Snowflake Bride

by Jillian Hart

  Solomon’s symptoms troubled him as he climbed out of the sleigh, stiff from the cold. Poncho had stopped all on his own, just inside the main barn, apparently grateful for the shelter from the cold.

  “You did good tonight, boy.” He rubbed the gelding’s nose. “Practically a hero.”

  Poncho nickered low, content, arching his neck with pride. He nibbled the brim of Lorenzo’s hat playfully, as if to say he hadn’t minded the cold. Not for Ruby.

  Yes, he knew how that was. A great love shimmered within him, as pure as the starlight splashing silver across the land. He gave the reins to Thacker, glad for the boy’s help, patted Poncho’s neck one last time and headed for the house.

  He stomped snow from his boots on the back doorstep, the great void of the night echoing around him. He couldn’t feel the doorknob, his hands were so numb. He stumbled into the warmth, leaned against the door to close it. His parents and sister would still be up. He fumbled with his gloves, hat and finally got the buttons undone on his coat. He knew his mother would bring up the ball again. Best to face her and get this over with.

  “There you are.” Pa turned his newspaper page with a rustle, tucked in his chair near the parlor’s hearth. “Your mother was starting to worry, but I told her you’re a grown man. You can take care of yourself.”

  “I’ve been doing it for a long time.” He resisted the urge to roll his eyes, crossing straight to the blazing fire roaring in the grate. Since his feet were a tad numb, he stumbled over the edge of the rug.

  “Renzo, look at you. You’re half frozen.” His mother looked up from her embroidery hoop. Beside her, his sister rolled her eyes and went back to her needlework. “Jerry, what are you going to do about that boy?”

  “He’s a grown man. Not much I can do at this late date,” Gerard joked, eyes sparkling. No doubt his father had a good guess as to what his son had been up to. “They say you reap what you sow. If you wanted him to turn out differently, you should have done something about it long before now, Selma.”

  “Yes, it’s all my fault how he turned out. It’s a shame.”

  His parents’ jovial laughter warmed the parlor more mightily than any hearth’s flame. Bella pulled her needle through the fabric, fussing with it. He turned around to warm up his backside. If he kept rotating like a cooking spit, he might thaw completely before bedtime.

  “You were gone a mighty long time. Was there another problem with the cattle?” Pa’s amusement knew no end as he lowered his paper. “Is the cougar back? Or rustlers this time, maybe?”

  “You know Poncho and I headed to town.” He rotated again to face the fire. No sense giving his folks free reign to read his expression. What he felt for Ruby was private. Sacred.

  “That’s right.” His father nodded. “Didn’t you have a church thing?”

  “The caroling group.” Ma was quick to answer. Hard to mistake the happiness in her voice. “So many nice, quality young women there. It’s good for you to get out and socialize, Renzo. Maybe make up your mind about who you are inviting to the ball?”

  Yep, he knew that was coming. He shifted his weight from foot to foot, holding his frostbitten hands up to the fire. “I’ve made up my mind, but I’m not in the mood to tell you.”

  “Gerard, your son is torturing me.” Ma’s laughter rang like merry bells.

  “My son? Why is he only my son when you’re displeased with him?”

  “It just seems fitting.”

  “Then take comfort, my dear, in the fact that he was gone long enough to escort a lady home from church and spend time talking with her and her family in their parlor.”

  “Which lady?” Bella’s head popped up. “Is Renzo beauing someone?”

  He spun around. His younger sister giggled to herself.

  “I’m so pleased.” His mother beamed, near to bursting with hope as she carefully threaded her needle. “Do we know this young lady?”

  “I’m not inviting her to the dance.” Mostly because she would be working as a maid that night. His fingertips tingled, beginning to unthaw. He stood tall, seeing his future begin to unroll before him. Somehow, he would have to convince Ruby that she wasn’t alone in wanting to help her family. That she didn’t need to choose between her duty and her heart.

  “But, why not?” Ma’s face crinkled up in dismay. “I simply don’t understand this.”

