Westward Hearts (2 page)

“That’s not what’s troubling me,” Elizabeth had declared. “I’m not looking for a man, Mother. It’s something much bigger than that. A restless sort of stirring deep inside of me. I can’t even describe it properly.”

Of course, that had worried her mother. She’d even felt Elizabeth’s forehead, thinking she might have a fever. “But remember, you have Jamie and Ruth,” she had said with concern. “Those youngins depend on you. Even if you’re discontent in some way, you do have your children to keep you going. Don’t forget them.”

As if Elizabeth could ever forget them. “I love Jamie and Ruth more than I love my own life,” Elizabeth had reassured her. “You know that, Mother.”

Smiling in a knowing way, her mother had gently patted her hand. “It is simply a season, my dear. All women suffer from these afflictions at times. Don’t fret, this too will pass.”

But as Elizabeth stared into the fire tonight, she wasn’t convinced this would pass. Something inside of her knew this was more than just a female problem or a seasonal stirring. And certainly not a desire to remarry. It was much bigger than those things. Elizabeth was fairly certain that this longing was related to an old dream that she and James had nurtured early in their marriage. Back when the children were small, she and James would sit right here in the evenings. Relaxing in their chairs that flanked this very fireplace, together they would discuss this dream as they planned for a future that was exciting and adventurous and challenging.

It had been a very big dream, but when James was alive, it had seemed realistic and possible. However, cholera changed everything in 1853. The dream had died when Elizabeth had buried her husband and stillborn baby.

But in recent weeks, this old longing had been trying to return. It had been sneaking into her dreams, whispering into her ear, and waking her in the middle of the night—as it did tonight. But the dream was unsettling now. It felt too big for her. Too big for her children. And for the most part she wished it would go knock on someone else’s door. And yet…there was a small part of her that was still intrigued by this dream. Probably because of the way it made her feel connected to James.

Sometimes, she almost felt as if James was the one waking her in the middle of the night. That he was sitting with her by the fire, filling her mind with these strange ideas in the wee hours of the morning. She could never admit this to anyone—certainly not her mother—but sometimes she almost felt as if she were being haunted by her dearly departed husband. No, “haunted” was the wrong word because she never felt frightened. It was more as if he were sending her messages.

Even now she could imagine him sitting in his chair across from her, smoking his pipe, smiling with confidence as he encouraged her to pursue the old dream. She sensed him assuring her that this was the right path for her and the children. And sometimes, in the quiet of the night, she almost believed it too.

But common sense always came with the morning, and in the light of day she always realized how impractical, impossible, and slightly insane it was to entertain such wild imaginings. So for days, she would dismiss this crazy dream altogether. And other than that fleeting sense of discontent, which came and went, she would move smoothly through her life. But then a night like tonight would sneak up on her. And suddenly the dream seemed like a real possibility, and a part of her felt as if she almost wanted it to come true.

But another part of her, that protective maternal part, was hesitant and careful and slightly afraid. After all, her children were dependent on her. Common sense must prevail. And so as she watched the flames flickering and crackling, she once again asked God to direct her, to help her to lead her children on the path that was best for all of them. And if somehow this dream was truly best for them, if it was the direction God wanted them to take, he would have to show her the way and lead her. Otherwise, she would simply stay put.

R
uthie, hold still,” Elizabeth told her daughter as she plaited her hair, trying to contain the wispy golden strands into one smooth braid down her back.

“I’m too excited to hold still.” Ruth’s feet continued to dance. “I want to get to Grandma and Grandpa’s. I can’t wait, Mama.”

“If you don’t stop squirming, I’ll have to start all over again, and it will take us even longer to get on our way.”

“But Grandma said to be there by two,” Ruth pointed out.

“And we will get there by two, if you’ll just stop wiggling.”

“The carriage is hitched and ready to go.” Jamie came into the house, stomping the snow off his feet by the kitchen door.

“Did Brady check it for you?” Elizabeth asked.

