Log Cabin Christmas

by Margaret Brownley

  A slight snurgle interrupted her thoughts. Mina cast a glance toward the raccoon-skirted bench, where Belinda’s chin met her chest in fitful slumber. Her head tilted slightly to the left, leaving her mouth askew to emit the undignified noise.

  “Let’s put her to bed.” Sam’s solid warmth reached her side at the same time as his voice. An unfamiliar smile softened his jaw as he looked at her nurse and then gestured to his own pallet. “No one goes into the loft until I’m certain it’s safe.”

  “She’d be mortified by the idea of sleeping in a man’s bed, but I doubt she’ll notice.” Mina grinned her agreement.

  A soft shake to her shoulder brought the older woman around enough to loop her arm around Mina’s neck and shuffle the few steps to the bed. A satisfied sigh dissolved into the deeper sounds of sleep as Belinda burrowed into the soft furs.

  “Does she always make that sound when she sleeps?” Sam’s whisper made Mina clap both hands over her mouth to stifle whoops of laughter. His shoulders shook with his own mirth.

  “Oh,” she hissed once she got her breath back, “as though you’ve not heard her sleeping before. For shame, Mr. Carver!”

  “I never did,” he swore. “Sleep finds me the moment my head hits the pillow, Miss Montrose, and it takes more than that to awaken me. Though the quake counts as a first.” They both sobered at the reminder of what had awakened him that night.

  “A first for all of us then.” With no immediate danger, Belinda not needing reassurance, and the distraction of Sam’s laughter now gone, exhaustion swathed Mina like a too-large cloak.

  “Why don’t you tuck in for a little while?” He nodded toward Belinda. “Sunrise is a couple hours off. No sense in the two of us knocking into each other in this mess until then.”

  Oddly enough, the idea of bumbling around the cabin with him, putting things to rights and working together, held a certain appeal. Her guardian, Mina couldn’t help but notice, now that things were winding down, cut a fine figure in boots, breeches, and his shirtsleeves. Those strong arms had pulled her out of the doorway and drawn her away from danger several times that night. When he wasn’t growling at her about furs, Sam Carver’s fiercely protective streak made her feel … safe. Cared for.

  “Oh, I couldn’t possibly sleep now, not when—” we’re getting along so well! A sudden yawn overtook her protest and had him steering her toward the corner, where the warm mound of furs concealed her nurse. From the sound of it, thepallet made for cozy sleeping arrangements. And she was dreadfully tired.

  With Sam watching over them, Mina could actually rest for the first time since her papa had passed on. She drifted toward the bed without further argument, lest her own yawns make a liar of her.

  Sam no longer knew what to make of the seemingly serene woman sleeping in his bed. The snoring lady alongside her, he understood perfectly, but Mina Montrose posed more of a mystery than the day she first appeared. When she’d arrived, admittedly before he’d even spoken to her, he’d pegged her for an imposter. Then she’d started talking, and his perception deteriorated further until he accepted Miss Montrose as his—one could only pray temporary—ward. One with grand plans. And the luggage to match.

  Baggage. Sam snorted at the sheer volume of paraphernalia Mina lugged along—and the trouble it caused. Come to think of it, didn’t Grandmother used to call impertinent women baggage?

  A smile broke out at the memory. She did, and she would say it of Mina. Any woman bold enough to con a solicitor out of some of her inheritance certainly qualifies as impertinent. His smile faded. And desperate.

  But most of all, brave. Brave enough to refuse her cousin’s insistence that she marry him. Brave enough to escape his clutches and seek her own way before it was too late. And brave enough to make a home in the wilderness with a stranger turned guardian. Perhaps desperation gave her that bravery.

  But it didn’t give her the courage to make it through tonight, or the endurance to keep a smile on her face until her nurse slept soundly. Loyalty and love give her strength.

  Tying off the final fire iron, Sam looked at his makeshift grate with grudging approval. Planting fire irons into the dirt floor like metal flowers and then binding them tight to the pot pegs above the mantel didn’t make for a pretty sight, but that wasn’t the point. They just needed to keep long, flaming logs from flying about the cabin during future quakes, until either they could be certain there’d be no more groundswells or Sam found a more permanent solution. He hoped for the former.

