A Plain and Sweet Christmas Romance Collection

by Lauralee Bliss

  “Amos had asked Alan to make the trip to the railroad depot with the wagon that day, but he wasn’t in the notion, so I went instead. If I had just refused to make that trip, Alan would not have been at the mill when the explosion happened. I will understand if thee never wants to see my face again.”

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  Lucinda watched Will’s Adam’s apple bob with a hard swallow, his gaze firmly fastened on the cemetery. Her heart ached for him. How quietly he had carried the burden all these months. How needlessly he had suffered.

  She gently covered his large hand with hers, praying for words that might lift the undeserved burden from this sweet man’s heart. “I know. Amos told me at the funeral. Will, I lost one man I loved. I don’t think I could bear to lose another.”

  His face swung toward hers, his gray eyes growing wide with wonder. When their gazes locked, a sweet understanding swept away all uncertainty. For a moment, his eyes glistened in the moonlight before closing, and he lowered his lips to hers.

  Lucinda’s heart sang as she welcomed his kiss. She’d found where she wanted to be—where she needed to be. After a long moment, she dropped her gaze to her lap, feeling oddly shy. “I’m sorry I don’t have a Christmas gift for thee after thee gave me the loom and then the cradle. Just a Christmas cake. Maybe the cake…”

  “Sweetheart.” Will gently took her face into his hands and tipped it up to his. “Thee has given me better gifts than I could have ever hoped for. They are the same gifts the Christ child brought to the world that first Christmas—the gifts of love and forgiveness.” His calloused thumb prickled against her skin as he brushed a tear from her cheek before tenderly kissing her lips again.

  “Take me home, Will.” She barely breathed the words, allowing her gaze to melt into his.

  His smile nearly split his face as he snapped the reins against the mule’s back. “Come on, Bob!”

  Along the road, they passed a group of young people caroling outside a farmhouse. The words wafted through the frigid night air and wrapped tenderly around Lucinda’s heart.

  “‘How silently, how silently, the wondrous gift is given; so God imparts to human hearts the blessings of His heaven.’”

  Snuggled in the warm circle of Will’s arm, Lucinda knew that God had indeed blessed her.

  Resting her hands on the mound beneath her heart, she felt a tiny kick and thought of the cradle. Quietly, but clearly, God’s voice spoke to her heart. The life that she and Alan had begun, she and Will would finish.

  She’d learned something else this extraordinary Christmas Eve. The best gifts were the ones wrapped in pure love, exchanged silently from one heart to another. She and Will had exchanged such gifts. Gifts they would share for the rest of their lives.

  June’s Molasses Crisps

  From The James Whitcomb Riley Cookbook by Dorothy June Williams (curator, Riley Home, Greenfield, Indiana) and Diana Williams Hansen (Food Editor and Consultant), 2001.

  This old-fashioned recipe is a Greenfield, Indiana, original, perfected by Dorothy June Williams when her six children were small. Unlike most households, ours had rolled and decorated cookies frequently as the children grew up, and one of “the Williams girls” won a sweepstakes ribbon at the Indiana State Fair with these cookies. Besides various fancy decorated cookies, you can make good gingerbread men with this recipe.

  1 cup mild molasses (or honey)

  1 cup sugar

  ½ cup butter

  ½ cup lard or solid white shortening

  5 cups sifted all-purpose flour, divided

  2 eggs, beaten

  ½ teaspoon baking soda

  ½ teaspoon salt

  ½ teaspoon ground ginger

  ½ teaspoon ground cinnamon

  ½ teaspoon ground cloves

  In saucepan, while stirring over medium heat, bring to simmering the molasses, sugar, butter, and lard or shortening. When simmering, remove from heat. In large mixing bowl, place 2 cups of the flour. Carefully pour the hot molasses mixture over the flour and beat the mixture until it is smooth and well mixed. Cool. When mixture is no longer hot to the touch, stir in the additional 3 cups flour which has been mixed with the soda, salt, ginger, cinnamon, and cloves. “Work” the dough until it is well mixed, then refrigerate, covered, until chilled. To bake, remove from refrigerator and cut off small pieces of dough (dough becomes very firm and hard). Roll out thin on floured surface, using floured rolling pin. Cut into shapes with cookie cutter. Bake the cookies in preheated 375-degree oven for 8 to 10 minutes, until set and cookies look just dry. Remove to wire racks to cool. When cold, frost as desired with colored confectioner’s-sugar icing, nuts, and decorative sprinkles. Makes about 6 dozen cookies. Store cookies in tightly covered container.

