The River Girl's Christmas (Texas Women of Spirit Book 4) Read online

  “So they will make it in time?” Zillia clapped her hands.

  “Sounds like it.” Grandpa Walt crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair, his suspenders strained almost to bursting with the stretch. “We got some stuff to get done.”

  “Let me handle the cooking and cleaning,” said Grandma Louise. “You can finish up that bed you’ve been putting together for the spare room.”

  Wylder’s grandparents had spent the summer and part of the fall fixing up a long unused room in the house. Zillia had wondered what guests they expected, but now seeing the look in Grandma Louise’s eyes she knew--they’d held onto the hope that someday their granddaughter would return. Soonie had always slept in the small loft overhead, but of course she and her husband would need a bigger space.

  So strange to think of her as married--and to someone I’ve never even met. But Soonie’s letters had been filled with praises for the young Kiowa man she had fallen in love with, and Zillia had no reason to doubt he was every bit as wonderful as she described.

  The boys and Wylder went outside to play some game they had invented with a ball and a stick, and Grandpa Walt ambled along to ‘supervise.’

  “Want me to start the dishes?” Zillia asked Grandma Louise, who rocked in her chair with the letter folded in her hands.

  “Ah, sit with me a while first. The dishes will keep.” Grandma Louise gazed at the Christmas tree, which Wylder had carried in that afternoon. The ornaments carved by Wylder and Grandpa Walt over the years still sat in a hatbox beside the tree, along with the fragile pressed-paper stars Grandma Louise had brought from Sweden forty years ago when they traveled across the sea and then thousands of miles by land to Texas.

  “It will be Margo’s first Christmas tree.” Zillia stroked the child’s soft brown curls.

  Grandma Louise smiled. “I wish you could have seen how we celebrated Christmas in the old country. Such a feast we had! Lutfisk and smoked pork and round towers of golden bread with a plum on top. One for each person. And there would be a knock on the door, and the Yule Goat would be there, with presents for everyone.”

  “What was the Yule Goat?” asked Zillia.

  “Oh, it was kind of like Saint Nicolas. A goat man who brought presents to good girls and boys. My uncles would take turns dressing up in a costume my grandmother had made. It was a bit frightening, but we all knew it meant candies and gifts. After everything had been handed out, we would dance and sing. Oh!” Grandma Louise clasped her hands together. “The boys would love it.”

  “We have a nice Christmas here too,” Zillia reminded her.

  “Oh yes, of course we do, but I wish I had learned more of my mother’s recipes before we left home. She died before I was old enough to watch her, and after that my father hired a fussy old cook who wouldn’t allow me in the kitchen. I didn’t learn to cook so well until I was married, and by then we were here, in this country, and I made Texas food.” Grandma Louise sighed.

  Zillia sat up straight, and the baby stirred in her arms. “What will we do for Soonie and Lone Warrior for Christmas? There’s only five days! We don’t have time to make anything. I suppose we could buy them something at the store. But store-bought isn’t as special.” Zillia tapped her finger against her lip. “I’ve been sewing an apron for myself. If I stay up late the next few nights, I could probably finish it for Soonie. I’m trimming it with lace from one of my mother’s old dresses.”

  Grandma Louise stared into the fire, her faded blue eyes glistening. “I have something,” she said softly. Holding up a wrinkled hand, she slipped off the garnet ring that was always there, even when she kneaded dough and washed dishes. The red stone winked in the firelight. “Grandpa Walt worked and saved for this ring for a whole year in Sweden. It’s my wedding ring. I was going to give this to Soonie on her wedding day. But I didn’t get a chance . . .” She choked and put her hand over her face.

  Zillia put her hand on the elderly woman’s shoulder. “But now you will. And it’ll be even better, because it’s Christmas.”

  “You’re right, my dear.” Grandma Louise removed her spectacles and wiped her eyes with her apron. “I need to be thanking the good Lord I get a chance to see my girl, even though the time may be short.”

  Zillia leaned back in her chair to cuddle her daughter and savor the rhythmic breathing of the sleeping child. “I wonder what we could make for Lone Warrior? I’ve never met a Kiowa person in my life, I’m not sure if they even celebrate Christmas.”

