Log Cabin Christmas

by Margaret Brownley

  “Jesus couldn’t be born until they found a manager,” he read, his voice edged with humor.

  Maddie felt a warm glow inside. “I do believe everyone could use a manager—don’t you agree?” she asked.

  He grinned at her before moving to the next essay.

  My, my, what a handsome man he was when he smiled. Why had she not noticed that before? She’d always thought of him as a grim-faced man. Is that what grief had done to him?

  “What’s so funny?” Sophie asked.

  Maddie turned and faced the classroom. “We’re happy because it’s almost Christmas Eve. Like I told you, that’s when miracles happen.”

  If ever she needed a miracle, it was now. They were out of food, and judging by the still-roaring wind, the storm wouldn’t let up anytime soon. Her pupils’ parents must be half out of their minds.

  Donovan held her gaze, her worries mirrored on his face. But she saw something else there, too. Something she couldn’t decipher or name. What a complex man: one moment lighthearted, the next so serious.

  Just like the sheriff pretends not to like you.

  Nothing could be further from the truth, of course. Sophie was an impressionable child given to flights of fancy. She’d simply misinterpreted something she saw or heard. Still, there had been moments …

  Embarrassed to be caught staring, Maddie quickly lowered her gaze and prayed the sheriff didn’t notice her reddening cheeks.

  “I think the wind is stopping,” he said, his voice strangely hoarse. “I’ll take a look outside.” He grabbed his duster and left.

  Not only had the storm not let up, but it snowed harder than when Donovan had last checked. He pulled up his collar and dug his hands deep into his pockets.

  “God would never take away people we care about because He loves us.”

  Why did Miss Parker’s words keep running through his mind? He neverblamed God for what happened to his family. True, he’d stopped going to church, and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d prayed, but that didn’t mean he was angry at God. Or did it?

  “God would never take away people we care about….”

  Maybe he had been angry at God, but who could blame him?

  He stood in front of the cabin door with the wind and snow in his face and Jimmy’s and Sophie’s querulous voices at his back. He wanted to believe in a good and kind and loving God, but he was cold and hungry, and his body ached from sleeping on the hard wood floor. At that moment it was hard to believe in anything.

  Chapter 4

  Miss Parker’s Class

  When God said there should be peas on earth, I don’t think He meant us to eat them.

  George, age 6

  Maddie woke on the morning of Christmas Eve to find the fire almost out. Stuffing her feet in her high button shoes and pulling her woolen cloak around her shoulders, she hurried to add wood to the fire, poking it until flames climbed up the chimney.

  It was then that she noticed Jimmy was missing. Thinking he was using the makeshift privy, she called to him. “Jimmy, are you there?”

  No answer. She peered behind the slanted pews.

  No sign of Jimmy. Alarmed, she swung around and checked the door—unbolted. Cold fear shot down her spine.

  “Sheriff, wake up,” she shouted. “Jimmy’s gone!”

  She yanked open the door, and the wind and snow swept in. The storm still raged, and she could barely see outside.

  “Jimmy!” she screamed on the top of her lungs, but the wind carried her voice away.

  She stumbled outside, blindly grabbing hold of the guide rope Donovan had stretched from the porch to the rear of the cabin. “Jimmy!” The wind hit her full force, but she kept going, the rope digging into her palms.

  The rope ended at the lean-to, but it was too dark to see anything. “Jimmy!”

  Letting go of the rope, she stepped away from the building and sank into what seemed like a bottomless pit. Her feet struck hard ice, and a pain shot up her shins.

  Frantic, she pushed away the chest-high snow, fingers stiff, hands numb with cold. She couldn’t move her legs, couldn’t see, couldn’t breathe. She flailed her arms, trying in vain to reach the guide rope, but it was no good. All she could do was scream at the top of her lungs.

  “Jimmy!”

  Fear gripped her even harder than the snow. The searing wind cut into her face like icy knives. She gasped for air, and a sob rose from her very depths. Where is he, God? Help me!

  She felt herself move upward. Was it her imagination? Was this how it felt to go to heaven? She gradually grew conscious of hands beneath her arms, strong, firm, and capable hands. She collapsed into a circle of warmth, her body wracked with sobs.

