An Old-Fashioned Christmas Romance Collection

by DiAnn Mills

  “How is that?”

  “Pine Ridge is a quaint little community where only a few people have running water and nobody has electricity. In fact, most folks there have never even been to Birmingham. And yet…,” her voice trailed. She didn’t want to offend him.

  “And yet what?” He leaned closer, his dark eyes wide, as though he really wanted to know what she had to say.

  “Well the community is like one big family. Everyone helps everyone else. If someone’s house burns down, we all pitch in and help rebuild. We have quilting bees and shivarees—”

  “Shivarees?” he repeated curiously.

  “It’s an all-night get-together for newlyweds where we bring gifts and food, and Clarence Johnson plays the fiddle and Uncle Mack and Aunt Jenny clog and the Robertson kids play the spoons.”

  “Play the spoons?” he repeated, smiling at her. It was a kind smile, she decided; he wasn’t making fun.

  “Sure? Haven’t you ever heard of playing the spoons?”

  He shook his head, but he was still smiling. She liked the way his brown eyes crinkled when he smiled. In fact, she liked almost everything about him. He was nicer to her than nearly anyone she had met at Davis.

  “Tell me more about Pine Ridge,” he said, propping his elbow on the table and staring deeply into her eyes. “It’s obviously a special place for you. Why?”

  She hesitated, trying to form her words in her mind before speaking. As she glanced back at him, she decided to lower her defenses a bit. “Promise you won’t laugh?”

  His dark eyes widened. “Of course I won’t laugh! Why would you even ask?”

  Caroline shook her head. “I don’t know.” She glanced nervously around the crowded library where everyone seemed to be buried in their books, paying no attention to her. She looked back at the gentle boy beside her and swallowed. “Sometimes people snicker when I say things.”

  He blinked, looked away for a moment, then back again. “I promise you,” he said emphatically, “I will never laugh at anything you say.”

  She took a deep breath and began. “It’s the little things in life that have meaning for me: seeing a baby chick break out of its shell, watching the ducks follow their mothers across the lake in a perfect line, catchin’ fireflies on Saturday night and holding them in the palm of your hand to study their magic, feelin’ the night silence surround me…” She stopped. She was forgetting to pronounce her ings.

  “There’s the subject for your English theme, Caroline. What you just said to me was very special.”

  She tilted her head and looked at him. “Why was it special?”

  “Because it’s real. So many people I know fill their lives with things that are superficial. You’re talking about the beauties of nature and how a person can enjoy them. I think that’s wonderful.”

  “You think so?”

  “Sure!”

  Footsteps approached and Emily stood before them, wide-eyed.

  “Hi, I’m Ryan Blankenship.” He stood and smiled.

  Emily stumbled through her name, then stared at Caroline.

  “Did you find your book?” Caroline asked.

  “I found one I can check out. Do you want to stay longer?”

  “No.” Caroline stood, gathering her books.

  “I’ll see you in English class tomorrow,” Ryan said. “Good luck with your theme.”

  “Thanks. You, too.”

  She walked quickly out of the library with Emily’s eyes on her. Once they were outside, Emily spoke.

  “Caroline, do you know who he is?”

  “Ryan Blankenship. He’s in my English class. Why? Don’t you like him?”

  Emily rolled her eyes. “Of course I like him. There isn’t a girl on this campus who doesn’t like him. What were you discussing?”

  “We were talking about our English themes,” Caroline said, looking up at the moonlight filtering down through the oaks.

  “And what did you say?”

  They had passed under a big oak, and Emily’s face was shaded in darkness, but Caroline heard the concern in her tone. “Don’t worry, Emily,” Caroline said with a sigh. “I didn’t say ain’t.”

  “Ouch. Aren’t you being a bit sensitive?”

  Caroline sighed. “Maybe. I’m different from the students here, and I know it,” she added quietly as they stepped back into the lights of Brunswick Hall.

  Emily touched her hand. “I didn’t mean to offend you, Caroline. You’re the kindest person I’ve ever met.”

  “Thanks.” She smiled at Emily as they entered the dorm and walked to their room.

