Chrissy's Wish
Trana Mae Simmons
***
Copyright 2011 by Trana Mae Simmons
Chrissy's Wish originally published by
Dorchester Publishing, Inc., in 1995, as part of the
Christmas Angels Anthology
Witch Angel Excerpt Copyright 2011 by Trana Mae Simmons
Witch Angel originally published by
Five Star Publishing in 2005
Republishing as an e-book in November 2011
By Belgrave House
Smashwords Edition
Smashwords Edition, License Notes:
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, or by any means existing now or in the future, in whole or in part, without the express written permission of the author, except where permitted by law.
This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination, or, if real, used fictitiously.
***
Chrissy's Wish is Trana Mae Simmons' enchanting story of a little girl's wish and prayer, invoking wonderful memories of childhood beliefs and dreams. Ms. Simmons' Christmas story reminds the reader that Christmas is a time for miracles and of Angels. Reviewed by GEnie Romance and Women's Fiction Exchange
***
Discover Other Electronic Romances by
Trana Mae Simmons http://www.tranamaesimmons.com/
Forever Angels
Tennessee Waltz
Town Social
Available Soon as E-books:
Witch Angel
Spellbound
Southern Charms
Winter Dreams
***
Paranormal Mystery E-Books Writing as
T. M. Simmons http://www.iseeghosts.com/
Dead Man Talking
Dead Man Haunt
Dead Man Hand (available soon)
True Ghost Story E-books Writing as T. M. Simmons:
Ghost Hunting Diary Volume I
Ghost Hunting Diary, Volume II
Ghost Hunting Diary Volume III (available soon)
***
Dedication
To all our little "most-of-the-time" angels:
Savanna, Preston, Nevaeh, and Joe-Joe
Merry Christmas to all my readers!
***
Chapter 1
Chrissy stretched to her tiptoes and looked out the cabin window, searching for her Aunt Polly until she saw her drawing a bucket of water from the well shaft. Aunt Polly balanced the bucket on the rim of the well while she untied it, then set it on the ground. Straightening, she placed both hands in the small of her back, arching and staring at the sky while she worked her fingers back and forth.
All at once, Aunt Polly bent forward and covered her face with her hands. Though she couldn't hear her, Chrissy knew her aunt was crying again. She could see Aunt Polly's shoulders shaking, and her own throat tightened as a film of tears dusted her eyes.
Aunt Polly had cried last night, too. She probably had thought Chrissy sound asleep, but she'd heard her through the bedroom wall. She'd been puzzling once again over what to give her beloved aunt for Christmas, which was only two and a half weeks away, and she'd tossed and turned instead of slipping straight into sleep as she usually did.
Chrissy rubbed at her eyes and stepped back from the window. Recalling her aunt's reddened eyes at breakfast time, she quickly dropped her hands. She didn't want Aunt Polly to realize she'd been crying, too. Though her aunt had spoken in her usual, it's-going-to-be-a-wonderful-day voice this morning, Chrissy had caught the worry behind the cheerfulness. After all, she was five years old now — a big girl. Even that mean old rooster didn't bother her any more when she gathered the eggs all by herself.
She lifted her chin in imitation of the tilt she saw so often on her aunt's face and crossed the small cabin floor to her bedroom. Closing the door behind her, she stood with her hands on her hips and stared at the ceiling.
"I guess You're not hearing me real good," she said out loud. "Or maybe You think I'm se-selfish. I heard Tommy's mama telling him after church last week that he was being selfish 'cause he put so many things on his Christmas list. All's I asked for was a dolly, You know."
She stood for another second, then crossed to her bed. Kneeling, she pressed her palms into prayer and bent her head, closing her eyes.
"Preacher Jim always says I can be heard anytime I want to talk," she said. "Daytime or nighttime. I just got to be sin...." She frowned and pursed her lips in thought, then nodded her head. "Oh, yeah. Sincere. I think that means I shouldn't take up time for silly things. Me wanting Aunt Polly not to cry all the time's not silly, is it? And I think I know why she's crying, even if she keeps telling me things are fine and dandy."
