The Christmas Confection

by Shanna Hatfield

  After that, he felt something sizzling between the two of them every time he got near her. Then he’d almost kissed her before he left. He’d wanted to kiss her, to delve into the exquisite softness of her, but he’d managed to restrain himself. Then he’d finagled to have Elsa kiss his cheek. At the last second, he’d almost turned his head so her quick peck would land on his mouth instead, but he hadn’t.

  Not when he’d had such a pleasant afternoon in her presence. The last thing he wanted to do was make her uncomfortable or regret the friendship he carefully built with her.

  In truth, he wasn’t fit to wipe Elsa’s little boots, but something about her, something sweet and unspoiled and wonderful drew him in, making it impossible to forget her.

  Determined not to spend his evening pining after what he could never have, Fred sat down and ate his supper by the light of the lamp he’d lit and placed in the middle of the big oak table that came with his farmhouse. The top bore a few scars, but he imagined a happy family gathered around it. When his mind’s eye envisioned a little girl with blond hair and dark blue eyes, and a boy with freckles sprinkled across his nose who looked exactly like Elsa, he forced his thoughts to the work he had planned the following week.

  He’d promised to work for Douglas at the livery on Monday and Tuesday. He’d spend Wednesday at the lumber yard and the sheriff asked him to help Friday evening. Beyond that, though, he should have plenty of time to finish putting new shingles on his roof. If he had any time left over, he planned to start framing in the addition he wanted to add on the back of the house for a bathroom.

  Once he’d eaten his supper and washed the dishes, Fred sat down at the table with the box of letters he’d found earlier that day. There were three letters from a man named John Baker addressed to his mother and one from what appeared to be a law office. In the bottom of the small box were two photos Fred had never seen.

  He held the first up to the amber light cast from the lamp. A handsome man stood next to a short, round woman who greatly resembled Fred’s mother. A chubby little girl stood between the couple, attired in a fancy dress swimming in lace and ribbons. The child had to be his mother and he assumed the couple must be his grandparents.

  With a slight lean forward, he peered at the photo, studying every detail. His mother had grown up to look much like his grandmother. His grandfather was tall and broad shouldered, built much like Fred. The man appeared good-natured and jolly, with a smile lingering in his eyes and on his lips. Lips that surprisingly looked exactly like Fred’s.

  He turned the photo over and looked at faint writing on the back. “John and Ethel Baker, with Mildred, 1860,” he read.

  Carefully setting the photograph on the table, he lifted the other image. It was of his grandfather, older, with a beautiful young woman. She was tall and buxom, with dark hair and skin that appeared flawless. And she gazed at his grandfather with a look of love. Had his grandmother passed away and his grandfather remarried a much younger woman? He flipped over the image and found, “John and Marissa Baker, wedding day, the third day of May, 1875,” written in feathery script.

  Curious, he turned the photo over and observed the woman his grandfather had married. She looked kind, although he knew looks could be deceiving. If she’d wed his grandfather in 1875, that meant his mother had been twenty-five at the time. Had she gotten along with her stepmother, a woman who was most likely younger than Mildred?

  He set aside the photo and picked up the letters. The first one he read was from an attorney, Mr. Lloyd Moran, informing his mother of his grandfather’s passing. The man had died when Fred was eighteen. He wondered why his mother never mentioned her family. He’d always assumed she had none.

  “What other secrets did you keep, Mother?”

  The remaining three letters were from his grandfather. The first had been written shortly after his parents had moved to Hardman, before he was born. His grandfather begged Mildred to come to her senses and return home to Philadelphia where she belonged.

  The second letter had been written a few months after Fred was born. It mentioned that a sum of money would be wired to the Hardman Bank for Mildred to do with as she saw fit. That had to be the hidden account in Fred’s name.

  The third letter was written shortly after Fred’s father was arrested. His grandfather invited Mildred and Fred to come live with him. The man shared his thoughts on what a despicable excuse for a human being he thought Joe Decker was the first time he set eyes on him and how glad he was he’d finally been arrested. Derisively, Fred could imagine how well his mother took the criticism. Mildred Decker never admitted when she was wrong and she most certainly wouldn’t appreciate her father pointing out the flaws of her husband, no matter how accurately the man had described Joe.

