Pepe’s tongue finally obeyed him. “Thank you, Señora!”
She laughed. “No, thank you, Pepe. I’ve found the perfect gift for the first Christmas with my husband—one we can treasure for a lifetime.”
Pepe couldn’t understand how his simple carvings would be a perfect gift for one of the wealthiest ranchers in the area, but Señora Thompson’s pretty face glowed with happiness, and that was enough for him.
“And… while you’re at the ranch, maybe you can take note of the children’s Falabellas. If you can carve miniature horses and paint them to resemble each child’s horse, I can give them the toys for Christmas. They’ll love them.”
Excitement swirled in his belly. He’d carved a lot of horses over the years. He’d love a chance to try to capture those midget horses of Señora Thompson’s in wood. The little ones would be a challenge.
Señora Thompson tapped the figure of Mary with a leather-gloved finger. “I suggest you go talk to Mr. O’Reilly at the carpenter shop.”
Pepe gave her a puzzled look.
“He’ll know where to get paint for these, maybe even have some. And as for brushes…I’m sure Mrs. Sanders will give you some of hers…some paint, too.” Her hand waved in the air. “She’s so busy organizing the Christmas pageant, and, after that, the baby will be here. I doubt she’s painting right now, nor will be for a while. I’ll drop a word to her for you.”
She rose gracefully to her feet and set the figurines on the straw bale. “Can you bring the manger to the ranch on the morning of Christmas Eve? Hopefully, it won’t storm.”
Pepe nodded.
“Once they’re painted, you might see if the Cobbs will sell some of your carvings in their store.”
Feeling as if she’d knocked the wind out of him, Pepe could only nod again before catching his breath. “Thank you, Señora.”
Señora Thompson said good-bye and walked over to her horse.
In a daze, Pepe helped her to mount Bianca, then stood and watched her ride away. He shook himself, as if waking up, and hurried to get his coat. He had a lot to do, and not much time before Christmas.
He walked over to Royal’s stall. First stop, O’Reilly’s carpenter shop.
~ ~ ~
Pepe reined in Royal in front of O’Reilly’s and set the brake on the wagon. The shop was a wooden building with a false front situated on the street behind the main one. The window next to the door had been dusty for as long as Pepe had known Phineas O’Reilly.
Pepe had always liked the carpenter, who treated him like a man, not like a Mexican peon, and considered him a friend. He liked to come here in the winter. He’d visit and observe O’Reilly working. Sometimes, he’d help by sweeping up the mounds of sawdust and stacking the scrap wood in the back. He could depend on O’Reilly to always have a bit of gossip handy—the man was as bad as some women that way—but the carpenter liked to talk, so that meant Pepe didn’t have to.
Over the years, the carpenter taught him something about building fine furniture, and, in gratitude for his help with an important project, had given him some chisels. When a bull gored popular Max Harling to death, Pepe had helped O’Reilly make his coffin, both men working in sad silence, grateful to mourn together.
He tied Royal to the hitching post, picked up the crate that held his carvings from the back corner of the wagon, and carried it into the shop. The bell over the door jangled as he stepped inside. The front of the building held the finished pieces, the ones ordered and awaiting pickup, and others the carpenter had made and wanted to sell. He admired a mahogany-stained bookshelf and a carved, bracketed wall shelf he hadn’t seen before. A wooden counter stood in front of the open door that led to the workroom.
Pepe set the crate on the counter and peered through the opening.
The proprietor, a thick-bodied carpenter known to everyone as O’Reilly, was bent over a block of wood, running a plane over the surface. Pepe couldn’t see the man’s face, just the back of his head and his long, rusty-colored hair pulled into a tail.
Pepe whistled—his usual greeting when his friend was absorbed in his work.
O’Reilly straightened, a wide broken-toothed smile beaming though the bushy red beard. He set down the plane, brushed his hands across his dirty carpenter’s smock, and ambled forward. “You came through the front, so I didn’t see you. What’s in the box?”
“Some carvings I’ve done.”
O’Reilly waved for him to come around to the back. “Let’s see what you got there.”
