Montana Sky Christmas: A Sweetwater Springs Short Story Collection

by Debra Holland

  Her father stared into the fire, mulling over the idea.

  Sally was wise enough to let him be. He’d come to a conclusion, and that would be that. There’d be no hurrying him, no matter how she begged. But she studied his face to see if she could glean his thoughts.

  The minutes passed. Although her mother placidly continued her handwork, she kept giving her husband quick glances. The firelight glinted off her auburn hair, and when she gave Sally a reassuring smile, she looked too young to have a grown-up daughter.

  Not for the first time, Sally wished she’d inherited her mother’s beautiful hair color. All the O’Donnell children had their Da’s dark hair and navy-blue eyes, but luckily for them, not his angled features. They each had their mother’s oval face and refined nose.

  At eighteen, Sally was old enough to recall the holidays when they lived in Virginia, and the whole family gathered at her grandparents’ home. She remembered the rambunctious games with her cousins, as well as the food, the candy, the stockings filled with nuts, rare oranges, coins, and small presents, and most of all, the decorated Christmas tree with the presents underneath.

  But since the O’Donnells had traveled to Montana to homestead their own land, life had been hard and money scarce. At the most, Christmas meant Ma baking a cake or a pie and knitting new stockings or mittens or a cap, a reading of the Biblical story about the birth of Jesus, and singing carols after dinner. A special day. One they all looked forward to. But the meager festivities didn’t match Sally’s memories.

  Sally wanted her sisters and brother to have the lavish Christmases she’d experienced in Virginia, or at least as close to them as possible, given the family’s limited means. This year, her parents had agreed.

  Da was going to cut down a tree. Ma had saved sugar and white flour for a treat, although she wouldn’t tell Sally what she was going to make, saying that something needed to be a surprise for her. But there still wasn’t money for presents beyond the wool stockings Ma knitted after the children had gone to bed.

  So Sally had come up with a plan to take her scarves to the mercantile and trade them for candy, nuts, and three oranges. Maybe if she possessed some Irish luck, there’d be enough for some fine cotton to make handkerchiefs for her mother and father. They’d be so surprised. She could barely sit still in her seat just thinking about how wonderful Christmas would be this year.

  Finally, her father spoke up. “We’ll see the weather in the morning, mavoreen. If the sky is clear, ye can go.”

  “Oh, thank you, Da.” She clasped the scarf she was holding to her chest. “Thank you!”

  He held up an admonishing finger. “Ye just be careful.”

  “I will, Da. You know I will.”

  “That I do, daughter. Ye are a good, dependable girl. And proud I am that ye are doing this—“ he glanced at the children engrossed in their work “—when ye could be using the money for yerself. I know ye need a new dress.”

  “That doesn’t matter, Da. This one’s fine. It’s not as if I go anywhere, anyway.”

  Just saying the words made Sally remember her occasional restlessness, an odd longing that came sometimes despite the closeness of her family. Like usual, she dismissed the feeling.

  Da sighed. “I know. And that’s na right either. Ye are almost nineteen now. Maybe this summer we’ll try harder to get to town for church and such. See if ye find a man you fancy.”

  “I don’t need a husband, Da.” Sally looked around the room and smiled. “I have everyone I love right here.”

  ~ ~ ~

  The next day, riding the mule, Sally reached the town of Sweetwater Springs. With one hand, she held the reins, and the other was placed protectively over the scarves wrapped in a clean pillowcase and tied to the pommel of the saddle. The brisk wind stung her nose, and her hands and feet ached from the cold. Even her mittens and two pairs of woolen socks weren’t enough to protect her from the December chill.

  In spite of the frosty temperature, the sun sparkled off the snow. As she anticipated the shopping she’d be able to do, her heart filled with warmth. For weeks, she’d daydreamed about the children’s reactions to Christmas morning. Now she was one step closer to making those dreams come true.

  She drew near to the town, relishing the sight of color after so many hours of white snow—the rusty brick of the mercantile, the brown train station, with the unexpected yellow trim, the faded green of a saloon. Even the white clapboard church and the schoolhouse stood out because both buildings sported black doors and window trim.

