Although Leona had been on Prince’s back a few times before, it was usually with her father walking alongside to catch her, just in case she slid off. As Leona got used to riding Prince, Murdock occasionally allowed her to hold the reins while he held the bridle and walked Prince slowly, calmly assuring the animal with a whisper that the little girl on his back was not something to be afraid of, for neither Prince nor King were riding horses in the true sense. Indeed, they were used strictly as pulling horses and thus were not accustomed to having anything on their backs except their nearly weightless harnesses. Even so, the few times that Prince had carried Leona around the field was enough that the huge animal reacted calmly when the little girl pulled herself onto his back this time.
As Prince moved along at a moderate pace after hearing her “giddy-yup” command, Leona had all she could do to retain her seat on the powerful equine, with her little body bouncing helplessly on its back like a Raggedy Ann doll. Fortunately, there were plenty of straps on the harness to hold onto. Indeed, the little girl was able to slide her legs inside some of the harness straps, which essentially kept her tied to the horse. That was an immeasurable help that luckily kept her from slipping off. Leona was more than grateful that Murdock had allowed her to ride Prince bareback, because—although not totally comfortable at the prospect of riding him alone—the feel of his huge, muscular body under her wasn’t totally foreign.
Prince had only been carrying Leona a few hundred feet when she realized something: It was almost as if Murdock’s stallion sensed that her father was in trouble and felt the urgency that Leona was feeling. Undoubtedly, the horse also felt the trembling of Leona’s body and realized that he needed to be careful while carrying the scared little girl home. Moreover, the astute horse also realized that it must quicken its pace to meet the urgency of the situation without going so fast that she would have trouble staying on his back.
Gradually Prince increased the pace until he was satisfied that he had found just the right compromise. The muscular white horse held that quickened pace for as long as possible, slowing only when the precarious footing became too treacherous. When Leona realized what the horse was doing, she thought:
“So that’s what Papa meant when he said he liked working for Mr. Fogg because he had so much horse sense.”
—1—
Leona had been riding Prince homeward for only 15 minutes or so, and was well within sight of the School Road—“maybe it’s another 15 minutes to home,” she thought—when the frantic girl noticed a man walking with his back to her, only a few feet up ahead on the road. The heavily clothed man was carrying a shotgun in his left hand and he was wearing a red hunter’s cap with its earflaps pulled down, but not tied around his neck. He carried a dead rabbit and two dead pheasants over his right shoulder.
“Help!” she called out to the stranger.
He turned, saw the terrified look on the young girl’s face, and said: “What’s the matter, lil’ miss?”
“My Papa fell off his wagon, and I think he’s hurt real bad. He can’t move. Can you help me?” Leona pleaded.
“Where is your Papa?” the stranger asked.
“About 15 to 20 minutes back this road, on a side trail.”
The man wasted no time in responding to Leona’s plea. He threw his kill into the ditch, placed his shotgun in his right hand, grabbed the horse’s bridle with his left, and started walking as fast as he could down the Stream Road, with Leona still clinging to Prince’s back.
“Hold on tight,” he said; and then he asked her a question. “What’s your father’s name?”
“Papa … Ah. I mean, Murdock Haley. We live on Ohio Street, right across from the Winter Fun Road.”
“Don’t recollect hearing of that road, miss, but I’ve heard of Murdock Haley. He’s a good man, so I understand. And what’s your name, young lady?”
“Leona. And my Mama’s name is Margaret.” And for some inexplicable reason she blurted out: “She’s the best cook in Glenburn.”
Leona instantly wondered why she offered that bit of trivia to the stranger, given that her father was hurt and lying unconscious in the snow.
“I’ll hav’ta try some of her cooking one of these days,” the stranger replied.
