Mountain Christmas Brides

by Mildred Colvin

  The rotund man stood. Still dressed in uniform, he hesitated. Someone—Natalie’s friend Eleanor, perhaps?—clapped, encouraging him forward. Red flooded his face more than when he stood over a hot stove. He sucked in a deep breath and nodded at Natalie. In a pleasant baritone, he began singing. “Stille Nacht! Heil’ge Nacht!”

  A hush descended. Fabrizio closed his eyes and repeated the words in Italian, envisioning the holy family in the stable that first Christmas night. Thank You, God, for sending Cristo il Salvatore to us.

  When Braum finished, the group sang the same carol in English. Natalie made another suggestion. “Next, let’s sing ‘Angels We Have Heard on High.’ I’ve heard some lovely harmony from the group. Mrs. Rushton—”

  Fabrizio had not anticipated the older woman’s presence at the caroling. He looked around the gathering and saw her seated near the heater vent. She looked startled.

  “I heard your lovely alto voice. Please come sing with me.”

  Pink colored Mrs. Rushton’s high cheekbones as she made her way to the piano. Natalie twisted on the bench and sought Fabrizio in the crowd. “Mr. Ricci? Mr. O’Riley? We would welcome four-part harmony.”

  Patrick jumped to his feet. The Irishman loved to put on a show. Fabrizio took more time. When he stood, Natalie’s eyes sparkled as if the very stars of heaven shone in them. She arranged the quartet so that Fabrizio stood next to her. He felt her nearness, the warmth of her shoulder. It confused him so that he missed the introduction and joined on the second note. Once he started, he lost his selfconsciousness in the music, imagining the wonder of the angel choir on that first Christmas night. “Gloria in excelsis Deo.” Glory to God in the highest. His voice deepened and slid down to low bass notes, while Natalie’s soared into the highest.

  A worshipful silence greeted the end of the song. Then Natalie thanked the quartet and invited them to sit down. Eyes shining as bright as a silver coin, she swiveled on the bench. “The singing has been wonderful. Let’s end our party by sharing Christmas memories.”

  Fabrizio tensed. Would she talk of the elaborate gifts she must have received? Of fancy holiday parties her family had hosted?

  “My birthday is on Christmas Eve.” Natalie glanced at the floor, as if embarrassed to share a personal detail. “My grandfather tells me that I am blessed to share my birthday with the Savior of the world. Somehow I’ve always known that my cake and candles were also for that other Christmas baby, Jesus. On my twelfth birthday, I realized that God had given me the best present I could ever hope for: His Son. So Christmas is my birthday twice over: I was born the first time; then I was born again as God’s child.” Joy that only came from the Holy Spirit shone in her eyes. “Would anyone else like to share?”

  Fabrizio’s heart danced. Natalie believed in his Lord. They both belonged to the family that truly mattered, with God as their Father and Jesus as their brother. A few others mentioned special memories. Braum described the German Christmas tree tradition.

  Food filled Fabrizio’s memories of Christmas. Rather than the turkey and ham that Americans enjoyed, they ate baccala, salted codfish. His mother competed with his grandmother over homemade pasta and melt-in-your mouth molasses cookies. But those memories, though pleasant, would not lift up the Savior whose birthday they celebrated.

  “That’s so interesting, Mr. Braum. Thank you for sharing. I love learning about Christmas traditions in other countries.” Natalie scanned the rows of carolers. Her gaze drew Fabrizio to his feet like a puppet on a string.

  “My family, we came to Denver from a small village outside of Potenza, in Italia. Three weeks before Christmas, we bring a presepio into our home. The presepio is a manger such as the one the baby Jesus slept in. Every time we help someone, we add hay to the presepio. We want it to be as soft as possible for the Christ child.” He ran out of words and sat down.

  “What a wonderful tradition! Let’s practice the same thoughtfulness ourselves. Instead of complaining about the snow, we can think of what we can do for others.” Natalie beamed as if Fabrizio had given her the perfect conclusion to the evening. “I hope all of you will join us upstairs in the Ladies’ Ordinary for more games tomorrow afternoon. We have something planned for your children in the morning. Feel free to come and go as your duties allow.”

