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

for those who could afford to spend money on a useless, although appealing, critter. Abe was always right glad to hear the tales, especially since the cow, pigs, and puppy had once belonged to him.
    Abe bypassed the house and drove to a stand of cottonwoods, circling the family cemetery, where his wife and two children lay. Someday, his resting place would be there, too, although, God willing, not too soon. As much as he missed his Emmeline and anticipated joining her and the children in heaven, he still enjoyed life and wanted to see his grandchildren grow up.
    Over to the right of the small cemetery was a stone memorial marker for Emily Gordon, David’s mother. Ant Gordon had asked for permission to place it there, which Abe had granted. Often when he came, he saw flowers in front of the marker, and sometimes they also lay on the graves of his loved ones.
    He drew up the sleigh before the trees, parked, and climbed down. He swung two blankets over his shoulders and carried them over to Emmeline’s grave. The packed snow crunched under his boots. One or more of the Gordons had already worn a path to the graves, so he didn’t have to wade through knee-deep snow.
    Abe wiped the snow off the bench he’d made near Emmeline’s grave, resting on top of the spot where he’d lay someday. He folded up one blanket for a cushion and sat on the bench, draping the other blanket over his lap, and tucking it under his feet.
    Someone, probably Mrs. Gordon, had bound a few sprigs of holly with red yarn and stuck them in the snow in front of each headstone. Once again, he felt grateful that he’d sold the house to Ant Gordon and his young nephew. As far as he was concerned, the new Mrs. Gordon, the town schoolteacher, was an added bonus.
    Abe remained silent, gathering his thoughts and staring at the headstone, which had a cap of snow on the top.
    Emmeline McGuire
    Beloved Wife and Mother
    1830-1894
    “It’s Christmas, Emmeline, and you should see our Barbara. A regular whirlwind that girl. You’d be proud of her. But I just wish—”
    The neigh of a horse had him turning around, thinking one of the Gordons had ridden over. The schoolmarm, he figured, seeing the womanly figure in a divided riding skirt, bundled in a wool coat. But he blinked and realized he beheld his daughter, rather than Harriet Gordon.
    Fear shot through him. With an exclamation, he rose to his feet and hurried over to her. “Is something wrong? The children?”  
    Barbara shook her head. She wore a blue knitted cap that matched her eyes and had left her brown hair in a braid down her back. “Everyone is fine, Papa. After you left, I realized you were right, and I needed to spend some time with Mama.”
    He stepped back in shock and tried to gather together his scattered wits. “I thought you were going to the mercantile?”
    “I did. The peppermint sticks are in my pocket.” She handed over a rolled blanket she carried in front of her and dismounted. She tied the reins to the limb of a tree.
    He must have had a dumbfounded expression on his face because Barbara laughed. “Why are you looking at me like that, Papa?”
    Abe shook his head. “Long story.”
    Barbara took back the blanket and began to walk toward the graves.  
    Still marveling at her presence, he fell into step with her.
    She stopped in front of the bench by the grave. “Quite a set-up you have here, Papa.”
    “I’m not responsible for the holly. That’s Mrs. Gordon’s doing.” He picked up the top blanket. “Have a seat, daughter.”
    She obeyed, taking one side of the bench.
    He wondered if Barbara wanted to be alone. “Would you like me to go?”
    With a shake of her head, she patted the bench. “Join me.”
    Abe sat down next to her. The fit on the bench was close, their shoulders pressed together. He spread the blanket over their knees, around them, and under their feet.
    With one hand, Barbara leaned over and smoothed the snow on top of Emmeline’s grave. “I think of Mama