A Plain and Sweet Christmas Romance Collection

by Lauralee Bliss

  “So thee should, taking off without a word.” Father took hold of the bridle to steady Whisper. Silas was at her side, offering his hand to help her dismount. Mary wanted to ignore the gesture, but with George and Father looking on, she reluctantly gave him her hand. She refused to acknowledge his dark eyes surveying her or the warmth of his large hand around hers. She did not care to entertain any misconceptions now that she had accepted Daniel’s invitation. Silas would be gone in a matter of days anyway, and that would be the end of it. Or so she thought, even as his hand tightened around hers. Help me, dearest Lord!

  Chapter 3

  Silas tried not to think about Mary’s abrupt visitation to an elder of the Friends, but he couldn’t help thinking she had gone on his account. After their initial encounter, he’d tried to calm the rising tide of animosity between them. He knew, of course, that an explanation for his opinions concerning the Society of Friends would set things at ease. But he was not of a mind to share that part of his life. Why he left Philadelphia so abruptly. Or why he was journeying across the country, as far away from the East as possible. Or why the Quaker mannerisms shown by the Hall family tested him beyond his ability to reason.

  He did, though, find his irritation with them diminishing as the days passed. George Hall proved a wonder with Barzillai, who was making a rapid recovery from the injured hoof. Mr. Hall had shown him the workings of the inn, and his acceptance of Silas comforted him. And Mrs. Hall slipped him freshly baked desserts, bread, or biscuits hot from the hearth. Despite his irritating ways when he first arrived, the family had been forgiving and patient. All but Mary, who viewed him as a thorn in their heel. Or as she had once said, some predator out to destroy the family. The connotation proved unsettling, and he vowed to somehow change her opinion.

  But this day, Mary seemed in another world. She walked around humming a joyful tune. Her face appeared sunny like the bright day as she went about her chores. He wondered what spawned such happiness. Certainly he had nothing to do with it. He took up the ax to split firewood over Mr. Hall’s protest. Silas preferred work and not idleness while waiting for Barzillai to make a full recovery. After roaming about the house, bored with the library of books that espoused the works of George Fox and other notable Friends, he decided physical labor would do his mind well.

  Silas brought the ax to bear, neatly splitting the log into quarters that were then thrown into the ever-increasing woodpile. He glanced over to where Mary stood in the yard, and suddenly she rose up on tiptoe, clutching her raven-black bonnet. He heard the nicker of horses. A buggy rolled up the dirt road, driven by a man in a black hat and dark coat.

  “Good day,” said the man. “Thee is the visitor from the City of Brotherly Love?”

  Silas blinked and heaved the ax into another waiting log. And how would a stranger know that? “I have been there,” he admitted cautiously.

  “Friend Mary told me of thy sojourn here at her family’s inn. I’m Daniel Gray, an elder of the Friends in Waynesville.” He offered his hand, a common act of greeting with the Quakers. Silas reluctantly shook it. “I’m here to take Mary for a ride.”

  “I’m sure she will enjoy it.” Silas hefted the ax and drove the blade deep into another log. Now he knew why Mary was so happy. She had a suitor. And a fine gent he appeared, outfitted in humble clothing, conveying the mannerism of a pious Friend and an elder at that. A perfect man for her, without a spot or wrinkle. The ax flew into the wood, sending a spray of wood chips into the air.

  “How long does thee plan to stay among us?” Daniel asked.

  “Not much longer. I hope to be in Independence before the snow gets deep. That is, if my horse is well enough to make the journey. I won’t go without her. As it is, I walked part of the way and wore my shoes through.”

  Daniel Gray smiled then turned his attention to the fair Mary, who ventured forward in her cloak and dark bonnet, the smile ever broadening on her pale face. Silas tried to ignore the scene but couldn’t help watching her take the man’s hand and climb into the buggy. She smiled warmly in the man’s direction and settled in, tucking the corners of the lap robe around her. Silas thought then how he would like to take her in his rig and drive her around, that is, if he had a rig. And if he weren’t plagued, too, by nagging thoughts of their previous conversation. He and Mary were more akin to iron sharpening iron than feeling any love and devotion like this couple who shared smiles and warm conversation. He grimaced, wishing he and Mary had been introduced differently when he arrived. Wishing, too, he hadn’t allowed the past to infect the present or the future. But what was his future? And where? California, perhaps? Certainly not with the Quakers.

