Montana Sky Christmas: A Sweetwater Springs Short Story Collection (13 page)

He walked out the door of his room and across the barn’s aisle into the tack room. A wooden box in the corner held a pile of rags. He fished around, hoping to find a clean one, without stains, but to no avail.

A bit disappointed, he returned to his room and stood, studying the clothes hanging from pegs on the wall. Should he sacrifice a shirt? He only owned three. A good one for Mass, and two work shirts—one in cotton for the summer and the flannel one he wore. But he didn’t think the crude garment he could fashion would meet with Sanchia’s approval.
 

How could he marry Lucia when he couldn’t afford a new shirt? Or, if he bought a new shirt, the purchase would take away from his scanty savings, which he needed for his house. Despair reached dark fingers around his good feelings and started to squeeze them away.

Before he could decide what to do, he heard a female voice call out, “Pepe? Mack?”

Pepe recognized the voice as belonging to Señora Rodriguez. No, Señora
Thompson.
There’d been a wedding in late summer. He hurried out to the main part of the barn to see what she wanted.

Señora Thompson stood just inside the entrance, holding the reins of her mare, Bianca, a black beauty with four white stockings and a blaze down her nose her husband had given her after their marriage. The morning sun falling through the doorway glinted off the tendrils of red hair that escaped the señora’s knitted cap and highlighted her pale skin. An attractive woman, but even more important to Pepe was the kindness he always saw in her blue eyes, and how she’d speak to him in Spanish—the only white woman in Sweetwater Springs who could do so.

“
Hola
, Pepe,” she said, her Argentinean accent different from his. “Bianca is limping. Left rear leg. I’d like you to check her out. I’ve snuck away from the ranch to do Christmas shopping, and I want to return home before Mr. Thompson realizes I’m missing and interrogates Mrs. Toffels. I’d like to think our housekeeper could withstand him, given it’s for a good reason, but I’m not sure how long she’ll be able to hold out.” Her gaze fell on the doll, and her eyes widened. “What do you have there?”

Pepe felt silly at being caught with a girl’s toy in his hand, but he held it up and explained what he wanted to do.
 

Señora Thompson’s expression softened. “I don’t think I’ve seen the girl you’re talking about. I would have remembered her. But your idea is lovely.” She extended her hand for the doll, and, when Pepe gave her the baby, she held it up to a shaft of light and examined the little face, moving the arms and legs. “Beautiful work, Pepe. I’m sure Sanchia will be quite happy to receive such a special gift.”

Pride puffed up his chest. “
Gracias
, Señora Thompson.”
 

“I think I can solve your problem. How about I make a diaper and dress? I’ll be glad to contribute.”

Overwhelmed, all Pepe could do was stammer his thanks, grateful they spoke in Spanish; otherwise his accent might be so thick from emotion that she couldn’t understand him.

She handed back the doll. “Do you have anything else like her?”

“Oh, yes, Señora.” He waved toward his room.

“I’d like to see your work, Pepe. If I may?”

He rapidly reviewed his room to make sure his bed was neat and all his clothes hung up, and then realized he couldn’t allow a lady into his room, or at least, not with him there too. “You go take a look, Señora Thompson. I’ll stay here. See to your horse.”

Pepe tied Bianca’s reins to a ring set in a post. He absently went about the familiar task of checking the hoof and picking out a small stone. But all the while, his thoughts stayed with Señora Thompson.
I shouldn’t have let her see my work
.
She’ll think them crude
. Heat from embarrassment flooded his cheeks, and he tried to pretend to himself it was just his bent-over position that made the blood flow to his head.

He set down Bianca’s leg and straightened. Then he grabbed a half-full pail from outside Royal’s stall and watered the horse.

Carrying a figure in each hand, Señora Thompson walked back into the main part of the barn. Her apricot-colored eyebrows pulled together, pinching the skin of her forehead.

She doesn’t like them.

Pepe thought he hadn’t allowed himself to hope, but the feeling must have slipped into his body. Now, his hopes crashed to the hard-packed dirt floor. He couldn’t turn to face her completely. Instead, he rubbed the horse’s head as if that was the most important task in the world. “She had a stone in her hoof, Señora. I took it out.”

