“You have a big nose,” the child remarked charitably.
“Gracie,” Juliana said. “That will be enough.”
“Well, he does. And it’s purple on the end.”
“Gracie,” Lincoln admonished.
Gracie subsided, leaning against Juliana now. She hadn’t been deliberately rude; there was no meanness in her. She’d merely been making an observation.
Juliana shifted so she could wrap one arm around the little girl without sending Daisy toppling to the floor.
“Children,” Mr. Philbert said with a long-suffering sigh. “They are such trouble some little creatures.”
Juliana longed to refute that state ment—there were a thousand things she wanted to say, but she held her tongue. It would not do to give the man a reason to dislike her even more than he already did.
“Nevertheless,” he went on, taking clear and unflattering satisfaction in his power over all of them, “duty is duty. Adoption or none, I intend to take the little ones back to Missoula with me for the interim. I have to account for them, you know.”
Tom’s face turned hard, and he started to rise.
Wes, standing just behind him and to the side, having given up his chair to Mr. Philbert, laid a warning hand on Tom’s shoulder.
“Now, why would you want to go to all the trouble to drag them all the way to Missoula?” Lincoln asked, with a sort of easy bewilderment. “They’re fine right here, part of a family.”
Mr. Philbert reddened again, stabbed his fork into a slice of turkey. “According to the store keeper in town, you and Mr. Creed are married now. Is that true, Juliana?”
He’d spoken to Mr. Willand, Juliana concluded disconsolately. That was how he’d known about the marriage—the reverend had probably scattered the news far and wide—and where to find her and the children.
“It’s true,” Juliana said.
“Awfully convenient,” Mr. Philbert remarked, with an un pleas ant smile. “Wouldn’t you agree?”
Gracie took issue. “Don’t you talk to my mama in that tone of voice,” she warned.
That time, neither Lincoln nor Juliana scolded her.
Mr. Philbert raised his eyebrows, took the time to fork in, chew and swallow more turkey before responding. The law was on his side, as far as Juliana knew. He had the upper hand, and he wasn’t going to let anyone forget that.
Daisy, uncomprehending and frightened nonetheless, turned her face into Juliana’s bodice and began to cry silently, her small shoulders trembling. Juliana kissed the top of her head, stroked her raven-black hair.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen an Indian cry before,” Mr. Philbert mused, sparing no notice for the child’s obvious grief and fear.
Tom started to his feet again; Wes stopped him by putting that same hand to his shoulder and pressing him back down.
“Daisy,” Lincoln said to Mr. Philbert, his voice measured, the voice of a lawyer in court, “is a child. She’s three years old. You’re scaring her, and that’s something that I won’t tolerate for any reason.”
“I have legal authority—”
“So do I,” Lincoln broke in evenly. “This is my house. This is my ranch. And if you want to take these children anywhere, you’re going to need a court order and half the United States Army to help you. Do you have a court order, Mr. Philbert?”
Mr. Philbert sputtered a little. “Well, no, but—”
“You’d better get one, then. Before you manage that, I’ll have been to Helena to file the petition and Daisy and Bill will be Creeds, as much my children in the eyes of the law as Gracie here.”
Mr. Philbert considered that, gulped, then worked up a faltering smile and asked, “I don’t suppose there’s any pie?”
An hour later, having topped off his meal with two slices of mince meat pie, the agent handed Juliana a bank draft covering her last month’s salary, warned her that if she should ever apply for any teaching position, anywhere, she should not give his name as a reference.
And then, blessedly, he was gone.
TAKING NO CHANCES, LEST Mr. Philbert had a change of heart, Tom and Lincoln were up even earlier than usual the next morning. They hitched up the team and wagon while Juliana helped Joseph and Theresa pack for their journey. Once the two young people were on board a train east, with Tom to escort them, Lincoln would travel to Helena, stand before a judge and enter the petition to adopt Daisy and Billy-Moses.
