Mornings

by Jantallian

What was it like to wake up one morning and find you'd invited an unknown drifter into your home and family? Not to mention all those other mornings which followed, infused with comedy, tragedy, mayhem, confusion, arguments, joy, sorrow, reunions and partings.

5. Chapter 5

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Twelve Mornings between Christmastide and Candlemas

It's a long way past Christmas, but this chapter has been a long time in the writing and I wanted to share it before the season comes round again! One reason it took so long is that in these 'mornings' I have used 38 Christmas carols, songs and poems, (several of them more than once) either quoting directly, adapting the lines or reflecting their imagery. If you like this kind of puzzle, have fun spotting them – the answers are at the end. If you don't, I hope you will enjoy these Christmas tales anyway. Ján

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1

Tree-son?

" ... and a partridge in a pear – OUCH!"

Jess Harper's cheerful baritone rendition of the twelve festive presents was rudely interrupted by a sharp peck immediately above his boot.

He looked down.

"I fed you already," he protested. "Y' ain't got no call t' make a meal outta my legs!"

Napoleon gave him a beady glare and uttered a quack which in no way resembled a chuckle.

Jess shook his head, puzzled.

"An' I didn't step on you either. But if y' keep gettin' under foot, I ain't gonna guarantee I won't."

The mighty mallard appeared to heed this warning. He flew up on to the partition between Traveller's stall and Alamo's and perched there looking tetchy. Both horses immediately shifted nervously to the opposite side of their stalls. They had a firm friendship with the duck – but horse-sense said there were times when you didn't want to push it.

Jess shrugged and whistled the tune just as merrily while he continued to fill water buckets for all the residents of the barn. It wasn't quite cold enough in the barn to freeze the water in the buckets, but it was a near thing. Still not fully acclimatised to the cold of the Wyoming winter, Jess flapped his arms vigorously in time to the music in his head and beat his gloved hands together. Then he started the chorus all over again:

"Twelve drummers drummin', eleven pipers pipin', ten lords aleapin' –"

At which point he was again interrupted, this time by a hearty chuckle from the doorway.

"Not like you to make a song and dance over the work, Jess!" Slim was grinning at his antics.

Jess stopped singing and informed him roundly, "It ain't the work. It's the doggone weather!"

"Yeah, we do winter really well in Wyoming." Slim was still grinning as he reached down a saw and an axe. "Come on, it's nine tree trunks for sawing next."

"It's meant t' be ladies dancin'," Jess grumbled as he followed his partner round the house to the log pile. "An' there ain't no chance at all o' that any time soon."

The snow crunching beneath their boots on the well-trodden tracks across the yard served only to emphasise how dancing was definitely out of the question and skating on the lake was a more likely proposition. Not that either of them had time to skate, even if they had had the necessary equipment and expertise. It was however a beautiful day, crystal clear and with a momentary lull in the wind. It did not take much more than the sunshine to restore Jess's good humour. And to cause him to burst into song and continue his rendition of the chorus.

He was doing quite well until he reached the last few lines. Suddenly there was an almighty swish of wings over his head and his hat sailed through the air as if it had just acquired a life of its own. Jess gave a startled yelp followed by an injured demand.

"Napoleon, y' daft duck! D'y want my ears t' freeze off?"

He deposited the axe he had been using against the side of the woodstore before seizing his hat and slapping it back on his head - only to give another yelp as a dollop of snow slid off the brim and down his neck.

"An' you can stop laughin' too!" Jess grabbed a handful of snow and advanced threateningly on Slim.

Slim promptly put down his saw, just in case Jess decided to get rowdy: it wouldn't be the first time. But, however tempting a snowball fight was, they both knew better because, even if it was fun in the short term, the beginning of the day was not the time to get covered in garment-penetrating snow.

"I just guess your duck is trying to tell you something about your singing," Slim suggested as he backed rapidly away without looking where he was going. Consequently he tripped over one of the branches they had sawn off and landed in a heap of snow himself.

Jess dropped his snowball, honours being even, but as the morning worn on, he began to feel Slim might have a point. The trouble was that a catchy tune just kept repeating itself in your head and as often as the words rang in the air, Jess would find Napoleon's patience was only good for the first half of the chorus. Whenever he got to the end, he found himself, pecked, tripped, flapped about the head and otherwise impeded from singing. This of course made him all the more determined to sing as much as he wanted to - but at the same time he hated being at odds with his feathered friend and henchduck.

Eventually Jess beat a retreat to the house to try the usual remedy for all ills, namely a mug of strong, black coffee. Once he was inside, however, he slumped at the table, his earlier good mood turned to brooding confusion as he gazed in puzzlement at the steam rising up before his nose.

Jonesy put the coffee pot on the table and sat down opposite him. He fully expected an urgent request for a refill at any moment, but the Texan did not even take a sip of the tempting beverage in front of him.

"Somethin' put y' off y' coffee?" the old cook observed. "Guess the world's definitely comin' t' an end at ..." He paused theatrically, glanced out of the window and waved a hand portentously at the position of the sun. " ... At exactly noon t'day!"

"Huh?" Jess looked up, startled at this unusual drama from the normally phlegmatic Jonesy.

"Y' mopin' an' not drinking it," Jonesy pointed out. "You were cheerful enough in the yard. Singin' y' heart out. What's bitin' y'?"

"Napoleon!" Jess told him glumly.

"The duck?" Jonesy was disbelieving, as well he might be, given the unshakable and, some said, unholy alliance between Texan and mallard.

"I get t' the end of the chorus an' he keeps peckin' me."

"Why?"

Jess glared at his interlocutor. "If I knew why, I'd be stoppin' him'!"

"Well, if y' don't know, why don't y' ask?" Jonesy suggested, pouring himself another cup of coffee since Jess was obviously too distraught to drink any. "After all, you speak fluent mallard!"

"Thanks, Jonesy, good idea!"

Jess jumped up and made a bee-line (or perhaps that should be 'made off as the duck flies') to try out this simple idea on the irate Anas platyrhynchos. There was no need to go far. Right outside the door he almost tripped over the mighty mallard. He received a distinct impression of a webbed foot tapping and if Napoleon had had arms they would have been folded. Immanent retribution radiated from him.

"Napoleon!" Jess remonstrated. "This ain't the way y' behave t' a friend! Why'm I upsettin' y' this mornin'?"

"Qua - aa -ar - ck!"

Except as an indication of extreme annoyance, this was hardly helpful.

"Come on, then, show me?"

Jess held out his arm and Napoleon condescended to fly up and manoeuvre his way to his favourite position on his pet's shoulder.

"Now what?"

A sharp tweak of Jess's hair suggested that he move.

Once they got going, Napoleon was able to steer him successfully by the simple expedient of batting him with one wing or the other. They ended up on the edge of Jonesy's garden which was bordered by several small, snow-limbed fruit trees. Napoleon launched himself from Jess's shoulder and glided up to perch on a branch of one of the trees.

Jess stared at the duck.

Then he stared some more.

Then he grinned.

"What are you two up to now?" Slim demanded, as he found man and duck doing nothing much in the vegetable patch.

Jess shrugged and cleared his throat. "Just re-writing some o' the lyrics," he explained.

Then he burst into song again:

"Three French hens, two turtle doves and a mall-ard in an apple tree!"

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2

Sun – moning!

Oh, the sun was rising all right and feet were running and doors were opening with a crash and coffee cups hitting the table with a rattle – but nothing penetrated the pile of blankets on the top bunk.

"Wake up, wake up!"

"Don't you know it's time to come out!"

The young voices echoed faintly beneath the dreamy symphony of wind whispering through the long grass of the plain, the rumbling low of the cattle and the creak of wagon wheels. Nothing, it seemed, was going to wake Jess this morning, not even the scent of coffee wafting from the kitchen. Certainly not the cold draft which bore the aroma and accompanied this lively morning summons.

"Come on, Jess!" That was Andy.

"Don't you wanna go hunting?" Mike was eager for his first winter expedition to see if they could track down some of the deer which could often be found running close by in the woods.

"It's a dream of a day –"

Their enthusiasm was interrupted by a prolonged groan from the top bunk.

"I'm dreamin' of Texas – and it ain't white. It's just like I used t' know. No ice and no snow!"

"That's poetry," Mike exclaimed admiringly. He was usually of Jess's mind about leaving a warm bed, but today excitement had made him nearly as early a riser as Jonesy.

Even Slim was only just that minute struggling rapidly into warm clothes and trying to find clean socks. He grinned at their efforts to rouse the Texan sleeper, but said fairly, "You know what he's like in the morning. Give him a chance. There's no way he'd spoil your fun by getting up late."

In true elder brother/guardian mode, Slim swiftly shepherded the boys back towards the breakfast table. But before he closed the bunkroom door, he put his head back round it and warned, "I'm not letting them pull you out of bed, but if you don't get a move on, I will let them eat all your breakfast!"

There was an immediate thud of feet hitting the floorboards.

Slim grinned again. "Some ways of summoning him to face the sunshine are more effective than others!"

Jonesy was just coming in from the kitchen and shook his head with a disparaging snort. "Y' ain't never gonna make a son o' the mornin' out of him," he reminded the assembled family as he deposited the inevitable two coffee pots on the table. "A Harper ain't never ever at his brightest and best till he's had his fill o' coffee!"

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3

Woodn't it be nice

Shouts of mirth and merriment rang out to greet the morning as if no-one had any work to do and the day was dedicated to leisure and amusement. The laughter made a counterpoint to the lively jingle of harness, ringing like bells in the chilly air.

