by Ford, Linda
Becca drew back. “Mr. Thomas, hold your tongue.” Only her good manners prevented her from telling the man to leave immediately. She didn’t bother looking to see what Russell thought of her order as she watched Colt and the children.
Marie and Little Joe looked frightened.
Colt’s face had hardened to expressionless. Only his eyes revealed his anger and disgust.
“Half-breeds. Mongrels. Best you get rid of them immediately.”
Pa rose to his feet. “Russell Thomas, these people are guests in my house, even as you are. I will thank you to treat them civilly.”
“So that’s the way it is.” Russell jerked to his feet, sending the chair skidding away. “Didn’t take you to be an Indian lover.” He headed for the door. “Well, I ain’t no Indian lover. I’ll be finding some other place to conduct my business.” He stomped from the room.
No one moved as they listened to him thumping across the store and slamming the door as he departed.
“Oh, Pa, that was awful,” Becca whispered. Her stomach churned at the insulting way the man had spoken.
“He’s an ignorant man who doesn’t deserve our attention.” Pa suddenly chuckled. “Wonder where he plans to take his business. The closest store other than ours is the fort.” He left the room, still laughing softly.
Becca turned to the others.
Marie’s eyes were wide with dismay, but Little Joe had returned to his play, blissfully unaware of the hatred behind the man’s words.
Slowly Colt brought his gaze to Becca’s. “Just knowing me brands you with ugly names.” He rushed from the room.
* * *
Colt looked neither right nor left as he crossed to the storeroom. At least the Eden Valley cowboys were gone. He wondered if they would have sided with the whiskered old man or with Macpherson. And did Macpherson mean anything by his defense of Colt and the children? Or was he only defending helpless children?
He’d wondered how to explain to Becca how others had always treated him. This incident informed him in every way possible that he didn’t belong with people like her. She’d never known anything but acceptance and wouldn’t understand. But now she’d seen it for herself.
He knew how most everyone would view her associating with him. An Indian lover. She’d be judged harshly, and he’d be judged even worse. For her sake he should leave now.
Yet he could not go before Christmas. He didn’t want to. But he must be cautious and not overstep unseen boundaries.
For the rest of the afternoon he remained in the storeroom. He sorted and stacked goods for Macpherson. The man went so far as to say, “You’re turning out to be mighty handy. Makes me think I could use a man like you once it gets busier again in the spring.”
Had he so soon forgotten Russell’s comments? And Russell wouldn’t be the only one. “Lots of men looking to come west,” Colt answered.
“Yup. The country is opening up. I expect we’ll see more and more people coming every year.”
“Uh-huh.” The man seemed inclined to talk. Colt wasn’t opposed to letting him, hoping it would drown out the ugly words and despairing thoughts drumming inside his head.
“I don’t think I told you how I met Becca’s mother.”
“Nope.” He opened a crate of ready-made wear—mostly trousers made of wool or denim. “Might buy myself a pair of these.”
“I had in mind to find a place to open a store in the Territories. Knew it was about to open up. Stopped at Fort Benton for the winter. Elizabeth was teaching school. She was prettier and sweeter than an English rose. A widow, but that hadn’t made her bitter. She was determined to take care of herself and Becca.” Macpherson chuckled. “At first, she wouldn’t give me the time of day, but I took my time about winning her. Figured I had all winter. I think it was little Becca who made Elizabeth take a second look at me. That little girl and I fell head over heels in love from the first. My, but she was a sweetheart.” He had been staring into the distance, and now brought his gaze back to the present with a hard look at Colt.
“She’s still something special. I want to see her get the best.” He stomped away, leaving Colt to finish filling the shelves on his own.
Macpherson had made himself plenty clear...Becca deserved better than the likes of Colt Johnson.
He kept to himself in the storeroom until Marie came to fetch him for supper. He would have said he wasn’t hungry, but the little girl’s eyes shone with excitement. “Come and see what we made.”
He vowed to guard every thought and feeling as he followed Marie back to the living quarters.
Becca stirred something on the stove and glanced over her shoulder at his entrance, favoring him with a smile that slipped past his defenses and landed soft and sweet in the middle of his heart.
Aware of Macpherson watching from the end of the table, Colt lowered his gaze and allowed Marie to lead him toward the little table by the armchair.
“See all the bells and stars we made. Becca says we can hang them on the tree.”
“Mine.” Little Joe patted a small stack that could best be described as odd-shaped stars.
Colt chuckled. “I can hardly wait to see them hanging on the tree.” Behind him, Becca laughed softly. Her chuckle danced inside him. He could only wish it would stay there permanently.
Forcing his face into a mask of indifference, he went to the table and sat, keeping his attention on his plate. Even after Macpherson said grace and Becca passed the food, he managed to concentrate on the meal and not on her.
He’d give her pa no reason to pull him aside and suggest it was time Colt moved on.
Relief came when the meal ended. He planned to use the excuse of checking on the horses to leave the room, but the children were excited by all the Christmas plans. Little Joe ran around in circles, making a noise like the howling wind.
“He needs some playtime to wear him out,” Becca said.
