Mountain Christmas Brides

by Mildred Colvin

Natalie’s lilting voice immediately soothed him like a cool balm. And her smile set his heart to pumping at a healthy rate. He felt a smile tugging at his lips but forced them into a frown. He shouldn’t encourage her. He should let her go.

  But he didn’t want to.

  She held up her lunch basket. “Are you hungry?”

  He smelled beef stew and biscuits. His stomach gave a silent growl of approval. “You really shouldn’t be coming here every day.”

  “Lunch is the least we can provide with you doing all this work to rebuild the church.”

  So would she rather not be here? Was this just serving her duty to the church? “You don’t have to come.”

  Her smile turned to that special one that he imagined was only for him. “But I want to. If I had to choose between being here with you—rain or shine—or shopping at the biggest department store in the biggest city”—she sat down on a pile of lumber—“I’d stay right here. Do you know why?”

  He couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to sit in the cold with the threat of rain day after day when they could be inside a dry building in front of a warm fire. And what woman would ever turn down the chance to go shopping?

  “Because I’m happy being near the man I love.”

  His heart flipped over and over. Was love enough for her?

  “Shall we eat?”

  “It smells like stew and biscuits.” He sat next to her on the stack.

  “It’s still hot.”

  After his stomach was satisfied, he knew he should get back to work and rose to a stand.

  “Pie?”

  “Pie?” He hadn’t smelled any pie. He sat back down. “What kind?”

  “Apple.”

  After his mouth was satisfied with the sweet taste of cinnamony fruit and flakey crust, Willum stood again, pulling on his work gloves. “I really need to get back to work.”

  “What are you working on today?”

  “I finished the porch entrance and now I’m going to put on the siding while I wait for the hay to be delivered.”

  Natalie inclined her head. “I remember you putting hay in between the outer and inner walls on the house you’re still building. Does it really keep a building warmer?”

  He nodded. Even if he filled every crack from top to bottom, a building could still be difficult to heat from corner to corner. But with a layer of hay between the walls, the cold didn’t seep in as much.

  He set up a sawhorse in the middle by the side wall. He took a siding board and rested one end of it on the sawhorse and walked down the length to the other end and lifted it to where it needed to be on the wall. The other end slipped off the sawhorse. Usually, he would have had another man hold up the opposite end, but working alone didn’t afford him that luxury. He’d had to get creative several times to do portions by himself he normally had help for. He replaced the board onto the sawhorse and tried again. It fell. But the third time he tried this system the board stayed and then some. It raised level with where he was trying to nail it on the side of the building.

  He looked down the length of the board. Natalie stood at the other end, smiling back at him. He wanted to tell her to put it down and go back and sit, but truthfully, he could use her help, and the Lord hadn’t impressed upon him that she was not allowed to help. Quite the opposite. He would be a fool to keep refusing her assistance. “Hold it right there.” He reached into his tool belt and pulled out his hammer, quickly pounding in a nail then rushed to her end, raised the board even, and pounded in another nail. “You can sit now. That will hold while I hammer in the other nails.”

  She gave him a curtsy and sat back on the pile.

  When Willum turned back to the side of the church to hammer in the rest of the nails along the first board, Natalie let her feet dance up and down. He’d let her help. Maybe he was finally forgiving her. She hoped so.

  She helped him with the next board and the next. When she couldn’t reach high enough any longer, he set up an A-frame ladder for her.

  He held out his gloved hand to her. “You be careful up there.”

  She put her pink-mittened hand in his. The contrast between ruffled mitten and worn leather work glove almost made her laugh. “I will.” She didn’t dare allow herself to be careless or get hurt, or he would banish her from ever returning.

  He leaned one end of a board up against the ladder. “Don’t touch that yet.”

  She nodded.

  He positioned a couple of boards between two sawhorses and jumped up on it then lifted his end of the board. “Okay, grab that end.”

  She did and lifted it into place.

  “I’m going to slide it your way a bit.”

  She held it secure.

  As Willum pounded the nail, the board shook loose from her hands. She tried to hold on tighter but the board fell out of her hands and slivers jammed through her mittens into the flesh of her palms. “Ow!”

  Willum jumped down and ran over to her. “What happened?” The board hung on to the wall at Willum’s end.

  “I’m sorry it slipped.” She held her slivered hand to her stomach. The wood pieces hurt, but she couldn’t let him know that.

  He snagged her wrist and helped her down off the ladder. “Slivers?”

  Dare she admit it?

  He pulled gently on her mitten.

  She sucked in air through her teeth. “Ow, ow, ow. It’s catching on the slivers.”

  He took a slow breath. “Can you get it off?”

  She put the tip of her other mitten between her teeth, but when she began to pull, she could feel a sliver in that hand, too, being embedded deeper. “Ow.”

  He took her other wrist as well. “Here. Let me. Which one is worse?”

  She raised one a little.

  He squeezed the other. “Where on this hand is the sliver?”

  “I only feel one on the heel of my palm.”

  He slipped his index finger under the edge of her mitten to free the fibers from the sliver.

  Shivers coursed up her arm at his touch.

  He worked the mitten off. “That’s not too bad. I see a couple of smaller ones as well. Can you get the other off?”