  “I do. Think about it, my dear. There is one young lady he’s been spending time with.” Pa chuckled, turning his newspaper page with a rustle. “I hope you know what you’re doing, Renzo.”

  “It really wasn’t my decision, Pa.” His heart had done that for him. Affection filled him, steadfast and true. He couldn’t wait until morning to see her.

  “You and young Mr. Davis have been spending a lot of time together.” Seated in his chair near the hearth, Pa’s whittling knife flashed in the firelight. “Is there anything you want to tell your old man?”

  What was she going to do about her misguided father?

  “There is nothing to tell.” Honestly. Ruby pulled the flatiron out of the flames with the tongs. “Young Mr. Davis, as you call him, is my employer’s son. I’m bound to see him, since I work in his home.”

  “What about tonight?” Pa turned the slim piece of wood and set his knife’s blade to carving. “That man went six miles round trip, out of his way to bring you home in his sleigh. It’s freezing out there.”

  “I hope he’s home and warm by now.” She wrapped the bed iron carefully in a towel and stacked it on top of the other. Poor Pa. He had such high hopes. “Lorenzo was only being kind. Don’t read too much into it.”

  “Kind? That’s true, but he didn’t have to stay and help tend Solomon. He’s acting like a courting man. At least, that’s my opinion.” Pa’s whittling knife stilled as he shifted in his chair. His hip and leg bothered him especially in cold weather. “He’s sweet on you, Ruby Ann.”

  “He can’t be anything more than a friend, and you know it.”

  “I know no such thing.”

  “You are stubborn. At least, I know where I get it.” She hung the tongs on the hook on the wall. “Mrs. Davis paid me at the end of my shift today.”

  “What do you plan to do with your earnings?” Pa set down his knife.

  “I want it to go in your savings account, for the mortgage payment.” She fisted her hands, determined to ask the question she already knew the answer to. “Will it be enough of a difference?”

  “No, not without Rupert’s job.” He hung his head, hiding his expression from her. His sadness hung in the air.

  And his failure.

  To hear it spoken aloud and to listen to the finality of it hit like a punch. She grasped the edge of the hearth, unsteady, the stones hot against her fingertips. How she wished there could be a different answer. Not for herself, but for Pa.

  “Is there anything else I can do?” She wasn’t skilled enough with a needle to take in sewing, but maybe she could find a cleaning job on Sundays—

  “No, sweetheart. I know you’ve been hoping to keep this home, and I know this hurts you.”

  “Don’t worry about me, Pa.” She gathered the bed irons into her arms, determined to keep her chin up. “Whatever happens, we have each other. The good Lord is watching over us.”

  “Exactly.” Pa’s attempt to smile fell short. For a brief moment, devastation flashed in his dark eyes, but just for a moment. His strong jaw firmed. “You are all grown up, Ruby Ann. Your mother, God rest her, would be incredibly proud of you.”

  “Oh, Pa.” Tears burned in her throat at his loving words and at the mention of the mother after whom she’d been named. Life was not fair, and there were so many trials, but love was the purpose. In that way she was vastly rich. “She would be proud of you, too.”

  “Oh, pshaw!” He waved her compliment off bashfully. “I’m done with this clothespin. Is that the last you need, or should I make more?”

  “It’s enough. Thanks.” She hugged her heavy load, grateful for the
steady heat seeping through the blankets when she stumbled into the night. The tears in her eyes froze on her lashes as she battled the winds to the barn.

  The night came alive beneath the brilliance of the stars, casting a storybook glow across the mantled snow. The familiar land stretched out in gentle rises and falls, full of secrets waiting to be told. The wooden fence line marching along the road wore top hats of snow, slanting haphazardly. More snow flocked the bare arms of the cottonwoods, making them seem lifelike as their limbs rose and fell.

  She loved this place. It held some of the best memories of her life. Walking down that road to school every morning, knowing her friends would be there to welcome her, riding up the driveway for the very first time full of hope and joy, unable to fully believe this was their own home, the laughter as she gave Solomon a bath, the fun of planting the garden and the hours she’d spent in the deliciously hot summer sun, coaxing wild jackrabbits and deer away from her growing vegetables. How happy she had been.

