by Jane Peart
"I hope it wasn't anything serious."
"No, probably too much cake, pie, and punch. He'll be fine in the morning. A doctor's never 'off duty' even at a party." "It's all right. I understand," Holly said.
"Do you? Most women—I mean, most people don't." He helped her into his buggy then went around and took the blanket off his horse. He folded it over his arm and, as he patted the horse's neck, Holly heard Blaine speak to him. "What a good old fella. Long time out here in the cold. Well, well be getting warmed up, trotting out Lincoln Road to take the schoolmarm home." Holly smiled in the darkness, touched by Blaine's unselfconscious concern for his horse, his gentleness.
He got back into the buggy, picked up the reins, flicked them a couple of times, and they started off through the night. At least a hundred thousand more stars seemed to stud the sky since earlier, and the horse's hooves on the frost-skimmed road made a crunch sound in the stillness.
"Nice party. At least the end of it," Blaine remarked. "I hadn't planned to get there so late, but just as I was leaving my rooms Seth Hilliard rode in to say all three of the children had real bad coughs and the baby was having trouble breathing, so I went out there to take a look at them." Blaine shook his head. "Never can understand why folks wait so long to call a doctor. I could have given them something days ago and none of them would be this bad—" He broke off. "Sorry, shouldn't bore you with shop talk."
"You're not, and Denny Hilliard is in school. How is he— and the others? Are they going to be all right?"
"Yes, the older ones, certainly. I'm a little worried about the baby. I'll take another ride out there tomorrow and see," Blaine said, then changed the subject abruptly. "—You warm enough?"
"Yes, it is very cold, though. Think it will snow again?"
"Possibly." Blaine turned to glance over at her. "That's right—this will be your first Oregon winter, won't it? I almost forgot. You seem to have become a part of the community, fit in so easily, like you'd always been here."
"Why, thank you, Blaine. That's nice of you to say so."
"Well, of course, your coming has made a difference."
"Really?"
"Sure you have. The parents really liked the Christmas program; I've heard nothing but good about it."
"That's nice to know. I hoped they would. It means a great deal to have the parents think I'm doing a good job with the children and all."
"And of course, you've also brightened up the place, prettied the scenery too, as they say around here," he laughed.
Pleased, Holly smiled in the darkness. Blaine didn't toss compliments around lightly. Not like Ad, whose charm was second nature; flowery phrases came easily to him.
Even though her toes were freezing in her thin dancing slippers, the ride to the schoolhouse seemed to Holly to come to an end too soon.
"Whoa!" Blaine reined to a stop at the side of the school building, then jumped out of the buggy, came around, and held out both hands to help Holly down. He accompanied her up the steps and unlocked the door for her.
As he handed her back her key, their fingers touched. For a minute, Holly could not breathe. All at once everything became dazzlingly focused: the snow-scented wind, the brilliance of the stars overhead.
Both of them stood very still, their frosted breath mingling in the darkness. Holly swayed slightly toward Blaine, felt his hands tighten on her elbows as he steadied her. Holly felt that Blaine was about to kiss her, and instinctively she started to close her eyes—
Then, suddenly, through the clear night air came the sound of horses, the jangle of harness bells, voices ringing out Christmas songs, and around the bend of the road came a wagon load of merry-makers from the Town Hall, the swinging lanterns sending arcs of light onto the snow and throwing the two figures on the schoolhouse porch into full view.
"Howdy, folks!" the voices called heartily as the wagon lumbered by. "Merry Christmas, Miss Lambeth, Merry Christmas, Doc!" The laughing faces were illuminated, and Holly recognized most of them— all people she knew, parents and pupils alike, folks she had met through the lending library.
After the merry group had passed by, their songs still echoing, an awkwardness descended on them for a full minute. Then Blaine said with a chuckle, "Small towns! God bless 'em." He started down the steps, saying, "Well, Holly, I guess I better say good night."
Conscious of keen disappointment, Holly managed to keep her voice light, "Good night, Blaine; thanks for seeing me home."
