“You're talking to me about manners? You? The mean, contemptible man who hired thugs to beat up an innocent man? Don't talk to me about manners! You don't know the meaning of the word! I don't think you have any scruples at all. Because of you, Robert Lundeen is spending the day in bed. His face is all beat up and he might have broken ribs!”
Mrs. Wilkerson watched, her mouth open and eyes wide.
“I don't know what you're talking about,” Ray Townsend said evenly. “I don't even know anyone named Robert Lundeen.”
“You're lying! You know him. He's a friend of Celeste's. You sent those men after him, and you can't convince me otherwise.”
“Think what you like,” he said, then looked at Mrs. Wilkerson. “My mail?”
At first Mrs. Wilkerson just gaped at him, then finally said, “Sorry, Ray, but nothing came in for you.”
“Good day to you,” he said casually as if nothing had taken place and walked out.
Laurel stared after him, still seething. She couldn't remember ever being so angry. Shaking, she pulled on her gloves. “I'm sorry, Mrs. Wilkerson. I … I didn't mean for that to happen.”
“Oh, that's all right, dear. It isn't the first dispute I've witnessed in here.”
Laurel picked up the packages and walked out. Pulling the door closed behind her, she stepped into the cold, swirling snow. She looked up and down the street, searching for Mr. Townsend. He was already gone. She headed for home, anger consuming her Christmas spirit.
That night over dinner, Laurel told her parents about her encounter. Will's face turned grim, but he calmly said, “You can't worry about him. His anger and bitterness have nothing to do with us, and we don't know for sure that he's the one behind the attack on Robert.”
Laurel felt deflated. “I wish we could do something.”
“I feel sorry for the man,” Jean said.
“How can you feel sorry for him after what he did?” Laurel asked.
“From what I heard, he used to be a good man, but he's still grieving over his wife.”
“I don't like him. He looks mean,” Brian said, picking up a string bean with his fingers and putting it in his mouth.
“I do wish we could do something to help the children.” Jean scooted her chair back and walked to the stove. Picking up a pot of coffee, she returned with it, filling Will's cup, then her own. “Laurel? Luke?” Both shook their heads no to the offer. Jean returned the pot to the stove. “Well, the colonists have lots of gifts. Why can't we contribute some to the homesteaders? Our children don't need so much.” She smiled as an idea formulated. “We could invite them to the Christmas party.”
“That's a wonderful idea!” Laurel said. “But how will we get the names and let them know about the party?”
“The one person who knows all the folks in the valley and will be certain to see them is Mrs. Wilkerson. Maybe she'll let us put up a notice in the post office, and I bet she'd be happy to spread the word.”
“Slow down there, Jean,” Will said. “You don't even know if the other colonists want to do this. Both sides have had hard feelings.”
“Of course we'd have to ask them. Isn't there a meeting tomorrow night?”
“Yes,” Will said. “I'll bring it up.”
Although a handful of colonists didn't want to share their gifts, most agreed it was a good idea, so invitations were sent. Laurel returned to the post office a few days later to check on responses.
“I'm sorry, Laurel, but most of the homesteaders said they wouldn't be there,” Mrs. Wilkerson said. She handed Laurel a piece of paper with a short list of names and ages on it.
“Why?”
“A lot of them said something to the effect that they didn't need a handout from outsiders.”
“Oh. Why are they so stubborn?”
Mrs. Wilkerson sorted mail. “They have their pride. And I think that so much has been said about how the colonists are getting a free ride that they're afraid of being accused of the same thing.”
Disheartened, Laurel left the post office and headed for the community building. The Christmas party was scheduled for the next evening, and several people were working on decorations. She walked up the steps to the hall and pulled open the door. Some women were decorating a tree; others were hanging decorations around the room. They stopped and looked at Laurel. She hated to tell them. They'd been hopeful it might mend some of the hard feelings. “I'm sorry, but only a handful of homesteaders will be here.”
“Well, we tried,” Norma Prosser said. “We'll have to do what we can for the ones who are coming. Not all our neighbors are angry. Some of them have been real nice and neighborly.”
The night of the party, the Haspers piled into the back of the Lundeen pickup. Robert's injuries had healed. He'd pitched hay into the bed of the truck and laid out blankets. And now, Brian happily tossed hay into the air.
“Stop it, you little runt,” Luke said. “You're getting hay all over everything.”
Brian didn't take Luke's reprimand seriously. Bracing his hands against the cab, he jumped up and down.
“Brian, sit down,” Will said. “If you're not careful, you'll get bounced out or you'll end up with a frostbitten nose.”
Brian plopped down beside Luke. “Are we almost there?”
Will smiled. “Almost.”
“Hey, Dad,” Luke said. “You're going to be at the dogsled races, aren't you? Alex and I have been practicing. He's good, and King's a great dog—strong and smart. I think we can win.”
“Of course I'll be there. You really think you can win?”
