by Ford, Linda
“He’ll be okay. I will take care of him,” Marie said.
“That’s so sweet,” Becca murmured.
“Yup.” Colt hoped his voice revealed none of his churning feelings. Little Joe would likely never know how his sister buffeted the harshness of life for him. But understanding what lay ahead for both, he wished he could find a home where they would be admired as much as Becca admired them. Just listening to her laugh as she dealt with them caused cracks in the walls he’d built around his heart.
* * *
A shattering cry jerked Becca awake. It took two seconds to remember the source of such a piercing sound. Little Joe. She blinked away sleep and tried to guess the time of day...or was it night? Stumbling from her bed, she danced about on the cold floor.
The stove top rattled. Pa was up. She’d slept the night through.
She hopped to the window, scraped away the frost and peered into the gray light. Snow piled against the glass. The wind battered the side of the building. The snowstorm continued.
Shouldn’t she be disappointed?
But she wasn’t. Instead, she hurried into her clothes and fixed her hair, pausing to study her reflection in the misted mirror. The cold made it impossible to stand still long enough to assess her likeness. Not that she needed a mirror to tell her what she knew already. Skin that stayed porcelain white—a fact that had pleased her mother, but mattered not at all to Becca. Hair that refused to behave itself. She braided it tightly, then dashed from the room and huddled near the stove, stretching out her hands toward the growing heat.
Little Joe’s cries had settled into sobbing misery.
Becca glanced toward Colt and the children. The three of them were bleary eyed.
“You look like you never slept.”
“I tried.” Colt sounded resigned. “But have you ever tried sleeping with two kids kicking you in the ribs all night?”
“Can’t say as I have.” She grinned at him, enjoying the mental picture of him spending the night with the children. It wasn’t the kicking she imagined, but the way Marie leaned against him, as trusting as a kitten with its mother.
“I expect they’re hungry.” She pulled out griddles and sliced bacon to fry. She mixed up batter for griddle cakes, and to complete the meal, she opened a jar of applesauce she’d preserved a few weeks ago.
As Becca pulled out dishes to set the table, Marie jumped from the easy chair she shared with Colt and Little Joe. Her brother scrambled after her. “You stay with Colt,” she told him.
Little Joe hesitated, as if deciding whether or not he wanted to comply, then nodded. “Okay.” He gave Colt an expectant look and Colt stared at him.
“What do you want?”
“Up.”
Colt’s face registered surprise, then he lifted the boy and settled him on his knee.
Becca studied them a moment. He met her gaze, his eyes full of dark depths. She got the feeling Colt found every welcoming, accepting gesture unexpected and wasn’t quite sure how to handle it. She wondered about his parents and what sort of things he’d encountered to make him so wary. Though she’d seen enough of how people acted toward those who weren’t like them to guess at the way he’d been treated. It brought a stab of pain to her heart. She turned away to hide her reaction.
Marie stood at her side. “I will help you.”
She realized Marie meant she would like to set the table.
“How nice. Thank you.” Becca bent over to give the child a quick hug, then handed her the plates. The least she could do was prove to these children that not everyone would treat them poorly.
“Breakfast is ready.” The words were barely out of her mouth before Little Joe flung himself from Colt’s lap and grabbed his hand, tugging at him to hurry.
“Eat. Me hungry.”
Colt laughed. “So I see.”
Becca’s eyes widened. She’d never heard the man laugh before, though he had a shy smile and quiet chuckle that seemed to escape often, and likely without his permission. But his laugh did funny things to her insides—making them smile in secret. She jerked her fanciful thoughts back into order as Pa settled at one end of the table and waited for her to sit so he could say the blessing. Guilt stung her cheeks at the way Pa studied her. She sat and bowed her head.
As Pa asked God to bless the food, she asked Him to guard her thoughts. She knew what she must do—honor her promise to her mother. There was no room for wishing for something else.
The food was well received. After several helpings, Little Joe finally slowed down with a sigh.
“All done.”
Becca shook her head. “I can’t believe you ate all that.”
He nodded, flashed a wide grin and patted his tummy. “Full now.”
Colt snorted. “Better plug your ears.” He addressed Little Joe.
“Why?” Marie asked.
“I know there isn’t room for all that food in a little-boy stomach. It has to go somewhere, so I figure it will start coming out his ears.”
Little Joe clamped his hands over his ears and scrunched his face in deep concentration.
Becca laughed. “He’s joshing you.” She sent Colt a scolding look and almost choked as he laughed—his mouth open, his eyes flashing.
He reached over and tapped Little Joe on the shoulder, gaining his attention. “It won’t really come out your ears.”
Little Joe slowly removed his hands, checked his palms. “No food.”
Colt chuckled. “It’s all in your tummy.”
Little Joe looked relieved.
Pa cleared his throat and reached for the Bible he kept on a shelf near the table.
“If everyone is done, we always read a chapter every morning. As my father often said, it’s a good way to start the day.”
