The Parson's Christmas Gift

But Journey needed to find a more stationary hideout, and after months on the trail, eyeing every shadow, she was tired. The warmth and comfortable feeling this house offered could seep right in. She’d be inclined to let it.

She couldn’t afford to let it.

Abby sat down across from her and placed sandwiches on the three plates Miss Rose brought out. Journey clasped her hands together, squeezing one thumb. Her knee bobbed as her mind raced to come up with a way to bring this meeting to a close before she agreed to something. She wanted to stay. She wanted to think she could belong in such a home. But where had her instincts taken her in the past? She was no longer fit for these fine people.

Miss Rose smiled, skin pulled paper-thin over her round cheeks. She seemed about to say something when Zane’s hammer interrupted. Journey caught her motion to take a plate and pass a cloth-wrapped sandwich her way. Then the ladies bowed their heads without a word while she twitched in her seat.

“So you’d be willing to help out an old lady like me?” Miss Rose said when the pounding stopped. “You might find I’m too ornery for your liking.”

“I’m not the easiest person to live with, either, ma’am.” Hank had shown her that often enough. “I wouldn’t want to obligate you.”

“Nonsense. I’ve been looking for someone to move out here and help me some. My old bones can’t go like they used to. I’ve been praying the Lord would send just the right person. To be honest, I’m looking for the company as much as the help.”

Journey nodded and drew her eyebrows together. “You really think I could do that?”

From the corner of her eye, she saw Abby’s own furrowed brow.

“Now that’s hard to tell from this side of it,” Miss Rose said. “Can you clean? Wipe windows?”

“Yes.”

“Muck out a few stalls?”

“Sure.”

“And you’re in need of a place to stay?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Well, then it seems like we’re in a position to help each other. I can’t believe it’s a coincidence that you’d wander into town, into Abby and Sam’s store, when here I am looking for someone like you.”

“Like me, ma’am?”

Miss Rose looked her over, and Journey sensed the woman knew there was something more than met the eye. “Yes,” she said. “Someone just like you.”

“What about the preacher? He seems handy enough.” Why argue the matter? She couldn’t stay. She couldn’t.

“Pastor Zane’s been helpful to a lot of folks around here. He considers it part of his ministry. But he has plenty ministry beyond playing ranch hand. I found myself expecting it of him, and that’s wrong. So I told God He’d have to send someone else along, so I could let Zane focus on more important things.”

“You don’t even know me.” The steadiness of her voice surprised her. “I could only be looking for a handout from you.”

A dignified sniff from the woman punctuated the air. “You might find you’ve gotten the harder end of the bargain. I’m set in my ways and terrible stubborn about some things. My Lord’s had many a year to help me improve, and I still struggle with it—” she interrupted with a grin “—so that tells you what I was like at your age. I’ll be after you to do some things both here in the house and around the property, but something tells me you’re heartier than you look. Pay’s not much—maybe a dollar a month, plus room and board, and of course, Sundays off. I’m figuring we could both win on this gamble, if you’re willing.”

Journey nodded. There was no way this could work. Who was she to involve this woman—this community—in her mess? The pounding on the roof matched the pounding in her head.

“So what do you say?” Abby’s voice rose over the din.

Journey’s muscles grew stiff. She needed to think. What would it matter if she darted for the door and never looked back? She waited for the hammering to stop.

“I appreciate your kind offer, Miss Rose, but I can’t—”

The ring of the hammer interrupted again. It stopped, breaking the rhythm they’d grown accustomed to with a rough scrape. A heavy thud punctuated the instant of silence. For a moment, all three of them sat stock-still. Journey’s heart leaped and she grasped the edge of the table, ready to push herself up and away.

“Zane…” Abby voiced Journey’s own thought. They jumped from their seats as one.

“Go!” Miss Rose said, her voice calm and firm. “Make sure he’s not hurt.”

Journey thought that her very tone insisted that he was fine. Somehow that tone was comforting in itself. But that thought didn’t keep her from flying out of the house, close at Abby’s heels, wondering why it should matter to her.