Once inside, Holly watched as Blaine got into the buggy and turned it around. After awhile, with a last look out, she sighed and walked back into her bedroom. Slowly, one by one, she began discarding gloves, slippers, cloak, and fan. The Christmas dance was over, the sound of the toe-tapping music faded away. Suddenly she was left with an awful sense of emptiness.
Tonight she had felt so happy being with Blaine as if they were on the brink of something—falling in love? What? Was she beginning to think of Blaine romantically?
Oh, what a perfect fool you are, Hollis Lambeth! What did it matter whether Blaine kissed you or not? Blaine was undoubtedly handsome, warm, sincere, understanding, but—after all, in the spring, when school was over, she was going home—home to Willow Springs. Wasn't she?
Chapter 19
A few days before Christmas, when Holly was in the store, Ned had issued an embarrassed invitation for her to come to Christmas dinner at their house. Aware of the probable discussion with Hetty that must have preceded it, Holly tried to make her refusal as easy as possible for him. "Oh, Ned, thank you, but I've accepted an invitation to Vi Dodd's. It turns out that he's going to be alone for Christmas after all, and so she's having a few friends to share the holiday with her. I do have some gifts for the children and for you and Hetty, too. So I'll stop by on Christmas Eve before the service at church if that will be all right?"
Ned's face flushed as he shifted the glass candy jars on the countertop nervously and said, "That's mighty nice of you, Holly; I'll tell Hetty, and the children will be so happy to see you."
Holly could see that he wanted to say more, obviously struggling with his own need to be honest with her and his loyalty to his stubborn wife. Holly felt sorry for him, but she felt sorrier for her cousin. Why was Hetty making life so difficult for everyone? Her husband and children especially? What possible pleasure could she be getting out of this feud?
Holly dreaded the prospect of the encounter with Hetty. It was enough to spoil Christmas Eve for her. But since she had promised Ned and did not want to disappoint the children, there was nothing to do but go. It had been fun, picking out their presents, poring over one of Ned's catalogs, selecting just the right gift, anticipating their happiness at what she had chosen. Afraid that anything of a personal nature she might give Hetty would not be acceptable just because it had come from her, Holly decided to give Ned and Hetty a joint present, something for the house. She hated thinking that way about her cousin, but in her heart she knew it was probably true. After much deliberation, she had chosen a cranberry glass bowl suitable for flowers or fruit or to be used as a decorative centerpiece. She wrapped all the presents in paper she decorated with holly leaves and berries and tied with scarlet ribbon.
She delayed going until late afternoon when, she knew, the children would be up from their naps. She did not want to be alone with Hetty. On the walk over, Holly kept thinking, What a shame it is that things aren't normal between us. It would have been so much fun to be included in all the traditional Christmas plans, trimming the tree, the holiday baking, filling the children's stockings. That's certainly the way things should have been for two cousins, both so far away from home.
Hetty's greeting was about as frozen as the ground over which Holly had trudged to get there. But the affectionate welcome Holly received from Aurelia and Teddy, who flung himself into her arms, made up for the iciness of their mother. "Will you have some tea or coffee?" Hetty asked stiffly after a few minutes. Holly would have loved to stay longer, talk and play with her s
mall cousins, but the atmosphere was too stifling. Hetty's attitude made relaxing and enjoying impossible. Making the excuse that she had other stops to make and some last-minute shopping to complete, Holly moved to the door. Before she reached it, Hetty thrust a small, wrapped package toward her. "Here," she said shortly. "Fruitcake, made from Grandma Granville's recipe."
Holly managed a "thank you" even as she thought, What an impersonal gift from one cousin to the other and, at the same time, of the half-dozen same such fruitcakes sent by some of her pupils' mothers, lined up on her own kitchen table! ,
Back outside in the crisp December air, Holly felt incredibly let down. As she had known it would, her visit to her cousin had depressed her. A sudden wave of homesickness and nostalgia for other Christmases struck her, and she fought an overwhelming urge to cry. Holly hurried along toward town, her head bent against the wind.