She glanced at the ceiling once more, her head cocked as though expecting a reply. When none come, she bent her head.
"At church Sunday, all my friends had their papas with them," she continued. "And the papas were awfully nice to the mamas when it got time to leave. They helped them into the buggies and I even saw Mr. Pyle kiss Mrs. Pyle when he thought nobody was looking. They aren't a mama and papa yet — Mr. and Mrs. Pyle, I mean. But Aunt Polly says they're gonna have a baby of their own real soon."
She shifted a little to ease the discomfort in her knees, then clenched her fingers tighter as she went on. "I know You probably seen all this, too, since Preacher Jim says You see everything. Didn't You see Aunt Polly's face when everyone started going home? She looked so lonesome. She helped me into the wagon, but she had to climb in by herself. She's got to do 'most everything by herself, now that Mr. Jose's got so old, and she don't have much time to laugh and play with me anymore. Can't You please send somebody, so Aunt Polly will be happy again? Amen."
For a full minute, Chrissy kept her head bent over her intertwined fingers as she thought over her words. She'd done it right, hadn't she? She wasn't asking for herself. She only wanted Aunt Polly to smile again.
"Uh oh," she said. She heaved a small sigh and spoke again. "I really, really want this mostly for Aunt Polly. But it's not right to not tell the whole truth. It's almost like a lie, Aunt Polly says. So I've got to tell You that it would be nice for me to have a papa, too. I guess he'd be my uncle, but that'd be all right. And Aunt Polly being happy would make me feel happier, too, so maybe that's kind of selfish."
She took a deep breath and said with extreme effort, "If You want, You can keep the dolly. Amen, again."
~~~
"Have you got everything?" Josephine asked Matthew.
"You've asked me that ten times, Jo," Matt replied. "What more do I need than the letter? The donkey's right over there, and you've made me change my clothes three times. If I don't look like an old prospector by now, I might as well forget it."
"They call them burros these days," Jo said in exasperation. "Prospectors carry their tools and supplies on burros."
"Burros, donkeys, whatever. Mary rode into Bethlehem on an ass, but for some reason that's considered a derogatory term now."
Jo cupped her chin in her palm and stepped back to study Matt one last time. The corporeal body he'd chosen looked adequate, and there was no trace of angelic demeanor in his stance. He stood hunched over a little, and his face was covered in a scraggly beard. She wrinkled her nose a tad, but they'd both agreed a man traveling around with his burro for months on end would probably not bathe too frequently.
As angels, she and Matt never had to worry about body odors, but when one of them took on a corporeal form, they had to keep in mind the physical attributes of humans. They didn't need any slip-ups when talking to a man like Sam Butler. For a human, he was darned intelligent, and he wouldn't be easy to manipulate.
"Oh, dear." Jo glanced skyward. "Chrissy's praying again, Matt. She's only five, and she doesn't realize that answering her wish can take a little time."
"She's really worried about Polly," Matt replied. "Polly and the ranch are Chrissy's entire world."
"Well, it's time Sam Butler accepted his responsibility." Jo crossed her arms and her wings fluttered on her back. "After all, he's Chrissy's uncle, the only other blood relative she has left. I can't see why that man's been so stubborn about not checking on his brother for over six years."
"You know why," Matt told her. "He didn't want to see Christine, Chrissy's mother. He didn't think he could stand to see her married to his brother, Ron. That's what started their quarrel to begin with."
"I suppose," Jo said in resignation. "But I'd like to think that if he'd ever gotten Christine's letter, he'd have gone to at least see how she was doing."
"He's going to have the letter in a few minutes, if you'll let me get out of here. And I'll deliver the rest of the mail from the pouch that got overlooked after the train wreck to the post office, after I give Sam the one from Christine. If things go right, Sam will be on his way to the north of Dallas by morning."
