by E. E. Burke
“The idea is worth considering,” he went on. “We might even be able to establish an orphanage right here in Fort Scott, if we can raise money every year during the parade—”
“There are many good causes, Mr. Goodlander,” Old Ironsides insisted. “If we allowed every one of them to pre-empt our event, it would be a disaster. The people of Fort Scott love the Christmas parade and Santa arriving to bless the children. It’s the most popular attraction of the year. I vote we keep things the way they’ve always been.”
The old biddy didn’t care about blessing anyone. She only wanted to exert control, as if her vote was the only one that counted. Perhaps it was, considering how quiet everyone became.
Mrs. O’Connor broke the silence. “We’re not voting yet, Mabel. Our rules call for discussion first.”
God bless Mrs. O’Connor. She’d put Old Ironsides and her dead birds in their place.
The committee commenced to discuss, which ended up being more of an argument. The O’Connors and Mr. Goodlander supported the proposal, two other members supported Mrs. Mueller, and the rest remained undecided.
Mr. Sumner leaned her way. “This is ridiculous,” he whispered.
He scooted his chair back and stood, which got everyone’s attention. “Honorable ladies and gentlemen, consider how it might look if you don’t support this effort. Should Miss O’Brien’s request be rebuffed, the leaders of the community will look like Scrooges.”
Mrs. Mueller’s florid face turned a deeper shade of red. “Just how do you suppose that? Santa arriving with gifts reflects the soul of generosity. The children in Fort Scott, including those from needy families, should be our first concern. We won’t look miserly—unless you fail to provide the donations you promised.”
Mr. Sumner sat down. Being close, Maggie could see the hard set of his jaw.
Old Ironsides narrowed her eyes as if spotting a weakness she could exploit. “Mr. Sumner, you did agree to sponsor Santa’s sleigh this year. That sponsorship includes providing toys and other items to be given away. Or are you saying you don’t have them.”
“We’ll have what we need,” he stated with uncustomary brevity.
Maggie’s stomach somersaulted. Now it was clear why he’d suggested a Santa gift collection. He’d promised gifts for the parade and wasn’t in a position to make another generous contribution, and it was his way of making up for the deficit. But now, his plan might backfire. For certain, he wouldn’t benefit from being at odds with these influential people. He really was a kind man, but he didn’t have to shoulder this responsibility.
She dug in her bag for a peppermint to calm her queasiness. The fragrant scent wafted upwards. Apparently, Mr. Sumner could smell it because he’d turned to look at her, wearing an apologetic smile.
“Do you have any ideas for how we might keep our tradition, and still be able to collect gifts for the orphans?” he asked.
“She doesn’t have an idea. Let’s vote,” Mrs. Mueller demanded.
Maggie rolled the candy between her thumb and forefinger. “Actually, I do have an idea.” She stood and held up the candy. “This is what I propose.”
“Peppermints?” Old Ironsides huffed.
Mr. Goodlander leaned forward. “I’ll have one, thank you.”
Maggie retrieved another candy and passed it to the bank president. She prayed her brother would support her, and made a silent promise to find a way to repay him.
“Every year, Santa gives gifts, but there are never enough to go around to all the children. What if this year Santa arrives with candy instead? If Mr. Sumner and my brother pool their resources, we can provide an ample amount of candy to go around. And we can post Santa’s list and ask people to bring gifts for the orphans.”
“Santa doesn’t collect gifts,” Mrs. Mueller insisted.
Mr. Sumner splayed his hands on the gleaming table surface, looking as if he’d like to leap across and throttle the wretched woman. “Then have a Mrs. Claus do it.”
Maggie shot him an alarmed look, which he didn’t catch and kept talking.
“Mrs. Claus can post a list of gifts she needs for the orphaned children. You, Mr. Marble, can write a column about it, include the items, and ask people to bring them the day of the parade. Mrs. Claus will collect them at my store and at O’Brien’s.”
Maggie released a slow breath. At least he hadn’t committed her to playing the role.
