Montana Gift Read online

  Paul laid a hand on OC's shoulder. "We collected a little wood from the shed that fell down on your old place. Zero credit. I can't wait to see them."

  Them. Four shadow boxes. Bailey's and Paul's was the largest. Several beautiful black and white photos from their wedding supplied part of the backdrop, along with a newspaper clipping and the tattered and stained Miss Marietta ribbon OC had rescued from the garbage the day after Bailey left home for college. He'd carried it to his favorite fishing hole and cried like a baby...while he polished off a fifth of Jack. He'd made his life a lot harder than it needed to be back in the day, and he'd been quick to seize any excuse to get drunk. He didn't miss that any more.

  "I don't do wrapping paper," he said, reaching behind his workbench where he'd stacked each one as he finished it.

  "Me, neither. Do you want me to take them to the top of the stairs so you can give them out one-by-one?"

  "Sounds like a plan." OC started to pass the two small ones--Mark's and Chloe's--but paused. "You know, I might not have told you this, Paul, but you're one smart cookie."

  "I am?"

  "Yep. Nearly every day at Big Z's I see something that can be attributed to you, and I think to myself, 'What the hell was wrong with me back when you and Bailey were dating that I couldn't see what kind of man you'd grow up to be?'"

  Paul looked moved by OC's words. It took him a minute to respond. When he did, his voice sounded tight with emotion. "That's really nice of you to say, Oscar. We'll never know what might have been if Bailey and I had stayed together in high school, but that doesn't matter any more. We're right where we need to be. I wouldn't change a thing, and I sure as hell don't blame you." He swallowed hard and nodded. "We all did the best we could."

  OC knew that wasn't true. He'd been a coward most of his life, hiding behind his addictions when things got too hard, too emotional.

  He handed Paul one of the eight-by-ten frames.

  Paul studied it a moment before exclaiming, "Oh, my God! Markie's gonna go nuts. Are those real arrowheads?" He squinted and held the gift to the light above the workbench. "That looks like an old campaign ribbon, too. World War II?"

  "The Indian stuff came from my dad. His father was a miner. My grandma was Lakota or Cheyenne. I never knew for sure. Most of this stuff was in an old cigar box Dad lugged around. He told me he picked up the arrowheads off some battleground. I hid the box every time he got drunk. Nothin' of value here to speak of, but a drunk will trade anything for a bottle." He pointed to the Purple Heart. "That belonged to my mom. She said the government sent it posthumously after her dad was killed in Normandy."

  Paul put a hand to his chest. "Everything in here is precious. Are you sure...?"

  OC gave him the look that used to put the fear of broken body parts into his old drinkin' buddies. "Mark's my first grandson. These go to him. If you and Bailey had...if I hadn't..." He couldn't finish the thought. He'd been so sure having a baby at eighteen and marrying a kid who was still in high school would ruin his only child's life, he'd made her do the unthinkable. And she'd hated him for that. For a long time. A long, long time. Until she came home to help her mother after he’d lost his foot.

  "Fixing things with you helped Bailey fix things with me, Paul. I owe you a debt I'll never be able to repay."

  Paul set the gift on the workbench and hugged OC. Neither spoke. There were no words.

  "Dessert's ready, you two," Bailey called from the top of the stairs. "Don't make me come down there to check up on you."

  Her threat made them step apart, laughing. Paul brushed at the corners of his eyes and tucked both frames under his arm. He didn't even look at Chloe's. "Whatdaya say I come back for the bigger ones after you give these to the kids?"

  OC nodded. "Sounds like a plan. Luly's trifle is not to be trifled with."

  Paul groaned as he led the way up the steps. "I married into a family of comedians."

  His comment made OC laugh out loud. He was still chuckling when he opened the door and stepped into the hallway. Louise walked toward him carrying two bowls filled with cake, fruit and whipped cream. "What's so funny? Or do I even want to know?"

  OC took one bowl from her and planted a kiss squarely on her lips, surprising the heck out of her, he could tell. "I was just telling Paul about our wedding. Do you remember me walking into the airport and paying cash for a ticket so I could fly back to Chicago with you?" To Paul, he added, "Round-trip cost seventy-five dollars, and I paid for the whole thing with fives and ones."

