Five Golden Rings: A Christmas Collection

by Sophie Barnes

  “He’s doing well, Mr. Jameson. It’s been a spell since you’ve been over for a lunchtime card game. You should go over one of these days. He won’t say it, but I know he gets tired of the all female company.”

  Mr. Jameson chuckled. “I know what he means.” He worked the bakery with his wife and Millie, and they were teaching Millie’s brother’s wife the business as well while her husband worked in the bank.

  Millie heard her father and came up to the front, her face rosy from the ovens.

  “Don’t mind him, Ginny.”

  “What he meant to say is he’s blessed,” Millie’s mother said from the bakery kitchen.

  “Might be I’ll go visit him now.” Mr. Jameson laughed. “Seeing as I’ve suddenly entered dangerous territory.

  He made his way over to the door, and while he put on his coat, his wife called out, “If you should see some nice shiny buttons for sale over there and buy them, we might be convinced to let you back in.”

  “Buttons, she says. The woman wants buttons.” He muttered a farewell to Ginny and left.

  Millie burst out, “Oh goodness, I thought we’d never be alone. Have you been over to the newspaper office, Ginny? Mr. Baldwin didn’t make any wishes.”

  Ginny felt all the tension she’d left outside pile back onto her shoulders. It wasn’t unexpected, she reminded herself. He’d said as much last night, hadn’t he?

  Ginny shrugged. “He’s allowed, after all, I suppose.”

  “Mother and I took a round by the office this morning just to see it. They look so lonely.”

  She got sidetracked by Ginny’s hair. “Ginny, honestly, your hair is a mess,” Millie said. She set out to tuck a few pieces back in, only to be disappointed. Ginny muttered an excuse, blaming the weather conditions.

  “He might fill them in later.” Mrs. Jameson came out, flour on her forearms and a smudge on her nose. “He’s getting used to it. He won’t disappoint us, you’ll see.”

  Millie shook her head. “Ed said he told them straight out that he’s not going to. He called it nonsense that, though quaint, wasn’t reasonable.”

  Ginny vaguely heard Millie’s mother asking her when she’d spoken to Ed, but all Ginny could hear was the part about it being “nonsense,” and her blood stirred all over again. She left the rolls forgotten and felt herself propelled outside and across the street. She couldn’t even feel the cold flapping at her coat, or the icy mud clinging to the bottom of her skirt as she crossed over to the newspaper office. She quickly glanced over and saw that Millie was right. The three wise men looked bereft of their wishes. She swung open the news office door and went in.

  Rick greeted her. “Hi Ginny. Can I help you?”

  She didn’t know what made her do it, but her body was acting without cluing her mind in. She reached for the ring of wise men, tucked it inside her coat, and left the way she’d come. If he wasn’t going to honor it, then he didn’t deserve it.

  PHIN COULDN’T BELIEVE what he was hearing. Ginny Overton seemed like such a rational person. He absolutely could not reconcile the image of those serious eyes with the picture Rick was painting of a wild-haired harridan.

  “She didn’t even say ‘hello’. Just walked on by, straight to the window, and plucked it right up. Left without uttering one word.”

  “Am I missing something about the figurine? Or about her, for that matter? Is she insane, and that’s why she hasn’t married yet.” Otherwise, he couldn’t explain it. Maybe she was mad—she was much too pretty to be single otherwise.

  “She was mighty upset last night, Phin,” Ed said. “Matter of fact, she wasn’t the only one, but others are keeping their thoughts to themselves.”

  “If you give it back to Pastor Morrow, he can organize another drawing with folks who are really interested,” Rick suggested.

  Phin had been considering the very same idea, but not now. Not after little Ginny Overton took it into her own hands to steal from him. Steal, because that’s what she’d done. He had a mind to go to the marshal right now and charge her for the theft. He’d keep the wise men just to amuse himself. But first he had to rescue them from the crazy woman. “I got it fair and square,” he said, choosing to forget that Ed had put his name into the drawing. “I’ll be back.”

  Rick called after him. “Phin? What are you going to do?”

