Christmas Under Western Skies (13 page)

They all knew he was escaping Kathy's distress.

Derek stepped back into the room, deep lines gouged around his mouth, dark misery in his eyes. She'd seen the same distress every bedtime and every morning when Kathy headed down the road to the little schoolhouse on the corner, Derek at her side.

She now knew enough to have a pot of tea ready when Kathy finally went to sleep.

She poured him a cup and edged the sugar bowl closer.

Derek spooned sugar into his tea. At the fourth
spoonful, she knew he wasn't aware of what he did and she pushed the bowl away. He stirred his tea. Round and round and round, the spoon tinkling on the china with a cheerless tolling.

“She's been like this since the accident.”

Winnie nodded, though he didn't look at her. “She told me her mama and a sister and brother died.”

“In a train wreck on their way out here.” His voice was harsh. “I was supposed to be with them, but I decided at the last minute to let them travel alone.”

She murmured a sound she hoped indicated she heard. If he needed to talk she would listen. She could do that much without getting involved with this family's distress—without letting her emotions crawl up her throat and reach out to Derek.

Then she would go to Banff. A uniform. A job. A room. All she wanted or needed.

“I should have been with them.”

Shock jolted through her veins. Did he mean he wished he'd died? “Good thing you weren't. Otherwise, who would take care of Kathy?”

“How can I hope to protect her? Life just happens.”

“Life is in God's hands.”

He jerked up to face her. “I suppose your life has fit into neat little slots, so it's easy for you to say that.”

She laughed. “Yes, that would explain why I was sleeping in your barn.”

He looked a little uncertain.

She couldn't resist the urge to further upset his idea of
how easy her life was. “I know more about how Kathy is feeling than you could ever believe.”

“Huh?”

He doubted her, did he? Well, she would soon enough convince him. “When I was seven, my parents gave me to my aunt and uncle and moved west with no forwarding address.”

He looked suitably shocked. Or was he perhaps disbelieving?

“My aunt and uncle were childless and my parents had seven children.”

“So you ended up in a better home?”

“One might think so, except my aunt then had two children.” After their own children arrived, her aunt and uncle had used Winnie as a servant. She'd moved to an attic room and ran errands from dawn to dusk. She'd done so willingly, eagerly, certain she would earn affection and approval. “My aunt died giving birth to a third who didn't live.” Her security had died with her. “My uncle married a young neighborhood woman within a few months, and the new wife wanted nothing to do with a child that belonged to neither of them. At twelve, I was hired out to the Anderson family.” She tried to keep her voice light. As if it didn't still hurt.

“How did you come to be working for the Krauses?” No doubt he still thought she was fabricating all the details.

“After four years with the Andersons, they decided they didn't need me anymore.” So much for all the talk
about how valuable she was. Just like a member of the family. “I was hired by the Krauses then.”

“How long were you with them?”

“Two years.” She clamped her mouth shut. She would say nothing further. When she went to the Krauses she'd promised herself there would be no more dreams of belonging. She'd do her job well. Give them no reason to dismiss her. But she would be content to be a servant.

Only, Moira and Reginald had invited her to take part in family activities, taken her on family vacations. Given her hope. Fueled her dreams.

She'd been so foolish to think she could belong. All it had taken was a letter from a cousin in Germany saying she wanted to visit, perhaps relocate to the Canadian west, and Winnie had been told her services were no longer needed.

Derek touched the back of her hand. “I'm sorry.”

She jerked away, her heart thudding against her ribcage like an overwound clock. “I don't need your pity. I welcome the chance to be able to work in Banff. I hear it's a beautiful place.”

He dropped his hand to his lap and looked past her. “I heard that, too.”

A thick silence hung between them. She pushed her chair back, intending to excuse herself and go to her room.

“Perhaps you do understand how she feels. I share her sorrow but I don't know how to help her.”

Winnie shrugged. “Everyone handles trials in their own way.”

Derek's gaze bore into hers, dark, challenging, maybe more. Maybe seeking. “How do you deal with yours?”

A great vacuum sucked at her insides. She tried to pull her gaze away, couldn't. “That's easy. I trust myself to God's care. He will never leave me nor forsake me. He holds me in the palm of His hands.”

His mouth pulled down at the corners. “My mama believed the same thing and look what happened to her.” His breath whooshed out. “And despite your trust in God, you spend the night sleeping in a barn. How can you say He is taking care of you?”

She chuckled softly. “Well, I wasn't asleep in the barn of a cruel man, so I suppose He was watching over me.” Had God sent her here for a purpose? To help Kathy. What could she do in a month?

