A Night of Angels

by Andersen, Maggi

  Inlaid in the mahogany, stained black to mimic ebony, was an imposing castle and beneath, in pale wood, intertwined initials: C and A – Constance and Adam. There was a date: 1783.

  “I made this for your mother. It’s only right it should go to our son.”

  Kit squeezed his fists to fight the tremors. He braced himself against the emotion that threatened to spill over. He’d spent most of his life believing he was unloved; afraid to his core he was unable to love but now – thanks first to Sophia and now Adam – he knew the truth.

  “Thank you.”

  He opened his eyes, knowing tears filled them, and allowed his father to see them anyway. He had no idea what the future would bring, but he was certain of one thing – Kit Hardacre had a family here in England and a place to call home in Sicily.

  “I wish I had a gift to give you,” he said. “I don’t like being empty-handed.”

  Adam shook his head, emotion nearly getting the better of him, too.

  “You’ve given me the best gift a man could have – the chance to be the father of a man to be proud of, and the honor of calling him son.”

  Kit fought the lump in his throat and knew if many more words were said, there would be more emotion than either of them could deal with, but he said them anyway.

  “I’m proud to be your son, Adam. And from now on, this day is not Christmas Eve – it’s Father’s Day.”

  The End

  A Joyful Song

  A Dry Bayou Christmas Novella

  Lynn Winchester

  Dedication

  For the Man whose birth we celebrate every Christmas. I love you.

  Prologue

  MacAdam’s Homestead

  Dry Bayou Ranch

  Dry Bayou, Texas

  Summer 1875

  “Och, Auntie, what am I tae do about this?” Seamus stared wide-eyed at the woman across the room who was smirking at him without even a mite of sympathy on her lovely yet weathered face. “Tis nothin’ left for me tae wear that doesna have a tear in it. I might as well go tae church with a sack on.”

  He took another look down at his bedraggled, torn, wrinkled, and faded clothes. “I should put them out o’ their misery.”

  His aunt snickered then slapped her knee, slowly rising from her place beside the worn table where they’d sat to break their fast.

  “Looks like ye need tae get yerself a wife, Seamus. I’ve already raised my bairn—intae a right smart woman, too. I’m no’ about tae mother ye, boy, even if ye need someone tae remind ye tae wash behind yer ears.” She cackled then came to stand in front of him, her short stature making her crane her head to look up at him. He was tall, broad-chested as a barrel, but without an ounce of fat. But his aunt only saw the little boy she’d known in Inverness.

  Pulling at his frayed cuffs, he mumbled, “A wife? If I had one o’ those, I wouldna still be livin’ with ye. And I’d have clean and mended shirts and trousers.” He knew he sounded like an irritable babe, but this wasn’t the first time he and his aunt “discussed” his finding a wife.

  “Seems tae me like yer the only lad left in town who doesna have a wife and bairns tae come home tae,” his aunt remarked as she grabbed her straw hat off the peg beside the door. She tucked her red hair beneath it and turned to open the door. The heat of the new morning blasted through the opening, and Seamus grunted. He’d never get used to the heat, not when he’d been raised on misty moors and dreary weather.

  Sighing, he ran his fingers through his already tousled hair. It was overlong, sliding along his collar, but he couldn’t be bothered to cut it. “Every one o’ those men either stumbled upon their wives or they ordered them from a catalogue—I canna do that. I want tae know the woman I’m tae marry, and I want more between us than a contract.”

  He wanted love. More than anything. Like his own Ma and Da had. But he couldn’t speak about such things with his aunt—or his cousin, Ray, for that matter. Raychelle—or Ray as she preferred to be called—was his aunt’s only daughter. Fortunately, she married one of the wealthiest land owners in the county, had a few bairns, and was living happily in the big house up the road. While Ray would gladly give him advice about finding a woman to wed, she’d also make it her mission to find that woman for him—her and all her female friends.

  Those women are as wily and romantic as a nest of fertile hens.

  Nay. He couldn’t talk to anyone about the deeply rooted, agonizing desperation to find a woman meant just for him. A woman who would adore him as much as he would adore her. A true love match.

  A miracle.

  “What ye standin’ there for, lad? Those feet won’t move themselves, and I hate tae be late tae church, especially on potluck Sunday,” his Aunt Moira snapped from the doorway.

  Piqued at his inability to focus, he followed his aunt to the surrey he’d hitched to Bella, their draft horse, just an hour before. He helped Aunt Moira into her seat, then came around the conveyance to climb into his own seat and take the reins.

  It was a short drive into town, and the Dry Bayou Community Church sat just on the outskirts. A wide-open lawn was set up with long tables, waiting for the many serving dishes coming in with all the people for the morning service and potluck following. There were already several covered dishes placed here and there, and he wondered what they contained, but that could wait.

  Not that he was all that hungry. His gut roiled along with his thoughts. He parked the surrey beside a line of other surreys and wagons, and he and his aunt entered the church—which was, as per usual, crowded with god-fearing folk—and found their seats in the back.

  Before he knew it, the service was over. And he hadn’t heard a word of it. As people filed out, he caught sight of his cousin, her husband, and their two children, Hannah and Avery. Hannah had a shock of hair as red as her mother’s, and little Avery had dark hair and large blue eyes, like his father, Billy.

