The Gift of Seeds (A Montana Sky Christmas Novella)

Chapter 1

June 1896

H ank Canfield strode out of the door of his log cabin, carrying the rocking chair he’d just finished crafting and set it on the porch. Then he took a seat and gazed out at the view, taken as always by the beauty of the high meadow before him.

Grassland dotted with flowers gave way to a small lake that reflected the sky and the view of snow-covered peaks. Daily the snow receded, though it might be a while until the mountains lost their caps. He’d purposely situated his garden, the outbuildings, and the barn behind the house so as not to spoil the view.

Overhead in the vast blue sky soared a golden eagle, no doubt looking for critters to take to its nest of chicks in the pine tree with the forked top. His buckskin stallion, Chipper, and two mares with their foals frolicked in the grass. Hank had chores he should be finishing, but he was a big believer in stopping to take a few minutes to appreciate the beauty of nature and enjoy his blessings.

He’d worked hard to acquire the land and build the house and barn. The sales from his horses, and his hunting, trapping, and fishing had paid enough to sustain him to the point that he could now support a wife, a goal he’d been working toward for the past couple years.

He imagined sitting with her next to him, shelling peas, perhaps, or mending clothes or knitting. On long winter nights, he’d have someone to warm the great bed he’d inherited from his parents, which was tucked into a corner of the cabin. He couldn’t wait to see children capering in the meadow with the horses.

“Ha!” he exclaimed aloud, in a pointed dig at his deceased grandfather, who’d raised him after his parent’s deaths. “My children will be allowed to play .”

If his grandfather were still alive, the bitter old man would sputter and predict the children would turn out “no good” from such indulgence. Like their father, they’d be shiftless, slothful. Probably also idolatrous.

I’ve proven him wrong. Hank had stubbornly insisted on making his own way and not touching a penny of his inheritance from the rigid old man. He lived in a beautiful place, free from familial expectations.

A pair of swans glided over the surface of the lake, trailing a narrow, silvery wake. Just watching their elegance soothed the ire that always arose at the memory of his grandfather. He put the thought of the old man out of his mind and concentrated on the far more attractive idea of a pretty wife.

Now that his garden was in, Hank could turn his attention to finding said wife. Once he’d bathed, shaved, dressed in his best, with slicked back hair, his shaving mirror told him that he looked tolerable enough a decent woman shouldn’t run screaming at the sight of him. He wouldn’t be able to offer her a luxurious life; it would be a life of labor. But most women in the West were prepared to roll up their sleeves and work alongside their men.

At least, I can give her this view.

He glanced to the empty spot next to him. Guess I’d better build a rocking chair for my future bride.

Going to church in the nearby town of Sweetwater Springs was as good a place as any to find a wife, for most of the people in the area attended when they could. Maybe he’d ask the minister to point out suitable women. He didn’t often attend Sunday service, given that the higher elevation of his homestead meant snow lingered longer here than in the town, often covering the narrow road down the mountain. But summer had finally arrived, and he could take advantage of the warm weather. I can be married before the autumn leaves turn burgundy and gold. Maybe by this time next year, we’ll have a baby.

I’ll need to make a cradle. Hank mentally added the task to his wife list.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught movement and glanced over to see his nearest neighbors—Torin Rees and his daughter Jewel, walking hand in hand.

Jewel was eleven, although with the mind of a three-year-old. She wasn’t “quite right,” the father had told him in a fierce tone when Torin had moved here with his baby daughter. Just as protectively, he’d declared that Jewel was special .

Witnessing the strong bond the man had with his baby had deeply moved Hank, given how he and his older sister had been mostly raised by an unloving, censorious grandfather. Then, too, he couldn’t help tumbling hat over bootheels for the adorable little one.

Jewel had her father’s mink brown hair and blue eyes, although hers were an almond shape. Her little pink tongue frequently protruded from her mouth. She was dressed in a tube-like red dress made by her father, her hair in two uneven braids.

At the sight of Hank, Jewel’s eyes lit up. She waved so hard, she lost her balance, and Torin had to hold his arm rigid to keep her upright. Once she was somewhat steady again, he released her.

In what served for a run, Jewel stumped over to Hank, her arms held up.

His heart squeezing with love, Hank stood, took long steps to the girl, and scooped her into a hug.

Jewel squealed. “Han!” She threw her arms around his neck.

