“Indeed I do,” smiled Christopher, looking down at the generous portion I had cut him. “And I see you remembered that apple pie is one of my favorites!”
“Well, I thought to myself—what could I do to make Christopher’s coming special?”
“And you decided on apple pie . . . I approve of your decision!”
“But this is no ordinary apple pie,” I went on. “Taste it and see if you can tell what I mean.”
With everyone watching, Christopher dug in his fork and cut off a big bite, which the next instant disappeared into his mouth.
“That you baked it makes it just about the most special pie I’ve ever eaten,” he said when he had chewed and swallowed it, “and it is every bit the equal of Mrs. Timms’—and she is a truly excellent baker of pies. It’s sweet, just the way I like it, with just the right portion of cinnamon and the slightest hint of nutmeg. The apples are soft not hard, a common mistake. But other than that, I’m afraid I am at a loss.”
“It’s made from Virginia apples,” I said.
“Ah yes, I thought I detected the slightest hint of the Atlantic seaboard in it!” remarked Christopher, giving Becky a wink. “But,” he added in a puzzled tone, “I’m afraid I don’t follow you.”
As I served up pie to everyone else, I told him the story of Katie’s coming and the apple tree she planted. This led the discussion off into a retelling of Pa’s brief engagement to Katie, the wedding, and Uncle Nick’s bursting into the middle of it. By the time we had told the whole thing, all of us were laughing so hard our sides hurt.
“I’ll have to swap stories with Katie,” said Christopher. “As a fellow Virginian, it wouldn’t surprise me if she had heard of some of the people in my former congregation. Several of them were rather well known in the state.”
“That will have to wait if you’re going to get back to Mrs. Gianini’s before ten,” I said. “It’s nine-fifteen now.”
“By the way, what sort of provision is there for my return to town?”
“Tad and I will ride you in,” said Zack. “I’ll saddle up one of my horses, and you can keep it as long as you need it.”
“But it’s dark.”
“Naw, there’s plenty of light to see by,” rejoined Zack. “Besides, our horses know their way into Miracle with their eyes closed.”
Chapter 26
Walking and Talking Through Town
Now I really had a case of sleeplessness! But this time I wasn’t kept awake by anticipation, but from contentment and excitement and happiness all rolled up together.
I’m sure that when I finally managed to fall asleep, the smile remained on my face.
As much as we’d talked about Christopher’s arrival and planned for it, and as long as I’d anticipated his coming, I still had to pinch myself to make sure I wasn’t dreaming.
Christopher Braxton was in Miracle Springs!
He had come all the way across the country . . . to see me.
We’d invited Christopher for dinner the next day, Saturday. Pa was due home sometime in the middle of the day, and Almeda was planning dinner for after he got home.
But I didn’t wait until afternoon. I persuaded myself that Christopher needed me in town the moment he got up. What could he possibly do all morning at Mrs. Gianini’s by himself?
It was just an excuse, and I really wasn’t fooling anybody, even myself. I knew Christopher, and I knew that if left to himself he would begin meeting people around town just fine. He had managed thus far in his life without me. But I didn’t intend to go a whole morning without seeing him! I had Blue Star saddled up and was on my way into town before nine.
We walked through the whole town, and I showed him everything, introducing him to the people we met. I took him all through the Supply Company office and other buildings. Marcus was working, and the two of them talked for a long time. Christopher seemed to take to him immediately.
We walked around Miracle Springs. I showed him everything, from the church on one end of town to the livery stable where Tad worked on the other. Mostly we just talked—and I felt a great sense of relief.
Yesterday, even though I was thrilled to see Christopher, I had also felt clumsy and awkward, and it had been hard to get into the same flow of conversation we had had when we were together on Mrs. Timms’ farm. A fear had begun to steal over me that we had made a terrible mistake, that something had changed between us.
But I guess we just needed time to get comfortable with each other in person again. All the talk and laughter around the table with the rest of the family had been a good beginning. And then this morning, as we walked, gradually the same streams began to open between us, and the conversation began to flow more rapidly. Before long it was just like always.
And there was so much to talk about once the floodgates opened! Even though we’d been writing letters almost every day, sharing our thoughts face-to-face was so much easier. Within two hours, we’d said more than in all the letters put together.
“That reminds me!” exclaimed Christopher as we walked back toward town from the church. “I have six or eight more letters to give you that I didn’t mail . . . if you still want them.”
“Still want them?” I said. “Of course I want them!”
“Then let’s go get them. You can have them right now.”
“I have probably twenty letters I never sent you,” I said sheepishly.
“What? All from the last two weeks?”
“No, from the last six months.”
“Why didn’t you send them?”
“I don’t know. Sometimes I was embarrassed. I didn’t know what you’d think.”
“What could I think but that they were thoughts from the heart of Corrie Belle Hollister and that makes them dear and precious to me? I want every word!”
“I don’t know if I want you to see them all.”
“I don’t care,” insisted Christopher. “I want them anyway.”
“Sometimes girls get emotional and personal when they write. I write things in my journal that I don’t know if anyone else will ever see.”
