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DECEMBER 3, 1891
“It’s too quiet.” With renewed vigor, Jessie Long wielded her wooden spoon, endeavoring to whip the lumps of potatoes into culinary submission. “I know it’s only been two weeks since the Senator and Mrs. Cavendish left, but it’s like being in an empty church on Monday every day now.”
Lena Hartman picked up another linen napkin from the laundry basket and shook it out. “I don’t think it’s that bad. We may not have any guests presently, but to say it’s quiet?”
As though a cue had been given for their entrance, there came a clamor of small feet from the hallway. Squealing with all the volume their two-and-a-half-year-old lungs could produce, Tommy and his twin sister, Rowena, careened through the kitchen in close pursuit of what appeared to be Rowena’s nightgown dashing for the open back door. As the apparition streaked passed, the black face of the cat, Havoc, appeared from one sleeve. A skittering sound of claws suggested the cat was struggling for traction on the wood floor. The poor creature further impeded by the fabric continued to get her legs tangled in the nightgown, colliding with every chair and table leg blocking her path to the door.
Jessie lifted her spoon, waving it at her son. It might have been a threatening gesture if not for the fact that a mound of lumpy potatoes was stuck to it. “Tommy! How many times have I told you not to torment the cat?”
Lena made a grab for the terrified cat, but only managed to grab the nightgown. However, her efforts served the same purpose. Freed of the incumbrance, the cat leaped through the open door.
Jessie intercepted her daughter, giving her a stern look. “Rowena, I’ve told you Havoc doesn’t want to wear your clothes.”
“But kitty needs sleep,” Rowena murmured contritely.
From the doorway, her brother grinned at his mother, wisely letting his sister handle their defense.
As usual, Rowena, the budding attorney, managed to dissuade their mother from disciplining them. While this worked surprisingly well with Jessie, it rarely produced the same positive results in their father, Bart Long. It was at moments like these that Lena understood the need for a father in matters of applied discipline. He was less inclined to relent to Rowena’s appeals for leniency.
Jessie’s flush of disapproval cooled rapidly. Gazing with maternal affection on her little girl, she said, “Come here, Rowena.”
Rowena waddled up to her mother’s side and attached herself to Jessie’s apron. Tommy, however, started out the door, and Lena surmised his intent to renew the chase. She stepped between him and escape, her arms folded across her waist and one eyebrow arched. Tommy took one look and turned back.
“Children, we need to be gentle with small creatures,” Jessie explained.
“We love kitty,” Rowena said while looking up at her mother with those wide innocent eyes.
Jessie squatted down and wrapped her arms around the little girl. “Kitties don’t like to wear dresses, Rowena.”
With a sudden stab of painful memory, Lena saw the image return of the little girl she’d cared for as a governess years ago. Lena said the same thing to her. After she’d extracted that kitty from a knit shawl, she’d clean the child’s scratches and dried her tears, before rocking her to sleep.
Lena stooped down and picked up Tommy, perching him on her hip. She whispered to the little red-head boy with mischief in his eyes, “No more dressing up the kitty.” Lena pressed a fingertip to the boy’s tummy. “That means you, too.”
He giggled and placed his hands on either side of her face, looking serious as he said, “I love you.”
Lena kissed his mop of red hair. “I love you, too.”
Jessie gave each child a spoonful of potatoes and shooed them out the back door with their promises to be good to all the ranch animals. “Wonder how long that will last.”
Lifting one skeptical eyebrow, Lena asked, “Too quiet?”
“You know what I mean. I like having all the conversation and activity that comes with having people stay with us. And I never thought I’d hear myself say it, but I miss making four pies a day.”
“And five pans of cinnamon rolls?” Lena asked dubiously.
“Those were only on Wednesdays and Fridays.”
Lena rested her elbows atop the stack of folded napkins, warmed by the memories of the past eighteen months. Since they’d opened the ranch to guests, they’d rarely had a week of time to themselves. It seemed there was a great number of people living in the East who were looking for a western experience.
