SNOW KISSED CHRISTMAS: Sweet Historical Romance Novella--Short Read Read online

  “You feel alright? Baby is fine?” Betsy’s face showed her concern. “You must not work too hard. Try and rest more.”

  “Don’t fret over me, I’m perfectly well, and the baby’s fluttering about like a little butterfly, nothing to worry about.”

  Betsy felt relieved. Annie had miscarried two years ago. She’d been in her third month, and Betsy had been terrified by the quantities of blood and the pain. Noah had been frantic. Annie was almost seven months along now, so maybe the danger was past. Betsy has asked Rose’s mother, Gladys, and she’d said that once the third month was past, usually the danger of losing the child was lessened.

  “You and Noah, always fretting like a pair of old hens over me.” Annie’s smile was gentle. “If I needed to rest, I would. But I’m perfectly healthy this time, so stop your worrying.”

  Betsy could only pray that it was so.

  Annie hurried out, and Betsy had to admit that her head hurt like fury. Trying to get up had left her faint and nauseous. Her wrist ached, her ribs hurt with every indrawn breath, and she was beginning to be aware of bruises in other places as well, notably her backside. How could she have landed on her head and still hurt her backside?

  Her thoughts went to Jingles. It was a miracle her beloved mare hadn’t broken her leg. She’d have had to be put down, and it would have broken Betsy’s heart. if Jingles hadn’t raced back to the farm for help, she would likely have died in the fire. Love for her horse warmed her heart.

  Reluctantly, she admitted that at least part of her gratitude was owed to James Macleod, as well as her horse. She remembered the moment when she’d come to properly and looked up at the policeman. She’d felt incredible relief to have him helping her, and also a sense of strength and safety in his arms, which was strange. Since Watson, she distrusted any man not in her immediate family, yet James’s touch, his arms around her, hadn’t frightened her. It wasn’t fear she’d felt, she admitted now. It was something quite different, something she didn’t want to feel for any hearing man.

  Her photographer’s eye had captured a mental image of his features, and she went over them in her mind’s eye one by one. Sculpted high cheekbones, face bronzed by the sun. Lines around his eyes from squinting at the prairie. He had sad eyes, dark brown, unreadable eyes, did James Macleod. They were incredibly intense, as if he could see right through to her thoughts, as if he was looking into her. Straight dark eyebrows, square jaw, neat ears flat to his head, tanned neck. Long arms and legs, wide shoulders. Very strong; he’d lifted her on to the horse as if she weighed no more than four-year-old Nellie.

  And he knew how to sign. She still could hardly believe he knew sign language. He was also easy to lip read because he was clean-shaven. So many men wore beards and moustaches, which made it difficult to read their lips.

  He was a very tall, good-looking man, she acknowledged to herself. His hair was midnight black, thick and inclined to curl. His wide mouth was quick to smile. His large, rough hands had been gentle on her wrist and on her head. She sensed he was a kind man. She pondered briefly over why he didn’t want to tell her more about his education. He’d been uncomfortable when she brought it up. There was a confidence in the way he’d bound up her wrist and treated her head that made her think he was a doctor. Being a doctor brought huge respect and prestige, especially here in the Canadian west. But, then, so did being a member of the North-West Mounted. But why didn’t he want to talk about himself?

  Curiosity killed the cat, Annie always told her, but how else did people learn?

  She’d like to photograph him. His features were bold, shoulders broad, waist and hips narrow. He was wearing a buckskin jacket and grey homespun shirt instead of the scarlet dress she’d noticed policemen wearing in Medicine Hat. His narrow trousers, however, had the distinctive policeman’s stripe and were tucked into high, dusty boots.

  A handsome man. A man women would follow with their eyes and flirt with. He’s hearing, she reminded herself. So don’t dream about him, Bets. Remember, never trust hearing men, police or not. Hearing and deaf live in very different worlds.

  With that, exhausted and weary, she fell asleep.

  “I can’t thank you gentlemen enough for coming to my wife’s rescue today,” Noah said, raising his water glass in a salute to the Mounties gathered around the supper table. “I should have read the weather better than I did and stayed home.”