  Sam looked around at the cabin, strewn with luggage, sacks, jars, pots and pans, dishes … more than the place should hold. And it made him wonder all over again. For a woman so determined to escape England, why did she bring all of her past with her?

  The contradiction of it was enough to make his head throb and his eyes ache. Mere days before, everything on this mountainside marched in order. Now, with every corner thrown into chaos, precious little made sense, and the cause couldn’t even be pinpointed when so much had shifted. Between the women’s intrusion into his life and the quake, Sam didn’t know which disturbed him more.

  The thin streams of daylight sliding around his crooked window coverings offered little illumination on the subject but proclaimed they’d made it through the night without any other major upsets. Sam stretched, rolling the kinks from his neck as he walked to the window and lifted a corner of the cover.

  A glance outside confirmed what his ears already told him. No squirrels rushed about; no birds flew overhead. Even the wind itself seemed to have deserted the mountainside, leaving only the sun’s rays brave enough to venture toward the cabin’s perch.

  Every sound in nature shared a wealth of meaning behind its music, and the silence outside screamed a warning.

  It’s not over. The conviction hit Sam like a punch to the gut. Stricken, he looked at the sleeping women and considered his options. If the next quake is stronger, it might bring the cabin down. But outdoors presented still more peril with the trees and rocks from the mountainside that could come plummeting down.

  Even if Sam would consider leaving the women to check the paths, tall trees toppled more easily than squared, notched cabins. Precious few clearings dotted the mountains bristling with forests of oak, chestnut, cedar, and white pine. No. He couldn’t risk leading the women through a maze of branches and rocks.

  Decision made, Sam sprang into action. First, he pulled down the loft ladder and laid it flat on the ground, where it couldn’t fall and strike the women. With the fireplace already secured and the loft emptied from the first upheaval that left the smaller items littering the cabin. Basically, everything.

  The plan formed as Sam started working. The trunks and crates needed to be weighed down; the smaller items easily broken or thrown about needed to be contained. Easy enough.

  Into one satchel he tucked the few remaining unbroken jars of preserves. He figured he could be forgiven for saving his favorite food first. Dry goods prone to burst seams or spilling became prime targets for plunking into crates. Besides, staples like flour, cornmeal, sugar, and—most important—coffee held value and filled immediate needs. Like his stomach, which grumbled that he’d been awake far too long with no breakfast.

  There’s far more than I laid up for winter. Guess some of that luggage held foodstuffs. At least I won’t be needing to go down to the mercantile. He hefted the pots, a cast-iron skillet, newly dented biscuit tins, and a Dutch oven into a trunk.

  Wonder what shape the mercantile’s in.

  He’d have to find out later. While he worked, Sam came across an assortment of things the women must have brought. Crocks of butter, vinegar, baking powder, honey, and even a bottle of white wine with a note tied onto it: That you may toast your success when you arrive in the Americas. Do write and tell me how you get on. Your co-conspirator, Lady Reed. A crate full of straw and oiled eggs held broken, oozing casualties. Sam closed the lid.

  He carried that one outside, before anything could seep through and beg
in to rot. A series of soft thuds greeted his return before Sam’s eyes adjusted to the dimmer interior of the cabin. Mina stood at the table, packing her books into a large chest she’d obviously dragged away from the wall.

  “Belinda’s still sleeping,” she whispered when he drew near. “I heard you moving about, and I see what you’re doing. It’s a waste of my breath to argue against superstition, because the sailors blamed everything on having women on board, too. But I’d never imagined an educated man would think like that—it wasn’t my fault. Sending me away won’t stop the quakes.”

  “Sending you …” Understanding robbed him of words. Sam shook his head, and then he realized she couldn’t see him shaking his head. He clamped his hands on his ward’s shoulders and turned her to face him, fully prepared to blister her ears over her foolish, insulting assumptions. Tears pooled in her eyes before following shimmering paths down her cheeks. She’s crying. Mina didn’t even let her tears fall when she read the letter from her father. But now she’s crying. Sam’s anger fled, only to return a hundredfold with no target but himself for being such a … bufflehead.

