Woodland Christmas

by Murray, Tamela Hancock

  “I would.” For the first time that day, Father’s features melted into something like approval. “R. C. Sparks is a fine man. You should look at him twice, you know.”

  “He’d never look at me twice except as a little sister. Or with pity.” She decided not to mention that whether R.C. gave her a thought in the world or not, Gabriella sneaked looks at him from the corners of her eyes whenever he was nearby. With strong, manly features and wavy dark hair, plus dark, flashing eyes, his presence overtook any room whenever he entered. When he left, the place felt vacant no matter how many others might be present. She decided conversation had best remain on their original topic. “So what is it about Grandfather?”

  “Your grandfather. Yes. He had his faults, but he loved you. He loved that you’re his namesake.”

  Gabriella had always treasured the idea that she’d been named after her grandfather. When he lived in Houston, Gabe Noell was a man both envied and admired. Always dressed in a black suit and smelling of spicy shaving lotion, he sported a pleasant paunch and a confident attitude that marked his status. She suspected in his prime he’d been quite the hard-nosed businessman, but she never saw that side of him. He only had a soft spirit toward his granddaughter. “Why do you think he liked to carve wood, Father?”

  “He learned it as a boy, from his father. I suppose when he grew older, the act of making wood take shape brought back memories of a simpler time.” Father let out a burdened sigh. “He worked hard but never seemed to appreciate the luxuries his success afforded. I never understood that about him.”

  Gabriella decided not to comment on her father’s love of fine things. Even the gout he suffered didn’t curb his cravings for rich food. “Maybe he wanted you to know more about simple pleasures. He tried to teach you how to carve, didn’t he?”

  Father nodded. “I just never had the knack for it. Guess that’s another reason we never got along.”

  Try as he might to hide behind a self-evident reason, Gabriella knew better. The final rift came when Gabe decided to relinquish his riches to the poor. Since no one considered Father poor, that meant his—and Gabriella’s—inheritance never materialized for them. With his business acumen and determination, Father made his own fortune, but he never let go of his resentment of his own father for his change of heart, and life. After Gabe made his announcement that his son and granddaughter would never see a penny of his fortune, father and son never again spoke to one another. Gabriella wished things were different. With no mother, the emotional support of a loving grandfather would have been welcome.

  Father’s cough brought her back to the present. His increasing discomfort made her all the more distressed and uneasy.

  “May I fetch you a glass of water, Father?”

  He shook his head, coughing all the while. “No, but there is something else you can do for me. You can find your grandfather.”

  She paused, too shocked to respond right away. “Find Grandfather?”

  He nodded. “I have a few things I want to say to him before I …”

  Gabriella stood and looked away from the sickbed. “Don’t say it, Father. I can’t bear it.”

  Father’s touch upon her hand turned her back to him. “I know you haven’t had an easy life. Oh, some would say it’s been too easy, considering our money and position. But you haven’t had it easy in the ways that matter most. And that’s partially my fault. I don’t suppose I should have been so hard on your grandfather.”

  Remembering his earlier expressions of resentment, this new admission came to Gabriella as a surprise. A surge of sympathy visited her. “Please don’t blame yourself. Grandfather was determined to give away his fortune. Nothing could have changed his mind.”

  “True, but my response could have been different. I—I shouldn’t have turned from the Lord when I learned about my father’s plans to disinherit us.”

  “He didn’t disinherit us from anything except money.”

  “Except money. What else is there?” Father snorted.

  “He didn’t take away the real gifts you got from him. Such as his intelligence and his determination. Without such qualities, you never would have succeeded.”

  “Yes, I’m afraid I do possess some of his traits.”

  “All the good ones, I’m sure.” Gabriella turned her teasing tone serious. Now that her father had begun to reveal his secrets, she didn’t want the opportunity to talk about the Lord to slip away. His illness precluded him from returning to church, so for the time being, she was his only witness. “So, you want things to be better between you and the Lord?”