"Whoa there!" a familiar voice rang out, and Holly came to an abrupt halt. She had almost collided with Blaine coming from the other direction. "And where are you off to in such a hurry?" he asked, grinning. His face was ruddy, and his blue eyes merry as he held out both hands to steady her from her sudden stop.
"Well—eventually to the Christmas service, but it's a little early yet."
"Believe it or not, I had the same thing in mind. Would it fit your plans if I offered you a little holiday hospitality before attending church? One thing I'm good at is making coffee, and you should see my waiting room. It's absolutely filled. Not with patients but payments. Most of which look and smell suspiciously like fruitcake."
"Sounds like my kitchen!" Holly laughed, feeling her heart already lifting. "And Hetty just gave me another one!"
"Well, come along," Blaine said heartily, offering his arm. Linking arms, they walked the short distance to the doctor's office. While Blaine moved briskly about stirring up the fire in the stove and brewing coffee, Holly examined the framed certificates on the wall. Ad was right. Blaine's qualifications were impressive.
"I'm surprised you're not spending Christmas with the Thorntons," Blaine remarked casually as he handed her a mug of steaming coffee. "It seems such a family time."
Holly accepted the coffee and took a sip before answering. Why not be honest? Surely Blaine would understand.
"The truth is, Blaine—, Hetty and I are not on the best terms. Please don't ask why. I really don't know, myself. I've tried to figure it out, but—" She shrugged.
"Hetty doesn't seem to be a very happy person," was his only comment. Then he deftly changed the subject, for which Holly was grateful.
"You will be at Vi's tomorrow, then?"
"Yes, it was lovely of her to invite me."
"And other homeless folks as well," Blaine smiled. "Vi always takes pity on us."
"A very fitting way to celebrate Christmas, don't you think?"
They chatted easily together for a half hour or so then left to walk down the street to the church to the simple but meaningful Christmas Eve service. Afterward, Blaine took Holly back to the schoolhouse in his buggy and escorted her to the door. "I'll see you tomorrow at Vi's? I have to make a few house calls first, but I'll be there." He started down the steps then turned back, grinning. "You know something? It's been years since I've looked forward to Christmas the way I'm looking forward to tomorrow." With that, he ran the rest of the way down the porch steps, whistling "Jingle Bells."
And so am I, thought Holly, smiling to herself.
Christmas Day at Vi's was lovely. As Holly had expected, Vi served a meal that was both a pleasure to the palate and to the eye. The table was spread with an embroidered cutwork linen cloth, silver candlesticks, and ivory china. She had fashioned a centerpiece of red-berried pyracantha and white geraniums in a milk-glass bowl. Turkey roasted to perfection, mounds of snowy potatoes, glazed carrots, pearl onions in cream sauce, and fresh cranberry relish was followed by a frothy lemon sorbet, and later by mince pie and coffee.
Holly, whose own culinary skills had not evolved much further than necessity required, thoroughly enjoyed being in a real home, eating delicious food, and being with pleasant adult company for a change. After dinner they had all had a fine time playing "Quotations" and "Charades." Although Holly knew Vi had been sadly disappointed about Avesta's not coming, she covered it well and could not have been a more gracious hostess.
Blaine helped Holly on with her cape and handed her her muff as they both thanked Vi and said good night. "It was a lovely party, wasn't it?" Holly commented as they walked along the darkened, quiet streets of town. "It reminded me a little of Christmases at home. Our family always held open house on Christmas Day with friends and relatives flowing in and out, my father presiding proudly over the eggnog punchbowl—" She broke off, hoping she didn't sound homesick. "Do you have Christmas memories, Blaine?"
"Yes, of course, I suppose everyone does. The lucky ones do, anyway, those of us who had good parents, happy homes."
"Yes. I'm surprised I haven't missed things as much as I thought I might," she said thoughtfully. "Do you miss yours?"
"Not so much anymore. Of course, I've been away from my childhood home for a good many years. First, away at college, then in Scotland and Germany for two years for further study— then I came out West," he replied, then looked at her. He smiled and said, "And I must say that Riverbend has its compensations—especially recently."
