A Texas Christmas Reunion Read online

  Chapter Ten

  Juliette dragged Joe’s cradle out of his bedroom and into the lobby.

  She built up a fire in the large hearth. From out here she could not hear him fussing and fretting on her bed, but she knew he was.

  He’d fallen asleep feeling fine but woken near ten o’clock, unable to find comfort unless she walked and swayed with him.

  It was eleven thirty now, and she still had not completed the last thing on her list of chores.

  Hurrying back into her bedroom, she scooped up Joe, then her sewing kit. Sitting in her private quarters put her too close to Lena and Warren. The last thing she wanted was for them to wake up, too.

  There was still the chance that the wind racing about the building would wake them. Or that the loud banging on the piano, carried from next door on the gusts and sounding worse than normal, would.

  “All right now, my sweet boy.” Settling into the chair, she held him close and nuzzled his hair with her nose.

  Did he feel feverish? It was hard to tell. He might. She had never dealt with this before. With all that might cause a fever, this was something every mother dreaded.

  If he fell ill it would be her fault. She should have devoted more attention to him instead of trying to save the town. And, yes, he did need a good place to grow up in, but what if her focus on the hotel and not her family caused...no—no she would not think of that.

  But if he did get sick, perhaps her father-in-law had the right of things when he said she ought to have stayed at home.

  Stayed home...which would mean doing nothing to help her town survive. Sit by and watch while it became a place unfit to raise her children.

  No matter what she did, it was wrong.

  She took a breath, pushed back at the as-yet unfounded worry.

  It was very likely that all he had was gas...or colic. Both of those were normal for babies and nothing to fear.

  A fever, on the other hand? She did fear that.

  He was so young and vulnerable. It broke her heart to see him in such distress and not know why or what to do about it.

  The wind howled. The clank of the piano shivered faintly in the air. The grandfather clock ticked away the seconds.

  Suddenly it was an hour closer to Christmas... Joe’s suit an hour further from being finished.

  “Hush, now, love, morning’s coming. Things will be better then.”

  Did he feel hotter all of a sudden? Sometimes a sudden elevation of temperature would bring on a seizure. Hadn’t she heard that before?

  If only Suzie Fulsom’s son was here. Juliette would feel much better with a doctor across the street. Without a husband to turn to, Joe’s health was in her hands alone.

  Her hands, along with everything else in her body, were bone weary.

  “Hush, hush, baby Joe,” she half sang, half said. “Sweet little baby.”

  Standing, she wondered if more walking might help. Of course, it wasn’t walking so much as pacing.

  Over to the window, glance out...walk and rock all around the rug...over and over again.

  One time, when she looked out, she saw a customer from the saloon sitting on her front porch, a bottle raised to his lips. For a second she thought he might be frozen in place, but the next time she paced to the window he was gone.

  Joe’s cheeks looked flushed. Perhaps that high color was the beginning of a fever. His hands were cool to the touch, but his forehead felt overly warm under her lips.

  What was going on inside his little body? Whatever it was made him squirm, then stiffen in her arms. In between doing that, he fussed.

  If only Steven were here... She shut the thought away before it fully formed. He was not here, would never be here.

  Whatever happened tonight, if Joe became raging ill or became suddenly soothed, she would be dealing with it on her own.

  All of a sudden she felt very small in a world that had grown frightening.

  “Hey there, Beautiful, what are you doing up so late...again?”

  Pivoting from the window, she saw Trea standing at the foot of the stairway. Firelight reflected off his mussed hair and glowed warmly on his face.

  “I think Joe might be sick.” Something inside her cracked, allowed tears to smart in the corners of her eyes. “I don’t know what to do.”

  “Sit down.”

  “I can’t, I—”

  Evidently she could, because Trea lifted Joe from her arms then led her to the chair and gently pressed her shoulder until she sat down.

  “Dry your tears, now.”

  “I don’t even know why I’m crying. There’s nothing really wrong with him. I’m nearly certain.” Her nose began to run, so there was nothing for it but to give an unrefined sniff. “It’s more of what my imagination says is wrong. Just because a baby fusses does not mean...it doesn’t indicate that—”

  He had some fatal malady. Those words would not come out of her mouth but her imagination tucked around the horrid thought and ran with it.

  Although not on such a wild course as it had before Trea came downstairs. But still, she felt half sick to her stomach.

  “What’s wrong, little man?” Trea rocked the baby, same as she had, but with no better results. In fact, the fretting increased. “Let’s just see.”

  He put his finger in Joe’s mouth. It looked like he was rubbing the baby’s gums.

  Joe relaxed. She heard him coo.

  “Ah...that’s your trouble, is it?” He glanced down at her with a smile. “I feel a tooth trying to come in.”

  Truly? “He’s young for that. How did you know to check?”

  “A woman who helped out in the saloon in the kitchen where I worked had a baby. She used to bring him to work sometimes. I learned more than you’d guess.”

  “I suppose all I need to do is rub his gums for the rest of the night and he’ll be happy.”