“It’s been wonderful, hasn’t it? I mean, I know we’ve had our ups and downs, months when we didn’t have the number of guests we’d counted on and fears about Ketchum’s future. But all-in-all, it’s been worth it. Even if we aren’t making a profit yet, we’re paying the bills.”
“And the boys are able to increase the size of the cattle herd. I know Bart’s excited about the number of ewes we have for next season. Hedging our bets is the way he puts it. The cattle make us respectable, but the sheep turn a profit,” Jessie said.
“Yes.” She laughed. “I believe I’ve heard Evan use that explanation with our guests quite a few times. He always seems disappointed when they don’t laugh. I don’t know why. Only a cattleman would understand.”
“I know they aren’t the brightest critters God ever created, but I like the looks of the sheep when they’re grazing. Rowena said they look like clouds moving along the hillsides,” Jessie said. “Wasn’t that clever of her? Maybe she’ll be a writer like Maddie. Wouldn’t that be something?”
“She’s a bright penny. But I’m still thinking she’s suited to law, probably a defense attorney.” Lena laughed, imagining the child wearing a wig in a British court of law.
“Well, that may be, but just as long as it’s not her brother she has to defend.” Jessie shook her head. “I worry about that boy.”
“Of course, you do. It’s the nature of a mother to worry about her son. But I would imagine that if you could speak with Bart’s mother, you might learn she had the same concerns about him.”
Jessie gave a noncommittal grunt, as she turned slipping the roast into the oven.
“But speaking of livestock.”
Jessie through a glance over her shoulder. “Were we?”
“Yes, we were.” Lena stacked the napkins in the sideboard drawer. “I think I’ll always be partial to cattle.” Thinking about the nature of their conversation, Lena smiled. “We’re sounding more like our men every day, aren’t we? Who’d have ever guessed I’d turn out to be a rancher’s wife, talking about livestock as easily as dinner menus?”
“Just proves women can have diverse interests.” Jessie poured water into the kettle and set it to heating. “Remember how scared we were when we rode up that mountain trail through Galena and down into the Sawtooth Valley?” She turned with the dishtowel dangling in her hand, a look of incredulity on her freckled face. “Can it be five years?”
While she didn’t put the thought to words, she knew from Jessie’s expression that her friend was remembering that frightful, first winter in Sawtooth City. It was a winter that had driven Jessie and her new husband, Bart, out of the high range to the lower elevations of Ketchum. Lena should have gone with them, but her pride and stubborn-headedness had kept her rooted in the dying, mining town. If Evan hadn’t returned, she often wondered if she’d have survived the storms of 1886.
Lena realized her thoughts had drawn her into silence. She looked up to see Jessie watching her.
Jessie said softly, “It’s been five pretty wonderful years. You and me are old married women now. You starting up a guest ranch, and me a mother of twins.” She turned back to the sink and started humming a tune they’d heard Ely play a few nights ago on his violin.
Lena chastised herself every time she felt these pangs of jealousy. Yes, they were married women now, but it was Jessie who’d been blessed with children. Even though she loved Jessie’s twins as if they were her own, the reality often hit her like a blow to the stomach. They weren’t. She seemed forever destined to be the nanny to someone else’s children. In her less selfish moments, she counted the twins as blessings. They loved her and she them. She was with them every day, watching them grow, celebrating their achievements, birthdays, first teeth. What else did she need?
Lena slapped the countertop. “I think we should have a Christmas party, a big, noisy, festive celebration!”
Jessie turned with her eyes and mouth open wide, and Lena imagined wheels already turning inside her creative head. “Who will we invite?”
“Everyone and anyone who will come.” The idea sprouted wings even as Lena spoke it into life. “We’ve got so much to celebrate, so much to be grateful for.”
