Chrissy's Wish

by Trana Mae Simmons

  Chrissy's Wish

  Trana Mae Simmons

  Copyright 2011 by Trana Mae Simmons

  Chrissy's Wish originally published by

  Dorchester Publishing, Inc., in 1995, as part of the

  Christmas Angels Anthology

  Witch Angel Excerpt Copyright 2011 by Trana Mae Simmons

  Witch Angel originally published by

  Five Star Publishing in 2005

  Republishing as an e-book in November 2011

  By Belgrave House

  Smashwords Edition

  Smashwords Edition, License Notes:

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, or by any means existing now or in the future, in whole or in part, without the express written permission of the author, except where permitted by law.

  This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination, or, if real, used fictitiously.

  Excerpt from Chrissy's Wish:

  He knew she didn't love him — and he sure couldn't be in love with her, especially since all they'd done since they'd first known each other was circle warily, like two dogs sniffing out a challenge. But he'd seen another side of Polly through Jose's eyes, as well as Chrissy's. And he wanted just once to see some respect for himself on Polly's face.

  He'd never thought a relationship with a woman would involve something like mutual respect. Part of his uneasiness with his thoughts last night had been because he was pretty darned mad at himself. He'd browbeaten Polly into agreeing to marry him, insisting it was the best thing for all of them. Polly was a strong woman, who had faced and overcome a lot of obstacles in her life. It took a lot to bully her, and maybe another man would've felt a certain, sneering satisfaction at subjugating her to his will. It left Sam feeling hollow — like he'd destroyed a precious, irreplaceable treasure, the only one of its kind.

  Towards morning, he had decided to let her out of their agreement. It surprised the heck out of him when he realized he couldn't follow through on that decision. He wanted her — not because of Chrissy, whom he already loved enough to lay down his life for — but because he couldn't give Polly up. She was stronger than him after all.

  Review:

  Chrissy's Wish is Trana Mae Simmons' enchanting story of a little girl's wish and prayer, invoking wonderful memories of childhood beliefs and dreams. Ms. Simmons' Christmas story reminds the reader that Christmas is a time for miracles and of Angels. Reviewed by GEnie Romance and Women's Fiction Exchange

  Dedication

  To all our little "sometimes" angels:

  Savanna, Preston, Nevaeh, and Joe-Joe

  Merry Christmas to all my readers!!

  Chapter 1

  Chrissy stretched to her tiptoes and looked out the cabin window, searching for her Aunt Polly until she saw her drawing a bucket of water from the well shaft. Aunt Polly balanced the bucket on the rim of the well while she untied it, then set it on the ground. Straightening, she placed both hands in the small of her back, arching and staring at the sky while she worked her fingers back and forth.

  All at once, Aunt Polly bent forward and covered her face with her hands. Though she couldn't hear her, Chrissy knew her aunt was crying again. She could see Aunt Polly's shoulders shaking, and her own throat tightened as a film of tears dusted her eyes.

  Aunt Polly had cried last night, too. She probably had thought Chrissy sound asleep, but she'd heard her through the bedroom wall. She'd been puzzling once again over what to give her beloved aunt for Christmas, which was only two and a half weeks away, and she'd tossed and turned instead of slipping straight into sleep as she usually did.

  Chrissy rubbed at her eyes and stepped back from the window. Recalling her aunt's reddened eyes at breakfast time, she quickly dropped her hands. She didn't want Aunt Polly to realize she'd been crying, too. Though her aunt had spoken in her usual, it's-going-to-be-a-wonderful-day voice this morning, Chrissy had caught the worry behind the cheerfulness. After all, she was five years old now — a big girl. Even that mean old rooster didn't bother her any more when she gathered the eggs all by herself.

  She lifted her chin in imitation of the tilt she saw so often on her aunt's face and crossed the small cabin floor to her bedroom. Closing the door behind her, she stood with her hands on her hips and stared at the ceiling.

