Biltmore Christmas

by Diane T. Ashley

  Selma looked up at him. “Yes, it is.”

  Jacob turned to the salesclerk. “We would like to purchase this, please.”

  “Oh my.” Selma almost dropped her packages. “Please put it back.”

  “Selma, this locket is made for you. Let me buy it as a Christmas gift.”

  “Oh dear me. No, sir. That wouldn’t be proper. You shouldn’t even think such a thing.”

  “You’ve been very kind to me, Selma. I imagine I wouldn’t be the first guest at Biltmore to show appreciation.”

  Selma felt her face fall. The words crushed her. She felt belittled and cheapened, like a tavern waitress. “I’m paid for my job, sir. I don’t need gratuity.”

  Jacob looked surprised. “Why Selma, I didn’t mean that at all.”

  “It sounded like it to me. But surely you know I couldn’t take a gift like that under any circumstance. Now if you will excuse me, I will continue my shopping. Alone.”

  She heard Jacob apologizing behind her as she walked off, head high, shoulders rigid. She quickly paid for her last selection and determinedly left the store. As she passed the bakery she grimaced, as her taste for pastry had dissolved with her respect for Jacob. She couldn’t get away fast enough.

  Jacob held his mare to a trot as he returned to Biltmore. His heart was heavy as he explored his actions. He realized what he had done to offend Selma and regretted it deeply.

  As he thought of potential ways to mend the situation, he allowed the horse to ease down the short bank by the gray stone bridge to drink from the river. He patted her neck as she noisily drank the water. The simplicity of the animal’s needs softened his heart.

  If only ours were not so complicated.

  He thought of Betsy and women like her who seemed so shallow. Not in his lifetime had he met anyone like Selma. Even his mother, whom he genuinely admired, loved her aristocratic life.

  The mare’s head jerked up at the screech of a crow flying low over the river. Jacob patted her as he gently pulled the reins to the side and nudged her back to the road.

  Jacob was in no hurry as he took in the scenery. Rounding a curve he stopped the horse to look at the large home ahead. What would entice a man to build such a mansion?

  In George’s case he knew the reason. His host had become enthralled with the castles he visited in Europe. Paintings of similar estates hung in various rooms throughout the house. Too, George was fond of his friends, and being hospitable, he wanted plenty of rooms for guests. Jacob knew he added amenities for their pleasure, as well as for his own. He was sure George would marry and raise a family. He seemed serious about an American lady he was courting in Paris.

  The house with its turrets and towers appeared larger as he rode on. Jacob thought of his home in New York. It was spacious and certainly beautifully furnished, as was his home in Newport. But they didn’t seem to matter anymore. Because they wouldn’t matter to Selma.

  Selma was glad Mrs. King remained quiet on the way back to Biltmore. The ride seemed as bumpy as her heart felt as it fluttered with each thought of Jacob’s insulting words. For once she didn’t notice the rolling landscape, which attracted so many cardinals and squirrels this time of year. She closed her eyes to hold back the hot tears trying to escape, knowing the cold wind would send them running across her cheeks. The thought of Mrs. King seeing her cry was unbearable. What would she tell her?

  As soon as the carriage arrived in the stable courtyard, Selma lowered her head as she thanked Mrs. King for the ride. Then she scurried to the entrance of the house, trying to disappear before the housekeeper entered.

  She held her packages close as she ran upstairs to her room on the fourth floor. Setting the presents on the dresser, Selma threw herself on the bed and cried until supper.

  When she awoke she wanted to wash her face. She found the pitcher on the dresser empty. She took it and softly opened her door as she headed for the bathroom at the end of the hall. She hoped she wouldn’t see anyone.

  Too late. Rosie was approaching her door. “Selma, what’s wrong? You’ve been crying.”

  “Really, I’m fine.”

  “No you’re not. What’s the matter?” Rosie pushed Selma back through the door, which she shut once they were in the room. She took the pitcher from her hands and set it back on the dresser. “Tell me.”

  Selma perched on the edge of her bed and watched Rosie as she joined her. “Actually, I probably would feel better if I talked about it. You told me I needed to confide in a friend.”

