Kin shifted and thrust his hands into his coat pockets. “It’s not much.”
PC turned to face him more fully. “A gift is everything when it comes from a friend.” Slowly, he untied the ribbon and peeled back the brown paper. The small Bible with the hand-tooled russet leather cover slipped into his hands.
Kin scrubbed at the back of his neck, unable to tell by the minister’s expression if he’d made a good choice or not. Maybe the man already had a pocket Bible. Kin figured he probably wasn’t very apt at this gift giving thing. Truth was he hadn’t given anyone a Christmas gift since Ma had passed.
The silence stretched as PC rubbed his hand over the cover, and then carefully flipped through the pages. He paused on the inscription page where Kin had carefully penned “To Parson Preston Clay from Kincaid Davis, December 24, 1891.”
Kin pointed. “It’s smaller than the big one you carry around and I thought it might come in handy to have a small one that could just fit in your pocket, you know for traveling and such but if you already—”
PC reached out and gripped Kin’s arm with one hand.
Kin looked up.
“It’s a perfect gift. Thank you. This means more to me than you will ever know.”
The tension inside Kin released as though a trigger had been pulled. He grinned. “You like it?”
PC nodded and immediately reached inside his coat and deposited the Bible in his breast pocket.
“Good.” Kin nodded. “I’m glad you like it.” He hesitated for only a moment before offering. “I like my coat too.”
PC gave Kin’s shoulder another squeeze, and then they both returned their attention to watching the milling crowd.
Soft snowflakes drifted from the sky. Laughter and music floated on the gentle breeze. And the crackling fires shot sparks of orange into the afternoon air like tiny firecrackers.
Kin couldn’t remember a time when he’d felt more content in his entire life.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Dixie laughed and clapped with all the others as the current song came to an end. She allowed Flynn to lead her from the dance floor.
She’d worried that she wouldn’t be warm enough today, but she needn’t have concerned herself. She’d hardly stopped moving for even an instant. And from the moment she’d sank onto the blanket that Flynn had thoughtfully covered the hay with in their corner of the wagon, she had felt as comfortable with the man as she ever had with anyone. They had talked through almost every moment, quietly sharing how they’d both grown up, where they’d attended school, and how they’d come to be here in Wyldhaven.
Dixie hadn’t known that Flynn had studied medicine in San Francisco. Nor that when he was young he’d had a brother who had died of an infection from a cut in his foot, which was what had spurred him into the field of medicine.
As the hayride had rumbled through the dim light of the snow-weighted forest, he’d told her about his and his brother’s first pet, a scraggly cat that they’d rescued from a gunnysack that had bobbed up onto a riverbank one day while his family had been picnicking on the shore. They’d named the cat Survivor, and he’d affectionately been known as Sur.
Flynn laughed. “That cat never really was right in the head. He must have had quite a trip down that river.”
“Oh, that’s very sad,” Dixie lamented.
She felt more than saw Flynn shrug. “Yes, I suppose it is. But my brother loved that cat and it laid with him for weeks while he was so sick there at the end. I always had the poignant thought that God might have sent Sur to us just for Foster. He disappeared not long after Foster passed, and we never saw him again.”
Dixie reached out and squeezed his hand in the dim gloam. “I’m sorry. I’ve gone and pried out a sad story on a day that should be joyous and fun.”
When she would have pulled away, Flynn kept hold of her hand. “No. No. It’s always a joy to remember Foster. We had such good times together. So, what about you? Any siblings?”
Doing her best not to let the wonderful feel of his fingers laced with her own make her babble, Dixie had shaken her head and told him she was an only child. She’d told him about her mother’s passing and how her father had become hard and insufferable afterwards. She’d glossed over her relationship with Steven, mostly because she’d told him that story already.
One story had led to another and somehow, even with her break away from him to help with the kitchen duties, the hours had flown by, and here they were standing breathlessly beside the dancefloor. And still she hadn’t gotten up her courage to tell him that she would be pleased to have him call.
