Montana Sky Christmas: A Sweetwater Springs Short Story Collection (8 page)

Harry sipped his tea in silence. His body seemed tense, and he stared into the fire or snuck quick glances at her.

Sally fumbled for a place to begin a conversation. “You work on a ranch?”

“Yes. At Thompson’s. He’s a decent boss. Treats his men well. Pays good.” He gave her a sideways look. “One of the other hands took a wife, and Thompson let him build a cabin on the property, not far from the big house. Said he’d do it for any of us. Not that he’s too worried about his men settling down.” He shook his head. “We don’t have much chance to meet and court women.”

The thought he might be courting her caused the moths to flitter up from her stomach into her throat. Her heart beat faster, and she felt short of breath.

“That day at the mercantile, after I rode away, I realized I’d forgotten to buy the nails for the foreman, and rode back.” He ducked his head, then turned to look into her eyes. “You were gone by then. I supposed I asked about you.”

“You did?” A flutter of excitement raced over her. She glanced back at her parents and saw Ma stirring a pot and Da watching them while he poked logs into the stove. Ma cut her a glance and a half-smile. “What did Mrs. Cobb say?”

“Said, ‘that Sally O’Donnell is a pretty gal. The O’Donnells live in an isolated spot. The Knapps on one side, next to the Muths. No young man around for miles.’” He studied her face.
 

Her cheeks heated. “It is very quiet out here.”

“Course—” he held her gaze, his brown eyes anxious “—a woman might want a house on her man’s own land, stead of living on someone else’s ranch. Maybe a claim on the prairie?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Sally said, choosing her words with care. “Living on a ranch with other people around, other women to visit with, she wouldn’t be so lonesome for company. Not like out here on the prairie where we go months without seeing other people. Da doesn’t mind so much, but Ma and I do.” She half turned and sent an apologetic glance to her father, who winked in response.

Harry relaxed back in his chair, sprawling out his legs. “That’s good to hear.” He stared back into the fire. “I’m partial to ranch life myself.”

Sally watched the flames dance and inhaled the scent of pine and Christmas dinner. She looked over at Harry.
Maybe, just maybe, my Irish luck is sitting right here.
 

Their gazes met and held in a moment of connection that brought another blush to her cheeks. She glanced away and then back, watching him from underneath lowered eyelashes. As the firelight played over his face, she realized,
nothing is missing anymore.

KAYLEIGH’S CHRISTMAS GOOSE

Ten-year-old Kayleigh Gentry hefted the heavy stick with the knobby end and swung it down on the ice in the horse trough set in front of the barn. The ice shattered, and she poked at the remaining shards until she had a hole big enough to allow her gander, Prince, access to water.

A few feet away, Prince pecked at the dirt churned up by the horses’ hooves. She doubted he’d find anything edible in the frozen ground.

Kayleigh called him, and he lifted his long neck, peered at her, and waddled over. She picked him up, gave him a slight squeeze of affection—not too hard lest he buffet her with his powerful wings—then set him in the water.

Across the yard, Ma opened the door of the house. “Kayleigh,” she called.

“Coming, Ma!”

Her mother ducked back inside.

Kayleigh sighed, knowing Ma had a tedious heap of chores waiting. She’d rather help Pa in the barn. Animals were so much more interesting than drying dishes, making the beds, sweeping the floor, and helping Ma prepare food.

“I’ll come back later, Prince,” she said to the gander, which ignored her by sticking his head in the water. She picked up the burlap bag, heavy with grain, and scattered a few handfuls on the ground. Then she took the stick and the bag into the barn and put them away.

She cast a wishful glance toward the ladder leading to the hayloft, a place she loved to retreat to whenever she had a chance.
Maybe later.

Reluctantly, Kayleigh left the barn and headed for the house, walking in the trampled path made by her father’s and brother’s footsteps.

