He’d been so close to winning her this evening. He’d seen it in her face. He nearly didn’t want to see her now, for fear her light of faith had been stamped out.
So he looked at the pastor instead. “Do you want me to turn the boy over to the constable?”
Pastor Goodwin approached Tully. “We all must take responsibility for our actions, son. Do you know that what you did was wrong?”
Tully nodded, still looking at the floor.
“Look up, son. Look at the faces of the boys who used to respect you.”
The guilty boy didn’t look up, and Noah adjusted his grip with a shake. “Go on.”
Tully raised his head and looked at the pastor. “They’re all a bunch o’ mice, and I don’t care what they think o’ me. What’s gonna happen now this is over? We all go back to empty bellies, that’s what. I only took what we needed. New coats ain’t gonna feed us.”
“What about the jobs I’m working on for some of you?” Noah asked.
“Some of us! Not for me!”
“We weren’t going to abandon you now that the Nativity is over,” Pastor Goodwin said. “We want all of you to keep coming to church.”
Noah increased his grip. “Didn’t it occur to you that stealing isn’t exactly the best way to get a good recommendation for a job?”
Tully only shrugged.
Noah exchanged a look with the pastor, and he could see the man was already willing to offer grace. But Noah wasn’t eager to do so—either to prove to Sophie he saw her point about bullies or because the boy might have spoiled his own chances with her. He was still afraid to look at her for fear of seeing ready condemnation, but she stepped into his line of vision.
She eyed the boy still imprisoned by Noah’s grip, staring at him until he met her gaze. At first she frowned, just the way Noah would have expected. Then, to his fascination, her frown softened into a look of pure concern.
“Is it true you took the money to help feed the others? Or did you take it for yourself?”
“Whatever I say you won’t believe anyway.”
“That’s probably true. Which is why you’ll need time to prove yourself.” She looked at Noah now. “But I’m not sure the stockade is the place to do that.”
“You can have a job here at the church,” Pastor Goodwin said. “Sweeping the floors, dusting the benches. Cleaning up inside and out. It won’t pay much, but you could sleep in the coatroom and have dinners with Mrs. Goodwin and me. But”—he looked at the rest of the boys—“I’ll need help from each of you. If there is a next time, I’ll want to know in advance if young Mr. Tully has any trouble up his sleeve. It’s not tattling if you have his best interest in mind.”
Noah couldn’t tear his gaze from Sophie even to look at Tully, who he was sure was relieved over the pastor’s verdict. Instead, Noah marveled at the compassion in Sophie’s eyes—confirming she believed in second chances.
“But I didn’t get you anything!”
Sophie stood in front of Noah, who had just arrived at her parents’ house this early Christmas morning. Her mother was in the kitchen, where Sophie should be helping. But when Noah had arrived—without Arthur, who had told them he would go to Alice’s for Christmas morning—Sophie’s father had called her out of the kitchen so soon after the knock, she was sure Noah hadn’t even announced who he’d come to see.
Abandoned by both Gordy and her father, whom had left them for the kitchen, Noah stood before her with a flat box, complete with a silk ribbon tying it closed.
“You already gave me exactly what I wanted this Christmas,” Noah told her. “Hope. That’s hard to wrap but just as real as what I have for you. Now open it.”
They sat near the small Christmas tree that she and Gordy had decorated with popcorn and cranberries, its trunk skirted by a circle of linen she had embroidered with a Nativity scene last year. Little had she known it was bound to remind her of Noah!
She had to steady her hands to untie the ribbon before opening the box. He’d taken special care to wrap the present inside with a layer of cloth. The scent of leather greeted her immediately, and she shot him a smile.
“Did you make this?”
He nodded.
Uncovering the gift, she saw it was a book bound at the side with another ribbon. The cover made her gasp. It was intricately tooled with the images of birds. Carefully, she opened to the few pages within, surprised to find her own drawings.
“Oh, Noah,” she whispered. “It’s for my drawings, isn’t it?”
