A Log Cabin Christmas (4 page)

“How old was your son?” she asked, her voice soft.

“Five.”

She grimaced. “The same age as Brandon.” She couldn’t imagine what it was like to lose a child, let alone a wife.

“I’m so sorry,” she said. Though she meant it from the depths of her heart, the words sounded inadequate, even to her own ears.

Silence stretched between them, and she squirmed with discomfort. She regretted probing into the sheriff’s private life, as that only seemed to make him more withdrawn. Now he stared into the crackling fire as if gazing at something that only he could see.

Brandon came over to show her what he’d drawn. He seemed less fearful of the fire, and that was a relief. Grateful for the distraction, she gave the boy her full attention. He held the paper with both hands as if presenting something delicate as a butterfly.

“It’s beautiful, Brandon.” He had drawn a picture of a black bear, complete with bared teeth. Even at his young age, Brandon showed artistic talent. She must remember to write that on his next report home to his widowed mother.

“I’ll hang it on the wall.” She looked around for the perfect spot. “How about over there by my desk?”

Brandon shook his head and pointed to the rafter ceiling.

“No one will see it if we put it up there,” she said.

Brandon kept pointing, a determined look on his freckled face.

Sophie looked up from her own drawing. “He wants his pa to see it from heaven.”

Maddie leaned closer. “Is that why you want me to hang it from a rafter? So your pa can see it?”

Brandon nodded, and Maddie thought her heart would break. It was all she could do to find her voice behind the lump in her throat.

Turning his gaze from the fire, Donovan stared at Brandon with a tender, almost wistful look. Without the harsh lines and firmly set jaw, the sheriff looked years younger than his age, which she guessed was around thirty.

“I know someone else in heaven who would like your picture. My little boy.” His voice grew thick. “His name is Jeffrey.” He pointed to the crossbar that ran the length of the cabin. “If I hang it from that rafter both your pa and my son will be sure to see it.”

Brandon nodded and handed his paper to Donovan, who arranged a pew beneath the rafter to stand on. He then tacked the drawing in place. A draft caused the paper to move back and forth, making the bear look even more menacing.

“There you go,” Donovan said, stepping off the pew and sounding more cheerful than he had all day.

Brandon flung his arms around Donovan’s waist. Donovan looked startled at first, and then ever so slowly he lifted his hand, holding it in midair for a moment before lowering it to the boy’s head. Brandon looked up at him, and Donovan wrapped him in both arms, and they clung to each other as only two people who shared a similar loss knew how to do.

Maddie looked away but only to hide her tears.

Later, she knelt on the floor next to Sophie. Ever the perfectionist, Sophie took meticulous care with her drawing, making every line perfectly straight with the use of a ruler. In contrast Jimmy had spent almost no time on his drawing, choosing instead to fold his paper and shoot it to the rafters, where the wind tossed it about.

“How do you always know what Brandon is thinking?” Maddie asked. “About his pa?”

Sophie carefully outlined her picture of a Christmas tree. “It’s easy. I can tell by his face.”

“Really?” Obviously, there was more to Sophie than met the eye.

“Yeah. Just like I can tell Jimmy likes me.”

“If that’s true, why don’t you two get along?” Maddie asked

“You’re not supposed to let the other person know you like him,” Sophie whispered. “At least not at first. That’s the rule. Just like the sheriff pretends not to like you.”

Maddie’s mouth dropped open, but she quickly recovered. Obviously, Sophie wasn’t as perceptive as she seemed, except for perhaps where Brandon was concerned. She leaned closer to Sophie, her voice low. “Adults have different rules. When we like someone, we’re not afraid to let the other person know.”

Just then Maddie heard something that made her look up. Was that a chuckle she’d heard? Coming from the sheriff? It was hard to tell from where she sat. Donovan stood reading a pupil essay on the wall, his back to her. She couldn’t resist joining him to see which paper caught his attention

“I like this one,” he said, pointing to a square of cardboard. It was an essay about Joan of Arc written by seven-year-old Benjamin Bond. “I didn’t know that Joan was Noah’s wife,” Donovan said. He then pointed to another essay, and fine lines crinkled around his eyes.

“Jesus couldn’t be born until they found a manager,” he read, his voice edged with humor.

Maddie felt a warm glow inside. “I do believe everyone could use a manager—don’t you agree?” she asked.

