One week earlier...

"Hello the house!" Micah tied up his horse to the paddock fence and started towards the little house.

Luke came out on the porch with a cup of coffee. "You're up mighty early."

The marshal snorted. "If you had to get up as early as I did, you'd never bother with going to bed at all."

"Cup of coffee?"

"Don't mind if I do." The two men went into the house and Luke busied himself at the coffeepot. The marshal cleared his throat. "Actually, Lucas boy, this isn't a social call."

The big man handed his friend a cup. "What kind of call is it?"

Micah looked uncomfortable. "Hattie asked me to come."

"Hattie!" Luke's eyebrows shot up.

"Well, she's just a little worried about you and the boy." The marshal took a big gulp of coffee, then went on resolutely. "She says you haven't bought a single thing for the holidays. No decorations, no treats…"

"That's my business." Luke finished his coffee and poured another cup. "More?"

"No, thank you." Micah said quietly, "I'm not trying to pry. Neither is Hattie. It's your first Christmas in North Fork and she just wants it to be special."

The big man turned his cup around and around in his hands. "We haven't celebrated Christmas since my wife died."

"I see." Micah said delicately, "Holidays can be hard but depriving Mark of Christmas…"

"Me depriving him!" Luke was startled. He got up and took a turn around the room, debating with himself, then sat back down. Leaning forward, he said earnestly, "You've got it all wrong, Micah. It was a week before Christmas…

"Lucas McCain, don't you dare touch that pie! That's for the covered dish supper at church tomorrow."

Luke grinned at Margaret, his eyes twinkling. "I was just seeing if it was done."

"You take one bite of that pie and you'll be done," she scolded, her lips twitching as she struggled to hide a smile. "Go call Mark in for supper."

"Yes, dear." The big man cast a longing look at the pie but went to the door. "Mark! Suppertime, son!" He came back, frowning as his wife sat down at the table and rubbed her head. "What's wrong?"

Margaret smiled and took his hand. "Nothing, darling. Just a teensy headache."

"You've been working too hard." Now Luke was the one scolding. "All this cooking and cleaning and decorating for Christmas on top of everything else you do..."

"Now, Lucas, it's my favorite holiday." Margaret squeezed her husband's hand. "I can stand a little extra work once a year." She started to get up, then sat back down with a soft moan. "Maybe I should rest a bit. My back hurts too."

Mark came in, his hands and face dirty. "Is it suppertime?"

"It will be after you wash up," said Luke. "You look like you were tunneling under the house."

"Oh, Pa…" The little boy went to the pump and filled a basin, then daintily touched his face with a bar of soap.

"I want to see suds!" Luke fixed his offspring with a baleful glance, then turned back to his wife, noticing uneasily that her eyes were glassy and her face flushed. He touched her forehead and when he felt the heat, he said softly, "I think you need a doctor."

"I went for the doctor and he said Margaret had smallpox." Luke's throat tightened and it was a moment before he could go on. "She hadn't been feeling well but I thought she was just working too hard. By the time the doctor came the rash was starting. I sent Mark to the neighbors…"

Luke started awake at the tug on his hand. Margaret lay high on the pillows, her eyes enormous in her gaunt face. Her face...He leaned over her, brushing back her hair. "What is it, darling?"

She tried to speak, then looked at the water pitcher. He filled a glass and helped her drink. "Thank you." Her voice was low and gasping. "Where's Mark?"

"He's staying with the neighbors. He's safe."

"I wish I could see him." Her eyes filled with tears. "Maybe it's better this way. I must be so ugly now."

"That's foolish talk." Luke leaned over and gazed adoringly at his wife. "Even when we're old and grey and wrinkled, you'll still be beautiful to me. You just have to get well so we can all be together again."

"Mark." Margaret said weakly, "Promise me you'll raise him right, Lucas."

"We're going to raise him right, you and me, together." The big man smothered the fear that was overwhelming him. "You have to stay with me, darling. I don't know how to raise a little boy. I need you, Margaret. Mark needs you."

"Do you remember the day we met?" Margaret's breathing was becoming labored.

"How could I forget?" Luke pressed her hand to his cheek. "I had just won a big pot in a poker game and the loser accused me of cheating and started a fight. He knocked me clean out of the saloon and I landed right in front of you."

"And I tried to pick you up." There was a faint twinkle in Margaret's eyes. "I held you in my arms before I even saw your face."

