Christmas Under Western Skies (6 page)

I
n spite of the way she'd tried to refuse his help that night, Nathan made a habit of stopping by every day the following week. In answer to her look of exasperation, he would turn his attention to the children. He would help with the chores and sometimes agree to stay for supper when one or both of the children suggested he should.

While Laura helped Julianne with the housework, Nathan and Luke tended to the evening chores. Through the hole-pocked paper that covered the windows, Julianne could hear the low murmur of Nathan's conversation with her son, although she could not make out the topic. Lately, many of the sentences out of young Luke's mouth seemed to begin with, “The captain says…”

Luke's sudden shriek brought her to the door at a run. Outside, she saw Nathan standing near the lean-to, and he was grinning at Luke who was trying in vain to brush fresh snow off his hair and neck. “Well?” Nathan challenged with a grin.

Luke scooped up a lump of snow and slowly formed it into a ball as he advanced on the preacher.

“Luke, no!” Julianne protested, just as the snowball found its mark smack in the middle of Nathan's chest.

“Good one,” Nathan said, even as he grabbed another handful of snow and flung it back at Luke.

The battle was on in earnest now, and before Julianne knew what was happening, Laura squeezed past her, having donned her coat and mittens, and joined her brother in the fray.

“Ganging up on me, are you?” Nathan called, as he ducked a lob from Laura. “Mrs. Cooper, I need reinforcements,” he called.

As if she'd traveled back in time to when she was younger, still living in the hill country of Virginia and unencumbered by responsibility, Julianne scooped some snow from the porch and flung it at her children.

“Ma!” Luke protested, but he was laughing and so was Laura, and the sound shattered the last dregs of somberness that had surrounded their home for far too long. Luke was gone, but she had her children. And when Julianne heard her own laughter in chorus with theirs, it was like music in the cold December air, and she felt that somewhere in the heavens above, Luke was laughing with them.

By the time supper was ready, any trace of uneasiness or shyness that might have dampened the meal had been banished by the snowball fight. As they bowed their heads for Laura to offer grace, Julianne could not help but notice that, for the first time in nearly a year,
gathering for a meal together felt truly special. And she owed that—like so many changes that had taken place over the last several weeks—to Nathan Cook.

“Thank you, God, for this food we are about to receive,” Laura prayed. Assuming his sister's prayer would begin and end as their grace always did, Luke's hand shot out to retrieve the first of the biscuits. But Laura scowled at him from under lowered lashes and continued. “And thank you for sending Captain Cook to us. And thank you for making Mama so happy today. Amen.”

“Amen,” Nathan added, looking across the table at Julianne.

“Luke, please pass our guest the biscuits first before you serve yourself,” she instructed, glad for the excuse of teaching a lesson in manners to avoid meeting Nathan's questioning gaze. The man had to be wondering why her happiness was so unusual as to be a part of the blessing of the food.

“Captain Cook,” Luke said, his voice breaking slightly with nervousness. “I know you said nobody wins at war, but can I ask you something else?”

“Yes.”

“Did you carry a gun?”

“Yes.”

“Then you know how to use a rifle like my Pa's?” Luke glanced at the rifle mounted over the door.

Julianne knew exactly where this was going. Luke's father had promised to teach the boy to fire the rifle and to take him hunting this fall. He'd filled the boy's
head with tales of how they would shoot a wild turkey and bring it home for a feast at Christmas. “Luke, this is hardly—”

“I can do that,” Nathan replied at the same moment. He looked to Julianne for guidance before continuing. “Tell you what, Mr. Foster and I were talking about doing some hunting. Glory has her heart set on a wild turkey for Christmas dinner. With the snow on the ground, tracking comes easier.”

“Yes, sir,” Luke said, his eyes sparkling with hope.

“If your mother agrees, Mr. Foster and I could let you come along, help with the tracking.”

“Could I, Mom?”

On the one hand, Julianne felt cornered. On the other, she was well aware that this day had to come. And Nathan was offering her son a safe entry into the man's world of hunting.

Taking her hesitation as a good sign, Luke pressed his case. “I'll do all my chores without you having to ask, and I'll practice my multiplication tables and—”

“I suppose, if Mr. Foster is willing. But you'll do no shooting,” she said.

Luke started to protest, but Nathan gave the boy a signal that had him agreeing to her terms. “Then I can go?”

“Yes, but on one condition.”

His smile wavered.

