The 12 Brides of Christmas Collection

by Mary Connealy

  In the end, she’d rewritten some of the lines of the play, sewn hems in two costumes, worked on some decorations she wanted the children to finish, and read through the highest level arithmetic book she had, a book she was familiar with and understood completely.

  Through it all, she prayed.

  Memories of the years at the orphanage haunted her and seemed tied to that look in Hank’s blue eyes. She’d always borne this heavy feeling there was something wrong with a little girl who had no parents, an older child who was never adopted, a young woman who’d never found a man to love her.

  She didn’t have those thoughts so much anymore. Living alone in an attic and working all day with children, she was too busy or too alone to be rejected.

  Until now. By Hank.

  “I know you’re spending time in that schoolhouse—alone with a man. There’s talk all over town.”

  Melanie had to dig deep to find the calm needed to keep from snapping back at Magda’s verbal assault. Every day it was harder to turn the other cheek, to return good for Mrs. Rathbone’s evil. And today—thanks to Hank—holding her tongue was harder than ever.

  “Simon is there, Mrs. Rathbone. We’re certainly not spending time alone, and Hank, uh, that is Mr. O’Keeffe is often occupied with his work as sheriff. I won’t send a little boy home to an empty house. I’m trying to get Simon more interested in schoolwork and less interested in causing trouble. And he’s doing very well. Often when Hank gets there, Simon is in the middle of something….” Trying to open hidden compartments in the box you gave me, which I should tell you about. But I don’t dare, for fear you’ll take it from me. “I hope a few more nights”—twelve: there were twelve more days until Christmas—“and Simon won’t need extra help anymore.”

  The Advent box in her satchel seemed to weigh more with each passing moment. Melanie felt heat climbing up her neck, and she knew she had to get upstairs before she said something that got her thrown out of this house—the only available home for her in town.

  “One word from me to the parson and the doctor and Mr. Weber at the general store,” Magda rattled off the names of the men on the school board, “and I can blacken your name to the point you’ll be fired.” Mrs. Rathbone waggled a finger from her chair by the warm fire.

  “And it’s a wonder I can breathe with the dust you kicked up cleaning the library last weekend.”

  “I’ll dust the rest of the house this weekend, ma’am.” Prayer. Melanie clung to prayer.

  God, don’t let me shame myself with my foolish temper. I need this home. Surround me with protection from this enemy.

  “I won’t have a woman of questionable character in my home. No Christian woman should have to put up with it.”

  Melanie knew it was either run or say something absolutely dreadful. Terrible, sinful words burned in her throat, and it wasn’t even Mrs. Rathbone’s fault. All of her need to rage could be laid right at the feet of Hank O’Keeffe because of his withdrawal from her.

  She chose to run. “Good night, Mrs. Rathbone.”

  Grabbing her plate, ignoring Mrs. Rathbone’s insistent demand to come back, she rushed up those cold stairs. Every day the weather was worse. Melanie had been able to see her breath in the room when she got dressed that morning.

  Today was Monday, and the weekend had allowed Melanie to find a few more drawers in the box, but she knew the strange object still held some unaccounted-for space. She’d become nearly obsessed with finding them all. She’d bought enough tiny toys and candy to last until Christmas; whether the hidden compartments would last that long, she didn’t know.

  Of course, she only had to find enough drawers to keep Simon busy on school days. A smile crossed her lips as she remembered Simon sidling up to her at church to plead for a look at the box right then.

  The little pill was as eager as she was.

  Melanie gained her room, set her plate on the bed, drew the Advent box out of her satchel, and set it on the trunk. She studied it and felt led to pray as she ate her cold meal.

  The entire center of the box was still unexplored. The little drawers on the front and back were accounted for … by her. Simon still had a while to go finding them.

  The meal was decent enough, if a girl had spent her entire life in an orphanage with a meager budget. She finished it quickly and picked up the box. She’d been listening for that click as Simon and Hank worked.

  She’d been all weekend finding it herself.

