Christmas Under Western Skies (4 page)

“I apologize,” Julianne said when they were gone. “Luke gets his directness from his father.”

“And Laura her Southern reticence to pry from you?” Nathan guessed this aloud, as he shifted from one foot to the other. Julianne realized he was still standing just inside the door, still wearing his coat, still holding his hat.

She leapt to her feet and held out her hand for his hat and outer coat. “Well, clearly neither child is learning manners from me today. I'm sorry, Captain, please come and warm yourself by the fire. Even after over three years out here, it's hard to adjust to such bitter cold.”

“I was thinking on the way over here how, when I was a kid back in Virginia, at this time of year we were still able to be out in our shirtsleeves.” Nathan folded his tall frame onto one of the wooden stools that Luke had fashioned for the table. Luke had been a much smaller man—shorter by a good six inches, and stockier. It was unsettling, seeing Nathan sitting where her husband had once sat.

“Would you like some tea?”

“That would be fine. I'd also really like to know what you thought about today's service.”

“Why?”

Nathan smiled. “I thought you said your late husband was the direct one.”

“Sorry, but I simply don't know why my opinion should matter one way or another.”

“The Fosters have a great respect for you, and that tells me that your opinion has meaning.”

Julianne felt the heat rise to her cheeks. “Glory and Sam have been like family to me. I'm afraid they may be prejudiced.” She set a mug of tea and a spoon in front of him, and another at her place, then slid the sugar bowl across the table. “Do you take milk?”

“No, thank you.” He took a long swallow of the hot liquid, then set the mug down and looked at her. “So?”

“I thought it was fine,” she replied.

“Not too much? All that business about us all being pioneers and such?”

“Are you fishing for compliments, Captain Cook?” Julianne laughed, and the sound of it was foreign to her. How long since she had sat at this table and laughed?

Nathan grinned. “Guess I am.”

They each drank their tea and Julianne set down her mug and picked up her needlework.

“I'm real sorry for the loss of your husband,” Nathan said after a moment. “It must be especially hard this time of year, with Christmas coming and all.”

Julianne was so startled that she jabbed herself with the needle and cried out. Nathan reached across the narrow table and examined her finger. “Are you hurt?” He brushed away the single drop of blood with his thumb.

It was the second time the man had taken her hand—the second time she'd been unnerved by the action; and yet, in both cases his attention had been completely innocent and appropriate.

“I'm fine,” she assured him. “I often forget to put on my thimble, and I pay the price. Glory says it's because my mind is always on things other than my handiwork,” she explained, words coming in a rush, like a creek thawing in spring. “And she may have a point. Certainly, if you look at my work next to Glory's, you'd know at once who paid the attention necessary to get the stitching perfect.”

“What other things?”

“What?”

“What are you thinking about when you're stitching?”

The farm. The crops that might never get planted or worse, get washed out if we have a wet spring. The prairie fires that could take everything if we have a dry summer. Having what I need to feed and clothe my children. Making sure that we don't lose this place after all the work that Luke put into it….

Nathan leaned closer and Julianne realized that she had failed to respond to his question. She forced a smile and got up to refill his mug. “Silliness,” she said.

“Somehow I doubt that.”

“You hardly know me.”

“What I know is that it takes a woman of substance to maintain a spread like this, hang onto the only real home her children have ever known. That, and still have the strength to play the Good Samaritan to a stranger stupid enough to try and find his way across the plains with winter coming on.”

“How are you feeling?” she asked, relieved at the opening to change the subject.

“Better each day. It's self-defense.”

“I don't get your meaning.”

Nathan laughed. “Mrs. Foster seems determined to ‘fatten me up', as she puts it. She claims I'm skinnier than President Lincoln was, and has this notion that putting food in front of me every couple of hours is the only medicine that can possibly build my strength.”

Julianne could not help smiling. “She did the same
thing with me after—” She stopped and covered her mouth with her hand. “Would you like more tea?”

“After your husband died?” Nathan guessed.

Julianne nodded and refilled his cup.

“It will ease—the grief and pain,” he assured her.

“I'm sure that on the battlefield you experienced death many times over, Captain. Some of those men were probably friends of yours. And yet—”

“It's not the same,” he said, and ran his forefinger around the rim of his cup. “You're right, of course. Still, there are all sorts of losses we must endure over the course of a lifetime. I choose to have faith that each has some purpose.”

Her eyes flared with anger. “I fail to see the purpose in leaving those two children fatherless and—”

“I understand how you might feel that way,” he said.

She wanted to tell him that he couldn't possibly understand unless he had children who depended on him. But she decided to let the matter drop. After all, he was a guest. “I overheard Jacob Putnam ask you to stay on and consider taking the pulpit permanently.”

