An Old-Fashioned Christmas Romance Collection

by DiAnn Mills

  Livy sat on the edge of the carved oak bed, her mind filled with questions. Being twelve years younger than John, she didn’t recall his friends. “Dear friends,” Helen had said. She chided herself for her blatant curiosity.

  Rising from the bed, she opened the chifforobe and rifled through her gowns. Nothing seemed suited for a dinner party. With the holiday season at hand, why hadn’t she planned ahead to bring a few party dresses? She chuckled at herself. Party dresses? She really had nothing particularly “festive” in her wardrobe. A spinster’s need for party frocks was minimal.

  She pulled the garments from the closet one at a time. A tailored, navy wool skirt and brilliantine shirtwaist seemed inappropriate for a dinner party. Livy examined her three dresses and settled on a brown day gown with shoulder piping and deeper brown velvet trim on the sleeves and peplum. She would have to make do.

  When she’d finished dressing, Livy went to Davy’s room. Earlier in the day, he seemed listless and ate his dinner in the kitchen. Now, when she peeked into his room, Davy had already fallen asleep. She left a small lantern burning in the hall outside his room, for fear he’d waken and be frightened in the strange surroundings.

  As Livy descended the stairs, the fireplace glowed through the doorway, and voices drifting from the parlor seemed as warm and inviting as the flames. When she entered the room, Charles stepped forward to greet her, but Livy’s attention was drawn to Andrew. Her face warmed with the greeting. She stifled her emotions and focused on Charles. Taller and sturdier than Andrew, his imperious size awed her. “It’s been a long time, Charles. Thank you for having us.”

  “You’re entirely welcome, Livy. Anything for Ruth and her family.” He brushed his thick mustache with long fingers and turned to the guests. “Livy, this is Mr. Daily and his sister, Miss Daily.”

  “Roger and Agatha, please,” the young man said.

  “How do you do? And please call me Livy,” she responded, admiring the young woman who greeted her. She was trim and attractive, dressed in a rich brocade gown of deep lilac with a fashionable bustle. Her bowed lips curved slightly in greeting, but her interest was not on Livy.

  Dressed in a brown worsted suit, sporting a tan corduroy vest, Andrew looked dashing. Tonight his tall stature and broad chest were more impressive than in the afternoon. He paused in the soft lamplight that brought out red highlights in his golden hair. Livy understood Agatha’s gawking on his appearance. A feathering of longing rippled through Livy, and she struggled to keep her admiration hidden.

  “You look refreshed, Livy,” Andrew said, his gaze sweeping her from head to toe. “Have a seat and let me bring you some warmed cider.”

  “Thank you,” she said, sinking into the sofa cushion across from the two dinner guests. In a moment, Andrew returned and slipped a cup into her hands. She wrapped her cold fingers around the mug, enjoying its warmth and hiding the slight tremor awakened by his touch.

  “And how was your trip, Livy?” Roger asked.

  “Fine, thank you.” Livy studied the pleasant-looking young man, admiring his gentle face and friendly smile.

  “I understand you gave up your holiday to bring your nephew here,” he added.

  “No accolades, please. With Ruth’s illness, my brother needed my help with Davy. Besides, I must admit I’m returning to Detroit before Christmas…that is, if Davy seems well-adjusted here.”

  “Ah I see,” Roger said.

  An unexpected look of disappointment shot across Andrew’s face. “But you must stay,” he blurted. “Who’ll entertain Davy?”

  His sudden explosion caught Livy by surprise. When she looked, a pinkish hue crept to his neck. Embarrassment? His first words had sent a ripple of pleasure through her, but the next comment that shot from his mouth dampened her hope. He wasn’t anxious for her stay, in particular, only for someone to watch over Davy.

  But Roger’s next words softened the tension of the moment. “I had hoped to coerce you into joining our choir for the services. I understand you teach music. Singing, I’m told.”

  “Yes, voice and piano. Though I must admit, piano is really not my strength.”

  With a sheepish grin, Andrew bounded from his seat to the spinet in the parlor alcove. “Please, play for us, Livy.” He raised the cover from the keys and pulled out the bench. “Maybe a carol.”

