Chapter 31

Shadow Valley, Texas 1870

Everyone sat around the fireplace as Isaac and Megan eagerly awaited the opening of the giant present that was wrapped in the corner of the room. Halona had to laugh, Buck was really dragging it out. He was talking about everything he could think of from his old pony express stories to Christmas at the Mission School. Finally, he told them they could go ahead and open the present.

"Woah!" Isaac clunked his fingers on the keys. "This is just like the one they have at that church Papa."

"Make it play Papa," Megan said.

"Well, you don't make it play," Buck told her. "You have to learn how to play it."

"Oh," Megan looked at him blankly.

"But you know," Buck looked across the room at Halona. "We know someone that does."

"Can you make it play?" Megan asked Halona, looking up at her excitedly.

"I will, on one condition." Halona walked over to the piano and sat down. "You each have to sit right next to me and sing very loudly."

"Ok." Isaac sat down.

"I expect you both to sing as well." She looked over her shoulder at Buck and Jimmy.

The piano rang lyrically through the house as she played Silent Night, followed by three other Christmas songs. Jimmy said good night and Buck got the children ready for bed as Halona cleaned the table and the dishes. She found a Bible on the shelves in the parlor and took it up to Megan's room where she found Megan in bed and Isaac and Buck sitting on the edge.

"Would you guys mind if I shared a family tradition that my family did at Christmas?"

"Of course, please," Buck said.

"Every Christmas my mom and dad would read the story about why we celebrate Christmas. It's about Jesus being born."

"Is he the baby that the church puts out on their roof every year?" Isaac asked.

Buck nodded, he wasn't sure how well this was going to go. He had raised his children, to be honest and to speak their minds. The mission school had drilled the Christian way into him, with its stern hymns and fire-and-brimstone sermons. Yet, beneath that veneer, the whispers of his ancestors still echoed in his heart. Theirs was a different kind of faith, woven into the land itself, passed down through generations

"I want to hear the story about the baby Jesus." Megan said.

"Okay." Halona sat on the bed and put her arm around Megan. "And it came to pass in those days, that there went out a decree, that's an announcement, from Cæsar Augustus, that all the world should be taxed."

Buck had heard this story many times in his youth and adulthood but never with the conviction and the tenderness that she told it. Although she read the direct words, she also explained to the children in words they would understand what they meant.

"And the shepherds returned, glorifying and praising God for all the things that they had heard and seen, as it was told unto them."

"I like that story." Megan smiled and blinked her eyes sleepily.

"I think it's time for you to go to sleep little princess." Halona kissed her forehead.

"Will you teach me how to play the piano?" Isaac asked on the way to his room.

"Of course I will."

"Goodnight." He hugged Halona, then his father.

"Night son."

"I had a pretty good night. What about you?" She smiled and turned to Buck.

"You're amazing." With a gentle pull, Buck drew her close, and his lips met hers in a soft, lingering kiss.

Pulling away, a sigh escaped Halona's lips, a mixture of contentment and something deeper. "What was that for?" She asked, leaning into the comfortable embrace of his arm.

"I just…" Buck began, trailing off as he searched for the right words. "I've been wrestling with how to explain things to the kids, with my own upbringing and lingering questions." He ran a hand through his hair, frustration momentarily etched on his face. "Honestly, I still struggle with finding answers for myself sometimes."

Halona squeezed his hand gently. "You don't have to have all the answers," she reassured him. "None of us do."

"My childhood was a blend of Kiowa traditions and the Catholic teachings I received at the mission school. While some aspects of Christianity resonate with me, others don't quite fit."

She scooted closer, settling comfortably beside him. "Your children see all the good in you – your honesty, your unwavering love for them, your hard work. Every day, you lead by example."

"Tell me about your childhood." He pressed his lips to her temple and kissed her softly.

The warmth of the fire seemed to dim slightly as Halona turned to him. Taking a deep breath, she finally spoke, "Well," she began, a sigh escaping her lips, "you know I'm adopted."

Buck nodded, his expression a mixture of curiosity and concern.

"But there's more to the story," he prompted gently.