Flynn smiled down at her. “I do believe you are going to have the heels of my shoes worn right down to nothing by the time the day is over.”
Dixie laughed. “I’m quite parched. And I think it’s almost time to hand out all the presents to the children. Shall we get some punch and a cookie?”
He leaned down and whispered conspiratorially, “Maybe even two cookies!”
Dixie mirrored his conspiration. “Or three!”
Flynn tapped her nose with a soft chuckle. “I like where your thoughts are taking you, Dix.”
The words caused a hitch in her breath. It suddenly seemed like they were the only two for miles around. He stood frozen before her, and she couldn’t seem to pull her gaze from his. The late afternoon light touched a bluish halo around his dark curls, and the sounds of chatter and music all around them faded away.
“Flynn, I’ve been wanting to talk with you all day.”
His lips quirked. “We have been talking all day.”
“No. I mean—”
He gave her a nod. “I know. And I’ve been wanting you to talk to me all day.” He winked.
Dixie glanced around, suddenly wishing for nothing more than to just be alone with him for a few minutes. “Can we…” She gestured to the street. They would still be in sight of many people so it wouldn’t be against propriety, but they would also have a bit more privacy. “Maybe—”
“Can I have everyone’s attention please?” Charlotte clapped her hands from the center of the field.
Dixie’s shoulder’s sagged.
Flynn snickered and leaned close to Dixie’s ear. “Everyone is against us.”
She smirked at him. “Later?”
He nodded. “Of a certainty. I’m going to hold you to it.”
Feeling both relieved and anticipatory, Dixie returned her attention to Charlotte.
“There will be more dancing, and visiting and eating in a moment, but before the day grows too late, I wanted to just say a few words. We’ll then have our students do a presentation of the nativity. And then we have presents!” She flung her arms in a grand gesture toward the mound of packages beneath the Christmas tree near her.
Children whooped and leapt and cheered.
Charlotte held up her hands. “All right, all right, all right. First a few words of thanks.” She sought out Tom Harris, the foreman of Mr. Heath’s logging operation. “Mr. Harris, thank you so much for agreeing to give the men this afternoon off. I know that providing for their families is important to them, but I hope we all can agree that times like these—times of joy and frivolity—are also important for families and for communities.”
Reagan was the first to start the clapping, and Dixie hurried to join in as other’s followed suit.
Charlotte once more held up her hands until the gathering quieted. “So many—so, so many—of you have helped to bring this day together. And I truly couldn’t have done this without your help. So Ewan, thank you for building the fireboxes. And Parson Clay and Kin, thank you for putting the dance floor together. We’ve already made such good use of that today, haven’t we folks?”
More cheering and clapping followed.
Charlotte continued her list of thanks, until Dixie was nearly certain there wasn’t a soul left in town who hadn’t been thanked.
“And lastly”—Charlotte seemed to be searching the crowd for a specific face—“I’d
like to thank Mr. Heath for even making it possible for us to be here in the first place.”
Everyone went wild. Whistles and whoops and warbles joined in with the calls of thanks and appreciation directed Mr. Heath’s way.
Mr. Heath looked pleased as punch with the recognition. He tottered to his feet in a manner that made Dixie realize he’d aged quite a bit in the year and a half that she’d known him. He grinned so big that she could see he was missing two teeth in the back of his mouth. And when he waved one hand above his head in thanks for the recognition, he almost lost his balance—likely would have were it not for Ben King’s quick grab of his arm. Mr. Heath didn’t even pause in his waving.
The children performed a beautiful rendition of the Christmas story, complete with a goat who kept nibbling on Joseph’s—Grant Nolan’s—tunic, much to the amusement of the town. When the Christ-child was born and the angel-choir had sung their last song, everyone broke into more loud applause.
Charlotte let the applause go on until it died down of its own accord, and then she motioned to Kin Davis, and Washington and Jackson Nolan. “Could I have you young men help me hand out these gifts? There’s one with every child’s name on it.”
