The 12 Brides of Christmas Collection

by Mary Connealy

  “You had an excellent chance with Timothy Bates.”

  Deborah sighed. “I didn’t love Timothy, Ma. I never should have agreed to marry him. I was still hurting over Curt, and Timothy’s kind words eased some of the pain. But that’s not a good reason to marry. I knew he’d be happier with Nadine Garvey. I did him a favor by ending our agreement.”

  Her mother clucked her tongue. “Be that as it may, it didn’t help your future by letting him go. You’re a lovely woman now, with plenty of skills that any man would be happy to acquire. But if you wait much longer, you’ll be alone the rest of your life.”

  Deborah shut the drawer a little harder than she’d planned then swung around. “Better to be alone than to marry someone I don’t love, while my heart is still tied to another.”

  “Then untie it, girl. You’re being more than a little foolish.” Ma flicked a hand at the wardrobe standing open against the far wall. “We’d best get to work and finish this off. I promised Mr. Warren we’d be done before the service tomorrow.”

  “Not with all the cleaning, too? We can have the front room and kitchen tidied and shining before folks show up but not the rest of the house. Sarah was ailing for such a long time. I’m afraid Mr. Warren kept up on the farm but not the house. It’s going to take at least a week to set this place back to rights.”

  “If only I had more energy and strength, we’d get done faster.” Ma’s voice ended on a weak note, but she pushed to her feet and wobbled across the floor to the walnut wardrobe.

  Deborah’s heart lurched. Maybe her mother hadn’t been exaggerating. “Come sit, and let me do that. There’s no need to push yourself.”

  She wrapped her arm around her mother’s shoulders, shocked anew by the sharp bones where there used to be soft flesh. She settled her mother onto the bed again then straightened. “I’ll step into Sarah’s sitting room and bring a few things in here. We’ll need that area somewhat clear before guests arrive, and the easiest course of action is to store things in this room for now.”

  “Fine, dear. I’ll rest, and when I get my breath, I’ll help.”

  “No ma’am. You stay put.” Deborah shook her finger and smiled. “That’s an order.” She headed for the door to the adjoining room, thankful it was close. She’d leave it ajar and listen in case Ma called.

  She stepped into the sitting room and stopped, her breath caught in her throat. A man stood with his back toward her. It wasn’t Mr. Warren, but something was disturbingly familiar about the set of his shoulders and the fringe of dark brown hair she could see beneath his hat. “Hello? May I help you?”

  He pivoted, his hand on the mantel above the fireplace, and his warm brown eyes captured hers. “Deborah Summers. Well, I’ll be. You’re the last person I expected to see here.”

  She dropped the crocheted doilies, her fingers numb and her brain refusing to function. She must be seeing things. It wasn’t possible that Curt Warren was standing there, his face wreathed in a nonchalant smile. The shock passed in moments, however, and anger took its place. How dare he return after all these years and act as though nothing had changed! She sank to the floor, blindly groping for the bits of lace, while a storm gathered in the pit of her stomach, ready to erupt.

  Chapter 2

  Curt held himself steady against the mantel, working hard to stay composed. He wanted to rush across the room and pluck the bits of lace from the floor and present them to the stunning young woman on bended knee. But it had been far too long since he’d seen her, and his tongue was as frozen as his limbs. Couldn’t he have come up with something more fascinating than she was the last person he expected to see? She must think him a complete dunderhead—if not worse.

  Finally, he pushed himself erect and straightened his jacket, wishing he’d worn his usual everyday clothing and not crammed himself into this suit. But Pa needed to see that he’d attained some measure of success in his chosen career. He held out his hand and smiled. “Let me help you.”

  She hesitated, and he saw a flicker of what appeared to be anger flash in her eyes, but she finally extended her hand.

  “Thank you.” Standing, she withdrew and stepped away, putting a wider distance between them.

  Curt grimaced at the frown marring Deborah’s face. “I came home for Ma’s service, but I didn’t realize you’d be here. Have I done something wrong?”

