Mail-Order Christmas Brides: Her Christmas Family / Christmas Stars for Dry Creek. Janet Tronstad

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      Chapter Five

      Would Tate come back? Felicity held the plate up to catch the lamplight, gave it a final swipe with the soapy cloth and, satisfied, swirled it around in the rinse basin. It clinked lightly to a rest on top of the others. Alone in the main room, she glanced toward the door. He wasn’t a talkative fellow, so perhaps he’d gone across the street for the night and she would need to bank the fires. Surely he would be returning for breakfast in the morning?

       She turned to scoop the potato pot into the wash basin. Water splashed and sloshed as she scrubbed at the mealy residue left along the sides of the pan. Gertie slept with Merry, her doll, tucked in both arms. How sweet it had been to listen to the child’s prayers, to straighten her blankets and kiss her forehead. The coziness lingered even in the silence and the echo of her every step on the floorboards. This day had gone much better than expected in some ways. She thought of Eleanor and wondered if her husband-to-be had ever shown up to meet her. She prayed Eleanor had fared at least as well.

       The front door ripped open, startling her. The pot slipped from her fingers and splatted into the water. Soap bubbles burst into flight, iridescent in the lamplight.

       “Thought I’d come help out now that my work is done. I still had some deliveries to make.” He closed the door with one shoulder, moving stiffly. Snow dusted his wide shoulders. Cold clung to him and he brought the chill inside as he shrugged off his coat. “That scarf came in handy.”

       “I’m glad.” At least she had made one small difference for him. She gave the pan another good swipe. “It’s gotten a lot colder out there. Is the room above the store warm?”

       “Warm enough.” He lumbered into the light, the dark shadows accentuating the creases on his face time and hardship had worn into him. “It was a thoughtful thing you did for Gertie in making her that doll.”

       “My pleasure.” A strange shivery feeling swept through her as he sidled closer. Her husband-to-be. He leaned his cane against the table and stole a folded dish towel from the nearby stack. She wanted to like this man. No—she wanted to love him. Caring flickered hopefully in her heart as she studied his granite profile. Such a hard man with such a gentle love for his daughter.

       “I had so much fun making each stitch just right and trying to figure out what Gertie would like.” She let him take the pan from her and dunk it into the rinse water. “My ma made a doll for the three of us, me and my sisters.”

       “What happened to them? Why aren’t you with them?” Water dripped from the pan as he wrapped it in a towel and began to dry.

       “My youngest sister was adopted right away. It tore me apart to watch her go.” She squeezed her eyes shut briefly against the crushing pain, grief still strong after seventeen years. “A kindly looking couple took her, so I have hopes that she was treasured. Faith and I were together until I was eleven.”

       “When you were hired out?”

       “Yes. When I came back she was gone. Hired out and never returned. We didn’t know what became of her.” She gave the pot lid a good scour. “As far as I could find out, another family eventually took her for home care. The same thing happened to me later that year. I wound up working on a pig farm to earn my keep.”

       “You didn’t learn all you could about pigs to become a farmer later?”

       Was that the tiniest glimmer of humor warming the chill from his rumbling words? Did Tate Winters have a sense of humor buried in there somewhere? Pleased, she slid the lid into the rinse water and reached for the final pan. “Surprisingly, no. That was one smelly opportunity I let pass me by.”

       “I don’t blame you. I delivered feed to the Rutger place tonight.” He deftly dried the pot until it shone. “Pig farm.”

       She chuckled but she laughed alone. Tate no longer seemed as formidable. “I didn’t expect help with the dishes.”

       “I don’t mind. We need to talk.”

       “Yes, we do.” What a relief. She plunged both hands into the hot water to scrub the roasting pan. Do you think you can love me? That’s what she wanted to ask. “There is so much we need to figure out together. The wedding for one.”

       “I’ve spoken to the town reverend. He has time before the Christmas Eve service.”

       “Gertie will be pleased.” She worked the dishcloth into the pan’s greasy corners. “In her letters she wanted us to get married by Christmas.”

       “Yes, and as you can see there is not a lot of money to spare.” The muscle jumped in his jaw again. He held himself so rigid and tense she had to wonder what he expected her to say. To berate him? To think less of him because he was so poor? How could she think less of a man who loved his daughter so much?

       “I have a dress to wear. My Sunday best should do.” She gave the pan a measuring look but he took it from her before she could determine if it met her cleanliness standards. His hands were capable and callused and a long thin scar disappeared into the cuff of his sleeve. His flannel shirt wanted mending, too, and she hung her head. How much hardship had the rail ticket caused him? “There should be no need for further expenses.”

       “Gertie should have a new dress.” He swallowed hard, his impressive shoulders tense. “If you’re a seamstress, could I ask you to sew her one?”

       “I saved up several lengths of fabric, hoping I might be able to sew for her, for my daughter.” He probably had no idea what those words meant to her. They warmed the lonely places in her soul, they made the losses of her parents, and then her sisters, fade. “How about you? I’m fairly skilled at men’s garments.”

       “I don’t pretend to be something I’m not. I have no need of fancy new duds or the money to afford them.” The muscle in his jaw jumped, strung tighter, and drew up cords of tendons in his neck. She could feel his raw pain like a wind gust to the lamp, dampening the light.

       “Maybe sometime later, when things are better.” She wrung the extra water from her cloth and wiped the table. “I had hoped to keep my sewing skills polished. After I’m done sewing for Gertie, I could ask around in town. Maybe find some piece work at one of the local dress shops. I don’t want my needle to go rusty.”

       “That’s good of you but not necessary. You take care of Gertie. That’s our bargain.” He could hardly breathe as he rinsed the roasting pan, the sloshing sound hiding the wheeze in his chest. Shame wrapped around him. She was as beautiful on the inside as she was in the lamplight. He did not deserve her. She did not deserve what folks would be saying about the woman who married him.

       He set the pan down too hard. The clatter punctuated the harsh cast to his words, made harder by the fading light. The lamp needed more kerosene. “You don’t need to pay your way, Felicity.”

       “That’s the first time you’ve said my name.”

       Hope. He hadn’t been without it so long that he’d forgotten the sound of it. He hung his head, unable to look at her. A terrible feeling settled in his gut. He put the pan on the shelf, grateful for the break away from her. The lamplight writhed, struggling for life, casting eerie orange СКАЧАТЬ