfast of eggs, sausage, and pancakes. The division agent had sent a crew two days previous with two sleighs, each pulled by six draft horses. They had taken away the stranded passengers. Ernest had gone with them, to spend the winter with his parents near St. Joseph, and Billy Clyde had joined the others in hopes of seeing the fort’s doctor about his arm.

  Jacob felt a bit awkward as the only guest for the holiday, but the Winfields assured him that he was welcome to stay.

  “We’ve got the stagecoach fixed right as rain,” Mr. Winfield said as he helped himself to seconds on sausage and pancakes. “As soon as the roads are good for wheeling again, Jacob will be able to resume his work.”

  “That’s if the line decides to keep me on,” Jacob said.

  Mr. Winfield reached for the molasses pitcher. “They should. You’ve proved you can repair your chariot as well as drive it.”

  Jacob laughed. “I suppose a driver who is handy with tools is an asset to the company.”

  “Indeed. And I’ll put in a good word for you.”

  When the meal was finished and the dishes done, they gathered in the parlor. Jacob didn’t dare sit down beside Polly on the sofa but took a chair opposite, where he had a good view of her yule tree. She had cajoled him, Billy Clyde, and Ernest into helping her decorate it. Though it came a foot short of the ceiling and its limbs drooped a little, it now stood resplendent in the corner, reaching its branches into the room, as though offering the popcorn strings and paper stars and angels that festooned it. Mrs. Winfield had brought out six glass ornaments from some recess in the house, and they seemed all the finer because they were few.

  Mr. Winfield opened the large family Bible on his lap as his wife settled down beside Polly, her knitting bag in her hands.