Their Mistletoe Matchmakers

by Keli Gwyn

  Henry was their guardian? What could Jack have been thinking? Henry couldn’t raise a child on his own, let alone three of them.

  Or could he? Her brother-in-law had obviously thought so. Lavinia couldn’t deny that Henry was good with the children. It hadn’t taken long to see that they doted on him, and it was clear he loved them deeply in return.

  It appeared he had the means to provide for them—at least their basic needs anyhow. Although his frock coat, shirt and trousers appeared to be ready-made, his hat, overcoat and silk cravat were of the highest quality. His hotel in Marysville must be doing well, enabling him to hire a housekeeper, if he chose to.

  But the children deserved more than the simple life they’d been living. Her father could give them that. He was determined to do so, which spoke well of him. Alex, Marcie and Dot would live in a lovely home, go to the finest schools and have opportunities beyond their wildest dreams.

  Gaining the right to take them back with her might involve a legal challenge, but it wouldn’t be hard for a knowledgeable lawyer to overturn a will. Her father had waged far more difficult battles in the past and won.

  Lavinia took a seat on the bright red settee and arranged her skirts, giving her time to form a suitable response. Henry meant well and deserved respect. Perhaps she could convince him that she’d be a more fitting guardian. He might even welcome the opportunity to relinquish his obligation. No doubt, he hadn’t expected to assume the role when he’d agreed to be named. “I admire your willingness to see that the children are cared for, but surely you realize what kind of life they would have back home.”

  He gave a dry laugh. “Of course, I do. They would be taught to disparage people like their hardworking father, and I won’t have that. Jack might have fallen short of your father’s ideals, but he was a good man, and he was good to Pauline.”

  She ran a hand over the arm of the well-worn settee. Like most of the items in the house, it had seen better days. At least there was a piano. Pauline had loved to play. “He couldn’t give her what she would have had if she’d heeded Father’s counsel and remained back east.”

  “Jack couldn’t give her what she had as a girl, no, but he gave her what mattered most. She had a husband she adored and who loved her deeply, and they had three wonderful children. As I said earlier, Pauline was happy here. Anyone who knew her would tell you that.”

  Norma had said much the same. “Be that as it may, I’m sure you’d agree that the children deserve to have the best we can offer them.”

  Henry studied her for the longest time before taking a seat in the leather armchair to her left. He slipped a finger under the collar of his white dress shirt and tugged at it, loosening his cravat in the process. “I’ve worn one of these fancy things every day for the past five years, and I’m still not used to them. Some of society’s conventions sure can be restrictive.”

  His attempt to make a point wasn’t lost on her. Her father had worked hard and done well for himself. His position required him to adhere to social mores, but he didn’t consider them to be restrictive. Perhaps that’s because he was used to them. He’d dressed in fine clothes as far back as she could remember.

  “And yet you wear one,” Lavinia said.

  “I’ve made concessions. A businessman is expected to present a certain image. I’ve learned that first impressions are what matter most, so I invested in the trappings necessary to make a good one.”

  “Your hat, overcoat and cravat.” They did lend him an air of distinction. Of course, with his thick, wavy wheat-colored hair, bottomless-blue eyes and muscular build, he’d probably look good in grubby miner’s wear.

  Henry nodded. “Men give other men a quick once over, and then they look each other in the eye, so a nice hat, a silk cravat and a clean collar are what’s important. Once a man has formed his opinion, the rest doesn’t matter as much.”

  “So you’re saying my father looked down on Jack because he didn’t have those things?”

  “What do you think?”

  “I doubt they would have made much difference.” She mentally kicked herself. She’d just admitted that her father had disliked Jack on principle.

  “You see my point, then?”

  All too clearly. “Father had his reasons.” He’d shared them freely, loudly and often. She could hear him now, his booming voice filling his spacious study. Jack Hawthorn is nothing but a presumptuous smithy. Imagine a man like that asking my daughter for her hand in marriage when his are filthy. Has the interloper no sense of how things are done?