“Thinking back on it, I suspect it was a compliment, nothing more. I mean, who would hire someone to minister after just one sermon?”

“Jacob takes his role as mayor quite seriously. He's determined to establish Homestead as a viable community as quickly as possible. There's a rumor that the railroad company is looking at a route that could come very close to Homestead.”

“Well, I wish him well, and I'm happy to fill in for as long as I'm here, but I have to get to California.”

“Your brother?”

Nathan nodded and set his cup on its saucer. “Jake was only sixteen when the war started, but my father thought he was old enough to serve. He couldn't understand why Jake wasn't as eager to volunteer as every other youth in our area.”

“But surely your mother—”

“She sides with my father no matter the topic. I was already gone, but apparently the argument escalated to the point where one night Jake just took off. He left a note saying he was headed to California because it was as far away from the war as he could get.”

“And you didn't know?”

“I found out when I went home last spring after General Lee surrendered. Mother said they didn't want to tell me, for fear it would upset me and I might get careless. They had lost one son, and they couldn't face losing me as well.”

“But Jake wasn't lost.”

“He was to them. He had dishonored the family, the South. My father never forgave him—not even on his deathbed. He refused to allow Jake's name to be spoken in that house after the day he left.”

“And no one has heard from him?”

“No. As I've traveled west I've placed ads in the California papers, always leaving a general address for a reply, if anyone has seen or heard of him—or if Jake—”

“You don't even know if he's alive?”

Nathan shook his head. “Not for sure. But I have faith that God would not send me off on some wild-goose chase. I believe this is the journey I am meant to be on.” He looked up and smiled. “Enough of my misery. What about your family? And your late husband's? Are the twins' grandparents in this area as well?”

“No, my parents are still in Virginia, and Luke's are in Boston.” She got up and wrapped her apron around the handle of the kettle. “More?”

The door slammed open and Luke, Jr., burst inside, breathless with the cold and excitement. “The land agent's coming,” he announced as Laura crowded in the doorway next to him.

Julianne's hand went to her throat and her eyes widened with alarm as she glanced quickly around the cabin. as if checking to be sure it could stand inspection.

“Is there a problem?” Nathan asked, getting to his feet and moving toward the door.

“No. Maybe.” Julianne brushed back a way ward strand of hair. “It's just odd he would come on a Sunday.”

R
oger Donner was a large man with a barrel-shaped chest that belied his mild, almost shy manner.

“Afternoon, ma'am,” he said, then stopped short when he saw Nathan. “Captain,” he added. “Fine sermon this morning.”

Nathan extended his hand. “Thank you. I don't believe we had the pleasure of speaking after services.”

“Roger Donner, government land agent for the territory.” His eyes slid from Nathan to Julianne. “Mrs. Cooper, I wonder if we might have a word…in private?”

Nathan saw Julianne's eyes dart anxiously over the spotless room. “I…this is…” she began.

“It's the Lord's Day, sir,” Nathan said quietly. “Surely, any business you have to discuss with Mrs. Cooper can wait until tomorrow?”

“Sadly, no,” Donner replied. “I leave first thing tomorrow for St. Louis, to file this year's report with the commissioner for the region.” He directed his explanation to Julianne.

Nathan saw Julianne's fingers tighten on her needlework. She jabbed the needle through the cloth and shuddered, and he knew she had once again pricked her finger. “I see,” she said softly. “This is about this season's crops, is it?”

“Yes, ma'am. I was in hopes that together we might come up with some way of explaining—”

“My husband died,” she said.

“Yes, ma'am. Big Luke was a good man and will be sorely missed.” Donner bowed his head even further. “Still, the rules of the Homestead Act are clear. Those living on the land—hoping to claim the land—are responsible.”

“Surely there is room for compromise,” Nathan said, moving around the table to stand behind Julianne, but resisting the urge to place a comforting hand on her thin shoulder.

Donner shook his head. “No, sir. There's plenty of folks waiting for land—and land with fields already plowed and a house—”

“There's got to be a way 'round it,” Nathan said.

“The rules are quite clear, Captain Cook,” Julianne said. “If the land lies fallow for a period of six months or more during growing season then it is considered to have been abandoned.”

“You could buy it outright,” Donner suggested.

“I don't have the two hundred dollars, Mr. Donner.”

“I was thinking maybe Mr. Cooper's family back east…”

Julianne stiffened. “That's not possible.”

Donner nodded and turned to the door. “Just an idea.

I'll do my best, Mrs. Cooper. I wanted to let you know that in person.”

“I appreciate that,” she said. “How long will you be away?”