Juliana was afraid to hope the Bureau of Indian Affairs would not step in. At the same time, something within her sang a silent, swelling song of jubilation.
Although she tried to keep up a good front, Juliana despaired as she watched Joseph and Theresa buttoning up the new coats Lincoln had given them for Christmas. They would miss her and the other children, she knew, but the joy of going home, of truly belonging somewhere, shone in their faces.
Juliana hugged both of them, one and then the other, but avoided looking through the window after they’d gone out, unable to watch as they got into the wagon. There would be letters, at least from Theresa, but considering the distance, it was unlikely that she would ever see them again. Eventually, their correspondence would slow, however good everyone’s intentions were, and finally stop.
Gracie, standing at Juliana’s side, took her hand. “Don’t be sad, Mama,” she said. “Please, don’t be sad.”
But Juliana couldn’t help crying as she took Gracie into her arms.
Lincoln returned to the house to say goodbye. “I’ll be back in a few days,” he said. “Ben and the others will look after the cattle and the chores. If Philbert comes back here, send somebody to town to fetch Wes.”
Juliana nodded, barely able to absorb any of it. The parting from Lincoln was, in some ways, the hardest thing of all.
He gave her a lingering kiss.
Then he, too, was gone.
Billy-Moses, who had sat quietly near the stove during all the fare wells, stacking blocks, knocking them down and then stacking them again, suddenly hurtled toward the door, flinging himself at it, struggling with the latch and uttering long cries of angry sorrow. Juliana hurried to the child, knelt beside him, pulling him into her arms, stroking his hair, murmuring to him.
He wailed for Theresa, for Joseph, for Lincoln, sobbing out each name in turn, between shrieks of despair. Weeping herself, while Gracie and Daisy looked on with forlorn expressions, each clasping the other’s hand, Juliana lifted Billy-Moses up and carried him to the rocking chair.
He was a long time quieting down, but Juliana rocked him, holding him tightly long after he’d stopped struggling. Eventually, he fell into a fitful sleep.
Gracie came to lean against the arm of the chair, her face earnest. “Doesn’t Billy want to be my brother? Doesn’t he want to be a Creed?”
Juliana, more composed by then, smiled and tilted her head so it rested against Gracie’s. “Of course he does, sweet heart,” she said very quietly. “He misses Joseph and Theresa, that’s all. And your papa and Tom, too.”
Gracie nodded solemnly, but quickly braced up. “Papa said he’d come back, and Papa always does what he says he’s going to do.”
“Yes,” Juliana agreed, heartened. “He does.”
The next day, Wes returned to the ranch, bringing a telegram from Lincoln, sent that morning from Missoula. Tom, Theresa and Joseph had boarded the train; they would be in North Dakota within the week.
To keep busy, Juliana divided her time between giving Gracie reading, spelling and arithmetic lessons at the kitchen table, visiting Rose-of-Sharon and the baby, and poring over a collection of old cookery books she’d found in a pantry cabinet.
Lincoln sent another telegram the following day when he reached Helena, promising that he’d be home soon.
Determined to use the waiting time constructively, Juliana bravely assembled the ingredients to bake a batch of corn bread, followed the directions to the letter, and almost set the kitchen on fire by putting too much wood in the stove.
On the thi
rd day, the previously mild weather turned nasty. Snow flew with such ferocity that, often, Juliana couldn’t see the barn from the kitchen window, even in broad daylight. She knew that Lincoln planned to return to Missoula from Helena by rail, once he’d completed his business in the state capital, reclaim his wagon and team from a local livery stable and drive back to the ranch. With what appeared to be a blizzard brewing, Juliana was worried.
He could get lost in the storm, even freeze to death some where along the way.
In an effort to distract herself from this worry, Juliana care fully removed all the decorations from the Christmas tree, packing them away in their boxes. When Ben Gainer brought a bucket of milk to the back door that evening, shivering with cold even in his warm coat, Juliana made him come inside and drink hot coffee.