  “No one can predict sheet lightning starting a blaze,” Constable Pringle said, and all the Mounties nodded in agreement.

  The big supper table was crowded with the four Mounties and Noah and his family. Annie had fed the older children before the adults, and the youngest, red-haired little Nellie, now sat nodding on Noah’s lap, sucking at the two fingers she had plugged in her mouth. In answer to James’s question as to how old she was, Nellie had shyly held up four of those fingers.

  The likeness between the girls and their pretty mother was striking, James thought. It was curious how the girls all had their mother’s fiery hair, while the boys were dark like Noah. They were an exceptionally handsome family.

  The oldest girl, Mary, was serving the food. She was going to be a beauty, with the same fine features and glorious thick flaming hair as her mother. She was ten, she’d informed him. Her sister Alice was six; her twin brothers Samuel and Charlie, eight.

  Noah Ferguson had a fine family. He was also a good farmer, a good provider. The children were well-mannered, clean and clever, obviously loved and well cared for. The homestead was carefully tended, the livestock penned in strong enclosures, the house and barn both spacious and well-constructed. Even the outbuildings, chicken coops, and woodshed had been sturdily built.

  James thought Noah was considerably older than his wife, but he was also tall, strong, and good looking, his thick dark hair just starting to turn white at the temples. Judging by the way they smiled at one another, the way Annie’s hand lingered on her husband’s shoulder, it was obvious this was a love match. Noah had insisted Annie sit down beside him and allow Mary to do the fetching back and forth. He’d seen the girl load a tray and take it in to Betsy. He was relieved that she’d taken his advice and stayed in bed, although part of him also wished she was sitting at the table. He wanted to get to know her better.

  The room they sat in was very large, a combination kitchen and sitting room in one. There was a cook stove in the kitchen part, and a big heater at the other end of the sitting room. Two horsehair sofas flanked the stove, with embroidered pillows along their back. A rocking chair sat beside the cook stove, and a dresser held precious bits of china. The walls were papered in pink and yellow flowers, and he’d taken time to study the photographs hung here and there.

  Annie had confirmed that Betsy had taken them. They were mostly family photos, but instead of the usual formal poses, these depicted a more casual approach, with the children hugging dogs and cats, Noah with his arm around Annie’s shoulders and his youngest in his arms, one of Noah chopping wood. They were all carefully framed in strips of polished wood, and Annie said that Betsy had also made the frames, with some help from Noah.

  “Please tell Betsy I had a look at Jingles’ leg, there’s not a thing amiss with it. The mare came off much more fortunately than she did,” James said now to Annie, sitting between him and Noah. He passed her the platter of cold ham, and then the fat loaf of sliced fresh bread. There was also a huge bowl of boiled eggs, jars of pickles, coleslaw, fresh-churned butter. A dish of stewed fruit and a platter of oatmeal cookies were the perfect finale.

  “This is a grand meal, Annie, we all thank ye for it,” he added. “We’d be eating hard tack and bully beef were it not for you.”

  The other policemen all agreed, and lifted their water glasses in a toast to their hostess.

  Her cheeks turned pink with pleasure, but she waved a dismissive hand at the loaded table. “It’s not but a pickup meal, what with the fire and Betsy being lost and all.”

  “Is she really not badly injured?” Noah asked
with a worried frown. “Should we have Doctor Kinsade come?”

  “Sergeant Macleod was every bit as good as a doctor,” Annie said.

  James tensed. He deliberately didn’t look at Annie.

  “She’s sprained her wrist and banged herself up a bit, but I’m certain there’s no need to have the doctor come by, Noah,” Annie went on. “And she insists she’s riding back to Medicine Hat on Monday morning, she says she has photography appointments.”

  “She’s not riding back alone,” Noah said firmly. “I’ll accompany her. I don’t approve of her riding alone across the prairies, I’ve told her so many times.” He turned to James and added, “She’s far too independent, is our Betsy.” His tone was one of concern and deep affection. “She will ride out by herself, despite that I forbid it.”