  “No one’s blaming you.” His hands shifted from her shoulders to her arms, rubbing warmth into them. “I’m not sending you away. I don’t want you to go.” Not anymore. A sudden thought halted him. Sam peered at her. “Unless you want to?”

  “No.” The sniffled syllable sounded sweet to him. Until her brows drew together and she scowled up at him. “I’ve been trying to make a home here. You’re the one determined to undo it!”

  Chapter 8

  Mina pursed her lips, and she brandished a book. The man dared to look surprised! “Don’t deny it, Mr. Carver. It was understandable that you weren’t pleased with my arrival. An undesirable reaction, but an understandable one. But your unreasonable rage over the furs, the petulant display regarding the storage area and moving the luggage, and now … this?”

  “This isn’t what you think—”

  “Look around you!” she hissed and gestured widely, using A Compendium of Cures to extend her reach. “Repacking my belongings? I’m neither blind nor foolish, although I am stymied as to why a forceful man such as yourself felt the need to wait until I lay asleep before evicting me.”

  Instead of righteous ire swelling her accusation to a grand end, the creeping sense of betrayal broke Mina’s voice on that last statement. I lied, Lord. Forgive me for being unwilling to admit as much to Sam. I told him I’m not blind or foolish, but I’m both. How could I have slept, feeling cared for and protected, when he wanted me gone? Tears threatened, but she blinked them back, hating that he’d already seen her cry that day. I’ve tried so hard to keep my faith and push forward. Where do I go now, God? Am I never to have a home? To belong?

  “You are foolish and obviously not blind, but you might just as well be.” His exasperation cut through her self-sorrow in an instant. “I never understood that verse in second Corinthians about how we’re to walk by faith, not by sight, until now. Have you no faith in me, Mina?” Sam still kept hold of her other arm, his gaze searching hers as though her answer mattered to him.

  “I should.” She blinked. “You saved me earlier, took care of Belinda….” Mina closed her eyes. “But you don’t want us, and I’m upset that I let myself forget it this morning.”

  “You’re right.” His agreement felt the way she imagined one of those trunks crushing her might have—all weight and no mercy.

  “I see.” She took a deep breath and placed the book in the chest, reaching for another before he gave an exasperated sound.

  “You’re right … you should have some faith in me.” He grabbed two entire stacks and dumped them, chock-a-block, into the chest before shutting it. That he managed to shut it on her haphazardly crammed darlings spoke volumes as to how much he wanted her to hear what he had to say. “You’re also right that I didn’t want you when you and Mrs. Banks arrived.”

  This time Mina held her tongue and waited for him to finish.

  “You’re even right in calling my reaction to the trunks in the back room petulant. But I’m not sending you away. Strange though it sounds, you belong here. And I’m not undoing your efforts to make the place homey.” He pointed toward the fireplace, where he’d rigged some sort of fence across the hearth. “I’m weighing down the trunks and containing the smaller items so they won’t fly about again. Your things are worse than worthless if any of them hurt you or Mrs. Banks.”

  Mina blinked back fresh tears and gave him a tremulous smile. “In that case, I forgive you for shoving my books.”

  “And since you were trying to make our cabin a home, I forgive you for hanging my furs.” He cast a wary glance at the walls. Mina knew how much that cost him.

  Almost as if the earth itself knew how unnatural Sam’s concession was, the quakes chose that moment to start anew. The first groundswell sent her reeling toward the chest of books, but Sam caught her, holding her tight and turning her away from its sharp corners. “I’ve got you, Mina. Don’t worry.”

  And with his arms around her to hold her steady, she didn’t.

  Four mornings after the massive quake and its smaller sibling, Sam still found changes in the landscape. Other, lesser disturbances shook them at irregular intervals, but as these proved short-lived and lesser in intensity, Sam felt the deepest danger passed. If birds sang, he could venture forth.

  Marks of the upset scored the terrain at every turn. Mighty trees stirred loose from the ground lay on their sides, tangled roots drooping in defeat. Collapsed branches blocked passes, and, worse, lay caught in the canopy of their peers waiting to fall the fatal distance. Boulders stacked atop one another for centuries tumbled down destructive paths to lay like so many giant scattered marbles. Streams changed course or dried up, their sources now blocked or altered by shifting mud and rock.