  “I am that friend. Now talk.”

  “Rosie, you’ve guessed how I feel about Mr. Sinclair. I get these tingles in my stomach when he’s around. He’s been so nice to me.” She paused and looked down, her fingers fiddling with her skirt. Finally she looked Rosie square in the face. “I was foolish enough at times to think he felt the same. Oh friend, I was wrong. He doesn’t think of me that way at all.” A sob burst forth with the last word.

  “I think you are wrong, Selma. It appears to me he does feel that way. I have seen how he looks at you. His eyes absolutely shine.”

  Selma shook her head the whole time Rosie spoke. “You don’t know. He made it clear today.”

  “How?”

  “He offered to buy me a locket.”

  “Oh Selma, how nice.”

  “No, it was not. I ran into him at the mercantile while shopping. I saw this beautiful necklace.” Selma felt her eyebrows rise as her eyes widened. “It was so expensive, Rosie!” “And?”

  “He told me in so many words it was for my services rendered as an employee here.”

  “No! He couldn’t have. What did you tell him?”

  “I said I make a salary. That I don’t need his tip.”

  “I can’t believe he treated you like that. You can’t be blamed for being upset. Even if your feelings weren’t involved, that was an insult.”

  Selma wiped fresh tears away. “I can’t believe I allowed myself to think of him as I did. I truly hope our paths never cross again.”

  “Oh Selma, I’m sorry, but as Christmas is several days away still, you’re sure to see him.”

  “Then I will treat him like any other guest.”

  “Good.” She rose and grabbed the pitcher. “Now let me fetch your water so you can wash your face, and we’ll go to supper together.”

  “Thanks, Rosie. For everything.”

  When Sunday arrived, Jacob longed to attend services at the village church. Robert was holding his horse steady when he arrived in the courtyard. Jacob thanked him as he placed his foot in the stirrup and heaved himself up. A quick turnaround to point the horse toward Approach Road, and he was on his way.

  Jacob inhaled the cold, brisk air before breathing out, watching the white vapor blow away as the horse galloped toward the village. He was later than he intended, so he urged the horse to go faster by gently nudging the mare’s sides. He used one hand to pull his hat down tighter.

  When he arrived the church was full, and he was lucky to find a seat in the back. He saw Selma sitting toward thefront. Jacob had been on the lookout for her so he could apologize for his cruel words. How fitting that he would see her at church, where forgiveness was often preached.

  He watched her as they sang “What a Friend We Have in Jesus,” occasionally viewing her beautiful profile. His heart felt heavy at the thought of her possibly not forgiving him.

  At the end of the service, Jacob hurried out of the church and stood near Rev. Martin Thomas, who was shaking hands with members of his congregation.

  When Selma came out, she was talking to Rosie. As she turned to take the pastor’s hand, she saw Jacob. He heard her short intake of breath, but she returned her eyes to the pastor, smiled sweetly, and thanked him for a moving sermon.

  He caught her arm as she passed. “Selma, a word, please.” When she hesitated he tightened his hold. “Please.”

  Selma looked to Rosie. “I will be only a moment. Please ask Mrs. King to wait for me.” She turned back to Jacob.
“Only a second. I can’t keep the carriage waiting.”

  The dirt path that led to the side of the church was deserted. Jacob coaxed her in that direction, arriving at an old wooden bench, long settled under a bare oak. “Please sit down, Selma.”

  “I really don’t have time. Please say what you need to quickly.”

  “I want to apologize for what I said at the mercantile. I didn’t mean it the way it obviously came out. I was just looking for a reason for you to accept the locket. I know you are proud, and nothing else came to mind. The truth is, Selma, I really wanted you to have it because I like you so much.” He saw tears gather in her eyes, making them greener. He wanted to sink into their lovely depths.

  Her words were soft, her voice shaky. “I accept your apology, Mr. Sinclair. I do. But you realize, of course, it would have been impossible for me to accept the locket under any circumstances. I must go now. I can’t keep Mrs. King waiting.”

