A Very Weaver Christmas Read online

  A Very Weaver Christmas

  Kit Morgan

  A Very Weaver Christmas

  by Kit Morgan

  © 2019 Kit Morgan

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form, except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without permission in writing from the publisher. All characters are fictional. Any resemblances to actual people or livestock are purely coincidental.

  Cover design by Angel Creek Press and EDH Designs

  Created with Vellum

  License Note

  This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Contents

  A Note …

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  A Note …

  There is a town in eastern Oregon where strange and sometimes miraculous things happen. To the town residents this is normal. To strangers, it’s sometimes bizarre and usually unexplainable. The town is called Clear Creek.

  There is another town, in the empty part of Washington State. This town also had some interesting happenings, going back to when Washington was still a territory. And it has an interesting name – Nowhere.

  It’s well known that during the summer of 1879, some folks from Nowhere paid a visit to friends in Clear Creek. (There was also a hullabaloo over a chicken at that time, which was blamed on some strange out-of-towners, but that’s neither here nor there.) During the visit, Mary Weaver from Nowhere hit it off with Irene Dunnigan from Clear Creek and invited her to come visit her farm, in a little valley a day’s journey from Nowhere. Irene accepted.

  This is the story of that visit, and a little bit more…

  Chapter One

  Clear Creek, Oregon, December 1879

  Tom Turner strolled into Dunnigan’s Mercantile and knocked the powdery snow off his boots. “Land sakes, Colin, was that Wilfred and Irene I just saw leave on the stage?”

  Colin Cooke, who was married to Wilfred and Irene’s niece Belle, grinned. “Yes. They just left.”

  “I thought they were leaving Friday.”

  Colin shook his head. “They decided to leave a few days early, as my dear brother and his wife need to be back sooner than later.”

  Tom looked at him in shock. “Harrison and Sadie went with ‘em?”

  “My good man, why do you think I’m standing behind the counter of this fine establishment?” He hooked his thumbs in the straps of his store apron. “Not to mention wearing this?”

  “So yer mindin’ the store while they’re gone? Then who’s mindin’ yer ranch?”

  “Don’t sound so surprised. If I can run a cattle ranch – which, by the way, Logan is handling while Harrison’s gone – I can certainly mind a store. Besides, Belle will help me.”

  “Thank Heaven for that.” Tom approached the counter. “So Wilfred and Irene, Harrison, Sadie, and … did they take any of the young’uns along?”

  “Maxwell is sixteen – hardly a ‘young’un.’ But Clinton and Savannah are barely fourteen and twelve – and yes, all three went along.”

  Tom scratched his head. “It’s hard to keep track of everyone’s age nowadays. All these young men runnin’ ‘round town – includin’ mine …”

  “But yours are still quite young.”

  Tom nodded and smiled. “I’d sure love to be a fly on the wall when Irene meets some of the townsfolk in Nowhere.” Tom knew them well – he’d been deputy there before taking the sheriff’s post back in his hometown of Clear Creek.

  “Oh? I thought the Weavers lived some distance from town.”

  “Oh, they do. But the Dunnigans and yer brother and his family’ll have to spend the night at the hotel if they’re arriving on the stage in the afternoon. Maybe two nights dependin’ on who comes to pick ‘em up, and if the Weavers need to do Christmas shoppin’. Sometimes they come to town in November to take care of that.”

  “I see.” Colin leaned against the counter. “So what do you think might happen should they stay in town?”

  Tom rolled his eyes and grinned. “Plenty if Irene runs into, say, Nellie Davis, or Connie Ferguson who runs the hotel. Nellie’s not as bad as she used to be, but Mrs. Ferguson can sure get cantankerous. If one of ‘em gets under Irene’s skin …” He whistled. “… we might be lookin’ at the Third Battle of Manassas.”

