“You asked my mother to send our family’s christening gown?” Louisa did not know whether to be touched or annoyed. Both emotions raced through her and must have shown in the tone she took, for immediately Mrs. Porterfield looked up, her face twisted into an expression of contrition.
“I know I overstepped, Louisa. It was not my place. My late husband used to say that if there was a time for not speaking, I had never observed it.”
“Please do not concern yourself, Mrs. Porterfield. Rico will be very touched by your offer of this beautiful garment for our baby—as am I. Thank you.” She forced herself to smile as she began going through the rest of the bounty laid out before her on the scarred but spotless wooden table. “You are making me realize that in a few weeks I will have need of all this—and more,” she said, fingering a tiny pair of knitted booties. “Do you think these will fit? Rico has very large feet.”
Mrs. Porterfield laughed. “How about I make us a cup of tea so we can have a nice long talk about the joys—and challenges—of being a mother?”
“I would like that.”
“Let’s get Juanita in here to be part of this. Better advice from two experienced mothers than just one, wouldn’t you say?” She went to the door, opened it, and shouted Juanita’s name.
“Is it time?” Juanita pushed her way through the door seconds later, her cheeks rosy with exertion and the effects of the cold. “What is it?” she demanded.
“A tea party,” Mrs. Porterfield said cheerfully; then she frowned. “I should have brought some of that wonderful cake you made us for supper last night, Nita.”
“The last thing I need is cake,” Louisa said with another nod toward her girth, and she realized that a day that had begun with the loneliness of long hours before Rico would return had turned into a celebration of sorts—a family gathering of women with one thing in common. She only wished her mother could join them.
* * *
“Go home, Rico,” Chet Hunter ordered as the men sat around the chuck wagon, finishing their breakfast. “And take Eduardo with you. Bunker can handle the wagon. You’ve got a day’s ride and a night on the trail ahead of you, so go, the both of you.” He jerked his thumb toward Rico’s father, who was putting out the campfire. “We’ll be starting back ourselves early tomorrow, and the two of you worrying about that baby are about as useful as a couple of adobe fence posts.”
“At least fence posts serve a purpose,” Bunker muttered as he started packing up the chuck wagon. When the others glanced his way, he grinned and added, “They hold up the fence.”
The men all laughed.
Rico’s father was watching him. Their eyes met, and as had happened throughout Rico’s youth, he received the silent order his father gave him. “All right, boss,” he agreed. “If you’re sure.”
“I’m relieved, is what I am,” Chet replied with a snort. “Got enough to do keeping up with the herd, without worrying about you. Now git along…”
“Little dogie,” the men chorused, and Rico grinned.
His father mounted one of the remuda—extra horses the cowboys traveled with whenever they were working the herd—and the two of them rode away. Wanting to get back as soon as possible, Rico led the way cross-country toward the higher cliffs that would cut the time it took to make the journey in half. Normally, with the chuck wagon and herd, they would take a longer route along the frozen creek.
But once they reached the base of the cliffs, it was slow going. The snow had drifted and made picking their way single file along narrow animal trails that offered a wall of rock on one side and sheer drop on the other more difficult. Twice Eduardo’s horse slipped and they had to stop, dismount, and make sure the animal was not injured. In good weather they were only a couple of hours’ ride from the ranch, but at this pace, Rico feared it might well be dark before they reached home.
“We should have gone the regular way,” Rico said.
“We’ll get there,” his father replied as they pressed on.
What worried Rico as much as the treacherous terrain was the way the sky had started to darken with a thick layer of clouds that promised more snow. After another hour, they decided to camp near a cave opening that would protect them from the elements. Rico built a fire and began roasting two potatoes.
“Rico?”
“You all right, Papá?” Rico turned so he could see his father.
“Just thinking about you and Louisa. She’s a fine woman and will make a good mamá. This business with her family, in time…”
“This business with her family is unfair, Papá. They have broken her heart.”
“They would say she broke theirs first.”
Rico realized that over the months since he’d married Louisa and her family had abandoned her, his father had said little about their situation. “How can you take their side in this? We’re just two people who fell in love. What does our heritage have to do with any of that?”
Eduardo was silent for a long moment. “Times are changing, son. You and your kind are seeing to that, but you have to be patient.”
“Why? If something is wrong, then why wait? What are we waiting for?”
“You can’t force something like the way folks think, Rico, and you need to consider what kind of world your baby is going to face because of what you and Louisa have started.”
“You blame us too?” Rico was incredulous. He had thought his parents, of all people, not only understood but sanctioned what he and Louisa had done. “I did not defile Louisa as her father believes. I would never do that. I love her, but more than that, I respect her. What’s so hard to understand about that?”
“Rico, you and Louisa need to accept that this is more than just the two of you.”
“I know it’s also the baby. Well, we’ll protect our child and…”
“It is also more than your child. This is about history—decades of a divide you and Louisa have bridged. Can you not understand that as much as the Johnsons may have liked you, they are afraid?”
“Of what? Me?” He handed his father one of the roasted potatoes.