  As he lifted his hand to her cheek, she moved away. He had wanted just one brief touch, but she was gone. He watched her walk to her carriage, her proud shoulders high, and he despaired.

  What has gotten into you, Jacob Sinclair?

  Chapter 7

  Perspiration beaded on Selma’s forehead as she knelt on her hands and knees to push the red embers back into the fireplace before they caught the house on fire. She had gone to a guest bedroom to throw a log on the fire, causing the complete collapse of the crumbling wood under it. After ensuring the danger was gone, she clumsily sat on the floor to clean up the ashes and dust encircling her. Using her sleeve, she wiped the sweat mixed with tears from her face. She cringed when she heard the door open.

  Mr. McAdams walked in. At first he laughed at the sight of Selma sprawled on the dirty floor. Then she supposed he saw the tears, because his face changed immediately. He walked toward her, his eyes tender, as he helped her up. “Selma, what happened?”

  She allowed him to ease her to a standing position, tears still streaming. “I am so sorry. I laid another log on the fire, and it all fell out. I pushed the burning embers back in, but I was so afraid I would burn the house down. I know I am going to lose my position.” She looked to him for comfort.

  “You will not lose your job, my dear. No one has to know. Let me help you clean this mess, and you can be on your way. Do we have any rags to dampen? If you will sweep, I’ll follow with a wet cloth.”

  “Oh sir, that wouldn’t be proper. I couldn’t allow it.”

  “Fiddlesticks. I helped my father on a farm as a boy. I can do anything.”

  Selma searched his face. “Really?”

  He smiled. “Really. You must have a picture in your head of wealthy folk being served from their birth. Not true. Take Jacob Sinclair, for example. His family is in shipping. I’ve seen him and his father roll up their sleeves and help load the boats. Actually, his father began by laboring at the docks and worked his way up.”

  Selma felt heat rising to her face and lowered her eyes. “I didn’t realize. It’s just that I haven’t gotten the impression—”

  Shock gripped her as she felt his finger under her chin lifting her face.

  “I’m sorry, Selma. I meant no harm. Surely I didn’t want to embarrass you. I see you, too, have feelings for Jacob.”

  She steadied herself. “What do you mean when you say, ‘You, too’?”

  “I probably spoke out of turn. It’s just that Jacob cares for you, and I think you must have affection for him. Enough on that thought. I didn’t mean to bring it up. I can certainly see why he feels that way.”

  Now her face was burning. “Please, let’s clean this mess. I have so much to do today. Miss McAllister wants all the greenery changed on the mantels. The other is wilting, and it’s only a few days before Christmas. I need to hurry.”

  “Of course. I’ll fetch a wet cloth.”

  Selma watched him enter the bathroom. Thank You, Lord, for sending this nice man my way. And, Lord, have Imisjudged Mr. Sinclair and his intentions?

  Jacob looked up when his friend William entered the library. He was thankful no one else was around so he could speak openly. He motioned him over and put his newspaper on the side table. “Hello, William. I’m glad to see you. I didn’t get to talk to you at breakfast.”

  “Yes, I’m sorry. I was cornered by our host.” He smiled as he leaned toward Jacob and spoke quietly. “He is in love, you know.”

  “So I gathered. He’s beginning to speak of her often.”

  “Um-hmm.” He sat in the chair next to Jacob. “Speaking of love, I just had an encounter with your beautiful Selma.”

  “Really? How so?”

  “She was sitting in the middle of the floor among ashes and dust when I entered my room. A log fell and knocked burning embers and ashes out of the grate. She was fearful I would tell, and she would lose her position.”

  Jacob laughed. “She was fearful of that the day I met her. She is something, is she not?”

  “Yes, she is that. She blushed when I spoke your name.”

  “Why did you mention me?”

  “She acted as if I was not supposed to help her. It’s as if she thinks we do not ever work. I explained that we enjoy what we do and told her about you and your father laboring hard at times. She blushed. I told her you have feelings for her and that I gathered she returns the affection. She turned a bright scarlet then.” William laughed.