He clasped her tight and smacked a kiss on her cheek. “Hey, baby girl.” He set her down and reached to shake Torin’s hand.

“Swans.” Jewel pointed to the lake.

Hank laughed. “Guess I don’t have to ask what brings you here.”

Torin smiled. “Guess not. Swans. You, too, of course, although you play second fiddle to the birds.”

“At least I’m higher than Brian,” Hank smirked, referring to their other neighbor, who lived along the lake on the other side of Torin and Jewel. “He’s third fiddle.”

“Only because the swans stay at your end of the lake,” Torin retorted with a matching smirk.

Hank couldn’t help grinning back, always glad to put one on over on Brian, with whom he shared a friendly rivalry, even if the man wasn’t anywhere nearby to know about the current conversation. The two also had an unspoken pact to lighten up Torin, for he was much too serious. No matter how much he adored his daughter, the burden of Jewel’s care weighed on him.

Hank went inside the house for the mason jar containing small pieces of stale bread and some cooked peas that he’d put aside yesterday for Jewel to feed the swans when next she came by. He twisted off the lid, set it on the counter, and then walked outside to hand the jar to the girl. “Here you go, honey.”

She smiled, her tongue poking out of her mouth. “Thann, Han.”

He grinned in return. “You’re welcome, Jewel baby.”

Holding the jar to her chest, she raced to the water—or at least hurried as quickly as Jewel, with her stumping gait, was able to move.

Once she tottered and fell, some bread spilling from the jar. Neither Hank nor Torin moved to assist her. The sand was a soft landing, and Jewel had a stubborn streak about getting up on her own.

The girl pulled herself to a crouch, carefully returned the bread and peas to the jar, and stood, moving toward the lake.

She was a familiar figure to the swans, and the pair glided toward her, graceful necks bowing. With a squeal, Jewel picked a scrap of bread from the jar and threw it to them. The piece didn’t go far, landing at the edge of the water. But the swans trusted Jewel enough to dart forward, one beating the other to gobble up the bread.

Torin took his gaze from his daughter and waved toward Hank’s latest addition to his furnishings. “Mighty fine rocking chair you have.”

Hank agreed, but to say so aloud would sound arrogant. “Took a while to figure out the curve of the rockers.” He gestured toward the chair. “Try it out.”

“Don’t mind if I do.” Torin settled himself in the rocker and let out a sigh. “Jewel was awake before even a hint of dawn.”

Hank pulled up the bench next to Torin. The two sat in silence for a while, watching the girl feed the swans, her joy making both men smile.

“Sunday next, I’m going to church,” Hank announced. “I’ll also stop by the mercantile. I’ll have a saddlebag full of purchases. But the other saddlebag is free. Let me know what you need from town.”

Torin rocked back. “Troubles me sometimes how beholden I am to you,” he said, his tone heavy. He didn’t take his gaze off his daughter.

Hank stared at him in astonishment. “What in tarnation do you mean?”

“You are as good a friend as can be found. You keep our secret.” Torin tilted his head toward Jewel. “You and Brian both. You fetch my supplies. You are good to my daughter—like an uncle—as unlike her real uncles as can be. I owe you so much.”

“You don’t owe me jack ,” Hank said, purposely crude to get his point through his friend’s thick skull and into his brain. This wasn’t the first time Torin had expressed the same concern or touched on the lingering, bitter pain from his family.

Hank pointed to Jewel. “I love that little girl.” He jabbed a finger in her direction. Love you, too , he thought to Torin.

The feeling the feeling was real, although, he didn’t say so aloud. A man didn’t go around expressing such sentiments to another man—no matter how good a friend. But he hoped Torin caught his meaning. “We all help each other out. Like all the times you and Brian and I pulled together to harvest or cut ice. How you watch my horses when I go visit my sister and her family.”

“You don’t go very often,” Torin pointed out.

“I’ll visit more if it’ll make you happy,” Hank retorted.

“So, what’s with this sudden impulse to attend church services?”

Hank wasn’t sure if he should mention wife-hunting, given Torin’s horrible experience with his short marriage. But it’s not as if I can hide that I’m courting. I’ll be away more often. She’ll have to visit….

“I think Jewel would love having a baby around to play with.”

Torin cocked an eyebrow. “Don’t you think you’re jumping the gun a bit? Or did you send for a mail-order bride and are picking her up tomorrow?”

