With a huff of annoyance, Marian pushed the thought of Elias out of her mind, something that had become increasingly difficult. She glanced at a silver-framed photograph on her vanity of Juliana, Edward, and Noah—taken when the boy was a toddler, and then at another in a matching frame that was of Juliana at age sixteen.
Marian sank onto the chair in front of the vanity and stared blankly at the photographs, her throat tight. In that moment, she doubted she could get through the Christmas Eve service without breaking down from missing her lost loved ones. And she didn’t want to be seen crying in front of the whole town.
I don’t want to attend church.
A knock sounded at the front door, and she rose and went into the hallway leading toward the entry.
Noah erupted from his room, running to beat his grandmother to open it.
“Noah! What have I told you about running in the house?” But Marian’s tone was mild. Tonight’s Christmas, after all, and the child’s wound as tight as a top with excitement.
Helga Mueller, the baker, waited outside on the porch with a large basket in her hands. Her son, Mattias, stood next to her with a second covered basket. Behind them was Mr. Mueller, his ruddy face even more red with cold, his arms wrapped around a large bundle covered in brown paper.
“Frohe Weihnachten!” said Helga in her thick German accent.
Mattias held up the basket. “Merry Christmas,” he repeated in English. “Mr. Masters sends his respects.” The boy plopped his basket into her arms. “He hired us to make you Christmas dinner. Mutti’s rolls and red cabbage, a turkey with dressing, mashed potatoes, yams, a pumpkin pie. He knew we had the two big stoves to cook for him.”
“A turkey!” Embarrassment made Marian’s tone sharp. Whatever did Elias think he was doing acting like Scrooge sending food to Bob Crachett’s family? But we have plenty! “We don’t need a turkey. I have a perfectly good ham. Take that bird back and give it to a poor family.”
Helga’s blue eyes twinkled. “Herr Masters consulted with Reverend Norton, ya. The poor, they’ll be given their own Christmas feast. Mr. Masters’ gift to them when they return home from the party. Ham…turkey.” Like St. Nicholas, she touched a finger to the side of her nose.
Noah took the basket from Mattias. “I like turkey better than ham anyway,” he commented, his tone matter-of-fact.
Marian eyed him with suspicion. Had he known about this? Still reeling from shock, she tottered backward, motioning for the Muellers to come inside.
The family deposited everything on the kitchen table. Once again, they wished her a Merry Christmas in both languages and departed, leaving Marian to stare out the front window until the Muellers trudged down the snowy street and disappeared out of sight.
Shaking her head, she turned to see Noah sneak a roll out of the basket.
He gave her an innocent look. “I’m hungry.”
“You’re always hungry.” She moved to the table and peeled away a strip of the brown paper around the bundle, then the waxed paper underneath to find a huge golden brown turkey, still warm from the oven. The rich scent of roasted meat and sage drifted her way. “My word! Whatever was that man thinking! With just the two of us, we’ll be eating this bird for days!”
“We should invite Mr. Masters for dinner.”
That was probably Elias’s sneaky plan. “Noah Michael Turner, did you know about this?”
“No, grandma.” His eyes held a hint of mischief in their depths. “I didn’t know Mr. Masters was sending us food.”
She eyed her grandson in askance, then accepted his word. The boy had always been a truthful child.
“Can I have some turkey, Grandma?”
“May I.” Marian absently corrected Noah’s English, but her thoughts lingered on Elias’s strange gesture. She glanced at the clock hanging on the wall and saw they had time. “I’ll cut you some slices.”
She left Noah happily tucking into a second meal and returned to her room to finish getting ready for the evening. But instead of fastening on her pearl set, she sank onto the bed, pondering the dilemma of Elias Masters. She had no doubt the delivery of a meal was a reciprocal challenge to her calling him a Scrooge. But to go beyond a single meal—no matter how lavish—to gift the needy with food, was a grand gesture beyond what she ever would have thought him capable.
