A Joyful Song: A Dry Bayou Brides Christmas Novella

by Lynn Winchester

  Friends? No. While she enjoyed being with him, she’d never had a friend that made her feel jumbled inside like he did. Were they more than friends? No. She didn’t have time in her life for anything more—even if that was what it could have been.

  “…someone who is so taken with ye he canna think straight…who tripped over his own feet tae get tea ye... Tae just be with ye.”

  That’s what he’d said. Those were the words he’d spoken in his ire. But what could he mean? His words from the previous evening hadn’t even registered in her mind until she was lying in bed, staring up in the ceiling, going over what had happened. She’d relived the awkward yet strangely exciting dinner, then her insistence that they walk in the garden—that had been her first mistake of the evening; inviting him out to walk in a dark garden. Alone. But she hadn’t thought about the consequences, only that she didn’t want the night to end yet. So, she thought up the first thing she could: letting him tell her about himself. He’d spent the whole of dinner listening to her blather on about her life in San Francisco…but not once had he looked bored or annoyed with her chattering. He’d actually looked…interested. Like he cared about what she was saying. Cared about her. It was the glowing interest in his hazel eyes, and the arch in his dark copper eyebrows that made her feel as though everything she were saying was the best thing he’d ever heard.

  No one had ever done that for her before.

  But it wasn’t the dinner and his intense focus on her that had excited her the most…it was the moment right before he kissed her, when she knew what he meant to do. And she let him.

  And then she made him feel like a monster for it.

  Sick to her stomach, Joy pushed the cold sandwich away from her and stared at the opposite wall of the small back room. Mollie had taken her lunch break earlier and was now helping Dr. Bartlett with a maternity exam—the doctor felt it best to have a woman in the room for such things. For propriety’s sake, of course.

  A light tap on the door made her glance toward it to find Tilly standing there, her face ashen. Shooting to her feet, Joy rushed to the woman’s side, gripping her shoulders.

  “Tilly, what’s the matter? Is the baby coming?”

  Tilly huffed then slid a hand over her round belly. “If only. There’s still three weeks left.”

  Joy furrowed her brow, concern chilling her. “Are you in pain, then? Come, sit, get off your feet. I’ll go fetch—”

  Tilly grabbed her hand. “No! Don’t bother Hank. I know he is with Mrs. Landis. This is her first pregnancy, so she needs his focus now more than I do.”

  Unconvinced, Joy sat in the other chair and kept a hold of Tilly’s hand. It was warm, her grip strong. “What can I do?”

  Offering Joy a smile, she said, “Sit and talk with me a bit. I only came by because I wanted to run a few things past you; the Cotillion is only ten days away!” Her face filled with color, which made Joy happy. A pale pregnant woman was never a good thing. “I still have so much to do.”

  “Tilly, please, let me help you with some of those things. I can be more than just the consultant of a sort. I could help with decorating or the music or setting tables.” Those were all things she’d seen her own mother do. How difficult could it be?

  Tilly clapped. “Oh, would you? That would be wonderful. I wouldn’t mind some help with the Live Nativity Ray plopped in my lap last week.”

  Taken aback, Joy blurted, “Live Nativity? You mean with live people and animals acting out the scene from the Lord’s birth?” How interesting. How utterly marvelous!

  Nodding, Tilly added, “We already have the Wise Men, Mary and Joseph, and baby Jesus. We still need the mule, a cow, a few chickens, and one or two ewes.”

  Cataloguing the list in her mind, Joy replied, “That shouldn’t be too difficult. I know Ray has a few of those things—”

  “And certainly Seamus could help with the sheep,” Tilly interjected. Mention of Seamus cut deep at the moment of contentment she had been sharing with Tilly.

  “Oh,” she murmured. “Oh, I wouldn’t want to bother Seamus with this”—though she did have to give him back his coat. “Perhaps there’s another farmer with sheep to lend?” Her voice hopeful, Joy watched as Tilly’s large blue eyes scrutinized her face. If she saw something there, she didn’t show it.

  “I know there are, but Seamus has already volunteered to help however he can. He’s like that, you know.”