Although the Sherman ranch and relay station was usually a cheerful place, it was sleigh-riding which gave particular reason for exuberance this morning. To be specific, a one-horse sleigh, driven by Andy and bearing Mike and Amanda, together with a certain mallard, merrily down the road towards Laramie. Their elders, left behind after an uncharacteristically swift start, had perforce to stroll - and sometimes slither and occasionally stumble - behind on foot. Fortunately they did not have far to go, or Andy would have found himself walking back while everyone else rode in style.

"Giddy-up, jingle horse! Pick up your feet!"

The horse pulling the sleigh, however, was sensibly one of the most placid in the barn and had its own decided views about the wisdom of dashing over the hard-packed snow. They were gliding smoothly and steadily but hardly at any great speed. Even so, they shortly arrived at their objective, a sizeable dead tree which had fallen victim to recent driving winds and was partially blocking the road.

Andy pulled up and jumped down to tether the horse and unload the tools needed to clear the way. Mike and Amanda immediately began to stack into a pile all the smaller broken branches which would get in the way of axes and saws, but would be used for kindling. Although they had made very good provision for the winter, fuel supplies needed constant replenishing as seasoned logs were burned. A dead tree, which would not need so long to dry, was not to be ignored, even if it hadn't been a hazard to the wagons and stages which still managed to navigate the road.

Presently Slim and Jess arrived and viewed with approval the preparation the youngsters had made for the work. All of them worked as a team and knew what to do and how to do it safely without being constantly issued with instructions. Andy would help with the sawing and then organise the loading of branches and logs on to the sleigh, while the other two continued to gather the chips, twigs and branches into their kindling pile and also to hand up the smaller logs to Andy. It was something they had all done many times before.

This time, however, Andy did not immediately get on with his responsibilities, but stood still by the tree, one hand resting on the mighty trunk. Jess paused too, sensing that there was something important to recognise. He came to stand by Andy and put a hand on his shoulder.

"Somethin' special about this tree?"

"Ye -ah," Andy sighed. "Of all the trees in the wood, it's a pity this one had to come down."

"It's very old," Jess observed. "Hollow probably."

"Yeah," Andy said again. "That's the point."

"What point, Andy?" Slim stood poised with his saw over the upper end of the tree, halting his activity out of respect for his brother's concern.

Everyone was focused now, not on the task, but on the fallen giant.

"A hollow tree is home to lots of creatures," Andy reminded them. "They'll have gone now, but it's sad that something which was alive with so many things is no longer able to shelter them. One of the first owl's nests I ever found was in this tree."

"There's an Indian saying: would you wish that there should be no dried trees in the woods and no dead branches on a tree that is growing old?" Jess recalled softly.

Andy thought for a moment, then shook his head. "I know things live and die and rot and make soil for other things to grow. And I know lots of other smaller creatures will use what's left of it now it's down - " He sighed, looked down at the tree again and gave the wood a valedictory pat. "It was a great tree, but it's finished this part of its job."

"And we'll be thankful when it keeps us warm and Jonesy'll use its ashes to grow more plants," Slim pointed out as he began sawing.

Cutting up the tree was heavy work and soon their breath in the cold air formed a silver cloud floating above their heads. Nonetheless, everyone worked steadily at their tasks and the top end of the tree was eventually cleared away from the road and most of it stacked onto the sleigh, ready to join the relay station's wood store.

All the while, Napoleon had been overseeing the activity from his perch on the horse's rump. The horse, like the sensible creature it was, ignored him. Or at least it did until the mallard suddenly launched himself into the air and skimmed down to hover over the remaining tree trunk with a peremptory quack. The horse snorted in alarm and Andy jumped off the sleigh and hastened to calm it.

Slim stopped sawing and glared at the mallard. "What does that darn duck think he's doing?" he demanded.

"Runnin' the ranch?" Jess suggested with a grin. "Or at any rate, organisin' this woodcuttin'."

Seeing he was in no danger of being sawn in half, Napoleon alighted on the uncut part of the main trunk and gave another quack. It sounded urgent.

Amanda was the closest and understood almost as much mallard as Jess: not many Christmases ago Napoleon had taken care of her and helped alert the family to her plight, which ended happily in her finding a real home at the Sherman ranch. Now she crouched down to be level with the duck and said firmly, "He's trying to tell us something. Show us, Napoleon."

The mallard gripped the bark with his claws and leaned over so that his head was almost upside down. He tapped rapidly on the tree trunk with his beak as low as he could reach.

Amanda looked over her shoulder at the others, her eyes wide. "There's something in the tree. I heard it move."

"Let me have a look," Andy said, kneeling in the snow beside her. After all, he was their resident animal expert. He was also too experienced to interfere with an unknown creature, which might easily prove to be a snake or something frightened with sharp teeth!

Napoleon tapped again.

"Listen. Can you hear it?"

"Yeah, I think it squeaked that time. It doesn't sound very big."

"There's no hole," Mike observed as he peered over their shoulders.

"I think the opening is against the ground," Andy pointed out. "Whatever it is, it's trapped."

"It'll die if we don't get it out!"

"We've got to rescue it!"

Amanda and Mike were of one accord and all three youngsters turned in unison to appeal to their elders. Slim and Jess looked at each other, then at the tree trunk.

"Best way'd be t' roll it over and let whatever it is get out on its own," Jess reasoned thoughtfully.

Slim gave the tree an experimental push. Nothing happened. It was like trying to push the side of a hill. Predictably it didn't budge an inch.

"Next good idea?"

"Cut a new hole?"

This too was not a simple solution. They had only axes and saws to work with, which were not designed for careful and delicate cutting jobs. Nor did they know how big the hole was inside and how much of it was filled with whatever they were trying to rescue. They opted for slicing off the thick bark first, then holding the blade of the axe and using it to cut deep grooves, making a square outline over where the edge of the hole was just visible against the ground. The angle and curve of the trunk made it extremely awkward.

During this effort, the sounds from the trunk became clearer and much more like cheeps than squeaks.

"Doesn't sound like a snake, anyway," Slim grunted as he rose from his crouch beside the hole, gave his aching hands a shake and brushed the snow absently off his knees. "But you'd better stand back, all the same."

"Yeah, nothing's gonna want five faces peerin' down into its nest. It'll probably make a bolt for freedom as soon as it sees daylight," Jess grinned as he got out his knife and prepared to finish the work of hacking out the new opening.

"Wouldn't it be nice if it wanted to stay, though?" Mike said wistfully.

Slim shook his head in affectionate amusement. "Another animal to clean out and feed every day?"

"We don't mind," Mike responded stoutly, looking to his fellows for support. Andy and Amanda both nodded and indeed it was true: all of them took their turn at caring for the collection of animals they'd rescued in addition to their responsibilities for the smaller livestock in the yard.

"Best see what it is first," Slim suggested with his usual common sense. "Get a move on, Jess, before our feet freeze to the ground."

The next few minutes everyone held their breath as Jess gingerly used his knife to deepen the cuts round the edges of the new hole and weaken them. He was finally able to put the blade of the knife through one corner and lever the wood out carefully so that it did not drop on to the occupant.

With great restraint they all remembered his warning and did not lean forward to look, which was as well, since there would have been a great thumping together of eager heads. The new opening remained quite dark and empty.

Then ... everyone let go their breath in a collective "Aaah!"

Peering out of the hole was a tiny head covered in grey-brown feathers speckled with white dots. Two huge dark eyes, the irises rimmed with gold, seemed out of proportion to its size. The sharp orange beak opened with a snap and gave voice to a series of rhythmical high pitched "toots".

Napoleon gave a startled quack and jumped back away from the hole.

The sound of children's laughter filled the air along with chuckles from the adults.

The Pygmy owl gave another shrill chirp and turned its head away as if determined to ignore their intrusion.

"Oh, he's got eyes in the back of his head!" Mike pointed.

"Or hers," Amanda said firmly. "Will it be all right now?" She looked anxiously at Andy, who had done some serious study of wild things as well as learning from practical experience and the lore Slim and Jess had shared with him.

"Looks more puzzled than distressed," Jess said, brushing the wood shavings from his knife and his sleeves.

"Should we pick it up and check it's ok?" Mike was equally anxious.

Andy was looking carefully at the tiny occupant of the hole. After a few minutes, he delivered his verdict. "I think we should leave him or her in peace. It looks young, but it's lost almost all its downy feathers, so it must be mature enough to hunt. Once it's got used to being free again, it'll find a new home. If we take it back to the ranch, it may forget how to look after itself."

The owl turned its head back to them. It was regarding them with a fierce independence which even the mighty mallard seemed to respect. It uttered several more toots.

"I think it agrees with you, Andy," his brother grinned.

"We'd have problems picking it up without doing it some damage anyway," Andy said. "And it could damage us too. An owl's feet can do more injury than their beak. They clench powerfully and the talons are very sharp for grabbing prey."

"Yeah, you can see by the way Napoleon's keepin' his distance that this little fella's got quite a reputation in the bird world!" Jess stretched out a hand to his duck and Napoleon flapped up and landed as usual on his shoulder.

"Wouldn't it be nice to have a pygmy owl on your shoulder, all the same," Mike sighed, still wistful.

"Remember the talons," Andy reminded him. "This one is tiny, but it's fierce. It can kill birds much bigger than it is."

"Can we come back tomorrow and see if it's really recovered?" Amanda asked.

"Good idea," Andy agreed. "If it's ok it'll be off hunting and if it's not, we can pinch some dead mice from Mungo and bring it some dinner."