  This home would be a lot to lose.

  She shouldered into the barn where a single lantern gleamed from a support post in the aisle. Rupert crossed through the light to take the heated irons from her.

  “Thanks, these will help.” They clanked, muffled by the towels, as he shifted them in his arms. The night’s chill tried to creep into the unheated dwelling, but the animals’ heat and the insulated walls mostly kept it out. “Solomon’s sleeping. He’s warm and snug. I’m praying he’ll be fine.”

  “I hope so.” She followed her brother down the aisle, where Clover drowsed and her beloved Solomon didn’t stir in his slumber. Beneath the blankets, his sides heaved with each breath. “I’m to blame. I should have come straight home from work.”

  “No, you deserve to have a little fun with your friends. I would have done the same.” He knelt to tuck both irons into the hay, one beneath Solomon’s blanket and another in the bedroll he’d made next to him. “Solomon is nearing the end of his life. God is in charge of that, so don’t worry. It wasn’t your fault.”

  It was little comfort. “Do you know about the mortgage payment?”

  “We’ve scraped and saved all we could, but it just isn’t meant to be.”

  She bit her bottom lip to hide her grief. Leaving became real. Not some imagined fear she was desperate to stave off, but an inevitable situation. She fisted her hands, resolved to handle this sensibly, for her father’s sake.

  “Solomon will get better.” Maybe she could will it so. She peered over the rail. All four of his hooves moved slightly beneath the blankets, lost in horsy dreams. Love for her old friend filled her. “I could take shifts with you tonight.”

  “Forget it. I am not letting you do that in this cold. I’m used to it.” He shrugged his brawny shoulders, her big brother, able to do anything. “Now go in the house before you turn into an icicle. Or, in your case, a ruby-cicle.”

  “Funny.” She rolled her eyes. She’d missed Rupert’s humor, but she wasn’t about to tell him that or the jokes would never stop coming. “I suppose we are stuck with you for a while, so I had better get used to having you back.”

  “Not for long.” Roop leaned against the wall, arms folded across his chest, enveloped by shadow. “I’ve got a few possibilities. If it’s God’s will, I may be gone on the next train.”

  “Another job?” Joy leaped within her. “Oh, that would be good news indeed.”

  “Yes.” He didn’t seem happy, just coldly determined. “We must wait and see. In the meantime, get yourself out of here. I don’t want you worrying, Ruby-bug.”

  “I’m glad you’re home.” Why couldn’t she fight the sinking feeling that whatever kind of job Roop was seeking would not be a good situation for him?

  She shut the door securely behind her, needing heaven to be closer.

  Watch over my brother too, please, Father. She held her prayer close to her heart and with all the strength of her soul.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The thump of the cookstove’s door closing startled Ruby from a sound sleep. Warm and snug in her dreams, she batted her eyes open to the arctic morning. The nail heads in the wall boards froze furry white, and the sheet serving as a curtain to separate her bed from the rest of the main room had also frozen stiff. Not the best of signs. All she wanted to do was to stay tucked in her toasty covers.

  “Ruby, time to rise and shine.” There was a metallic clink as Pa opened the stove’s damper. The crackle of kindling and the whir of new, hungry flames filled the silent shanty. “It’s the Lord’s day and that means church. If Solomon is strong enough to be left alone, that is.”

  “I’m praying he is.” Weekly church and Sunday school were pleasures she would miss. While she could love the Lord anywhere and study His teachings, irregular services from a traveling minister at the settlement near her uncle’s farm simply would not be the same.

  She threw back the covers, and the glacial air hit her like an avalanche. Teeth clacking, she chose her Sunday dress and her best cardigan and slipped into both. The back door clicked shut, leaving her alone. She washed up, plaited her hair in one long braid and pulled back the curtain.

  “Ruby!” The back door popped open, scattering her thoughts. She grabbed the metal handle of the coffeepot and lifted it from the shelf, guilty she hadn’t yet made coffee. The haggard grief on Pa’s face stopped her. Devastation darkened the eyes that avoided hers. He didn’t have to say a word, she could guess.