  “Maybe I can help,” James suggested. “I’ll escort her if that’s acceptable. I should check in with Staff Sergeant Osler on Monday and give him a report on the fire.”

  Not entirely necessary, James knew. Osler wouldn’t expect him to ride all the way back to headquarters just to report that he and his men had fought the fire successfully. But it sounded logical enough. Noah was right, it wasn’t safe for a woman to ride alone. There were still renegade bands of Indians and not a few outlaws on these western prairies.

  But he also knew that wasn’t the reason he was offering.

  “That would be a great kindness, sir. I thank you,” Noah said. “I don’t exactly fancy setting off again toward the Hat. One trip a month is more than enough for me.”

  “It will be my pleasure,” James said, startled to realize it would be. The surprising truth was, he very much wanted to get to know Betsy Tomkins. What better way to accomplish that than a long horseback ride across the prairies? He didn’t let himself wonder why it was important to get to know Betsy. He just knew it was.

  Sunday was a busy day. James and his men tracked offshoots of the fire, using gunnysacks to beat out stubborn flames, and then they split up, delivering the mail entrusted to them to the Ferguson’s neighbors, the Hopkinses, and then checking on two new families in the vicinity, making certain they had provisions and were preparing for the coming winter. One of the new settlers reported a small herd of wild stallions in a nearby gulch, and James sent his constables to round them up and take them back to the detachment. Horses were as precious as gold.

  It was late evening before he returned to the Ferguson farm, and by the time he ate the stew Annie had put aside for him and helped Noah with the chores, he was more than ready to bed down in the tidy room in the barn where he and his men had spent the previous night. Before he slept, he thought of the following day, when he’d ride with Betsy. He was very much looking forward to it.

  On Monday morning, they left the Ferguson farm when only the faintest hint of dawn was showing in the eastern sky.

  Annie had made them a substantial breakfast with Betsy’s help: oat porridge, bacon, eggs, fresh biscuits hot from the oven. The women talked as they worked, flashing signs rapidly in between chores.

  James, who’d helped Noah with the morning chores, also offered the women his assistance. He was told firmly to sit down, drink his coffee, talk to Noah and keep out of their way. He gave Annie a snappy salute and did as he was told.

  Before they ate, James saw Betsy have an animated discussion with Noah. Out of politeness James turned his back so he wouldn’t see the signs. He was fairly certain she was protesting the fact that he was riding back with her. Noah must have held his ground, because she made no further protest when, after breakfast, James and Noah brought both saddled horses from the barn.

  Betsy was still pale, and he’d noticed her wince as she settled into the saddle. She had a fresh white bandage around her forehead, but she’d insisted on taking off the sling on her arm, saying that it felt much better. He’d wrapped her wrist again that morning, far too aware of the tender skin on the inside of her wrist, the way blue veins snaked under her fair skin, the long, tapering fingers with their short nails, the chemical stains from developing fluid on the palms of her hands. Being that close to her, he could also smell her fragrance, a mixture of the lemon scent of her hair, a hint of rose-scented soap and, underneath, an enticing musky odor that was purely Betsy.

  He’d been sorry when the bandaging was done. He’d had the most inappropriate and overwhelming urge to take her in his arms.

  She rode astride again this morning, but not in trousers. She was wearing a dark green dress with a voluminous skirt that allowed her to arrange the folds modestly, covering her legs. She favored her injured wrist, and although she’d assured him it wasn’t hurting much, he didn’t believe her. Nevertheless, she used it to loosely hold the reins so her good arm was free to sign.

  “How did ye get interested in photography, Betsy?”

  The ride ahead was long, and he wanted to take every opportunity for conversation. His signing was coming back, and his fingers were more nimble today. He was also getting better at reading the signs.

  “Man came to the door when I was seventeen, asked Noah if he wanted photograph of family,” Betsy signed. “I never saw camera before, and when I saw photo, I thought it was magic. Something that didn’t need speech to explain, something beautiful that uses only eyes and light.”