  Ryan had inspired Caroline to begin her theme. She sat at her desk, writing furiously, pouring onto a blank sheet of paper her lifelong knowledge of Pine Ridge.

  “Caroline,” Emily wailed, “how can you keep at it for hours?” She was lounging on her bed, her dress wrinkled, her books scattered.

  Caroline shrugged. “I don’t know. Mrs. Stockton may not like my theme; it probably won’t be as good as the others.”

  “Will you stop that?” Emily cried. “Don’t you know how bright you are? If not for you, I’d have failed both tests this week.” Her eyes dropped to Caroline’s dress. “I’ve been thinking.” She got up and went to her closet. “I have some dresses I’ll never wear. I want you to have them in return for helping me.”

  “Emily, you don’t have to do that! I’ve helped you because I wanted to, because it’s the Christian thing to do.”

  “Then let me do the Christian thing and give you something in return.” She opened her closet door. “Mother chose these dresses for me, and I don’t care for bright colors. I’m more comfortable in soft, muted shades.” She pulled out three dresses of vivid green, purple, and blue. “These should fit you because I was thinner when she bought them. I started eating more out of frustration. They might be a bit too long.” She frowned, glancing back at Caroline’s dress.

  “Oh, I can hem them,” Caroline blurted, then bit her lip. “If you really feel it’s the Christian thing to do.”

  “I do.” Emily handed the dresses to Caroline and smiled. “You know, Caroline, you’ll probably have lots of pretty dresses someday. You’re pretty enough to snag a rich man and smart enough to keep him.” She grinned. “I saw the way Ryan Blankenship was looking at you tonight.”

  She thought about her conversation with Ryan. He was kind and intelligent and seemed to enjoy talking with her, as she did with him. But…she knew he lived in a different world. She didn’t belong there, nor did she want to.

  “No,” she shook her head, pushing Ryan from her thoughts, “I’m not interested in a rich man, as you put it. I’m going back to Pine Ridge to teach and write. It’s my dream.”

  Emily shook her head in despair. “I just don’t understand you.”

  Later, after Emily had closed her books and gone to bed, Caroline threaded a needle and studied the beautiful dresses Emily had given her. Her heart danced with joy as she tenderly touched the soft green taffeta she planned to wear tomorrow. Mrs. Stockton had said she would ask a few students to read their themes aloud. Caroline sighed. She knew she wouldn’t sound right, but she had been praying about that, too. Maybe God would answer her prayers about talking, the way He had answered her prayers about clothes.

  She had big dreams, but sometimes those dreams brought her heartache. The snickers and stares had been difficult, but she prayed folks would adjust to her, just as she must adjust to them.

  Ryan Blankenship sneaked back into her thoughts and her heart lifted. Emily thought he liked her, but Caroline doubted that. She sensed he was the kind of person who was nice to everyone. She was grateful he had encouraged her to write about Pine Ridge. She missed home something fierce, but she would be going back for Christmas; still, that seemed a long time away.

  Suddenly a wave of longing for Pine Ridge rolled over her. She swallowed hard and tried to concentrate on what she was doing; but a tear slipped down her cheek as she painstakingly hemmed the dress that Emily h
ad given her.

  Chapter 3

  Caroline hurried into English class, hugging her books against her chest. She loved the way the green taffeta swirled about her ankles; she felt good about herself today. The theme she’d spent half the night composing was folded carefully inside her English book, and even though she had dressed well, she still hoped Mrs. Stockton wouldn’t call on her.

  She sank into the middle chair of the first row. It was the best seat in the classroom, although most students seemed to prefer seats in other rows behind her.

  A slim blond passed, staring at her. She had seen this girl at the dormitory and tried to be friendly, but the girl turned her head. Probably homesick, she thought, glancing at Mrs. Stockton. She was an attractive, middle-aged woman who wore bright floral dresses and smiled with her eyes, unlike Dean Miller.

  “We’re going to read our themes aloud today,” she said, taking her seat. “We’ll start with you, William.” Her eyes lit on a boy in the back row.