  "Fives and ones? Seriously? Why?"

  Louise glanced at what Paul was carrying but she didn't ask any questions. Instead, she nodded for them to follow her as she repeated a part of the story OC had forgotten until she wrote it down. "Oscar saved money better than anyone I ever knew. Although he denies it now, I swear he told me he pulled the money for his plane ticket out of buried coffee cans on his dad's old land. And, remember, this was 1975, not today. There were no questions asked."

  "So you were married in Chicago?" Paul asked.

  "Two days after Christmas. In my parents' living room. A few friends and relatives who lived in the area came. Nothing fancy, but very nice. And my aunt who married well gave us a night's stay in a swanky hotel as a wedding present."

  "That was our honeymoon," Oscar added. "Better than anything I could have afforded at the time."

  Louise gave him that smile she'd perfected over the years. The one that said stop putting yourself down.

  "We flew home a day later, anxious to begin the next chapter in our lives."

  OC's knee buckled and he reached for the wall to stay upright. As much as he hated showing weakness in front of others, he'd learned to roll with the ups and downs of his recovery. "Help me to my chair, Luly. I've been waiting all day for this. Your trifle--."

  "Isn't to be trifled with," Paul said with a laugh. "Are we eating in the living room? Good. Because I just happen to have the first two presents of the night to pass out. Hand-made works of art from a local, undiscovered talent by the name of OC Jenkins."

  OC shook his head. "Laying it on a little thick there, Boss."

  Paul winked. "I'll start selling them at Big Z's any time you've got one to spare." He looked at his wife. "Actually, Bailey, you could sell these in your shop. I'm serious. Your dad's eye for detail is amazing."

  "Since nobody else knows what you're talking about, Paul, why don't you give Chloe hers?" OC suggested.

  His stomach tightened. Old habits--especially the ones that had been around since his childhood--were the hardest to break. He'd never mastered the art of expecting the best. Anything he ever tried had been met with disapproval or indifference, until he met Luly.

  His wife’s gentle hand on his shoulder instantly relaxed him. No words. Just a supportive touch that told him Chloe would love his gift.

  And she was right.

  4

  Chloe heard her dad call her name but she didn't look up right away. She had her eyes closed as she tried to discern every delicious texture and flavor in her dessert. The cake was moist but firm, not mushy. The juices from the fruit had a tang that produced prickly bubbles on her tongue. The sugar and vanilla in the whipped cream smoothed everything out. And the ribbons of dark chocolate Bailey used to decorate the top tasted so good Chloe wanted to call all her friends and tell them about it. Which, of course, made her the biggest dork in Marietta.

  She licked her spoon and opened her eyes...and found everybody watching her. Her cheeks turned hot. "What?"

  "Nothing, dear," Grandma Louise said. "Take your time. But, whenever you're ready, Oscar has a present he made for you."

  Chloe quickly finished her bowl and set it on the end table. "For me? Really? What is it?"

  "It's a present," Mark said, testily. "You won't know until you open it, dipwad."

  "Da...ad. He's calling me names again."

  "Sannnnta," Dad said, looking at the ceiling. "It's not too late. You can still turn back."

  Chloe groaned.
She didn't believe in Santa anymore. Not really. Maybe just a little. She and Grandma Louise had had a long talk about whether or not Saint Nick was real.

  "I've been the recipient of too many wonderful gifts to question whether or not the spirit of the holidays is genuine," Grandma had said.

  That was how she talked. Like Chloe was old enough to understand every word. Chloe liked that. A lot. Even if she didn't know every single word...yet. She would eventually because Louise--before she became her grandma--taught Chloe how to make sense of all the letters, which sometimes wound up in a jumble in Chloe's head.

  Louise, Chloe's tutor and reading coach, changed Chloe's life. She was the reason Chloe had decided to become a teacher when she grew up.

