The Parson's Christmas Gift (8 page)

O
ver a week later and Walten’s harvest party was in full swing by the time Journey and Miss Rose arrived. Journey carried a pan full of chicken, sizzled in bread crumbs just that morning, into the wagon-filled churchyard. Voices blended with the happy tune of a fiddle somewhere off to the right.

The sky cleared overhead and a strong breeze eased the sun’s unexpected heat. The weather might be unpredictable this time of year, but it seemed it would cooperate for the day’s festivities.

“Don’t be fooled,” Miss Rose said, fanning a handkerchief over her face. “Tomorrow we could wake to three feet of snow. Winter might tease us for a while, but it’s coming. I’ve lived here long enough to smell it.”

“How long have you lived here, Miss Rose?”

She feared she had crossed the line when the pause lengthened. Asking questions too often became a two-way street. Still, in sharing a house with this woman, she’d found her interest welcomed. The woman also was quick to take a hint, never pushing for answers beyond those she offered.

“I guess it’s been nigh onto sixty years.” Her voice carried a tone of disbelief, and she blinked with a look of amazement. “My Wallace and I were married when I was just sixteen, and we headed west the next day. I’ll be seventy-six next spring.”

They continued through the maze of booths and tables covered in vegetables and baked goods set in the grassy area behind the church. Children chased one another in the open spaces between. Men grouped near the horses, comparing harnesses. Ladies in bright dresses were busy arranging and rearranging displays.

It felt good to be outside and off the crutches, Journey thought as she placed the pan in a free spot on the table between a plate of crisp potato cakes and a tray of boiled ham. Doc Ferris had cleared her the day before. Even to be out among so many strangers it felt good.

“There you are!” Abby’s voice could be heard over the general hubbub as she wound her way through the swarm of people. She took Miss Rose’s arm and led them to another table crowded with still more picnic food. “You look lovely, Journey. You chose well for yourself in that color.”

She smiled her thanks and fanned her hands over the navy fabric. Fashion was never a great concern, but she had made a point to finish the dress for this occasion. The fitted bodice clasped with simple buttons all the way up to a collar of the same color, but with a scalloped edge. She had been tempted to sew a split skirt for riding but hadn’t noticed any other women wearing them in town, and so she resisted. It wouldn’t do to stand out.

Besides the work dress she wore for everyday use, her sparse wardrobe was ragged. She had needed something decent to wear to meet the community. It might reflect poorly on Miss Rose if she came looking unkempt.

“Let me introduce you to our sewing circle,” Abby said. Journey found herself pulled into a crowd of women before she could protest. She slipped her fingers along the curls that had already pulled from the low chignon at her neck and tried to tuck them back into the general mass.

“Ladies, I’d like you to meet Miss Journey Smith,” Abby said. “She’s new to Walten, staying with Miss Rose out at the ranch. Journey, this is Mrs. Phoebe Decker, Miss Sue Anderson and Mrs. Evie Wilson. Journey is quite a seamstress, and now that she’s recuperated from a recent accident, I’ve invited her to join our sewing circle.”

Mrs. Wilson shifted her baby from one hip to the other and stretched her right hand in greeting. Journey took it, forcing a smile to her anxious lips. “So nice to finally meet you, since Abby’s been telling us about you. I’m sorry to hear you had such a traumatic introduction to our town. We’re so glad you’re up and about now.” Something in Mrs. Wilson’s soft grip reminded Journey of her mother.

Sue Anderson’s carefully coiffed hair, dimpled face and glittering broach told her story.

The swooping feather of her hat brushed her over-pink cheeks and pointed to an over-wide smile. Her eyes were kind, but Journey had met women like her before. Society. Well-bred. She’d no doubt been born to a life of leisure and had no idea of how hard everyday labors could be. “So nice to meet you, Journey.” She held out a gloved hand.

Journey stiffened when Phoebe Decker interrupted with her nasal tone. “After everything we’ve heard from Rose Bishop, the Norwoods and Reverend Thompson, we’ve all been anxious to meet you. You’ve been quite the topic of conversation.”

She was not very old, not very pretty and not at all friendly. Journey had a feeling Phoebe was not one to ignore those she could not tolerate.

“I didn’t realize I had caused such a stir,” Journey said, questioning Abby with a look.