“I want to hear you recite your multiplication tables all the way to twelve times twelve without looking to your sister for hints,” she said. “The day you can do that
is the day you can tell Captain Cook here that you are ready to go hunting.”

Luke's face fell. Math was not his strong suit.

“I'll help,” Laura said softly. “Come on, Luke, it'll be fun. Like playing school.”

Luke groaned and Julianne could not hide her grin. Laura's favorite game was “school”. She would line up her two dolls and teach them the lessons she'd learned that week. She would also beg Luke to play along, but he usually refused. A chance to make both of her children so happy was not something Julianne was going to pass up.

“I think that's a fine idea, Luke,” she said.

“Yes, ma'am,” Luke said, admitting defeat. “But once I can say the tables, I don't have to play any more?”

“Seems to me that playing school with your sister every now and again might not be such a bad thing,” Nathan said. “Seems to me there might even come a time when you'd play the part of the teacher—maybe teach her about tracking,” he suggested.

“Yes,” Luke exclaimed, his high spirits restored.

“I should be heading back,” Nathan said, as he pushed his plate away and wiped his mouth on his napkin. “I was thinking that tomorrow we might get you a tree to decorate for Christmas.”

“Oh, that would be wonderful,” Laura squealed. “Last year—” She glanced at Julianne and went silent.

“Last year,” Julianne explained, “we didn't really celebrate Christmas. The children's father had recently died, and—”

“Then all the more reason to celebrate twice as much this year,” Nathan said, addressing himself to the children. “I expect the two of you have already started on your gifts, right?”

Both children looked blank.

Nathan sighed. “I can see I'm going to have to take charge here—show you folks what an old-fashioned Virginia Christmas looks like.”

Julianne was overwhelmed by the sudden need to keep her hands and thoughts busy with something other than the way Nathan looked, sitting opposite her and laughing with her children.

Like he belongs
, she thought.

 

Early the following morning Nathan returned.

“Captain's back,” Luke announced excitedly as he ran to the door.

“Good morning,” Nathan called out when Julianne and the children came out onto the narrow porch.

“Ready to go fetch that tree?”

As usual, the man was in fine spirits. There was something so appealing about that, and she found herself wishing she could find that kind of peace and contentment with life. She realized that she envied him this.

“Good morning,” she replied as Luke bolted from her and peered curiously into the back of the wagon.

“What's that?” the boy asked.

“What's that,
sir
,” Julianne corrected automatically, her own curiosity piqued.

“Sir,” Luke added.

Nathan lifted two flat packages, each wrapped in brown paper and string. “Glass panes for the windows,” he explained. “Careful now,” he instructed, as he handed Luke one of the packages.

“I can take the second one, sir,” Laura volunteered.

“And I thank you for that. Leaves me free to gather these tools,” Nathan told the girl.

The twins carried the packages onto the porch as if they were precious gold, and set them carefully on the table that in warmer weather held the pitcher and bowl for washing up.

“I don't understand,” Julianne said. “I didn't place an order for glass panes with Mr. Putnam, and this is a sod house, captain.”

“I placed the order,” Nathan said with a grin. “See, I was thinking that if you had glass in the window openings, then you could start some apple seeds inside—plant them in tin cans there on the window ledge. The sun through the glass would be warmer—like spring, and by spring you'd have a seedling instead of just a seed.”

“I really…” She could barely find the words to form the protest.

“Have a little faith, Julianne,” he said softly.

Julianne wrestled with her irritation that he would assume she had money for such things. “I cannot…”

Nathan moved a step closer and lowered his voice, his eyes on the children busily unwrapping the precious glass. “You cannot what, Julianne? Afford? Accept?”

“Both.”

“It's a gift. My thanks for the care you gave me. I might have died had you not taken me in. Seems to me that a couple of panes of glass is hardly repayment enough for saving a man's life.” He gave her a moment to consider his argument. “Please accept this, Julianne.”

“Your thanks were enough,” she murmured, but her eyes were on the glass pane that Laura was holding up to the light. Glass in the window wells instead of the oiled paper would do far more than help her raise apple seedlings. It would block out the wind and cold. It would allow more light into the cabin—into the lives of her children. “Very well,” she said. “I accept, and now it is I who am in your debt.”

Nathan laughed. “If you look at it that way, we could play this round-robin of thank-you gifts for years to come, Julianne.”

