The 12 Brides of Christmas Collection

by Mary Connealy

  “I know others might not consider it a mission, but I believe I’m doing God’s will. I can feel His approval in the way He’s blessed me with a home of my own and you to love.”

  Susan had no way of knowing how important that home was to Esther. Esther had lived with her parents, caring for them until their deaths ten years ago, and then she’d moved to Cheyenne to live with Lydia and her husband.

  Though she would have given anything to have had Lydia and Daniel survive the cholera and be able to raise Susan to adulthood, Esther could not deny that she had flourished in the ten years since their deaths. Forced to make her living, she’d discovered that she had a flair for both baking and attracting customers. And for the first time in her life, she had a home that was hers and hers alone. A home and independence. She couldn’t—she wouldn’t—give that up.

  “This is my place,” she said softly. “I can’t leave.”

  Chapter 3

  They were an attractive couple. Jeremy took a step to the right, studying the subjects of his next painting. Michael’s golden-blond hair and blue eyes provided a pleasing contrast to Susan’s darker coloring, while her yellow dress shone against the dark blue of his uniform. But what impressed Jeremy the most and what he planned to capture in their portrait was the love they shared. He took another step, wanting to see them from every angle. That love was evident in the way their smiles softened when they looked at each other and the way Michael kept Susan’s hand clasped in his.

  Jeremy paused, wondering whether he and Diana had been so deeply in love before the war. Though he wanted to believe they had, the way their love had ended said otherwise. But there was no point in dwelling on that, even less in envying this young couple their happiness and their bright future. While it seemed unlikely, it was still possible that God’s plans for Jeremy included a wife and the kind of happiness Michael and Susan shared. In the meantime, he had work to do. Jeremy settled onto a stool and began to sketch.

  He’d been sketching for the better part of an hour when the clock chimed and Michael rose. “I’m sorry, Mr. Snyder,” the young man said, his voice ringing with regret, “but I need to return to the fort.”

  Trying not to smile at the realization that Michael’s regret was over leaving his fiancée rather than the portrait session, Jeremy nodded. “That’s not a problem. Miss Hathaway explained your schedule. I’ve spent most of today making sketches of you. Those will be the foundation. I can fill in the details after I’ve finished Susan’s portrait.”

  The truth was, Jeremy did not need to have his subject in front of him when he painted a portrait. Once he’d made the preliminary sketches, he could work from them, but since most people were accustomed to posing while the artist painted, he continued with what was almost a charade.

  As Susan rose to accompany Michael to the door, Esther approached the corner of the store where Jeremy had set up his easel. Esther. Jeremy smiled. He wasn’t sure when it had happened, but he’d ceased to think of her as Miss Hathaway. Of course, he wouldn’t presume to address her that way, but in his mind she was Esther.

  “Are you certain it’s all right to work here in the main room?” She’d removed one of the tables to give Jeremy space for his equipment and the high stools that Michael and Susan had used. “Our sitting room is more private, but it just wouldn’t be proper. This way Susan is chaperoned.”

  Esther smiled, a sweet smile that made Jeremy pause. While it was true that she resembled Diana, their smiles were not at all alike.

  “I have to confess that I had a mercenary motive, too,” Esther said with another smile. “I thought having you here would be good for business.”

  “Yours or mine?” Though he’d been in the bakery for less than two hours, Jeremy had noticed that several people had lingered to watch him. They’d bought a cup of coffee or tea and a cookie or pastry to give them a reason for sitting at one of the tables.

  Esther’s smile broadened. “To be honest, both. I can’t compete with the variety of goods Mr. Ellis’s Bakery and Confectionary offers, but at this point, I run the only bakery in Cheyenne with its own artist-in-residence.”

  Though she looked at the easel, she made no comment. Jeremy appreciated that. Preliminary sketches were exactly that: preliminary.

  “I haven’t had additional customers today, but some of those who’ve come have stayed longer and spent more money than usual. Monday will be different, because word will have spread. That’ll be good for me.”

  Jeremy grinned. “And it’s free advertising for me.”