  “Such as?”

  What had they been talking about? Ah, yes. Her father’s reasons for rejecting Jack as a suitable suitor for Pauline. “Does it matter? Haven’t you formed an opinion of my father based on outward appearances, too? You don’t really know him or what kind of man he is.”

  “I know enough about him to do whatever it takes to keep the children here where they belong.”

  This conversation had dredged up things she’d rather not think about, gone places she didn’t want to go. She loved her father and wouldn’t allow anyone to speak ill of him, but his treatment of Pauline had left something to be desired. Taking another tack seemed the wisest choice.

  Lavinia grabbed a sofa pillow and toyed with the fringe. “We can discuss this after Christmas. You obviously love them and want them to be happy, as do I. For now, I’m here. I think we should strive to make the holiday season as pleasant as possible for them.” That would give her time to assess the situation, locate a lawyer and overcome this unexpected obstacle.

  He rubbed his chin, and in the quiet room she could hear the rasp of his thumb over the golden stubble dusting his jaw. “What did you have in mind?”

  “To begin with, Gladys and I have been working on a menu for our Thanksgiving dinner. It’s going to be quite a feast.”

  His former antagonism fled, replaced by genuine eagerness. “Really? What will you be serving?”

  “The traditional dishes—turkey with cranberry sauce, ham, roast beef, an assortment of vegetables, fresh bread and, of course, a chicken pie. It wouldn’t be Thanksgiving without one, would it?”

  “That’s a lot of food for six people.”

  “It is, but I want the meal to be special.”

  “I’m sure it will be.” A wagon rumbled past out front, drawing his attention. He looked from the window to her. “That reminds me... I only have a satchel with me, but my trunks should arrive in the next day or two, so you can expect to see the freight wagon show up.”

  She blinked in disbelief. “You’re having them delivered here?”

  “Of course. This is where I live now.”

  Her surprise turned to shock. “You can’t. I mean, I know you have been, but you can’t continue to do so, not with me staying here. It wouldn’t be proper. Besides, I’ve given Gladys the downstairs bedroom, and I’m staying in the spare one upstairs.”

  He leaned forward, resting his hands on his knees. His calm tone was at odds with his rigid posture. “Let me see if I have this straight. First, you announce that you intend to take the children back east, and now you’re saying I can’t even stay in my own brother’s house?”

  Put that way, she came off looking high-handed, which she wasn’t. At least, she hadn’t meant to be. “This isn’t how I intended for things to happen. If only the letter had reached you before I arrived.” She’d spent hours getting the words just right.

  “You made the same deman—er, requests in your letter, I presume?”

  “I did, but I was more gracious.” She’d taken pains to state her case as tactfully as possible.

  He released his breath in an audible sigh. “Perhaps we could reach a compromise.”

  She didn’t see how that was possible, but she owed him the courtesy of hearing him out. “What do you have in mind?”

 
“Since it would be safer for you and Gladys to stay here in the house, given that men greatly outnumber women, I’ll take a room at a boardinghouse. For the time being.”

  “That’s kind of you.” But that wasn’t the compromise. It obviously had to do with the children. Something told her Henry wasn’t going to give in as easily when it came to them. “And regarding the other part of the compromise?”

  “Let’s start by finding our common ground, shall we? Am I correct in thinking you want the children to remain together?”

  “Yes, of course! They shouldn’t be separated.”

  He nodded. “Good. Would you agree that keeping them in one location rather than dividing their time between here and Philadelphia would be wise?”

  “By all means. Uprooting them repeatedly would be quite disruptive. Children need stability. Not only that, but the journey is fraught with dangers. There’s the risk of shipwreck or disease. And now that Lincoln’s been elected...” She couldn’t bring herself to complete her thought.

  “War is imminent, so traveling the waters along the southern states isn’t wise.”

