Can the love that binds this family deliver Christmas
miracles?
Or will the unforgiving wilderness crush their holiday spirit?
A Pioneer Christmas Beyond the Oregon Trail
A Ghosts Among the Oregon Trail Holiday Novella
by David Fitz-Gerald
Genre
Historical Holiday Western Adventure
Dorcas and her family endured a harrowing trip along the
Oregon Trail in 1850. Now, they face their first brutal winter in the rugged
wilderness. Can they survive the harsh realities of frontier life?
Devastating setbacks threaten their lives, crush their
hopes, and test their faith in timeless traditions. Their cabin is unfinished.
Wild animals shred their tents, ruin their food supply, and wreck their camp.
As winter closes in, a powerful storm strikes their remote homestead. How much
more can they endure?
Dorcas suggests skipping Christmas to focus on survival, but
her children balk. They don't want to give up on the cherished holiday. Is
Christmas a luxury they can't afford?
When her husband, Agapito, fails to return from a critical
supply run, Dorcas ventures into the wilderness with a rifle in search of food
for her children. She must brave the elements as a mountain lion stalks her
through a violent winter storm.
Can the love that binds this family deliver Christmas
miracles? Or will the unforgiving wilderness crush their holiday spirit?
Start reading A Pioneer Christmas Beyond the Oregon Trail today. Get wrapped up in this gripping western adventure of love, survival, and the enduring power of hope. Perfect for fans of frontier fiction and heartwarming holiday tales, this novella will keep you on the edge of your seat.
**Don’t miss the rest of the series!**
Fallen trees surround me. Everywhere I look, there are toppled timbers. Most of them have been brought down by my axe in the five weeks since we reached the end of the Oregon Trail.
How many do we need? It’s hard to say. Nobody seems to know. So, I just keep on chopping.
It sounds like awful work, but the truth is, I’d do most anything to avoid sewing or hunching over a washboard. Fortunately, my daughter, Rose, is content to do most of those chores.
That tree I’ve been whacking should be just about ready to fall. Letting the axe down for a moment, I stretch my neck and roll my head.
A loud cracking sound interrupts my brief break. Turning back to look at the tall Douglas Fir, it doesn’t take but a moment to realize that it’s about to fall. But something is wrong. It’s tilting in the wrong direction.
After making a hasty decision, I tear off toward our encampment, running as fast as my legs will carry me.
My heart thunders in my chest. I know enough to understand that it’s impossible to outrun a falling tree. Imagining the wood fibers slowly tearing away near the place where my axe struck the tree, I hope with all my might that it will take longer than usual to crash into the ground.
A breaking sound stretches through the air as I lean forward and try to increase my speed without stepping on the hem of my dress, but I can tell without looking. That tree is coming down fast.
Chopping down trees is dangerous work, but I’ve been doing it all my life. I’ve always thought of myself as a lady lumberjack.
Normally, I can tell by instinct what direction a tree will fall. This time, even now, I’m not sure which way it’s going. But I know enough to try to get out of the way as fast as I can.
Just when I think I’m in the clear, I feel the slap of branches against my skin. I’m aware of the sting of sharp twigs slicing my shoulders. Then there’s a crack at the back of my head.
At first, I don’t know where I am. I look around and I’m surprised to see my husband and four children looking back at me—Agapito, Rose, Andrew, Christopher, and Dahlia Jane.
I think, What happened? And, Why am I on my back?
Then the memory comes back in a rush. That Douglas Fir I was chopping down fell in the wrong direction. I tried to outrun it and failed. “How did I get here?” I ask, looking around at my family.
My husband answers, “I carried you, mi amor. You screamed, so I came running.”
The letter reads:
To whoever finds this place,
If you're reading this, you've stumbled upon my little hideaway in the woods.
I've decided it's time to pack up and head back to Concord. Gonna take another stab at living a civilized life, though I can't say I'm looking forward to it much. Figure I can find a fussy niece back there who might be happy to pamper an old trapper like me with some fine vittles.
The years out here have been kind to me, but my bones are weary. The old joints aren't what they used to be, and I suppose these aches and pains come with age.
I've left a few things behind in that trunk over there. Been working on that nativity set more years than I'd like to count. Ridden out many a storm whittling away on chunks of wood. Whoever you are, I figure the hand of God brought you. Hope those little statues bring you as much joy as they did me. If it were up to me, I'd celebrate Christmas year-round.
In case I do decide to return, leave me a note and let me know you stopped by. It'd tickle me to hear from ya.
What a sentimental old coot I've become. Do forgive my ramblin' blatherings. I assure you, I'm really rather cantankerous by nature.
Your host, Nicholas "Crabapple" Pike
David Fitz-Gerald writes westerns and historical fiction. He
is the author of twelve books, including the brand-new series, Ghosts Along the
Oregon Trail set in 1850. Dave is a multiple Laramie Award, first place, best
in category winner; a Blue Ribbon Chanticleerian; a member of Western Writers
of America; and a member of the Historical Novel Society.
Alpine landscapes and flashy horses always catch Dave’s eye
and turn his head. He is also an Adirondack 46-er, which means that he has
hiked to the summit of the range’s highest peaks. As a mountaineer, he’s
happiest at an elevation of over four thousand feet above sea level.
Dave is a lifelong fan of western fiction, landscapes, movies, and music. It should be no surprise that Dave delights in placing memorable characters on treacherous trails, mountain tops, and on the backs of wild horses.
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