Ginger (Marrying Miss Kringle)

by Lucy McConnell

  “Don’t make any sudden moves,” said Joseph out of the side of his mouth.

  Ginger bit back her chuckle.

  If Stella had been at her side, she would have stepped up, introduced them both, and winked at the cutest guy.

  Ginger sighed before pasting on a smile. “Sorry to interrupt your dinner, er, folks.”

  A woman with leathered skin and a salt-and-pepper bun perched on the very top of her head burst through the swinging door. Taking in the scene faster than a hawk, she waved to Ginger. “Come on over here, you three, and I’ll get you settled.”

  Ginger glanced at Joseph. “We’re not together.”

  “Well, you’ll have to sit together because I only got one table left.”

  Trudy, as her name tag said, seated them at the table right next to the kitchen.

  Ginger sensed some kindred, if not busy, spirit in the hostess. As she wove between the tables, the men’s gazes followed. The attention didn’t bother Ginger as much as it would have bothered Lux. She thrived in crowds, though she preferred crowds of children to groups of flannel-clad men with flirting on their minds.

  Trudy pounded her hand on a table. “Now look here, gentlemen. If you plan on eating here, you’d best tuck your chins to your plates, ya hear?”

  “Thanks, Trudy.” Ginger felt only a few stares, but they were from under hat brims. No one dared tick off Trudy—that is, no one who ever got hungry. Ginger took the seat by the kitchen door and let Layla and her uncle take places across from her.

  “You three want the turkey plate?” Trudy asked.

  “Yes, ma’am.” Joseph reached into his coat pocket and produced canned goods, which he turned over to Trudy.

  “Actually, I was looking for someone. Maybe you could help me?”

  “Sure. If ya hurry. I got corn on the stove and I don’t want ’em to boil over.”

  Ginger recalled the first name on the list. “I’m trying to find Patrick Greggory Scott. Do you know him?”

  Trudy wiped her hands on her apron. “You his wife?”

  “Me? What?” Ginger’s giggle was high-pitched and strained. How was she supposed to answer that one with a straight face?

  Not yet?

  I hope to be?

  With any luck …?

  “Of course not.” She stopped. “Is he married?” Dad’s info sheet didn’t say anything about a previous marriage or divorce. He wouldn’t have ignored something that big, would he? No, if nothing else, Dad was a stickler for details. He wouldn’t have put a married man on her wish list.

  “Not that I know of.”

  “But up here you never know,” added Joseph.

  Ginger leaned her arm on the table. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, Clearview is far enough away that a man can leave behind his past life without having documentation. We have more than our share of runaways and lost boys.”

  Was Joseph one of those men who had left behind another life? Ginger frowned. She wasn’t looking for a husband from the Isle of Misfit Toys. Not that Joseph was husband material. He lived in the same town as her top five, and he hadn’t made the list. There must be a reason for it.

  “Where ya from?” asked Trudy.

  “North,” she replied without thinking. The North Pole software didn’t track things like marriages. Maybe it should. She’d need to bring that up with Lux.

  “Ha!” Trudy slapped the table again, jolting Ginger out of her thoughts. “There’s nothin’ north of here ’cept polar bears.”

  Ginger cringed. She needed to pay attention to her answers if she was going to fit in.

  Trudy leaned back, considering Ginger. “Well, your secrets are your own, and I won’t pry.” She pointed at Joseph. “And neither should you.”

  “I wouldn’t.” Joseph held up both hands, offended and quite debonair.

  And quite off the list.

  Ginger got to her feet. “How about I wash dishes?” She was still full and still had five other men to inquire after. Trudy could be an ally in the quest to find a new Santa.

  “Sounds like a deal.” Trudy waved her through the door. “Oh, Dr. Scott went to his parents’ place for Thanksgiving. I can give you directions to their cabin, or you can wait till he comes home. His place is above his office next door.”

  The turtledoves were back. A doctor. Hmmm. That couldn’t be so bad. A doctor would have schooling and a trade. Not that the North Pole needed a doctor …

  Trudy’s kitchen was orderly and clean. The stainless steel appliances gleamed under the florescent lights. A bowl of pie crust dough waited on the counter. Ginger tossed on an apron and washed her hands. Within moments, she had three crusts rolled, pricked, and ready to go for the pumpkin filling.