Imagining some of the poorer families, especially those with stiff-necked pride, she couldn’t help but chuckle and wish she could see their faces when they spied the turkey or ham waiting when they returned home. Some of those people wouldn’t accept charity, no matter how necessary. But they couldn’t refuse a gift deposited on their doorstep in secret.
Marian wondered if Elias had delivered the food to the homes himself, or, more likely, had several people helping. If so, the secret of him as being the benefactor would probably be revealed. She laughed out loud. Wouldn’t people be surprised how the Miser of Sweetwater Springs had turned into Father Christmas?
But as Marian realized she was softening toward Elias, she choked off the laughter. The truth was, his generosity deeply moved her. She pressed a hand to her chest, longing for the sweet romance they’d once shared.
Agitated, she jumped up from the bed. The grand gesture was indeed grand, but she couldn’t trust that he had changed. Opening up to him, loving him again….
No, the letdown, the pain would be too great. And she wasn’t the only one who’d be affected. I have to protect Noah.
With that thought Marian once again hardened her heart against Elias.
~ ~ ~
An hour later, Marian straightened the collar of Noah’s new coat. She smoothed down an errant black curl near his temple and rested a hand on his shoulder. The child looked so handsome in the clothes she’d bought for him to wear tonight. In the short months he’d lived with her, he’d grown several inches.
In that moment, she wished Juliana could see her son, and a lump rose in her throat. Although Marian believed with her whole heart that her daughter was watching from heaven, she wanted more than ever for the chance to hug Juliana and celebrate the holiday together. “Let’s go,” she said briskly, to hide her emotion. “The church will quickly fill up.”
Noah’s brows scrunched together. “I, uh…. I forgot something.” He pulled away from her and ran to his room.
Marian stared after him in puzzlement. What is that boy up to?
She ran her palm down the midnight-blue velvet of her gown and fingered the brooch. From a glance in the looking glass in her bedroom, Marian knew she was looking her best. She radiated a vibrant air that she hadn’t felt for years, and her cheeks were pink with excitement.
I’m excited because of the party, she told herself, careful to keep her thoughts away from one puzzling man. Reaching for the fur coat hanging on the rack, she shrugged herself into the garment, wound a midnight-blue scarf around her neck, picked up her matching hat and muff, and walked into the entry.
The jingle of bells caught her attention, and Marian moved to the front window to see who was driving by. But the sound of the bells slowed.
Curious, she peered through the window to see a shiny black sleigh with gold trim—far more elegant than any other in town—pulled by a beautiful horse as white as Pegasus. The driver was muffled up in a coat and hat, and she couldn’t guess his identity.
Noah tore by her, flung open the door, and dashed outside.
What in tarnation? Hurriedly donning her hat, Marian followed him but left her muff on the small marble-topped table by the door.
The driver had dismounted and given the reins to Noah to hold. The man strode over to her, elegant in a well-cut black coat and a bowler hat. A green woolen scarf wrapped around his neck, and he wore driving gloves.
She saw his smile first—charming with a hint of self-depreciation in the quirk of his mouth. Marian had to blink several times to recognize Elias Masters. He’d trimmed his beard close to his chin, and his gaze was warm.
Elias looks so handsome, almost like
a stranger. Her breath caught. Heat flushed her, and Marian, who hadn’t blushed since she was a girl, knew her cheeks had reddened.
He came closer, extending a hand. “Merry Christmas, Marian.” The color of the scarf turned his hazel eyes green.
Moving as if in a dream, she placed her hand in his, feeling the supple leather of his new gloves under her fingers.
He squeezed her hand and brought it to his lips. “You shouldn’t be out here without gloves.” His grin made lines crinkle around his eyes.
He’s never looked so attractive. Her heart fluttered. She glanced from Elias—this elegant stranger—to the horse and sleigh. “What fairy tale did you borrow that equipage from?”
“Not borrowed. The horse and sleigh are mine. I bought them on a recent trip to Crenshaw.” He gestured to his clothing, and then extended his arms for her to admire him. “A whole new wardrobe as well.”
Unable to hide her surprise, Marian gaped at him like a fish.