"Dinner!" exclaimed Jess the ever-hungry. "If we ain't back soon, Jonesy'll eat it all himself."

Despite the inherent unlikelihood of this outcome, they quickly packed up and loaded the last of the wood and the tools on to the sleigh. Then they set off for the ranch house, this time leading the horse who had quite enough to pull without adding five humans and a duck, even if some of them were quite small.

Behind them a very small owl stuck its head out of its new front door and uttered a shrill fanfare of toots.

It might have been saying "thank you" but it probably meant "it's nice to be left in the wood!"

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4

Room in the heart

It scarcely counted as morning when the two wagons rolled out of Laramie. The sky was sullen, with little sign that it should be dawn shortly. There was hardly any light to travel by but the trader knew the road he was taking and was determined to be well on his way east and south before the day was over. It was not going to be very much warmer anywhere else, but at least there was less chance of being snowed in with his precious cargo. It wasn't gems of the mountain or gold from the mine, but the bundles of skins and pelts, especially those of the beaver, were less perilous and paid well.

So they set out, the trader, his sons and his daughter, and trailing behind, tied to the second wagon, the old donkey.

The wagon teams were fresh and, if not eager to haul over the snowy road, at least willing to give it their full strength. The road was less rutted now than in its summer state, for it had a thick covering of snow hard packed as iron. The wagons could move at a reasonable pace provided they kept to the wheel-tracks of other conveyances. The dull light gradually brightened enough to make it easier to pick out the way but there was no heat in it, no chance of the snow and ice melting and bogging down the wagons. The wind was blowing from behind them, rattling the canvas in a kind of counterpoint to the squeak of the wheels and the creak of the springs. These noises, though, were so familiar that the trader was easily able to distinguish the shout which came from the second wagon after they had travelled some miles.

"Pa, stop!" came a cry whipped past on the wind.

The trader halted his wagon reluctantly, hitched the reins to keep the team from moving off again and jumped down.

"What're we stoppin' for?"

"The donkey. I don't think she gonna keep up." His eldest son was driver of the second wagon. Behind him, his sister peered worriedly from the interior.

The trader grunted. He walked to the back of the second wagon. His two sons followed him. His daughter scrambled through the wagon itself and hung out of the back. They all looked at the donkey.

She had been with them a long time. She'd carried many loads to and from places where the horses and wagons could never go. She'd carried more than one child at once when they were small. She'd carried a grown man in her prime when the need was great. Now she was old and weary.

She stood patiently, head drooping, one hind leg resting.

"We can't put her in the wagons, even if she'd let us - there ain't room," the trader told his children, answering their unspoken questions. "An' we ain't goin' any slower – if we do we ain't gonna make shelter by nightfall."

"There's relay stations along the way, maybe every twelve miles," the girl pointed out daringly.

The trader scowled, mostly in frustration at the delay, but a little for his inability to solve this problem. "Is she gonna make twelve miles?" he asked.

The frosty wind moaned persistently through the trees alongside the road. The loose snow on the surface lifted and drifted a little like puffs of breath from some earth-dwelling dragon. The old donkey stood patiently. His children waited.

"We gotta get goin'. We'll see how she manages. Keep any eye on her."

The girl nodded and settled herself at the back of the wagon. They set off again.

The road before them stretched over the horizon, leading infinitely far ahead, blending on the way with others as roads do everywhere to carry an unceasing flood of human need and want ... the necessary, the essential ... the frivolous, the luxurious ... bundles of comfort and boxes of danger ... good and ill mingling together ... an endless web of connection and cycle of exchange.

For the donkey, the horizon was bound by the two back wheels of the wagon. The wheel tracks of packed snow which helped the horses were of little use to her and their larger hooves served only to cut up the intervening snow over which she had to stumble. The road was a continual carpet of seemingly small obstacles, every one of which had to be surmounted with an energy and effort she no longer possessed. Once she had been young and hardy and enduring in the way that only donkeys and mules can be. Fields, floods, rocks, hills and plains, moor and mountain – her small hooves and sturdy legs had taken them all in her stride. Now her strength dwindled with each stride she took.

"Pa, stop!" came the cry whipped past on the wind.

The wagons halted again. The family gathered at the back of the second one. This time the donkey had sunk to her knees. Her eyes were closed. Her flanks heaving.

The trader had already come to a decision in anticipation of this inevitable moment.

"Set her loose. Take off the halter. Let her go."

"But Pa -!"

"She's better off loose," the trader insisted doggedly. "If she's tied, she'll fall an' if we drag her she'll likely break a leg. If she's loose, she'll follow if she can. An' if she can't, she'll turn off the road where she's more chance of finding shelter an' food."

He did not add 'if the wolves don't get her', but they all knew it was true. He also did not say that it would be quicker to shoot the animal. That would be a waste of valuable ammunition. At least he did not add 'it's kinder this way'.

The wagons rolled on. The girl looked out of the back of the last one until the donkey was just a grey blur against the silver and white of the snow. A single tear froze on her cheek.

As the trader had predicted, the donkey followed the wagons. It was a losing toil, a quest without expectation of a happy end. Nonetheless, she kept walking. It was in her nature and in her life experience to be obstinate and simply to follow the trail ahead. Far ahead, now, the wagons had passed and not even the faintest warmth of their passing served to combat the ice and snow all around. Although it was now full day, the skies were dark and heavy with threatening clouds, which seemed to mimic her life full of increasing gloom.

Yet if there were thoughts in the lowly beast's mind, if her stubbornness of will and tenacity of heart were put into words, they would simply have been 'keep plodding on - don't give up now ...'

So step by faltering step, she struggled on. Despite age and weariness and weakness, she did not stop. Twelve miles. Twelve miles which no-one had thought she could travel. Twelve miles which brought her at last to where the road opened out into a partly fenced yard, with a small low house on one side and a great barn right ahead. There was not a human in sight, which was unsurprising, given that it was the middle of the day and time for a warming meal.

But the place was full of life. Six haughty geese strutting in the snow amid a fluster of hens, probably not French, and a flotilla of ducks. Horses shaking their manes and stretching their legs in the corral. Cattle in the nearby pasture snorting and pawing the frozen snow to get at the grass beneath. Somewhere a cow lowing and the warm waft of fresh milk lingering from the pail. A flick of ginger shadow as a cat slunk about its own business. The bright flash of iridescent feathers overhead when a mallard drake swooped down to land on the edge of the water trough.

The donkey was very thirsty. She stopped by the trough and lowered her head in vain. The water in the trough was frozen. The donkey breathed out a soft, resigned sigh. Her head drooped again.

The duck gave an encouraging quack. When there was no response, he repeated it much louder. Then he hopped off the edge and landed at the donkey's hooves.

"Qu-a-a-ck, quack!"

Nothing could have said 'follow me' more clearly. The donkey followed him into the barn.

The duck led her no further than the second stall, where he flew up and settled on the back of the occupant. The donkey was small and had no trouble following him under the bar. The star-faced bay shifted obligingly (or as indicated by the mallard). There was a bucket of water in the corner and hay in the rack. The donkey took grateful mouthfuls of each before sinking into the warmth of the deep straw.

It was there that Andy found her when he started to bring in the horses which had been put out for a while in the corral. He hastily stalled the two he was leading and dashed into the kitchen.

"Jonesy! Jonesy! Come quickly!"

The old man knelt to examine the old donkey, who had laid her head low beside the hooves of the stall's resident.

"Take Traveller down to one of the empty stalls," he instructed Andy. "Jess'll be needin' him soon, but make him comfortable meanwhile."

As Andy was about to do so, Jess and Slim came in to saddle up their respective mounts before riding out to check the cattle which had not been brought down to the nearest pastures. They looked the donkey over, had a few quiet words with Jonesy, but could not linger lest the light fade while they were further afield.

"Can y' still get a stall ready for Trav, please, Andy?" Jess requested. "I guess that little 'un ain't gonna be movin' any time soon."

Jonesy nodded in agreement.

"Sure, Jess!" Andy disappeared to find Mike to help him carry the straw.

The horses thudded out of the yard with muffled hooves, passing Amanda who was speeding towards the barn as fast as seven year old legs could carry her.

"What do you need me to fetch, Oopa?"

Jonesy shook his head this time. "She won't take anything right now. She just needs rest." His gnarled hand rested gently on the thin flank of the donkey for moment. Then he patted the little girl on the shoulder too. "When you get old, sometimes all you need is peace and quiet."

"And a room in someone's heart," she replied, recalling her own arrival and how Napoleon had guided her into this very barn for warmth and safety.

"An' room in someone's heart," Jonesy agreed. "We'll leave her to rest. There ain't any remedy for a long life of hard work. An' ours ain't gonna get any less if we sit here all afternoon keepin' her company."

"She won't be lonely, anyway," Amanda observed. "Napoleon's here."

"Yeah. Keepin' watch, like those shepherds in the bible," Jonesy agreed, amused at the sight of the mallard in the manger.

"They had to get up and go to Bethlehem," Amanda said, "but she must have travelled a long way already to come to this stable. I'm glad she's really fast asleep." She stooped and patted the little donkey very gently on the head. "Sleep well. From now on your troubles will be far away."

They both got to their feet. At the entrance to the stall, Amanda looked back at the thin, frail body which had probably travelled more miles than even Jess could lay claim to.

"Is she going to wake up, ever?" she asked softly.

Jonesy laid a comforting hand on her shoulder again. "I don't know," he replied honestly. "She needs a long sleep now after a long journey. We'll see, come tomorrow mornin'."