Hank laughed. “I’m not that courageous. No, I figured I’d start courting the ordinary way—by finding a pretty lady at church.” He glanced at Jewel, and then at Torin. “I’ll warn you before I bring a lady by, so you won’t venture over. But at some point, I’d want my potential bride to meet our baby girl.” He lifted his chin in Jewel’s direction. “Any woman who wouldn’t accept that precious child isn’t the wife for me.”

“Good to know.”

Torin kept Jewel’s existence a secret. His wife had rejected the baby at birth, and, when he refused to institutionalize his daughter like both their families wanted, his parents disowned him, and the baby’s mother sought a divorce. Torin fled west, to seclusion, where no one would see Jewel and make fun of the child or reject her.

Torin raised an eyebrow. “You mean a lady accompanied by her family or chaperone?”

With a sheepish grin, Hank shrugged. “Living so isolated as we do, guess I’ve forgotten some of the niceties.”

Torin chuckled. “Best remember them if you’re going courting.” His expression sobered. “I’ll keep Jewel close to home on Sunday.”

“You must think I’m a fast worker.”

“I know you’re a fast worker.” Torin kept his tone mild. “You set your mind on something and plow dead ahead. Stubborn that way.”

Hank chuckled. He sat for a moment pondering and, somewhat to his chagrin, decided his neighbor was right. He’d always taken pride in singlehandedly achieving his goals. But Torin’s words made him sound too much like his grandfather for comfort. From what he remembered of his grandmother, who died of diphtheria when he was ten, she’d always seemed unhappy in her marriage. I will be a far better husband , he vowed to his future bride.

“Well…tomorrow is too early, so you two can frolic around the lake to your heart’s content.”

Torin let out one of his rare laughs, his blue eyes alight. “Frolic, eh?”

Hank couldn’t help but grin at his friends. “Yep.”

The bread jar empty, the swans drifted off the way they’d come.

Jewel waved and called out, “Ba-ba, before waddling back to Hank.

“All gone.” She handed him the jar. “Tank you.”

“Yep.” Hank ran the back of his index finger across her soft cheek.

“More?” she asked.

“Not for a while, hon.” His baking left much to be desired. The loaves turned out too heavy and sometimes scorched, which left plenty of scraps for the swans. But since he was heading to town, he would stop by the Muellers’ bakery for a couple of loaves and a dozen cookies. He’d eat every bite, leaving only a crust or two for the swans.

Jewel climbed onto her father’s lap.

With a grunt at her weight, Torin gave her a hug. “Soon she’ll be too big for my lap.”

Hank hid a stab of sadness with a smile. When Jewel was born, the doctors predicted a short life for the mongoloid baby, lasting only a few years. Each birthday was a miracle. However big the child grew—God willing to adulthood—he knew without a doubt, Jewel’s father would let his daughter cuddle on his lap.

“Rock.” Jewel pointed.

Torin bent to see his daughter’s face. “You want to go climb your rocks?” he asked, referring to a cluster of low, round boulders Jewel had appropriated as her playground.

She put a forefinger to her lips and stared off. “Tea pa.”

“We can have a tea party.”

Hank hid a smile lest Jewel see and rope him into joining them. Wouldn’t be the first time, won’t be the last. Wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do for the child. But he had chores a waitin’ and a cabin to get spic and span, just in case, as his neighbor predicted, he’d soon have special visitors.

Torin kissed Jewel’s cheek and set her on her feet.

“Ba, Han.” She waved. “Tea pa.”

“Enjoy your tea party with your papa.”

Rising, Torin took Jewel’s hand. He sent a smile Hank’s way and guided his daughter down the steps and in the direction of their home.

With a fond smile, Hank watched their retreating backs. I hope my future bride will like our neighbors.

Concern made the smile fall away from his face. How would a potential wife react to Jewel?

He clenched his jaw. Any woman he chose would have to prove she possessed a loving, understanding heart and the necessary discretion to protect the child, before he’d ever introduce her and her family to Torin and Jewel. Oh, yes, he’d pay close attention to how the woman treated others. A kind heart was a must.

Torin and Jewel, still walking hand in hand, disappeared around a bend.

Surely, his future bride couldn’t help falling in love with one little girl who wasn’t “quite right” but to him was just perfect.