His good humor was contagious, and Julianne smiled up at him. “Would that be so terrible?” It was the kind of flirtatious comment she might have made to Luke in their courting days. She felt the heat rise in her cheeks.

His smile faded and his eyes softened. “Not bad at all,” he murmured, then cleared his throat and turned his attention to the children. “What do you say, children? If we work together we can have these panes in place and sealed by noon, and
then
go cut that Christmas tree.”

She watched him instructing the children with patience and confidence in their ability to do as he asked. From time to time he would glance her way, as if they shared some bond built around their love of
children. And she realized that for the first time since Luke's death, the idea that she might one day marry again was not as far-fetched as she had once thought.

But it could not be Nathan
, she thought sadly. She would not keep him from following his dream of reuniting with his only brother and making a fresh start in California. But she would never forget the man who had opened the window to the possibility that she would not fail.

True to his word, the windows were fully installed by noon, and light seemed to pour into the cabin.

“Mama, look,” Laura said, “I can see well enough to do my schoolwork here by the window.”

“We'll have to make curtains,” Julianne replied. “I think I have just the fabric.” She rummaged through her sewing basket and pulled out two pieces of calico. “What do you think?”

“I think,” Nathan announced, “that if we don't get going we'll not find a tree for Christmas before dark.”

She spun around, unaware that Nathan had come inside.

“Oh, you and the children go on,” she said.

He frowned. “Choosing and cutting the tree is a family thing, Julianne. Come with us.” He took her cloak from the hook and held it out to her.

A family thing
, she thought, and wished it might be so.

N
athan watched Julianne herd the twins into the back of the wagon bed mounted on runners. She was such a small woman—not more than five feet in height—and yet she carried herself with such strength and determination. He'd have to take care in the way he offered his advice—about the orchard or anything else—for she was also a proud woman. He suspected that underneath that brave front lay the kind of fear that he'd seen more than once on the battlefield. What if an officer could not spare his men from the ravages of the battle they were about to fight? What if that officer made a mistake and chose a path that would lead not to victory but to utter defeat?

“Ready?” he called over his shoulder to the children.

“Ready,” they chorused, and then laughed with sheer delight as Nathan snapped the reins and the team took off at a trot across the snowy fields.

Back in Virginia, the challenge of a hunt for the tree
was choosing the best one. Here, the problem was finding a tree—any tree. He suspected that Julianne was well aware of his dilemma when he saw her cover her mouth with one gloved hand and pretend an intense interest in the monotonous scenery that surrounded them.

“Not exactly Christmas-tree country,” he muttered, and heard her gulp back a giggle. “You might have warned me.”

“The first Christmas Luke and I spent here, we searched for hours.”

“And found?”

She laughed. “A little scrubby evergreen that we decorated with a single paper star and a strand of ribbon. It was so tiny, that's all it would hold.”

The twins were beginning to bicker over shares of the buffalo robe in the back of the wagon. “Are we there yet?” Luke demanded with an exasperated huff. “I'm freezing.”

“You're cold,” Julianne corrected, “not freezing. And no, we have not seen a tree yet.”

“We're not giving up, are we?” Laura asked, and Julianne realized how important this Christmas was going to be for her children. It marked a return to normal, an end to mourning.

“Tell you what,” Nathan announced, “let's make a game of the hunt. First one to spot a proper tree wins the prize.”

“What's the prize?” the twins chorused.

“Well now, let's see. If Laura wins, then she gets a
yard of ribbon from the mercantile. If Luke wins, he gets a nickel's worth of penny candy.”

“What about Mama?” Laura asked.

Nathan glanced at Julianne's cheeks, as rosy as a ripe apple. “Apple seeds,” he said softly, “for her orchard.”

Their eyes met, and for an instant he held her gaze before focusing on her lips.

“Not fair,” Luke declared.

“Fair if I'm making the rules,” Nathan countered. “When you come up with a game—and the prizes—then you get to set the rules.”

He sounded like a father—not
his
father certainly, but the father he and Jake had always wished they might know. How Jake would laugh if he could hear Nathan now.

“Trees,” the twins screamed in unison, pointing to a cluster of juniper trees in the distance.

“I win,” Luke crowed.

“I saw them, too,” Laura protested.

“It's a tie,” Julianne said, quieting both children as Nathan snapped the reins and the team of horses trotted across the barren landscape toward the trees.

“Not exactly a forest,” Nathan said with a grin.