  "I guess You're not hearing me real good," she said out loud. "Or maybe You think I'm se-selfish. I heard Tommy's mama telling him after church last week that he was being selfish 'cause he put so many things on his Christmas list. All's I asked for was a dolly, You know."

  She stood for another second, then crossed to her bed. Kneeling, she pressed her palms into prayer and bent her head, closing her eyes.

  "Preacher Jim always says I can be heard anytime I want to talk," she said. "Daytime or nighttime. I just got to be sin...." She frowned and pursed her lips in thought, then nodded her head. "Oh, yeah. Sincere. I think that means I shouldn't take up time for silly things. Me wanting Aunt Polly not to cry all the time's not silly, is it? And I think I know why she's crying, even if she keeps telling me things are fine and dandy."

  She glanced at the ceiling once more, her head cocked as though expecting a reply. When none come, she bent her head.

  "At church Sunday, all my friends had their papas with them," she continued. "And the papas were awfully nice to the mamas when it got time to leave. They helped them into the buggies and I even saw Mr. Pyle kiss Mrs. Pyle when he thought nobody was looking. They aren't a mama and papa yet — Mr. and Mrs. Pyle, I mean. But Aunt Polly says they're gonna have a baby of their own real soon."

  She shifted a little to ease the discomfort in her knees, then clenched her fingers tighter as she went on. "I know You probably seen all this, too, since Preacher Jim says You see everything. Didn't You see Aunt Polly's face when everyone started going home? She looked so lonesome. She helped me into the wagon, but she had to climb in by herself. She's got to do 'most everything by herself, now that Mr. Jose's got so old, and she don't have much time to laugh and play with me anymore. Can't You please send somebody, so Aunt Polly will be happy again? Amen."

  For a full minute, Chrissy kept her head bent over her intertwined fingers as she thought over her words. She'd done it right, hadn't she? She wasn't asking for herself. She only wanted Aunt Polly to smile again.

  "Uh oh," she said. She heaved a small sigh and spoke again. "I really, really want this mostly for Aunt Polly. But it's not right to not tell the whole truth. It's almost like a lie, Aunt Polly says. So I've got to tell You that it would be nice for me to have a papa, too. I guess he'd be my uncle, but that'd be all right. And Aunt Polly being happy would make me feel happier, too, so maybe that's kind of selfish."

