A Log Cabin Christmas (5 page)

Miss Parker’s Class

Jesus had twelve opossums, which went out into the world to preach.
The opossum in our backyard just hangs from a tree.
Casey, age 7

M
addie insisted everyone wash their hands with soap and water before eating.

“Do we have to?” Jimmy groaned.

“Yes, you have to,” Maddie replied. She was dressed again, though the hem of her skirt was still slightly damp. It had just been too difficult to prepare the meal wearing Donovan’s oversize duster, the scent of him too distracting.

Hands washed and dried, everyone scrambled to sit on the floor around the pew. They searched the cellar for cutlery and plates with no success, but Brandon found a rusty old can opener that worked just fine.

“Let’s say grace,” she said. “We have so much to be grateful for.”

Ignoring the children’s glum faces, she took Brandon’s hand, and he took Sophie’s. Sophie hesitated before finally offering her hand to Jimmy. He looked about to protest, but Donovan shook his head. Jimmy grabbed hold of the tip of Sophie’s pinkie finger.

Donovan took Jimmy’s other hand before reaching for Maddie’s. Her hand seemed to melt in his, and her heart gave a mad thump.

“Would you like to do the honors, Sheriff?” she asked, looking at him through lowered lashes.

Donovan hesitated as if he was about to decline, but he nonetheless lowered his head. “Our dear heavenly Father,” he said, “thank You for bringing us together and for sending us a Christmas miracle. Amen.”

Donovan squeezed her fingers, and Maddie quickly pulled away.

“It doesn’t look like a miracle.” Arms crossed in front, Sophie thrust out her lower lip.

“What? Roast beef and gravy isn’t a miracle?” Donovan reached for a can of string beans. “Ah, mashed potatoes—my favorite.”

Sophie continued to pout, but Jimmy soon joined in the fun. “Lemon drops!” He reached across the table to grab a handful of corn.

Sophie’s mouth dropped open. “I can’t eat without a fork or knife.” She looked close to tears.

“We don’t need forks or knives,” Donovan replied. “We have this.” He picked up a piece of tack bread and demonstrated how to scoop up food without utensils.

Watching Sophie try to maintain proper table manners under such difficult circumstances, Maddie almost felt sorry for her. In contrast, Jimmy had no qualms about eating with his fingers, much to Sophie’s disgust.

Maddie scooped some kernels of corn on tack bread and handed it to Brandon. He ate hungrily, though he refused to eat peas. Soon color returned to his cheeks.

Without silverware or china, it was the crudest meal Maddie had ever encountered, but never had she appreciated one more.

Donovan held up a cracker topped with beets. “I think we should all make a toast to Jimmy.”

“What’s a toast?” Sophie asked.

“Don’t you know anything?” Jimmy said. “It’s something you eat in the morning and drink at night.”

Maddie cleared her throat. “In this case,” she explained, “a toast is our way of thanking Jimmy for helping to bring about a Christmas Eve miracle. God truly worked through him. You see? God does love and take care of His people.”

“Amen,” Donovan said, his mouth curving upward.

Following Donovan’s lead, Maddie held up a piece of hardtack, and Sophie followed suit.

“To Jimmy,” Donovan said.

“To Jimmy!” they all echoed, even Sophie.

Jimmy grinned from ear to ear, and Maddie felt her heart swell with thanksgiving. How she had hated this cabin, hated even Maverick. She had counted the days until the end of the school year when her contract was up and she could return to Boston. But at that moment, there was no place she would rather be.

Donovan followed the guide rope around back of the cabin to the lean-to. Morgan nickered and greeted him with a nod of his head. Donovan ran his hand along the horse’s neck. “It won’t be much longer, buddy.” He checked the horse’s water and hay supply and stepped outside.

Was it only his imagination, or did the wind seem less fierce than before? Or maybe he had simply grown used to it. Next to the constant chatter and querulous voices inside the cabin, cannon fire would seem mild. It had stopped snowing, but the sky was still gray, though not as dark.

He headed past the woodpile. His lungs burned from the cold, but it felt good to stretch his legs and clear his brain. He stopped to examine a pine tree, its boughs bent low with snow. This was crazy. No one in their right mind would try to pick out a Christmas tree in this weather.

He remembered the last time he’d traipsed through the woods in search of the perfect tree. His wife, Cynthia, liked her trees short and bushy. He liked his tall, slender, and graceful. Sort of like Miss Parker. He shook his head. Now where had that come from?

He managed a half smile. He could well imagine her reaction if she knew he’d likened her to a Christmas tree. Along with the thought came a whiff of lavender. Was he imagining things? Then he remembered that he’d loaned Miss Parker his duster while her skirt dried. It was a soft, delicate fragrance that brought to mind pleasant, though unwelcome, thoughts.

Visions of her filled his head. The way she looked in the morning, all disheveled with golden locks tumbling down her back … the tilt of her head, the sound of her laughter, the way she moved … But the strongest memory of all was holding her in his arms.

With this last thought came the guilt, raining down on him like an avalanche. Since Cynthia had died, he hadn’t even looked at another woman. At least not in
that
way. Hadn’t wanted to. Still didn’t want to. Did he?

Cabin fever, that’s what he had. He was a large man better suited to the great outdoors. Holing up in the confines of a cabin could make a man like him do strange things. What was he thinking? He’d already done strange things. Like laugh without the usual remorse that followed since Cynthia’s death. Much as he wanted to deny it, it felt right to laugh—good even. Just as it had felt right to pray for the first time in God only knew how long.