  He couldn’t help his conflicting emotions at hearing the laughter on the wind as the buggy containing Mary and this Friend Daniel rolled down the road. No doubt they were speaking in humble language while espousing the Light shining within. Silas considered God’s Light. Grandfather had spoken of it when Silas was a mere lad and still a stranger to its principles. The older man spoke of his affections for the writings of George Fox, the founder of Quakerism, and William Penn, the founder of Philadelphia, whom he esteemed a great man of wisdom despite his rough beginnings.

  “Thee is much like Friend William Penn, young Silas,” Grandfather told him as they fished in the river near Philadelphia.

  “How is that?” young Silas wanted to know.

  “Like thyself, William struggled with his newfound faith. He desired to find justice among the unjust. And like thee, he found it difficult submitting to God’s will in such matters. He wanted to take justice into his own hands.”

  It was as if Grandfather had a foretelling of future events. The very thing he’d spoken of had come to pass. Silas had confronted the pain of injustice: that terrible struggle to right the wrong and his inability to do it.

  “It will not go away either,” he said, squeezing his eyes shut to ward off the images. Of his beaten and bloodied grandfather lying on a cobblestone street. The man’s labored breathing as he struggled to live. The glazed eyes and silent heartbeat that followed. The criminals who had taken away a man’s life but still roamed the streets of the City of Brotherly Love without paying for their crimes.

  “I will not accept it!” he shouted aloud and then turned about, wondering if anyone had overheard. He hoped God Himself had. If He had ears to hear, that is. If He cared at all to act on Silas’s behalf.

  “Silas?”

  A soft voice spoke like one eager to reach him, though he wanted to turn a deaf ear. George had emerged from the barn. “Is thee well?”

  Silas shook his head, his complaint lodged in his throat.

  “What troubles thee?”

  “I—I was thinking of the past. And seeing how it affects my future.”

  “Like how it affects my sister? Thee does have affections for her, right?”

  Silas’s mouth dropped in stunned amazement. He thought for a moment but decided not to pursue his actual pain-filled memory of Philadelphia. “Even if I did, I am not of the Friends’ persuasion. Certainly not like the elder who is escorting her.”

  George shrugged. “Mary has little difficulty making up her mind. But I wanted to tell thee, also, that if thee still wishes to leave on thy journey, thy horse is nearly healed.”

  Silas straightened. “Really? She’s well?”

  “A fine animal with a strong heart. I can see thee has cared for her.”

  Silas relished the comment as he followed the young man into the barn. Barzillai greeted him with a soft whinny. “Why, she does look well enough to ride. You’ve done a splendid job.” And he meant it. As much as the Quaker family had irritated him at the outset, far be it from him not to give noteworthy praise. And plenty of well-deserved coins, too. But really, he owed more than he could pay for the tender care given, not only to his animal but also to himself.

  “A fine horse,” George acknowledged, stroking the horse’s muzzle. He found a carrot and fed Barzillai, who munched it with pleasure. �
�A horse is one of God’s great creatures, to help a man in his pursuits. I’m certain this horse has done much for thee, bringing thee here from so far.”

  “Yes. She was a gift from my grandfather. That’s why when she took lame, I wanted…” He paused. “I wanted her made well. If she continues on, a part of my grandfather does as well.”

  “He no longer lives?”

  Silas shook his head and slowly retreated inside himself where no one could see, or so he thought. Into a realm of anger and injustice and an overwhelming desire to right the wrongs committed. He looked up then to see George staring at him. Silas flinched.