  The tall, lanky boy ambled to the front of the room, unfolded his paper, and mumbled about Eli Whitney, the inventor. The subject was interesting, but Caroline thought he could have done better. Mrs. Stockton thanked him for reading. He grinned and ambled back to his seat.

  “Amelia, would you like to read your theme?”

  The blond girl who had snubbed Caroline strolled up to the front of the room. She wore a beautiful blue silk dress with lace on the collar and cuffs and a wide ruffle around the hem. Caroline admired her dress and the nice cameo at her throat, and she listened with interest as Amelia read about a family vacation in New York. Her voice was filled with confidence, and her grammar was excellent, but her theme had no beginning, middle, or end. She just rambled. Caroline looked down at her book, embarrassed for her.

  When Amelia had returned to her seat, Mrs. Stockton’s eyes moved slowly to Caroline. Caroline dropped her eyes, praying she wouldn’t call on her.

  “Caroline, let’s hear your theme,” Mrs. Stockton said in a gentle voice.

  Caroline’s eyes shot to Mrs. Stockton in horror. Didn’t she know that sometimes the students laughed at her? She bit her lip, trying to think of a reason not to read.

  Nervously, she uncrossed her ankles and her new green taffeta rustled. Maybe this was why God gave her the dress. She got up and walked to the front, facing two dozen curious faces.

  Ryan smiled at her, encouraging her. She took a deep breath and looked down at her meticulous handwriting. She had revealed the absolute truth about herself and her home, and now she wondered if that were a mistake. The paper was beginning to rattle in her fingers. Someone snickered.

  God, help me, she silently prayed. And then, a new strength seemed to flow through her. She realized it didn’t really matter what these people thought; what mattered was that she was reading about the most special place in the world. And she knew that Mrs. Stockton and Ryan Blankenship weren’t going to laugh.

  “ ‘My name is Caroline Cushman,’” she began shakily, “‘and I come from Pine Ridge. Pine Ridge is a small community and to me it is a very special corner of the world, fashioned by God’s hands and nestled deep in the forest. In the winter, when the lake freezes over, we make skates and sleds out of farm machinery. Everyone goes ice-skating, from the children to the old people. In the winter, we have all-night singings and taffy pullings and hoedowns and quilting parties.’”

  She paused to draw a breath.

  “At Pine Ridge we make our own musical instruments and on Saturday nights we have parties. Grandpa Sam, who’s not really anybody’s grandpa, is good with the Jew’s harp. Willie Mayberry is a natural on his drums, and Pearline Jones is pretty good with her guitar. Our music brings a smile to the saddest face and warms the hearts of those who have lost loved ones. When little Angela Jones was dying, her mother bundled her up and brought her to our Christmas party. Everyone made special gifts for her, things she never had because her family is poor. Angela played the part of the Christmas angel, and on that snowy Christmas eve, God decided it was time to take His angel home. Everyone had gathered around her to sing “Silent Night”; when the carol ended, we looked and little Angela had gone to be with the Lord.’”

  She paused, swallowed hard, and continued.

  “‘There is a special kind of love at Pine Ridge, a love for God and our fellow man. I miss the people of Pine Ridge, but I also miss the special things of nature that were a fascination to me when I was growing up.’” She glanced up from her paper, meeting Ryan’s glowing brown eyes.

  She looked back at the paper and read the verbal picture of baby chicks breaking out of their shells, ducks on the lake, and the beauty of a winter morning when ice sculpted the trees and icicles glittered like diamonds. She read the sentences quickly, never looking up again.

  Without risking a glance, she hurried to her seat and busied herself folding her paper. Mrs. Stockton’s voice broke the silence around her.

  “That was excellent, Caroline. We enjoyed it very much. Thank you for sharing Pine Ridge with us.”

  When Mrs. Stockton dismissed class for the day, she asked Caroline to remain. Caroline’s heart thundered in her chest. What was she going to say to her? She was so nervous she could hardly thank Ryan when he stopped to compliment her theme. From the corner of her eye, she saw Amelia. This time Amelia was glaring at her.

  Then when everyone had left, Mrs. Stockton looked across at Caroline and smiled.