"And when he gets there, he's going to find out that Christine's dead, too — that she died in childbirth," Jo said. "But he'll just have to face it. I hope he doesn't turn away from Chrissy and Polly. They need him badly."
Jo watched Matt stare at the dusty little town down the road, where Sam Butler ran his saloon. The instructions they received with their assignment of fulfilling Chrissy's Christmas wish had been completely clear. They were to retrieve the letter Christine had written over five years ago, informing Sam of his brother's death, and deliver it to Sam.
She and Matt had done some hurried background checking, and she had to admit it didn't look real promising. They'd had tough assignments before, but never one with this much potential for failure. They both hoped Heaven knew what it was doing — pairing up a hard-bitten, embittered man like Sam with the sister of the woman Sam had once loved.
"He's Chrissy's uncle," Jo reminded both herself and Matt again when she read Matt's thoughts, which were mirroring her own. "As bitter as Sam is, I'm sure he'll want his niece to have a better life than she will if Polly can't hold onto the ranch."
"Chrissy's Polly's niece, too," Matt said. "And Polly's always been proud of her independence. She's not going to be real happy about someone moving into her life and trying to take over. She's always had pretty much of a free rein, what with her father being sickly all those years and her being in charge of running the household. She even raised Christine after their mother died."
"Too, it's going to be hard for her to admit she's failing for once in her life and needs some help. We've discussed all this already, Matt, and we both agree Sam Butler seems like a truly unlikely candidate for Polly to accept help from. She didn't much care for Sam when he first came courting Christine, and she made no bones about the fact that she was glad Christine chose Ron instead."
Jo fluttered a few feet above the ground and nodded toward the burro. "Well, we have our assignment to start off with. We have to deliver the letter. Then we can stay around and see what happens, but we can't interfere."
Matt deliberately replied to her in a crackling, elderly voice. "Wal, then, I reckon I better get crackin'." He plopped the battered and stained felt hat he'd been holding in his hands on his wiry gray hair and spat a wad of tobacco juice on the ground.
"Matt!" Jo said in a horrified voice. "You're chewing tobacco!"
"T'baccy," Matt said with a grin. "Why, don' 'cha know? T'baccy's 'most as important to an old feller like me as my burro."
He winked at her and turned away to walk to the burro, effecting a limping gait. The tiny, spotted animal lifted its head at his approach and let out a loud hee haw.
With a chuckle, Matt said, "Yeah, I think I look pretty funny, too, but that's nothing compared to how I smell. You and me will just have to tolerate it, though." Picking up the lead rope, he led the burro toward town.
~~~
Sam Butler pulled his dun stallion to a halt on top of a rise. The horse immediately blew out an exhausted breath, scattering flecks of foam from its muzzle, and Sam patted its damp neck. He'd pushed Dusty damned hard, but not beyond the bounds of the stallion's endurance. After a few hours rest, he could depend on Dusty to be ready to go again. And he might have to do just that, depending on what the next few minutes brought.
To the west, the first flames of a brilliant magenta sunset lit the sky. Sam ignored the panorama in favor of studying the layout of the ranch yard below him. There was a small log cabin, a fairly large barn set off to the back, corrals, and another tiny shed. Smoke curled from the chimneys of both the cabin and the shed, so the shed probably housed a ranch hand or two, since he didn't see a bunkhouse.
Huh. After six years, he'd have thought his brother's spread would be something a little more substantial than this. Still, he had to remind himself that he didn't know how long Ron had been dead. The envelope on the letter the old prospector had delivered two days ago was too ragged and water-stained to make out more than the address, and Christine hadn't dated the letter. Damn it to hell, why hadn't she written him again when she didn't hear back from him? He probably could have checked with the post office and tried to find out exactly how long ago the train wreck had happened, but from the minute he touched that letter, all he could think of was getting to Christine.
