The Parson's Christmas Gift (9 page)

J
ourney glanced across the circle of people huddled around the bonfire as evening settled on the group of stragglers at the end of the long day. She had hoped to leave hours ago. The strain of seeing so many new faces tired her. But when the fire was lit, and a violin brought out, Miss Rose settled in close, swaying to the music.

She had to admit that the music, combined with the thinned crowd, restored the sense of comfort she’d gotten used to at Miss Rose’s house.

A cold breeze picked up when the sun went down. Journey pulled the heavy cape Miss Rose had insisted she bring closer around her. Maybe there would be snow before long. She’d been in the West long enough to know that weather changed quickly. Even though a circle of people blocked some of the fire’s heat, the glow kept her nose from numbing.

She scanned the crowd, the faces almost familiar, though she didn’t know their names. That thought comforted her, too. Actually, that word could be used to describe the entire town—comforting. She crossed her arms over her knees and stared at her boot tips. Maybe come spring she could afford a new pair before moving on.

Another pair of boots entered her field of vision. She stiffened. Fear shot like ice down her spine.

“Mind if I sit down?” Zane again.

Journey nodded, trying to breathe normally. He said nothing, just stretched his legs out before him and tapped his fingers across his knee in time to the music. Her tension melted as the comfortable silence grew.

The wind switched direction, driving the evening chill a little deeper.

“Bet the cold’ll bother you for a while yet.” Zane scratched his chin.

“I’m supposing it might.” Journey rubbed her leg.

“It might help if you walked around some or sat closer to the fire,” Zane said. His eyes were framed with shiny black lashes, and the firelight threw the planes of his cheek and jaw into strong relief.

“Zane, I—”

Loud, coarse laughter interrupted. A wagon drew near the bonfire. Journey recognized some of the men on the wagon from earlier in the day. She stood, smoothing her skirt, and gripped her shaking hands. A sense of dread filled her, but Zane moved and stood behind her, blocking the chill of the wind.

Three men tumbled off before the wagon even stopped. Their singing drowned out the soft violin.

A lanky cowboy with a tan hat strolled her way. His two buddies knocked into each other behind him, with whispers and crude laughter. She edged back, bumping into Zane’s solid warmth.

The tall man laughed and only leaned closer. The smell of alcohol rolling from his mouth made her gag, and Journey pressed the back of her hand to her nose. “Hey, gal, don’ be so shy now. I hear you’re the right friendly type.”

He made a grab for her, but the man tripped and fell as Zane drew her back farther. She stumbled over Zane’s feet until his fingers tightened around her arm, as if he knew she would turn and run. Yet there was something in the rumble of his chest that stilled her. “You have no business with her,” he said.

The three cowboys howled and slapped their legs, swaying into one another as they helped their friend to his feet. “Business is right, Preacher, from what I hear tell. Ain’t that right, missy?”

The crowd grew quiet and the music stopped. Heat rushed to Journey’s face, but an icy streak cut the air off at her throat and settled into her stomach. She couldn’t breathe. “I’m certain I don’t know what you’re referring to.”

Zane moved from behind to stand between her and the men. “And I’m certain that when you sober up, you’ll realize you’re mistaken about the woman.” His tone left no doubt. “I’ll ask you to leave now, before you make bigger fools of yourselves.”

The tall one lost his easy smile. He swayed closer and Journey slid back farther, despite the fact that Zane held his place in front of her. “The only fool I see here, Preacher, is you for not knowing when to stand aside.”

Cheers from his friends blended to a dull thud in her ears. Zane seemed relaxed, but his feet dug into the dirt. She looked over to the other side of the fire when Abby gasped. She and Miss Rose sat huddled together, hands clasped.

“Zane, don’t,” Journey whispered, scratching his shoulder with her fingertips barely touching.

“Hold up, fellas.” The voice drew her attention to the shadow on the wagon seat. The dark figure didn’t step down but let his gruff, sober voice carry his intent. The cowboy who’d been eyeing her all day, the one so familiar and yet…

Sam appeared at Zane’s shoulder. “Listen to your friend,” he said. “No reason to be stirring up a fuss. Go home, sleep it off. Let these people enjoy their evening.”

The lead man half turned, grinning at his friends. “I was hoping to enjoy myself here,” he said but turned toward the wagon and the others followed. Journey caught his final glare as he passed through the firelight.

The dark form hovering over the wagon seat tipped his hat in silence. Journey shivered, swallowing back the bitter taste of bile that flooded her mouth. She knew that shadow. Roy.

She shook her imagination back into place before it could run away with her. He was only that cowboy who’d been at the picnic earlier that day, not Roy. She sucked a breath in and heaved it out.

Any other possibility was too frightening to consider.