Somewhat restored after that, Ben dragged the big tree across the floor and out the front door. Later, it would be chopped up and burned.
The storm continued through the night, and snow was still coming down at a furious rate in the morning, drifting up against the sides of the house, high enough that if she’d been able to open a window, Juliana could have scooped the stuff up in her hands.
Ben brought more milk, and told Juliana he hoped the snow would let up soon, because he and the other two ranch hands were having a hard time getting the hay sled out to the range cattle, even with the big draft horses to pull it.
One question thudded in the back of Juliana’s mind day and night like a drumbeat that never went silent.
Where was Lincoln?
She tried to be sensible. He’d probably had to stay in Missoula to wait out the storm, and sent another telegram informing her of that. Since the road between Stillwater Springs and the ranch was under at least three feet of snow, Wes wouldn’t be able to bring her the message, like he had the others.
There was nothing to do but wait.
Juliana tried the corn bread recipe again, and even though it came out hard as a horse shoe, at least this time smoke didn’t pour out of the oven. Soaked in warm milk, the stuff was actually edible.
The next day, Ben strung ropes from the house to the cabin and the cabin to the barn; it was the only way he could get from one place to the other without being lost in the blizzard. The draft horses knew the way to and from the cluster of trees where the herd had taken shelter; otherwise, the cattle would have gone hungry.
On the fifth night, Juliana lingered in the kitchen, long after the children had gone to sleep, watching the clock and waiting.
At first, she thought she’d imagined the sound at the back door, but then the latch jiggled. She fairly leaped out of her chair, hurried across the room and hauled open the door.
The icy wind was so strong that it made her bones ache, but she didn’t care. Lincoln was standing on the back step, coated in ice and snow, seemingly unable to move.
Juliana cried out, used all her strength to pull him inside and managed to shut the door against the wind by leaning on it with the full weight of her body.
“Lincoln?”
He didn’t speak, didn’t move. How had he gotten home with the roads the way they were? Surely the team and wagon couldn’t have passed through snow that deep—it would have reached to the tops of the wheels.
She had to pry his hat free of his head—it had frozen to his hair. Next, she peeled off the coat, tossed it aside.
She thought of tugging him nearer the stove, but she recalled reading about frost bite some where; it was important that he warm up slowly.
His clothes were stiff as laundry left to freeze on a clothes line. She ran for the bedrooms, snatching up all the blankets she could find that weren’t already in use and hurried back to the kitchen.
Lincoln was still standing where she’d left him; his lips were blue, and his teeth had begun to chatter.
“Whiskey,” he said in a raw whisper.
Juliana rushed into the pantry, found the bottle he kept on a high shelf. Pouring some into a cup, she raised it to his mouth, holding it patiently while he sipped.
A great shudder went through him, but he wasn’t so stiff now, and some of the color returned to his face.
“Help me out of these clothes,” he ground out. “My fingers aren’t working.”
She pulled off his gloves first, and was relieved to see no sign of frost bite. His toes could be affected, though, and even if they weren’t, the specter of pneumonia loomed in that kitchen like a third presence.
She un but toned his shirt, helped him out of it, then pulled his woolen under shirt off over his head, too. She immediately wrapped him in one of the blankets. He managed to sit down in the chair she brought from the table, and she crouched to pull off his boots, strip away his socks.
His toes, like his fingers, were still intact, though he admitted he couldn’t feel them.
He seemed so exhausted just from what they’d done so far that Juliana gave him another dose of whiskey before removing his trousers and tucking more blankets in around him.
“How did you get here?” she asked as he sat there shivering, a good distance from the stove. “My Lord, Lincoln, you must have been out in the weather for hours.”
Remarkably, a grin tilted up one corner of his mouth. “I rode Wes’s mule out from town,” he answered slowly, groping for each word. “Good thing that critter can smell hay and a warm stall from a mile off.”