#### #### ####

5

Past Three O'clock

The soft thud of feet muffled by thick socks landing lightly on the floor. The sound of someone quietly wrestling with their bootstraps and shrugging into a heavy coat.

Slim shifted a little in his sleep but did not stir further. It was not his turn tonight. Jonesy, in the bottom bunk, had heard the creak of the slats and the rustle of the mattress which had preceded the thud and smiled a smile which was both wry and affectionate. It was not his time to get up yet either, but when he did, he knew that the living room fire would be ready to stir up and the kitchen stove would be giving out a steady warmth. Unlikely though Jess's actions might seem at first sight, Jonesy knew he could trust him and so did Slim.

As the nights had grown ever longer and chillier, the two young men had taken it in turns to get up in the coldest hours before dawn and check both fires, adding more fuel if need be and banking them down again so that some warmth continued to counteract the increasingly icy conditions. With the instinct of those used to sharing the watches of the night, they could both wake up at a given time and, reluctant to get out of bed though Jess might normally be, he was scrupulous in taking his turn.

Now he shuffled quietly about the business of adding fuel to both fires and making sure they would last till morning without risk of burning the place down. Fire was an every-present hazard and Jess had more reason than most to respect and fear it. The task done, he pulled a rocking chair close to the fire and sat down for a moment. Usually he would simply have headed back pronto to the warmth of his bed, but now, in these earliest of hours of the new day, something spoke to him, a subtle difference in the familiar surroundings. Not something to make him alert, rather something calling beyond what was known, an invitation to the imagination and the spirit.

The night should have been dim, but edging the thick curtains covering the window and the door was light. Such light. Jess had never seen light quite like this light before.

He rose to his feet, entranced by the beauty of which he was only just catching the least hinting glimpse as it came and went. Almost by instinct, he took one of the big fur rugs from the couch and draped it over his shoulders. Then he found a scarf on the pegs by the door and wound it round his neck, ears and face. Finally, he grabbed his hat and slapped it on. This he did as if in a dream, though underlying his actions were the practical warnings Slim gave them all about the dangers of the cold and how swiftly it could put an end to life. Clutching the rug about him, he opened the door and went out onto the porch.

For a moment he stood blinking, his eyes struggling to adjust to the sudden change from the dimness of the house to the radiance of light which seemed to brim over the edge of the hills and fill the sheltered bowl in which the ranch buildings lay.

To the north the whole sky was aflame with living colour. Above the deep turquoise and green edging the horizon, vast veils drifted and swayed. Purple shot through with skeins of gold, like a wind-blown cloak for some biblical king. Yet the air was still. There was only the music of utter silence accompanying the dance of the heavens.

It lasted for a few heart-stopping minutes in which time seemed to stand still. Then, without warning, the radiance was gone.

Jess stood alone in the enfolding darkness of night. He stood for a long while as a million stars slowly came out again in the clear, wind-brushed heavens. Longer, perhaps, than wisdom might dictate. But this was not about being wise. It was about amazement. About the awesome revealing itself. About the touch of the infinite upon the human spirit.

Only presently did he stir and shake himself and go back into another darkness, warm and welcoming, a security in which he belonged.

#### #### ####

6

Heart and Sole

The fire on the hearth was glowing gently. Its light threw flickering shadows. The shadows of boots, tramping about their daily duties. A row of boots put there to dry slowly and to warm overnight.

Jonesy paused on his way to the kitchen and regarded them with a smile. After all, it was Christmas morning. Maybe this was one of the habits which had given rise to the idea of that stockings were hung by the chimney with care at Christmas? It was rooted in the need to dry your shoes and socks ready for the new day. Simple practicality had become a source of blessing and gifts. It was a good tradition, growing out of the necessities and hardships of the lives of ordinary people.

Then his eye was caught by something, a small something but out of place in the normal routine of the ranch. He walked over to the fire and bent down to examine the boots. In each of them, he could see that there was a small object, wrapped in colourful cloth – probably cloth selected from the pile of old linen he kept for staunching wounds and wiping up mess. Well, this was a good use of it too. It was somehow appropriate that potential bandages and floor-clothes had been picked out for their colours, trimmed and totally transformed into wrapping for gifts.

He was pretty sure they were gifts, for there was one in the right-hand boot of each pair, including his own. And he was also pretty sure who had put them there, while the youngsters at least were nestled all snug in their beds. It had to be either Slim or Jess, during their nightly rising to tend the fires, because the presents certainly hadn't been there when everyone had gone to bed. Of the two of them, he would opt for the gifts being from Jess. This was simply because he could see something of the outlines under the wrappings and they were small and distinctive shapes, very like the carvings which Jess often whittled when relaxing during the evening.

So now Jonesy had a dilemma. Did he put his boots on and open his gift now? Or did he wait for the rest of the family to rise and carry on the preparations for the Christmas celebrations in his socks?

He looked again at the colourful little bundles. He could imagine Jess conspiring to have his turn that night, to create a small but special dream waiting by the fire. An unexpected surprise for the whole family before they came to open the big presents placed carefully under the sweet-scented tree standing proudly in the corner of the living room. Its presence in the house represented so much more than just festivity. Its roots anchored it in the natural world, from which its boughs spread out to teach a lesson of faith and hope, which would strengthen and comfort them all in the year to come.

Jonesy looked again at the small, personal gifts. He knew they had been made skilfully and with great care and thought. He wondered - not for the first time - how many Christmases Jess had ever enjoyed in his life? How many gifts he had been able to give and to receive? How often that young man had been alone or in the company of strangers on this day, the day when people should be drawn together in the knowledge they were cared for and belonged?

Today was a time for living, a time for believing, a time for trusting, a time for love and laughter and joy. He was glad this Christmas eve had found Jess where the light of love gleamed and that he had been moved to give, unafraid, the gifts which he had made.

Jonesy gave a chuckle of affectionate resignation as he raided the clean washing basket in search of more foot-covering. Until everyone could put their boots on together, he'd be content to prepare for Christmas day in several pairs of socks!

#### #### ####

7

Full House

The ranch house had been made as fair as their combined efforts were able, the hearth was trimmed and the table set – or rather laden with food and cutlery and plates. There was no way the assembled guests were going to be able to sit round it, there were just too many. Since almost sunrise, horses, buggies, wagons and even one of the stages had been rolling up and discharging visitors, their early arrival necessitated by the short hours of daylight in which to make the journey to the relay station. All of them bore some contribution to the Christmas gathering, which had become something of a tradition for the friends of the extended Sherman family.

On the hearth, the friendship log, provided as always by the Travers family, was blazing merrily and all around the crowded living room the lights of many candles were shining so brightly everywhere. Extra light wasn't really necessary, as the day itself was bright and the weather was fortunately going through one of its comparatively mild spells, but the candlelight was companion to the glow in everyone's hearts.

It was indeed a most wonderful time of the year!

So Jess thought as he leaned against the corral fence, enjoying a quiet cigarette and a moment of solitude away from all the hustle and excitement. Sometimes he needed to stand back and let himself be aware that he really was part of it all.

The happy sound of voices rose like an invisible cloud above the house to mingle with the smoke from the chimneys. Clattering of crockery and cutlery rang like chimes woven through the cheerful symphony of conversation. Children's laughter filled the air too and periodically their lively games would erupt into the yard, a kaleidoscope of colour and movement.

Then a sudden hush fell over the whole place. The children ceased their play and crowded in through the door. The adults inside were still. The horses in the corral halted from pacing and stretching their legs, but instead stood looking towards the house with pricked ears. Even the poultry in the yard stopped fussing and clucking. The big ginger cat paused his scratching on the hitching rail and dropped down to sit by the door. And the mallard duck landed silently on his friend's shoulder.

Jonesy was playing. The sweet tones of the old piano rang clear and true in the Christmas air with the tune of a carol and it seemed as if the instrument itself was joyful to be retelling in music the same glorious story that it had done for Miss Essie.

And everyone was singing.

The words rolled out and seemed to wrap themselves round Jess's heart:

"Now to the Lord sing praises,

all you within this place,

and with true love and brotherhood

each other now embrace;

this holy tide of Christmas

all others doth efface.

O, tidings of comfort and joy ..."

As the carol ended and Jonesy struck up another, Jess stubbed out the cigarette, which Napoleon in any case disagreed with severely. The only thing his lips wanted to do was to stretch in the biggest and warmest smile possible. And even that was only a fraction of the comfort and joy he felt. Truly the house, which had at first been a place of no little conflict and danger, was now a place where he belonged. Truly, where once he had been a lone drifter amongst his former enemies, he had found an acceptance and a respect which was as tangible as a firm embrace. Truly all those within it had shown him brotherhood and friendship and, if he was absolutely honest, a generous amount of mothering on the part of certain ladies.

The thought of the ladies within brought a further grin. Not all were intent on mothering him. And this was, as Slim pointed out, the finest country in which to drive the stake deep and make a place and a space to raise future generations. There was true love as well as brotherhood within the house.

Jess deposited his faithful duck on a convenient corral post and strolled back across the yard, a purposeful gleam in his eye. And his heart? His heart was as full of joy and celebration as the ranch house before him – and that was saying something!

#### #### ####

8

Sky Kite

The first amazing morning of the new year really started the night before. Slim, as usual, had been reading one of the newspapers passed on by the stage crew. He'd come across an article about a very unusual scientist, a woman called Maria Michell who had become director of the Vassar College observatory and professor of astronomy. Under her leadership, her female pupils were conducting studies of sunspots and she was an influential proponent of the need for women in science.

"As if her career didn't prove their importance!" Slim snorted. "After all, she discovered a comet in 1847."