  “It’s hard to see death come to those we care about. I’m not without understanding, Friend Silas. A good friend of mine drowned last year in the Ohio while carrying supplies on his bateau. I asked God the reason why. It seemed senseless to me.”

  “Did you get an answer?” Silas couldn’t help the eagerness in his voice.

  “Friend Gray, the elder of our meeting, told me that God knows best. That He sees beyond our mortal minds. And we must have faith in His providence. With God there is more than this life. Those departed are with Him in eternity. We’re here for a moment. Like the grass that fades or the flower that withers and dies. We must do what we can now for His glory. And leave eternity and its timing to God.”

  Silas said nothing more as he watched George feed Barzillai another carrot. While the words seemed good and true, they brought him little satisfaction. Nor a calming of the torrid waters stirring him. There would be no peace until justice was served.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  “Thee has said little on this trip,” Daniel observed. “Aren’t thee well?”

  “Oh, I’m fine. Just enjoying the lovely day. There is so much to see.” Mary didn’t realize how silent she’d been, with her sights set on the beautiful Ohio countryside. On this cold December day, the land appeared ready to receive whatever the winter planned to bring, though they had already seen some snow. Along the way they passed several farmhouses of families that were outsiders, preparing for the Christmas holiday. Pine boughs decorated porches, and fruited arrangements hung above the doors. Mary remembered several guests who had stayed at their inn last year and asked her family what they did to celebrate the holiday. Father announced privately to the family that they would have a day of remembrance while the outsiders in their midst celebrated the Christmas holiday. And Father honored his guests by having a special meal prepared for them and allowing them to exchange gifts at the table.

  Now Mary wondered what this season would bring as she sat huddled beneath the blanket. Then she thought of Silas Jones. Why, she didn’t know, even as Daniel cast her another glance.

  “Actually, I’m also thinking,” she added.

  “About what? The outsider staying at thy father’s place? This Silas Jones?”

  Mary straightened, hoping Daniel didn’t notice the flush of her cheeks as a positive answer to his inquiry. Why would he say such a thing? Unless he perceived that she and Silas had shared words earlier that day. God could whisper such things to an elder like Daniel. But now was not the time to bring out the secrets of the heart. Besides, she felt right in her dealings with Silas and his ill regard for their faith.

  Now she’d rather change the subject. “I—I only wonder who we may have during this Christmas season. I’m certain Silas Jones will not be there. He plans to leave for Independence as soon as his horse has recovered.”

  Daniel nodded. “It’s strange that people feel they must have a special day to remember our Lord’s birth. We know that every day is a day of remembrance. But I know, too, we must show understanding. And the Lord’s love and Light.”

  “Last year we exchanged gifts. Father thought it proper but then told everyone at the table that each day is a gift from God, that we only did it in our guests’ honor to remember the occasion they celebrate.”

  “As is right. For thee knows one occasion isn’t better than another. Each day is a gift to be shared.” He took Mary’s hand, covered in the warmth of a mitten, and held it in his hand. “Just as thee is also a gift.”

  “Friend Daniel, it—it’s kind of thee to say.” But she didn’t feel much like a gift these past few days, especially during the confrontations with Silas Jones. Why the man bothered her, she didn’t know. Or she feared knowing. She must instead focus her thoughts on this fine man before her. Daniel Gray was an honorable man and a gift in his own right. An elder and a man Father would be proud to have court his only daughter. If it was the right thing to do. But now she remained uncertain.

  Daniel guided the buggy down another road leading toward home. She was glad he’d taken a more country route and not one through the town of Waynesville. Quaint as it was, and even with the Friends’ meetinghouse there, she instead felt closer to God among the great fields and forest He’d created. And they also avoided the curious eyes of the townsfolk.

  When they arrived back, Silas was in the yard with his horse, looking as if he were about ready to take his leave.

  “Thank thee, Friend Daniel,” Mary said swiftly, her gaze falling on Silas. “I enjoyed the ride very much.”

  Before departing, Daniel offered his hand once more to Silas, who shook it. Then Daniel left. Mary stood in her place, uncertain what to say or what might unfold between them.