He grinned at her before moving to the next essay.

My, my, what a handsome man he was when he smiled. Why had she not noticed that before? She’d always thought of him as a grim-faced man. Is that what grief had done to him?

“What’s so funny?” Sophie asked.

Maddie turned and faced the classroom. “We’re happy because it’s almost Christmas Eve. Like I told you, that’s when miracles happen.”

If ever she needed a miracle, it was now. They were out of food, and judging by the still-roaring wind, the storm wouldn’t let up anytime soon. Her pupils’ parents must be half out of their minds.

Donovan held her gaze, her worries mirrored on his face. But she saw something else there, too. Something she couldn’t decipher or name. What a complex man: one moment lighthearted, the next so serious.

Just like the sheriff pretends not to like you
.

Nothing could be further from the truth, of course. Sophie was an impressionable child given to flights of fancy. She’d simply misinterpreted something she saw or heard. Still, there had been moments …

Embarrassed to be caught staring, Maddie quickly lowered her gaze and prayed the sheriff didn’t notice her reddening cheeks.

“I think the wind is stopping,” he said, his voice strangely hoarse. “I’ll take a look outside.” He grabbed his duster and left.

Not only had the storm not let up, but it snowed harder than when Donovan had last checked. He pulled up his collar and dug his hands deep into his pockets.

“God would never take away people we care about because He loves us.”

Why did Miss Parker’s words keep running through his mind? He neverblamed God for what happened to his family. True, he’d stopped going to church, and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d prayed, but that didn’t mean he was angry at God. Or did it?

“God would never take away people we care about….”

Maybe he
had
been angry at God, but who could blame him?

He stood in front of the cabin door with the wind and snow in his face and Jimmy’s and Sophie’s querulous voices at his back. He wanted to believe in a good and kind and loving God, but he was cold and hungry, and his body ached from sleeping on the hard wood floor. At that moment it was hard to believe in anything.

Miss Parker’s Class

When God said there should be peas on earth, I don’t think He meant us to eat them.
George, age 6

M
addie woke on the morning of Christmas Eve to find the fire almost out. Stuffing her feet in her high button shoes and pulling her woolen cloak around her shoulders, she hurried to add wood to the fire, poking it until flames climbed up the chimney.

It was then that she noticed Jimmy was missing. Thinking he was using the makeshift privy, she called to him. “Jimmy, are you there?”

No answer. She peered behind the slanted pews.

No sign of Jimmy. Alarmed, she swung around and checked the door—unbolted. Cold fear shot down her spine.

“Sheriff, wake up,” she shouted. “Jimmy’s gone!”

She yanked open the door, and the wind and snow swept in. The storm still raged, and she could barely see outside.

“Jimmy!” she screamed on the top of her lungs, but the wind carried her voice away.

She stumbled outside, blindly grabbing hold of the guide rope Donovan had stretched from the porch to the rear of the cabin. “Jimmy!” The wind hit her full force, but she kept going, the rope digging into her palms.

The rope ended at the lean-to, but it was too dark to see anything. “Jimmy!”

Letting go of the rope, she stepped away from the building and sank into what seemed like a bottomless pit. Her feet struck hard ice, and a pain shot up her shins.

Frantic, she pushed away the chest-high snow, fingers stiff, hands numb with cold. She couldn’t move her legs, couldn’t see, couldn’t breathe. She flailed her arms, trying in vain to reach the guide rope, but it was no good. All she could do was scream at the top of her lungs.

“Jimmy!”

Fear gripped her even harder than the snow. The searing wind cut into her face like icy knives. She gasped for air, and a sob rose from her very depths.
Where is he, God? Help me!

She felt herself move upward. Was it her imagination? Was this how it felt to go to heaven? She gradually grew conscious of hands beneath her arms, strong, firm, and capable hands. She collapsed into a circle of warmth, her body wracked with sobs.

Clinging to Donovan, she cried, “I can’t find Jimmy.”

“I’ll find him,” Donovan shouted in her ear. “Go back inside.”

“He’ll die out here!”

“I’ll find him.”

She choked back a cry. No one could stand the cold for long, certainly no child. Donovan scooped her in his arms and held her close as he carried her back to the wooden porch, his boots crunching against the snow.

