Sweetwater Springs Scrooge: A Montana Sky Holiday Short Story (The Montana Sky Series) (3 page)

The curiosity in those eyes that looked so much like Marian’s made it seem almost as if
she’d
asked Elias the question. He shot the boy a sharp look. “Where did you hear that?” He rested the axe head on top of a log and waited for the answer.

Noah shrugged. “Talk here and there.”

Ah, little pitchers have big ears.
Elias leaned on the axe handle and decided to admit the truth. “My fool pride. My fool,
stubborn
pride,” he corrected. “Well, that’s what
kept
us apart. But what
drove
us there….” He’d had long years to ponder that very subject. “Your grandmother was frivolous and flighty and flirtatious.” Yet even as he said the words, meaning them as condemnation, he could feel a smile lift the corners of his mouth just thinking of young Marian. He hastily smoothed out his expression. “We argued about—”

Noah’s brows pulled together.

Elias belatedly recalled he was talking about the boy’s only kin and broke off his sentence. “Let’s just say, your grandmother had a tender heart. She was right generous with those in need, but also quick to waste money on ribbons and lace and…pets.”

“Pets?” Noah rattled on without waiting for an answer. “Our cat died last month. Zephaniah, his name was.” His mouth turned down. “Grandmother cried.”

His heart clenched at the thought of Marian being in pain, even over a cat. But then again, she had much to grieve over—a cat not the least of her losses. “Your grandmother was always partial to animals…cats.” And he hadn’t minded…much. Cats served their purpose in keeping down the vermin population if they lived in the barn. “Her cat wasn’t the problem. The lamb was.”

Noah’s eyes gleamed. “Grandma had a lamb?”

“Yes, and I thought Marian was foolish for how she doted on that creature.” Elias moved the axe and sank down on the log so he could be eye-to-eye with Noah. He took a breath, inhaling the scent of wood chips. “I made the mistake of siding with Marian’s father when he wanted to turn her lamb into company dinner.” The memory stung.

Noah gazed at him, his expression solemn. For a few seconds, his eyes held ancient wisdom. “Maybe you need to give my grandma a lamb for Christmas.”

Elias froze, staring at the boy, struck by the idea.
To go back in time, to make amends…to court Marian again. Is it even possible?

He must have uttered the words aloud for Noah answered, his tone matter of fact. “Of course, it’s possible. Grandmother says anything’s possible at Christmas time.”

~ ~ ~

When Marian took barley and rabbit soup to the still-ailing Mrs. Murphy who was confined to her bed, she learned the widow had heard Noah was spending time after school with Elias Masters.

With a smirk unbecoming to her hatchet-face, the widow waited with an avid gleam in her eyes for Marian’s reaction.

Marian couldn’t believe her ears.
How could a woman who’d been bedridden for a week learn something about Noah that his own grandmother didn’t know?
As much as she wished to throw the soup bowl at the widow, she restrained herself, presenting a serene expression. She cut her visit short and hurried home to question her grandson, her stomach churning the whole way.

Marian had to wait for Noah to come home, but this time, if Widow Murphy was to be believed, she knew he wasn’t playing with his friends until dark as she’d supposed. When the boy had first come to live with her, she couldn’t help feeling over-protective, and she’d closely questioned his activities each day. Noah was all the family she had left. But as he’d made friends, she’d forced herself to relax her vigilance, grateful he seemed to be putting down roots in his new community.

But how had he become acquainted with Elias?

She began preparing dinner, her hands moving through the familiar tasks, while her mind wondered what Noah was up to. As darkness descended, Marian kept glancing out the window, impatient for her grandson’s return.

This was the most difficult time of her day. Even after almost two years, sometimes she found herself listening for the sound of her husband’s footsteps before remembering he and her daughter were gone. Once again, grief would hit.

Earlier in the day, she could busy herself with household tasks. Later in the evening, she would settle into a book. Marian had never found time for the luxury of reading when she was a wife and mother, but now, thankfully, that pleasure took her away from her circumstances and thus brought comfort.

Always at dusk, her grief returned as she waited—waited in vain.
Until Noah came to live with me.