  Ramona K. Cecil is a wife, mother, grandmother, freelance poet, and award-winning inspirational romance writer. Now empty nesters, she and her husband make their home in Indiana. A member of American Christian Fiction Writers and American Christian Fiction Writers Indiana Chapter, her work has won awards in a number of inspirational writing contests. Over eighty of her inspirational verses have been published on a wide array of items for the Christian gift market. She enjoys a speaking ministry, sharing her journey to publication while encouraging aspiring writers. When not writing, her hobbies include reading, gardening, and visiting places of historical interest.

  A Christmas Prayer

  by Dianne Christner

  Chapter 1

  Mountain Lake, Minnesota, 1881

  The ground, air, and trees were cloaked in a world of white. Harsh white. With her back hunched against the frigid cold, Hanna Friesen saw the schoolhouse’s dim silhouette. The sky had dumped so much snow so fast, she’d lost hope of making it to her destination. Falling so quickly upon the heels of a warm front, it caught most of the Russian immigrant village unawares. Dmitri Friesen had a keen sense for the weather and had sent his eighteen-year-old daughter to the school early to fetch her brothers home.

  But struggling through the storm brought back vivid memories of two winters past, when she’d gotten frostbitten feet and even lost some toes, resulting in a slight limp and ongoing pain, especially in cold weather. Although the school was now within sight, she didn’t know if her brothers were safe inside or if she had passed them along the way.

  As the snow swirled and blanketed everything in its grasp, she’d kept vigilant watch, her heart thumping with dread that they could have started home and gotten lost without the advantage of snowshoes or sled. It wouldn’t take much to harm her middle brother who was by nature frail. Breathing in the cold could either make you feel alive or take the life from you. And Miss Katia Kroeker, the schoolteacher, was unpredictable. Surely she hadn’t released them to venture out into the storm alone?

  Hanna was heartened in the schoolyard to catch the faint musical notes of children singing. But Katia had allowed the door to get blocked with snow. Fortunately, Hanna carried a tiny shovel strapped to her sled. Quickly she went to work to dig the snow away from the door. As she did so, the wind increased, diminishing her vision, and she was grateful to God for allowing her to reach safety. When her shovel finally scraped against wood, the singing halted and Katia called from inside the schoolhouse. “Who’s there?”

  “Hanna Friesen.”

  “Thank God! I hope you’ve brought help along.”

  And what am I? Hanna mumbled to herself, then asked, “Are my brothers inside?”

  “Yes, they’re here.”

  Relief flooded over her. “Good!”

  Within several minutes, she’d cleared the snow away from the doorway. Nearly overcome with fatigue, she managed to pull her sled inside before the wind blew the door closed. As Katia fussed over her, the teacher frowned at the messy sled. However, Hanna maintained it was a necessary precaution.

  While she fervently scanned the room for her brothers, Katia pulled her to the warmth of the stove, saying, “See, children. All is well. Your family will come for you.”

&n
bsp; “Hanna!” Viktor, a blond ten-year-old who was sturdy enough to do a man’s work, ran to embrace her, nearly toppling them both to the floor. “I was worried about you. How are your feet?”

  “I’m fine,” she replied.

  “Warm up by the stove,” he insisted, pulling her closer.

  Skinny eight-year-old Stefan and six-year-old Yury, who resembled his oldest brother in stamina and countenance, wrapped their arms around her waist. Gratitude flooded her to be able to hold them in the flesh and confirm their safety, but she quickly noticed that only a remnant of the students remained. As soon as she could distance herself from the children and the stove’s warmth, she questioned Katia and listened to the other woman’s distraught accounting. Though kind and excellent in her teaching abilities, the woman bore a nervous countenance, and Hanna hated to think what might have occurred if another adult hadn’t shown up to lend support.