  Now which of the many little seams between wooden slats and tiles was the one that needed to be tipped just so, pressed just so … Often two things moved at the same time …

  At last, because she’d learned tipping the box made a difference, Melanie finally pushed the right boards with the box tilted at the perfect angle, and the whole box popped. A seam appeared right down the middle, separating the front with the visible drawers from the back with the other compartments they’d found. Hinged on one side, she found more little tiles and slats of wood. But a grin broke across her face. She was learning how this strange box worked. There were little nooks and crannies to be found all over in this new section.

  Not easy, because nothing about the Advent box was easy. But findable. She could do it. Simon could do it. And very possibly, just based on the small sizes of the drawers they’d found up until now, there might be enough spaces to last until Christmas.

  After that, she’d tell Mrs. Rathbone about the little drawers, and if the contentious old lady agreed to let Melanie keep it, she’d give it to Simon as a Christmas gift.

  The discovery of the new stash of drawers helped set aside the hurt from Hank. Well, not set it aside really, just accept it. More pain in a life that had dosed her with a lot of it. Nothing new, not even a surprise.

  She got ready for bed with a prayer of thanks in her heart.

  Chapter 10

  Tuesday, December 14

  The Seventeenth Day of Advent

  They found several slender lengths of wood painted bright red.

  “What’s this, Miss Douglas?”

  Hank looked at Melanie, who was busy writing, always working on her Christmas play. Or so she said.

  With a sweet, sad smile that made Hank’s heart ache—because he’d put that sadness there—she shook her head. “I don’t know. What do you think it could be?”

  She did a very good job of acting mystified.

  It had been left to Hank to notice the little slots that fit together to form an outlined A-frame building.

  Wednesday, December 15

  The Eighteenth Day of Advent

  “It looks like a little ball of yarn, Pa.” Simon’s brow furrowed as if he had no idea what to make of a knotted up ball of yarn.

  Hank noticed Melanie lean a bit toward them from where she sat by the potbellied stove, with a pair of knitting needles and a ball of white yarn.

  “Look closer, son. It’s got a little red nose and two blue knots for eyes. And these little sticks are legs. It’s a lamb.”

  Simon had brought the strange little A-frame sticks with him, and suddenly Hank knew what it was.

  “The sheep goes in the barn, only it’s a stable, like the stable in Bethlehem.”

  Melanie eased back in her chair without comment and went back to her knitting.

  Thursday, December 16

  The Nineteenth Day of Advent

  “It’s a star.” Simon’s voice rang with excitement. He knew now what was coming. The stable, the sheep, the star.

  Hank watched as Simon examined it. The star was sewn with felt and just the tiniest bit padded like a tiny star-shaped pillow. It was stitched onto a button, the whole thing painted bright yellow. Melanie had made this with her own hands, just like the sheep.

  A loop of thread on the button was perfect to hang the star on a little notch on the stable. Hank hadn’t noticed that notch until just now.

  What else had she made? There had to be an entire Nativity scene coming. Each of the few pieces were clever. But how did she
make the people? She should have come to him. But of course he’d made it impossible.

  He looked over, and her gaze met his. He got his jolt for the day. Then she looked back at the piece of white fabric she was cross-stitching. She wasn’t even pretending to be busy with schoolwork anymore.

  Friday, December 17

  The Twentieth Day of Advent

  Simon squealed over the tiny piece of carved wood. It was Mary, the mother of Jesus. Hank knew then what she’d done. He’d seen these figures in the general store and had never given them a second thought. For one thing their price was a bit dear. But Melanie had bought the set, and now they’d be introduced to the Holy Family one at a time.

  Family. Hank rested his eyes on Melanie. Her head bent over her work. How he’d loved having a real family.

  Monday, December 20

  The Twenty-third Day of Advent

  A little donkey.

  “Donkey’s are stubborn things, ain’t they, Pa?”

  “It’s aren’t, Simon, not ain’t. You must use proper grammar.” Melanie’s voice drew Hank’s attention, as if he wasn’t already paying too much attention to her.

  “They are stubborn, Simon,” she said. “Almost as stubborn as men.”

