A Frontier Christmas

by William W. Johnstone

  “No, just this bag.” She pointed to one of the four items of luggage she’d brought with her. “Take the other three to Ensor’s Dress Emporium,” she instructed, pressing a dollar into his hand. “It’s four buildings down, just on the other side of the Rawhide Buttes Bank.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I’ll see that it gets there,” the driver replied with a broad smile as he folded the bill and stuck it in his pocket.

  It was cold outside without the blanket, but as she had pointed out to the driver, the store was only a short walk from the depot. It wasn’t terribly freezing, but she was happy to arrive.

  “Oh, do come in out of the cold!” Cora Ensor greeted when Meagan stepped inside a few minutes later. “Did you have a hard trip?”

  “No, the ride was smooth, and I was wrapped in a blanket, so it wasn’t too bad.”

  “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate you coming all the way up here to help me get my store started.”

  Meagan took off her coat and hat and hung both of them on a coatrack. “I’m glad to be here. The way I look at it, we are scratching each other’s backs. I can make dresses faster than I can sell them down in Chugwater. Your store gives me another outlet.”

  “And with Christmas coming, I’m sure there will a lot of men wanting to buy something nice for their wives,” Cora added.

  “And their girlfriends.”

  “And their girlfriends?” Cora asked. Then she laughed. “Oh, you mean the unmarried men who have girlfriends. For a moment, I thought you meant that some married men might be buying something for their wives and their girlfriends.”

  “Yes, them, too.”

  “What? Why, that would be awful!”

  Meagan chuckled. “You’re just starting your business, Cora. You don’t have the luxury of being judgmental. If a man wants to buy a dress for his wife and his girlfriend, your job is to sell both dresses to him . . . and keep his secret.”

  Cora laughed as well. “My, and miss the opportunity for gossip?”

  “You have to make up your mind, which do you most want to be? A successful businesswoman, or a gossip?”

  “My lips are sealed,” Cora said.

  “Cora, I predict you will be a wonderful businesswoman.”

  “I would be very happy if I could be only half as successful as you have been, Meagan.”

  “I’m sure you will be. Did you get the ad placed in the newspaper?”

  “Yes, here it is.” Cora picked up a copy of the paper from a countertop.

  FOR THE HOLIDAYS—

  Fine Dresses and Gowns,

  Designed and Sewn by

  MEAGAN PARKER,

  to be found at

  ENSOR’S DRESS EMPORIUM.

  Good Prices.

  “Oh, that’s very nice,” Meagan said. “But you didn’t have to use my name.”

  “You don’t mind that I did, do you?”

  “No, not at all. I’m flattered.”

  Meagan and Cora were unpacking the last of the packages Meagan had brought from Chugwater when the bell on the door jangled. Looking toward the front, they saw a woman and a young girl come into the store.

  “Mrs. Hastings,” Cora said, smiling at the customer. “How nice to see you.”

  “I wanted to see how you were coming along with your store. I think it’s just wonderful the new things you’ll be getting in, just in time for Christmas.”

  “Yes, I’m hoping I’ll do a lot of business in the next few days as people shop for Christmas.”

  “I’m going to be in the school Christmas play,” the little girl said. She coughed.

  “That’s wonderful,” Meagan said.

  The little girl coughed again.

  “Yes, Laura is going to be an angel,” Mrs. Hastings said. “If she isn’t too sick, that is. She wasn’t feeling too well last night, and she woke up with a terrible cough this morning. She’s also been wheezing as she breathes. I don’t know what’s wrong with her.”

  “You must get better, Laura,” Cora said. “I certainly wouldn’t want you to miss being in the play.”

  “The reason I’m here,” Mrs. Hastings said, “is that I want to buy an angel’s costume for Laura. I know it’s almost too late for that but—”

  “It isn’t too late at all,” Meagan said. “I would be happy to make one for her.”

  When it was obvious that Mrs. Hastings had no idea who Meagan was, Cora introduced her. “This is Meagan Parker. She is a dressmaker who has her own shop in Chugwater. She has made most of the dresses I’ll be featuring in my shop.”

