Read A Log Cabin Christmas Online
Authors: Wanda E. Brunstetter
A Log Cabin Christmas
©2011
Snow Angel
by Margaret Brownley
©2011
The Christmas Secret
by Wanda E. Brunstetter
©2011
Christmas Traps and Trimmings by Kelly Eileen Hake
©2011
A Star in the Night by
Liz
Johnson
©2011
The Courting Quilt
by Jane Kirkpatrick
©2011
Under His Wings
by Liz Tolsma
©2011
The Dogtrot Christmas by Michelle Ule
©2011
A Grand County Christmas by Debra Ullrick
©2011
Christmas Service
by Erica Vetsch
Print ISBN 978-1-61626-478-9
eBook Editions:
Adobe Digital Edition (.epub) 978-1-60742-874-9
Kindle and MobiPocket Edition (.prc) 978-1-60742-875-6
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission of the publisher.
All scripture quotations are taken from the King James Version of the Bible.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual people, organizations, and/or events is purely coincidental.
Cover photograph: Klammet & Aberl/Taxi/Getty
Published by Barbour Publishing, Inc., P.O. Box 719, Uhrichsville, Ohio 44683,
www.barbourbooks.com
Our mission is to publish and distribute inspirational products offering exceptional value and biblical encouragement to the masses
.
Printed in Canada.
Snow Angel by Margaret Brownley
The Christmas Secret by Wanda E. Brunstetter
Christmas Traps and Trimmings by Kelly Eileen Hake
A Star in the Night by Liz Johnson
The Courting Quilt by Jane Kirkpatrick
The Dogtrot Christmas by Michelle Ule
A Grand County Christmas by Debra Ullrick
by Margaret Brownley
To Courtney Rose. Angels come in all guises, but none are sweeter, more talented, or delightful than you.
In the shadow of thy wings will I make my refuge,
until these calamities be overpast
.
P
SALM 57:1
Miss Parker’s Class of 1885
When Jesus was born, Mary wrapped him in swatting clothes because of all the flies in the stable.
Priscilla, age 8
Maverick, Texas
S
heriff Brad Donovan knew trouble was brewing the moment the three-member school board stomped into his office. Whatever was on their minds had to be pretty serious to bring them out in this wintry storm. All three men wore heavy coats covered in snow, their noses and ears red from the cold.
Head of the school board Tim Griffin battled to close the door against the blustery wind. Swinging his bulky body around, he pulled the woolen scarf away from his neck.
Elbows on his desk, Sheriff Donovan greeted him with a wary nod. “What has she done this time?”
It wasn’t just a wild guess. The new teacher from Boston had been nothing but trouble since the board had hired her two months earlier. Lately, he’d spent more time handling complaints about the schoolmarm than chasing outlaws.
Griffin practically sputtered. “Miss Parker kept my daughter after school.” He wore lumberman’s pants and calf-high caulked boots. Hands in tight fists, he added, “In this weather!”
Donovan pinched his brow in an effort to chase away a fast-developing headache. It was the end of the day, and he was tired. The unprecedented storm had created one problem after another. All he wanted was to go home to the boardinghouse and sink his teeth into Mrs. Langley’s venison stew. But judging from the men’s solemn demeanors, he’d be lucky if he arrived home in time for tomorrow morning’s flapjacks.
Chuck Walters made a snorting sound. A blue knit cap covered his bald head to his eyebrows, his red beard almost white with snow. “That woman ain’t got the sense God gave a woodpecker. Anyone who would steal pews from the Lord’s house ain’t to be trusted.”
Donovan blew out his breath. “She
borrowed
the pews.” Far be it from him to defend the woman, but in all honesty, it was their fault for failing to order desks. “Miss Parker moved the pews to the schoolhouse so her pupils would have something to write on.” She’d paid the preacher’s son to move them for her, which didn’t sit right with church elders. That had caused Donovan more trouble.
Chuck scoffed. “Borrow, steal, whatever. She still ain’t got no right doin’ what she did. I had to stand for two solid hours on Sunday morn to hear the preacher tell us we ain’t nothin’ but sinners. That’s hard enough to take sittin’ down, let alone standin’.”
“That’s nothing,” Jake Penman added. A short man with a round face and an even rounder pouch, Penman was a shoemaker and barber. He liked to say he took care of a man from the top of his head to the tip of his toes. “That mural her class painted should be outlawed.”
Donovan blew out a stream of air. Not the mural again.
“You’re just peeved ‘cuz Judas looks just like you,” Chuck said.