“It seems a shame to cut even one,” Julianne said. “Trees are so very scarce out here.”

“Aw, Ma, it's Christmas,” Luke groaned, kicking at a branch that had broken off one of the trees.

Nathan bent and picked up the branch, oddly shaped but still green with needles. Then Julianne pulled another small branch from the snow.

“If we tied them together,” she said, “they'd almost have the right shape.”

Nathan handed her his branch and watched as she arranged the two so that one's greenery covered the other's bare spots.

“Here's another,” Laura called, running to collect a smaller branch. “If we find enough we could build our own tree.”

The search was on.

“No fair breaking branches off, Luke,” Laura instructed.

“Now who's making up the rules,” Luke muttered, but released the branch he'd been trying to break off one of the live trees.

 

The four of them had soon collected enough greenery to make an impressive tree and then some. “This is fun,” Luke shouted as he added another branch to the pile in the back of the wagon.

“No doubt about it,” Nathan said, “you two found us a treasure when you spotted this grove.”

“We've enough to make a tree for our cabin and one for the Fosters as well.” Julianne was beaming. “It will be a wonderful surprise.”

“Come on,” Luke urged. “Let's get home so we can build the trees.”

Everyone piled into the sled and the horses started for home. The scent of juniper berries surrounded them and Nathan could not remember the last time he had felt such anticipation for Christmas to come.

“You know, when Jake and I were just boys,” he said, “we used to go into the woods looking for mistletoe. It grew in the tallest trees, and Pa would shoot it down.”

“My father did that as well,” Julianne remembered. “I always begged him to let me go along, but he said it was a man's job.” She got a faraway look in her eyes and frowned. “He was very rigid about such things.”

“Sounds like my father,” Nathan admitted. “Jake and I always said that if we were ever lucky enough to marry and have kids of our own, things would be different.”

“You'd make a wonderful father, Nathan.”

It was a simple compliment, and yet the words warmed him as if he'd just downed a steaming cup of hot chocolate.

“Wonder if Jake's a father yet,” he mused, embarrassed at the effect her words had had on him.

“You've had no word at all?”

Nathan shook his head. “I keep hoping, and now that I'm to be in Homestead over the winter, I've sent out ads and letters to every community I can think of between here and California. It occurred to me that maybe he stopped along the way and stayed.”

“He could be closer than you imagine.” Julianne placed her gloved hand on his forearm. “You mustn't give up hope.”

But
she
had
, Nathan thought. According to Glory, after her husband's death she had locked her heart away.

The jingle of the harness brought Nathan back to the present. The cabin was in sight, the afternoon sun
glinting off the newly installed window panes, as a stream of smoke wafted from the chimney and seemed to signal “home” as it dissipated against the overcast sky.

 

In spite of her resolve not to become more involved with the man, Julianne could think of nothing but Nathan. As she did her morning chores a few days after the Christmas tree outing, she found herself remembering the snowball battle—how the children had shrieked with delight when Nathan had come up behind her and sprinkled snow over her head when she wasn't looking. And how his eyes had sparkled as he gently brushed a melting flake away from her cheek.

She leaned on the pitchfork she'd been using to spread fresh hay for Dusty, and gave her thoughts over to the tenderness of that moment. She even allowed her mind to wander into the dangerous territory of remembering how it had felt to be kissed by Nathan.

“Enough,” she muttered and went back to work, slinging the hay with such energy that Dusty turned his head and gave her a quizzical look.

“Well, it's ridiculous,” she told the ox. “The very idea that he and I…”

Dusty heaved a disgusted grunt and turned back to his water pail.

“Nevertheless, it's true,” she argued. “I know so little about the man. Just because he served as a chaplain in the army and just because his sermons stir hearts and minds all around this community, and…”

Dusty shifted impatiently.

“I know exactly what this is,” she continued. “It's this early onset of winter and facing weeks and months of isolation and loneliness. This has nothing to do with Nathan Cook, other than that he is a distraction.”

Dusty pawed at the fresh hay, ignoring her.

She set the pitchfork aside and trudged back to the house to check on the twins—both of them sick with a stomachache. After a long night of throwing up and moaning in pain, they had both finally fallen into a peaceful sleep. Julianne brushed Luke's hair off his forehead, testing for fever with the back of her hand pressed gently against his cheek. Then she did the same with Laura. Both of them seemed much improved, and she breathed a sigh of relief.