“Of the same things your mother and I fear—that you will be shunned, and worse. That our grandchild will be branded in a way that will color his or her entire life.”
“But you and Mama have embraced Louisa.”
“We have a longer history of accepting what we see cannot be changed and moving forward,” his father replied. “For the Johnsons, that is not so. White people, especially those with power, do not like change foisted upon them by others. They don’t understand it, and therefore it frightens them.”
Rico pondered his father’s words later as he lay awake, listening to Eduardo snoring next to him. He got up and walked out to the edge of the cliff. In the distance were outlines of the buildings that made up the Johnson property. He thought about the large house where Louisa had grown up, where she had had her own room and space to entertain friends in the impressive formal dining room and parlor. He thought about the cramped space where she had made a home for them now, and he wondered if his father was right. Was love enough, when the differences between them were so great?
“We’re not trying to change the world,” he whispered. “We just want to live our lives and raise our family.” He hoped he spoke for Louisa, but he was no longer sure. For now she seemed content, but as the years passed, wouldn’t she want more? Was love enough?
Four
It had been a long time since Louisa enjoyed a day like the one she had spent with her mother-in-law and Mrs. Porterfield. The tea party lasted long into the afternoon, making the hours fly by. Amanda had joined them, and her lively presence had only added to the laughter and joy of the occasion. Ever since Louisa was confined to her home, she had grown more restless with each passing day. She had spent long hours alone, and even when Rico returned, he was often exhausted and fell asleep soon after supper. S
he had tried to occupy herself with reading to pass the time but could not seem to concentrate. She was hopeless at knitting and had mended every single piece of worn clothing she could find. Housework was out of the question, and if she did give the cottage the good sweeping it needed, Rico or her mother-in-law were sure to notice and chastise her for not following doctor’s orders.
Doc Wilcox and Addie took turns stopping by. Addie always pretended she had simply been in the area, and couldn’t she take a minute to see a friend? But Louisa was not fooled. Addie was not as good as her father was at disguising her concern.
The morning after the tea party, Louisa was alone when she felt a pain in her lower back that stopped her cold in her tracks. It was so sharp, her yelp of protest went no farther than her open mouth and a gasp for breath as she bent over the table, gripping the edge for support. As she waited for the pain to pass, her mind raced with options for seeking help. Rico and the other men would not be back until the following day.
Before they left, Rico had assured her that he would never miss their first Christmas as man and wife. “Besides,” he said as she lay in bed watching him tuck in his shirt and button the fly of his trousers, “I have a very special surprise for you and Little Bit there.”
Since they had no idea whether their baby would be male or female, Rico had come up with the name Little Bit to distinguish their child from other unborn babies.
Little Bit had seemed interested in what Rico had to say, if the sharp jab from within was any indication. “Tell me the surprise now.”
“Well, what if I told you I’ve gotten Doc’s okay for us to go into town for midnight mass? And what if I told you that from then until Little Bit is born, you’ll be staying with Doc and his family?”
“Truly?” It had been so long since Louisa had been allowed to leave the ranch for any reason, and the opportunity to partake in at least one of the Christmas traditions she and her family had always enjoyed was exciting. Her parents and sister would be at the service as well—not that it would be the same, but at least she would see them. She saw Rico’s smile turn to an expression of doubt.
“But maybe…”
Because she knew he had worked miracles to have everyone agree to his plan, she stroked his cheek and smiled. “It’s been months since I was in church. And Christmas Eve…how special that will be.”
Rico had kissed her with a good deal of passion. “Gotta go, querida. You get plenty of rest and I’ll be back as soon as the cows and the boss let me.” He grinned as he laid his hand on the swell of her belly. “Be good, Little Bit.”
Two days had come and gone since the men left. Now, as the pain finally passed, Louisa drank down a glass of milk—cold from being set outside overnight—and nibbled on a crust of the bread Juanita had brought the day before. That’s when the second pain struck. She closed her eyes and did a mental check of everyone’s whereabouts. Juanita would be serving up breakfast for the Porterfield women in the large dining room of the sprawling adobe house. Amanda would be babbling on about plans for Christmas celebrations. And no one would hear if Louisa were even able to cry out for help.
She stood as still as possible, once again clutching the table for support. Gradually the pain eased. Instinctively she spat out puffs of breath, and that seemed to help some. After what seemed like forever, she realized she was able to loosen her grip on the table and stand up straight. She tentatively took a step with no return of the pain. She got a cloth and wiped up the droplets of milk that had spilled when she knocked over the empty glass—something she had no memory of happening.
“Are you planning on being a Christmas baby after all, Little Bit?” she murmured. A wave of happiness passed through her, a lightness she had not experienced in weeks, as she imagined everyone in church and then the labor starting, and surely in those circumstances her family would not turn away. No, a baby born on Christmas had to be seen as a gift straight from God. Once Little Bit was out in the world to be held and cuddled, her parents would realize details like heritage and the tone of a person’s skin did not matter. What mattered was being a good person, kind and generous, and Rico was all of that and more.