Thinking of Miss Parker felt right, too. He closed his eyes.
Forgive me, Cynthia. Forgive me
. But it wasn’t Cynthia he saw in his mind’s eye; it was Miss Parker.
Maddie
, as he now thought of her.

Shivering against the cold, he picked up his pace and circled back to the cabin.

After their Christmas Eve feast, Maddie washed out an empty tin can with water she’d heated by the fire. She longed for a cup of tea, but she would settle for plain hot water.

Donovan had gone outside, presumably for firewood, but he’d been gone along time. She began to worry. The wind still whistled through the rafters, though not quite as strong.

Cupping her hands around the tin can she used for a cup, she absorbed its warmth before taking a sip. Brandon and Sophie played a game of tabletop ninepins. She used the game to teach her younger pupils the concept of subtraction. If one had nine pins and knocked down five, how many were left?

No math was involved in the current game, just Sophie’s endless rules. She had a rule for how close to stand, how to roll the ball, how far apart to place the pins, and where to stand if it wasn’t your turn. Brandon accepted every rule with his usual stoic silence.

It was eerie for a child to be so quiet. Maddie wondered what it would take for him to speak again. Recalling how Brandon and Donovan had clung to each other, she blinked back tears. She didn’t know if that helped Brandon, but it certainly seemed to help Donovan. He was now more open, more approachable, more fun to be with.

A ball of clay whizzed by her head. She jumped, spilling her heated water.

“Sorry,” Jimmy said, slingshot in hand. “That one got away from me.”

“What are you trying to do?” Normally, slingshots were banned from the classroom, but the current situation called for leniency, something the school board knew nothing about. Even so, enough was enough. She was just about to confiscate it when Jimmy indicated the ceiling next to a ridgepole.

“See that hole up there?”

Stuffing a ball of wet clay into his slingshot, he took aim and pulled the leather pouch back. The clay shot up, hitting the ceiling with a splat.

Jimmy grinned. “Got it!”

And indeed he had. The clay stuck to the hole separating the vertical support beam from its oak lathing, preventing cold air from coming through.

“Why, Jimmy, that’s wonderful.” Even Donovan hadn’t been able to figure out how to plug the holes in the roof. She felt a surge of guilt. She always knew Jimmy had a fine, curious mind, but she’d been so busy pounding words and figures into him she’d failed to notice his creative problem-solving skills.

“I can’t wait to tell your pa how you saved the day.” Jimmy’s father considered book learning a luxury rather than a necessity, and Maddie had had some lively discussions with him over the matter. Now she was more determined than ever to see that Jimmy got a proper education.

Jimmy spotted another ceiling crack, and while he took careful aim, Maddie gave the door an anxious glance. The cabin seemed different without the sheriff, as if he had taken some vital part of the room with him.

“Let me try,” Sophie pleaded.

“It’s not for dumb girls,” Jimmy said.

Sophie got red in the face. “I’m gonna tell pa that you were using your slingshot in the classroom. So there!”

Maddie sighed. “It would be nice if you let Sophie try it just once.”

Jimmy said nothing. Instead, he slung another ball of wet clay upward, hitting his target with a satisfied grin.

Maddie set her tin can down and headed for the door just as it flew open. Startled, she drew back. She couldn’t see Donovan for the pine tree he carried. It was so huge he could barely get it through the door.

“A Christmas tree!” Sophie shouted.

Maddie shook her head in wonder. Cutting down a tree in this weather must have been a challenge.

Brandon clapped his hands and jumped up and down.

Donovan stood the tree in a corner and stepped back. The tree was wet and laden with clumps of ice, but it was shaped in a perfect triangle, each bough thick with bright-green needles. The fresh smell of pine filled the room.

“It’s perfect,” Maddie said.

“We don’t have any decorations,” Sophie said, frowning.

“You’re right.” Maddie glanced around. “Wait a minute.” She fumbled in her box of supplies. “Found it!”

It was a locket with a broken clasp. She palmed the jewel piece, expecting a surge of pain or hurt or, at the very least, unpleasant memories. Surprised when nothing of the sort came, she draped the chain over an upper branch as if it held no more meaning than a string of cranberries.

Following her lead, Jimmy dug into his trouser pocket and pulled out a penny whistle and penknife, attaching both to a lower branch.

Sophie checked the pockets of her dress and, finding them empty, pulled the blue ribbons off her braids. She then tied each one to a separate branch.

Brandon tugged on his dilapidated angel wings.

“You want to put your wings on the tree?” Maddie asked.

Brandon nodded.

“But those look awful,” Sophie said. “They don’t even look like wings anymore.”

Donovan placed a hand on Sophie’s shoulder. “It’s okay,” he mouthed, with a wink.

Maddie worked the angel wings into the branches. She stepped back. “I do believe that is the most beautiful tree I’ve ever seen.”

“No star.”

Never before having heard Brandon speak, it took Maddie a moment to identify the unfamiliar voice as his.

“He talked,” Sophie squealed. Even Jimmy looked impressed.

Heart leaping with joy, Maddie smiled at him. “You’re right; we don’t have a star.”

“Yes, we do,” Donovan said. He unpinned the star-shaped sheriff’s badge from his vest and handed it to Brandon. “Would you like to put this on the tree?”

Brandon turned the badge over in his hands before holding up his arms so Donovan could lift him. Brandon reached for the upper branches and stood the brass star at the very top of the tree, next to the trunk. The badge picked up the light from the fire and appeared to be twinkling.

Maddie lifted her skirt and did a little jig—another rule broken. Teachers were required to remain decorous at all times. Luckily for her, Sophie was too busy gazing up at the tree to notice. “I do believe this is the most magical Christmas Eve ever!”