Rescuing Christmas Page 2

  “Your Mama is a very special lady and, just like any princess, deserves to have her hand kissed.”

  Ma chortled at that and Charles reached across the table to snag her hand. Standing up to reach her, he bent over her hand and planted a loud smooch on it. The table erupted in laughter.

  ~~~

  The dried-fruit cobbler for dessert was topped with a rich, creamy syllabub made with some of Ma’s homemade raspberry wine. The topping had been a last-minute addition to help celebrate the return of the prodigal, made with fresh cream whipped up and then mixed with a wine-sugar syrup—an adaptation of Grandmother Smythe’s favorite “pudding.” No one else around here talked quite like Grandmother’s stiff and proper British, and she still used words that most folks weren’t quite familiar with, but she was so warm and friendly that quite a few of the townsfolk had picked them up, not even realizing they’d expanded their vocabulary along with their dessert offerings.

  “All right, boys!” Dessert finished, Suzanne’s voice had switched from dinner conversation to mother mode. “Evening chores!”

  No groans or grumbles—this was the routine. But they did have a visitor.

  “Is Unca Charlie staying with us, Mama?” Nick asked quickly. “He can have my bed and I’ll sleep with Reg.” Reg jumped eagerly up and down, adding his own pleas.

  With a quick glance at his wife, who nodded assent, Tom quickly seconded the notion. “You don’t want to be in that cold barn tonight. The boys will get your mare tucked into the stable with our horses and we can stay up a bit and talk.”

  “I think Charles would probably like to read Abigail’s latest letter, first, Tom.”

  “Thank you for reminding me, my love. Yes, why don’t you get it while I help the boys finish evening rounds?”

  CHAPTER FOUR ― The Letter

  Suzanne handed Charles her most recent letter from his sister, smiling softly as she touched him on the shoulder.

  “You just sit here by the fire for a few minutes and enjoy catching up with Abigail.”

  He nodded gratefully and stared at the envelope for a minute, his sister’s familiar hand stirring nostalgia and a deep longing to see her. Slowly he removed the contents and unfolded the thin sheet.

  “Dearest Suzanne, I hope this finds you and your family well. I mentioned the number of single men here in my last missive, and many of them are fine, upstanding, and church-going gentlemen of faith of whom our mothers would have approved. In fact I find I am being courted by not one or two, but three men, each of whom is special in his own way, although I am not sure any of them is quite the right one for me. But I am in no hurry to set up a household until I learn whether Charles has returned home safely and plans to send for me to help him tend the family homestead.

  “However, I was thinking of inviting Dorothy and her girls to come for a visit once Mary’s babe is born. I think it would do her a world of good to get away—and who knows whom she might meet! This terrible war has taken so many good men…but I won’t talk of that now. Suffice it to say that in the territories the number of women is still well below that of men.”

  Charles looked up at the date on the letter and realized his sister wouldn’t have heard of the latest tragedy. Poor Mary Sevenoaks—no, Mary Rogers now, expecting a child and now without a husband to support her. She’d been several years younger than his form, which had included Tom Kenner and Suzanne Smythe, Dorothy Sevenoaks and Reg Cooper, plus a few others.

  But of course he’d known her nearly as well as he knew her older sister and had always had a soft spot for the tiny, spunky girl. Robert Rogers had been about her age, too, and adored her, following her around just to be near. He was a bit quieter than most of the boys, but could hold his own in a brawl, and bravely tried to protect Mary from the childhood pranks the boys liked to play on the girls, such as hiding frogs and snakes in lunch pails. Of course the girls mostly gave as good as they got—he remembered a spider crawling out from between slices of bread just as he was about to bite into them, and seeing Mary grinning up at him from across the schoolyard.

  He shook his head and sighed, then turned back to the letter.

  “Dry goods are even more limited here than in Kansas, but Aunt Florence and I found the sweetest print on a lightweight cotton fabric, perfect for the local summer weather, which I thought to make up as a Christmas present for ….”