  Sally pulled up to the mercantile, slid off the mule, and tied the reins to the hitching pole. The reins of a Pinto, with a shaggy winter coat, wrapped around the rail on the left side of the door. She wondered who owned the animal. Even though she had few acquaintances in town, she would enjoy seeing some other people. Maybe even someone she knew—Mrs. Norton, the minister’s wife, perhaps. Or Doctor Cameron’s wife. Just the idea of exchanging pleasantries with another woman excited her. Maybe Da’s right about us needing to get to town more often.

  Once off the mule, Sally took a few tottering steps, feeling the ache in her legs. It had been a long time since she’d ridden the mule past the boundaries of their one hundred sixty-acre homestead.

  Stiffly, she mounted the stairs to the store and pushed open the door. Welcome warmth from the stove near the counter enveloped her. She sniffed the air, redolent with odors of vinegary pickles and spicy cinnamon.

  “Close the door, girl,” Mrs. Cobb scolded. The shopkeeper sat behind the counter at the back of the store. “You’re letting in the cold air.”

  Feeling guilty, Sally rushed inside, closing the door with a snap. Although tempted to look around at the colorful bolts of fabrics that beckoned, she stuck to her errand. Time enough to explore the wealth of merchandise after she’d bargained with Mrs. Cobb.

  She hurried to the counter.

  “You’re the O’Donnell gal.” Mrs. Cobb leaned forward to study her. The shopkeeper was dressed in a forest-green wool gown. Her close-set brown eyes assessed Sally’s apparel and dismissed her.

  “Yes, ma’am. I’m Sally.” For the first time, Sally was conscious of wearing her da’s old coat, and of the shabby woolen dress underneath. She straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin. She was a lady, and her ma’s family in Virginia were well-to-do landowners. Why, her ma still had three silk dresses given her by her parents. On special occasions, Ma wore the gold chain with a cross that had been a present from her grandmother.

  “Your parents have that homestead southwest of the town. South of the river. The Knapps live to the west of you.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “What do you have in the sack, Sally O’Donnell?”

  “I’ve knitted scarves, and I wondered if I could trade them for some goods for Christmas.”

  With the lifting of her brows, Mrs. Cobb’s judgmental expression changed to one of curiosity. “Maybe. Louisa Cannon keeps me well supplied. But if the workmanship is good…”

  “I hope you think so,” Sally said, confident the woman would approve.

  “Good. We always have a call for scarves in the winter, and those cowboys from the Carters’ ranch came through this morning and bought several.”

  Sally upended the pillowcase on the counter, and the scarves spilled out.

  Mrs. Cobb’s expression pinched in disapproval. “These are undyed! What are you thinking, girl? People want color—brown, green, blue, red. No one will buy undyed wool scarves.” She pushed them off the counter into Sally’s arms.

  Sally’s happiness shattered. The disappointment stabbed deep, and tears welled in her eyes. How silly of her to think Mrs. Cobb would buy something so plain. She clutched the scarves to her chest and turned away, heading blindly for the door. All her plans for Christmas had come to naught.

  “I’ll buy one,” said a masculine voice to her left.

  Sally blinked to clear her eyes.

  A man stepped closer, obviously a cowboy,
from the raccoon skin coat he wore over chaps and the hat he carried in one hand. As he walked, his spurs jingled. He wasn’t much taller than her, with a tanned, rugged face and brown hair. Not an attractive man, but the sympathy showing in his brown eyes drew her toward him. “Planned to buy a scarf today, but all they have here is red.” His eyes twinkled, and he grinned. “Spook the cattle I will, wearing one of them.”

  “Really?” She didn’t dare believe he meant the offer.

  “Really,” he echoed, holding out a silver dollar.

  Mrs. Cobb sniffed. “You’re just throwing your money around. The scarf is not worth that.”

  The cowboy looked into Sally’s eyes. “It is to me.”

  Sally could feel a blush creep into her cheeks. “Oh, thank you, sir. Thank you!” she said in a gush of excitement, taking the coin. “Now I’ll be able to buy some things for my family for Christmas. My brother and sisters would thank you if they knew you. That is, um,” she stammered. “They won’t know ‘til Christmas, but I’ll tell them it was because of you.” She separated one of the scarves from the tangle she held and handed it over to him.