  Chloe looked at her brother, who did believe in the big guy in the red suit--or claimed to, anyway--and stuck out her tongue, which hopefully still had lots of chunky white stuff on it. "Where is it? I'm ready."

  Dad got up and walked to the pretty artificial tree. He must have hidden them when everybody was dishing up dessert because she'd looked over the stash of gifts carefully when they first got there to make sure she had the same number as Mark. She hadn't seen anything in a frame.

  "This is an eco-friendly gift," Daddy said. "No wrapping paper. But it's signed and dated on the back, see?"

  He handed it to her face down. He was right. The block printing done with a Sharpie said: To Chloe--a very special granddaughter. Love, Grandpa Oscar.

  She looked at her new grandfather and smiled. "Thank you."

  "You're welcome. Turn it over. Tell me what you think."

  She bit down on her lip as she studied the three individual boxes. The up and down one had a picture of her and Skipper, her horse. A blue ribbon that she got for gymkhana crisscrossed the top corner. How did he...? Then she remembered him asking to see all the trophies and ribbons she'd won since Bailey started coaching her. She hadn't even noticed one was missing.

  "You stole it."

  "Borrowed," Gramps said with a wink.

  There were other things, too. A braid made from a lock of Skipper's white and brown mane. Her gaze zeroed in on a tiny golden horseshoe. A charm, she realized.

  "My mother didn't have much jewelry, and I was pretty young when she died, but I managed to save her charm bracelet before the old man could hock it," Gramps said.

  He looked at Bailey and Louise and added, "There's a couple of little bits of her in everybody's shadowbox."

  Bailey made a surprised sound. "Did you know he was making these, Mom?"

  Grandma shook her head. "No clue."

  Dad leaned over the couch. " What else do you see in there?"

  Chloe suddenly felt shy, as if a spotlight was shining on her. She pressed the gift to her chest and looked down.

  "Aw," Gramps said. "Shadowboxes are personal. Between the giver and the givee. You don't have to share, Chloe."

  He smiled at her in a way that made her happy and want to cry at the same time. "Or, you can show everyone later, after you've had time to look it over."

  She nodded and sat back, her arms wrapped snugly around her new treasure. "That's what I want to do."

  She'd seen enough to know the box held immense wonders. Things only she would understand--like a piece of the hospital band they put around her wrist when she did something stupid and nearly broke her neck at the Big Marietta Fair last summer. She'd never forget the lessons she learned from trying to show off.

  She took another peek when Daddy got up to fetch Mark's. Lace. And dried flowers. From Dad's and Bailey's wedding, she figured. A day some kids might not want to remember, but Chloe loved Bailey. Not like a mom so much, although Bailey was a good one. More like a combination big sister, older cousin, and good friend. And a teacher. Chloe had grown so much as a horsewoman since Bailey came into her life.

  Chloe waited until everybody was oohing and ahhing over Mark's shadow box before she looked to see what was in the lower right corner. Money? Books? Jewelry?

  She inhaled sharply. The future. She was looking at the future her step-grandfather envisioned for her. Travel. The background was a map. From the corner hung part of a tassel from a Marietta High graduation cap. Bailey's or Daddy's, she guessed. Two little boxes made to look like suitcases were adorned with postage stamps from France and Africa. She didn't know where he found those. And sprinkled across the bottom were coins unlike any she'd ever seen and a few folded bills.

  She squinted. Euros.

  A tingle of excitement moved through her body. She closed her eyes and pictured herself at the Eiffel Tower. Someday.

  When she looked again, Chloe spotted something she'd missed before. Partially hidden, as if daring her to find it. A small brass-colored fishing hook and one of those things her dad sold in his store for fishermen...a fly. A furry, delicate little thing tied with brilliant red thread and a sliver of gold.

  When she looked toward Gramp's recliner, she saw him looking at her, a knowing smile on his lips. She jumped up and ran to give him a hug.

  "Thank you," she whispered. "Will you teach me how to fish next spring?"

  He laid his big, rough hand on her head and nodded. "Yep."

  Then he looked at Louise and said, "Luly, why don't we give the kids their real presents?"