Amanda clapped her hands in approval and Andy looked up from his own reading, intrigued as always by anything to do with the natural world. Mike immediately pressed Slim to explain what comets were and, on hearing the explanation, demanded to know when he could see one for himself.

"Yeah, that'd be great!" Andy agreed.

"Only if y' prepared t' sit up all night," Jess had pointed out with a grin.

"And avoid freezing in the process," Slim warned.

"Would we be able to see one here?" Andy wondered.

"If you know when and where to look," Slim said. "But," - he shook the newspaper with a smile – "we get our news some time after it's happened, so I guess finding out that a comet was due is not going to help us much."

"An' y'd need a clear sky on the night," Jonesy reminded them sensibly. "Ain't no guarantee o' that."

They all knew the huge star-scape visible on cloudless nights, but so far none of them had witnessed more than occasional falling stars – which, as Slim had explained, astronomers thought were the remains of very old comets. There had in fact been an impressive shower of them the year before but cloud cover had prevented anyone at the relay station seeing them.

"Trust a comet t' fall t' bits before it gets here!" Mike grumbled as he and Amanda headed for their bunks. The prospect of comet-spotting on a freezing porch all night did not appeal right now.

The others did not linger long beside the fire: there was no sense in staying up when you could be warmer in bed. Jonesy, as usual, was almost on the heels of Andy who, for once, was not eager to assert his right to an adult bedtime. Slim and Jess sat for a little while. They had already talked through the way the day's work had gone and planned ahead for tomorrow, but it never hurt to run over the routine to spot anything they had overlooked.

Presently Slim yawned mightily as he stood up and stretched. "I'll leave you to put out the lamps."

Jess nodded. "Just pass me that paper y' were readin'," he requested. "There's somethin' I'd like t' look at again."

Slim handed it over and ambled off to the bunkroom, still yawning his head off. If the days were short, the hours were long and packed with labour.

Jess opened the newspaper, intending only to read through the last part of the article on comets again. Intentions are one thing ...

… Waking suddenly and finding himself curled up on the couch with a crick in his neck was certainly not what he had planned! He straightened out with a silent groan – sleeping in your boots was never a good idea. But at least they had kept his feet reasonably warm until his internal time-sense warned him it was time to tend the fires. It wasn't actually his turn, but he figured as he was already up he might as well save Slim the trouble of getting out of bed. While he did so, he was thanking his lucky stars he had been in front of the fire and swathed in a pile of rugs before he had fallen asleep.

Lucky stars?

Ever since his experience of seeing the lights of the winter sky dancing in all their glory, Jess had taken a quick peek out of the window, whenever it was his turn to check the fires, just in case they came again. Tonight was no different, but he had an extra motive. Given the information in the paper and despite Slim's scepticism about getting timely warnings, there might just be a chance of still seeing the Great Comet which had got astronomers so excited this year. He grinned a little to himself. They sounded pretty much like Mike ...

"Mike! Mike! Wake up! Get up quick!"

"Huh?"

Mike was awake in an instant, roused and aware of the urgency in Jess's voice. He didn't ask questions, just did as he had learned to do – respond instantly to the seriousness of the command.

"Here, put y' coat on and y' boots!"

Moments later they were standing together at the window. Mike took a long look. He lifted his wondering gaze to Jess with an enormous grin. Then he turn and sprinted back to his bedroom.

"Andy! 'Manda! There's a star! A star with a tail as big as a kite!"

As the three of them almost pressed their noses to the cold glass, Jess went quietly back to the bedroom and fetched coats and boots. These were donned automatically and swiftly, for all their attention was on the comet.

But this sight was too special for anyone to miss it. Soon Andy was shaking his brother into consciousness and Amanda could be heard admonishing Jonesy: "I know it's the middle of a freezing night, Oopa Jonesy, but it's wonderful! You can't stay asleep. Get up and I'll fetch a rug for you ."

Everyone took a turn at looking out of the window, but somehow this separation from a mighty phenomenon, even by clear glass, did not seem quite right. Andy put his finger on it when he said, "We can't really see it as it is in the sky. Could we go outside – just for a minute - please?"

Slim and Jonesy, to whom this appeal had mainly been made, exchanged a long look. Outside the clouds were swirling, parting and closing like vast doors across the sky. The brilliant comet with its long tail of plumes was alternately revealed and concealed, but there was no way of knowing how long it would be visible. Such an opportunity to see the great star, adorning the eastern horizon, might never come again. Then Slim looked over at his partner, the most adventurous of them and the one who, Slim knew, had somehow still been awake and so able to spot the comet for them. Jess nodded enthusiastically, with a grin as huge as any of the youngsters.

"Ok, then," Slim agreed, "But get all your clothes on first!"

They rushed off instantly to prepare themselves. Jess, of course, was still in his daytime clothes and Slim and Jonesy were soon fully dressed too. Then Slim went over and stirred up the fire, adding more kindling and a couple of small logs so that there was shortly a bright and warming blaze.

"Just two at a time, and well wrapped in all the furs," he instructed. "You can take a few minutes, but then get back in here and warm up by the fire."

There was a certain sense of ceremony as they all voted for Jonesy and Amanda, the oldest and the youngest, to go first. They were followed by Slim and Andy, and finally by Jess and Mike, who had already had the most opportunity to watch the comet.

Fortunately, the relatively mild spell had persisted beyond Christmas itself, although the wind was something to be reckoned with. Yet, as if it had a sense of dramatic intent, the gale had herded the clouds over the horizon, leaving, at least for the moment, a clear sweep of the eastern sky from north to south.

The brilliant star with its long tail arching across the heavens was a truly beautiful and stunning sight. Its light scintillated and throbbed as if the wind was blowing its flames ever fiercer. Its motion was not perceptible to the naked eye and yet they felt the tremendous power of its progress. Words could not do it justice. The only fitting tribute was silent awe.

Mike huddled against Jess, who wrapped the rugs tightly round both of them. Neither of them wanted to come in, but they knew Slim's orders were for their own safety.

The others had all drifted back to bed. No matter how wonderful celestial phenomena were, it was still the middle of a cold winter night and the warmest place to ponder on such a sight was your bed. Mike and Jess, whose discovery this wonder was, remained for some while after the others had retired – Mike with his nose more or less glued to the cold glass and Jess, with a securing arm round his ward, wrapping them both in all the available warm coverings.

"Ain't it beautiful, Jess!" Mike murmured, enraptured by the astral spectacle, shining beyond the frosty horizon, bright as the sun and moon together.

"Sure is, Bear Cub," Jess agreed. He had seen many stars in many aspects of the heavens, but few matched this serene majesty.

They watched together in simple wonder. As always when mere mortals contemplate the splendour of the heavens, time had no meaning. They were not aware of the passing of the night nor of the approach of dawn, neither of which had any influence on the imperceptible progress of the comet.

Not, at least, until two simultaneous, enormous yawns, reminded them that, even if daybreak was not far off, they should go back to bed and finish their sleep. So they did.

#### #### ####

9

Star-led

It was at much the same early hour of the following morning that Mike, by some miracle of willpower, joined Jess at the window again.

The skies had cleared during the evening and everyone had been able to see the comet again without having to disturb their sleep. Jess had nobly insisted, despite Slim's protests, he would take his proper turn with the fire-tending. Slim shrugged and observed with a grin, "Guess you just want to check your star's still there!" and headed off to his bed. Jess duly got out of his own bed when he needed to and there, sure enough, decorating the sky like a frozen firework, was the comet.

There too was Mike.

Jess sighed but had to smile as well. He once again pulled together all the available coverings and make them a nest on the window seat.

Presently Mike said, "D'you reckon it makes any sound, Jess?"

Jess shook his head and replied honestly, "I ain't at all sure, Mike. But I guess if it's just travellin' through the sky it ain't like a stage drivin' down the road – there ain't anything for it t'move against t' make noise."

"I wasn't thinking of a movement noise," Mike clarified. "I was thinking of the light hissing and spluttering, like fireworks do."

"Hmm. Maybe. But don't y' think it looks too ... too dignified for that kind o' noise?"

"Yeah."

There was thoughtful pause.

Presently Jess ventured: "Music like Jonesy makes 'd be better than splutterin'."

"Yeah! Or maybe it's singing?"

"Singin' a carol?"

"Yeah!" Mike agreed again. "It could be singing 'We three kings', 'cos it's a travelling star." He thought a bit further about this. "Jess, Slim says some of those stars we see are really planets. D'you think they have people on them? People who sing like us? Every star could be singing a carol!"

Jess nodded slowly, revolving the idea in his own mind. "Who can tell, Mike? The Christmas story's gone right round this world, sure enough. Changed it too in plenty o' ways. Every star and every planet'll have its own story. Who can say if it's like ours or not?"

"Explorers!" Mike said firmly.

"Explorers who can travel between the stars? We might have t' wait a long time for that t' happen," Jess said with a smile. "Would you go, if you could?"

Mike shook his head. "I wouldn't want to leave the ranch an' everything here."

"Not even when you're older?"

The boy considered carefully for a moment, before replying: "I don't think so. I love the life of the ranch, even though it's hard work. I like being somewhere I know, where I belong."

This was reasonable enough, given all Mike had lost so early in his young life. Jess could understand and share the deep satisfaction that being rooted brings.

"Would you?" Mike asked.

Jess hesitated. "I think I would. But it'd be some trail t' ride on! An' I think I'd want t' know I could get back, come home. To where I belong too."