The door on the little shed opened and a woman emerged. Oh, God. Was that Christine? About all he could tell from here was she had the same golden hair and lithe figure. Her walk, though, when she started toward the cabin, didn't have the bounce he remembered. The time she'd spent on a Texas ranch after growing up in a fairly pampered lifestyle in New Orleans could account for the lack of that. He'd seen plenty of women go from young to old in too few years in this harsh land.
Damn it, why hadn't she tried harder to get hold of him! Sam's fist thudded on his saddle horn, and Dusty half-reared and snorted his displeasure. When Sam had the horse under control again, he glanced down at the ranch yard to see the woman had noticed him. She stood with one hand shading her eyes, gazing in his direction. A second later, she almost ran into the cabin.
"Well, hell," Sam muttered to himself. "No sense settin' up here wasting time, when I've pushed myself like a mad man for two days to get here."
He nudged Dusty forward and rode on down the rise. About a hundred yards from the cabin, the door flew open and a shot rang out. The bullet plowed into the dirt and kicked up a plume of dry sand near Dusty's front hooves — too near. The stallion rose in a full rear this time, and Sam cursed both Dusty and the shooter under his breath as he reined the horse back to earth.
Sam had sense enough not to urge Dusty onward. Gritting his teeth, he jerked his hat from his head, hoping he was close enough to be recognized.
"Hello!" he shouted, anger making his voice sharp. "It's Sam! Can't you tell?"
The feminine figure slipped out the door, still holding her rifle at her shoulder. "Sam, who?" she called back. "Sam Butler?"
"Yes, damn it!" he yelled. "Can I ride on in now?"
The woman lowered the rifle, but Sam noticed as he rode closer that she kept her right hand positioned near the trigger guard. She stood in the shadows thrown from the cabin by the dying sun, and it wasn't until he got ready to dismount that he could tell she definitely wasn't Christine. In fact, he immediately identified her as Christine's older sister, Polly.
Polly, the old-maid harridan, he'd more than once derisively called her in his mind, although she was only two years older than Christine. Instantly, that long-standing chip settled on his shoulder.
"I want to see Christine," he said instead of greeting Polly. "I got a letter from her."
He almost missed Polly's smothered gasp, but he saw her shoulders sag and the rifle tremble in her hands. For a few long seconds, she only stood shaking her head, her mouth working as though trying to speak.
Finally, she managed a few words in a choked voice. "You...you couldn't have. No, oh, no."
"Damn it," Sam growled. "I know you've always thought I was a son of a bitch, but I'm not leaving here until I see her. She's got a right to tell me herself if she doesn't want to talk to me."
He took a step closer and watched Polly's face crumble. She made no attempt to ward him off and even set the rifle down against the cabin. He stopped a foot from her, and she closed her eyes briefly, then looked up at him.
God, she was almost the perfect image of how he had imagined Christine in his mind after six years. The golden hair was a little less wavy, but then Polly had always worn her hair tied back. Wisps of what he'd once told Christine were honey-blond sweetness curled around her face, and she hadn't put on an ounce. In fact, she looked like she'd lost some weight, and she'd always been way too skinny for his taste.
He'd been avoiding her eyes, partially because he knew his own confrontational attitude was showing on his face and partially because both sisters shared the same brilliant emerald depths, which could bring a man to his knees. But she cleared her throat, and he instinctively met her gaze.
A hammer thudded into his stomach. Instead of the haughty sternness he expected, held-back tears sparkled a different type of brilliance from her eyes. Pain swam there, too, tinged with despair. Spontaneously, he reached out and cupped her upper arms with his hands.
"What is it?" he asked in a softer voice. She shook her head mutely, and a stab of compassion tore through him. He had to make an effort — a huge effort — not to pull her into his arms and soothe away her misery. Only quickly reminding himself this was the wrong sister to welcome any sympathetic gesture on his part kept him from following through on his action.
"Polly," he said. "What's happened? Where's Christine?"
Polly gulped back a sob, then stepped away from him. Turning, she raised a hand and pointed to a small, fenced plot west of the cabin. Beneath a cottonwood tree growing on the bank of a creek were two wooden crosses, not one, as he had expected after learning about his brother's death.
