A Lone Star Christmas

by William W. Johnstone

  A single mule stood beside it, only the top of its body and its head and neck clear of the snow. As the men approached, the mule turned toward them and began to bray, complaining bitterly about the cold.

  “Where are the women?” Clay asked, anxiously. “Maria?” he shouted. “Maria?” he called again.

  “One of the mules is gone,” Smoke said. “Maybe they went off looking for shelter.”

  “The baby,” Clay said. “I’m worried about the baby.”

  “The baby? What baby?” Smoke asked.

  “Maria is pregnant,” Tom said.

  “Wait a minute, how did you know that?” Clay asked. “She has been keeping it covered up.”

  “I don’t mean this as a criticism, Clay, but what is she doing here if she is pregnant?” Smoke asked.

  “She didn’t want to stay home alone. The baby isn’t due until February,” Clay said.

  “She’s much further along than that,” Tom said. “I’d say she is due within another week or two at the latest.”

  “Oh my God! She may be having the baby somewhere right now! We’ve got to find her! Smoke, I’ve heard that you are the best tracker there is. Please, find them,” Clay begged.

  “The snow,” Smoke said, shrugging his shoulders. “It has everything covered up, I don’t know. It would only be a guess.”

  At that moment they saw a rider approaching the camp, and Clay, thinking he might be another thief, fired at him, but the rider made no attempt to dodge the bullet. Instead, he kept coming as if nothing had happened.

  Clay started to shoot again, but Smoke held out his hand.

  “Hold it, Clay,” Smoke said. “I don’t think he is any danger to us.”

  When the rider got close enough they saw that he was a black man wearing a white buffalo robe.

  “Are you gentlemen looking for three ladies?” he asked.

  “Yes,” Clay replied quickly. He had started to put his pistol away, but hearing the rider mention the three women, he became suspicious and held the gun in his hand for a while longer. “Do you know where they are?”

  “I know where they are. If you will follow me, I can lead you to them.”

  “Who are you?”

  “My name is Balthazar. Follow me. You are needed.”

  “Is something wrong?” Clay asked anxiously.

  “You are needed,” Balthazar said again.

  Balthazar lead them on, his horse easily breaking a path through the snow so that the others could follow. After no more than fifteen minutes they saw a column of white smoke and rising, glowing, red sparks making a beacon against the dark sky, leading them on until they reached a partially collapsed barn. Three men came out of the barn to meet them.

  “Are there women here?” Clay asked.

  “Yes. They are in the barn,” one of the three said.

  “Who are you?” Smoke asked.

  “My name is Gaston.”

  “Clay Ramsey, go inside quickly. Your wife needs you,” Balthazar says.

  Without stopping to wonder how Balthazar knew his name, or even how he knew that Maria was his wife, Clay hurried inside. In the light of the same fire that had sent up the beacon of sparks, he saw Maria lying on a bed of straw. Sally was on one side of her and Rebecca on the other, both holding her hands, and both with very worried looks on their faces. Maria’s face was contorted with pain. The only good thing about the situation was that the small fire inside was keeping the stable warm.

  “Maria! Are you all right?” Clay asked.

  “She is going to have a baby, but she is having a very hard time,” Sally said. “The baby is trying to come out backwards.”

  “A breech,” Tom said.

  “The mother and her baby need your help, Doctor Whitman,” Balthazar said. He was looking directly at Tom.

  The others looked first at Balthazar, then at Tom.

  “Tom, why did he call you Doctor Whitman?” Clay asked.

  “Because I am—that is, I used to be—a doctor.”

  “You know what she needs, Doctor,” Balthazar said.

  “No, I don’t.”

  “Yes, you know,” Balthazar said.

  “All right, she needs a Caesarian. Are you happy now? She needs a Caesarian, but I can’t do it,” Tom said. “In a stable? It is impossible.”

  “Yes, you can. I know that you have the skill that is needed.”

  “If you know that much about me, then you know what happened, why I can’t do this,” Tom said.

  “You are concerned, Dr. Whitman, because you lost your wife, Martha, and the child. But I say this to you. Have no fear, for you will do this thing, and it will be good.”