Pepe picked up the crate and walked around the counter into the workspace, absorbing the familiar smell of sawdust and varnish. He set the box on one of the workbenches lining each side of the room. “Señora Thompson has bought the manger scene.” He couldn’t keep the excitement from his voice. “She wants me to paint them. She thought if I paint my other pieces, the Cobbs might sell them in the mercantile.”
“Couldn’t be worse than those crude, mass-produced Christmas figures the Cobbs carry.” O’Reilly walked over to the crate, pale eyebrows jutting up in obvious curiosity. He reached inside, pulled up the first parcel, and unwrapped it. He held up the horse by the light of the window, turning it in his hands to study the workmanship. He smoothed his palm over the back of the horse, feeling the finish.
He walked back to the crate, and, one-by-one, lifted each piece, giving it careful scrutiny, before setting it down on the counter. When O’Reilly had emptied the box, he said, “You been holding out on me, amigo. If I’d known you could do this, I’d have you carving on my furniture.”
Pepe felt a burst of pride at the comment. “They’re just toys for children. I never thought anyone would want to buy them.”
O’Reilly arranged the manger scene in the proper order—Mary and Joseph, next the baby Jesus, the ox and lamb nearby, shepherds and their sheep, the wise men and their camels further away. “We could build a little a stable for them, eh. Open in the front and sides to show off the people and animals. I don’t ’spose the Holy Family had to worry about snow like we do. Or so Father Fredrick said in one of his Christmas sermons.”
“What about painting them?”
“Say now, that’s a grand idea.” O’Reilly rolled his shoulders. “Help yourself.” He pointed toward the shelves containing cans in the back of the shop. “You shouldn’t need a lot.”
“I’ll pay you back when I sell some.”
O’Reilly’s broad hand waved a dismissal. “You’ve helped me plenty, Pepe. It don’t go without notice.” He ran a finger over the figure of a bull with wide horns and a tail with a twitch. “You’ve made them come alive. I wouldn’t want to be in the path of this fella. Think you should stain and varnish him, though, not paint him. See him as mahogany.”
“Like that bookshelf there?” Pepe jerked his thumb back toward one in the front of the shop.
“That’s right.” O’Reilly picked up the bull. “Let’s see if we can make him look like I see him here.” He tapped his forehead.
“Sounds good.”
Carrying the bull, O’Reilly turned and lumbered to the back of the shop.
His mind already imagining the various colors and stains he’d use, Pepe followed. He figured he’d better practice on some scrap wood for a while. He had too much riding on these little figures, and he had no idea what kind of artist he’d turn out to be.
~ ~ ~
Pepe carried the wooden crate with the painted figurines nestled inside, heading across the street to the mercantile. With only a week before Christmas, Mack had been goading him to take Señora Thompson’s advice and sell his figures at the store. His boss was adamant customers would love the carvings, but Pepe wasn’t so sure. And the Cobbs were the last people he’d want to approach.
But Pepe’s longing for a life with Lucia finally won out. Between the crèches ordered by Señora Thompson and two of her friends, Pepe figured if he could just sell a few more of his pieces, he could ask Lucia to marry him. She’d have to wait, of course, until he built th
e house. But he could get a good start on it. And maybe with the money he’d earn next Christmas, he could finish the house and furnish it. They could be married in a year and a few months or so. Pepe liked the thought of a spring wedding.
His thoughts filled with dreams, Pepe soon found himself at the door of the mercantile. For a moment, he paused to glance at the small Christmas tree in the window, studying the glass ornaments hanging on the tinsel-draped branches, comparing them to those he’d made. Seeing the fancy trinkets inspired him. Creative ideas leaped through his mind, and he could hardly wait to finish with the Cobbs and begin making new designs. He wondered if the Cobbs would like to sell those as well.
Pepe tended to avoid the store as much as possible. The Cobbs always made him feel like a bug had crawled into their space, although they took his money quickly enough. The last time was in the summer when he’d purchased a new shirt.
Usually, Mack bought everything the livery needed, which was probably for the best. No sense in wishing for things he couldn’t afford. Pepe didn’t even allow himself an occasional treat, like a pickle from the crock by the door, or the colorful candy in glass jars on the counter. Or at least he hadn’t since he’d fallen for Lucia.
