Authors: Jodi Thomas,Linda Broday,Phyliss Miranda
A Texas Christmas (3 page)
Chapter 4
Maggie moved through the small rooms of her apartment over the store. In the past hour she’d been frightened almost out of her mind. She’d shot a man and found a friend. She wasn’t sure how much more excitement she could take, but now it seemed she was going home with a man so that an outlaw wouldn’t kill her. Considering everything, packing seemed a simple thing to do, so she concentrated on that.
She’d need warm clothes. If he was a farmer, he might live in a shack where the wind circled through. She’d need sturdy shoes and warm socks. Maybe wool trousers would be more serviceable than a dress. With bag in hand she ran downstairs and pulled clothes from the shelves of her own store, something she rarely did.
By the time Samuel returned, she had two carpetbags full and was waiting by the back door. She’d also packed a tote sack of food. She didn’t want to put Samuel out or shorten his winter food supply and, since she didn’t know what he had, she didn’t know what she needed, so she took one of everything. Sheriff Raines told her he’d send telegrams out tomorrow about Boss Adler, but he doubted with Christmas and the storm if anyone would have time to look at them for a week or so. With luck someone would spot Adler and hold him.
“A whole week,” she whispered, almost afraid to be excited. She’d grown up traveling to school and on vacations with her aunt. Except for the summer, she’d spent all school holidays with teachers who’d offered her a place for a small fee. The past year she’d spent in Kasota Springs had been torture. Everyone welcomed her, but no one invited her anywhere. People her age were married with families of their own, and those older always seemed to have their settled groups. Maggie had no museums to wander through or libraries to spend her free afternoons in. No plays, no music, and most important, no one to talk to.
She’d grown from a bossy, know-it-all little girl to an opinionated, overeducated woman. It bothered her that she’d be spending another Christmas alone if it hadn’t been for Boss Adler and the robbery. Maybe she should send the man a thank-you card once he was incarcerated. Even a drafty barn of a place sounded better than being all by herself.
“Oh, one more thing,” she said as she passed the sheriff and ran back into the store. “Tell Samuel to wait for me.”
She could hear the sheriff complaining that there couldn’t possibly be anything else. He claimed to have seen wagon trains coming west with less baggage.
Maggie ignored him as she searched the counters. A watch—too much. A knife—too impersonal. Cuff links—too formal. A ring—too expensive. Then she saw it. A book. Not too personal, or formal, or expensive. She shoved it into a third carpetbag along with the cash box, her journal, and a shirt to replace his bloody one. As she passed the counter, she left a quick note to the woman who worked for her saying simply, “Take care of things for me until I return.”
Sam and Raines were loading up her luggage when she reached the porch. “Sheriff, will you have someone hammer a board over the broken door?”
“Sure,” the sheriff answered as if bothered by the request.
“I’ll ride the horse without the saddle,” Sam said as he smiled at her, “but you’ll have to carry most of the luggage tied behind you.”
“I can’t ride. I’ve only been on a horse one time in my life and I fell off then.” Panic log-piled in her brain. “I don’t know anything about how to handle a horse. Don’t you have a buggy? I can handle a buggy with some skill.”
The sheriff and Sam looked at her as if she wasn’t speaking English. How could a woman in this part of the country not ride? It must seem as strange as saying she couldn’t eat or breathe.
“You’re joking.” Sam raised an eyebrow. “Why would I own a buggy? I’m sorry, Maggie, but the only way down into the canyon is on horseback. You’ll have to ride.”
She shook her head and thought about informing him that many ladies in the cities didn’t straddle a horse, but she didn’t think now was the time to educate him since she seemed to be the one lacking in skill.
Raines stepped inside and grabbed a sawbuck from the store. He tossed the pack saddle over the extra horse. Without a word, the men moved all the luggage to the bareback horse. When the sheriff loaded the last bag, he turned and asked, “You sure that’s all, miss?”
Before she could fire back an answer, Sam said simply, “Maggie, you take as much as you need to be comfortable. I don’t want you feeling like you’re doing without.”
She almost kissed the man. If his cheek had been free of hair, she might have tried. She could never abide a man with hair on his face. It always seemed so backwoods somehow.
