Montana Sky Christmas: A Sweetwater Springs Short Story Collection (5 page)

“Yep. She looked a lot like you, though.” With a wide smile, he tapped her nose with his finger. “One of the first things I did was pull her braid…”

~ ~ ~

After a storm had dumped a foot of snow on the town, the weather settled into crisp, clear days. The Almanac called for nice weather for Christmas—at least as nice as it got in western Montana in December. But the Almanac had been known to err, and the children prayed that St. Nicholas would make it in time for the holiday.

Although Abe and Emmeline had always celebrated Christmas with Barbara’s family, this was the first time he’d experienced the build-up to the holiday with them. In the past, he and Emmeline usually arrived on Christmas Day after the milking was done and left after supper to be home by milking time.

Because of that, he had no idea how much work Christmas involved. Barbara whirled around the house, decorating, baking, cooking, and doing other secret tasks. She set the maid, Sassy, to cleaning what seemed to Abe to be every square inch of the big house.

The children poured over catalogues and made extensive wish lists, which were mailed to his son-in-law, Robert’s, family in New York. Every day the children’s excitement grew until it radiated off them. Abe often thought if he could figure how to harness that energy, he could fuel a train. Even baby Lou-Lou caught the excitement, going from a crawler to a walker almost overnight, and tearing around the house on her tottery two legs.

Yesterday, Abe had driven in the sleigh with his son-in-law and the older boys to the forest to cut down a pine tree. They’d come home with the tree and extra greenery, and set the evergreen in a bucket of sand in the corner of the parlor, where it proceeded to fill every cranny of the house with the scent of pine.

Barbara preferred to decorate the tree early instead of waiting for Christmas Eve, saying she wanted to have some time to enjoy the tree before the actual holiday. So three days before Christmas, she set Abe and the children to stringing popcorn, while she carefully unwrapped the glass ornaments from Germany that Robert brought down from the attic.

Every Christmas, her wealthy in-laws sent one ornament for each family member. This year, they’d been thoughtful enough to include one for Abe—a silvery fish the size of his index finger. They’d also shipped what seemed to Abe to be a wagonload of packages, which Barbara had whisked away while the children were out of the house.

Abe brought out a small wooden crate he’d stored under his bed. The box held the ornaments he and Emmeline had collected over a lifetime. He set it down near the tree.

Barbara glanced at the crate. “Oh, good. You brought the ornaments with you, Papa. You and Robert chose such a big tree, there’d be gaps otherwise.”

“Not me.” Abe tugged on Silas’s earlobe and watched a grin break over his grandson’s freckled face. “Blame this one here. He had us searching the whole forest for the perfect tree.”

Barbara stationed herself on one side of the tree, and Abe took the other. The children, except for Lou-Lou, who stayed upstairs with Sassy, ranged between them. Robert lounged in a wing-chair, occasionally calling out directions for placement.

Alternating with the shiny ornaments from Germany, they hung handmade ones. A few times, Abe had to choke back tears, when he hung one that particularly reminded him of his lost loved ones—like the little cloth dolly in a tiny red dress Emmeline had made for their eldest daughter’s first Christmas tree. They never had a chance to celebrate the holiday, for the baby died December sixteenth. The presents for her from their families in the Midwest had arrived after her burial.
 

Many days and nights over the holiday season and beyond, Abe had to hold his beloved wife in his arms as she sobbed out her grief. He was helpless to comfort her, or to heal the constant ache of his own pain.

He didn’t like to think of that sad, broken-hearted Christmas when their firstborn lay in a cold grave. Holding the little dolly, no larger than his hand, brought the memories flooding back, and he hastily fastened it to a bough near the top of the tree.

Abe picked up a shiny silver star, now a bit tarnished, the symbol of a happier time. The year after their daughter’s death came the joy of a newborn son. Jeremy just squeaked into life the day before the holiday. The star was Abe’s gift to his wife that Christmas. He smiled as he hung it on a branch.

