by Amanda Cabot
Celia shook her head, wondering whether Mark had overheard Jacob. He’d spoken softly, so perhaps he hadn’t. Still, Jacob’s words threatened to spoil the evening. She knew she had to make a decision, and she would, but this was not the time or place, and so Celia said only, “I need the extra week, Jacob.” Before she could answer Jacob, she needed to know how Mark felt and whether her dream of happily-ever-after with him would come true. If not . . .
As she returned toward the boardinghouse, Celia’s heart was heavy. Though he tried, it was obvious that Jacob couldn’t handle his son alone. Aaron needed a mother, and Celia was the obvious choice, at least for him and his father.
She knew Jacob didn’t love her. In his defense, he had never pretended that love was the reason he wanted to marry her, and his words tonight only confirmed that. Their marriage would be a business arrangement, not much different from Celia’s marriage to Josef. She took a deep breath, reminding herself that that union had brought her happiness and Emma. Perhaps marriage to Jacob would be equally pleasant.
Biting back tears, Celia tried to concentrate on the beauty of the season. A light snow was falling, and for once it was not driven by the wind. Instead of icy pellets stinging her face, she felt the soft kiss of snowflakes on her cheeks. Emma was sleeping in Mark’s arms, and he seemed pensive. Perhaps he was quiet because he was exhausted by the long hours he had worked to complete the townspeople’s Christmas gifts. Celia didn’t know. All she knew was that her heart ached.
11
She tied the apron strings, then reached for the coffee. Mark would need it for his journey, and she needed it to wake up. Though she had tried to summon slumber, Celia had slept little. Instead, she had lain motionless, remembering Aaron’s face when he’d run to her and trying to imagine life as Jacob’s wife. Each time she had thought she knew what her answer would be, the memory of those precious moments in the church when she had felt that she and Mark were a family would resurface.
Over and over, the thoughts circled through Celia’s brain, causing her to clench her fists, then force herself to relax. It was only when she abandoned all hope of sleep and began to dress that she felt the indecision that had plagued her slide away as swiftly as a sheet of ice from a steep roof, shattering when it hit the ground. There was only one answer. She could not marry Jacob. Even if it meant raising Emma alone, Celia would not tie herself to a man she did not love. She and Emma deserved more than a convenient marriage.
The coffee was ready by the time she heard footsteps on the stairway, its aroma filling Celia with happy memories, confirming that her decision was the right one. She reached for a second cup.
“Merry Christmas, Celia.” His hair still wet from his morning ablutions, Mark looked more handsome than ever today. His snowy white shirt, dark jacket, and silver gray ascot were the ones he’d worn to church last night, and yet they looked somehow different today, more festive. Or perhaps it was only Celia’s mood that made her imagine a difference.
“I thought you might like a cup of coffee before your trip,” she said, gesturing toward the pot. The plan was for Mark to bring his uncle back to Easton for breakfast at the boardinghouse. Though Celia had suggested that Lionel come on Christmas Eve for the traditional Swedish dinner and stay overnight, he’d refused, and so she had changed her plans, moving the big meal to Christmas Day and resolving to make their celebration span the entire day.
“Coffee would be good, but there’s something I want to do first.” Mark looked around the room. “Is Emma still asleep?”
“Surprisingly, yes. It must have been all the excitement and the late night, but she’s sleeping later than normal.”
That seemed to please Mark. “I’ll be right back.” Without bothering to put on a coat despite the frigid temperatures, he headed for the door.
“You’ll freeze,” Celia said. Even worse, he might catch cold and be as ill as Emma had been. But Mark merely shook his head.
Only moments later he returned, carrying a bulky object that he’d draped with a blanket. “This is for Emma,” he said as he placed it on the floor. “I know you planned to open gifts later, once Uncle Lionel and the others arrive, but I couldn’t wait any longer to show this to you. I hope you’ll like it.”
The uncertainty in Mark’s eyes tugged at Celia’s heart, telling her the man she loved so dearly was vulnerable. She looked at the blanket, trying to imagine what was underneath it.