  “Wrong?” Deborah’s frown deepened. “Whatever would give you that idea? It’s only been five years since I saw you, and yet you act as though it was last week.” She crossed her arms and tossed her head. “Not a single letter in the last four years, even after I told you I’d wait.”

  Curt’s blood thrummed in his ears. “But I told you …” He licked his lips. “Did you wait? Are you married? I mean …” Warmth rushed into his face at the fury clouding Deborah’s expression. “Pardon me. That was rude and disrespectful. As I remember, I told you not to wait—that I wouldn’t be back, and you should move on with your life. Dragging you away from your mother wouldn’t be fair. I’m sorry if I caused you distress by not continuing to write. I truly thought you understood.”

  Deborah hunched a shoulder. “It doesn’t matter now; and no, I’m not married or betrothed.” She lifted her head. “Not that I haven’t had offers.”

  She had no idea why she’d tacked on that last. Maybe due to the flicker of joy she saw in his eyes when she’d said no—a perverse desire to show him she wasn’t an old maid with no one who cared to marry her. But she couldn’t deny the attraction she still felt for this man or the longing that had rushed over her when he’d clasped her fingers for those few seconds it had taken her to stand.

  She tipped her head toward the next room. “I’m surprised Ma hasn’t appeared. I left her resting on the bed, but I’d better check on her.”

  “Your mother is here, too? I haven’t seen Pa yet, so I’m not sure what’s going on.”

  Deborah gave him a slight smile. “I must say I’m quite surprised to see you. You haven’t visited since you left.” She rested her hand on the doorframe leading into the adjoining room and turned. “Your father asked Ma and me to ready the house for the service and clean out some of your mother’s things, but he didn’t mention you were coming.”

  A belated thought struck her, and she sucked in a quick breath. “Curt, I’m so sorry about your ma. She was a good woman, and my mother treasured her friendship.”

  He nodded, his face grave. “Thank you. Someone from the church sent word, or I wouldn’t have known. I wish I could have arrived before she passed.” He bowed his head for a moment. “I didn’t tell Pa I was coming, so I’m not sure what he’ll say when he finds out I’m here.”

  From listening to Mr. Warren over the past five years, Deborah had a good idea what he might say to his son, but she couldn’t destroy Curt’s look of tentative hope. “I hope he’ll be surprised and happy to see you.” She smiled and pushed open the door to the bedroom. “Ma? Are you awake?”

  Peeking into the room, she hesitated then walked softly to the bed, hating to disturb her mother. The older woman lay on the coverlet, eyes closed and hands clasped over her waist. The same pose Deborah had seen her father in, lying in his casket.

  Panic gripped her, and she rushed to the bed, certain her mother’s words about dying had been prophetic. “Mama?” She touched her mother’s cheek, and relief swamped her at the warmth that met her fingertips. “Are you all right?”

  She sensed Curt behind her but ignored him, intent on making sure her mother was well. “Wake up, Ma. Someone is here.”

  “Hmm? Who? What?” Her mother’s eyelids fluttered, and she struggled to sit up. She pushed against the headboard and attempted to straighten her skirt. “Oh my!” Her gaze lifted to just over Deborah’s shoulder. “My stars! Is that young Curt Warren, or am I dreaming?”

  The bedroom door swung open and thumped against the wall. Deborah and Curt swiveled and stared. Mr. Warren stood in the opening, a scowl marring his otherwise pleasant visage to the extent
Deborah barely recognized him.

  He pointed at Curt as his bellow filled the room. “What in thunder are you doing here?”

  Curt stiffened, ready to do battle as he’d always done as a young man, then forced his tight muscles to relax. He was no longer the rebellious youth who’d lived in this home. He was a man who’d matured into the kind of person his parents had always hoped for—but somehow he doubted his father would believe that. He could only pray Deborah would, once he had a chance to talk to her alone.

  But right now he must deal with the man who stood before him, trembling with anger. Curt held out his hand and stepped forward, forcing a smile he didn’t feel. “Pa. It’s good to see you, sir.”

  His father’s gaze didn’t waver, and his arms stayed at his sides. “I asked you a question. Why are you here?”