  Charles had to pause and pull his kerchief from a pocket, dabbing surreptitiously at his eyes as he pictured his sister bent over the kitchen table penning a letter. She’d always been the one to keep up with far-flung family and friends. Skimming ahead through the detailed gown description—he wouldn’t know a ruffle from a flounce, he grinned to himself—his eye was caught by his own name.

  “Charles has been sending me money from his regimental pay but Aunt Flo and Uncle Gerhard have hardly let me spend a penny, so I’ve been saving it for him in Uncle’s bank. I’m hoping he’ll have enough by now to buy a parcel or two more land and start the ranch he’s always wanted. You mentioned a number of widows were hoping to sell and that land was practically being given away. I am sure that will change as more of the men return but perhaps there is enough to get him started.”

  Charles looked up from the letter and stared at Suzanne, still washing dishes. He realized this was why she’d been so insistent he read it. And maybe why Tom hadn’t really asked him about his plans.

  Looking back down he scanned the rest of the letter—a bit more gossip and many endearments before her signature, which he traced with his finger. Carefully he folded the page and slid it back into its envelope, then stood and, bowing slightly, presented it to Suzanne, who was wiping her hands on a dishtowel as she walked toward the fireplace.

  “I imagine you and Tom have talked about this.”

  “Yes, and we’re hoping you’ll want to stay, despite the destruction of your home. Tom’s talked of expanding our own acreage and would love to see you remain a neighbor and join us in ranching. I’m not sure what Mary will want to do and it is probably too early to ask her, but with Robert gone, she cannot possibly manage to run not just one but two sections. Her land runs along your own and would be about perfect.”

  “That’s right, Tom told me about that. The war has been over for months. How is it possible there are still raiders?”

  “A lot of the Quantrill boys were trash to begin with and don’t have anything to return to so they’ve taken to the easy road of killing and stealing and robbing. Of course, there is not much left around here but that doesn’t seem to stop them.” Suzanne’s voice was bitter. “You remember Robert—he was about as gentle as they come, worshipped Mary, and was over the moon about being a father. I guess the only good thing is that she was with Dorothy when the gang showed up. They shot Robert then stole most of the horses, firing the house as the left. About the only thing they didn’t destroy was the cradle Robert was making. It was in the last stall in the barn next to Old Dusty. The only other horse left is Sasha, because Mary had ridden her to Dorothy’s. She is now too heavy with foal to travel.”

  Charles’ eyebrows rose as his mind caught at a detail. “Old Dusty? He’s still alive? He was an old man when I left!

  “You know he was my father’s horse for as long as I can remember, before he really got too old to be working all day. But he was so gentle, Mr. Rogers bought him for Robert to learn to ride on.”

  “Yes, he was Robert’s first horse and he was old then. I have no idea how old he is now but Robert just babies . . .” her voice caught briefly, “babied him.” She paused, taking a deep breath and then another before continuing.

  “That’s when they destroyed your house, too—probably for spite, since you’d left your parents’ things with us and there was nothing inside to steal. At least most of your barn was stone so it is still standing.”

  Nodding his head, Charles spoke thoughtfully. “That sort of explains Tom’s last letter to me, talking about all the homesteads that had been torched but not really nam
ing any. He didn’t want to share the bad news when I was already in rough shape.

  “Anyone else I should know about?”

  “Emmet lost a leg at Chancellorsville, but you probably heard about that. He does pretty well and has been home about 2 years now. And besides Reggie, about five other boys from school are gone now. A number of other men in town also didn’t return, and Major Williams came back without his left arm. We still don’t know about a lot of the fellows. Like you, folks are trickling back. About everybody at church has on a black armband for someone.”

  Tom stomped his feet on the porch to kick off some dust and ushered the boys back into the room. Ma, who’d been tending to her chickens, penning them up for the night to protect against varmints and owls, came in with them. Suzanne turned toward the group.

  “Nick, why don’t you and Reggie get your teeth washed and go fix up the beds. We are going to want to talk with your Uncle Charlie for a bit before we send him in to join you but I expect you to be asleep when he comes in. There’ll be plenty of time for you to be with him tomorrow at breakfast before you go to school.”