  “Have a friendly chat with our neighborhood shopkeeper’s daughter.” And wring her neck.

  Ginny didn’t have long to feel the exhilaration that had steamed through her. She wasn’t sure what she was going to do with the figurine. This was, by far, the craziest thing she’d ever done, and the fact that she had done it against someone like Phin Baldwin filled her little rebel’s heart with unholy glee. She’d take it back to the pastor, only he would ask her how she’d come into possession of it, then she’d have to explain what she’d done, and she doubted he’d agree with her righteous indignation. Oh, Lord, what had she done? She felt the hairs on her neck tingle as the bells chimed against the shop door.

  “We’re getting to see a whole lot of you, Mr. Baldwin.”

  Ginny felt her heart drop into her stomach as Phin zeroed in on her. “Mr. Overton,” he ground out as sweet as pie, watching Ginny the whole time, “would you mind if I had a few words with your daughter?”

  Ginny could see the confusion on her father’s face, but there was something else there too. Something she couldn’t quite pin down. Say no, Father, say no, she willed. But the traitor agreed affably.

  “You can use my office in the back room. I trust everything is all right?”

  Phin’s long stride ate up the ground as he made his way to the back. “Of course. I just need Miss Overton’s opinion on a matter.”

  “I can help you here,” she was able to say.

  “Ginny, don’t be rude. Mr. Baldwin needs your help.”

  She had no other choice but to accompany Phin to the very room where she’d hastily hidden the wise men until she figured out her next step. She hadn’t counted on having to figure it out so soon.

  Chapter Four

  PHIN SHUT THE door behind him though Ginny didn’t think her father would like that.

  Very slowly, he approached her, his arms at his back. His voice was deceptively smooth. “I keep asking myself, what on Earth would provoke a lamb like you to commit such a heinous crime?”

  He bit back a laugh as her eyes flashed at him. “One, Mr. Baldwin,” she emphasized his name, “please refrain from exaggeration as this was no such thing, and two, I am no lamb.”

  “Of course you are,” he said, rounding on her. He had her pacing around the small room as she attempted to maintain distance from him. “I called it the other day. You’re a serious little thing though one with a penchant for robbery, apparently.” He ignored her offended gasp. “So tell me this. Why shouldn’t I go to the marshal this minute?”

  She stopped her pacing. He noticed that she swiped at her hair, which only caused it to come more undone. She really did have gorgeous hair, the color of dark sable, and it was thick. Right now, two curling locks framed her pale face, her eyes shooting bullets at him. “The marshal? Are you mad?”

  “I will not argue the sanity of my actions, ma’am, when you’re the one who went into my place of work and stole something outright from me.”

  She jammed both hands on her waist and tried to reclaim her sanity. She wouldn’t admit it to him, but she was acting erratic. There was a simple solution to all of this. She would reason with him. “Mr. Baldwin—”

  “Call me Phin.”

  That threw her a bit, but she continued. “I do apologize. It wasn’t right of me to do so. However, I think we can both agree that you were not going to use the figurine in the spirit for which it is intended. I understand this is a rather trivial matter, when you come down to the facts; however, it does mean a lot to many of us here. It’s obvious it doesn’t mean a thing to you. Let me return the wise men to Pastor Morrow, and he can hold another drawing.”

  �
��No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because it was given to me this year, and I intend to keep it until Christmas, as is tradition.”

  He could see she was biting back a retort. “Mr. Baldwin—”

  “Phin.”

  Her eyebrows jammed together. “Why are you being so difficult?”

  “I’ve just realized there’s a whole other aspect to this tradition that you opened up with your actions.”

  “And what would that be?”

  He leaned in close, close enough to smell lavender on her. “You.”

  “Me?”

  “Yes. You’ve made this infinitely more fun. I will keep the wise men because you don’t want me to.”

  “Honestly, Mr. Baldwin, I . . .” She didn’t know what to say, so she took a breath. “It is ridiculous that we are even speaking of this.”

  “I agree. Remember who started this, though. Now, please return what you took.”