“We’re a small community,” Abby said. “Anyone new creates a sensation.”

“Traveling all that way on your own…” Phoebe clucked her tongue.
Chicken Lady.
The name popped into Journey’s mind and she smiled in spite of herself. “I’m certain you’ll have stories to share. Surely there are a few worthy of polite company.”

Phoebe was not looking for tales of entertainment. This woman had already formulated a few stories of her own about her. But she somehow doubted she had imagination enough to get close to the truth.

Sue stepped closer. “I know I couldn’t have done it—traveled alone—without an escort. And then to lose your horse.” Sue looked dutifully distressed. “Well, I’m glad to see you’re on the mend. We’ll see you at sewing circle. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must speak with Mrs. Hamler about the Ladies’ Aid Society.” With a flounce of her bustle, she moved to the booths, waving a gloved hand.

“I think it’ll be wonderful to have a new face in the sewing circle.” Evie smiled, and Journey felt her anxiety ease. “We haven’t been meeting real regularly through the summer, but now that harvesting is done, we’ll start our weekly get-togethers. We talk about as much as we sew, but you’ll have to excuse us. We’re a bunch of harmless busybodies for the most part, so feel free to tell us to mind our own concerns if we get out of line. Right, Phoebe?”

The woman nodded, drawing a line straight down with the point of her nose. “We have to extend a welcome to you. Especially with all your sewing accomplishments I’ve heard so much about. You take in mending for the cowboys traveling through town, I hear.” She didn’t smile. “Please excuse me, Pastor Zane has arrived. He has to have a piece of my Mary’s apple pie.”

“Never mind her,” Evie said, patting Journey’s arm as Phoebe hurried off. “She’s been after Pastor Thompson for her daughter ever since his wife passed away, and she’s jealous of any woman prettier than her Mary.”

Journey bit the inside of her lip. “But I don’t think—”

“Nonsense. With beauty like yours, who could blame him? Just don’t let her get to you and you’ll be fine. I’ll let you know about our first meeting next week, ladies. I trust we’ll see you in services now that your leg has healed, Journey. Well, I had better catch up with my Jimmy. I’m sure he’s pestering his father something awful about now. See you on Sunday.”

Journey nodded her off, grateful to be away from the inquisition. Her mouth felt dry as she searched the growing crowd, spotting Miss Rose with a group of older ladies sitting near the pie-laden tables, ready to serve.

“Come on,” Abby said. “There are plenty more folks to meet.”

“I’m feeling easily worn out these first days,” Journey said. “I’m not used to so much walking around. Miss Rose has all but tied me down these past few weeks, especially since my trip into town last week. I’ll find a shady spot to sit and enjoy the crowd.”

Abby did not look convinced. “If you’re sure, but everyone’s anxious to meet you. We’ve been praying for you at church, so naturally folks are wondering who you are and how you’re doing. I’ll find you again later on?”

Journey relented, seeing that Abby wouldn’t be content to simply let her be a wallflower. “Maybe this afternoon we can meet more people. I’m not very good with names, so it’s easier to go slow.”

Her breath left her in a gasp as Abby caught her in a tight squeeze. “That’ll be fine. You find a good spot and enjoy the day. I’m so glad you’re walking around and that you’re here. You’ll love Walten. I know it.”

Journey watched Abby’s tall form slide across the open space, toward Miss Rose. She breathed easier and started off in search of a quiet tree to hide under. There were few to choose from, but anyplace away from the crowd would be welcome. It was going to be a long day.

Z
ane arrived to find wagons filling the churchyard. He gazed at the wide expanse of sky, thankful for the clear weather. Snow could be here as early as tomorrow, with the way the wind blew over the mountains, but today the community could enjoy the picnic.

He raised his arms and stepped back, narrowly avoiding some children chasing each other between tables. How Sarah had loved to race with them. “Not dignified,” Mrs. Decker had muttered so many times. He and Sarah had talked about having their own children one day. When Sarah had suspected they would soon become a family, Zane had never been a happier man. Sometimes it felt like yesterday. But it was years ago. Three years…

He blinked hard in the sun. Was that Mrs. Decker headed his way? She probably wanted him to have a piece of Mary’s apple pie. His mouth puckered at the thought. He hoped Mary wouldn’t have to rely on her cooking skills to snare a husband.