  Colin propped his chin in his hands. “Oh, this sounds positively enthralling. I wish I could’ve gone, but somebody has to mind the store for Irene and Wilfred. Irene won’t entrust it to anyone but Belle.”

  “Just as well yer here and not there,” Tom assured him. “But I’m sure they’ll have a fine visit all the same.”

  “I certainly hope so,” Colin said. “Irene did enjoy Mary Hughes’ company while they were here last summer. They had a grand time trading recipes.”

  “Ya’ll find no finer woman than Mary Weaver – right, Mary Hughes now. Anyone that can handle that brood of hers is made of tougher stuff than you or me. I hope Calvin keeps his young’uns in line.”

  “You mean his wife’s younger siblings – the Italians? We met one of them as you know, Rufi.”

  “The older ones ain’t so bad, but ya put all of ‘em together and woo-ee, they’re a handful. Though I’m sure Calvin’ll make sure they behave.”

  “I daresay I hope Harrison’s children do as well.”

  “What do ya mean?” Tom asked, curious.

  “Maxwell has been getting hotheaded lately – gets it from his father – and Clinton will follow whatever his big brother does. Savannah should be alright without my Parthena along. Those two together are worse than the boys. My good man, if ever any of our children are arrested, it’ll be those girls.”

  Tom chuckled. “Gotta agree with ya there.” He looked at the candy jars lined up on the shelves behind Colin. “How ‘bout a peppermint stick?”

  “Certainly.” Colin turned, pulled a jar off the shelf and got the requested candy. When he turned back, Tom was staring off into space. “What’s the matter?”

  “Nothin’. Just that last time the Weavers had a houseful of company at their place for Christmas, some interestin’ things happened.”

  “Such as?”

  Tom shrugged. “Nothin’ to worry ‘bout. I just wonder who else’ll be in town for the holidays. Ya don’t happen to remember Olivia Bridger from years back, do ya?”

  Colin chuckled. “Oh, I’m not likely to forget her! But she married, didn’t she? I believe Calvin’s twin Benjamin told me.”

  “Yep, and she’s been livin’ in Oregon City since then, far as I know. But her husband is Warren Johnson’s cousin. Warren married Bernice, a mail-order bride from Independence, south of Salem, and they live in Nowhere. And Bernice’s ma … last check, she’s as bad as Olivia or Nellie Davis used to be.”

  “That sounds both complicated and frightening. This is why I don’t think much about places beyond my backyard.”

&nbs
p; Tom smiled. “Yeah, I prefer not to. But they’re out there. One day we oughta go visit ‘em.”

  “One day. In the meantime, I’m sure Harrison and Wilfred will come back with some fine stories. Hopefully there’s nothing to worry about.”

  Tom thought a moment. “Hopefully … but I lived there, ‘member? I know those people. And it’s just that … well …”

  “Sheriff Turner, you’re scaring me even more,” Colin said flatly.

  Tom sucked on his peppermint stick. “Nah, forget I said anythin’. It’ll be fine. What could possibly happen?”

  Colin arched an eyebrow at him. “That, I’ve found, is never a good question to answer.” He pulled out a peppermint stick for himself and began to suck on it.

  Nowhere, Washington Territory, three days later

  Arlan Weaver stood on the boardwalk in front of Sheriff Spencer Riley’s office, waiting for the stage. Spencer opened his door, saw him and smiled. “Arlan, I didn’t expect to see you in town.”

  “I’m here waitin’ for some houseguests.”

  “Company for the holidays? That’s nice – who’s coming to visit?”

  “Some folks from Clear Creek. The Dunnigans and some of the Cookes.”

  “Is that so? Your brothers sure had a good time when they went to Clear Creek last summer. So did your ma. And Rufi had the best time of all – she got herself a husband!”

  Arlan smiled. “She sure did.”

  “Are you the only one here to pick them up?”

  Arlan shook his head. “Daniel’s at Aunt Betsy’s. We brought two wagons, since there’s supposed to be seven of ‘em. I’m not crammin’ all those people into one wagon, ‘specially since two of ‘em are old.”