  Clinging to Donovan, she cried, “I can’t find Jimmy.”

  “I’ll find him,” Donovan shouted in her ear. “Go back inside.”

  “He’ll die out here!”

  “I’ll find him.”

  She choked back a cry. No one could stand the cold for long, certainly no child. Donovan scooped her in his arms and held her close as he carried her back to the wooden porch, his boots crunching against the snow.

  He set her upright on the steps, but her knees threatened to give way. If anything happens to Jimmy … Oh, God …

  Donovan opened the door and pushed her inside. Chilled to the bone, she was unable to fight him.

  “Miss Parker, look!” Sophie cried.

  Shivering so much her teeth chattered, it took Maddie a moment to make sense of the sight in front of her. It took even longer to believe what she saw. Jimmy stood in the middle of the cabin, his face practically split in two by a wide grin.

  Maddie never thought to see a more glorious sight. Tears rolling down her cheeks, she threw her arms around him. “You scared me.” She cupped her hands around his face. “You practically scared me to death.”

  “Eww, you’re cold,” he said, pulling away.

  She wasn’t just cold; she was frozen, and snow still clung to her skirt. But none of that mattered, not now.

  “Where were you?” Donovan asked. “Why didn’t you answer when we called you?”

  “I found a cellar.” Jimmy pointed to a gaping hole next to Maddie’s ironing-board desk. “It leads to a tunnel. I didn’t hear you.”

  Maddie glanced at Donovan, who was blowing on his hands. “But the door was unbolted, I thought …”

  “I grabbed the hatchet from the porch,” Jimmy said. “I used it to pry open the cellar door.”

  “Jimmy found tin goods!” Sophie’s voice was high-pitched with excitement. “There’s food. Come and see.” She grabbed Maddie’s hand and pulled her across the room. “Now we can eat.”

  Maddie stared through the square hole in the floor. She had known there was a loose floorboard in that spot, but it had never occurred to her it was actually a trapdoor. Sophie held the lantern over the hole, and the light illuminated a shelf of tin goods.

  Jimmy brushed past her and climbed down the wooden ladder. “Come on down,” he called.

  “Miss Parker is cold and wet. She needs to dry off,” Donovan said. He slipped off his duster. “Here, put this on. It’s dryer than your cloak.”

  He held the duster for her. She slipped out of her wet garment and slid her arms into the duster’s sleeves. The long coat practically buried her, but it felt warm and cozy and so very, very comforting. When she pulled the wool fabric close, she caught a whiff of leather and pine that was as pleasant as it was masculine.

  Turning her back, she reached inside to pull off her wet skirt and petticoat, leaving her drawers intact. Donovan took the garments from her, his gaze meeting hers for an instant before turning to spread them in front of the fire to dry.

  “Hurry,” Jimmy called from below, his voice edged with impatience.

  Donovan’s eyebrows raised in question. “I’ll go below. You stay by the fire.”

  “And miss all the fun?” she asked, slipping her cold hands into the duster’s deep pockets. “Come on. Let’s not k
eep Jimmy waiting any longer.”

  He gave her a crooked grin. “After you.”

  She blew on her still-cold hands, turned, and felt for the first rung on the ladder with her foot. The duster was in the way, and she had to take care not to get her shoes caught in the hem. The three children waited for her to descend, Jimmy holding the lantern up high.

  The moment Maddie reached the cellar floor, Donovan started down the ladder, the wood creaking beneath his weight.

  The cellar had dirt walls and floor, the low ceiling reinforced with wood beams. It smelled dank and musty. Rough wood shelves stretched the length of one wall. Maddie counted a dozen or more cans of food and a package of tack bread. Unbelievable!

  She took Brandon’s hands and swung him around. “God worked through Jimmy, and now we have something to eat.”

  Lowering Brandon to the ground, she hugged Sophie and Jimmy and in her excitement threw her arms around Donovan. He looked startled at first but quickly slipped his hands around her waist and hugged her back. Feeling suddenly breathless, she pulled away.

