The 12 Brides of Christmas Collection

by Mary Connealy

  They walked a bit farther, the wind cutting through Annabelle’s woolen scarf. She shuddered.

  “Cold?” Samuel asked.

  “Yes. That wind cuts right through me.”

  “It’s going to be a lot colder in Illinois.”

  “Maybe, but it’s a different kind of cold. Or at least that’s what Lucy says.”

  “Cold is cold to my way of thinking.”

  “But the snow will make it worth it.”

  Maggie’s soft giggle floated to them on the brisk wind. Annabelle glanced back and saw her brother pulling Maggie close to his side. She tapped Samuel’s arm. “Look. Some chaperones we’re turning out to be.” She turned around, walking backward, and called out, “Hey, you two, stop that.”

  Jack shot her a look that would melt snow faster than a bonfire at a sing-along.

  Samuel reached out, snaked an arm around her waist, and lifted her off the ground. “Leave ‘em alone. They deserve a bit of privacy.”

  “Put me down, you big oaf.” Laughing, Annabelle squirmed, plucking at his coat sleeve, knowing the effort was futile. Samuel’s arms were like bands of steel around her waist, and he’d put her down when he was good and ready.

  He let her go, his brown eyes laughing. Her feet on firm ground once again, she attempted to peek at Jack and Maggie. Samuel took a step toward her. “Don’t even think about it.”

  She laughed and let him have his way. They passed the sawmill, the weathered building still and silent on a Sunday. No welcoming smoke rose from the chimney like it did on weekdays when Samuel and Jack were there, the warmth a welcome break halfway between the school and home. Annabelle frowned, her thoughtful gaze on the small barnlike structure tucked in a clearing away from prying eyes. “Sometimes I wonder about propriety.”

  Samuel lifted a brow and grunted. Clearly, he had no idea what she was talking about.

  “Take those two back there. They’ve been courting for two years now. Why is it that society still expects them to have a chaperone?”

  “Because they’re courting.”

  “But that’s just it. People should expect them to want to spend some time together.”

  “But not alone.” Samuel shook his head. “They should never, ever be alone.”

  “Aha.” Annabelle turned around and walked backward, enjoying the banter and knowing she had him trapped. “They’re alone now. Maybe we should wait.”

  “They’ll be along shortly.” Samuel gave her a lopsided smile. “Turn around.”

  She grinned at him, still trying to walk backward and carry on a conversation at the same time. “Nobody thinks anything about it when I stop at the sawmill. Why is that?”

  A funny expression crossed Samuel’s face, and she laughed. “What? What did I say?”

  “Nothing.” He shook his head, a half smile turning up the corners of his mouth, as if the topic amused him. She made a note to tell Lucy what a nice smile he had.

  The heel of her boot caught on a wagon wheel rut, and she stumbled. Samuel grabbed her just before she fell flat on her back in the muddy road. As he held her close, the lingering scent of bay rum tickled her nose. She lifted her gaze to meet his, a teasing remark about her clumsiness on the tip of her tongue.

  But when their eyes met, she froze, suspended for a moment in time. She’d never seen Samuel’s eyes quite this close. They were brown, with flecks of gold. Mesmerized, she wondered why she’d never noticed that before. His gaze flickered then lowered, sweeping across her face before settling on her lips.

  “Hey, you two, stop that.”

  At the sound of Jack’s teasing laughter, Samuel set her on her feet and let her go. Annabelle concentrated on her footing, all thoughts of teasing and laughter completely forgotten as she willed her heart rate to slow to normal.

  One near fall today was enough, thank you very much.

  Chapter 5

  Samuel stuffed his hands in his pockets, heart pounding like a runaway mule. What just happened? One minute they’d been walking along, Annabelle teasing him with silly questions about propriety and courting and such, then the next minute she’d been in his arms.

  If Jack and Maggie hadn’t rounded the bend, he would have kissed her for sure.

  What had come over him?

  Annabelle had.

  Her laughing green eyes and soft, silky hair that smelled like roses in springtime; her willowy frame that no amount of layered winter coats could disguise.