  “Exactly. I wouldn’t be surprised if you got several commissions in the next few days.”

  “I won’t complain if that happens.” This could be the boost his career needed, a way to stay in Cheyenne until spring, maybe even longer. “I appreciate your help, Miss Hathaway.”

  Those lovely blue eyes twinkled with what appeared to be amusement. “We’re going to be seeing a lot of each other over the next month. Please call me Esther.”

  Jeremy blinked in surprise. The woman was amazing. Had she read his mind and known that he no longer appreciated the formality society demanded?

  “I’d like that … Esther.”

  Esther bit the inside of her cheek as she tried to control her reaction. It was silly how the sound of her name on Jeremy’s lips made her feel all tingly inside. The last time she’d felt that way had been before the war, and that had been a long time ago. She was no longer a girl of less than twenty pledging her love to her dearest friend; now she was a confirmed spinster with a business to run.

  As Susan returned to her stool, her smile a little less bright now that Michael was no longer with her, Esther returned to the kitchen to prepare a tray with coffee and cookies. She didn’t want to embarrass the man, and so she’d decided to wait until tomorrow to add a sandwich or two to the plate. She had it all planned, how she’d claim that she’d cooked too much beef and that she was afraid it might spoil. Always a gentleman, Jeremy wouldn’t refuse to eat it.

  “I thought you might like a break,” Esther said a few minutes later as she placed the tray on the empty table next to Jeremy’s easel and darted a glance at his foot.

  Though Esther had always thought artists stood while they painted, Jeremy perched on a stool, undoubtedly to rest his leg. She wouldn’t ask about the limp, but she’d studied the way he walked and sat and had decided that he had lost his left foot. The wooden replacement allowed him to walk, but since it did not flex like flesh and bones, it couldn’t be comfortable to stand for long periods.

  Susan rose, her expression once more eager. “Are we done for today? I promised Pamela I’d help her choose a dress pattern.”

  Jeremy nodded. “I’ve got enough to work with tonight.”

  Esther raised an eyebrow. She hadn’t expected him to work nights. Didn’t artists need good light? Before she could ask, Susan clapped her hands like a small child.

  “Good. Aunt Esther can keep you company.” Susan kissed Esther’s cheek and hurried to their apartment for her hat and cloak.

  “I hope you like oatmeal cookies.” The words sounded stilted, but somehow with the buffer of Susan removed and the store momentarily empty of customers, Esther felt awkward sitting across from Jeremy. She hadn’t been alone with a man since the day Chester had donned his uniform and left for what they’d believed would be only a few months of fighting.

  Jeremy took a bite of the cookie, chewed thoughtfully, then washed it down with a slug of coffee. “It’s delicious,” he said, his brown eyes serious as they met her gaze. “You added nutmeg as well as cinnamon, didn’t you?”

  Esther nodded. Perhaps it was foolish to be so pleased that this man appreciated the special touches she put into her baked goods, but Esther couldn’t help it.

  He finished the first cookie and reached for a second. “I noticed the bakery’s name is Mitchell-Hathaway. Is Susan a part owner?”

  This time Esther shook her head. “When I moved to Cheyenne, my sister and her husband
were running it—Lydia and Daniel Mitchell. After they died, I took over. People kept calling me Miss Mitchell, so rather than explain every time, I decided to add my name to the sign.”

  “But you kept theirs, too.”

  Esther wondered why Jeremy was so interested in the bakery and its name. “They were the ones who started the business.”

  “From what I’ve heard, it was struggling, and you’re the one who made it the success it is today.”

  “Who said that?” As color rose to her cheeks, Esther tried to tamp down her embarrassment. She shouldn’t be blushing simply because this man had called her a success.

  He shrugged. “Does it matter if it’s true?”

  “I suppose not. I am proud of the way the business has grown. I hadn’t expected it, but it’s very rewarding—and I don’t mean only monetarily—to create a new recipe and watch people enjoy it. I feel as if I was called to do this.”

  The instant the words were out of her mouth, Esther regretted them. Why was she confiding her inner thoughts to a man who was practically a stranger? The answer came quickly: for some reason, Jeremy didn’t feel like a stranger.