The sheriff helped her up into the saddle as if in a hurry to be rid of a problem. He didn’t like trouble, and if Boss Adler came back to kill her, there was bound to be trouble. He held the horse while Sam swung up behind her with one hand.
Sam reached around her for the reins. “I’ll check in with you in about a week,” he told Raines. “If you need us before then, leave a red bandanna on the north corner of Lamar’s fence. I’ll see it from the canyon.”
“Don’t suppose you want to tell me where you live?” the sheriff tried. “That canyon runs for a hundred miles.”
“Not on your life. The only way I’ll know Maggie is safe is if no one can find her.” He looped the lead for the other horse around the saddle horn and urged his mount forward as his legs settled in behind her and he pulled her body back against his.
Maggie sat as still and straight as she could, but she was very much aware of the man behind her as they seemed to ride into complete blackness. In sudden panic, she glanced back at the fading lights of town.
“Don’t worry, Maggie, I’ll bring you back when this is all over.” His words were low near her ear and she calmed.
She thought of saying she didn’t want to go back. She’d rather face the night than have to be alone in a town full of people. This man she barely knew, this one friend, meant more to her than anyone. The town, even the store, meant little. If she could have sold it after her parents died, she’d be back teaching at the school she’d gone to for so many years.
“Thank you,” she whispered, “for taking me in.”
His arm closed gently around her waist. “Thank you for trusting me. There aren’t many who would trust a Thompson.”
“Why?”
“I don’t really know. We keep to ourselves. Some of my relatives have been known to trade with outlaws and Apache from time to time, but I can’t think of anyone I’m related to who has spent a night in jail. Rumor is we’re a mixture of Gypsy and Indian blood, but the truth is probably we’re the stray dogs of civilization. Part everything but belonging to nothing.” He thought about it for a moment and added, “Folks don’t tend to trust people who aren’t like them, and the Thompsons are just different.”
She twisted until she could see the outline of his face. “You saved my life tonight, Samuel. As far as I’m concerned, that makes you a knight of the realm.”
He smiled. “That would make you a lady fair.”
She shook her head. “I’ll settle for just being your friend.”
“Fair enough,” he said, “but it’s been a long time since I’ve been around anyone who’ll talk to me. I may not be good company.”
In the darkness as he moved through trees and down into a valley, she decided now might be the time to talk about the rules. She had no idea what they were riding into, but if she was to act properly, she had to know what was expected of her. “Samuel, maybe we should talk about how it will be while I’m staying with you. We can set a few ground rules so I won’t get in the way. First, I’d like you to know that I plan to help out and pay my way.”
“I’ll not take a dime of your money, Maggie, but I could use some help. With the storm coming in I’ll have my hands full the next few days.”
“Don’t hesitate to ask if you think I can do anything to lighten your load.” She almost giggled thinking of the excitement of doing new things. “I think there are those in town who think it would be most improper if we stay under the same roof without a proper chaperone.”
“Are you worried about that?”
“Yes.”
“Then rest easy. We won’t be alone.”
She took a deep breath and felt his arm tighten slightly as if he feared she might fall off. “I’m not going to fall, Samuel. You don’t have to hold me so tightly.”
He laughed in her ear. “I kind of like holding you.”
She patted his hand awkwardly. “I shouldn’t be saying this, but I like having you close also. It’s nice to have a friend.”
“Same here,” he answered.
“Then that can be our second rule, Samuel. We’ll be respectful, but comfortable around one another.” She didn’t want him to step away from her when they reached his place. Once at a dance she’d attended while still in school, a boy had said he wouldn’t touch her with a ten-foot pole. She hadn’t known it then, but that seemed the standard for her life. People didn’t come close.
Collecting her bravery, she added, “I think it would be fine if we touch now and then. Maybe even hug good night. I’m not from a family who ever touched, but I almost died tonight, and I think it might make me feel safer.”
“You’re such a gift.” He laughed. “I think it would be real nice to have someone to hug good night, even if only for a week.”
They were both silent as he crossed back and forth through a path she saw no markings for. It occurred to her if she had to leave alone, she might never find her way back to town. Slowly, she relaxed in his arms knowing he’d hold her safe even if she fell asleep. All her life she’d held herself in close check, but no longer. This was Samuel, the boy her mother had thought a saint, the man who’d risked his life for her.
A half hour later he helped her down. “We’re home,” he said.
