His Frontier Christmas Family

by Regina Scott

  “Old man Kingerly didn’t even try to stop us,” the other bragged.

  Callie shot Levi a look before hurrying to meet them. “He agreed to give you that, didn’t he?” She tipped her head toward the house.

  The closest boy glanced Levi’s way and stiffened, then elbowed his brother. The other looked toward Levi and dropped his corner of the sack.

  “Sure,” he said. “Of course.”

  “Who’s that?” his brother demanded.

  “That’s Preacher Wallin,” Callie answered them. “He came to tell us something important. I think we should go inside to hear it.”

  Her brothers exchanged glances, then the one retrieved his corner of the sack, and they dragged it toward the house. The shapes bumping against the material told him they had at least one pumpkin in the batch.

  Callie followed them, baby up in one arm. The little one seemed to like him. She blinked big blue eyes surrounded by long black lashes and offered him a wide smile that revealed a set of four teeth. He remembered his oldest nieces being that age before he and Scout had set out to seek their fortune.

  Regret stabbed him. He’d missed more than six years with his family chasing after something he had never needed. He’d thought striking it rich would give him standing, make him a man. He’d become a man all right, and not one his father would ever have wanted him to be. He would spend the rest of his life atoning for what he’d done on the gold fields. The Murphy family was only one step along the way.

  Callie paused beside him as if she wanted to ask him something. She barely came to his shoulder, so he bent his head to give her his full attention. The blue-gray of her eyes was cool, assessing, as if she could see his darkest secret. He willed himself not to flinch.

  She reached down, grasped the handle of the pump with her free hand and tried to yank it up. It didn’t move.

  “Pump’s still broke,” she pronounced, straightening. She passed him for the door.

  Levi was the last one inside. “The pump is rusted solid. Unless you have some oil and a wrench, it’s likely going to stay that way.”

  She shrugged as if she didn’t care or doubted he would be of much use regardless. He suspected her nonchalance had more to do with the fact that she had no way to procure oil or a wrench.

  In fact, she had no way to procure much of anything if the state of the cabin was any indication. It held a single room, though a ladder against one wall told of a loft overhead. Unlike his brothers’ sturdy cabins, this one was more crudely made. The logs hadn’t been seasoned properly, and the chinking was falling out in places, letting the sunlight spear through. The windows at the front and back held no glass; only shutters kept out the wind. The stone fireplace was barely big enough to keep the place warm. The shelves next to it listed, even though they held no more than a sagging sack of flour and some tough-looking carrots.

  How could Adam have left his family in such dire straits?

  A bedstead piled with quilts lay against one wall, with a plank table and benches near the fire. The boys dropped their sack by the table and climbed up on a bench. Callie, still holding the baby, went to stand at the head of the table. She frowned at Levi, before turning to her brothers. Her face softened.

  “The preacher brought us news about Adam,” she said. “I warn you—it ain’t good.”

  Her brothers’ eyes widened, and they looked to Levi.

  He stepped forward until he stood at the end of the table. “I’m very sorry, boys. Your brother has passed on.”

  They frowned in unison, mirror images of each other.

  “Passed on to where?” one demanded.

  “Were there better pickings there?” the other asked.

  Levi’s heart tightened. “Much better pickings. Adam is in heaven.”

  The first boy turned to his sister. “Where’s the Heaven strike? In Washington Territory?”

  “Nah,” his brother scoffed. “It’s in Idaho, you dolt.”

  The first boy scowled. Callie was regarding Levi, challenge in her eyes.

  He squared his shoulders. “What I’m trying to say is that your brother Adam has died, boys. But he didn’t want you to worry. He asked me to take care of you, and I will. I want you all to come live with me.”

  Chapter Two

  Callie was so shocked that she clutched Mica close to keep from dropping her. Live with him? Was he touched in the head?

  Her brothers looked just as surprised, mouths hanging open, their normally busy bodies stilled. As usual, Frisco recovered first.

  “Why’d we want to come live with you?” he demanded, hands braced on the table. “Callie takes care of us real good.”

  “Always has,” Sutter agreed.

  “Always will,” Callie promised them.

  As if she thought so, too, Mica rested her head against Callie’s shoulder. Frisco and Sutter climbed off the bench and pressed against Callie’s side.

  The preacher didn’t look dismayed to find them all ranged against him. He merely inclined his head.

  “Your sister has done a good job,” he said, gaze moving from face to face. “But even Callie has to get tired once in a while.”

  How did he know? She’d been so careful not to let her brothers see it. Neither of them knew the nights she broke down and cried, trying to think of a way to change their circumstances. She was up before they were, in bed long after they climbed to the loft. There weren’t enough hours in the day for tending to the claim let alone all the washing and cooking and cleaning.

  Adam and Pa had both promised better things.

  “Just you wait, Callie,” Pa would say, eyes bright and cheeks flushed like he was feverish. “One day you’ll dress in fine silks and live in a big house with servants to do all the work.”

  He’d had a fever all right. Gold fever. This preacher seemed no different.

  “We get by,” she told him, warmed by her brothers on either side. “What are you offering that’s any better?”