  Quelling incipient rebellion with a quirked eyebrow, she nodded to the boys and then threw them a bone. “You may come in to say goodnight once everything is ready.”

  As the boys ran off to do her bidding, Suzanne turned back to the adults. “Ma, why don’t you join the fellows around the fire while I finish making coffee? I know you have some good common sense to add to the conversation.” Grinning she winked at her mother-in-law and then turned back to the stove to get the coffee pot.

  CHAPTER FOUR ― Let’s Talk

  After the boys had come in to say their goodnights, the group sat around the fireplace looking somewhat uncomfortably at each other, each clutching a coffee cup as if somehow it would rescue them from the silence. Staring at each in turn, Charles finally took a quick sip of his coffee, cleared his throat, and opened his mouth.

  “All right, I get the distinct impression you are all about to gang up on me, and I’m not sure why.”

  Both ladies looked at Tom and he scrunched his shoulders together and then laughed.

  “It’s your letters. They got fewer and farther between, the more the war got to you, and I know you didn’t talk about most of what you saw and did, but I’ve had a chance to catch up with some of the others we know and those that would say anything led me to believe you’ve all pretty much been in hell for a number of years. Every time someone would describe a pretty town with a lovely little church, he’d then tell of what it looked like after the cannons finished firing on it and the battlefield was littered with casualties. Not a man but has been affected badly by what he witnessed, and most of them think they have to be stoic and hold it inside.

  “Of course there are one or two who enjoyed the killing. I think most of them have ended up in the marauding gangs still roaming the countryside although I think enough of the men have returned that the threat has lessened.

  “Even though we weren’t in the thick of the battle, most of us have seen and heard enough to be affected by the horror that is war and we kind of understand why you might react the way you do.

  “That’s why, after reading your letters, especially the recent ones, and comparing them with the boy who left to honor his country, we all,” nodding at the others, “want to offer you our help with whatever course of action you decide to take. But we also wanted to let you know about some of the possibilities that didn’t even exist before you left.”

  Charles had maintained eye contact with Tom throughout his speech but now he looked down at his feet, a thoughtful frown on his face. Looking up again, he once more met the eyes of each of the others before turning to Tom.

  “Tom, the three of you are as much my family as Abigail. You helped rear me, Ma, as much as my own mother did, and I know you feel the same about my mother, Tom, God rest her soul. And you are right. I am about heartsick at what I’ve witnessed the last several years. I’d heard about what was going on here from you and others, so when I saw that my house had been burned down, I’d pretty much made up my mind to go to town and see if someone wanted to buy the farm before I set out to join Abigail.

  “But now you’ve told me about so many folks that have it even worse and have managed to hold on, like Dorothy. Of course, who knows what they’ll choose to do.

  “The real eye-opener for me, though, is the idea that not only is there possibly land available but that I might be able to buy it and realize my childhood dream of ranching. But then, thinking of how it became available makes my heart hurt. And I realize I really need to see Dorothy and Mary, talk to them, find out what they want to do with their lives and land.”

  Tom stood up with his arm outstretched and Charles rose to join him. Both men had tears in their eyes as they clasped hands tightly, gritting their teeth to retain their dignity.

  Suzanne made no effort to hide her tears as she rose and gave Charles and Tom a hug, with Ma trying to wrap her arms around everyone. Suzanne was the first to break the silence.

  “Ma and I had planned to visit the Sevenoaks sisters tomorrow. Tom needs to work with the men on the ranch but we’d be pleased for your escort.”

  “Thank you. I’d be honored to join you.”

  “Then I suggest we all find our way to bed,” Ma directed acerbically. They all laughed, a bit in relief at the breaking up of the emotional tension, said their goodnights and did what Ma had told them.

  CHAPTER FIVE ― Breakfast

  Despite the weight of revelations about what had transpired while he was away, Charles slept better than he had in a long, long time. Perhaps it was hearing the soft snores of Nick and Reg in the next bed, or just knowing he was home, but he’d closed his eyes and fallen into a deep, dreamless sleep.