  Bonnie, as are you, lass, James thought. The light was still faint, outlining her profile against the dark sky. He rode close to her so he could see her signs.

  “So ye decided then and there ye’d be a photographer?”

  She gave him a quirky grin and shook her head. “Never thought possible for deaf girl like me. Then new teacher came to the school, woman teacher, Miss Pettigrew, she let me come to class and borrow books. Some about photography, and teacher say I can be photographer if I want hard enough.”

  “Before ye were seventeen, ye didn’ae go to school?”

  Betsy shook her head. “No time for school before Annie marry Noah. Sister and I work in factory in Toronto after our mother die.” She made a face. “Bad place, make me very sick, cough all the time.”

  The thought of the two girls working in a factory made Noah shudder. He’d heard about the horrendous conditions, the numbers of children who died doing such work. There were many such places in England, and a few even in Scotland.

  “And yer father?”

  She screwed her face into a grimace and made the sign for drinking. “Not good man, take all our mother’s money for spirits. Died when I was five.”

  “How old were ye when Annie married Noah?”

  “Fourteen. Noah try, but schoolteacher back then wouldn’t let me go to his school, because I am deaf. But our mother already taught me to read and write when I am little, her father schoolteacher, and Noah’s father gave me books, Noah taught me mathematics. Then Miss Pettigrew teach me many things, and I raise baby calf to big steer, sold him and bought camera. Big camera.” She made a huge circle with her hand.

  Noah laughed. “A steer for a camera, seems a good trade to me.”

  “Me, too.”

  Her saucy grin captivated him.

  “And now I have small camera, Noah and Annie and children give me for my birthday.”

  Her enthusiasm and excitement captivated him. Her face reflected every emotion her fingers spelled out.

  “Love, love, love little camera. Can carry with me, easy to take photographs.” Her passion for photography was evident in every dramatic sign, every animated expression.

  She’d looped the reins loosely around the saddle horn now, still using only her uninjured hand to sign. Jingles, well-trained animal that she was, didn’t miss a step.

  James had to concentrate hard to keep up with the stream of signed words. His own signing, although improving, was still badly out of practice. He understood her easily, but sometimes she giggled when he got what he meant to say totally wrong, and several times he pretended to get it wrong just to hear that deep throated, light-hearted sound.

  The horses, left to their own decisions, had a
greed on a moderate walking pace, which meant the trip would take much longer than usual, and that suited James fine. This girl—this woman—intrigued and fascinated him. She was so intelligent, so assured in spite of her deafness. She was courageous, determined to make her own way in the world when the accepted course was usually marriage, children, home making.

  They’d left at dawn, and for the first two hours it was comfortably cool. They had to make a wide detour around the area where the fire had been, which was also going to add several hours to the journey. The morning grew warmer as they rode.

  The prairie was filled with sound: buzzing grasshoppers, singing birds, grass whispering in the breeze. James was aware as never before how much sound there was in his world, and how much silence there must be in hers. But he also noticed as never before the visual beauty, the waving grasses, the birds, an antelope that moved with fluid grace out of their way, the vast blue canopy of sky above them.

  “Were ye always deaf, Betsy?” It was a very personal question, and he wondered if she’d take offense.

  She shook her head. “Annie says when I was baby, I could hear. Two years old, I have high fever, then deaf.”

  So no real memory of sound. He was thinking about that when she turned the tables on him.

  If you loved this excerpt, Go HERE for the rest of SILENT LIGHT, SILENT LOVE

  And HERE for the first in the Western Prairie Bride series:

  LANTERN IN THE WINDOW

  Mail Order Bride

  A Western Prairie Brides Romance

  Ever wondered what it might be like to be a mail order bride?

  Or the groom, already married to a woman he’s never laid eyes on?

  On the Canadian prairies in 1886, having a mail order romance wasn’t unusual. Noah Ferguson desperately needed help on his farm. Annie Tompkins knew she couldn’t go on working in Lazenby’s cotton mill.