A High-Country Christmas, page 11
He did it again and blew, then went back to the oats. The mannerism was something Seth’d had to figure out. It’d taken him a while, but he was no quitter, and he eventually won the gelding over.
If he’d given up, he wouldn’t have the fine horse he had today. The working relationship they had. The mutual trust and companionship.
Some things were worth repeating until you got them right.
He reached over the stall and patted Coop’s neck. “You’re a good man, Cooper Brown.”
“Did you just call your horse a man?”
More than the surprise of her showing up, the challenge in Abigale’s tone tilted Seth’s heart toward hope. Where there was a spark, there was chance of a flame.
Keeping a tight rein on anticipation, he turned and faced her.
She was different somehow. Just as pretty, just as bold, but there was a softness around her eyes as she handed him a small bundle.
“These are from, uh, your mother. She thought you might be hungry.”
Abigale always had been a horrible liar.
“Thank you—I mean, her. Thank her for me.” He unfolded the napkin and found a gingerbread man with a frosted smile. The cookie beneath it had been cut differently, without legs, but what looked like a skirt. He met Abigale’s gaze as she read his reaction.
She crossed her arms and glanced away. “We’ve been experimenting.”
The cookies were still warm. “Want a bite? I’ll share.”
“No, they’re for you. I—your mother—wanted you to have them. There are plenty more inside.”
He finished off the first one. “No milk?”
Her fists shot to her hips, her eyes narrowed. “Seth Holt, you ungrateful, incorrigible—”
One step took him to her, close enough to smell flour and cinnamon on her clothes. Close enough that her skirt brushed his leg and his boot clipped the edge of hers.
She didn’t back away.
He gentled his voice, resisting the urge to trail his fingers along her lovely neck. “You say there are others where these came from?”
She looked up at him with more than cookies on her mind, that much he knew for certain.
“Yes.” Her hands dropped from her waist, and she pressed one against his chest, pinning him like a nail through a horseshoe. Quiet-like, as if she was telling him a secret, she raised up on her toes and her breath danced against his ear. “All you have to do is ask.”
~
Christmas Eve arrived as frozen and lustrous as Abigale had found Aspen Falls, sheathed in a crystalline snow that kept Seth and his father parading from the wood pile to the back porch.
But the smells circling the kitchen were enough to warm her from the inside out. Turkey and dressing, pot roast and gravy. Pies—pumpkin, canned cherry, and mincemeat—and crocks full of cookies.
Her peppermint-candy pull had succeeded on her first attempt, so she’d made a second batch just for fun, resulting in a tidy bundle of twisted white canes for everyone in the family. In each length of ribbon securing the candy, she tucked a sprig of blue spruce harvested from the windbreak that hedged the ranch. The festive appearance pleased her immensely.
Almost as much as Seth’s reaction to her peace offering.
There was no way of knowing if he’d understood her unspoken message with the gingerbread man and lady. But there was no doubting the hammer of his heart beneath her hand when she’d whispered in his ear.
Heat to rival Ida’s cookstove shot through Abigale every time she thought about it. Which was nearly every minute and the main reason she’d opened the collar of her blouse and rolled up her sleeves.
Preparations were completed, the tree decorated, and the table set with Ida’s best dishes. Emmy poked at packages until her mother set her to sorting buttons from an old jar.
Dinner was planned for near two o’clock, and wood was stacked on the back porch to last through the night. Seth and his father had made themselves scarce, and Abigale rejoiced in that small mercy. In the last few days, her hesitancy to love Seth had reverted to her earlier impulse to fling herself into his arms. Especially since she knew what those arms felt like.
Abigale stole away to her room, where she could work on her gifts. From the brown paper wrapping the scarf had come in, she cut fanciful shapes and tied one to each ribboned bundle of candy, labeling them with the recipient’s name and a verse she thought appropriate for the person.
Her own verse played through her thoughts, impressed there as permanently as Mams’s fine stitches on the pillow. Trust in the Lord, and do good.
Ida’s remarks about faith and trust had shed new light on the familiar phrase, particularly the little word Abigale had so often skipped over. Somehow, it now made a world of difference.
She wrapped Seth’s candy with the remaining paper and then the silk scarf before sliding it into one of the woolen socks he’d used the night he’d found her. That night seemed so long ago now, though it had been merely weeks.
Oddly enough, she’d been able to find only one sock, and when she asked Emmy if she’d seen the other, the girl merely looked away and shrugged.
After freshening herself, doing up her hair with a sprig of spruce and donning a lighter-weight but appropriate dress, she slipped downstairs and tucked her gifts into the tree branches. The fireplace mantel was dressed with pine cones and aromatic evergreen boughs, and she hung Seth’s sock next to Emmy’s.
When the family finally gathered at the table, Abigale noted that each person had dressed for the occasion. The men were freshly shaved and wearing clean shirts, and Emmy and Ida wore pinafore aprons over their dresses and high color in their cheeks. The meal was as delicious as anticipated, and by the time everyone had finished dessert and moved to sit by the fire, Abigale felt as giddy as Emmy. Her gaze strayed repeatedly to Seth, who seemed to watch her nearly as much as she watched him. She chose a chair easily moved and scooted it as far from the fire as possible without appearing rude to the people who had so generously welcomed her into their home.
