The Parson's Christmas Gift

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter One

September 1870, Montana

She’d pay ten dollars for a hot bath if she had it.

Journey wiped the grit from her eyes and slid from her horse. She felt as if she’d been born in the saddle—and spent all of her twenty years there.

She checked her saddlebags. Eight dollars and some hairpins.

She scanned the town as it started to wake. Slowly the sun stretched over buildings, quiet and fresh as the barren peaks surrounding the settlement. Nothing like Savannah, still fighting to recover from the destruction of the War Between the States some five years past. Nothing like Independence, always bustling with folks coming from and going to parts unknown.

“It looks like we may be in luck, Gypsy,” she whispered to her horse.

The shop she was looking for sat near the end of the street—one with a plain, honest front, a quaint little porch and a worn sign proclaiming General Store in faded blue letters. Underneath, smaller letters spelled out a wide variety of items.

Journey slipped along the shadowed side of the building and pulled a small silver mirror from her satchel. Dust muted the freckles over her round cheeks, and she debated as to which was the worse. Her skin had darkened over the miles, despite the broad-brimmed hat she wore. But no amount of color hid the exhaustion from her dark brown eyes. Pulling the hat from her head, she ran strong fingers through the curls that coiled around each other until she could feel the tangles before she touched them. She remembered the brilliant red of her mother’s silky waves and wondered what had happened that it had translated to her as a dingy auburn, uncontrollable mass.

She tugged none too gently at her tight locks and poked hairpins in strategically. “If they catch me talking to you, Gyp, I guess it won’t matter how civilized I look.” She tugged the horse toward the front of the store.

Her dress barely showed its original flowered print and she didn’t know how much shorter she could cut her petticoats to reinforce the material. But she brushed the dust off as best she could and looped the horse’s reins around a post. With a deep breath she pulled on her shapeless hat and mounted the steps to the open door.

A cloud of grime swept over her worn skirt.

“Sorry, ma’am! I didn’t see you there.”

She drew her lips up in a gracious smile. So much for looking civilized.

The man stopped sweeping and leaned against the broom, nodding her through the doorway on his way out. “My wife’ll be with you in a little bit, ma’am. Take a look around.” Journey watched a grin peek from below his full mustache.

Whitened walls gave the store an open feel, much as the landscape did for the little town. An inviting stove glowed in the center near the back. Canned peaches, harness fittings and an odd conglomeration of pans and kettles rested on shelves and pegs behind the counters on either side. Barrels marked Flour and Sugar sat in front.

She tried not to notice the curious stares following her as she browsed her way along the bolts of yard goods, but still started when a young woman asked her, “Anything I can help you with?”

Pulling a bolt of navy broadcloth from the wall, she responded with a flash of smile, determined to be calm. “I’d like a dress length of this, please.” It would cut into her meager funds, but a purchase always made an impression when she needed information. She’d need a new dress before winter anyway. Tattered hems made only wrong impressions.

She stepped toward the counter. Though she’d always been short of stature, the shopkeeper’s wife dwarfed her by a good eight or nine inches. The woman must’ve been about her own age, judging from the smooth skin and bright green eyes. Honey-blond hair hung in a low tail down her back.

“I haven’t seen you around here before,” the lady said as she measured the cloth. Journey nodded when the woman glanced up. “I’m Abigail Norwood—Abby to most. Have you met my husband, Sam?”

“Yes, she did, I’m afraid,” the low voice called from the porch. He wedged through the door and made a show of putting the broom in its corner space. “I gave her a right unfriendly greeting, though.”

The woman shook her head in mock despair. “The one time I get him to sweep up in here.” A sheepish grin drew across her lips. “Anyway, it’s always nice to see a new face in town.”

“Thanks,” Journey said. She hoped her smile didn’t waver.

“You visiting family?”

She shook her head, making a show of fumbling with the latches on her saddlebag.

“Just passing through, then?”

Sam Norwood stepped back into the room from what Journey guessed was a storage area. He smiled under his thick mustache again, and his eyes twinkled at his wife. “You’ll have to forgive her,” he said. “She has a soft spot for the curious cat.”

A blush lit Abby’s cheeks. “I didn’t mean to pry. I just like to meet new folks. My apologies if I’ve overstepped, Miss…?”

“Smith…Journey Smith. Actually, someone with a little curiosity could be exactly the person to help me.” She breathed deeply, gathering any poise and confidence she could muster. “I wondered if you know where I might find work around here.”

“So you’re planning on staying? Most folks pass through on their way to Virginia City. What type of work are you looking for?”

“I’ve done a little bit of a lot of things. Tended children, waited tables—”

“Ever done housekeeping?”

“My own.”