Becca settled back to listen. She would miss Pa’s morning reading when she left. Yes, she read her own copy of the Bible, but hearing Pa’s slow, strong voice was part and parcel of her faith.
He read a chapter from Matthew, then closed the Bible. “We always pray for the day ahead of us.”
As Becca bowed her head, she allowed herself a glance at Colt. He watched Pa with an expression combining surprise and what she could only guess was admiration.
“God in heaven, bless us this day. Protect any travelers in the storm. Please see fit to bring an end to this storm so Becca can begin her journey. Take Colt and the children on whatever journey You have for them. Amen.”
Pa drained his cup of coffee and suddenly tipped his head to one side. “Listen to that. The wind has stopped blowing. I do believe the storm has ended.”
For the first time in her life, Becca resented the sun that broke through the clouds and turned the frost on the window to a thousand sparkling diamonds.
Pa rubbed his hands together and looked pleased as he went to the store, hoping for customers.
Colt pushed away from the table to follow her pa from the room. Little Joe scrambled from his chair and raced after him. “Me go, too. Me go with you.”
Marie followed her brother, her eyes echoing his words.
Colt turned slowly to contemplate the children, then faced Becca. “I have to go.”
“Go? As in leave?”
He shifted his weight from foot to foot, as if anxious to be on his way.
“Don’t go,” Marie begged, clinging to his hand.
Little Joe puckered up, ready to set his ear-splitting cry on them again.
Colt swept the boy into his arms. “Don’t cry. Please.”
“You not go?”
The poor man looked torn between a desire to flee and the demands of two little children.
“They’ve lost so much already,” she murmured. “You could at least stay until the stage comes.”
His expressi
on could have been set in stone for all he revealed. Then he nodded. “Very well. I’ll see them safely on their way first.”
“You stay?” Little Joe demanded.
Colt nodded, and Little Joe patted his cheeks lovingly. “You good boy.”
Laughter filled her throat at the child’s innocent approval, and she knew her eyes brimmed with amusement.
Colt looked her way, saw her barely contained laughter and grinned crookedly.
“Must be nice to be appreciated,” she managed, though her words seemed a little garbled by the welling laughter.
“Guess there’s a first time for everything.” Suddenly he turned away and strode into the store, Little Joe clutched in his arms.
“Anything I can do to help?” she heard him ask Pa before the door closed between them.
If she didn’t miss her guess, he sounded desperate.
“I’ll help with dishes,” Marie offered, pulling Becca’s attention from the activity in the store.
But it did not stop her from trying to guess what sent Colt skittering away so fast.
* * *
First time for everything.
As if he felt neglected because only a two-year-old child saw fit to show appreciation. A self-pitying statement if he’d ever heard one. Dare he hope she’d think he was only joshing? But he feared he’d seen a flicker of something in her eyes before he ducked from the room. Whether it was pity or something else, he would not consider.
The storm was over. He should be on his way, but the kids would soon be off to the fort with Becca where they’d be treated kindly...as kindly as mixed-race children could expect, and he knew from experience it was hit or miss—mostly hit of the physical sort, as it turned out.
The outer door blew open and a weathered, bewhiskered man entered the store.
“Seems we survived the first big blow of the season.”
“How do, Petey. You planning to head out soon?” Macpherson glanced out the window. “Don’t see the stagecoach.”
Colt watched the pair. So this was the driver. Seemed his promise to stay until the kids were on their way would be short-lived.
Petey strode to the stove and held his hands toward the heat. “Came to tell you I ain’t going ’til after Christmas.”
Macpherson straightened and stared at the man. “You don’t say.” He didn’t sound pleased by the announcement.
“Rufus invited me to stay with him.”
“At the livery station?”
“Rufus and me go back a long ways. ’Bout the closest thing we have to family. Figure we should spend Christmas together.”
“Of course.” Macpherson strode to the window and peered out.
Colt didn’t move. Tried to become invisible, but Little Joe squirmed and chattered, drawing Macpherson’s attention and a glower.
Petey glanced at the little boy then at Colt. “You taking that kid out in this weather?”
Macpherson answered. “They’re going to the fort on the stage.”
“Then it looks like you’ll have visitors for Christmas.”
Macpherson did not look pleased at the prospect, but moved to tend to Petey’s order.
A few minutes later the man left with a bundle of goods that Colt figured would be used to celebrate the season.
Colt and Macpherson stared at each other, then Macpherson headed to the living quarters. Colt hung back, Little Joe playing in his arms. Christmas was a family time. Even Petey knew that. Colt wasn’t family. He’d buy a few supplies and be on his way.
Macpherson paused in the doorway. “You better come along.”
Colt knew what to expect. He’d be leaving within the hour.
“Don’t suppose you heard Old Petey out there.” Macpherson sounded weary as he spoke to Becca.
Becca had been supervising Marie washing the table. Her smile faded. “He’s here already? I thought—”
“He’s spending Christmas with Rufus at the livery barn. I can’t imagine why he’d choose to stay cooped up in the tiny room at the back of the barn when he could enjoy Christmas at the fort.”