  “Reckon he would, but, honey, you look dead on your feet. I’ll tend him and you go to bed.”

  The mention of bed made her remember how she was dressed...or rather, not. Her sleeping gown was flannel and not a bit revealing, except that she was naked underneath and things would jiggle when she moved that ought not to be seen jiggling.

  “I still have things to do.”

  Things that could be accomplished while modestly sitting. She glanced at the clock again.

  Two hours closer to Christmas now.

  Trea settled into the chair across from her, massaging Joe’s sore gums.

  Since her son was content for the moment, she snatched up her sewing and began to stitch.

  “I wish you would go to bed.”

  “As an unmarried woman, I’m free to make my own decisions,” she stated. That should put the discussion to bed even though he was correct. She did need to rest.

  A fact that did nothing to change how much still needed to be done.

  The advertisement she’d placed in the Gazette would be out tomorrow. It would be too late to back out of what she had set her hand to do, even if she wanted to.

  Which she absolutely did not. Especially now that her fear for Joe had subsided.

  While she stitched, she watched Trea hold her son. Her heart melted like butter left out in summer sunshine, which made her sigh and add another chore to her list.

  A pretty new Christmas dress for herself would be in order. She was not so foolish as to think she could whip one up with her shiny little needle, but she might be able to manage a trip to the dress shop and buy something ready-made.

  The plain bald fact was that she wanted to look pretty for Trea.

  “I just want to say, I’m glad you’re here,” she admitted. This night would have been far different had he not come downstairs. Funny how the world was not so frightening with him close by.

  “So am I. Even though those new sheets you
put on the bed are the stuff of sweet dreams...so to speak.”

  Clearly he meant to bedevil her over her earlier behavior cleaning his room. It was a lucky thing she had not actually been rolling in his sheets like she had imagined doing.

  “I suppose you wish you were upstairs dreaming instead of keeping company with me and my fretful child,” she said, refusing to rise to his bait...as delicious as that bait might be.

  “I think—” slowly he withdrew his finger from between Joe’s lips “—that he’s gone to sleep.”

  He glanced over at her, his smile soft and his eyes appearing whisky brown by firelight.

  “And, Juliette, as far as me wishing I was upstairs dreaming? I’m not sure I’m not doing it right here where I sit.”

  “Here, then...” She reached her arms out for Joe. “Best get on up to bed where you can do it in comfort.”

  “Naw, this a waking dream. If I get up...if either of us moves an inch...it might go away. So let’s just sit here awhile and keep on talking.”

  “All right. Tell me about the pageant. Will the children be ready?”

  “Cora was born ready...the rest will be. Charlie is the one I don’t know about. The boy has a voice, but...blame it... I’m worried he might have started the trash fire behind The Saucy Goose. He wouldn’t admit to it, but he looked defensive when I brought the subject up.”

  “Maybe he didn’t. It could be that he was just scared. Think how frightened you were when you were accused.”

  He thought about that for a bit. What she said made sense. Sense that he desperately wanted to believe.

  “I only hope he doesn’t run. He’s a good boy who got some lousy breaks... Juliette? Hey...Beautiful.”

  What? She blinked. “What?”

  “Your eyes are closing. You’re going to poke yourself with that needle.”

  She glanced down at her hand. “I think I already may have. I suppose I will go to bed, after all.”

  She put aside her sewing and reached for her sweetly dozing baby.

  “How the blazes is a man to sleep with all the racket?” Father Lindor shuffled barefoot into the lobby wearing his nightshirt and sleeping cap. “Durned piano is about to shake the walls down.”

  Joe squealed then began to cry. She was not a woman to curse, but if she was, she would have shouted the word that just exploded in her brain.

  * * *

  Trea didn’t put on a coat for the short walk from the front door of the hotel to the front door of The Fickle Dog.

  Temper over the noise coming from the saloon already had his blood boiling. Sure didn’t need to add any heat to that.

  Going inside, Trea wished he didn’t have to breathe. The saloon was crowded with men, and nearly all of them had cigarettes dangling from their mouths or were blowing smoke out.

  He spotted a large man sitting at the end of the bar who didn’t appear completely drunk.

  Trea pushed past a couple of fellows arguing politics. Wouldn’t be long before those two came to blows.

  With any luck he would complete his task before tempers exploded.

  “Good evening,” he greeted the fellow and got a nod in return.

  “I’d like to hire you for a quick task.” He got right to the point since he doubted the man cared to socialize any more than he did.

  “Is it legal?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “How much do you pay?”

  “Two dollars to help me slide the piano from this wall to that one.” Trea pointed to the wall farthest from the one that abutted the hotel.

  “Mr. Culverson know about it?”

  “No, sir, he does not.”

  “Four, then.”

  They shook hands on the agreement then approached the piano where the musician bent over the keys, pounding them hard and producing no tune known to mankind.

  “Here’s a dollar.” Trea said to the piano player... Felix, if he recalled right from his visits to bring his father food. “Have a drink on me.”

  “I do appreciate that, young Culverson.”

  Trea nodded at the burly fellow he’d hired.