  Curious, Joy took the bait. “Like what?”

  Her gaze turning contemplative, Tilly tapped her chin in thought. “Well…to best put it…Seamus is a giant of a man with a heart just as big. I’ve never known someone as absolutely selfless as he is. Why, he even gave the shirt off his back to Gaston, once. Literally.”

  Joy knew Seamus was a gentle soul, she’d seen the kindness and guilelessness in his eyes. There was honesty and compassion and caring there, too. “He does seem the sort, doesn’t he?”

  “Absolutely!” Tilly agreed. “I’ve known him for nine years, and he has always given of himself to others, no matter the need. Never asking for anything in return. Sure, he can be surly sometimes—he is Scottish—but he is always the first to forgive someone for whatever it is they’ve done…”

  As if stung by a nettle, Joy flinched. Had Tilly heard about what Joy had said to Seamus in the garden? No. Seamus wasn’t the kind to share such things. So then how could Tilly know?

  Perhaps this is a sign… She knew she should apologize to Seamus for her careless words, but she hadn’t had the chance yet.

  Swallowing the lump in her throat, Joy asked, “I don’t suppose you know where Seamus is?”

  Tilly arched a golden eyebrow and smirked. “As a matter of fact, he is at the livery. I saw him as I was walking from my shop.”

  Joy had seen Tilly’s glorious creations draped over many of the women in town. It was a wonder the woman had any time to create such beautiful dresses with a young son, a baby on the way, and a husband to care for. Despite all the distractions in Tilly’s life, Joy couldn’t argue that the woman was a resounding success.

  “How do you do it?” Joy asked. “How do you manage to be a wife and mother and still be successful?”

  Confusion settled over Tilly’s features. “They aren’t mutually exclusive; you can have a family and still have success. Most of the women I know—Ray, Aimee, Becky, Missy, my sister Dora—they are happily married, have children, and are employed in one way or another.”

  How was that possible? Her own father had said: One or the other.

  Perhaps Father didn’t know everything…

  Dr. Bartlett’s deep voice carried down the hall, and Tilly stood to greet her husband. He walked into the tiny room and, upon seeing his glowing wife, his whole countenance brightened. He smiled down at her, and she up at him, and Joy immediately felt like an outsider, looking in on perfectly perfect affection.

  If Tilly can have that…maybe I could, too.

  Sneaking past the two murmuring to one another in hushed tones and stifled laughter, Joy asked Mollie to cover for her for a bit.

  She had to visit the livery.

  Upon arriving at the livery, she discovered that Seamus was no longer there. Mr. Perkins, the livery master, told her that he’d come by to return a freight wagon the ranch had borrowed for a supply run to San Antonio.

  Feeling deflated and frustrated, Joy knew that if she didn’t apologize, somehow, she’d dwell on her guilt for too long. Guilt ate at a person, draining the life from their bones. That’s what her mother had always told her.

  Realizing that she could at least send Seamus a quick note, she rushed back to the clinic and penned:

  Seamus,

  I most sincerely apologize for my careless words of last evening. You must know I think highly of you. I was just overwrought, and my mouth tends to run away with me most of the time. Please, I beg your forgiveness and hope we can be friends.

  –Joy Song

  There, that ought to do it. Now, to get it to him on
the ranch. She didn’t have the time to ride out and deliver it herself—

  “Joy!” a familiar and welcome voice called out to her. Joy swung away from the front desk to see Ray stalking into the clinic, her face tan and her hair roped into a messy braid. “Just the woman I wanted to see. Ya busy?”

  Chapter Nine

  It had only been a week since he’d seen Joy. Touched Joy. Kissed Joy. Walked away from Joy. Seven days had passed, but it felt like a month. A decade. The moments crawling by. When Ray had come home from town six days ago with a note scrawled in a delicate hand, Seamus hadn’t known what to make of the short missive from the woman he couldn’t stop thinking about.

  She’d apologized for her “careless words,” but it wasn’t her words that had cut him down like a rotted oak. It was the way she looked at him, like his being near her was causing pain. Words were words, they could be forgotten, but he would never erase the image of the hurt on her beautiful face.

