Log Cabin Christmas

by Margaret Brownley

  Was God like that? Did He protect her like the hens protected their chicks? Another memory bombarded her—their log cabin, alone in the Big Woods. No matter how fierce the winter winds had howled, her family had remained snug and secure.

  “Is that what God is like? Like the walls of a log cabin keeping out the snow and the predators?”

  His eyes shone in the lamplight like melted chocolate. “Yes, I suppose He’s as dependable as these four walls. That’s a beautiful idea. So perfect. We need to trust with a childlike trust that God will protect us.”

  She wanted to believe him more than she had wanted to believe in fairy princesses and handsome knights when she was young. “If only I could.”

  Noah lay in bed and stared into the darkness. Adie had yet to open up to him, but after tonight he held out hope that perhaps he’d thawed the tiniest bit of her barrier. To get her to confide in him might take a long, long time. Noah would wait. Love demanded patience. One wrong word might send her skittering away forever.

  His plan to win her heart would commence, though. And he knew the perfect Christmas gift for his wife.

  Chapter 9

  Adie turned the bread dough, dug in the heels of her hands, stretched away, gave it a quarter turn, and dug in again. She loved to knead. The rocking lulled her, pulling her into her dreams. She imagined firelit shadows on a log wall and a family, happy, laughing, loving. Turning the dough, the dream changed, new shapes appearing.

  Two heads, bent over a book, one lean body much taller.

  The dreams faded, and her musings wandered to Noah. Gentleness tinged his touch when he’d tended to her after the run-in with Derek. His arm around her ill body had lent her peace and comfort. It had been right that he was there. She’d seen Daddy embrace Mama much the same way when she’d felt sick or had been upset.

  When he’d scooped her up and carried her home, his beating heart had knocked against her ribs. They connected. They shared the same fear and pain and formed a marriage union. That circumstance linked them forever.

  Adie rounded the dough and patted it. Smooth as a baby’s bottom. She divided it into four pieces, shaped them into loaves, set them in pans, covered them with towels, and pushed them to the back of the counter to rise.

  She wiped her flour-coated hands on her big apron.

  After Noah had laid her in bed the other night, he’d clucked over her like a mother hen.

  There appeared that hen image again. This time Noah was the hen, removing her shoes, tucking her into bed, watching over her, protecting her. If she had both God and Noah shielding her, then why did Derek continue to bother her? If God took care of her like He said He did in that psalm, why did she find herself in this situation?

  She turned toward the pantry to get flour for pies. Distracted by her contemplations, she rammed into a body. She jumped.

  Derek!

  Gnarled fingers clasped her forearms. “Whoa, there!”

  It was Cookie. She told her heart it could start beating again.

  “You’re ‘bout as skittish as that colt I bought for my Jane one year. He’d eye her, watching, wary, and when she’d get close to him, he’d back up in his stall so far I was afraid he’d kick himself a hole in the wall and take off for the pasture.”

  “I’m sorry. Did I hurt you?”

  The wizened man released his grip and examined himself. “Looks like I’m pretty much in one piece. When you’re my age, that’s a mighty good thing to say.”

  She giggled. Cookie had a way of turning on the sunshine. He watched out for her, too. Between him and Noah and God, Derek shouldn’t be a problem.

  But he was.

  “Now you’ve gone and gotten sad looking. What’s troubling you?”

  Would he understand everything happening inside her soul? “I have so many things whipping around my brain, I wouldn’t know where to start.” Her life felt like river rapids, running over rocks, redirecting course at a moment’s notice.

  “Things been changing for you an awful lot. That’s enough to upset anyone. But you want to know a secret?”

  She brightened and leaned near so he could whisper in her ear. She loved secrets. As a schoolgirl, her classmates had confided their deepest and darkest desires because they knew she’d never tell. “Go ahead.”

  “Noah loves you.”

  She hopped back. Did Cookie murmur those three words? “Noah loves me?”

  “Hush now, gal—it’s supposed to be a secret.”

