Janet Tronstad - Calico Christmas at Dry Creek

“I can make you a marker for that grave if you agree to help me. We can get a good-sized piece of granite sent down from Fort Benton. It’ll last forever.”

Elizabeth was looking at him now.

“I’m a pretty good carver. I’ll set their names on it and anything else you want to say. There won’t be a fancier headstone in the whole territory.” It was the best he could do.

“Oh.” Elizabeth breathed out. “Matthew would like that, but—”

“And an angel. I could carve an angel on the corner of it for your daughter.”

Jake hadn’t carved anything but letters on his mother’s stone. But he whittled some in the evenings and he’d carved shapes of most of the animals around here. He could do an angel.

Elizabeth just stood there, blinking.

“Don’t cry,” Jake said.

“I never cry,” Elizabeth whispered and then took a deep breath. “You have yourself a deal.”

Now it was Jake’s turn to be surprised into silence.

“You can’t marry him,” one of the soldiers in line protested. “I haven’t had a chance to read you my poetry. I wrote a poem for you and everything.”

Elizabeth turned to the soldiers in line and squared her shoulders. “I’m sorry. I haven’t thanked any of you properly. You’ve paid me a great compliment. I’m honored, of course. Could I give you each a jar of sweet pickles? I canned them myself.”

“Well, that’d be nice of you,” the soldier who had removed his hat said. “I haven’t had anything like that since I was back home.”

Jake helped Elizabeth hand out four jars of pickles.

After the soldiers left the campsite, Elizabeth turned to Jake. “This marriage—it’s only for the baby?”

“I’ll bunk down in the lean-to and give the rest of the place to you and the girls.”

Elizabeth nodded. “I gave Mr. Miller my oxen in exchange for his promise to bury me when the time comes so—well—I expect him to do what he said. Even if he has to come to your place and get me.”

“You don’t need Mr. Miller now. You have me.”

“Oh.” Elizabeth looked at him skeptically. “Are you a God-fearing man, Mr. Hargrove?”

Jake was a little taken back. “Yes.”

She still looked suspicious. “The God of the Bible?”

Jake smiled. “Yes.”

“Well, then…” She paused as though weighing his words. “Do you promise to dig the burying hole yourself?”

“If that’s what you want.”

“I don’t want any easy promises here. I know I can’t come back and make sure you’ve done that particular job properly so I’d be relying on your word. I want you to dig the hole yourself and do it with prayer in your heart.”

“You’ve got my word.” Jake had seen peace pipes passed with less resolve than Elizabeth showed. “I’ll take care of you in good times and bad times. Dead or alive.”

“When I go, I’ll want to be buried beside my baby.”

“I’ll see to it. I’ll even leave room on the headstone for all three of you.”

Elizabeth nodded. “Then I think we should ask for the oxen back.”

Jake knew a battle could be lost if a man didn’t act quickly to secure his victory. “I’ll get the oxen and then we’ll head out. I know the minister in Miles City. The Reverend Olson. He’ll say the words for us.”

“Matthew and I never did get as far as Miles City. But I heard they had a fine preacher there. Mr. Miller promised to ask the man to come and say a few words over my grave when I—you know—” Elizabeth nodded to the grave “—when I died—which I guess isn’t going to be as soon as I thought.”

Elizabeth pressed her lips together firmly.

Jake hoped that meant she was accepting her new life. “The reverend’s a good man.”

“If we’re going to see him about getting married, I’d like to have some time alone with him before I take my vows.”

Jake figured that meant she wasn’t accepting her new life at all. She was probably going to ask the minister about her funeral. He didn’t know what the Reverend Olson would think when Jake rode into town with a bride who was more intent on her funeral than she was on getting married to him.

Of course, she probably wouldn’t be content with just talking to the reverend about her worries. She might mention it to anyone who would listen until finally even the old trappers would hear about it. They’d have a fine time telling about the woman who’d rather go to her own funeral than marry up with Jake Hargrove.

Oh, well, Jake told himself with a wry grin; he never was one to begrudge others a good laugh around their evening fires. He just hoped they got a few things straight. Like the fact that his bride’s eyes were some of the most beautiful eyes a man was likely to see this side of the Missouri. He hadn’t expected that. They reminded him of the moss that grew on the side of those ponderosa pines high in the mountains where he’d lived as a boy.

Being married, even temporarily, to a woman with eyes like that couldn’t be all bad. He’d just have to think of ways to keep her happy until she decided to leave. Even his mother had taken a few months to judge this land before she decided that she hated it. His mother might have gone longer before making her decision if she’d had something to distract her. Women always liked new clothes. Maybe he should buy the woman a new dress to match those eyes of hers.

And a pretty brooch. His mother had set great store by her few jewels. Jake stopped himself. He wondered if he should offer to pay the woman outright. Eastern women were touchy about money, but even he wasn’t so sure about paying a woman to marry him. Of course, he’d see that she had plenty of money for her trouble; he’d panned a modest amount of gold in the Black Hills southeast of here this past spring so he had enough. But it just didn’t seem right somehow to bring up money quite yet.

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