Montana Sky Christmas: A Sweetwater Springs Short Story Collection (14 page)

“Sounds good.”

Carrying the bull, O’Reilly turned and lumbered to the back of the shop.
 

His mind already imagining the various colors and stains he’d use, Pepe followed. He figured he’d better practice on some scrap wood for a while. He had too much riding on these little figures, and he had no idea what kind of artist he’d turn out to be.

~ ~ ~

Pepe carried the wooden crate with the painted figurines nestled inside, heading across the street to the mercantile. With only a week before Christmas, Mack had been goading him to take Señora Thompson’s advice and sell his figures at the store. His boss was adamant customers would love the carvings, but Pepe wasn’t so sure. And the Cobbs were the last people he’d want to approach.

But Pepe’s longing for a life with Lucia finally won out. Between the crèches ordered by Señora Thompson and two of her friends, Pepe figured if he could just sell a few more of his pieces, he could ask Lucia to marry him. She’d have to wait, of course, until he built the house. But he could get a good start on it. And maybe with the money he’d earn next Christmas, he could finish the house and furnish it. They could be married in a year and a few months or so. Pepe liked the thought of a spring wedding.

His thoughts filled with dreams, Pepe soon found himself at the door of the mercantile. For a moment, he paused to glance at the small Christmas tree in the window, studying the glass ornaments hanging on the tinsel-draped branches, comparing them to those he’d made. Seeing the fancy trinkets inspired him
.
Creative ideas leaped through his mind, and he could hardly wait to finish with the Cobbs and begin making new designs. He wondered if the Cobbs would like to sell those as well.

Pepe tended to avoid the store as much as possible. The Cobbs always made him feel like a bug had crawled into their space, although they took his money quickly enough. The last time was in the summer when he’d purchased a new shirt.
 

Usually, Mack bought everything the livery needed, which was probably for the best. No sense in wishing for things he couldn’t afford. Pepe didn’t even allow himself an occasional treat, like a pickle from the crock by the door, or the colorful candy in glass jars on the counter. Or at least he hadn’t since he’d fallen for Lucia.
 

Every penny he saved took him that much closer to a future with her, although he’d often despaired of a marriage ever happening. Actually, the real fear eating away at his dream was that someone else would see her value and scoop her up, although Pepe suspected her heart lay with him. At least, he hoped so.

But today, eagerness carried him over the threshold. He had to maneuver to get the box inside. Before he could close the door, a sharp voice told him to hurry up, he was letting out the heat.

Pepe pushed the door shut with his foot.

Mrs. Cobb, an apron around her ample figure, stood in front of the counter, sweeping the wooden floor. She sent him a curious glance from her close-set brown eyes.

Tall, balding Mr. Cobb stood behind the counter, waiting on a man wearing chaps who looked familiar. The cowboy turned at the sound of the door opening.

Raul Vega. My rival.

Pepe stopped short, his boots skidding on the wooden floor.

Mr. Cobb pulled a long length of red ribbon from a spool before snipping it free. He placed it on top of a small pile of lace.

Vega’s buying that for Lucia.
Anger raced through Pepe. He wanted to charge to the counter, grab up the ribbon and lace, throw them on the ground, and stomp on them. Even as he had the thought, Pepe realized how childish he’d look.

The man paid for the ribbon and lace.

Cobb wrapped them in brown paper and handed the parcel to Vega.

The cowboy turned to leave, tipping his hat to Mrs. Cobb on the way out, and giving a friendly nod and a smile to Pepe.

Pepe automatically responded with a curt nod. As he did, the thought hit him that Vega didn’t know they were rivals for Lucia.
The man must think he has a clear field.

Mrs. Cobb poked the tip of the broom handle into his side.

Pepe realized that she’d been trying to get his attention.

“What’s in that box?” she demanded.

With difficulty, he focused on the shopkeeper, desperation giving him a voice. “I’ve brought my carvings to see if you’d be interested in selling them in the store.” In his nervousness, his accent thickened.

Mrs. Cobb pursed her lips. “Show me what you have.” She stepped back, leaned the broom against the wall, and waved him toward Mr. Cobb.

