When Lena stepped into the kitchen, she found her young friend, Clara, and her shepherd looking equally bashful as they removed their coats, casting furtive glances at the men’s voices coming from the dining room.
She looked over her shoulder, understanding in a moment the awkwardness of their situation. The men must have discussed the absence of Graham and that of the attractive Miss Webster. She imagined many nudged elbows and whispered remarks if they were to walk into the dining room just now.
“You two must be famished,” she said, trying her best to maintain a nonchalant tone. “I’m afraid the men have cleaned the platters in the dining room. But I know there’s more here in the oven. Pull those chairs up to the kitchen table and I’ll get some plates for you?”
“I can help,” Clara hurried over to the cupboard and pulled out two plates and two mugs.
Graham hung back by the door, looking like a barn sour horse, ready to bolt for the barn at any moment.
“Mr. Kincaid, why don’t you pour some coffee for yourself and Clara?”
He obliged, looking grateful for something to do.
“There you go.” Lena set the dishes before them and stepped back. “Take your time. Enjoy your Christmas breakfast and join us in the great room when you’re ready. We’ll be moving over there in a few moments to open a few gifts and enjoy the fire.”
Lena saw the look of gratitude in Clara’s eyes, and gave her an encouraging and slightly conspiratorial smile before leaving them. But for the next half hour, Lena could think of little more than the way they’d looked at each other. It was that expression of wonder at love given and received. All the signs of love were there, the shared smiles, the way she touched her finger to his hand as he set the coffee mug before her, the way her cheeks glowed with happiness.
It was a good Christmas. They all were, some better than others, she supposed. If she was not happy, the fault was hers. She’d held onto expectations, things beyond her control. Much like the child that hopes for a doll, receiving a stuffed animal instead, she hoped for a specific gift.
Bart settled himself in the oversized arm chair, the one usually reserved for Evan. With Rowena curled up beside him, Bart read the story of the first Christmas from the book of Luke. Tommy couldn’t settle, but traveled from one ranch hand’s lap to the other, staying only a few minutes with each. Jessie didn’t stop him. She understood how impossible it would be with unwrapped Christmas presents beneath the tree
When Bart had finished the telling, Lena handed out gifts to the men. New work gloves for two, a warm hat for the bald-headed cook, a pair of boots to the skinny kid with a promise to exchange them if Bart had guessed the wrong size. The men accepted with awkward words of gratitude, some more gruffly put than others, those least accustomed to generosity from employers.
At last, they rewarded the children for their patience, and Jessie allowed them to open one gift each. Not one man made an excuse to leave. With various expressions of interest and delight, they all watched as the children experienced the wonder of the day.
Jessie turned to Lena with a sad smile. “I suppose I should cut the plum cake. At least the men will enjoy it.”
Lena shrugged. “It just isn’t the Christmas either of us expected, but it’s still Christmas. And the men will enjoy all you’ve done. I know I have. And the children are happy.”
Jessie had just stepped away when there came a sound that at first seemed born of sheer imagination. Lena threw a glance at Jessie and they exchanged a smile.
Jessie squealed. “Sleigh bells!”
Two sleighs, one close on the tracks of the other, pulled into the yard. From the first one, Evan waved to everyone spilling from the house onto the porch. Behind him, Dr. Reynolds and Maddie rode in fine style, with fur blankets over their laps. In the back seat, Ely sat close to his lady friend.
Prancing in their traces, the horses set the bells to ringing again, the merry sound mixing with a dozen voices shouting “Merry Christmas”.
Lena held back on the porch steps, waiting for Evan to lift the child from the sleigh. Bundled in fur, it was impossible to see her face. Evan’s eyes found Lena at the back of the crowd, and he made his way through the deep snow with the child in his arms. In their own little circle of Christmas joy, Evan lowered the child’s hood, and whispered, “Here’s the lady I told you all about, Rebecca. This is Lena.”
