A Creed Country Christmas (14 page)

“Wes brought it out from town,” Lincoln said.

Juliana began to shiver, finally shoving the telegram at Lincoln. “Please,” she whispered. “Read it.”

Lincoln tugged off his gloves, opened the envelope and studied the page inside. “It’s from the Bureau of Indian Affairs,” he said. From his tone, it was clear that he’d known that all along. “‘Miss Mitchell. You are hereby—’” Lincoln paused, cleared his throat. “‘You are hereby dismissed. I will be in Stillwater Springs by the first of January at the latest. At that time, you will surrender any remaining students now in your custody for placement in appropriate institutions.’ It’s signed ‘R. Philbert.’”

Juliana stood absolutely still, though on the inside, she felt as though she were set to bolt in a dozen different directions.

Lincoln took hold of her shoulders, the telegram still in one hand, and steadied her. “Take a breath, Juliana,” he ordered, his voice low.

She breathed. Once. Twice. A third time.

“Listen to me,” Lincoln went on calmly. “We’re going to handle this, you and I. Together.”

Juliana’s mind raced, but there was a painful clarity to her thoughts just the same. Mr. Philbert had effectively warned her by sending her a telegram announcing his intention to visit Stillwater Springs, which might mean he planned to come earlier, hoping to forestall any attempt she might make to flee with the children.

“Wh-what are we going to do?” she faltered.

“First, we’ve got to get Joseph and Theresa to Missoula, put them on a train east. As for Daisy and Bill—well—I’ve been thinking about what Gracie said yesterday. Now that we’re married, we could adopt them, and then they’d be Creeds. They could stay with us.”

Juliana was grateful for his hold on her shoulders, because her knees wanted to buckle. “You’d do that?” she whispered, marveling. Surely there wasn’t another man on the face of the earth quite like this one.

His eyes were shadowed by the brim of his hat, but she saw a quiet willingness in them even before he answered. “Yes.”

“
Why?
”

“For them. For Gracie. Most of all, for you.” Gently,
he turned her toward the house. Spoke close to her right ear, his breath warm against her skin. “Go on inside before you catch your death in this cold. I’ll be in as soon as I get this horse put up.”

Juliana took a cautious step, found that her legs were still working.

Inside, the children, having finished the day’s lessons, were pestering Tom to let them go out to play. Juliana gave her permission, with the stipulation that they must all bundle up as warmly as possible and not make noise near the Gainers’ cabin because Rose-of-Sharon and the baby needed peace and quiet.

There was a flurry of coat-finding—Gracie was so excited, she could hardly stand still to let Juliana lay a woolen scarf over the top of her head and tie it beneath her chin. Tom found knitted caps for the other children, and they all raced for the front door.

Once they were gone, Tom asked straight out, “You’re pale as a new snow, Juliana. What’s the matter? What’s happened?”

Haltingly, she told him about Mr. Philbert’s telegram.

His face hardened as he listened. “What did Lincoln have to say about that?”

“He wants to get Joseph and Theresa to the train in Missoula as soon as possible.” She didn’t mention the adoption; she still wasn’t sure she’d actually heard Lincoln correctly, where that was concerned.

Tom nodded. “Missoula’s half a day’s ride from here, if the weather holds,” he said. “If it doesn’t, Philbert probably won’t make it to town until the roads are clear.”

Lincoln came in just then, looked from Juliana to Tom without speaking, took off his hat and coat and hung them up the way he always did. His expression remained grim.

“I’ll take Joseph and Theresa to Missoula,” Tom said. “Ride back to North Dakota with them to make sure they get there all right and folks are ready to take them in on the other end.”

Sadness moved in Lincoln’s face, but he nodded. Looking distracted, he said, “I’ll be at my desk.” Pausing in the doorway to the front room, he turned around. “You’ll come back, won’t you, Tom?” he asked.

Tom didn’t smile. “I’ll come back,” he said very quietly.

Later, when the children had worn themselves out playing games in the front yard and returned to the house, bright-eyed and glowing from the cold, Juliana brewed up a batch of hot chocolate in a heavy cast-iron kettle
and gave them each a cup. While they enjoyed the treat, she went in search of Lincoln.

He was where he’d said he’d be, seated at his desk in a corner of the front room, surrounded by thick books, all of them open. As she approached, he dipped a pen in a bottle of ink and wrote something on a sheet of paper.

Needing to be near him, she set a mug of hot chocolate beside him. “Thanks,” he said.

Juliana’s fingers flexed; she wanted to work the tight muscles in Lincoln’s neck and shoulders, but refrained. Yes, he was her husband, but touching him, even in such an innocuous way seemed too familiar. Even a little brazen.

Still, she could not bring herself to walk away, any more than she could have left a warm stove after walking through a blizzard.

“If you’re going to linger, Juliana,” he said mildly, without looking up from the paper and the books, “please sit down.”

She moved to a nearby armchair, sat down on its edge, knotted her fingers together. And waited.

Lincoln finally sighed, shoved back his chair and turned to look at her. “Everything will be all right, Juliana,” he said.

He didn’t know Mr. Philbert. “Today,” she ventured nervously, “out by the barn, I thought you said—”

He waited.

“I thought you said you would be willing to adopt Daisy and Billy-Moses.”

Lincoln smiled. “I did say that, Juliana.”

She gripped the arms of her chair. “How?”

“I’m a lawyer,” he answered. He gestured toward the books on his desk. “I’m drawing up the papers right now.”

“You didn’t mention that. Being a lawyer, I mean.”

“There are a lot of things I haven’t gotten around to mentioning,” Lincoln said reasonably. “I haven’t had time.”

She stood up, sat down again. “You could—you could get into trouble for sending Joseph and Theresa to North Dakota,” she fretted.