  He awoke to the dawn breaking, the sound of birds, and the rustling of his godson and his brother trying not to wake him. Seeing their backs turned toward him and their heads bent together as they tried to whisper quietly to each other, he eased his arms free of the covers and reached slowly toward them until he was in tickle range. And then he attacked!

  The boys’ squeals of glee had Ma pounding on the door demanding to know what in tarnation was going on!

  “C’mon in, Ma!” cried out Charles, whose arms were now wrapped around the boys as they tried to tickle him back. “I could use some help here!”

  She stuck her head around the door jamb and started guffawing. “I swear, Charles, you don’t look more than 12 years old your own self! Now boys, you cut out these shenanigans and get to your chores. Those animals aren’t going to feed themselves!”

  “But he started it,” giggled Reggie.

  “Does that sound like tattling?” Ma looked down her nose at her younger grandson, and then winked at him before sliding back out of the room and heading toward the kitchen where Suzanne already had the coffee on.

  “Hurry up, you rascals,” she called out! “If you’re not back in time I’ll bet Uncle Charlie will eat up all your pancakes along with his own!”

  Still laughing, the boys tumbled out of the room and streaked for the chicken coop, knowing there’d be no breakfast if they didn’t hurry in with some fresh eggs. Papa was already milking and Ma was now scattering feed to keep the chickens away from their nests so the boys could gather eggs without getting pecked.

  “Where should I start?” called out Charles as he strode outside.

  “Why don’t you give a hand in the stable? Start with your mare and work your way down that line. You should run into Nick about half way. The hands will tend to the other side.”

  Her bread rising in the warm kitchen, Suzanne was headed for the pigsty to slop the hogs quickly before returning to make breakfast while Ma was taking care of Tom’s collie, McFee. Tom had aimed a few squirts of milk at the barn cats, but they mostly took care of feeding themselves and keeping the grain varmint-free.

  Charles admired the efficiency of effort, as the family members each looked forward to Mama’s g
ood cooking. Ma had headed to the bunkhouse kitchen where she was frying up bacon and eggs along with pancakes as the hired hands finished their own morning chores. They did the cookhouse cleanup so Ma could get her own breakfast before everyone started another workday on the ranch with every critter fed and watered.

  Although it was winter cold, the snow had held off and it was a bright sunny day. Made a body feel right cheerful, thought Ma, before she remembered they were about to go visiting the Sevenoaks girls. Hardly girls anymore, though. They were both grown women and widows. And mothers. Dorothy had two young girls and Mary was due to have her first in a few weeks or so.

  “There you are, Ma! Just in time for a stack of pancakes!” Suzanne slid a full plate with eggs and bacon on the side over to Emilene, who reached for the fresh-churned butter to decorate her stack while it was hot, and then, bending her head, said a private grace over her food. With the morning chaos of each person arriving to eat at a different time, the boys had been trained to follow the ritual of thanking God for the privilege of having a roof over their heads and plenty to eat, before picking up their forks, even without a formal seating and group blessing.

  The family chattered freely as food disappeared, and then, suddenly, as the boys moved their plates to the sink and ran to their room for schoolbooks and then out the door to hop on the ponies they’d saddled before eating, the room went silent.

  The adults each took a deep breath as they looked at each other and then grinned.

  “Were we that loud, Ma?” queried Tom.

  “Louder, when Charlie was over,” laughed Ma. The others joined in and then Tom stood up and offered his hand to Charles.

  “Just know that whatever you decide to do, we will all of us support you in any way you can.”

  “I appreciate that Tom.” Turning toward the ladies and nodding his head to each of them, he added, “Thank you, too!”

  Tom headed out to join his men who were saddling up, ready to start the day. The buggy, with the mule in harness, stood waiting for the Kenner women as they came out with a basket in hand containing two of the loaves from the morning’s baking, some fresh butter and a jar of preserves.