  She took a deep breath and said with extreme effort, "If You want, You can keep the dolly. Amen, again."

  ~~~

  "Have you got everything?" Josephine asked Matthew.

  "You've asked me that ten times, Jo," Matt replied. "What more do I need than the letter? The donkey's right over there, and you've made me change my clothes three times. If I don't look like an old prospector by now, I might as well forget it."

  "Th
ey call them burros these days," Jo said in exasperation. "Prospectors carry their tools and supplies on burros."

  "Burros, donkeys, whatever. Mary rode into Bethlehem on an ass, but for some reason that's considered a derogatory term now."

  Jo cupped her chin in her palm and stepped back to study Matt one last time. The corporeal body he'd chosen looked adequate, and there was no trace of angelic demeanor in his stance. He stood hunched over a little, and his face was covered in a scraggly beard. She wrinkled her nose a tad, but they'd both agreed a man traveling around with his burro for months on end would probably not bathe too frequently.

  As angels, she and Matt never had to worry about body odors, but when one of them took on a corporeal form, they had to keep in mind the physical attributes of humans. They didn't need any slip-ups when talking to a man like Sam Butler. For a human, he was darned intelligent, and he wouldn't be easy to manipulate.

  "Oh, dear." Jo glanced skyward. "Chrissy's praying again, Matt. She's only five, and she doesn't realize that answering her wish can take a little time."

  "She's really worried about Polly," Matt replied. "Polly and the ranch are Chrissy's entire world."

  "Well, it's time Sam Butler accepted his responsibility." Jo crossed her arms and her wings fluttered on her back. "After all, he's Chrissy's uncle, the only other blood relative she has left. I can't see why that man's been so stubborn about not checking on his brother for over six years."

  "You know why," Matt told her. "He didn't want to see Christine, Chrissy's mother. He didn't think he could stand to see her married to his brother, Ron. That's what started their quarrel to begin with."

  "I suppose," Jo said in resignation. "But I'd like to think that if he'd ever gotten Christine's letter, he'd have gone to at least see how she was doing."

  "He's going to have the letter in a few minutes, if you'll let me get out of here. And I'll deliver the rest of the mail from the pouch that got overlooked after the train wreck to the post office, after I give Sam the one from Christine. If things go right, Sam will be on his way to the north of Dallas by morning."

  "And when he gets there, he's going to find out that Christine's dead, too — that she died in childbirth," Jo said. "But he'll just have to face it. I hope he doesn't turn away from Chrissy and Polly. They need him badly."

  Jo watched Matt stare at the dusty little town down the road, where Sam Butler ran his saloon. The instructions they received with their assignment of fulfilling Chrissy's Christmas wish had been completely clear. They were to retrieve the letter Christine had written over five years ago, informing Sam of his brother's death, and deliver it to Sam.

  She and Matt had done some hurried background checking, and she had to admit it didn't look real promising. They'd had tough assignments before, but never one with this much potential for failure. They both hoped Heaven knew what it was doing — pairing up a hard-bitten, embittered man like Sam with the sister of the woman Sam had once loved.

  "He's Chrissy's uncle," Jo reminded both herself and Matt again when she read Matt's thoughts, which were mirroring her own. "As bitter as Sam is, I'm sure he'll want his niece to have a better life than she will if Polly can't hold onto the ranch."

  "Chrissy's Polly's niece, too," Matt said. "And Polly's always been proud of her independence. She's not going to be real happy about someone moving into her life and trying to take over. She's always had pretty much of a free rein, what with her father being sickly all those years and her being in charge of running the household. She even raised Christine after their mother died."

  "Too, it's going to be hard for her to admit she's failing for once in her life and needs some help. We've discussed all this already, Matt, and we both agree Sam Butler seems like a truly unlikely candidate for Polly to accept help from. She didn't much care for Sam when he first came courting Christine, and she made no bones about the fact that she was glad Christine chose Ron instead."

  Jo fluttered a few feet above the ground and nodded toward the burro. "Well, we have our assignment to start off with. We have to deliver the letter. Then we can stay around and see what happens, but we can't interfere."

  Matt deliberately replied to her in a crackling, elderly voice. "Wal, then, I reckon I better get crackin'." He plopped the battered and stained felt hat he'd been holding in his hands on his wiry gray hair and spat a wad of tobacco juice on the ground.

  "Matt!" Jo said in a horrified voice. "You're chewing tobacco!"

  "T'baccy," Matt said with a grin. "Why, don' 'cha know? T'baccy's 'most as important to an old feller like me as my burro."

  He winked at her and turned away to walk to the burro, effecting a limping gait. The tiny, spotted animal lifted its head at his approach and let out a loud hee haw.

  With a chuckle, Matt said, "Yeah, I think I look pretty funny, too, but that's nothing compared to how I smell. You and me will just have to tolerate it, though." Picking up the lead rope, he led the burro toward town.

  ~~~

  Sam Butler pulled his dun stallion to a halt on top of a rise. The horse immediately blew out an exhausted breath, scattering flecks of foam from its muzzle, and Sam patted its damp neck. He'd pushed Dusty hard, but not beyond the bounds of the stallion's endurance. After a few hours rest, he could depend on Dusty to be ready to go again. And he might have to do just that, depending on what the next few minutes brought.

