An Old-Fashioned Christmas Romance Collection

by DiAnn Mills

  “Poor tyke’s tuckered out,” his aunt declared from the rocker across the room, her knitting needles clicking away.

  “It’s been a long day.”

  “And not a soul came by to see her or us.”

  Gabe tipped his head in thought. “Well, not every member of the church attended services. I’ll take Noely on my visits this week. Something’s sure to turn up. In the meantime, I’d best tuck this little gal into bed.” Gathering her easily into his arms, he stood and headed for the stairs.

  “And I’ll be puttin’ on some tea,” Aunt Clara offered as he passed. “While the water heats, we’ll pray for the little dear. She makes a body wish hearts didn’t wear out. I’d gladly live me life over again, just to watch her grow up.”

  Gabe could only agree with his ailing aunt’s sentiments. She seemed in her glory around children, and had the clumsy oafishness of his youth not dampened both of the relationships he had hoped might lead to matrimony, Aunt Clara could be showering all that love on his own little daughter by now. But his hopes had been in vain. Oh well, he was approaching thirty already…much too old—and apparently unappealing, as an outspoken member of the opposite gender had once informed him—to inspire that sort of lasting bond. Now resigned to bachelorhood, he expended his energies in serving the Lord.

  Flipping the layers of warm blankets aside, he gently placed Noely on the bed and covered her up. His gaze lingered on the peaceful innocence in her expression, and his heart crimped. She’d been noticeably subdued today, waiting and watching at the window for Angelina Matthews, but the young woman had never come. Granted, the distance was substantial enough for someone with her infirmity to walk unnecessarily. Perhaps she had spent the day resting at home. Tomorrow after work she’d be more likely to come by the parsonage. At least he hoped so…for Noely’s sake, he quickly assured himself.

  Angelina, her leg propped up to keep it from aching, sipped the warm broth from her spoon as best she could in her awkward position, then gingerly tipped the spoon into the bowl of soup again. The wrapped bricks she’d heated at the fireplace usually soothed bouts of reoccurring pain, but this time they hardly made a difference. The slightest movement caused agonizing jabs almost beyond her ability to endure.

  Well it was her own fault for being more hasty than cautious in her eagerness to visit Noely. She should have expected icy spots. The hard fall had severely wrenched her twisted leg. But at least it was Sunday, so she could rest.

  Tomorrow her leg had to be better. She couldn’t afford to miss a day’s work, any more than her employer could have her do so. After all, Mistress Haversham had taken her on with the assurance that Angelina would be faithful in coming to work regardless of her withered leg. So far, the promise had been kept.

  Today Reverend Winters had planned to present Noely to his congregation. Angelina couldn’t help wondering how the event had gone. She hadn’t much use for church herself since childhood circumstances had raised serious doubts regarding a loving God. But all the same, she knew that many folks set a lot of store by their faith. Maybe among his flock of do-gooders someone would step in to provide a home for a destitute little girl. If Noely had a loving family, Angelina’s own spirit would find rest.

  In any event, she’d get to work tomorrow, then go home by way of Second Street. And she’d do the same every day after that, until the good Reverend or his aunt asked her not to…as long as that sweet little orphan child needed her. If she still needed her.

  Finishing the remainder of the soup, Angelina braced herself for the painful journey upstairs to her bed.

  Thankfully, morning brought measurable improvement, though her limb was far from feeling its best. With care, she could manage the long walk to work—and she would, if it was the last thing she ever did. With that determination, she dressed warmly and allowed extra time to hobble the long blocks to Front Street.

  The day dragged as she and Ruby labored over the endless stack of party frocks. And her leg, which had seemed improved that morning, began its relentless aching by midday. When at last closing time arrived, Angelina was only too happy to set aside the butternut velvet gown and take down her coat.

  Picking her way along the streets, she watched carefully for any icy patches and headed toward the parsonage of Second Street Baptist Church. It would be so good to see Noely again. She rapped on the door. Then rapped again.

