Maggie's Christmas Miracle

by Elaine Manders

  Maggie wondered how he knew her name, but that wasn’t important. “If I can.”

  “Would it be possible to enroll Isabelle in your school while I’m in town? You see, my wife passed away four months ago, and I couldn’t bear the thought of not being with Isabelle during the holidays.”

  “I’m very sorry. How old is Isabelle?”

  “She turned five last month.”

  The girl looked smaller than five. “Children are supposed to be six before enrolling, but—” What would be the harm? The school board would trust Maggie’s judgment in this case, and Mr. Raleigh wouldn’t be in town long anyway.

  Isabelle would make an adorable angel in the Christmas play. “Will you be staying in Westerfield long? The school closes the week before Christmas.”

  “We’ll be leaving on December the twenty-sixth as I have to turn in my report before the end of the year. That would be back to Boston—where we’re from.” His gaze traveled from Maggie to Isabelle and back again. “The truth is, Miss Comings, I need someone to care for Isabelle until late in the day, and I was hoping you would. I’d pay you, of course.”

  Pay her? The opportunity to earn extra money was welcome. Mrs. Crenshaw at the Westward Home and Hearts had notified her she wouldn’t be offered potential mates until the New Year, and even after then it would take months to find someone suitable. Mrs. Crenshaw had assured her her future husband would be well able to support a wife, but Maggie had always thought a wife needed a nest egg—in case of problems.

  She must have hesitated too long, because Mr. Raleigh added, “I had already given Isabelle’s governess time off between Thanksgiving and New Year’s before I knew about this trip.”

  Maggie smiled. “I understand, and I’d be delighted to care for Isabelle, but I wouldn’t expect pay for school hours.”

  “I’ll pay whatever you wish, Miss Comings. It means that much to me.”

  Maggie felt a tug on her skirt and looked down. Isabelle gazed up at her from under long lashes. “Papa calls me Izzy.” Maggie had to strain to hear the child’s small, soft voice. “Unless he’s annoyed.”

  Mr. Raleigh smiled, marking double laugh lines around his mouth. He patted his daughter’s cheek. “I assure you, Izzy rarely annoys me.”

  The touch. That look. The fondness in his voice tightened Maggie’s chest with yearning. What wouldn’t she have done to have received just one touch, one look, one such word from her father?

  She got down to the little girl’s level. “Then I’ll call you Izzy, too. Would you like to be in our Christmas play?”

  The child looked at her father for guidance, and he answered for her. “Izzy likes to play make-believe, and I’d love to see the play.”

  “She’ll fit right in,” Maggie said, standing. “Maybe Izzy would like to go outside and play while we discuss the particulars.”

  Mr. Raleigh looked uncertain. “Izzy hasn’t been around children much. That’s one of the reasons I thought enrolling her in school would be a good idea.”

  Maggie nodded, then turned to call her assistant. “Annie, would you take Izzy outside to meet some of the other children?”

  Annie had a way with little children Maggie admired, and the girl already had firm plans to become a teacher. With a friendly smile on her pretty face, Annie came forward, her hand held out. “Would you like me to swing you, Izzy? We have a swing under the big walnut tree in back, away from the rowdy boys.”

  This time Izzy didn’t seek her father’s permission. She placed her tiny hand in Annie’s, and they left the room, chatting together.

  When their voices faded, Maggie turned to Mr. Raleigh. “What business brings you to our small town?”

  “Among other things, my company investigates business opportunities for investors, Miss Comings. I’m representing an exporter at present who wants to find new sources of beef.”

  Maggie laughed. “Well, you came to the right place. We have one of the biggest cattle ranches in the country.” Rhyan Cason’s ranch, Sollano, ran for miles south of Westerfield.

  “I know. Unfortunately, Sollano already has buyers under contract for the next several years.”

  “You’ve seen Mr. Cason before, then?” Mr. Raleigh couldn’t have met with Rhyan on this trip since the whole Cason family had already left for California on their annual holiday trip.

  “I have. I discussed the situation with Mr. Cason a while back. He gave me a list of ranchers from all over. I had to get back to Isabelle at the time and,” he drew in a breath, “for reasons I won’t bore you with, decided to come back after Thanksgiving.”