Chapter Three

Journey turned the far corner of the house to see Zane struggle to his elbows. His gray eyes searched the skies above, unfocused. She watched as Abby knelt at his side, and followed her glance to the old woman. Miss Rose stood with a white-knuckled grip on the corner porch post, peering over the edge.

“Zane? Zane, are you all right?” Abby grasped his shoulders in both hands, holding him steady.

“What happened?” Journey asked. Zane’s head jerked back, focusing his gaze on her. She fumbled for a handkerchief from her pocket and tapped it against Abby’s shoulder but couldn’t draw her gaze away from his. The woman took it to dab at the wide scrape on his right cheek with the limp cloth.

He blinked several times in his daze, thick lashes fluttering, but a small grin appeared. “Wasn’t being careful enough, I suppose. I must have stood too heavy on a loose shingle board.”

“If the pupils of his eyes aren’t even, he could have hit his head,” Journey said. Someone had told her about that once, after a rough bout with Hank.

She looked across the landscape. Even in the months and miles since his death, she couldn’t shake the sense that he waited out there. She shivered in the cool mountain air.

A soft groan drew her attention back to the man on the ground as he tucked his feet and stood, taking the handkerchief from Abby. A wince crossed his face when his full weight rested on his ankle. He wobbled a little, but laughed. “Shows how great the wisdom of the Lord is, calling me to preach instead of to become a carpenter.”

“Take it easy, there, Zane. Are you sure nothing’s broken?” Abby inspected his elbow.

Journey wondered what the congregation might think of their pastor showing up with a nice shiner for Sunday service. He’d no doubt have one.

He pulled the thin cloth from his eye and examined it. “I’m fine, ladies. Really, I rolled right off, nice and gentle-like onto my hammer. Won’t look too pretty for a while, but then, I don’t reckon any of my parishioners come to see a pretty face.”

Journey imagined his handsome face and strong build drew more than his share of coy glances. How could he not know it?

A rattled wheeze sounded behind her. Miss Rose had been forgotten in the excitement. “Well, he’s standing and his tongue’s working along with his brain same as usual. My goodness, Zane, you might have considered the rest of us. I declare, you took a good six months off my life. Now come inside a bit and rest yourself.”

“I’m fine,” he insisted, waving the offending hammer toward the roof. “There’s only a little more to do before I’m finished. This time I’ll pound an extra nail or two in this one.” He tapped the fallen shingle with his boot and moved back to the ladder.

“Be careful this time!” Abby smiled at his retreating back.

Journey studied his broad form until he turned, catching her off guard. He shook out the mangled handkerchief to find a clean spot before touching it again to the cut.

“I’ll wash this up and return it to you Sunday, ma’am.”

“You needn’t go to any bother, really.”

“I appreciate it all the same, Miss Smith.”

She thought to remind him to call her Journey, but then she realized it didn’t matter. It would be just as well if he forgot her name altogether. He wouldn’t be preaching to her on Sunday. She turned to follow Abby.

“Pardon me, ma’am. You prefer Journey, right? A name that pretty, I don’t blame you. I’ll keep that in mind.”

He made her name sound like a complete sentence. But he seemed to look past her, over her. The wind blew his dark hair from his forehead, exposing the length of the hammer’s cut.

The faint rustle across the porch drew her attention, reminding her that the others had already returned to the house. She nodded her leave. He smiled again and began pounding.

A job, a place to stay, and nothing more. Lie low for the winter, and be gone with spring thaw. What could be wrong with that? Right now, Walten, Montana, felt a world away from Georgia. Maybe it was.

“I declare,” Miss Rose said, her voice puffing as they stepped into the warmth of the house, “sometimes I think that boy won’t be happy till he’s knocked his fool head off.”

Journey couldn’t help but smile at her exasperated tone.

“Anyway, where were we?”

“Maybe Journey would like to see the rest of your place?” Abby suggested.

She flinched, startled at the tug on her sleeve. Before she could protest, Abby drew her across the sitting room to the stairway directly opposite the door. Her brow curled, but thankfully, the woman didn’t voice any question. Journey flushed with embarrassment as she followed her up the narrow stairs.

“Well, what do you think?”

Journey peered around. “It’s…light,” she said. “I’ve never seen an upstairs so bright.”