“They’re the ones you sent to Artie, the ones I showed to the Prairie
Farmer editor. You can add new ones as you create them. See?” He pulled the ribbon. “It comes apart. When you’re finished, I can have it bound, just like a real book.”
“Oh, Noah.” She knew she’d repeated herself but was nearly overcome with happiness. “It’s so beautiful.”
Then she looked at the cover again. “These birds … My goodness, Noah. They’re so well done.”
“I can’t take credit for the artwork. I’m not an artist like you are. Mr. Pooley gave me a few tissue paper leaflets from one of his bird books, and I traced the smallest pictures and placed it on top of my leather. Then I pressed my pencil into it so I could follow the image with my etching tool. See?” He pointed to each bird as he spoke. “That’s a partridge, and a turtledove next to it. And the hen is French, of course.” He laughed. “And that other one is a calling bird, but you have to use your imagination.”
“Oh, Noah, it’s the perfect Christmas present.”
“That’s the best carol for you, Sophie. ‘The Twelve Days of Christmas.’ What other carol has so many birds in it? The other verses are on the back, the ones without birds. I traced most of those images from children’s books at the library. I went almost every day, hoping to see you there.”
She turned the book over, seeing images of the remaining verses, each meticulously if roughly etched in the smooth, stained leather.
All verses but one.
“And where are the five golden rings?” she asked.
“Look inside the back cover. That was the easiest for me to etch.”
She opened the book reverently, because her drawings were housed with such obvious love. A flap at the back would easily hold pencils and a knife for sharpening, but it bulged too slightly now for that. The folded top was decorated in the image of five rings.
“Open it.”
Exploring inside, she caught her breath before gently pulling out a ring.
“I’ll put it on your finger just as soon as you let Pastor Goodwin marry us. See? It’s five strands of gold—five golden rings—all entwined together. For your wedding ring.”
Noah put his hands over hers. “Will you marry me, Sophie?”
She laughed, throwing her arms around his neck. “Yes, Noah! I’m to be a bride, after all—yours!”
Stew and Dumplings
1 tablespoon butter
1 pound chuck, tip, or round steak cut into 1-inch cubes
3 cups chicken or beef stock
½ teaspoon salt
⅛ teaspoon pepper
2 medium carrots, cut into 1-inch pieces
2 large potatoes (approximately 2 cups), cut into 1-inch pieces
1 small onion, chopped
2 tablespoons flour
Melt butter in large saucepan or Dutch oven. Add beef and cook until browned, approximately 15 minutes. Add stock and salt and pepper. Heat to a boil, then reduce heat and simmer for 2 hours. Stir in cut carrots, potatoes, and onion. Add ½ cup cold water and flour. Stir to blend. Heat to a boil again, approximately 1 minute. Reduce heat and simmer 30 minutes to allow vegetables to cook.
Dumplings:
3 tablespoons shortening
1½ cups flour
2 teaspoons baking powder
¾ teaspoon salt ½ cup milk
Cut shortening into flour as you would for a piecrust. Add baking powder and salt; stir, then add milk. Dough will be wet. Drop dump
lings by spoonfuls on top of stew. Cook uncovered for 10 minutes, then cover and cook for 10 minutes more. Uncover and serve.
Recipe compliments of Lora Haapapuro.
About the Author
Maureen Lang writes stories inspired by a love of history and romance. An avid reader herself, she’s figured out a way to write the stories she feels like reading. Maureen’s Inspirationals have earned various writing distinctions, including the Inspirational Readers Choice Contest, a Holt Medallion, and the Selah Award, as well as being a finalist for the Rita, Christy, and Carol Awards. In addition to investigating various eras in history (such as Victorian England, First World War, and America’s Gilded Age), Maureen loves taking research trips to get a feel for the settings of her novels. She lives in the Chicago area with her family and has been blessed to be the primary caregiver to her adult disabled son.
The Gingerbread Bride
by Amy Lillard
Chapter 1
Ozark Mountains, Arkansas, 1870
“Madeline!”