  “Yes, do play,” Agatha gushed, moving to Andrew’s side. Her hand captured his arm. He looked at her fingers gripping his forearm, and a covert frown flew across his face. Unobtrusively, he lifted her hand and stepped back to his chair. Agatha’s lips pursed a delicate pout.

  Livy grinned inwardly at the silent antics. Though she was unaccustomed to flirting herself, Agatha’s pursuit of Andrew was straightforward. When the amorous drama ended, Livy accepted Andrew’s invitation to play. She preferred to sing than play, but rather than refuse his request, she stepped to the piano. A collection of sheet music lay on a small cabinet beside the spinet, but she needed none for carols. Livy played them without a musical score. She slid onto the bench, fingered the keys for a moment, then struck the first chord. The rich tones of the instrument drifted through the room, and in her head, she sang the familiar song, “Good Christian Men Rejoice.”

  As the music ended, Helen swept into the room and graciously announced dinner. When Charles took his wife’s arm, Livy’s heart thudded as Andrew approached, but before he reached her, Agatha anchored herself to his side. With a lavish bow, Roger smiled and guided Livy to the table.

  The scrumptious meal was served on translucent Haviland china in an elegant rose pattern and genuine silver. Livy had never tasted such succulent roasted pork. Helen served the meat with sweet potato pie and apple butter. Genial conversation filled the room, and when they finished, Helen guided them back to the living room for dessert.

  “What a fine meal, Helen,” Roger said, leaning back and patting his lower vest where the buttons strained against the cloth. She thanked him with a smile and continued to pour coffee from a silver pot. “I’d like to return the invitation. Perhaps next Friday you could join us for a holiday dinner.”

  Livy glanced at her hosts, waiting for their response. Though Helen sent Roger a bright smile, Andrew responded before his mother. “Sorry, Roger. I have a previous engagement, but thank you for the invitation. Hopefully, the others can join you.”

  Livy’s heart tumbled with disappointment.

  A desperate look on Agatha’s face seemed to curb her brother’s response. “Let’s find a time agreeable to everyone,” Roger suggested with haste. “Would Saturday or Sunday accommodate everyone?”

  Livy waited. After a quick discussion, Saturday evening was accepted, so she would be included in the dinner. If the train schedule cooperated, she had planned to be on her way home by Sunday afternoon. Now, though, Livy felt differently. She looked at Andrew with masked longing. Why did she allow herself to dream such foolish dreams? Must she spend her entire life yearning for the impossible?

  Henry’s less-than-perfect frame rose in her mind. Though not handsome, he was a kind man, owned a business, attended church regularly, and wanted a child. I must stop tormenting myself with wishes. A kind, gentle family man is best. And Henry shows interest in me.

  She chided herself for her wavering emotions. Use common sense, Livy. If God wants something else for you, He will let you know.

  God? Perhaps it wasn’t God who wanted something else for her. She faltered and looked toward Andrew’s captivating face, then bit her lip, knowing the truth that tugged at her heart.

  Chapter 3

  On Thursday morning when Andrew came down the stairs, Helen beckoned him into the morning room. “You know, Andrew, Livy is returning home on Sunday and we’ll need help with Davy. He’s a good boy, but your father and I can’t spend the complete holiday entertaining him.”

  Andrew clenched his teeth to keep himself from blurting his frustration. Though he always showed respect to his parents, he wanted to remind his mother that he had personal p
lans, too.

  “You do understand?” she added.

  He unlatched his tensed jaw. “I understand, Mother. I’ll do what I can…though I wish we could convince Livy to stay.”

  “She warned us when she arrived that her intention was to leave before Christmas. She must have a reason.”

  Andrew looked at his mother, his mind searching for a solution. Would he have the pluck to ask Livy why she wanted to return home? “Maybe she’d change her plans if we entice her to stay.”

  “Andrew, that would be manipulative. We need to respect her wishes.”

  Though he heard her, Andrew’s mind reeled with schemes. What would keep Livy in Grand Rapids? He examined his own motivation, and his stomach tightened as he pictured Rosie. While he pondered the question, an idea crossed his mind. Could he be a matchmaker? Roger Daily was a good-looking fellow. Yet Andrew had noticed during dinner how she looked past Roger, and afterward in the parlor, she looked everywhere but at him.

  “You will cooperate, Andrew?”

  His mother’s voice brought him back to the present. “Yes, I’ll do my best.”

