SNOW KISSED CHRISTMAS: Sweet Historical Romance Novella--Short Read (6 page)

She watched him closely, and he knew she’d understood when she blew a raspberry and shook her head.

“Bossy man,” Betsy told Annie. Then she sat up too fast and groaned when her head throbbed. She swung her legs to the floor and then, dizzy and nauseous, grabbed Annie’s arm to steady herself. “Ooooh, dizzy.”

“You get yourself back in that bed this minute, missy, you saw what the Mountie said,” Annie scolded. “And let’s get these filthy trousers off of you.” She undid the buttons and belt and then scooted the garment off Betsy’s legs, drawing up a light blanket to cover her sister’s white drawers.

“Bring me skirt, please, I want to help with supper, too many people just for you.” Betsy knew what it took to cook for so many people. She’d been helping Annie do it most of her life, and with Annie expecting, she needed to ease the burden for her sister.

“Nonsense. Mary and the twins will help me, and even little Alice is quite good at peeling potatoes these days. if I need more help, I’ll call on that handsome policeman of yours.” Annie gave her a teasing look.

Betsy shook her head and then grimaced at the pain that shot though her skull. “Not mine. Hearing man. No more hearing men for me ever again.” The memory of George Watson’s betrayal still hurt, even though it had been more than a year now.

“This one can sign, though,” Annie pointed out. “George Watson was a cad, and not smart to boot. As much time as he spent here and with you, he ought to have learned some sign. then to ride off like a thief in the night without so much as a thank you for Noah! He was no gentleman, that was certain. This Mountie is a gentleman. It shows in his speech and manner.”

Betsy had never told her sister the details of what Watson had done to end their relationship. “Hearing though,” Betsy insisted, using the only excuse that would make sense to Annie.

Annie sighed. “Hearing, deaf, you make too much of that one thing. I don’t know what that Watson man did to you, but you mustn’t judge all men by one bad egg. You’ll end up a spinster, and that’s a hard, lonely life.” She spoke, signing only the odd word like “spinster” that might be hard for Betsy to catch. “That isn’t what you want, Bets. You need a husband and a family of your own.” Unconsciously, her hand caressed her belly. “And the chances of ever meeting a deaf man you could love, well, that’s like looking for a needle in a haystack. How many other deaf people have you ever met? Apart from elderly people.”

It was an old argument between Betsy and her sister.

“Florence. I met Florence.” Betsy still wrote to her, even though it had been months since she had heard back. What had become of her friend? Florence and her mother had visited their relatives, the Carlsons, five years ago for an entire summer. Betsy had been overjoyed to meet someone young and deaf and female, like herself.

Florence had taught her the proper way of signing. When the visit was over and she returned to Toronto, Florence had written often, and then as the years passed, the letters grew fewer and fewer. In the last one, she’d had been about to marry a hearing man, a butcher in Toronto. That was the last Betsy had ever heard from her. She’d written and told her friend about moving to Medicine Hat, working as a seamstress, hoping to have her own photography studio. She’d given Florence her address, care of Mrs. Coleman’s boarding house, but she’d never heard another thing.

Annie moved to the window. “Jake’s barking, I think Noah’s back. He’ll be that worried, seeing the fire and all. I’d better get going with supper, he’ll be hungry too. Now, for once in your life do as you’re told and keep your head down on that pillow for the rest of the evening. Stay tomorrow and Monday so you’re feeling better before you head back to the Hat.”

Betsy shook her head and then grimaced when the movement sent a bolt of pain through her skull. “Have to go back Monday morning, have appointment for family photo,” Betsy signed. She was beginning to become known for her portraits. If she was ever to save enough money for her own photography studio, she needed every single customer.

“All the more reason to stay put and recover now, while you can, then.”

“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.