Silence fell between them, but it was a silence of shared and heartfelt emotion. Above, the mighty star seemed to shake its mane and, by its own journey, to challenge them on paths they could scarcely comprehend. The dark sky hung like a vast vertical sea through whose depths the comet sailed in all its brilliance. The earth blended with the heavens, reminding them that they were just a small part of something ancient and powerful. Although they knew the familiar scene through the window - the yard and the road and the corral and the paddocks and beyond them the narrow twisting valley rising up to the ridge of the hills – now these things were shrouded in a mystery which had not been visible before.

It was almost daybreak and a slender but expanding thread of light was beginning to outline the horizon before them.

"Jess …" Mike whispered. "There's something moving … someone …"

"Yeah." Jess's voice was equally hushed.

They both watching intently, as if the concentration of their gaze could make what they were seeing clearer, less elusive. Perhaps it did.

Under the long arch of the comet's tail a horseman was silhouetted against the line of pure light. The horse paced slowly, so slowly, one delicate hoofprint lightly laid down after another. The rider sat tall, upright, radiating unmistakable authority, yet with the supple grace of one who had spent a life-time on horseback, but never in the saddle. From the proud halo crowning his head each of the long feathers speared upwards, glittering in the dawn light.

A second horseman appeared behind the first, moving just as slowly, as solemnly, so that he seemed to emerge from the light itself, rather than riding over the horizon. The plumes of his headdress were sharp and vivid, as if they had a life of their own. Behind him came a third, then a fourth, and more, each emerging distinct and separate, yet belonging to the whole procession as if bound by a ceremonial harmony.

There were seven riders silhouetted against the dawn sky. Riding slowly along the ridge. Riding in the direction of the single tree which crowned it.

"Star-led chieftains …" Mike breathed. "Wise men. Following a star."

He turned to Jess, his eyes shining with starlight and excitement.

Jess nodded almost imperceptibly in agreement, but said nothing.

"Can we go out and see?"

There was a long pause. Jess was looking at the riders on the ridge, but his heart and spirit were far away, in another time and another place and another world. The unity of the riders and their harmony with the earth and the sky and the stars around them touched a deep place and knowledge which had been gifted to him.

Then he came back to his present reality. He looked at Mike's eager face. He shook his head and said softly, "We don't belong out there, Mike. It's … somethin' private, somethin' sacred."

"Ye-ah." Mike sighed, but it was a sigh of understanding and appreciation. He turned back to the window.

The riders had reached the tree and formed a wide circle round it. They halted and turned their horses inwards. A deep stillness fell over the group. Such stillness, flowing outwards from them, quieting the earth and the first stirrings of the day, until the whole hillside was silent and motionless. Mike and Jess too were transfixed and dumbfounded.

Suddenly the seven silent riders raised seven spears into the sky and the light of the ascending sun struck shafts of fire that flashed upwards to greet the great comet above them. The ridge was crowned with a ring of fire about the lonely tree.

Everything remained utterly still.

Then the riders turned their horses outwards and rode each in their own direction down into the shadows until only the glint of the tips of their seven spears could be seen. Finally these too vanished.

Mike sighed again.

"They came to the tree. Andy told me it's special. That a long time ago an Indian chief was buried there."

Jess drew a deep breath, gathering old memories and more recent ones, before he answered. "It wasn't so very long ago, but yeah, there's a chieftain buried up there."

"Because he was a long way from his home?" Mike suggested.

"The earth was his home, Mike. The mountains, the plains, the rivers and the sky. All his home. Once."

"Was he a wise man?" Mike's imagination was still partly captured by the thought of the carol.

Jess considered the circumstances which he remembered so clearly. "He was a proud man and a strong leader." For a fraction of a second he might have left out the pain of the story, but he knew Mike deserved the truth. "He came to the ranch grievin' and angry. His son had been killed and he wanted revenge."

"That's very sad," Mike responded, "But you an' Slim always say justice is important. Couldn't the law have helped him?"

Jess's expression was troubled. "It wasn't his law, Mike. An' sometimes it's more complicated than just wrong failin' an' right winnin'. Yellow Knife was here, in this territory, because he'd led his people out of the reservation t' make war. I don't know if he was wise t' go on the warpath. But he would have said it was the only way t' close the path his people were bein' driven on - the path to misery."

Mike considered this. Presently he observed, "We want to settle down, to build a strong house and ranch to be our home. I guess that isn't the kind of home he wanted."

Jess looked out of the window again, where now the great sweep of the land itself was being revealed. "Y' can't build a house for the stars, Mike, an' y' can't put a fence round the wind."

His voice sounded remote, solitary, as if it came not from the huddle of blankets in the faintly warm ranch house, but from a great distance and a huge space, the vast breadth and length of the mighty continent under their feet. Mike turned to look at him again.

"Something's bothering you," he said softly. "You've got that look on your face – the one Slim gets when he's worrying about us all."

"Now we're in the moon of wintertime and even the birds have fled south," Jess explained quietly. "Except when they need to hunt, the people will stay close to their lodges of broken bark and strong hide, wrap themselves up in robes of rabbit skin, fox and beaver pelt. Whoever they were, those chieftains came this dawn for a special reason."

They both looked up to the ridge and the proud, solitary tree.

It was, after all, the dawning of Epiphany.

"Did we see them?" Mike asked. "Were they real?"

"Yeah. Maybe more real than we can understand."

#### #### ####

10

Presage

The morning was deceptively calm and bright. The skies bore only a scattering of cloud and the wind had dropped to nothing more than the faintest zephyr, barely ruffling the trees along the trail. It all seemed to hint at spring or would have done if the sunlight had not been glinting off the frozen snow and gilding boughs decorated with rime. At least the conditions made travel a little easier, particularly as the frozen surface was smoother to travel over than the trail beneath would have been.

Slim had driven up to the Travers' place to reassure them that Sally, their eldest daughter, had taken the early stage into Laramie and would arrive there in good time to catch the morning train to Cheyenne and so on to the east, where she was studying in one of the big hospitals. Sally spending the last night at the relay station had been both a practical arrangement and a particular pleasure for Slim. She had refused to let him escort her to the train, knowing full well how much work there was to be done on the ranch, but at least he had had one last evening with her. It was quite amazing how Jonesy and the three youngsters managed to make themselves scarce in the far from spacious quarters of the ranch house. Jess, naturally, had spent that evening making his own farewell visit.

Now Slim was going in what felt like completely the wrong direction. All his protective instincts wanted to make sure that Sally travelled safely, even though he knew she had a travelling companion and they had both made the long journey east several times already. At least when he arrived at the trapper's cabin, he received an affectionate welcome from Sally's mother, Martha, and was able to reassure the family.

Warm though his welcome was, he did not allow himself to linger with his friends. He knew Jess and Jonesy, aided and abetted by the younger members of his family, had already got started on the day's work as soon as the early stage had rolled away but Slim was nothing if not conscientious and responsible. He politely said his farewells and promised to call again when any news reached the relay station, which was far more in touch with the mail than the Travers' isolated cabin.

Slim climbed into the sleigh, which he had used to bring up some extra supplies, and drove away cautiously down the mountain track. He didn't have Andy's attitude to speed, that was for sure! He smiled a little to himself, remembering the first Christmas Jess had been with them and how he and Andy had used an old door as an improvised sledge. Their arrival at the Travers that evening had been spectacular and Slim himself had been none to pleased to witness it. But in retrospect he could see the funny side and, besides, it had been the first time Jess had acknowledged that the relay station was his home.

Despite being deep in thought, or perhaps because he was remembering Jess's life as a drifter, Slim's sharp eyes automatically took in the thin tread of smoke, rising above the trees. The forest here was tucked hard underneath the side of the mountain and stood like a fence, stern and forbidding, as if guarding its own territory from infiltration.

Slim drew the sleigh to halt. He looked up at the smoke in perplexity as it wavered and spread until it was almost invisible amongst the wisps of white cloud sailing serenely in the pale blue sky. There were no other settlements in this valley: indeed, there was no other shelter at all. Who in the world could be lighting a fire up there in the depths of winter? How had they come to the forest and what on earth were they doing in such a bleak place? Was it a signal for help?

The last question decided Slim. He could not drive on without first finding out if another human being needed his aid. He got down and hitched the horse, the same placid and sensible one they had used before, to a convenient tree stump. He was going to get hot and wet clambering up the snowy slope and struggling through the trees. Nonetheless, he set out determinedly.

Of course, once he passed the forest fence he could no longer navigate by seeing the smoke in the sky. He stopped and sniffed. He was on the north side of the valley and what wind there was came from the east, directly along the mountainside. The smell of the smoke was bitter in the air. It seemed to be coming from his right, but further up the slope. Slim plunged on.

It was dim under the trees, despite the coverlet of snow which had managed to penetrate between them. He looked up and thought he saw, for a brief moment, higher on the mountain slope, a spark of red. He changed course towards it. It was the best hint he had of which direction to go.

Moments later the close-packed trees thinned and were broken by a spur of the mountain, a rugged cliff-face blocking all further progress. Slim came out into the open space, such as it was, and halted.

He had found the source of the smoke.

He had also found a man.

And a dog.

The fire was very small, producing only a slim skein of smoke and probably not very much heat. Even as Slim stepped out of the trees, the smoke was blown away, leaving just the sullenly smouldering embers.

Immediately behind the fire was a shallow recess in the cliff-face. The empty hollow could scarcely be called a cave and certainly provided a very meagre shelter. Inadequate though it was, it did shelter someone.

The man sat behind the fire. Crouched over it, yet did not seem to be warming himself. Crouched, hunched in a bundle of old furs. Crouched motionless, as animal-like as the animal which lay beside him.

