Christmas Under Western Skies Read online

  “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.”

  Chapter Four

  Roger 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.

&n
bsp; 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.

  “Told you so,” Glory said, scooping up the peel before anyone else could see it and walking off toward where the children were bobbing for apples.

  Julianne continued to stare at the dirt floor where the peel had lain. She did not believe in such silliness, but on the other hand, the moisture from the peel had left its imprint, and she could not deny that it formed the first letter of Nathan’s name.

  It had been a year, and in all that time the idea that she might find love again had been the furthermost thing from her mind. And yet…

  “And the winner and new champion of the apple-peeling contest with a ribbon of twenty-three inches is,” Putnam shouted, “Mrs. Julianne Cooper.”

  A cheer went up as Julianne stepped forward to receive her prize, an apron embroidered with apples on the pocket.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  “Louder,” someone called.

  “Thank you,” she shouted, and everyone laughed. “But let us all remember that the champion will always be Mrs. Foster, until her record can be broken.”

  “And now, ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, it’s time for the judging of the baked goods,” Jacob announced. “Captain, will you do the honors?”

  The crowd followed Nathan over to where the cakes, pies and sweetbreads were displayed.

  She watched as he tasted one sweet after another and announced that choosing the best was an impossible task. In the end, he declared a tie between Emma’s pumpkin pie and Glory’s apple cake.

  “That was very nice of you,” she told him later, as they sipped glasses of apple juice and watched the children engaged in a lively game of blindman’s buff. “Everyone knows that Emma Putnam has many skills, but baking isn’t one of them.”

  He shrugged. “Some people need that recognition, and it costs nothing to give it to them now and again.”

  “So you admit it,” she pressed.

  He grinned. “Between you and me? Yes.”

&n
bsp; “Why, Reverend Captain Cook, I am shocked.” His laughter carried above the squeals of the children, warming the air around them.

  “It’s getting so close in here, and the night is clear.

  Would you walk with me, Julianne?”

  Outside, several men had gathered around a fire to talk in peace and smoke their pipes as couples strolled hand in hand under the star-filled sky.

  “I see Roger Donner is back,” he said.

  “Yes.”

  “And?”

  “We haven’t spoken, but I know that’s the answer. If he’d been successful in getting me more time he would have told me right away. He wants me to have this evening to enjoy. He’s a good man.”

  “What will you do?”

  “I don’t know,” she admitted.

  He pulled her hand through the crook of his elbow. “We’ll figure something out,” he said. “Meanwhile, Roger has a good idea. Let’s just enjoy this evening.”

  They walked along in silence until they came to a rail fence, the silence stretching uncomfortably between them. “I hate seeing you so sad,” he said finally.

  “Not sad so much as…” She searched for the right word. “That is, I was very sad for a long time after Luke became so ill and died.”

  “Only sad?”

  “And angry,” she admitted.

  “At God?”

  “I’m afraid I don’t have your strength when it comes to faith,” she said. “Yes, I was angry at God—and at Luke.”

  “For dying?”

  “For leaving me and the children, I suppose. Oh, I know that he didn’t choose that path—no one does. But life can be so very hard sometimes. Don’t you ever feel that?”

  He stared out at the horizon for a long moment, and she wondered if he was thinking about his lost brother.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, touching his shoulder to draw his attention away from the past. “Glory says I spend too much time dwelling on things I can’t change.” She was struggling to lighten the mood, to bring them back to the place where he was laughing and his laughter made her feel light as air.