  From the look Natalie sent in his direction, Fabrizio suspected she would require his assistance again. Somehow, after the memories they had shared, it no longer seemed like such an impossible idea. What would the alluring signorina decide to do next?

  Chapter 5

  Fabrizio had predicted Natalie’s intentions correctly. Patrick contacted him early in the morning. “Miss Daire would like to see you in the music room. After breakfast, to be sure. She was mentioning that baby Jesus crib you described last night.”

  Fabrizio forced himself to sit down for a cup of coffee and a cinnamon roll first. Music bubbled inside him, echoes of last night’s carols, Natalie’s lovely soprano soaring above them all. What plans had she made for the day? A scant fifteen minutes later, he joined her.

  “Fabrizio! I’m so glad to see you. The boys will be here any second.”

  Wood sat in a neat pile in the center of the room, as well as a bale of hay in one corner. A variety of tools were spread across a table.

  She explained. “I had planned for the children to draw some Christmas decorations. But the crib you described would be so much more fun for the boys.” She hesitated. “You do know how to make the crib, don’t you? I figured with your talent for fixing cars …”

  Fabrizio nodded his head. He had learned how to build a crib at his grandfather’s side.

  “That’s good. Do we have everything we need?”

  “There is plenty, signorina.”

  “Oh, good. Patrick gathered wood for us. After the boys finish the—what did you call it? presepio?—we can get everyone involved in filling it with hay. I love the idea of preparing for the baby Jesus.” She paused. “I hope you will join the adult party later this afternoon. Patrick said he was certain several of the morning staff would join us. Please say you will.”

  “I do not know, signorina.” The Denver Post might attempt to deliver coal to St. Clara’s today. If they did, he intended to go with the wagons. He looked into her eyes, bright in their eagerness, and lost all reservations. If he was still in the hotel, he would come.

  Natalie hung the homemade Christmas cards around the Ladies’ Ordinary. They added a homey, festive atmosphere. She almost wished the room used candlelight, instead of the electric fixtures, bell-like lamps hanging from a chandelier. Who would come today? Her maid had promised to attend with some friends. Perhaps games could break down the awkwardness between staff and guests. Denver’s big snow could become a magical memory for those staying at the Brown.

  Why did that thought bring the tall, dark Italian to her mind? But would the one person she most wanted to see join them? Her mind darted to his deep voice booming in celebration of the coming of the Christ child. To the memories he shared. To his patience with the boys while they built the crib. He was good with children. He would make a good father someday. The thought shocked her. She had no business thinking about such things.

  At the appointed hour, the room quickly filled. Most of yesterday’s guests returned, even Mrs. Rushton. The gentlemen must have convinced more of their friends to join them. Her maid came with a handful of friends. They sat at one end of the circle, as far as possible from the guests. Nearly every seat was filled when at last Fabrizio made his entrance. He nodded at her, and her heart soared.

  Natalie looked at the seating arrangement—guests to the right, staff to the left—and knew she had to do something to encourage the people to mingle. She already had decided on the game.

  “I will be ‘it.’ I will ask one of you, ‘Do you love your neighbor?’ If you say ‘no,’ you must change places with one of the people on either side of you. I will try to take your seat.” Natalie smiled as she said this. “And I warn you that
I am fast. Or …” She shook her finger around the circle. “You can say, ‘I love all my neighbors except for everyone wearing blue, or with brown hair,’ or whatever you like. Then everybody who is wearing blue has to change seats. If you say, ‘I love everyone,’ all of you have to change seats.”

  The people nodded in recognition of this variation on a familiar game.

  The men removed the few extra chairs while Natalie debated who to approach first. Eleanor, who else? Her friend would jump into the spirit of the game. She stood in front of her friend and asked, “Do you love your neighbor?”

  Eleanor glanced around the circle. Mischief danced in her blue eyes. “I love everyone except people who are younger than ten years old.” Giggles erupted from the children. They jumped to their feet, shrieked, and ran in every direction. Natalie slipped into the chair Eleanor vacated. The game picked up pace. The children delighted in saying, “I love everyone,” and making the whole group run around. Natalie passed Fabrizio a few times. He kept quiet, reserving his brilliant smiles for the youngest children, who loved to tease him.