  Grandma Louise rose from her chair, went to the table, and began to clear dishes. “He probably wants the same things as any other man. A full belly and all the time in the world to hunt. And no farm chores ever again.”

  3

  Danger on the Trail

  “What you folks doing here?” The buggy driver climbed down from his rickety perch, never taking his eyes off of Lone Warrior.

  “We need to get to a livery stable owned by a Mr. Bollen. Do you know the place?” Lone Warrior craned his neck down to return the man’s cold stare.

  Soonie twisted her hands beneath her shawl. Lone Warrior wore the same type of trouser and jacket a man would wear in any Texas town, with his long, black braids tucked under his broad-brimmed hat. But at half a head taller than most men and with the rich dark skin of his people, her handsome husband stood out.

  “Yeah, I know the place. S’over by the Cedar Post hotel.” The driver worked a chaw of tobacco from one cheek to the other, a thin stream of brown juice trickling from the corner of his mouth. He wiped his lips with his sleeve. “But I’m not sure I want savages in my buggy.”

  “I’ve got my permission letter right here.” Lone Warrior kept his voice even, though a muscle in his cheek twitched. “And I’m willing to pay extra.” He pulled out a paper from his breast pocket and handed it to the driver.

  The man unfolded the papers and examined them. “Fort Sill, huh?” He held up the coins Lone Warrior handed him and held them up in the light. “All right then.” Swinging the buggy door open, he gestured for them to get inside. “But you’d better not dirty up my cushions.”

  Soonie dusted off the filthy seat before sitting on the very edge. “As if we could,” she said to Lone Warrior in a low voice.

  Lone Warrior sat back on the other seat, his features as calm as ever.

  After a short, bumpy ride, the buggy stopped in front of a sprawling log cabin. Several horses grazed in the yard, and a man sat under the awning in a rocking chair.

  Soonie had barely pulled her skirts free before the buggy jolted forward and away in a clatter of hooves and a screech of springs.

  “Good thing I grabbed our things first.” Lone Warrior held up their saddlebags.

  The man on the porch stood up, stretched, and clambered down the steps. “Hello, you must be the folks from Oklahoma. I’m Mr. Bollen.” He grasped Lone Warrior’s hand and shook it.

  “Nice to meet you,” said Soonie.

  Though Mr. Bollen had bushy black eyebrows and a beard that covered most of his face, his eyes twinkled from within the depths. “I think these two mares will do well for you,” he said, leading Soonie and Lone Warrior to the paddock and indicating two horses tied to posts, already saddled and bridled. “They’re sisters, and have Morgan blood. They might be small, but they have speed and stamina. They’ll get you to Bastrop in no time.”

  Lone Warrior ran his hands over the dark bay’s forelegs. He nodded. “They’re perfect. Thank you so much.”

  Mr. Bollen handed the reins to Lone Warrior. “Captain Wilkenson spoke well of you two, and assured me you would bring them back without a scratch.”

  Soonie patted the sorrel mare’s neck. “We will care for them as if they were our own.” She and Lone Warrior had only left Fort Sill five days before, but already she missed her own horse, Stone Brother. She’d begged Molly to give him extra oats and carrots while they were gone.

  “I’m sure you will.” Mr. Bollen smiled, and his cheeks shone like red plums from beneath his whi
skers.

  Lone Warrior took two coins from his jacket pocket and handed them to the stable owner. “Thank you kindly.” He slung their bags behind the saddles, and then gave one set of reins to Soonie. They led the horses through the paddock gates.

  “I’m thankful to be riding a horse instead of a train,” Soonie said to Lone Warrior as she climbed up in the saddle and arranged herself. Though she wore a calico ‘white woman’s’ dress, she had her trusty doeskin breeches on underneath, which would make the day’s journey much more bearable. Like many Texas women, she refused to ride side-saddle.

  “Do you think your family got the telegraph?” asked Lone Warrior as they set off down the trail.