When they reached the schoolhouse, it was only early evening. Holly hated to see the lovely day end. She especially wanted this time with Blaine to last a little longer. Remembering Vi's caution about how careful the schoolteacher must be about her reputation, Holly hesitated to invite Blaine into her little parlor. As she debated about its propriety, Blaine made the decision for her. "Would it be improper for me to suggest that you might offer me something warm before I brave the chill again on my walk back to town?"
She knew —, he must have been reading her mind.
"Not improper at all but very probably inhospitable!" she declared with a toss of her head. "I might even offer you a slice of fruitcake!" she teased.
She took off her bonnet, hung it up, and Blaine assisted her with her cape. They walked into the parlor.
"Certainly I've found things I used to think were so very important don't really matter a fig to me now," she said. "Why don't you sit down here, and I'll bring us some tea?"
In the few minutes it took Holly to heat the water in the kettle, arrange a tray with teacups, and pour the water into the teapot, Blaine had picked up her photo album and was turning its pages. He looked up as she entered with the tray and said, "Hope you don't mind? It was lying here open, so I thought it was all right to look."
"Oh, sure. A little bit of Willow Springs I brought with me. Have you ever seen so many aunts, uncles, and cousins?" she asked gaily as she proceeded to pour out the fragrant jasmine tea.
"I'm curious about all the empty spaces. Have you banished or disowned some of your relatives. Don't tell me your family has black sheep?"
"Doesn't everyone's?" She dimpled, eyes mischievous. "Or are all the Stevens clan impeccable pillars of society?"
"I don't know about that; never have been one to go into genealogy." He paused for a minute as he accepted the cup she handed him; then he regarded her thoughtfully and said, "You haven't answered my question."
Holly recalled Ad's same inquiry, and also that afterward, acting on his advice, she had removed all Jim's pictures from the album. How freeing it had been! She had taken them all out the very same evening Ad had been here, and since then she had rarely given Jim a thought.
Now, looking into Blaine's frankly interested eyes, she found it almost easy to say, "They were pictures of someone who's no longer in my life. It seemed a good idea to take them out. You see, we were engaged, and he broke the engagement. It pains me to confess that I have only myself to blame. For quite a while I spent time in futile regrets. It's over now, and it seems a long time ago and actually sort of unreal to me now."
"Did you love him very much?
"
Holly thought a minute before answering. "I'm not sure I even knew what love is. As painful as it is, I must confess that I was to blame for what happened to us. I hurt him deeply—but it's all in the past now. Taking the pictures out was just a step in realizing that and going on with my life."
Telling Blaine was much easier than it had been telling Ad- Ad performed the surgery, the sharp cutting advice; Blaine's sympathy, understanding, brought healing. Then Holly said, "I was very young, and it seems a long time ago. So much has happened; I've changed so much." She took a sip of tea then quoted softly, "'When I was a child I thought as a child, I spoke as a child—now, I've put away childish things.'"
"Good for you. Out here you grow up fast, or you don't survive," he said quietly.
As Holly met his eyes, she felt disconcerted for a moment. She saw something in Blaine's eyes that she had seen in them earlier in the evening at Vi's. She had been asked to play the piano, and Blaine had come over and leaned on it while she played. He was looking at her now as he had then. His eyes regarding her with a mixture of admiration and incredible tenderness. Or was it something more? Before she could answer her own question, he went on, "It would do for all of us to put the past behind us—painful or otherwise. As a doctor, I've learned that life is precious—too precious for wasteful lingering over mistakes we've made or having vain regrets." He smiled, then drained his cup, set it upon its saucer, replaced it on the tray, and said, "And that's enough unsolicited philosophy from a country doctor. Now, I must be off." He stood up and started toward the door. "Thank you for a most delightful ending to a particularly happy Christmas Day."
Holly rose and went with him into the hallway and handed him his coat. Around his neck he wrapped the red-and-purple striped muffler the Misses Bodine had given him for a Christmas gift, and he plunged his hands into his pockets for his gloves. Then a slow grin broke across his face as he said, "Well, well, what do you know? I wonder how this got in here?" and instead of his gloves, he brought out a small sprig of mistletoe.
