The Christmas Brides by Linda Lael Miller

McKettrick?”
    Both Lizzie and Morgan turned to see Ellen standing nearby, looking shy.
    â€œYes, Ellen?” Lizzie responded, smiling.
    â€œI can’t find a spittoon,” Ellen said.
    Lizzie chuckled at that. “We’ll go outside,” she replied.
    â€œA spittoon?” Morgan echoed, puzzled.
    â€œNever mind,” Lizzie told him.
    â€œI believe I’ll go, too,” Mrs. Halifax put in, rising awkwardly from her bed on the bench because of her injured arm, wrapping her shawl more closely around her shoulders.
    Lizzie bundled Ellen up in the peddler’s coat, readily volunteered, and the trio of females braved the snow and the freezing wind. The baby girl stayed behind, kicking her feet, waving small fists in the air, and cooing withsudden happiness. She’d spotted the cockatiel with the ridiculous name. What was it?
    Oh, yes. Woodrow.
    â€œI reckon we ought to be sparing with the kerosene,” the peddler told Morgan, nodding toward the single lantern bravely pushing back the darkness. “Far as I could see when we checked the freight car, there isn’t a whole lot left.”
    Morgan nodded, finding the prospect of the coming night a grim one. When the limited supply of firewood was gone, they could use coal from the bin in the locomotive, but even that wouldn’t last more than a day or two.
    The little boy, Jack, like Brennan and Carson, had fallen asleep.
    The peddler spoke in a low voice, after making sure he wouldn’t be overheard. “You think they’ll find us in time?”
    Morgan shoved a hand through his hair. “I don’t know,” he said honestly.
    â€œYou know anything about Miss Lizzie’s people?”
    Morgan frowned. “Not much. I met her uncle, Kade, down in Tucson.”
    â€œI’ve heard of Angus McKettrick,” Christian confided, his gaze drifting briefly to Whitley Carson’s prone and senseless form before swinging back to Morgan. “That’s Miss Lizzie’s grandpa. Tough as an army mule on spare rations, that old man. The McKettricks have money. They have land and cattle, too. But there’s one thing that’s more important to them than all that, from what I’ve been told, and that’s kinfolks. They’ll come, just like Miss Lizzie says they will. They’ll come becauseshe’s here—you can be sure of that. I’m just hoping we’ll all be alive and kicking when they show up.”
    Morgan had no answer for that. There were no guarantees, and plenty of dangers—starvation, for one. Exposure, for another. And the strong likelihood of a second, much more devastating, avalanche.
    â€œYou figure one of us ought to try hiking out of here?”
    Morgan looked at Carson. “ He didn’t fare so well,” he said.
    â€œHe’s a greenhorn and we both know it,” the peddler replied.
    â€œHow far do you think we are from Indian Rock?”
    â€œWe’re closer to Stone Creek than Indian Rock,” Christian said. “Tracks turn toward it about five miles back. It’s another ten miles into Stone Creek from there. Probably twenty or more to Indian Rock from where we sit.”
    Morgan nodded. “If they’re not here by morning,” he said, “I’ll try to get to Stone Creek.”
    â€œYou’re needed here, Doc,” the peddler said. “I’m not as young as I used to be, but I’ve still got some grit and a good pair of legs. Know this country pretty well, too—and you don’t.”
    Lizzie, Mrs. Halifax and Ellen returned, shivering. Lizzie struggled to shut the caboose door against a rising wind.
    Morgan and the peddler let the subject drop.
    They extinguished the lamp soon after that, ate ham and “bony” bean soup in the dark.
    Everyone found a place to sleep.
    And when Morgan opened his eyes the next morning,at first light, he knew the snow had stopped. He sat up, looked around, found