  Fred couldn’t fathom what drove his mother to leave a home in Philadelphia with a father who obviously cared about her and marry someone like Joe Decker. He wished he knew what had happened to cause her to do such a thing. His mother wasn’t pretty, but she was smart. Surely she’d had better prospects than a liar, murderer and thief. Then again, he’d seen his father use his charm to get what he wanted. He’d probably pretended to be someone he wasn’t and charmed his mother so thoroughly, she’d not realized her error until it was too late.

  For the first time in his life, he tried to picture Mildred Decker at his age. She’d always been short and heavy. Her hair was a plain, mousy shade of brown, and her eyes were a dull shade of brown, too. He’d always thought her appearance rather non-descript. Fred assumed he’d gotten his blue eyes and thick honey-colored hair from his father. Although he wasn’t vain in the least, Fred realized he was good-looking. Enough of the inane nitwit females in town giggled and preened whenever he was around that he knew girls found him attractive.

  When he was a little boy, his father had seemed hulking and huge. But the last time they fought, Fred realized he was much taller and broader than his father. Now he knew his size came from his grandfather. That and his smile.

  People had always told him he was the spitting image of Joe Decker. Now, Fred was gratified he carried traits that didn’t belong to his father.

  He tucked the letters back into the envelopes. He left out the photographs, intending to purchase frames the next time he went to Bruner’s Mercantile. He liked the idea of setting the images on the fireplace mantel.

  Determined to find out more about his mother’s family, Fred dug around in a box of belongings he’d not yet unpacked and unearthed a sheaf of papers, an envelope, an inkwell, and a pen.

  An hour later, he slid a letter into an envelope and sealed it then quickly addressed it to his grandfather’s attorney. He’d struggled to compose a letter that expressed his thoughts clearly and succinctly. Pleased with his final efforts, he placed the writing supplies in the desk he’d carried inside earlier then readied for bed. With any luck, exhaustion would give him a night devoid of haunting dreams.

  When he relaxed in bed, head nestled into a down-filled pillow, he pictured Elsa’s warm smile and the soft light in her dark blue eyes. Before long, he fell into a peaceful slumber.

  Chapter Five

  “Go on, Ethan. I’ll catch up with you in a minute,” Elsa said, giving her brother a nudge forward after they greeted Pastor Dodd at the doorway of the church and stepped outside. The late October day felt unseasonably warm as the sun shone brightly overhead. The fragrance of apples and spice wafted in the air, mingling with the smoke from wood stoves and fireplaces.

  Ethan gave her a questioning look and planted his feet on the top step. “What trouble are you about to get into, baby?”

  “Nothing. Just go on. I won’t be long.” She gave him another playful push and grinned. “If one of us doesn’t hurry home, lunch will be burned.”

  “Fine, I’m going.” Her brother jogged down the steps then turned around and walked backward. “But I’m keeping an eye on you.”

  Elsa waved a hand at him in a shooing motion before she hastened down the steps an
d hurried the opposite direction, hoping to speak with Fred Decker before he left. He’d just set a foot in the stirrup of his saddle when she saw him.

  “Mr. Decker!” she called, drawing his gaze, along with that of a dozen other people as they mounted horses or climbed on wagons or into buggies.

  Embarrassed by the attention yet determined in her efforts, she hurried over to Fred. He’d stopped mid-mount and stepped back down to the ground.

  “Miss Lindstrom. How does this day find you?” he asked, politely tipping his hat to her.

  “It finds me well, Mr. Decker.” Now that she had Fred’s attention, she felt rather unsettled by the intense light in his summer-blue eyes. He’d shaved this morning and the scent of his shaving soap lingered in the air along with a hint of something masculine that had to be all him.

  A deep breath only served to further ensnare her senses instead of settle her jumbled nerves.

  “Is there something I can do for you, Miss Lindstrom?” Fred asked, giving her a concerned look. “Is anything wrong?”