  Spencer looked at the sky. “It’s been a mild month so far. That’ll make things easier.”

  “Yeah, that’ll help.

  They heard the stage roll into town. “I hear the Cookes are English,” Spencer mused. “I’ve never met an Englishman before, other than that duke that came through last summer. Wait a minute – aren’t the Cookes his relations?”

  “They sure are. Um … if’n ya don’t mind, I’d like to keep this under our hats. Duncan Cooke caused a big stir when he came through. I know his brother ain’t some fancy duke and his wife ain’t a duchess, but since they’re kin some folks’ll wanna talk to ‘em, and I don’t want ‘em to have to put up with a crowd. They’re here to enjoy themselves and visit my family.”

  “I understand. I’ll be sure not to tell my mother for at least a day or two.”

  “Tell me what?” Leona Riley asked.

  Spencer jumped. “Ma! Where did you come from?”

  “Down the street. Now what were you saying?”

  Spencer’s eyes flicked to Arlan and back. “I just promised I wouldn’t tell you right now.”

  She looked dissatisfied and turned to Arlan. “Well? You can tell me yourself.”

  Arlan shrugged. “I can, but I won’t.”

  She glared at Spencer. “I don’t like it when you keep things from me.”

  “I gave my word, Ma. You want me to break my word?” Besides, the stage was pulling up in front of the sheriff’s office, its usual stop. She was going to see for herself anyway – which meant that by sundown the whole town would know.

  Before the driver had a chance to climb down, Arlan hopped off the boardwalk and opened the stage door. “Welcome. I’m Arlan Weaver, and I’m here to fetch ya home.”

  “Well, I’m glad somebody is!” an old woman barked. “I hate having to wait!”

  Leona’s eyebrows rose. She leaned toward Spencer. “Who is that?”

  Spencer smiled, clearly having fun with this. “Promised not to tell,” he sang.

  “Oh, you!” she huffed. “More royalty, maybe?”

  “Gave my wo-ord …”

  Arlan helped a battleaxe of a woman, late sixties if she was a day, out of the stagecoach. “You must be Mrs. Dunnigan.” Then he helped an old man of about the same age out. “Mr. Dunnigan?”

  Mrs. Dunnigan looked him over. “Land sakes, you’re bigger than your brothers!”

  Arlan laughed. “We do grow ‘em big in our family, ma’am.” He helped a pretty woman with sable hair and a cornflower-blue day dress disembark next, and three nearly grown children climbed out after her, two boys and a girl.

  “They’re certainly a good-looking bunch, aren’t they?” Leona commented.

  “Mrs. Cooke,” Arlan said to the dark-haired woman. “Mr. Cooke,” he added as a man in his forties stepped out. He was handsome with brown hair greying at the temples and dark brown eyes, obviously the father of the three children.

  “Mr. Weaver,” he said in an English accent.

  Leona’s eyes lit up. “My goodness, it’s another one!”

  Spencer sighed and looked at Arlan sympathetically.

  Arlan caught it and shrugged. It was Leona being Leona. “Ma’s lookin’ forward to yer visit,” he told his guests. “We’ll gather yer things and I’ll take ya to the hotel.”

  “Wilfred, I’m hungry,” Mrs. Dunnigan snapped, then glared at Arlan. “Is there any place to eat around here?”

  “Of course,” he said.

  “Irene, do you need to lie down first?” Mrs. Cooke asked.

  “She’s not English,” Leona commented from the boardwalk. “Sounds more like a Texan.”

  Mr. Cooke spied them and smiled. “Hello. You must be Sheriff Riley.”

  Spencer exchanged a quick look with his mother. “Yes. How did you know?”

  Mr. Cooke pointed at the silver star on Spencer’s chest.

  Spencer chuckled. “Oh, yeah. I guess it’s kind of obvious.”

