Jesus’ words could do.
“I thought we might sing the carols, but I think instead we’ll have our dessert and sing tomorrow in place of church. How does that sound?”
“Lovely.” Amethyst trapped a yawn before it embarrassed her. Perhaps she would see Joel tomorrow. What a Christmas present that would be.
CHAPTER TEN
After more pie and coffee Jeremiah excused himself. “Thank you for the delicious meal and perfect evening.”
“You are welcome.” Pearl nodded and smiled. “We’re glad you are here with us for Christmas.”
“I’ll bid you all good night, then.” McHenry stood and headed for the stairs. Be careful, he reminded himself. But even so his boot caught on the first tread, and he pitched forward.
“Oh, sir,” Amethyst said from right behind him. “Can I help you?”
“No! I’m fine,” he barked, as if ordering a platoon of new recruits who didn’t know right from left. Tell her you’re sorry, man . He glanced back to see a look of—was it fright or just shock on her face? She took a step backward, her face flushing.
He straightened his shoulders. “Pardon me. Oh, er…I’m sorry.” Sorry is right. You are one sorry excuse for a gentleman, Jeremiah McHenry . He ignored the inner reprimand and continued up the stairs, forcing himself to slow down and make sure he raised each foot plenty high enough. To cover his embarrassment, he admired the turned spindles of the stairs and the carved railing. While others would have just had a smoothed rail or board, this work of art felt like satin to the fingers, and the wood glowed with the finish. If I ever have a two-story house that needs a staircase, I know who to go to. In fact, think I’ll ask him to make me some chairs and a table. Maybe a rocking chair—a leather rocking chair. If he started now, he might have them done by the time I have a place to put them .
Jeremiah thought back to the homeplace where he grew up. Surely there was extra furniture there if he wanted to write and ask for some. Not that he would. His sister would demand he come back for a visit and then would insist he stay.
The idea of living under all the strictures of civilization made him shudder. Give him the badlands of Dakotah Territory any day. A low log house just like Rand’s would be more than adequate. Although he might have to go back east to find a wife. There were few women out here. Carl had told him about the death of Ward Robertson. Might Mrs. Robertson be interested in marrying again? His memory of her was of a rather comely hen with all her female chicks around her. After chastising himself for thinking about her ranch in conjunction with her good cooking, he shook his head. How would he adjust to living around civilians again? He’d left that kind of life a boy, and now he was an old man. Some days, when the pain was bad, feeling older than others. Or when he tripped again.
Shame Miss O’Shaunasy wasn’t planning on staying. Where had that thought come from? Not that she’d ever speak to him again after his oafish behavior. And the others had heard it too. What must they think of him? He shook his head as he slid between the sheets, warmed by two rocks near where his feet would be. His years in Arizona had made him forget Dakotah winters. That was one good thing about the southern territory—warm winters. However, the summers there were killers.
Remember to tell Mrs. Hegland thank you for that extra courtesy in the morning and apologize, he reminded himself as he drifted off to sleep without writing in his journal, something he had been faithful about for the last years.
His throbbing leg woke him long before he wanted to wake. He rubbed his thigh, the hole where the bullet entered still tender to the touch. The cratered flesh and accompanying scar were not a pretty sight. He left the warmth of his bed and dug his flask out of his carpetbag. A couple of good swallows would ease the pain rather quickly and help him get back to
“I thought we might sing the carols, but I think instead we’ll have our dessert and sing tomorrow in place of church. How does that sound?”
“Lovely.” Amethyst trapped a yawn before it embarrassed her. Perhaps she would see Joel tomorrow. What a Christmas present that would be.
CHAPTER TEN
After more pie and coffee Jeremiah excused himself. “Thank you for the delicious meal and perfect evening.”
“You are welcome.” Pearl nodded and smiled. “We’re glad you are here with us for Christmas.”
“I’ll bid you all good night, then.” McHenry stood and headed for the stairs. Be careful, he reminded himself. But even so his boot caught on the first tread, and he pitched forward.
“Oh, sir,” Amethyst said from right behind him. “Can I help you?”
“No! I’m fine,” he barked, as if ordering a platoon of new recruits who didn’t know right from left. Tell her you’re sorry, man . He glanced back to see a look of—was it fright or just shock on her face? She took a step backward, her face flushing.
He straightened his shoulders. “Pardon me. Oh, er…I’m sorry.” Sorry is right. You are one sorry excuse for a gentleman, Jeremiah McHenry . He ignored the inner reprimand and continued up the stairs, forcing himself to slow down and make sure he raised each foot plenty high enough. To cover his embarrassment, he admired the turned spindles of the stairs and the carved railing. While others would have just had a smoothed rail or board, this work of art felt like satin to the fingers, and the wood glowed with the finish. If I ever have a two-story house that needs a staircase, I know who to go to. In fact, think I’ll ask him to make me some chairs and a table. Maybe a rocking chair—a leather rocking chair. If he started now, he might have them done by the time I have a place to put them .
Jeremiah thought back to the homeplace where he grew up. Surely there was extra furniture there if he wanted to write and ask for some. Not that he would. His sister would demand he come back for a visit and then would insist he stay.
The idea of living under all the strictures of civilization made him shudder. Give him the badlands of Dakotah Territory any day. A low log house just like Rand’s would be more than adequate. Although he might have to go back east to find a wife. There were few women out here. Carl had told him about the death of Ward Robertson. Might Mrs. Robertson be interested in marrying again? His memory of her was of a rather comely hen with all her female chicks around her. After chastising himself for thinking about her ranch in conjunction with her good cooking, he shook his head. How would he adjust to living around civilians again? He’d left that kind of life a boy, and now he was an old man. Some days, when the pain was bad, feeling older than others. Or when he tripped again.
Shame Miss O’Shaunasy wasn’t planning on staying. Where had that thought come from? Not that she’d ever speak to him again after his oafish behavior. And the others had heard it too. What must they think of him? He shook his head as he slid between the sheets, warmed by two rocks near where his feet would be. His years in Arizona had made him forget Dakotah winters. That was one good thing about the southern territory—warm winters. However, the summers there were killers.
Remember to tell Mrs. Hegland thank you for that extra courtesy in the morning and apologize, he reminded himself as he drifted off to sleep without writing in his journal, something he had been faithful about for the last years.
His throbbing leg woke him long before he wanted to wake. He rubbed his thigh, the hole where the bullet entered still tender to the touch. The cratered flesh and accompanying scar were not a pretty sight. He left the warmth of his bed and dug his flask out of his carpetbag. A couple of good swallows would ease the pain rather quickly and help him get back to
Similar Books
