Western Christmas Brides

by Lauri Robinson

  But there is Anna. And she will be here soon.

  Of course, they had exchanged letters, but he hadn’t laid eyes on her for so many years she might not even know him! He gulped a swallow of black coffee and set the mug on his desk. Worse, he might not know her.

  By the time he had devoured half the loaf of bread and a hunk of the goat cheese Carl Ness at the mercantile had saved for him, his gnawing physical hunger had subsided. Now he sat sipping his coffee and studying the figure framed in the window across from him.

  What would it be like to talk to her? Maybe go on a picnic, or walk back to the bakery from the schoolhouse with her some afternoon? He suspected girls thought he was dull because he did not speak good English. And if a girl did speak to him, he felt tongue-tied. People thought he was unfriendly. Perhaps he was unfriendly. Or maybe he hadn’t met a girl he really wanted to talk to until now. Maybe he could invite Miss Marnell to tea at the restaurant beside the hotel... Ah, no, he could not. Tea would cost money, and he must save every penny for Annamarie.

  He dropped his head into his hands. He loved Annamarie. He hoped what he was doing was the right thing.

  Chapter Seven

  It rained steadily for three straight days, a soft fall rain that left the air smelling of hay and pine trees, but kept Christina’s students inside at recess and—worse—during the lunch hour. Today she racked her brain to think up something—anything—to keep them entertained while they were all cooped up together.

  A spelling bee? No, they had held one on Monday.

  A geography contest? Unfortunately, that had been Tuesday’s challenge.

  An arithmetic race? That had been held on Wednesday.

  Now here it was Thursday, and she decided the afternoon would be spent in teams of two, studying geography and long division. As usual, Sammy Greywolf picked up any new material long before the other students, which earned him smirks and surreptitious pokes when she wasn’t looking.

  By three o’clock she was tired out. If it rained again tomorrow, she would...what? She could read aloud, perhaps a chapter of The Last of the Mohicans or a tale from One Thousand and One Nights. Or they could play History Charades, where the students acted out historical events. Kurt Jorgensen would love that—he craved being the center of attention.

  At three o’clock, the children shrugged into their coats and knitted wool caps and rain boots and bolted outside into the wet. Christina slowly gathered up her lesson notebook and an advanced-reading workbook and made her way to the schoolroom door, unfurled her umbrella and started for home. Ahead of her she noticed that Adam Lynford was carrying Edith Ness’s books. That made her smile.

  When she reached the bakery, she stopped short at the window and stared. A unfamiliar woman was standing behind the glass display case, a short, very tiny, woman with a bun of jet-black hair, wearing an odd-looking long-sleeved tunic of dark blue silky-looking material and matching trousers.

  Charlie’s new wife.

  The instant Christina moved through the doorway, the woman’s black eyes met hers. Christina extended her hand. “I am Christina Marnell,” she said to introduce herself. “I live upstairs.” She gestured at the ceiling.

  The woman’s face lit up. “I am Iris Ming, though I expect some will call me Missus Charlie.”

  “You speak English very well!” Christina exclaimed.

  The woman smiled. “I attended a missionary school in my village in China. The nuns taught me to speak English.”

  “Welcome to Smoke River, Mrs. Ming.”

  “Oh, thank you! It is quite strange here, so different from China. But I like it. I like especially the roses.”

  “Roses?”

  “Along the fences in front of the houses, yellow and red and pink, even though it is almost winter. Soon I will have a garden—vegetables and flowers. Tomorrow I will dig up the earth in front of my house with my new shovel.”

  “You have a new shovel?”

  The Chinese woman nodded. “A wedding gift from Charlie.”

  “Charlie is no fool,” Christina blurted out. Both women laughed.

  She bought half a dozen molasses cookies, and with a friendly wave at Iris Ming she climbed the stairs to her apartment. While she ate her supper of scrambled eggs and toast she idly thought about Adam Lynford walking the Ness girl home, and a little pain darted into her chest. Nobody had ever walked her home. She wondered what it would have been like.