  To the west, the first flames of a brilliant magenta sunset lit the sky. Sam ignored the panorama in favor of studying the layout of the ranch yard below him. There was a small log cabin, a fairly large barn set off to the back, corrals, and another tiny shed. Smoke curled from the chimneys of both the cabin and the shed, so the shed probably housed a ranch hand or two, since he didn't see a bunkhouse.

  Huh. After six years, he'd have thought his brother's spread would be something a little more substantial than this. Still, he had to remind himself that he didn't know how long Ron had been dead. The envelope on the letter the old prospector had delivered two days ago was too ragged and water-stained to make out more than the address, and Christine hadn't dated the letter. Damn it to hell, why hadn't she written him again when she didn't hear back from him? He probably could have checked with the post office and tried to find out exactly how long ago the train wreck had happened, but from the minute he touched that letter, all he could think of was getting to Christine.

  The door on the little shed opened and a woman emerged. Oh, God. Was that Christine? About all he could tell from here was she had the same golden hair and lithe figure. Her walk, though, when she started toward the cabin, didn't have the bounce he remembered. The time she'd spent on a Texas ranch after growing up in a fairly pampered lifestyle in New Orleans could account for the lack of that. He'd seen plenty of women go from young to old in too few years in this harsh land.

  Darn it, why hadn't she tried harder to get hold of him! Sam's fist thudded on his saddle horn, and Dusty half-reared and snorted his displeasure. When Sam had the horse under control again, he glanced down at the ranch yard to see the woman had noticed him. She stood with one hand shading her eyes, gazing in his direction. A second later, she almost ran into the cabin.

  "Well, hell," Sam muttered to himself. "No sense settin' up here wasting time, when I've pushed myself like a mad man for two days to get here."

  He nudged Dusty forward and rode on down the rise. About a hundred yards from the cabin, the door flew open and a shot rang out. The bullet plowed into the dirt and kicked up a plume of dry sand near Dusty's front hooves — too near. The stallion rose in a full rear this time, and Sam cursed both Dusty and the shooter under his breath as he reined the horse back to earth.

  Sam had sense enough not to urge Dusty onward. Gritting his teeth, he jerked his hat from his head, hoping he was close enough to be recognized.

  "Hello!" he shouted, anger making his voice sharp. "It's Sam! Can't you tell?"

  The feminine figure slipped out the door, still holding her rifle at her shoulder. "Sam, wh
o?" she called back. "Sam Butler?"

  "Yes, darn it!" he yelled. "Can I ride on in now?"

  The woman lowered the rifle, but Sam noticed as he rode closer that she kept her right hand positioned near the trigger guard. She stood in the shadows thrown from the cabin by the dying sun, and it wasn't until he got ready to dismount that he could tell she definitely wasn't Christine. In fact, he immediately identified her as Christine's older sister, Polly.

  Polly, the old-maid harridan, he'd more than once derisively called her in his mind, although she was only two years older than Christine. Instantly, that long-standing chip settled on his shoulder.

  "I want to see Christine," he said instead of greeting Polly. "I got a letter from her."

  He almost missed Polly's smothered gasp, but he saw her shoulders sag and the rifle tremble in her hands. For a few long seconds, she only stood shaking her head, her mouth working as though trying to speak.

  Finally, she managed a few words in a choked voice. "You...you couldn't have. No, oh, no."

  "Damn it," Sam growled. "I know you've always thought I was a son of a bitch, but I'm not leaving here until I see her. She's got a right to tell me herself if she doesn't want to talk to me."

  He took a step closer and watched Polly's face crumble. She made no attempt to ward him off and even set the rifle down against the cabin. He stopped a foot from her, and she closed her eyes briefly, then looked up at him.

  God, she was almost the perfect image of how he had imagined Christine in his mind after six years. The golden hair was a little less wavy, but then Polly had always worn her hair tied back. Wisps of what he'd once told Christine were honey-blond sweetness curled around her face, and she hadn't put on an ounce. In fact, she looked like she'd lost some weight, and she'd always been way too skinny for his taste.