“Fiona, sing to us,” Papa called out from the driver’s seat.
“‘Silent Night,’ please,” Mama said.
Fiona’s rich voice rang out from behind us where she and Cymbeline sat together. “Silent night, holy night.”
I turned around to take a peek at them. Fiona sat straight as a board, her neck long as she sang. Cymbeline stared upward, unusually still, as if mesmerized by her sister’s musicality. They were as bright as the stars just then.
The lights of town appeared as Fiona sang the last verse. As we approached the center of town, Delphia squealed at the sight of all the people.
“I thought we’d never have a night like this again,” Mama said. “All this seemed far, far away during the war.”
“We’re all safe and well. Tonight we celebrate our good fortune.” Papa stopped near the gazebo to let us out. “You girls go ahead. I’ll take care of the horses and meet you there.”
“Do hurry, Papa,” Cymbeline said. “Everyone’s waiting for you.”
“Not to worry,” Papa said. “I’ll be as quick as I can.”
Cymbeline and Fiona each took the hand of one of the little girls and ran ahead. Mama and I had been polite to each other since our spat the day before but hadn’t spoken of it.
“Jo, I’m sorry about yesterday.”
I threw my arms around her. “I’m sorry too.”
“It’s only that I want you to be happy. You’ve always been such a good girl, putting everyone before yourself. I don’t want you to do it for Walter. Whether or not he would have been what you wanted, he’s no longer here. Can’t you see that?”
“I do. But regardless, I’m simply not interested in Phillip Baker. Please, don’t get your hopes up just because the rest of you seem to have fallen in love with him overnight.”
“Fine. I won’t say another word.”
“All right, then.” We shared a smile and then linked arms and walked toward the crowd. I scanned the people, looking for Phillip, and found him with Theo over by the ice. They had their heads together, talking closely. “There’s Phillip,” I said, under my breath. “There with Theo.”
“Were you looking for him?” Mama asked.
“What? No. I mean, yes. He’s our guest and I wanted to make sure he was all right. The boys may have worked him too hard.”
“He seems to be fine,” Mama said. “You’ll have to stay close to him, though. Show him around. Introduce him. Maybe to some young ladies? I mean, since you’re not interested.”
I didn’t like the idea. Why was that? Oh, never mind, I told myself. You’re being silly. I didn’t want him. I shouldn’t keep others from him. “Good idea, Mama. He’s a very sweet man. Any woman here would be lucky to have him.”
Fortunately, we were engulfed in the crowd at that moment or the conversation might have become more heated. I’d never had words with Mama or been chastised. I didn’t like it. I also thought she might just be right. My loyalty might be disguising a deep lack of courage.
I put it aside to take a good look around. Mama’s mother and sister, Annabelle, were helping Annabelle’s husband, Clive Higgins, who owned the meat shop, serve sausages to a long line of hungry patrons. They’d set up a temporary booth and were handing out raw sausages wrapped in paper. People had brought their own sticks for roasting the sausages over a large firepit.
A long table was lined with every treat imaginable: cookies, cakes, and pies. Papa had paid the local baker, Mr. Cartwell, to make enough rolls for a whole town. Cartwell looked as jolly as old Saint Nick tonight with his round belly and full pink cheeks. The Johnsons had sponsored pork roasts, which had been cooking over an outdoor fire since dawn. I didn’t like to think of the poor pigs having sacrificed their lives. The wonderful smell, however, could not be denied.
Over the years, the Johnsons had expanded their store to meet the growing needs of our town. They’d become wealthy because of fair business practices and good customer service. However, while some might have become greedy for more, they were grateful and generous. Tonight, they’d donated candy for the children that later would be handed out by Pastor Lind playing Santa. I could hardly wait to see my sisters’ faces.
A vat of spiced apple cider hung over a smaller firepit. Isak Olofsson was manning the cider, using a ladle and filling cups people had brought from home.
Flynn and a group of men had huddled together around the gazebo to pass a flask around, adding whiskey to their cups of cider.
“Oh, dear, I hope everyone behaves themselves tonight,” Mama said.
“Don’t fret, Mama. Just enjoy yourself.”
“Yes, yes. You’re right. I just don’t like the men drinking with all the children here.”
“The little rascals aren’t paying any attention to what the adults are doing.”
The Cole family, who owned the café in town, had made pots of chili. The line for the spicy scented beans was as long as the one for sausage.
Delphia, Addie, and Fiona circled back to stand with us. “May we have a sausage, Mama?” Fiona asked.
“Oh, dear. I forgot the roasting sticks in the sleigh,” Mama said.
Just then Papa appeared with the twigs the girls had carefully carved yesterday. “Go on, off with you,” he said after he handed them out to each of the girls. “Where’s Cymbeline?”
I spotted Harley and Merry with their little ones standing in line for a sausage. Jasper and Lizzie were sitting together on a bench, watching their daughter play with some of her school friends. Even Mrs. Wu had agreed to take the night off and come into the town. Li was away at music school in Chicago. Fai, her granddaughter, was surely here somewhere, but I didn’t see her at the moment.
I finally found Cymbeline. She was standing with a group of girls from her class, gesticulating wildly with her hands. “There she is,” I said to Mama.
