A Snowy Delivery for Christmas
Ornamental Match Maker Series
Marisa Masterson
Table of Contents
Dedication
Acknowledgements
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Epilogue
Leave a Review
Sneak Peek
About Marisa
Dedication
Dedication--For Hunter. You've put Grandma in the mood to write about babies. I love you!
Acknowledgments
A warm thank you goes to my ladies who help by reading for errors and ideas—Sandy Sorola, Cindy Edwards, Theresa Baer, Becky Bell Bowen, Marcia Montoya, Lou Klassen, and Trudy Cordle. Their encouragement keeps me writing, along with the support from the ladies in my reader group—Marisa’s ARC Readers. Thanks to every one of you.
An additional thank you goes to Amy Petrowich. Your suggestions and proofreading make me look good. I appreciate it. A shout out has to be sent Christine Sterling Bortner’s way, as well. Her mentoring and formatting skills are what make my books possible. I am very glad I joined her Courageous Author program!
Chapter 1
Christmas Cove, South Bristol, Maine, 1921
Delmar Peale wearily climbed the steps of the red-brick rooming house. He reached into his pocket for the key and then shook his sandy-brown head. Absolutely no one locked their doors during the day. What a thought! To actually lock your doors before dark! Del snorted at his nonsense before heading inside.
The rooming house was comfortable and affordable. Even so, it would never be home. Thoughts of the house across town gripped him with a twinge of grief. He must be tired, Del thought since the grief didn’t grip him with its usual sharpness.
Warmth surrounded him when he stepped into the foyer. While hanging his coat on the mirrored hall tree, a cheery voice called his name.
“Mr. Peale! My, but I am glad I caught you. It saves me climbing all those stairs to your set of rooms.” His apple-cheeked landlady seemed to appear out of nowhere, causing Del to inhale with surprise. He should be used to it by now. She and her husband moved with amazing speed and quiet, especially for older people.
The woman and her husband were short and round. They reminded Del of white-haired elves. Jolly was the best word to describe both of their personalities. When they laughed, it seemed their entire body became involved in the merriment. Just now, Mrs. Klaussen’s eyes twinkled, but her face wore a serious expression.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Klaussen. What can I do for you?” Weary from a ten-hour shift at the factory, he didn’t want to make small talk. Fatigue wouldn’t stop him from being polite to this delightful elf-woman.
The landlady looked at him speculatively. “It’s Saturday, Mr. Peale. Did you volunteer to work another weekend shift at the cannery?” Clicking her teeth, she shook her head. “You aren’t doing yourself any favors that way. Something has to change, my dear. Remember that, won’t you? It has to change.”
Her words, spoken with motherly concern, baffled him. He was supposed to remember that he had to make changes? If he ever wanted a life that involved more than working, eating, and sleeping, well, he would do something differently. But, remember that he has to make changes? That sounded absolutely batty to him. Batty or not, an image of his fellow border, Josephine Withers, flitted into his mind. Lovely, composed Josephine.
When he stayed silent, the white-haired woman reached up to pat his hand as she sighed. “Never mind about that right now. Mr. Klaus and…” The woman broke off and started again. “That is, Mr. Klaussen and I will be gone through the holiday. Since it’s already two days until Christmas, we need to leave tonight. We’ll be back a few days after the holiday. After all, we’ll want to return to Maine where it’s warm.” He nodded even while he thought her talk about Maine being warm was one of the oddest things he’d heard in a while.
With a happy lilt to her voice, the woman continued, “Be sure you don’t use the fireplace in your sitting room. I had the chimney checked today and learned how dangerous it would be for you to light a fire in there.”
“Yes, Mrs. Klaussen. I understand and hope you enjoy your Christmas holiday.” He turned to move to the stairs, longing for his comfortable chair upstairs.
“What are your plans for the holiday?” Her question brought to mind images of Christmas past. Of Gloria and Jimmy along with his parents sitting at the dining room table.
He shook his head to clear his mind and answered Mrs. Klaussen. “No plans, ma’am. Just going to stay here on my own.”
“Hmm. That’s what I thought. Everything will work out fine, then.” She giggled and her merriment made him wonder about her for a moment. She didn’t look crazy. Instead, the woman had the look of someone with a secret.
He raised an eyebrow questioningly and she stifled the giggle. Sparkles seemed to surround her hands as the women held out a package to him. “Never mind, for now, Mr. Peale. You will need this package tonight.”
Where had the gift come from? He was certain her hands had been empty before he turned toward the stairs. Had fatigue caused him to imagine the shimmer in the air? Mrs. Klaussen must have stirred up dust when she reached for the package, he reasoned to himself.
The box was wrapped in lovely red-foil paper with a silver ribbon tied around it. A large bow finished off the festive look. “Thank you for the gift. I didn’t expect you to…”
She interrupted him with a slash of her hand. “Now, none of that. This is something you will need. Keep it in your icebox, mind you. It has to be kept cold until the surprise happens.”
Very little that the woman said today made sense. “Until the surprise happens?” In a coaxing voice, he repeated her words, hoping she would give him more details.