  He chanced a glance at her, walking two steps ahead and to his right, her scarf blocking her face from his view. Had she realized what had almost transpired? Surely she had. He wanted to kick himself. He hadn’t meant to let his feelings be known so soon. Not with her about to leave for Illinois.

  The Denson homestead came into view, and Annabelle’s little brother Ike raced out the door and launched himself at Samuel. Samuel hoisted the boy high, grateful for the distraction. He held the door open as he’d done more times than he could count, but this time Annabelle’s gaze ricocheted off his and she murmured a thank-you before hurrying inside.

  Little Ike wrapped his arms around Samuel’s neck and squeezed tight, but not as tight as the vice wrapped around his chest. Had Annabelle been distracted by the need to help her mother with dinner, or had his actions caused her to avoid him?

  Mrs. Denson’s Sunday dinner was as good as ever, but Samuel’s stomach was too tied up in knots to enjoy it. Seated between Ike and Ander, he teased the boys and concentrated on eating, simply because it kept his mind off Annabelle. He couldn’t bear to see the confusion in her eyes, on her face. The conversation centered around the sawmill equipment he and Samuel planned to get from Abe Jensen.

  “What do you think, Pa?” Jack asked before shoveling a helping of field peas in his mouth, followed by a generous bite of corn bread.

  “Abe Jenson is a good businessman, and he’s looking to make some money. He wouldn’t bother if he didn’t think the old engine still had some life in her.” Reverend Denson nodded, considering the offer. “If you boys can get her to run, I think it’s a fair offer.”

  A weight lifted off Samuel’s shoulders. He valued Reverend Denson’s opinion. “We’ll need to make several trips.”

  “I’ll hook up the wagon tomorrow and go along with you.”

  Jack grinned. “Thanks, Pa. We could sure use the help.”

  The conversation turned to Annabelle’s trip, with Maggie peppering Annabelle with questions and Sally begging her mother to let her go to Illinois with her sister. Samuel didn’t join in the conversation, unwilling to risk letting anyone know how he really felt about Annabelle leaving.

  “Are you going to the Art Institute?” Maggie asked.

  “Yes, if the weather permits. And to the library. Lucy says there are two, the Newberry Library and the Chicago Public Library. Can you imagine all those books in one place?”

  “Are you going to any Christmas balls?” Sally piped up.

  “I don’t think your aunt and uncle know anybody that would hold a ball, Sally.” Mrs. Denson nodded at Sally’s plate. “Eat your peas if you want some dessert.”

  “You gonna eat that pie?” Jack stabbed a fork at Samuel’s plate.

  “Get away.” Samuel braced his forearms on each side of his dessert plate and pushed Jack’s fork away. “Eat your own pie.”

  “Well, I was just wondering. You’ve been staring at it for half an hour. Pa’s sermon get to you this morning?”

  “Something like that.” Samuel shoved a forkful of pie into his mouth and chewed, hoping Jack would take his answer for fact and leave him be.

  For the first time ever, Mrs. Denson’s hot apple pie with its flaky crust stuck in his throat like he’d inhaled a mouthful of sawdust.

  Chapter 6

  Sunday evening worship and chores done, Annabelle took her writing supplies from her hope chest. She had just enough time to pen a letter to Lucy before bedtime. She peeked into the sitting room on her way to the kitchen, the warmest—and the quietest—
room in her parents’ drafty old house.

  Her mother darned socks while her pa dozed and rocked Lilly, humming under his breath. Her little brothers played with the wooden logs and toy soldiers Samuel had carved for them.

  Samuel.

  Annabelle’s heart lurched. She’d managed to push thoughts of today to the back of her mind, what with helping her mother clean up after Sunday dinner, evening chores, and family worship right after supper.

  But now, in the quiet before bed, it all came rushing back.

  She sank into a chair at the kitchen table and untied the ribbon that held her writing supplies, the events of today’s almost-kiss flooding her thoughts.

  What would it be like to be kissed? By Samuel even? She’d imagined her first kiss, and a few times she’d tried to picture her first beau, but never in a million years had she imagined being held securely in Samuel’s strong arms, his gaze capturing her lips.