  “You’re quite the worker bee,” remarked Trudy.

  “My mom insisted we all learn some domestic skills,” Ginger replied.

  “What’s your mom do?” asked Trudy.

  “She’s vice president of Kringle Toys,” threw in Ginger as she slid a tray full of silverware through the industrial dishwasher.

  Trudy’s discerning gaze was almost as good as Santa’s. “How did you say you knew the doc? I think I missed that in the conversation.”

  “I really just know of him. He’s a friend of a friend.” Ginger stuck her hands in the sudsy water. Trudy had a sleigh-load of dishes that needed washing, which was as good a reason as any to put off meeting Patrick Greggory Scott. Doctor Patrick Greggory Scott. It wasn’t like she could fly right up to his parents’ remote cabin, knock on the door, and ask him to marry her. Although if he had eyes even half as striking as Joseph’s were, she may consider doing just that.

  Trudy took two turkey plates out the door. In the brief moment when the door swung back, Ginger caught sight of Joseph helping Layla lay her napping across her knees. His tenderness with his niece and soft mannerisms stirred something inside Ginger.

  She found that her previous excitement to meet the doctor had faded, leaving her feeling like a mountainside after a heavy snow—laden down and somewhat dangerous. If she didn’t tread carefully, an avalanche of trouble could wipe her, and Christmas, right off the face of the earth. Turning her back to the dining room, she recited her list to herself once again, starting with Patrick Greggory Scott.

  Chapter Six

  “I don’t think it looks too bad.” Joseph stepped back to admire his handiwork. He and Layla had spent the evening hours constructing ornaments out of bits and pieces they found in his woodshop. He wired twigs together to make stars. Layla cut candy cane shapes out of sandpaper. Rough and rustic, maybe, but the tree held a certain charm to it. The Bear charm.

  Not that he was diving into Christmas now that he and Layla had consumed their fair share of pumpkin pie and non-burnt turkey. Speaking of turkey, the burnt turkey had mysteriously flown the coop. Timber, his wolfish dog, slumbered away by the fire as if his stomach was as full as theirs. Joseph had a good idea where the bird had gone.

  “I wish we had lights.” Layla sank onto the couch. “Or candles. I read a book once and the tree in that book had candles on it.”

  Joseph cleared his throat. The last thing he needed in his woodshop was an open flame. “Fresh out of Christmas lights and candles. But—” He wagged his finger, feeling particularly clever with his next idea. “I have something for the top.” He wired one of his headlamps to the highest branch and pressed the switch. “A star that really shines.”

  Layla grinned. “Not bad.”

  “Not bad?” Joseph dropped onto the cushion next to her. His chin registered the jarring motion. It ached, but not as badly as he’d expected, considering the force that woman had used to throw the door open. There wasn’t much swelling. Probably because that woman had applied the ice pack so quickly. “It’s brilliant.”

  “Now it’s time to make cookies and write my letter to Santa.”

  Joseph slumped into the cushions. Since they’d run into that woman, Layla’s Christmas spirit had quadrupled. She’d peppered Jos
eph with stories of Christmases past. Pastor Willis stopped in as pie was being served and invited Layla to participate in the live Nativity. Now that was a tradition Joseph could get behind. He’d attended in years past, hanging out near the back but enjoying the sweet spirit that came when recognizing the birth of the Savior.

  Perhaps that woman who had breezed into the café and picked up Layla had done more of a number on him than the door. Her auburn hair, glistening red in the café lights, hung down her back, long and thick. Her blue eyes twinkled. He could swear they did. Like the Christmas lights in the window. Only they were blue—blue like ice, only the warmest ice he’d ever known. He could have plunged into those eyes and just kept falling. Especially with her hand in his hair. His longer-than-normal hair. Maybe he should get it cut …

  He brushed Layla’s unruly hair off her forehead. He wasn’t really free to consider thoughts of that woman. No, he had Layla to think about now. Her needs should come first. “No need to write a letter. You can just tell me what you want.”