  “Exactly. That’s why Father wanted me to turn right around when I got here, but I convinced him that allowing the children to spend one final Christmas season in their own home instead of at sea would be a compassionate gesture. He saw my point but insisted we begin our journey by the end of the year. I assured him we would.”

  There. She’d let Henry know where things stood and had shown that her father could be reasonable. He was, on rare occasions anyhow, although she rarely challenged him for fear of enduring his slights. In fact, that was only the third time she’d done so. Christmas had been Pauline’s favorite holiday. Her children deserved to have the best one possible.

  Henry rested his left elbow on the arm of his chair and leaned away from Lavinia, putting as much distance as possible between them. He clasped his hands, lifted his gaze to the ceiling and closed his eyes, giving her the impression he was praying for patience. His shoulders rose and fell three times before he opened his eyes. They held conviction coupled with...compassion. An odd mix.

  “It appears we’re at an impasse. You loved your sister and want to do what you think best for our nieces and nephew. I loved my brother and Pauline, too, and want to do the same. They entrusted the children to me, which makes their choice of guardian clear.”

  Jack might have named Henry as guardian in the will, but Pauline had said long ago that if the unthinkable happened and the Lord took her and Jack home, she wanted Lavinia to care for the children. And she had the letter to prove it!

  Henry leaned toward her once again. “Let me ask you this. What do you think the children want?”

  He had an annoying habit of asking questions she didn’t care to answer. He knew what the youngsters would say. He’d been an important part of their lives since they were born, whereas they’d only met her eight days ago. She couldn’t permit him to question them on this point. Not yet. Not until she had an opportunity to let them know what wonderful things awaited them in the east.

  But how could she do that? They couldn’t begin to imagine how different life would be there, how much fun they would have. If only she could show them.

  An idea struck her, filling her with hope. She could show them. By creating a Christmas like those she and Pauline had enjoyed when they were young, the children would see what their lives would be like in Philadelphia and why she was eager to take them there.

  Showing what she could do for the children would also help strengthen her case should Henry refuse to relinquish his rights, forcing her to take legal action. She prayed he would have a change of heart before that, but she had her doubts.

  “I think what they want is to know they’re loved and will be well cared for. As I said before, we can start by doing all we can to see that they have as enjoyable a Christmas season as possible, considering the circumstances. Wouldn’t you agree?”

  Wariness creased his brow. “I can tell by the determination in your eyes that you’re up to something. What is it?”

  “Just what I said. I’m going to make this Christmas extra special.”

  “And after that?”

  Another probing question. But she’d anticipated this one and had a ready answer. “We’ll discuss the children’s future then. It makes no sense to do so now. You and I have only had two brief interactions. Postponing the conversation will give us time to get better acquainted and determine which of our situations would be best for the children. Not only that, but if we put off the matter and focus on the children at present, they won’t witness any petty quibbling on our part. Not that you’d engage in any, of course,” she said with playfully exaggerated sincerity.

  A slow, easy smile lifted Henry’s lips and eased the tension in his face—his very handsome face. “My dear Miss Crowne, I’ve underestimated your talents. You’re quite the diplomat.”

  She returned his smile. “And you, Mr. Hawthorn, are a worthy adversary. If you’re in agreement with my plan and are willing to wait until December twenty-sixth to revisit the matter then perhaps you’d be willing to shake on it.” She extended her hand.

  He stared at it a moment before taking it. His grip was firm but not overly so. To her surprise, he didn’t pull his hand back right away. Although she welcomed the reassuring gesture—and the resulting warmth that flowed through her—the resolve in his eyes gave her cause for concern. “I appreciate how much the children matter to you, but don’t expect me to change my position.”

  She didn’t, which was why she would work hard to show her nieces and nephew why they’d be better off with her—and gain custody of them.