He was trying to keep the young girl in conversation so she would remain calm. His tactic worked, mainly because there was something in the man’s demeanor and voice that made Leona at ease and somehow assured that everything would soon be okay. His amiable demeanor seemed non-threatening and his reassuring voice had a mysterious soothing effect on her; and, for some reason unbeknownst to her, she was now much less worried about her father. Before that, Leona was so concerned that she was almost in a fog and didn’t see the stranger’s face clearly when they first met, even though it was clean-shaven and in full view. Now she could only see the man’s back as he was walking down the road with unmistakable urgency, so much so that he dared not turn around to face the girl when he needed to asked questions. The urgent task at hand was all he could think about right now, and his concentration on the rocky and now very treacherous snow-covered road up ahead was imperative. So Leona could only wonder who the stranger was, and if she had ever met or even seen him before.
When the stranger heard Leona say that her father couldn’t move, the first thing he thought was that a broken neck or injured spinal column was a real possibility. If that were indeed the case he knew that they had to find Murdock as soon as possible, in the event that his breathing was impaired. Because of that real possibility the stranger considered running ahead or maybe even leaving Leona behind and riding the horse himself, but he decided against that because he needed the little girl to show him exactly where to go.
Even if she could give him directions to the trail her father was on, he couldn’t take the chance that she might be mistaken. He knew all too well that panic often causes disorientation, even in the most reliable grownup, and this was just a 10-year-old girl. Besides, it had been snowing so hard and the wind was blowing so strong that the tracks Prince had made were nearly impossible to see and were quickly disappearing altogether, so he had to rely on the little girl’s help.
—2—
After 15 minutes the snow finally let up; a few minutes later Leona spoke.
“Mister! We have to turn left, somewhere up ahead, I think.”
“Okay, you let me know where, Leona.”
When they reached the portion of the Stream Road where five trails were clustered, Leona wasn’t sure which trail her father took.
“Slow up, mister. We have to turn off on one of these trails.”
“Which one?” the stranger asked.
“I’m not really sure. When my father and I made the turn I wasn’t paying close attention. I was sitting on the right side, peering into the woods on the right when he turned left. And now with the snow on them, the trails all look the same.”
“Well, do the best you can, Leona, and try to find the right trail. We’ll stop at each one so you can study them. Maybe you’ll see something you recognize.”
When they stopped at the first two trails, Leona couldn’t tell for sure if one of them was the trail she had been on or not, but she thought not. The third trail looked familiar to her, but again she couldn’t be sure.
“Do you think we should try taking this trail, Leona?”
“Nope, let’s go on,” the little girl answered. Upon coming to the fourth trail, Leona called out: “This is it! This is the trail my Papa took.”
“Are you sure, Leona?”
“Yup, I recognize that old tree way down there, because of that white thing in it.”
“What white thing? I don’t see anythin’ white down there, ‘cept the snow on the evergreens.”
“No, the dead tree. See the white spot way up high, near the top.”
“Oh yes. I see it. Okay, hang on tight. Let’s go, boy,” the stranger said to Prince.
Leona had all she could do to stay on the fast moving horse. She noticed that the mysterious stranger had an urgency about him now, as he was almost running down the trail. Within two minutes they were passing the large, dead tree, and Leona looked up at it. Again, the white object that she had seen twice before was gone.
“That’s funny,” she thought.
Finally, after what seemed like another thirty minutes instead of the ten it actually took, they came upon the wagon.
“There it is!” Leona shouted.
At first, the stranger didn’t see anyone lying near the wagon or anywhere in sight of it for that matter, so he became concerned. However, as they got closer he noticed a dark bundle under the wagon and realized that it must be Leona’s father.
“Was he run over by the wagon?” he asked.
“No, he just fell off it and hit his head,” she replied.
The stranger ran to the wagon and threw aside the log and the two rocks Leona had placed on the canvas. Then he cautiously removed the canvas that covered the injured man and was surprised to see that he was wrapped in two heavy blankets. As he knelt beside him, with Leona standing by his side, the stranger felt Murdock’s neck for a pulse. It seemed normal to him; and the warmth of his skin, in addition to seeing that his clothes were dry, told the old man that the canvas and warm blankets Leona had thoughtfully wrapped her father in had done the intended job.