  “Oh, how wonderful,” Mrs. Hastings said. “Isn’t that wonderful, Laura?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Mama, my throat hurts.”

  “Then we need to get you back home. It looks like a storm is coming, and I don’t think it will do you good to be out in it, what with a cold coming on.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  “Isn’t she a darling little girl?” Cora asked Meagan after Mrs. Hastings and Laura were gone.

  “Yes, but I’m a little worried about her. I hope Mrs. Hastings takes her to a doctor.”

  “Why bother? Everyone knows there’s nothing you can do about a cold, except just ride it out.”

  “If that’s what it is,” Meagan said.

  “Why do you say that? Do you think it might be something other than a cold?”

  “I don’t know,” Meagan admitted. “Maybe not. But the sore throat, the wheezing, the way her voice sounded. That is a little worrisome, as if it might be something more than just a cold.”

  “Well, if it gets worse, I assure you that Mrs. Hastings will see the doctor. She is a very good mother, and she dotes on that child.”

  “I’m sure she does. Please don’t think I’m casting aspersions on her.”

  “I make no such assumptions. I know you’re just concerned.” Changing the subject, Cora pointed to one of the dresses Meagan had brought with her. “You said a few minutes ago that I should attach a bow to the bodice. What color would you suggest?”

  “Oh, I would say red,” Meagan replied with a broad smile. “The color will be in accordance with the season.”

  “Will you be spending Christmas here in Rawhide Buttes?” Cora asked, as she went through a box of colorful ribbon bows.

  “No, I’ll be returning to Chugwater a few days before Christmas. We have a Christmas dance every year, and I don’t want to miss it.”

  “You don’t want to miss the dance? Or you don’t want to miss someone who will be at the dance?” Cora asked with a knowing grin.

  “Well, if you must know, I don’t want to miss someone who will be at the dance.”

  “Aha! I knew it!” Cora said. “It’s Mr. MacCallister, isn’t it? I know you were together while you were here for the funeral. They said he was here for the trial, too, but I didn’t attend the trial. I’ve heard of him. I think everyone in Wyoming has heard of him. He is quite the hero, but what is he like?”

  “I’m not sure I know how to answer that,” Meagan said. “He’s a Scotsman—charming, imperious, and uncompromising.”

  “I would say that you answered it fairly well,” Cora said. “He’s more than just a friend, isn’t he?”

  “Yes,” Meagan said without going into any more detail.

  “Well, would you let me buy you lunch?” Cora asked.

  “Yes, I would appreciate that.”

  The dining room at the Rocky Mountain Hotel was very well appointed. The tables were covered with white tablecloths and the crystal and silver gleamed from the gaslights in the large, glass globes that hung from the ceiling.

  The two young women were greeted when they arrived at the dining room. “Hello, Cora. Your table is ready for you and your guest.”

  “Thank you, May Ellen. This is Miss Meagan Parker. She is the wonderfully talented dressmaker who will be supplying my shop with a whole line of new dresses.”

  “How wonderful!” May Ellen said, and led them to a table.

  They sat, they ordered, then
as they waited for their meal they talked about Cora’s dress shop.

  “If you get very successful, and I know you will, I won’t be able to supply you with enough dresses to keep you going,” Meagan said. “You’re going to have to hire a full-time seamstress.”

  “I know. I’ve already spoken to a lady here about coming to work for me. I intend to make your dresses the top of the line.”

  “Has she agreed?”

  When Cora nodded, Meagan continued. “Before I return, I’ll help you decorate your store for Christmas.”

  “Oh, I just love Christmas, don’t you?”

  “Yes, I do . . . though this Christmas will be quite melancholy back in Chugwater.”

  “Oh, yes, of course. You are talking about Mayor Guthrie, aren’t you? What a terrible tragedy it was to lose an entire family like that. At least the men who did it have been caught, and will pay a just punishment.”

  “Yes, I saw the sign as I came into town. I knew that once Duff started after them, they would be caught.”

  “It seems like it just come on to her,” a man at the next table was saying. “First it was Billy; he started coughin’ and wheezin’ and havin’ a hard time breathin’. Now it’s his mama.”