“It’s not just the mural,” Penman argued. “Miss Parker don’t know beans about discipline. She lets the Madison boy run wild. As for the mural—”
“I don’t care about no mural,” Griffin roared. “I want to know what the sheriff is gonna do about my daughter.”
Donovan folded his hands on his desk. “The last I heard, keeping pupils after school is not a crime.”
“Maybe not,” Griffin huffed. “Miss Parker sent a note home yesterday saying she wanted to keep a couple of pupils including my daughter after school for rehearsals. Now they’re snowed in, and no one can get to them!”
Donovan grimaced. No wonder the board was all up in arms. The original schoolhouse, along with pretty much the whole town, had burned down in the August fire. While the new school was under construction, classes were being held in an old miner’s cabin, away from the hammering and sawing that would interfere with learning. It was a drafty, isolated place that should have been condemned long ago.
“Who else is out there?”
“Jimmy Madison and the little Jones kid,” Griffin said. “Mrs. Jones is frantic with worry.”
Donovan could understand why. Five-year-old Brandon was the only family Mrs. Jones had left since she was widowed by the recent fire.
Chuck Walters chimed in, “The road is completely blocked, and not even a mule can get through.” Walter’s droopy mustache twitched. “This sure is unusual weather. I ain’t seen nothing like this since leaving Minnesota.”
Unusual didn’t begin to describe the recent snowstorms. The Piney Woods area was known for its humid summers and mild winters. The most snow they’d ever had in the past was perhaps a few inches—nothing like they’d had so far this last month.
“You have to do something, Sheriff,” Griffin said. “I’ll not have my daughter spend a night at the schoolhouse with that … that woman!”
“All right, I’ll see what I can do.” He stood, his six-foot-two form towering over all three men by at least four inches. Eager to get started before the last bit of daylight was gone, he plucked his Stetson off a hook and set it square on his head. He then shrugged his massive shoulders into his long duster.
“Good luck,” Walters said.
Donovan responded with a nod. He opened the door to a blast of wind, snow, and icy-cold air. Something told him he would need all the luck he could get.
Drat! Where were they?
Maddie Parker tried not to let her anxiety show, but the wind lashing against the outside of the schoolhouse was hard to ignore. What began as a few snow flurries had now turned into a full-fledged blizzard.
The rehearsal for the Christmas play had ended more than two hours ago. Her other pupils had their parts memorized, but “Mary” and “Joseph” still needed work. Little Brandon was one of the angels. He needed no more practice, but he took his role seriously and chose to stay on his own accord, and Maddie didn’t have the heart to dissuade him.
In her note home to parents, she had clearly specified when rehearsal would end, and still no one had come to pick up the pupils kept after school. Surely they didn’t expect the children to walk home in this weather. If it weren’t snowing so hard, she would attempt to walk the children home herself, even though Jimmy Madison lived a good five miles away.
Her patience at its limit, she sprinted forward to confiscate Jimmy’s script. Folded in dart-like fashion, the script was aimed directly at Sophie Griffin’s back. His endless capacity for making Sophie scream never failed to amaze her.
Eleven-year-old Jimmy was her oldest and most challenging pupil. Tall for his age, he was always in motion. During the rare occasions his hands and feet were still, his gaze darted back and forth as if looking for a place to light. He could wield a rifle, throw a knife, and shoot a slingshot with chilling accuracy, but something as simple as holding a pencil or adding two numbers together mystified him.
Giving Jimmy the part of Joseph had been a mistake. Worse, it had failed to produce the change in attitude Maddie had hoped for.
Sophie stuck her tongue out at Jimmy. A pretty child with long blond hair, delicate features, and expressive blue eyes, Sophie’s constant complaints were every bit as tiresome as Jimmy’s restless nature.
Catching Sophie’s attention, Maddie shook her head in disapproval.
Sophie plopped herself on the floor and folded her arms across her chest. Her tongue vanished but was immediately replaced by a pouty bottom lip. A year younger than Jimmy, she played Mary, but she and Jimmy couldn’t look at each other without fighting. Not only did the two of them refuse to stand next to each other, but they also resorted to name calling. The manger scene was a disaster. Peace on earth? Hardly. It was more like the Battle of Gettysburg.
“He won’t leave me alone,” Sophie complained. Blue eyes flashing, she tossed a blond braid over her shoulder. As difficult as Jimmy was, Sophie was Maddie’s most worrisome pupil. Her father was head of the school board, and Sophie took great pleasure in reporting her teacher’s every misstep to him: real, imagined, or otherwise.
“You started it,” Jimmy said.
“Did not.”
“Did, too.”
“Quiet, both of you!” Maddie groaned. She dreaded to think of the awful tales Sophie would carry home at the end of
this
day.