Two years passed before they had another baby to cherish at Christmas. Summer child Barbara had a personality as sunny as the season of her birth. They had to put the tree on the kitchen table because toddler Jeremy kept trying to climb on it, while his baby sister watched the light glint on the shiny baubles. Emmeline had made another tiny dolly, this one clothed in green for baby Barbara. Abe fished around in the box for the ornament and hung it on a branch.

The next one Abe selected represented their youngest son, Edward. He’d always been army mad and had received the tin soldier ornament on his sixth Christmas. The boy had joined up as soon as he was old enough, and had steadily worked up the ladder of command.
 
Edward remained a determined bachelor, and Abe despaired of ever seeing his youngest with a wife and children.

Abe held up the little horse he’d carved for their second son, Michael, who’d died at age four. Another painful Christmas. But they’d tried to provide the other children an enjoyable holiday, while Michael lay in a small grave next to his sister. No days and nights of sobbing for Emmeline and Abe. The pain was so all encompassing that they’d been numb for months. They both tried to pretend for the children’s sake. He wasn’t sure they’d succeeded.

The two of them had worked out an unspoken agreement. When one needed to cry, he or she went for a walk, while the other stayed with the children. Stealing away when there was a farm to run and a family to take care of only happened at times of great need. Even thirty years later, he could think of Michael at odd moments and have to hold back tears.
 

He took comfort in knowing that Emmeline had reunited with their two lost children. He liked the idea of the three of them together in heaven, perhaps watching the rest of the family celebrate Christmas.

Abe leaned around the side of the tree to check on his daughter. Barbara laughed as she dangled a tiny tin bear just above Silas’ reach. He jumped and grabbed the ornament from her hand.

Maybe she doesn’t remember Marion and Michael.
And, he often thanked God, she hadn’t lost a child, so had no need for melancholy on such a festive day.
 
Please, God, may she never know that pain.

~ ~ ~

The morning of Christmas Eve, Abe dressed warmly for a visit to Emmeline’s grave.

When he asked Barbara to accompany him, she gave him a dismissive wave. “Not today, Papa. I have too much to do to get ready for Christmas. I still have to make a trip to the mercantile.”

Frustrated, Abe stomped out the door, down the path, where the snow had mostly melted away, and out to the small barn in the back that contained the horses, their two cows, the buggy, his wagon, and the sleigh.

 
Abe drove the sleigh to the old place. As always, he paused on the low rise and looked, just for a moment, at his former home. The snow blanketed the roof of the house and barn and covered some of the outbuildings. The farm looked the same as any other winter. Smoke curled out of the chimney, and he imagined inside felt warm and cozy.

Abe knew he’d done the right thing by moving. Yet each time he came near his farm and saw the house he’d built, he couldn’t help feeling a pang for leaving. It seemed to him that he could walk home, open the door, and find Emmeline in the kitchen, probably cooking. He’d give her a big hug, one of those that lifted her off the ground—not an easy feat when your wife is taller than you. She’d probably whack him with the wooden spoon or swat him with a dishcloth, but when he set her down, her cheeks would be pink, and her gray eyes would sparkle.

She’s not there waiting for me
, he reminded himself with a shake of his head.

He bet, though, that snug in the house, Mr. and Mrs. Gordon were enjoying the holiday season. Whenever he saw the couple, they still had the newlywed glow, which hadn’t yet dimmed. He hoped it never would.

That nephew of Mr. Gordon’s had begun to talk again, and now made up for lost time. David had even cornered him a time or two after church, talking about his doings with the puppy, and his horse, mule, cow, pigs, and the midget horse—one of the fancy Argentine Falabellas that had become the latest fashion for those who could afford to spend money on a useless, although appealing, critter. Abe was always right glad to hear the tales, especially since the cow, pigs, and puppy had once belonged to him.