“I’m no stranger to trouble,” Lincoln told her. “In fact, I like a challenge.”

“I need something to do,” she confessed.

Lincoln opened a drawer in his desk, brought out a second bottle of ink and a pen. Gave her several sheets of paper. “Write to your brother,” he said. “Tell him you’re married now, and if he doesn’t come here first, I’ll be paying him a visit one day soon.”

The thought of Clay and Lincoln standing face-to-face unnerved her a little, but she accepted the pen and ink and
paper, and went back to the kitchen. Tom and Joseph were gone, and Theresa, Gracie, Daisy and Billy-Moses sat in a circle on the floor, playing with a tattered deck of cards.

She took a chair at the table, opened the ink bottle and awaited inspiration. After a quarter of an hour, all she’d written was “Dear Clay.” Finally, out of frustration, she stopped trying to choose her words carefully, dipped the pen, and began.

Juliana went on to describe Lincoln, Gracie, the house and what she’d seen of the ranch. She extended sincere felicitations for a happy Christmas and prosperous New Year. Why, it would be 1911 soon. Where had the time gone?

The letter filled three pages by the time she’d finished.

She closed with “Sincerely, Juliana Mitchell Creed,” and when the ink was dry, she carefully folded the letter, her earlier trepidation having given way to relief. She could not predict how Clay would respond to the missive,
if he responded at all, but that took nothing away from her sense of having turned some kind of corner, found some new kind of freedom.

The rest of the day ground by slowly.

The younger children took naps without protest.

Theresa read quietly in the rocking chair, next to the stove.

When she grew restless, Juliana avoided the front room, where Lincoln was still working, and donned the borrowed cloak and went to the Gainers’ cabin again, knocking lightly on the door. When Ben answered, whispering that Rose-of-Sharon and the baby were asleep, she smiled to cover her disappointment and promised to come back later.

She visited the barn and spoke to the cow and all the horses.

She went into the woodshed, planning to peek into the two burlap bags Tom had left there, but the idea pricked at her conscience, so she dismissed it.

She was chilled, but too wrought up to return to the house.

Spotting the orchard nearby, Juliana headed in that direction. The trees were gnarled and bare-limbed, and she
paused, laid a hand to a sturdy trunk. Late the following summer, there would be fruit. In the meantime, perhaps Tom would teach her to make preserves.

At first, glimpsing the stone angel out of the corner of her eye, Juliana thought she was seeing things. As she drew nearer, though, she realized she’d come upon a small cemetery.

The angel marked the final resting place of Bethany Allan Creed.

Juliana’s throat tightened. Beth. Lincoln’s first wife, Gracie’s mother. Careful of her skirts—she was wearing the blue dress again—she dropped to her haunches. Brushed away a patch of snow, and the twigs and small stones beneath.

She couldn’t have said why she felt compelled to do such a thing. “I’m going to take very good care of your little Gracie,” she heard herself say. “She’s so smart, and so pretty and so kind. I fell in love with her right away.”

A breeze, neither warm nor cold, played in Juliana’s hair. “I’ll make you a promise, Beth, here and now. Gracie won’t forget you, won’t forget that you’re her real mother.”

Behind her, a twig snapped.

Startled, Juliana stood and, forgetting to lift her hem, spun around.

Lincoln stood at the edge of the orchard, wearing his round-brimmed hat and his long black coat. From that distance, she couldn’t read his expression.

Feeling as though she’d been caught doing something wrong, Juliana didn’t move or speak.

Lincoln came toward her slowly. Even when she could see his face clearly, she found no emotion there. No anger, but no smile, either.

“There are wolves out here sometimes, Juliana,” he said. “In the summer, the bears like to raid the orchard. It isn’t safe to wander too far from the house alone.”

Juliana fought to speak, because her throat was still closed. “You must have loved your wife very much,” she said, brushing the angel’s wing with a light pass of her hand.

“Beth’s father sent the marker,” he said. “Nothing but the best for his daughter. Not that he bothered to come all the way out here to the wilds of Montana to pay his respects or meet his granddaughter.”

Juliana didn’t know what to say. And she probably couldn’t have spoken, anyway. Despite Lincoln’s lack of expression, the air felt charged with emotion.

“I did love Beth,” he continued, when she held her tongue. “The strange thing is, if I met her today, for the first time, I mean, I’m not sure I’d do more than tip my hat.”

Juliana reached out without thinking and touched his arm. Was relieved when he didn’t pull away. “What do you mean?” she asked softly.

“I was a different man back then,” he answered.

Although she was still puzzled, Juliana didn’t ask for clarification. Instinct told her to listen instead.

“I wanted different things than I want now.”

Juliana waited, her hand still resting on the sleeve of his coat.

He was quiet for a long time. When he broke the silence, his voice sounded hoarse. He told her about his father, his mother, his three brothers. He told her about going off to college in Boston, how homesick he’d been for the ranch and his family, about studying law and meeting Beth when he went to work in her father’s firm.

He told her about Gracie’s birth, and the two babies who hadn’t lived—a boy and a girl. They’d never given them names, and now he wished they had, because then they’d have had identities, however brief.

Juliana didn’t look away, though she would have liked to hide the tear that slipped down her right cheek.

Finally, he reached out, took her hand. Led her toward home.

Tom had made supper—bear-meat hash—and Juliana was surprised to find that she had an appetite. Most likely, it was all that fresh air.

She washed the dishes by herself that night, while Theresa got the three younger children ready for bed. Tom and Lincoln sat at the table with Joseph, making plans for the journey to North Dakota.

Juliana listened, knowing that the ache of missing Joseph and Theresa would be with her for a long, long time. They belonged with their family, though—shouldn’t have been taken from them in the first place.

She finished the dishes, hung the dish towel up to dry.