Where was Miss Rose? She made a good fence when it came to keeping Phoebe Decker at bay. He felt sorry for Mary. He doubted her mother gave the shy girl a chance to find her own beau. But he was not sorry enough to eat that pie.

He spied Miss Rose and her friends, sitting in the sunshine. Her silver hair shone, and Zane wondered what she must’ve looked like when she’d come to Montana as a young bride. He returned her wave when he realized he’d been caught staring, and moved to greet her.

“Hello, ladies,” he said. “It looks like the Lord’s blessed us with beautiful weather.” He relaxed when he noticed Phoebe Decker stop short, then turn to the quilt display. He’d dodged the pie for a moment, anyhow.

Zane squeezed Miss Rose’s shoulder as she patted his hand.

“Is Journey here?” he asked.

“Yes.” Her smile warned him of where her thoughts were going. “She was with Abby the last I saw her.”

“She went to find some shade,” Abby said, walking up behind the group. “Meeting Phoebe wore her out, I’m afraid.” Her voice lowered, but the gleam in her eye didn’t dim.

“Hello. Where’s Sam?” Zane asked, searching the crowd.

Abby flicked back her blond hair. “He’ll be along. A shipment from Virginia City arrived this morning.”

“I’ll have to catch him later, then.” He craned his neck. “It’s good to see so many come out for the day.”

“It won’t be long until we’re all fighting cabin fever,” Miss Rose said. “No reason not to get out and enjoy the fellowship when we can.”

“I’d better try to find Journey. She doesn’t seem one for socializing. With so many people around…” He shrugged. What did he really think she could do? It’s not as if she’d pull her gun in this crowd, would she?

“Right,” Abby said. “It’d be a shame to have a pretty thing like her sitting alone with all these gentlemen ranchers and handsome trail hands wandering around.”

“Especially in that pretty new dress she sewed for herself,” Miss Rose said. He didn’t miss the chime in her voice.

He fought with all he had to keep the heat from his ears. The outer ridge grew red enough to give him away every time, no matter how brown his skin turned in the summer sun.

Many of the women in the circle smiled; some even twittered behind gloved hands. Zane swallowed hard. “I’ll stroll around a bit, introduce myself to some of the new faces. Ladies, if you’ll excuse me.”

He ducked his head and cleared his throat as he made his exit from the group. He walked quickly but couldn’t miss Abby’s voice.

“We really shouldn’t tease Pastor Thompson so. He’s only doing his duty.” Her tone didn’t sound very supportive, and several of the ladies laughed outright.

Thank the Lord he’d gotten away when he did. He couldn’t decide who tried harder at being a matchmaker, Abby or Miss Rose.

Zane stared at the many unfamiliar faces wandering around the yard. The community had grown over the past year, and the harvest festival gave many new families their first opportunity to relax and meet their neighbors. He remembered how busy his folks had been when they’d moved to Walten.

A few haggard faces testified to a rough start for some. Zane hoped to make his way to all the newcomers and give them an invitation to Sunday services. He also hoped to check in with the cowboys he recognized from those rare Sundays when they could make it to service. Most of them wouldn’t be traveling through town again until next fall.

Zane’s glance stopped at a shifty-eyed drifter. He looked as if he’d seen more than his share of bad trail and stared through the crowd as if he wanted to find someone in particular.

Zane passed by Evie Wilson, serving up cider.

“How do, Pastor Thompson?” She handed him a battered tin cup. “You look as though you could use some cool refreshment.”

He took a sip. “Cold and sweet. That hits the spot, ma’am. Thank you.” He set the tin back. “Good to see so many turn out.”

“I know. It gives me the chance to see folks there’s never time to visit in the busyness of summer.”

“Especially with that new little one to watch after,” Zane said.

Mrs. Wilson nodded, looking over the crowd.

“Do you recognize that cowhand over there?” she asked, nodding across the dusty clearing at the man who’d caught his attention a moment ago.

“No, ma’am. Why do you ask?”

She shrugged. “He seems lost, looks out of place. You know, I usually recognize the faces around here, even if the names escape me.”

Zane squinted against the bright sun. “Probably some cowpoke decided to stop on the way back from Virginia City or somewhere, same as the others. I’ll try to catch him sometime today and introduce myself, invite him to services. Right now I thought I’d check on Journey—I mean, Miss Smith. Have you seen her?”