Pepe followed the scent of cinnamon down the aisle. He placed the crate on the counter next to a platter of cookies sprinkled with the fragrant spice.

Mrs. Cobb walked over to watch him.

Pepe pulled out the first bundle and unwrapped the protective rag to expose a horse, modeled from Nick Sanders’ Outlaw. He placed it on the counter top and then reached for another one, which he reverently uncovered to show a figure of the Virgin Mary. He gazed with pride on the blessed Virgin’s expression. Achieving the serenity he wanted on her face hadn’t been easy.

Cobb twitched his round, red nose and leaned closer to study the horse.

Pepe started to take another one from the crate.

Mrs. Cobb chopped the air with her hand. “I’ve seen enough. I’m not buying.”

As if not wanting his wife to know he’d been interested, Mr. Cobb straightened.

Pepe almost protested. He wanted to ask Mrs. Cobb to look at the others to see if there’d be any she’d like. Before he could say anything, she turned her back on him, as if he didn’t exist, and resumed her sweeping.

Shame cramped his belly. Quickly, Pepe rewrapped his pieces and placed them in the box. All he wanted to do was escape the shopkeeper’s presence.

Mrs. Cobb must have felt the same, for she made a strong sweeping motion his direction, as if chasing him out with the broom.

Pepe picked up the crate and juggled it out the door. This time when he crossed the street, his footsteps felt heavy. The shame of the shopkeeper’s judgment weighed on him. Most of all, his failure caused him a gut-wrenching sense of loss. He wouldn’t have the money to ask Lucia to marry him, and Raul Vega, with his higher wages, ribbons and lace, would win her hand.

~ ~ ~

That afternoon, Pepe was almost finished mucking out the stalls of the livery. He’d unbuttoned his coat because the exertion had heated his body, but the air was too chilly to take it off. Even the hard work couldn’t take his mind off the humiliating failure with the Cobbs.

The rattle of the door being pushed open made him pause and turn to see O’Reilly barrel into the barn. “Mack told me what happened with the Cobbs,” his friend bellowed. The man rolled to a stop, rocked back on his heels, and tugged on his beard. “That woman has no appreciation of art!”

“Ain’t art. Just my whittling,” Pepe muttered, forking straw onto the clean floor of Royal’s stall and spreading it out.

“Don’t tell me what’s art and what’s not,” O’Reilly sputtered.
 

Pepe glanced over at his friend. The man’s pale skin had reddened, a shade that clashed horribly with his bristly hair and beard. His eyes were narrowed in anger. Just seeing his friend’s outrage on his behalf made Pepe feel a little better. Not much, but a little. “Nothing to be done about it.” He bent back to his task.

 
O’Reilly didn’t say anything, but Pepe could practically feel sparks flying from his friend.
If he was fire, he’d burn down the whole livery.
The man wandered back to close the outer door. He paced the aisle while Pepe finished off the stall.
 

A few minutes later, Mack pushed open the door and sauntered into the stable. He’d been gone all morning. Pepe had been too lost in his misery to wonder where. When his boss had returned, he’d acted cagey, and Pepe had no energy to pry information out of him. “Late on the mucking out, eh, Pepe?” His tone conveyed understanding, rather than reprimand.

Pepe didn’t respond. He fetched clean hay and water, and then led Royal back into the stall. Once he shut the door, O’Reilly practically pounced on him. “Come with me to my shop. Want you to see something.”

Pepe glanced at his boss for permission, but all Mack did was give him a sage nod, which Pepe took to mean that O’Reilly had already spoken to him. “
Momento
.” Pepe went to the washing up bucket and soaped his hands, wincing at the sting of the icy water. He dried them on a rough towel, buttoned up his coat, and then donned his mittens, scarf, and woolen cap.

“Come on.” O’Reilly jerked his head in the direction of his shop. “Got something to show ya.”

The two men strode through the streets that led to O’Reilly’s shop. The snow had churned with the muck of the road, making footing difficult. But old Pappy Wender had prophesied a clear Christmas, and his predictions generally came true.