Instead of being divided into tiny, airless closets, two smaller rooms beckoned with open doors on either side of the hall. Light wooden boards made the rooms appear large and inviting. She walked toward the far end of the hallway, and the space broadened to the width of the house, windows bright with reflected sunlight. The cobwebby corners and dusty floors didn’t dim the cheeriness of the room. How could four walls feel so unconfining?

“I haven’t been up there in some time.” Miss Rose’s voice strained to reach them from the bottom step. “You’d be welcome to use the space. We cleared a lot out after my husband passed on.”

She felt Abby’s hopeful smile on her. “So? What do you say?”

“I think…]Well, I just arrived in town, and here I am with a job offer and a roof over my head. It—it’s all happened so fast.” She glanced around the room and back over her shoulder. “I think I should catch my breath and consider it before I agree to anything. It’s all so much kindness.”

“It’s you who’d be doing the kindness. It’s a worry to me, knowing she’s alone out here. I know she’s lonesome, too. But what with the store and all…]Oh, listen to me. You have to do what you feel is best, Journey.”

She sounded sincere. Maybe she did want to help them both—Miss Rose and her. But that’s not how people worked. A few folks might look out for a dear friend, most would take up a cause for family but no one cared for a stranger. So what did Abby really want? What did any of them want?

“I’ll have to take your offer into consideration.” She hoped she gave the impression there were other options.

“We’ve been praying for the right person to come along to help Miss Rose. Then you come along, looking for work.” Abby sighed, her hands fluttering. “It’s so exciting. Maybe I’ll be proven wrong, but the Lord has blessed me with a pretty accurate sense of character. I’d be willing to take the chance. You seem like someone who needs a chance used on you.”

Journey stared back, unsure of a response. She forced out a tense breath. “I am obliged for the offer, either way. You’ve been most kind.”

“Will you at least go down and talk with Miss Rose awhile? It can’t hurt, right?”

“I suppose not.” She hoped not.

Abby stretched her arm toward the stairway. “Let’s go, then.”

Miss Rose waited in her rocker. Journey noticed she patted her hand over her heart until she saw them.

“Have a seat,” she said. “I imagine you have some questions of your own to help you decide whether this would work for you.”

Journey sat in the ladder-back chair near the door and tried to keep her breathing even. How could this woman treat her so well? She didn’t even know her and yet had offered her so much. What would Miss Rose think if she knew what brought her here?

“It seems you keep the place well enough on your own.” She didn’t accuse, but she couldn’t understand, either.

“I’m not completely feeble yet, but I can’t get after this place like I used to. Still, I can’t bear to part with what few animals I have left, either.”

“You could hire someone from town to clean a few times a week and hire a ranch hand for the animals. Then you wouldn’t be bothered with a boarder in your house,” Journey said.

Miss Rose’s laugh caught her by surprise. “I reckon you’re right. It shows you have common sense. But the truth is, I need someone around more than that. It gets too quiet for my liking anymore. But town is too big and busy. I wouldn’t be able to hear myself think.”

Journey considered that. “I’m not one to chatter much.”

Again the laugh. What a shame Mama never laughed like that. “So I’ve noticed.”

Journey found the corners of her mouth curling up in spite of herself. “Please understand, I can’t decide a thing like this before I think it through.”

“Take all the time you need, darlin’. It’s not like there’s a flock of people knocking down my door for the job, Lord knows.” Journey felt cool, wrinkled skin pat her hand.

“So when will your nephew be able to visit?” Abby asked. Journey figured the topic must be settled until she decided on her next move.

“Not soon enough for me, but I received a letter from him last week. He’s going to try to make it for Thanksgiving, Lord willing.”

Journey tightened her grip on the chair. A dollar a month plus board would help her save a little. If she held her purse strings very tightly, she’d be ready to move on by spring with money to get her to Oregon. Or even California. She scanned the warm wooden walls, the solid mantel above the all-but-dead fire. A certainty filled her. Yes. A good, safe home to rest in and regroup. Surely no one would look for her through a Montana winter. She’d be gone with spring thaw. Or, if things worked out well enough, maybe she’d stay on in the spring. Who could find her in a town as small as Walten?