  He’d done that. Him. The great brute, Seamus MacAdams. He’d never forgive himself for hurting her. It was he who should apologize. In the moment, kissing her had been the most earth-shattering experience, but it wasn’t the case for her.

  Pulling off his hat to wipe the sweat from his brow, Seamus tensed at the sound of a horse cantering down the lane toward him. He was behind the supply shed where he kept the tools and gear he used for the sheep. Not expecting anyone to come all the way out here, he came around the building and stopped dead in his tracks.

  Joy was riding toward him, a smart bonnet on her head and a nervous smile on her face.

  Seeing her again… He took a deep breath, willing his heart to cease pounding.

  She stopped a yard from him and gave an awkward wave.

  “Hello, Seamus,” she breathed, her voice husky. His body tightened at the sound.

  Fisting his hands to keep from reaching out to her, he drawled, “Hello, Joy. What brings ye out this way?”

  She opened her mouth to speak, but then snapped it shut. Then, she opened it again. “Well, my mission is two-fold, actually.”

  “Aye?” Curious and utterly taken with how lovely she looked in her lavender dress and bonnet, Seamus could think of little else to say.

  “Aye,” she replied, continuing. “First, I’d like to—to apologize for what I said in the garden last week.

  Surprised, he unfisted his hands. “I got yer note. Nay need tae apologize again, lass.”

  She shook her head violently. “Oh, but there is!” Joy made to swing her leg over the pommel and dismount, but in her haste, her skirt became stuck, making her pitch sideways and fall straight for the ground. Alarmed, Seamus rushed to her, snatching her from the air before she could complete her descent.

  “Omph!” she exclaimed, pressed against him. She felt…right. In his arms.

  Seamus felt his heart stutter and he stared down into her face. Her lashes lifted and her wide-eyed gaze met his. He couldn’t look away, even if the Lord Jesus returned to stand just beside him.

  “Lass…” his voice cracked, her breath caught, and still he couldn’t look away. Couldn’t put her down. “There’s nothin’ tae apologize for. I understand why ye said what ye said. Truth be told…” His guilt gnawed at him then and, suddenly, he found himself placing the sweetest bundle ever back on her feet. He didn’t deserve to hold her against him. To know the weight of her in his embrace. He took a step back, putting distance between himself and the woman he longed for. “I know ye canna stand tae be near me—I saw it in yer face that night in the garden. I am sorry tae have put ye in the position o’ rejectin’ my inappropriate advances—”

  “But you did nothing wrong, Seamus,” she urged, reaching out to place a hand on his arm, which twitched at the contact. “You were being nothing but kind and thoughtful; I was the one who pushed you away. That isn’t what I wanted…what I want.”

  He held his breath, his chest squeezing tight. He croaked, “What is it ye want, lass?”

  She furrowed her brow, seeming to think on it. “I—I want us to be friends.”

  Friends? He let out his breath, shaken to his roots. This woman wanted to be friends? As if that would ever be enough for him.

  It will have tae be enough, ye ungrateful dolt!

  “Friends,” he repeated. She nodded, offering him a slip of a smile. “Aye, we can be friends.”

  Her face lit up, nearly stopping his heart.

  “Good!”

  Wishing the earth would open its maw and swallow him whole, he forced himself to smile in return. “So, lass, what’s the second thing that brought ye all the way out here?”

  “Oh!” her eyebrows shot up and her mouth opened in the most becoming O. “Tilly wanted me to ask about the sheep for the Live Nativity. I’ve already wrangled the mule from Ray—who made me stand in for a dress fitting for it—the chickens from Aimee, and the cow from Mr. Hanlon. All I need to complete the scene are two sheep.”

  Ray had told him about her plan to include a living scene depicting the wise men’s visit to Christ’s birthplace. He’d thought it a good idea, until she told him that Tilly had asked Joy to handle the remaining details, including gathering the animals. Certainly, he should have known she’d come to him about it.

  “I remember somethin’ about that. Aye, I can bring them intae town that day. They’ll stable fine with the other animals until that evenin’.”

  “Splendid.”