“I know Emma’s too young for this right now,” Mark continued, “but I had one as a child. My mother claimed it was my favorite toy for a number of years. That’s why I thought Emma might enjoy one.”
Slowly, almost as if he were reluctant to reveal it, Mark uncovered the gift. For a second, Celia was speechless, overwhelmed by its beauty. Then she found her voice and turned to Mark, hoping the smile that threatened to crack her face told him of her pleasure. “Oh, Mark, I’ve never seen anything so beautiful.”
She had seen rocking horses before and had, in fact, owned one as a child. But that had been an ordinary rocking horse. This one was a work of art. Its face was so lifelike that Celia almost expected to hear it neigh, and its gently sloped back practically begged a child to climb on it. But what turned the carved animal into something truly extraordinary was the wreath of roses around its neck. Though the horse itself was simply varnished, the roses were painted red, white, and every shade of pink. While some were fully opened, others were buds just starting to bloom. Mark had created a bouquet of roses.
“This is magnificent.” Celia ran her finger around one of the flowers, delighting in the detailed carving, and in that moment, she wished she were small enough to ride the horse. “It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. I can’t imagine that the one you rode as a boy looked like this.”
Mark shrugged.
“I’ll bet yours didn’t have roses.”
He shrugged again. “That’s true, but I was a boy. Little girls like different things. I know you like roses, so I thought your daughter might too.”
Tears sprang to Celia’s eyes at this latest evidence of Mark’s thoughtfulness. Not even Josef had understood how much she loved roses, but Mark did. Emma’s rocking horse was the perfect present, a gift of his time and talent, made all the more special by the thought that he had put in to designing it. He had created a toy that both Emma and her mother would treasure.
“I don’t know what to say.” Celia stroked the wooden horse’s head before turning back to Mark. “No one has ever given me a present like this.”
Mark’s lips curved into a wry smile. “The horse is for Emma. You have to wait for your gift.”
There had never been a Christmas like this. Mark smiled as he looked around the parlor. This had been the happiest Christmas he could remember, all because of Celia. She had made it a special day for everyone, especially Lionel.
Mark gave his uncle a quick glance, then looked away when he saw that the man was staring at Emma, an odd expression on his face. Lionel had been quieter than normal on the ride to Easton, leaving Mark to assume that he was apprehensive about being around so many people. Celia had changed that the instant he entered the house. As soon as his uncle had shucked his coat, she had thrust a cup of coffee in his hand and led him to the parlor where Emma’s rocking horse sat in front of the tree.
“Isn’t it wonderful?” she asked, gesturing toward the gift. “Mark made it.”
Lionel blinked and set his cup on one of the tables. Approaching the rocking horse, he ran his hands over it, tracing the outline of the largest roses. “You’re a mighty talented man.” Lionel’s lips twisted into a wry smile. “You must have inherited that from your ma. You shore didn’t get it from your pa.” He was silent for a second, touching the carved garland again. “I reckon your pa’d be proud if he could see you today.”
Moisture filled Mark’s eyes, and he turned aside lest someone see how deeply Lionel’s words had affected him. “I hope he would. I guess I’ll never know, will I?” he said when he
’d regained his composure.
Before Lionel could respond, Hiram descended the stairs, and Celia announced that breakfast was ready. The rest of the day passed too quickly. Frank, Jacob, and Aaron arrived for dinner and the opening of gifts, both of which showcased Celia’s kindness. Though Mark knew she was short on time and funds, she had a special gift for everyone. She had made a rag doll for Emma and a stuffed horse for Aaron. If that weren’t enough, she’d knitted a pair of socks for Hiram and had surprised Lionel with a warm scarf and pair of mittens. But all the gifts paled compared to the wonderfully soft flannel shirt she had made for Mark. He’d never had one that fit so well. When he’d asked her how she’d known his size, Celia had blushed slightly, telling him a benefit of doing his laundry was that she could measure his shirts.
Though Frank and Jacob looked a bit disappointed when their gifts were large tins filled with cookies, Mark had felt his spirits continue to soar as he hoped that their less personal gifts were a sign that Celia was not considering Jacob’s proposal. He might be a good father—and Mark would not dispute that—but she deserved a better husband than a man who’d tell the woman he was wooing that he was also considering a mail-order bride.