  He pondered her question before responding. “I still don’t understand everything the Lord does, but I know I’d be better off with Him than without Him. I hope it’s not too late.”

  “It’s never too late, until you pass from this earth.” “You sound like the pastor.”

  “I’m glad to hear it.” She paused. “So you wanting me to find Grandfather is your way of reconciling with God?”

  “Part of it. I don’t want to leave this earth without saying good-bye to him. If he’s still living, that is.”

  Gabriella felt a catch in her throat. Much as she hated to admit it, Father was right. Grandfather may have gone home to the Lord by now. And if he had, then what? She didn’t want to consider the possibility. “What do you want me to do, Father?”

  “I want you to find him, of course. And bring him here.”

  Gabriella pondered the possibility and came up wanting. How could she begin a quest for someone she hadn’t seen in years?

  As if he heard her question, Father responded. “There’s a letter in the top left-hand compartment of my desk. Bring it to me.”

  Gabriella never ventured into her father’s desk. Even sick as he was, that was his domain, and she respected the fact that the papers were none of her affair.

  She could tell by Father’s demeanor that the letter was important. Curiosity quickening her footsteps, she retrieved the letter and brought it to him.

  “It’s from your aunt Minnie.”

  “Aunt Minnie? But she—”

  “I know she died. And we didn’t go to her funeral. She wouldn’t have wanted us there.” Gabriella flinched.

  “But the letter is still valuable. Read it.”

  With sadness at all that had been lost in their family thanks to the bitterness of a few, she opened the letter:

  Dear Henry:

  I know this letter will come as a shock to you, but I felt I could not remain silent and still sleep nights. I know your father and you are not on the best of terms, but I feel you must know that in recent times, a man moved here. I never would have thought to connect an itinerant wood-carver to the Noell family, but this man looks all the world like Gabe. The same sharp gray eyes—the ones you and your daughter have—and that determined spirit—make me think he must be Gabe. It’s quite clear by the way he conducts himself that he doesn’t want me to reveal his secret. I can discern that he realizes that I know who he is. It is clear to me that he wants to keep to his new identity, although only the good Lord knows why. You wouldn’t believe how he lives, Henry. He accepts alms from people who love his wood carvings. The place he calls home is a hole of a room in a hovel rented out by a woman of questionable reputation. He’s so thin that one has an immediate desire to give him something to eat. Yet he seems happier than he ever did when he was flush with money and could buy any number of goods and services. I really don’t understand how he could give up everything to live in such squalor, but he has. I buy the occasional carved trinket from him, just to keep my conscience clear, but I have the distinct impression most of my money goes to street urchins and other types of undesirable people. You do realize, of course, that our brother Frank would be

  quite vexed if he knew, so don’t say a word.

  Don’t trouble yourself in answering. I am well as ever and you have no need to worry about me. I trust you will be discreet and not mention this little missive to anyone. I just feel bet
ter knowing that I have told you that your father is alive—barely—here in Dallas.

  Yours, Minnie

  Gabriella envisioned her grandfather as this new, strange man. The image left her feeling a number of emotions, not all pleasant. “So you know where Grandfather is, and you didn’t tell me?”

  “I didn’t have a reason to tell you because I wasn’t going to look for him. Besides, he moves from place to place. Who knows if he’s still there or not? Or if he ever was.”

  Thoughts of what could have happened to her beloved grandfather came unbidden into Gabriella’s mind. She urged them away with such force that her head shook. “If only we’d been closer to Aunt Minnie. Then we could have written back and learned more.”

  “Perhaps, but I was lucky she wrote even then. As you can see, she told me not to write back, and I never dared go against her request.” The pained look on Father’s face as a response made her wish she’d remained silent. Father had alienated almost everyone in his family, including Gabriella’s aunts and Uncle Frank, who all sided with Grandfather. “She never forgave me, you know. And neither did your aunt Dorcas. For your sake, I wish they had. Perhaps they could have been a substitute of sorts for your mother.”