The child turned wide eyes to take in the porch, the house, the yard filled with people until finally she looked at Lena. Her lips parted, bewilderment in her eyes. All Lena wanted to do in that moment was take her into her arms and speak soothing words into her ear. And yet, some ancient wisdom told her this was not what the child needed, not yet. Evan was her only sure anchor. It would be up to Lena to earn the child’s trust until one day soon she’d need to say nothing. Her presence alone, like Evan’s, would be her comfort. Or that was her dream.
“Welcome, Rebecca. Welcome home.”
Chapter Eighteen
LATE AFTERNOON, DECEMBER 25, 1891
Her eyes seemed far too large for her small face. Lena wondered if the child had not received the care she needed during her mother’s illness, fearful when no one came to look after her. Her stomach twisted with the thought of how watching her mother die must have changed the child. Lena wrapped her arms tight to her body, fearing she’d frighten the child if she acted on the compassion stirring within her.
From her vantage on the window seat of Rebecca’s bedroom, Lena watched as Evan led the child around the room. From the moment he’d placed her feet upon the floor, she’d not released his hand. Her eyes darted about the room, taking in everything from the animals painted on the wall to the doll waiting for her on the bed.
His voice husky with his own emotions, Evan said, “This is your room now, Rebecca. You can stay here and be safe from now on.” He sat in the stuffed chair that Graham had suggested they move into the room. The little girl crawled into his lap and lay her head against his shoulder. But her eyes were open and studying Lena.
Evan stroked the child’s back and looked over at Lena with a weary smile. “It’s been a long trip.”
He didn’t need to say it, because she could read it in his posture and the lines about his eyes. She speculated that his weariness might be more than the length of the trip and wondered if the adoption had been more arduous than his telegram suggested.
Lena reached out and lay her hand on his. “You’re home now.”
“We’re home,” he said. “And there was something in how he said those simple words that told her the child would never want for love, or security. Rebecca had bonded to him, accepting his offer to stand in the gulf of her grief. Whatever had happened since he’d found her, it had given him the right to ask her to trust him.
Lena rose to her feet and stood beside Evan for a long while, tempted to stroke the child’s fair hair, but afraid to touch her, fearing she’d react like a timid animal and pull away.
Ely’s fiddle was singing from the great room, drifting down the hallway. Merry voices rose and fell in waves. From the sound of things, Jessie’s party held all the cheerful goodwill of the season, all she’d hoped. After they’d all returned home, Jessie would probably sing a Christmas carol as she cleaned her kitchen, a happy woman for having been able to give her gifts of hospitality and love to friends and family.
Seeing how Rebecca buried her face in Evan’s chest, Lena understood how this was all too much, and too soon for the poor child. Lena rested her hand on Evan’s shoulder, saying softly, “You two stay here. I’ll bring you some dinner. I think it might be best, don’t you?”
Evan glanced up at her, giving a weary nod.
She took a step for the door, but stopped when she felt the feather touch of the child’s fingers brush the back of her hand. Looking down, she saw Rebecca’s enormous eyes locked on hers. Lena kneeled beside the chair, gently wrapping her hand around the child’s. The small hand holding hers squeezed not only her hand but her heart, wrin
ging from it all the doubts troubling her these past weeks. She smiled at the child, whispering, “I’ll bring you something very good to eat. Mr. Hartmann is hungry too.” She choked on the words as tears tightened her throat.
The child released her hand, saying not a word, but continuing to hold Lena’s eyes with hers. All the encouragement Lena had received from her friends, all their confident assurances that the child would accept her, came back as though in one beautiful chorus. All that was required of her was love.
“How is she?” Jessie asked as she helped Lena prepare plates of food to take to the child’s room. “She looks like a waif from one of Dickens’ stories, doesn’t she? Almost like she was one of Bob Cratchit’s children.”
“She is small for her age. Evan and I haven’t had a chance to talk, so I have no idea what circumstances he found her in. She looks half-starved, Jessie.” Lena felt the sting of tears, refusing to give into them for her friend’s sake.