  “Our sheriff Tom Turner has told us a lot about you,” Mrs. Cooke commented.

  Spencer grinned. “Of course – good old Tom.” He jumped off the boardwalk to join them.

  His mother followed, though she took the stairs. “We do miss our Tom.” She offered a hand to Mrs. Cooke. “Leona Riley, Spencer’s mother. So happy to meet you. We met your brother briefly when he came through last summer.”

  “Duncan?” Mr. Cooke said. He exchanged a quick look with his wife. “He didn’t mention it in his letters.”

  “No, he didn’t,” Mrs. Cooke commented. “How strange.”

  “He didn’t?” Spencer said. “He and his wife came through here with another couple. There was some sort of wedding out at the Weavers’.”

  “Yes, that would have been Rufi and C.J. Branson,” Mr. Cooke said. “C.J. worked for us for a time. We knew they got married – Harlan Hughes shared that in his letters – but Duncan never mentioned it.”

  “Well, it had nothing to do with immediate family,” his wife said.

  Mr. Cooke nodded and offered his hand to Spencer. “Harrison Cooke, at your service.”

  Spencer smiled and shook it. “Sheriff Spencer R … yeah, you already knew that.”

  “You must come to our farm for supper if you’re able,” Leona offered. “Won’t Clayton and the girls love a visit?”

  “Clayton’s your other son, isn’t he?” Mrs. Cooke asked.

  “I don’t care if he’s the king of France,” Mrs. Dunnigan barked. “If I don’t get food in me, I’m liable to faint.”

  Mrs. Cooke rushed to her side. “You aren’t feeling ill, are you, Irene?”

  “Not yet, but if my stomach growls it’ll embarrass me.”

  “I’m hungry too, Mother,” the oldest boy said.

  “Where are our manners?” Mr. Cooke cut in. “Mr. Weaver, Sheriff Riley, Mrs. Riley, this is my wife Sadie and these are our children, Maxwell, Clinton and Savannah.” He pointed to each in turn. “Sixteen, fourteen and twelve, respectively.”

  Savannah grinned and curtsied. “Pleased to meet you all.” The boys just stood there like cigar-store Indians.

  “Oh, I do wish you could come for a visit.” Leona looked at Arlan. “It’s too bad you live so far out of town. But maybe we can make it work.”

  “There’s alway
s the Christmas dance next week,” he suggested.

  “Of course!” She clapped her hands. “The dance – how could I forget?”

  “Dance?” Clinton said, perking up.

  “Yes, the town puts on a big Christmas dance every year,” Spencer said. “Also one on Valentine’s Day. Gotta keep things lively during the winter.”

  “We put on a Christmas play in our town,” Savannah chimed in. “It’ll make you bust a gut.”

  Spencer and Leona laughed. “How wonderful,” Leona gushed. “I can’t wait to sit down and talk about our towns.”

  “That’s fine, Ma,” Spencer said, “but we do need to let these people get to Hank’s so they can get some food in their bellies.”

  They gathered their things and, with Spencer’s help, carried it to the hotel to check in before going to Hank’s Café. When they reached the restaurant, Mrs. Dunnigan stood a moment and took everything in. “This isn’t like Mulligan’s Saloon back home.”

  “Mulligan’s?” Spencer said.

  Mr. Dunnigan spoke for the first time. “We don’t have an actual restaurant in Clear Creek. We got the saloon – though it serves more food than whiskey – and the hotel dining room.”

  “No café?” a middle-aged man said as he emerged from the kitchen. “What kind of a town is that?”

  “Now, Hank, don’t start – these folks are visiting.” Leona motioned them to some tables. “Go ahead and sit, everyone. As there’s no one else here at the moment, there’s plenty of room. Arlan, why don’t you pull two tables together?”

  He did as she asked and everyone took a seat as Hank passed out menus. “I’ll be right back to take orders.”