The dog was large. It might once have been white, but now it had the grey-yellow hue of trodden snow. Its thick, shaggy coat seemed to bristle with the cold. Or maybe its hackles were just rising. If they were, it was the only response to Slim's sudden appearance. The man did nothing. Did not move. Did not lift his head. Did not even raise his eyes.

Slim was motionless too. He was not sure what to do next. Some kind of greeting seemed to be in order, but the man did not look as if he would respond to a cheery "howdy!" After a few moment of consideration, Slim decided to stick to the point of his sudden arrival.

"I saw your smoke. Do you need any help?"

There was no response.

"There's no shelter here. I can give you a ride to somewhere better." He did not say "safer" – the strangeness of the man's situation suggested that safety was not a consideration in his life.

Still no reaction. No sign the man had heard.

It might be fear which was keeping him immobile and silent, although in his heart Slim doubted it. But he felt impelled to try reassurance too.

"You can trust me!"

… ... ...

"You can trust me."

His own words came back to Slim as if the earth had acquired a tongue and spoken.

… ... ...

"I am your help."

The words were rooted and anchored among the mighty trees all around them.

… ... ...

"Seek shelter now!"

It was the voice of the deep snow, the binding ice.

… ... ...

"Come with me to shelter," Slim begged, taking a step towards the man, whom he was most unwilling to leave alone to his almost inevitable fate.

The dog half rose, its head lowered, its russet ears flattened. It gave a single rumbling snarl.

At last the man looked up. His face was rough as the cliff, broken and scarred by time. His eyes glittered in the reflected light from the surrounding snow, yet brooded dark as any gathering storm-clouds. His voice was deep and fierce and chilling.

"Beware the breath of Arawn!"

Still Slim held his ground, shaken but determined.

"If there's danger, we should face it together."

For a split second, he felt recognition leap between them and, from the other, a sense of approval. The man's voice was no less harsh, but with the very faintest trace of uneasy warmth, as if it was something entirely foreign.

"Face it with those you care about who care for you!"

"They'll care for you to! Come on!" Slim persisted with desperate urgency.

Instantly the man leapt to his feet.

The dog snarled again.

The man towered over Slim, astonishingly tall and broad-shouldered, his ragged furs forming a huge mantle about his powerful body. He flung out a hand, his long, clawed finger pointing to the east.

"Wind comes! Wind from the feet of the dead!"

… ... ...

The trees swayed and roared and clashed together. The wind struck like a thrown spear. Icy air slammed into Slim's face, freezing his skin and stopping his breath. He could not lift a hand or take a step.

"You are warned. Go now!"

… ... ...

Stumbling, he found he was already half way down the mountainside and not far from the edge of the trees. When he broke out into the welcome sunlight the horse was waiting patiently where he left it. Slim fumbled with stiff hands to loose the tether. He clambered awkwardly aboard, thanking his habit of taking precautions which meant that there was a leather cloak and a couple of blankets on the seat. He wrapped himself in them as best he could and took up the reins.

Slim looked up once at the forest and the mountain and the sky. There was no trace of any smoke. He urged the horse in the direction of home.

#### #### ####

11

Besieged

"Is that it?"

Jess and Slim stood on the porch, surveying their preparations.

Ropes linked the porch to the barn, the well, the stores and the key points they might need to reach to keep the life of the ranch alive. Stock of all kinds had been moved into shelter wherever there was room. Fodder had been stacked for the cattle in the nearest paddocks. Extra fuel and food stuff had been stored in the house, utilising all the available space as well as Slim's organisation could make it. The shutters had been nailed over the windows and inside towelling supplemented the curtains. Mattresses and bedding were piled ready to shift into the living room when they were needed. They had worked all the previous day and late into the evening and then risen before first light this morning to make the house and yard even more winter-secure.

"That it?" Jess asked again.

Slim nodded, too weary to confirm vocally that they had done all they could. When he had returned to the ranch, shortly after noon the day before, bearing the strange warning he had received, Jess had made no comment. Just nodded in acceptance and put his shoulder to the work.

Now they stood together and looked together towards the north eastern horizon.

The sky above them was clear, but right on the edge of their world a mass of grey and purple cloud was rearing its head. The foremost and top edge seemed to be carved into great crests and towers, while below the bulk swelled into an increasingly broad, black curtain. As they watched the cloud seemed to boil up, mounting higher and higher, like a great wave about to break over them.

"Ragnarök," Slim murmured to himself.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah! ... A wall of water overwhelming the world ... Inescapable winter ..."

Jess raised a calculating eye to the heavens, then put a hand on his friend's shoulder.

"We've done what's needed. Reckon the blizzard can throw whatever it likes at us – as long as we're all together, it may chill our bodies, but it ain't gonna make our hearts colder."

They turned together and went back inside. As they did so the first blast of bitter wind from the east struck the house and the clouds stretched spectral fingers across the sky as they flattened out to obliterate completely any distinction between earth and air.

That morning was the first of three filled with the wild moaning lament of the wind and the hiss of driven snow racing across the landscape, piling high against every obstruction. The sky was so dark and laden with the mighty weight of snow clouds that it scarcely seemed to be daylight at all and they always had to keep at least one lamp burning. The tempest of storm and wind made opening either of the doors a battle and a danger. When it was necessary to go out to attend to the animals, they had to try to pick the time when temperatures might be least inimical. Slim and Jess went together, closely roped to each other and to the guidelines they had set up. It was as much as they could do to struggle to the barn and outbuildings, for even breathing was fraught with difficulty because of the cold and the force of the storm. When they returned, Jonesy had stoked up the fire for a moment just before they came in. He had coffee ready, of course, and hot food too which was both welcome and necessary.

Three mornings of blizzard meant three days of unusual inactivity for the normally energetic inhabitants of the ranch. For the first time in a very long time, they were able to please themselves about how they spent the time. Well-earned rest was possible too, although the continuous racket of the storm made relaxing less easy, at least until they became inured to it. Andy, Mike and Amanda grinned at each other as the adults eventually dropped off into uneasy slumber. Jonesy was muffled up in one of the rocking chairs, so much so that he resembled an ancient mummy in more ways than one as he nodded off. Slim followed him, tucked into the corner of the couch, which, like all the comfortable furniture, they had pulled close to the fire. Jess, who had been sitting on the hearthrug propped up against the couch, was soon asleep too. He gradually slipped sideways until he was leaning against Slim's legs: not the most comfortable of positions, but it probably helped them both to keep warm.

Most of the day, sleeping or waking, was spent in front of the fire – there was nowhere else to go. Though the weather outside was frightful and frightening, there was something delightfully cheering about the fierce glow of the carefully fuelled fire. When he woke up from his nap, Jess began to entertain them by spinning yarns about the shapes which could be seen in the lively dance of the flames and the glowing embers. Later Jonesy produced some chestnuts they could roast, although he was still cooking on the range, which was both more efficient and another source of heat for the house. Being confined to the house meant they were able catch up on essential tasks which could be completed indoors, like mending harness and darning clothing. But it also gave everyone time to indulge in their favourite pastimes. Andy and Slim predictably were mostly engrossed in reading, although Jess too became immersed from time to time, when he wasn't busy whittling.

"Let's hope we ain't gonna have t' burn more'n the shavings!" Jonesy opined as he swept them tidily into the fireplace, above which a row of little animals and birds had begun to ornament the mantelshelf.

"We ain't burning them!" Mike jumped up from the rug, ready to defend Jess's efforts.

"Aren't," Slim corrected automatically without looking up from his book.

"They'd only keep us warm f' a couple of minutes, anyway," Jess pointed out with a grin. "I guess they're safe enough."

"They're so detailed!" Mike was turning over a miniature duck with exploring hands.

"Yeah, well, I had a good model." Jess looked over to where Napoleon was almost out of sight in his nesting box, his head tucked under his wing. The mighty mallard did not believe in winter heroics unless they were absolutely necessary; he preferred to imitated other species and hibernate for a while.

"Wouldn't want y' t' get him wrong," Jonesy told Jess. "Could be carved up y'self. Painful!"

"If you made a whole lot more ducks in different sizes, we could use them as a chess set," Mike suggested enthusiastically.

Jess shook his head. "It would use a fire's worth of wood." Then, seeing Mike's sad expression, he amended, "Maybe - when the blizzard's over."

"Thanks, Jess!" Mike flopped down again to where Andy was teaching him and Amanda the finer points of play with the ordinary chess set.

"He'll hold you to that!" Slim warned, still not looking up.

Jess did not seem particularly worried but turned his attention to helping Amanda beat Mike. Board and card games afforded them all a lot of amusement and, over the course of the blizzard days, became highly competitive in various ways. Any kind of occupation which did not require prolonged conversation was often necessary because of the sheer volume of the orchestra of wind and ice and snow playing outside.

"It's a very rude wind!" Amanda complained after a particularly strident blast which shook the doors and windows and drove the smoke back down the chimney. "Butting in where it's not wanted!"

"Can't hold a tune either," Jonesy agreed.

When there was a lull in the percussive noise, he would play on the piano for them, but the increasing cold affected both the tuning and his fingers. After that they resorted to singing, heartily and with hope, songs which reminded them of the promise of spring and summer to come. Right now, it felt a long way from being fulfilled. The habits of hibernating animals – and ducks – seemed the best course to emulate. At night, their bedding was hauled over to the fire and the immediate area enclosed with drapes strung in a washing-line-like arrangement. Then everyone huddled together as close as they could, sharing the warmth of their bodies. The fire and the stove were banked down as much as possible; they were using sparingly the precious fuel, for they did not know how long it would have to last in such the cruel weather.