  Melanie’s lips quirked in a smile. A real smile. He detected no sadness. But the smile was gone, and she didn’t look up.

  He needed to find a way to make her look up. He needed his daily dose of her pretty eyes.

  Tuesday, December 21

  The Twenty-fourth Day of Advent

  “Was Joseph Jesus’ father, or was God?” Simon studied the little bit of wood, perfectly painted, about as tall as his little finger.

  “Well, God was Jesus’ real Father, but Joseph was like the father God gave Him here on earth.”

  “Like Mike Andrews has a new pa? I hear Mike call him a stepfather, but he acts just like a regular pa.”

  “I don’t know if Joseph is exactly Jesus’ stepfather, because that’s what you get when your own pa is dead, and Jesus’ heavenly Father was with Him in spirit.”

  “Is Ma with us in spirit, Pa?”

  Hank looked down at Simon and saw only curiosity. No hurt. He probably could barely remember Greta. Hank’s thoughts faltered because, for a few seconds, he couldn’t picture her. Couldn’t bring her face to mind. Then it came back to him, Greta’s face. But he pictured her as his young bride. Happy, working hard, a good cook, a pretty woman with a nice singing voice and a tendency to nag. She was usually right, so Hank didn’t hold that against her.

  He realized that he’d always before pictured her as she was when she was dying. In pain, ashen white, bleeding. But now the good memories came flooding in and replaced the bad. He felt a part of his heart heal.

  And he looked at Melanie, who for once didn’t have her eyes fixed on her work. She watched Simon with concern and kindness. Maybe afraid Hank would say some boneheaded thing that made Simon feel bad.

  “She is indeed, Simon. But that isn’t exactly how it was with Jesus being God’s Son.” Hank told Simon the Christmas story in a way that was more real than the usual reading from the Bible. Precious as those words were, talking with his son, discussing a heavenly Father, a stepfather, a mother who’d died, the story of Jesus was more real to Hank than it had ever been. And he owed that to Melanie.

  He looked up at her as he talked, and for once she smiled at him as she had before he’d driven her away from the desk and the Advent box.

  She’d never by so much as a tone in her voice punished Hank for his harsh rejection.

  Wednesday, December 22

  The Twenty-fifth Day of Advent

  “Melanie, come over and see what we found.” Hank didn’t betray himself, but Melanie looked up, and her eyes flashed.

  “What is it?” She knew good and well what it was. She’d put it there.

  “Come and see, Miss Douglas.” Simon sounded excited, and Hank knew that however unhappy Melanie might be with him, she’d not deny Simon her attention.

  Rising with great reluctance, she set aside her needlework and came to the desk to see Simon hold up the tiny angel. Hank had no idea where she’d gotten this.

  But he couldn’t ask without letting Simon know she’d put it in there. He was willing to believe this box was just for him, maybe the gifts put there by God. Hank wasn’t sure just what his son thought about this box, only that he loved it, was fascinated by it, and that as he’d opened the secret drawers, he’d also opened his heart. Hank had regained his son’s love. And he’d have never done it without the generous schoolmarm.

  “It’s an angel, Melanie.” Hank didn’t take it from Simon; he’d have had a tug-of-war. But he lifted Simon’s hand and turned it a bit so the angel shone in the lantern light. This drawer had taken hours to find. Hank couldn’t believe how well Simon had learned to concentrate and stick with a task.

  Rising from his chair, he stepped around his son so he was just that little bit closer to Melanie. “An angel put in this box by an angel.”

  Melanie looked past Hank to Simon. But his son was busy finding the perfect place for the angel in his nearly complete Nativity set.

  Hank touched her arm and gained her full attention. “Thank you, Melanie. And I’m sorry I’ve made it so you”—he dropped his voice to a whisper—“couldn’t help. So sorry. God bless you for letting Simon and me take this journey to Christmas together. But I’d like it if you joined us. I let fear and my grief push you away, but I’ve found my way past it now. I have you to thank for it, and if you’ll forgive me, please help us, these last two days before Christmas, search for the last drawers.”