  She eyed him with palpable disdain. Her hands rose to push up more strands of hair. “Are you going to submit your wishes?”

  “I have not changed my mind in that regard.”

  “Why won’t you reconsider?”

  “Why does it mean so much to you?” And this, truly, was the crux of everything. He was beginning to think this was the first bout of irrationality this woman had ever exhibited in her life. Why over this, something so small? The answer, if she chose to share it with him, would prop open a little window into Ginny Overton’s soul.

  She wouldn’t share, though. She stared at him with a steady gaze.

  “I am waiting.”

  Her shoulders slumped slightly, and he almost felt badly enough to tell her to keep the figurine. Almost. She dragged a footstool to the bookshelf by the window and stepped onto it.

  “Careful,” he said, heading over to her in case she fell.

  She reached up to the top shelf and pulled the figurine from behind a ledger. She stepped down and faced him. The difference in their heights was most evident from his position directly in front of her. He suddenly had the wildest urge to run his fingers through her untamed hair and seek out every last hidden pin and throw it away. Hair like hers shouldn’t be restrained when it could be free and flow over her shoulders.

  She tore her gaze away from his and looked down at the wise men. “Did you know that Mrs. Clancy’s husband was on his deathbed five years ago?”

  Her voice had softened, and he was uncomfortable with how beguiled he was by it, and by the moment. It had started to snow outside, making everything beyond the room a white blur. He could hear Ginny’s father speaking to a customer in the front. They were laughing. But in here, they might as well be the last two people on Earth.

  His own voice came out low. “No.”

  She looked into his eyes. “The doctor said he wouldn’t live past New Year’s Day.”

  “Are you telling me the wise men healed him?”

  A smile tugged at the corner of her lips, causing him to focus his attention on her mouth. “No. I’m saying Mr. Clancy’s son Maxwell was gifted the wise men that year, and though I don’t know what his exact wish was, I think he wished for his father’s recovery.”

  “There are a lot of reasons for a man to heal from a serious illness.”

  She took his hand into hers and opened his palm. She placed the figurine there. “Yes, there are. There’s also the chance that a wish came true.”

  He stared at her. She was beguiling him. He could feel it.

  “You won’t change your mind about giving somebody else a chance with it?”

  He shook his head.

  “Very well. Then be warned. There will be consequences.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Good day, Mr. Baldwin.” She left him in the office, staring down at the knowing expressions of the wise men. “What in the hell did she mean by that?”

  GINNY LEFT IT alone for three days. Each one of those days, she walked by the newspaper office and gazed in at the wise men, always empty.

  On the fourth day, she struck.

  Phin walked into the bank and did a double take when he saw the object on the bank manager’s desk. “Where did you get that?” he asked, pointing at the wise men he’d left at the shop, where it had been night and day for the last four days. He took note of the three strips of paper within the boxes.

  “This? Oh, Ginny brought it over ’bout an hour ago. She says you’re giving us turns with the magic fellas, here, and that it’s to be returned to you by the close of the business day. It’s awful nice of you to share with us this year. Don’t know why we haven’t thought of it before. I guess it’s because it’s special to have it to one’s self, but this is nice, too. Can I help you with something?”

  Ginny was going to hear an earful. He didn’t know why he was fighting it so much now, given that it seemed like a good enough plan. But the fact that she had gone behind his back—and into his office—yet again, had him stewing inside. If truth be told, he’d become more than a little fond of sitting at his desk and looking out to the window where the three wooden men watched Preston’s people come and go, three ancient sentinels. She’d robbed him of that peace. Again. He’d have to speak to her father. There was no other way because though he’d threatened to go to the marshal with the complaint, he wasn’t willing to put in a formal charge against her. He also wasn’t willing to let it go.

  He went to the shop after the bank, only to find that she had gone over to spend the afternoon with the elderly mother of Mrs. Trinkett, a miner’s wife who had her hands full with three young children and a newborn baby. Speaking to Mr. Overton—John, as he asked to be called—had been a dead end. He explained that Ginny had “willful moments, just like her mother,” and that he could try to speak to her, but that was it.