  Grandma disappeared down the hall and returned a moment later with two long beautifully wrapped boxes in her hands.

  Chloe looked at Mark, his eyes wide, too.

  "Fishing rods," they cried together.

  5

  "Listen to this," Bailey said, snuggling into the warm cradle of her husband's arms when they finally made it to their hotel room bed.

  It was late. Too late to be reading her mother's little book, but Bailey knew she wouldn't be able to close her eyes without seeing how it ended.

  "Aren't you wiped out? We can do this in the morning," Paul said, sleepily.

  "We could, but your daughter is wide awake and doing gymnastics from that second helping of Mom's trifle I ate, so I'm pretty sure I'm not going to be able to doze off like some people."

  He moved his hand under the sheet to cover her rounded belly. A sharp poke made him blink. "Wow. She's fired up. She must like Christmas."

  So did her mother. For the first time in more years than she cared to admit, Bailey got why people made such a big deal over the holiday. Maybe it was all the baby hormones--"mones," Mia called them--coursing through her veins. Maybe it all came down to being in love with the best man in the whole world. The other half of her soul.

  She turned her head to look at Paul, his dear, handsome face inches from hers. "I love you."

  Simple words, but true.

  "Me, too. And, for the record, this is turning out to be the best Christmas ever."

  Bailey agreed. The kids had been great at her parents’ house this afternoon. The food, the gifts, the surprises made it one of the most special Christmases she could remember. "Did you know about Dad's shadowboxes?"

  Paul made his guilty face. "Sorta. Dad and I salvaged some wood from that old shed that fell down last winter. OC knew my crew planned to demo the building before they started erecting Serena's new shelters for her alpacas. Your dad said he could use a few boards. I had no idea he'd turn them into something so special."

  Bailey turned on her side so she could see the shadow box she'd insisted Paul bring in from the car. Their room was on the second floor and he'd had to make two trips with their suitcases, but he hadn't complained. They planned to leave all the gifts they'd gotten today in the SUV in the hanger if they were able to take off in the morning.

  Although she couldn't see all the details she knew her father had put into the two-foot by three-foot, beautifully framed box, her throat tightened as she looked at it. "How many hours do you think he spent on this?"

  "I have no idea. A lot. His attention to detail floored me. And where he got one of those old Big Z's calendars from the fifties is anybody's guess."

  "Maybe your dad gave it to him. Those two have gotten pr
etty friendly since they decided to bury the hatchet."

  "True. I was holding my breath for a while after the fair, but I think Dad could see how hard OC was trying. You gotta respect that kind of courage."

  Bailey agreed. Courage and foresight. One of the most startling elements in the box for her was the Miss Marietta Fair Queen sash she'd worn the night she broke up with Paul. She'd ripped it off and stuffed it in the trash when she got home. She couldn't believe her dad had found it and saved it for fifteen years.

  But she knew why he had. Penance. She'd done her share over the years, too.

  "Read," Paul said, cutting into her thoughts. "I'm exhausted and we have a long day tomorrow."

  Their first Christmas as husband and wife. The plane was fueled and ready to go. The storm looked as if it might hold off until late afternoon. Weather permitting they'd fly south in the morning to spend a few days with Paul's parents in Arizona. Her last trip of that kind until after the baby was born.

  Bob and Sarah planned to entertain them royally, including a pig roast in the desert with friends on Christmas Day.

  Bailey's parents would be joining Mia and Ryker at the Graff for a gala brunch, if everyone was dug out of the two or three feet of snow predicted by then. If their plans got canceled, Mom said they'd spend the day watching old movies, like It's A Wonderful Life.

  It had struck Bailey when her mother was reading from her book that something about the tone of Mom's writing reminded her of Jimmy Stewart's ordeal in the classic holiday film. Bailey opened the beautifully inscribed copy Mom had given her and Paul and thumbed ahead to the place her mother had stopped.

  "The years that followed brought with them a full gamut of emotions, which, I believe, is proof of how much we loved each other. Neither of us is a perfect individual. We are human, with many failings. Many people wondered over the years what made us stay together."