“She’s bound to cause trouble tonight,” Mama said. “I can see it from here.”
“She’ll be all right,” Papa said.
“I’m worried for others, not her,” Mama said. “She’s growing wilder by the day.”
“Don’t worry,” I said. “The world is big enough for Cymbeline’s spirit. Anyway, we’re here to have fun and celebrate our second Christmas of peace.”
“That’s right,” Papa said. “All troubles are forgotten tonight, my darling wife.”
“You’re both right. I don’t know what’s gotten into me lately. Worrying over everything.”
“It’s all part of being a mother to seven,” Papa said. “There’s always one to worry over.”
Theo, with Phillip by his side, approached. I found myself smiling shyly at Phillip. His eyes were beautiful. Even in the dim light thrown from the lanterns around the gazebo, they beckoned to me.
Phillip greeted us with a bob of the head. “Nice to see you.”
“You as well,” Papa said. “Thanks for helping the boys this afternoon.”
“We had a great time,” Theo said.
“We did, sir,” Phillip said.
“Phillip and I are becoming great chums,” Theo said. “We couldn’t have done it without him.”
Phillip beamed.
“Papa, we have everything set up.” Theo motioned toward Flynn to come join us.
“Jolly good,” Papa said.
Flynn came running over, grinning like he used to when we were children. “All right, let’s get on with it. If all goes well, the lights will come on one after the other.”
“Pond lights first,” Theo said. “Then the tree.”
We followed the boys over to the gazebo, which was located between the tree and the frozen pond. A band would play there after the lighting ceremony.
Phillip leaned close to my ear. “You’re looking beautiful tonight.”
“Thank you. How was your afternoon?”
“More fun than I can say. I almost felt like I’ve lived here all my life.”
“I’m glad.” Indeed, he seemed so happy that I couldn’t help but feel
the same. This man was a good reminder to appreciate many aspects of family and community I often took for granted. He was so easily pleased. His almost childlike joy humbled me.
The crowd hushed as Papa took the stage.
“Good evening, Emerson Pass,” Papa said in his booming voice. “What a turnout. I won’t bore you with a long speech, but I do wish you all a merry Christmas. I’d be remiss if I didn’t say how grateful I am that we are now in a time of peace and good health. May the new year bring good fortune our way. Without further ado, let us have light.” Within a second, the lights strung over the frozen pond lit up, followed by the tree. The crowd cheered.
For some reason, unshed tears stung my eyes. Seeing the whole town out enjoying themselves touched me deeply. Papa’s dream of a community had come true.
I glanced up at Phillip. He stared at my father with a mixture of respect and admiration.
Next, I thought about what Mama had said to me earlier. Was she right? Had he come for more than the fresh air?
“Eat, drink, and be merry,” Papa shouted out to the crowd.
People dispersed to various areas of the festival. The pork had been taken down from the spits and cut into pieces, drawing a crowd of men. Many of the young people put on their skates and began to make their rounds. Cymbeline had already made at least a half dozen circles before I had my skates attached.
Mama had taken Phillip over to a bench and was helping him with his skates. I did a lap before pulling up beside them, breathing hard. “Are you ready? Mama, will you take him out with me?”
“Yes, of course. Now don’t worry if you can’t get it right away,” Mama said to Phillip. “It took me two whole seasons before I stopped falling.”
Papa, holding the hand of each of my little sisters, flew by.
“Hello, Jo. Hi, Mama,” Addie called out to us.
“Look at me. Look at me,” Delphia said.
“You look great,” I said.
We each supported one side of the large man as he got unsteadily to his feet. I could feel the strength in his arms and torso as he gingerly moved forward.
“That’s right, just tiny steps at first,” Mama said.
The three of us managed to make it halfway around the pond before his feet slid out from under him, bringing us all down onto the ice. To my mortification, my legs entangled with his. My skirt rose up above my knees. I scooted away from him as quickly as I could while simultaneously pulling my skirt over my stockings.
“Ladies, I’m sorry.” Phillip’s legs were spread out into a V shape as he supported himself with the palms of his hands. “Are you hurt?”
Mama scoffed. “No, it takes more than some ice to hurt us. We’re women of Emerson Pass.”
Papa skated up to us. The girls were with Fiona now, skating in a pack on the other side of the pond. Papa held out his hand to help Mama up, then did the same for me. Poor Phillip remained on the ice, looking up at me with shining eyes. Dark tufts of hair poked out from under his knit cap, and his cheeks glowed from the cold. My heart might have skipped a beat.
“I’d like to skate with my wife now,” Papa said. “I’ll leave my daughter to help you, Phillip. She’ll teach you everything she knows.”
My parents exchanged an amused look before skating hand in hand. What they found so funny, I couldn’t say, but I had a feeling the joke was on me.
I took pity on Phillip despite my embarrassment over my earlier entanglement with his legs and held out both hands to him. “Let me help you.”
He raised one eyebrow as if skeptical but placed his gloved hands in mine. I tightened my grip and attempted to raise him up to no avail. His feet once again slipped out from under him, and this time I landed squarely on top of his chest. For a second I was as frozen as the pond under us, staring into his eyes. A girl could get lost in them and be stuck forever.