  “I was very touched by your theme,” she said warmly. “I wonder if you’re really aware of what a unique place you come from or of your knack for telling about it. The students were fascinated and I think other people would be.”

  Caroline’s eyes widened. “You mean I should write more about Pine Ridge?”

  “I do. I don’t often say this to students, but I think you have a good chance of getting published.”

  “Getting published?” Caroline asked, wondering if it were possible to achieve one of her dreams this soon.

  “Yes. I have a friend who is an editor for a journal that features the best writing of college students. As the year progresses, and you learn more about writing, I think we might want to send her something.”

  Caroline was dizzied by the prospect. For once, she was at a loss for words. She wanted to throw herself in Mrs. Stockton’s arms and give her a big hug, but she knew folks in the city were more formal. So, instead, she looked at Mrs. Stockton with all the gratitude that was overflowing her heart.

  “Thank you,” she said, trying hard not to cry.

  “Don’t forget we’re having that get-together in the parlor,” Caroline reminded Emily when she returned to her room and found Emily sulking on her bed.

  “I don’t want to go,” Emily complained.

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t see any fun in standing around with the girls in the dorm, sipping punch and pretending to like one another.”

  Caroline laughed. “Maybe we do like each other.”

  Emily said nothing as she looked Caroline over.

  “Come on, let’s go. You just might enjoy yourself,” she coaxed.

  With Emily halfheartedly joining her, they walked down the hall and entered the parlor. An enormous chandelier poured soft light over the marble-topped tables, the Duncan Phyfe sofas and matching chairs, and thick gold drapes.

  Caroline’s stomach tightened as they crossed the gleaming floors and stepped onto the lush Oriental carpet. A group of girls stood at the serving table, with Amelia in the center. Caroline had decided to compliment Amelia’s theme, and perhaps she could make friends with her—or at least figure out why she acted so unfriendly.

  “Hi, Caroline,” a small voice spoke up from behind her.

  “Oh hi, Claire.” Caroline smiled.

  Claire was tiny and frail, looking even more so because she was partially crippled on her right side. On Tuesday, Caroline had seen Claire struggling with a load of books and helped carry them to her room. Like Caroline, Claire often seemed to be alone.
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  “Here.” Emily joined them, handing Caroline a dainty crystal cup filled with punch.

  “Thanks. Emily, do you know Claire?”

  Just as Caroline was introducing Claire to Emily, someone jostled against her back. The punch she had been holding against her chest, sloshed onto her green bodice, leaving an ugly red stain in the center. Horrified, she turned to see what was happening behind her, and Amelia stood glaring at her.

  “You bumped into me,” Amelia cried.

  Caroline awkwardly took a step back from her and as she did, the girl moved as well. The sound of cloth ripping cut across the quiet room as everyone stared.

  “Now look what you’ve done.” Amelia played to her audience. “You’ve torn my dress!”

  Caroline’s eyes shot to the floor, and she saw an edge of pale blue ruffle lying on the carpet.

  “I…I’m sorry,” Caroline stammered.

  “What’s wrong?” Dean Miller had rushed over.

  “She bumped right into me,” Amelia cried, glaring at Caroline. “And now my dress is ruined.”

  “I’d say Caroline’s dress is in worse shape than yours, Amelia,” Emily spoke up, moving closer to Caroline.

  “Well it’s her own fault,” Amelia lashed back. “Some people just don’t know how to conduct themselves in social situations.” She flung the words at Caroline, then daintily lifted her skirt with its trailing ruffle and swept out of the room. Her circle of friends followed, tossing one last disgusted glance in Caroline’s direction.

  Humiliation scalded Caroline’s cheeks as she looked at Dean Miller. “I’m so sorry,” she said shakily.

  “Dean Miller,” Emily spoke up, “Amelia bumped into Caroline. If anyone was to blame it was Amelia.”

  Dean Miller lifted a dainty shoulder of her black silk dress. “Either way, do try to be careful, Caroline,” she said with a little smile before she turned and strolled back to chat with the housemother.

  “Here, let me take that cup,” Claire offered, reaching for Caroline’s empty cup and placing it on the nearest table.