“Do you think women are the only ones who have emotions? Men can be personal when expressing themselves too.”
“Oh, you know what I mean, Christopher. It’s different for me.”
“Maybe so. But I’m not so sure it’s that different.”
“You’re an unusual man.”
“You really think so?”
“No,” I replied with a smile, “I know so.”
“Well, you’re as different a woman as I am different a man.”
We walked on quietly for a minute.
“Oh, by the way,” said Christopher, “I have an embarrassing request to make of you.”
“Anything,” I said.
“Could I borrow some money? I’m nearly out, and I’ll need to pay Mrs. Gianini.”
I could not help laughing.
“Of course,” I said. “I shall consider it my ministry to the penniless and downtrodden!”
Again we walked awhile in silence.
“Well, Corrie,” said Christopher after a moment, “how do you find me?”
I was taken aback. His voice sounded like he was serious. I didn’t know what to say.
“Uh . . . what do you mean?”
“Do I seem the same? Are you disappointed?”
“No—what?—of course I’m not disappointed!” I exclaimed. “What do you mean? Why . . . are you?”
“Disappointed?”
I nodded.
“In you?”
“Why would you ask if I was . . . if you weren’t?”
Christopher laughed.
“I’m sorry, Corrie. Certainly I’m not disappointed. It’s positively wonderful being here with you.”
Then he got serious again.
“But . . . haven’t you noticed that it’s . . . well, it’s a little different?”
I didn’t say anything. We kept walking slowly. I was glad Mrs. Hutchins or Mrs. Sinclair
didn’t happen along now!
“Before—in Virginia . . . at the farm—it was all so new between us. New and exciting—getting to know each other, talking about so many things . . . finding out all we had in common.”
He paused, and I sensed that a but was coming. A sudden fear came over me that he was going to say he’d changed his mind about me!
“But now . . .” he went on, “after the letter I wrote you at the convent and all the letters we’ve written back and forth to each other since . . . it’s all different than before. Even though I don’t suppose we know what the future holds, we’ve made a mutual commitment now that . . . that—I don’t know—puts our whole relationship on a different footing. Am I making any sense?”
“Some . . . though not completely,” I said, breathing easier. “I still don’t see why you thought I would be disappointed in you?”
“That was no doubt the wrong word to use. It is just that I feel like there has been a difference . . . that now—if I can say it this way—in a sense we have to get to know each other all over again. I mean . . . we’ve written to one another, but now we have to get comfortable face-to-face with the sort of things we’ve been writing about. Maybe you haven’t felt it, but I’ve felt timid, tentative . . . even some of that shyness I told you about in one letter.”
“But not toward me! Why would you feel that way toward me?” I asked in surprise.
“I don’t know. I didn’t expect it myself. Perhaps because when we were together before it was new and there was a sense of wonder to it. But now . . . you are no longer a delightful stranger the Lord sent to me. Now you are the woman I have asked to be my wife. So now, when I look at you, it is through different eyes. It is a new experience . . . one I am having to accustom myself to.”
He stopped and let out a long sigh.
“I don’t think I said it very well,” he went on. “Don’t take my words to mean disappointment. That was the wrong word for me to use earlier.”
“Maybe I do know what you mean,” I admitted. “I have been so bold and open in some of my letters, telling you how I feel about so many things. Now that you are actually here, I do feel a little embarrassed. A time or two I have felt like a turtle who wants to retreat back under its shell, wondering if I’ve stuck my neck too far outside by some of the things I’ve said.”
“That’s it exactly!” exclaimed Christopher. “We’ve been so thoroughly honest in our letters, sticking our necks all the way out, that now we each wonder what the other is thinking. It’s that, along with having to adjust to the thought that we may actually be married someday.”
I smiled. “I do understand what you’ve been saying,” I said. “Yes, I have felt that same shyness.”
This time we walked five or ten minutes without speaking.
“When is your father due home?” Christopher finally asked.
“Probably by one or two. He was going to spend the last night in Auburn. That’s what he usually does when he has to be in the capital on Friday.”
“I’m anxious to meet him.”
“You’re not nervous?”
“Why should I be?”
“I don’t know, I just thought . . .”
“How could you be the daughter of anything but a sensitive man? I feel a little shy perhaps, but I’m not nervous, I’m looking forward to seeing him.”
“Shall we ride out to the house pretty soon?” I asked. “I’d like to show you around our place too.”
“Whatever you say.” He smiled. “I’m all yours!”
Chapter 27
Pa and Christopher
We were up rummaging around in the old mine shaft when I heard the sound of Pa’s horse trotting toward the house.
I’d been telling Christopher about how the mine had caved in on Tad and how the big vein had been discovered and about how Pa and Mr. Jones thought there was still more gold around the other side of the hill. I was just taking him around to show it when I heard the hoofbeats, followed by Pa’s shout of greeting.
We hurried down, but we didn’t get there till Almeda and the others had already surrounded Pa with hugs and kisses of homecoming.
“Pa, Pa!” I cried, running up and forgetting formalities altogether, “Christopher’s here!”