  Purposely avoiding his eyes, she studied the cans, reading each label aloud. “Peas, string beans, corn, beets. More peas and—”

  “Is that all there is?” Sophie asked, making a face. “Just vegetables?”

  “I’m afraid so,” Maddie answered.

  “If God had worked through me, we would have had roast beef,” Sophie grumbled.

  Maddie tapped her on the nose. “I think God gave us exactly what He thought we most needed.”

  “And that includes coffee,” Donovan said, holding up a packet of Arbuckles’ Ariosa Coffee. When no one else shared his enthusiasm, he shrugged.

  “It’s either vegetables or nothing,” Maddie said. “Take your pick.”

  When no one moved, Donovan started pulling cans off the shelf. “I don’t know about you,” he said, heading for the ladder, “but I’m hungry enough to eat a bear.”

  Chapter 5

  Miss Parker’s Class

  Jesus had twelve opossums, which went out into the world to preach.

  The opossum in our backyard just hangs from a tree.

  Casey, age 7

  Maddie insisted everyone wash their hands with soap and water before eating.

  “Do we have to?” Jimmy groaned.

  “Yes, you have to,” Maddie replied. She was dressed again, though the hem of her skirt was still slightly damp. It had just been too difficult to prepare the meal wearing Donovan’s oversize duster, the scent of him too distracting.

  Hands washed and dried, everyone scrambled to sit on the floor around the pew. They searched the cellar for cutlery and plates with no success, but Brandon found a rusty old can opener that worked just fine.

  “Let’s say grace,” she said. “We have so much to be grateful for.”

  Ignoring the children’s glum faces, she took Brandon’s hand, and he took Sophie’s. Sophie hesitated before finally offering her hand to Jimmy. He looked about to protest, but Donovan shook his head. Jimmy grabbed hold of the tip of Sophie’s pinkie finger.

  Donovan took Jimmy’s other hand before reaching for Maddie’s. Her hand seemed to melt in his, and her heart gave a mad thump.

  “Would you like to do the honors, Sheriff?” she asked, looking at him through lowered lashes.

  Donovan hesitated as if he was about to decline, but he nonetheless lowered his head. “Our dear heavenly Father,” he said, “thank You for bringing us together and for sending us a Christmas miracle. Amen.”

  Donovan squeezed her fingers, and Maddie quickly pulled away.

  “It doesn’t look like a miracle.” Arms crossed in front, Sophie thrust out her lower lip.

  “What? Roast beef and gravy isn’t a miracle?” Donovan reached for a can of string beans. “Ah, mashed potatoes—my favorite.”

  Sophie continued to pout, but Jimmy soon joined in the fun. “Lemon drops!” He reached across the table to grab a handful of corn.

  Sophie’s mouth dropped open. “I can’t eat without a fork or knife.” She looked close to tears.

  “We don’t need forks or knives,” Donovan replied. “We have this.” He picked up a piece of tack bread and demonstrated how to scoop up food without utensils.

  Watching Sophie try to maintain proper table manners under such difficult circumstances, Maddie almost felt sorry for her. In contrast, Jimmy had no qualms about eating with his fingers, much to Sophie’s disgust.

  Maddie scooped some kernels of corn on tack bread and handed it to Brandon. He ate hungrily, though he refused to eat peas. Soon color returned to his cheeks.

  Without silverware or china, it was the crudest meal Maddie had ever encountered, but never had she appreciated one more.

  Donovan held up a cracker topped with beets. “I think we should all make a toast to Jimmy.”

  “What’s a toast?” Sophie asked.

  “Don’t you know anything?” Jimmy said. “It’s something you eat in the morning and drink at night.”

  Maddie cleared her throat. “In this case,” she explained, “a toast is our way of thanking Jimmy for helping to bring about a Christmas Eve miracle. God truly worked through him. You see? God does love and take care of His people.”

  “Amen,” Donovan said, his mouth curving upward.

  Following Donovan’s lead, Maddie held up a piece of hardtack, and Sophie followed suit.

  “To Jimmy,” Donovan said.

  “To Jimmy!” they all echoed, even Sophie.