“That’s a wonderful idea,” Mrs. O’Connor declared. She snatched up her husband’s gavel and smacked it on the table. “Let’s vote and call it done.”
“We’ve never had a Mrs. Claus,” blustered the naysayer.
“There’s always a first time.” Mr. O’Connor retrieved his gavel. “And I think it adds a nice touch. It’ll appeal to the women, seeing Mrs. Claus riding beside her husband and helping him pass out candy, and gathering the gifts together. I vote for it, too.”
He cradled the gavel and peered around the table with a challenging look.
“Count me in.” Mr. Goodlander, who appeared amused by the gavel-wielding duo, lifted a forefinger. The rest of the committee quickly voiced their agreement, all but Mrs. Mueller.
“Who will play the part of Mrs. Claus?” she challenged. “I certainly won’t.”
Maggie couldn’t imagine anyone asking her. She had the sourest personality. Victoria might. No. David would have a fit.
“Miss O’Brien, of course.” Mr. O’Connor smacked his gavel, making Maggie jump. “After all, it’s her project, and her brother is helping supply candy. Just makes sense.”
“The two of us together…” Mr. Sumner turned to her, his cerulean gaze questioning. “What do you say, Miss O’Brien?”
He made it sound as if she had a choice. Of course she didn’t, unless she wanted another round of arguments, which might end up burying the entire proposal. She’d backed herself into this corner, and had committed her brother, too. Not only that, if she refused, she would embarrass Mr. Sumner. She couldn’t do that. Not after all he’d done for her.
Knowing full well she’d regret it, Maggie nevertheless gave in with gracious smile. “Yes, I’d be delighted to play the part of Mrs. Claus.”
Chapter 4
It took Sum two days to dislodge Miss O’Brien from her brother’s store so they could go to a seamstress and have costumes fitted for the parade. A winter storm had moved in and dumped a foot of snow on the ground—that was her excuse anyway.
“Stay close to me so you don’t become chilled.” He wrapped his arm around her waist to steady her on the snow-packed sidewalks as they mushed along for six blocks.
“I’m not cold.”
So she said, but she didn’t pull away. At least she’d bundled up in a hooded cloak and scarf, with thicker gloves and sturdier boots, which looked warmer than the button-up shoes she’d worn the day of the meeting. Still, he didn’t want her to get chilled and come down ill.
“We could hop aboard a street car.” The one lumbering past had passengers in every seat and overflowing the aisles. Two men standing on the steps clung to outside rails.
Miss O’Brien shook her head. “Too crowded. We’ll get there faster if we walk briskly.”
Her legs were much shorter than his, but he had to press his pace to keep up with her. When they reached their destination, he checked his timepiece. “Your brisk walking set a new record. We made it in less than ten minutes.”
“Does it normally take you longer?” She regarded him with a look that said he must be a lazy fellow if he couldn’t make the distance within that time.
They sought warmth inside the cozy shop. The tailor and his wife who ran the business together appeared to be doing well, if the multiple racks of clothing in various stages of completion were any indication.
After Sum explained what they wanted, Mrs. Bowman shooed them into separate dressing rooms. The buxom brunette had years and energy to spare, compared to her stooped, elderly husband. Rumor had it, the old tailor was a single widower for nigh on t
wenty years, and then one day, a young woman showed up in his shop. He’d introduced her as his new bride, ordered from back east.
Despite being in the merchandising business, Sum considered the practice of ordering a wife ludicrous. Brides and grooms routinely misrepresented themselves, and someone was bound to be disappointed. He suspected Mrs. Bowman hadn’t gotten the virile husband she’d expected, but she put on a good show of being happy with her lot in life.
Mr. Bowman muttered under his breath as he took Sum’s measurements. He tottered off to the back room, still muttering. Assuming the fitting was done, Sum ducked back into the shop, hearing cheery conversation.
The two women chatted about the inclement weather, a favorite topic of late, as the tailor’s wife measured her customer’s trim waist. Sum considered offering his assistance, but the seamstress stood up and put away her measuring tape. Maybe another time.