Zane rocked heel-to-toe on his feet, watching his parishioners return to their homes through the heavy snow that had blanketed the town overnight. Attendance had been down, but he never closed the doors if he could make it, no matter how high or thick the snow.

Conversations had naturally centered around the picnic yesterday, and he had to credit his faithful members for the effort they had put into not adding to the tale of the wild cowboys who’d made an appearance. But Journey sat through the entire service in misery, expecting someone to.

“Zane?”

Her timid voice caught him by surprise. He thought he’d missed her slipping out ahead of the others. “Glad to see you and Miss Rose could make it out this morning, Journey. I thought maybe you two would be snowed in.”

“It was tempting to crawl back under the covers, I have to admit,” she said. She gave a short, nervous laugh that made a choking sound. “But I figured I owe you for last night.”

She bit her lip, hands fluttering together. Her brown eyes drooped with exhaustion, and he knew she had gotten little sleep after the events of the night before. But her hair gleamed in a wide roll that framed her face, with thick curls trailing from the nape of her neck, some sweeping over her shoulder—the effect disarming. “They passed on through and didn’t stay in town last night,” he told her.

“You checked?”

“Sam and I took a little ride before turning in. I don’t know that they didn’t stay close but not in town. Do you have any reason to think they’ll be back?”

She shook her head, and he waited for her to say more but she didn’t. Frustration built in him, a tight ball in his chest. Then he noticed a thin, wet trail across her cheek. She wiped it away almost before he noticed, and she steadied herself with a deep breath and looked him in the eye.

“Journey, please—”

“I need you to know that I’m not…]That is, I never—” She breathed deeply and tried again, her hand shaking now and bunching the fabric of her skirt. “I’ve done a lot of things I’m not proud of, things that give me no right to be in this church today. But I never did what that cowboy hinted at last night. My mama, she worked as a saloon girl. That and more, you know?”

Her eyes pleaded for understanding, and he nodded without a sound.

“But that wasn’t me. I didn’t live that way, not exactly…” Her voice faded and her gaze searched the tiny vestibule where they stood. She drew in a breath to continue, but he placed his hand over both of hers, knotted together at her waist.

His other hand brushed the loose curls at her neck of its own volition. “You don’t have to explain those men to me,” he said. But his mind demanded answers to a thousand other questions.

“I just wanted to thank you, Zane. No one’s ever taken up for me before, not like you did. I do owe you for that.”

He scanned outside to judge the distance of the others shouting farewells to neighbors in the churchyard. “Then tell me what’s going on.”

“Oh, Zane,” she said, pulling her hands from his grasp and brushing past him. “Not getting you involved is paying you back.”

She went down the steps and hopped into the wagon, sitting next to Miss Rose, leaving him with more questions than ever.

J
ourney woke at first light and stretched, then curled deeper into the quilts, studying the ceiling. She rubbed the sleep from her face and sighed, stretching the stiffness from her leg.

With the scene in the churchyard one week past, the days had returned to a comfortable routine. She turned to the frosty window, where sunlight peered over the horizon, gleaming from the fresh snow that covered the ground.

The party had broken up soon after the cowboys had wheeled out of town that night. Tiny white flecks, determined dry crystals, had followed the crowd to their homes. Walten awoke to three feet of snow, with fresh coatings each day for the next week.

This morning the skies were clear, calm. Journey felt much that way herself. She hoped the forced seclusion around the community would stop any speculation about her and those men. Her only option was to stay, regardless. She’d never get through that mountain pass on her own now, even if she’d had a horse. But keeping her name out of the local gossip mill wouldn’t hurt.

Circumstances held her there. Much to her surprise, she enjoyed the routine that she and Miss Rose established. Clean. Wash. Care for the animals. Cook. Sew. Quiet evenings.

Journey dressed and twisted her hair into some semblance of order. She’d have to do better before going to Evie Wilson’s to meet the other ladies in the sewing circle. If only she could get out of it. The weather had been her last hope. But as the sunlight grew warmer and brighter, she knew that was not to be.

She’d been judged before, and likely would be again, but that didn’t erase the sting. But by now, nothing they guessed could come close to the reality.

That afternoon Journey realized the forced seclusion had served only to inflame the speculation about her.

“I thought for a moment Pastor Thompson might take a swing at the man himself.” Sue Anderson retold the events in grand fashion to the ladies as they sat stitching.

“I don’t believe it would have come to that. Reverend Thompson was defending the defenseless, as the Lord would have us do.” Phoebe Decker seemed to talk without moving her lips. “It’s not like Miss Smith could have known these men would single her out, I’m certain. Don’t you agree, Mary?”

Phoebe’s tone conveyed anything but certainty, and she flashed a penetrating gaze at her. Journey concentrated on the quilt, bound tight enough in its frame to bounce a thimble on. The only thing sure in this conversation would be Mary Decker’s dutiful “Yes, Mother.”