  The thought had crossed Gabriella’s mind over the years, but what would be accomplished by whipping a frail man on his deathbed about past errors? She reached for practicalities to console him with. “Oh, Father. You know Aunt Minnie was happiest with her cats, and Aunt Dorcas would never leave Arkansas.”

  A faint smile was her reward. “How right you are. I must say, I’m surprised you remember so much.”

  “They were both formidable. And who could forget Grandfather.” Gabriella’s thoughts returned to her mysterious grandfather. Thinking of his possible death, she cast her gaze to her father’s nightstand. She noticed the Bible, a book he had seldom consulted until recent times.

  “I know what you’re thinking, and I hope it’s not too late. I’m praying he’s still there.”

  “How will we find out? We have no address.”

  “There is only one way. You will have to go to Dallas and find him.”

  Chapter 2

  Fern’s shrill voice sounded from the kitchen. “Come to dinner, R.C.” R.C. moved with no urgency to comply. Cook’s night off was his least favorite of the week. His sister’s meals didn’t please him. Thankfully, they could save money by hiring a maid only three days a week, so he could eat well most nights.

  He wished he could keep a full household staff and afford to host elaborate dinner parties to attract eligible bachelors for Fern. Her plain looks and lack of ladylike tact made most potential suitors shy, but she deserved to marry well, and if she did, he would need to fend only for himself. His inheritance money wouldn’t last forever, especially not after he made that bad loan earlier in the year, which wiped out more of his bank shares than he cared to contemplate. He had new deals cooking around the Houston area, but the real estate venture in Dallas was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity sure to shore up his remaining nest egg. With the city attracting new people, he hoped to sell whatever land he could snap up to another speculator for a healthy profit.

  “R.C.!” Fern’s voice sounded more insistent.

  “Coming!” He stuffed his copy of The Houston Post in the wooden container beside the leather chair and headed toward the kitchen. The scent of something burnt floated in the air, although Fern had managed to salvage enough for a meal. Awaiting him was a plate of mashed potatoes with visible lumps and a piece of beef that looked tough and dry as shoe leather, along with a hard roll. He thought of Gabriella and wished she had included more bread along with the delicious cookies.

  R.C. strengthened his voice to make his blessing ring with genuine gratitude for the repast, afterward resolving to ask Cook to leave two portions of her vegetable stew the following week for Fern to reheat—if she could even manage that. He cut into the beef and discovered he needed to saw with his knife to make a dent.

  Fern observed his struggle. “Sorry I scorched the gravy, but nobody ever died from dry meat.”

  “This too shall pass.” With the heart of an adventurer, he placed the beef in his mouth.

  She buttered a roll. “I’ve been meaning to ask you a question. You can wait until after the start of the new year to go to Dallas, can’t you?”

  He wondered what prompted her to query. “I doubt it. That land deal won’t wait forever. Thompson says some others are looking mighty hard at it. I’m taking a chance to wait at all. Just be glad we can celebrate Christmas Day here before we have to head on out.”

  “Oh, what’s so special about Dallas, anyway?”

  “It’s growing by leaps and bounds. I expect the population will hit ten thousand before we know it. I think land near the city will only grow more valuable as time passes.”

  “So the land deal will be your Christmas gift, I suppose.” Fern sighed. “I’ve been waiting to see what you might put under the tree for me. I hope it’s better than the casserole dish you gave me last year.”

  He didn’t conceal his surprise at her evident disappointment. “But you needed a fresh dish. You broke ours, remember?”

  “As though you would let me forget.”

  “I’ll try not to mention it again. But as for this year, I didn’t put your present under the tree yet because you’ll be able to guess what it is as soon as you pick up the package, no matter how thick the tissue paper I use to conceal it. I splurged on a special item that, I assure you, was not easy for me to acquire.” When Mrs. Matthews decided to rid her house of several old volumes, R.C. had purchased her copy of The American Frugal Housewife: Dedicated to Those Who Are Not Ashamed of Economy. He had been proud of himself for scooping up such a rare find. Surely reading the book and following its advice would improve Fern’s life.