  She tilted her head, studying his features. Something about Mr. Raleigh looked familiar. He had a distinguished look about him she was sure she wouldn’t have forgotten. “Have we met before?”

  “You may have seen me in the library a couple of months ago. I saw you, but another young lady helped me.”

  “Of course. That would have been Juliette Gresham.” Juliette ran the library, though Maggie helped out on Saturdays because Juliette had a husband to take care of. Like all of Maggie’s friends. She admitted her envy of those friends was a big factor in deciding to contact Mrs. Crenshaw’s matrimonial agency.

  Mr. Raleigh checked his pocket watch like a man used to doing that. “It’s time for me to be going. I suppose I should slip out. Isabelle will cry if she sees me leave.”

  He wore the worried face of every parent on a first-grader’s first day of school. Maggie’s heart always went out to both parent and child. “She’ll cry anyway, but not for long, and Annie is good at comforting little ones.”

  His lips quirked into a half smile. “I know. It’s just…Izzy is all…she’s so precious to me.”

  Hearing the emotion in his tone, Maggie reached out to offer comfort as she would to a friend, then realized what she was doing and stilled her hand. “I’ll take good care of her.”

  “I know you will. You come highly recommended.”

  Recommended? Had he queried the town folks about her? Of course he had. Why else would he trust her with his precious daughter? “When should I bring her to you? Where are you staying, the boardinghouse?”

  “No, I’ve rented the Amersons’ house while they are away visiting relatives.”

  This surprised her. “I live next door to them.” That would certainly make things convenient.

  “I know. Mr. Cason told me. He mentioned his wife used to live in the little house next to the Amersons, and that the school was using it for the teacher. That’s one of the reasons I thought you might agree to care for Isabelle in my absence. I’ll just pick her up when I get home.”

  It all made sense now, and Maggie felt compelled to stop Mr. Raleigh at the door. “Would you and Isabelle like to dine with me tonight?” It was the neighborly thing to do.

  He looked back over his shoulder, that charming smile cutting laugh lines in his cheeks. “We would be delighted, Miss Comings. I’ll try to be there by six.”

  “Six will be fine.”

  As soon as he cleared the building, she realized her mistake. Female teachers were forbidden to entertain gentlemen in their home.

  Chapter 3

  Carianne Cason had purchased the little cottage on the outskirts of town from the Amersons when she’d first arrived in Westerfield. After she’d gotten married, she’d given it to the school for the resident teacher’s use. This was where Maggie had called home since she obtained her teaching certificate, and the little three-room house was the nicest place she’d ever lived.

  Tom Amerson, who ran the livery, built it for his mother when she moved to town and insisted on having her own kitchen. It was only thirty yards or so from the big house where Tom and his wife, Martha, resided.

  The kitchen took up almost half of the back of Maggie’s little house, a parlor and small bedroom the front. But she loved it from the front porch with its white-slatted swing to the soft feather tick on her bed, to the blue calico curtains at the kitchen windows.

  Maggie dro
ve the old roan mare into the space between the houses and, without setting the brake, descended the buggy, then lifted Isabelle to the ground. “Go, stay on the porch, sweetie, until I get Jenny taken care of.” She pointed the child in the direction of the little house.

  If Tom were home, he’d have taken the horse to his stables, but since he wasn’t, the task fell to Maggie, and she knew, like all the farm and ranch people around here, you took care of your horse first. A job she didn’t relish. Sometimes, she walked the mile and a half to school, just to avoid the stables, leaving Jenny to the boy who came in twice a day to take care of Tom’s livestock in his absence.

  When Maggie returned to the yard, she found her little charge where she’d left her, staring at the big house. Izzy pointed her small finger in that direction. “That’s where me and my papa stay.”

  The teacher in Maggie made her say, “Where my papa and I stay.” She took Izzy’s hand. “He isn’t back from his business trip, so you’ll be staying with me until supper. Would you like to help me cook?”

  The little girl came readily enough. “Cook what?”

