Yuletide Treasure

by Jillian Hart

  When they broke for dinner, she excused herself and headed for home. If she wasn’t ready on time, her grandmother would get testy. Not that it mattered exactly when they arrived at the tea. The invitation had said to come between two and four. But Arley had to prepare for the barrage of questions her grandmother was sure to ask. She thought back to the music and the treasured compliment. She’d not even said thank-you. Her manners were indeed appalling.

  “If we hurry, we can get that grandfather clock boxed and on the train today. I promised them they’d have it for Christmas.”

  Nathan nodded and pushed his chair back, picking up the dishes as he stood. “Do you want me to get the wagon?”

  “No, I think between us we can carry it.”

  “It’s a ways and slippery.”

  “We’ll put it on the sled, then you can pull me home.”

  Nathan shook his head, remembering one long-ago winter when he visited and his grandfather had pulled him on a trail through the woods.

  “Have you decided yet what you are going to tell your father?” Lawrence asked.

  Nathan sighed. “One thing I know, I do not want to go back to the plant. I want no part of his empire.” He paused and looked his grandfather. “Maybe I’ll just ignore him and he’ll go away.”

  “More’n likely he’ll be down on a train to fetch you, sure that I’m keeping you against your will.”

  Nathan snorted. “Surely he knows better than that.”

  “Fear does strange things to a man.”

  “Fear?” Nathan laid the hammer down on the crate. “My father prides himself on not being afraid of anything.”

  “He’s afraid he’s going to lose you, lose all the dreams he has tied up in you. Passing on the legacy of his business to you has always been his dream. That’s why he pushed you so hard.”

  “To fulfill his dream. He certainly had no regard for mine.”

  “That’s why it’s a shame you had no brothers.”

  “My sister would do better with the business than I. But he wouldn’t countenance a woman in the business realm, so he has two unhappy children. At least Loretta is married and, I think, happy.” Which reminded him that he’d not written to his sister much in the past few months, either. Cutting himself off from his former life had not felt like a sacrifice. But when he allowed himself to think about it, he realized his mother had made sure he at least had a taste of his dream of music. Enough to give him the skills to aid him in the healing of the past year. Strange how he now considered the accident a blessing beyond measure, while his parents had been sure his life was over.

  “We had best hurry or we’ll miss the train.” Together they laid the heavy box on the sled and, well bundled up, headed for the train station, Nathan pulling and his grandfather making sure the box didn’t fall off.

  They could hear the train whistle as they pulled the box up onto the platform via the ramp built for just such a purpose. Lawrence went into the station to pay the freight, leaving Nathan to watch the black monster with one huge eye pull into the station, steam billowing in the cold. The screech of brakes, metal on metal, the clanging bell, all sounds Nathan used to hear ten hours a day at the coal plant. He’d never cared for that sound, while to his father it was as good as counting gold.

  A man pushed open the door to a freight car and retrieved the mail sack. Nathan had heard that the town was hoping for a new post office soon, along with a switchboard for the telephones that were also predicted. When his grandfather returned, the two of them hoisted the box up through the freight-car doorway.

  “You take good care of that now,” Lawrence said to the man. He slapped the box. “Make someone mighty happy this Christmas.”

  “’Nother of your floor models?”

  “Ja, one of my best. All that piano wood has come in mighty handy.”

  The man shook his head and spat a gob of tobacco juice into the snowbank. “We never heard the last of that. Dropping a piano.” He shook his head again. “Glad you could use the wood. Been a shame to burn all that.”

  The whistle blew and Lawrence helped slide the door shut. He turned to Nathan. “Let’s stop by and get the mail. Anything we need to home?”

  “This one’s for you, young man,” the clerk said, handing Nathan an envelope.

  As soon as he saw the handwriting, he knew. The ax had fallen.

  Chapter Eleven

  Nathan

  “Aren’t you going to open it?”

  Nathan sat staring at the fire, chin propped on one hand, elbow propped on the chair arm. After long seconds he shook his head. “I know what it says. He never gives up.” Staring into the flames brought him no wisdom, no answers. Nathan heaved a sigh. “If I go back to my former life, I will lose all the peace I’ve gained here.”

  “You could build a far better wood shop there and work on your violin in your spare time. You don’t have to give up the dream.”

  “There is not enough spare time, working for the company all day, then in the evening either entertaining guests or being a guest elsewhere.”

  “Have you thought of buying a home of your own? Surely you can say no to some invitations.”

  “You’d think so, wouldn’t you?” His mind slipped into musing. Did he go along with what his father wanted out of duty or devotion, or because it was just far easier to go along than fight about it? And then the accident, and all he could think was to come here, get away from the strictures of society, the rush and the hurry. “I really don’t believe I am cut out to be the head of a corporation, the battling and scraping to make the best deals.”

  “Except in the music world?”

  “I’m not sure I’m even competitive enough for that. I think I used to be, but perhaps when my father refused to allow music school, he took that dream away. Perhaps I just gave up.” Or maybe I gave in so easily because I knew somewhere inside that I really wasn’t good enough.