“Leona, did you put your father under the wagon?” he asked.
“Yup. I didn’t want Papa getting covered with snow.”
“You did a real good job, young lady,” he said. “Your father likely wouldn’t have died from exposure, but he could have gotten very bad frostbite lying here exposed to the wind. Your Mama’s gonna be real proud of you.”
Leona smiled, and then smiled even harder when she heard what the stranger had to say next.
“I don’t think your father is hurt bad,” he assured her. “His breathing is normal. The only thing I can see wrong with him is a bruised cheekbone and a large bump on his head. I’m sure he was just knocked unconscious when he hit the ground. Let’s see if we can get him onto the wagon.”
Leona was noticeably relieved to hear the man’s prognosis. She quickly pulled the newly cut Christmas tree from the wagon and the stranger stored it in the woods for safekeeping.
“You and your father can come back for the tree when he’s recovered,” he told Leona upon returning to the wagon. “It looks like the snow has stopped falling for good now, so you won’t have to dig it out.”
She helped the stranger wipe four inches of dry snow off the wagon using a small shovel and straw broom Murdock kept on his slagon; and as they pulled on the canvas to extract Murdock from beneath it, he began to move. Leona was happy when she saw that her father had come to and was able to climb onto the wagon with the stranger’s help, but her happiness was short-lived because he was still extremely groggy and was experiencing blurred vision. As a result, he wasn’t quite sure where he was, or who he was. The stranger quickly harnessed Prince to the wagon and hopped onto the front seat, while Leona rode in the back with her father. She covered him with blankets and laid his head on her lap.
“I’ll take it nice and slow with the wagon so as not to jostle your father,” the stranger assured Leona. “Let me know if it gets too rough.”
Because the going was so slow, the usual 30-minute trip back to the Haleys’ took nearly 45 minutes. When Leona sensed the wagon turning left, she looked up and spotted the Haleys Trail sign, immediately feeling instant relief and then overwhelming exhilaration knowing that they would be home in a couple of minutes. When the wagon arrived at the edge of the woods, only 300 feet from the Haleys’ house, which was just coming into sight, the stranger stopped the wagon and asked Leona a question.
“How’s your father doing, Leona?”
“He seems to be getting better,” she answered.
“That’s good. Do you think you can drive this wagon by yourself?”
“Oh yes,” she responded, “my Papa taught me how. He even lets me drive the wagon around the field by myself when King and Prince need exercise.”
“Good. Your dad is gonna be okay, so I want you to climb into the front seat and take him the rest of the way home. I’ve gotta get back for my kill before a wolf gets at it.”
As he was waving goodbye, Leona took a real good look at the mysterious stranger’s face for the first time. He had a pleasant enough looking face, although fairly wrinkled, yet handsome and dignified in an odd sort of way, not unlike Abe Lincoln she thought. The clean-shaven man appeared to be only a few years older than her father. Leona thanked him as he walked away. It was then that she realized how lucky she was to find him walking on Stream Road.
“He could’ah been walking on any of the other trails and I would’ah missed him,” she thought. “Then Papa might’ta been lying there unconscious for a good hour, instead of only twenty minutes.”
“Hey, mister!” she yelled. “When you come back this way, please stop in and have some of my Mama’s good cooking.”
The man turned, smiled at the young girl, said, “Sure thing,” and then continued on his way.
“Oh, mister,” she yelled again, “I didn’t catch your name?”
This time he just kept walking.
“Guess he didn’t hear me. Now, how can I tell Mama who saved Papa?” she wondered.
—3—
“Lillian, are you keeping a close eye on Wally?” Margaret yelled from the kitchen.
“Yes, Mama,” she answered.
“Where is he?”