  Jacob didn’t. “You probably scared her to death. She isalways talking about being proper.”

  “Tell me, Jacob, what are you going to do?”

  “I haven’t figured it out yet. I would love to talk to her at length. I had a short conversation with her after church Sunday, but she was in a hurry to catch her carriage.”

  “I happen to know she will be helping to change the greenery on the mantels today. Why don’t we retire to the living hall, in case she comes in?”

  Jacob picked up his newspaper. “I feel like a young man talking to a girl for the first time. I don’t even know how to act around her. It’s not like I haven’t escorted lovely women to various events for years. It’s just that she’s so different.”

  “Well, you are not getting any younger, Jacob. I say we take advantage of this opportunity.” William laughed as he stood.

  Jacob rose from the chair. “I’d remind you, friend, you are but a year behind me. And so far, very behind in the race. At least I have feelings.” He slapped William on the back as they left the room.

  Selma watched as the pinecone loosened from the wilting swag she was removing from the mantel. Her fingers shook as she listened to familiar voices nearing the living hall. She continued to gaze at the cone as it rolled from the mantel, hit the floor, and bounced over to the tip of a finely shined shoe.

  Slowly she brought her gaze to the owner and faced an amused Mr. McAdams. “Oh my. I am so sorry.” Selma spoke to Mr. McAdams, but Mr. Sinclair standing next to himheld her attention. She only hoped neither gentleman heard the sound of her heart beating.

  Mr. McAdams was the first to speak as he stooped to pick up the pinecone and hand it to her. “Whatever for? This is not the first pinecone to fall from its branches.”

  Selma noticed that Mr. Sinclair remained quiet, only a slight smile on his handsome face. She brought her attention back to Mr. McAdams as she tried to restore sensibility to the situation. After all, she did not want to give the impression she was always distraught. “You are quite right, Mr. McAdams. I appreciate your retrieving the cone for me.”

  Selma returned to her work. She sensed their presence, however, as they walked farther into the living hall and took seats on a nearby settee. She felt gooseflesh on her arms, as she didn’t want them observing her working. Soon, though, they seemed deep in conversation and her nerves quieted.

  As Selma stepped off the stool, she watched as the two men rose from their seat and faced the door by her. She turned to see Betsy flouncing in, wearing a huge smile and holding up her skirt and petticoats so high Selma could actuall
y see her ankles.

  Frowning, Selma whisked up an armful of greenery and stalked past the two men to the opposite side of the room. She greeted several other servants and assisted them as they hung swags of pine and cedar over the main entrance to the hall.

  Intentionally not looking toward Mr. Sinclair and Mr. McAdams, Selma chatted and laughed as she worked. However, she could not help but catch bits of conversationbetween them and Betsy.

  Jacob’s voice grated on her as he spoke. “Why, Betsy dear. Why don’t you join us for dinner this evening? It’s been a while since we’ve had a chance to chat.”

  “Jacob, you and I are bound by our similar thoughts. It would be a pleasure.” Betsy held her hand for a kiss, which both gentlemen granted.

  Selma let the greenery fall to the floor and hurried from the room. She had to get away from the two-faced man who had spoken of caring for her while, she could tell, he was mesmerized by someone else.

  Jacob watched her go. He assumed she had heard the invitation to Betsy. Little did she know he had invited Betsy because of William. They were not well acquainted, and he thought his friend might find Betsy charming.

  He made his excuses to his friends and left them to fend for themselves. Determined to find Selma, he strode across the room and made his exit through the same door as she.

  Not seeing her, Jacob hurried down the stairs and through the entrance hall, the conservatory, and the billiards room. He finally found her in the breakfast room. She was alone, struggling with a box of pine and cedar as she pulled it toward the mantel.

  He rushed to help her. “Selma, my dear, I need to explain something.”

  Her look was cool. “And what, sir, would that be?”

  “I wonder if you might have gotten the wrong idea when I asked Betsy to dinner. You see, I was asking for William. Mr. McAdams. He seems to like her, shallow or not. However, I do think she has tried to change a little.”

  “And why should that be any of my business?”