Cascades Christmas

by Mildred Colvin

  Sassy rolled over, and Natalie rubbed her soft tummy.

  “I think she likes you better than me.” Less of a criticism and more of a pleased acknowledgement.

  Natalie looked back at Mr. Tate. “I doubt that. You’re her master.”

  He scratched the whiskers on his chin. “No. She just knows where her next meal is coming from.”

  Natalie held her hand out to him, and he pulled her to her feet.

  “I’ve seen the way she gazes up at you.” Natalie was afraid she might have that same expression just now and looked away.

  She surveyed the room. Water dripped from several places above. She could see right through the trusses of the upper floor to the underside of the roof. With all the rain they’d had lately, it was no wonder he was trying to get the rest of the shingles on. Then the interior could dry out. They were standing in the largest of the dry areas. “You certainly are taking your time with this house. Isn’t your employer anxious to move in? I’m sure his wife is.”

  “He is not yet ready to move in.”

  “Not with rain pouring in.”

  And then he did it. His whisker-framed mouth broke into that smile that melted her heart.

  “The house will be ready when my employer wishes to move in.”

  “You still are not going to tell me who it is?”

  He just stared at her, grinning. “You’ll have to wait until they move in, like everyone else.”

  “Oh bother.”

  She wandered into the next room. Bone dry. Not a single leak, and the floor above was finished, too. One wall was lined with bookshelves that had delicate carvings across the tops and down the sides. Mr. Tate had to be a patient man to do such fine work and a master at his craft. She ran her hand over the smooth surface.

  She wished to compliment him on his workmanship so turned around. Mr. Tate stood directly behind her. Well, now in front of her. She sucked in a breath. Her heart raced like a runaway Shay engine with a full load of timber.

  “Why did you come?”

  Why had she come? Because today was a special day, in spite of the rain. And she had wanted him to remember it was special, too. He obviously did not. “Oh, I don’t know.” She sighed. “I thought it a lovely day for a stroll.”

  His mouth twitched up slightly at the corners. “Then let me escort you home.” He moved back to the front door and retrieved her umbrella and waited.

  Truly? He wasn’t going to comment that a downpour did not constitute a lovely day? And one should remain indoors in such weather? Mr. Tate was as stubborn as a cantankerous mule. She shoved her hand back into her glove and marched for the door. She wanted to tell him that she could find her own way home but didn’t want to be disappointed if he honored her request. If she knew he would still insist on walking her home, she would protest. A great and mighty protest. But she would rather hold her tongue and be able to enjoy his company a little longer, than have her heart crushed by his indifference.

  He held the umbrella up just outside the door and extended his work-gloved hand to help her down the steps.

  She took it, scooped up her skirt with the other hand, and descended the three steps into the mud. When she was a little girl and had first come to Tumwater, she had enjoyed walking barefoot in such mud, feeling it squish between her toes. “For the grandeur of the house, the porch seems a bit understated.”

  He laughed and tucked her hand in the crook of his elbow, and they began their promenade through the rain.

  She liked his laugh. Full and jovial. Lively.

  “Those steps are temporary. They are only to get me in and out of the house without killing myself. When the rain lets up and I have the roof finished, I plan to build a porch that wraps around the entire house. And a balcony off the master suite.”

  She could picture it. “Oh, that will be lovely.”

  A puddle she had skirted fairly easily earlier now stretched out before them. She looked left and right to determine the most suitable course. The land gently sloped up on the right, and the puddle ceased sooner in that direction. She stopped at the water’s edge.

  Before she could suggest their course, as Mr. Tate had not turned either left or right to survey the hazards, he placed the umbrella in her hand and scooped her up. He then slogged through the muddy waters. She presumed, since he was already soaked from head to toe, that a little more water made no difference to him. She stared at his whiskered face and bright eyes the multihued greens of the forest. Even if he didn’t remember that today was special, being carried by Mr. Tate was well worth a soaking. She would find some way to remind him. Perhaps on Wednesday when he regularly ate supper with her family.