  Just as she turned to leave, the pastor answered the summons, a grin of vast relief spreading across his lips. “Miss Matthews! Come in, come in. I was about to be pressed into service by Aunt Clara—to help fit Noely with a dress! She’d be far better off with a woman’s help. I have some letters to write anyway.” He ushered her inside and took her coat.

  “Certainly,” Angelina said. “I’ll do what I can.”

  He led her into the brightly lit kitchen, then inclined his head and retreated to the parlor.

  A wondrous assortment of copper pots glinted from their hooks on the wall next to the big cookstove whose warmth quickly began to wrap itself around her sore limb. Observing a few unfamiliar and curious devices whose purposes she could only surmise, Angelina realized she had never seen such an efficient kitchen. And in the middle of it all was a wooden chair, with Noely standing like a statue on its seat.

  “Ang’lina!” The child grinned from ear to ear, and looked on the verge of hopping down, but the older woman kept tight rein on the little one’s skirt.

  “ ‘Tis good of ye to come by,” she gushed. “Dresses from the Poor Box always seem to need lettin’ down or takin’ up, I daresay, if not let out. Gabe’s come up with three that still have a good bit of wear.”

  Examining one yet to be altered, Angelina held it up to Noely and nodded approvingly. “This shouldn’t take much to fix.”

  “Not if ye lean toward such talents,” the older woman commented, deep dimples appearing with her smile. “Some of us, on the other hand, discover our strengths blossom better before a cookstove. I haven’t even started supper.”

  “Then I’d be only too happy to take over this chore, Mistress O’Malley, while you tend to yours.”

  Without hesitation, the older woman relinquished her pincushion and moved to the vegetable bin, where she began gathering potatoes to peel.

  While Aunt Clara’s back was turned, Noely smiled playfully and bent to administer a quick hug to Angelina, then just as swiftly straightened again.

  “How have you been, sweetheart?” Angelina asked, assessing the portion of hem already pinned. After making a few minor adjustments, she continued around the remainder.

  “You didn’t come to church,” the child announced flatly.

  “And I’m sorry. I, well…almost did. It just didn’t quite work out.” She cut a questioning glance toward the Irishwoman. “Was there—I mean, did anyone—?”

  The braided head wagged slowly. “Nary a soul. But Gabe hasn’t quit tryin’.”

  The pronouncement brought mixed reactions of relief and disappointment, each equally strong. What if someone offered to take the child with the intention of putting her to work, instead of providing a loving, happy home? Or what if the couple already had children of their own who would resent a newcomer’s usurping attention which rightfully belonged to them? The morose thoughts crowded out the small hope Angelina still harbored for the sweet little one with whom she had so quickly become enamored.

  “Are you gonna eat supper here?” the childish voice asked.

  “ ‘Course she is,” Aunt Clara piped in before Angelina had time to answer. “She’s welcome anytime, and that’s a fact.”

  “Oh good.”

  “You’re much too kind,” Angelina told the older woman. Finished pinning the first garment, she eased it carefully over Noely’s upraised arms, then turned the second wrong-side out and slipped it over the child’s head.

  “After supper, Pastor Gabe reads to me,” Noely lisped, sliding her arms into the sleeves. “From the Bible book. It has pretty pictures. Will you stay for a story?�
��

  “We’ll see.” Unbidden scenes flashed to mind of the huge minister with a little girl curled on his lap, his big head bent over hers. Noely’s tiny form would be absolutely swallowed in those long arms. The imaginary picture brought a smile.

  Angelina caught her breath. Her solitary existence for the past six years had her enjoying the loving atmosphere of this home too much—and becoming far too attached to the charming family she had met mere days ago. These people were fine Christians, certainly, living up to their own code of standards. But once Noely had been placed, there’d be no further reason to return. Still, if she truly felt welcome, an inner voice reasoned, what harm could there be in visiting while she could?

  “The more the merrier,” came the reverend’s booming voice from the doorway.