  Samuel kissing her.

  Samuel even wanting to kiss her.

  Maybe she’d read too much into the thud of his heart as he held her, his face so close to hers, his gaze drifting down and settling on her lips. Cheeks flaming, she flipped open her leather writing satchel. She’d do well not to dwell on what had happened today. Samuel had eaten his dinner as usual, accepted Jack’s teasing with a crooked smile, defended his dessert, but for the most part, remained quiet.

  Just like always.

  He hadn’t acted as if anything out of the ordinary had transpired. But she’d been so flustered by her own reaction to being held in his arms that she’d avoided looking at him. She pulled out a piece of paper and found her pencil, teeth worrying her bottom lip.

  What if he had tried to catch her eye during Sunday dinner? Their gazes had met and held for a moment when the men were discussing business. And his expression hadn’t held even a hint that the incident on the road had meant anything to him. Clearly, she’d blown the whole thing out of proportion, when he’d already forgotten it. Just because she’d glimpsed one of those crooked little smiles of his as he held her close didn’t mean a thing. For heaven’s sake, she might have had mud on her face or a smudge of soot and he’d been laughing at her as usual. If Jack hadn’t yelled out about that time, Samuel would have made some teasing remark about her clumsiness.

  She sighed. All would be back to normal when she returned from her trip to Illinois.

  Is that what you want?

  Annabelle blinked, staring at the blank paper. Except the stationery was no longer blank. Sweeping swirls of romantic doodles covered the page. Hearts and flowers and curling garnishes surrounded the name Samuel, penned dreamily in her very own flowing, fanciful hand.

  Chapter 7

  “Matt, put that peashooter away this instant.”

  Several boys giggled, and Matt grinned. “Sorry, Annabelle, I was just showing it to Ander.”

  “Miss Annabelle.” Annabelle glared at him, knowing full well he’d been doing more than just showing his new peashooter to her brother. Why on earth had she ever thought she could teach children who’d known her all their lives? Papa had put the fear into her three siblings, and they behaved well enough, but sometimes she had trouble keeping the rest of them in line.

  Of course, the youngest ones adored her and applied themselves to their lessons with gusto. It was the children who’d been in school when she graduated that caused the most problems. They had a hard time separating the Annabelle they’d gone to school with from Miss Annabelle, the teacher. When she’d agreed to take on this task, she hadn’t realized how difficult it would be to teach in her own community. She’d stick it out until school dismissed for the summer then see about transferring somewhere else.

  Matt stuffed the peashooter into his pocket and grinned at Sally. Sally concentrated on her ciphering, as if she didn’t have a care in the world. But Annabelle had seen the spitball land in Sally’s hair. She shook her head. Why Matt thought shooting spitballs at Sally would get her sister’s attention was beyond her. But she remembered being that age and Amos Rosenthal doing the same thing. Well, it had certainly earned him her attention, but not necessarily in a good way.

  The clock said they had thirty more minutes, and then she could let the children go for the day. They’d become more and more restless as Christmas drew near, and she had a feeling this last week was going to be trying for all of them.

  “Let’s continue. Matt, start up where Beth left off.”

  Matt groaned but did as he was told. “Johnny Reed was a li–lit …”

  “Little.”

  “Little boy who ne–ne–ver had seen a sn–snow …”

  “Snowstorm.”

  “Snowstorm, um … until he was six years old. Be–before this he had l–lived in …”

  The back door opened, and Matt trailed off. Maggie stuck her head in, eyebrows lifted as if asking permission to enter. A ripple of excitement wafted over the students at the intrusion. Visitors at school were few and far between, and Annabelle knew she’d lost their attention for the day. She closed her book, and Matt sat up straight, a grin splitting his face. She gave him what she hoped was a stern look.

  “All right, children. Gather your things. I think we can leave a few minutes early today. Sally, you may ring the bell.”

  Pandemonium erupted and within minutes, the children had donned coats, gloves, and hats, and scattered for the door, whooping and hollering.