  “How do you know this? Did he tell you?”

  “Nope. He didn’t have to. I just looked at him looking at you. He can’t help himself. He’s got it worse’n a cat’s got fleas.”

  “That’s such a lovely, romantic picture, Cookie.”

  He tipped his head and shrugged. “My Jane seemed to think I was pretty romantic. Anyways, only a man crazy in love would do dishes without being hounded. And I seen the way he puts his hand on your back when you two leave. Yup. He sure does love you.”

  Cookie must have been touched in the head, perhaps even a mite senile. Noah didn’t love her. Theirs was a marriage of convenience. At his suggestion.

  He couldn’t love her.

  Cookie continued toward the stove and his simmering soup while she continued to the pantry. As she loaded the apples in her apron, she considered the old man’s words. She had married the kindest, most thoughtful man. He took his promises and obligations seriously. The look in his cinnamon-brown eyes caused a giggle to slide up her throat. Maybe a bit of truth hid in Cookie’s words.

  And Noah gave up his one dream for her. He didn’t speak of it much, but when he did she caught the pain that flashed in his face. He wanted to be apreacher. And he’d be a good one. He answered her few questions with care and listened to her thoughts as though they were profound.

  Put all together, did that mean he loved her? She dumped the apples on the big scarred farmer’s table in the middle of the room. She’d forgotten the flour. Before she could retrace her steps, Cookie interrupted with a wave of his wooden spoon. “I got you a Christmas present.”

  Her heart skidded. She didn’t have anything for him. “What is it?”

  “Now, if I up and told you, it’d ruin the secret.”

  She could keep secrets, but she detested not being told one. Cookie knew that. “That’s not fair. Please tell me.”

  “Nope. You gotta guess.”

  The worst punishment. “I hate guessing.”

  “Then I won’t tell you.” He turned his attention to the beef soup.

  She gave an exaggerated sigh. “A palace of gold?”

  “Be reasonable, gal.”

  “Okay, a new apron.”

  “Better guess. But not right.”

  The man downright relished teasing her. “A china doll with eyes that open and shut.”

  “Now where’d I get that? The wanigan don’t have none.”

  “I guessed three times. Now you have to tell me.”

  “Who made up that rule? I’m not telling you.”

  Men were the most infuriating creatures God made. She took two steps toward the pantry.

  “I’m giving you Christmas Eve supper off so you and Noah can spend it together, without them other men there. Maybe he’ll even tell you he loves you himself.”

  Christmas Eve. Tomorrow night. The night she planned to give Noah her gift. “I can’t leave you to do the cooking and dishes yourself. That’s too much.”

  “It’ll be soup and cold sandwiches. The men’ll have their Christmas goose the next day.” He took the empty water pail and exited through the back door, ending the conversation.

  Daddy had always made Christmas a nice celebration for them. Before they came to the camp in the late fall, he’d hide away a few sticks of peppermint candy and some small item—hair combs, fabric for a new dress, the photograph of him and Mama that sat on the mantel.

  This year she dreaded it. Knowing Noah loved her would make it a hundred times more difficult to set him free.


  Noah and Adie hung their coats on the peg driven into the log near the doorbefore rubbing their hands together in front of the fire. Even though the walk between the mess hall and their tiny home took three minutes at the most, with the temperature plummeting below zero tonight, their fingers froze in that short time.

  Noah cast a glance at his wife. She turned away and studied her red hands as if they fascinated her. Several times this evening, while they’d done dishes and swept the floor, she’d also glanced his way. She peeked at him again, a quizzical look slanting her auburn brow.

  “What is it? Do I have crumbs in my mustache?” He twirled the end.

  Ribbons of pink streaked her cheeks.

  She shook her head. “I was thinking.”

  “About what?”

  She paused. “Nothing.” With a swish of her skirts, she twirled toward the table and sat down. “What is this? Where did you find it?”