Hesitation flickered across Halona's face. "What I know about my birth mother," she began slowly, "is that she… she was a prostitute." A heavy silence descended as the weight of her words settled between them. "I don't even know why I'm telling you this," she confessed, her voice barely a whisper. "I've never told anyone."

Not even Sydney.

Sydney's image appeared in her mind. Her best friend's infectious grin and the sound of her laughter echoed in Halona's memory. The ache in her chest intensified. How long had it been since she'd thought of Sydney? The guilt of forgetting, even momentarily, mingled with the pain of remembrance.

Despite the warmth surrounding her, a sudden chill ran through her body. A pang of homesickness hit her, sharp and unexpected. These feelings had become less frequent the longer she spent in this time, but occasionally, a vivid memory would catch her off guard, transporting her back to a world that now felt like a distant dream.

Halona took a deep breath, grounding herself, reminding her of where - and when - she was now. This was her reality now, for better or worse. She had a new family here, children who needed her, and Buck...

Buck reached out, his hand resting on her shoulder, a silent offer of comfort. "You can tell me anything," he said softly.

Taking another deep breath, she continued, "From what I understand, I was… inconvenient to her lifestyle. I guess I should be grateful she didn't…" Her voice trailed off, the unspoken word hanging heavy in the air. "Maybe she thought having a baby would change things, but…"

Halona closed her eyes, drawing strength from his touch. "They celebrated my arrival with… with friends and a lot of drugs and alcohol," she revealed, her voice trembling slightly. "They left me in the car. When the police found me, I was barely alive." A shudder ran through her as she told him about her tragic birth. "My parents… they gave up their rights for a lesser sentence. They never wanted me."

Buck felt a surge of anger on her behalf but knew this wasn't the time to express it. He simply tightened his grip slightly, offering silent support.

"But the irony," she continued, a faint, bitter laugh escaping her lips, "is that my birth name… Halona… it means 'happy fortune.'"

"What about your last name?" Buck asked gently.

"It's… well, besides being a sperm donor, it's the only thing my biological father ever gave me," she said with a sad smile.

"Tell me about your adoptive parents," Buck prompted, hoping to offer a chance to shift focus.

Halona's expression softened. "Considering how things began," she said, shaking her head, "I couldn't have asked for better parents. The Harrington's were older, they tried for years to have a child of their own, but it never happened. So, they adopted me." Her voice filled with warmth as she continued, "My dad was a doctor, my mom stayed at home and raised me. She never missed a school performance, a recital, anything. She was… amazing."

"I'm sorry they aren't here for you now." Buck squeezed her hand, his touch warm against her chilled skin. "They sound like they were a wonderful part of your life."

"They were the best." She nodded in agreement. "What about your folks?"

Her question hung heavy in the air. She watched the light flicker in his eyes, a flicker that turned into a grimace. "Never knew my father," he finally said, his voice low. "He was a soldier who forced himself on my mother."

"I'm sorry." Halona rested her hand on his arm in comfort.

She saw a muscle twitch in his jaw, a flicker of suppressed anger. "My brother found her... near the edge of the camp. Broken neck. They said she fell from the cliffs."

"But you don't believe him?" Her voice was barely a whisper.

"I saw the sadness in her eyes every day," he confessed, his voice cracking. "Every day, I reminded her of him. I think... I think she jumped."

Silence settled between them, heavy with grief. He felt a tear roll down his cheek, hot against his cool skin. He didn't wipe it away. Halona didn't either. Then, slowly, she reached out and wrapped her arms around him. She held him tightly, stroking his back in a slow rhythmic motion.

"Didn't mean to dampen the Christmas spirit," he mumbled as he rose from the couch.

"You didn't," she reassured him. Walking with him down the hall, she felt a pang of longing. "Goodnight, Buck."

"Goodnight, Halona," he murmured.

Her hand rested on the open door. Turning back to him, she spoke softly, "Buck," a single word loaded with unspoken emotions. "I had a really nice Christmas."

"Me too," he replied, the warmth evident in his voice. With a final lingering look, he turned and retreated to his room