Could she risk her heart becoming involved?

The wind sighed about the house as she considered her answer. An alternative sprang to her mind. Something she'd wondered about a few times. “Why don't you get married? Surely, that would give Kathy security.”

He jerked to his feet, his fists curled on the table top. “I have no intention of marrying. Ever.”

“I can tell you have mixed feelings.”

He stared at her then laughed. “Sorry. I was a bit vehement, wasn't I?”

“I barely noticed. But tell me, why are you so set against marriage?”

He settled back to his chair. “I have Kathy to care for. That's my focus.”

“Seems to me marriage would make that easier.”

His mouth tightened. He shook his head. “I don't need another person to take care of. To worry about. To always know I couldn't protect them as I ought.”

“You feel responsible for your mother's death?”

“Wouldn't you, in my shoes?”

She lifted one shoulder. “I have no idea how I'd feel.”

“My father died when I was seventeen, after years of illness. His parting words were to take care of the family. I failed completely.”

She wanted to comfort him. Give him something to encourage him. Her heart stalled at crossing a boundary she had created to protect herself from growing too close to people.

Quivering with reluctance, she slipped her hand over to rest on the back of his.

He stiffened but didn't pull away.

“You only fail when you don't care.”

His eyes darkened enough to match the night outside the window. His gaze searched hers.

She didn't know what he sought, only knew she couldn't provide it. This time she would not let her heart open up to the people of this home. This was a job. Nothing more.

“I care.” His voice thickened with emotion.

“I know you do.” Despite her best resolve, she ached to experience such caring on her behalf. Determinedly, she pushed aside the yearning, refused to acknowledge it. “So you haven't failed.”

He turned his hand and squeezed hers. “Thank you for saying so.”

The air between them shimmered with promise. Hope. Unfulfilled dreams. A wish for things to change that could not change, a desire to go back to happier times, happier places. Or better yet, find new happiness. Her heart flooded with sadness as wide as the sky. She scrubbed her lips together and tried to stifle the ache threatening to suck her inside out. Her hand squeezed Derek's without her permission. She tried to pull away. Couldn't make her arm obey. Something deep, gut level, bound her to him.

D
erek blinked, realized he clung to Winnie's hand and pulled away. “Thanks for the tea.” And more. Her understanding. The comfort of her touch.

He jerked to his feet. He needed neither. He turned toward the hall, heading for his room. “I'll say good night.”

Why had he let himself be drawn into her words? Why had he gripped her hand like Kathy did his on the way to school? He wasn't a frightened child. He needed no one. Wanted no one. Kathy was his responsibility, and he feared he couldn't live up to that adequately. He sat on the edge of his bed and looked at the calendar. December third. The Faringtons would arrive the twenty-seventh. Until then, they had to make do with Winnie's help.

She'd proven herself capable enough at housework. But he didn't need her comfort or words of encouragement.

It sure beat him, how she could believe God was in control when she'd been shoved from pillar to post. He clenched his fists, gritted his teeth. Why did life have to be so harsh? She surely didn't deserve such unkindness.

Any more than Kathy deserved to be orphaned.

He slipped into bed and pulled the covers to his neck, but lay staring at the darkness of his room.

He could only do his best, even if his best had never been enough to protect his family.

He would not let himself care about another person. He'd never marry and take on more responsibility.

Kathy had been hurt by so many people. He must remind her Winnie was only here a month, warn her not to get fond of her.

Next morning, he prepared to walk Kathy to school when Uncle Mac burst into the house. “Derek, the cows are in the feed stack. I need a hand getting them out.”

He hesitated. By the time he returned from the school, the cows would have trampled the stacks into bedding.

“I can stay home?” Kathy seemed pleased with the thought.

“Aren't you practicing for the Christmas concert? Seems you need to be there.”

She whimpered. “Don't make me go.”

“Derek, come on. I can't do this on my own.” Uncle Mac waited with his hand on the door. “Winnie, could you take her to school today?”

Kathy wouldn't go to school on her own. But Derek didn't want her learning to depend on Winnie. Wasn't
that what he'd decided just last night? Yet Uncle Mac couldn't get the cows out by himself. Derek couldn't be two places at the same time.

Winnie watched him, her eyes knowing and patient, as if she read his uncertainty.

He'd shared too much the previous evening. Given her reason to think she understood him. He composed his face to reveal none of his confusion, and turned to Kathy. “Would you go with Winnie?”

Her face wrinkled, ready for a good wail.

“Just this one time.” He hated to turn her over to anyone else.

“I would love to see your schoolroom,” Winnie said. “Do you have some work to show me?”