“You’ll know when it’s the right moment. Wait until then. It’ll be more fun. And remember, don’t use the fireplace. It will ruin everything if you do.” She wagged a finger at him as she said those last words.
Like a boy standing before his teacher, he obediently nodded, a lock of brown bobbing against his forehead. “Yes, I’ll remember and follow what you said.”
“Well, it will be fine then. You’ll have a happy Christmas.” She beamed at him. Del thought, not for the first time, that with her red dress and short, round frame, the woman looked like Santa’s wife. Her husband’s round belly and long white beard helped create that illusion, as well.
While he stood musing about silly things, the woman had disappeared. He’d been staring at the package and imagining silly things about his landlady and her husband so that he hadn’t even seen her leave. That was just one more sign that he needed the days off of work that he’d arranged for this week.
Climbing the steep stairs, he thought of the shorter stairway in his house across town. There, the stairs had a landing half-way up so a body could stop to rest if needed. He went weeks without thinking about the home he had refused to live in after Gloria’s death. Why did the place keep coming to mind today?
On the second floor, he paused before going into his sitting-room to look up the last flight of stairs that led to the attic room. Was Miss Withers home? Increasingly, he looked for opportunities to catch a glimpse of her but refused to allow his attraction for the spinster to go beyond the occasional greeting. He’d already had a family and didn’t want to begin again.
He rented the entire second floor. Thou
gh it should have been four bedrooms, he’d transformed one room as a small kitchen of sorts. Heading for that door, he opened it and walked to the small icebox. Placing Mrs. Klaussen’s gift inside, he turned to the hotplate and set the kettle over the burner after lighting it.
He’d have a cup of tea and a few cookies while he settled into his rocker and read the paper. That was his routine. Night after night without fail, he followed the same pattern as a clockwork toy. Wind him up and watch him perform a motion again and again.
Del knew life had become monotonous. Leaving the kitchen, he stepped out into the hallway and glanced at the stairs that led up to Miss Withers’ room. Perhaps she might—
No, best leave the door on anything between them closed tight.
The warm summer air tickled her cheeks as she strolled across the yard on the arm of her handsome beau. Thank goodness for her large wire-framed hat. The sun blazed at its hottest for the day and warmed her black hair even with the hat. With its wide, lacy brim, she had to tip back her head to smile up at Edward.
His mother’s garden party was something to which she wouldn’t normally have been invited. Not without Edward’s persuasion. His family was higher in social prominence than hers. When she’d received the embossed invitation, Josephine Withers knew her dreams were coming true. It meant Edward intended to—
“Miss Withers, can I go on now?” The small, bearded girl, costumed as one of the shepherds, waited for permission before she entered the stage.
With a play in progress, how had she slipped into memories of that long-ago summer? Smiling awkwardly at the troop of shepherds, she waved a hand to indicate they should go on stage.
Each year, she volunteered as a director for her church’s nativity play. That, along with teaching Sunday school and her job at Farley’s School for the Fine Families, gave her contact with children and brought joy to her life.
The curtain fell on her shepherds and the angel who’d come to announce tidings of great joy. As they moved past her--exiting from the wrong side of the stage no matter how many times she’d told the group of seven-year-olds to leave by the other side--twelve-year-old Minnie Perkins approached. The pink, curly-headed baby in the girl’s arms caused Josephine’s own to ache.
She never held babies. In fact, she avoided them because of this longing. If someone asked her what she craved in her heart of hearts, Josephine would have to say it was a husband and a baby. Already thirty, the possibilities of that happening for her were slim.
Gesturing for Minnie to enter, the girl who played Mary carried the dark-haired baby on stage and placed her in the manger. The audience never cared if the baby was a boy or girl. They simply expected a real baby. One year, Josephine substituted a doll since no one in the church had an infant the right age. After the play, she’d lost count of the number of people who told her, “It just wasn’t the same with a toy baby Jesus.”
Three little wisemen stared up at her. Oh dear! She’d been woolgathering again. Mary and Joseph stared toward her in the wings, waiting for the wisemen to bring them wooden boxes. Giving the actors a smile of apology, she hurried them on stage for their big moment.
Later, following enthusiastic thanks from parents and other congregation members, she slipped on her ankle-high Jersey cloth boots and secured the buckles. At eighty-five cents, they’d been the best she could afford when her previous pair were irreparable. That pair had been a remnant of days as the cossetted daughter of a financially secure family. They’d been made of leather and had fur lining to keep her feet warm. The felt inside her new boots was a sad replacement for that warm fur.
Stepping outside, she clutched the fur lapels of her dark blue velvet coat, trying to escape the cold wind. It had been silly to forgo her scarf just because it looked out of place with the coat. The matching velvet hat did little to warm her head and ears. She needed to remember that style was for people who could afford a car. A person like her, someone who walked everywhere, needed to wrap up warmly against the bitter cold that blew in off of the Damariscotta River.
A lifelong Maine resident, she’d lived on the island for three years. When Edward was killed at Ypres in 1918, hope of life with her fiancé vanished. The Spanish flu killed her parents the next year.