  “Don’t think I’ve ever been called sir before. How ‘bout you call me Harry? I’m Harry O’ Hanlon.”

  “Oh, you’re Irish. My Da’s Irish, although you don’t sound like him.”

  Harry laughed. “That’s cuz my parents were the ones who came over from the Green Isle,” his voice changed to an Irish drawl. “American, born and bred, I am.”

  She liked the way the lines around his eyes crinkled when he smiled.

  He ran the scarf through his hands. “This is so soft.”

  “I spun the yarn from our sheep.”

  “Sheep, eh. You know what they say about ranchers and sheepherders.”

  Sally made a face at him. “We only have seven. A ram and six ewes. My brother takes care to see they don’t over graze. Hardly a threat to the cattle herds.”

  “Well, considering what fine products come from your sheep, I hardly can object, can I?” He dug into his pocket. “In fact, I’ll take another one. Give it to my buddy for Christmas. He saved my life last summer. Guess I owe him.”

  A warm glow tingled through Sally. She handed him a scarf, and he gave her another silver dollar.

  “I hope they keep you both nice and warm.”

  “I’m sure they will.” He hesitated, glanced at Mrs. Cobb, then back at Sally. “Well, I’ve got what I came here for. Merry Christmas, Miss O’Donnell.”

  “Merry Christmas, Harry O’Hanlon.”

  His gaze lingered on her face, and then with obvious reluctance, he turned and left the store.

  Feeling an odd emptiness, she watched him go.

  “Well,” Mrs. Cobb said with a sniff. “Guess I’ll take the rest of your scarves, Sally O’Donnell. Seems like the cowboys might take a shine to them. We’ll see. But I’m not giving you a dollar for each. Outrageous. A dime each.”

  Sally turned toward the shopkeeper. “Thank you, Mrs. Cobb.”

  “Buy colored yarn with your money. I’ll not be adverse to taking some more scarves from you, provided they’re in color. In the winter, both you and Louisa Cannon can keep me supplied.”

  “All right, providing I get a quarter for the colored scarves.”

  Mrs. Cobb pursed her lips. “Twelve cents.”

  A strange feeling of power filled Sally with courage. “Fifteen and not a penny less.”

  The woman leaned back. “Thirteen, then.” Her tone held grudging admiration.

  And I’d hoped for a dime! Sally had to resist jumping up and down. She left the scarves with Mrs. Cobb and wandered through the store. So many things to choose from.

  Sally stopped in front of some fine cotton. Because of Harry’s generosity, she had enough money, not just for material for handkerchiefs, but for undergarments for herself and her ma and sisters. All of them needed a new chemise and drawers. She also chose hanks of embroidery threads in pink and green to make trim.

  She selected some walnuts and raisins, three peppermint sticks, six oranges (one for herself) and a ham. They didn’t have any pigs yet, and ham was a rare treat. When they ate meat it was mostly rabbit or chicken. Just the thought of baked ham made her mouth water.

  Sally took her selections to the counter.

  Mrs. Cobb had several balls of colored yarn waiting for her to choose from, and Sally selected green, enough for five scarves. Then she told Mrs. Cobb how many yards of the cotton she wanted, and waited while the woman unwrapped the fabric from the bolt and cut the material. When Sally was finished, four pennies remained. I can put one in each of the children’s stockings, with one left over for me.

  Sally tucked her purchases into her pillowcase, bade goodbye to the dour shopkeeper, then left. She had a long ride home and, after meeting Harry O’ Hanlon, plenty to think about.

  ~ ~ ~

  Christmas was everything Sally had hoped for. The tree filled the soddy with pine fragrance. Her brother looked happy, and the girls squealed at the sight of their stockings, stuffed with new mittens and the treats Sally had bought. A penny dangled in the toe. The children peeled their oranges and ate half of each, saving the second half for later. They also shelled a few of the nuts, but agreed among themselves to parcel out the rest over the next few weeks.

  Ma took obvious pleasure with the gift of fabric. She sniffed back a few tears when she held the new handkerchief with the pink crocheted lace on the edges and her initials embroidered in the corner that Sally had stitched in secret. Da was equally pleased with his large handkerchief, plain edged and monogrammed with a green shamrock over his initials.