  “The children who lived closest to the school set out for home hours earlier,” Katia explained. But she had kept the rest at Mountain Lake, Minnesota’s, one-room Mennonite school, fearing they’d be frozen or lost if she released them. Keeping her voice low so as not to distress the children, she explained, “I should’ve brought more wood in, but I thought it more important to get the children started home and then to occupy the remaining ones until their families arrived. I never dreamed the storm would arrive in such a fury, burying us inside. Do you think anyone else will come? We need more wood.” She glanced nervously at the windows, which shook and groaned from the wind, but nothing was visible through the white haze.

  “Then we should get it now before the door is blocked again,” Hanna replied, wondering where she would garner the strength to carry out her proclamation.

  Nodding, Katia continued, “I’m so worried about the children who left. I don’t know if I did the right thing.”

  Hanna touched Katia’s arm. “You did your best, and they’re in God’s hands. Now we must consider the children who remain in our care. We can burn a few desks, if need be.”

  “Oh no. I hope that’s not necessary. The town has put this all in my care. The children, too.”

  “Would we be more comfortable at your house?” Anna referred to the teacher’s small lodging behind the school. “It would be better to be someplace with food if we get snowed in.”

  “Surely you’re not suggesting we move the children in this blizzard? I fear I’ve waited too long for that.”

  “I suppose you’re right.” She suddenly remembered a trick her dad often used during blizzards to reach the barn. “If I had a rope, I could use my sled to get to your house and bring back some supplies.”

  Katia considered the request. “The only rope I have is attached to the school bell outside. It wouldn’t reach that far. But it has some extra length looped against the post. I always wondered why the townsmen left it that way. Now I know.”

  Hanna nodded thoughtfully. “It might reach the school’s woodpile.” She rushed to the stove where the children were gathered. “Viktor, come with me.”

  The blond lad was eager to obey. His ten-year-old voice cautious. “What is it?”

  “May I borrow your knife?”

  Katia crooked an eyebrow at her pupil, for such implements were supposed to be left at home.

  With a sheepish grin, he dug in his pocket and handed it to Hanna.

  “Thanks. Will you help us?”

  “Sure,” he nodded enthusiastically.

  “If the three of us make a human chain, I can reach the rope.”

  Choosing one of Viktor’s friends to help, they opened the door. With an eerie howl, snow swirled into the classroom. Moving quickly so she didn’t lose heart and change her mind, Hanna ducked her head and hunched into the assault. The storm had worsened since she’d been inside the schoolhouse, but she found the rope and cut it as high as she could reach. Then it took the four of them to tug it loose from its bed of frozen snow. Back inside, they pushed the door shut against the snow’s fury. Hanna’s heart beat rapidly from the exertion. Next they dragged Katia’s desk close to the door and secured one end of the rope. The other, Viktor fastened around Hanna’s waist.

  “I should be doing this, not you,” Katia insisted.

  “Nonsense. You need to remain with the children.”

  “I’ll do it,” Viktor tensed his jaw. “You know I’m in charge of the wood at home.”

  “Not this time,” Katia replied sternly. “Not under my care.”

  “Your teacher is right.” Hanna placed additional layers of clothing over her woolen shawl and donned her snowshoes. She secured the ties on the dark hooded bonnet worn by the Russian Mennonite women. Then armed with shovel and sled, she headed back into the storm trying to ignore the constant pain throbbing through her feet as she inched her way around the side of the building to the woodpile. But all she could see was a blinding swirl of snow. She knew it was their only chance to get the firewood needed for survival. Feeling helpless, she almost turned back. But suddenly she heard singing. The children sounded like angels, their voices so faint against the wind’s howl, it could have been her imagination. But it gave her the determination she needed to proceed.