  “If you don’t go back…”

  “What will I do?” Nathan gazed around the room. So unpretentious, so comfortable. So very real. “Are you kicking me out?”

  The old man chuckled. “Hardly. Having you here is like having a new life.”

  “But you seem happy with the life you have.”

  “Happy? Such a transient thing. Contented, yes. Joyful? Yes. But that comes from inside. You can choose joy and it will be like an artesian well that never runs dry. You can turn it off sometimes, but when you turn it on again, it will gush forth. The Bible promises us that. But if you grab for happiness, it will slip away, like the mist in the morning sun.”

  “So you’re saying I can have joy anywhere if I so choose?”

  His grandfather nodded.

  “But isn’t it easier to find in some places than others?”

  “Remember, you are choosing, not finding.”

  Nathan glanced over at the letter lying on the table in a pool of lamplight.

  “‘If the Son shall set you free, you will be free indeed,’” Lawrence quoted.

  “And that is part of joy?”

  “That is the well.”

  Nathan pushed himself to his feet and fetched his violin case. “Do you mind if I play? I always think better when I do.”

  “You play and I’ll carve. I hope Arley had an enjoyable afternoon with Louise.”

  Nathan began rosining his bow. “I know there are stories behind the stories regarding Mrs. Dexter. If at any time you feel inclined to share them with me, I’ll be glad to listen.”

  “Play something lively.”

  It was a good thing her grandmother did not like to overstay her welcome. Arley felt as if her face might crack from all the smiling she’d done. They said their goodbyes, wished everyone a merry Christmas, God Jule to those who still spoke Norwegian, and walked out to the sleigh, where Mr. Hanson waited. At their arrival, he took the blankets off the team, and after helping the women get seated, he tucked the wool robes around Arley and her grandmother.

  “You didn’t stay long.” />
  “Long enough.” Louise settled against the cushioned back. “Our leaving gives them plenty of time to gossip about us.”

  “Grandmother.” Arley hid her laughter behind her fur muff.

  “I put my donation in an envelope. Mrs. Queen Bee did all but ask me outright what I gave. Now how rude is that?”

  “Surely—”

  “Surely nothing. That is the only reason she invites me year after year. Polite drivel. And the entertainment? If I couldn’t play and sing any better than that, I would certainly not perform.”

  “She made the girls perform—it wasn’t their choice.” Arley thought of the two young girls, remembering her years of mortification when forced to play the piano before she was accomplished enough. The times she’d been commanded to recite. Sheer agony. But now she could play and help guests have a good time, and if called upon, speak in front of a group. She had her grandmother to thank for that.

  “Remember all those times you forced me to play or recite or serve tea?”

  “Yes, but you were far more accomplished than those two.”

  “But I was terrified.”

  “You never showed it. I was proud of your backbone.”

  Shock at the compliment made Arley turn to stare at her grandmother. “Thank you. You never told me that.”

  “Of course not. You might have become conceited, and there is nothing more crass than conceit.”

  “I see.” Arley reached over and patted her grandmother’s gloved hands. “You have to admit her house was lovely and the food was good.”

  “That’s true and I told her so.”

  “I’m sure.” Arley hoped the tone her grandmother had was genuine and not condescending. Sometimes she wasn’t sure if she realized how her so-very-proper words could sound.

  “I do hope you are about finished with whatever it is you and the others have been working so hard on.”

  Arley swallowed. “Ah, you haven’t peeked, have you?”

  “Peeked? At what?” Attack was sometimes the best way to cover one’s guilt.

  “Please,” she said, “if you have discovered anything, act surprised when the time comes.”

  “That’s all you are going to tell me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are all the plans in place for the party at the orphanage?”

  “As far as I know. I talked with Mrs. Teigen yesterday to see if anything had come up.”

  “Mrs. Hanson has been baking up a frenzy. You’d think we were providing all the refreshments.”

  Arley knew she’d made life harder for Cook by not being there to help as she had in the past. But Henny and Mrs. Iverson were assisting, and Mr. Hanson frequently could be found in the kitchen with a towel around his middle and flour on his face.

  “Well, two more days and the party will be behind us.” Arley gathered her courage since her grandmother seemed in such an agreeable mood. “I’ve been thinking that we could make life better for some of those children if we brought them to our house for a visit, perhaps one or two at a time. You know, let them have a real bath, perhaps a new dress, and maybe we could start a sewing circle or something.”

  “Absolutely not!”

  The sleigh stopped with a jangle of bells at the front door.

  “Thank you, Mr. Hanson,” Louise said. “That was a delightful ride.” Louise pushed back the robe and stood to get out. Arley leaped out and turned to give her grandmother a hand, then assisted her as they walked up the snow-free but icy walk and steps. Why was she so adamant about not bringing the children to the house? Especially in light of all her sermons on helping others.

  “Thank you, my dear,” Louise said when they were in the house. “But I have no intentions of falling, and am not so decrepit that you need to hover.”

  Mrs. Iverson greeted them. “Welcome home. I hope you had a lovely time.” She helped Louise out of her coat and hat. “I have tea ready if you would like something to warm you. There’s a fire in the library.”

