Christmas Under Western Skies (3 page)

“I'd be pleased to serve in any way I can,” Nathan said. “I'm in your debt, Mrs. Cooper—and yours, Mr. Foster. After all, the two of you saved my life.”

“Sam,” the older man said. “Just Sam, and my wife's Glory. We'll get you on your feet and then move you over to our place in the next day or so. Let's see how you hold up over the next little bit. No sense in rushing this thing and you having a setback.” He sucked on his pipe. “Now, who's gonna help me unhitch that wagon out there?” Both children scrambled to put on their coats and follow him outside.

The silence was suddenly as thick as the smoke-filled air in the close room. The woman picked up some mending.

“May I know your given name?” he asked.

She seemed to consider his request for a long time. “Julianne,” she said.

“And your husband's?”

“Luke,” she replied, her fingers suddenly still on the fabric. Then she looked up at him, her gaze steady. “My husband died a year ago, Captain Cook.”

“I'm so sorry for your loss, ma'am,” Nathan said—and he was, but he also couldn't help feeling a certain comfort at the realization that in revealing this information, she had apparently decided to trust him.

E
ven after Nathan had been with the Fosters for almost three weeks, it seemed that Julianne Cooper's entire routine had been turned upside down. And she could place the blame for that squarely at the doorstep of one Nathan Cook. The man had a way of being the focus of attention whether he was present or not. Whenever Glory or Sam stopped by, their conversation was about him, and the twins were always curious to know how he was doing. And a parade of townspeople had made it their business to check in on Nathan at the Fosters, and on Julianne, as if they'd suddenly been reminded that she was managing alone now.

On the day that Glory pronounced Nathan well enough to be moved to their farm, Emma Putnam arrived at Julianne's house and, as usual, she was accompanied by her sister, Lucinda, and her daughter, Melanie.

“Good,” she announced in her booming voice. “It's high time you got the man out of here, Julianne. It's unseemly for a woman alone—”

“He was too ill,” Glory started to protest, but saw the futility of arguing, and pressed her lips together.

“And, Captain Cook,” Emma said, turning her attention to him, “you may as well accept that out here on the plains, we don't hold with any social hierarchy. The Fosters are every bit as welcome here and a part of this community as anyone else. I know you're from the South, but—”

“Yes, ma'am,” Nathan replied. He leaned heavily on Sam as the older man helped him from the bed and into the wagon. Julianne had followed with the buffalo robe to cover him.

“Oh, no ma'am,” he'd protested. “You'll be needing that—you and the children.”

“I have another, and Mr. Foster can bring this one back on his next visit,” she assured him.

He covered her hand with his, then and peered at her from beneath a fringe of thick, black lashes. “I thank God for bringing me to your home, Miz Cooper.”

Julianne had nodded curtly, and slid her hand from between the two of his. She wasn't sure what made her more uncomfortable, the fact that he'd given God the credit for his rescue, or the fact that she could still feel the warmth of his touch radiating through her fingers.

“Come inside this instant, Julianne,” Emma called from the doorway, “before you catch your death.

“Captain Cook is quite handsome,” Lucinda gushed, once Julianne had returned to the cabin and closed the door.

“Handsome is as handsome does,” Emma huffed.
“He's a Southerner, and that's cause for concern. We'll see how he handles himself, now that he's regaining his strength, Lucy—before we make any further assessment of the man's positive attributes.”

But whatever reservations Emma Putnam, or anyone else in the community of farmers and townspeople, might have had were erased entirely the first Sunday that Glory pronounced Nathan recovered enough to accompany her and Sam to church. It was the third Sunday of the month, and the circuit preacher was scheduled to hold services in the newly built schoolhouse. The children's desks had all been pushed against the walls and replaced with rows of long wooden benches.

The schoolyard was crowded with wagons and carriages, as farmers and townspeople gathered for the service that was as much an opportunity to socialize as it was to worship. But as the clock over the teacher's desk ticked off the minutes and then an hour, it was apparent that the preacher would not be coming.

“Well,” Jacob Putnam said as he stood up and moved to the lectern that served as a pulpit. “Seems we'll have no service today, folks. Shall we—”

“Begging your pardon, sir,” Sam Foster said, “but we've a chaplain right here. Perhaps he'd be willing to do a reading and give us a few words before we go?”

