by Caroline Lee
Now though, he turned his empty gaze toward Hunter. “Made up your mind about the woman, of course. I could hear your brain working from over here!”
Hunter jerked upright. He’d heard, when one sense was lost, the Lord often saw fit to enhance other senses. But could Vincenzo really hear his thoughts?
When the older man broke into chuckles, Hunter assumed not.
“Also, you’re muttering. You’ve only been in town a few days, Reverend. Who’s the lucky lady?”
Hunter folded his arms across his chest, not quite sure he wanted to share Snow with anyone else. But Vincenzo had been in town longer, and perhaps he could help with a Christmas gift idea.
“Let me ask you something, Mr. Bellini. If a man wanted to purchase a simple gold ring in this town, where would he go?”
From the way Vincenzo’s chuckles turned to outright laughter, Hunter knew the older man understood what he was asking. He found his lips curving upward in agreement.
“What in the hell’s so funny?”
The caustic bark came from the back of the church, as a wiry man, with dark hair going gray, stomped in. He was joined by a younger man, with black curls and a sad sort of smile. Vincenzo’s smile didn’t fade, but he did straighten on his little stool.
“Jack! Come meet the new reverend and help us answer a little jewelry question.”
“Jewelry?” The older man scowled as he dropped his winter coat across a pew and crossed to them. “You know Meri doesn’t need any of that frippery. Now, Dimitri’s the one you oughta ask. He keeps Zelle covered in the stuff.”
The young man had placed his coat and hat on a pew on the other side of the aisle, but as he approached, he called out good-naturedly, “He really does. You should’ve seen the necklace he sent off for when they found out she was increasing.”
Increasing? Increasing what— Oh. Hunter found himself flushing slightly.
Vincenzo, on the other hand, thrust himself to his feet. “She’s expecting? Congratulations, Jack!” He shoved a hand out blindly, and the other man—Jack—took it with a grin. “You and Meri excited about being grandparents?”
Jack grumbled, but Hunter could tell he was pleased. “Not sure it was supposed to be public knowledge yet.” He glared at the younger man, who shrugged with a grin. “Max can’t keep his trap closed.”
“I never could,” the younger man quipped, then offered Hunter his hand. “I’m Max DeVille, Reverend. My father runs one of the big spreads outside of town, but I’m Dimitri Volkov’s—that’s Jack’s son-in-law—business partner. Horses.”
Hunter wondered if he was supposed to know what that meant. Horses? Their business was something with horses? Still, he shook the man’s hand, noticing something familiar about him.
Why did Max remind him of Snow? Was it the shape of his face? Or the fact his skin was a little darker than Jack’s? Was Snow’s hair as dark and curly as this man’s?
No, she’d said her hair wasn’t dark, hadn’t she?
The memory led to the thought of her stepmother—the woman she was supposed to trust—forcing her to cover up her hair. Since birth. And not just her hair; the woman had actually been attempting to lighten Snow’s skin, as if Snow were somehow less because of the color of her skin.
Not for the first time since he’d learned her story, Hunter had to force down his anger at the witch of a woman who’d treat an angel like Snow that way.
Still, he couldn’t afford to be distracted by these thoughts right now. Especially not on Christmas Eve.
He shook his head to force himself to focus as Jack offered him his hand.
“Jack Carpenter, but everyone around here calls me Doc, which is stupid,” he grumbled, as he shook Hunter’s hand. “My wife, Meri, is the real doctor; not sure why they don’t call her Doc Carpenter.”
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Carpenter. I’m Hunter Woods, but I prefer to be called just Hunter.”
The grin Jack flashed was over in a blink. “I heard a rumor you’re a bit of a woodsman.”
“Yes, sir. I prefer to celebrate our blessings out of doors. I’m hoping to do a few sermons outside in the summer.”
The older man nodded brusquely. “Sounds good. I’m sure it’ll be popular, especially among the younger folks. Just don’t get too newfangled.”
