“As far as I know, nothing’s wrong,” Jeremy said, trying not to stare at the woman who held his heart in her hands. “Susan invited me to join you tonight. I thought you knew.”
Though she was clearly flustered, Esther looked more than usually pretty tonight. It might be the fancy dress or those loose curls that danced against her cheeks. It could simply be the flush that colored her face. Jeremy didn’t care about the reason. All he cared about was whether or not this beautiful woman would allow him to share Christmas Eve with her.
“Come in,” she said, ushering him into the sitting room. “We’ll be ready to leave in a few minutes.”
Though the words were ordinary, Esther’s voice sounded strained. It could be nothing more than the shock of an unexpected guest, but Jeremy feared the reason was more serious. Perhaps he’d misread her earlier friendliness. Perhaps it had been nothing more than charity that had made her be so kind. Perhaps she saw him only as the man who’d painted Susan’s portrait. All of that was possible, but Jeremy refused to believe it. He wouldn’t give up so easily.
“I can see that my coming is a surprise. I should have considered that, but to be honest, since the day I received Susan’s invitation, all I’ve thought about was being with you again.”
Esther’s eyes darkened, and her lips turned up in a sweet smile. Before she could speak, Jeremy continued. “If you’d rather I leave …” He had to make the offer, though he hoped against hope that she would refuse.
“No, of course not.” The color in her cheeks deepened. “I’m so happy to see you again.” Though Esther started to say something more, Susan rushed into the room, her brown eyes twinkling with what appeared to be mischief. “Aunt Esther and I are glad you’re here.”
“Yes, we are.” The warmth in Esther’s expression sent a rush of pleasure through Jeremy’s veins. It appeared that coming here tonight had not been a mistake.
Perhaps it was a mistake, but if it was, Esther would have all her tomorrows to regret it. No matter what the morning brought, she intended to enjoy the simple pleasure of being with Jeremy tonight. Perhaps she should have chided Susan for issuing such an inappropriate invitation and neglecting to tell her about it, but Esther could not, not when that invitation had brought her what she longed for: time with Jeremy.
There was no time for private conversation, for the once-quiet sitting room felt as crowded and noisy as the train depot when Michael and his parents arrived. Though the Porters appeared to be as charming as their son, Esther barely heard a word they said. Instead, her gaze kept meeting Jeremy’s, and she found herself wishing they were alone. The opportunity came sooner than she had thought possible.
“Esther and I can walk,” Jeremy said when Mr. Porter explained that he had hired a carriage but that it might be a bit crowded with six passengers. “If she agrees.”
Esther did. Minutes later they were walking down Sixteenth Street. It felt like the night they’d dined at the InterOcean as they strolled along the street with Esther’s hand nestled in the crook of Jeremy’s arm. But tonight would be different. Esther was determined to do nothing to spoil the evening. Tonight was a night to celebrate the wonder of God’s love and the greatest gift the world had ever received. Sharing that joyous message and the hope that accompanied it with Jeremy only made the night more special.
As happened each year, the church was crowded, the scents of perfume and Macassar oil mingled with the pungent odors of candle wax and wet wool. Yet no one seemed to mind the crowding or the smells, least of all Esther. Even if it was only for a few hours, she was with Jeremy.
When the first hymn began, she discovered that his voice was as off-key as her own, but that didn’t matter. What mattered was that they were worshipping together. Judging from the expression on his face, Jeremy was as moved as she by the minister’s reading from the Gospel of Luke.
“‘Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people.’”
Esther felt the prickle of tears in her eyes as joy filled her heart. Even if her prayer for a miracle was not answered, this was a Christmas she would never forget.
“Are you certain you want to walk again?” Mr. Porter asked when the service had ended and they’d filed outside. “We could let the young people do that.”
Jeremy turned toward Esther. “If Esther’s willing, I’d prefer to walk. It’s a beautiful night.”
It was indeed. The wind had subsided, leaving a star-studded sky with a few lazy snowflakes drifting to the ground.