  Best of all, Sally now wore one of Ma’s silk dresses—a surprise in blue that matched her eyes. The garment didn’t have to be altered because Ma had gotten it before her marriage when she was Sally’s size, although Ma had taken in the large bustle to tailor a small padded one, with sweeping pleats in the back for a more current style.

  The smell of baking ham filled the house, and Sally looked forward to Christmas dinner. Everything was as she’d dreamed it would be. Everything but that nagging restlessness … the sense of something missing.

  A knock sounded at the door.

  Ma looked up from the cake she was taking out of the oven. “Must be the Knapps come to wish us Merry Christmas. Your Da’s probably in the barn and didn’t see them. Good thing there’s just the two of them. We have enough food and can invite them to stay. Sally, answer the door.”

  Sally laid down her knitting and moved to open the door, expecting to see the cheerful faces of the elderly couple who were their nearest neighbors. Instead, she saw Harry O’Hanlon, holding the reins of the Pinto she’d seen outside the mercantile. Her scarf was draped around his neck.

  She gaped at him, completely taken aback. “Harry!”

  “Miss O’Donnell, I’ve come at the request of the rest of the cowboys at the Thompson ranch. They wouldn’t give me any peace today. They all want scarves, although they want me to work a deal with you so they don’t have to pay a dollar each.”

  “Why of course.” Sally hoped she sounded coherent and welcoming.

  Her mother came to stand at her shoulder. “I’m Mrs. O’Donnell. Won’t you come in?”

  “Harry O’Hanlon, ma’am. Although you can call me Harry. Since I knew I was disturbing you on Christmas Day, I brought a haunch of beef.” He held up a heavy burlap bag, which he handed over to Sally’s ma.

  “Why thank you, Harry,” Ma said with a wide smile. “This is a generous gift that we’ll enjoy.”

  Sally felt Ma’s fingers dig into her arm. Her mother surreptitiously pulled Sally away from blocking the doorway, which was a good thing because she’d been rooted in shock, energy racing through her like a river.

  Harry stepped inside, spurs jangling. Even though he wasn’t a big man, Harry seemed to fill up the space in their home. Maybe it was because of the raccoon skin coat he wore. His dark hair looked clean as if freshly washed, and his jaw was stron
g and closely shaved.

  The twins giggled.

  Ma shooed the two into the bedroom, instructing them to stay there and work on their samplers.

  Somehow, Sally found her outer composure, although the moths fluttering in her stomach made it difficult. “Let me take your coat, Harry.”

  “I have to see to my horse.”

  “Charlie will.” Mrs. O’Donnell handed the bag to her son. “Put that in the pantry, Charlie. Then run and get your coat, and take Mr. O’Hanlon’s horse to the barn. You know what to do.”

  “Yes, Ma.” Charlie raced across the kitchen, set the meat on a shelf in the cold area in back of the pantry, and then rushed back. He scrambled into his coat, grabbed his knit hat and mittens and ran out the door, slamming it after him.

  “He’s horse mad,” Sally explained. “But we only have the mule. This is a real treat for him.”

  “Glad to oblige.” Harry pulled off his leather gloves and the thin woolen mittens he wore underneath and handed both sets to Sally. He unwound her scarf and shrugged out of his coat, which she took from him, hurrying into her parents’ room to drop them on the bed. She rushed back to the main room, anxious not to miss a word.

  Her mother fingered the gold cross she wore around her neck. “My daughter tells me we have you to thank for our lavish Christmas today.”

  He looked puzzled. “Surely not. I merely bought two scarves.”

  Sally laughed. “Yes, but because you did, Mrs. Cobb changed her mind about taking the rest. And more after that.”

  “That’s good to hear.” His smile lit up his eyes and crinkled the lines at the corners, just the way she remembered from their first meeting.

  Da opened the door, stamped the snow from his boots, and stepped in. His glance took in Harry’s well-groomed ruggedness and seemed to approve. “Heard we have a visitor.” He pulled off his right glove and extended his hand to Harry. “Welcome. I’m Rory O’Donnell.”

  “Thank you, sir. Harry O’Hanlon.”

  “Ah, with a name like that, man, yer doubly welcome. Ye have a fine Pinto gelding, ye have do.”