“He said I did just fine.” Jamie pointed to the kitchen table, loaded with boxes and packages. “Do you want me to take these out now?”

She nodded as she reached for the red satin ribbon. “Thank you, son. And be careful with that small white box. It’s breakable.”

“I know,” he said importantly. “It’s the vase for Grandma.”

“The one with the pink rosebuds,” Ruth added. “To go with her dishes. I picked it out of the catalog. Remember?”

“We all picked it out,” Jamie said as he hefted up the biggest crate, the one containing the pies that Elizabeth had baked the day before.

“Be careful with that one too,” she warned. “Place it where it won’t get jostled about. And keep those tea towels tucked snugly over the top.”

Jamie sniffed and then smacked his lips. “Don’t worry, Ma. I’ll put this one in a real safe spot.”

“And did you already take that pecan pie out to Brady?”

“I did, Mama, and he said to thank you for thinking of him.”

“And you took him his Christmas present as well?” Elizabeth had ordered the old man a new heavy woolen coat from the catalog. His other one had been looking threadbare.

“I gave it to him. He said he wouldn’t open it until Christmas morning though.”

“Thank you, son.” She turned back to Ruth, securing the shiny ribbon midway down the long braid.

“I wonder what I’ll get for Christmas,” Ruth said dreamily.

“Remember, honey, Christmas is about
giving
gifts,” Elizabeth told her. “Not just receiving them.”

Ruth’s forehead creased in concern. “But we
always
get gifts for Christmas, Mama.”

“Yes, I know.” She fashioned the ribbon into a nice big bow. “But I just don’t think you should
always
expect them.”

Ruth looked unconvinced.

“There.” Elizabeth patted the backside of Ruth’s red and white gingham party dress. “All done. You look very pretty, Ruth Anne.”

Ruth smiled at her, but then her smile faded as she pointed to Elizabeth’s dress. “Why don’t you wear a pretty dress, Mama?”

Elizabeth shrugged as she smoothed the black taffeta skirt. This had been her “good” dress for the past three years, and it still had plenty of wear left in it.

“Cora May’s mama quit wearing widow’s weeds a long time ago.”

“Widow’s weeds?” Elizabeth looked curiously at her daughter.

“That’s what Cora May calls them. And she said her mama never wears black anymore.”

“Well, that’s fine for her.” Elizabeth reached for her coat.

“And Cora May told me her mama sewed herself a new dress to wear for Christmas, and she made Cora May one to match. Cora May said the fabric is exactly the color of a blue jay.”

“That sounds very pretty.” Elizabeth patted Ruth’s head. “I’m very happy for Cora May and her mama.”

“But Cora May’s papa died the same time as my papa.”

It seemed clear that Ruth had been giving this subject some thought of late. “Yes, Ruth, I know.”

“But you still wear black, Mama.”

Elizabeth sighed. “Yes, I do.”

“But why, Mama?”

“I don’t know…I suppose it’s because I’m so used to it.”

“But don’t you think colors are pretty?”

Elizabeth smiled and then nodded as she put on her winter hat, which was also black. “Yes, I do think colors are pretty. But are you forgetting that this is Christmas Eve and we need to get to Grandma and Grandpa’s? So run and get your coat. And don’t forget your scarf and mittens. It’s cold out there.”

Before long they had everything, including the dog, securely loaded into the back of the carriage, and as usual of recent times, Jamie insisted on driving. Elizabeth didn’t argue, but also as usual, she sat next to him just in case. For a boy of nearly twelve, he was as responsible as they came. And yet she knew he was still a child. And even though he sometimes strutted around the farm like a little rooster, trying to be the man of the house, she didn’t want to put too much upon him too soon. Childhood was fleeting enough without being rushed through it.

“Can we sing Christmas songs?” Ruth asked as the carriage rumbled down the drive, cutting new tracks through the thin layer of fresh snow.

“Certainly.” Elizabeth nodded as she adjusted the muffler more snugly around Ruth’s neck, making sure to keep the cold draft out. “You get us started.”

