Kiss of The Christmas Wind by Janelle Taylor Read Free Book Online Page A

and night as the milk cow was.
    The redhead returned to the house and took a bath. She also scrubbed her flaming tresses, then sat before a hot fire to dry them. While she waited, she devoured the vegetable soup Martha had sent to her. As she brushed her hair and tested its dampness, she talked to the child she was carrying and prayed for her husband, for all of them.
    By mid-morning Saturday, Carrie Sue realized it was going to snow and get colder that night. She had experienced enough winters and learned enough from Kale Rushton to recognize the signs. If they were going to have a tree to decorate, she needed to fetch it today. She had already picked out the one she wanted and it was six feet high and growing on a low hill west of the house.
    She bundled up good, saddled her pinto, took an axe and a rope, and headed in that direction. It wasn’t far, so she’d be safe, and the chore wouldn’t take long. She rode to the site and dismounted. It was almost deathly quiet. Not even snow or ice softened to drop to the ground and make noise. She didn’t hear any birds or animals, not even sounds from their stock, or any rushing of water in the stream far away or in rivulets created when the white covering melted. The world around her was white, with splotches of green, especially from pines that towered above the other trees. Even the haze settling closer and closer to the earth didn’t have its bluish cast today. There was a dampness in the air that chilled to the bone. Knowing she needed to hurry back inside before she took sick, she eyed her target.
    A smile crossed her face. The tree was perfect. She only wished Thad were there to share the fun task. She chopped into the bark on the trunk, hardened by the weather.
    Finally, it fell to the ground. She let out a whoop of joy and success, and heard it echo across the silent landscape. Her pinto’s head jerked upward, his eyes found her, and he neighed as if answering a question. She secured the rope around the trunk and lower branches, then tied it to the pommel. She mounted. They trudged toward the barn, the tree leaving a furrow behind them in the snow.
    Carrie Sue unsaddled her pinto, praised him for his assistance, and gave him some sweet-feed. She replaced the axe, took the saw, and dragged the tree to the back porch. After a straight cut was made at the base, she stood it in a bucket of water to prevent drying. Pleased with herself, she cleaned up the mess she’d made and put away the tool.
    Later, she boiled water, killed their fattest hen, and plucked its feathers. She wrapped it in a clean cloth and placed it in the cooling cabinet on the back porch until it was time to roast it tomorrow. She baked cornbread for her dressing and put it aside. She looked around and decided there were no more preparations to be made until Sunday, Christmas Eve.
    As expected, fresh snow began to fall as she finished her outside chores. The wind carried a frigid edge and urged her to hurry, which she did. Snug inside her home, she remembered there would be no church service tomorrow to attempt to reach. It was not the Sunday for the minister who served four towns to visit them.
    “One more day, my love, and no sign of your return.” She caressed the area where her unborn child lived and whispered, “Don’t worry, little one; he’ll make it back soon. I know he will.” Yet, hope was fading fast.
    Christmas Eve arrived, and no Thad Jamison appeared. The hen was baked. The dressing was done. The egg, rice, and raisin pudding was cooked. Jars of canned vegetables stood ready to be warmed when the other food was reheated. Martha’s cake was on a lovely platter. The house smelled wonderful with the mingling of delicious aromas.
    Carrie Sue looked at the mantel in the parlor where she had placed small branches of pine and candles to be lit for a romantic setting. She gazed at the tree in one corner. It looked so barren, so beckoning, so lonely. She wanted Thad here to help decorate it,