  She worked her free fingers inside the other mitten. There were more splinter ends to catch. Once she had her fingers covering her palm and the slivers, she said, “You can pull it off now.”

  He pulled slowly.

  “Ow. There’s one in my middle finger.”

  He pulled the yarn away from the finger and moved it around until the fibers became free of the wood, and then he pulled the mitten off. He shook his head.

  She had to have a dozen slivers in that hand.

  He walked her over to the lumber pile and made her sit. Then he placed her most injured hand in his. “A few of these I can just pull out, but they might hurt.”

  She nodded.

  He pulled out five easily with just his fingernails. Then he removed his pocketknife and opened it.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I’m going to use the edge of my knife to get under the end of the slivers to pull them out.”

  She nodded.

  He pulled out three more before he ran into a difficult one. “Look away.”

  Her stomach flipped. “Why?”

  “Trust me.”

  “I do, but please tell me what you’re about to do.”

  “This one broke off inside the wound. I need to cut the skin to reach it.”

  “Is your knife sharp?”

  He nodded. “And clean.”

  “Then go ahead.” She didn’t take her eyes off her palm.

  “Don’t you want to look away?” Tenderness etched in his voice.

  No, she would show him she was strong. “I’m fine.”

  When he pressed the point of his knife on her palm, she shifted her gaze to his face and willed herself not to jerk her hand when the pain came. She would study his face. He had grown out his winter beard. Pain stabbed at her hand. She sucked in a breath through clenched teeth but d
id not jerk her hand away.

  His worried gaze met hers. “Are you all right?”

  She nodded.

  “I’m sorry I hurt you.”

  “It has to be done or it will fester.” She was glad he had the nerves to do what needed to be done. When she was younger, she had hidden a sliver once until it festered into a painful red sore that was worse than the small piece of wood that lay beneath. To distract herself, she focused on wanting to touch his wavy brown locks.

  He went back to his task, finishing with the worst hand and making quick work of the other. He brushed his thumbs back and forth across both her palms, searching for unseen slivers.

  The caressing sent tingles up her arm and through her body. Her heart sped up like she’d just been the victor in a three-legged race. She shivered.

  He stopped. “Are you all right?”

  Fine. Wonderful. There was nowhere else she wanted to be.

  He stood. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.” He disappeared down the street.

  He had let her help, and then he tended to her injury. Though it was a small gesture, he showed tenderness toward her pain. She had hope.

  Willum returned with a small jar of salve and cloth bandage rolls. He dabbed salve on the palm he’d had to cut the slivers out of then wrapped it. “You shouldn’t have any trouble with that.”

  “Thank you for taking care of me.”

  His gaze darted between her eyes and her mouth and back.

  She licked her lips. Would he kiss her? She hoped so. Then she’d know everything was all right between them.

  A dog barking down the street caused Sassy to get up from where she’d been lying and bark.

  Willum turned to his dog. “Sassy, come.” The dog obeyed.

  The spell was broken. She wanted to get it back. “I really am sorry for ever accepting a ride from Mr. Seymour.”

  Willum looked to the ground. “It was never about the ride.”

  She realized her mistake. She’d made it worse. She shouldn’t have brought up Mr. Seymour. “Then what?”

  “Doubts. Trust.”

  “I don’t have any doubts. I trust you. Can you ever trust me again?”

  “You doubt I can provide. I have doubts about your steadfastness. We both have doubts. Until we settle those, neither of us can fully trust.”

  But she did trust him and had no doubts. If it wasn’t for her doubt in the first place, he wouldn’t doubt her. “What can I do to make you trust me again?”

  “I don’t know. But I do know I have a church to build.” He pulled a pair of new leather work gloves from his back pants pocket. “These may be a little big, but they were the smallest I could get. They will protect your hands.”

  She took them, and they blurred. He was making it easier for her to help him instead of shooing her away because she got hurt. “Thank you.”

  “I don’t want you getting any more splinters.” He cleared his throat. “Besides it’s a poor use of time. Daylight’s short this time of year.”

  After securing one more board, Willum stopped to receive a wagonload of hay. He and the men transferred the bales from the back of the wagon through the stud wall in the front to the floor inside. She watched him work. He worked so hard. Hard enough to always provide for her.

  He was right. Her thoughts always came back to whether or not he could provide. Needing the proof and not trusting. She kept picturing that tiny cabin. How did one banish doubts they didn’t want to have? Lord, take these doubts from me. Help me trust unconditionally.

  Chapter 11

  For the next three sunny days, Natalie arrived at the church ahead of Willum. It pleased him to see her eager, smiling face first thing. She helped him finish the exterior siding then they moved inside to the interior walls. The work went much faster with her help, and by the first week of December, the interior walls were all up and stuffed with straw to make the building hold heat in the winter. Then he finished the surface of the interior walls and painted the church inside and out. He painted the outside, while Natalie painted the inside. The church would be done in time for the Christmas Eve service, with a week to spare.

  The congregation would be nice and warm when they celebrated the Lord’s birth, because he had installed a stove with pipes that ran through the floor, providing heat from front to back. The heat from the stove turned a fan that would push air through the pipes and up through vents in the floor.