She stole a glance at Mary. Her pale skin and black hair created a striking contrast, and had her cheeks been fuller, she would have been a true beauty. Journey felt a stab of sympathy for her. Mary looked a little older than she, and Phoebe’s control over her daughter was as strong as Hank’s had been over her. Maybe stronger.

With her attention wrapped in the quilt, Journey tried to hide from all the curious stares.

Next time I’ll wait for Abby at the store.
She pulled another stitch through.

Evie Wilson gave a friendly smile. “I’m sure it’s not something we need to review for Journey.”

Sue’s eyes widened and her hands stopped. “Oh, my, I suppose not. It’s just so romantic, I never thought…”

Journey flushed, yet she couldn’t hold back her laugh. That laugh never worked right, always slipping out at the strangest times. What could be keeping Abby?

“It didn’t seem very romantic at the time,” Journey said, glancing around the circle. Blank looks and cool stares outnumbered the smiles that greeted her. She focused again on the quilt. The ladies intended this one as a Christmas present for Zane.

The Wilsons’ door opened and Abby breezed through, shaking powdered snow from her bonnet and coat. Journey added her greeting to the others’ and shifted her chair, hoping she would accept the invitation. Having Abby act as a buffer between her and Phoebe would make the afternoon much easier.

“I’m sorry I’m late.” Abby smoothed her hair and dug a quilting needle and thread from a tiny sewing box as she settled into the space. “We had a late shipment and Sam needed me to watch the store while he unloaded. I hoped to catch you, Journey, but I’m glad you came along without me.”

“Miss Rose cleared the afternoon so I could come.” Not that there’d been much to clear. She managed a faint smile. “I thought you’d be here ahead of me.”
Hoped.

“I’m sure you’ve been entertaining the ladies with tales of your adventures.” Abby caught the eye of each woman with her bright expression before turning her attention to the cloth.

Phoebe was the only one to reply. “We haven’t gotten beyond Journey’s adventures since arriving in Walten. If she brings about this much excitement everywhere, it will take several quilts to hear all the tales.”

Most of the women giggled—a high, twittery sound that scraped Journey’s ears. Her face grew hot, knowing there was more jibe than jest in the comment.

“If you’re so very interested, you’ll have to arrange a time to compare stories, I suppose.” Evie’s voice sounded low and cool. A seamless smile graced her face.

Journey raised an eyebrow to clear a view of Phoebe without staring outright. The flush that came to Phoebe’s pinched face helped cool her shame. Several moments of silence passed.

Sue Anderson spoke first. “Please don’t think us rude, Journey. We’re just interested in all you’ve seen along your way to Walten.” Silence hung for another moment. “At least, I’d like to hear about it.”

She searched Sue’s face. “Truly, there isn’t much to tell. I’d be more interested in learning more about Walten. I haven’t had an opportunity to explore.”

“So you are staying, then?” Phoebe asked. “I’d heard you were considering it, but I couldn’t believe it.”

Journey ground her teeth. It wouldn’t do to give Phoebe the satisfaction of rattling her. “I have no choice since I have no horse. And with the snow piling and the cold wind blowing, I’m very grateful to have found a job with Miss Rose.”

She chanced a look at the group. Abby smiled at her, with a nod so slight that Journey almost missed it. Her face grew warm again, but she turned her attention back to her stitches, a small smile on her own face.

“How is Miss Rose handling this weather?” Evie Wilson rose to her role as hostess, but her eyes never drifted far from her baby, sleeping in a cradle near the fireplace.

Journey thought for a moment. “Miss Rose is a strong woman. I’m sure she’d make out fine without me, but she’s very charitable to take me in.”

“She needs you more than you realize,” Abby said. “There are many in this town who are thankful she has someone living out there with her. Especially to get ready for the holidays.”

Sue twittered again and arched her eyebrows in a telling look. “Pastor Zane will definitely be indebted to you. He has a soft spot for the dear woman.”

“He always has, and it’s the same for her. Even more so since Sarah…” The sentence hung for a moment before Abby continued, this time with a scratch to her voice. “I don’t know how he would’ve made it through without Miss Rose’s help.”

“He would’ve found his way,” Evie said. “He’s always been strong, and his faith even stronger.”

Journey’s hand slowed. She couldn’t help but wonder about the relationship between the pastor and Miss Rose. And who was Sarah?

“That fire burned the heart out of that man. To lose your wife and baby.” Abby shook herself, as if realizing she had spoken aloud more than she had intended, and turned to Journey. “Sarah was my best friend.”

Journey barely heard her. A lump formed in her throat, but she swallowed it down. Everyone had their stories. This one wasn’t her concern. She couldn’t let it be.

“I suppose Reverend Thompson will be going to Miss Rose’s for Thanksgiving? Is her nephew coming?” Evie asked.

