Page 8 of A Texas Christmas Carol

“It’s workin’!” Tom proclaimed from his vantage point on the opposite side, where he was trying to shoehorn his friend out of the bog from behind with a fallen tree branch. “Hang on, Prez.”

“What d’ya think I’m doin’?” Prez’s top half was nearly horizontal as he gripped the rope in front of his face. He groaned as the noose dug into his underarms.

“Lord?” Lester’s voice rang out behind Evan with even more volume than before. “We’re just poor, humble folk struggling along in this life best we can. All of us been stuck, whether in habits, sin, or good ol’ Texas mud, like our friend Prez, here. We’re doin’ our best, but only you can free us from what holds us down. If it wouldn’t be too much trouble, we could really use a little Psalm 40 action about now. Bring him out of the miry clay, Lord, and set his feet upon a rock.”

A shiver passed through Evan’s chest, as if the prayer were meant for him, not Prez. He shook it off and focused on the job at hand. Yet his effort didn’t seem to matter, for before he reset his grip, a loud sucking sound ensued. Evan suddenly found himself on his backside as Prez pulled free. Evan released the rope and let the horse drag Prez the rest of the way onto solid ground, then scrambled over to the old man’s side. His wheezing breaths were worrisome. Fiddling with the slipknot, Evan loosened the noose beneath Prez’s arms as quickly as he could.

“Hallelujah, Lord!” Lester cried. “You done did it! Thank ya, thank ya.”

Shaking his head at the unconventional prayer yet unable to argue with the results, Evan added his own silent thanks, oddly moved by being part of the rescue.

Something Felicity had said that morning echoed in his mind. Something about the power of being present in God’s work.

After tossing the rope over Prez’s head, Evan offered the man a hand up.

“Thanks, young feller.” A wide smile separated Prez’s hairy upper lip from the bearded chin below. “I wuz startin’ to think I’d be spending the rest of my days stuck out there.” He shook his head, then clamped Evan on the shoulder. “No man wants to live out his days alone. Family and friends are what make life worthwhile. And now I got me a new one to add to my collection.”

Evan tried to follow. “A new one?”

“Yep. A new friend. You!” He slapped Evan on the back, apparently fully recovered from his ordeal. Then he extended his mud-slimed hand. “Name’s Madison, but my friends call me Prez.”

Evan grimaced as he fit his palm to the mud-caked one offered to him. “I’m Evan.”

“Evan. That what yer friends call ya? ’Cause I aim to be on friendly terms from here on out.”

His friends? His business associates called him Mr. Beazer, as did his staff and the London townsfolk. His friends . . . Did he even have any?

All at once, he recalled Felicity Wiggins smiling up at him in his stable that morning. Extending him an invitation to her home to dine with her family and asking him to join her in her charity work. Calling him by his first name.

“Yes,” he finally said. “That’s what my friends call me.”

four

FELICITY SIDESTEPPED BETWEEN HER MOTHER, who stood at the stove whisking gravy, and her sister mashing potatoes at the counter in order to rescue the dinner rolls from the oven before they burned. She was notorious for her overdone rolls, but she was the best baker of the Wiggins clan, so the duty always fell to her. Her cookies, cakes, and pies always tasted splendid. Probably because she baked those when no one else was in the kitchen, which allowed her to focus on one task. But put her on roll duty with her mother and sisters in the kitchen, and the distractions invariably led to bread closer in tone to deep bronze than light gold. Today, however, she was determined to have golden perfection, even with one of her nieces tugging on her apron strings.

“Aunt Lissy, why’d you invite the scary man to dinner? I don’t hafta sit by him, do I?”

Unable to ignore the worry in the little girl’s voice, Felicity turned around, picked up four-year-old June, and plopped her on her hip. “Mr. Beazer will sit between me and Papa George,” she said, tapping her niece’s nose. “And he’s really not scary. Just a little grumpy. And sad. He doesn’t have a big, fun family like we do, so I thought we could share ours for tonight. Nobody’s family is as fun as ours, you know.”

“Or as noisy and chaotic,” Felicity’s sister Charity mumbled between mashes.

Felicity bumped her unoccupied hip against her sister, causing Charity to stumble sideways. “You love the chaos. Admit it. Why else would you add to it three times in the last six years?”

Charity chuckled. “Can’t argue with that.” She dropped the masher, drew close, and rubbed noses with her daughter. “I do indeed love this bit of chaos.”

June giggled. “Silly Mama. I’m not chaos. I’m June!”

“Yes, you are.” Charity took her daughter from Felicity, then set her on the floor and gave her a playful swat to her backside. “Now, go find your father and Papa George. They probably need help with the baby.”

June scurried out of the kitchen, ready to play big sister. Felicity’s heart gave a little twinge of longing.

“Felicity, dear,” her mother said, breaking into her wishful thoughts, “don’t forget your rolls.”

Her rolls!

Felicity gasped and rushed to the oven. As her mother stepped to the side of the stove, Felicity grabbed the oven handle with one hand and a folded towel from the counter with the other. She pulled out the roll pan and set it on a trivet. Well, at least they weren’t charcoal rocks. More brunette than blond but still edible. It could have been worse. Still, she’d hoped for better.

“They’re fine, dear.” Mama smiled in that soft way of hers that made every crisis feel like a mere bump in the road. Even when Mama had been so sick three years ago that she’d been unable to rise from her bed for months, that smile had remained in place. Felicity thought of it as her Jesus smile. The one so steeped in faith that worry couldn’t touch it.