All eyes turned to Nathan. He was still gaunt and pale, even after weeks of Glory's cooking, but he stood up, his Bible in his hand. “I could say a few words,” he said, looking over the congregation, “if that's agreeable with all?”

There was a general murmur of assent and relief as Nathan made his way to the front of the room. In addition to the usual group that regularly attended services, this was the Sunday before the community's annual harvest homecoming, and the beginning of weeks of preparations for Christmas. The room was so packed with men, women and children that it made the fire in the school's potbelly stove almost unnecessary.

Julianne could not help but notice that Nathan was an impressive figure of a man. He was taller than most of the men in the room, and yet his size was not at all intimidating. In fact, he seemed to exude a kind of confidence and leadership that would naturally draw people to him.

He read a passage from the small Bible that Julianne recognized as the one she'd carefully dried along with his other papers—and his journal. She wished now that she had taken Glory's advice and read more of the journal, and couldn't help wondering what entry he'd made in his journal since leaving her cabin. It shocked her to realize that what she was really wondering was whether or not he might have mentioned her.

After a hymn, Nathan cleared his throat and looked out over the gathering. It was as if everyone had stopped breathing as they waited for the message this Southerner would bring them.

“I had the privilege of meeting young Master Luke Cooper a few weeks ago,” he began, and all eyes shifted to where Julianne sat between her two children.

“The boy asked me if I'd been on the winning side
of the war. Now, all of you good people know the outcome of that conflict by now, but I would say to you the same thing I told Master Cooper. There are no victories in war—only losses. The loss of sons and husbands and brothers and fathers—on both sides. The loss of family ties, as one member chooses one side and another chooses the other. The loss of homes and farms and businesses. The loss of unity among states in a nation founded on unity of purpose. The loss of community. And far above everything, often there has been the loss of faith.”

Julianne's head shot up. Was it possible that, in their brief conversation, this man had realized that she had lost her faith when Luke died? That in standing by helplessly as the man who had been her strength and protector faded away day by day, in pain and suffering, with his children watching, Julianne had questioned a god who could allow such a thing. And when Luke finally died, she had not prayed with the others, for she had spent all of her prayers and all of her tears, and it had come to nothing. God had not heard her cries for help.

But Nathan was not looking at her as she had expected. He was looking over the crowded room, his eyes skittering from one upturned face to another. “I am here to testify that faith can survive even the most horrific atrocities that man may inflict upon his fellow man. I am here to say that such faith can not only survive, it can sustain. Indeed, faith in God is man's only weapon against despair.”

Across the aisle from Julianne, Glory Foster's eyes
brimmed with tears, but she was smiling and nodding and murmuring, “Amen,” to each pronouncement out of Nathan's mouth as she clutched Sam's gnarled hand.

“A family is a precious thing,” he said, his voice softening. “Every man I ministered to on the battlefield thought first and last of family.”

Unconsciously, Julianne placed one hand on Luke's knee and the other on Laura's forearm.
Family. Her family. All she had, now that Luke was gone and her relatives back east had abandoned her because she had defied them to love a Yankee.
She felt her throat close as she thought about the promise she'd made to herself the night that Luke died. His dream—his life—would not have been in vain. She would work the land, maintain the homestead, and protect the legacy that he had wanted for her and their children.

“A community is like family. And although I have only been here a short time, from what I have seen,” Nathan continued, “this is a community that has come together to sink its roots deep into the tangled soil of the tall grasses. And now, as you enter this season of harvest and holy days, you have opened your homes and hearts to me—a stranger in your midst and I thank God and each of you for that blessing. Let us pray.”

In unison, every head bowed—even Julianne's.

 

After services, the schoolyard came alive with chatter, as everyone angled for a position to have a word with Nathan. Julianne watched from a distance, waiting for Glory and Sam to have their turn, before she and the
children drove to the Foster farm for the noon meal, as they had every Sunday since Luke's death.

She heard Jacob Putnam ask Nathan if he might consider a permanent position as minister of the church the community planned to build in the spring. She moved closer, unsure why his answer seemed so important.

“That's very flattering, sir,” Nathan replied. “But California is my destination. My brother is there and he's alone. Like I said before—a man needs to know he has family.”

