Western Christmas Brides

by Lauri Robinson

“I’m afraid I haven’t been very honest with you,” he said, bowing his head. “I should have told you about Becky, and about falling in love with you. I knew how you’d been treated and should have realized you’d think the worst of me.”

  “But I shouldn’t have thought the worst of you. You gave me no reason to. It was me. All me. I was so focused on what had happened to me before, and how I didn’t want it to happen again, that I made it happen.” She shook her head. “That sounds as confusing as it is.”

  “No, it doesn’t,” he said. “Because that’s what was happening to me, too.”

  “It was?”

  “Yes.” He kissed her hand. “I was afraid to love you because I thought maybe I was just feeling sorry for you like I did with Becky. It wasn’t until you asked me if I’d loved her that I realized the difference. I should have told you the entire story then, but I didn’t want to scare you off. Wasn’t sure you were ready for that.”

  She wrapped both of her hands around his. “I burned that list because you weren’t on it.”

  “You did?” he asked hopefully.

  Leaning forward, she brought her lips close to his to whisper, “Yes, I did. I knew you were the only man I’d consider marrying. I love you, Teddy. I love you very much.”

  As their lips met, he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. The overwhelming peace and joy that filled her said she’d let the past fill an entire night with worry when there hadn’t been anything to worry about. This was Teddy, and he wasn’t anything like anyone from her past.

  As their lips parted, he grinned widely. “So...”

  She copied his grin. “So...?”

  “Will you marry me?”

  She bit her bottom lip, only because the vast amount of happiness welling inside her made her want to shout. Gaining control, she nodded and whispered, “Yes.”

  “Yes!” he shouted triumphantly and then kissed her so hard for so long they were both breathless when they parted. They both laughed after filling their lungs with air, and then kissed again.

  “When?” Teddy asked when they both needed air again. “When do you want to get married?”

  The tightening of her stomach occurred again, but this time it was strong enough to make her gasp and send a groan into her throat as it clutched her entire stomach and back with a long agonizing pain.

  “What’s wrong?” Teddy laid a hand on her stomach. “Hannah?”

  “I think this baby is about ready to be born.” As the pain subsided, a slight wave of sadness washed over her. “It was so close.”

  He glanced around. “What was so close? The baby?”

  She had to giggle as she shook her head. “No. My Christmas miracle. A last name for my baby.”

  He grinned. “How does baby White sound to you?” Teddy planted a fast kiss upon her lips. “I believe in Christmas miracles, too.”

  He was out of the room before she had a chance to ask where he was going. A moment later, a single gunshot echoed outside of the house. Within minutes, the house was full of people.

  It was chaotic at first, until Teddy took charge. The first thing he ordered was an examination from Dr. Graham, who said she was in labor, but that there wouldn’t be a baby for several hours.

  Hannah was already deeply in love with Teddy, but the way he organized everything, all the while making sure the arrangements were fine with her, made her love him all the more. By noon, all of her things, including the new cradle, and her were moved into his house, where Reverend Flaherty performed their wedding.

  Before the ceremony, Abigail, with tears in her eyes, apologized—several times—and promised to be the best aunt on earth. Hannah believed she would be, and told her so.

  Her wedding was all she’d dreamed it would be—minus a labor pain or two—because the man marrying her would love her until his dying day. He not only vowed it, he’d already proven it. She vowed to love him just as long, and would.

  The afternoon hours were spent with women and the doctor checking on her as she lay in Teddy’s bed. Throughout the day, Teddy sat beside her, held her hand, hugged her, kissed her and told her she was doing great. He made the pain bearable.

  Shortly after midnight, the doctor ordered everyone but Fiona out of the room.

  “I’ll be right outside the door,” Teddy said as he kissed her cheek.

  Her heart tumbled at the concern on his face. It was her turn to be strong, to assure him all would turn out just as he’d promised. “I’ll be fine,” she said, squeezing his hand. “I love you.”

  “I love you, too,” he whispered before kissing her again.

  * * *

  Teddy once again found himself pacing, except this time it was the hallway of the upper floor. Abigail was there too, and so was Brett. A handful of others were downstairs, filling coffee cups and sending them upstairs. He’d carried around several cups, but had never taken so much as a sip. His mind was in the bedroom. With his wife.

  A pain-filled scream almost brought him to his knees, but the next instant, the sound of a baby crying had him standing tall and accepting congratulations from those around him.

  It seemed like hours before he was admitted into the bedroom, where he was told he had daughter. While looking down at the adorable red and wrinkled face he’d love until his dying day, devotion like he’d never known filled him.

  Turning to Hannah, he asked, “How are you?”

  “Happy,” she said, looking more beautiful than ever. “So, so very happy.”

  “Me, too,” he said.

  Later, when the house was completely quiet, he carefully crawled onto the bed and stretched out beside Hannah.

  She opened her eyes and smiled. “I love you, Teddy White.”

  “I love you, Hannah White.”

  “That sounds amazing, doesn’t it? Hannah White.”