Sum propped his arm on the doorframe, admiring Miss O’Brien’s unguarded profile. No falsely represented female here, she was the real thing: beautiful, kind, gracious, and, as an added bonus, educated—a schoolteacher, no less.
He could think of no reason why he shouldn’t pursue her, save his financial uncertainty, which would be resolved after Christmas with any luck. He wasn’t getting any younger. Having a wife would grant him more respectability—and admiration, should his wife happen to be the lovely and gifted Miss O’Brien. Granted, she was his competitor’s sister, but he would find a way to manage the consequences. If he had let thorny moral dilemmas stop him when he was younger, he wouldn’t have gotten anywhere in life.
He didn’t need O’Brien’s permission, and his sister was old enough to make her own decisions. In fact, she presented the bigger obstacle, having told him, point-blank, they could have nothing to do with each other after the parade. Come the first of the year, she would leave for Kansas City and that was that.
He wouldn’t let her get away so easily.
Above his head hung a sprig of mistletoe. The first step in his plan crystallized.
“How long before the costumes are ready?’ he asked Mrs. Bowman.
“Two weeks, I’d say.”
“Then we come back for a fitting?”
“That’s right.”
“Can you come over here a moment?” he asked the unsuspecting Miss O’Brien.
Holding his gaze warily, she approached. Over her shoulder, he saw the seamstress glance upwards, and then cover her mouth. She didn’t make a sound, God bless her. Miss O’Brien hadn’t noticed the mistletoe, as she had her attention trained on him.
He’d seen her watching him whenever they were together, studying him, as if trying to work out some difficult equation. He wasn’t that complex but was flattered she thought so. He also took courage from her trembling response each time he touched her. It meant she was susceptible to him, and that meant he had a chance.
His heart accelerated as she drew near.
“What is it?” Her expressive eyes conveyed hesitant curiosity. He sensed she could be adventurous if he could coax her out of her disciplined shell, and get past her suspicion.
He crooked his finger, urging her closer. “After coming up with a brilliant compromise, you aren’t having second thoughts are you?”
Her finely arched eyebrows drew down in a doubtful frown. “I’m still not sure why there’s a need for Santa to have a wife involved. It’s not part of the tradition. I’ve never read about a Mrs. Claus, or where she came from.”
“Who’s to say he didn’t order her out of a newspaper?”
Miss O’Brien looked askance at what he considered a hilarious remark. The seamstress, at least, giggled.
“Thank you for agreeing to be Mrs. Claus.”
“You’re welcome.”
God knows he owed her more than thanks. Her inspired compromise had saved his skin. Instead of donating merchandise he couldn’t afford, thanks to her, all he had to do was split the cost of candy with her brother and toss in a few items for the orphans. Her project couldn’t have come at a better time. However, he couldn’t say that without sounding miserly, and he didn’t want her to think poorly of him, or more poorly than she already did.
“You saved me a great deal of embarrassment.” He could risk that much honesty.
Her suspicious gaze melted into sympathy. “I wouldn’t have embarrassed you in front of the committee. You’ve been very generous.”
She misunderstood because he hadn’t explained, thought he meant she would’ve shamed him by refusing to go along as Mrs. Claus. Her concern for his feelings burrowed deep into his heart. He didn’t deserve her. Then again, he hadn’t deserved most of what he’d gained. The deserving rarely prospered.
“Not generous enough.” He slipped his arm around her waist and bent his head. Alarm filled her eyes the instant before he covered her mouth.
She tasted of peppermint and tea, a delicious combination, somehow sweet and seductive at the same time. Holding her tight against him, he sampled the flavor on her lips, which softened and parted beneath his. He longed to linger, to feast…but not here, in front of a giggling dressmaker. He’d only intended a brief kiss, just enough to let her know what it could be like between them, as well as to make it clear to the rest of the world that he’d laid claim to her.
Regretfully, he lifted his mouth.