He grabbed a few of her bags with one hand and walked ahead of her along a brick path to a door that looked like it had been built into a wall of stone. A few feet from the door he whispered, “There’s something I haven’t told you. It’s too late to explain now, but promise me you won’t say anything to anyone about what’s in my house.”
“All right,” she whispered back frightened.
He laughed. “It’s nothing terrible, but I won’t promise he won’t bite.”
Without another word, he opened the door.
Chapter 5
Maggie stepped into a wide room with a polished brick floor and long beams running twenty feet above her. She’d expected a farmhouse with low ceilings and dirt floors. “How lovely,” she whispered. A huge rock fireplace hugged one corner of the room, its chimney climbing a buckskincolored wall made of stucco. There was a simple set of stairs running along the opposite wall leading to rooms above. Beneath the stairs was an arched doorway to what looked like a kitchen. Light from the fireplace danced around the room in welcome.
An old woman, round as a barrel, stepped to the doorway. Her face was scarred, the skin twisted like an ancient root across her throat. In her arms, she held a child dressed in a homespun tunic. “You said you’d be back in one hour,” she said with a patchwork accent that seemed from no country but her own.
“I was delayed, Nina.”
“I don’t like walking back down the canyon after dark.” The old woman glared at Maggie. “Next time do your business with your whore in town. Don’t bring her here.”
Maggie held her breath. No one had ever mistaken her for a soiled dove.
Samuel dropped her bags and took wide strides to the old woman. “That’s enough, Nina.”
Maggie wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d slapped her. There was a wildness in the old woman’s eyes as if she wanted to draw anger from all she met before she had time to see pity in their eyes. She glared at Maggie for a moment and then blinked a smile. “My mistake. If this one was a working girl, you couldn’t afford her price.”
Maggie didn’t know whether to be insulted or flattered.
Sam lifted the child from the old woman’s arm. His voice was calm, almost soothing. “You can go, Nina. We both know nothing will attack you on the way home. Even a coyote wouldn’t eat your old flesh. But if you’re so afraid, use the passage.”
She snorted. “Did you bring my whiskey?”
“I did.” He pulled the bottle from his pocket. “One pint for one hour. I’ll bring an extra the next trip.”
The old witch smiled a toothless grin. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your woman?”
“No,” Sam snapped. “You didn’t see her. Do you understand? No woman was here with me.”
She shrugged. “Just like I don’t see this baby or that blood all over your shirt. As long as you bring me my whiskey, I’ll hold my tongue and not see a thing.” She turned, pulling her shawl over her head, and walked to the back door. “There’s stew on the stove and corn bread in the skillet. Nice to
not
meet you, miss.”
not
meet you, miss.”
Maggie watched her go. “Is that the woman they call the witch of Hideout Canyon?” Rumors had circulated about her for years. Maggie’s mother used to whisper about her to some of the ladies who came in the store. People said the old witch could make potions and stop a woman from having a baby or keep a cheating husband from wandering. She used to be the only midwife who’d travel out to the ranches. Maggie’s mother had been fascinated by legends and witches.
“That’s her,” Sam said, but his attention had turned to the child.
In her letters Maggie’s mom wrote her about the witch. A dozen years ago a fire had run the canyon. Her place had burned to the ground, but the old woman walked out once the ground cooled, her little herd of goats around her. Some said no one could have survived the fire, but she came covered in ashes and moving slowly like black smoke on a still night. Others believed that the witch had already been scarred by a fire in childhood and this one hadn’t touched her. Men even searched the canyon walls, but they found no cave wide enough to keep a woman and a dozen goats away from the fire.
After that the rumors grew. Some said any baby she delivered would be marked. People avoided her, and she took up the habit of yelling out at folks, calling them terrible names when she walked the roads. In an odd way Maggie felt lucky to have met her . . . pleased to know the legend was real.
Sam finally turned his attention back to her. “She’s no witch, though I don’t think all her mind remains.” He held up the child in his arms. “This is my son, Webster. He’s almost two and growing like a weed.”
“I thought you said . . .” She couldn’t bring herself to finish. The child obviously hadn’t died.
“My wife died delivering him. I said he weighed three pounds. The midwife who pulled him out told me he was dead and even if we fought to make him take air, he wouldn’t live more than a few days.”