  He took a step closer and spread his hands, as if intent on making his case. He had nice hands, strong-looking and not too soft, like he could wield a pick or shovel if he needed to. He was slender for a man, but those broad shoulders and long legs seemed made to crouch beside a stream for hours panning.

  And when had she started judging men by their ability to hunt for gold!

  “I have a solid house,” he said, “with a good roof and a big hearth.”

  That would be nice. Frisco and Sutter kept having to reposition the tick they slept on to stay out of the drips from the roof when it rained.

  “Our house is solid,” Frisco blustered.

  The preacher had to know that was a lie, but he inclined his head again. “I also have a kitchen stove, plenty of food set aside for winter, a separate bedroom and a sleeping loft overhead.”

  Her brothers brightened, but Callie had spotted the fly in the ointment. “Who do you figure’s sleeping in the bed?” she asked.

  His brows shot up. Preachers—they never liked to talk about practical things, like sleeping arrangements or taking turns in the privy.

  “You and the baby would have the bedroom,” he assured her. “I’ll bunk in the loft with the boys.”

  Sutter and Frisco looked around her at each other, and she was fairly sure they didn’t like the idea of having the preacher so close at night. She’d heard them open the shutters in the loft after they were supposed to be asleep, the thud of their feet against the logs as they climbed down. And she’d stayed awake until she’d heard them climb back up again.

  Still, she couldn’t believe the preacher would be so generous. “You’d take us into your own home,” she challenged. “People you barely know?”

  He smiled. “I knew Adam. He saved my life once, gave me food when I was starving. I was his friend. That m
akes us friends, too.”

  Friends, he said. She had had few over the years, young men her age mostly, and they’d quickly lost each other as families traveled to different strikes. She couldn’t believe this man was her friend. She couldn’t make herself believe any of it—Adam’s death, this stranger’s kindness. Either Levi Wallin was one of those do-gooders who donated to the poor only to brag about it, or he was after something.

  “We don’t need your pity, preacher,” she said.

  He smiled. Such a nice smile, lifting his lips, brightening his eyes. She could imagine people doing anything he wanted when he smiled at them that way.

  “I’m not offering to help you from pity,” he promised her. “Adam asked me to look out for you. Some people might say he gave me guardianship of you all.”

  Her brothers stiffened. So did Callie.

  “Don’t much care what others say,” she told him. “I don’t need a guardian. I’ve been taking care of my family since I was twelve. And I’ll reach my majority in six months.”

  He didn’t argue the fact. If he really did remember Vital Creek, he’d know about the parties Pa threw on any of his children’s birthdays, with music and treats. Anyone who recalled those would know she would turn one-and-twenty in the spring.

  “Still, Adam asked me to take care of you,” he pointed out. “Perhaps you’d like to read his letter now.” He turned for the front door before she could respond. “I’ll be right back.” He strode out of the house.

  Frisco and Sutter ran after him to peer out the cracks in the shutter.

  “He has a horse,” Frisco reported.

  “A nice one,” Sutter agreed.

  They would know. They’d seen their share of sway-back nags over the years.

  “He talks nice, too,” Frisco acknowledged. He turned from the shutter. “Do you think he’s telling the truth, Callie?”

  She shrugged. “Even if he was, would you want to live with a preacher?”

  Sutter stepped closer to Frisco, nudged his shoulder. Most folks thought her brothers were identical, but she could tell the difference. Frisco was a little bigger, a little heavier, and Sutter’s eyes had more gray in them. Frisco was the leader, Sutter the follower. And both looked to Callie to make the hard decisions.

  Like now, when this stranger wanted them to leave the only home they’d ever known.

  The preacher returned, crossed to her side and handed her a piece of paper, even as her brothers came to join them. He’d left the door open as if to give her more light to read by, but the little black lines and dots still swam before her eyes.

  Were these really Adam’s last words?

  She handed the letter to Frisco. “Here. Read it aloud.”

  Her brother swallowed, then looked down at the paper.

  “Callie, Frisco, Sutter and Mica,” he started, each word slow as he sounded them out. He glanced up at Callie with a grin. “See there, Callie? That’s my name next to yours.”

  The preacher smiled as if he appreciated her brother’s excitement. Between their moves and the remote location of the claim, Frisco and Sutter had never been in school, but Callie took pride that they had learned their letters from Anna.

  “I see it,” she told Frisco. “Read the rest.”

  He bent over the paper. “I promised you all to come back before winter, but I think I’m done for.”

  Sutter sucked in a breath, and Frisco looked up again, face paling.

  “Go on,” Callie said, throat tight.

  “Real cold up here. You remember. But don’t worry. Levi Wallin will take care of you. He knows about living like we did. He understands.”

  Callie looked up to find Levi watching her. No one who hadn’t lived in the camps could appreciate the life they’d led. Even the townsfolk in Seattle called her and her brothers wild, uncouth, like they were animals instead of people. Levi Wallin might have visited the gold fields, befriended Adam, but he was still a preacher.

  “Tell Mica about me when she asks,” Frisco continued, voice wavering more from emotion than reading skills now, Callie thought. “Tell her I loved her and her ma. Tell her I only wanted to dress her in fine silks and give her a big house with servants.”