Lost in his thoughts, Pepe almost tramped past the front of the carpenter’s store but O’Reilly grabbed his arm to stop him.

Pepe shot him a questioning look, but the man waved to the front of the building.

Pepe’s gaze followed his friend’s hand. The dusty window of the shop gleamed clear. But what was behind the window brought Pepe to attention. A Christmas tree on a table filled up the window space. Pepe’s ornaments hung from the branches.

The big gold star he’d carved and gilded only two days ago and left to dry on O’Reilly’s workbench crowned the top of the tree. Painted and stained figurines surrounded the evergreen. On one side, O’Reilly had set up a crèche, and on the other, he’d positioned the various animals Pepe had made—horses, bears, cattle, and birds.

Speechless, Pepe stared at the window. He turned to look at O’Reilly, who beamed at him like an Irish Santa. He took a few eager steps closer to the window, absorbing the sight of his work. Energy buzzed through his veins and swirled through his brain, making him unable to form a coherent thought. Although that didn’t really matter, because when he tried to stammer something, anything, to express his gratitude, the words couldn’t even get past the lump in his throat.

O’Reilly bellowed a laugh and slapped Pepe on the back. “Mack and I were so danged angry with the Cobbs we put our steam into this here display. Better that than a shotgun blast to those short-sighted merchants, eh?”

That explains Señor Mack’s absence today.

“Took us all morning. Hauled the tree from the edge of the forest.
 
Had to git one that looked good all around cuz we weren’t puttin’ it in the corner.”

“It’s beautiful.” Pepe swallowed hard.

“Couldn’t get that danged window cleaned. Should have seen the streaks. Knew there was a reason I don’t wash it regular. Must have taken us an hour to get the glass perfect—Mack rubbing one way, me t’other.” O’Reilly made scrubbing motions in the air. “But even as we decorated that tree, people wandered in. Sold three of your ornaments already. Two stars and a horse. Better get crackin’ on some more, or come Christmas, that tree will be nekkid!”

Pepe turned to O’Reilly and grabbed his friend’s hand in both of his, pumping the man’s arm up and down. “Thank you, Phineas.”

O’Reilly’s skin pinked up, this time from obvious gratification, not anger. “My pleasure, Pepe. Nothing like helping a friend, and getting’ back at them snooty Cobbs. Why, I stopped by the mercantile on the way to the livery, and they made me angry all over again. Those two will regret their decision, just you see.”

Pepe started to shrug, and then relaxed his shoulders, realizing that maybe the Lord or his Blessed Mother had a hand in the Cobbs’ rejection. “I want you to take some money for the sales.”

“No need.” His friend shook his head. “Your things are gunna draw people into the shop, and they’ll see my fancy pieces. Already sold that carved wall shelf to the man who bought the horse. You’ll be as lucky to me as leprechaun with a pot of gold.” He rubbed his beard, obviously thinking. “Well, maybe not that lucky.”

Pepe couldn’t believe his good fortune. The fact that his friend would also benefit made everything feel just right.
 

O’Reilly buffeted him on the shoulder. “What you standing around for, man? Get on back to the livery and make me some more ornaments.”

~ ~ ~

On the morning of Christmas Eve, with barely two hours of what Mack called “shut-eye,” Pepe drew up the sleigh on the side of the Thompson’s two-story white ranch house. He stopped near the picket fence that framed the garden, now blanketed with snow.

Beside him on the driver’s seat sat a big wooden crate and six smaller boxes he’d crafted from O’Reilly’s scrap lumber. He’d made the crate for the crèche, with a slotted top that could lift off. Each of the carved Falabellas, plus one surprise, reposed in its own little box.

The side door to the house opened, and Señora Thompson, her young stepdaughter, Christine, and their housekeeper, Mrs. Toffels, hurried out the side door and down the brick path, swept clean of snow. Pepe noted with some amusement that in their haste, every person in the group had donned coats, but all had forgotten their hats and gloves.

The plump housekeeper carried a parcel in her arms, wrapped in a knit blanket made of many colors of yarn.