“
Muchas gracias
, Pepe.” Señora Thompson raised both hands to hold up the Mary and Joseph figures from the crèche. “How long did you take to make these?”

He shrugged. “The work’s faster in winter, when we’re not so busy. During a storm, I can make one in a day, maybe less. In summer…a week.”

“I think they’re magnificent, and I’d like to buy them. Would you sell them to me?”

Pepe was so shocked, his knees weakened, and he struggled to remain stoic. He shook his head and waved his hand,
no
, then stepped back and sank onto a straw bale.

Disappointment crossed Señora Thompson’s pretty face. “I’m sorry, Pepe. I shouldn’t have presumed.”

“No, no.” He waved his hand harder, before realizing his silence was making the situation worse. “No sell. You take, Señora.”

Señora Thompson smiled, crinkling the skin around her eyes. She seated herself on a straw bale across from Pepe. “I’d planned on buying Mr. Thompson a Christmas gift today, and your crèche will be perfect. But, I
insist
on paying you for it. I think five dollars should suffice. What do you think?”

Five dollars!
The sum sounded like the moon. His head spun and shock made him unable to summon words for either English or Spanish.

Señora Thompson gave the figures a thoughtful look. “Do you think you could paint them?”

Paint them?
The idea had never occurred to him. Pepe wondered how he could make that happen.
 

His bewilderment must have shown on his face, for Señora Thompson reached over and patted his knee. “If Mack will let you…come by the ranch tomorrow. I want you to see a wooden statue of the Virgin Mary that I brought with me from Argentina. She’s painted, and I think she would make a good model for you. You can borrow it for a while.”

Pepe’s tongue finally obeyed him. “
Thank you
, Señora!”

She laughed. “No, thank
you
, Pepe. I’ve found the perfect gift for the first Christmas with my husband—one we can treasure for a lifetime.”

Pepe couldn’t understand how his simple carvings would be a perfect gift for one of the wealthiest ranchers in the area, but Señora Thompson’s pretty face glowed with happiness, and that was enough for him.

“And… while you’re at the ranch, maybe you can take note of the children’s Falabellas. If you can carve miniature horses and paint them to resemble each child’s horse, I can give them the toys for Christmas. They’ll love them.”

Excitement swirled in his belly. He’d carved a lot of horses over the years. He’d love a chance to try to capture those midget horses of Señora Thompson’s in wood. The little ones would be a challenge.

Señora Thompson tapped the figure of Mary with a leather-gloved finger. “I suggest you go talk to Mr. O’Reilly at the carpenter shop.”

Pepe gave her a puzzled look.

“He’ll know where to get paint for these, maybe even have some. And as for brushes…I’m sure Mrs. Sanders will give you some of hers…some paint, too.” Her hand waved in the air. “She’s so busy organizing the Christmas pageant, and, after that, the baby will be here. I doubt she’s painting right now, nor will be for a while. I’ll drop a word to her for you.”

She rose gracefully to her feet and set the figurines on the straw bale. “Can you bring the manger to the ranch on the morning of Christmas Eve? Hopefully, it won’t storm.”

Pepe nodded.

“Once they’re painted, you might see if the Cobbs will sell some of your carvings in their store.”

Feeling as if she’d knocked the wind out of him, Pepe could only nod again before catching his breath. “Thank you, Señora.”

Señora Thompson said good-bye and walked over to her horse.

In a daze, Pepe helped her to mount Bianca, then stood and watched her ride away. He shook himself, as if waking up, and hurried to get his coat. He had a lot to do, and not much time before Christmas.

He walked over to Royal’s stall. First stop, O’Reilly’s carpenter shop.

~ ~ ~

Pepe reined in Royal in front of O’Reilly’s and set the brake on the wagon. The shop was a wooden building with a false front situated on the street behind the main one. The window next to the door had been dusty for as long as Pepe had known Phineas O’Reilly.