“Zane will be there, and Sam and I are going. Has Miss Rose mentioned if Reed is coming?” Abby tied off a thread and snipped it free.

Journey didn’t know. It was news to her that Zane had been invited. And now the nephew—the sheriff from Virginia City—might be coming?

“I—She hasn’t said. I suppose I hadn’t realized it was getting on that time of year.” In truth, she’d never celebrated the holiday before.

“It’s only a couple of weeks away. If Reed’s coming, he’ll ride in the morning before and ride out the day after. Miss Rose never expects him exactly, but she always prepares for him. He always manages to come.” Abby clearly looked forward to the holiday.

Most people in Savannah thought it nothing but a Yankee holiday, since Mr. Lincoln proclaimed the first Thanksgiving after Gettysburg. Journey had always figured there was no harm in taking a day to be thankful, but she’d never had cause to before.

She wondered what it would entail. Turkey—she’d have to cook a turkey. Maybe Abby would help. But if Abby were an invited guest and Miss Rose’s family would be there, she guessed not. And where would she go? It wasn’t as if she could celebrate with other servants. Holidays were for family, and she had none.

Though she tried to squelch it, hope rose in her that she might be asked to stay. Yet how could she sit and share Thanksgiving dinner with a minister and an officer of the law? “I’ll talk to Miss Rose when I get back.”

The shadows lengthened and the women made their leave. The afternoon had passed with discussions of canning, quilting and raising children, but there were no further comments concerning Journey’s past. Mrs. Wilson was a kind and accommodating hostess, but as she stepped from the porch, Journey felt her ease return, one that had been lost when she was among the quilters.

She adjusted the cinches on her saddle, spinning around at a tap on her shoulder. Her hand moved to the pocket of her long coat where the pistol remained. Before she had a chance to pull it, Abby stepped back and smiled.

“I said, can you stay for supper?”

Journey caught her breath and her face grew hot as she glanced around at the other ladies climbing into their wagons. She turned back to Abby. “I beg your pardon. I didn’t realize you were speaking to me. Supper?” She searched the sun’s position in the sky. “I should be getting back. Miss Rose will be wanting me to get supper ready for her.”

Abby sighed. “I told Miss Rose I might try to keep you longer if I could. Won’t you come?”

The temptation was strong. If she weren’t so different from Abby, they might have been good friends. But she couldn’t risk it now. As much as she liked the place she found herself in, it wouldn’t do to relax. She couldn’t get too comfortable, because it would only be harder in the long run.

“I’m sorry, Abby. I have to go. Maybe another time?” She continued adjusting the reins.

“Can you at least walk back to town with me? I’d enjoy the company.” Abby looked hopeful.

Why would Abby want company, having spent the entire afternoon in the midst of half a dozen ladies? Still, she could hardly refuse. Abby had helped her so much. She nodded, adjusted her hat and tugged the halter for the horse to follow.

“The ladies like you.”

Journey’s step faltered as she considered that. “I suppose someone new passing through is bound to garner some attention. It seems they have some rather exciting notions about me.”

Abby laughed. “It’s more than that. You have a grace that draws people. Are you really, though, just passing through?”

Melting snow slushed under their feet. “I’ll move on come spring.”

“We could help you if you want to stay.”

Journey froze. “You’ve all helped me so much already. There’s nothing more I need.” She attempted to calm her fast breath and pounding heart. “Well, except for a horse and a short winter.” She laughed, but it sounded false.

Abby would not be put off. “Are you worried about those cowboys?”

Not all of them, Journey thought. Only the one who should’ve been a few thousand miles away.

“I’m not worried, because I’ve never seen them before.” She hoped it was nothing more than too much alcohol. Maybe Roy hadn’t even recognized her. She’d been the wife of his best friend, if you could consider Hank a friend of anyone. But she never held that much faith in luck or coincidence. She’d never held much faith in anything.

Abby placed a warm hand on her shoulder. “Please, be careful. God sent you to us for a reason. Don’t leave before we figure out what that is.”

Journey chirped and tugged the horse into motion again. The town came into view as they topped the rise. She fought the urge to nod a promise. “I’ll head on from here. I should have that dress for Mrs. Fletcher finished by midweek, and I’ll bring it into town. I think Miss Rose wants to pick up some things, too.”

“Miss Rose is a hard one to keep down. She manages to finagle a trip to town once a week, no matter what the weather.” Abby allowed the subject to be changed. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning in church.”

Journey guessed she would. She’d avoided it as long as she could, with her broken leg, and last week had been an obligation. She climbed into the saddle and adjusted her skirt around her—a split skirt would have been much easier. She turned to wave goodbye.

Abby waved back. Journey saw her lips move, but the wind had picked up, disguising the sound too much to be sure she’d spoken. But it sounded like “I’m praying for you.”