“You rode Wes’s mule?” If Juliana hadn’t been so glad he was home, she would have been furious. “Lincoln Creed, are you insane? If you got as far as Stillwater Springs—and God knows how you managed that—you should have stayed there!”
“You’re here,” he said. “Gracie and Bill and Daisy are here. This is where I belong.”
“You could have frozen to death! What good would that have done us?”
He didn’t respond to that question. Instead, he said, “You’d better get some snow to pack around my feet and hands, or else I might lose a few fingers and toes.”
The action was contrary to every instinct Juliana possessed, but she knew he was right. After bundling up, she took the milk bucket outside and filled it with snow.
Returning to the kitchen, she marveled that Lincoln had been able to travel in that weather, probably for hours, when she’d been chilled to her marrow by a few moments in the backyard.
The process of tending to Lincoln was slow and, for him, painful. It was after two in the morning when he told her there had been enough of the snow packs. She led him to their room, put him to bed like a child, piling blanket after blanket on top of him.
Still he shivered.
She built the hearth fire up until it roared.
Lying in the darkness, under all those blankets, he chuckled. “Juliana, no more wood,” he said. “You’ll set the house on fire.”
There was nothing more she could do except put on her night gown and join him. He trembled so hard that the whole bed frame shook, and his skin felt as cold as stone.
She huddled close to him, sharing the warmth of her own body, enduring the chill of his. When he finally slept, she could not, exhausted as she was, because she was so afraid of waking up to find him dead.
For most of the night, she kept her vigil. Then, too tired to keep her eyes open for another moment, she drifted off.
When she woke up, his hand was underneath her night gown.
“There’s one way you could warm me up,” he said wickedly.
He was safe.
He was warm again, and well.
And Juliana gladly gave herself up to him.
EPILOGUE
June 1911
JULIANA CREED STOOD IN Willand’s Mercantile, visibly pregnant and beaming as she read Theresa’s most recent letter through for the second time before folding it care fully and tucking it into her handbag. She and Joseph had attended a small school on the reservation since their return to North Dakota, but now they would have the whole summer off. Joseph had a temporary job milking cows on a nearby farm, while Theresa would be helpi
ng her grand mother tend the garden.
Juliana looked around the store for her children.
Billy-Moses—now called just Bill or Billy most of the time, a precedent Lincoln had set—was examining a toy train carved out of wood, while Daisy and Gracie browsed through hair ribbons, ready-made dresses with ruffles, and story books.
With all of them ac counted for, her mind turned to the men. Tom was at the blacksmith’s, having a horse shod, and Lincoln had gone to the Courier, looking for Wes.
Marriage had changed Weston Creed. He was, as Lincoln put it, “damn near to becoming a respectable citizen.” Remarkably, given the long estrangement between her and Wes, the elder Mrs. Creed had returned to Stillwater Springs for the wedding back in April. While she hadn’t been happy about having a saloon keeper for a daughter-in-law, she’d behaved with re mark able civility.
Cora had stayed long enough to size Juliana up, decided she’d do as a wife for Lincoln and a step mother for Gracie, and then she’d announced that she was taking up permanent residence with her cousins in Phoenix. She was too old, she maintained, to keep going back and forth.
Although they’d been a little stiff with each other at first, Juliana had soon come to like her mother-in-law. While Cora had been cool to Kate, she had made the long journey home to attend the wedding. During her stay at the ranch, she’d treated Daisy and Billy as well as she had Gracie.
Before her departure, though, Cora and Juliana had agreed, in a spirit of goodwill, that one Creed woman per house hold was plenty.
When the little bell over the mercantile chimed, Juliana turned in the direction of the door, expecting to see Lincoln, or perhaps Tom.
Her heart missed a beat when she recognized Clay.
Their eyes met, but neither of them spoke.
Clay stood just over the thresh old, handsome in his well-tailored suit. His hair was darker than Juliana’s, more chestnut than red, but his eyes were the same shade of blue.
Watching her, he removed his very fashionable hat. “Juliana,” he said gravely, with a slight nod.
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