Vincenzo snorted a laugh. “For God’s sake, Jack, you’re not even fifty. Stop acting like a grandfather.”
Jack whirled, his finger pointed at the violinist’s nose. “Listen, you—”
In an effort to promote Christmas cheer—and to halt any bloodshed—Hunter spoke up. “You know, Jack, one of my landladies is named Doc. Isn’t that interesting? Two female doctors in one town.”
All of the fight seemed to go out of Jack. His shoulders slumped, and he slowly turned back to Hunter, his finger still extended. Only now it looked less like a menacing gesture and more questioning. “Doc? Doc? You don’t mean…” His eyes narrowed. “Landladies? You’re not staying on Perrault Street, are you?”
“I am.”
“In the house of mirrors?”
Hunter frowned. He hadn’t noticed an abundance of mirrors in the home where he was staying. At least, not so much someone might call it— Oh. Jack was referring to Doc’s comment to Snow about mirrors.
He nodded.
Jack cursed.
“What?” Vincenzo snapped.
“Godmothers,” Jack growled.
Vincenzo echoed the curse.
Max threw up his hands. “Could someone please explain what’s going on?”
Jack blew out a breath. “No, lad. Not yet. It’s not time for you to know about them.” He narrowed his eyes at Hunter. “But you, Reverend Hunter Woods, you’re brand-new to town, and they’ve already got their hooks into you?”
Before Hunter could ask him what he meant, Vincenzo spoke up.
“Not only that, but he was asking me where to buy a gold ring.”
“Great.” Jack rolled his eyes, then made a little shooing motion. “Well, it’s all over for you, Reverend. Good luck, Godspeed, may you have a long and fruitful life, not that my wishes have anything to do with anything.”
“What?” Max was chuckling now.
Hunter figured his eyebrows were up around his hairline now. “What exactly are you talking about, Mr. Carpenter?”
Jack had already stomped off, scowling out one of the windows. Looking for the rest of his family? The snow had slowed, as Snow had predicted, and Hunter was still hoping for a reasonable crowd for his first sermon in his new church.
It was Vincenzo who sighed heavily and lifted his violin once more. “It’s best you not ask too many questions, lad. Your landladies are working in your best interests, but Jack doesn’t like their interference, despite how much he’s benefited over the years. We all have.”
Max planted his fists on his lean hips. “I haven’t. I don’t even know what you’re talking about.”
The blind man grinned mysteriously and placed his instrument under his chin. “You will, Max. You will.”
He lifted the bow, and before Hunter—or Max—could ask for clarification, the achingly beautiful strands of Silent Night burst from the violin.
Hunter inhaled deeply, remembering the moment he’d first heard Snow’s voice. Had it only been a few days ago?
It felt like a lifetime.
Glories stream from heaven afar.
God willing, he’d have a lifetime with her.
Beside him, Max sighed heavily, and when Hunter glanced his way, the other man rolled his eyes with a smile.
“Come on, Hunter. These old geezers aren’t going to tell us anything else.”
“I heard that,” Jack growled from his spot by the window. “Your congregation is arriving.”
Max jerked his thumb toward the door. “Well, Reverend, are you ready for your first sermon?”
“Is Snow likely to—?“
He cut off his question, but not before Max’s dark eyes lit up. “Yeah, the snow’s stopping, R
everend,” he said in a loud voice, then leaned in closer and continued in a whisper, “but Snow White isn’t likely to come, not with everything that’s accumulated. She’s got a little bit of a trek into town.”
When Hunter didn’t reply, the other man straightened with an innocent look in his eyes, his hands spread wide. “That is what you were asking about, Hunter, isn’t it?”
It was impossible not to like the affable man, and Hunter was pleased to have found another new friend. He matched Max’s grin with one of his own.
“Yes,” he finally admitted, “it was. Thank you.”
“No, thank you.” Max lowered his voice again. “She’s a first-rate young lady, and I’m real pleased she’s got someone as fine as you asking about her.”