But as much as her grandson filled her with joy and distracted her from her grief, Noah couldn’t take the part of a companion, and loneliness lay heavy on her. The setting of the sun and the darkening outside her window reflected the shadows in her heart.

Finally, Noah rushed through the kitchen door, barely slowing enough on the way to his room to toss her a greeting.

“Noah Michael Turner, you stop right there!” Marian placed her hands on her hips, preparing to launch the inquisition.

With a huff, he paused, unwinding his scarf. “But, Grandma, I’m hungry.”

“Very well.” Resigned to waiting for information, Marian made a shooing motion. “Supper is ready.”

“Yippee!” Noah pulled off his stocking cap, flung it at the hat rack, and missed. He stooped to scoop up the hat and shoved it on the hook. His scarf and coat quickly followed. He moved to the basin and did a scanty wash up.

“Soap your hands,” Marian instructed, wondering at what age boys finally learned to keep themselves clean. Judging from some men she’d seen, the answer was never.

She dished up their food and set the plates on the table. After they said grace, she allowed Noah a few moments before casually mentioning, “I’ve heard you’ve been spending time with Elias Masters.”

Noah wrinkled his nose. An innocent expression slid across his face. “Mr. Masters is my friend, and I’m helping him out.”

“Helping Mr. Masters?”

Noah nodded, stuffing such a big bite into his mouth that he couldn’t answer.

“Manners, Noah!”
Raising a boy child is certainly different than bringing up a girl!

He didn’t respond, but his next forkful was slightly smaller. He applied himself to his meal so thoroughly that Marian had to wonder if Noah was truly hungry or just trying to avoid the topic of Elias Masters.

Probably both
, she thought skeptically.

Over roast beef, mashed potatoes, slices of thick dark bread and butter, and pickled cucumber salad, the boy started to open up and became his usual talkative self. “I’m helping Mr. Masters clean out and repair his stable.”

“My word!” Marian exclaimed in shock. “Elias doesn’t have a horse. Why, that man hasn’t used his stable for almost thirty years. He sold his horse after—” She cut off the rest of the sentence.
After I broke our engagement and married Harold three weeks later.

Noah gave her a wide-eyed gaze. “Mr. Masters said he was tired of having the stable fall to rack and ruin.”

“Why now, when he hasn’t attended to the place for so long?”

Noah just shrugged and turned his attention to his mashed potatoes.

Marian’s appetite fled. She stared at the flowered wallpaper of the dining room, her gaze unfocused. Unbidden, a memory returned—the two of them sneaking into the stable and climbing the ladder to the hayloft. Elias had spread out saddle blankets, and they’d lain together in the fragrant hay, hands clasped, talking about their future. Until Elias kissed her, thus putting a stop to all conversation.

Marian touched her lips, remembering. She couldn’t believe after twenty-eight years of marriage to Harold that she could still feel Elias’s mouth on hers—the shape of his lips, his tongue, his scent, or the contours of his body—broader shoulders, harder arms…. After her marriage, the contrasts between Harold and Elias were stark and foreign. Once she wed and adjusted to her husband, Marian had willed herself to forget her first love and had thought she’d succeeded.

Until Noah broke my vase.

~ ~ ~

The following afternoon, Marian sat in the kitchen knitting. She was taking advantage of Noah’s absence to make mittens to put in his Christmas stocking. From time to time, she rose to stir the stew in a pot on the stove.

Normally knitting at this time of year was a placid task, as she watched the dark descend outside her window, heard the howl of the wind, and knew she was safe and warm inside her cozy home. Usually, she’d be making presents and anticipating Christmas and the journey she and Harold would make to Crenshaw to stay with Juliana and her family for the holidays.

Last year, Marian had still taken the train to the city to spend Christmas with Noah and his father—a muted time of painful mourning that they’d struggled through—the two adults, who didn’t particularly like each other, trying to give the boy they both loved a good holiday. They’d barely succeeded.

Christmas will never be the same without my girl.