  * * *

  Christina tightened her grip on the satchel and stuffed her free hand into her skirt pocket. This morning was downright cold! As she drew near the schoolhouse she noted the stack of wood against the front wall had been replenished. As the days grew colder, she needed to keep the schoolroom toasty.

  Even so, after a morning of reading recitations and multiplication problems, at lunchtime all her students bolted out the door into the chilly school yard. The boys engaged in rough games of kickball or Run Sheep Run; the girls stood in tight circles of two or three, chattering away like magpies.

  She watched covert glances slide from one group to another, after which the whispering girls bent their heads together conspiratorially. Young girls certainly liked to gossip! Why could they not get along with each other? She remembered how painful it had been for her, being laughed at and excluded because of her limp and her interest in books and learning. It hurt so much some mornings her stomach ached at the thought of one more day of school. Young girls tolerated no one who was different; they wanted other girls to be just like them!

  She kept a sharp eye peeled for anyone being excluded or picked on. Among the boys, only Sammy Greywolf was not accepted. Surprisingly it was only partly because of his Indian heritage; mostly Sammy’s treatment was jealousy over his obviously quick mind and ready answers. It put all the other boys to shame.

  Nine-year-old Teddy MacAllister was an exception. Teddy often went out of his way to strike up a game of marbles with Sammy, and today one of the younger girls, Roxanna Jensen, asked to join them. That was met with hoots of derision from both sides of the yard. Roxanna, however, excelled at marbles. She just grinned at the boys gathering around and knocked the biggest marble out of the ring.

  At what age did boys and girls start to get along with each other? she wondered. Teddy MacAllister seemed partial to little Manette Nicolet, and so did Billy Rowell. But sunny-spirited Manette was friendly with everyone, even Kurt Jorgensen. Kurt, however, was more interested in lording it over the other boys than paying attention to anyone who wore a pinafore and a dress.

  Christina took a bite of her sandwich and went on staring out the window. One morning last week Ivan Panovsky had turned up early with his ax and chopped wood for an hour before school started. And then—wonder of wonders!—Kurt Jorgensen had shown up early, as well. He helped stack all the wood Ivan split, and when the tall, lean man acknowledged the boy’s presence, Kurt began to talk. And talk.

  Ivan gave short, straight answers to Kurt’s questions, and Christina finally understood it was not disinterest on Ivan’s part but his rather taciturn way. Kurt’s eagerness to be recognized and accepted made her heart ache. If she remembered correctly, Kurt had no father.

  She took another bite of her sandwich and thought about Ivan Panovsky. She had to admit he interested her. The long-limbed sawmill worker was still subsisting on stale bread and moldy cheese; she knew this because she had asked Iris Ming about it, and Carl Ness at the mercantile had volunteered more information. “What that Russkie does with all my unsold cheese is anybody’s guess,” Carl had said. “Foreigners are funny!”

  Foreigners? Ivan was no more a foreigner than anyone else in Smoke River; almost everyone in the county came from some other country. She’d mentioned Carl’s remark to the dressmaker, Verena Forester, and got an earful about the night Teddy’s stepmother, Leah MacAllister, who was half-Chinese, challen
ged the entire town about who among them was “a foreigner” and who was not.

  Had Ivan come from Russia as a young man? Perhaps that explained his quietness. Perhaps he was unsure of his English? But it was said that he read books at night, so...

  She gave herself a shake. Her mind was wandering, and lunch hour was almost over. It was time to rein in her rambling thoughts and write eight new spelling words on the blackboard.

  Chapter Eight

  Ivan waited anxiously in the railway station ticket line while the matronly woman ahead of him finally finished her business, then stepped forward to spread his hard-earned cash—fifty-seven whole dollars—on the counter.

  “I would like one ticket from New York City to Smoke River.”

  “Don’cha mean from Smoke River to New York?”

  “No. I mail ticket to New York and lady will use to come to Smoke River. How long will letter take?”