The recent storm had left six inches of snow on the ground. Perfect for making a snowman. Kayleigh made a face. Not much fun to make one by yourself. She envied her friend, Meg, who had brothers and sisters close to her in age. Not for the first time, she wished that all the babies that came between her and her older brother and sister hadn’t died.

A chill gust of wind whistling through the yard hurried her into the kitchen of the house. With a shove, she quickly shut the door before her mother could scold her for letting in the cold.

Kayleigh sniffed the enticing smell of fresh bread, and wondered if Ma would let her have a warm slice with butter melted into it. She tugged off her mittens, yanked off her cap, and let her braids spill free. She stuffed the cap and mittens into her coat pocket before slipping it off. She hung her coat and scarf on her peg, and then turned to see what her mother wanted.

Without saying anything, her mother held out a dishcloth. Inwardly, Kayleigh sighed. When Ma baked bread and made stew, she seemed to use every pot in the house. At least, Kayleigh didn’t have to do the washing up. That was her big sister Agnes’s job.

She looked around the kitchen for her sister but didn’t see her. That meant Agnes was in the room the two shared, working on another embroidered pillowcase for her hope chest, although Kayleigh didn’t know why she bothered. There weren’t any men around here to even hope for. And, if a man was available, once he caught the edge of her sister’s sharp tongue, he’d up and disappear like a rabbit escaping a wolf.

Kayleigh picked up the spatterware coffee pot and started to dry the speckled sides. When she finished, she set it on the shelf, then walked back and picked up a wooden mixing bowl.

“Christmas is in ten days, child.” Her mother set two loaves of bread on the table to cool.

Ma didn’t have to tell her. Starting with the first of December, Kayleigh had ticked off the days until the holiday.

“Grandma Leigh and Grandpa George are coming this year. Your Uncle Jim and Aunt Amy are too. They’ll have Eliza and the baby, and they’re bringing Grandma Kay. Everyone is staying overnight.”

Kayleigh dropped the dishtowel and clapped her hands in delight. The far-spread-out farming families seldom had a chance to get together for more than a few hours on occasional Sundays. None of the families had hired help. Longer visits meant trade-offs with neighbors, who’d then have to make a cold winter ride to the other farm to tend the livestock. So on some holidays, her relatives had to stay home.

Visits from the relatives meant Kayleigh could play with her cousin, Eliza, who was ten like her, listen to stories of past Christmases told by her grandparents, enjoy the special cakes and cookies her grandmothers had baked, and join in the singing of carols. Unlike the thin chorus made by just the five of them, the gathering of many voices would fill the house with rich sounds, sending chills down her spine. Best of all, everyone would bring presents. Kayleigh could hardly wait.

Her mother gently clasped Kayleigh’s chin, something she often did to bring her younger daughter’s wandering thoughts back to the conversation. “We have a lot of work before then. Cleaning, baking, making Christmas presents. I’ll need your help.”
 

“Yes, Ma.” Kayleigh didn’t mind pitching in for Christmas company.

Her mother released Kayleigh’s chin, then brushed the hair back from her daughter’s forehead, and gave her a kiss there.

The warmth of the unexpected gesture lingered on Kayleigh’s skin.
 

“We’re going to have goose for Christmas dinner.”

It took a moment for the meaning of her mother’s words to penetrate to Kayleigh’s awareness.
 
A chill ran through her. “Not Prince!”
 

Her mother sighed. “This is a
farm
, Kayleigh. Except for the horses and mule, the animals are
food
.
 

“Not Prince,” Kayleigh repeated, not wanting her mother’s words to be true.

“You can keep the goose down and use it for a pillow.”

The horror of eating Prince for dinner rooted Kayleigh to the spot. Even though she knew the futility of arguing with her mother, she had to try anyway. “Please, Ma. Please, don’t! We can’t eat Prince.”

“That’s enough, Kayleigh,” Ma said firmly, hands on hips. “Not another word. It’s time for you to go gather the eggs.”

Kayleigh turned away from her mother, tears blinding her eyes. She groped for her coat on the hook by the door and wound the scarf around her head and neck without knowing what she did. Once outside, instead of heading for the henhouse, she ran toward the barn. Prince must have finished eating and followed her father inside.