  Adie held the log cabin drawing in her hand. He’d neglected to put it away before he went to fetch her. The few minutes each day he had here without his wife he spent whittling and fashioning her gift. He’d finished it tonight, imagining the look in her green eyes when he presented it to her.

  “I wasn’t snooping. The night of your encounter with Derek, I stuck your mittens in your coat pocket. The paper crackled, and I was afraid I’d wrinkled it, so I took it out to see. It’s beautiful. It’s so realistic it could almost be a photograph. Did you draw it?”

  She nodded. “My parents and I lived there. I never wanted to leave. Every night I dream of returning. I drew this picture a summer or two ago, so I would never forget.”

  He couldn’t wait to give her the replica he’d made. If he hoped before she’d be pleased, now he knew without a doubt that she’d love it. He almost reached under his bed to give it to her now, but then decided against it. Tomorrow, Christmas Eve, he’d hand it to her. Perhaps in her eyes he’d spy the same love he felt.

  Chapter 10

  Adie’s ham, baked in apple cider in the kitchen’s oven, sat on the tiny table in the cabin. The mashed sweet potatoes, smothered in butter, were whipped up fluffy. At the center of the table, on top of her mother’s special violet-dotted tablecloth, stood a three-layer spice cake, slathered in buttercream frosting.

  She sat in her chair, its curved arms smooth from years of use. Tonight she didn’t mend or knit but twisted her fingers as she thought about giving Noah his Christmas gift, the gift of freedom. If he did love her, he wouldn’t be happy. She’d have to convince him it was for the best.

  And it was.

  An inexplicable sadness settled over her. She’d miss him. She’d come to care for him. He’d been so good to her—how couldn’t she? When she left in the spring, she’d be alone, nowhere to go, no one to go there with, only God and His promise to keep her under His wings. That would have to be enough.

  Tonight she’d taken her time to look her finest, sweeping up her curls and putting on her best dress, her wedding gown. She smoothed the brown poplin against her lap.

  The door swung open, and Noah arrived in a blizzard of snow and sleet. “That storm is something.” He stomped the snow from his boots and unwound his muffler.

  She ran to assist him. “Warm yourself by the fire, and I’ll pour the coffee.”

  He looked at the table. “Is this your surprise?”

  She tugged at her sleeves. “Do you like it?”

  He stopped in front of the fireplace and rubbed his hands together. “You made all of it?”

  She nodded.

  “I say we hurry and pray so we can eat.”

  He liked it. Now if only he’d eat slowly, prolonging the time before she told him the rest.

  An hour later, he wiped the ends of his mustache with his napkin and leaned back. “That was the best meal I’ve had in a long time. Almost as good as Ma’s.”

  Though better than his mother’s would have been nice, she accepted the compliment. She wanted to enjoy the evening, but anxiety was about to burn a hole through her stomach. Maybe it was best to just say it.

  She wished she didn’t have to hurt him. She felt his pain as her own.

  “Adie, what’s wrong? You look distressed.”

  She couldn’t hide it any longer. “I have to tell you something.”

  He sat forward. “What? I’m not going to like it, am I?”

  “It’s my Christmas gift.”

  “Why are you upset? I’m sure I’ll love it.”

  “I appreciate how you stepped forward to take care of me. That cost you your dream. I don’t want to steal that. I’m giving you your freedom. Come spring, I’m leaving. Alone. We’ll have our marriage annulled.”

  Mama would’ve told him to shut his mouth ‘cause he’d catch nothing but flies. “What are you saying?”

  “In the end, you’ll be happy. It’s for the best.”

  He stood, towering over her, his words firm. “No, it’s not.” He lowered his voice. “I made the decision to marry you—voluntarily. I knew the cost.”

  She peered back, not intimidated. “I won’t stand in the way of what you want.”

  “What if I want you?”

  He didn’t know what he said. Adie shook her head. “My mind is made up.”

  He stomped to the door and grabbed his jacket from the hook.

  “Where are you going? It’s storming, and the temperature’s dropping. You’ll freeze to death.”