  Now Hanna’s mom, Sonya Friesen, was a woman of deep faith who’d taught Hanna to pray by utilizing scripture in her prayers. As part of her child rearing, her mom had required each of them to memorize an entire book of the Bible of their own choosing. Hanna had chosen Proverbs. So her mind involuntarily sought for a verse to cover her present situation. Proverbs 31:21 came to mind. “She is not afraid of the snow for her household: for all her household are clothed with scarlet.” A smile tugged her nearly frozen lips. She dressed plainly as all her Mennonite Brethren sisters—Mennonite Brethren was the official name for the branch of Mennonites of the Russian immigrants. Scarlet wouldn’t have been her color of choice, but she recited the verse into the frigid air, where it became a frozen swirl. But as the woman in the scripture, she was prepared with winter clothing and sled. She’d survived frostbite once. She would overcome this time, too. If the Proverbs woman hadn’t feared the snow, she mustn’t either. Lord, I know You can protect Your little ones who need this wood. I ask for them. Please help me find it and get enough to last through the storm.

  After that, she thrust the shovel in three times and hit gold. Thank You, Lord! Excited, she worked feverishly to heap as much wood as her sled could hold. She tugged the rope as she worked her way back to the door, and the others helped pull until the sled was safely inside. Gasping, she slumped onto the floor as the children scurried to help Katia unload the wet wood and get it near the fire to dry.

  “Come to the fire,” Viktor urged, drawing her to her feet.

  Thank You, Lord. Willing herself to move, Hanna obeyed. Her hands stung as they began to warm, and her feet throbbed. The wood she’d recovered would get them through the night, but after that she didn’t know how they would survive. While they could always burn desks, she didn’t think the children would be too happy to have them served for lunch.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  Martin Penner turned to his father one last time before he and his brother Filipp boarded the Sioux City & St. Paul train. “I hope you make it home before the storm.”

  Filipp nudged him playfully. “Don’t worry so much.”

  “Grow up,” Martin retorted.

  “I’m older than you.”

  “Exactly.” Martin rolled his gaze heavenward. It was an old argument, but given the new responsibility they’d been given, couldn’t Filipp at least act as if he was taking their mission seriously? At least until Dad was out of sight.

  Their father furrowed his brow. Ignoring the upcoming storm, he warned, “I’m trusting you’ll quit squabbling and work together. I’m sending you both because of your different perspectives that will help us decide if it’s the right move to make for the family. Act like a team, for once.”

  For the family…which included his five younger brothers and sisters. Ever since their immigration
from Russia when he was small, the family had struggled. Now they were settled in Iowa, but working at a meat packing facility, not farming. Scraping by, not prospering. They still felt like outsiders in their community. But they had heard that in Winnipeg there was a Russian community where they could worship with other Mennonite Brethren. Land was available. It seemed too good to be true. Which was why they were about to board the train.

  “Godspeed. I’ll be praying. Now go before I change my mind.”

  Martin embraced his father and boarded the train. He found his seat and stared out the window at a gray sky, trying to recover from a sudden flood of emotions. Sadness—for he’d never left the family before. Gratitude—he was allowed to travel with his older brother and not have to remain behind. Then there was the weight of his responsibility pressing down, especially since he believed he was more responsible than Filipp. And even though he would never admit it to his brother, excitement also coursed through his veins. All in all, he wasn’t ready to look at Filipp when he felt him slide into the seat next to him.

  “Go ahead and worry. Cry if you need to, while I dream about pretty faces and Canadian prairies.”

  He clenched his jaw and met Filipp’s eyes. “It’s no secret you have big dreams and a way with the women.” Not that Filipp was better looking. The brothers shared the same brown wavy hair, strong high cheekbones, bright blue eyes, and straight noses. Handsome features in every way and features able to turn a woman’s eye, but Martin disapproved of Filipp’s way of sweet-talking people. He preferred to be blunt and serious. He favored action over charm. “I may not get the girls, but I also have dreams. I don’t see this as some grand adventure where I might get lucky. Whatever good happens will be the result of choices and hard work.”

  Filipp stretched out his legs and pulled his hat over his eyes. “If that’s how it’s going to be, then I’d better take a nap. Sounds exhausting.”