  “Solomon.” The coffeepot slipped from her fingers and clattered to the floor. Horror hit her like a runaway train straight to the chest. “Is he…?”

  “Sick. Gravely sick.” Pa scrubbed a hand over his face. His shoulders, always so straight and strong, slumped. Defeated, he blew out a ragged breath and said no more, as if he was trying to pull himself together.

  “What do we do?” Her voice wobbled. Everything wobbled. She clutched the edge of the table, shaking so hard she rattled that, too.

  “You sit down before you fall down, honey.” Pa hefted the water bucket onto the stove top. Droplets sizzled and popped on the hot surface. “Let me brew up some coffee. I reckon Roop could use something hot. He’s been up since the wee hours.”

  “No, I can do it.” She rescued the pot from the floor and gave it a quick swipe before filling it with water. She felt wooden, no longer real as she measured out fragrant coffee grounds. Pa filled the coffeepot with water. What would they do without Solomon? He was family.

  “I know this is hard, Ruby. That horse has lived a good, long life. We have all made sure he was as happy as we could make him.” Pa’s hand settled on her shoulder, consolation on this harsh morn. “Let’s do all we can now to make him comfortable.”

  “Yes, Pa.” Hollow inside, she knelt to grab the ring in the floor. A tug lifted the door and revealed three steps into the cellar below. She breathed in the cold scents of earth and stored vegetables as she dropped into the frigid space. Quickly, she grabbed the butter dish, last night’s leftover potatoes and cut bacon strips from the slab. Oh, Solomon. Grief made her stagger. First she’d fix a hot breakfast for Pa and Roop, then she would go to him.

  Boots plodded on the floorboards above, and a shadow fell over her.

  “Ruby.” Lorenzo reached down to pluck the bowl of potatoes out of her hands. “Hand up what you’ve got and fetch me three onions and some mustard seed, will you?”

  She blinked, not quite believing her eyes. “You came.”

  “I promised, didn’t I?” He took the bacon and butter from her and disappeared from sight.

  “H-have you seen Solomon yet?” She couldn’t seem to untie the onion sack. She swallowed hard, willed her fingers to shake less and tried again.

  “Yes.”

  Nothing more. Silence settled in, and she feared what he didn’t say. The string gave, and she counted out the onions. Their papery skins crackled as she handed them up.

  A dark day’s growth clung to Lorenzo’s angled jaw, making him look like a western legend as h
e held out his hand. Her fingers wrapped around his, and he swept her up the steps and into the kitchen. She landed on her feet, not wanting to let go.

  She shouldn’t be so glad to see him. She shouldn’t be wanting to lean on him. How did she stop the emotion in her heart? She didn’t know. It glowed like sunlight on winter snow, lyrical and radiant with a life all its own.

  “I had to come check on Solomon. I had a feeling he might not bounce back.” He knelt at her feet to close the trapdoor.

  “Why are you doing this? It can’t be for m-me.” She choked on the word, afraid to say it out loud. “It shouldn’t be.”

  “It was Poncho’s idea. He cares a great deal for you.” Loving warmth gentled his deep tone. He wasn’t talking about a horse’s feelings.

  “I care a great deal for Poncho, too.” She blushed, not at all comfortable confessing her feelings. She wasn’t talking about the horse, either.

  “That’s good to hear.” He rose up to his full height, towering above her, manly and strong and good. He brushed stray tendrils out of her eyes. In his, she saw forever. A future she could not have. Being beaued by him. Being courted. Accepting a proposal and planning a wedding.

  All that would happen for another girl. Someone who was free to love him in return. Let it be Scarlet, she prayed, as she shuttered her gaze and turned away. If not Scarlet, then Kate.

  “Slice the onions thinly, cook them into a soft mash in the fry pan and add crushed mustard seed.” His boots rang on the hardwood. He set the onion on the table with a mild thunk. “I brought this packet of herbs from home. Mix this in halfway through.”