“Contact your brother. Perhaps he might consider—”

“I don't know where he is, sir,” Julianne heard Nathan admit then he smiled down at the older man. “But I'd be more than pleased to offer services while I'm here, if that helps.”

“It does,” Jacob agreed. “And don't think you've heard the last of this. For some in this town, gathering for worship is about as close to family as they're likely to get.”

Julianne was sorting through the confusion of her feelings. Shouldn't she feel relief that he planned to move on come spring? Instead, her relief seemed to grow from the news that he would stay for the winter. Why should anything Nathan Cook did concern her in the least?

“Is the captain coming for Sunday dinner?” She heard Luke, Jr. ask as Sam led Glory across the snowpatched schoolyard to their wagon.

“Not today,” Glory replied. “Seems Emma Putnam has invited the church elders and the captain to her house.”

Julianne had little doubt that her friend was more than a little put out with this affront. “Maybe that's a good thing,” she suggested. “It certainly seems as if Emma has had a change of heart when it comes to Nathan— Captain Cook.”

Glory glanced over to where Emma was talking excitedly—and loudly—to Nathan, and frowned. “Will you listen to that? All of a sudden she's acting like she wanted to ask him to take the pulpit today all along—like it was her idea, not my Sam's.”

“Now Glory,” Sam placated.

“She's got her eye on him for other reasons, too. You mark my words, she'll have that scrawny daughter of hers sitting right beside him at the dinner table, but that simpering schoolmarm is no match for that young man. No, sir. He needs a woman who'll stand up to him, walk alongside him—not behind.”

Julianne could not help but notice that Glory was looking straight at her as she made these pronouncements.

 

Throughout the noon meal, all conversation continued to focus on Nathan. Julianne was never so glad to be on her way home. But even, there Nathan Cook's presence filled the tiny cabin.

“Mama?”

Julianne looked up from her needlework to see Laura holding the familiar journal.

“I think this belongs to the captain,” Laura said.

“Yes, you're right. It must have slipped out of his sad
dlebag when he left us. I'll see that he gets it,” Julianne promised, taking the book from her daughter.

So there was the answer to her silly, girlish ruminations about whether or not he might have made mention of her in his writings. How could he, when the journal had been here the entire time?

She fanned the pages with her thumb, catching a word here and there. “Jake” was a word she saw more than once as were the words “faith” and “blessed”.

The jingle of a harness outside the cabin door made Julianne lay the journal aside as the twins abandoned their game of tiddledywinks and rushed to see who might have come to call. For weeks after Luke died, neighbors had dropped by unannounced several times a day. In some cases, they had been simply curious, clearly half-expecting to find Julianne in the process of packing up for the trip back east. Others had been more direct in their purpose. Emma Putnam came with advice—in her view, Julianne was simply being stubborn and doing her “precious little ones” no favor by refusing to leave.

“It's the captain,” Luke, Jr., announced, then threw open the door, bringing in a rush of cold air and a dusting of snow. Nathan ducked to clear the low doorway, removing his hat as he did so. He ruffled Luke's hair and smiled at Laura before turning his attention to Julianne.

“Hello,” he said softly, his eyes meeting hers with so steady a gaze that she looked away.

“Well, this is a pleasant surprise,” she said, sounding more like Emma Putnam than herself. She picked up the
journal. “I expect you've come for this,” she continued in a more normal tone. “Laura found it under the bed. It must have fallen out of your saddlebag.”

Nathan took it from her and chuckled. “Just goes to show how busy I've been. I didn't even miss it. Writing in it was just a way I used to keep myself company on the trail. But since I moved in with the Fosters, and—what did you think of the service this morning?”

Julianne was taken aback at the sudden change of subject, but Luke rushed in to fill the void. “I was kind of hoping for more stories about the fighting,” he said.

“Luke, I believe that you and your sister have chores to attend?”

“Yes, ma'am,” the twins replied in unison, as they collected their outer garments and headed for the door.

“Want me to stable your horse?” Luke asked.

“He'll be fine, but thank you anyway.”

Luke looked disappointed.

“Come to think of it,” Nathan called after him, “Ol' Salt would probably appreciate some water if you could crack the ice on that bucket I saw out there.”

“Yes, sir,” Luke replied, and ran from the house leaving his sister to make sure the door was closed.