  Having been unaware of his presence, Angelina turned away to hide her blush. Her embarrassment only strengthened her resolve not to expect more from this association than what was on the surface. After all, these visits to the parsonage were for Noely’s benefit—and only Noely’s. She would enjoy whatever friendship might be offered here as long as it lasted, and then let go…no matter how much it might hurt when the time came.

  “I’ll stay.”

  Chapter 4

  Watching Angelina Matthews ease up from the dining table, Gabe was certain he detected new lines of pain around her dark brown eyes. Earlier, when Noely had inadvertently bumped against the young woman on her jump from the chair, he’d even caught a sheen of moisture across her eyes, but she had quickly blinked it away. In an elaborate gesture of chivalry overdone, he made a grand bow and offered her his elbow. “Might I escort your ladyship to the royal parlor?”

  “Oh, but I should help clean up.”

  “Fiddle-faddle!” his aunt said. “You young folks go on ahead. I’ll see to the supper things. Off with ye now.”

  The seamstress actually grinned, a dazzling smile which somehow made Gabe even more sure she was expending excessive effort to appear natural. With the merest hint of a curtsey she accepted his help. “‘Twould be my pleasure, milord.”

  He felt a rush of gratification when she joined in with the game…but then, she was trying to help entertain Noely. The little girl giggled and skipped alongside them, then made a beeline for the picture book.

  Gabe settled their guest on one end of the settee. Then taking the other end, he drew the curlyhead onto his lap. “What will it be, princess?”

  She scrunched her girlish face in thought.

  “Well,” he coaxed, “there’s a very special day coming. How about the story of the first Christmas?”

  “Oh, I like that one!”

  Opening to the proper page, Gabe cleared his throat. “‘Once there lived a Prince who ruled the whole world. Many of His people didn’t know Him, and that made Him very sad. They were forever muddling things up, going here and there like sheep without a shepherd. They did many bad things, and He knew that one day every one of them would have to stand before His Father, the Mighty King, and be judged. The Prince knew the only way He could help them was to become one of them Himself, so that’s exactly what He did…’ ”

  Even as he went on to the simple account of the Babe being born in a manger in Bethlehem, Gabe was aware of Miss Matthews’ intense interest. She had never spoken of her personal beliefs, and yet she neither interrupted his reading nor reacted scornfully to the story. Once he glanced at her and saw she appeared faraway, as though lost in a memory. His heart breathed a prayer that whatever her needs, the Lord would meet them.

  “ ‘…and now we remember the birth of the Christ Child once a year,’ “he read, “‘on Christmas. And in giving each other gifts, we demonstrate how God gave His very best Gift to all of us, in His beloved Son.’ ”

  Noely smiled and laid her head back on his shoulder. “I really, really like that story, Pastor Gabe. It’s my favorite.”

  “Mine, too, pumpkin. Christmas is the most special time there is. But it’s getting late now. Time to dress for bed.”

  “Can Ang’lina tuck me in, this time?” she pleaded.

  “Don’t see why not—unless she doesn’t like stairs,” he added quickly, looking for her response.

  “I can manage…but I’ve never tucked a child in for the night, sweetheart. You’ll have to tell me what to do, so I can get it right.”

  “It’s easy,” she lisped, sliding off Gabe’s knee. “I’ll show you.” All smiles, she held out a tiny hand.

  Gabe watched after them, and tried not to notice the halting, careful steps Miss Matthews took with each rise. Though she hadn’t complained, her limp was much more pronounced today. His heart went out to her.

  “And now I kneel and say my prayers,” Noely advised as Angelina fastened the last button on the castoff man’s shirt the child slept in. “But big people usually just sit on the bed.”

  “Fine.” Relieved she didn’t have to try and kneel, Angelina took her place as the youngster sank to her knees at the bedside. Noely laced her fingers and reverently bowed her head. “Dear Lord, thank You for bringing Ang’lina today. I miss her when she doesn’t come. And thank You for Jesus and the Christmas story. Please take care of my mommy and daddy, and bless Pastor Gabe and Aunt Clara, and help me to be a good girl. Amen.” Opening her eyes, she scrambled into bed. “Now you cover me up and kiss my cheek.”

