An Old-Fashioned Christmas Romance Collection

by DiAnn Mills

  Angelina smiled. The sight was so like her own sweet childhood…until the carriage accident had turned her whole world upside down. Never would she forget waking up in the hospital that awful day, her whole body racked with unspeakable pain from her shattered left leg. But far worse an agony was learning that her mother had died instantly, and her father, who had lingered for several hours, had succumbed as well.

  After being transported to the orphan asylum for the remainder of her childhood, Angelina was granted precious few carefree moments to cherish.

  Sloughing off memories which could so easily swamp her in bitterness, she hurried downstairs to stoke up the fire in the stove and make porridge and tea. Then she ate slowly, mulling over the previous night’s events in her mind.

  How had little Noely fared? Angelina had tried in vain to banish the mental image of the sweet face turned fearfully toward her while being ushered to the kitchen. Angelina had hoped to prevent the pain of parting by taking her leave unnoticed. But whether that had been a wise move, she could only wonder.

  Noely’s parents must have been frantic when they discovered their little girl missing. Hopefully there would be a grand reunion before the day was spent.

  Oh well, what was done was done. Perhaps sometime next week she would drop by the parsonage and ask after the little girl. That decided, she filled a pitcher with warm water and ascended the stairs to her bedroom. She had yet to freshen up and dress for the extra half-day’s work required each week in December.

  An hour later, she arrived at the dress shop. Tucked between that of a candle-maker and a leathercraft store, Mistress Haversham’s tiny endeavor had but one big window facing Front Street. Each month it displayed a new and attractive ensemble in current vogue, complete with the latest accessories to show it off to perfection.

  The charming main room with its counter, two fitting rooms, and a niche with a velvet settee and round lamp table had already been tidied for the day, she noted upon entering, but all seemed unusually quiet as she went on through to the cramped back room.

  In stark contrast to the outer room’s neatness, the work room fairly overflowed with dress patterns, fashion catalogs, colorful bolts of fabric, and assorted buttons and fancy trims. Works in progress draped every available spot.

  Frail, auburn-haired Ruby Chambers looked up from the emerald velvet sleeve she was pinning to the bodice of a partially finished gown on the dress form. “Hi, Angie.”

  “Mistress Haversham isn’t here?” Angelina asked, hanging her coat on the rack by the back door.

  “Came in to open up,” the girl mumbled around the straight pins clamped between her lips, “then went to deliver that burnished gold silk frock we finished yesterday to uppity Mrs. Worthingham. Personally.”

  “I see.”

  “That lady is nothin’ short of a bother.” Ruby jabbed the final dress pin into place, then nudged her spectacles higher with a free finger. “Always has Mistress in such a dither, comin’ by every day without fail to check on her gown. You’d think hers was the only order to be done before Christmas!”

  Angelina nodded. “Has the hem been marked yet?” she asked, indicating the emerald gown.

  “Mm-hmm. All pinned and ready. That and the sleeves are all that’s left.”

  “I’ll help you, then, and we’ll be able to cross one more off the list.” Moving to the cluttered worktable, she retrieved a pin cushion and a spool of thread, then eased down onto a stool at the foot of the dress form. She threaded her needle and deftly knotted the end.

  “My, that was some tempest blowed through last night,” Ruby exclaimed. “Come near to bein’ buried in a snowdrift ‘fore I made it home. Percy got there five minutes sooner and was just about to come lookin’ for me.”

  Angelina shot her an understanding smile. “I arrived home a little late myself. I had to take a detour.”

  “In that storm? Whatever for?”

  “It’s a long story.”

  “Well, we got half a day, you know, and Mistress won’t be back for at least an hour. She’ll be wantin’ to fit that gown herself to make sure it suits her highness.”

  “You’re right.” Angelina took a deep breath, gathering her thoughts as she worked. “It was the most unexpected thing. Partway home I thought I heard what sounded like a cry. When I went to investigate, I found a child—a little girl—stranded outside.”

  “No!” Ruby’s mouth dropped open. She wrinkled her nose twice to nudge her spectacles higher as Angelina gave a solemn nod. “What’d you do? The orphanage is way across town.”