  He set her down on the boardwalk where the stores began. Under the awnings, out of the rain and the mud, at least for the time being.

  At her house just beyond the edge of town, he opened the door for her.

  She stepped inside and turned. “Would you like to come in and warm up with a cup of coffee?”

  He collapsed the umbrella and shook it before handing it to her. “I better not. I’m a bit of a mess.” He motioned with his hands down his muddy, wet attire. “I don’t want to drip all over your floor.” He took off a glove and reached inside his coat pocket.

  He handed her a small carved animal. “Happy birthday.”

  He had remembered. Her heart soared. So he knew the significance of today. Now that she was eighteen, he would ask Papa to court her. But Papa was out on visitations. “Papa’s not here.”

  He nodded. “You told me he was out visiting.”

  “We’ll see you for Wednesday supper?”

  “Wouldn’t miss it.” He tipped his hat. “Good day.”

  Natalie closed the door, leaned against it, and looked at the wooden kitten. So detailed.

  Mama sighed, her blond hair glowed in the firelight. “You best get that dress off. It’s half ruined with the mud. I have some pink fabric goods that we can use to put a border around the bottom, add a little fabric to the collar and cuffs. No one will know.”

  What she meant was that Papa wouldn’t know.

  Natalie crossed to where Mama sat in a rocking chair by the fire peeling last year’s potatoes and kissed her on the cheek. “I love you, Mama.”

  “I love you, too. Now scoot, so you can help me fix supper.”

  Natalie went upstairs to her room and set the carved kitten on her bureau with the dozen other animals Willum had carved for her over the past three years.

  Willum whistled all the way back to the construction site, kicking at clumps of dirt, causing mud to spray up. Natalie had thought he’d forgotten she turned eighteen today. He’d been surprised she had ventured out on such a dreary day. Pleasantly surprised. He’d known from the start exactly why she had come and had tempted her to admit it, but she didn’t. She looked older, more mature, with her dark hair pulled up on top of her head.

  He scrubbed his hand across his bristly chin. He, on the other hand, probably looked like a grizzly bear. It was time to shave off his winter beard.

  Natalie had set her cap for him long ago. From the moment he’d first met her three years ago, she had intrigued him. But being seven years his junior, he’d not thought of her in a romantic way at first. Now he thought of her all the time.

  His intentions were jumbled where Miss Natalie Bollen was concerned, and his heart troubled.

  He knew better than to let a young lady ever manipulate him again. But wasn’t Natalie too sweet for deception and games? Too sweet to play with a man’s heart then casually throw it away and crush it under her pretty little shoe.

  Chapter 2

  Natalie sat straight as a board in the front pew at church Sunday morning. They always sat in the same order—Mama on the aisle then the children next to her from youngest to oldest. Even her oldest brother Isaac’s wife sat with them. As the family of the pastor, they sat in the front pew every Sunday where everyone could see they were present and on time, and that the family wasn’t distracted by the re
st of the people in church. But Natalie was distracted because she couldn’t see anyone but Papa. And today more so than other Sundays.

  She could feel someone staring at the back of her head. She didn’t dare turn around but was dying to know who. Willum? Nothing up front had a reflective surface that she might be able to see and scan the congregation. She tilted her head and slightly turned it in one direction then looked out of the corner of her eye at the first window. Shadowy figures, but she couldn’t make anyone out. So she turned and tilted her head the other direction to see if she could see in the windows on the other side any better. Because of the shadows on the outside of the window, it was darker, and she could recognize people. She turned her head a little farther to get a better view.

  Mama nudged Natalie. “Pay attention.”

  She turned her focus back onto Papa.

  After service was over, Natalie stood next to Mama, who stood next to Papa just outside the church doors to shake hands with each member and to send them into their week with the Lord’s blessing. Mr. Tate had come through the line early and now stood with his friends Mr. Tucker, Mr. Corrigan, and Mr. Renier, and their wives. She hoped he didn’t leave. He’d barely stayed long enough on Wednesday to eat and spent no time alone with Papa to discuss courting her. And going through the reception line after service certainly didn’t afford him any time.