  “Is that everything?” Angelina asked, following instructions to the letter.

  “Mm-hmm. And I hug you, like this.” With a surprisingly strong squeeze, she smiled. “Good night. I love you.”

  The unexpected remark made Angelina’s eyes sting. When had anyone last said those words to her? Brushing a curl from the child’s forehead, she straightened. “Good night, sweetheart.” Tiptoeing to the door, she stole one more look at the little girl, then slowly made her way downstairs.

  Seated in a wing chair with his open Bible, the minister glanced up on her approach.

  “I shall be going home now. Thank you for supper.”

  “Wait, please,” he said. “No need to hurry off.” He gestured toward the settee. “I thought we might talk.”

  “About what?” Nerve endings in her spine tingled as she lowered herself to the upholstered seat and perched stiffly on the edge, wondering what was coming.

  “Nothing,” he said. “Everything. Anything. It’s been rather a pleasure getting to know you, that’s all. May I get you a cup of tea?”

  “Yes, that would be nice, thank you.” She knew the pastor and his aunt were merely extending the hand of friendship to her as they would anyone else. The assurance helped her to relax as homey sounds drifted from the kitchen.

  He returned moments later with the refreshment. “Noely sure is happy whenever you come,” he said, handing her one of the two cups he carried. He settled back in his chair with the other.

  “She’s a dear little thing,” Angelina admitted. “I haven’t been able to get her off my mind since the night of the blizzard.” With a shake of her head, she went on. “In a scant few days that little child has captured a large part of my heart.”

  “And ours. It is a wonder.” He sampled his tea. “We all expected you to come yesterday.”

  “I…nearly did. Then I could not.”

  He gave a nod. “You’re in pain, aren’t you?”

  Angelina blinked at the blunt question. “I’m always in pain.”

  “But not like today.”

  “How would you know that?”

  “I read people.”

  It was a peculiar remark. She averted her eyes from his and took a sip of the hot liquid in lieu of replying.

  “Sorry. I don’t normally pry into my friends’ lives.” His voice were husky, as though he were embarrassed.

  “Are we friends?” she couldn’t help asking.

  He grinned. “We’re approaching it. And what my aunt told Noely happens to be true. You are welcome here—whether Noely continues to live with us or not.”

  Hesitant to linger over the ramification
s of that particular statement, she centered on the important part. “Have you found someone who’ll take her?” she murmured.

  “Not yet. But I haven’t exhausted all my resources.”

  Angelina nibbled the inside corner of her lip. “I only hope someone will want her. Will love her.” Memories of visiting days at the orphanage cut into her consciousness. She recalled so many endless partings as, one by one, her friends were adopted…and she recalled her own hopeless waiting, the people shaking their heads, turning away. She didn’t want that for Noely.

  “I won’t rest until Noely becomes part of a loving family,” the minister vowed. “If I have to move heaven and earth to accomplish that, I will.”

  His sincerity made Angelina smile. “Were you ever an orphan?” she finally asked.

  He shook his head. “I grew up with my parents, lived with them until I graduated from theological school. The last outbreak of cholera took them both within days of each other. It’s what they’d have wanted. Now they’re with the Lord.”

  “That’s something I’m quite curious about,” Angelina confessed. “That some people aren’t afraid to die…yet how can they believe God is so loving when He’ll take parents away from a little girl?”

  “As He did yours?”

  She frowned. “Am I so very transparent?”

  “Not at all. I just got that impression from the plea you made regarding not sending Noely to an orphan asylum.”

  Finishing the last of her tea, Angelina rose carefully to her feet. “Well I really must get home. I have work tomorrow.”

  “Of course.” Having stood at the same time as she, the pastor retrieved her coat from the hall tree and assisted her into it. Then he reached for his own and pulled it on.

  Angelina peered up at him in puzzlement.

  “Thought you could use some assistance this evening.”