Pepe had always liked the carpenter, who treated him like a man, not like a Mexican peon, and considered him a friend. He liked to come here in the winter. He’d visit and observe O’Reilly working. Sometimes, he’d help by sweeping up the mounds of sawdust and stacking the scrap wood in the back. He could depend on O’Reilly to always have a bit of gossip handy—the man was as bad as some women that way—but the carpenter liked to talk, so that meant Pepe didn’t have to.

Over the years, the carpenter taught him something about building fine furniture, and, in gratitude for his help with an important project, had given him some chisels. When a bull gored popular Max Harling to death, Pepe had helped O’Reilly make his coffin, both men working in sad silence, grateful to mourn together.

He tied Royal to the hitching post, picked up the crate that held his carvings from the back corner of the wagon, and carried it into the shop. The bell over the door jangled as he stepped inside. The front of the building held the finished pieces, the ones ordered and awaiting pickup, and others the carpenter had made and wanted to sell. He admired a mahogany-stained bookshelf and a carved, bracketed wall shelf he hadn’t seen before. A wooden counter stood in front of the open door that led to the workroom.

Pepe set the crate on the counter and peered through the opening.

The proprietor, a thick-bodied carpenter known to everyone as O’Reilly, was bent over a block of wood, running a plane over the surface. Pepe couldn’t see the man’s face, just the back of his head and his long, rusty-colored hair pulled into a tail.

Pepe whistled—his usual greeting when his friend was absorbed in his work.

O’Reilly straightened, a wide broken-toothed smile beaming though the bushy red beard. He set down the plane, brushed his hands across his dirty carpenter’s smock, and ambled forward. “You came through the front, so I didn’t see you. What’s in the box?”
 

“Some carvings I’ve done.”

O’Reilly waved for him to come around to the back. “Let’s see what you got there.”

Pepe picked up the crate and walked around the counter into the workspace, absorbing the familiar smell of sawdust and varnish. He set the box on one of the workbenches lining each side of the room. “Señora Thompson has bought the manger scene.” He couldn’t keep the excitement from his voice.
 
“She wants me to paint them. She thought if I paint my other pieces, the Cobbs might sell them in the mercantile.”

“Couldn’t be worse than those crude, mass-produced Christmas figures the Cobbs carry.” O’Reilly walked over to the crate, pale eyebrows jutting up in obvious curiosity. He reached inside, pulled up the first parcel, and unwrapped it. He held up the horse by the light of the window, turning it in his hands to study the workmanship. He smoothed his palm over the back of the horse, feeling the finish.

He walked back to the crate, and, one-by-one, lifted each piece, giving it careful scrutiny, before setting it down on the counter. When O’Reilly had emptied the box, he said, “You been holding out on me,
amigo
. If I’d known you could do this, I’d have you carving on my furniture.”

Pepe felt a burst of pride at the comment. “They’re just toys for children. I never thought anyone would want to buy them.”

O’Reilly arranged the manger scene in the proper order—Mary and Joseph, next the baby Jesus, the ox and lamb nearby, shepherds and their sheep, the wise men and their camels further away. “We could build a little a stable for them, eh. Open in the front and sides to show off the people and animals. I don’t ’spose the Holy Family had to worry about snow like we do. Or so Father Fredrick said in one of his Christmas sermons.”

“What about painting them?”

“Say now, that’s a grand idea.” O’Reilly rolled his shoulders. “Help yourself.” He pointed toward the shelves containing cans in the back of the shop. “You shouldn’t need a lot.”

“I’ll pay you back when I sell some.”

O’Reilly’s broad hand waved a dismissal. “You’ve helped me plenty, Pepe. It don’t go without notice.” He ran a finger over the figure of a bull with wide horns and a tail with a twitch. “You’ve made them come alive. I wouldn’t want to be in the path of this fella. Think you should stain and varnish him, though, not paint him. See him as mahogany.”

“Like that bookshelf there?” Pepe jerked his thumb back toward one in the front of the shop.

“That’s right.” O’Reilly picked up the bull. “Let’s see if we can make him look like I see him here.” He tapped his forehead.