  Natalie called a halt to the game before the older guests could tire. “Let’s enjoy some of the marvelous refreshments before we start our next game.”

  Servers had arranged platters of the Brown’s famous macaroons and carafes of beverages. Natalie stood guard to discourage children from grabbing more than a couple of the meringue-light coconut cookies at a time. She poured a cup of tea for herself and turned face-to-face with Fabrizio. His hand hovered over the sweets as if he didn’t dare to take one.

  She handed two of them to him on a napkin. “Please eat these. I don’t want the children eating too much sugar.”

  “The bambini, yes.” He smiled at a pair of young girls giggling in the corner. “The girls, they remind me of my sisters.” He looked sad.

  “Do you come from a large family?” Some families among the Italian community burgeoned with as many as ten children. She could not imagine it herself.

  “One older brother and four younger sisters. I worry about them in the storm.” He bit into a macaroon then looked guilty, as if regretting his pleasure when his family suffered elsewhere.

  “God will watch out for them. As He looked over the Christ child in the presepio.” She smiled. “I checked the crib after lunch. People have already added a thin layer of hay. Thank you for sharing your tradition with us.”

  “I am glad to learn we both believe in the Christ child.” Fabrizio’s dark eyes lifted long enough to gaze into hers. Then he took another bite of macaroon.

  Natalie sensed that he wanted to convey more than their common faith. “We all kneel before the same manger, whether we are shepherds or wise men from far away. He is the King of us all.”

  “Sì. Yes, He is the Lord of lords, and He even made the snow.” He gestured to the window where they could see white swirls in the air.

  “Maybe He sent the snow so that we could become friends?” Or more than friends? Why did that thought even cross her mind?

  Thanks to the storm, they shared a magical experience outside the normal social boundaries. But as soon as Denver dug out from the big snow, they would return to their normal roles. The thought sent a shadow across her heart, dimming her joy.

  “Sì. Maybe He did,” Fabrizio whispered.

  The shadow fled in the light of his smile. For a brief moment they stood in a silent circle of delight, oblivious to everything around them. Then Eleanor’s voice interrupted them.

  “The macaroons are almost gone. Perhaps we should start again?”

  Fabrizio nodded at the two women and walked back to his seat. Natalie clapped her hands to gain everyone’s attention. The guests rejoined the circle, and Natalie explained the next game, You’re Never Fully Dressed without a Smile.

  Natalie took the first turn as “it.” She made comical faces while everyone else tried to keep their faces solemn. As she expected, Eleanor was the first to smile in return. “Now you’re ‘it.’”

  Eleanor coaxed grins and outright laughter from a number of guests. One “it” after another told jokes and made faces. Laughter echoed throughout the room. Fabrizio won by keeping a straight face the longest. This time his silence did not bother Natalie. He had joined in the fun of the marvelous afternoon.

  “I saved a couple of macaroons for the winner—Fabrizio Ricci!” He bowed over her extended hand and for a moment she wondered if he would kiss it. She hoped he would. Instead he straightened and said a simple “grazie.” He left when the party ended a few minutes later.

  She couldn’t wait until tomorrow. Surely Fabrizio would return.

  Fabrizio rose before dawn. This morning, the Denver Post would deliver coal to St. Clara’s orphanage. He had determined to accompany the coal wagon in an effort to reach his family. He slipped a couple of rolls from the previous evening’s dinner into his coat pocket, wrapped his scarf around his neck, and strapped on his skis. He arrived at the Post building as the wagons pulled out. Stalwart horses lowered their heads and began their slow progress through downtown and across the river.

  Fabrizio ate one roll in slow mouthfuls. In addition to the rolls, he carried the macaroons he had won during yesterday’s festivities. The smiles that he had suppressed during the game escaped. Natalie made playing games as much fun for the adults as for the children, for the staff as for the guests.