“He’s here in the living room with me, sitting on the floor and coloring in his book.”
“Oak-kee-doak, watch him real close. And, Lillian, please keep an eye out for Leona and your father too; and let me know when you see them coming. I want them to fetch me some firewood for the stove.”
“Okay, Mama.”
“Thanks, dear.”
Every now and then Lillian glanced out the large picture window toward the woods trail that her father had taken in search of a Christmas tree. It was almost noon when she saw Leona driving the wagon across the back field. She ran into the kitchen and screamed:
“Mama, Leona’s driving the wagon, and I don’t see Papa!”
Out the door Margaret flew with an anxious look on her face.
“Leona, where’s your father?” she asked.
“He’s in the back of the wagon,” her daughter calmly replied.
“What in God’s name happened?”
“Papa fell off the wagon and bumped his head on a rock.”
Margaret gasped, rushed to the wagon, and struggled to help her still groggy husband into the house and onto their bed. Since the Haleys still had no telephone, she yelled to Lillian:
“Lil, hurry on down to your grandmother’s and ask her to call Dr. Gifford. And make sure she tells the doctor we need him here right away.”
Margaret had finally found a physician she liked and trusted, thanks to Mrs. Murphy. As they waited for Dr. Gifford to arrive, Leona told the story about the mysterious stranger who helped save her father’s life, with Margaret listening in disbelief. She found it hard to believe that Murdock was thrown off his own wagon. He was always so careful and seemed so strong that Margaret had come to see her husband as almost infallible, if not invincible.
“Thank God Leona ran into the hunter,” she said to Arlene. “I wonder who it was? I thought I knew, or knew of, everyone in West Glenburn, but from Leona’s description I can’t even hazard a guess who it could have been; he sounds like no one I know. Maybe he’s a hunter from the other side of town, or more likely from a neighboring town. But I wonder how he knew about Murdy? Anyway, I’m glad that fate placed him in the woods today; and, even more, in the right place, at the right time. Who knows what would’ah happened if your father had to lay there unattended for another hour or so.”
—4—
Within two hours of receiving Eunice’s call, Dr. Gifford arrived at the Haleys’ in his familiar shiny gray buggy, with his black doctor’s bag sitting on the seat next to him.
“What’s wrong, Margaret?” the doctor asked as he jumped down from the buggy. “My wife said Eunice’s call sounded urgent. All she told me was that Murdock was hurt bad and that I needed to get here quick.”
After Margaret filled in the details, the doctor examined Murdock and, just as the stranger had predicted, found nothing seriously wrong, except for the bump on his head.
“Mr. Haley, why don’t you hop out of bed and try to stand up?” he said.
When Murdock did as the doctor ordered, he felt dizzy and fell back onto the bed.
“Can you tell me your name?” the doctor asked.
Murdock responded: “Wallace Haley.”
“Good try, Murdy,” he joked, “but I think you’d better stay in bed just’ah skoatch longer.
When he came out of the bedroom, Dr. Gifford spoke to Margaret. Her children, sisters, Eunice, and a handful of concerned neighbors who had dropped by, listened attentively.
“Murdy’s still groggy,” the doctor began. “He thinks he’s your son Wally.”
“Oh my God!” Arlene said. “If I thought I was Wally, I’d kill myself.”
The room exploded with laughter.
“Anyway,” the doctor said, “Murdy should be hunky-dory in a day or two. Just make sure he stays in bed until he remembers his name and until he can walk without assistance. Give him one of these pills every four hours. And call me if he isn’t markedly better by tomorrow.”
“I’ll do that,” a relieved Margaret said. “Thank you so much for coming out so quick, Dr. Gifford. Wait right here a second while I fetch something for you, to show my appreciation.”
“Well, we’ll be going now, sis,” Mae said. “Tell Murdy we said to get better soon.” Then she and Maude climbed aboard her carriage and headed home, and the neighbors said their goodbyes and left.