Maddie Sinclair winced at the sharpness in her sister’s tone. Grace slammed through the house they shared with their father and burst into the kitchen before Maddie could do so much as hike her skirt and run for the stairs. At least she managed to pull off her soiled apron and toss it into the sink.
“There you are.” Grace’s cheeks were stained pink from the Christmas Eve cold and what Maddie could only assume was the exertion of running her down in the kitchen.
“Of course this is where I am.” Maddie smoothed the front of her day dress, dismayed at the smear of flour on the bodice. And was that one across her nose? She crossed her eyes to check and swiped at it just to be certain.
“You did it, didn’t you?”
“Did what?” She could never keep Grace from finding out the truth. It had been that way since they were children. Her imitation innocence would only take her so far this time.
Her sister propped her hands on her hips and narrowed her gaze. “Annie Johnson at the general store said she saw you headed out toward Old Lady Farley’s place yesterday.”
Maddie sniffed. “I don’t see how that’s a problem.”
“It became a problem when Pa told me that Harlan Calhoun was coming to dinner tonight.”
At the mention of Harlan’s name, Maddie couldn’t stop the smile that spread across her face. “Of course Harlan is coming to dinner tonight. It is Christmas Eve, after all. And he doesn’t have any kin near. It’s only the Christian thing to do, invite him to supper.”
“You’re stalling,” Grace said. “A sure sign that you’re up to something. Now, what about Old Lady Farley?”
Maddie took a steadying breath. She could do this. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Sister.”
“So you’re telling me that you didn’t go see Old Lady Farley to get something to make Harlan Calhoun fall in love with you?”
Maddie scoffed, sort of choked, but managed to recover. She never should have mentioned her thoughts aloud. Especially not to her practical and perfect sibling. “Why, that’s ridiculous.”
Some of the starch melted out of Grace’s spine. She smiled. “That’s what I was hoping you would say.” She inhaled deeply. “What’s that I smell?”
Maddie gestured toward two plates of freshly baked gingerbread cookies.
“You made cookies?”
“A special treat for a special day.” She pushed the larger plate toward Grace. “These are for the family.” She lifted the smaller plate. “And these here are for Harlan.”
“Maddie.” There was that warning note back in her sister’s tone.
Maddie shrugged as a knock sounded on the door. “I want him to feel special.”
“Maddie.”
Maddie patted down her hair and pinched a bit of color into her cheeks. Then before her sister could make a move, she swept toward the parlor, a plate of cookies in her hands.
Harlan Calhoun was twirling his hat in his hands as he was prone to do. He always seemed a bit nervous when he came by their house, but Maddie didn’t know why. He walked with confidence every time she saw him in their tiny town of Calico Falls in the foothills of the Ozark Mountains. Harlan had moved to their town in the spring, and Maddie had fallen immediately in love. He was tall and handsome, gentlemanly, and had a city air about him that her Arkansas suitors could never achieve. But it was more than that. He was God-fearing and Lord-loving, and she so desperately wanted to marry him.
She smiled as she cleared her throat, alerting him to her presence. “Merry Christmas, Harlan.” Her cheeks grew hot with the use of his Christian name. He had told her a few weeks ago that she should call him Harlan, but this was the first time she had managed to squeeze the word through her lips when addressing him.
“And a merry Christmas Eve to you as well, Miss Maddie.” He swept into a deep bow.
“I made you some gingerbread cookies to enjoy before supper.” Her voice trembled as she said the words. Had he noticed? “Why don’t you sit down, and I’ll get you a glass of milk. Unless you’d rather have coffee.”
He smiled, the action lighting the entire room. “Milk would be fine indeed.” He folded his tall frame into the parlor chair. He looked ridiculously handsome in the tiny seat. Big and capable and handsome. So handsome.
Maddie set the cookies on the table next to him and sucked in a quick breath. “I’ll just go … get the milk.” She backed out of the room, never taking her eyes from Harlan as she pushed through the swinging door that led into the kitchen.