"And I saw your face and forgot all about the fight." Luke's voice shook. "You still have the face I want to see every day for the rest of my life." Her hand slipped away and fell to the bed. "Margaret?" Her eyes closed. There was a look of peace on her face and he pulled her to him, the hurt too deep for tears.

"That was Christmas day, Micah." Luke put his hands over his face and for a long moment they sat in silence. The big man finally got up and went to the cabinet where he kept his family Bible, returning with a linen bag. He took out a small package. Once the colors on the wrapping paper must have been bright, but they were dull with age and the ribbon was faded and limp. "This was Margaret's last gift to Mark."

Micah looked at it reverently. "What is it?"

"I don't know. Mark has always refused to open it." Luke tenderly tucked the present into the bag. "That Christmas was long over by the time I...I made all the arrangements. The next year…" He put the bag back in the cabinet. "I couldn't bear to stay in Enid, in that house. I decided to leave, but I had to earn a stake first. I left Mark with the neighbors who had been taking care of him and went buffalo hunting. I got back every few weeks and he was always glad to see me but the Christmas after Margaret died…" Luke shook his head. "I came home with my saddlebags stuffed with presents and Mark…" He swallowed hard. "He had run away. I found him hiding in our barn, and he cried and screamed and fought me when I tried to take him back. I've never seen him like that, Micah. He didn't even want to see anything that would remind him of Christmas and his mother's death. It's been like that every year. He doesn't want anything to do with Christmas."

"Well, maybe that's not so strange," said Micah consolingly. "He didn't just lose his mother. He lost his home, and in a way, he lost you too. Now that you're together again with your own roof over your heads…"

"That's what I thought," said Luke hopelessly. "I told him I thought it was time to start celebrating Christmas again and he just looked at me. If he had answered me back we could have talked it out but what do you do when a person just looks?"

They were interrupted by the sound of a horse coming up to the house. Luke hurried out to the porch, followed closely by the marshal. Mark was riding in and the big man's jaw tightened. Micah put a hand on his arm. "Now wait a minute, Lucas boy. Give him a chance to talk."

Mark flung down from the saddle with a sullen expression. "I got sent home from school."

"I can see that." Luke strove for a calm tone. "Do you mind telling me why?"

"They were making Christmas cards! I didn't want to do it and the teacher said if I didn't want to participate in Christmas I should go home until it was over. That suits me just fine."

Micah looked for an explosion from Luke. He wasn't prepared for the desolate look in his friend's eyes, but he took swift action. "Mark, can I help you put Blue Boy away?"

"All right." The boy led his horse into the barn and unsaddled him.

Micah took off the bridle and hung it on the wall. "Mark, I haven't known you and your pa for very long but you both...well, you mean a lot to me. I was thinking maybe I could come over Christmas day and…"

Mark threw the saddle blanket on the ground. "I hate Christmas!"

"I know," said the marshal sadly. "Lucas told me." He held up a hand at the expression on the boy's face. "Don't be angry with him. The townsfolk thought he was keeping you from having Christmas and I came out to talk to him about it."

"Folks are blaming him because we're not having Christmas?" The boy looked uncomfortable.

Micah shrugged. "It'll blow over. Your pa has a lot of respect in the town. I guess he can stand people thinking he won't let you celebrate Christmas."

"But that's not true! Can't you tell them it's not his fault?"

"Oh, they wouldn't listen to me about a thing like that. They wouldn't believe you even if you told them yourself. No, they'll just go on thinking Lucas is to blame."

Mark raced out of the barn and Micah smiled to himself as he went back to the house at a more sedate pace.

"Pa!" The boy ran inside to find his father sitting at the table staring blankly into space. "Pa, do you really want to have Christmas again?"

Luke blinked in surprise. "You know I do, son."

"Well…" Mark struggled with himself. "I guess it's all right."

His father looked narrowly at him. "You guess or you know?"

"I guess I know." The boy didn't look very happy but he said firmly, "Let's have Christmas this year."

He went out onto the porch, passing the marshal coming inside, and Luke asked suspiciously, "What did you say to him, Micah?"

His friend assumed a virtuous expression. "I just told him how I came to talk to you about Christmas. Why? Did he change his mind?"

"He did." Luke was puzzled by the sudden shift in Mark's attitude but the excitement of the approaching holiday took precedence and he smiled brightly. "We're going to have Christmas!"