  Curt flinched at the harsh words. He’d prayed so many times about this reunion. In fact, he’d longed to come home, but his mother’s letters had begged him to wait. She’d worked hard to soften his father’s attitude, but for some reason Curt couldn’t understand, Pa seemed determined to keep him a prodigal for as long as he continued in his chosen career.

  “I heard about Ma. She wrote and told me she was sick, but she was certain she was doing better. Then a friend wrote and told me she’d passed.” He hung his head and his body shuddered. “I’m sorry, Pa.” He raised damp eyes. “I would have been here if I’d known how bad it was.”

  Pa flicked a hand toward the door. “If you cared, you never would have left in the first place. Maybe you’d best go back to your home. You don’t belong in these parts any longer.”

  Deborah had stood silent beside the bed where her mother sat, but now she moved to stand beside Curt. “Mr. Warren, maybe it would be good to set this aside for the moment. At least until Mrs. Warren is put to rest. Curt didn’t have a chance to tell his mother good-bye. Perhaps you could give him a few days before you ask him to leave?”

  Pa swung his gaze to Deborah, and Curt saw his hard expression soften, then he heaved a sigh. “All right. I’ll do that for you, girl. I appreciate your help here, and yours, Winifred, and I don’t want to appear callous or unfeeling at a time when charity should abide in our hearts.”

  His glare returned to Curt. “You can use your old room and stay—for one week. One week from today, if you decide you want to give up your foolish notions and return to working the farm, we’ll talk. Otherwise, you’d best get along home.”

  Curt winced but gave a slight nod. “Thank you, sir.” He had to bite his tongue to keep from saying he’d never push a plow again. There was no sense in riling his father more when he’d opened the door to possible reconciliation—but at what cost? Certainly one Curt would never be able to pay. All he could do now was pray that somehow God would soften his father’s heart.

  He glanced at Deborah in time to see a flicker of despair cross her face, and he held in a groan. Maybe coming home had been a mistake. All his old feelings for her were returning in a rush, and it appeared he’d opened several old wounds that should have been left closed.

  Chapter 3

  Deborah clenched her hands in the folds of her skirt and shut her eyes as anxiety turned into relief. Mr. Warren had given in, something she’d prayed the man would do but had not expected. But why hadn’t Curt told him he’d stay for good? Surely now that he was back, he’d see how much he was needed. Was there a reason he couldn’t do his woodworking here, now that he’d learned a trade?

  She longed to throw her arms around him and beg him to heed his father’s words—to give them another chance at love and a life together—but fear kept her arms pinned to her sides. His vocation apparently meant more to him than she did, and he’d never seemed to regret what he’d given up for his new life. No matter how much she’d longed for his return, she didn’t know if she’d ever be able to trust her life to him again. But was it possible God might be giving them a second chance?

  She turned to her mother. “Ma? We should get you home to bed.”

  Curt touched Deborah’s arm. “May I drive you? Is your buggy in the barn? I can tie my horse to it and ride back.”

  Deborah’s breath caught in her throat as memories returned of past buggy rides. “I don’t know, Curt. You should stay here and visit with your father.”

  Mr. Warren grunted. “I’ve been without him for five years; I can muddle along for another hour. Besides, Winifred doesn’t look well.” He shot a hard glance at Curt. “Hitch the buggy and take them home.”

  Curt nodded, but a mask slipped over his features. “Yes, sir.” He pivoted and walked out the door without looking back.

  Deborah’s heart plummeted. Would he be able to tolerate his father for a full week, or would he leave town again right after the service? She’d better guard her emotions and not allow herself to hope.

  She placed her arm around her mother’s waist, and Mr. Warren moved aside as they crossed the threshold into the other room. “I’ll return after I get Mother settled, if that’s all right? If Curt drives the buggy, I’ll ride back with him and work a little longer.”

  Mr. Warren rushed past them and opened the door. “Please don’t worry about it, Deborah.” He glanced over his shoulder at the still untidy living area. “I’m sure the neighbors will understand if everything’s not perfect.”