The hammer thudded again into his stomach, this time followed by a splintering in his heart. He bowed his head, striving fruitlessly to keep back his own tears. He thought he'd been ready for the sight of Ron's grave — he'd had two days to prepare for it. But the twin cross beside it had the effect of shattering his resolve, if in fact he would have been able to maintain it in the first place.
He felt a faint brush on his sleeve and managed a water-logged glance at his arm, where Polly's hand rested. Without one thought of all the past dissention between him and Polly, he turned and swept her into his embrace. Burying his face on her neck, he choked on his grief, his shoulders heaving.
Polly held Sam to her, as she held Chrissy whenever she suffered either a physical or imagined emotional hurt. He was way much more of an armful than Chrissy, though, this huge man she'd always thought of as much too unemotional and egotistical for her bubbly sister. Now, though, all she could think about regarding Sam Butler was how much she was feeling his hurt — as deep as her own had been when she held Christine in her arms and watched the life flow out of her — as deep as it had been when she helped Jose lower Christine's body into the grave.
"Ah, God. Ron. Christine," Sam mumbled.
She hugged him in return, then brushed her hand across the back of his ebony hair. Tears streaming from those eyes she knew to be a shade darker than Ron's brown ones soaked her neck and the shoulder of her dress. His iron-clad grip on her left her little room to breathe, but she couldn't bring herself to struggle against him.
Something inside her broke and shattered in response to their shared grief. The ranch's hired hand, Jose, had grieved for Ron and Christine, but he hadn't loved them both as deeply as she and Sam had. And even after five years, she still missed her sister desperately.
Overcoming her own misery, Polly stroked Sam's back comfortingly and whispered, "It's all right, Sam. Go ahead. You won't start healing until you let it all out. And even after that, it takes time."
Sam shuddered deeply, then lifted his head and wiped at his eyes. "I'm sorry," he mumbled.
Unthinkingly, Polly reached up and touched his face. "It's all right," she repeated. "Truly, it is."
"Thanks," he said. He glanced again at the grave sites and took a step away. "I want to go over to the graves and have a minute to myself."
"Go ahead. I...Sam, I just want to ask you something first. It'll only take a second."
Sam nodded, and Polly continued, "You mentioned receiving a letter from Christine. Sam, she's been dead five years."
"God," Sam groaned. "It — the letter laid somewhere in a mail pouch after a train wreck. I just got it."
"Did...?" Polly hesitated a moment, then plunged onward. "Did Christine tell you she was with child?"
Sam's gaze swung back to her, wonder on his face. "No," he almost breathed. "The child...?"
"Her name's Chrissy," Polly responded with total love in her voice. "I named her after her mother."
"Chrissy," Sam repeated. "Will you let me meet her?"
"Of course," Polly told him with a smile. "After all, you're her uncle. If you'd like to stay for a while, I can move in with her for a day or two. There's a cot I can use."
"Please. I'd appreciate that a lot." He nodded a leave-taking and turned to walk toward the tiny graveyard, shoulders bent and his hands thrust into his denim pockets.
Polly watched him go with a surprising ache in her heart. Funny how she'd always disliked him. Still, she wasn't one to do a total about-face in her feelings regarding someone without a valid reason. Right now, she felt an empathy toward Sam because of their shared grief, yet too many times she'd listened to Christine berate Sam's high-handed, standoffish attitude. Only after Christine met Ron, Sam's more laid-back, openly-affectionate brother, had Polly seen true love blossom in her sister's eyes.
Sam had a right to get to know his niece, but Polly would be darned if she didn't kick his butt right off the ranch if he so much as once gave Chrissy even one of those condescending looks Christine had so often had to tolerate.
***
Chapter 2
Footsteps clumped across the back porch as Polly moved the perking coffeepot to the side of the stove. Sam must have stabled his horse and decided to come in the rear of the cabin. He gave a short rap, then entered the kitchen and hung his hat on the rack beside the door.