  John Seymour lingered close as the line drew to an end. He smiled at her. To be polite, she smiled back.

  The line ended, and she could go to Mr. Tate herself, not to talk about courting but about visiting with her papa.

  Mr. Seymour stepped forward and asked to speak to Papa.

  Mama put a hand on Natalie’s arm. “Please go invite Miss Leonard to Wednesday supper.”

  “But Mama?” Nobody liked Abigail. “She’s the meanest girl in town.”

  “And she came to church. Now go.”

  Natalie looked toward Mr. Tate. “But …”

  “Go.”

  Natalie slumped her shoulders and walked off. She heard Mama clear her throat. The meaning of that simple sound was unmistakable. Stand up straight. So she did and fashioned her face into a pleasant expression.

  “Abigail.”

  The stunning blond turned with a start. “Natalie?”

  She needed to make this fast so she could still talk to Mr. Tate. “Mama has invited you to supper on Wednesday night.”

  Abigail pulled up her lip on one side in a very unattractive manner. “I’m sure it rubs you into a rash to have to invite the most hated person in town. I can tell you don’t want to be here with me, and certainly don’t want me in your home.”

  It wasn’t so much that she didn’t want to be around Abigail as much as she wanted to be with someone else. “You are not the most hated person in town.”

  “The most hated girl.“

  Why couldn’t Abigail just say yes and let Natalie be on her way? Mama would not be happy until she came back with a yes. Truthfully, Natalie didn’t want Abigail at Wednesday supper, although any other night of the week would be fine. Wednesday supper was time to spend with Mr. Tate. “I believe Mrs. Ellis is more disliked than you.” Mrs. Ellis had left buckshot in the backside of more than one trespasser.

  Abigail’s mouth turned up. “Well, at least more feared.”

  “Miss Bledsow?” Natalie could still feel where the schoolmarm had whacked her knuckles, even though it was years ago.

  Abigail rubbed her own knuckles. “Maybe I’m number three then.” And she gave a small giggle.

  “You’ll come to supper?”

  Abigail nodded.

  Natalie left Abigail with the answer Mama wanted, but Mr. Tate and his friends were gone. Maybe he was talking to Papa. She sighed. Mr. Milton stood close to Papa, deep in conversation. So she walked over and looped her arm through Mama’s. “Miss Leonard said she’d come to supper.”

  Willum woke Tuesday morning long before dawn to the school bell ringing a warning. He dressed in a hurry then rushed with Sassy leading the way to the school to see what the ruckus was about. But before he even got there, he saw the glow of the raging fire that consumed several businesses and the church. He smelled the smoke and heard the hungry crackling. Men, women, and children had formed two lines and were passing buckets of water. One line went to the fire’s last victim—the building was only half burned. The other line went to the untouched building next to it, hoping to prevent it from catching fire as well.

  There had been no rain since a week ago Monday. Everything had dried out then gone on drying, ripe for fire.

  Willum shouted over the roaring to the nearest person, “Is there anyone inside?”

  The man shook his head. “Those who live above these businesses got out.”

  That was a blessing.

  Willum joined the volunteer firemen in setting up the water wagon and hose. What they could use was a nice downpour.

  By noon the fire had been reduced to smoldering debris. People milled around in the streets, surveying the damage. Three destroyed businesses and the church.

  A dripping ladle appeared before him. “Water?”

  He recognized that voice. He reached for the ladle, making sure to reach high enough on the handle to partially cover his benefactor’s hand. Would she move it? Or leave it there? Her hand was cool under his. He wanted to put it to his forehead to cool his face. Holding her hand this way was all he dared in public. Reverend Bollen would never allow a public display of affection.