Hunter accepted the compliment with a nod of his head. “Then maybe later this evening, if you don’t have to hurry home, you could help me nag an answer out of those two about where I might purchase a gold band.”
Max’s grin grew as he clapped Hunter on the shoulder and turned him toward the double doors, which were just now opening.
“Better than that, Hunter, I’ll help you find one myself!”
Chapter 7
Snow sang under her breath as she tied off the last of the tatting. “Oh come, all ye faithful, joyful and triumphant! Oh come ye, oh come ye to Bethlehem!”
Joyful and triumphant.
The thought brought a proud grin to her face as she plucked out the pins which had held her latest creation against the tatting cushion. This design, about as wide as both her hands when spread out, was one of her most difficult. She’d used techniques and knots she knew, but had expanded them wider so she could convey her message.
But it wasn’t just her latest creation which made her feel joyful and triumphant. No, that was thanks in large part to yesterday’s kiss. She still felt as if she was walking on air, and couldn’t help but break into random songs.
Christmas carols, of course.
If she closed her eyes, she could still feel Hunter’s arm around her, still taste his kiss on her lips. He’d made her feel alive and perfect in the best way, and yes, even joyful and triumphant.
And he’d given her a gift! The apple—round and shiny—was sitting beside her on the small table next to the lamp, waiting to be eaten. She’d promised herself she’d finish this project first, then eat it.
Yesterday she’d returned home without Lucinda noticing—or caring—and had immediately gone to her small room. She’d done a bit of lying on her bed and sighing in pleasure, remembering his touch, but after a while, her thoughts had begun to turn to what she could give to him. There wasn’t much she could think of he might need, and nothing much she could buy him, not with her limited funds.
But there was one gift, one she suspected he’d be thankful for.
She could tell him how she felt about him, in the only way she knew how.
So she’d pulled out her tatting cushion and thread spools and sketched out a design on some of Rose’s old papers. Then she’d settled into the parlor in her heavy robe and began to work. She tatted through dinner—she wasn’t at all hungry, not after the delicious luncheon Hunter had treated her to yesterday—but it wasn’t until late that evening she’d realized Lucinda hadn’t demanded food.
When she’d found her stepmother locked in the kitchen with her potions and concoctions, muttering frantically to herself, Snow was happy enough to sneak away quietly and retreat back to her cozy spot in the parlor. Of course, it would’ve been nicer—more festive, at least—with a tree and some decorations, but the small fire was cheerful enough.
She’d worked late into the night, then started again this morning.
And now she was done.
She lifted her creation to peer at it critically. There were imperfections here and there, but she doubted anyone other than a professional lace-maker would be able to recognize them. The letters were clear enough, and she prayed Hunter would like it.
Would reciprocate it.
“Oh come, let us adore him; Christ the Lord!”
This particular song always buoyed her spirits, and today was no different. It was Christmas morning! Jesus the Savior had been born, and it was a day to celebrate!
A day to celebrate new life and new beginnings.
Smiling, she stood, folding the lace gently and slipping it into a pocket of her apron in order to take upstairs and wrap in tissue for Hunter. Then she stretched and leaned to peer out the window.
It was nearing midday already, judging from the position of the sun, and a little pang of regret marred her cheerful feeling. She’d missed the chance to see both Hunter’s Christmas Eve service and his Christmas morning service, but it couldn’t be helped. The snowfall had mostly stopped this morning, but there was over a foot of new snow out there.
She could’ve made her way into town this morning, but Lucinda—where was that woman, anyhow?—would’ve certainly demanded an explanation, and Snow didn’t particularly want to tell her about Hunter. Her stepmother would find a way to ruin Snow’s happiness, almost assuredly.
Besides, Snow needed the time to finish Hunter’s gift.
He’d invited her to dinner after the service, so she expected it would be another few hours, if he held to the same time for the service as Pastor Tuck used to. That would give her enough time to wrap his gift and clear some of the snow from the front porch, before washing and getting ready.