“I’d like to walk.” And to share more of this night with the man who had captured her heart.
They strolled in silence for a few minutes. When they were two blocks from the church and the crowd had dispersed, Jeremy stopped.
“The beautiful night wasn’t the only reason I wanted to walk.” He reached into his greatcoat pocket and withdrew a cloth bag. “I have a gift for you.” His voice sounded almost hesitant, as if he were afraid of her reaction.
Esther stared at the dark green velvet sack, her heart leaping at the thought that this wonderful man had brought her a gift. “I didn’t expect anything.” Just being here with Jeremy was more than she had expected.
“I know you didn’t, but I want you to have this.” He placed the bag in her hand.
As her fingers reached inside and touched the familiar shape, Esther gasped. It couldn’t be, yet it was. Gently she pulled out the star-shaped frame. Similar in size to the one she’d bought for Susan’s portrait, this frame was more ornate, with open filigree decorating each of the points. And in the center … Esther took a deep breath, hardly able to believe her eyes. All her life she had longed for her own Christmas star, and now Jeremy had given it to her. Looking back at her from one side of the painting was her portrait. The other side was nothing more than blank canvas.
“It’s beautiful, Jeremy, but I don’t understand. I didn’t pose for this.” What Esther really didn’t understand was what he meant by the gift. He knew the tradition.
He gave her a smile so sweet it brought tears to her eyes. “You didn’t need to pose. Your image is engraved on my heart. All I had to do was close my eyes, and I pictured you.”
Esther nodded. Though she was not an artist, she had no trouble picturing Jeremy when they were apart.
His expression sobered. “I wanted to give you a finished star, but I couldn’t, because I wasn’t certain what you wanted on the other side.” He paused for a second. “I can paint a landscape there. That may not be like the others, but it’s important to me that you have your own star. I know you’ve dreamed of one, and I want to make your dreams come true.”
Esther looked at the star, marveling at the way Jeremy had portrayed her. It was her face, yet it wasn’t. She had never seen herself looking so beautiful, so in love. Was this how Jeremy saw her?
He took a shallow breath before he continued. “I know how I want to finish the portrait. In my dreams, it’s my face next to yours.” Jeremy’s voice rang with emotion. “More than anything, I want to be part of your Christmas star and part of your life.”
Esther stared at the man she loved so dearly, the man whose words were making her heart pound with excitement. He said he wanted to make her dreams come true, and he was doing exactly that. When she opened her mouth to speak, he raised a cautioning hand.
“I know I can’t take Chester’s place, but I want whatever place in your life you can give me.” Jeremy paused for a second and took her left hand in his. “I love you with all my heart. Will you marry me?”
Her heart overflowing with love, Esther nodded. Susan had been right. All she needed to do was ask God for a miracle, and He’d granted it. “Oh, Jeremy, there is nothing I want more than to marry you. It’s true that I loved Chester and that he’ll always have a place in my heart, but my love for you is stronger than anything I’ve ever known.” The words came tumbling out like water over a falls as Esther tried to express the depth of her love.
She squeezed Jere
my’s hand, wishing the cold night hadn’t dictated gloves. “I think I fell in love with you that first day when you walked into the bakery. I had never felt that kind of instant connection before, but it was there, and it’s only grown stronger since then. Marrying you will make my life complete.”
“And mine.” Jeremy’s eyes shone with happiness that rivaled the stars’ brilliance. “Oh, my love, you’ve made me happier than I dreamed possible.”
When Esther smiled, he drew her into his arms and pressed his lips to hers, giving her the sweetest of kisses. His lips were warm and tender, his caress more wonderful than even her wildest dreams, and in that moment Esther knew this was where she belonged: in Jeremy’s arms.
When at length they broke apart, she smiled at the man she loved, the man who was going to be her husband. “It may take awhile, but I’ll sell the bakery so we can travel wherever you want.”