Becca clapped her hands. “That’s the best news I’ve heard in a long time.”
Colt stared in disbelief and confusion.
Macpherson grunted. “Why is that?”
“I can spend Christmas here with you.” She spoke directly to her pa, then shifted her gaze to the two children who had gone to the corner to play. “And I can give them the best Christmas ever.”
Her words hit Colt like a blow to the stomach. It meant he’d have to say goodbye to them right away, but he acknowledged it would be best for them. Only it would be lonely for him.
He was being plumb ridiculous. He’d been alone most of his life, even when he found shelter with a family.
“You are most generous,” he murmured, letting his gaze rest momentarily on her face, taking in her sunny smile and sky-colored eyes. He would never forget her. Recalling her features would warm many cold, lonely nights. He jerked away to confront Macpherson.
“I’ll get those supplies now and be on my way.” He headed for the door, expecting Macpherson to follow.
But before her pa could take a step, Becca sprang forward and grabbed Colt’s arm.
“You can’t mean you intend to leave.” She kept her words low so the children wouldn’t hear, but nevertheless, they rang with accusation. “They’ll be so upset, they won’t be able to enjoy Christmas. You must stay and help me make it special for them.” She pleaded silently, her eyes soft, then her face filled with determination. “Didn’t you promise them—and me—you would stay until they were on the stage?” When he didn’t answer, she turned to her pa. “Tell him to stay. Tell him we need him to make this work. Tell him—” She ran out of steam.
Macpherson studied his daughter for some time, then shrugged and turned to Colt. “Really doesn’t make sense to ride out on your own unless you’re in a hurry to get someplace.”
Was he? Part of him said he should leave now before he was driven away. Leave with his pride intact. His heart untouched.
“Please stay,” Becca murmured.
Her voice made him forget all the sound reasons for going.
“For Christmas?” Was it really what she meant?
“We’ll make it the best Christmas ever.”
Did she realize she hadn’t added “for the children”? Was it worth risking all the solid walls he’d built around his soul to find out?
“I’ll stay.”
A large portion of his brain told him he would be less thankful before this sojourn ended, but he could only hope he’d be able to say it had been worth whatever pain it brought.
Chapter Three
Colt meant to see that no one regretted having him spend Christmas here, so when Macpherson returned to the store, Colt followed hard on his heels, scooping Little Joe into his arms again before the boy could start his ear-splitting cries. Marie seemed content to keep Becca company.
“Can I do something to help?” he asked the older man.
“Thanks. I could use a hand.” Macpherson prepared to move a barrel to the other end of the counter.
Colt put Little Joe down. “Stay here.”
“If I take the bolts of fabric off this table, I can shift it closer to the corner and give me room for a better display of tools.”
“I’ll do that.” Colt lifted the bolts to the counter. Little Joe stuck to his heels like a tick on a warm dog. He wanted to warn the boy not to get used to Colt being there.
Even at the fort they could expect to be shunned by both races because of the blood of the other flowing through their veins. Colt learned a person fit nowhere but in his own skin. He’d found his place by doing what he liked best, what he was good at—caring for horses and riding t
he high pastures.
The table was empty, and Macpherson indicated Colt should help shove it into the place he’d chosen. That done, he handed Colt a rag. Little Joe tagged along after Colt’s every step.
“Might as well clean it while it’s empty.” The older man grabbed a broom and swept the floor.
“Nice prayer this morning,” Colt said. The man’s words stuck in his brain. Did he really mean them, or had he simply uttered them out of habit?
“My pa, God rest his soul, believed a man could only order his days aright if he put God first.”
“You really think God cares about a man’s daily activities?”
“I do believe so.”
Colt wondered if that only applied to a select few. “I suppose it’s only for white men.”
“Nope. For everyone. Seems to me if God makes all men, then He must like different skin colors.” Macpherson scooped up the pile of dirt and dumped it in the ash bucket.
“Hmm.” No doubt the sound contained more of Colt’s doubts than he meant it to. But he’d seen the caution and warning in Macpherson’s expression as he watched Colt when his daughter was around.
Macpherson leaned into the counter and considered his words. “Maybe it’s like a farmer with his animals. Think about it. Sheep, goats, chickens, pigs, horses, cows...each is so different, yet of great importance to the farmer.” He shrugged. “Here, give me a hand putting the fabric back.”
Colt welcomed the task providing, as it did, an opportunity to consider Macpherson’s words without having to comment on them. He’d seen no evidence that God cared for a man of mixed heritage.
Or—he jerked up and stared at the display of harnesses and yokes—was he mistaking man’s actions for an indication of what God thought? Interesting concept. He’d have to give it some study.
They finished rearranging things to Macpherson’s liking. The man circled the room, as if hoping to find something else to do. Little Joe trotted after him. Finally Macpherson went to the counter and sighed. “I have accounts to deal with. You might as well take the little guy into the living quarters. Maybe Becca can find something to amuse him.” Every time either one of them turned around, they practically tripped over Little Joe.