  “Thank you,” she said and left the room.

  Playing cupid with his imagination, he envisioned Livy and Roger together, a perfect pair: restrained, quiet, musical. Yet the idea aroused an ominous constriction in his chest. He didn’t like the picture. But why? Livy and Roger were perfect for each other.

  Livy’s pensive face filled his mind. His thoughts drifted back to the family dinner party, and he envisioned Livy in her subdued brown dress. Though she wasn’t as colorful as Rosie, Livy had many appealing qualities.

  He pictured her dark brown hair and clear, ivory skin. Most of all, her gentle, gracious nature filled his mind. Picturing Livy with Davy, Andrew was touched by her gentle kindness.

  Andrew hesitated and his mouth sagged at his recollections. He sounded like a lovesick schoolboy, mooning over a girl. What had gotten into him? Tomorrow he would see Rosie again. Then he’d know the pleasure of a vivacious woman’s company.

  He struggled to push Rosie’s image into his mind. Instead, her blue eyes transformed to large, green emerald ones. Livy. A shudder rifled through him. “Control yourself,” he whispered aloud.

  “Pardon me.”

  Andrew jumped at the soft, feminine voice. As if she had stepped from his vision, Livy stood in the doorway, dressed in a white shirtwaist and dark blue skirt.

  “Good morning.” He forced a lighthearted chuckle. “Apparently, I was talking to myself, but now you’re here, so I can talk with you.” His mind raced. “Have you eaten?”

  Her delicate hands were folded at her waist, and she focused on her intertwined fingers. “No, I was on my way to breakfast when I heard you.”

  He latched onto the pause in conversation. “Then let’s go together.” He rested his hand on her arm, feeling the warmth of her skin through the soft airy cloth. As they headed down the hall, his plan gathered momentum, hoping to arouse her interest in staying for the holiday’s duration. Inner pleas filled him. He so rarely prayed, and today he was praying for God to manipulate a situation. If he weren’t so desperate, he’d be ashamed. Still, he had no interest in spending his vacation playing with soldiers or wooden puzzles.

  Walking beside Andrew, a spicy aroma like cloves or bay rum soap filled Livy’s senses. The pressure of his hand on her arm sent a warm jolt to her fingertips, and her chest fluttered with the sensation.

  In the dining room, a sideboard was spread with sausage, bread, butter, and baked apples. Livy filled her plate, completing her meal with a cup of hot tea, then sat at the table with Andrew across from her. “Would you like to ask the blessing?” Livy inquired.

  Andrew bowed his head and murmured a brief prayer. Then without lifting his fork, he leaned back and stared at her. “So you’re hoping to return to Detroit for Christmas.”

  His riveting gaze left her suspended for a moment. Lowering her head, Livy caught her breath. “Yes, I have a commit…. I should say, I have an engagement.”

  “Engagement?” His mouth curved to an appealing grin.

  Discomfort bound her. “Well, not an engagement, exactly,” she said. “A friend is to come calling.”

  Andrew forked a piece of sausage. “A gentleman?”

  His boldness surprised her, and she answered without thinking. “Yes, Mr. Tucker…Henry.”

  “Is he a beau?” A frown flashed across his face before he turned it to a smile.

  “No, well…Andrew, your questions are rather inappropriate.”

  “Forgive me, Livy. I wondered what called you back home. Mother would love to have you…we would love to have you stay for the holiday. New Year will be fun.”

  Did he mean “we”? And why? His blunt question had confused her. “Won’t you be with your friends on New Year?”

  “Yes, a few friends.”

  “And will you spend time with a lady?”

  He faltered, and a hint of discomfort settled on his face. “I have many friends…male and female.”

  Since he circumvented her question, she suspected he had a special young woman in mind. “Then, the answer is, ‘yes.’ ”

  “Perhaps one. A Miss Parker.”

  Livy blanched at his admission. The woman had a name, and the name made her real. “Then you should understand why I’m anxious to return home.”

  His jaw tensed, and his full lips compressed without a response. Instead, he focused on the food that remained on his plate.

  A sense of loneliness washed over her. She was sorry she had confronted him. The silence echoed in her head until, finally, she cleared her throat. “Besides, I neglected to bring appropriate gowns for the holidays. My dresses are much too plain for holiday dinners and parties. So you see, I need to return anyway.”

