Christmas On Snowbird Mountain

The buildings were adjacent. She’d be safe in the trading post among his neighbors. And it would be good for her to go in by herself.

“Can I go with you?” she asked.

“The heat’s turned down, since there aren’t any activities today. You’d be cold.”

She looked around. “Can’t I stay in the truck?”

“I came down the trail today.”

“We got to walk in the snow?”

“Walking is good for you, and the snow’s not deep. Besides, I told your grandmother and Nana Sipsey I’d see if I could find some possum wood grapes for a pie. You can help me pick them.”

“But…the dark might get us. Or we could get lost.”

“We’ll be home by nightfall.” His answer didn’t seem to reassure her. He knelt down. “Hey, I’d never let anything hurt you. I know every inch of these woods.”

“What if we meet a bear?”

“Mr. Bear is probably sleeping right now. He’s snoring in his cave.”

“But he could hear us and wake up.”

“I’ll wrestle him if he does.”

“He might bite you.”

“I’ll bite him back.”

She smiled a tiny bit. “Oh, Daddy.”

“Will you go into the store? Show Daddy what a big girl you are and buy the paper yourself.”

“I’m scared to.”

“Remember what Dr. Thompson said. When something scares you, ask yourself why. What do you think’s in there that can hurt you?”

“I don’t know,” she said with a shrug.

“You’ve known John Taylor and his wife since you were a little baby, and you’ve been in the store hundreds of times. Nothing in there will hurt you.”

“You come, too.”

“You can do it by yourself.”

Her frightened little face almost made him cave in.

“Will you try, sweetheart?”

She nodded.

He walked her to the front door and gave her money, enough to buy some gum and a pad of paper.

“Stay inside. Don’t leave the building for any reason. I’ll come for you in a few minutes. I promise everything will be okay.”

He said a silent prayer as she let go of his hand and went into the store alone.

CHAPTER TWO

SUSANNAH PARKED the truck at the pumps, filled the tank and checked the tires. This area here was beautiful, like a Christmas card scene. Snow frosted the branches of the trees and a blue mist veiled the mountains in the distance, making them seem painted.

Despite the beauty, driving the winding roads in icy conditions had made her tense. She was tired and hungry and her thermos was empty. A cup of hot coffee and a sandwich would be heaven. She also needed to get directions to see how far she was from Sitting Dog and the studio of the artist she wanted to talk to. She hoped he gave lessons. If he’d work with her, she might be able to mark another item off her list.

First, though, she had to find a place to stay for the night. When possible, and to save money, she stopped at RV parks and slept on the truck seat or used her sleeping bag in the back, under the camper. Tonight would be too cold for that. She’d have to squeeze money out of her tight budget for a motel room.

Well, at least she’d be able to take a hot shower. That alone was worth the extra expense.

Sleeping in a real bed and being able to go online to update her Web site were other pluses of a night indoors. Her travel diary, or “Web log” as the people on the Internet preferred to call it, was getting more than a hundred thousand hits a month from visitors signing on to read about her adventures.

Cranking the truck, she pulled away from the pumps so others could use them. She found a parking space in front of the store.

The warmth of the store was welcome. The building, much larger than it looked from outside, had three parts. The entry room held groceries, clothing and household items. At the back were two doorways. Through one was a self-service laundry. The other appeared to be a small restaurant.

Four old men sat near a gas heater playing a game with rectangular blocks. Cherokee, she guessed they were. Full-blooded or close to it.

She’d seen photographs of Native Americans, but had met very few in person. She hadn’t imagined them to be so beautiful or their faces to hold so much expression.

Her fingers itched to get her art pad out of the truck and sketch them, but as a stranger in this isolated place she was already the center of attention. Everyone had turned to look at her as she walked in. They continued to stare as she picked up toothpaste and deodorant and walked to the cash register.

“Hello,” she said brightly to the men. She gave them her warmest smile.

A man in a brown shirt threw up his hand in response and smiled back. “Welcome.”

“Thank you.” After paying for the gas and toiletries, she went to the rest room to freshen up and wandered over to the restaurant to have a look at what they offered. She took a seat at the counter, where one large woman seemed to be both taking orders and fixing meals. Bitsy, as one of the other patrons called her, had to weigh three hundred pounds.

“What would you like?” she asked.

“I’d love a cup of coffee. And do you have soup or sandwiches?”

“Both. I have ham, turkey, barbecued pork or venison sandwiches. Pumpkin soup, walnut, tomato or chicken noodle, all homemade. If you want a hot dinner, your choices are vegetables, hamburger steak or chicken gizzards.” She handed her a small chalk-board that listed the vegetables; many were traditional and some—like ramps—Susannah had never heard of.

She wavered between being adventurous and satisfying her hunger.

“I’d like to try something exotic, but I’m also starving and don’t want to order and then not like what you bring. Any suggestions for something unique, but that I’ll probably enjoy?”

“What are you leaning toward?”

“Well, definitely not the gizzards, but the venison sounds intriguing. And the pumpkin soup. And the walnut soup. But, then again, ham I know I like. Maybe I should play it safe.”