  When Phin walked back into the office that evening after having attended a town-council meeting, he saw that the ring of wise men had been placed in its spot.

  “Did she bring it here herself?”

  Neither Ed nor Rick had to ask to whom he was referring. “Came in wearing the brightest smile, too,” Ed replied. His face contained bottled-up mirth as he pointed to Phin’s desk. “She left you a gift.”

  In the center of his desk was a hot cross bun.

  “She said she’d be back for it tomorrow morning,” Rick said.

  “Like hell she will,” Phin ground out.

  Chapter Five

  REGARDLESS OF WHAT he did, Ginny always got to it. The morning after its stay at the bank, the wise men found their way to the bakery, where Mrs. Jameson displayed them next to her apple crumble muffins. Phin tried to ask for it back, but the woman talked him into a loop, and he left the bakery with two muffins, an invitation to Sunday supper, and a spinning head, but not his lottery prize. The figurine was returned each afternoon, sometimes by Ginny, but oftentimes by the person who’d been the day’s beneficiary. The wise men visited the homes of several of the townspeople, the laundry business, the theater, and even one of the brothels, though he wasn’t sure he wanted to know how that happened or about how many godly rules might have been violated by that act. It didn’t matter if he hid the figurine in his personal room, or left it out—she always got to it. He accused Rick and Ed of aiding her in the madness, but he realized who her accomplice was when he saw the wise men at the dinner table of his boardinghouse.

  “I take it it’s your turn, Mrs. Dixon,” he said dryly.

  She raised her chin and smiled beatifically. “Yes, and thank heavens. I was despairing of my name’s ever being called in the annual drawing. Now, my wishes will be heard along with everyone else’s.”

  He shoved at the green beans on his plate. “You believe in it, too, then.”

  “Never turn your back on the chance for a miracle, dear.”

  “Are you helping her get into my room?”

  She had the audacity to be indignant, but the flush on the bridge of her nose gave her away. “I will not dignify that with an answ
er.”

  Maybe once he got the wise men back from their daily captivity, he would make a wish himself. Maybe he could wish Ginny Overton to a different state.

  GINNY HAD HER back to the door when Rick and Phin walked into the church, where the children were rehearsing for the Christmas pageant. She helped Millie and Millie’s sister-in-law Beatrice fit the children in their outfits.

  “My, we’ve got a hefty angel in this one,” Beatrice muttered under her breath as she struggled to get a smaller-sized gown over the boy’s chest. “I thought my Alfred was big, but I see now I was wrong.”

  Ginny and Millie exchanged looks and laughed.

  Bea was about to say something else, only she saw the men speaking to Pastor Morrow.

  “Ginny, there’s your archenemy”

  Millie couldn’t contain her laughter as she saw the sour look cross Ginny’s face.

  “I don’t know how you’ve done it, but you have managed to turn away the most eligible man in Preston. He can’t stand the sight of you.”

  “That makes us even,” Ginny said. She’d kept her distance from the former “love of her life,” and it was working out perfectly for her. Honestly, she didn’t know what she’d seen in him other than his obvious good looks.

  “Why are they here?” Bea wanted to know.

  “Mama says the newspaper is going to contribute a program pamphlet. They must be asking Pastor Morrow for specifications so that they’ll have enough time to print.”

  “Is there anything your mother doesn’t know about the goings-on in town?” Bea asked, a hand on her hip.

  Millie had the grace to blush. “Everybody stops by the bakery, is all.”

  Both Bea and Ginny kept their comments to themselves. Everybody might stop at a bakery, but not every baker subjected her customers to an interrogation. Ginny figured if Mrs. Clancy was fit to run the bank, then Mrs. Jameson was more than qualified to be marshal.

  Ginny risked a peek at Phin, only to see he was looking back at her though the pastor was speaking to him. She was aware of the moment he noticed the object on the pastor’s podium, located a few feet away from her. His eyes found her again, and he nodded slightly. She averted her gaze.