  “Have you always been a painter?” she asked, determined to turn the focus away from herself.

  A brief shake of the head was Jeremy’s response. He was silent for a moment before saying, “Only since the war. Before that I was a farmer.” He took another sip of coffee, and Esther suspected he was corralling his emotions. Mention of the war had that effect on many.

  “The war changed my life,” he said, confirming her supposition. “At night, after we’d been marching all day, men would play the harmonica or sing. I couldn’t do either, so I started making sketches for them to send to their mothers or sweethearts. They liked the results, and I realized that I enjoyed sketching. It was one good thing that came out of the war.”

  The way he said one told Esther there was at least one other. “What were the others?”

  “There’s only one. I discovered the joy of traveling and exploring new places. Before the war, I had never been more than ten miles from my home. Now I’ve seen almost every part of this great country.”

  It was a life Esther could not imagine. She hadn’t particularly enjoyed the trip from Central New York to Cheyenne, and now that she was here, she had no desire to travel farther.

  “So you don’t have a permanent home?” That was even more difficult to understand.

  “No. I haven’t yet found a place where I wanted to stay.”

  And she was firmly rooted in Wyoming Territory.

  It didn’t matter that Jeremy was the most intriguing man Esther had ever met. He was like the jackrabbit that had fascinated Susan one winter when it had apparently taken residence under one of their lilac bushes. Susan would check each morning and every afternoon when she returned from school, giggling with delight when the rabbit was still there. And then one day it had disappeared, leaving Susan feeling bereft. Like the rabbit, Jeremy was merely passing through Cheyenne and Esther’s life.

  Chapter 4

  Five days. It had been five days since he’d met Esther, five days since his life had changed. Jeremy couldn’t claim he understood the reason, but he found himself dreaming of her every night. And now he was here, in the warm, aromatic building that had become his studio as well as her bakery.

  “I’m so excited about having my own home.” Susan’s smile turned into a grin. Though she was good about remaining motionless while Jeremy captured her likeness on canvas, the instant he lifted his brush, she began to speak, her words as effervescent as the fizzy drinks he’d enjoyed as a boy.

  “Michael showed me what officers’ housing is like,” she continued. “Did you know that families have to move if a higher ranking person comes to the fort? Sometimes they only get a day’s notice.” Susan shuddered in apparent dismay. “I don’t imagine that’ll happen to us, though. We’re going to be in one of the smallest houses at the fort. That doesn’t matter, though, because it’ll be ours.”

  To Jeremy’s surprise, the corners of Susan’s mouth turned downward. “I only wish Aunt Esther was going with us.”

  Jeremy doubted any newlyweds really wanted company, but Susan seemed sincere. “You’ll still be able to see her.”

  “It won’t be the same. I don’t know what I’d have done without her. She’s been like a mother to me ever since my parents died.” Susan continued talking, repeating the story Jeremy had heard about how Esther had revived the bakery at the same time that she’d adopted her orphaned niece.

  “She’s a remarkable woman.” That must be the reason Esther dominated his thoughts. The only reason.

  “Mrs. Bradford is here for your fitting, Susan.” Esther smiled at Jeremy as her niece rose from the stool, shaking her arms and legs as if to relieve a cramp. “It shouldn’t take too long.” Pointing to the wall that divided the bakery from her sitting room, she smiled again. “Just knock on the wall if a customer arrives.”

  Jeremy shrugged as he swirled the tip of his brush on the palette. “I have plenty to do. You needn’t worry about me.”

  But she did worry about him, Esther admitted as she followed Susan to their apartment where Mrs. Bradford waited with the wedding gown. Though she couldn’t explain it, Esther dreamed about Jeremy every night. When she awakened, all she could remember were fragments, but they were enough to convince her that Jeremy Snyder’s life had not been an easy one. It wasn’t only his limp or the painful thinness that worried her. More important was the sadness she saw in his eyes when he didn’t realize she was watching.