He set her upright on the steps, but her knees threatened to give way.
If anything happens to Jimmy … Oh, God …

Donovan opened the door and pushed her inside. Chilled to the bone, she was unable to fight him.

“Miss Parker, look!” Sophie cried.

Shivering so much her teeth chattered, it took Maddie a moment to make sense of the sight in front of her. It took even longer to believe what she saw. Jimmy stood in the middle of the cabin, his face practically split in two by a wide grin.

Maddie never thought to see a more glorious sight. Tears rolling down her cheeks, she threw her arms around him. “You scared me.” She cupped her hands around his face. “You practically scared me to death.”

“Eww, you’re cold,” he said, pulling away.

She wasn’t just cold; she was frozen, and snow still clung to her skirt. But none of that mattered, not now.

“Where were you?” Donovan asked. “Why didn’t you answer when we called you?”

“I found a cellar.” Jimmy pointed to a gaping hole next to Maddie’s ironing-board desk. “It leads to a tunnel. I didn’t hear you.”

Maddie glanced at Donovan, who was blowing on his hands. “But the door was unbolted, I thought …”

“I grabbed the hatchet from the porch,” Jimmy said. “I used it to pry open the cellar door.”

“Jimmy found tin goods!” Sophie’s voice was high-pitched with excitement. “There’s food. Come and see.” She grabbed Maddie’s hand and pulled her across the room. “Now we can eat.”

Maddie stared through the square hole in the floor. She had known there was a loose floorboard in that spot, but it had never occurred to her it was actually a trapdoor. Sophie held the lantern over the hole, and the light illuminated a shelf of tin goods.

Jimmy brushed past her and climbed down the wooden ladder. “Come on down,” he called.

“Miss Parker is cold and wet. She needs to dry off,” Donovan said. He slipped off his duster. “Here, put this on. It’s dryer than your cloak.”

He held the duster for her. She slipped out of her wet garment and slid her arms into the duster’s sleeves. The long coat practically buried her, but it felt warm and cozy and so very, very comforting. When she pulled the wool fabric close, she caught a whiff of leather and pine that was as pleasant as it was masculine.

Turning her back, she reached inside to pull off her wet skirt and petticoat, leaving her drawers intact. Donovan took the garments from her, his gaze meeting hers for an instant before turning to spread them in front of the fire to dry.

“Hurry,” Jimmy called from below, his voice edged with impatience.

Donovan’s eyebrows raised in question. “I’ll go below. You stay by the fire.”

“And miss all the fun?” she asked, slipping her cold hands into the duster’s deep pockets. “Come on. Let’s not keep Jimmy waiting any longer.”

He gave her a crooked grin. “After you.”

She blew on her still-cold hands, turned, and felt for the first rung on the ladder with her foot. The duster was in the way, and she had to take care not to get her shoes caught in the hem. The three children waited for her to descend, Jimmy holding the lantern up high.

The moment Maddie reached the cellar floor, Donovan started down the ladder, the wood creaking beneath his weight.

The cellar had dirt walls and floor, the low ceiling reinforced with wood beams. It smelled dank and musty. Rough wood shelves stretched the length of one wall. Maddie counted a dozen or more cans of food and a package of tack bread. Unbelievable!

She took Brandon’s hands and swung him around. “God worked through Jimmy, and now we have something to eat.”

Lowering Brandon to the ground, she hugged Sophie and Jimmy and in her excitement threw her arms around Donovan. He looked startled at first but quickly slipped his hands around her waist and hugged her back. Feeling suddenly breathless, she pulled away.

Purposely avoiding his eyes, she studied the cans, reading each label aloud. “Peas, string beans, corn, beets. More peas and—”

“Is that all there is?” Sophie asked, making a face. “Just vegetables?”

“I’m afraid so,” Maddie answered.

“If God had worked through me, we would have had roast beef,” Sophie grumbled.

Maddie tapped her on the nose. “I think God gave us exactly what He thought we most needed.”

“And that includes coffee,” Donovan said, holding up a packet of Arbuckles’ Ariosa Coffee. When no one else shared his enthusiasm, he shrugged.

“It’s either vegetables or nothing,” Maddie said. “Take your pick.”

When no one moved, Donovan started pulling cans off the shelf. “I don’t know about you,” he said, heading for the ladder, “but I’m hungry enough to eat a bear.”