Soon they were singing “Jingle Bells,” including all the verses Jamie and Ruth had learned in school. And before they knew it, they were there, unloading the carriage in front of Elizabeth’s parents’ home.

“Merry Christmas!” Elizabeth’s father said cheerfully as he burst out of the house, bounding down the front steps with energy that belied his age. Not that he was so old, although Elizabeth knew that he’d be fifty-five in a few weeks. But Asa Dawson was a big man and full of life and kindness. Due to his size, he could easily intimidate anyone, but when he grinned he reminded Elizabeth of an overgrown puppy dog. He bent down to hug each of them, wishing them all a happy Christmas. Then, spying the largest crate, he lifted the towel and peeked inside. “Well, well. I reckon I better help you with this one.”

“It’s the pies,” Jamie told him as he helped Flax jump down onto the ground.

“Mmm-mmm…I might just have to sneak that apple pie out back.” He winked at Jamie. “Your grandma banished me from the kitchen and I’m about to starve to death.”

“Oh, Father.” Elizabeth laughed as she picked up the present for her mother. “Are Matthew and Violet here yet?”

Asa shook his head as he opened the door for them. “Matthew went to pick her up some time ago. I thought for certain they’d be here by now.”

“There you are!” Elizabeth’s mother came over to greet them. “About time you children got here. Now come over here and get warm by the fire.”

“Look at the Christmas tree!” Ruth exclaimed. “It’s almost as tall as Grandpa!”

“It’s beautiful.” Elizabeth smiled as she unbuttoned her coat. Being in her parents’ home on Christmas Eve always took her back to childhood days as if nothing had changed over the years. But of course, she and Matthew had grown up. And she had children of her own. And Matthew was engaged to be married in the spring.

She stood by the fire, watching as Jamie and Ruth arranged the presents beneath the tree, carefully placing them and sneaking surreptitious peeks at the other gifts. The two whispered secrets to each other, clearly intrigued with the magic and mystique of Christmas that only children understood. After warning the children not to get too curious and reminding Jamie to let Flax in the house, Elizabeth left them to their fun and headed to the kitchen to help.

“This bird is done,” her mother announced. With her face reddened from the heat radiating from the big black cookstove, she stood straight, rubbing the small of her back with one hand. Clara Dawson was a strong woman both in spirit and in body. Reaching for some kitchen linens to protect her hands, she reached into the hot oven, carefully extracting the large roasting pan.

“I thought Violet and Matthew would be here by now,” Elizabeth said as she tied on one of her mother’s old aprons.

“They were supposed to be here.” Clara set the pan on top of the stove and wiggled a drumstick on the golden-brown turkey. “Everything is ready.”

“I didn’t see Matthew’s carriage on the road.” Elizabeth picked up a wooden spoon to give the gravy a stir. But it already looked creamy and smooth.

“That’s odd. He’s been gone for several hours, and he promised not to be late.”

Elizabeth shrugged, acting unconcerned. After all, Matthew was a grown man. He’d turned twenty-two last summer, and besides helping Elizabeth with her farm, he’d begun building a house for himself and Violet on the back forty beyond the creek. She knew her “little” brother was perfectly capable of getting himself to town and back. “Perhaps he stayed to visit with Violet’s family?”

“Perhaps. But he knew we planned to eat around two. It seems you’d have spotted him on the road into town. Did you see any carriages at all?”

“I saw the Perkins’ wagon headed for town. But nothing besides that, at least that I recall.” Elizabeth set the wooden spoon down. “But I was probably paying more heed to Jamie’s driving skills than to other holiday travelers.”

“I sure hope Matthew didn’t have a problem. I suggested he use the sled this morning, but your father said there wasn’t enough snow for the skids yet.”

“There were still some bare spots on the road.”

“But was it slippery? Perhaps his horse stumbled and the carriage slid off the road.” Her brow creased with worry. “Was it icy?”