“I'll be back in time for Harvest Home,” he said brightening a little for the first time since entering the small cabin.

Julianne smiled and pressed his forearm. “Good. We count on you for the music at the festival, you know.”

Nathan saw relief flood the man's haggard features, once he realized that he and Julianne seemed to have reverted to their normal friendship. “Yes, ma'am,” he said as he left.

“Thank you for riding all the way out here, Mr. Donner. Safe travels,” she called, as the man mounted his horse.

“Wait up,” Nathan called, taking his hat and coat from the hook where Julianne had hung them. “Mind if I ride along?” He wanted to know more. For starters, why had Donner suggested the dead husband's family and why had Julianne refused so abruptly?

“Not a bit,” Donner replied. “Glad of the company.”

“I'll stop by later in the week, if that's all right,” he said to Julianne, who stood in the yard, her arms wrapped around herself.

“The children and I look forward to it,” she replied. “Good afternoon, gentlemen,” she called, as the two men rode off together.

Realizing that the way she had been clutching her shoulders had less to do with the weather and more to do with this new bit of worry Donner's visit had brought, Nathan was tempted to turn back to make sure she was all right. But something told him that Julianne Cooper was a woman of pride as well as uncommon strength. She was not likely to appreciate having some stranger see through that pride to the panic and fear he'd seen fill her eyes when Donner had given her his news.

Still, as he and the land agent rode past the fallow fields, snow-covered now, he wondered how any woman alone with two children to raise could possibly live up to the regulations for making the land her own. Acre after acre, the scene was the same—fields clotted with the remains of the last harvest Luke Cooper had gleaned. Roger Donner pointed it all out to him as evidence that he had little choice but to make his report.

“I could lie,” he said, “but there's this man who has made a business of buying folks out or reclaiming abandoned land. Miz Cooper's place is one he's had his eye on. It's prime, the way it sits near the river, with its natural supply of water and the way Luke built that soddy so it was protected from the worst of the winter storms.”

“She wouldn't want you to lie,” Nathan assured the man, and then wondered how he knew that to be true. “God will show her the way,” he added. As the two men rode over the uneven and slippery fields, Nathan could only hope that faith was going to be enough.

 

Later that evening, Glory Foster told him that after Luke Cooper died, something inside Julianne had hardened. “She sees that those children attend church and all, but I've seen it in her eyes that she's lost faith. And who can blame her—all she's had to endure.”

She'd gone on to talk about Julianne's family, who had broken with her when she married Luke—a New Englander—a Yankee. “Then there was his people,” Glory continued pursing her lips, as if tasting something bitter. “All kinds of money that family has, but he wanted no part of it if they wouldn't accept Julianne as their equal, even though they had education and all. Big Luke was no more than two months in the ground when she gets this letter from some city lawyer telling her not to try and lay claim to any of the Cooper fortune—as if she would, the way they turned against their own son.”

That explained her curt answer when Donner had suggested asking the Coopers for the two hundred dollars she needed to buy the land. With each revelation, Nathan's esteem for the young widow deepened into something that he recognized as more than just empathy for her troubles and admiration for her strength. Was it possible that all along God had been guiding his way, bringing him to this place, that sod house—to her? Julianne Cooper needed help. The problem was that everything about her shouted,
No, I don't.

 

Julianne was far more shaken by Roger Donner's visit than she had let on. Standing outside the sod house, she
had never felt less suited for the task that she had set for herself.

In the spring after her husband's death, she had hitched their ox, Dusty, to the plow, and set out to prepare the fields that surrounded their cabin for planting. But she had made it barely half a row before blisters had formed on her palms and her skirts and boots were coated with mud. She'd looked up then and seen a man astride a large white steed, watching her from the top of the rise.

Two days later the man had come calling and suggested that going it alone was not the answer. If she would allow him to assume ownership of her land…

She'd lost her temper and ordered him off her property. But the man had not given up. He had only changed tactics. Instead of trying to buy her out, he had tried courting her. He would stop by on the pretense of bringing Laura a book he'd seen when the peddler came through town. He offered Luke, Jr., his pocketknife. Julianne had quietly refused every gift, and eventually he stopped coming. But he was out there. She'd heard of a man of his description traveling the region, reclaiming abandoned homesteads and buying out those who found the winters too severe and the summers too hot.

 

Later that week, as she peeled apples for apple butter and counted the days until Roger would return with news of her fate, she felt the familiar weight of responsibility settle round her shoulders. The rules of the contract were simple—either manage the land or lose it. Even though
her neighbors had offered to put in crops for her, she'd been too proud to accept charity. Besides, Roger had made it clear that eventually she would have to find a way to work the land herself.

