Would-Be Mistletoe Wife

by Christine Johnson

  She drew in her breath and examined the bird.

  He held his breath. Did she like it?

  “It’s lovely. You made this? Look at all the detail. The cardinal’s crest is perfect.”

  He soaked in her praise. “You know your birds too.”

  “How many do you have?”

  He shrugged. “A couple dozen.”

  “All cardinals?”

  “No, many different types of birds.”

  She clapped her hands together. “Wonderful! The girls could paint them. Fiona has paints. If we had enough, the schoolchildren might help out too. Pearl and Amanda might want to take part, not to mention Mrs. Calloway. Why, we could even have a contest of sorts.”

  “A contest? For what?”

  “The best wreath.” Her eyes sparkled with excitement. “The prize could be something small. I’ll ask Pearl what she suggests. Isn’t that a wonderful idea?”

  He wasn’t so certain. “Aren’t you getting far ahead of things? It’s barely October. Christmas is two and a half months away. Wreaths can’t be made until shortly before the event.”

  “True.” Her brow pinched in that particularly appealing way, with a little crease between her finely shaped eyebrows. “But we ought to make a test wreath in order to practice. That will also tell us how long they will last, so we know exactly when to make them. And we can make the bows ahead of time. And of course your birds. How many can you make?”

  “In a couple months, maybe a couple dozen, depending on my duties at the lighthouse.” Jesse glanced out the window, which faced the dune. Blackthorn would be expecting him soon. If Jesse stayed too long, the keeper would begin curtailing duties, not adding to them. “I need to return to work.”

  “Oh!” Again she blushed. “I’m terribly sorry. I shouldn’t have gone on blathering away and keeping you from your duties. Please, go.” She waved him away. “I will locate some pine saplings nearby that can provide enough boughs for a test wreath. Do you have time later this week to help me cut off the branches?”

  He had to leave. Duty called. Maybe that’s why he agreed so quickly when he ought to be cutting short their time together. Soon enough the responses to his advertisement would begin arriving, and he would select one for a wife. Spending time with Louise now would only create more heartache later. So then why did he tell her that late this afternoon would be the perfect time to find pine boughs?

  Chapter Nine

  After Louise helped Jesse cut willow saplings on the riverbank for the framing, they left them alongside the road to pick up on their return. Then Louise followed the directions that Garrett Decker’s wife, Amanda, had given her earlier. The road was well-established between Singapore and Saugatuck, though so sandy in spots that a heavily-laden wagon could bog down. She would have to remember that if she could get the wagon from the sawmill.

  She and Jesse had walked for nearly half an hour already, and they weren’t much past Saugatuck. Here the road, which had dwindled to more like a path, was less distinct. More than once she had to stop and puzzle which direction the path went.

  Jesse offered nothing beyond toting the saw. He was uncharacteristically quiet, which made the long walk even longer. They had perhaps two hours left of daylight. Fortunately the day was unseasonably warm and the sun shone from a cloudless sky.

  “No rain today,” she mentioned.

  “Yep.”

  “A few clouds would diminish the heat, though.”

  He nodded.

  What was wrong with him? Had something happened at the lighthouse? The mail boat had come in. Had he received bad news from home?

  “All is well at home?” she asked.

  He started, as if she’d struck a nerve. “I assume so.”

  “Your mother and father are well?”

  “My mother died when I was seven. My father and I aren’t on speaking terms.” The words were spoken tersely, with brow drawn and gaze fixed on the ground ahead, as if fearful he might stumble on a root.

  “I’m sorry.” She walked on a few moments in silence. If she expected him to talk more about his past, she would have to reveal hers first. “My father passed some years ago. My mother lives with my sister.” She tried to keep the bitterness from her voice. “They are close.”

  Mama had always preferred Rachel, whose golden-blond hair resembled her own. Rachel was the beauty, the accomplished pianist and the model of perfection in Mama’s eyes. Where Louise took after her papa, Rachel mirrored Mama in height, beauty and elegance. She married well, far above her station, and was beloved and respected throughout Albany, where her husband served as state senator.

  “Do you see your family often?” he asked.

  Louise thought back to the last time they’d been together. Rachel’s house was the only place Louise could retreat after being thrown out of her home by Warren’s family. Her sister had taken her in, but only at the urging of her husband, who was a good man. When he was at home, Rachel and Mama treated her with civility. When he was gone, they criticized everything from her hair to her inability to bear children. When they began suggesting she remarry as soon as possible to any man who would have her, Louise began reading the advertisements for a wife. It was a relief to leave—for them and for her. Louise would not return if she could at all avoid it.

  “Not since I left over a year ago. This is my home now.”

  The quiver in her voice drew a glance of pity from him. She had endured enough pity for a lifetime.

  “That looks like the new stand of pine that Amanda described.” Louise pointed ahead and to their right.

  Jesse stopped and put a hand above his eyes to shield from the sun’s glare. “They’re not very big.”

  “Hmm. She said there were some larger trees. I wonder if they’re farther on.”