  “Yes, it does.” Reaching across her, he touched the tip of the tiny nose on the baby lying in the crook of her arm. “What will her name be?”

  “I’m thinking Theodora Abigail White. After her father and favorite aunt.”

  His heart swelled so fast and hard, it made his eyes sting. “Theodora?”

  “We’ll call her Dorie,” Hannah said. “Dorie White. Doesn’t that sound wonderful?”

  “Yes,” he admitted. “Absolutely wonderful.” He leaned across her to kiss the top of the baby’s head. “Merry Christmas, Dorie.”

  Then he kissed Hannah and wrapped an arm around her as he lay down beside her again.

  She snuggled her head upon his shoulder. “This has really been a Christmas full of miracles, hasn’t it? My favorite time of the year.”

  “Yes, and it will forever be my favorite time of the year, too.” Pulling Hannah closer, he rested his hand upon baby Dorie’s head. He’d forever believe in miracles, too. “Merry Christmas, Hannah,” he whispered.

  “Merry Christmas, Teddy,” she said. “Merry Christmas, one and all.”

  * * * * *

  Miss Christina’s

  Christmas Wish

  Lynna Banning

  To the millions of immigrants who have come to America. You enrich our culture and help make our country the land of the free.

  Dear Reader,

  To me, Christmas is a time of reflection about what is important in life. It’s a time to connect with those we love and a time to give to others the gift of our attention, our understanding and our acceptance.

  Lynna

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

 
Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Epilogue

  Chapter One

  The train engine chuffed into the station and rolled slowly forward until the cars lined up with the platform. With a final billowy puff of white steam, the passenger compartment slid to a halt, the uniformed conductor leaped down and unfolded an iron step, then stepped back inside.

  “Smoke River,” he bawled at the top of his voice. “Now ya see it, now ya don’t.”

  Christina frowned. She leaned toward the harried mother sitting beside her. “Whatever does he mean?”

  “He means—” the woman corralled a wriggling child and plopped it onto her lap “—that this town’s so small if you blinked, you’d miss it.”

  “Oh.”

  Small was exactly what she needed. If she failed here, she didn’t want a big audience. She edged past the woman and her child, grasped the handle of her travel valise and headed for the exit, where the conductor stood waiting.

  He lifted the satchel out of her hand and set it on the platform below, then helped her down the iron step. “Got all yer things, miss?”

  “Yes, thank you.” She had all her “things,” yes. What she didn’t have, Aunt Lettie would have said, was a lick of good sense and a big helping of self-confidence.

  Well, it was too late now, she thought, peering at the sprinkle of people waiting to board the train. She had never retreated from a challenge before, and she most certainly wasn’t going to start now. Besides, for better or worse, she was here in Smoke River.

  The woman and her child stepped down onto the platform behind her, and Christina turned to intercept her. “Excuse me, which way is the main street?”

  “Main street? Yer lookin’ at it, dearie. Just past the station house over yonder.” She tipped her head toward the low white-painted building behind her. “Got a freight service of sorts if you’ve a mind,” the woman volunteered. She shifted the squirming child to her other hip and puffed the drooping feather on her hat out of her face.

  “No, thank you, I can manage.” Her valise wasn’t heavy. She’d packed only an extra shirtwaist, three camisoles, some underdrawers and her notebooks. She would walk into town to save a few cents. She picked up her suitcase and headed off down the wooden platform onto a wide board sidewalk.

  It led past a mercantile with bushel baskets of shiny red apples out in front, Poletti’s barbershop, the Smoke River Hotel, an adjacent restaurant and Stockett’s feed store. Across the street was the Golden Partridge saloon, the sheriff’s office and a bakery. She would ask at the mercantile if there was a boardinghouse nearby.

  Suddenly a hand-lettered sign in the front window of the bakery caught her eye.

  ROOM FOR RENT

  CHEAP

  She pushed open the door and stepped inside. Then she drew in a deep breath and closed her eyes. Oh, what a heavenly smell! Something lemony made her mouth water. And chocolate! Or was it molasses? Both, she decided.

  “You like cookie?” The diminutive Chinese man behind the glass display case smiled and offered a frosted square.

  “Oh, no, thank you. I came about your sign in the window, about the room for rent?”

  “Can eat and look, too!” He proffered the cookie again.

  “Thank you, Mr...?”

  “Name Ming. But everyone call me Uncle Charlie.”

  “I am Christina Marnell. The new schoolteacher,” she added.

  The man’s black eyebrows waggled. “Ah. Much work to do in school place.”

  Christina laughed. “Oh, I do hope so. I haven’t traveled all the way from St. Louis to not work.”

  “You come, see room upstairs.” He led the way up the narrow staircase at the rear of the bakery and at the top opened the door to reveal a spotless, sunny apartment with cream walls and blue curtains fluttering at the two large open windows.

  Uncle Charlie beamed. “Is mine. You like?”

  “Yes, it’s lovely. But why are you renting it?”