Every penny he saved took him that much closer to a future with her, although he’d often despaired of a marriage ever happening. Actually, the real fear eating away at his dream was that someone else would see her value and scoop her up, although Pepe suspected her heart lay with him. At least, he hoped so.
But today, eagerness carried him over the threshold. He had to maneuver to get the box inside. Before he could close the door, a sharp voice told him to hurry up, he was letting out the heat.
Pepe pushed the door shut with his foot.
Mrs. Cobb, an apron around her ample figure, stood in front of the counter, sweeping the wooden floor. She sent him a curious glance from her close-set brown eyes.
Tall, balding Mr. Cobb stood behind the counter, waiting on a man wearing chaps who looked familiar. The cowboy turned at the sound of the door opening.
Raul Vega. My rival.
Pepe stopped short, his boots skidding on the wooden floor.
Mr. Cobb pulled a long length of red ribbon from a spool before snipping it free. He placed it on top of a small pile of lace.
Vega’s buying that for Lucia. Anger raced through Pepe. He wanted to charge to the counter, grab up the ribbon and lace, throw them on the ground, and stomp on them. Even as he had the thought, Pepe realized how childish he’d look.
The man paid for the ribbon and lace.
Cobb wrapped them in brown paper and handed the parcel to Vega.
The cowboy turned to leave, tipping his hat to Mrs. Cobb on the way out, and giving a friendly nod and a smile to Pepe.
Pepe automatically responded with a curt nod. As he did, the thought hit him that Vega didn’t know they were rivals for Lucia. The man must think he has a clear field.
Mrs. Cobb poked the tip of the broom handle into his side.
Pepe realized that she’d been trying to get his attention.
“What’s in that box?” she demanded.
With difficulty, he focused on the shopkeeper, desperation giving him a voice. “I’ve brought my carvings to see if you’d be interested in selling them in the store.” In his nervousness, his accent thickened.
Mrs. Cobb pursed her lips. “Show me what you have.” She stepped back, leaned the broom against the wall, and waved him toward Mr. Cobb.
Pepe followed the scent of cinnamon down the aisle. He placed the crate on the counter next to a platter of cookies sprinkled with the fragrant spice.
Mrs. Cobb walked over to watch him.
Pepe pulled out the first bundle and unwrapped the protective rag to expose a horse, modeled from Nick Sanders’ Outlaw. He placed it on the counter top and then reached for another one, which he reverently uncovered to show a figure of the Virgin Mary. He gazed with pride on the blessed Virgin’s expression. Achieving the serenity he wanted on her face hadn’t been easy.
Cobb twitched his round, red nose and leaned closer to study the horse.
Pepe started to take another one from the crate.
Mrs. Cobb chopped the air with her hand. “I’ve seen enough. I’m not buying.”
As if not wanting his wife to know he’d been interested, Mr. Cobb straightened.
Pepe almost protested. He wanted to ask Mrs. Cobb to look at the others to see if there’d be any she’d like. Before he could say anything, she turned her back on him, as if he didn’t exist, and resumed her sweeping.
Shame cramped his belly. Quickly, Pepe rewrapped his pieces and placed them in the box. All he wanted to do was escape the shopkeeper’s presence.
Mrs. Cobb must have felt the same, for she made a strong sweeping motion his direction, as if chasing him out with the broom.
Pepe picked up the crate and juggled it out the door. This time when he crossed the street, his footsteps felt heavy. The shame of the shopkeeper’s judgment weighed on him. Most of all, his failure caused him a gut-wrenching sense of loss. He wouldn’t have the money to ask Lucia to marry him, and Raul Vega, with his higher wages, ribbons and lace, would win her hand.
~ ~ ~
That afternoon, Pepe was almost finished mucking out the stalls of the livery. He’d unbuttoned his coat because the exertion had heated his body, but the air was too chilly to take it off. Even the hard work couldn’t take his mind off the humiliating failure with the Cobbs.