Addie had explained that as her time neared, she was likely to have these pains. “False labor,” Addie had assured her, “unless they keep on. One or two is nothing to worry about. Pain every few minutes means this child is coming.”
Louisa started to hum the tune to “Silent Night.” It sounded to her like a lullaby, and she hoped it would soothe the baby into holding on a little longer. It seemed to work. She washed the breakfast dishes without further incident. Drying her hands on a flour-sack towel, she looked around the small space. Not a single sign of Christmas. She saw Trey Porterfield outside the small kitchen window. He was calling to Chet’s border collie. Louisa watched boy and dog frolic in the snow that had fallen overnight and then went to the door.
“Trey!”
He looked up and waved, then trotted over to the stoop. “You need me to go get Ma, Louisa?”
“What I need is a tree—a Christmas tree.”
Trey frowned. “Well now, not sure I can help you there,” he said slowly. Then he brightened. “I could make you some paper chains and we could string those around the door and windows…and maybe Juanita could pop up some corn for us to string with Juniper berries. I’ll go get Amanda so we can get started.” He dashed off, the dog at his heels.
The youngest of the Porterfields was a talented artist, constantly astounding his family and friends with his sketches and drawings of the landscape and even the people he saw every day. He was the perfect choice for someone to help her prepare the house for Christmas—a surprise for Rico.
Within the hour, the cottage buzzed with laughter and activity, and Louisa realized that between the tea party and now this, she had passed two whole days without the feelings of sadness and loss that had been her constant companions since her family disowned her and her child. What she felt as she watched Trey and Amanda loop strings of paper and popcorn around the window and doorway was joy—and hope.
* * *
At dawn, Rico shook his father awake. “Will you be all right going the rest of the way on your own? I’ve got something I need to do in town.”
Rico had not exactly told his father the truth. He was on his way into town all right, but not to run an errand or, as his father thought, to buy a present for Louisa. In the long sleepless hours, he had come to a decision. Things were changing all over the West. The coming of the railroad had made it far easier for ranchers to get their stock to market, and as a result, owners hired fewer hands. There had been a time when he thought he might have a chance to be foreman on the Porterfield place, but that wasn’t going to happen—not with the arrival of Chet Hunter a year or so back. As for striking out on his own, the land had all been bought up by sheepherders as well as cattlemen, and even if there had been acreage available, Rico could never afford it. And most of all, if he could not find a way to properly support his wife and children, he would never earn the respect—and forgiveness—of Louisa’s family.
He could promise her his undying love, but unless he could build a life for her that was at least close to the life she had grown up living, he would always be a failure in George Johnson’s eyes. And then, just before dawn, he recalled that the last time he’d been in town, he’d seen a sign posted outside the livery: NEED HELP.
He hoped the sign was still there.
The blacksmith, Tolly Backus, had been shoeing horses and renting out wagons and buggies for as long as Rico could recall. The man had to be close to seventy and showed his age in the slowness of his movements and the grunts of pain he issued in time with the pounding of the hot iron of a horseshoe. Tolly was a man who didn’t seem to care who you were, how much land you owned, or what the color of your skin might be. He treated everyone entering the hot confines of the stable the same—with a sneer of scorn and impatience
.
“What do you want, Mendez?” The blacksmith didn’t turn from his work when Rico walked to the door of the stable the day before Christmas Eve.
“Saw your sign,” Rico said.
“Didn’t hang it to just be seen.”
“What’s the job?”
Tolly turned and looked directly at Rico. “I need help running this place—fact is, I may need more than help.” He squinted at Rico for a long moment. “Can you keep something under your hat, Mendez?”
“Yes, sir.”
With a gasp and choking cough, Tolly fumbled for the three-legged stool he kept near the door of the stable and sat. “Doc says I got a bad heart and two choices. I can work myself into an early grave or I can start training somebody to take over this business and give me some time off. You interested?”
“Maybe.” Rico’s heart hammered with excitement.
“Pay ain’t much, but it comes with living quarters, and in time you’d own the place. Not that I plan to kick off any time soon, but I seem to recall you have a reputation for knowing your way round a branding iron. That’s good experience for this job…”
“Can I see the living quarters?”
“Not so fast, vaquero. First, let me see you handle that hot iron there.” Tolly unhooked an extra leather apron from its place on the wall and tossed it to Rico.
An hour and two shoes later, Tolly clapped him on the shoulder. “You’re a natural, kid. Cottage is out the back there. Door’s not locked. Comes with whatever’s still there. Nobody’s lived there since my kids left and my Sarah passed on, so it might need a little dustin’.”
A little dustin’ was apparently Tolly’s attempt at humor. Cobwebs stretched across window frames and doorways. A couple of scorpions scurried across the floor as soon as Rico opened the door. The air inside reeked of trapped cooking odors and abandonment. But the place was filled with light from several windows, and a stairway leading up to a second floor promised more than twice the space they had at the ranch. What furniture there was would do them nicely for the time being, and he could just see Louisa standing at that kitchen window, humming to herself the way she did, while Little Bit played nearby.
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