His eyes widened, and she saw him swallow, as if trying to control his emotions. “You’d do that for me?” Jeremy’s voice cracked as he pronounced the words.
Nodding, Esther explained. “A month ago, I felt as if the bakery and Cheyenne were my home. Then I met you, and I learned that home is more than a building or even a city. Home is the place you share with the person you love.”
Jeremy matched her nod. “Will you share your home with me?” Esther’s confusion must have shown, for he continued. “I’ve learned a few things, too. One is that I want to stay here. Cheyenne will be my home as long as I’m with the woman I love.”
“Oh, Jeremy!” Esther raised her lips for another kiss as snowflakes drifted past them. “You’ve made all my dreams come true.”
“And so have you, my Christmas star bride.”
About the Author
Amanda Cabot is the author of more than thirty novels, including the CBA bestseller Christmas Roses and Waiting for Spring, which is also set in Cheyenne. A Christmastime bride herself, Amanda now lives in Cheyenne with her highschool sweetheart husband. You can find her at www.amandacabot.com.
The Advent Bride
by Mary Connealy
This book is dedicated to Steven Curtis Chapman, who sang a really encouraging song, “Love Take Me Over,” at a time I really needed encouragement. Thank you to all the wonderful, blessed artists in contemporary Christian music.
Chapter 1
Lone Tree, Nebraska
Monday, November 29, 1875
Being a teacher was turning out to be a little like having the flu.
Simon O’Keeffe. Her heart broke for him at the same time her stomach twisted with dread for herself. The churning innards this boy caused in her made a case of influenza fun and games.
The small form on the front steps of the Lone Tree schoolhouse huddled against the cold. Shivering herself, she wondered how long seven-year-old Simon had been sitting with his back pressed against the building to get out of the wind.
On these smooth, treeless highlands the wind blew nearly all the time. No matter where a person sought shelter outside, there was no escape from the Nebraska cold.
Just as there was no escape from Simon.
Picking up her pace and shoving her dread down deep, she hurried to the door, produced the key her position as schoolmarm had granted her, and said, “Let’s get inside, Simon. You must be freezing.”
And what was his worthless father thinking to let him get to school so early?
Simon’s eyes, sullen and far too smart, lifted to hers.
“Did you walk to school?” Melanie tried to sound pleasant. But it didn’t matter. Simon would take it wrong. The cantankerous little guy had a gift for it. She swung the door open and waved her hand to shoo him in.
The spark of rebellion in his eyes clashed with his trembling. He wanted to defy her—Simon always wanted to defy her—but he was just too cold.
“My pa ain’t gonna leave me to walk to school in this cold, Miss Douglas.” Simon was offended on his father’s behalf.
“So he drove you in?” Melanie should just quit talking. Nothing she said would make Simon respond well, the poor little holy terror.
“We live in town now … leastways we’re living here for the winter.”
And that explained Simon’s presence. He’d started the school year, then he’d stayed home to help with harvest—or maybe his pa had just been too busy to get the boy out the door. And before harvest was over, the weather turned bitter cold. The five-mile walk was too hard, and apparently his pa wouldn’t drive him.
The day Simon had stopped coming to school, her life as the teacher had improved dramatically. That didn’t mean the rest of her life wasn’t miserable, but at least school had been good. And now here came her little arch enemy back to school. It was all she could do to suppress a groan.
Closing the door, Melanie rushed to set her books on her desk in the frigid room. She headed straight for the potbellied stove to get a fire going.
Gathering an armful of logs, she pulled open the creaking door and knelt to stuff kindling into the stove. She added shredded bits of bark and touched a match to it. A crash startled her. She knocked her head into the cast iron.
Whirling around, expecting the worst … she got it.
Simon.
Glaring at her.
Around his scruffy boots lay a pile of books that had previously sat in a tidy pile on her desk.
Dear God, I’m already weary, and it’s just gone seven in the morning, with nearly two hours until the other children show up. She was on her knees. What better to do than pray?