  “Perhaps, but we can get enough here for the test wreath you want to make.”

  They closed the remaining distance in silence. The trees stood almost to Jesse’s shoulder and to the top of Louise’s head. They were rather straggly specimens with no sign of this year’s growth.

  Louise examined a needle. “Soft. This must be a white pine. I’d hate to cut it. Those over there look like red pines. The needles are stronger.”

  “And more likely to jab you. Are you sure you don’t want the white pine?”

  “It takes so much longer for the white to grow. With this dry soil, it’s already been tested to its limit. We will stick to the red pines.”

  Jesse shook his head, looking like he couldn’t understand her reasoning, but he plodded toward the closest red pine. “How many branches?”

  She pointed out which ones.

  He began sawing off the slender branches. As the small pile grew, Louise envisioned the wreath. It wouldn’t be enough.

  “I just need one more branch, shorter and full.” She scanned the saplings and spotted one that looked more full. While Jesse sawed off the last branch on the first tree, she headed for the second, fuller one.

  “Stop!” Jesse hollered.

  The command rooted her to the spot, but only for a second. Who was he to tell her what to do?

  “I’m just checking this tree.” She resumed trekking toward it.

  She heard him running toward her.

  “Stop,” he panted.

  That man had some nerve telling her where she could and could not walk. She increased her pace.

  Then, before she even knew what was happening, he scooped her off the ground and swung her around, holding her close.

  “What are you doing?” After recovering from the surprise, she pushed against his chest. “Let me go.”

  “Trap,” he panted. “You were about to step in a trap.”

  “A what?”

  He set her down and pointed to the gaping jaws of an iro
n trap. “It’s set. If you’d stepped in it, it would rip the flesh from your ankle and might even break bones.”

  Shivers raced over her arms. She stepped back. “Who would do such a thing?”

  “A trapper. They’re trying to get fox, most likely.”

  “Fox?” The thought of the beautiful animals getting caught in those horrible metal jaws made her sick. “It would hurt the animal but not kill it.”

  “Eventually it would die from bloodshed or starvation.”

  Tears rose to her eyes. “Get rid of it.”

  “What?”

  “Get rid of that horrible thing.”

  Jesse took her by the shoulders. “Now Louise, this is a man’s livelihood. We can’t go tampering with it.”

  But the tears wouldn’t stop at the thought of the pain the poor creature would suffer. “The man could farm. Or lumber. Or any of a million other things. Why does he have to kill foxes?”

  “For the fur coats that keep you warm in the winter.”

  “I don’t have fur.” Then she thought of Fiona’s fur-trimmed cape, and the tears flowed. “I didn’t know.”

  Strong arms cradled her while she wept. Her tears dampened his shirt, but she couldn’t stop. Every time she thought of the poor foxes, a worse memory surfaced. Her beloved Falstaff, an exuberant beagle mix, would bark incessantly whenever he thought his mistress was in harm’s way. Warren hated that dog. One night, during an argument after a drinking binge, Falstaff was unusually loud. Infuriated, Warren grabbed the dog and left. She never saw Falstaff again.

  She could not hold back the sobs, for she kept seeing Falstaff’s fear, kept hearing her pup’s whining, kept imagining him stuck in a trap, struggling to break free.

  “Shh, shh. It’s all right.” Jesse rubbed her back while she drenched his shirt.

  Desperately she tried to regain control as she stepped away. “I’m sorry.” The words came out thick and garbled.

  “It’s not about the fox, is it?”

  She could only shake her head. “My handkerchief. I forgot it.”

  He pulled a clean handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to her. She dabbed her eyes. The handkerchief hadn’t any dainty embroidery or initials. She supposed that was because he hadn’t a mother.

  “Your father never remarried?”

  His jaw tensed. “No.”

  She blotted yet another tear. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me.”

  His steady gaze told her he didn’t believe one word she’d just said.

  She sighed. Perhaps she could reveal some of what had happened. “Warren—that’s my late husband—he got rid of my dog. For barking too much.”

  The words stood there, vulnerable, saying so much yet not revealing enough.

  “Before or after he went to war?”

  The question surprised her.

  “Before,” she whispered.

  He simply nodded. “I’m sorry.”

  What more was there to say?

  * * *

  Jesse began to understand Louise’s reactions. What sort of husband got rid of his wife’s dog for barking too much? A lunatic. A fiend. He hoped there was more to the story, that the dog was suffering in some way, but deep down he suspected that wasn’t the case.

  He tried to bolster her. “You’re a strong woman.”

  “I rely on the Lord’s strength. That’s sufficient.”

  Yet she had been badly shaken. So he used the cut end of one of the boughs and sprung the trap.

  Louise jumped and looked away.

  “No fox is going to get caught in that today.” He didn’t mention that the trapper probably had dozens of traps set throughout the area. A city dweller like her wouldn’t know.

  “Thank you,” she breathed, still sounding shaky.

  She held out the handkerchief.

  “Keep it,” he insisted.

  “I’ll wash and return it.”