  She shook her head. “Ma just needs to sleep for a bit. If she’s worse by the time we get home, I’ll stay with her. Otherwise, I’ll return.”

  Her mother waved her hand. “I’m fine. Quit worrying. I’ll take a nap and be right as rain in a couple of hours.”

  Mr. Warren followed them out and helped them into the buggy as Curt held the reins of the restless horse. “Now, Winifred, don’t you even think about doing any more work. I won’t stand for you making yourself sick on my account. Sarah would have had my hide.” Sadness crept across his face, and he choked on the last words.

  The drive to their home passed in silence as Curt kept his eyes on the road and Deborah and her mother sat quietly in the seat behind him. Disappointment grew in Deborah as they neared the house and Curt still hadn’t spoken. Was he already regretting his decision to spend a few days on his father’s farm?

  She softly cleared her throat and leaned forward. “If you’ll wait, I’d like to get Ma settled then return with you and continue cleaning.”

  His shoulders tightened, but he gave a brief nod. “Of course.”

  He pulled the horse to a stop then climbed down and helped them from the buggy. Deborah got her mother in bed, kissed her forehead, and tiptoed out of the room to a still silent Curt. A brief smile flickered then vanished before he handed her up to the front seat, where he sank down beside her. He picked up the reins, released the brake, and urged the horse forward.

  Deborah waited, wondering how to broach the subject she longed to know about and hoping he’d be the one to speak first. Finally, she could stand it no longer. “Curt?”

  He turned a warm gaze toward her and smiled.

  A soft sigh escaped her lips, and she relaxed. “What was it like there?”

  His brows knit together. “You mean in The Dalles? Or at my job?”

  “Both. And the man you work for, is he … kind?” She struggled to not pour all her questions out at once, not wanting to overwhelm him but hoping he’d be willing to talk.

  A full grin split his handsome face, and the dimple she’d always loved appeared. “Mr. Colson is one of the finest men I’ve ever met. He’s honest, hardworking, and a true man of God. He doesn’t preach at you but shows you the right way by how he lives. I’ve never met a man I respect more.”

  “More than your father?” As soon as the words left her lips, Deborah wished she could snatch them back again. She knew what a turbulent relationship Curt and his father had maintained throughout Curt’s later teen years and how far apart they’d drifted.

  Curt’s grin faded, and he faced forward again. “Yes. Although I hate to admit that to anyone, I know you understand. You saw how thi
ngs were between my father and me when I lived at home. It was … hard. He was always preaching, always trying to force me to be the person he wanted me to be and never listening to my hopes or dreams.”

  He pulled back on the reins and drew the horse to a halt, then swiveled to face her. “But now I know it wasn’t all his fault. Much of it was mine. I’ve come to understand how rebellious I was and how I must have hurt both my parents.” He winced. “And you.”

  She gripped her hands in her lap, barely daring to breathe, hoping he’d continue and she’d hear the words she longed to hear. “So, are you staying this time? Here on the farm with your father?”

  His face paled, then flushed. “You know I can’t do that. You heard him. The only way he’d accept me is if I give up my trade. I’m no longer an apprentice. Mr. Colson told me I’m ready to go out on my own now. I can’t credit his words, but he says I’ve exceeded even what he knows, and I could teach others or have my own shop. He’s willing to take me on as a partner if I don’t care to start my own business, but I haven’t decided what’s best.” He bowed his head for a brief moment then met her gaze. “I want to spend time praying about it first.”

  Curt heard Deborah’s soft gasp and knew he’d surprised her—possibly even shocked her—with his declaration about prayer. He’d wanted to tell her this entire last year, ever since he’d made the decision to follow in Mr. Colson’s footsteps and put God first in his life. He waited, but she still didn’t speak. “I thought you might be glad.”

  The dazed look turned to one of joy. “Oh, but I am! So very glad. I’ve prayed for this for years. If going away is what it took for you to open your heart to God’s love, then I’m glad you did.” Her face softened. “But I still don’t see why you can’t stay here. Your father will come around if you give him time.”