The boys each stepped forward and gathered several presents.
Dixie released a sigh of pleasure at the squeals of delight that came from several of the girls and the whoops of excitement that emanated from the little boys.
Liora, Kin, and Joe Rodante had sawn, carved and sanded little forest animals for all the boys. Dixie had looked them over before they’d been wrapped, and she’d seen a porcupine, several deer, elk, frogs, bears, and wolves. And Mrs. Callahan and Belle Kastain had sewn brand new aprons and pot-holders for every girl in matching sets.
“Look, Mama!” one little girl called, holding up her set. “Now I can help you in the kitchen!”
“Isn’t that lovely,” her mother replied.
Aidan Kastain and David Hines were already playing with their animals together in a pile of snow by the road.
“And then my wolf eats your rabbit!” Aidan proclaimed, pouncing his wolf on top of David’s toy.
Dixie smiled. She must have missed seeing the rabbit.
“No, no,” David chided. “This wolf and rabbit are friends. The wolf would never eat his friend!”
Beside her, Flynn leaned close enough to speak in her ear, though his attention remained fixed on the celebrations all around them. “This is one of the best things we could have done for the town. Miss Brindle is brilliant.”
Dixie’s attention had been drawn to Mr. Heath, tottering his way across the field in Charlotte’s direction, with Sheriff Callahan in tow. She couldn’t hear exactly what Mr. Heath said, but he gestured between the sheriff and Miss Brindle, and then motioned to the town and then to the dance floor. Charlotte’s face bloomed into a smile so large it threatened to split her face, and Reagan scooped her up into his arms with a whoop that drew most everyone’s attention as he spun her in a circle. Charlotte banged on Reagan’s shoulders, insisting that he put her down. Her cheeks were as rosy as the wildflowers that bloomed just outside of town each summer.
Dixie smiled. “Yes. I believe she is.”
Flynn leaned close and took her hand. “How about we take that walk now?”
Dixie’s heart lurched as his fingers slipped between hers. “Yes. I would like that very much.”
As they walked past the dancefloor, Marshal Holloway was bowing before Mrs. Callahan, and by the smile on his face, it appeared the woman had just agreed to a dance with him.
Dixie and Flynn strolled down the street quite a ways without saying a word. Finally, when the racket from the gathering had died down to a dull roar in the distance, Flynn tugged her to a stop and turned to face her.
His gaze swept the length of her. “You look absolutely beautiful today.” He adjusted her shawl at her shoulders. “Are you warm enough?”
Dixie’s heart was hammering so fast that she didn’t think she could cool down if a veritable blizzard blew in. “Yes. I’m fine. And thank you.”
Flynn lifted one of her hands and toyed with her fingers. “Yesterday after our talk, you came outside. Were you looking for me?” He lifted his golden and blue gaze to hers.
Moistening her mouth, Dixie nodded, but she couldn’t seem to find any words to speak.
He stroked his thumb along her first finger. “And is that what you wanted to talk to me about today?” There was a light of hope in his eyes.
“Yes,” she managed to whisper.
“Well then. I would very much like to hear what you wanted to say.” He tilted his head, his attention fixed steadily on her face.
There was nothing for it but to just plunge ahead. She wanted this. Wanted it with every fiber of her being. So why was it so hard to find the words?
Because it was risk, she suddenly realized. What if he rejected her?
And yet didn’t the lessons she’d been learning recently far surpass that concern? Yes, this was taking a chance that she might be rejected, but she gained her peace from so much more than the acceptance of one person. She could step out in faith with the belief that God really did want good things for her, even if this one thing didn’t turn out to be it. She could let go of self and apply herself instead to hoping in the Lord. Like an eagle soaring on stretched wings trusted in the currents of air that held him aloft.
She took in a steadying breath. She could do this. “Flynn, if you’ll still have me, I’d—I’d like to give us a chance.”