“Maddie!” her sister whispered, urgency tainting her words. “What is this?” She held up the tiny linen sack Maddie had thought she’d hidden where no one would find it.
Maddie snatched it away from Grace and tucked it behind her. “Nothing.”
“You did something to those cookies. Don’t even bother lying about it.”
Maddie sighed, her resolve slipping. It was wrong to lie. Just as she knew that what she’d planned for Harlan wasn’t the most … conventional method of finding a husband. “I had to, Gracie. How else am I supposed to make him fall in love with me?” The words rang between them with a hollow sound. What had she done?
“Maddie.” Grace shook her head.
“I’m not like you,” Maddie said, hating the envious edge in her voice. Her sister was poised and polished, as beautiful as their dearly departed mother and twice as sweet. Maddie could never win when compared with her only sibling. Once, just once, she wanted something special of her own.
Harlan Calhoun.
“You can’t do that to the poor man,” her sister gently said.
“But I love him.”
“So it’s okay to poison him so he’ll propose to you?”
Maddie sniffed. “I think he likes me well enough.”
Grace shook her head. “You have to get out there and get those cookies.”
Maddie knew it to be true before her sister uttered the first syllable. As much as she hated to, as much as she desperately wanted Harlan’s love, it wasn’t right. Not like this. She nodded.
Grace nudged her toward the door. “Now, before he eats them.”
Spurred into action, Maddie hustled through the door and back into the parlor.
Harlan stood as she entered, brushing the crumbs from his mouth. He swallowed hard, his lips twitching into a small smile. “I thought you were bringing milk.”
“I, uh, was,” she hedged, her gaze darting to the plate. Empty! “Did you, uh, eat the cookies?” She knew the answer but had to ask.
“I skipped lunch and then …” He gave her a sheepish smile. “Well, they were delicious.”
Her heart sank in her chest, but she forced a smile. “I’m glad you enjoyed them.”
“I did. Very much so.” His deep blue eyes turned suddenly serious. “Listen, Maddie. I came here tonight for a very important reason.”
She licked her lips, her throat suddenly dry. “You did?” she whispered.
He grabbed her hands and
dropped to one knee.
Oh goodness! She hadn’t expected it to work this fast.
“Harlan,” she exclaimed before he could utter the one question she wanted to hear above all else. “Stand up. What’s wrong with you?” Like she didn’t know.
“I love you, Maddie.”
She had been waiting to hear those words from him ever since he arrived in Calico Falls, and now it was nothing more than a lie. The biggest part of her heart wanted to ignore the voice of her conscience, the one that told her this was all wrong, and drop to her knees beside him.
Instead, she tugged him to his feet. “Now, Harlan, is that any way to treat your fine suit?” She resisted the urge to brush her hands across his lapels. That would be too forward. As much as her fingers itched to dance over his broad chest, it would be best to ignore that impulse until he was back to himself. Or not give in to it at all.
“Maddie, it’s just that I want to—”
She shook her head. “Give me one moment. I need to get you that milk.” It was the worst excuse but the only one she could think of.
“I wouldn’t mind another cookie or two.” He grinned at her.
“Oh, I think you’ve had quite enough cookies.” She scooped up the empty plate and hustled from the room.
Grace was waiting on the other side of the kitchen door. “Well?”
Maddie held out the cookie plate.
“He ate all of them?”
She nodded.
“All of them?”
“Do you see any left?”
“Madeline Joy, don’t you get all snippy with me. This wasn’t my harebrained idea.”
Maddie’s irritation wilted. “I’m sorry, Grace. Forgive me. It’s just that—”
“What?” her sister asked.
“I’ve waited for this for so long, and now I’ve gone and ruined it.” Tears rose to her eyes. “What am I supposed to do?”
Grace pulled her close. “Shh … don’t cry. We’ll think of something.” Grace gave her one more squeeze and let her go. “Now, how long did Old Lady Farley say this would last?”
The 12 Brides of Christmas Collection Page 39