  Once his thirst was quenched and he’d held her hand on the ladle as long as he dared, Willum looked up into Natalie’s rich chocolate eyes. But she was sweeter than any chocolate he’d ever tasted. Her face was sweet. Her smile was sweet. Her heart was sweet. He doubted she knew how to deceive or hurt another person. He’d seen her talking to Miss Abigail Leonard on Sunday. There were precious few who would talk to Abigail outside of a business transaction. She’d hurt too many people. Then there she was at church, and sweet Natalie had befriended her. He knew enough to steer clear of girls like Abigail. She would cast her net for a man and pull him in before he was any the wiser.

  “You worked hard here today.”

  Her words brought him back to the vision in front of him. “A lot of people did.”

  She looked left then right.

  Was she anxious about something?

  Then she glanced down at his hand, and he did as well. It still covered hers. He released her hand slowly. He evidently hadn’t completed the task when he thought about releasing her hand a few moments ago.

  “I’ll see you Wednesday at supper.”

  “See you then.” He watched her walk away. Even in a drab gray dress, she looked enchanting.

  A hand clasped him on the shoulder. “Looks like you will have plenty of work to keep you busy this summer.”

  He turned to his good friend Tuck. The last thing he needed was more work. He needed to finish the house. “I have plenty of work, thank you.”

  “Yes, I saw. Have you officially started courting her?”

  Willum backhanded Tuck in the stomach. “Not her. Actual work.”

  “I saw you two. It’s about time, buddy. I thought your broken heart would never mend. And Natalie is a right fine young lady.”

  “She’s so young.”

  “You missed the boat on eligible young ladies your age. You let Frederick, E.V., and me woo them first. And we all thank you. Wouldn’t have stood a chance if you were interested in any of ‘em.”

  Willum gazed at Natalie offering water to her brother David.

  “So, are you courting yet?”

  Willum narrowed his eyes at his longtime friend. “Why do you care so much?”

  Caught, Tuck rubbed the back of his neck. “Anna will have my hide if I don’t come home with the information. She’s been pestering me all week.”

  “Pestering? Just because others expect it isn’t a good reason to start courting any woman.”

  “Ah ha. That’s good. You haven’t started
courting Natalie yet.” He turned to leave then turned back. “Anna will want to know why you haven’t asked to court her yet, and when you’re going to ask for permission.”

  Willum shook his head and walked off. But the question was valid. Why hadn’t he asked to court Natalie … again? He’d asked just over a year ago, when she turned seventeen and he knew she was too young. Now that she was old enough, he couldn’t bring himself to ask. Why?

  Chapter 3

  Willum sat at the Bollens’ table as he had done every Wednesday since he arrived in town. He bowed his head as the reverend blessed those around his table and the food. After the “amens” of nine people echoed, Mrs. Bollen stood and dished up the first bowl of thick bean soup and passed it down the table. Willum took the full bowl and passed it on to Matthew sitting next to him, who passed it on down the table.

  Willum avoided eye contact with Natalie sitting directly across from him. He knew she expected him to ask her father tonight to court her. The Reverend Bollen probably expected it, too. Willum didn’t know if he could tonight or not. For the first time in three years he hadn’t wanted to come to Wednesday supper because of his indecision.

  But fortunately, he had other business with the reverend. “I checked the church’s rock foundation. It seems solid enough to rebuild on.”

  The reverend nodded. “Good. We’ll need to raise money before any construction can start.”

  “I drew up plans for a new church building.” Willum passed another bowl along. “They’re rough.”

  “I’ll look at them after supper.”

  “The plans will let us know just how much money we’ll need to purchase materials.”

  Then Natalie spoke up. “Mama and I are planning to organize bake sales to raise money. And we are going to ask the quilting circle to make a quilt for a drawing.”

  Willum glanced over at Natalie but looked away before she looked at him with that expectant expression.

  Abigail set down her glass of milk. “Where will church be held until the new building is completed?”

  Why had Natalie invited her here? She had nearly ruined two of his friends’ chances with their now wives. She had meddled and tried to get between several couples in town. What was innocent Natalie learning from her? To be conniving and manipulative? No. Natalie was sweet and just being nice. Or was Abigail trying to come between him and Natalie?