“The teacher hung a picture I drew on the wall.”

“Would you show me?”

“I guess.”

“Good. That's settled.” Uncle Mac opened the door. “Now let's get those cows back where they belong.”

Derek hesitated a moment.

“Say goodbye to your brother,” Winnie said softly.

He knew her words were meant for him. Telling him to say goodbye to Kathy.

“I'll meet you after school and walk you home,” he promised.

Kathy nodded, and he had no choice but to join Uncle Mac.

 

By the time they chased the cows back and fixed the broken spot in the fence, he was sweating from exertion.
He glanced toward the house. “I should have let her stay home until I could take her.”

“She'll be fine with Winnie. That young woman has her head on solid. She's good with Kathy. Just what she needs. Just what we all need.”

“Hardly.”

“Take off the blinders, my boy. She's a good looker—”

“I never said she wasn't.” She'd cleaned up real good from his first glimpse of her climbing, bedraggled, from the hay. “That's not the point.”

“She's efficient.”

“I guess so.”

“And steady. Why, I bet she would be loyal to the death.”

“All I need is someone else to worry about.”

Uncle Mac faced him squarely. “What you need is to stop taking yourself so seriously.”

Winnie crossed the yard on her way back from school and went into the house, her step light, as if she had not a worry in the world.

Derek knew better. She had no home, her family was lost to her and what she owned fit into a small bag. She should be weighed down with uncertainty. Was she so simpleminded she didn't realize it?

Uncle Mac must have read his mind. “She's learned to enjoy the present without worrying about the future.”

Derek snorted. “Sounds irresponsible to me.”

The older man sighed deeply, obviously frustrated with Derek. “Like I said, you take yourself and life too
seriously. Sometimes I get the feeling you think you need to tell God how to rule the world.”

Derek strode away. If he said what he thought, his uncle would likely have a fit, but it seems God didn't take care of things the way He promised to.

 

Winnie had tried to stay uninvolved with Kathy's angst as they trudged toward school. But Kathy kept glancing over her shoulder.

“Derek will pick you up after class,” she assured the child.

“What if he forgets?”

Winnie laughed softly. “As if he would. He'll never forget you.”

“Something might happen to him.”

Winnie had stopped and squatted to eye level and grasped Kathy's shoulders. “Bad things happen. I can't pretend they don't. But you can't change the future by borrowing worry from tomorrow and trying to carry it today. All of us can only live life one day at a time.”

Kathy's dark eyes considered Winnie.

Winnie pressed her point. “You miss out on the good things of today by worrying about tomorrow. Hardly seems like a good idea.”

Kathy looked back toward the farm. “I can't see the house.”

Winnie realized Kathy was a few inches too short to see the peak of the house. “Would you feel better if you could see it?”

“I'd know it was there.”

 

By the time Winnie returned home she had an idea.

She dug into a box of rags and pulled out a bit of heavy denim, then headed for the barn.

She found Uncle Mac outside, pounding nails into a raw-looking plank of wood. For some inexplicable reason, she did not make her request to Mac. “Where can I find Derek?”

“Try the pen over there.” He pointed down the alley way. “He was working with one of the young horses.

Give out a call so you don't startle them.”

“It can wait.”

Mac scrubbed at his whiskered chin. “Whatever is on your mind was enough to bring you out here, so you might as well get it done. 'Sides, Derek needs to think about something besides work and responsibility.

I'm thinking you might be able to nudge him in that direction.”

She wrinkled her nose at him. “That's not exactly what I had in mind.”

Mac waved her away. “Don't stop an old man from dreaming dreams.”

“Even if I tell you it's impossible? Not what either of us wants?”

“Could be the good Lord brought you here for such a thing as this.” He pounded on a nail, making any protest useless. She shrugged and headed in the direction he'd indicated. What difference did an old man's opinion make? Didn't change anything. Any more than
her wishes had changed anything in the past. Or Derek's worries could prevent troubles in the future.

Ahead, beyond the wooden rails, Derek's voice came to her, calm, reassuring, just as when he talked to Kathy. Safe, sheltering. Her steps slowed, she dragged her mitten along the rough wood, catching and ripping off slivers, tempting them to stab her, yet knowing pain and blood from an injured finger would not ease the emptiness sucking at her soul. She stood stark still, dropped her hands to her side and drew in air, cool, laden with the scent of animals and snow off the mountains. She let the air settle deep into her lungs, holding it until she'd leeched it of all oxygen. Only then did she let her breath out, and keep within her the strength it had given.

She had no one. She needed no one. Especially not someone who resented another person in his life. She did not need his gentle words. His calm assurance. All she wanted was enough money to continue her journey to Banff.