  “Fried chicken. I cut it up and put it in the icebox last night to soak in buttermilk. But I’ll have to cook it tonight.”

  “Buttermilk?” Izzy made a face, showing what she thought of buttermilk.

  “Yes, but you can’t taste it in the chicken. It just makes fried chicken tender.”

  Izzy slipped her hand from Maggie’s and skipped along in front. “I like the drumstick best cause I can eat it with my fingers.”

  Maggie laughed. “All right, you can have the drumstick. And we’ll have mashed potatoes and carrots and peas to go with the chicken. Do you think your papa will like that?”

  “Yes, but he likes chocolate cake better.”

  Another chuckle broke from Maggie’s throat. “Is that your favorite cake?” She held the door open to let Izzy enter the house.

  The screeching of the closing door drowned out whatever Izzy said. She stood looking around the dark room, taking in the strange surroundings. A curious but cautious child.

  Maggie dropped the bag holding her school supplies in a chair and lit the kerosene lamps. She couldn’t believe how dark it got and not even five o’clock. Chilly too. She wondered if those clouds were bringing snow. A smile quirked her lips. It had been years since she’d looked forward to snow.

  After getting a fire going in the fireplace, the room brightened. Maggie pulled herself from the hearth and stretched. Izzy stood beside her, peering into the crackling fire, something Maggie could remember doing as a child, trying to make out forms and figures in the dancing flames.

  She fixed the wrought-iron gate in place to make sure Izzy didn’t get to close to the fire, and helped her out of her coat. “Come along. I’ve decided we’ll make cookies as well as cake, and you’ll have to help me.”

  “I can? I’ve never made cookies. Am I big enough? Cook says I’m too little, but she’ll teach me later.”

  “I think you’re just the right size for sugar cookies. When I was your age, I helped my mother cook every day.” Because she had to. As the oldest of four sisters, she had to learn fast.

  Maggie lifted Izzy onto a stool at the table and tied a dishtowel around her to serve as an apron. While she added the butter, sugar, eggs, and flour, she explained each step, letting Izzy crack the eggs. After picking the bits of eggshell from the batter, Maggie beat it, adding flour until it was stiff. She brought out two cookie sheets. One she flipped over and dusted with flour.

  After plopping the dough ball onto the center of the floured cookie sheet, she handed Izzy a rolling pin. Holding the child’s hands in position, she rolled the dough. “See how it’s getting bigger? You keep rolling out the dough gently until it covers the sheet. While you’re doing that, I’ll start on our cake.”

  A little bubble of pure pleasure settled in Maggie’s chest. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d actually enjoyed cooking—or had anyone to cook for. A squeal stopped her in the middle of pouring the milk.

  “I squished it too much in the middle, and the rolling pin’s stuck to the dough.” Izzy made it sound like a catastrophe.

  “That’s all right, sweetie, I do that all the time.” Maggie took the flour tin and set it beside the distraught girl. “We’ll just dust the pin with more flour.” She let Izzy dip her hand into the flour and cover both pin and dough. These were going to be hard cookies, but what did it matter?

  Maggie pulled three cookie cutters out of her apron pocket. “When you finish the rolling, you can press these down into the dough to make a gingerbread man, a Christmas tree, and a star.” She started to demonstrate when her potatoes boiled over, demanding her attention.

  By the time Maggie had taken care of the spill-over and lowered the damper on the stove, Izzy had as much flour on her as on the cookies.

  A knock sounded at the front door as she was looking around for a clean dishrag, and before she could react, Izzy leaped from the stool, almost falling. “It’s Papa,” she screamed, darting toward the parlor, leaving a cloud of flour in her wake. Maggie couldn’t help but laugh again.

  It wasn’t Mr. Raleigh. Annie’s giggles drifted from the parlor. She entered the kitchen with Izzy in tow.

  Still working at the stove, Maggie asked, “You didn’t come alone, did you?” It was almost pitch-dark outside.

  “No, Thad dropped me off. He wanted to go see Lucy.”

  Maggie glanced around in time to see Annie roll her eyes. “Thad’s sweet on Lucy?”