  The bare tree branches of the nearby oak scraped against a back window. The eerie sound prickled his flesh. He’d walked Natalie home hours ago before the storm became too strong. He had a little bit of interior work to do before moving in the pews and presenting the building to the reverend. This storm’s timing was absolutely perfect. A gift from the Lord.

  He lit a candle from the lamp and headed toward the closed front door. A blowing storm was just what he needed to check for drafts. He held the candle up to the frame of the door and moved it around the entire frame slowly. The flame never flickered. No leaks. He did the same with the walls and windows down one side. Sassy followed him around the room. His flame stayed steady.

  As he reached the rear window, the branch became more insistent in its knocking. He hoped it didn’t break the glass. Then, with a flash of light, a crack of thunder, and a huge crash, the branch careened through the window and smashed the wall around it, blowing out the candle and knocking Willum to the floor. Boards came down, and pain shot through his head and arm.

  Natalie sat in a rocking chair near the fire, knitting a scarf for Willum. She had decided that the only way to prove to Willum—and herself—that she was trustworthy, was to be around him as much as possible and be trustworthy. This last month of working on the church had been a challenge and made her ache in places she didn’t know she had.

  A dog barked at the front door. Not just any dog. She recognized that bark. Sassy! That meant Willum was here. She stood.

  Papa looked her direction. “Leave it. It’s probably just a stray looking for food or a warm fire.”

  “No, Papa. That’s Sassy. I know her bark.”

  Papa held up a hand to her to keep her at bay and rose. “Let me check.” He opened the door a crack, then wider, looking down and then out into the dark. “Where’s your master, girl? Do you want to come in?”

  Sassy put her front feet over the threshold and barked then hopped back out. Her coat was soaked through.

  Natalie came closer. “What are you doing here without Willum?” She looked out into the darkness but didn’t see him.

  Sassy barked at her and ran into the storm then returned and barked again. She went back and forth several times.

  Matthew came up beside her. “I think she wants us to follow her.”

  Mama joined them at the door. “In this weather?”

  Natalie’s insides knotted. “I think something must be wrong with Willum. We need to follow her.”

  Papa took his and Matthew’s coats off the pegs by the door and tossed Matthew his. “Let’s go hitch up the buggy.”

  Natalie grabbed her coat. “I want to go, too.”

  Papa sighed. “I don’t suppose I can stop you. Wait here, and we’ll bring the buggy around.”

  Papa and Matthew were fast, and soon the three were speeding in the storm toward the center of town.

  Natalie twisted one mittened hand in the other. “Should we go to the church or his cabin?”

  Papa wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “Sassy’s heading toward the church. He was likely working to finish the inside. We’ll try there first.”

  Matthew urged the horse faster.

  As they neared the church, they saw a fire. Then a flash of lightning lit up the scene. Half of the split oak tree had fallen into the side of the church, and the other half glowed with flames.

  When Matthew reined in the horse, Papa climbed down.

  Natalie didn’t wait for Papa to help her but jumped down behind him and ran in through the front door. A lantern glowed brightly in the middle
of the room, sending eerie shadows through the spindly tree branches and fallen timber. Willum lay face-down under the wreckage.

  She ran to where his arm lay exposed. “Willum!”

  He didn’t move or make a sound. Please, Lord, no.

  Papa knelt beside her. “Take the buggy and get Isaac. Bring him back here then fetch your mama and David if he’s come home.”

  “I don’t want to leave Willum.” She couldn’t leave him.

  Papa gripped her arms and turned her toward him. “Go. Matthew and I will start clearing the debris from him so your mama can look at him.”

  The look in Papa’s eyes said what he feared but didn’t speak. He didn’t want her to see if Willum was dead.

  Tears filled her eyes and spilled. “Papa, please save him.”

  Papa’s expression became even more despondent. “I’ll do my best. Now go, quickly.”

  She ran out into the rain and climbed aboard the buggy. Lord, save him. He was building Your house. Save him. Oh please, save him.

  Willum’s arm throbbed and his head felt like a knife was digging around in it. He turned his head. The pain increased. He forced his eyes open. The room was strange. Ceiling beams and trusses. He did not build this room. He’d never been here before. Where was he?

  He tried to focus on the rest of his body, from his searing head to his throbbing arm and aching leg. He seemed to be in a bed. Not his bunk or bedroll. A real bed.

  His arm that wasn’t in pain seemed to be paralyzed. He couldn’t move it. He tilted his head to look at it.

  Natalie lay with her head on his hand and arm, her face turned toward him.

  And he knew.

  Natalie didn’t have to have confidence in his ability to provide. He had enough confidence for both of them. He could provide, and she would come to believe it, too. He didn’t have to doubt her. He could just trust. Trust the Lord.

  He wished she didn’t look so distressed in her sleep, with her eyebrows pinched. He wanted to soothe away her troubles, and so he raised his other arm with that intent, but it was bound in a plaster cast. The movement shot pain through his arm, and he groaned.

  Natalie jerked awake and stared at him. “Willum!”

  He tried to talk but only let out a croak of sorts through his dry throat.