Ben Holt took his place near the hearth and opened his Bible. Emmy propped her dolls around her where she sat on the floor, and Ida folded her hands in her aproned lap. Seth could have been standing on his head for all Abigale knew, because she refused to look at his handsome face. The flinging impulse might be more than she could resist.
Ben cleared his throat. “‘And it came to pass in those days …’”
Pop’s tradition had been similar, reading from the second chapter of Luke, though he did so on Christmas morning. Bittersweet memories laced through Abigale, and she looked at each one before tying them off and tucking them away.
“‘And so it was, that while they were there, the days were accomplished that she should be delivered …’”
Abigale considered, perhaps for the first time, the double meaning of the word delivered. As a woman, and a ranching woman at that, she had a clear understanding of what the Scripture was saying. Birth. New life. A fresh start with a high-priced risk. But this year the word struck her differently, for she had been delivered from deep sadness, loneliness, and fear.
“Jesus was born in a barn.” Emmy’s commentary brought a smile to Ida’s lips and raised her father’s eyebrows at her interruption.
Ida’s hand on her daughter’s shoulder appeared to comfort and encourage Emmy at the same time. The woman had a gift for that, and Abigale thought again of her pointed question regarding Mams and Pop. The barb had dulled with perspective, for Abigale had seen that one did not protect herself from loss by refusing to give love.
“‘And the angel said to them, “Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, which is Christ, the Lord.”’”
Emmy leaned over her dolls and whispered loudly, “They put him in the feed trough.”
Ben finished the chapter, and everyone bowed their heads, so Abigale followed suit.
“We thank You again, Lord, for the gift of Your son, Jesus, and for Your love. We thank You for Your provision throughout the year, our safe herds, this home, and our family. And we thank You for sending Abigale to us this year to celebrate Christ’s birth. Amen.”
Abigale quickly swiped at her eyes before everyone’s responsive amen.
Emmy sprang up, dislodging her dolls, and dug into the presents tucked in and around the tree. Ida rose and headed for the kitchen. Abigale stood to follow her, but a warm hand to her arm paused her progress.
“You stay here, Abigale. It’s only hot cocoa and cookies I’m passing out. I want you to relax and enjoy the moment.”
Abigale had known Ida Holt long enough to know that her word ruled in the kitchen, so she smiled her thanks and took her seat.
In mere minutes, everyone had a pile of small gifts on their lap, and Emmy was wriggling beneath the tree and out again with a woolen sock. The woolen sock for which Abigale had searched. With an imp-like glimmer in her eye, she laid it in Abigale’s lap.
Abigale glanced around to make certain all the gifts were distributed, then pointed Emmy toward the sock on the mantel and indicated she give it to Seth.
“Why, it’s just like the sock I gave you.” The girl glanced between Abigale and her brother.
Ida had returned with a tray of steaming mugs and cookies, and she and Ben exchanged a knowing look. Everyone was glancing about, a most comical situation, Abigale thought, except for Seth who looked as nervous as she’d felt during her entrance exam at Wolfe Hall, afraid she’d disappoint her grandparents by not being accept—
She squeezed the sock in her lap, seemingly empty, until she came to a small lump in the toe.
Every eye in the room rested on her, but she refused to be the center of attention. “Please, open your gifts. I cannot wait to see what you each received.”
Emmy needed no more encouragement and squealed with delight at the lovely doll dresses from her parents and the new bridle from Seth. Each person thanked Abigale for their personal bundle of peppermint sticks, and Emmy begged the ribbons from Ben and Ida’s candy to use in her dolls’ hair.
Seth’s gaze held Abigale in place, and she feared he would stare a hole all the way through her, discovering all her secrets while he was at it.
In truth, she had very few secrets he didn’t already know about, but one glimmered so brightly she felt he must see it in her eyes.
CHAPTER 16
When Seth’s calloused fingers hit silk, he knew what the sock held. Only one thing felt so fine, other than Abigale’s lips against his own.
But the quality of the moss-green scarf set him back. He unfolded the large square, its paisley pattern contrasting light against dark, but all in the same soft green. Feeling Abigale’s eyes on him, he looked up to find her brimming with expectation.
Slowly, he doubled the scarf at opposite corners, laid it against his throat, and crossed the ends behind his neck. Then watching her all the while, he brought the corners back around and tied them in a flat knot known to cattlemen and cowboys.
Her lips curved in a soft smile.
“Thank you,” he mouthed across the noisy room.
She smiled more fully, pleased by his pleasure.
He nodded toward the matching wool sock she held.
Uncertainty clouded her features, and his heart lurched to his throat. But when she reached inside and stopped short, he crossed the room and dropped in his customary fashion to sit at her feet.
“Abigale Rebecca Millerton, you’re the most beautiful, frustrating, determined, take-my-breath-away woman I’ve ever met. You’ve had my heart since you insisted on shimmying down the wrong side of Aspen Falls and I thought I’d lose you.”