The prayer helped her fight back her temper. After seeing no harm was done—not counting the new bump on her forehead—she turned and went back to stoking the fire.
Melanie swung the little iron door shut and twisted the flat knob that kept the fire inside. “Come on over and get warm, Simon.” Kneeling by the slowly warming stove put heart into her. Her room at Mrs. Rathbone’s was miserable. She spent every night in a mostly unheated attic.
Simon came close, he must have been freezing to move next to her.
The little boy’s dark curls were too long. He was dressed in near rags. Was his father poor? Maybe a widower didn’t notice worn-out knees and threadbare cuffs. And it didn’t cost a thing to get a haircut, not if Henry O’Keeffe did the cutting himself. Water was certainly free, but the boy had black curves under his ragged fingernails and dirt on his neck.
Pieces of cooked egg stuck on the front of Simon’s shirt, too. Sloppy as that was, it gave Melanie some encouragement to know the boy had been served a hot breakfast.
The crackling fire was heartening, and the boy was close enough to get warm. She reached out her hands to garner those first precious waves of heat.
“Soon, I’ll have to get to work, Simon. But you can stay here, just sit by the stove and keep warm.”
A scowl twisted his face. What had she said now?
“It ain’t my pa’s doing that I was out there. He told me to go to school at schooltime. I’m the one that got the time wrong.”
Leave a seven-year-old to get himself to school. Henry O’Keeffe had a lot to answer for.
“Well, I hope you weren’t waiting long. I’m usually here by seven, so you can come on over early if you want.” The twisting stomach came back. She didn’t want this little imp here from early morning on.
But she’d just invited the most unruly little boy in town to share her peaceful time at the school. Just the thought of dealing with him for more hours than absolutely necessary reminded Melanie of influenza again. Her stomach twisted with dismay.
But what could be done? The boy couldn’t sit out in the cold.
God had no words of wisdom for her except the plain truth. She was stuck with Simon O’Keeffe. She’d have to make the best of it and help the boy any way she could.
Chapter 2
“Class dismissed.” Melanie clasped the McGuffey Reader in both hands and did her best to keep her face serene while she strangled the book. It had to be better than strangling a sev
en-year-old.
Every child in the place erupted from their seats and ran for the nails where their coats hung.
“Simon.” Melanie’s voice cut through the clatter. Simon stood, belligerent. He held his desktop in his hands.
The three boys older than Simon laughed and shoved each other. There had been none of this roughhousing last week. They’d been acting up all day, reacting to Simon’s bold defiance. She’d lost all control of the older boys. Four older girls giggled. Two little boys just a year older than Simon slid looks of pity his way. They all scrambled for their coats and lunch pails.
It hadn’t helped that she’d started practice today for a Christmas program, scheduled for Christmas Eve, here at the school. Melanie had been warned that the entire town, not just parents, would be attending.
“Yes, Miss Douglas?”
Do not render evil for evil.
Why, that was right there in the Bible. Was disassembling a desk evil? Normally Melanie would have said no, but this was Simon.
“You will stay after school until you’ve put that desk back together.” Melanie hadn’t even known the desks could be taken apart. They’d always seemed very sturdy to her. But she’d underestimated her little foe.
“I can finish it tomorrow. Pa will worry about me.” Simon stood, holding that desktop, the little rat trying to wriggle his way out of this trap. The boy was apparently bored to death with school. Studying would’ve made the day go faster, but that was too much to ask.
“When you don’t arrive home on time, he’ll come hunting for you, and this is the first place he’ll check.”
“But he said he might be late.”
“How late?” Melanie clamped her mouth shut.
Simon’s eyes blazed. The boy was always ready to take offense on his father’s behalf.
Melanie had to stop saying a single word Simon could take as a criticism of his pa and address her concerns directly to Henry. But she wasn’t letting Simon leave for a possibly cold house with no father at home. Simon’s after-school time was, as of this moment, lasting until his pa turned up to fetch him.
The 12 Brides of Christmas Collection Page 15