  “And that wouldn’t bother you much, would it?”

  Tears blurred her last glimpse of him.

  Noah walked into the storm, not knowing where he was going and not caring. How could she do that? Just say she would leave him in the spring. He loved her. He thought she at least liked him.

  He’d been mistaken.

  Her rejection smarted worse than the snow pellets stinging his face. Tears filled the corners of his eyes.

  He walked a few more minutes, blinded by his hurt, wondering what he’d done wrong. Had he said something that had driven her away? He had to think of a way to convince her she was his dream. He wanted her to stay.

  Lost in his thoughts, he never heard anyone approach. Rough hands grabbed him from behind and dragged him into the snow. Rock-hard fists slammed into his face and belly. “I always get what I want.” A blow with each word.

  Owens.

  Noah fought back. He landed several punches to the side of Owens’ head. He connected hard, injuring his hand. The heavier man wasn’t fazed. The strikes kept coming. He tasted blood.

  Then Owens knocked him on the temple. Hard. His ears rang. Dots danced in his vision.

  His last thoughts were of Adie.

  Adie must have paced a mile or more between the door and the table. She had done it all wrong, springing the news on Noah like that. On the most blessed of days, too.

  Now, because of her, he’d been gone a long time. Frigid air seeped under the door. She feared for him. If anything happened to him, she’d be to blame.

  Lord, cover Noah with Your feathers. Keep him warm and safe under Your wings.

  She needed to find him.

  A few minutes later, wrapped in as many layers as she could manage, she grasped the knob to open the door. She pulled, and someone pushed and then stumbled into the room.

  “Mr. Larsen.” At least she thought that’s who was under the floppy hat.

  “Where are you going on a night like this, Adie?”

  “Noah and I had a disagreement. He walked out and has been gone too long. I’m worried.”

  He handed her a bulging envelope. “I came to deliver this. You stay here.” He raised his lantern. “I’ll look for him.”

  “But …”

  “Stay put. It’s too cold for you. He couldn’t have gone far. I’ll find him.”

  Before she mounted another protest, he left. She unwrapped herself and tried to settle in front of the fire. She had no heart to clear the table.

  “What ifs” assailed her. What if he didn’t come back because he was so angry? What
if the storm worsened and he couldn’t find the cabin? What if he never came back?

  She didn’t want to lose him. She crumpled with the thought. Without him, life would be empty. By her own actions, she’d lost another person she loved.

  Loved.

  She sat up with a start. She loved him. Why hadn’t she realized it before?

  Her mind had closed itself to the possibility of love, but her heart hadn’t. Without even knowing, she’d fallen in love with her husband.

  And sent him away.

  She needed to make things right. Again she pleaded with the Lord to bring him home.

  As she finished her prayer, something—or someone—crashed into the door. “Open up.”

  She let in Mr. Larsen, who dragged Noah with him. “Found him in the snow. He’s taken a pretty good beating, and he’s cold. Get some coffee while I settle him in bed.”

  Mr. Larsen peeled off Noah’s shirt. She turned to coax the fire to life but glanced over her shoulder from time to time. She’d never seen her husband like this. Her pulse throbbed wildly in her neck, and her legs trembled. His arms, though thin, bulged with muscles. Dark, curly hair covered his chest, and his flat stomach caved inward.

  Heat suffused her.

  She brought the coffee, and Mr. Larsen rose. “He’s bruised, and I suspect his ribs are cracked, but he should be fine.”

  “Thank you for saving his life.”

  Mr. Larsen nodded. “Now I need to take care of Owens.”

  A rush of alarm swept over her. In all her concern about her husband, she’d shut Derek from her mind. He might be out there. He might come after them.

  “Do you think he’ll …?”

  Mr. Larsen patted her back. “I found him in the snow about fifty yards from Noah. Don’t know what happened to him, whether your husband landed a good blow to his head or he drank himself to his grave. Either way, he’ll never bother you again.”