  His hands tingling with the need to touch her, his throat burning with the words he really wanted to say, Seamus held the horse while she climbed on, settling into the saddle like she’d been born in it.

  “Well, I best be going, then. I have the day off from the clinic but I’ve been running around so much I’ve had little time to breathe.” She seemed flushed, almost nervous again.

  “Take care, lass. Ye’ll want tae be hale and hearty for all the dancin’ at the Cotillion.” Dancing in the arms of other men.

  “Oh, no. I won’t be going,” she admitted, and his focus pinned to her. “I volunteered to work at the clinic during the afternoon leading to the party. I would be poor company at a party after spending all day working.”

  Angry without knowing why, Seamus tightened his fist around the leather rein. The horse eyed him cautiously. “Nay, Joy. Ye canna deny yerself the pleasure o’ a Christmas party, especially when there will be so much tae see and do. And, besides, ye helped tae plan the party. Surely ye canna miss it.” Why was he so adamant about her attending? If he didn’t have to see her dancing with other men, it would save him the heartache. But it hurt him more to think of her sitting in her room at the boarding house, alone. Missing the bright, happy festivities. “Will it be a joyful evenin’ without ye there, lass?” Not for him, it wouldn’t.

  Her face flushing and her eyes darkening, Joy looked deliciously speechless.

  “Well, lass? Will ye attend?” Yer askin’ too much. Leave her be. Nay! Never! She was to be his Christmas miracle, the one thing he’d begged God for. The one thing he couldn’t have.

  “I don’t know, Seamus. Perhaps. I’ll think on it,” she murmured.

  Not even a little mollified, he handed her the reins, careful not to touch her warm, soft hand.

  As Joy rode away, Seamus couldn’t stop the sliver of hope in his heart from dropping into the dust at his feet.

  Joy was tidying her side of the room—avoiding Seamus’s coat, where it still hung from the peg beside her bed—when a soft rap sounded at the door. She sighed and felt the ache in her chest spread to her limbs. She was exhausted from her long day of riding around, but it wasn’t the physical ache that was making her eyes prickle with tears. It was the ache around her heart.

  Oh, Seamus…

  At the uttering of the word “friends” it was like the ground dropped out from beneath him. But what else could she say? She couldn’t be what he wanted her to be—what did he want her to be, anyway? He’d invited her to dinner. He’d been so attentive and kind. He’d kissed her with such depth and p
assion she could still taste him on her lips. And had that been so bad? Had it hurt her to be the center of his attention, to feel his hands on her, to experience the wonder of her first kiss with a man who had been as affected as she’d been?

  No. It had been wonderful.

  But it wasn’t for her. That kind of thing only lead to commitment. To marriage. And she couldn’t be a wife, not if she wanted to continue being the best nurse she could be.

  One or the other… Her father had made that clear.

  “…you can have a family and still have success.” Tilly’s sweet voice had spoken with such authority, and she should know. Right? She had a phenomenally successful business, a wonderful family, a doting husband…

  Could Joy really have those same things?

  Another rap at the door reminded her she was being rude, and she rushed to the door to fling it open.

  Shocked to her core, she let out a squeal of delight. “Mother!”

  Without thought, Joy jumped into her mother’s outstretched arms. Weeping, sobbing, laughing, and squeezing continued for Joy didn’t know how long—and she didn’t know when they’d walked into the room and shut the door, but once Joy finally pulled away, she and her mother were sitting on her bed, holding hands.

  “Oh, darling, I am so happy to see you!” her mother, Marie-Elise, grinned at her, her familiar chocolate eyes glittering with newly shed tears.

  Taking a shuddering breath, her face hurting from her grins, Joy grasped her mother’s hands. “How are you here? Why are you here?”

  Her mother kissed her forehead, lingering in a warm embrace that filled Joy with something she didn’t know she’d been missing.

  “It’s nearly Christmas, dear. I couldn’t spend Christmas without my greatest Joy, my daughter. Besides,” she remarked, “I have a surprise for you…”

  Her mother’s voice dipped just enough that Joy knew something was coming that she might not like. She’d heard that dip before…right before her mother told her Father had become terminally ill.