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

pieces of him and Emmeline ended up in their children and grandchildren. How Barbara, with her rounded body, was the spitting image of him—although, thank the Lord, a prettier version—while their oldest son, Jeremy, had Emmeline’s long limbs and gray eyes. Then there was his little Emmy, named after her grandmother and as like her as two peas—Emmeline the big one in the middle of the pod, and Emmy the tiny one at the tip.
    The laundry draped over a line tied from corner to corner of the room, dripping puddles on the linoleum. He avoided the wet spots, sat in a ladder-back chair set against the wall, and pulled off his boots. Since he was already halfway down, and Lou-Lou was scooting straight for the biggest puddle, he picked up a towel near the door, creakily lowered to his knees, and began to mop up the water.
    “Papa, get up,” Barbara ordered, from the pump at the sink. “One of the boys will do that.”  
    Abe flashed her a quick smile and continued to do just as he pleased. He wasn’t too old that he couldn’t crawl around on the floor. He ignored the pain in his knees and dried the floor just in time to keep the baby’s hands and legs dry. Lou-Lou reached him, and he bent even further to kiss the top of her head. Wispy blond curls tickled his nose.
    The baby chortled and lifted one hand to pull on his beard.
    Laughing, Abe evaded her. He tried to stand, but had to grab the table. A farmer’s life takes a toll on the joints.
    Barbara rushed over, scolding in the way women do when they love their menfolk and think they know what’s best for them. From long practice, he let her words sail over his head. She hooked her hand under his arm and hefted him to his feet. He had to suppress a groan as he straightened, so as not to give her the satisfaction of being right.
    His daughter shook her head, an exasperated expression on her face. But a twinkle lurked in her blue eyes, and she pursed her lips lest she smile at him.
    He couldn’t help grinning.
    With another shake of her head, Barbara turned back to spoon dough into the pot on the stove.
    Following the death of his wife, his daughter had urged him to sell his house and move in with her family. But he’d balked at giving up his farm. He’d put his heart and back into that acreage. Built the house, worked the land for potatoes and other root crops, tended the milk cows, and lived a fulfilling family life, raising three children to adulthood. He hadn’t wanted to leave his memories. A year of loneliness and growing apathy passed before he’d given in—a good decision, for his memories had traveled with him.
    Once again, disappointment caused by his daughter’s silence weighed Abe down. He was fairly sure she knew where he’d gone, because he mentioned it to his oldest grandson before he left, and the boy was quite a talker. If Silas knew something, everyone would find out soon enough.
    Abe picked up the baby, gave her another kiss and a squeeze, and set her back down. Walking over to the table, he admired the scratches on the slate that Emmy claimed was a Christmas tree. He then headed for his room at the back of the house.
    Still feeling hurt, Abe walked into his room, closing the door, and ran a hand over the iron bedstead spread with a patchwork quilt he and Emmeline had shared for many years. Abe supposed he’d adjusted to sleeping alone, although on a cold night, he still missed his wife’s warm body lying beside his. He reckoned he always would. And to have her presence eased out of their family’s memories… well, it stung.
    He hung his cap and scarf on the coat rack next to the door and immediately felt the chill. His red scarf looked bright against the forest green walls. His daughter had wanted to put up wallpaper, but he preferred simple. A plain room for a plain man.
    Stooping, Abe lit a match to the kindling already laid underneath the wood in the fireplace. The flame curled up around the edge of the logs, sending a whiff of smoke