  The piano screeched against the floor as the two of them pushed and pulled it toward the far wall.

  “Doesn’t sound any worse than it did when it was being played,” he muttered, certain that no one heard him over the surprised exclamations folks were making.

  With the piano deposited in its new spot, Trea gave his accomplice another dollar.

  Nodding, he tucked the money into his shirt pocket then returned to his place at the end of the bar.

  “What gives you the say-so to come in and act like you own the place, boy?”

  Trea glanced over his shoulder at the sound of his father’s voice and spotted him, hands braced on the bar and fingers clenched in tight fists.

  “I asked you to have it moved and you didn’t do it.” Resigned to being here longer than he wanted to, he walked to the bar, taking note of the red flush on his father’s face. He was angry and that might account for the high color. Then again, his fever might have returned. “You feeling all right?”

  “That’s none of your concern. Put the piano back where it was.”

  “I wish it didn’t concern me. The thing is, I was born your son, so it does. And as for putting the piano back...it stays where it is.”

  With a narrowed gaze and a string of curses erupting from his mouth, his father pounded his fist on the bar. Once. Which was enough to make folks set down their drinks.

  “Let’s go talk about this in your office.” Trea inclined his head toward the half-open door.

  “You insolent pup.” His pa started cursing again but ended up coughing violently.

  “Water,” Trea ordered. “Clean water.”

  Within seconds a glass was plunked down on the bar. Liquid sloshed over the sides.

  “Drink it all.”

  Trea expected to have it tossed in his face. To his surprise, his father gulped it down. He didn’t ease up on the glare, but he did set the glass down without slamming it.

  “The thing is, Pa, the piano is bothering everyone at the hotel. One of the babies is teething and the noise keeps him awake. It keeps Warren Lindor restless, too.”

  “Hell’s blistering beans! Sure don’t want that crazy old coot wandering over here, so I suppose the instrument can stay where it is, don’t you, Felix?”

  The piano player shrugged. “Don’t make no never-mind to me which wall I perform next to.”

  With the drama apparently over, customers turned to their pursuits.

  “Ain’t you worried about soiling your pretty new reputation, son? Better get along.”

  When was the last time the man had called him son? He couldn’t recall.

  “I’ll go, just as soon as I know you don’t have a fever.” There had been enough fever scare for one night. “And, yes. I am worried about my reputation. Seems like I have to fight to keep it every day.”

  “That’s what comes from being a Culverson. Like father, like son.”

  “When was the last time you ate?”

  “None of your concern.”

  The bartender gave a long swipe of his cleaning rag over the bar, which brought him within speaking range. “He ate enough at dinner for three men, if you ask me.”

  “Hell, Clarence...no one did. Go serve that man waving the coin in his fist before he goes home and hides it under his mattress.”

  Clarence served the man, then leaned one elbow on the bar, looking about.

  “Better rest up now, Clarence. Just as soon as my new advertisement in the Smith’s Ridge Herald comes out, you’re going to need three hands to serve the drinks.”

  His gaze swung back to Trea.

  “Don’t look at me like I’m dirt for promoting my business. Just because you turned over a
shiny new leaf, don’t give you call to judge me. You were every bit the hellion I was as a boy...a real love-’em-and-leave-’em-crying bad boy.”

  “I can’t deny that.” Trea leaned across the bar. What he had to say was for his father’s ears only. “The thing is, all I wanted was the attention I never got from you. After Ma died, I would have been better off raising myself.”

  Trea hadn’t expected his father to be stung by the truth and apparently he wasn’t. He laughed in his gravel-grinding way then went into his office and slammed the door.

  Making the short trip from the saloon door to the door of the hotel lobby, Trea yawned. With any luck he would not fall asleep later in the day while teaching multiplication tables.

  At least everything here had grown quiet. If Felix had resumed playing, Trea could not hear it.

  * * *

  “Something cheerful...red, maybe? Or green?” Juliette said to young woman working in the dress shop. “Perhaps something green and red in one gown?”

  The salesgirl did not answer, her gaze having slid to the buggy where the babies slept.

  “I’d like one of my own someday. I doubt I’d raise it in this town, though.”

  “Things could change.”

  The girl’s attitude disturbed her. She and others like her would determine the future of Beaumont Spur. Perhaps once she saw the advertisement for the Christmas celebration in today’s Gazette, she would feel differently...or, at least, begin to.

  “I will say, there are more Christmas decorations going up in windows than last year,” the girl admitted, then she smiled again at Lena and Joe.

  “I, for one, want to look festive this Christmas... I’m looking for a gown that will suit.”

  “Let me think.” The girl tapped her finger on her lip. “There’s a green one up front.”

  Juliette followed her to the rack of gowns near the front window but had to glance down because of the glare of bright sunshine on the snow.

  “Here!” The girl removed a dress the color of a holly bough from the rack. She spread out the skirt to show off the subtle sheen of the fabric. “You’ll need to let out the hem, but it should do. Just sew some red silk berries here and there, and voilà, it’s festive!”