“Well, we can fix that,” Jessie said with a confident smile as she set two more pieces of plum cake on the plate already piled high with food. “Now, don’t you worry about the rest of us. Everyone understands you and Evan need to stay with your little girl.” Jessie touched Lena’s hand. “Sounds right, doesn’t it? Your little girl?”
Lena’s head came up, catching Jessie’s smiling eyes. She nodded and turned away before those tears of joy, hovering in the corners of her eyes, spilled onto the slices of plum cake.
Just as the stars were winking on, Lena joined Jessie and Bart on the porch to wave off their guests. Clara squeezed into the front seat beside Maddie for the return trip to town. Bart and Dr. Reynolds tucked the travelers into their wool blankets, and Jessie gave them a flask of hot cider.
Lena saw Jessie and Maddie exchange a triumphant smile when Graham took personal care to tuck the blanket around Clara. Poor Bart and Dr. Reynolds, Lena thought. Neither of them would hear the end of their wives’ bragging about the match.
Before Dr. Reynolds climbed in, he handed the reins to Bart and took Lena aside. “I didn’t have a chance to talk to you tonight in private. There just wasn’t an opportunity.” Lena felt a twinge of alarm. “What is it? Is something wrong? Is Maddie okay?” A myriad of troubling possibilities came to mind, and the doctor’s odd behavior wasn’t helping to assuage them.
The doctor’s face softened, the smile bringing boyish dimples back to his cheeks. “No, nothing’s wrong. It’s about your last visit to my office. I thought you’d like to know without waiting until you come back into town.” The smile stretched wider, reaching up to his kind eyes. “Your malady, the fatigue. You aren’t ill, Lena. Not at all.” He took her hand. “You’re with child.”
She stared up at him, struck dumb in an instant. Surely, she’d misunderstood.
“There’s no one more deserving of such a gift on such a day as this.” Dr. Reynolds leaned down, kissing her cheek before whispering, “Merry Christmas, Lena.”
Long after the sleigh pulled from the yard and everyone had returned to the warmth of the house, Lena remained on the porch. She looked up at the stars, seeing them as the countless blessings in her life. On this day, of all days, He had blessed her with the children she’d longed for these many years. Her very own. It was a miracle. Only incomparable joy could describe the emotions welling up inside.
Light flakes of snow drifted onto her upturned face. As fearful as she once been of winter here in these wild mountains, she decided that it would always be her favorite season. It was always in winter when her greatest blessings had come to her.
She took in a deep breath of crisp night air, flowing down from the Sawtooths into their little valley along the Big Wood River. This was their legacy of love, hers and Evan’s, the children, their children and the land. She lifted a thankful prayer, knowing it would be one of many to come, and stepped back into the house. She had a gift to deliver to Evan, an unexpected gift, the very best kind.
Chapter Nineteen
APRIL 10, 1892
Clara held Graham’s jacket against her chest, caring little if anyone had seen her hold it to her face for a moment, taking in the scent of the man standing a short distance away. The breeze blowing in from the west tossed strands of hair across her face and warmed her cheeks. As usual, Graham read the signs correctly. Spring would be arriving early this year.
“Away!” Graham called to the two pups. One cocked his head, listening to the shepherd. But neither he nor his sister obeyed the command.
Stepping through tender shoots of grass, Clara moved closer to Graham and his dog. She whispered, “How long did it take Alec to learn? At the rate they’re taking, they might be more trouble than they’re worth this summer.”
He hitched a shoulder, keeping his eyes trained on the dogs who were now chasing each other around the band of ten sheep a few yards inside the small pasture. “Can’t really say. Alec came to me fully trained. But they’ll get the knowing of it eventually. Just takes time and patience.”
How well she learned that the shepherd had patience. In the months since Christmas, she’d given him many opportunities to test it. While January had been a kind of euphoric month in that first blush of love, February, like the weather, had turned chilly. As much as they’d learned about each other in January, discovering their similarities, February had shown them just how vast were their differences. When March rolled in like a lion, towing in unexpected snow storms, drifts blocked the roads between the ranch and town for two weeks, giving them long lonely hours to think about what life might be like lived apart. Along with April’s brighter skies came clarity for each of them and a greater appreciation for the Christmas gift they’d received last December. That was how they referred to their love story.