“…some of the cases he works on, I declare. I wish he’d find a safer way to make a living.” Miss Rose waved her hand before smacking it down on her knee.

Cases? Her nephew was a lawyer?

“Does he live far from here?” she asked. Her heart skipped a beat.

“Over in Virginia City,” Miss Rose said, turning to face her with a smile. “He’s a lawman there.”

Chapter Four

Zane dismounted without his usual ease. That fall would have him stiff tomorrow but no lasting harm done. With a pat to Malachi’s flank, he took off his tack and led him into his stall. After taking care of his mount, he moved to check on the other two horses he kept.

When he had heeded the Lord’s call to the ministry, he thought his dreams of owning his own horse ranch were gone. It was a trade he’d been willing to make, but it didn’t mean he wouldn’t miss it. Sarah had been the one to encourage him to do both.

It hadn’t been easy on a pastor’s wage to get started, but he and Sarah had both made sacrifices enough to give them a start. He looked around now at the barn with the three horses. Not a grand beginning but room to grow. Without the horses to focus on after the fire and to fill those few hours when he was forced to be alone, he might’ve lost sight of their dream altogether.

He rubbed his tired eyes, wincing when he nudged the lump on the side of his head. He’d gladly trade it all to be rebuilding his dream with Sarah, rather than continuing it without her.

Zane made his way into the little house he’d built for himself. The Lord had called him to the ministry, and he had believed at one time that Sarah had been the one to be his helpmate in it. But hadn’t the Lord shown him otherwise by taking her so soon from him? He’d failed somehow—failed to protect his family when they needed him most.

He rubbed his face and moved his hand back to his neck. He needed to wash up and finalize his sermon notes, then make a visit to the Culpeppers’ and see how Agnes was faring with her gout. Then he’d ride upstream a bit and practice his sermon before turning in.

It would be a productive day. It had been a productive week. But it didn’t change the fact that he’d come home to an empty house tonight.

Journey gave the ropes a final tug, securing her bedroll to the saddle. The horse sidestepped and pranced. Journey watched the evening sun drip into the horizon behind the peaked hills. She pinched her lips and let go a long breath, then nudged Gypsy toward the west.

Her cheeks ached from holding a tight smile for the better part of the afternoon. It took a firm hold to keep her horse at a walk tonight. They crossed the bridge leading out of town.

“I thanked her for the offer, of course, Gyp.” She used low tones to calm the skittish horse. “But there’s no way we can stay here. It wouldn’t be right to drag her into our mess. Besides, her nephew is the law in Virginia City. We can’t risk being caught. I’m not the fool I was when we first left Georgia.” Her horse skittered and neighed. “Well, not quite.”

Gypsy tossed her black mane and whinnied. “I know. I liked the lady, too. I think we might have gotten a fair shake from her.”

She felt guilty taking supper with the Norwoods, but Abby had all but tied her to a chair. Besides, she knew she’d do well to fill up before hitting the trail again. She excused herself before Abby brought out the pie, saying she wanted to explore the town before dark. But the wide, friendly streets and small, boasting businesses didn’t attract her as much as the gurgling river and mountain views. They gave her space to breathe. She could appreciate Miss Rose’s desire to be away from Walten’s streets. There was no way she could stay. But she thought again of Miss Rose’s ranch. Was there?

“We’ll try the next town,” she said. “We can’t expect comfortable. Maybe when things have settled down more, we could come back. Everything is too messed up now.”

She stroked the horse’s brown neck. There was no time to be looking back. She’d had her chance. Stupid, stupid, stupid…]Leaving Hank at the start would’ve been so much smarter. There’d been no reason to stick around after that first slap. There probably hadn’t been much of a reason to stick around before it, for that matter.

She shivered, rousing herself back to the moment at hand. With the glow of the sun in the twilight sky being all that remained of the day, the cool of night drew up a breeze. It would be cold sleeping out on the trail tonight. She thought a moment of the airy upper floor of that ranch house. She could picture Miss Rose poking the fire, banking it for the night.

Journey buttoned her coat up to her chin and shifted in the saddle. She’d cut through toward the bluff and camp in the stand of pines there, then keep heading west at first light. Quiet sounds of the night echoed over the bluffs—the hoot of an owl, soft wind from the hills. Her arms and legs lost some of their tenseness. The trail narrowed, but the trees brushing overhead gave the comfort of shelter.