  With a disgusted grunt, Annie helped Izzy back onto her stool. “Her folks will probably invite him to supper. That’s what he’s counting on anyway, and he’ll pick me up on the way home.”

  “He could eat with us.”

  “No, he’d rather go hungry if it means spending time with Lucy.”

  “Well, I guess that means he’s a normal sixteen-year-old boy.”

  “What about you and Mr. Raleigh?” Annie asked. “He’s a nice-looking man and well off from the looks of it. And you’re looking for a husband.”

  Maggie darted an alarmed glance at Izzy, but the little girl seemed engrossed in her cookies. Maggie put a finger to her lips. “Shhh. Little pitchers,” she whispered. Raising her voice, she addressed Izzy. “Sweetie, will you go look by the sofa and bring me one of those newspapers in the basket. I’ll use it to soak up the grease of the fried chicken.”

  Annie put Izzy on the floor, and, when the child had skipped out of the kitchen, Maggie cast an accusing glare at Annie. “Mr. Raleigh just lost his wife. He’s not looking for a replacement.”

  “How do you know? Seems to me he needs a mother for Izzy. Must be hard to take her on business trips.”

  “He explained that. Izzy’s governess had already been promised Christmas off.”

  “Mothers don’t take off Christmas from their child.”

  Maggie slapped the dishrag on the table and put her hands on her hips. “Now listen to me, Miss Sassy. You forget I’m you’re elder and teacher.”

  “Not outside the schoolroom. You’re my friend, and I want you to be happy.”

  Maggie released a huff and hugged Annie. “I cherish your friendship. Just drop the matchmaking, please.”

  With Annie watching Izzy, Maggie turned her full attention to the meal. For some reason she wanted it to be perfect, especially the cake. The icing required constant care. It had to cook until a six-inch thread spun from her spoon, and that couldn’t be hurried. She’d already taken the layers out of the oven and set them on the sink counter to cool.

  At times like this she was glad of all the experience she’d gotten helping Mama, although at the time, she’d resented it. Other girls had the opportunity to play. Her childhood was one long blur of work.

  She fried the chicken while the icing and cake layers cooled, glancing back often to observe Izzy and Annie. With their heads together, they were sprinkling sugar over the cookies before they cooled.

  Children made a house
come alive. A mellow feeling of home and family swelled in Maggie’s chest. This was the answer to her prayers for guidance. God was showing her she’d made the right decision to contact the Westward Home and Hearts agency. She had enjoyed teaching, but she wanted her own children filling her kitchen with giggles, the warmth given off by the stove as she cooked for them—and a husband. A man she wanted to please with delectable foods. The smells of home-cooking greeting him at the door.

  She finished icing the cake and turned around in time to see Izzy pop a bit of cookie in her mouth. A look of alarm clouded her little face as she realized she’d been caught.

  “That’s all right, sweetie. I snitch bites of everything I cook. Are your cookies good?”

  Izzy swallowed. “Yes ma’am. Very good.”

  Maggie brought the icing pot over to the table, and handed Izzy the spoon. “How would you like to scrape the pot?”

  It was clear the child had never experienced that pleasure. She took the spoon and looked from it to Maggie.

  “Here, I’ll show you,” Annie said. She took the spoon from Izzy and scraped the bottom of the pot, then offered it to the skeptical child. “Lick it off the spoon.”

  Maggie nudged the pot in front of Izzy. “Scrape the sides too. I left plenty for both of you.”

  Everything was done, and the clock said five of six. She was fairly certain Mr. Raleigh would be punctual. “Annie, will you clean and set the table, please?” She just had time to change into a clean dress.

  How long had it been since she dressed for dinner? But she suddenly had a desire to do so.

  She’d always thought the human brain worked harder subconsciously than when one was thinking on a matter. Ever since Daniel Raleigh had come into her classroom, her mind had been as busy as a squirrel gathering nuts in fall collecting bits of memory.

  Then as she buttoned her fresh shirtwaist, it came to her as clear as could be. It had been the first Saturday in October, and she’d stopped by the library to gather some new books to read to the class. She was standing at the shelves maybe twenty feet from the library’s front counter when she’d felt his gaze.