He’d leaned out the train window that summer day and gripped her hand. “I will be back. The war won’t last long after we get there.” As the train steamed away, their entwined fingers parted. He grinned at her and waved, happy to be leaving her for the glory of rescuing Europe.
He'd come back, as promised. Just not alive.
Candles in windows of houses she passed reminded her that Christmas was almost here. She needed to move past her dark thoughts. Purposefully, she thought over the evening’s play. The smiles she’d seen that night would be her Christmas joy.
She hurried along the dark street to the rooming house. By this time, the front door would be locked. Mr. Klaussen was careful that way. What a sweet couple! With their rosy cheeks and snow-white hair, the short couple made the perfect picture of grandparents.
“Funny, but I’ve never asked them if they have grandchildren.” She spoke aloud in the dark night as she fumbled with the key. It didn’t matter since the night was not silent. A dog barked in the distance. From the Jacksons’ home, a few doors away, she could faintly make out the notes of “God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen” playing on that family’s Victrola.
Once she stepped inside, Josephine unbuttoned her worn velvet coat, careful not to pull on the loose buttons. Hanging it in her customary spot on the hall tree, a small, square package with her name on it caught her eye. It sat on a shelf situated below the coat rack’s mirror, the silver bow reflecting merrily back at her in the yellow light of the wall sconces.
Picking it up, she decided to wait until Christmas to open it. She hadn’t received a Christmas present in years—not since that last December with her parents.
Clutching the bright red gift to her heart, she moved toward the stairs. With her foot raised on the first step, a loud bang caused her heart to race.
Cautiously, she peeked out one of the windows to the side of the front door. No silhouette stood there. She watched for movement and saw only a figure hurrying down the street. The person stopped and looked back. Strangely, at that moment, Josephine was sure she knew the woman. At least she seemed familiar.
With shaking fingers, she opened the door. Craning her head past the doorjamb, she looked for something that might have fallen against it to cause the noise.
Through swirling snowflakes, she saw it. A wooden box filled with stained towels sat on the stoop. At that moment, a wicked blast of Atlantic air whistled past her. As a shiver raced through Josephine, she decided to ignore the box and shut the door against the cold.
As she pulled back into the house, the towels suddenly moved. A squeak from the box tilted Josephine’s world.
Chapter 2
With a hand to her mouth, Josephine blinked rapidly to clear her vision. It couldn’t be a baby! Babies didn’t arrive in boxes. Everyone knew the stork brought them.
What was she doing? Here, she stood in the falling snow and the cold thinking inane thoughts. Meanwhile, the little one probably shivered in dirty towels.
Lifting the box, Josephine carried the mewling child into the warmth. At least it was warmer than outside. The coal furnace typically pumped a warmth that enfolded her when she entered the house. Tonight, the hallway’s air chilled her enough that she didn’t pull the towels away to look at the baby.
“I’ll take you up to my room. Don’t worry, baby, it’s cozy and we’ll be warm before you know it.” She moved awkwardly up the stairs, the peach crate gripped in her arms. When a snuffling squeak again sounded, she made shushing noises.
Josephine had the oddest urge to run to Mr. Peale for help when she reached the second floor. Now that would impress him. Secretly, she longed to do that--impress the tall, silent man. With a glance down the hallway, she made her way up the final set of stairs to
her room under the eaves.
Cold! Freezing air seemed to attack her face after she opened the door of her cozy attic room. She shivered and set the box down on the landing before wrapping her arms around her body.
Moving quickly across the room, she shut the lone window. Who had opened it? Looking around, she saw that the blankets had been taken away. Her bed looked forlorn now that only sheets covered. Or maybe that was how she felt as she surveyed her haven from the world.
She moved to the armoire. As the room didn’t have a closet, she used it to store her clothes. Some long gone or dead resident had left the item. She’d been thrilled to find it stored on the other side of the attic, opposite her room. Now, Josephine glared at the piece of furniture. Both of her sweaters were gone!
Leaving her door open to allow warm air to flow up the stairs and into the room, her shoulders sagged and she shook her head as she plodded back down the stairs. With the box clutched to her chest, descending stairs proved tricky. She moved her foot carefully to the next step and the next one after that. Since she couldn’t grip the banister, Josephine leaned against the wall as she maneuvered from a higher tread to a lower one. As she made her way to the ground floor, Josephine felt cold air rush up to meet her.
Silence swirled around her. Stopping near the front door, Josephine set the box on the floor. Quickly shoving her arms into the shabby velvet coat, she sighed with relief at the bit of warmth it brought her.
The squeaks from the box erupted into squeals of distress. No amount of shushing calmed the still-hidden infant. Unsure what to do for the baby, the frantic woman rushed to Mrs. Klaussen’s door. No matter that she didn’t know if the woman had children, Josephine reasoned that Mrs. Klaussen was old so she had to know something about caring for babies.
She knocked softly at first. When the woman didn’t answer the summons, she hammered both fists on the red door. An odd thought raced through her mind. Who would paint their hallway red and use a green trim?
A Snowy Delivery For Christmas (Ornamental Match Maker Series Book 20) Page 1