“’Bout time, don’t you think?”
“Absolutely time!” she recovered enough to return smartly.
Elias didn’t seem to mind her sharp tone. He cupped her hands in his. “Go get your gloves and anything else you need. I’ll give you and Noah a ride to church.”
“Nonsense! We’re quite capable of walking.” Still, Marian snuck a peek at the beautiful black sleigh and imagined a ride like a dream.
“It’s Christmas Eve, Marian,” Elias coaxed. “Let me take you for a drive.”
She glanced beyond him to her grandson.
Noah stroked the horse’s head, a look of adoration on his face.
How can I go with Elias? But how can I refuse? I don’t want to disappoint Noah on Christmas. The child needs a treat as much as I do. Throwing her concerns into the icy wind, she smiled and squeezed his hand.
~ ~ ~
Not until Elias slid into the front seat of the sleigh next to Marian and tucked a blanket around them did he exhale a sigh of relief. I’ve gotten her into the sleigh. May the rest of my wooing go as well.
His stomach had been tight with tension throughout his whole trip to Crenshaw. He was taking a big risk to win Marian’s regard—spending with such reckless abandon that if she rejected him again, he’d not only have a broken heart and a lonely future, but would also be labeled The Laughingstock of Sweetwater Springs instead of The Miser of Sweetwater Springs.
Oh, yes, Elias had heard the whispers behind his back.
But that’s the past, he told himself. Please, Blessed Jesus, on the celebration of your birth…the rest of his prayer was an inarticulate emotional plea.
He flicked the reins of the mare he’d named Prancer, and the horse started forward. The bells on the harness chimed in a sweet cadence and the sleigh’s runners crunched through the snow. He glanced over at Marian, but she stared straight ahead, her chin in the stubborn set he knew so well.
They didn’t have far to go and plenty of time before the service started, so Elias held Prancer to a walk. The winter night had already fallen, and only the lights from the lanterns on the sleigh pierced the darkness. Overhead, the silvery moon illuminated the velvety blackness of the sky, the stars like crystals, stark and beautiful.
Elias hadn’t celebrated holidays since he and Marian had broken up; indeed, although he’d attended the church service, he’d withheld himself from the spirit of Christmas.
As he drove with Marian at his side, and the boy he’d come to care about tucked into blankets on the seat behind him, Elias felt a deep welling up of the joy he’d denied himself for so long. Unable to contain himself, he burst into song.
“The snow lay on the ground, the stars shone bright,
When Christ our Lord was born on Christmas night.
Venite adoremus Dominum.
Venite adoremus Dominum.”
Marian stared at Elias, her eyebrows raised in astonishment. But then a familiar sparkle lit her blue eyes. Her lips turned up, and an elusive dimple flickered at the side of her mouth, one that he hadn’t seen in many years. Even when she’d smiled at other people, she hadn’t given that one—the happy turn up of her lips she’d reserved for him.
Relief loosened the knot in his stomach.
Marian glanced behind them to check on Noah; then she turned back and met Elias’s gaze. Her nose and cheeks were pink with cold, and she looked as animated as he remembered.
Hope filled him. Maybe, just maybe, this outlandish plan of mine will work!
~ ~ ~
Walking into the spacious new hotel for the Christmas Eve party, Marian felt she could finally breathe. Here was beauty and gaiety, and no memories of Harold or Juliana. Although, she had to admit, the church service hadn’t been as difficult as she’d expected. Elias’s presence next to her, touching shoulder-to-shoulder, had brought her comfort, allowing her to almost enjoy the service—including singing her favorite Christmas carols and listening to the children’s choir with their sweet voices. Noah had seemed to enjoy the experience, telling her he wanted to join the choir. And such an air of excitement and good will infused the church service that she hadn’t even minded the curious glances that came her way.
When she shed her outerwear and gave them into the arms of a waiting servant girl, Marian felt as if she was also letting go of her grief. For a time, at least. She knew all too well the pain would find her again.