Memories flashed through her mind: her daughter, just three and staring big-eyed at the Christmas tree; each year, how Juliana would up-end her stocking, pouring everything out at once instead of removing the items one by one; the time she’d danced around the room cradling her new doll and laughing with delight.

Marian sighed. Juliana had always been an impetuous child—a trait she hadn’t grown out of—too like her mother that way.
We both rushed into marriage
. Although Marian found contentment with Harold, she suspected Juliana hadn’t experienced the same comfort with Edward. Not that her daughter ever complained. She’d adopted her mother’s philosophy—
you made your bed, now lie in it.

Oh, Juliana, I miss you so!

The sharp ache of grief brought tears to her eyes, and Marian pressed her lips together to hold back a sob. She couldn’t allow Noah to discover her weeping. And now to add to her grief and concerns about the approaching holiday, she had her grandson’s inexplicable involvement with Elias to contend with.

She heard the clatter of Noah’s boots on the back stairs and whisked away the mittens, tucking them behind jars of pickles on a shelf in the pantry.

The door flew open, and Noah burst into the kitchen, his expression more animated than she’d seen since he’d come to live with her. He held up a round basket covered by a towel. “Look what Mr. Masters gave us, Grandma! A present.” With a flick of his hand, he whipped the towel off the basket.

A tabby kitten popped a head out. Curious green eyes surveyed Marian.

Speechless, Marian stared back at the animal. She tried to form a question, but her mouth didn’t work.

“I told Mr. Masters that you cried when Zephaniah died.”

Marian found her tongue. “Noah Turner, you didn’t tell him such a thing.” Her stomach twisted with embarrassment.

“Yes, I did, Grandmother. And I’m glad, for Mr. Masters went and found us a kitten. He said we should name it Haggai, that’s the book in the Bible that comes after Zephaniah. Cuz if we named it Habakkuk, the one that comes before, everyone would think we were talking about Mr. Pendell. Habakkuk’s his first name, you know.”

“I do know.” Her heart beating rapidly, Marian reached out to stroke the kitten’s fuzzy head. “We don’t have to name him after a Bible chapter. And even if we did, there are other chapters to choose from. We don’t need the one before or after Zephaniah.”

“I like Haggai.”

“How about Genesis…for beginnings?”
Now why did I say that?

“I like Haggai better.”

“So do I,” she hurriedly agreed. “Haggai he is, then.”

“I told Mr. Masters that he should give you a lamb.” Noah scratched the kitten’s head. “But he said by this time of year the lambs were already grown, and you’d probably like a kitten better. But if you still wanted a lamb, he’d get you one.”

A lamb! Elias must have told Noah the story of our break up. Is he sorry for what happened?
She glanced at the stove. The stew was probably sticking to the bottom of the pot by now. “Get out of your coat, wash up, and finish setting the table for me.”

“Yes, Grandmother.” Noah thrust the basket into her hands.

Marian lifted the kitten out of the basket. He looked to be about three months old and had a white bib and front paws, and a rippling black tabby pattern over the rest of his body. “Hello, Haggai. You certainly are a beautiful boy,” she murmured, taking a seat and setting him on her lap. She tickled the kitten’s cheeks and stroked him.

Haggai began to purr, curling up as if he’d known her since he was born.

Noah moved to the washbasin.

Seeing his back was to her, Marian allowed her expression to soften.

Why had Elias given Noah the kitten?
She couldn’t help a sneaking hope that he was trying to court her—a hope that she squashed as soon as she became aware of the flickering feeling. Elias was capable of generous acts to woo her. But in reality he possessed the heart of Ebenezer Scrooge, without the redemption caused by the three ghosts. And that she couldn’t abide.

Nonetheless, unexpected tears pricked her eyes.

~ ~ ~

The next day, feeling a sense of anticipation, Elias readied himself for church by neatly trimming his hair and beard and donning his best suit. The cut might be thirty years out of date, and the black in the tweed fabric had a rusty sheen, but the suit was still serviceable. He only had one darn on the side by his knee where he’d caught the material on a nail and crudely stitched it. His shirt wasn’t so lucky. But with his jacket on, no one would see the patches.