  “No, nothing like that. You haven’t been in the bakery this past week and I wanted to make sure you were well, that’s all. After all, you are one of my best customers and your presence was missed. I made apple strudel on Thursday and I know how much you enjoy it, warm from the oven. I even saved a piece for you, but Ethan ended up snitching it.” Elsa wondered when she’d turned into a blathering fool because despite her attempts to close her mouth, words continued to pour forth of their own volition.

  Fred grinned. “Well, gosh, Miss Lindstrom, I am sorry I missed your apple strudel. I’ve just been busy this week and didn’t have time to stop in. I sure appreciated the things you made last week though, to thank me for helping with the stove. Everything was delicious, as always.”

  She smiled, pleased he’d liked her efforts at thanking him for his help with the stovepipe. He’d done far more than she’d hoped or expected. In truth, if he hadn’t been there, she had no idea what might have happened. She certainly wouldn’t have managed to serve lunch or have the kitchen clean and set to rights by the time Ethan returned just in time for supper that evening.

  “I’m glad you enjoy our baked goods, Mr. Decker.” Nervous, she twisted her reticule between her hands. “In fact, I wanted to invite you to join us for lunch today, as a thank you for your help.”

  Fred’s gaze narrowed slightly and he shifted his weight back onto one hip before he answered. “You’ve already thanked me plenty, Miss Lindstrom. It really wasn’t anything to put in that new pipe and get the stove going again. I didn’t mind doing it at all.”

  “Regardless, Mr. Decker, you saved the day and I feel more gratitude is necessary. Please, won’t you join us for lunch?”

  “I thank you, Miss Lindstrom, for the invitation, but I already have plans today.”

  Heat burned up her neck and stained her cheeks as red as the apples she’d turned into a fragrant, juicy pie to serve after lunch. “I see, Mr. Decker. My apologies for delaying you.”

  Before he could reply, she spun on her heel and took two marching steps away from him. Fred reached out and caught her arm in his hand, drawing her to a stop. Her gaze flickered from where his fingers encircled her wrist to the unreadable expression on his handsome face as he moved beside her.

  “No need to apologize, Elsa,” he said in a quiet, husky tone no one else could overhear. “You aren’t delaying me and if I hadn’t already made plans I’d be pleased to join you for lunch.”

  When his thumb gently brushed over the inside of her wrist, Elsa’s knees began to quake. What was he trying to do to her? Render her completely boneless and witless?

  Although she knew she should jerk out of his grasp, she didn’t move. In fact, she struggled to breathe normally as he edged a little closer and his delicious scent filled her nose again.

  “I truly do appreciate the invitation, my little friend. If you wouldn’t be opposed, perhaps I could stop by later this afternoon and we could go for a walk. The day is so nice and it won’t be long before it’s cold and snowy.”

  Unable to speak with Fred’s thumb working tantalizing circles over her tender skin, Elsa mutely nodded her head. Finally mustering the strength to step back, she reluctantly moved away from him.

  “I’ll see you later, Miss Lindstrom,” Fred said, tipping his hat to her as he swung onto the horse and rode off down the street in the direction of Granger House.

  Elsa forced herself to rush home instead of standing like a ninny, gawking after Fred. She entered the house to find Ethan in the kitchen, carving the roasted chicken.

  After her brother offered a word of thanks for their meal, they ate in silence, each lost in their thoughts.

  “I think you need to go to Portland soon,” Elsa said as she sipped steaming tea from a delicate china cup. The two of them lingered at the table instead of hopping right up to do the dishes.

  Ethan glared at her and set down the cup of coffee in his hand. “Portland? Why would I want to do that?”

  “Because we need to stock up on supplies with the holiday season approaching and you know we get far better prices when we buy direct from that wholesaler in Portland. We both can’t be gone and that greedy little man who owns the wholesale store only negotiates in person. It makes sense for you to go.”

  “Why can’t we just order everything and save ourselves the headache of making that trip?” Ethan asked, leaning back in his chair. “We could order through the Bruner’s store. I like supporting the local businesses.”