  His face relaxed and a sparkle lit his eye. “I’m sure Mother could solve that problem. She owns a million gowns. With a few nips and tucks, you’d have no worry.” He placed his napkin on the table edge and slid back, the chair legs scraping the wooden floor. “Will you excuse me?”

  “Certainly. I’m finished, too.” She folded her napkin, dropping it on the table, and rose. Without another word, she turned and darted from the room, chastising herself. Why had she tempted herself with dreams again? Shame lifted in her chest. A young Christian woman had no right to lust after a man.

  She whispered a prayer of forgiveness for her sin and pushed her attention to Henry. But nothing stirred in her, except memories of his pleasant demeanor and his kindness.

  An amazing awareness blossomed in her mind. She understood, now, why God had not given her beaus. She couldn’t control her covetous nature. Unbridled passion rose in her when she looked at Andrew. Instead of being angry at God, she thanked Him. The Lord knew she needed restraints and God provided them. Henry Tucker was the answer. She’d hurry home, assured Henry was the Lord’s plan for her.

  As Livy retraced her steps to her room, Davy filled her with concern. She hadn’t seen him yet this morning. She hurried down the hallway. Listening at his door, the room was silent. When she stepped inside, Davy still lay in bed. Livy rushed across the room to his side. His cheeks burned a fiery red, and beads of perspiration ran from his hairline. She placed her hand on his forehead. A fever. Her heart skipped. She’d never nursed a sick child before. What should she do?

  Without question, she turned toward Helen’s room. Tapping on the door, Livy waited only a moment before Helen answered her knock. “Livy, good morning. Oh dear. Is something wrong?” Helen asked as she set something on the nearby dresser. It was a small wooden heart. A jagged line ran from top to bottom where the two halves were joined together like a jigsaw puzzle, forming a complete, unbroken heart.

  “Yes, Davy is ill. He has a fever. Would you come and see?”

  “Certainly.”

  Inside Davy’s room, she studied him for a moment, then pressed her cheek against his. “Yes, a high fever, I would say.”

  Davy’s eyelids fluttered and
opened. A soft moan left his lips, followed by a deep, rattling cough. Livy pressed her hand against his cheek. “You don’t feel well, Davy?”

  He shook his head and tried to speak, but he coughed again.

  Helen rose. “I made cough elixir not long ago. I’ll mix it with warm lemonade.” She looked at the child. “You’ll like it, Davy. Perhaps I should make a poultice for his cough,” she said to Livy. She darted through the doorway.

  Livy wet a cloth and cooled Davy’s cheeks, then poured a glass of water from the nearby pitcher.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Livy peered over her shoulder. Andrew stood in the doorway.

  “Davy’s ill. A fever and cough.” She lifted the child’s head with her hand as he sipped the water.

  “Nothing serious, I hope?” He stepped into the room and approached the bed.

  “I pray it’s nothing serious. Maybe a winter cold.” She lowered Davy’s head, setting the glass on the table.

  “A winter cold. Yes, I’m sure that’s it.”

  Helen hurried into the room, carrying a mug. “Here it is.” Steam rose from the cup and the scent of lemon filled the air. She sat on the edge of the bed. “Davy, try some of this drink. It will help your cough.”

  He sipped, and when he tasted the acrid contents, he puckered his lips, but he drank without complaint. The liquid ran from his chin.

  “Livy, you give him a bit more, and I’ll prepare a mustard plaster. It’ll do wonders to ease the cough.”

  She did as Helen asked while Andrew stood nearby. Gooseflesh rose on her arms with the sense that he was watching her. She longed to make him stop…or, better yet, to halt her rising emotions.

  Davy sipped the liquid again. As she eased him to the pillow, his eyes drooped closed. She studied the boy, caressing his cheek while Andrew watched her.

  “You look like a mother,” Andrew murmured. “The picture fits you.”

  She looked downward to gain control, then faced Andrew. “Thank you,” she whispered, “but I don’t think God means for me to be a mother.”

  He tilted his head. “I think you’re wrong, Livy. You’re gentle and loving. Look how you care for the boy. You were meant to be a mother.” He moved beside her and placed his hand on her shoulder. For a brief moment, his fingers kneaded the tense cords in her neck. Then, he was gone.