  “You’re a good Christian woman, Miss Hathaway,” Mrs. Bradford said as they waited for Susan to slip out of her daytime dress. She smoothed the hair that had once been a bright auburn but was now fading and threaded with silver, and gave Esther a look that could only be called patronizing. “I admire you for taking pity on that poor man. It’s such a shame that he’s been afflicted with that limp, but it explains why he’s not married. No woman would want to be shackled to a man like that.”

  How dare she say that! Esther felt her hackles rise. “You’re wrong, Mrs. Bradford.” What she wanted to do was slap the woman who’d insulted Jeremy, but good manners kept her hands at her side. “There is nothing pitiful about Jeremy. He’s a strong man and a very talented artist. Any woman would be proud to be seen in his company.”

  The seamstress raised an eyebrow, her expression calculating. “Jeremy, is it? Just what is going on here?” Her tone left no doubt she thought the worst.

  Esther took a deep breath, exhaling slowly as she corralled her anger. “What is going on? Simple. I’ve employed Jeremy”—she stressed his name—“to paint my niece’s portrait, just as I’ve employed you to sew her gown.” She stared at the woman who was one of Cheyenne’s premier seamstresses. “I can see that you don’t believe me. That’s your prerogative, but if I hear any scurrilous gossip, you may be certain I will tell my customers that, although you are skilled with a needle, you are less skilled at minding your own business.”

  The woman’s eyes widened, and a flush stained her cheeks. “I didn’t mean I thought anything wrong was going on.”

  Esther let the lie slide. There was nothing to be gained by continuing the confrontation. As Susan emerged from her bedroom, Esther forced a bright smile to her face. “What do you think about adding another row of ruffles to the skirt?”

  Though anger still simmered, by the time she and Susan had made a decision about the ruffles, Esther felt calm enough to face Jeremy. She hadn’t wanted to do that when she feared her face would reveal her fury with the outspoken seamstress, but a quick glance in the mirror told her that her color had returned to normal.

  “I wondered if you could start coming earlier, perhaps around eleven,” she said as she approached Jeremy. He was cleaning his brushes, the pungent smell of turpentine mingling with the more pleasing aromas of yeast and chocolate. When he raised a questioning eyebrow, she continued. “Susan and I would like you to join u
s for our midday meal. That will give us an opportunity to discuss the portrait.”

  It was an excuse, nothing more, to ensure that he had at least one good meal a day. If it also gave her the opportunity to spend more time with him, well … that was an added benefit.

  Curiosity turned to surprise, and Jeremy raised one eyebrow. “I can certainly arrange that, if you think it’s wise.” The way he phrased the acceptance made Esther suspect he’d overheard Mrs. Bradford’s comments and her response through the thin walls.

  “I do.” Oh, that hadn’t come out the way she had planned. “I do think it’s wise,” she amended, lest his thoughts had turned the direction hers had, to wedding vows. “Michael will come whenever he can, but you realize the army has first call on him.”

  Jeremy’s eyes crinkled as he smiled. “That I do. And that leads me to something I wanted to discuss with you.” He gestured toward his easel. “I studied the other portraits, because I know you want this one to be similar. I’d like to suggest one change, though. Their backgrounds are all plain. I wondered if you might want something different for Susan and Michael.”

  Esther hadn’t thought about backgrounds. Her focus had been entirely on finding an artist talented enough to convey the young couple’s likeness onto canvas. “What would you suggest?”

  “Perhaps some aspect of Fort Russell. After all, that’s where their married life will begin.”

  As happiness bubbled up from deep inside her, Esther gave Jeremy a warm smile. In all likelihood, the men who’d painted the other family portraits hadn’t been skilled at landscapes. Jeremy was. “What a wonderful idea! That would make Susan’s star even more special.”

  He nodded, obviously pleased by her enthusiasm. “There’s only one problem. I haven’t seen the fort, and I don’t know which location they’d prefer.”

  Esther doubted either Susan or Michael did, either. “If you can wait a few days, we can all go together. I can’t leave the store, so that means Sunday.” She took a shallow breath before she continued. “Would next Sunday after church and dinner be a good time for you?”