  Layla folded her arms. “That’s not how it works. Besides, if we make gingerbread men, we can put some on the tree.”

  “Well, it’s pretty late, so you’ll have to wait for another day.”

  Layla sighed. “I’m not tired.”

  “Sure you are.” Joseph jumped to his feet, picked her up, and threw her over his shoulder. “You’re so tired, you can’t even walk to the house.”

  “Uncle Joseph,” Layla gasped between giggles. “I can walk.”

  “No way. You’ll fall into the snowbank and hibernate until spring.”

  “Uncle Joseph!” She kicked her feet. “I can walk.”

  He leaned over and set her on her feet, making sure she was steady before he let go. “Prove it.”

  With her chin in the air, Layla threw on her coat and marched from the workshop to the house and right into her room. “See?”

  Joseph sucked in air. He’d shut off all the lights, closed and locked the workshop door, and chased after Layla to follow her through the front door. Timber huffed, having trotted along behind them.

  “I guess you were right. I’ll never doubt you again.” Joseph laid his hand over his heart.

  Layla stuck her tongue out and then laughed.

  Joseph chuckled. “I’ll come tuck you in in a couple minutes.”

  “Okay.” Layla yawned and shut her door so she could put her pajamas on.

  Joseph let out another deep breath. He’d dodged a Santa bullet tonight, but he couldn’t put Layla’s holiday requests off forever. One of these days, he was going to have to face Christmas and the memories and the disappointments. He’d been naive to believe he could put it on a mental shelf and pretend those feelings didn’t exist.

  After tucking Layla in, he headed to his room. Under the bed, in an old wooden box that his father had made, Joseph found the one and only Bear family portrait. Taken in front of their Christmas tree the year Ruth was born, the image was grainy and muted like any image before digital cameras. A three-year-old Joseph sat on his father’s knee, wearing a wide-striped sweater and a pair of dark corduroy pants. Baby Ruth was displayed in their mother’s arms, wearing an elf costume. They smiled for the camera. Dad’s right arm hung useless at his side. The limb had frozen one winter while illegally hunting for moose, and Dad wouldn’t let them cut it off. Mom’s hair was curled and her shirt was tucked in. She was pretty without the lines that appeared when she was angry.

  This was the lie. This very picture of a young, happy family together at the holidays. Children hoping for Santa and a stocking full of goodies. If Joseph could peel back the first layer of that photo, he was sure that underneath he’d find the real Bear family. The family where dads drink and sulk, moms scream and yell, and children are best loved and fed when they bring home a paycheck.

  Through his parents, Joseph had learned that doing and being good didn’t bring presents. There was no list where you got recognition for washing dishes or skipping dinner so your little sister could have your half of a sandwich. No matter how hard he tried, Joseph never made it on the good list. Not with his parents, and certainly not with Santa. Christmas morning was always a reminder that he wasn’t quite good enough.

  Scratching under his beard, Joseph glared at the picture. He refused to allow Layla to feel as if she was anything less than wonderful. Come Christmas morning, the girl would find a load of gifts under that pathetic tree in the workshop—even if he had to make them himself.

  *

  The following Monday, Joseph and Layla waited on the Trading Post’s wooden porch, stomping their feet to keep warm and waiting for the shop to open. Layla was in desperate need of a few articles, not the least of which was a good pair of gloves. Joseph was determined to buy out the store if they had any children’s gloves available. Sundays were a good day to see kids in town, but for the most part, they romped close to home.

  They didn’t have to wait long in the cold. As soon as Kazu saw them through the glass, he hurried over. “Mornin’, Joseph.” He swung the door wide. “Who’ve ya got with ya?”

  “This is my niece, Layla. She’ll be staying with me for a while.”

  Kazu, the grizzly old man, offered Layla a sucker.

  She looked to Joseph for permission, who nodded that she could accept the treat.

  “Well now, that makes two new girls in town.” Kazu tied his silver hair at the nap of his neck with a leather string.

  “Two?”