  “I hope so. The man who runs Bastrop’s post office is forever going out of town for family members’ funerals—or that’s what he says. And he’s the only one who knows how to work the telegraph device. If he’s not there, then hopefully they got the letter, at least.” Soonie shivered. “Oh, I’m so excited to see everyone! And I can’t wait for them all to meet you!”

  “I just wonder if they will be as happy to see me.” Lone Warrior said in a voice so low Soonie barely caught the words.

  “What? Why wouldn’t they? You saved my life, more than once. You’re my husband. You have every right to come and visit!”

  “Yes, but I was also the one who took you away from them. You could have had a normal life, married a white farmer and stayed close to home.”

  Soonie rode close enough to touch his shoulder. “I’ve told you, my family isn’t like that. They trust me, Lone Warrior. If I am happy, they will be happy.”

  Lone Warrior shrugged. “Even so, change can be difficult for some people.”

  “You will have to sleep in a white man’s house instead of a tipi for a few days,” Soonie teased. “Do you think you can handle that?”

  “I slept in a boarding house and on the train,” Lone Warrior’s tone was serious. “Stuffy, hot places, with thick walls.” He glanced down at her and smiled. “I will do it . . . but only for you.”

  Soonie’s heart beat a little faster. Even after being married for almost a year, she still melted every time her husband gave her that special smile.

  After they’d left the small settlement and escaped from Hal, they had spent months living in the wild places of Oklahoma. Most of their time had been spent hunting and foraging for food. On rare days they’d gone hungry, though with Lone Warrior’s hunting skills, those times had been few. Many nights they’d huddled in caves or shelters built of sticks, too cold to sleep. But Soonie never regretted her choice to follow her true love. She’d do it all over again if he asked.

  After a few hours, they stopped in Del Valle, a tiny town consisting of a cluster of homes and a combination post office-general store.

  “We can wash up at the pump by the store and eat our lunch under that tree.” Soonie pointed to a shady place.

  Lone Warrior shook his head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. Someone might see us and get suspicious.”

  After scanning the area, Soonie shrugged. “I don’t see anyone out. Besides, this is where I always met Uncle Isak when he brought things to trade. No one ever bothered us here. Of course, I didn’t realize at the time how much he was risking to meet with us.”

  Lone Warrior squinted at the trading post. “Is there a river or stream somewhere ahead?”

  “Yes, in maybe half an hour.”

  “We’ll go there.” He urged his horse forward.

  Soonie bit back a protest. She had learned to trust her husband’s instincts in these situations. If she had brought up similar concerns, she knew he would have valued her thoughts as well.

  The brook was just where Soonie remembered it and the water was cold, clear and clean. After a lunch of bread and cheese, Lone Warrior took a quick nap on a large, flat rock in the watery December light.

  After half an hour, Soonie shook him awake. “We probably ought to get going, dear. We have at least two hours of riding ahead of us, if we don’t make any more stops.”

  Lone Warrior pushed back his hat, which had been over his face, and yawned. “All right.” He peered up at the sun. “Two hours, you say? We should make it by dark.”

  As the shadows grew longer, the air chilled. Though Soonie didn’t mind the cold, she wished she could snuggle in Lone Warrior’s arms to get warm. She hadn’t expected to miss the tipi they’d set up on the outer edge of the reservation, but now she longed to see the shadows dancing on the hide walls and the mysterious shapes the smoke made when it disappeared through the top.

  Life on the reservation had been an adjustment. Due to her teaching position and Lone Warrior’s job as head of the reservation patrol, they both had more freedoms and favor then many of the other Comanche and Kiowa people in the territory. But it was still a sort of prison, and Soonie gulped the free air with gratitude.

  Lone Warrior held up a dark, scarred hand and halted the bay.

  “What is it?” Soonie asked, scanning the path.

  He swung down off the horse and gestured for her to do the same.

  “Did you see something? What’s wrong?”

  Grabbing her hand, he pulled her towards him. “Nothing. Just this.” He bent over and kissed her.

  She kissed him back and pulled away, gasping and laughing. “Silly man! We have to get to town. It’s going to be black as pitch soon. Good thing they’d have had time to finish building that bridge across the river. We’d never wake the ferry man at this hour.”