Shrugging out of his coat, he said, "'Preciate the invite to stay overnight. Barn's pretty snug, though, and I could pitch my bedroll out there if you'd rather."
"That won't be necessary," Polly assured him. "I've already set up the cot in Chrissy's room."
"Is she asleep this early?"
"She's getting into her nightgown and will be out in a minute. She's excited about meeting you."
Though she and Chrissy had already eaten, Polly assumed from the look of Sam's horse when he rode in that he hadn't stopped recently for a meal. She stirred the pot of stew re-warming over the fire, then reached for a loaf of bread to slice. After a moment, she realized she hadn't heard Sam cross to the table and turned to invite him to sit.
"I'm not a rancher," Sam said without preamble before she could speak. He still stood by the rack, his coat in his hands and a forbidding look on his face. "Never had no desire to punch cows or clean horse dung off my boots."
"Pardon me?" Polly asked, confused as to the meaning of his comments, which seemed totally unrelated to their discussion of Chrissy. But a sense of premonition prickled into a tightening band around her chest.
"I don't plan on having to work up a sweat to make a living," Sam replied.
Polly gritted her teeth and bristled. "No, you might end up with a callused finger, and not be able to deal the cards so easily when you gamble!"
"The world needs businessmen, just as much as it needs beef to eat," Sam said with a shrug.
"I'd hardly call a saloon a business," Polly fairly snarled. "At least, not a respectable one. But then, it fits in with your past lifestyle."
"Just a damn minute...."
"I'll thank you to remember that I have a small child in this house," Polly broke in. "You will watch your language while you're in my house."
"Yours? My brother started this place."
"And just who do you think's been keeping it going for the past five and a half years? Giving Chrissy a home? Feeding her? Caring for her. While you sat around a card table and let your body start running to fat."
Polly bit back a satisfied grin when Sam sucked in his stomach. He hadn't really put on that much weight, and she fought a beginning flush when she remembered the reason she even knew he had gained a few pounds. She'd held him so close a while ago. Maybe she should try to hang onto the sympathy she'd felt for him then, instead of letting this discussion deteriorate so rapidly. A tiny warning bell rang again and again in the back of her mind, though. She just couldn't figure out whether it had something to do with the meaning she sensed hidden behind Sam's evasive words about ranching or the tingling in her hands when she recalled the feel of his silky hair and bunched muscles.
Chrissy barreled into the kitchen and slid to a stop. Craning her neck back until Polly felt sure the little girl would end up with a knotted muscle, she gazed up at Sam. Her golden hair spilled riotously down her back and her piquant face held a mixture of awe and something Polly couldn't determine. A slight wistfulness, perhaps?
When she glanced at Sam, she saw his face mirroring Chrissy's. Definitely wistfulness, then uncertainty. Sam's fingers clenched on his coat before he glanced down as though surprised to see he held it. With none of the smooth grace Polly had noticed when he swung off his horse, he awkwardly turned to hang the coat on the rack. It missed the peg on his first attempt, and he grabbed it from the floor and jammed it beside his hat. Facing Chrissy again, he held out his hand as though getting ready to shake with another man. Immediately he must have realized how foolish that appeared in face of the tiny creature he wanted to greet.
Dropping his hand, he wiped it against his denim-clad leg and tossed Polly a helpless look as he shrugged.
Still peeved, Polly determined to hold her silence and let Sam muddle his own way through the start of his new relationship with his niece. However, from the first moment Chrissy learned that sounds made words, she had never been one to tolerate a lengthy silence.
"Are you my Uncle Sam?" she asked. "I'm Chrissy. I was pretty sure someone would come, but I didn't know who."
Polly frowned in confusion over Chrissy's statement, but quickly turned her attention back to Sam when he knelt to be more on a level with Chrissy.
"Yeah, I'm Sam Butler," Sam agreed in a quiet, hesitant voice. "Your father was my brother, so I guess that does make me your Uncle Sam. I've never had a niece before, but I'm very glad to meet you, Chrissy."