  “Thank you. Will you join me, Arley?”

  What could she say? Resentment hovered. Visions of the towels she was embroidering for the dollhouse tugged at her mind. The thought of the dollhouse brought Nathan to mind, not that he was ever far from it lately. How she yearned to tell her grandmother about the violin music, but if she started, the full story would be out before she knew what hit her.

  I might have another surprise for you for Christmas. Could she say that and leave it there? And what if the Gunderson men couldn’t come? She’d better extend the invitation first.

  “You are mulling over something,” Louise said.

  “I know, but you can’t ask.” She poured the tea when Mrs. Iverson brought it in and sat staring into the fire as the two women discussed the afternoon affair. Did her grandmother seem less critical than usual, or was she mistaken?

  Nathan stared into the fire after his grandfather climbed the narrow stairs to his bed. Arley. Arlayna. What an unusual name. He still couldn’t remember the whole string of names she’d been blessed with, but given time, he was sure he’d learn them. Given time, that was the problem. Time was running out and he’d just begun to realize what a treasure he had found in her, in spite of the fact that she managed to irritate him rather regularly. But when he thought about it, her responses were refreshing. He closed his eyes to see her the better as she’d absorbed the music. She’d not just listened but seemed to take it in through every pore, floating with it, letting the power of it lift and take her away. What kind of man was Handel to write such music?

  Dedicated, that was certain. Dedication was an apt word for Miss Dexter, too. And the joy she was having in creating this dollhouse for the children who had nothing! How she managed to get so many people involved, all to surprise her grandmother, who sounded like a bit of a tyrant. Arley and he were just beginning to really talk and now he would have to leave.

  He glared at the letter, still unopened. So much more pleasant to think of Arley. Arley, her face framed by the blue felt bonnet. Arley with Eugenia in her lap. Swaying to the music. Arley holding a kitten, such longing on her face. Surely she could have a kitten of her own. Why was that so much to ask?

  He blew out a breath, pushed himself to his feet and picked up the letter. His father’s handwriting was bold and forceful as always. When he had come to check on his son mid-recuperation, he’d not spent the night, had arrived instead on the morning train and left again on the afternoon. When he and his mother came the first time, Nathan knew she’d been shocked at the size of the cottage, most likely considering this squalor compared to their house in the city or even their house at the lake. The house near Fargo had been much bigger than this.

  He picked up a knife and slit the envelope. The urge to toss the whole thing in the fire and forget it had arrived made his hands shake. Instead, he slipped the single sheet of paper out and unfolded it.

  Dear Nathan,

  You asked me to give you a year and I have complied with your request. It is time that you return to St. Paul and assume your rightful place in the Twin Cities Coal Company. I am grateful that you have fully recovered from your injuries and will always thank my father for being such a large part of that. I will repay him somehow.

  Your mother has things well in hand for Christmas and it will be good to have the entire family together for a change. Your sisters have been inquiring after you. It is a shame you have not taken the time to write to them, or us, regularly.

  Nathan flinched at the rebuke. What could he say but that it was true? He’d not written often. For a time his hands had shaken so severely from the burn damage that his writing was nearly indecipherable, but thanks to the wood-carving, the tremors had passed.

  I look forward to welcoming you home.

  Sincerely,

  John A. Gunderson.

  I want to be here for Christmas, Nathan thought. I want to be here for the new year and for the days and months after that. I want to pursue a friendship with Arley. I want to finish this vio
lin and start the next one. I want to find the joy my grandfather talks about.

  He folded the paper and slid it back in the envelope. Now to figure out how to do it all.

  Chapter Twelve

  Arley

  Those hypocritical old biddies, Arley thought as she threw back the covers. She tried to have a cheerful face by the time she got down to the kitchen, but when she heard Mrs. Hanson whisper, “Uh-oh, Miss Arley is on a rampage,” she knew she’d failed somehow.

  “If anyone asks for me today, I’ll be home when I get done.” Already clothed for the frigid out-of-doors, she picked up the basket containing the last of her articles for the dollhouse, along with those the others had finished, and stomped out the door.

  Stomping went a long way toward keeping one warm. There was no music flowing from the woodworker’s cottage, so she pushed open the door and entered. “Anyone home?”

  “Back here.” Mr. Gunderson’s cheery welcome helped somewhat, but music might indeed have soothed the savage beast, had Nathan been playing.

  Nathan stood at the workbench, working with his violin and glue and clamps. He glanced over his shoulder and nodded to her.

  Uh-oh. The grump was back. Well, grump meet grump. She’d already been through her list of shoulds on the way over. She should be cheerful. She should be grateful. She should be accepting of others. She should not be judgmental. She should have and share the spirit of Christmas. This morning she had wanted to throw the shoulds in the creek.

  “Good morning.” Lawrence stepped back from the dollhouse. “What do you think?”

  Arley’s jaw dropped. “Oh, it is gorgeous.” She walked around the table, staring at the house in total delight. All painted now, gray with navy-and-white trim, the door a deep burgundy. The house even had a tiny Welcome sign by the front door. The swing hung on the porch. All the furniture and furnishings they’d finished were in place.