She blinked, dazed, and with a shocked gasp, stepped backwards, her cheeks flaming. “H-have you lost your mind?”
Perhaps. Coming to a decision as important as marriage within a few days was madly spontaneous, even for him. He hoped he wouldn’t regret it, but at the moment he couldn’t dredge up one ounce of caution. “Can’t Santa kiss his wife under the mistletoe?”
Her horrified gaze lifted.
The seamstress gave a peculiar little snort. “He’s got you there, miss. That’s mistletoe. You get caught under it, and a fellow can kiss you.”
The giggling recommenced.
* * *
Maggie grabbed her bag, swung her cape over her shoulders and started out the door. Before she left, she thanked Mrs. Bowman, saying she would return in two weeks to collect her costume. She would go through with this farce because she didn’t back out of her commitments, but she would not spend one more minute than was necessary in Mr. Sumner’s company. He’d taken advantage of her in the worst way, called her reputation into question and humiliated her after she had gone to great lengths to save him from embarrassment.
Instead of taking the sidewalk, she veered off across the park on a shortcut. Despite the cold air, her face burned. Her boots sank in the soft snow, slowing her down. She picked up her skirts and plowed a path up an incline. She’d reached the top when he caught up.
“Miss O’Brien… Margaret, wait…” He snagged her arm.
She spun around, lost her footing in the slippery snow.
With the quick instincts of a cat, he caught hold of her, halting her fall by hauling her up against his chest. However, instead of releasing her right away, as proper, he wrapped his arms around her. Out in the middle of the park, with people wandering around, watching. He would ruin her before he was through.
Panic flooded her mind, drowning out rational thought. Flailing him with her fists, she yelled, “Let go! Stop tormenting me!”
“No, wait, I’m not… Don’t push me, we’re on a—”
Her shove sent him backwards.
His arms circled in a windmill, as he attempted to right himself, but then he lost his footing when he stepped back on the incline. When she reached out to save him, she ended up on top of him, and the force sent him sliding upside down to the bottom of the rise.
Somehow, he kept her from falling off. As they coasted to a stop, he began to laugh.
Maggie lifted up on trembling arms, still sprawled atop him, surprised, but not hurt. She wasn’t even cold, although he must be freezing, with snow piled up around his head and shoulders. His blue eyes seemed brighter, clearer, enhanced by the heightened color in his cheeks. “Are…a
re you all right?” she asked breathlessly.
Still chuckling, he laid his hands on her shoulders. “I’ve never been a sled before. Would you like another ride?”
Saints above. Did he ever think before he spoke?
“Of all the…” She tried to get up, but got tangled in her cloak so she could only manage to roll off, and toppled onto her back. Thankfully, her hood remained up so she didn’t get snow beneath her collar.
Really, it wasn’t his fault she’d ended up on top of him. He had used his body as a cushion to keep her from injuring herself. Her brother had done that once, many years ago, in much difference circumstances, and with a far less amusing outcome.
Still flat on her back, she gazed into the sky, surprisingly clear and the same color blue as his eyes. How irritating that she should notice. “Mr. Sumner, you are more annoying than the worst-behaved boy in my classroom.”
“No more sledding, then?” He reached for her hand and laced his gloved fingers through hers. “We could make angels in the snow if you’d prefer.”
The last of her anger and frustration came out in a breathless laugh. “You must’ve struck your head.”
“What makes you think that?”
“Because something knocked you silly.”
He squeezed her hand. “Do you like me when I’m silly?”
“No.”
“Do you like me when I’m serious?”
A laugh escaped in spite of her determination not to laugh, which only encouraged him. Whether she liked him or not was beyond the point. He was off limits.
Maggie untangled their fingers; holding hands with him kept her breathless. She lifted her cloaked arms to form the shape of angel wings. The childish game worked as a temporary distraction to prevent her from thinking about her attraction to the aggravating man.
He moved his arms and legs. “I haven’t done this in years.”
“Me neither. My students love it. I thought joining them would be beneath my dignity.”