  Callie dashed a tear from her cheek. She’d tell Mica about Adam, but never that he’d wasted his life, like his father before him, chasing after a fool dream.

  “Think of me kindly,” Frisco finished with a sniff. “Your loving brother Adam.”

  Sutter’s face was puckered. “Why’d he have to go and die?”

  “Everyone dies,” Frisco said, crumpling the note in his fist. “Ma, Pa, Adam, Anna. Callie will die one day. So will you.”

  “I won’t!” Sutter shouted, giving him a shove.

  “Boys!” Callie blinked back tears. “That’s enough. Frisco’s right—everyone dies someday. It might be sooner or it might be later. None of us knows.”

  As Frisco rubbed at his eyes with his free hand, she gathered him closer. Sutter crowded on her other side. Adam was really dead. He and Pa had fought with the fellow who’d tried to buy her. Now it looked as if her brother had simply given her away. Didn’t he think she could raise the boys and Mica alone? Hadn’t he trusted her? What was she supposed to do now?

  “I remember how it felt to lose my pa,” the preacher said, in a quiet, thoughtful voice that was respectful of what they were feeling. “I was eight when he was killed in a logging accident.”

  So maybe he knew a little about loss. Frisco didn’t respond, but Sutter raised his head. “What did you do?”

  “I relied on my family and friends,” he said.

  Now Frisco looked up at Callie. “You’re family, Callie. What do you think we should do?”

  At least her little brothers trusted her. Even Mica was regarding her with hope shining in her blue eyes.

  Still, what choice did she have? She’d been counting on Adam returning before the freeze set in. She needed another pair of hands to get everything ready for winter. Her brothers were too young yet for some of the tasks, and they weren’t very good about taking care of Mica so she could work elsewhere on the claim. They kept finding more interesting things to do, leaving the baby unattended. But she couldn’t hunt or chop wood carrying a baby.

  Besides, with Adam gone, how could they keep the claim? She couldn’t file for her own for another six months.

  She met the preacher’s gaze. Once more that deep blue pulled her in, whispered of something more, something better. If only she could make herself believe.

  “I think,” she told her brothers, “that we should get to know Adam’s friend a little better.”

  * * *

  Levi smiled. Though he liked to think he’d outgrown the grin Ma had always called mischievous, he knew a smile could go a long way toward calming concerns, soothing troubled hearts. The Murphys had no reason to trust him other than a recommendation from their dead brother. A brother who might still be alive if he hadn’t yielded to the siren’s call of gold.

  “You live around here, preacher?” Callie asked him.

  They were all watching him. Even the baby blinked her eyes before fixing them on his face as if fascinated.

  “I’m the pastor of the church at Wallin Landing, up north on Lake Union,” he told them. He still couldn’t quite believe it. He’d tutored under a missionary on the gold fields, traveled to San Francisco to be trained and ordained. He’d intended to return north to the men who needed hope in the gold rush camps, to help Thaddeus Bilgin, his mentor. Then he’d discovered that his family had built a church and was ready to request a pastor. They couldn’t know how they’d honored him by offering him the role. His first duty had been to perform the marriage ceremony for his closest brother, John, and his bride, Dottie.

  But Callie didn’t look impressed that he was the pastor
of a church at such a young age. Her eyes were narrowed again. “Levi Wallin, Wallin Landing. Must be nice to have a family who owns a whole town.”

  He’d never considered his family wealthy, until he’d left them. Now he knew they had riches beyond anything he would have found panning—love, friendship, encouragement, faith. Still, he didn’t want to give Callie the wrong impression and have her be disappointed when she saw Wallin Landing.

  “Not much of a town,” he explained. “Yet. It was our pa’s dream to build a community. We have a church, a store and post office, a dispensary and a school.” He nodded to her brothers. “My brother James’s wife is the teacher. You could learn all kinds of things there, boys.”

  First Frisco and then Sutter nodded. At least, he thought he had the names pinned to the right person.

  Frisco stuck out his chin. “I reckon we know enough without going to some stupid school.”

  “And I reckon there’s always more to know,” Callie countered. She held out the baby to him. “Here. Take Mica for a ride in her wagon. Leave the door open so I can see you. No running off this time. Me and the preacher need to talk.”

  Frisco accepted the baby, who babbled her delight at his company. With looks that held a world of doubt, the twins headed for the door.

  Callie took a step closer to Levi. Her hair was parted down the middle and plaited to hang on either side of her face, making her look sad and worn. But even if it had been pinned up like most ladies wore it these days, he thought she’d still look sad. She certainly had reason.

  “Did they give him a good burial?” she asked.

  If someone from Seattle had asked him that question, he would have extolled the wisdom of the minister who delivered the eulogy, numbered the attendees who had honored the deceased with their presence and described the casket and the flowers. After watching men die in the northern wilderness, he was fairly sure what Callie was really asking.

  “A team of six men buried him good and deep. Nothing will disturb Adam’s rest.”

  She nodded, shifting back and forth on her feet as she gazed out the open door. With a rattle, the boys passed, dragging a rickety wagon with Mica bundled in the bed. He heard Callie’s sigh, felt it inside.