  “No, I will not,” Tom said. “I cannot.”

  “Tom, if you really are a doctor, you can’t just turn your back on Maria when she needs you so,” Rebecca said.

  “You don’t understand, Rebecca. I’m not a doctor anymore,” Tom said. “Not since I killed my wife and child.”

  “Tom, please, I beg of you,” Clay said. “If you can do something, you must help her!”

  “Didn’t you hear what I said, Clay? I can’t do it! This requires a Caesarian, and I killed my wife and child trying to do a Caesarian. That is a very difficult and invasive operation that fails eighty-five percent of the time. And that is under the very best of conditions. If I were to try such a procedure here, in a barn, in unsterile conditions, and without the proper equipment, it would be little more than murder!”

  “Try, Doctor, please try! For God’s sake, you must help her!” Clay begged.

  “Yes, Doctor,” Balthazar says. “For God’s sake, you must help her.”

  “I will assist you, Doctor,” Rebecca said.

  Tom put his hands to his temples and pressed hard, as if by so doing he could make all this go away.

  “Tom, you can do it,” Rebecca said. She put her fingers on his cheek. “I know you can do it.”

  Tom lowered his hands and looked at Maria, who was now in great pain. The look on his face evolved through several expressions, from anger at being put in this position, to fear, to remorse, to resignation, and finally, to determination. And once his face showed his determination, he was overtaken by a calm demeanor. As of now, he was obviously in charge.

  “I will need a knife,” Tom said. “A sharp knife.”

  “Smoke, you have a knife,” Sally said.

  “It’s a Bowie knife,” Smoke said. “Hardly what you would call a surgical. instrument.”

  “I’ve seen you skin many an animal with that knife,” Sally said. “You keep it as sharp as a razor.”

  Smoke pulled the knife and showed it to Tom. “Will this do, Doctor?” he asked.

  “It will have to do,” he said. “Take the blade over there and hold it in the fire for about a minute. I’m going to have to sew the wound closed afterward. Clay, do you still have that saddle needle you have for sewing up leather?”

  “Yes, but the only thing I have for lacing are rawhide strips.”

  “The last time I was in town, I picked up some spare guitar strings for Dusty and I never got around to giving them to him. They are gut strings and that will work perfectly. Rebecca, look in my saddle bags. The ‘E’ string should work. That’s the smallest string.”

  “All right.”

  “Oh, and you will also find half a bottle of Scotch there. Bring it as well. I’ll need an antiseptic,” Tom added. He pulled his pistol, emptied all the cartridges, then handed it to Smoke. “Smoke, put the barrel in the fire, the barrel only. Leave the handle out so you can pick it up when I need it. I will need the barrel to be very hot.”

  “All right,” Smoke said.

  “Also, I’ll need some hot water,” Tom said. We can use snow, but I don’t know what to put it in.”

  “I have a bucket,” one of the shepherds said.

  “Good, that will work. Fill the bucket with clean snow and start heating water.”

  “I’ll need some rags for cleaning, and something to wrap the baby in
when it is born.”

  “A saddle blanket?” Tom asked.

  “Yes, but that won’t do for cleaning up the baby. And we’ll need some kind of cloth between the baby’s skin and the blanket.”

  “How about petticoats?” Rebecca suggested. “All three of us are wearing petticoats.”

  “I won’t need Maria’s. But I will need both of yours.”

  Nodding, Rebecca and Sally got up, walked into the next stall where, with their action concealed by the wall of the stall, they removed their petticoats and brought them back.

  “Rip them up into several strips,” Tom suggested, and the two women did so.

  A moment later, Tom had everything he needed, and was ready to begin, and he stood there for a moment, looking at Maria, his face glowing gold in the warming fire. As Rebecca stared at him, she did not see hesitancy, fear, nor doubt. She saw a quiet summoning of resolve.

  “Maria, I don’t have anything for an anesthetic. I’m sorry, this is going to be very painful. But it has to be done.”

  “It can’t be more painful than it is now,” Maria replied through clenched teeth.

  “I can help,” Balthazar said.