Maggie stared at this man she thought she was beginning to understand and realized she didn’t know him at all. He didn’t seem to notice that the child was tugging on his beard.
Sam grinned and continued talking, though his attention was now on the boy. “I couldn’t do anything to help. The midwife just left him in the pan with the afterbirth while she tried to save my wife. When she ordered me out of the room, I took the pan. I thought he was dead and I ached to hear him cry out. I took him to the sink out by the barn and washed the blood off him, wanting to see my tiny son before I buried him. The cold water must have shocked his system. When he cried, I knew I had to help him fight for life. I picked him up and he grabbed my finger like he didn’t plan to ever let go.”
Maggie looked at the beautiful, healthy child leaning on Sam’s unharmed shoulder. Sam’s big hand patted him gently on the back as he walked slowly across the room.
He closed the door. “I’ll put him to bed and get the rest of your things.”
Maggie waited in the center of the big room as he walked up the stairs. She was almost afraid to touch anything. Not that there was much to touch. A high worktable with leather rigging stretched across it. A stool behind it. One rocker by the fire. One blue army-style blanket folded on the side of the wide hearth.
The room looked hollow.
She moved to the archway and peered into the kitchen. A stove, a sink, shelves set high on the wall with cans lined in order. Two hooks near the back door, one with chaps hanging from it and the other with a heavy, well-worn coat. A long table sat in the center of the room with two chairs. One had a pot turned over in the seat.
Again, Maggie had the feeling the room was hollow. Not lived in. Not a home. The house had enough to be serviceable, but not a home. There was no color, no keepsakes, nothing that told anything about the man and child who lived here, or the woman who’d once been the lady of the house. Maggie wondered if Sam’s wife had put up curtains or covered the table with a cloth, then added flowers. Maybe he’d removed it all to push the sadness of her death aside, but that made no sense—he had the sandy-headed child, who must favor his mother, for the child had none of his father’s dark hair or eyes.
“He’s asleep.” Sam startled her. “Nina always keeps him up talking to him, probably because no one else will listen to her. Luckily, Web doesn’t understand a word.”
“How did you keep him alive?” She saw this man before her in a totally different light.
“I took him to the canyon edge. Old Nina had built another dugout over the ruins of the one that had burned years ago. A few good rains brought back the grass, but the fired trees still stand like headstones around her place. I bought a goat from her and she said she’d keep the baby until I buried my wife. When I got back to the house, Danni’s family had come and taken her body. They blamed me for her death, and her father, who’d beat her all her life, threatened to kill me if I caused any trouble over them taking her home. No one asked about the baby. The midwife had told them it was stillborn.”
Maggie gulped down a sob.
Sam moved to the stove and shoved a log in. “I’ve never told anyone about the boy. My wife was fifteen when she crawled to my door and begged me to take her in. She’d been whipped until she couldn’t walk for a month. I doctored her up, and when she did walk, she moved like a shadow about this place. I’d never seen anyone afraid of everything. If we hadn’t married, her father would have taken her back home and continued abusing her until she died.
“If her father finds out the boy is here, he and his sons will come after Webster.” Sam moved a pot to the stove, then turned to face her. “They’d have to kill me to take my son, and I have no doubt they’d try. Old man Dolton placed no value on girls, but he keeps his two boys close.”
“Don’t worry, Samuel, I’ll keep your secret.” She moved toward him. “You could have told me earlier. I would have helped. There must be things you need for a baby. I could have helped you order them.”
“I’ve made do. What I couldn’t make, we did without, but thanks for the offer.”
She lifted her hands to his shoulders, carefully avoiding the bandage as she hugged him.
For a moment he was stiff, cold, as if he didn’t know what to do, then he curled into her as if he’d been freezing for years and she’d offered him the first warmth.
For a long while they just stood there, pressed together so close she could feel his heart pounding against her. He’d been standing so long against the world, she sensed he didn’t know how to let another person in.
Finally, he pulled away until she could look into his eyes. “Do you think it would be all right if I kissed you, Maggie?”
She felt her cheeks redden. She nodded, not trusting her voice.
He touched her lips lightly with his own, then straightened. “I’ve been wanting to do that for almost twenty years.”
She laughed. “I wish you’d done it before you grew that beard.”
“I’ll not do it again until the beard is gone.”
“Fair enough.”
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