  The man’s bushy rust-colored eyebrows waggled. “More’n a week, I’d say. Best send a wire to let the party know the ticket’s comin,’ so’s they’ll be watching for it.” He waited expectantly, his finger poised over the telegraph key. “Who’s this telegram going to?”

  “Miss Annamarie Panovsky.”

  “Address?”

  “Greenfield Hall for Young Women in New York City.”

  “That a college or somethin’? Wanna add a room number?”

  “No. It is not a college. Is a—Is not a college.”

  The telegraph key clicked away and Ivan folded the long, four-section paper ticket, slipped it into his pre-addressed envelope and sealed it.

  “Gonna take three stamps, mister. Fourteen cents, please.”

  He slid two nickels and four pennies across the counter and watched the man affix three small blue stamps to his letter, grinned and turned away. He’d done it! He’d scrimped and saved every penny to finish the house he was building so Annamarie could join him; she had waited almost five years and now she would be here in two weeks!

  Every night he had prayed his sister hadn’t given up on him, and every morning he dragged himself out of his cot and stumbled off to the sawmill for another grueling day of feeding logs onto the carriage chain to be sawed into lumber. After his mill shift he went to his other job, manning the cash register at the feed store. He earned two dollars every two weeks, and to increase his meager earnings, he felled pine trees out by the schoolhouse and cut them up into firewood for the teacher’s potbellied stove. For every cord he split and stacked, the Smoke River school board paid him fifty cents.

  Ever since Christina Marnell had come to town, he looked forward to cutting the firewood, and it wasn’t because of the precious money he was paid. He liked being anywhere in her vicinity. If stacking wood outside her schoolroom was as close as he could get, he would settle for that. Often he stopped trimming branches or splitting kindling long enough to watch her slow, uneven progress along the path from town. How would a crippled woman manage when it started to snow in the winter and she would have to break trail to reach the schoolhouse? She should have a horse, like the Jensen girl and Teddy MacAllister, who rode to school from ranches outside of town.

  He strode from the train station onto the main street. Today was Sunday, and he spent the next eight hours at Stockett’s feed store selling prime alfalfa and wheat seed to the ranchers in the county. Afterward, he headed for the mercantile to lay in beans and potatoes and canned tomatoes for when Annamarie would arrive.

  Halfway across the street he halted. Annamarie had lived all her life in New York City. What if she hated living in a little town out in Oregon? What if she didn’t like canned tomatoes? What if...

  All at once he was scared right down to his boot tops. Holy Mother of God, what if I have made a mistake?

  * * *

  After an early-morning snowfall, the board sidewalk was extremely slippery this morning. Christina limped along slowly until she reached the path leading to the schoolhouse, which she knew would be slow going with the snow and her halting pace. She had left extra early to give her time to build a good warm fire in the potbellied stove and warm up the schoolroom before the students arrived.

  She stepped from the boardwalk onto the path and stopped in surprise. She’d expected it to be clogged with snow, but the path had been cleared! Someone had tramped through the new snow ahead of her to clear her way, and she found she could walk along with no trouble. Even on this crisp, cold morning, the gesture made her feel warm all over.

  Another surprise awaited her inside the schoolroom. On her desk sat a shiny tin can full of pink roses! What a miracle, roses in the wintertime!

  By nine o’clock the little stove in the corner had heated the room to a toasty warmth and students began arriving. Christina greeted each one with a smile. Roxanna Jensen and Teddy MacAllister were late, but she knew they came on horseback through the snow so she smiled and let them slip into their seats without a reprimand.

  To her surprise the morning lessons in arithmetic and spelling went smoothly, and by two o’clock that afternoon Kurt and Adam reported the stack of firewood outside was almost depleted. “Don’cha want to cancel school tomorrow, Miss Marnell?”

  “Now, why would I want to do that?”

  “’Cuz it’ll be cold without a fire in the stove,” Adam answered.

  “And Mr. Panovsky don’t want to cut firewood in a snowstorm,” Kurt added.