Margaret went into the kitchen and when she returned she handed the doctor a paper bag.
“Here you go, Dr. Gifford, take some of my molasses cookies home to your wife. They’re fresh baked.”
“Thanks, Maggie. Martha will be mighty pleased to see these,” he laughed. “She doesn’t mean anything bad by it, but she’s always saying that she wishes I had to make a couple-of-trips-a-week to the Haleys’ so she could enjoy more of your delicious cookies, and I feel the same way. But don’t you folks go getting sick just to make the two of us happy.”
Margaret and the kids laughed. Her children laughed hardest of all, because they knew just how good their mother’s cookies were. “Good enough to cure what ails you,” Murdock always said. In fact, the first time he said it a new idea was born in the minds of the Haley children. Pretending to be sick was always a good trick that they used successfully to get out of going to church on Sunday, and now they could use it to trick their gullible mother into baking their favorite cookies; and, to all but Wally, those were her molasses cookies. Until he grew older he always favored his mother’s sugar cookies.
Margaret and the kids escorted Dr. Gifford to his buggy, and waved as he drove away. Before heading back to his Broadway office in Bangor, four miles from the Winter Fun Road, he needed to visit a neighbor’s son who had recently contracted polio.
“I feel sorry for that poor boy,” Margaret said to no one in particular. “But at least he has Dr. Gifford taking good care of him.”
—5—
After making sure Murdock was sleeping okay, Margaret asked the girls if they wanted to help her cook a nice meal for their father’s supper. All three of the Haley girls were noticeably pleased whenever their mother requested their help when she cooked, and the reason had nothing to do with wanting to learn how to cook. It was because they knew they would be the first to test their mother’s cooking, to see if it was up to her high standard. Leona was the lone exception in that she truly enjoyed helping her mother cook, no matter what. And she so enjoyed cooking with her mother that she eventually became almost as good a cook. “Truth be known, maybe even better,” Leona once overheard her mother tell Grandma Eunice.
Leona always loved her mother’s molasses cookies the best, and that was the first thing she wanted to learn how to cook in the oven of the Wood&Bishop stove. However, when that time came, the first batch of cookies she baked disappointed her, but only because they were slightly burned on the bottom. Fortunately the second batch didn’t burn and they seemed just as tender and delicious as her mother’s. Indeed, Leona was happy when Lillian, Arlene, and Wally gobbled down her cookies, and she was particularly delighted when they seemed not to realize that she, and not their mother, had baked them. The next thing Leona wanted to learn how to cook was her mother’s homemade bread and rolls, just because they were her father’s favorite; and with her father laid up in bed she thought that this would be the perfect time.
“Can I bake Papa some homemade bread?” Leona asked her mother.
“Sure, dear, he’d love to have some fresh baked bread tonight.”
When Leona baked her first loaf of bread, she couldn’t wait to see her father’s reaction when he tasted it. Fortunately, she would get her chance, because when Margaret went to check on Murdock he was feeling much better. He even knew his name and could stand next to his bed for a short time. But to play it safe, Margaret placed a tray table beside his bed so he could sit on the edge to eat supper. Being Saturday evening, Margaret filled Murdock’s plate with beans and then brought him some of the warm bread that Leona had just finished baking. He ate a spoonful of beans first, and when he tasted the warm bread, he smiled and said something that pleased Leona.
“Your bread is as delicious as ever, Maggie. It’s like I’ve died and gone to heaven every time I taste it.”
“You can thank Leona tonight, dear. She baked the bread especially for you.”
“You don’t say! Did you really bake this bread, Leona?”
“Yes, Papa. Do you really like it?”
“Are you kiddin’? It’s scrumptious. It tastes just like your mother’s bread.”
Leona’s face beamed when she heard those words, because she knew just how good her mother’s bread tasted.
“Well, I guess my little girl is starting to grow up. I suppose it won’t be long before you’re married with your own family to cook for,” he teased.
