Christmas at Dunleith © 2013 by Sylvia Barnes
Christmas at Longwood © 2013 by Cynthia Leavelle
Christmas at Brandon Hall © 2013 by Virginia Vaughan
Christmas at Monmouth © 2013 by Lorraine Beatty
Print ISBN 978-1-62416-259-6
eBook Editions:
Adobe Digital Edition (.epub) 978-1-62416-473-6
Kindle and MobiPocket Edition (.prc) 978-1-62416-472-9
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Scripture taken from the New King James Version®. Copyright © 1982 by Thomas Nelson, Inc. Used by permission. All rights reserved.
Scripture taken from the HOLY BIBLE, NEW INTERNATIONAL Version®. NIV®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.™ Used by permission. All rights reserved worldwide.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual people, organizations, and/or events is purely coincidental.
Cover image © Kirk DouPounce, DogEared Design
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TABLE OF CONTENTS
Christmas at Dunleith
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Christmas at Longwood
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Christmas at Brandon Hall
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Christmas at Monmouth
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
About the Authors
Christmas at Dunleith
Sylvia Barnes
Dedication
To my Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ; to my husband and family; to the Bards of Faith; and to the loving members of Pelahatchie Baptist Church, who have supported and encouraged me. And thanks to Rebecca Germany, my editor, for giving me a chance.
Chapter 1
Thanksgiving Week 2010
Marilyn McLemore looked at the car rental attendant with disdain. Her flight from Denver to Baton Rouge had already put her in a foul mood. Stormy weather, quick seventy-five-foot drops, and now they were telling her the vehicle would not be available for two hours. She strummed her fingers on the counter.
“What do you expect me to do?” She saw the attendant look down at her hand and immediately pulled it from the counter.
“This is the Monday before Thanksgiving, ma’am. It’s a busy time. You’ll just have to wait.” Her speech indicated impatience.
“Really? Where?”
“There is a coffee shop right down there.”
Marilyn followed the direction of her finger. “Fine.” She turned back and studied the attendant, her lawyer face on. She glanced at her name tag while positioning herself closer to the counter, her hands folded on top. “If I may be blunt, Rosie, it occurs to me that you could show a bit more concern when customers have to wait. I mean your company actually advertises someone will pick up the customer. How long would that take?” She shook her head. “But, hey, what do I know?” It wasn’t the girl’s fault. “I’m sorry, bad day.”
“It’s okay. You’re right. I’ve been fussed at all day. I let it get to me.”
“I understand.” Marilyn stared at her before offering a slow smile. “Truce?”
“Yes, ma’am. Check back in an hour. I’ll try to get you a car.”
“Thanks, Rosie. Coffee sounds good, anyway.” She touched the young lady’s hand in an effort to fortify her apology. “Want me to bring you a cup when I return?”
“That’s sweet. But no, thank you. I’m good.”
Marilyn turned her carry-on around and pulled it toward the designated shop. She ordered black coffee and looked around for a seat. Her order came quickly, and she hurried to a vacant table in the corner, positioned her bag by the table, and removed the top off the cup when she sat. Taking a deep breath, she relaxed and took a sip of the steaming brew. The aroma made her smile. Besides bacon, it had to be the best smell in the world. Well, maybe along with Perry Ellis Original. She smelled her wrist to validate her point.
Now, in a better mood, Marilyn could think about the upcoming wedding. She looked at her watch and realized it would be after dark when she arrived in Natchez. She let her thoughts wander. Her daughter, Constance, married to a Mississippi farmer. Justin was a good-looking guy with impeccable manners. But she had pictured Constance marrying an attorney, or at least a white-collar suit. She essentially wanted her daughter to be happy. Maybe she was being judgmental in her connotation of Southern men, in particular, cattlemen. She wished Dan were still alive to witness his princess’s passage to another culture. But then, he would have been blatantly opposed. She could only hope Constance was secure in her choice. At least they were getting married at Dunleith Plantation. Marilyn had searched online and found pictures of past weddings, which had given her some encouragement. A Christmas Eve wedding in the hot South. Marilyn suspected this trip, on the pretense of finalizing plans, was primarily for her and Justin’s widowed dad to become acquainted before the wedding. She sipped the strong, now tepid, liquid and pondered the following days. A cowhand. Huh.
Beau Burnham hugged his son and future daughter-in-law in the lobby of the Main House before finding his way to the Dairy Barn where he was staying. At dinner the kids had explained it had been used years before as a real dairy, but that it was built like a small castle. He chuckled. If it still smelled like cows, he would feel right at home.
After driving his truck to the separate structure, Beau got out and looked at the miniature chateau. Charming. He removed his bag from the backseat of his king-cab Ram and stalked to the building, shaking his head. “Lord, just get me through.” Beau thought of his deceased wife and knew he would not have to do this if she were still alive. Or maybe he would. Dark memories invaded his head as he unlocked the barn and walked into the warmth of his temporary home.