  “Get married soon. Wife come from China, so need more room. Buy house in back from newspaper man.”

  Christina gazed around her and set down her valise. “This will be perfect, Mr—Uncle Charlie.”

  “Ah, good. I leave curtains?”

  She smiled at him. “Yes, please. I have almost nothing except for what is packed in my valise. My trunk could be delivered tomorrow.”

  “Need stove? Table? Maybe bed? I buy all new for wife, so you can have these.”

  She blinked. “Really? Oh, Uncle Charlie, you are an angel.”

  He reached out and patted her hand. “Buddha maybe, missy. Not angel. Now, you come. I show you best cookies.”

  An hour later, replete with chocolate-molasses wafers and two restorative cups of hot tea, Christina made her way back to the railway station to arrange delivery of her trunk. On purpose she walked very carefully along the tree-lined street in order to hide her uneven gait.

  * * *

  Ivan Panovsky watched the young woman step out of Uncle Charlie’s bakery and head down the main street, moving slowly enough to attract a good deal of interest. Long dark blue skirt, somewhat swirly around her ankles but not fancy, and some kind of shirtwaist with ruffles at the wrists. The straw hat she wore had a brim so wide it shaded all but her chin, and the ends of the wide blue ribbon around the crown streamed down her back. Like a picture he saw once in a book. He wished he could see her face.

  He knew he had never seen her in Smoke River before. He started to turn away from his second-floor window across the street from Uncle Charlie’s when he noticed something else about her. She was limping.

  He watched until she reached Ness’s Mercantile across the street. Then he clapped his wool cap on his head, moved to the doorway of his small room over Stockett’s Feed & Seed and tramped down the back stairs to head for the sawmill.

  * * *

  “Hey, Panovsky! You goin’ to the square dance tonight?”

  Ivan continued to slice his ax through the bark on the huge pine log he was straddling. Ike Bruhn, his boss at the sawmill, had asked him that same question every single Saturday since he’d been hired four years ago. And he always gave Ike the same answer.

  “No. Have letter to write.”

  Smitty, working the log beside his, snorted. “You say that every week, Ivan. You got a girlfriend back in New York or what?”

  No, he didn’t have a girlfriend back in New York, or anywhere else for that matter. He had no time for a girl. He was working two jobs and saving every penny he could. Girls cost money.

  As usual, Smitty didn’t give up. “You sayin’ you’re too good for a barn dance?”

  “I have nothing to say,” Ivan said evenly.

  “Mebbe you got something against dancin’, huh?”

  “Knock it off, Smitty,” his boss yelled. “None of your business.”

  “Hell, Ike, I was just bein’ friendly.”

  Ivan went back to skinning the log. He didn’t mind Smitty’s joshing. But it was nobody’s business why he did not go to dances or join the other mill workers at the Golden Partridge, or visit Sadie’s bawdy house and it had nothing to do with not being friendly. He had other things on his mind. More important things.

  He huffed out a long breath and reminded himself what his mama had told him: “If you pray for potatoes, you must pick up a hoe.”

  Chapter Two

  Christina had almost finished unpacking the lace-edged muslin sheets and towels she
had spent all summer finishing when three imperious raps sounded on her door. She swung it open to find a tall, unsmiling woman facing her.

  “I am Verena Forester,” the woman announced. “Your neighbor next door. Charlie told me you’d taken the room. I only hope you will be as quiet as he was.”

  Christina worked up a smile. “How do you do, Miss Forester. I am Christina Marnell, from—”

  “St. Louis,” Verena finished for her. “I asked around at the railway office.”

  “Um...won’t you come in? I was just unpacking my trunk, but I could make some tea if you—”

  “Don’t drink tea. Just coffee.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry, but I don’t have—”

  “Makes no never mind,” the woman snapped. “I hear you’re the new schoolteacher.”

  My, word traveled fast in a small town out West! “Well, yes, I am. I’ve just graduated from—”

  “I’m the dressmaker,” Verena announced. Her flinty gray eyes assessed Christina’s skirt and creased shirtwaist. “Looks like you’ll be needin’ some duds when school starts.”

  Christina blinked. Her trunk was crammed with “duds,” skirts and dresses that were conservative enough for a classroom. “Oh, no, I don’t think—”

  “Things from back East are too fancy for out here in Oregon. Come on over to my shop in the morning and I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Miss Forester, I am grateful, really I am. But—” Christina swallowed “—but you see I have no way to pay you until I fulfill my year’s teaching contract.”

  The woman’s narrow face scrunched into a frown. “Makes no never mind, my girl. Most everybody in town owes me for what’s on their back. Sooner or later I always get paid.”

  Christina recognized the remark as a kindness meant to be welcoming, but the woman also intended it to drum up some dressmaking business. Very well, she would play the game. “That is most generous of you, Miss Forester. I will pay you a visit tomor—”

  “Make it today if you don’t mind. Tomorrow’s Sunday, and I always attend church on Sunday. You a churchgoer?”