A deep rumble of a laugh came from inside his chest. I could feel it even through our layers of clothes.
I rolled off him and onto my knees. “How will we ever get you off the ice?”
“What’s it called if one scoots there on his or her backside?”
I giggled. “There’s no name for it, but it might be our only way out of here.”
He raised his knees and using his hands for support began to inch toward the side of the pond where an empty bench waited. When he finally reached his destination, I was already there waiting.
I planted my feet securely in the inches of snow. With one hand firmly gripping the back of the bench I offered the other one to him. Somehow, I managed to pull him up and onto the bench.
“Good God, that was awful.” His breathing was labored but his eyes twinkled at me. “Why would one ever do such a thing on purpose?” He ripped his cap from his head. “I’m hot, if you can believe it.” His wavy hair was mussed, like a little boy just out of bed. I shocked myself by wondering what it would feel like to put my fingers in that mass of curls.
I forced myself to look away. “You’ll get accustomed to it after a time.” I sat next to him, making sure to keep a distance between us. The feel of his powerful chest and thighs against mine was not something I would soon forget. In fact, I was more alive than I’d been since the news of Walter’s death. No, no, I told myself. This is Walter’s friend. Shame flooded me. How could I betray Walter this way? I’d only just met Phillip, and I was thinking about his hair. What kind of woman was I?
“I’m never going out there again.” The corners of his eyes crinkled as he laughed.
Martha Neal appeared with two cups of steaming cider. “Hello there. I thought you might need a hot drink.”
“Martha, nice to see you again,” Phillip said.
“You as well,” Martha said. “Did Phillip tell you we met on the train?”
“He did,” I said as I took the cup from her.
“And how are you faring so far?” Martha asked Phillip.
“Hard to say,” Phillip said. “Other than I cannot skate.”
“Not yet,” Martha said. “Give it time.”
I could have imagined it, but they seemed to have exchanged a collusive glance. Over what, I couldn’t be sure. Surely Martha wasn’t playing matchmaker? She knew I’d sworn myself to Walter. Perhaps I was being paranoid, but my parents and Martha both seemed to be up to no good.
“I hope your husband knows how to set broken bones,” Phillip said. “I’m not sure I’ll get out of here tonight without a broken arm or leg.”
Martha laughed as if that was the funniest thing she’d ever heard. “My husband does indeed know how to fix broken bones. But don’t worry. Josephine will make sure you’re all right. She’s a most loyal friend.”
Martha gave me a sweet smile, which I returned with one of my own, even though she was acting strange.
“Have fun,” Martha said. “I’ve got to get back to my mother. We’re monitoring the sweets table to make sure none of the children make themselves sick with too much sugar. You can return the cups to me when you’re done.” She wriggled her fingers and then made her way down the trodden path of snow toward the dessert table.
I took a sip of cider and nearly choked. There was whiskey in it. “This is spiked,” I said. What was wrong with Martha? I’d never seen her have a drink in my life. At our monthly book club meetings, she always declined sherry even though some of the other women had one. So far it seemed the impending Eighteenth Amendment had only made our citizens take more interest in imbibing than ever before, including the young men tonight who were passing around flasks and filling their cups of cider with whiskey. But Martha? I would have never guessed.
He looked down at his cup, then back at me. “I might like to drink mine if you don’t mind?”
“Don’t hold back on my account.”
“Do you think it will make me skate better?”
I laughed. “I don’t think so, no.”
He sipped from his cup and made an appreciative grunt. “This is good.”
We sat in silence for a few mi
nutes, watching couples and groups of children skate by.
The drink seemed to have relaxed Phillip. His shoulders had softened. He gave me a lazy smile and took another drink from his cup. There was something endearing about the man, despite his obvious masculinity.
“What was it like growing up at the orphanage?” I asked. “Were you always there?”
“I was sent there when I was four or so. After my parents died from yellow fever within days of each other. There was no other family, so off I went. The sisters were good to us.” The wistful quality in his voice caused goose bumps to spring up on my arms. “I always think of them this time of year. They somehow managed to give each of us a Christmas present. There were thirty or so of us at any one time. Occasionally, a baby or toddler was adopted, but the older children were there for life.”
“Do you remember your parents?”
“A little. Mostly they’re images in my head—certain moments in time forever etched in my consciousness.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a piece of paper the size of a postcard. Faces of a man and woman were drawn in pen and ink. “I drew this of them one night during the war. I’d suddenly worried that the horror of that time would erase them from my memory. Isn’t that strange? What happened over there—what we saw—it changes a man.”
“My brothers aren’t the same since they got back. Nothing overt, but I can see it in their eyes sometimes when they think no one’s watching.” I took the paper from him to get a better look, holding it up to capture the light from the bulbs overhead. The depictions were detailed and well drawn. I could see he favored his father just from the drawing. His mother had a delicate chin and wide-set eyes. “This is quite good.”
“Not really, but drawing relaxes me. Takes my mind off my troubles.”
“Everyone needs that from time to time.”
The Spinster (Emerson Pass Historicals Book 2) Page 7