  In fact, Fabrizio almost had not gone with the coal wagons today. For the first time in his life, he longed to remain in the company of a young woman rather than take care of his sisters. He wished that he could remain at the Brown until the snow melted and the magical interlude ended. But in the end he did his duty. Snow still blanketed the sky, whether from fresh powder or the wind whipping the accumulation into a frozen batter. Even with the wagons traveling in front of him, he could barely ski over the ground. In a few more blocks, he would need to leave the safety of the horses’ trail for home.

  The wagons’ slow progress stalled as they approached West Twenty-Sixth Street. Away from the center of town, the snow drifted deeper, and the horses could no longer move.

  Fabrizio ate his second roll while the wagon drivers talked together. What could they do? He sent up a prayer that God would make a way. Noise pierced the air, a sound foreign on the snowy day—the trumpet of elephants. Could it be? Barnum and Bailey’s circus spent the winters in Denver.

  The mammoth animals rounded the corner, towering over the snow, complaining with loud voices about their forced departure from their warm barns. Wrapping their trunks around the rear axles, they lifted the wagons off the ground and began to push. Terrified that they would be run over by their own wagons, the horses reared and plunged into the snow. Once again they moved forward. Fabrizio wondered if anyone would believe the story.

  With the snow now packed by horses’ hooves, wagon wheels, and elephant feet, Fabrizio skied effortlessly over the ground. Two blocks later, he came to the intersection where he had to turn to his parents’ home. The wagons continued in the direction of the orphanage, the elephants’ trumpets announcing their progress.

  How could he reach his home? Snow drifted as high as his shoulders in some places. He searched the walls for a break, where he could clamber to the top, but found none. If he could remove the skis, perhaps he could climb a tree and search the horizon. But if he removed the skis, he could not traverse the ground. He found a spot low enough to look across the blanketed city. Although his family’s home lay only half a mile away, he could not see it. Even the smoke from the hearth fires blended into the white sky. He could not possibly make his way through the snow.

  Behind him snow lined the trampled-down path. He shivered, tightened the scarf around his neck and under his arms, and headed back to the light and warmth of the Brown Palace.

  To the place where Natalie waited.

  Chapter 6

  Disappointment nettled Natalie when she failed to catch a glimpse of Fabrizio during the morning. He’s probably working somewhere else, she told h
erself. The hotel needs his services. When he didn’t appear at the afternoon gathering, disappointment deepened into a disturbing sense of loss. After tea, Natalie approached Patrick. “Is Mr. Ricci working elsewhere today?” She hoped she did not sound overly eager.

  The Irishman shook his head. “No, miss. He followed the coal wagons headed to the orphanage, trying to reach his family. He’s been mightily worried about them.”

  “He went out? In the storm?” Natalie remembered Fabrizio’s mention of younger sisters, and for the first time she considered his family, snowbound without his strong back. “Then I shall say a prayer for his safety.” The evening hours dragged by. When had Fabrizio’s presence come to mean so much to her? She examined the shelves of books thoughtfully provided in her room, only to discover that most of the titles were in other languages. She recognized several of the romance languages—French, Spanish, Italian—and others that appeared to be in Swedish. At last she found a book in English, American short stories and essays, and whiled away an hour reading an excerpt from The Autocrat of the Breakfast-Table.

  When Sunday morning dawned, Natalie checked outside. The storm had slowed; only a few flakes drifted lazily through the air. She said another prayer for Fabrizio and slipped into her green gown, freshly laundered by the hotel staff.

  One of the guests, a visiting minister, had offered to lead a worship service in the Grand Salon. It should be a lovely spot, if any sunlight could come through the stained-glass windows. She ate breakfast in her room before descending to the second floor.

  To her surprise, she saw a dark head and broad shoulders seated toward the back of the room. Fabrizio. She felt her cheeks flush, and she held her Bible close to her chest like a shield. He caught sight of her and moved over a seat. She took that as an invitation and joined him on the hard-backed chairs.

  The congregants sang a few hymns. Fabrizio’s bass voice vibrated through the book that they shared and up her arm. She thanked God for his safe return. What had happened to his trip home? Surely the Brown had not required him to return to work the following day. She forced herself to concentrate on the sermon.