A lamp was on. The living area looked comfortable. Beau glanced around to the kitchen and headed for the bedroom, where he threw his bag on the floor, opened it to retrieve his pajamas, and dressed in the bathroom. He was tired and went straight to bed, much earlier than his normal bedtime.
Marilyn used the map she had printed to wind her way to the Dairy Barn. Seeing another vehicle, she pulled up beside it and removed her bags, pulling the large one with one hand, her carry-on with the other, and her purse tucked under her arm. The turbulent weather had been followed by a chilly wind, which kept blowing her hair
across her eyes. She puffed her breath upward so she could see. She tried to open the front door. Locked. Choosing between bothering someone at the Main House and knocking on the door, she rapped gently. No answer. Using her knuckles, she knocked. Silence. Focusing on the difficulties of her day, she gritted her teeth and banged with her fists. The door slowly opened. A broad chest blocked her vision.
She looked up. Way up. “I’m sorry, the door was locked. And you are?” Marilyn could barely see a face but was surprised to see a man. Sharing the cottage with her?
“Well now, little lady, who are you?”
Marilyn gasped. “I’m a guest.”
“Is that so? So am I.”
“That’s nice. It’s getting cold out here. Could I please come in?” She was tired and didn’t want a struggle.
“Sure. Need some help?”
Marilyn hesitated. Being an attorney, she had learned long ago to not cut off her nose to spite her face. “Yes, thank you. I’m Marilyn McLemore.”
He grinned. “Well, I’ll be a jack rabbit. I’m Beau Burnham.”
Marilyn drew back. The image she had drawn in her mind suddenly came to life. Oh goodness. She forced a smile. “Nice to meet you, Beau. Could we please go in now?” She shivered, more to prove to him the chilly temperature rather than be redundant.
“Oh sure, ma’am. Here, let me get the big one.”
Marilyn picked up the carry-on and followed him in. “This is nice. I think I’m upstairs.”
“You bet you are. Unless, of course, you want to change rooms. I went to bed already, but hey, some messed-up covers wouldn’t hurt.”
“Uh, gee, that’s nice of you. But no thanks.” Just as she thought. Redneck.
Beau led her upstairs and asked which room was hers. She pointed to one, and he tried to open the door. Locked. “Well, I guess you need to go to the office and get a key. Did you check in?”
“This late? Someone’s at the office now?”
“Yep. It’s right down the drive. I’ll walk with you.”
She assented, and they walked to the office together. After checking in and returning to the Dairy Barn, they walked back upstairs and Beau opened the door for her and set her bags in.
“Is this satisfactory?”
Marilyn looked around. Light blue walls, soft green accessories, and a lamp barely glowing created a relaxing atmosphere. She wanted to crash into the folds of the thick comforter and never come out. “It’s wonderful.” She looked over at him. “Well, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow. Planning meeting at ten?”
“That’s what they say.” He hesitated and looked around the room again before staring at her a few seconds. “Well, good night.”
“Good night.” When he closed the door, she sat on the bed and thought what a long few days this would be. A Mississippi farmer. How much worse could it get?
Marilyn slept later than usual. She reached for her cell phone on the nightstand. Six o’clock. Knowing she would not be able to go back to sleep, she showered and dressed for the day, lazily pulling her light brown hair up in a semi-ponytail. She looked down at her soft silk slacks and picked fuzz from the taupe-colored material. The mirror reflected her colorful Izmir jacket, the gold threads of the tapestry accentuating the gold flecks in her brown eyes and the subtle highlights in her hair. She smiled as she lifted her shoulders for a final look. Okay, let the day begin. She lightly sprayed perfume on her neck and left for the kitchen. Coffee would definitely get her going.
Trying to be quiet so she wouldn’t awake “Bubba Beau,” she started brewing the coffee. She giggled at the name, which had come to mind as she inhaled the smell of the tantalizing liquid. Not one she could speak aloud for sure. She was still laughing when the door to the first-floor bedroom opened and he appeared.
Beau walked to her side. “Glad to see you chipper this morning, Marilyn. Mmm, coffee smells good. I’ll have a cup as soon as it’s ready.”
Marilyn felt her smile fade. She glanced down at his T-shirt. She must have missed seeing the print the night before. “Cows Rule?” She glanced back at Beau.
He was smiling. Broadly. “Sure do, little lady. Pads my pockets for sure.”
If he kept calling her that all week, she’d have to take medication. “Well, that’s good to know. It’s a bit of information I wasn’t privy to.” This sounded maybe a little too sarcastic, even to her.
He must have missed it, because he never responded. Instead, he said, “I’ll go dress. You look mighty fine. Holler at me when the coffee’s done. We’ll stop off and have breakfast at the restaurant before the meeting.”
