Weathered Too Young (29 page)

Once the popcorn strings
were draped around the tree, Sla
ter went to the attic, returning with a small trunk.
Lark had joined the children in giggling with delight as Slater opened the trunk to reveal a lovely collection of items meant to adorn the tree.
There were small, velvet pouches festooned with tiny white feathers
,
twenty or thirty pretty prisms hung on dainty green ribbon.
There were several glass ornaments and small cornucopias crafted fr
o
m colorful papers.
Slater explained that he and Tom would fill the cornucopias and velvet pouches with sweets and trinkets before the children placed the
m
on the tree.
Then, each evening after dinner, the children could each choose one to pluck from the tree to open and enjoy, until they were all empty.

Lark had never known such an occasion!
All the while they worked to embellish the tree
,
she bathed in the wonder of such warmth and friendship.
Finally, once Slater and Tom had placed tiny candles on many of the tree bo
ugh
s
and
then carefully lit them, Lark felt tears brimming in her eyes
,
for she’d never seen anything so beautiful
—n
ot in all her life!
Still, even more beautiful than the tree w
ere
the resplendent, beaming faces of the children as they gazed at the finished creation that branded itself forever in her memory.

Tom hung a s
prig of mistletoe in the parlor
,
and it became the obsessive intention of young Johnny to capture Lark unaware beneath it. Lark was sympathetic toward his feelings, yet it was Slater who suggested she allow the boy to catch her once or twice beneath the sprig of kissing plant.
She did—twice—both times placing a sisterly kiss on Johnny’s blushing cheek.

Ev
enings were spent in the parlor
sitting before the hearth, eati
ng more of Slater’s popped corn
and listening to the reminiscent tales told by Slater, Tom
,
and Katherine.
The children often played games or worked puzzles.
At times
,
Katherine’s spirits were low in missing her husband. Still, Lark tried to distract her—to keep her busy with baking and other preparations.
In truth, Lark worked harder than ever she had before.
Still, she was happy.
Oh, she longed for Slater’s touch—for his attention and
kiss—that was true enough. Yet
again
,
she convinced herself that she must be glad he had kissed her at all—joyful that she’d known a moment in his arms.
After all, it was more than she’d ever hoped for.

Little Charlie had taken to sitting in Lark’s lap in the evenings. Slater had brought his mother’s old rocker down from the attic
,
and each evening Lark would settle in it, cradling Charlie as she rocked and softly sang to him.
It seemed this helped Charlie to sleep through the night—to keep him in his own bed with Johnny
,
instead of finding him sprawled in Slater’s.
Oh, once in a while he still begged Slater to keep him safe—sniffling and telling the big, strong, soft-hearted rancher that he was scared and missed his daddy
—
and would only go back to sleep if Slater cuddled him up.
Slater could never refuse the boy, of course.
Still, Lark’s lullaby rocking, combined with Katherine’s tender kisses and encouragements, found Slater able to obtain a good night’s sleep more often than not.

For near to a month, everyone at the Evans ranch had been anxiously anticipating the festivities of the Christmas social in town.
There was to be ham and cake, cookies and games, music and dancing.
Lark had worked long and hard with Johnny in teaching him to dance.
She’d even managed to stitch herself a new dress out of the pink calico she’d purchased from Mrs. Gunderson.
Still, as Christmas Eve dawned, a violent snowstorm made attending the social impossible.
Everyone was disappointed.
Slater and Tom invited the cowboys up from the bunkhouse for an early supper, and Lark thought that perhaps Eldon, Ralston
,
and Grady were near as disappointed in the weather keeping them from the social as the children were.
No doubt they’d had their heart
s
set on dancing with a pretty girl or two.
Still, the meal in the house seemed to soothe them, and they headed back to the bunkhouse with “
Merry Christmas” on their lips
and arms filled with gifts.

As the snow continued to blow, Lark tried not to let her anxieties concerning cold and winter eclipse her delight in the evening.
The sun had set
,
and all was dark and windy outside.
Still, it was warm in the house—especially the parlor where everyone had gathered to enjoy the lovely tree.

“Will Santa Claus come?” Lizzy asked.
The worry on her face caused Lark’s heart to ache.
She hadn’t forgotten the hope that burned in a child’s bosom where dreams of Saint Nicholas were concerned.

“Well, it’s a terrible storm, darlin’,” Katherine began.
“We wouldn’t want Santa to put himself in any danger, now would we?”

“Storm?” Tom exclaimed, however.
“Ain’t a storm ever been brewed that could keep ol’ Santy from makin’ his rounds. Ain’t that right, Slater?”

“Dang right,” Slater affirmed.
“Why
,
when me and Tom were little
…
once it snowed so hard it was deeper than the front door was high. We couldn’t get out of the house Christmas mornin’
,
but right there under our Christmas tree
…
Santy left me a bright red wagon.
And Tom?
Well, Tom got hisself a big ol’ rockin’ pony!
Santy always finds a way,” Slater said
,
nodding with assurance.
“So don’t you worry, Lizzy.”

“That’s right,” Tom added. “And you young
-
uns best think about gettin’ along to bed now so as he can make his visit.”

Lizzy and Charlie squealed with delight
,
their eyes filled with the bright light of excitement.

Charlie hopped down off Lark’s lap and ran to his mother.
Throwing his arms around her neck
,
he chirped, “I’ll even stay in my bed all night, Mama!”