  Maggie flattened herself against the wall, out of the way. “My goodness, what a stampede.”

  “You don’t want to be caught in their path at the end of the day, that’s for sure.”

  “I’ll say.” Her friend watched as Annabelle closed the damper on the woodstove and straightened the papers on her desk. “Sometimes I envy you.”

  “Me?” Annabelle lifted an eyebrow, surprised. “What in the world for?”

  “You get to experience something new and exciting every day, while my life is the same thing day after day out on the farm.” Maggie toyed with a paperweight on Annabelle’s desk. “Well, except today. Today was different. I helped Pa shell corn and haul it to the gristmill.”

  “Oh, so that’s why you stopped by today. You’ve been to the gristmill.”

  “Pa went on without me. I asked him to drop me off and pick me up at your house on his way home.” Maggie followed Annabelle to the door. “I hope you don’t mind.”

  “Of course not.” Annabelle reached for her coat. “I don’t get to see you often enough.”

  Maggie looked away, but not before Annabelle saw the tears in her eyes. “Maggie? What’s wrong? Is your pa talking about heading west again?”

  “It’s all he talks about.” She blinked back the tears and sniffed. “Annabelle, I don’t know if I can bear to leave Jack.”

  “If I know my brother, he’ll find a way to keep you here.”

  Color bloomed on Maggie’s face, and she whispered, “But he hasn’t asked me yet.”

  “Asked you what?”

  “To marry him. Do you … do you think he loves me? Enough to want to marry me?”

  “I do.” Annabelle hugged her then held her at arm’s length. “Who knows why he hasn’t asked you yet? He could be waiting until Christmas, or he could just think you already know what he wants.”

  “How would I know that?”

  Annabelle gathered up a stack of books and handed them to Maggie. “Because, my friend, he expects you to read his mind.”

  “I’ll never understand men.”

  “Me neither.” Annabelle locked the door, joined Maggie at the bottom of the porch stairs, and linked arms with her friend. “And I certainly don’t understand my brother.”

  Their laughter lightened the mood as they headed toward home, and Annabelle was grateful for Maggie’s assistance with the books and papers she had to carry and more than a little grateful for the company. With Maggie along, the decision on whether to stop at the sawmill was out of her hands. Of course Maggie would want to stop and see Jack.

  More
than once today, she’d wrestled with whether she should drop in as usual or just walk on by. Knowing that she hadn’t quite put yesterday’s incident behind her, she didn’t know if she could pretend nothing had happened if she found Samuel alone.

  Her face flamed. With her newfound awareness of him, she knew now why a chaperone was necessary for her brother and Maggie. Goodness, she’d been tempted to ask Sally to stay after school and walk with her just so she’d have an excuse not to stop.

  But she hadn’t said anything. Because truth be told, she wanted to see Samuel.

  Chapter 8

  “Just my luck.”

  Jack’s outburst barely registered as Samuel adjusted the tension on the belt that powered the saw blade. He knew a bit about steam engines from working with Abe. He just hoped he knew enough to get this one up and running without blowing them to smithereens.

  “Are you listening?” Jack waved a piece of paper in front of Samuel’s face. “Maggie and Annabelle stopped by yesterday while we were gone to Abe’s.”

  Mention of Annabelle pulled Samuel’s thoughts from the work set before him. He’d wondered if she’d come after what happened Sunday, but it couldn’t be helped that he’d missed her. It had taken most of the afternoon to dismantel the machinery at Abe’s and load everything in the wagons. They hadn’t made it back until nearly dark.

  He frowned. Maggie? “What was Maggie doing with her? Is something wrong?”

  “No. She stopped off to visit Annabelle at the school while her pa went to the gristmill.” Jack stuffed the note in his pocket. “She said she had something important to tell me but didn’t want to put it in writing.”

  “Do you think it might be about her pa’s itch to move on?”

  “What else could it be?” Jack scowled.

  Samuel didn’t answer. Since the threat of separation hung over Jack and Maggie, Jack was probably right. What encouragement could he offer? None, but he could keep his friend busy. He gave the steam engine a pat. “Let’s give this saw a run.”