  “And that’s the last place I’d take a child anyway,” Angelina stated flatly. “I know firsthand what it’s like. I took her to the Baptist church you told me about, on Second.”

  “I declare.” Pulling a basting thread to ease the fullness of the sleeve she was attaching, the painfully thin seamstress peered down at Angelina. “The pastor’s decent enough, from what I hear around. He’ll find a home for the orphan right quick.”

  “Actually, I’m not sure she is an orphan. She barely uttered a word. All I found out was her first name.” Remembrances of last evening brought a smile. “Noely, she said it was. The little thing’s so plain she’s really quite endearing.”

  Ruby grimaced. “Odd way of puttin’ it, if I do say so.”

  “Perhaps. Anyway, I thought I’d go by in a few days and see what became of her. She was on my mind all through the night.” Concentrating on her task, Angelina added a few more stitches.

  “Why wait so long?”

  She met her coworker’s green eyes straight on and considered the remark. “Why, indeed! I’ll go home that way again tonight. Pastor Winters and his aunt shouldn’t mind my concern…after all, I did find the child. Naturally I’d be interested in her welfare.”

  The thought of putting her mind to rest about Noely carried her through the remainder of the day as she and Ruby finished not only the emerald velvet but a cranberry taffeta as well, much to their employer’s delight. And to their own delight, they were dismissed half an hour early.

  This time the sky wasn’t so dark when Angelina reached the redbrick building with its pristine steeple. She admired the black shutters on the charming parsonage and the neat window boxes which, come spring, would surely overflow with flowers, if she were any judge of the minister’s aunt. Angelina’s pulse accelerated. She hoped her appearance wouldn’t seem an intrusion. But no one could object to her merely asking about Noely. Bolstering her courage, she paused on the stoop to rest her leg momentarily before rapping with the brass knocker.

  She’d forgotten how tall the minister was until the light from the parlor lamps outlined the sandy-haired giant’s form in the doorway. She swallowed.

  “Yes?” Then as recognition dawned, Pastor Winters grinned. “Oh! Miss Matthews. Come in, come in.”

  “Thank you, Reverend.” She stepped past him as he held the door. “I’ve just come to inquire after—”

  A childish shriek sounded from the dining room. Noely, seated at the table with the Reverend’s aunt, charged toward the entry and flung her arms about Angelina’s waist. “Ang’lina! Ang’lina! You came back! I cried and cried when you went away.”

  Distressed at the sad pronouncement, Angelina found confirmation in the minister’s expression. She bent to hug the little girl. “Oh Noely, I’m truly sorry. I was only trying to help. I thought you would be fine with these kind people.”

  The child’s lower lip protruded. “But I wanted you. Don’t go away again. Say you won’t. Please, please.” A slight lisp enhanced her plea, as did a harder hug.

  “There, there, sweetheart. I don’t live here, you know. I had to go home to my house before there was too much snow to find my way.”

  Pastor Winters patted the curly head. “How about going back and finishing your supper, Noely? Miss Matthews and I need to talk.”

  “But then she’ll go away again, and I don’t want her to.” A flood of tears made her doleful eyes swim as she turned
her gaze upward and clutched Angelina’s hand in both of hers.

  “I’ll stay for a little while, honey,” Angelina promised. “But when it’s time, I really must go to my own house. Do be a good girl and mind the minister. For me.”

  Noely stood firm for several seconds before finally relenting. Her lips in a definite downward tilt, she trudged back to the dining room table, where the pastor’s kindly aunt helped her up onto the pillowed chair she’d vacated.

  Angelina tipped her head and smiled at the plump older woman, then limped after Gabe Winters, observing things on this visit that she had missed the previous night. She took a seat on a wine-colored settee, whose rich hues were picked up by the multicolored braided rug occupying much of the plank floor.

  “I’m glad you came by,” he said quietly, lowering his bulk to one of the wing chairs flanking the hearth.

  “I do hope Noely wasn’t an awful bother,” Angelina began.

  He raised a large, broad hand. “No, no, not at all. She was fine. She was upset to discover you weren’t here, of course, but Aunt Clara managed to get her settled down again. A warm bath and some hot food, and she was asleep before she knew it.”