She'd given her word to stay until the Faringtons arrived.

Her conscience dictated she help Kathy as much as she could. Perhaps that's why God had brought her here.

Not because of Derek, as Mac suggested.
Lord, use me, protect me, help me.

Strengthened by reality and determination, she called out, “Derek, are you there?” and waited for his response.

Silence filled her ears. Then he answered. “Hang on
while I release the horse.” A moment later he vaulted the fence. He dragged his gaze over her and glanced beyond her.

“Is something wrong?”

“No. Kathy got to school safely. I met her teacher and saw the room. Admired her drawing. She has a nice touch with crayons and paper. Even the teacher said her drawings were expressive.”

He leaned against the fence. “You came here to tell me that?”

It wasn't her purpose in seeking him out, but she was happy enough to relieve the concern he couldn't hide.

“I do have another reason for being here.” She explained what she had in mind.

His eyebrows climbed toward his hairline, but before he could voice an opinion she was certain would be contrary, she added, “What does it hurt? And it might help.”

He shrugged. “I'll have to get the ladder.”

She followed him to a shed where he pulled out a ladder, then she trotted after him to the house and watched as he nailed the flag of denim to a pole and attached the pole to the peak of the house.

“She should be able to see that from the school. It will give her something to watch.”

Derek climbed down and stood beside her, staring up at the flapping, faded blue material. “You think it's enough to get her to walk home alone?”

“I can't say. It will take time for her to get over her fears.” She refrained from pointing out that he and Mac
seem to feed them, rather than give her tools to deal with them. “At the very least, she can look out from the schoolyard and know the house is still here, and by association, assume you and Mac are here as well.”

“Seems too easy.”

“Sometimes the answers are easier than we an ticipate.”

He faced her, his eyes full of dark intensity, seeking answers to questions he hadn't voiced—perhaps that he didn't even have words for. “Is that how you see life?” He made the idea sound silly.

“I know life is complicated—”

“Unpredictable? Uncontrollable?”

His driving questions scraped her nerves. She preferred to believe God controlled things. “Personally, I don't want to see the end, the turns in the road. I think if I did, I would live in constant fear.”

“You mean like me?” His voice carried a low warning, informing her he didn't care for her evaluation.

She decided to turn the conversation in another direction. “I was thinking of Kathy. Living in fear doesn't change what might come. It only robs you of enjoyment of good things.”

“I prefer to call it caution.”

She ached to have him understand the difference between the two. Longed to see him know peace. “I learned some hard but valuable lessons. I wouldn't have chosen to be taught by them, but I also don't intend to waste what I've learned.”

His look silently demanded an explanation. She
couldn't tell if he wanted to understand, or simply to hear her answer so he could refute it.
Lord, You have taught me to trust You even in difficult circumstances. If there is some way I can make him see it's possible, then use me, guide me.

“I prayed for a home, instead God gave me contentment. I asked for love, instead He gave me peace. I tried to find my family, asked Him to help me. I found no clue of where they had gone, but I found instead, satisfaction in knowing I am loved by God. That is more than enough.”

“I don't believe you.”

His blunt words hammered at her self-assurance. She clung with deeply embedded fingernails to what she said. “You're accusing me of deceit?”

“I think you've deceived yourself if you believe you are content and happy to be homeless, with no family and alone in the world.”

His accusation tore her fingernails away, leaving her heart in shreds. He had excavated a truth she couldn't face. It was too hurtful, too destructive.

“Believe whatever you want.” She congratulated herself on keeping her voice gentle, revealing none of the pain pulsing through her. “I know God loves me. What more do I need?” So much more she couldn't face. “Be sure and tell Kathy to watch for the flag and take comfort in the fact that the house is there. You and Mac are here, too.” She turned and headed indoors.

“Winnie, I didn't mean to hurt you. I'm sorry.”

She gave no indication that she heard him.

 

Why had he pushed her so hard? What benefit was there in poking at her wounds? In making her acknowledge their pain? He should have quit prodding before he made her bleed.

As he returned to gentling the young gelding he'd bought in the fall, he tried to think how to undo what he'd done. Not that he didn't believe she was hiding her real feelings.

But by the time she clanged the metal triangle to signal dinner, he still didn't know how to explain he hadn't meant to inflict pain. What
was
his intention? To make her face the truth.

Why? Would he feel better if she worried as much as he did, if she bemoaned the facts of her life?

No. He had come to admire her optimism, perhaps even relish it. But it also accused him. Made him aware of his own shortcomings in trusting God, and that in turn made him defensive.