  “I do, too, and would normally agree, but you know as well as I do how much baking we’ll have to do between now and Christmas. It makes sense to buy wholesale. And Mr. Terren is the closest supplier.” Elsa set her teacup on a saucer decorated with tiny yellow rosebuds. Her index finger traced the pattern of the flowers as she spoke. “You know I can’t travel alone and I certainly can’t engage in a bidding war over prices with Mr. Terren. Why, the last time we went, if you hadn’t been there, I’m not entirely certain I’d have been safe in his presence.”

  Ethan sighed and forked his hand through his hair. “That is exactly why I have no interest in buying anything from that disgusting man.”

  “Well, there is another option,” Elsa said, letting the thought linger in the air a moment.

  Ethan took her bait and gave her a curious look. “What option?”

  “I discovered there is another wholesaler in Portland. From what I can tell, his prices are better and it’s a family run business. I have three good references for Mr. Gooding’s business.” Elsa took a sip of her tea, giving her brother time to come around to her way of thinking.

  “You think this new supplier will be competitive in his pricing, especially if he knows he’s getting business away from Mr. Terren. Is that the idea?”

  Elsa hid a smile behind her flowered teacup. “Exactly.”

  “Fine. I’ll plan a trip to Portland. Right before Thanksgiving ought to work well.” Ethan took a swig from his coffee mug then coughed and spluttered when Elsa slid a train ticket across the table.

  “You leave a week before Thanksgiving. The train ticket is for Tuesday and the return ticket is for that Thursday. You’ll have an entire day to negotiate with Mr. Gooding for what we need.”

  Ethan shook his head. “If you had it all planned out already, why didn’t you just tell me what you wanted me to do in the first place?”

  She laughed. “Because, being a true stubborn Lindstrom, you have to feel like it’s your idea or you refuse to listen.”

  “Stubborn Lindstrom, huh?” Ethan tossed his napkin at her. She caught it and lobbed it back to him. “I’d be insulted if it wasn’t true.”

  Later, after they’d washed and dried the dishes and put a pot of stew on the stove for their supper, Elsa wandered to the parlor to read. Ethan went out to the back yard and practiced his roping skills by tossing a loop over a branch he’d nailed to a log.

  The cozy atmosphere of their home — the warmth of the fire c
rackling in the fireplace, and the smell of cinnamon and apples filling the air as cider simmered on the stove — made her drowsy. How easy it would be to stretch out on the couch and fall asleep.

  Her eyelids grew heavy and she fought to keep them open. They’d just fluttered closed when a loud knock at the door drew her instantly awake. Startled, the book slid off her lap with a thud. She jumped to her feet and began poking in loose hairpins as she rushed to the door.

  The deep breath she attempted to inhale to calm her rattled nerves ended in a choked gasp as she sucked air into her windpipe. Still coughing, she yanked open the door when someone rapped on it a second time.

  Fred’s eyes widened as he gaped at her before he stepped forward and gently tapped on her back. “Are you okay, Elsa? Can I get you anything?”

  Tears burned her eyes from her embarrassment. The choking coughs making her sound like a wheeze-ridden miner.

  In his typical helpful manner, Fred stepped inside the house and hurried to the kitchen. He returned with a glass of water and held it out to her. Elsa took it and managed to swallow a few sips as her coughing finally subsided.

  “Do you need to sit down?” he asked, motioning to the parlor as she closed the door.

  “No, I’m fine now,” she croaked, taking a long drink from the glass of water.

  Fred smirked. “You do look fine.”

  Elsa’s gaze narrowed as she walked past him, setting the glass in the kitchen. She glimpsed Fred over her shoulder, aware he’d followed her into the room. He leaned against the doorframe, long legs stretched in front of him. Rather than his denims, today he had on a pair of fine dark gray trousers with a vest and suit coat. The pale azure hue of his shirt enhanced the color of his eyes, making them appear an impossibly attractive shade of blue. As he stood with his arms folded across his broad chest, Elsa recalled the moments he’d held her the day he’d helped repair the stovepipe. They’d been among the most glorious moments she’d yet experienced, but that sort of nonsense would not help her bakery run smoothly.