  But worst were the blights Sam never thought to imagine. The small hill to the west, now sunken into itself as though its insides had leaked out. A narrow fissure in the forest floor, mouth opened in a yawn. A previously clear, fresh stream that ran from the east now carried the putrid smell of spoiled egg. Plants nearest the water began to brown, some evergreens taking a sickly yellow cast.

  He trudged back to the cabin, eager for the comforting warmth and reassurance that Mina and Mrs. Banks remained safe. Before he even reachedthe door, he came upon Mina sitting outside, staring at a piece of foolscap that she held up against the sun.

  As he drew closer, he recognized it as the letter from her father. Clearly, Mina was trying to decipher the faded portion. Just as clearly, Sam could see from her furrowed brow she hadn’t met with success.

  “Drat.” She huffed, pushed back an errant lock of hair, and changed her angle. With her eyes squinted and nose scrunched in concentration, Mina bore an unlikely resemblance to a badger.

  But a very cute badger.

  A corner of his mouth quirked upward at the observation, but Sam stealthily slipped into the cabin. Spotting Mina reminded him of something he intended to follow up on. With Christmas a mere four days away, Sam needed to get to work.

  Making a beeline for the book chest, he pulled out the volume he’d thumbed through a couple of nights ago. Flipping through the pages, he found what he sought. Fancifully entitled “A Liquor to Wash Old Deeds,” the receipt promised to “revive lost writing” with the use of six galls, bruised, steeped in white wine for two days, and brushed atop the paper. White wine they had, courtesy of Mina’s friend, Lady Reed, who’d apparently helped her and Mrs. Banks the day they’d defrauded the corrupt solicitor. But …

  “Mrs. Banks, are you in possession of galls?” he asked as best he could, not being entirely certain what a gall might be.

  “I’ve got bottom, nerve, and cheek.” The old woman’s response made him smother a laugh, until he spotted the twinkle in her eye. Then he didn’t bother to hold it back. “But I’ve never liked the term gall. Sounds bitter and bad.”

  “Spirit, Mrs. Banks.” He tweaked her mobca
p. “You’re spirited. However, I refer to galls mentioned in this….” Sam passed her the book, waiting for her to read the description.

  “I see.” She carefully shut the book and peered up at him. “I suspect, young man, if you wanted to read your letter so much I’d think you would have done something about it long ago.”

  “It’s for Mina,” Sam explained. “Since it’s from her father, about her future … A Christmas surprise, if I can manage it.”

  “Keep it up, Mr. Carver.” She passed him the book with a sage nod. “Soon enough no one will call you a bufflehead.”

  “No one did before you, Mrs. Banks.” He chuckled. The old woman’s approval sat warm in his chest. “Now, the galls?”

  “Oak galls. Those round knobs that grow on the trees.”

  “Thank you. We’ve plenty of oak around these parts. I’ll go hunt a few ofthem down. And then we’ll see what comes of it.”

  “Looks like something interesting from where I’m sitting,” she laughed after him. “I hope you’re ready for what’s revealed once Montrose’s words come creeping back to life.”

  “It’s not the words that are important,” he called over his shoulder as he headed out the door. “It’s Mina.”

  “Happy Christmas,” Mina smiled and passed Sam the package she’d been working on for the past week. She and Belinda already exchanged their customary Christmas letters—each of them still had every letter, going back to when Mina had begun to write.

  “Socks!” Sam pulled two out of the gift wrap and flapped them in the air as though utterly surprised. “Just what I need. How did you know?”

  Laughing at his antics, Mina shook her head. “How did you not? You’ve sat across from me as I knitted those every night!”

  “Ssssh,” he cautioned. “This is a time to celebrate the miracles wrought by love. Last night we read from Luke. During Christmas, we remember the gift of His Son coming to earth, born as a man to later die for our sins. Angels sang, the Star of Bethlehem shone to mark the occasion, and great kings traveled to pay homage to the miraculous newborn with presents.”