  “A pretty young thing rented the lake house. She created quite the stir yesterday, showin’ up at the café out of the blue. Half the men in town have called dibs.”

  Joseph touched his chin, thinking of the pretty little thing he’d met the day before. Well, not met exactly. More like ran into. Still a little swollen, he suspected the damage could have been worse. Against his better judgment, he asked, “Who won?”

  Kazu shrugged as if it didn’t matter one bit to him, even though he was Clearview’s biggest gossip. The man enjoyed reeling in a whopper of a tale more than he enjoyed fishing for salmon on the Wolf River. “Quik.”

  “Quik? I thought he was heading out to his fallback cabin for the winter.” Quik was a hermit homesteader who came to town for Thanksgiving and the Fourth of July. Other than that, he lived off the land and stayed as far away from civilization as possible, except for the few times he called in on the CB to report bears wandering towards town. As the farthest-out edge of civilization, Quik had a duty to warn others of danger.

  Kazu’s grin spread across his face like melted butter. “Said he wanted to offer the lady a chance to settle down.”

  Joseph’s skin prickled thinking of that woman and her gentle ways with someone like Quik. Not that there was anything wrong with Quik, he guessed. Not that he knew that much about the man. “Did he now?”

  “Yep.” Kazu opened a box of canned peaches and pulled one out. “I’ll tell you what, I’ve never seen a man with a bigger grin. He swaggered out, puffed up like a bull moose.”

  “Huh.” Joseph shook his head to clear the image of that woman nuzzling noses with Layla out of his mind. Since he was an honest man, he had to admit that he’d spent a good portion of the night dwelling on that image—marveling at it, even.

  “Scooter’s next in line.” Kazu focused on his stack of cans. “What about you? You gonna throw your hat in the ring?”

  Joseph shook his head.

  “Well if you do, you’d better get on it—word spread fast over the radio last night. Weren’t you listenin’ in?”

  Like everyone else, Joseph tuned in to the local radio station at seven p.m. to hear town news. Sometimes people were searching for parts for tractors, trucks, or other machines, and sometimes people wanted a trade. Last winter Joseph had exchanged a bed for forty pounds of ground beef and a nightstand for a new seat for his four-wheeler. Sometimes the trades involved more than two people, and you had to pay attention. That’s when it got real entertaining. Not as entertaining as last night would have
been. He’d liked to have heard who else was interested in that woman. Not that he was interested in her, so to speak.

  “Layla and I were decorating a tree.” He moved to put his hand on Layla’s shoulder and only found air. “Layla?” he scanned the store, wondering where she’d gotten to. “Layla?” He left Kazu and made a quick search of the five short aisles. “She’s not here.” Panic sharpened his thoughts, and he ran for the door. “I’ll check Main Street, you check the back,” he yelled at Kazu, who nodded.

  The cold morning air slapped Joseph’s skin. Darting to the middle of the street, he surveyed the walkways for Layla’s blue hat or any part of her that would stand out in the darkness. Never had Joseph cursed the lack of sunlight like he did at that moment.

  Not seeing her outside, he crossed back to the east side of the street and ran to the hardware store. “Did you see my niece come in here?” he demanded of Susan White, who stood at the checkout, a long list on the counter.

  She put her hand over her chest. “Is she lost?” She scrambled to find her walkie-talkie. “I’ll call the mayor, and we’ll get search and rescue together. We have to find her. There’s hardly any light. Do you think she wandered away from town? Quik said he saw three wolves out by his place.”

  Joseph swallowed. Normally he’d brush off Susan’s theatrics. Quik saw wolves all year long; the man lived so deep in the woods he could talk to chipmunks. But this was Layla. “I’m going to keep searching.”

  Susan waved him away, already reporting into a hand radio. Every horrible headline Joseph had ever read about kids lost in Alaska in the winter ran through his head. Lurching into the post office, he came up short to see Layla deep in conversation with that woman, who indeed smelled like gingerbread cookies.

  “Frost reads all the letters and she puts the information in the computer, and then Stella works with—” Her eyes darted to the side. “… the list manager to make sure the child is on the good list before she puts in the order from the elves. From there, it’s mostly elf work.”