Pa gave me a hug, but before he had much of a chance to say anything, Christopher had caught up to us.
“Hello, Mr. Hollister,” he said as he walked up. “I’m Christopher Braxton.”
“Drummond Hollister,” said Pa as I stepped back.
The two men shook hands and gave each other a good, solid look in the eye. In most circumstances between men, it would have been a look intended to size the other up. But with them, you could tell they each already knew quite a bit about the other, and so the look was one of mutual respect instead. Everybody just stood in kind of a silent circle around them, watching the two men.
“Welcome to Miracle Springs, Mr. Braxton,” Pa added after a moment, “and welcome to my home.”
“I appreciate it, Mr. Hollister. Your wife has already made me more than welcome. I enjoyed a fine supper here yesterday evening.”
“When did you arrive?”
“Yesterday’s stage from Sacramento.”
“Wish I’d have known. I could have fetched you in the capital myself. You got lodgings taken care of?”
“At Mrs. Gianini’s.”
“A good woman, and she can cook almost as good as my wife and daughters!” laughed Pa. “Well, I’m plumb starvin’! What do you have for vittles, Almeda?”
“Plenty to feed every hungry mouth here!” replied Almeda as we all began moving toward the house.
“You’ll join us for dinner, won’t you, Braxton?”
“I already invited him, Pa,” I said shyly. With Pa and Christopher talking so freely between themselves, I was suddenly reminded of why Christopher had said he needed to come to Miracle Springs in the first place, and I could not help feeling a little self-conscious.
Dinner was much like the night before, though I felt tongue-tied and didn’t say much. Toward the end of the meal, Christopher began to get a little quiet too, and I started getting nervous. I was almost relieved when Ruth spilled her glass of milk all over the table. Enough of a stir was created that I didn’t have to worry about Christopher and if something was wrong.
“Would you like a piece of pie or cake, Drummond?” asked Almeda once the milky mess was taken care of. “Corrie made two delicious apple pies yesterday, and there are a few pieces left. And today I made a chocolate cake.”
“That would be right nice,” replied Pa, “but give me some breathing room first. Maybe in about an hour.”
He stood up from the table, and the rest of us eased up from our chairs too. Almeda and Becky and I had begun taking away some of the dishes when behind me I heard Christopher speak words that nearly made me die of self-consciousness.
“Mr. Hollister,” he said, “I wonder if I might have a few words with you?”
Oh no, I thought. Christopher—I didn’t think you were going to do it this soon! The two of you only just met!
But then Pa’s answer made me die another two or three deaths!
“Sure, Braxton,” Pa said, easing into his favorite chair, “have a seat.”
No, no . . . not here—not right in front of everybody!
Suddenly a crash sounded, and everybody looked my way. A plate had fallen from my hands onto the hard wood floor. Luckily it didn’t break.
My hands were shaking. I had to get out of there! If they were staying inside, I was leaving!
As I stooped down to pick up the plate, I heard Christopher again.
“I mean in private, sir,” he said.
“Oh . . . oh, yes—why, of course,” said Pa, still completely unaware of Christopher’s intentions. He stood up again. “How about we take a walk outside?”
Christopher nodded, and they left the house.
I continued to help clean up, but I have never been so agitated or distracted in m
y life. Every little sound I heard startled me, and I would jump and look toward the door.
Almeda knew, but she kept her peace. Every once in a while she would look at me with a tender, motherly smile and I knew she understood.
“What’s wrong with you anyway, Corrie?” Becky said finally. “I’ve never seen you so nervous.”
I glanced away, but I could feel my neck and cheeks getting all red.
Becky kept staring at me. When I didn’t answer, suddenly the light dawned on her face.
“Corrie . . . really? Is that it!”
But just then, before I could answer, Tad headed for the door.
“I’m going out to see what Pa and Christopher are talking about,” he announced.
I spun around to try to stop him, but he was already out the door. Oh, this was all too mortifying! I was simply going to die of embarrassment!
They were gone over an hour. After the kitchen was clean I made an escape to my room, lay down on my bed, and threw my pillow over my head. I didn’t want to see anyone!
A while later the outside door opened. I leapt up, crept to the door of my room, and listened. Only one set of footsteps came into the house. It was Tad.
Again I sought refuge on my bed.
Twenty more minutes passed.
Again footsteps approached the house . . . two sets of steps!
The door opened. I heard Pa’s voice say something to Almeda.
Oh, I would die if I had to go out there now!
What could I do? I wondered if I could escape through the window and make a dash for the safety of the woods.
“Where’s Corrie?” I heard Pa ask.
The house was silent a moment, then the door of my room opened. A moment later I felt someone sitting down on the side of my bed. A hand felt under the pillow and laid itself gently on my head.
“Corrie, dear,” said Almeda, “I think I have some idea what you are going through, but your father wants you to come out and join the rest of us.”
“Oh, but I can’t!” I groaned. “I’m too embarrassed.”
“I think you must, dear.”
A minute more I lay, then slowly turned over. Almeda bent down and gave me a long hug, then kissed my forehead.
A Home for the Heart Page 14