“If I’ll still have you?” He threw back his head on a laugh, and then his hands settled around her waist and he swung her high and in a complete circle right there in the middle of the street. Not once. Not twice. But three times, until Dixie really did feel rather like an eagle soaring—if a very dizzy one.
When he settled her onto her feet, she clutched his shoulders for balance. “Well…” she chuckled. “I can truly say I wasn’t expecting that response.”
He bent forward until his forehead nestled flush against hers. “You make my heart sing in ways I never knew it could, Dixie Pottinger.”
Dixie rubbed one finger over the middle button of his shirt. “And I never knew you to be such a poet, Dr. Griffin.”
He grinned. “You’ve never given me a chance to show you.”
She laughed. “True enough. I’ve been busy trying to keep you at arm’s length ever since we arrived in town.”
Flynn’s face turned serious, and he lifted both hands to cup either side of her face. “I know you’ve been through so much, Dix. And the last thing I ever want to do is hurt you. Is it okay with you if I pray for us a moment?”
The man couldn’t have said anything that would have made her love him more. “I would like that very much.”
And standing there in the middle of Wyldhaven’s only street with their foreheads still pressed together, pray he did. He asked the Lord to help them build their relationship on the foundation of His Truths. The prayer was short, but Dixie knew it had been heartfelt, and he’d affected her in a way no other man ever had.
She remained where she was, eyes closed, and just breathed him in for a moment. And when she opened her eyes a little later, he was watching her with contentment in his expression.
Dixie sighed out her own contentment and stepped closer to him. “Flynn?”
“Hmmm?” He wound his fingers into the curls of hair by her ears.
“Kiss me?”
His lips parted into a satisfied smile. “That is a request I think I can consent to. But I beg of you to be kind in your future requests, for I fear that my weakness for you will have me giving in to your every whim.”
She smiled and lifted up on her toes, tilting her mouth toward his in anticipation. She whispered, “I will take it as a personal affront if you don’t, dear doctor.”
A low rumble of humor escaped his throat. “Then by all means I shall do my best not to let you down.”
His mouth captured hers then, and Dix
ie forgot all about the cold, and about the crowd of people gathered just down the street. She lifted her arms around his neck, and barely even noticed when her shawl fell to the ground at their feet. Flynn’s hair-that-was-still-in-need-of-a-trim slipped through her fingers like silken strands.
With one of his hands at the small of her back, he drew her closer. The other hand he settled against her chignon.
And as Dixie relished the softness of his hair, the hard planes of his chest, the smell of his cologne, and the taste of his kiss, she couldn’t help but feel like God had fulfilled his promise to renew her strength. She’d been through years of battle, and yet she’d come out the other side to this wonderful man waiting for her.
She might just be soaring on eagles’ wings.
Dear Reader,
I hope you enjoyed this second foray into the town of Wyldhaven.
When I was writing book one, Not a Sparrow Falls, and bumped into Dixie, I knew that I wanted to explore her story more. Forgiveness is one of those tough concepts that I seem to keep exploring in my books, perhaps because it is a concept that I have struggled to understand over the years. I hope the message in these pages will help others who have pondered this Biblical command, like Dixie did.
As for Flynn, Doctors of the late nineteenth century frontier towns were a singularly devoted class of people. They often didn’t have offices. Instead they visited patients in their homes, which many times were long distances from town, sometimes in areas so uninhabited that there were no roads. They crossed raging rivers, climbed mountains, and traversed miles of barren wilderness, not only in good weather, but also in raging rainstorms and winter freezes, putting their own lives in danger to reach their patients. They answered the call day and night, and often went for days on little sleep because they were often the only medical help available.
Because of these conditions, they could only take with them a limited number of supplies. The quintessential doctor’s bag had to be well stocked, but obviously couldn’t hold every medicine they might need, so they often were restricted in the way they could help their patients.
On Eagles' Wings (Wyldhaven Book 2) Page 26
