Quick anger flashed across Ellis's face. "I think I should give it to
Barbara."
"Well." Ellis's response unsettled him, and for a second Joe debated the
possible facets to this situation, then lost himself in the spirit of
the evening, "Come on. Emma's waiting."
He led them to the cabin, stood aside as they entered, and heard Emma's
sincere, "Merry Christmas! Merry Christmas, everybody!" Joe glanced at
Barbara and Ellis, standing close together. The younger children, all of
whom had remembered Christmas in Missouri but none of whom had thought
of it on the Oregon Trail, stared wide-eyed at the tree. Joe fidgeted,
glad because Emma knew just what to do. She addressed the wondering
children,
"Santa Claus was here and he left something for everyone." She picked up
a wrapped gift. "Carlyle."
Emma put the package in his hands and helped him open it. Staring at
this gaily painted wonder, the baby toddled off to cradle the horse in
his lap. He moved the movable legs and stroked the silken mane. Alfred
stood breathlessly, his mouth open and his eyes shining. Little Joe was
excited and baby Emma danced. Tad stood as he saw the men standing, but
what he felt showed in his bright eyes.
"This _must_ be Oregon!" Alfred exclaimed.
The adults smiled gently while Alfred stared in fascination at his bow
and arrows. Joe opened his present, and two arrows whistled across the
room. Her face wholly blissful, little Emma cradled the doll in her arms
and began crooning to it. Tad's eyes glowed when he tore the wrappings
from his hatchet. He tested the blade with his thumb and immediately
began honing it.
Lost in this unforgettable evening, Barbara slipped the silver bracelet
over her slim wrist and held it up for all to see. She smiled her thanks
at her father and mother. Emma picked up another package.
"Ellis. Barbara made it for you."
He took the knitted hat. It was of two colors, with a buffalo head
worked into the front and a silver tassel. He tried it on, then slipped
it off. The glance he gave Barbara was filled with infinite tenderness,
and nobody except Barbara heard his low-voiced thanks.
"Jim."
"Lordy, lordy!" Snedeker breathed.
Spellbound, he looked at the hat. Then he took his battered headpiece
off, opened the door, and threw it into the snow. The new hat he
smoothed over his shaggy locks, and reached up to touch it as though he
could not believe it was there. Snedeker strode across the floor, threw
both arms around Barbara, and kissed her. Barbara blushed.
The whistling wind played with the shingles on the cabin and plucked at
the chinking in the logs. Absorbed in their presents, the youngsters
scarcely glanced up. A coyote on the ridge behind the cabin began to
yell. Then the outside noises quieted for a moment and Emma's clear
voice sang,
"God rest ye merry, gentlemen,
Let nothing ye dismay--"
Joe joined in the centuries-old hymn, then Barbara and Ellis, and the
children. Jim Snedeker retreated to the background. He took his hat off
and stood silently, and in that moment he revealed completely the man
within his hard outer shell. Emma led the next carol,
"The first Noel the angels did say,
Was to certain poor shepherds in fields as they lay;"
Outside, the wind howled louder, and the coyote yelled again. But they
seemed strange and far-off noises that had no relation whatever with
the cabin or with those inside it. The spirit of the season was theirs,
and they were one with Him who had died for them. The last notes of the
last carol still trembled in the cabin when Emma smiled graciously,
"Jim, you and Ellis are to have dinner with us tomorrow. There'll be
pumpkin pie and roast antelope."
"Wait a bit, ma'am," Snedeker protested. "Did you say antelope?"
"Yes, Jim."
"Reckon not," Snedeker decided. "You just wait a bit. Don't leave your
hosses gallop away an' I'll be back."
He put his new hat tenderly on his head and left the cabin. Presently he
was back, with a huge smoked ham dangling from his right hand. It was
one Snedeker had been hoarding for his own use, and the last ham at the
post, but he gave it freely.
"Better Christmas dinner than antelope," he affirmed.
Emma's eyes shone with her pleasure at the prospect of a traditional
Christmas feast. "Oh! Thank you, Jim!"
"Welcome, ma'am! Plain welcome! I ain't had a Christmas like this sinst
I was eight years old. Well, I'll be shaggin' along. Comin', Ellis?"
"Soon."
Ellis lingered until the children were in bed, then bade a reluctant
good night and prepared to leave. Emma got her coat.
"Would you mind walking me to the store, Ellis? I do need a bit of
sugar."
"I'll be happy to, Mrs. Tower."
"Let me--" Joe began.