  “Mr. Panovsky does not want to cut firewood,” Christina corrected.

  “Well, he doesn’t!” Kurt insisted.

  “I thought that perhaps with your help, he—”

  “Naw,” Kurt interrupted. “He won’t let me near his ax. Says it’s sharper than Whitey Poletti’s razor and I shouldn’t touch it. So, if it snows again tonight can we skip comin’ to school tomorrow?”

  “No, you may not,” Christina said firmly. But she did wonder how Ivan would manage to cut more firewood for tomorrow if it continued to snow.

  * * *

  The locomotive from the East puffed out a final blast of steam and rolled to a halt at the station platform. Ivan stopped pacing up and down and scanned the passengers visible through the train windows. Not a sign of Annamarie.

  But it has been so long I might not recognize her!

  He was more nervous than he could ever remember. The house he was building for them was not finished yet, so all week long he’d spent every spare minute setting up an extra cot in his tiny bachelor quarters and adding a chest of drawers with a mirror. He’d filled his meager pantry with cans of corn and beans and had even washed the single window that looked out onto the street. His little apartment over the feed store would scarcely be big enough for the two of them, but until he could finish the house he was building it was all he could manage.

  Would she like it?

  He groaned. A much more important question was whether Annamarie would like him.

  Passengers began stepping onto the station platform and he jerked his attention back to the train. He watched women bundled up in wool coats and scarves, men in overalls and sheepskin jackets, townspeople, farmers...but he saw no young single woman. At least no one young enough to be—

  “Ivan! Ivan!” He spun around to find himself clasped tight in a pair of eager arms.

  “Anna!” He swung her off her feet. “Oh, darling girl, I didn’t see you get off the train. Where did you come from?”

  She laughed. “From New York, of course. You sent the ticket, remember? It arrived two weeks ago. I let you know I was coming and, oh, Ivan, I’m here! I’m really here!” She hugged him again, then looked up into his face. “Oh, my, you look just the same!” She smacked a hasty kiss against his cheek and burst into tears.

  “Anna? Anna, what is wrong?”

  “N-nothing, I’m j-just so happy! I never, never dreamed this would ever reall
y happen, that I would leave that awful—that we would be together again.” She drew back and gazed up at him, her blue eyes shining. “Oh, Ivan, you are so handsome!”

  He couldn’t help laughing at that. Handsome? Him? Only a sister who loved him could ever think of him as handsome. But she—God in heaven, little Annamarie was all grown up and so pretty with her creamy skin and long dark curls it made his throat ache.

  He grabbed her frayed tapestry bag in one hand, draped his other arm about her slim shoulders and turned her toward town. “Come, my beautiful little sister, let me take you to your new home.”

  She danced at his side along the board sidewalk, and when they reached his small room over the feed store she was delighted with everything—the privacy curtain he had erected around her cot, the mirror over the bureau, even his collection of canned food. “Ooh, tomatoes! I love tomatoes!” She flung her arms around his waist. “Oh, Ivan, I am so happy to finally be here with you!”

  He let out a long sigh of relief. He should not have worried.

  Chapter Nine

  Monday morning at nine o’clock Christina experienced two severe shocks. After her students tumbled into the schoolhouse and gathered around the potbellied stove, shivering and chattering as usual, Ivan Panovsky of all people walked through the doorway. Suddenly she could have heard a pin drop in her classroom.

  Ivan led by the hand the most beautiful young girl Christina had ever laid eyes on, petite and slim, with a long tumble of dark curls about her shoulders and eyes the color of a summer sky. Kurt Jorgensen gaped at her and dropped into his seat with an audible thump.

  Ivan and the girl approached her desk. “Miss Marnell, I like to introduce my sister, Annamarie, from New York.”

  The girl gave her a tentative smile.

  “How do you do, Annamarie. Welcome to the Smoke River school.”

  “Anna,” Ivan prompted, “tell Miss Marnell how old you are and what is your grade level in school.”