  “Barzillai is much better,” Silas finally said. “Your brother did a fine job caring for her.”

  “I’m glad. George is a wonder with animals. God has given him a great gift of healing.” She paused. “So thee is leaving?”

  “Yes. I’m certain things will be better here if I do. I know you’re unhappy with me.”

  Mary inhaled a sharp breath, recalling Daniel’s words that she was a gift to others. She had hardly represented herself as a gift to Silas in her words and thoughts. Nor did she allow for God’s Light to pierce the darkness in his heart through her. “Silas Jones, I beg forgiveness if my tone with thee these past days has not been pleasant. I felt I needed to come to the defense of my brethren. But I should remember that God is our defender.”

  “I admire someone who stands for justice.”

  His words took her by surprise. “But surely it is the Lord who justifies and who brings forth fruit from what is sown. It is not for me to judge. And I did judge thee severely.”

  Silas was silent for a minute. “I accept your apology, but I do have reasons for what I say. Even if I’m at fault for having harsh opinions.”

  “A man is right in his own eyes until he is corrected.”

  “True. All I’ve had the last few weeks on my journey is a lame horse to tell me right from wrong until I came here. A horse doesn’t speak too well to one’s condition.”

  Mary couldn’t help but chuckle, which brought a smile to Silas’s face.

  “But Barzillai’s limp did speak in other ways,” he continued. “It told me to stop and take notice. To not let my ideas affect everything I see and do. And so I think I will stay through Christmas, which is not far away, and then leave.”

  “We don’t celebrate Christmas…,” she began then caught herself. “Rather, we have different ways of celebrating among the Friends. We believe every day is a celebration of our Lord and His coming.”

  “I know. I’m Quaker also.”

  Mary stepped back, stunned by the revelation. “You’re a Friend? But I thought…” She knew her mouth had dropped open, but she could barely close it. “I—I don’t understand. After all that’s been said between us and…”

  Silas turned away. “Now I see I’ve said too much.” He led his horse back into the barn, as Mary stood fast in place, unable to believe what she’d heard. Silas is a Friend? The man who had mocked their language and their manner of keeping? What was it, then, that had turned him from the Light? What had sent him into darkness? Curiosity overwhelmed her. She hoped and prayed the man would not take his leave until all had been revealed. Even with that, she wasn’t sure how she would react or what she would say.


  But right now it looked as if Silas didn’t wish to reveal anything more. “Lord, I pray Thee will keep him here until his heart’s condition lays open,” she whispered. “Do not let him leave with a troubled heart and a wandering soul. Keep him in Thy tender care. And our care, too, until he finds healing for his soul.” With that prayer, Mary found her thoughts about Silas changing. A heart of compassion began to emerge, to help one in need. Silas Jones was in desperate need, whether he believed it or not.

  Chapter 4

  Silas chastised himself for allowing part of the past to slip out. Why he told Mary he was once a Quaker was beyond him. He’d wanted to avoid it. Disown the mere fact out of his choosing. But since his arrival here at the Hall home—watching the tender care given to his horse and the warmth of a true Quaker family who helped each other and greeted strangers with kindness and smiles of joy—his heart had softened. If only that warmth could change what had happened. But even with the Halls’ displays of kindness and generosity, nothing could take away a past that still left a deep wound in his spirit.

  Now with the revelation of his ties to the Friends, Mary looked at him oddly for the remainder of the day. That evening over a fine meal of chicken and dumplings in savory gravy, he noted Mary’s fiery blue eyes observing him as if desiring to know why he’d left the Society of Friends. What led him away from the Light? Why had he run from Philadelphia? But the questions remained unspoken, and for that he was grateful.

  After a dessert of delicious molasses cake, Silas cleared his throat and looked around the table. “I wanted to thank you very much for your kindness. I’ve decided to leave tomorrow.”

  The cups of evening tea were set down on the table. Every member of the Hall family gazed at him, except for the two guests in for the night.

  “But I thought thee was staying until…,” Mary began.