  A knowing smile crossed her lips. “I saw that the gold locket I wanted is missing now from the store window. It wouldn’t happen that a certain brother of mine plans to surprise me, would it?”

  His pleasure evaporated. So his sister had wanted a frivolous trinket instead of an informative book. He searched for a preemptive way to mitigate her disappointment. “But you have so many nice necklaces. Mother left you more than one for every day of the week.”

  “I know, and I treasure them all. Too much, in fact. I fear that if I wear them every day, they’ll get damaged, and I’ll never forgive myself.” She fingered the cameo she wore on a gold chain, a favorite carved from precious ivory.

  He weighed his words. “I can’t promise a necklace, but I do hope you’ll like what I did choose. I suppose you’ll have to find a husband who’ll buy you trinkets.”

  She stared at her coffee. “You’re right. I can’t expect my brother to be sentimental. At least I know now, so I won’t be terribly vexed on Christmas Day.” She came close to batting her eyelashes at him. “So as a consolation, might we wait until after the New Year to leave?”

  “Why?” He used the opportunity of waiting for her to answer to try a forkful of potatoes. As expected, lumps abounded.

  Fern pouted. “I want to go to the cantata, and Margaret Owens told me she’s hosting a big meal the first week of January for all of us in Mrs. Harper’s Sunday school class. That includes you, of course. And I think she might be inviting a few of her other friends. It should be quite the soiree. We may meet lots of new people. Doesn’t that sound exciting?”

  R.C. couldn’t have cared less. Not that he minded their friends, but staying home by the fire with a good book fascinated him more than forcing himself to make idle talk with a bunch of silly womenfolk—all hoping for marriage and a chance at his fortune—fluttering in his midst. None of them appealed to him as did Gabriella Noell.

  Letters from solicitors, land dealers, and bankers had awaited his responses that morning, but what had he done? Swayed by Gabriella’s wistful observations about Christmas trees, he had spent the morning chopping the finest one on the Millers’ property. With their permission, of
course. And to think he never would have made Gabriella’s acquaintance if Tyler Boswell, who did business with him and Henry Noell, hadn’t asked R.C. to check in on them now and again.

  He felt sorry for Gabriella. A beauty indeed with rich golden hair and gray eyes, she stayed cooped up in the house with her crotchety father. She dressed in a manner befitting her father’s wealth, suggesting to R.C. that she was just as spoiled and demanding as Fern. Yet she possessed a spirit that made him want to draw closer. “I don’t suppose Gabriella Noell is invited.”

  “Gabriella? Why, she’s never invited to anything, she’s such a recluse.”

  “I think she’d be popular if she went to more parties. From the looks of her dresses, her father spends at least as much money as I do on female attire.”

  “There you go again, fussing about my clothing allowance. I might have known you had an ulterior motive for asking about Gabriella. No wonder you’re still a bachelor. No woman in her right mind would marry a skinflint like you. Although she doesn’t know you’re so cheap, does she? She just thinks you’re her knight in shining armor, running over there to help her every day. So do you want me to get her on the list of invitees?”

  “Oh no, don’t do that.” He never wanted Gabriella to think he was pursuing her. “No, I was just wondering.”

  “Wonder away, but I want to stay here long enough to go to all the festivities. No need for me to be a social outcast all my life. It’s high time for me to set my cap for one of the bachelors. I just haven’t decided which one yet.”

  Since they had moved to Texas from the river bluff town of Lexington, Missouri, to better their business and personal prospects, R.C. knew his sister had set her cap for more than one bachelor, but so far she hadn’t had any takers. If only their mother had lived, perhaps she could have taught her daughter the finer points of etiquette. But as it was, R.C. did well to keep his business prospects humming. He had no time or money for extras. Except for Gabriella’s Christmas tree. “Are any of those sugar cookies left?”