Marilyn gave him what Constance always called her look. “Sure thing, Beau. Be mighty glad to.” Maybe that sounded like his kind of talk. She surely wanted to fit in. Oh yeah.
Beau and Marilyn walked across to Dunleith’s Castle Restaurant for breakfast. Beau remained quiet as he watched Marilyn appraise the plantation, her lips turning up at the corners as she approached the restaurant.
He spoke softly. “Nice, huh?”
“Absolutely.”
“Lawyers’ kind of words?”
He saw sparks form in her eyes as she turned toward him. The sun reflected on their amber flecks and the golden highlights in her hair. She was a fine-looking little lady. He’d give her that.
She retaliated, “What kind of question is that?”
“I mean most women would have said, ‘Yes, it is,’ or some sort of soft, tender statement about the beauty of the place. ‘Absolutely’ seems so hard and final. Like you want to end the conversation right there.”
Those beautiful, full lips hinted a smile. “Yes, I see. You’re used to Southern women who flutter and chatter with emotion.”
“Wrong. I’m used to strong Christian women who are gentle and kind. Who speak softly from the heart.” His thoughts drifted for a moment to his deceased wife. All Southern women were not like that, but he would not go there with her.
“Of course. I’m sorry. Sometimes I come across very differently from what I actually feel. Trained attorney and all.” A sudden sadness crossed her face. “Again, forgive me.”
“No problem.” They lingered in front of the restaurant. “Another mini-castle. Amazing, huh?” He was giving her another chance.
Her laugh sounded with relief. “Oh yes, it is. I read it was once the carriage house.”
“There you go. The little woman has done her homework.” He rested his hand on her back. “Ladies first.”
When they were seated, Beau watched Marilyn review the menu before glancing at it himself. “I see what I want.”
She looked at him over the menu and raised her eyebrows in question.
“The usual Southern fare. Eggs, grits, biscuits and gravy, sausage and bacon.”
“Grits, huh?”
“Yep. Never tried them?”
“No. Should I?”
“Please. You should always try local dishes.”
“Good point.”
The waiter came and took their order. When Marilyn ordered grits, toast, and coffee, Beau interrupted. He told the waiter, “Bring her some eggs and bacon. She has a long day in front of her.”
When they were alone, she spoke. “I’m not used to someone making my decisions.”
“Yeah, it shows. But you do have a long day. It’s no telling how long we’ll be in the planning meeting. We’ll probably have a late lunch.”
“I don’t eat lunch.”
“Yeah, that shows, too.”
“Are all Southern men so rude?”
“I don’t call it rude. I call it taking care of my friends.”
“So, I’m your friend now?”
He could tell she was trying to conceal a smile. “No. You’re family now.”
Her smile faded as her face slightly crumpled. He thought she might cry. But she composed herself as the waiter brought the food, poured the coffee, and asked if he could be of further assistance before leaving them alone with the mixed aromas wafting up toward them.
“No. Fine.”
Eyes closed, he prayed, “Dear Lord, thank You for the joining of two families. For the wonderful institution of marriage. I ask You to be with Justin and Constance as they seek a future filled with love, children, and all the blessings You have in store for them. Guide them in all their decisions, Lord. May it all be to Your glory. Thank You for Marilyn and for this food we are about to eat. Bless it to the nourishment of our bodies. Amen.”
He looked up to see Marilyn wipe a tear from the corner of her eye.
Chapter 2
Beau had wanted to walk around Dunleith before the meeting. Marilyn begged off, needing to return to the Dairy Barn to make some calls. The first thing, though, was more coffee. Her fingers touched the pot. Lukewarm. She poured it into a mug, which she stuck into the microwave, remembering a Bible verse she had learned long ago. From Revelation, she thought. God said to be either hot or cold but not lukewarm, as He would spew you out of His mouth. Well, she guessed she was good to go on that one, because she was neither hot nor lukewarm. She had been icy cold. Church had been out of the picture since her daughter was a little girl. She knew Constance had started back when she was in college, and she was proud of her.
She took the coffee to her room, wondering why she was all of a sudden thinking like this. She reflected on Beau’s prayer. How surprised she was to hear the soft, sweet words spoken by the large cowhand. Though a handsome one. Then she thought about that. His large blue eyes and sandy hair. His muscles. Okay, enough. Get to the phone calls. She grabbed her cell and called the office, looking at the time and realizing she only had about thirty minutes.
As usual, her messages were from clients who needed her right away. Well, sorry, they would have to wait until after the meeting. She hurried to the bathroom, repositioned her ponytail, put on fresh lipstick, and left for the meeting, grabbing her briefcase from her car on the way. For once Marilyn took the time to breathe in the fresh, cool air and admire the fall foliage still clinging to the trees as she walked to the Main House. The plantation social coordinator had asked them to meet her there instead of at the office on the grounds behind the mansion.
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