  Jimmy grinned from ear to ear, and Maddie felt her heart swell with thanksgiving. How she had hated this cabin, hated even Maverick. She had counted the days until the end of the school year when her contract was up and she could return to Boston. But at that moment, there was no place she would rather be.

  Donovan followed the guide rope around back of the cabin to the lean-to. Morgan nickered and greeted him with a nod of his head. Donovan ran his hand along the horse’s neck. “It won’t be much longer, buddy.” He checked the horse’s water and hay supply and stepped outside.

  Was it only his imagination, or did the wind seem less fierce than before? Or maybe he had simply grown used to it. Next to the constant chatter and querulous voices inside the cabin, cannon fire would seem mild. It had stopped snowing, but the sky was still gray, though not as dark.

  He headed past the woodpile. His lungs burned from the cold, but it felt good to stretch his legs and clear his brain. He stopped to examine a pine tree, its boughs bent low with snow. This was crazy. No one in their right mind would try to pick out a Christmas tree in this weather.

  He remembered the last time he’d traipsed through the woods in search of the perfect tree. His wife, Cynthia, liked her trees short and bushy. He liked his tall, slender, and graceful. Sort of like Miss Parker. He shook his head. Now where had that come from?

  He managed a half smile. He could well imagine her reaction if she knew he’d likened her to a Christmas tree. Along with the thought came a whiff of lavender. Was he imagining things? Then he remembered that he’d loaned Miss Parker his duster while her skirt dried. It was a soft, delicate fragrance that brought to mind pleasant, though unwelcome, thoughts.

  Visions of her filled his head. The way she looked in the morning, all disheveled with golden locks tumbling down her back … the tilt of her head, the sound of her laughter, the way she moved … But the strongest memory of all was holding her in his arms.

  With this last thought came the guilt, raining down on him like an avalanche. Since Cynthia had died, he hadn’t even looked at another woman. At least not in that way. Hadn’t wanted to. Still didn’t want to. Did he?

  Cabin fever, that’s what he had. He was a large man better suited to the great outdoors. Holing up in the confines of a cabin could make a man like him do strange things. What was he thinking? He’d already done strange things. Like laugh without the usual remorse that followed since Cynthia’s death. Much as he wanted to deny it, it felt right to laugh—good even. Just as it had
felt right to pray for the first time in God only knew how long.

  Thinking of Miss Parker felt right, too. He closed his eyes. Forgive me, Cynthia. Forgive me. But it wasn’t Cynthia he saw in his mind’s eye; it was Miss Parker. Maddie, as he now thought of her.

  Shivering against the cold, he picked up his pace and circled back to the cabin.

  After their Christmas Eve feast, Maddie washed out an empty tin can with water she’d heated by the fire. She longed for a cup of tea, but she would settle for plain hot water.

  Donovan had gone outside, presumably for firewood, but he’d been gone along time. She began to worry. The wind still whistled through the rafters, though not quite as strong.

  Cupping her hands around the tin can she used for a cup, she absorbed its warmth before taking a sip. Brandon and Sophie played a game of tabletop ninepins. She used the game to teach her younger pupils the concept of subtraction. If one had nine pins and knocked down five, how many were left?

  No math was involved in the current game, just Sophie’s endless rules. She had a rule for how close to stand, how to roll the ball, how far apart to place the pins, and where to stand if it wasn’t your turn. Brandon accepted every rule with his usual stoic silence.

  It was eerie for a child to be so quiet. Maddie wondered what it would take for him to speak again. Recalling how Brandon and Donovan had clung to each other, she blinked back tears. She didn’t know if that helped Brandon, but it certainly seemed to help Donovan. He was now more open, more approachable, more fun to be with.

  A ball of clay whizzed by her head. She jumped, spilling her heated water.

  “Sorry,” Jimmy said, slingshot in hand. “That one got away from me.”

  “What are you trying to do?” Normally, slingshots were banned from the classroom, but the current situation called for leniency, something the school board knew nothing about. Even so, enough was enough. She was just about to confiscate it when Jimmy indicated the ceiling next to a ridgepole.