  The news was comforting. “Did she say where you might find her parents?”

  His countenance sobered. “From what she told us, there are none. Her mother ‘got sick and went away’ as she put it, some time ago. Then her father became ill also. Noely said when ‘some people came and took him away’ yesterday, she ran as fast and as far as she could so no one would get her and never bring her back. Then she couldn’t remember the way home. She doesn’t know of any aunts or uncles or other relatives.” He smiled. “Noely thought you were an angel come to save her. In a way, I would have to agree.”

  Angelina would have smiled if she could. But the information was far more dire than she had hoped. Her heart went out to the little waif. “Please, Reverend…don’t put her in the asylum,” she pleaded in a whisper. “It’s no place for—”

  “You needn’t worry about that,” he assured her. “There are any number of families in my congregation who might be in a position to take her in. I’ll bring the matter up at service tomorrow and see what transpires.”

  “But what if—?”

  He shook his head. “I’ll do everything within my power to find Noely a good home, a loving family. You have my word, Miss Matthews.”

  “Thank you,” Angelina breathed, finally able to relax against the burgundy upholstery.

  The minister’s aunt came into the parlor just then, a gracious smile crinkling the pleasant features beneath a coronet of salt-and-pepper braids. “We’d love to be havin’ ye to supper, miss, if ye’ve a mind to stay. I’m sure little Noely would like to have ye visit for a while.”

  Angelina bolted upright. “Oh, thank you. But I mustn’t impose. I should get home before it’s too dark.”

  “Stuff and nonsense,” she declared with a wave of her hand. “Me nephew would be more than willin’ to see ye safely home. Ye wouldn’t want to disappoint a wee lassie.”

  Meeting a pair of huge, hopeful eyes in the next room, Angelina could do nothing but accept. “Well, this time, perhaps, if you’re quite certain I’m not putting you out. But I don’t intend to make a pest of myself after this.”

  “There’s no danger of that, miss, to be sure. This house could use a few more young faces around from time to time.”

  Angelina had no sooner nodded her acceptance than the minister stood and offered her a hand. The homey meal did smell delicious…something she had tried not to notice in view of having to go to her own cold, dark house in the very near future.

  As Reverend Winters seated her at a newly laid place setting, his aunt served a plate heaped with roast beef and mashed potatoes—fare Angelina never troubled to cook for herself.

  “I kept yours warm in the oven,” the woman said, returning her nephew’s partially eaten portion before him. “Now I’d say grace is in fine order again, don’t ye think, Noely?”

  “Yes!” She lisped, clapping in childlike delight. Then she grew serious and clasped her fingers, her head bowed.

  “Our Father,” the pastor prayed, “we do thank You most kindly for sending our friend Miss Matthews to visit us this evening. We pray Your gentle hand will be always upon her for her kindness to our little Noely, and ask Your blessing upon this bounty before us. This we ask in the name of Your Son, amen.”

  The simple, heartfelt prayer warmed Angelina inside in a way she had never before experienced. The man prayed as if the Almighty were his personal friend. And somehow, she believed God truly listened to the requests that came from such a sincere heart as his. Raising her head, she met the minister’s merry blue eyes, and she felt a flush heat her face.

  “I’m happy you’re here, Ang’lina,” Noely said, beaming from ear to ear, her upper lip lightly coated with milk from the glass she had just set down.

  “I am, too, sweetheart,” she heard herself say…and lost herself in the delectable tastes of the Irishwoman’s cooking and the pleasant company about the table. That was far less awkward than imagining herself being escorted homeward soon by this man she’d barely met…who, she had to admit, seemed to possess a refreshing, gentle manner for someone so large. Sensing his gaze on her, she quickly turned to smile at Noely.

  Chapter 3

  Is Ang’lina coming to church?” Noely asked, her voice echoing in the stillness of the sanctuary. Soft pastel light diffused by the stained glass windows cast irregular patches of color across her blond curls.

  Clara O’Malley tugged the child comfortingly nearer on the hard wooden pew. “I’ve no way of knowin’ that, darlin’. She may have her own church, ye know. We can’t be makin’ her come here.”