“Ely will play his violin. And you’ve been practicing Christmas carols on the piano since early November.” Jessie stated it as though she’d already convinced both Ely and Lena to agree.
“And Evan will sing for us. We’ll all make him.” Lena’s heart beat a little faster as she imagined it. And unlike their first Christmas together, snowed in and hungry in that deserted mountain town, this would be an occasion of plenty, with more than enough to share with those she loved. With their help, the Hartmann Guest Ranch was a reality, a place where friends became family.
“And I’m going to make every delicious confection this kitchen can handle. We won’t just settle for pie and cinnamon rolls. Where’s that French cookbook?” Jessie spun from the sink and headed for the bookshelf with Lena’s eclectic collection of cookbooks. Halfway there, she stopped and lifted her finger, a sure sign she’d been struck by a lightning bolt of an idea. “No, I think we should do it up grand like the English. Let’s try to find some traditional British food.”
“That’s an interesting idea. I’m not certain I’d be able to name any aside from Wassail. But shouldn’t we make gingerbread for the children? And aside from the menu, we should begin collecting evergreens.”
“Of course! Wreaths on the doors and over the fireplace.” Jessie’s voice rose higher with each new suggestion, her face growing more childlike with gleeful anticipation.
“And garlands from the rafters in the dining room,” Lena suggested, feeling her own enthusiasm escalating.
Jessie giggled, sounding remarkably like Rowena as she pulled a cookbook from the shelf. “And the biggest tree that will fit under that ceiling in the great room,”
Lena laughed. “I’m not sure we have a wagon big enough.”
Jessie set her finger on the page of the book. “Well, we may have to drive a team of those drafts and haul one down to the house. There are some big ones east of our valley. Bart and I saw them last summer when we rode up for a picnic. Have you ever heard of Toad-in-the-Hole? Looks simple enough, but there aren’t any illustrations.”
Lena’s thoughts turned to the guest list as she opened her address book.
“I suppose you’d just make some biscuits and stick the sausages inside. That doesn’t sound too difficult.”
Lena looked up. “What?”
“To make the Toad-in-the-Hole you’d need to stick the sausage in before you baked it.”
“Isn’t there anything more traditional for Christmas? What about plum pudding? I’m sure I’ve read about that in many British novels.”
Jessie giggled, looking up with her hand over her mouth. “There’s this one.”
Lena lay aside her list and walked over to the other side of the table, looking over Jessie’s shoulder. “Currants. . . I see. Well, the custard sauce sounds delectable.” She gasped as she read the name, turning a horrified look to Jessie. “Which cookbook is this?”
Jessie held her place with a finger and showed her the cover.
“Hmm. The Modern Housewife or Menagere. I forgot I had this one.” The image of the ranch hands reacting to the name as Jessie placed the dish before them, prompted her next suggestion. “Maybe we could think of a different name for it. The hands will never know what the British call it. Spotted Custard, perhaps?”
“How about this?” Jessie pointed to the recipe on the next page. “Yorkshire pudding. I like the name, and we certainly have enough beef to go with it.”
“What are you two up to?” Evan’s deep voice rolled in from the kitchen doorway. “You have your heads together over a cookbook so that must mean December’s food bills will be edging up.”
Lena flew across the room to embrace him. “We’re going to have the most wonderfully festive Christmas.”
Evan wrapped his arms around her and rested his chin on her head. “We can’t ever top the first one, can we?” he whispered into her hair.
Of course, he was right. Even as the winter winds had howled outside the house, battering the door and piling snow in drifts to the eaves, she’d felt safer that winter than at any time in her life. She pressed her cheek to his chest, recalling every smallest detail of that first year.
Breaking their embrace, he took a step back and retrieved his leather satchel. “I picked up the mail in town. You’ll never guess who wrote us a letter.”
Lena gave him a playful poke in the arm. “I suppose not, so why don’t you just tell me,”
“It’s from Naomi.” He rummaged in the bag and pulled out an envelope with an embossed return address. “We haven’t heard from her since David and Maddie’s wedding. Remember?”