For her part, Celia seemed pleased with her gifts, oohing and aahing over Hiram’s sack of candy, the crumb tray from Frank, and the linen handkerchiefs from Aaron and Jacob. Mark hoped it wasn’t his imagination that her eyes held a special sparkle when she opened the rose-colored glass vase he’d given her. He didn’t know what kind of flowers bloomed here, but when he’d seen the vase in Frank’s store, he’d thought it would look pretty in Celia’s parlor, even empty.
They’d all eaten more food than they needed, then returned to the parlor to sing Christmas carols. And now, as the sun began to set, Jacob gathered Aaron’s gifts, Frank made his farewells, and Hiram climbed the stairs. Within minutes, only Celia, Mark, and Lionel were in the parlor.
“Are you certain you won’t stay overnight, Mr. Williams?”
Mark’s uncle shook his head. “’Fraid not. I shore appreciate the offer, ma’am, but I cain’t sleep in a strange bed.”
Celia nodded. “At least let me fix a basket of food for you.” Without waiting for a response, she headed for the kitchen.
For a moment, there was silence in the parlor. Then Lionel approached the rocking horse, touching the garland before setting it into motion. When he turned, his eyes were glistening. “It’s fine work, Mark. Your pa is mighty proud of you.”
Mark shrugged, wishing his uncle hadn’t brought up the subject of his father again. “I’d like to think so.”
“I know so.” Lionel cleared his throat and took a step toward Mark, extending his hand. “There’s no way but to say it plain out. You see, son . . . I’m your pa.”
For a second, Mark could do nothing but stare. Then, as the words registered, he felt the blood drain from his head. “You?” He grabbed the closest chair back for support. “If you’re my father, why did you pretend to be Lionel? Was he the one who died?”
The older man shook his head. “I never had a brother. You shore flummoxed me the day you showed up, lookin’ so much like me. I reckoned I had to come up with a story. Couldn’t let you know the truth.”
Anger surged through Mark. He’d traveled so far, searching for his father, and when he found him, the man lied. “Why? Why did you let me think you were dead? Why did you say my father was killed in that box canyon?”
“I almost died there.” The gray eyes so like his own darkened with remembered pain. “It took months ’fore I could walk again. Bein’ stuck in bed gives a man plenty of time to figger out what he oughta do with his life. I didn’t want you and Grace to hold out any hopes of seein’ me again. That’s why I had someone send her a letter telling her I had died. I figgered she’d remarry, once you was grown. I may be a selfish old coot, but I couldn’t stand thinkin’ she was gonna grow old alone.”
“You could have come back. We both wanted you there.” Though the words were harsh, Mark felt his anger fade into regret. He wasn’t the only one who had suffered. All three of them had lost so much.
“And let you see a broken man who wasn’t good at anything? I didn’t have much left, but I still had my pride.” Clearing his throat again, he laid his hand on Mark’s arm. “You may not believe me, but I love you, son. Always did. I just figgered you’d be better off without me. I reckoned I wouldn’t be much of a pa, so I left.” His grip tightened. “I’m sorry I hurt you and your ma, but I cain’t undo that. What I wanna know is, can you forgive me?”
There was only one possible answer. As regrets faded and his heart filled with happiness that the empty years were over, Mark took a step forward and wrapped his arms around his father. “You’re the best Christmas present I’ve ever had.” Refusing to let go of the man he’d finally found, Mark turned toward the kitchen. “Celia, come meet my father.”
What a wonderful Christmas it had been! Celia hummed as she washed and dried the china. Her prayers had been answered, for Mark’s dream had come true. And maybe, just maybe, her own would too. Now that he’d been reunited with his father, Mark might make Easton his home.
She was putting the last dish back in the china cabinet when she heard the front door open. He was back.
“Was it hard leaving your father?” she asked as she joined Mark in the parlor. In a moment, she would offer him another cup of coffee and a piece of pound cake, but first she wanted to be certain he had no regrets about taking Abe back to his cabin.