A smile split her face as she realized she’d be with Hunter in just a few hours! And perhaps, if she was lucky, in his arms.
What a wonderful way to celebrate Christmas!
As she turned from the snowy landscape outside, her stomach rumbled. She’d snuck into the kitchen that morning, picking her way through the mess Lucinda had made the night before, to find some leftover bread she’d made a few days before. Most of it was still left, which was a little worrisome.
Had Lucinda been eating anything? Or did she believe, somehow, her potions and “witchcraft” would sustain her?
The older woman had been looking worse over the last few months, and Snow had noticed sometimes days would go by in between Lucinda’s demands for fresh meals.
If Snow were a better person, she might be concerned. But honestly, after the way Lucinda had treated her her entire life, it was hard to care. If the older woman wanted to live on her witch-y powers—however imagined they might be—she was welcome to try. Heaven knows it was easier just to cook for herself…like that bread.
But even a thick slice of bread and butter wasn’t enough to sustain Snow, not all day. She’d need a snack to make it through until dinner.
Her eyes lit on the apple Hunter had given her, and she smiled.
Of course!
What better time to enjoy her Christmas present than on Christmas Day?
Humming happily, she scooped the apple up and crossed the room. Even without the decorations, or anyone to share it with, she was surprised how special Christmas morning could be since she had Hunter to look forward to!
She bit into the apple, and halted mid-step, moaning with pleasure as the tart juices flowed into sweetness. It was a simple pleasure, but one she adored, and she slowly lowered her foot as she savored the bite.
Then, knowing she had plenty more, she chewed and swallowed, already excited about the rest of the treat.
She was reaching for the door to the kitchen with her free hand, when it exploded open so fast, Snow stumbled. Lucinda burst into the room, her fingers bared like talons, her cape flowing over her shoulders like a huge bird of prey.
Snow took a few steps back. “Lucinda?”
The woman looked horrible. Her hair was matted, and her cheekbones were sunken, as if she hadn’t eaten anything in the days since she’d demanded Snow fetch her more water. But worse than that, were the raw wounds along one forearm—her sleeve was rolled up to reveal them—and the blood under her nails.
Had she been trying out new formulas, and one caused excessive itching? Or was thi
s simply one more sign of her madness?
The older woman shrieked wordlessly, a sort of chant, and began to stalk toward Snow. There was a wildness in her eyes, which suggested she wasn’t entirely sane, but Snow could’ve guessed that.
Snow stepped back, and back again, the skirts of her white dress coming alarmingly close to the embers in the hearth. “Lucinda?” she asked again. “Are you feeling alright?”
“Feeling?” the woman snarled. “Looking! Looking looking looking! That’s what matters, you stupid girl! Am I looking fine? Yes! Yesyesyes!”
Each time she repeated herself, she cocked her head side-to-side and twirled her fingers, now looking more like a carnival act than anything else. Actually, it wouldn’t take Snow much to admit she did look like some fairy-tale witch.
A dark and midnight hag, definitely.
“Have you eaten anything lately?” Snow tried to keep her voice gentle, rather than reveal how startled she was. “It’s Christmas morning, Stepmother. Shall I make you a meal?” It wasn’t the way she’d planned on spending the next few hours, but the woman looked in desperate need. She held up her half-eaten apple. “Or perhaps a snack?”
Quick as a hawk, Lucinda’s hand flashed out and struck Snow’s, sending the apple tumbling to the ground. “Apples! You think to placate me with apples? I’ll not forget your sins!”
Watching her apple—her gift from Hunter—roll into the grate among the embers, Snow was hardly listening to the cruel old woman. “Sins, Lucinda?” She’d been so enjoying that treat, and it was unfair to lose it so—
“Sins!” the old woman screeched. “I know what you were doing yesterday! I saw you!”
Dully, Snow turned to face her stepmother again, stifling her sigh. She should’ve known Lucinda would find out about her and Hunter, but had she seen their kiss? How would she have seen them?