  “How can you help?” Tom asked.

  “I can help,” Balthazar said again, without further explanation. He put his hand on Maria’s stomach, and closed his eyes for a moment. His lips moved as if he was speaking, but he wasn’t speaking aloud. The others looked at Balthazar in confused curiosity.

  “What are you doing?” Tom asked.

  “Go ahead, Doctor,” Balthazar said. “She does not feel pain now.”

  “He is right,” Maria said. “The pain has stopped.”

  Tom picked up the knife, then positioned it just over where he was going to make the incision. He held it there for a moment, then he pulled the knife up and looked at Rebecca.

  “I can’t,” he said. “I can’t do this. I can’t kill Martha all over again.”

  Rebecca put her hand on Tom’s hand. “You can do it, Tom. I know you can,” she said. “I don’t have the slightest doubt.”

  “Clay,” Tom said. “You do understand the risk, do you not? You are putting a lot of trust in me, and I’m not sure I warrant that trust.”

  “Tom, in the short time I’ve known you, I’ve never known anyone that I trusted more,” Clay said. Clay crossed himself and said a quick, silent prayer. The others waited, each of them saying their own prayers.

  Tom nodded, then, using Smoke’s knife, made the cut. Immediately, blood began to ooze out of the cut.

  “Rebecca, pour some whiskey on the wound, and wipe away some of the blood,” Tom said. “Smoke, hand me my pistol.”

  Rebecca did as instructed, and taking the pistol from Smoke, Tom used the hot barrel to cauterize the blood vessels and stop the bleeding. Then he continued with the cut, carving through the fat and muscle, and making an incision in the uterus.

  All the while he was operating, Tom continued to look up at Maria’s eyes for any sign of shock, such as a dazed or disoriented look. Amazingly, her eyes were clear and her demeanor calm.

  Then, with everything opened up, he reached in to pull the baby out. It was a boy, and, cutting the umbilical cord, he slapped it on the backside.

  The baby began to cry.

  A broad smile spread across Tom’s face. “Welcome to Texas, little fella,” he said. He handed the baby to Rebecca.

  “If the water is warm enough, clean the baby, but hold back some of the cloth to put between the baby’s skin and the saddle blanket.”

  “All right,” Rebecca said.

  “I’ve got the swaddling cloth ready,” Sally said.

  Tom tied off the umbilical cord then he began sewing up the cuts: first the uterus, then the muscle tissue, and finally the skin. When he was finished, he looked up and saw Rebecca putting the baby, now clean and wrapped in the blanket, in Maria’s arms. And while she should be in great pain and near shock, she was anything but. He saw on her face the most angelic smile he had ever seen.

  “You did it, Doctor. I knew you could,” Clay said.

  “I’m still Tom,” Tom said. He looked at Maria. “Maria, are you not in any discomfort?”

  “No, Doctor,” Maria answered in a calm and strong voice.

  “Did you feel no pain during all that?”

  “I felt no pain,” Maria said.

  Tom looked around for Balthazar. “How did you do that? That’s a trick I’d like to ...”

  Balthazar wasn’t there.

  “What the? What happened to Balthazar?” Tom asked.

  “I don’t know, I didn’t see him go,” Smoke said. Smoke walked over to the door of the barn and looked outside. “His horse is gone. Funny he didn’t stay around long enough to see that the baby was born.”

  “I have an idea that he knows,” Tom said.

  “How?”

  “I don’t know, how did he do anything?” Tom asked.

  “Oh,” Rebecca said, as she examined her locket watch by the light of the fire. “It is after midnight. Today is Christmas!”

  “Clay,” Maria said, holding the baby close. “Isn’t it wonderful? Our baby is a Christmas baby. We will name him after my father. We will call him Emanuel.”

  Live Oaks Ranch, March 15

  Big Ben Conyers stood out in the little cemetery that had grown up on his ranch. Behind him, he could hear the music and the celebration of the upcoming wedding. But for now, he was communing with his old friend Dusty.

  “I wish you could be here for this, Dusty,” Big Ben said. “You were one of the first people to tell me that Tom Whitman was a good man. I should have listened to you earlier, I would have saved a lot of time, and a lot of heartbreak.”