“Mama, you're cutting too close to the core,” Laura reprimanded, as she picked an apple seed out of the bowl and laid it on the table.

Julianne stared at the tiny black seed, her paring knife suspended in midair, the seed reminding her of the thousands of seeds it would take to plant her fields come spring.

The shroud of hopelessness that covered her made her knees shake, and she sank down onto a kitchen stool.

“Mama?”

Laura was peering at her. “Are you sick? Should Luke go for Miz Foster?”

“I'm fine,” she assured both children. “We're fine,” she added through teeth gritted in determination that she would not fail them.

 

Ever since President Lincoln had called for a national day of thanksgiving, towns and villages across the land had held prayer services and festivals in observance. The date varied from one community to the next, but the celebration found its framework around faith and food and friendship. Homestead's festival was scheduled for the last weekend in November.

The day of the festival, Julianne braided Laura's hair and ironed a shirt for Luke. She took more time than usual with her own hair and clothing. Ordinarily,
she would have chosen the black dress she had worn for Luke's funeral and to every public gathering since. But the anniversary of Luke's death had passed quietly that week, with only Glory taking note. “Time to move on,” she'd advised. “Luke would have wanted that for you.”

And so she chose her best dress, a woollen homespun the color of pine trees back in Virginia. She braided her hair and then wrapped the long braids around her head in a coronet, fastening them in place with the pair of silver combs Luke had given her as a wedding present.

“You look pretty, Ma,” Laura said.

“Yeah—different, but real pretty,” Luke added.

“Thank you. Now get your coats and mittens on. Mr. and Mrs. Foster will be here soon and we don't want to be late.”

 

The Putnam barn had been transformed for the festival. Bales of fresh hay did double duty as decoration and seating. Piles of pumpkins, squash and gourds filled freshly swept stalls—the animals having been moved to neighboring farms for the occasion. Dozens of lanterns swung from rafters and cast a warm glow over the festivities below.

In one corner, the children were gathered around their teacher in her new role as organizer of games and contests for the evening. A barrel filled with melted snow and apples waited for the children to try and snag an apple without using their hands. Across the way, Roger Donner and a trio of farmhands were warming up
their fiddles in preparation for a sing-along and dancing. Roger had avoided Julianne since she and the children had arrived, and that more than anything told her that he had likely failed to successfully plead her case with the commission.

“Come along, Julianne,” Emma bellowed. “The contest is about to begin.” She took Julianne by the arm and steered her to the end of a long bench that had been placed in the center of the barn.

Julianne unwrapped her paring knife from the napkin she used to protect its sharp blade, and sat on the edge of the bench. Lucinda Putnam moved up and down the rows, handing each woman an apple.

“Now, ladies, you have one minute to produce the longest unbroken strand of apple peel,” Jacob Putnam instructed, taking out his pocket watch and flicking open the cover. “Ready, set, go.”

In seconds, several of the younger and less experienced women were eliminated as the peels of their apples broke. Soon it was down to Julianne and two others. She considered allowing the streamer of peel to break of its own weight, giving one of the others a better chance at the victory, but then she caught Nathan watching her closely.

He smiled and nodded, and she found herself wanting to please him. She narrowed her cut a sixteenth of an inch, to give herself the best chance at having the longest strand.

“Time,” the banker called, as Lucinda carefully gathered the peels created by the three finalists and took
them off for measurement. “And while we await the outcome,” Putnam shouted, “we shall ask the single ladies to take their places and peel one more apple.”

There were giggles and excited whispers, as girls and single women took their places on the benches. Julianne started to get up, but Glory placed a firm hand on her shoulder and handed her an apple.

“Let's just see if there's a new man in your future, missy,” she said.

“Don't be ridiculous.”

“Peel,” Glory ordered as, one by one, the others peeled their apple and tossed the skin over their shoulder. Then everyone gathered to see what initial the peel might have formed, for legend had it that the peel would form the letter of a girl's intended.

“Well, look at that. Is that the letter C, or could it be the letter N?” Emma boomed as everyone gathered around.

“I think it's more of a J,” someone suggested. “Is it supposed to be the first or last name?”

“First,” someone replied.

“Well, now that I study it, that's an N as clear as writing it on the chalkboard,” Emma insisted.

“The letters C and N don't look nothing alike,” someone shouted, and others murmured their agreement as Emma defended her position.

“Drop yours while they're busy chewing on that,” Glory instructed.

“Glory,” Julianne protested.

“Just humor an old woman and drop the peel.”

Julianne refused to toss the peel over her shoulder as tradition dictated. Instead, she dropped it on the floor in front of Glory, and there was not a doubt in the world that the letter the red apple skin most resembled was an N.