  “It’s goin’ around,” said the other man at the table. “I hear Booker is took down with it too. An’ he’s got a awful fever. Al Peterson said his wife is sick with it.”

  “What does the doctor say about them?”

  “I don’t know. I ain’t a’ heered. What’s he say about your wife and boy?”

  “I ain’t sent for him yet, but I aim to if they ain’t neither one of ’em any better by tomorrow.”

  Cora looked at Meagan and frowned. “That sounds like what Laura Hastings has.”

  “Yes, it does. And it doesn’t sound good.”

  “I’m sure it’s no more than a few cases of catarrh,” Cora said. “That seems to be quite a common illness during the winter. I’m sure Laura will be over it by Christmas.”

  In another part of town, Dr. George Poindexter was examining Laura Hastings. He gave her a glass of water. “Take a sip of this.”

  “I’m not thirsty.”

  “You don’t have to take but one sip.”

  Laura took a drink of water, then winced as she swallowed.

  “Does it hurt to swallow?” he asked.

  “Yes sir.”

  He put his fingers to both sides of her throat and felt that the lymph nodes were swollen. “Open your mouth and say ‘ahh’ for me, would you, honey?”

  “Ahh.” Laura said. Her voice was hoarse, and she was wheezing with every breath she took.

  He looked up at Mrs. Hastings. “Has her nose been running?”

  “Yes, it has.”

  “I want you to keep her home from school over the next few days. And don’t let anyone get around her.”

  “How can I not let anyone get around her? I have to be around her. I’m her mother.”

  “Of course,” Dr. Poindexter said. “That doesn’t apply to you, anyway. You’ve already been exposed. I mean, don’t let anyone else around her.”

  “Exposed? What do you mean, exposed?”

  “I’m not sure that it means anything, yet. We’ll just have to wait and see.”

  “I have to go to school,” Laura said. “I’m in the Christmas play.”

  The doctor put his hand on her shoulder. “Well, we have a few more days until Christmas. Let’s just see how this plays out, shall we?”

  Later that same evening, Deputy Jason Masters stepped up to the cell occupied by the Cave brothers. “Do you boys see this here?” He held up something for their inspection. “This here is a calendar. Today is Monday, December fifteenth. Christmas is Thursday, December twenty-fifth. That means there’s only ten more days till Christmas.

  “When you two was kids, did you get excited, countin’ off the days till Christmas? I know I did. What do you say we count off the days together? Today is the fifteenth, tomorrow is the sixteenth . . . this is fun, ain’t it? Where did we stop? Oh, yeah, next day is the seventeenth and . . . uh . . . wait a minute. Somethin’ is s’posed to happen on the seventeenth, ain’t it? What is it? Oh yeah, I know. You two boys is goin’ to get your necks stretched come the seventeenth, ain’t you? And guess what, that’s just two days from now.” Masters laughed.

  “Oh, have you looked out the window? From your cell, you’ve got a real good view of the gallows that was built just for you. Ain’t nobody else ever been hung on it. That ought to make you feel real proud. I’ve talked to Mr. Dysart, the photographer. He’s going to get a picture of the two of you hangin’ there. It’s goin’ to make you boys real famous.

  “Some folks, when they get hung, why their tongue sticks out like this.” Masters stuck his tongue out and made a sound deep in his throat, like someone strangling.

  “I hope you two boys do that. It’ll make a real good picture, seein’ you with your tongues all stuck out like that.”

  Jesse and T. Bob glared at him, but made no response.

  As the deputy walked away from the cell, still chuckling, T. Bob climbed up onto the bunk and looked through the barred window. “He’s right, Jesse, they’ve done got the gallows built already.”

  “Get down from there and quit lookin’ at it,” Jesse said. “That won’t do nothin’ but drive you crazy.”

  “They’re goin’ to do it, Jesse. They’re goin’ to hang us,” T. Bob said.

  “They ain’t hung us yet.”

  “But they’re goin’ to. There ain’t no way we’re goin’ to get out of this.”