  * * *

  Lavinia closed her bedroom door behind her and inhaled deeply. The tantalizing scent of pies filled the air—apple and pumpkin, with more to come. Gladys had spent the previous afternoon in the kitchen, and she’d be there again today, getting things ready for tomorrow. Although this Thanksgiving meal wouldn’t be as sumptuous as those Lavinia had enjoyed around her father’s table, it would give the children their first taste of what life would be like when they reached their new home.

  She rapped on Alex’s door. “Good morning, my favorite nephew. Are you awake?”

  “It’s too early,” he grumbled.

  “You’d better hurry, or the girls will beat you downstairs.” She’d discovered that a friendly competition helped get the children moving in the morning. The one who reached the kitchen first got an extra slice of bacon. Marcie had earned that honor the past two days. The sound of feet hitting the floor told Lavinia that Alex intended to have it today.

  The door to the girls’ room opened, and little Dot peeked her head out. “I’m up, Aunt Livy, and I’m gonna get dressed real fast so I’m the firstest.”

  “I heard that!” Alex hollered from behind his door. “But I’ll be there before you!”

  Lavinia smiled. Another day was underway. She descended the stairs, ready for breakfast. After her frightening ordeal yesterday afternoon, followed by the draining conversation with Henry, her appetite had fled. She’d eaten little at supper and, consequently, had awoken hungry. She could almost taste Gladys’s crispy bacon, but—she sniffed—she couldn’t smell it.

  She hurried to the kitchen to find Gladys hunched over the cook stove. The wiry woman’s movements were stiff and slow. “What’s wrong?”

  “My rheumatism is acting up again, so wrestling with all these buttons took a while.” She swept a hand over her bodice. “Don’t you worry, though. I’ll get that bacon going right away.” Gladys placed several thick strips in the bottom of a frying pan and plunked it on the burner.

  “I’m sorry you’re hurting. I’d be happy to help.”

  Gladys turned and studied Lavinia. The older woman’s face was pinched with pain. “I reckon you mean well, Miss Lavinia, but what do you kn
ow about cooking?”

  Very little, but she wouldn’t let that stop her. “I’m a quick learner.”

  “Then put on an apron, and you can take over.”

  Lavinia grabbed a knee-length red apron that looked good against her green dress. The colors reminded her of Pauline. Her sister had rarely worn any others. “What do I do?”

  Gladys handed her a pair of tongs. “Watch the bacon, and turn it every now and then. Keep your face back ’cause it splatters. I’ll fry up the eggs.” She reached for a second frying pan, but the heavy iron skillet slipped from her grasp and crashed to the floor, narrowly missing her feet.

  “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine. My fingers are just being a mite troublesome this morning.”

  Lavinia picked up the frying pan, which had landed right side up. “Why don’t you have a seat at the kitchen table and instruct me from there?”

  “Maybe I should rest my poor hands a bit. They’ve got a lot of work ahead of them the next two days.” Gladys gave Lavinia a quick lesson in how to fry an egg and sank into the nearest chair.

  Lavinia’s mind raced, going over the many items yet to be prepared for tomorrow’s feast. She couldn’t ask Gladys to work when she was in such pain, but without her help, the meal was in jeopardy.

  A rap on the back door startled Lavinia. She rushed over, saw Henry through the window in the upper half and yanked open the door. “What are you doing here so early?”

  “I’ve been eating my meals with the children. That won’t be a problem, will it?”

  Technically it wouldn’t be. They had plenty of food, but she had no desire for him to witness her first cooking lesson. What choice did she have, though? He was the children’s uncle and had a right to spend time with them. A legal right, thanks to the will he’d shown her after their conversation on Monday. Not that she’d let that stop her. A will could be contested.

  She produced a polite smile. “Come in and take a seat. I have to see to the bacon.”

  He glanced at her apron and back again. “You’re cooking?” His voice held a note of disbelief. Not surprising, since he knew her father employed several servants, but discouraging just the same. Although she might be uneducated in certain areas, she wouldn’t let that serve as an obstacle. She’d learn whatever skills she needed to care for the children, and it appeared cooking would be the first.