Maddie sucked in her breath and fought for control. It wasn’t like her to lose her temper. Smoothing down her skirt, she straightened her shirtwaist and pushed hair that had escaped her bun behind her ears.
Taking the teaching job following that terrible fire had been a mistake. At age twenty-six, she was an experienced teacher, but teaching in Boston with its well-maintained and well-equipped schools was a whole lot easier than teaching here in the wilderness. Had she not borrowed church pews and scrounged around for pillows, the children would still be sitting on the rough wood floor with slates on their laps.
If the lack of books and supplies wasn’t bad enough, most of her pupils were still traumatized by the fire. Some even suffered from nightmares. At times it seemed that she spent more time calming their fears than teaching the three Rs.
The problems she tried to escape when leaving Boston were nothing compared to the difficulties she now encountered. Never could she imagine a more inhospitable classroom or more trying circumstances.
Five-year-old Brandon Jones stood shivering, his lips slightly blue. Small for his age, he had reddish-brown hair, hazel eyes, and a freckled nose. He still worethe angel wings Maddie had fashioned out of wire and muslin. He’d insisted on wearing them nonstop during the past week. Hopelessly bent out of shape, the wings no longer bore any resemblance to their original form.
It
was
cold, but thinking they would be home by this time, she’d hesitated to add more fuel to the fire. The school board was adamant about her following their endless rules, which included dousing any flames before leaving the building.
Now, she lifted the last log out of the bin and tossed it into the stone fireplace.
“You can’t leave a fire burning overnight,” Sophie said in her singsong voice.
“I’m quite aware of that, Sophie,” Maddie replied. They didn’t even have enough firewood to burn an hour, let alone overnight.
Despite her best efforts to plug the holes with fabric scraps, the wind rattled the ill-fitting door and whistled through every joint and gap in the place.
She poked at the log until flames climbed up the stone chimney. She turned just in time to see Jimmy knock over the Christmas tree. Diving forward, she managed to grab it before it fell into the fire. Fortunately, it was a small tree, cut from the piney woods surrounding the school.
Silently counting to ten, Maddie clapped her hands. “The last one in their seat is a big purple frog!”
Sophie and Jimmy scrambled to their makeshift desks ahead of Brandon, who started to cry, huge tears rolling down his cheeks. A knowing look spread across Sophie’s face.
“You’re an angel, so you can’t be a frog,” Maddie said, ruffling the boy’s hair.
“He’s a snow angel,” Sophie said.
“Why a snow angel?” Maddie asked.
Sophie rolled her eyes as if the answer were obvious. “Because snow angels can’t talk.”
“Brandon can talk,” Maddie said. He just didn’t want to. According to his mother Brandon hadn’t said a word since his father died in the August fire. She took his hand and led him to his seat. Tears continued to roll down his cheeks, his silent sobs vibrating the wires at his back.
Maddie felt a tug in her heart.
“Your mama will be here soon,” she said.
God, please let it be so
. After Brandon stopped crying, she cracked open the cabin’s only door. The wind swooshed in with a roar, splattering her with snow and ripping essays and drawings from the wall.
It took all her strength to close the door again. It was pitch black outside, and she doubted that anyone could find the windowless schoolhouse even if theytried. Panic began to rise but was quickly forgotten in the din of the clanging school bell.
Jimmy had lifted the brass bell off her desk by its wooden handle and now ran around the room ringing it. The clamor was far too loud for the small confines of the cabin, and Maddie covered her ears.
“Jimmy, please put that down!” No sooner were the words out of her mouth when she changed her mind. “On second thought, do ring the bell,” she said. “Ring it as loud as you please.”
Constantly criticized by his father and others, Jimmy seemed confused by Maddie’s approval. Sophie gleefully pointed to the list of school rules posted on the wall.
“The school board says we’re not to make any unnecessary noise,” she said in her high-pitched voice, referring to rule number eleven.
“A very good rule indeed,” Maddie replied. “But you see, this
is
quite necessary. Come along, Jimmy. Ring, ring, ring.”
She grabbed the lantern and opened the door just wide enough to extend her arm outside and swing the lantern back and forth. The roof overhang kept the door somewhat protected, but even so, the porch was covered in snow. Like it or not, she would have to do some shoveling. She held her face away from the wind, but there was no escaping the blast of cold air that assaulted her.
She encouraged the children to make as much noise as possible. The chances of anyone hearing them seemed remote, but it was worth a try. The wind howled, but the school bell was louder. “That’s it. Good boy. Keep ringing. Come on everyone, clap.”