Carrying the red velvet gift bag of candy and cookies given to every family by Banker Livingston, she set herself to having a nice time. A few days earlier, Marian had taken Noah to the hotel to view the decorated Christmas tree when it first appeared in the front corner window, so she’d thought she’d known what to expect. But, in addition to the lavish decorations, the party atmosphere had transformed the huge lobby of the hotel, what with the happy mood of the people, the buzz of conversations, the excitement of children, the special treats, and the sense of community and camaraderie.
Although she and Elias started out together, they were swept apart by the tide of the party. She exchanged news with her friends, especially the ones she hadn’t seen since the snows had descended, keeping people homebound on outlying farms and ranches.
Even though Marian enjoyed her conversations, she also kept an eye on Elias, surprised to see him socializing. Sometimes, they moved together for a few minutes before the press of people pulled them away. Listening in, she heard him make an appointment with banker Caleb Livingston concerning the transfer of his funds from the bank in Crenshaw; discuss rancher Nick Sanders’s request to breed Prancer to one of his stallions; and have a sweet conversation about his mother with one of her old friends.
A new Elias had emerged from isolation into the welcoming embrace of Sweetwater Springs, as if the community had been waiting for him all these years. Have I, too?
Pamela Carter, the wife of the most established rancher in the area, approached Marian as she stood near the punch bowl, a characteristic warm smile brightening her plain, plump-cheeked face. “It’s nice to see you looking happy when you’ve been grieving so,” she said, her tone kind.
“Thank you,” Marian murmured, not sure she wanted to discuss the reason for her good feelings.
“And I’m glad to see Mr. Masters so changed.”
So much for not discussing Elias. She debated on revealing her dilemma about the frustrating man. Mrs. Carter was about fifteen years younger than Marian, and they weren’t close, although they were on friendly terms. The rancher’s wife didn’t have a speculative, gossipy air about her, though, which convinced Marian to unburden herself.
She leaned closer to Mrs. Carter. “You might not know our story. It happened long before you arrived in Sweetwater Springs.” She proceeded to give the woman some of the details—the vase, the disapproval he expressed toward her beloved pets, the ever-increasing thriftiness that tightened around her. When she saw only genuine interest and concern on Mrs. Carter’s face, Marian began to reveal her doubts that the changes Elias displayed wouldn’t last and he’d revert to his m
iserliness.
Mrs. Carter tilted her head. “Even if he were to become as you fear, you have your own money, isn’t that right?”
Marian nodded.
“You’re not dependent on him and, thus, could continue with the kind of financial life you want.”
The sensible words untwisted something inside Marian, and she let out the deepest sigh of relief her corset would allow.
“Perhaps you could talk to Mr. Masters and see how he does feel…if he believes he’s changed.”
“You’re right, Mrs. Carter.”
The woman reached out, took Marian’s hand, and squeezed. “After such a personal discussion, I feel we should be on a first name basis. Please call me Pamela.”
“And I’d love for you to call me Marian.”
Pamela leaned in and briefly pressed her cheek to Marian’s. “The best of Christmas luck to you.” With a twinkle in her eyes, she waved and turned to greet a trio of elderly ladies.
The sounds of harp music had people quieting and moving toward the Christmas tree. With his hand on the small of her back, Elias guided her to a good viewpoint, so Marian could see the harpist.
A slight woman wearing her long, pale hair loose, with a crown of silvery holly leaves on her head, sat in front of a huge instrument playing “Bring a Torch, Jeanette Isabella.”
The lilting music gave Marian a corresponding lift of her spirits. She became aware of happiness sparkling through her as warm and bright as the candlelight on the Christmas tree.
Not until the lovely dark-haired, violet-eyed soloist sang “Oh, Holy Night” did Marian realize she was in trouble. The beautiful, rich music caused a wave of sadness to well up in her, bringing tears to her eyes. She touched her brooch as if for comfort, feeling the sharp sapphires and smooth pearls under her fingertips—the pain and joy of her memories.
Sweetwater Springs Scrooge: A Montana Sky Holiday Short Story (The Montana Sky Series) Page 4