Mark nodded. “I wish he’d move into town, but I can’t complain. All that matters is that I found him. It made my day almost perfect.”
“Almost?” Celia heard the astonishment in her voice. “What more could you want?”
A small smile tilted his lips upward. “Christmas isn’t over yet. There’s one more gift to open.” Mark reached into his pocket and withdrew a small wooden box. “I know it’s supposed to be wrapped, but I’m all thumbs when it comes to paper and ribbons.”
Celia stared at the box. Though simple, its top was embellished with a carved C, leaving no doubt that it was meant for her. “It’s lovely, Mark, and it’s just the right size to hold my mother’s string of pearls.”
Mark’s eyes darkened, and his voice was husky as he said, “Open it. There’s something inside.”
Celia paused for a second, her hands unexpectedly shaky. When she lifted the lid, her breath came out in a gasp. The rocking horse was beautiful, but this . . . Celia’s heart raced as she stared at a perfect rosebud suspended from a golden chain. Though her brain told her that the rose was carved of wood, her heart wouldn’t listen. Certain it was real, she lifted it to her nose, but instead of the sweet floral fragrance she expected, she smelled the distinctive aroma of cedar. This rose would never fade. Though Emma would outgrow the rocking horse, Celia knew she would cherish the exquisitely carved necklace for the rest of her life.
“It’s beautiful,” she said softly. Another tangible proof of Mark’s caring, another reason not to marry Jacob. He would always have been second best, and that wouldn’t have been fair to him.
Mark took a step closer. His smile faded, but his eyes gleamed with intensity. Never before had Celia seen him looking like that, both serious and tender at the same time that his eyes seemed to be asking a question. “Let me fasten it for you.” When he’d secured the pendant around her neck, Mark turned her so she was facing him again. “I hope you know what this is.”
“Of course. It’s a rose.”
He shook his head. “It’s not just a rose.” Reaching out, he clasped her hands. Mark’s grip was warm and firm, and combined with the emotion Celia saw shining from his eyes, the simple act of joining hands made her feel cherished. That was a more precious gift than the rose itself.
“It’s a Christmas rose.”
A Christmas rose! Celia felt the blood rush to her face as she remembered the day she had told Mark of her fanciful wish. Afterward, she had wondered if he’d thought h
er foolish. It seemed he had not, for here was the proof. This wonderful man had turned one of her dreams into reality. He’d given her a Christmas rose that would never fade. More than that, he’d given her the gift of himself, using his time and talent to create the perfect present.
Mark’s expression remained solemn. “You said you wouldn’t marry again unless you found a man who would give you roses for Christmas.”
Celia’s heart skipped a beat, and in that instant, she knew the truth. Mark loved her. He might not ever say the words, but she could not doubt his love.
He tightened his grip on her hands, and smiled at her, his eyes so filled with love that Celia thought she might burst with happiness. “I know the rose isn’t real, but my love is. I love you, Celia, not because you’re a wonderful cook and an even better mother. I love you because you’re you—a beautiful woman whose beauty is more than skin deep.”
Words. He’d given her words. Warmth flooded through Celia as Mark’s words filled the empty spaces deep inside her, making her wonder how she could have doubted his love. It was in his smile, in everything he did, and now it was in his touch. The hands that clasped hers were moving slowly, caressing her fingers, sending waves of delight through her veins.
He raised her hands to his lips and pressed a kiss on her fingertips. “I love you, and I love your daughter. I don’t think I could love her more if she were mine by birth.”
And Emma loved him. Celia smiled as she remembered her daughter calling Mark Dada. Bertha had been right. Emma needed a father, but not just any father. She needed Mark.
“I want to be with you as you raise her. I want to give Emma a father’s love.” Tiny worry lines formed between Mark’s eyes. “I can’t promise I’ll be a perfect husband or father. All I can promise is that I’ll spend my life trying. Will that be enough?” Before Celia could answer, he tugged slightly, drawing her closer to him. “I love you, Celia. Will you make my life complete? Will you marry me?”