  “I told you, get down from there and quit lookin’ at it,” Jesse said again.

  “I can’t help but look at it. It’s just outside the window.”

  Jesse clenched his teeth. “Then don’t look through the window.”

  In the wee hours of the seventeenth, Wally Jacobs lit a candle to push away the darkness inside the livery stable. Following the bubble of light, he found his horse and the two horses Dingo had given him. He saddled them, then led them out quietly, across the street and down the alley until he reached the back of the jailhouse. There, he tied the horses off.

  One of the horses whickered, and Jacobs looked around quickly to make certain nobody was observing him.

  Inside the jailhouse, Deputy Jason Masters was dozing at his desk when something awakened him. Opening his eyes, he glanced around the nearly dark room, illuminated only dimly by the low flame of a kerosene lantern. It was very cold outside, but a potbellied, coal-burning stove was keeping the room warm. A blue-steel pot of coffee sat on the stove, perfuming the room with its rich aroma.

  Outside the small building the wind moaned, rattling the shutters and whistling through the cracks.

  He looked toward the clock on the wall, its pendulum moving back and forth in a measured tick-tock. According to the clock, it was three-thirty in the morning. He stood up, rubbed his eyes, stretched, then walked over to the stove to pour himself a cup of coffee.

  Holding the coffee, he stepped over to the jail cell to look inside. The two brothers were wide awake, sitting on their bunks.

  Masters took a slurping drink of his coffee. “Can’t you fellas sleep any?”

  “No,” Jesse growled.

  “Oh I get it. You’re excited about Christmas, aren’t you? Yes, it’ll be here in a couple days and . . . oh, no, wait. Doggone it.” Masters snapped his fingers. “Come to think of it, you won’t be here for Christmas, will you? You’re goin’ to hang in another”—he looked toward the clock—“five and a half hours. Well, I’ll tell you what. Come Christmas Day, I’ll step into the saloon and have a drink for you two boys. How will that be? Merry Christmas,” he said with a malevolent chuckle.

  Masters turned away from the cell, the grin still on his face. He was startled by the sight of someone standing by his desk. “Who the hell are you? How’d you get in here?”

  “The name is Wally Jacobs, and I’ve come to visit your prisoners.”


  “Are you crazy? It’s three-thirty in the morning. There’s no visiting at three-thirty in the morning.”

  “Deputy?” Jesse called.

  “Now, what the hell do you want?” Masters asked, turning back toward the jail cell. Both prisoners were standing just on other side of the bars, and they were grinning broadly.

  “Is that any way to treat our cousin?” Jesse asked.

  “Your cousin?” Masters replied, a look of concern on his face. At that moment, he felt a hand clasp over his mouth, while another hand flashed quickly across his neck. There was a stinging sensation, then a wetness at his collar.

  Jacobs let go of him and stepped back. Masters dropped his coffee, felt his legs turn to rubber, then he fell to the floor. Putting his hand to his throat, he pulled it away and looked in horror at the blood on his fingers. He screamed, but the scream was in his head only. His windpipe had been cut, and he could make no sound.

  As he was losing consciousness, he saw Jacobs opening the cell door.

  The two men hurried out, and T. Bob stepped over to look down at the fallen deputy. “Now who won’t be celebrating Christmas?” He sneered.

  “The horses are saddled, and in the alley behind the jail,” Jacobs said. “Let’s get out of here.”

  “We ain’t goin’ nowhere yet,” Jesse said. “We got other business to take care of.”

  “What business?” Jacobs asked.

  “That judge that sentenced us, Kirkpatrick, has come back to town to witness the hangin’. I heard Masters and Worley talkin’ about it. He’s stayin’ in the hotel. We’re goin’ to pay him a visit.”

  “We ain’t got time for that,” Jacobs objected.

  “Yeah, we do,” Jesse said. “We’re goin’ to take time for it.”

  They grabbed the horses and moved through the alley, tying them off behind the hotel, then went inside the front. The lobby was dark, except for one kerosene lantern burning dimly on the desk. As the desk clerk snored loudly, they checked the registration book.