She avoided her father and brother, who were mucking out stalls, and sought Prince out, gathering the gander close. She’d forgotten her mittens in her pocket, and although his belly was still wet, she could feel the warm softness of his body through the feathers and down.
 

He nibbled her chin in affection.

“We can’t eat you,” she whispered. Just the idea made her feel sick.
 

A tear dripped down her cheek, but she scrubbed it away. “I promise I’m not going to let them eat you, Prince. Somehow, I’ll find a way to save you.”

~ ~ ~

The closer Christmas came, the more Kayleigh’s family turned into hard-hearted ogres. Not one of them seemed the least bit concerned about Kayleigh’s feelings, or in finding a way to keep Prince from becoming Christmas dinner.

Agnes had been overjoyed that the annoying bird who had a habit of snapping at her would no longer be around to torment her.
Torment
. Agnes actually used the word, as if Prince tortured her like in the fairy tales.

Then Agnes had protested that Kayleigh shouldn’t have Prince’s goose down for a pillow when Agnes was the one needing it for her hope chest. Ever since that selfish comment, Kayleigh had hated her sister with a fierceness that made it difficult to even sleep in the same room.
 

Her bitterness spread to her feelings about the rest of her family. She stopped talking to her parents—not that her father noticed his young daughter’s unusual muteness. She did answer her ma’s direct questions because silence would be interpreted as disrespect, which brought its own punishment.
 
She and her brother never had much to say to each other anyway; he being so much older and not interested in a little girl.

In her imagination, even her beloved grandmothers and grandfather turned into demons.

She had visions of her relatives eating Prince, gloating at the taste of his meat. Tall, spare Grandma Kay with her arthritic hands that could no longer do any handwork but knitting; plump, cheerful Grandma Leigh; and Grandpa George, who always had a sweet in his pocket for her—they all became voracious goose eaters.

Nightmares woke her up screaming every night. Visions of the axe falling on Prince’s long neck, severing his beautiful head from his body, plagued her sleep. Not that she screamed for real, because as loud as she yelled in her dreams, she woke to only the sounds of strangled groans coming out of her throat. Luckily, Agnes was a deep sleeper, or she would have complained to Ma.

After the nightmares, Kayleigh would lay awake for a long time, praying with fervor that God would spare Prince.

The countdown until Christmas ticked by, not with Kayleigh’s usual impatience at the slow approach of the holiday, but with ever-growing dread. For each day brought Prince closer to his death.

A week later, and with no new ideas for saving Prince, Kayleigh decided to appeal to her father. Her father usually deferred the decisions about his children to their mother. But once, when Agnes was crying because her Sunday dress was so old and faded, Pa had ordered Ma to take her to town and buy her some new dress material.

The next day, Ma had driven Agnes to Sweetwater Springs, and they’d returned with a bolt of beautiful flowered calico. By the following Sunday, Agnes had a new shirtwaist and skirt and had nagged the whole family into attending church, even though they were in the middle of spring planting.

Kayleigh followed the thunk, thunk sound of her father splitting wood. The woodpile stood at the side of the barn, and her father had mentioned he wanted enough firewood to keep the house snug and warm through the holiday. When she rounded the stack of logs, she saw her father wielding a sledgehammer to drive a wedge into the center of a round section of tree trunk. On the other side of the woodpile, Tom used an axe to chop her father’s chunks into smaller pieces.

Knowing better than to get close, Kayleigh waited.

With several mighty whacks of the sledgehammer on the wedge, Pa split the stump in half. He leaned over to pick up a chunk of wood, saw Kayleigh, and straightened.

Kayleigh rushed into speech. “Please, Pa. May we not eat Prince for Christmas dinner?”

Her father sighed and rubbed a weary hand across his lined forehead. “That’s your Ma’s decision. She’s the one doing the cooking, so she knows what’s needed.”