“Now, Murdock, let’s not get carried away,” Margaret responded. “I think Leona has a few more years to go before she’ll need to be concerned with that.”
Murdock laughed and jokingly asked: “Is that right, Leona? Are you planning to wait a whilst before you get ya’self a man?”
The 10-year-old looked quizzically at her father and said: “Yes, Papa. I’m gonna wait a very long time. I don’t need to get a man; I’ve got Wally.”
The room shook as both Margaret and Murdock burst into laughter. Leona wasn’t quite sure what was so hilarious, but she laughed too. It was good to hear her father’s hardy laughter once again, especially since she had almost lost him.
“What would life be like without Papa?” Leona wondered. But she didn’t want to think about it because she knew the answer. Still, she could not prevent her mind from thinking about that dreadful prospect. “It would be very sad and very lonely,” was her only thought.
In addition, her father’s comments made Leona wonder what it would be like to be a grownup. She couldn’t be sure about anything, but even at her tender age she somehow felt that her time to grow up would eventually come, just as it had for her parents, and she naturally wondered what it would be like. Of course, she could not know that the contentment that she now felt in her safe, peaceful home would slowly vanish and be replaced by worry and fear, and all the other stressful things that grownups have to deal with. Because she was so young, Leona was oblivious to the possibility that her youthful fantasies would eventually be replaced by the harsh realities of adulthood. But thankfully, adulthood was still a long ways away and she had plenty of time to savor the present and allow the future to take care of itself.
—6—
In the morning Murdock was fully recovered. In fact, very early that Sunday morning he went to Leona’s room and woke his daughter to see if she wanted to go looking for their Christmas tree.
“Now, Papa!? It’s only 6:30!”
“I know, dear, but the early bird catches the worm, so we’ll leave as soon as you’re up.”
When Leona walked into the kitchen, Murdock smiled and asked: “Are you sure you know where the tree is hid, Leona?”
“Oh yes; I know exactly where it is. I could find it with my eyes closed.”
“Okay then, let’s be off; but I think it’s best you keep your eyes open ‘til we find it,” he joked. “We don’t need any new adventures for a while.”
When Murdock started out the door he was surprised to see a tree leaning against the house, the one that he and Leona had cut the day before.
“How did that get there?” he asked.
“The stranger must’ah brought it to us last night, Papa,” Leona surmised, “or maybe early this morning? He’s the only one besides me who knew where it was hidden in the woods.”
“You’ve got a point there, Leona; and that was mighty nice of him. I wish I knew who he was so I could thank him.”
“Yeah, I wish I knew too. But I was so worried about you I forgot to ask him his name until it was way too late.”
“Well, it is close to Christmas. Maybe it was Santa Claus,” Murdock joked.
“No, it couldn’t ah been, Papa,” Leona replied, as the two of them walked into the house to tell Margaret about the tree, “he was way too skinny and he didn’t have a beard.”
“Oh,” Murdock responded. “Regardless, I’m glad we don’t have to go looking for the tree. Now I can relax and read the Saturday Evening Post. Speaking of Santa, he’s on the cover this week. See Leona? He’s looking at his expense book; probably wondering if he’s got enough money for your present.”
“Oh, Papa! ” Leona giggled. “Don’t be silly.”
That morning, after finishing the Post, Murdock nailed a wooden base onto the Christmas tree and brought it into the house. He stood the flawless tree in its traditional spot in the living room, in the southwest corner, just to the left of the large picture window. The Haleys set about decorating it that afternoon, with Margaret’s angel once again being its first and definitely most important decoration. And, as might be expected, the tall, picturesque fir tree took on added significance that year. After it was trimmed and sitting in the familiar corner of their living room, it stood as a reminder to all the Haleys that they were indeed very lucky and very fortunate because they came so close to losing the thing that mattered most: The joy that their loving husband and father always gave to them, whether it be Christmas or any other day of the year.