Wanting to let the children sleep, she went back outside. The day was crisp with a bright blue sky and, for once, no wind to chill her to the bone. She walked over to the grove of bur oak trees, gathering sticks and branches that had snapped off. When she heard a harness jingle, she looked up and saw Nathan and Glory coming over the ridge.

Her heart danced with joy at the sight of them—at the sight of
him
. She waved and saw Glory instruct Nathan to leave the trail and head across to the oak trees.

“Sam was at the schoolhouse stoking the fire, and heard the children hadn't come in today,” Glory called as soon as she judged herself to be within Julianne's earshot. “Are they sick?”

Julianne nodded. “Stomach,” she explained.

Glory nodded. “Thought that might be it. There's something going around. I brought the makings for my chicory tea. It will help ease the tenderness and help them keep down some food.”

Nathan halted the team of horses and jumped down. “Here, let me take those,” he said relieving Julianne of the bundle of sticks and branches. In spite of the fact that they were both wearing gloves, her breath caught at the sudden nearness of him. He loaded the kindling into the back of the wagon then held out his hand to her, offering her help in climbing onto the seat.

Riding between Glory and Nathan on a seat designed for two people, Julianne had trouble concentrating on the older woman's chatter.

“…thought Nathan might take a ride over your land and help you decide.”

“Decide?”

“Where to put the orchard,” Glory said, and she pulled off her mitten and placed the back of her hand on Julianne's cheek. “You're not coming down with this thing, are you?”

“No, I'm fine.”

They had reached the yard and the cabin door was open a crack. She could see Luke watching them.

“Luke Cooper,” Julianne called, “you shut that door and get back in bed now.”

“I'll take care of the children,” Glory said as Nathan returned from storing the kindling. “You two head on out while you've got a bit of decent weather.”

Julianne was well aware that once Glory settled on
a plan, there was no changing her mind, so she scooted herself to the far edge of the wagon seat and waited for Nathan to take the reins.

But the silence that stretched between them as he guided the team and wagon overland was more unsettling than conversation could ever be. Julianne searched for some normal opener and could not believe that the first thing out of her mouth was, “Why did you never marry, Nathan?”

His fingers tightened on the reins and he was looking at the horizon rather than at her.

“I don't mean to pry,” she said. “It's just that there was a photo of a young woman among your things.”

“Rebecca.” He offered no further explanation.

Now that she had brought the subject up, Julianne could not seem to let it go. “Your sister?”

“No.” His normally gentle voice was tense, almost angry.

“Then who?”

He heaved a sigh of exasperation. “Rebecca and I were to be married after the war. She promised to wait for me, but I suppose that she had not imagined it would take four years. She did not wait. She married another.”

“I'm sorry,” Julianne murmured.

“My best friend,” he added, as though she had asked.

“I'm sorry,” she repeated, and wished with all her heart she had never brought the matter to light. Clearly,
he was still in love with the woman. “So your brother is not the only reason you're bound for California?”

“I came west for two reasons. After the years I spent on the battlefield I wanted to find a place where—a place to start fresh.”

“And you wish to be reunited with your brother,” Julianne added.

His fingers slackened slightly on the reins and the tension in his shoulders eased. “It's important that Jake know he wasn't disowned by everyone in the family—that he still has a brother.”

The wave of disappointment that coursed through her veins took Julianne by surprise. Surely it was beneath her to resent a man she'd never known—would never know—a young man who had left home and family because he thought that was his only choice. But if Nathan was to find his brother, he would have to leave Homestead—and her. Come spring, he would move on.

“There,” he said pointing to an area where her land bordered the Fosters. “If you put your orchard there between your trees and those Sam planted, and if the Fosters also plant more trees, then you can both have orchards and double the harvest. You could become partners,” he suggested.

“That's a wonderful plan, Nathan,” she said. She smiled and smoothed the collar of his coat where the wind had ruffled it. He was such a nice man. How any woman could be foolish enough to turn to another
when she had the heart of Nathan Cook was beyond Julianne.

“Nathan,” she repeated, treasuring the feel of it against her lips. “Sam knows quite a bit about grafting plants and such. He's promised to teach me,” she hurried to add, so that the focus shifted from the two of them to the business of raising apples.

“It won't be the same, growing fruit out here, as it was back east,” he warned.

“I know, but until the full five years have passed and the land is truly mine, I have to try something.” She could not disguise the shiver that rattled through her at the very idea that she could still fail and lose everything.