Naomi had been the madam of one of Sawtooth City’s most popular brothels. How could Lena not remember how embarrassed she’d been, caught in her self-righteous attitude? Lena discovered the truth about herself when she’d visited Naomi’s house, offering charity to one of her girls, a young woman with a child she’d wrongly assumed was Evan’s. She felt again that shameful churning in her stomach, recalling how she’d misjudged the man’s character. Later, learning of his brother, she’d come to understand the child’s true circumstances.” Lena looked at the sealed envelope. “You haven’t opened it?”
“I wanted to read it with you.”
“Why don’t we take it into the great room and sit before the fire?” Taking his hand, she led him out of the kitchen and into the large room at the front of the house where a crackling fire blazed inside the stone fireplace.
“Are you burning the cedar?” he asked as he took a seat beside her.
“Smells good, doesn’t it?”
He nodded, taking her hand in his. “You ladies planning something special? When I see the two of you pulling out cookbooks, I have to assume something’s coming.”
Snuggling closer to him, Lena answered, “Just Christmas.”
“Oh, I should have known. We haven’t had a house full of guests for a month now, and you gals are itching to entertain.” He laughed in a way that never failed to bring a smile to her lips.
“It’s Christmas, Evan. You know we can’t let the opportunity pass to have our friends celebrate with us. Besides, the twins are old enough now to enjoy it.”
“That’s true. Bart and Kincaid have been working together on some kind of wagon for Tommy. I’m not sure the boy’s ready for wheels. He’s hard enough to wrangle as he is.” He pulled the envelope from his pocket and tore it open. “Let’s see what’s new with Naomi.”
Peeking over his arm, Lena recognized the letterhead for Naomi’s millinery shop. Evan’s body stiffened. She glanced into his troubled face. “What is it, Evan?” When he didn’t answer, she read the opening paragraph and gasped. Vicki was dead. “How can this be? She was a young mother.”
He whispered, “Not yet thirty.”
She read on where Naomi gave the explanation of Vicki’s illness and her resulting death. Vicki was the woman who’d given birth to Evan’s niece. But the child, Rebecca, what had become of her? Side by side, silently, Lena and Evan finished reading the letter. Resting her head against his shoulder, she murmured, “I’m so sorry.”
No remaining family. No home. No inheritance. The child was sent to an orphan’s home. Lena knew what orphanages could be like in the crowded cities of the East. This was Evan’s blood kin. She sat up, angry now. “Evan, no! She’s only six.”
Sagging back against the couch, he ran a hand down the side of his face. “Even Vicki’s parents are gone. That’s why I never heard from them. I’m sure they’d have written.”
Lena took the page from his hands and scanned it a second time. “Naomi says that they died of influenza.” She dropped her hands to her lap. “It must have been horrible for the child.” Lena turned to him, seeing in his tight expression a glimpse of the agony he must be experiencing.
He shook his head and balled his hands into fists. “Rebecca is Jimmy’s child. How can I just stand by and let that happen?”
“You can’t. You couldn’t abandon her then, and you can’t now.”
“She’s not your child, Lena.” Evan ran his palm across his mouth. “How can I ask that of you?”
She lay her hand on his. “You don’t have to ask me.”
Evan wrapped his arm around Lena’s shoulder and pulled her close. “I love you, Alena, more than life.” His voice was husky, and the words came out as though he hadn’t enough air in his lungs to voice them.
She leaned into him for a long while, remembering Vicki’s sweet face the day she’d brought her child to meet her. If the avalanche hadn’t taken Jimmy’s life, Vicki would have been her sister-in-law. But he’d died before she’d had a chance to tell him of the child. And Evan had accepted the responsibilities of his reckless brother. There was no question of what must be done.
She caressed his cheek with her fingertips. “Go tomorrow, Evan. Find Rebecca and bring her home.”