  Noely pouted. “But I miss her.”

  “I know, dearie. She’s a fine, fine friend, to be sure. And she’ll be back to visit us, wait and see. But ye must be quiet now in the House of the Lord.” Seeing an obedient nod, Clara patted her little charge’s knee. Noely looked quite nice in the somber but stylish dress that had turned up in the Poor Box. Gabe had even managed to unearth a fairly new pair of sturdy shoes and a warm coat, so with her meager undergarments washed and mended, the child was very presentable, if Clara did say so herself. Now one could only hope a suitable family would step forward when Gabe presented Noely before the congregation. Clara tamped down her trepidation and waved to the first arrivals trickling in to worship.

  As each one took a seat, she felt a resurgence of doubt. The Stuarts did need help with chores, since the mister’s heart was weak, but she was sure they’d specified a boy. And the Butterfields certainly couldn’t feed another mouth. As Noely fidgeted beside her, Clara gave her a tiny hug.

  Gabe took his place in the platform’s middle chair as the organist played the opening notes of “Joy to the World,” and beefy-shouldered Dell Taylor stepped to the pulpit. “That’s a fine song to get us into the season,” the jovial man announced. “Let’s turn to page forty-nine in the hymnal and join in on the next run-through.” He beat the tempo with one hand as he sang. “Joy to the world! The Lord is come….”

  Unable to concentrate on the words, Clara only half participated in that carol or the following one. And what was even more disturbing, for the first time in her life, personal concerns precluded her enjoyment of her nephew’s sermon. She barely heard the text announced, let alone kept track of the points Gabe made in rendering the account of the Good Samaritan. All she could think about was the needy little girl beside her who so quickly had stolen their hearts. Surely the Lord had a special place in mind for Noely, a family who would love her and care for her as if she were their own. Breathing a prayer on the child’s behalf, Clara was surprised when Gabe closed his big black Bible so soon and stepped alongside the pulpit.

  “Folks,” he began, “before we close the service in prayer, I have a rather important matter to bring to your attention.” He turned to her and nodded. “Aunt Clara?”

  Her heart
beating double-time, she stood, took Noely’s hand, and led her to the platform. The tiny fingers gripped hers so tightly they all but cut off the circulation as Noely sagged shyly against her. Clara thought she felt the child tremble.

  “This is Noely Carroll,” Gabe said, with a warm smile her way. “Sad to say, she has recently suffered the loss of both her parents. And as far as we have ascertained at this point, she has no relatives to take her in.”

  Scanning the faces in the audience, Clara spotted Lucinda Blackwell, Hortense Witherspoon, and Miranda Keys—the three Old Crows, as she irreverently referred to the black-clad biddies on widow’s row—who sooner or later managed to find fault with everything and everyone at the church. The threesome hiked their scant eyebrows and exchanged significant looks. Clara averted her gaze.

  “All we ask, dear friends,” Gabe continued, “is for you to search your hearts. Perhaps one of you might be willing to make room in your family for this little one. Make it a matter of prayer this week—and come by the parsonage and get to know Noely. You won’t be sorry, I assure you.”

  Several murmurs passed in the ranks, along with shrugs, nods, and shakes of the head.

  None of them deterred him. “She is a very mannerly child, even quite helpful,” he went on. “I’m sure anyone who would open his heart to her would be extremely thankful the Lord had sent such a dear little girl into his home. Thank you, sweetheart.” Patting Noely’s shoulder, he smiled at Clara and indicated for her to be seated. “Now let us close in prayer…”

  “Another story?” Gabe, in feigned shock, adjusted Noely’s weight to his other knee.

  She nodded sleepily. “Please?”

  Never one to resist a girlish lisp, he leafed through the big picture book he’d loved as a child, settling on the story of Noah. “‘Once there was a man who loved God,’” he read. “‘The people all around him, however, were far too busy to bother with building altars or making the sacrifices the Lord wanted. But they weren’t too busy to make fun of Noah and his family. In fact—’” Gabe looked down at Noely, only to discover her eyes had closed. He smiled and laid the book aside.