  He had a dozen and wouldn’t miss one, but he knew better than to debate something so trivial. He glanced at the southwestern sky. “The sun’s getting low. Do we have enough boughs to make your wreath?”

  “Yes. I’m sorry for the delay. You have work to do. The light must be lit.”

  “Mr. Blackthorn will handle that. I’ll man the overnight watch.”

  “Then we should get going. We do still need to pick up the willow branches on the way.”

  He gathered up the boughs, and they began the long walk. Silence reigned as the sun sank lower. It would be dusk before they reached town.

  “Where do you want me to take the boughs when we get back?” he asked.

  “To the school. I’m going to make the test wreath tonight. When we get there, could you show me how to cut the twigs off the main branch?”

  Though Louise would be eager to wield a pruning saw, he couldn’t let her do that, especially in dim light. Doing it himself would cut short the nap he needed before the midnight watch, but he couldn’t put off her request. “I will do it.”

  “You are already late—”

  He anticipated and cut off her protest. “It won’t take long. I insist.”

  After quieting a few more of her protests, they walked again in silence. Gradually his thoughts drifted to marriage. True, he hadn’t received any responses to his advertisement yet, but it couldn’t have appeared in the newspaper too many days ago. It was a little ridiculous to think he would receive a letter so soon. Then his thoughts centered on Louise, as they often had these last few days.

  Was God telling him that the answer to his need for a wife was standing right here?

  He couldn’t deny she felt good in his arms. An intense desire to protect her had settled in. She was isolated here, far from the reach of family, though her expression when talking of her mother and sister told him they were not close. As for her marriage...the pain of that union was obvious. A dark shadow passed over whenever she mentioned it.

  Though he wanted to know more, she appeared lost in her thoughts. He couldn’t blame her. The pain of the past was a heavy burden to carry. A lout like Smythe didn’t deserve a woman like Louise. He’d seen the type in the army. In fact, his direct supervisor in Vicksburg had been just such a man, interested only in twisting each situation to his own advantage. It would never have crossed the man’s mind that others might have needs too. To him, they were just hurdles blocking his path to success. No doubt Smythe saw his wife that way too. She was either a support or an obstacle. The dog? If Louise had poured her love on it instead of directing her affection to Smythe’s every whim, the man would have destroyed it.

  Jesse gripped the boughs tightly, ignoring the prickly needles and sap.

  “Such men don’t deserve a wife,” he growled.

  Louise halted. “What men?”

  “Sorry. I must have been thinking aloud.”

  She slowly nodded, though her countenance was pensive. “I don’t believe there is any requirement that a man must deserve the woman he marries. She simply must agree.” She sighed. “I agreed.” A wry smile twisted her lips. “We are foolish when young.”

  “You married young?”

  “When seventeen.”

  Jesse did the calculations quickly. That meant she’d been married from four to eight years before her husband died, depending on when he joined the war effort.

  “Your husband enlisted early in the conflict?”

  She shook her head. “He wasn’t one to rush into anything unless it profited him. He joined mere months before the war ended.”

  Then, nearly eight years of married life without children. A fertile woman would have borne four or more children during that time. Unless they lived separate lives. If the marriage was arranged and they realized they were incompatible...if he was in the city, away from t
heir house in the country...the reasons for childlessness flooded into his mind.

  Maybe that sense of belonging that she alone had given him wasn’t a sign from God. Not when he deeply desired children.

  He must be careful not to give her the wrong impression. Unfortunately, consoling her while she wept had probably convinced her that he was considering her for a wife. Somehow he had to tell her that was not the case, but he didn’t have the heart to do it today. Sorrow still lingered on her expression. No, he would wait for the next opportunity.

  Chapter Ten

  Two days after making the test wreath, the needles had already begun to drop. By the third day, there were more bare twigs than green. Louise gingerly picked up the prickly wreath from its perch on the porch railing, sending a shower of needles to the floor.

  “What am I going to do?” Louise asked Dinah, who had helped her add the pine twigs to the willow frame and was now surveying the results. “We can’t make all the wreaths the day before the festival. Why, we’ll need upwards of twenty. You know how long it took to make this one.” She hung the bedraggled wreath back on its hook. “I don’t know what to do.”

  The girl shrugged. “Maybe ask Mr. Hammond. He knows a lot about things like that.”

  Louise inwardly growled. She knew a fair amount about plant life also. “Mr. Hammond is not here.”

  “Sure, he is.” Dinah nodded toward the boardwalk.

  Sure enough, Jesse was striding straight toward them, the breeze ruffling the sandy blond curls that peeked out from under his hat.

  “Good afternoon, ladies.” He touched a finger to his hat. “How’s our project coming along?”

  “Badly,” Louise admitted. “The needles are already falling. That shouldn’t happen. The garlands and wreaths I made in the past would last weeks. Is it the warm weather or did we cut them at the wrong time? Or is it because we took branches from saplings?”

  Jesse bounded up the porch steps and passed Dinah with a slight nod before coming to Louise’s side.