Evie shaded her eyes and gestured to the edge of the yard. “She’s under the aspen.”

He spotted her, feet drawn beneath her on a quilt. She wore a navy dress he hadn’t seen before, and he found himself admiring the narrow silhouette she presented. Her auburn hair shone brightly in the filtered sunlight, full and rich until tight ringlets fell from her temples to brush her flushed cheeks. He swallowed hard.

She seemed not to notice the milling crowd as she looked toward some undetermined spot in the east. Zane glanced around, trying to decide on what or whom she was focused. There was nothing but the open range.

“I see her. Thanks.” He headed toward Journey.

As he walked, he noticed the drifter’s focus on her. The man’s eyes appeared cold and lifeless; the smile he wore looked as if he’d pasted it on moments ago—a smile that could be peeled off with his socks that evening. Zane forced himself to look away before he read too much into the scene. Between Journey’s gun, Abby’s warning and Miss Rose’s insinuations, his mind had started moving independently from his common sense. Now his heart seemed to have taken a direction all its own.

He paused a moment, then moved toward Journey. Why did he feel compelled to guard her? He laughed at himself. He continued until he stood within her line of sight.

“Enjoying yourself?” he asked.

Journey looked up at him slowly, blinking in the shadow he cast over her face. He waited, wondering if he’d woken her.

“The picnic is lovely.” Her crooked smile shook as her wide brown eyes twitched.

“Mind if I sit down?”

“Suit yourself,” she said, sliding over on the blanket.

He sat and rested an elbow on his bent knee. Together they studied the people. The stranger still stood off to the side, away from the other cowboys. Zane watched as Journey’s gaze traced a path to the man. Had she noticed the cowboy earlier? She seemed edgier than usual, and he figured that not much made its way past her.

“Nice weather we’re having for the picnic,” Zane said. “Last year a late storm blew in and chased us all into the church.”

Journey nodded, chewing her full lower lip.

“Then we had relay races climbing into the steeple.”

“Is that so?”

“Sure is. Miss Rose won and crowed like a chicken from the rafters.”

“That sounds nice.”

He blew out a breath and chanced a glance at her, then back to the figure that held her attention. He thought about pointing out the man’s earlier interest but he didn’t have the heart to tease her when she looked ready to bolt as it was.

They sat through the three-legged race in silence. He’d been asked to serve as judge for the pie-baking contest after the noon meal.

He nudged her shoulder with his. “Penny for your thoughts.”

She started, eyes flashing with surprise as his arm brushed hers. “I beg your pardon?”

“Are you feeling better, Journey, now that you’re up and around?”

“Yes.” She turned toward him but glanced over her shoulder. “It feels good to be moving unhampered by those blamed crutches.”

Her emphatic response caught him off guard and he laughed. “How are things going with Miss Rose? Is she working you like a mule?”

Journey smiled yet Zane saw her tension grow after a few questions. Was she afraid she’d say too much? “It’s more work for her thinking up enough to keep me busy. But she seems happy for the company.”

“I know she is.” He nodded. “She’s not as spry as she once was.”

“I couldn’t imagine keeping up with her then,” Journey said. Her auburn curls caught the sunlight, and he imagined what it would be like to wrap one around his finger.

“It’s safer for you to be somewhere warm with winter beating down the door,” he said.

She shifted on the quilt. “That’s what I hear, but it feels awfully warm to me right now.”

“The weather switches as hard as the trails through the mountains. You’ll see, we’ll have snow soon.”

“So I hear.” Again, her voice sounded as if her mind was far away. Zane searched her face. For what, he wasn’t exactly sure, but hoped he’d know it when he saw it.

She struggled to her feet, and he stood quickly to offer a hand. She pushed curls into place and stood without assistance. “I’d better find Abby.”

He stayed her with a hand on her arm. She flinched but didn’t pull away. “There are a lot of good people here, Journey,” Zane said, staring at her face. How could eyes so wide hide so much? He fought the sudden compulsion to draw her close.

A dimple appeared on her left cheek, one he hadn’t noticed before. “I appreciate the company, Pastor. Now, if you’ll please excuse me.”

“Sure.” He watched her limp in Abby’s direction, then turn between two tables and around the side of the church building instead. This time, he made no move to seek her out.