  “Pa?” Dalton called to him, and Big Ben turned toward his son.

  “Pa, they’re goin’ to be startin’ the weddin’ soon.”

  Big Ben smiled. “Well now, we sure don’t want to miss that, do we?”

  Dalton returned his smile. “No, sir, we sure don’t.”

  The parlor of The Big House was decorated with bluebonnets, tulips, jonquils, hyacinth, and greenery. All the furniture had been removed from the parlor so that additional chairs could be brought in. There were several rows of chairs and they were placed in the shape of a fan, with an aisle through the middle. Every ranch hand was present for the wedding, the cowboys pulling at the discomfort of unaccustomed collars and ties. Neighboring ranchers, and friends and business acquaintances from town were there as well. Also present, having come by train from Boston, were Tom’s parents, Dr. Thomas Royal Whitman and his wife, Caroline.

  Duff MacCallister had come back from Chugwater, bringing Meghan Parker with him this time. Falcon was here as well, and so were Smoke, Sally, and Matt. Duff was wearing the kilt of the Black Watch, complete with a sgian dubh, or ceremonial knife, tucked into the right kilt stocking, with only the pommel visible. He was also wearing the Victoria Cross, Great Britain’s highest award for bravery. He had his bagpipes, and after all the chairs were filled, he stood at the front of the room, and off to one side. Then, at a signal from the Episcopal priest who would be conducting the wedding ceremony, Duff began to play the haunting strains of Pachel-bel’s Canon in D.

  Tom, wearing a tuxedo, stood in front next to the priest as Sally, Maria, Meghan Parker, and Candy processed up the aisle, along with Smoke, Clay, Falcon, and Dalton. Rebecca had asked Candy, her friend from the Lucky Chance in Dodge City, to be her maid of honor, and Tom had asked Dalton to be his best man.

  When the bridesmaids and groomsmen were in place, Duff moved from the haunting melody of Pachelbel’s Canon in D to the stately melody of Wagner’s Wedding March.

  As the music started, everyone turned to see Rebecca, her long auburn hair back to its original length, coming up the aisle on the arm of Big Ben. The train of the wedding gown was such that it was almost as if she were gliding up the aisle, rather than walking.

  When Rebecca reached the front, Tom turned, and they both faced the priest
. In his opening remarks, the priest issued the charge that if anyone present, or either of them, knew any impediment as to why they may not be married they should confess it now. With no impediment spoken, the priest turned to Tom.

  “Wilt thou have this woman to be thy wedded wife, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of matrimony? Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honor, and keep her in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all others, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall live?”

  “I will,” Tom said.

  The priest turned to Rebecca.

  “Wilt thou have this man to be thy wedded husband, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of matrimony? Wilt thou obey him, and serve him, love, honor, and keep him in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all others, keep thee only unto him, so long as ye both shall live?”

  “I will,” Rebecca said.

  “Who giveth this woman to be married to this man?”

  “I do, with great pride and immense joy!” Big Ben said, his booming voice clearly heard throughout the entire room. With a big, proud smile on his face, he placed Rebecca’s hand in Tom’s, then he withdrew to sit next to Julia, who was wiping away tears.

  Tom and Rebecca then faced each other, and repeating after the priest, declared to take each other as husband and wife according to God’s holy ordinance.

  “Who has the ring?”

  “I do,” Dalton said, stepping forward to hand the ring to Tom.

  Tom slipped the ring on to Rebecca’s finger. “With this ring, I thee wed,” he said.

  “For as much as Tom and Rebecca have consented together in holy wedlock, and have witnessed the same before God and this company, I pronounce that they are man and wife. The bride and groom may kiss.”

  Tom and Rebecca sealed their marriage and their love with a kiss, and then, amidst the applause of those gathered, hurried from the parlor into the living room where the reception was to be held. Here, too, all the furniture had been moved out, and at the back wall was a long table covered with a white linen cloth. A huge wedding cake sat at one end of the table, and a large punch bowl was at the other. Above the table, on the wall, was a long, painted banner.