The rattle of the door being pushed open made him pause and turn to see O’Reilly barrel into the barn. “Mack told me what happened with the Cobbs,” his friend bellowed. The man rolled to a stop, rocked back on his heels, and tugged on his beard. “That woman has no appreciation of art!”
“Ain’t art. Just my whittling,” Pepe muttered, forking straw onto the clean floor of Royal’s stall and spreading it out.
“Don’t tell me what’s art and what’s not,” O’Reilly sputtered.
Pepe glanced over at his friend. The man’s pale skin had reddened, a shade that clashed horribly with his bristly hair and beard. His eyes were narrowed in anger. Just seeing his friend’s outrage on his behalf made Pepe feel a little better. Not much, but a little. “Nothing to be done about it.” He bent back to his task.
O’Reilly didn’t say anything, but Pepe could practically feel sparks flying from his friend. If he was fire, he’d burn down the whole livery. The man wandered back to close the outer door. He paced the aisle while Pepe finished off the stall.
A few minutes later, Mack pushed open the door and sauntered into the stable. He’d been gone all morning. Pepe had been too lost in his misery to wonder where. When his boss had returned, he’d acted cagey, and Pepe had no energy to pry information out of him. “Late on the mucking out, eh, Pepe?” His tone conveyed understanding, rather than reprimand.
Pepe didn’t respond. He fetched clean hay and water, and then led Royal back into the stall. Once he shut the door, O’Reilly practically pounced on him. “Come with me to my shop. Want you to see something.”
Pepe glanced at his boss for permission, but all Mack did was give him a sage nod, which Pepe took to mean that O’Reilly had already spoken to him. “Momento.” Pepe went to the washing up bucket and soaped his hands, wincing at the sting of the icy water. He dried them on a rough towel, buttoned up his coat, and then donned his mittens, scarf, and woolen cap.
“Come on.” O’Reilly jerked his head in the direction of his shop. “Got something to show ya.”
The two men strode through the streets that led to O’Reilly’s shop. The snow had churned with the muck of the road, making footing difficult. But old Pappy Wender had prophesied a clear Christmas, and his predictions generally came true.
Lost in his thoughts, Pepe almost tramped past the front of the carpenter’s store but O’Reilly grabbed his arm to stop him.
Pepe shot him a questioning look, but the man waved to the front of the building.
; Pepe’s gaze followed his friend’s hand. The dusty window of the shop gleamed clear. But what was behind the window brought Pepe to attention. A Christmas tree on a table filled up the window space. Pepe’s ornaments hung from the branches.
The big gold star he’d carved and gilded only two days ago and left to dry on O’Reilly’s workbench crowned the top of the tree. Painted and stained figurines surrounded the evergreen. On one side, O’Reilly had set up a crèche, and on the other, he’d positioned the various animals Pepe had made—horses, bears, cattle, and birds.
Speechless, Pepe stared at the window. He turned to look at O’Reilly, who beamed at him like an Irish Santa. He took a few eager steps closer to the window, absorbing the sight of his work. Energy buzzed through his veins and swirled through his brain, making him unable to form a coherent thought. Although that didn’t really matter, because when he tried to stammer something, anything, to express his gratitude, the words couldn’t even get past the lump in his throat.
O’Reilly bellowed a laugh and slapped Pepe on the back. “Mack and I were so danged angry with the Cobbs we put our steam into this here display. Better that than a shotgun blast to those short-sighted merchants, eh?”
That explains Señor Mack’s absence today.
“Took us all morning. Hauled the tree from the edge of the forest. Had to git one that looked good all around cuz we weren’t puttin’ it in the corner.”
“It’s beautiful.” Pepe swallowed hard.
“Couldn’t get that danged window cleaned. Should have seen the streaks. Knew there was a reason I don’t wash it regular. Must have taken us an hour to get the glass perfect—Mack rubbing one way, me t’other.” O’Reilly made scrubbing motions in the air. “But even as we decorated that tree, people wandered in. Sold three of your ornaments already. Two stars and a horse. Better get crackin’ on some more, or come Christmas, that tree will be nekkid!”
Montana Sky Christmas: A Sweetwater Springs Short Story Collection Page 10