On the third night the howling of the storm seemed to reach a crescendo. Slim and Jess were both still awake, not discussing the dangers and damage about which they could do nothing, but watching over the rest of the family from their sleeping positions at each end of the row.

"I'd have thought the children would find it hard to sleep tonight," Slim whispered. "There hasn't been much to tire them out."

"I guess they've got used t' the wind as a lullaby!" Jess chuckled softly. "Probably got more sense'n we have."

"Yeah, you're right. Just got to keep trusting it can't last for ever."

"You told me it can't. An' I believe you!"

"Sleep well, then. Goodnight, Jess."

" 'Night, Slim."

At dawn the next morning, when the stars grew dim, Jess woke, unsure what had woken him. He lay quite still, listening to the quiet breathing of the other sleepers. Even Jonesy, the ranch's earliest riser, was not yet awake.

Then he realised. He could hear them breathing! The wind had dropped. No longer a hellish cacophony, it sang as gently as a hymn.

Jess got up, still draped in his blankets and quilts, ducked under the improvised draught-proofing and went over to the door. He drew aside the extra hangings with which they had insulated it and looked out through the glass. The overnight wind had scoured away most of the snow which had been plastered to it and he could see clearly. The clouds were gone and instead a pale canopy of blue hung over the land.

The landscape was utterly different. Snow had sculpted the earth, its drifts forming pale new slopes which rose into tall mounds where once there had been dust and grass. Between them dips and hollows were filled with blue-grey shadow. The surface of the deep snow was even and unblemished, its crisp surface beginning to glitter with thousands of tiny ice jewels as the sun continued to rise.

Jess stood in silent amazement. If it had not been for the outline of the eastern ridge, he might have thought he had woken up in another country or on another planet.

Behind him there were soft sounds of movement, someone being as quiet as they could. Slim came and stood beside him, bending a little to look through the window and drawing in a breath of amazement, even though he was used to Wyoming winters.

"Past three o'clock. Good morrow, masters all!" Jonesy's voice made them both jump. He had half-sung the words.

"Huh?"

Jonesy laughed, as if the sudden respite from the discord of the storm brought out happiness too strong to be contained. "It's th' chorus of an old carol, tellin' about how ordinary things are important when there's new life coming."

"I sure hope there is!" Slim was already catching the lowing of the cattle, so at least some of them had made it through storm. He was itching to get to work, but knew it would be foolish to attempt anything until the sun was sufficiently well up to warm the air at least a little.

"Let's make a plan for organising the work!" He clapped Jess on the shoulder and turned to find Jonesy already on his way to the kitchen stove. At least there was no time lost in getting dressed this morning. If Jess supressed an inward groan at the word 'organise' it was only momentary, for he knew full well it was both necessary and characteristic of his partner.

Slim's hope for a swift resumption of work proved optimistic. As the skies had cleared, the cold deepened. Arctic temperatures and icy conditions persisted for another three days. Then, finally, with the sunrise of the seventh day, drops of water trickling from the eves began their slow task of melting at least some of the snow.

"An' on the seventh day ..." Jonesy reminded them.

"God rested!" the youngsters chorused.

"Some hope o' that for us!" Jess grinned.

He was right.

"Come on!" Slim clapped him on the shoulder again, steering them towards the door together. "Out there, there's six days' work to do!"

#### #### ####

12

Frost Fragrance

Jonesy stood in the morning sunlight, surveying his vegetable garden. Or at least, what could be seen of it. It had not changed much since Napoleon had made his bid to be the bird in the tree at the end of 'The Twelve Days'. It was far longer than twelve days since that incident, for this was the morning of Candlemas. Despite the blizzard, the garden had been somewhat protected by the bulk of the house. Snow lay here, crisp and even, but not impossibly deep.

Slim and Jess were safely out of the way, tending to the parts of the herd which they could now reach more easily. If they had been around, they would probably have tried to prevent Jonesy walking about in the snow lest he slip and further damage his back. As it was, another voice came from behind him.

"Oopa! You should have let me know you were coming round here! It's still really slippy."

Jonesy turned and smiled down at the earnest little girl. Amanda had gradually learnt to be more informal and enjoyed fun and games with the boys, but she still had a strong sense of duty and responsibility.

"We can't dig anything yet, not for ages," she pointed out sensibly.

Jonesy nodded. It was difficult to explain how he felt about the growing things which he knew were still there, blanketed by the snow. Just for a moment, he wanted to bring thankfulness as well as hope to this little stretch of good earth. It had kept them alive through the privations of winter and it would flourish again to sustain them in the seasons to come.

"It's a good thing we worked hard to store all the things you grew last year," Amanda echoed his thoughts.

Jonesy nodded again. "There's gonna be plenty t' do this year. But not right away. The old sayin' is that after Candlemas there's still forty days o' winter t' come."

Amanda shivered involuntarily, but Jonesy continued serenely, "It'll be glorious again. Life'll start flowin' just like the water in the streams. Green leaves'll grow. Daisies'll pop up where y' don't wanna see 'em!"

"Bright flowers, to drive the winter dark away," Amanda agreed.

"The earth'll be bare, mostly – waitin' for the seed." In Jonesy's voice was the love of plants and herbs and fruit to come. "It's worth usin' y' strength for."

"I'll help." A small hand took his and squeezed. Despite their gloves, there was a shared warmth, echoing their feelings.

"I know y' will."

Jonesy stood lost in contemplation, as if he had always been there, rooted in the ground.

Presently the small hand gave a tug. "We're getting cold out here." Amanda turned back towards the house and gave a gasp of surprise.

"Oopa Jonesy! Look, look!"

Against the rear of the ranch house, there remained a single rose stem.

And on the stem, a single rose.

A perfect white rose whose petals were made of ice.

The old man and the little girl stood looking gravely at it.

"Soon it will bloom again. Fragrance tender with sweetness will fill the air ..."

They smiled joyfully together, for the cruel ice of winter had given them the promise that life and growth would crown the year to come.

---

Afterword:

I know that there are more than 12 mornings in this series – but couldn't resist the title! And of course quite a lot of the action takes place outside the immediate context of morning as well.

Notes:

Morning 5

The Aurora Borealis was visible, despite modern lighting, in Laramie in the late 1980s (Cowboy State Daily website, weather). And recently we've been able to see it in the south of the UK, which very rarely happens.

Morning 8

Comets – I've stretched some of the historical facts a bit!

In October 1847 Maria Mitchell succeeded in establishing the orbit of a new comet, which became known as "Miss Mitchell's Comet." She served as Association for the Advancement of Women's 1873 president and also was elected vice president of one of the few mixed-gender professional associations of the era, the pioneer American Social Science Association. She gave an important speech during the nation's centennial year in 1876 entitled "The Need for Women in Science."

A brilliant meteor shower appeared in 1872 coming from the same direction from which two comets, identified by American astronomer Matthew Maury, should have appeared. Astronomers concluded that the meteor shower was the debris of the disrupted comets. This recurring meteor shower is now known as the Andromedids. (Encyc. Brit.)

C/1874 H1 (Coggia) is a non-periodic comet, which in the summer of 1874 could be seen by the naked eye. On the basis of its brightness, the comet has been called the Great Comet of 1874. The comet was observed by members of the Custer 1874 expedition to the Black Hills of South Dakota. Ironically, the word 'comet' comes from the Greek κομητης (kometes), which means "long-haired."

Descriptions of the comet in this and Morning 10 are based on my own observations of Comet Hale-Bopp in 1997.

Morning 10

'Arawn' - I've used a little creative licence by linking this name with winter. This is because Arawn is the god of the Otherworld realm in the Mabinogion. Eventually, Arawn became conflated with another hunter god, Gwyn ap Nudd, who may have been the Welsh personification of winter.

'Gwynt traed y meirw' – "wind from the feet of the dead". A Welsh saying, the name given to a cold easterly wind, in reference to the custom of burying the dead with their feet facing the east.

Morning 11

I don't live in Wyoming and can only imagine what it was like to survive winter there in the 1870s. Practical actions like keeping the fire going all night, draught-proofing and preparing for a storm are, however, based on my own experience of living through snow storms in similar very primitive conditions.

Answers

1

Twelve days of Christmas

(The song has been around since at least 1780, although we are more familiar with Austin's 1909 version).

2

The most wonderful day of the year

Away in a manger

The Holly and the Ivy

I'm dreaming of a white Christmas

Brightest and best of the sons of the morning

3

People look east

Jingle Bells

Jingle Bell Rock

All I want for Christmas is you

4

Brightest and best of the sons of the morning

In the bleak midwinter

Joy to the world

We Three Kings

Little Donkey

Brightest and best of the sons of the morning

Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas

As with gladness men of old.

5

Past Three O'clock

People look east

6

The Night before Christmas

Winter Wonderland

O Christmas Tree

Christmas time is here

I'll be home for Christmas

7

People look east

It's the most wonderful time of the year

All I want for Christmas is you

God rest you merry, gentlemen

8

Brightest and best of the sons of the morning

Do you hear what I hear?

People look east

9

Every star shall sing a carol

O come, o come, Emmanuel

The Huron carol

I heard the bells on Christmas day

10

Good King Wenceslas

The Turning of the Year

11

Good King Wenceslas

God rest you merry, gentlemen

Let it snow!

The Christmas Song (Chestnuts Roasting On An Open Fire)

Huron Carol

Past Three O'clock

12

Lo, How A Rose E'er Blooming

The ending of the year

People look east

The Turning of the Year