She didn’t say Colt should provide the play, but he guessed that’s what she meant so he caught Little Joe and sat down, giving the boy a horse ride on his foot.
“Do more,” Little Joe begged every time Colt stopped, until finally Colt’s muscles complained.
“Where’s the little horse Becca lent you?”
Little Joe scampered off to find it behind the bedrolls. He climbed the toy up and down Colt’s arms and legs, crawled over Colt’s shoulders and finally perched there, his face next to Colt’s. He patted Colt’s cheek. “I like you.”
Colt grunted and held still as his insides teetered back and forth. It was the first time in his life anyone had said such words. It mattered not if they came from a child. The words held the power of a thousand storms, and innumerable clear nights. They blew away dirt and debris of many unkind words.
He’d never known the value of hearing such things. Little Joe had given him this gift, and he would return it. He pulled the boy off his neck and sat him on his knee. “I like you, too.”
Little Joe nodded, cuddled up to Colt’s chest and promptly fell asleep.
Glad of a reason to avoid looking at anyone else in the room, he gently settled the boy in his blankets.
“Marie, come to bed,” he called, and the little girl obeyed.
She paused at his side. “I like you, too.” She kissed his cheek and crawled into her bed.
Colt tried to smile. Didn’t quite manage.
“You’re a good kid.” He brushed strands of hair off her cheek. Not wanting to face Becca and her father, he spread out his bedroll, lounged back and opened the pages of his book.
Becca pulled out a sewing basket and took out the doll she was making for Marie.
Holding his book so it looked like his attention was on the pages, he watched her. She smiled as she worked, and after a few minutes held up the doll to examine it. Hair of black yarn
, and black eyes. Nodding as if satisfied, she embroidered on lips and lashes.
“I’ll make a dress and coat for it tomorrow, then it’s ready.” She glanced toward Colt, caught him watching her. “Is Little Joe’s gift ready?”
“Just have to paint it tomorrow.” Macpherson had seen the toy and offered some enamel.
Her father closed the book he’d been reading. “Daughter, it’s time for bed.”
“Yes, Pa.” She set the basket in the cupboard, out of sight.
Macpherson waited for her to go, then took the lamp and went to his room.
Colt stared into the darkness. Tomorrow was Christmas Eve day. The next day, Christmas. He couldn’t help but be a little excited, even though he knew it would all come to a crashing halt the day after that.
* * *
Becca hurried to get breakfast ready. She had a lot to do this day. Meal preparations for the big dinner tomorrow topped the list. For the first time in years, they would have many to share it with. She paused long enough to glance at Ma’s picture. Still nothing would quite make up for her absence.
What would Ma do in Becca’s place?
Vaguely, she recalled the winter they had spent at Fort Benton. The man who had been her Pa for almost fourteen years had been there. Truth be told, she barely remembered the presence of others, but now that she thought about it...seems there had been another young woman with two children older than Becca and....
She concentrated. Wasn’t there a boy of about fifteen or sixteen with black hair and buckskin clothes? An Indian—a half-breed like Colt? She hated the word half-breed, and vowed she would use the gentler form used widely in Canada—Métis.
The children clamored to the table, and she hurriedly served breakfast.
“We make something today?” Little Joe asked.
“I have an idea,” Colt said.
Becca blinked in surprise. Up to this point, the man had been reluctant to take part in anything.
“I wonder about what Marie said. You know, about her papa taking food to the birds.”
“And animals,” Marie added.
“It looks to be a pleasant day. We could— I could—”
“Excellent idea.” Becca beamed her pleasure around the table. “Would you like to come, Pa?”
“I don’t want to close the store in case people need last-minute things, but you go ahead.”
Becca thought of meal preparations and the Eden Valley cowboys returning later in the day. But not for anything would she forgo the pleasure of an outing with Colt and the children. “Give me an hour or so to do a few things, then let’s go.”
Marie wriggled with happiness. “I’ll help you.”
Colt ducked out of the room with a murmured excuse. She guessed he wanted to complete work on Little Joe’s toy, though he likely welcomed a reason to be alone. Seemed he preferred his own company to that of others. She hoped he was learning there was a pleasant alternative to loneliness.
She turned her attention back to Marie. Truth was, Becca could do the work in half the time, but she would not deny the little girl the chance to help—and herself the pleasure of working side by side with the child.
They prepared stuffing for the bird and vegetables for the following day. They’d likely be late in returning, so she put a pot of soup to simmer, then paused. What would she serve for the evening meal with three more to feed? Something easy so she wouldn’t waste a minute of the day at the stove. She tossed vegetables, meat and a bit of broth into a pot and stuck it in the oven.
“There.” She grinned at Marie. “We’re done. You’re turning into a great little cook.”
Marie beamed her pleasure.
Becca hugged her and kissed her forehead. “Now, let’s find Colt.”
She and Marie put on their warm clothes. Marie needed new moccasins. Hers were getting small for her. If they had more time, Becca could have arranged for a native woman to make some, along with fur-lined mittens. She found a pair of woolen mittens that were only a little too large and dressed Little Joe, and they headed to the barn.