A small laugh escaped, and her hands trembled as she drew out the cotton handkerchief edged with tiny blue forget-me-nots, corners gathered in a knot around his hopes.
He covered her hands with his and pushed up to one knee. “Will you be a rancher’s wife? This cowboy’s bride? Will you marry me and share my home and let me share your dreams?”
Her eyes shimmered and she blinked. “Why, Seth Leopold Holt, you do have a poet’s heart. And yes, I will marry you. On one condition.”
Air fled the room, not to mention his lungs, and at what must have been his stunned expression, she laid her hand against his cheek and leaned over until they were eye to eye.
“If you teach me how to sit down like you do in one fluid motion.”
In spite of his family looking on, he kissed her. Right there on the mouth in front of the good Lord and his little sister. Then he drew back just enough to whisper, “Deal.”
Realizing she hadn’t opened her gift, he dropped back to the floor. “Go ahead. Finish.”
She untied the loose knot and gasped at what lay tucked inside.
He picked up the finely etched gold band and lifted her left hand. “This was my grandmother’s ring. I’d be honored if you’d be the next Holt woman to wear it.” Pausing, he looked into her eyes. “Will you?”
She puddled up but his hands were full, and he couldn’t wipe the tears from her cheeks.
Epilogue
Following the first Sunday service in January, Abigale stood at the back of Divide’s small church, clutching a “bouquet” of young blue spruce and lodgepole pine sprigs, tied with the handkerchief Seth had given her the week before. His grandmother had carried the delicately trimmed hankie at her wedding, Ida had told her, and Abigale had marveled at the words stitched into its center.
My times are in Thy hand.
Nothing could have been more fitting.
And nothing encouraged her more for dealing with the Blackwell’s pilfering come spring. Pop had often said a three-fold cord was stronger than any other, and she, Seth, and the Lord made three.
Ida had accompanied her to her grandparents’ ranch to collect a blue dress Abigale saved for special occasions and her good button-top shoes. And this morning, she’d seated Abigale before her dressing table as she did up her hair with surprising dexterity. The girls at Wolfe Hall would be stunned that a high-country rancher’s wife had such skill.
“I can read, you know,” Ida had spouted when pressed about her ability. “Godey’s and a few other magazines offer fine instructions as well as illustrations.”
“Emmy is blessed to have you,” Abigale said.
A final pin slipped into place, and Ida patted Abigale’s shoulders. “And we are blessed to have you.”
Movement at the front of the church drew Abigale’s nervous attention back to the moment. The pastor signaled the piano player. Seth rose from the first pew and turned to face her. The green scarf was tied proudly at his throat and his best shirt fit snugly over his broad shoulders.
He had asked to borrow the ring for the ceremony, and she’d gladly slipped it on his little finger.
“I love you, Abigale,” he’d said, kissing her with a tender passion that shivered all the way down to her toes.
Seth Holt had been surprising her most of her life, doing or saying the unexpected, and she had no doubt he would continue to do so.
There was that little word again. The word she longed to say once she reached the front of the church and stood before all the parishioners who had stayed to wish her well. Mams had stitched the word years ago, but only lately had Abigale realized its significance.
“I do trust You,” she whispered on her way to stand beside her handsome, rough-cut cowboy.
And when the moment came, she looked into his meadow-green eyes and said it again out loud. “I do. With all my heart, I do.”
~~~
Thank you for reading Seth and Abigale’s story.
I would so appreciate a brief review on your favorite book sites and/or social media.
Reviews help me reach other readers like you.
And thank you for allowing me literary license regarding the great little community of
Divide, Colorado – not quite as developed in 1875 as I have depicted it in my story,
but a unique high-country town that survived and thrives today.
Continue reading for the second High-Country Christmas novella, Snow Angel.
Snow Angel
A High-Country Christmas Novella
by
Davalynn Spencer
~
Bless the LORD, ye his angels, that excel in strength,
that do his commandments, hearkening unto the voice of his word.
Psalm 103:20
~
Prologue
December 1864
Piney Hill, Colorado Territory
Lena pushed up the latch, slipped out the cabin door, and dashed down the front porch steps into the snow. Her brother thought he was so big because he was ten and had grown-up chores. Well, she didn’t need him. She was big enough to make snow angels alone. A whole field of them. Rows and rows, like all the people at church on Sunday.
Ahead of her, the pasture gate sagged open. She ran toward it, pushing through snow that inched above her high-topped shoes until one stuck and she fell to her hands and knees. Icy pin pricks stung all the way to her elbows, but she shook her arms and bent her fingers open and closed, open and closed, their pink tips like rosebuds against the white ground. She’d forgotten her mittens and coat.
Never mind it. If she went back now, Tay would call her a baby. But she was no baby, she was four. She’d show him.
Crack! The chock of an ax chased over the snowy field, all the way from where Tay split firewood behind the cabin.
If only she could fly, there’d be no footprints following her. Wouldn’t that be lovely? To fly like a bird, or a real angel with white wings and a shiny robe?
Twisting her fingers into her skirt, she trudged on to the gate, then squeezed through its open mouth at the fence post.