Chrissy tilted her head and laid a tiny finger beside her mouth for a moment. Evidently making up her mind, she nodded before she crossed the floor, hugged Sam's neck and then kissed his cheek. Sam's arms went around her and she remained within his grasp, though she stepped back far enough to study his face.
"You look sort of like the picture Aunt Polly gave me of my papa," she said after a second. "He's in Heaven, you know. With my mama."
"I know," Sam replied. "But I just found out a couple days ago."
"I've always known," Chrissy said matter-of-factly. "Aunt Polly says it doesn't mean Mama and Papa didn't love me awfully much, just because they went on to Heaven without me. She says they're watching over me, even if I can't see them."
"Uh...I'm sure that's right, sweetheart." Sam tossed Polly another helpless glance, but she turned to move the stew to the side of the stove.
Let him bungle along on his own. One of the things Christine had found fault with Sam over was his attitude toward a family. He'd covered it up by telling Christine that he would rather pamper and coddle his wife for a few years before children intruded on their life, but Christine always had reservations about whether Sam ever meant to have children of his own.
For her part, Christine had picked up one of Polly's dolls as soon as she could walk. She'd had an entire family of dolls by the time she was Chrissy's age and spent hours building fantasy lives for them. She had never once hesitated when asked what she wanted to be when she grew up.
A mama. Christine's voice echoed in Polly's mind, and she smiled to herself. Glancing over at the clock, she reluctantly forced her thoughts back to her responsibilities.
"Chrissy," she said as she picked up a bowl and ladled it full of stew. "It's really past your bedtime. Sam will be here in the morning, and you can talk to him some more then."
She thought she heard Sam suppress a sigh of relief, but decided to give him the benefit of a doubt as she set the stew on the table and looked over at Chrissy.
"All right, Auntie," Chrissy said obediently.
Chrissy kissed Sam's cheek again and told him good night. Her ears might have wrongly interpreted Sam's emotions, but Polly had no problem this time. The look on Sam's face clearly showed reprieve as he stood and wiped his beaded brow.
"I'll be in to hear your prayers and tuck you in, Chrissy," she said.
"That's all right, Auntie. I'm big enough to do that all by myself now." Chrissy stopped in the doorway for a second and grinned at Polly. "'Sides, I kinda gotta say something all on my own this time in my prayers."
She scampered on out of the room before Polly could question her. Deciding that Chrissy must have some secret Christmas wish to recite, Polly let her go. Despite her reluctance to stay in the kitchen alone with Sam, manners bade she at least get his meal on the table. Besides, she always tucked Chrissy in at least twice before she went into her own room, and tonight, since she'd be sleeping in Chrissy's room, she could check on her as much as she wanted.
"Would you like some butter and jam with your bread?" she asked Sam.
"I was hoping that was for me," Sam admitted as he came over to the table.
"Well, of course it is," Polly said. "Chrissy and I ate over an hour ago. Oh, I'm sorry. I guess I didn't think to ask you if you were hungry. I just assumed you hadn't taken time to eat before you rode out here."
"Thanks," he said as he sat down. "And yes, I would like butter and jam, if it's not too much trouble. Or...." He shot her a grumpy look that reminded her of Chrissy when it got a little past her nap time. "Unless you think it might be too fattening for me."
Polly quickly caught her lower lip between her teeth to stifle her giggle and turned so he wouldn't see the merriment in her eyes. Giving herself a moment to control her mirth — though she didn't really know why she cared if he saw her laughing at him — she sliced off a couple more pieces of bread. Keeping her eyes downcast, she got everything else on the table, then poured him a cup of coffee and set it in front of him.
"Do you need anything else?" she asked.
"Yeah," he answered in a still rather petulant voice. "Some company. I hate to eat alone."
Polly sighed and poured herself some coffee. Sitting down across the table from him, she clasped her hands around the cup.