Abe bypassed the house and drove to a stand of cottonwoods, circling the family cemetery, where his wife and two children lay. Someday, his resting place would be there, too, although, God willing, not too soon. As much as he missed his Emmeline and anticipated joining her and the children in heaven, he still enjoyed life and wanted to see his grandchildren grow up.

Over to the right of the small cemetery was a stone memorial marker for Emily Gordon, David’s mother. Ant Gordon had asked for permission to place it there, which Abe had granted. Often when he came, he saw flowers in front of the marker, and sometimes they also lay on the graves of his loved ones.

He drew up the sleigh before the trees, parked, and climbed down. He swung two blankets over his shoulders and carried them over to Emmeline’s grave. The packed snow crunched under his boots. One or more of the Gordons had already worn a path to the graves, so he didn’t have to wade through knee-deep snow.

Abe wiped the snow off the bench he’d made near Emmeline’s grave, resting on top of the spot where he’d lay someday. He folded up one blanket for a cushion and sat on the bench, draping the other blanket over his lap, and tucking it under his feet.

Someone, probably Mrs. Gordon, had bound a few sprigs of holly with red yarn and stuck them in the snow in front of each headstone. Once again, he felt grateful that he’d sold the house to Ant Gordon and his young nephew. As far as he was concerned, the new Mrs. Gordon, the town schoolteacher, was an added bonus.

Abe remained silent, gathering his thoughts and staring at the headstone, which had a cap of snow on the top.

Emmeline McGuire

Beloved Wife and Mother

1830-1894

“It’s Christmas, Emmeline, and you should see our Barbara. A regular whirlwind that girl. You’d be proud of her. But I just wish—”

The neigh of a horse had him turning around, thinking one of the Gordons had ridden over. The schoolmarm, he figured, seeing the womanly figure in a divided riding skirt, bundled in a wool coat. But he blinked and realized he beheld his daughter, rather than Harriet Gordon.

Fear shot through him. With an exclamation, he rose to his feet and hurried over to her. “Is something wrong? The children?”
 

Barbara shook her head. She wore a blue knitted cap that matched her eyes and had left her brown hair in a braid down her back. “Everyone is fine, Papa. After you left, I realized you were right, and I needed to spend some time with Mama.”

He stepped back in shock and tried to gather together his scattered wits. “I thought you were going to the mercantile?”

“I did. The peppermint sticks are in my pocket.” She handed over a rolled blanket she carried in front of her and dismounted. She tied the reins to the limb of a tree.

He must have had a dumbfounded expression on his face because Barbara laughed. “Why are you looking at me like that, Papa?”

Abe shook his head. “Long story.”

Barbara took back the blanket and began to walk toward the graves.
 

Still marveling at her presence, he fell into step with her.

She stopped in front of the bench by the grave. “Quite a set-up you have here, Papa.”

“I’m not responsible for the holly. That’s Mrs. Gordon’s doing.” He picked up the top blanket. “Have a seat, daughter.”

She obeyed, taking one side of the bench.

He wondered if Barbara wanted to be alone. “Would you like me to go?”

With a shake of her head, she patted the bench. “Join me.”

Abe sat down next to her. The fit on the bench was close, their shoulders pressed together. He spread the blanket over their knees, around them, and under their feet.

With one hand, Barbara leaned over and smoothed the snow on top of Emmeline’s grave. “I think of Mama every day.”

Abe almost fell off his end of the bench in astonishment.

“I wish I could come here more often. Just sit and think about her. But the children and running the house keep me too busy to have time for myself. It’s hard to find a moment to read a book, and you know how much I like to read, much less drive all the way to the old homestead.”

Abe made a noise of agreement.

“Robert’s home today, though. He and Sassy can handle the children.”

“But…” he sputtered. “But, I had no idea. You never talk about your mother.”

Lips pressed into a thin line, she gave him a long look. “You took Mama’s death so hard. I was afraid I’d lose you, too. Then, when you moved in with us, you seemed so much better. I didn’t want to bring up Mama because I didn’t want to upset you.”