“Good, honey,” Katherine said, smiling.

“Guess I oughta turn in too,” Johnny grumbled.

Katherine glanced to Lark
,
and they both stifled giggles.
Johnny was as excited about Christmas as the younger children were
. I
t showed—no matter how hard he tried not to let it.
Lark giggled as she listened to Charlie
’s
and Lizzy’s small feet racing down the hall toward their beds.
Johnny lumbered along after them, attempting to appear indifferent.

“Oh, Slater!
Tom!” Katherine unexpectedly scolded then.
“I wish you woul
dn’t have gotten their hopes up
so!
You know I haven’t had a chance to get to town to…to talk to Santa Claus.
I barely had enough time to make the things I have for them.
Now they’ll be expectin’ Santa to have been here!
I oughta paddle both your behinds.” Katherine’s face showed deep concern.

Slater and Tom exchanged glances wi
th one another
,
and Lark smiled, for she recognized the Evans mischief when she saw it.

Tom said, “Don’t you worry none, Katie. Santy always visits us…no matter what the weather.
Ain’t that right, Slater?”

Slater nodded.
“Yep.
Santy always comes.”
He paused, smiling at Katherine.
“You know me and Tom better than to think we wouldn’t have planned for Santy.
Shame on you, girl.”

“What do you mean you planned for him?” Katherine asked.

“Don’t worry about it, Kate
. M
e and Tom know what we’re doin
’
.”

“But
—
”
Katherine began.

“Remember that one Christmas when me and you was about fifteen, Katie?” Tom interrupted.
He looked to Slater.
“That one when you was home, Slater. Remember the town social that year?”

Lark grinned knowingly at Tom.
He was only trying to distract Katherine from worrying about Santa Claus.

“Yes, I remember it,” Slater grumbled.
“And you don’t need to be bringin’ that up.”

“Oh yes! The town social!” Katie laughed. “Tell the story, Tom. You’re so good at it…and I’d bet my bloomers that Lark hasn’t ever hear
d
it.”
Katherine giggled, winking at Lark.

“And she don’t need to,” Slater said, wagging an index finger at his brother.

“Well, now
…
let me see
,
” Tom began thoughtfully.
He stretched his legs in front of him as he leaned back on the sofa.
Tucking his hands behind his head, he continued, “Seems like it was one of the few times you was home for Christmas. Ain’t that right, Slater?”

“I was home plenty for Christmas,” Slater mumbled.
Lark watched as he stoked the fire—wondering if his cheeks were red from the heat of the flames or from anticipation of the story Tom was about to tell.

“Yep,” Tom sighed.
“I believe that Katie and me was about fifteen or so
…
you bein’ all growed up and seventeen.”
Tom chuckled and smiled at Lark.
“Seems old Slater
…
he was pretty puffed up in hisself, ya see, honey,” he told her.
“You know, him bein’ so young and cowboyin’ so long and all. This was before…anyhow
,
we all went to town for the social.
Ol’ Slater didn’t ride in the wagon with me and Daddy and Mama…no
,
sir.
Slater rode his own horse
, ’
cause he was a man and too old to be ridin’ in the back of the wagon.”

“I was a man,” Slater said.
“Mama was still wipin’ yer nose then.”

Tom chuckled and winked at Lark.
Katherine winked at her too, and Lark’s curiosity grew.
Apparently this was a story that promised to embarrass Slater somewhat
,
and she was impatient to hear it.

“So, ol’ Slater comes a
-
ridin’ into the town social all spiffied up
…
cleanest white shirt I ever did see him wear
,
before or since.
He had hisself a little bow tie at his neck
…
hair slicked back and smellin’ like a rose.”

“I never once smelled like a rose, Tom,” Slater growled.

“Well, smellin’ like a lilac then,” Tom teased.

Slater shook his head and continued to toy with the logs in the fire.

“Oh yes,” Tom chuckled, “
h
e sent them girlies to swoonin’ right and left!”
He paused to chuckle once more.
“Yep
,
them young female-type hearts just took to beatin’ like bird wings
;
a few of the old ones took to hammerin’ too.”

Katherine giggled and nodded to Lark in affirming that Tom was not exaggerating.

“Well, there was this mistletoe a
-
hangin’ up over the punch bowl, ya see.
Old Slater, he don’t
never pay attention to what’s a-
hangin’ up over his head…so he waltzes o
ver all handsome and manly like
to get hisself a cup of punch.”
Tom chuckled
,
and Slater inhaled a deep breath, shaking his head with disapproval.

“Quick as Slater gets to that there punch bowl and starts a
-
spoonin’ out a cup, all t
hese young, wild females come a-
flockin’ over…gigglin’ and grinnin’ like lunatic women.”

“You know, you wind a tale up way more than ya need to, Tom,” Slater interjected.

Tom ignored him, however.
“One of these silly fillies
…
well, she sorta points up, like this.”
Tom raised an index finger toward the ceiling.
“Ol’ Slater, he looks up and sees that mistletoe hangin’ there…figures he’s in a real tight predicament.
He’s still holdin’ his punch cup, but he’s a
-
lookin’ around at all them pretty young girls a-wantin’ to do some smoochin’ with him. He don’t see ol’ Johnny Tho
rnquist sneak up all quiet like
and pour hard liquor into his cup of punch.”