“I’ve been told that Rebecca has taken to sleeping with Priscilla.” Clara said, watching Graham’s face as she did. “You didn’t try to stop her? I thought you didn’t believe in making pets of working dogs.”
“The pup’s hers,” he replied, as though that was the end of the matter. “Besides, with a name like Priscilla, she was destined to become a pet.”
“I’d have thought on principle, you’d have said something.” She smiled, recognizing the signs that might take a simple question onto a full battlefield complete with bagpipes and contested with words honed like sword blades. “I seem to recall you voicing some strong opinions on the subject.”
Graham threw her a quick glance, one eyebrow cocked. “Thought this was a free country? Are you telling me that in America only women have the right to change their minds?”
“Rebecca plays outside as much or more than in.” He turned his head to watch the dogs and whistled, receiving not even a glance from the two young dogs.
He turned back to her and studied her for a time, before a smile tipped the corner of his mouth. “Do you suppose, Miss Webster, we’ll be sparring all our lives?”
Clara pursed her lips, thinking about the lovely occasions that usually followed their sparring matches, those involving long, unrushed kisses. “I’m supposing we might, Mr. Kincaid. I rather like our occasions of making up.”
Graham reached over and lifted her chin with one finger, gazing into her eyes for a long moment. The passion she saw flaming there sent shivers rippling along her arms. “Do you know when I first started loving you?” He didn’t wait for her to answer. “It was when you were dressed in that oversized coat, wearing my socks on your hands. You were ravishing, you know? And I thought to myself, this lassie might one day make a grand rancher’s wife.” Leaning closer, his eyes shifted from hers, looking over her shoulder. He whispered, “We’ve got an audience.”
Clara looked back to see Rebecca watching them, her toes bouncing on the bottom fence rail. “I don’t think your dogs are herding the sheep, Mr. Kincaid,” she said in her quiet voice. “I think they’re playing tag.”
“What?” Graham followed the direction of her gaze.
Both collies were running at full speed in a circuitous route through t
he pasture, pursued by the sheep. In fact, the dogs were scarcely able to outdistance them, and the sheep gave no sign of giving up the chase.
Alec began wildly barking. Graham whistled, but to no avail. The sheep kept running after the dogs, the dogs unable to elude them. And Clara burst out laughing in a manner her mother would have disapproved.
“Did you see them?” Rebecca ran up the front porch steps and took Lena’s hand in hers, shaking it. “The sheep were playing tag with the puppies.”
Lena eased herself onto the porch swing and patted the empty place beside her. “I didn’t see it. Why don’t you tell me about it?”
Rebecca climbed up beside her. “It was funny. Angus, the one with the mostly white face, was chasing the sheep first, and then the sheep that was in the back turned around and stopped, looking real angry. Angus stopped and barked something fierce.”
“He did? I can’t imagine Angus sounding fierce.” Lena brushed a tawny curl from the child’s face.
“Oh, but it was.” Rebecca made her own fierce barking sound. “Just like that!”
“That is fierce. And was the sheep frightened?”
“No! Not at all. The sheep took a step towards Angus and Angus took a step back.” Rebecca brought her knees under her, imitating the dog’s stance. “And do you know what?”
“What?”
“Angus took one look at that old ewe and turned and ran! And he kept running. And the sheep started chasing him.” She gestured with her finger as if she were stirring one of Jessie’s pots of soup. “They went round and round and round.” She flopped back onto her seat and folded her arms. “Uncle Bart would have laughed so hard.”
Lena wrapped her arm around the child’s shoulders and drew her close to her side. “Yes, I imagine he would’ve.”
They sat for a time, Lena pushing off from the porch floor with the toes of her boots, setting the swing into a gentle rhythm. She could feel the child’s eyes studying her before she spoke.
A Hartmann Ranch Christmas Page 11