  Melanie looked scared, like a woman might who’d been hurt too many times. But she nodded. “I’d like that. Thank you.”

  Thursday, December 23

  The Twenty-sixth Day of Advent

  When they opened the next little cranny, Simon said, “It’s a baby Jesus.”

  He reached his chubby little fingers into the ridiculously well-hidden spot and pulled out a tiny baby in a manger. Hank wasn’t too surprised. His eyes went to the little Nativity scene set up on Melanie’s desk. Simon brought them every day and set them up before he started hunting.

  “Pa, it’s just like when Jesus was born.” Simon looked up and smiled. All of the pain his boy had carried for two years seemed to be gone. Hank was at fault that the boy had been so unhappy. He’d blamed it on Greta’s death, but spending this time with Simon had shown Hank the truth.

  And it was because of Melanie’s wisdom that they’d come so far, taken a journey just as the Holy Family had.

  Smiling, uncritical, Simon asked. “But what’s left now? Finding the baby Jesus should have happened Christmas Day.”

  Hank didn’t know. Had Melanie hoped they wouldn’t find Jesus until tomorrow? Christmas day was Saturday. But the Nativity was completed. What else could there be?

  And though she’d joined them in their search today, after he’d asked her to forgive him, she hadn’t steered them. They found whatever they found. So, it’s possible this wasn’t the order she’d hoped the compartments would be opened.

  He looked at her, and she was watching Simon, smiling. Not a flicker of alarm that they’d found the wrong drawer.

  “Let’s go ahead and put Jesus in by Mary and Joseph.” Melanie and Simon turned to arrange all the little figures.

  While they did it, Hank, his hands moving idly on the box did something and a new drawer popped open. A drawer Hank could see had nothing in it. The oddest little slit in the wood. She hadn’t found it yet. He knew if she had there’d be some bit of a thing in there.

  But this drawer, well, Hank knew exactly what belonged in this one. He took a second to study the cunning little space before he snapped it shut.

  And then he made his plan while Melanie and Simon talked about the first Christmas.

  Thursday, December 24

  The Twenty-seventh Day of Advent

  Melanie lined the children up to sing their final
song. They were so bursting with Christmas cheer it had been hard to get them to do their parts, but in the end, with a few funny mix-ups, they’d done a wonderful job.

  When the school finally was almost emptied out, she smiled at the two who remained. She’d asked Magda’s permission to keep the box, even opened a few of the little drawers. Magda had waved it off as if it smelled bad.

  “Simon, can you come here, please?” As always, Simon came rushing up, eager to search. But tonight there was to be no search.

  She reached under her desk to get her satchel. “It’s gone.” She straightened to see Hank holding the box.

  “I wanted to look at it closer.” He handed it to Melanie.

  “We’ve found all the drawers, but I do have one final gift for you.”

  She extended the Advent box to him. “This is for you and your pa.” Her eyes raised to Hank.

  “It’s mine?” Simon gasped then grabbed the box and hugged it, his face beaming with joy.

  “Yes, merry Christmas.”

  Hank stood beside her, both of them facing Simon.

  The sweet little boy set the box down. “I’m going to open every little compartment just for the fun of it.”

  “Simon, it’s too late. We can’t—”

  “Let him work on it for a while, Melanie.”

  Melanie saw a look pass between the two and wondered at it.

  The warmth of Hank’s voice drew her eyes from the boy to the man. Hank rested one strong hand on Melanie’s arm. Smiling, knowing he wanted space between them and Simon so they could talk, she let him pull her over to the stove. All of ten feet away from the distracted child.

  “Melanie—” Hank rested both hands on her upper arms. His blue gaze locked on hers, and it drew her in just as his hands drew her closer.

  “Y–yes?” She hoped that yesterday had changed things between them. But she was a woman who had learned so long ago not to hope.

  “Melanie, it’s taken me too long. I’ve been stubborn, and mostly I’ve been afraid. But I’m not afraid anymore.”

  His voice charmed her. His hands, so strong, could protect her from the whole world. Oh yes, she wanted to hope.