A few minutes later they were on their way. They marched through fresh snow along the river until Marie pointed to a tree. “There. It’s perfect.”
Becca wondered why this tree, and none of the many they had passed.
Marie looked at it with wide eyes. “Papa says the tree has to be big and wide to shelter many birds and animals.”
“Then this tree is perfect.” Tiny birds fluttered from the branches as they neared it.
Colt put the feed sack down, opened it and let the kids scoop out grain.
Becca watched him, noting his tender way with the children. Not once had she seen him mock them or ignore them or even become annoyed.
He turned her direction, and she read as clearly as any mirror the same regret she felt. They both cared about these children. They ached at the thought of what the future held.
If only things were different. If only she hadn’t promised Ma. If only—
Marie waited. “You, too.”
Becca and Colt sprang forward as if caught in a guilty act, and filled their hands.
The four of them marched around the tree, sprinkling the grain until the bag flattened.
Marie stood before the tree and held out her hands. “We held hands and Papa prayed for God to give us a good winter, enough to eat and a warm home.” She glanced at the others.
Colt reached for Marie’s hand. Becca reached for Little Joe’s and then stopped. Her hand was inches from Colt’s free one.
“We need to hold hands,” Marie said.
Becca reached toward Colt, sensed his hesitation, but then he gripped her hand. Warmth and a million sensations raced up her arm and crowded her heart. Joy and longing, dreams and belonging. In that instant, she knew their hearts beat as one.
Even as she knew it could never be acknowledged.
She had a promise to fulfill. Out of guilt or honor? She couldn’t answer.
“Colt, you pray like Papa would.” At Marie’s words, Colt stiffened so quickly his hand tightened on her.
“I don’t know if I can.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know if God listens to me.”
Becca knew he wouldn’t say because he was a half-breed. It would ruin Marie’s faith.
“My papa says the only thing God doesn’t hear is a prayer we don’t pray.”
“Huh?” Colt considered the statement. “Okay then. I’ll pray. ‘God in heaven. Seems you hear if we pray, so I’m praying the same prayer Marie’s papa would. Please give us a good winter with enough food and a warm home. Amen.’”
None of them let go of each others’ hands for a moment.
Becca added her own prayer. God in heaven, send a miracle for these children and fill Colt’s heart with love. Give us all the best Christmas ever.
Chapter Eight
Colt pulled his hands away from Becca and Marie, and grabbed the feed sack. He scooped up Little Joe and led them back to Edenvale. Was Marie right? Had her papa been correct? Did God hear every time someone prayed? Was it that easy, or did it only seem so because Marie was a child?
He tried to dismiss the questions, but they refused to leave him. He acknowledged an ache deep inside that longed to believe as plainly as Marie did...to know as surely as her papa had that God heard the prayers of a man like Colt.
They returned to the frontier town and passed the livery barn.
A deep voice called out, “Good day, Miss Becca.”
“It’s a beautiful day,” Becca called back. “A Merry Christmas to you, Rufus.”
“And to you.”
They continued on to the store and stepped inside. The smell of food cooking, the warmth of the room and the smile Macpherson gave them
tangled with Colt’s troubled thoughts. For a brief second he envisioned himself in a real home full of warmth and welcome.
Then he shuttered these useless thoughts behind a thick door and set Little Joe on his feet.
“We can eat right away,” Becca said, and they all sat around the table.
Little Joe nodded before he finished, and Marie readily went to Becca’s room to nap with him.
The outer door opened, and Macpherson hurried away to care for a customer.
Colt pushed from the table, glanced about.
“Don’t rush away,” Becca said.
“I don’t think—”
“You can help with dishes. The Eden Valley cowboys will show up any time, and I want to be ready.”
His thoughts stalled, restarted with a jolt. She wanted him to help her? Wouldn’t that mean standing elbow to elbow at the little cupboard?
She handed him a towel. “You can dry.”
His mouth felt parched. But what choice did he have? And he honestly didn’t mind the predicament. It provided an excuse to stand close enough to smell the fragrance of her hair—wild flowers and honey.
Trouble was, she wanted to talk. He didn’t. His tongue seemed thick and numb.
“Marie is so sweet and smart. I love it when she quotes her father.”
Colt wasn’t sure he liked it so much. The words had the tendency to stir up things in his heart he would rather remain quiet.
“He must have been a wise man.”
“Does that surprise you?”
She jerked about to face him. “No. Why should it?”
He shrugged. “He married an Indian woman.”
Her gaze bored into his, demanding, unrelenting. “Are you saying only a stupid person would marry an Indian?” Her words were low, but he did not miss the angry tone.
“I’d guess that’s what most people think.”
“And you think people view you in the same light, I suppose?”
Yes. No. He grabbed a bowl and scrubbed it dry. “I know who I am. What I am. I’m happy enough with the knowledge.” Only he wasn’t. And it was all her fault. All his hard work at building walls about his feelings, pursuing his own interests while staying away from trouble...it was all coming undone, thanks to her insistent kindness. He did not feel any gratitude for how his foundations had been cracked and were now about to crumble.
