Read Montana Sky Christmas: A Sweetwater Springs Short Story Collection for Free Online Page A

watched the light glint on the shiny baubles. Emmeline had made another tiny dolly, this one clothed in green for baby Barbara. Abe fished around in the box for the ornament and hung it on a branch.
    The next one Abe selected represented their youngest son, Edward. He’d always been army mad and had received the tin soldier ornament on his sixth Christmas. The boy had joined up as soon as he was old enough, and had steadily worked up the ladder of command.   Edward remained a determined bachelor, and Abe despaired of ever seeing his youngest with a wife and children.
    Abe held up the little horse he’d carved for their second son, Michael, who’d died at age four. Another painful Christmas. But they’d tried to provide the other children an enjoyable holiday, while Michael lay in a small grave next to his sister. No days and nights of sobbing for Emmeline and Abe. The pain was so all encompassing that they’d been numb for months. They both tried to pretend for the children’s sake. He wasn’t sure they’d succeeded.
    The two of them had worked out an unspoken agreement. When one needed to cry, he or she went for a walk, while the other stayed with the children. Stealing away when there was a farm to run and a family to take care of only happened at times of great need. Even thirty years later, he could think of Michael at odd moments and have to hold back tears.  
    He took comfort in knowing that Emmeline had reunited with their two lost children. He liked the idea of the three of them together in heaven, perhaps watching the rest of the family celebrate Christmas.
    Abe leaned around the side of the tree to check on his daughter. Barbara laughed as she dangled a tiny tin bear just above Silas’ reach. He jumped and grabbed the ornament from her hand.
    Maybe she doesn’t remember Marion and Michael. And, he often thanked God, she hadn’t lost a child, so had no need for melancholy on such a festive day.   Please, God, may she never know that pain.
    ~ ~ ~
    The morning of Christmas Eve, Abe dressed warmly for a visit to Emmeline’s grave.
    When he asked Barbara to accompany him, she gave him a dismissive wave. “Not today, Papa. I have too much to do to get ready for Christmas. I still have to make a trip to the mercantile.”
    Frustrated, Abe stomped out the door, down the path, where the snow had mostly melted away, and out to the small barn in the back that contained the horses, their two cows, the buggy, his wagon, and the sleigh.
      Abe drove the sleigh to the old place. As always, he paused on the low rise and looked, just for a moment, at his former home. The snow blanketed the roof of the house and barn and covered some of the outbuildings. The farm looked the same as any other winter. Smoke curled out of the chimney, and he imagined inside felt warm and cozy.
    Abe knew he’d done the right thing by moving. Yet each time he came near his farm and saw the house he’d built, he couldn’t help feeling a pang for leaving. It seemed to him that he could walk home, open the door, and find Emmeline in the kitchen, probably cooking. He’d give her a big hug, one of those that lifted her off the ground—not an easy feat when your wife is taller than you. She’d probably whack him with the wooden spoon or swat him with a dishcloth, but when he set her down, her cheeks would be pink, and her gray eyes would sparkle.
    She’s not there waiting for me , he reminded himself with a shake of his head.
    He bet, though, that snug in the house, Mr. and Mrs. Gordon were enjoying the holiday season. Whenever he saw the couple, they still had the newlywed glow, which hadn’t yet dimmed. He hoped it never would.
    That nephew of Mr. Gordon’s had begun to talk again, and now made up for lost time. David had even cornered him a time or two after church, talking about his doings with the puppy, and his horse, mule, cow, pigs, and the midget horse—one of the fancy Argentine Falabellas that had become the latest fashion