Her eyelids drifted closed until her horse balked, refusing to move on. “A little farther, Gyp, and we’ll bed down.” She dug her heel into the flank.

But the horse reared back, snapping her fully awake, fingers tensed over the reins. She grabbed the saddle horn before she slid too far. Just as quickly, the forehooves clapped the packed dirt. It jarred the breath from her. The horse raced farther into the trees, heedless of the commands she bellowed. She stretched her arms as far as they’d reach around the horse’s neck, muscles pulling as she hung tightly.

She bounced, her vision rattled as she tried to stay mounted and, at the same time, watch the direction the animal was taking.

The horse squealed, then lurched to a stop. Stars, leaves and dirt tangled before her. She felt weightless for an instant, then all of gravity’s force came back to her with a crunch. The dimness of sunset faded to dark.

Chapter Five

Zane reined his horse to a stop, breathing hard. “Feels good to stretch the legs, eh, Malachi?” He patted the steamy neck as he dismounted by the stream. Closer to town, the brook broadened and slowed into a river. But here, it still gurgled and bounced over rocks.

He hunched down by the edge and trailed his fingers in the water a moment, then scooped a handful to drink. It ran fresh and cold down his throat, and he smoothed the back of his wet hand over his lips and chin. He’d need to shave before service.

Stretching out on the stubbled grass with his hands clasped behind his head, he stared up at a night sky of the deepest blue, covered with stars high above. Miss Rose would have a piece of his hide if she knew he’d come out without his coat.

For as long as he’d lived here, the beauty of the land had never failed to awe him. “Lord, I thank You for Your hand I see in all creation. It’s a comfort to know things are in the order You made them to be.” The scent of sage carried on the wind. He traced the swollen lump around his eye with his fingers.

“I pray, Lord, that You’ll bless the folks here. Make sure I preach the words You give me to their benefit as well as my own. And thanks for watching out for me today when I fell. It could’ve been worse, I reckon. Turns out just my pride got hurt. Keep a special eye on Miss Rose, too, Lord. She’s a dear old soul who’s loved and served You a long while. I’m asking You to send the right person to help her.”

Journey seemed an unlikely choice. She reminded him of a colt his father had bought from a rancher known for poor handling of his animals. That colt never lost the suspicious gleam in its eyes. It always flinched when touched, bolted often and busted fences more times than he could count.

“Until You do, Lord, help me look after Miss Rose. And thank You for putting her here to take care of me like she has ever since—”

Since Sarah died. He scratched his chin and sat up, resting his elbows on his knees. A fire blazed in his chest. Sarah. Their baby she carried. The flame that took them burned in him still. Three years without them—where would he be now without Miss Rose’s prayer and love and support?

“I still miss them. I know they rest with You, Lord. It makes it easier, but I still ache that they’re gone. Help me, Lord.”

He stood and brushed himself off, clearing his dry throat. “All these things I lay before You, in the name of Your Son, Jesus Christ. Amen.”

He nickered to his horse, who trotted over and nuzzled his shoulder. “C’mon, Malachi. Let’s get back. You can listen to my sermon before I turn in.”

He’d always been a fair tracker, but when the Lord had called him to preach, he was sure he’d misread the signs. His palms still sweat when he stood before his congregation. Sarah had always listened to the sermon twice—once the evening before so he could practice and again during Sunday service. Her soft laugh would echo through the tiny home he’d been able to provide, and she’d run her fingers through his hair. He could still feel her wide, moist lips on his cheek.

“Preach it with the fire God’s given you for His Word, for others, and you’ll be fine,” she’d say.

Now he had Malachi. Captive audience, little response. He mounted up and spurred the horse to a trot farther along the stream before heading home. It was too nice a night to head back early.

A cry broke through the night. He grabbed the Spencer gun holstered behind his saddle. He hadn’t heard any talk of bobcats in the area, but it sure sounded like a woman’s scream coming from the stand of trees ahead. He edged Malachi closer, picking his way into the darker night of the woods. What would a woman be doing out at this time of night?