  “Sorry, I couldn’t wait any longer.” Lone Warrior touched her face. “Those lips just kept taunting me.”

  The rattling of wheels interrupted their embrace.

  Lone Warrior shielded his eyes and looked down the path. “We should get off the road.”

  “Don’t be silly.” Soonie patted his arm. “We’re only a few miles from Bastrop. Everyone around here knows me.”

  Lone Warrior stiffened and stepped in front of her as a buggy appeared around the corner.

  Two men Soonie didn’t recognize sat in the front, and a third man rode behind on a horse.

  “Whoa, whoa.” The driver pulled up the reins. The wagon came to a stop a few feet away from Soonie and Lone Warrior.

  The driver was tall and lanky, with a drooping black moustache and a bowler hat. The other two men were also dark, but more plainly dressed.

  The driver squinted at Lone Warrior. “Howdy. What are you folks doing out here?”

  “Visiting family for Christmas.” Soonie straightened and lifted her chin. “How about you?” The hairs on her neck rose as rocks crunched behind them. The man on the horse now blocked any chance of escape.

  “Say now.” The driver slid down from his seat and walked towards them. “You must be part injun, ain’t you, girl? He peered under her bonnet. “I’d say Comanche. And you,” he jabbed a finger at Lone Warrior, “I don’t know what you are, but I’m thinkin’ you’re one hundred percent red man. Are you legal or illegal?”

  “We’re legal.” A muscle in Lone Warrior’s cheek twitched. He reached into his coat pocket, where their permission papers had been stored.

  “Wait!” Soonie cried, but the shot rang through the air too fast for either of them to react. A spurt of red bloomed through a fresh hole in the fabric of Lone Warrior’s coat. His hand flew to the wound and he staggered back.

  Soonie threw her hands into the air. “No more shooting! He was just going to show you his permission papers, written and signed by General Wilkenson himself!” Her legs wobbled and she fought to stay lucid, to stay in control. Losing composure will do nothing for us right now.

  The wagon driver nodded to the man on the horse, who placed his gun back in its holster.

  “Shouldn’t be out here, anyhow. I’d argue in a court of law that savage was going for his gun.” He glanced at the other two men. “Right boys? You saw what happened.”

  The other two men nodded, murder burned into their eyes.

  Lone Warrior clutched his a
rm, wobbling where he stood. “Leave us alone,” he said through gritted teeth.

  “Sure, we’ll leave you all alone,” the man with a moustache taunted. “In fact, we’re taking these horses, too.”

  “They don’t belong to us!” said Soonie.

  “See, I had a feeling. Did ya’ hear that, boys? Trying to shoot our heads off, and horse thieves as well. Some things just never change.” He grabbed the horse reins and tied them to the back of the wagon.

  “No, we borrowed them. We have to give them back!” Soonie stepped forward, but Lone Warrior clutched her arm.

  “No,” he said, so quietly she could scarcely hear.

  His face had turned from rich umber to a sickly gray, and blood flowed down his shoulder in a torrent.

  The buggy creaked and the man clicked to his horses.

  Soonie stepped towards the wagon. “You can’t just leave us here without horses! My husband could bleed to death! Have you no hearts?”

  The man on the horse turned and smirked. “One less injun in this world.”

  The buggy and beasts disappeared in a cloud of dust.

  Lone Warrior staggered a few steps, then stopped, his head hanging.

  Soonie took his good arm. “You have to sit down. I need to look at that wound.”

  She helped him over to a tree and he sank to the ground, easing against the trunk. “Come on, we have to get your coat off.” She knelt in the dirt, ignoring the pine needles that dug into her knees.

  Lone Warrior’s eyes were shut tight, his lips drawn in a grimace. “Do what you need to do. I don’t think it’s too bad.”

  Soonie slid her traveling satchel from her shoulder. She pulled a small knife from her belt and swiftly cut his shirt away. Blood streamed from a dime-sized hole in her husband’s arm. She examined the other side. Trying to keep her voice from shaking, she said, “Here’s the good thing. Bullet went right through. Let me get you bandaged up. Hopefully someone more helpful will be through here in the next short bit. We used to have a good doctor in town, chances are he’s still there.”