  “Well, I didn’t know if I’d see ya today, since you’ve been awfully ornery lately,” Ray said, not one for mincing words. “Though, I figure church is the best place for ornery men.” Ray planted her hands on her hips—just like her mother had that morning—and gazed up at him with eyes that were too perceptive.

  He pulled away, casting a pleading look to his cousin-in-law, who shrugged and grinned.

  “Come on, darling, let’s leave the man alone and go make sure these three scamps don’t eat all the desserts,” Billy interjected, nodding his head toward their two children, who’d taken off toward the tables of food. Ray’s mother was leading them, a wicked gleam in her eyes.

  Ray snorted in acknowledgement, but didn’t take her eyes off Seamus. She scrunched her nose as she’d so often done as a lass, and he couldn’t stop the grin that erupted.

  “Lass, ye best be toddlin’ after yer own babes rather than treatin’ me like one. I dinnae need lookin’ after—and I havena been ornery,” he said, poking her nose. She snorted again, slapping his hand away.

  “Yes, ya have, you big ruddy mule. You haven’t been to supper in weeks, and my ma says you’ve been mopin’ somethin’ terrible.”

  It was Seamus’s turn to snort. “Yer ma needs tae stop speakin’ about me like I canna speak for myself. I’m a grown man, ye ken? I think I’ve had my fill o’ interferin’ females.” Lord, but he loved them, though.

  Billy squelched a chuckle and set his features before his wife turned narrowed eyes to him. But rather than say anything to him, she huffed and turned back to Seamus.

  “I only bother with you because you’re family,” she said, her tone filled with concern.

  He sighed. “I ken that, wee cousin, but ye have yer own family tae worry about. Leave me tae me. I will be just fine.” It took some doing, but Billy finally pulled his wife away to trail after their troublemaking kids and their grandmother, leaving Seamus alone with the ache in his chest. He watched them, laughing, smiling, loving one another, and he hated the bite of envy that nipped at him.

  Ray and Billy had what he wanted�
�shoot!—most of his friends had what he wanted; loving wives, beautiful children…family. Never in his twenty-eight years of living had he felt such gut-wrenching hopelessness. Such unrequited longing. It wasn’t the first time his mind swirled with the thoughts of marriage and happily ever after with that one woman he wanted to find, but this was the first time a still small voice spoke the words, ye’ll never find her.

  Swallowing down a ball of longing, Seamus MacAdams wondered if the voice were right, even as his heart ached with each beat.

  Chapter One

  The Castle Boarding House

  Dry Bayou, Texas

  November, 1880

  Joy Song tucked another pin into her thick braid to hold it in place. She groaned. Without more than the handful of hair pins she had left, she’d never get her straight, thick hair to stay where it was supposed to—in a coronet around her head. Huffing in exasperation, she eyed her reflection in the looking glass over her bureau, then blew at the loose black hairs she hadn’t been able to secure, which was pretty much most of it. She’d failed at the coronet…but a least she had her white cap to hide the strings of flyaways.

  You look a terrible mess, Joy Luck Song! She could hear her father’s voice in her head, a voice she missed more than she could ever utter. Even his disdainful tone was preferable to the silence that came with his passing. Though her father had been demanding—about excellence and professionalism in all things, he’d been a loving father. An attentive father. A father she longed to make proud.

  And you will, if you can manage not to lose your first job on your first day!

  “I don’t know how you survive the summers with that much hair,” Mollie, her roommate and fellow nurse remarked from her bed on the other side of their rented boarding house room. “Seems like you’re forever trying to get that rope tied up.”

  Joy grinned, flipping the haphazard braid over her shoulder. “My mother is always saying the same thing, though, she is the one I blame for my hair in the first place.”

  Her father, proudly English and Chinese, had imparted his short stature, his pale skin, and his straight nose with a slight bulb on the end. Her mother, the only child of a Cherokee woman and a Scottish immigrant, imparted her almond-shaped eyes—only slight, though—and irises the color of autumn leaves. Her mother also had long, straight hair that Joy had always admired when she was young. Now…she wanted to know her mother’s secret to always looking so composed.

  Mollie sniffed and then shrugged. “I blame my mother for my wide hips and my flat feet.”

  Joy’s grin grew. “Both of which you complain about often enough,” she remarked, turning to grab her white apron from her bed. “Now, let’s stop complaining about things we cannot change and get to the clinic. It is my first day, and I cannot give the impression that I’m a tardy Mary.”

  Sighing dramatically, Mollie nodded. “You’re right…” Mollie’s brown eyes gleamed with mischief. “And you know how seldom that happens.”

  It was Joy’s turn to sigh. She had met Mollie in San Francisco, when they were both students in the St. Alban’s School of Nursing. Mollie was a year ahead of Joy, but they’d become fast friends, and once Mollie graduated, it seemed their friendship only grew stronger across the miles. Mollie had taken a position as a nurse in the rapidly growing town of Dry Bayou, Texas, where she said the people were welcoming, the weather was hot and dry, and the town was the perfect mix of everything she could possibly want. Joy knew that if she had the chance to find a job in such a place, she’d jump at it, because while she loved San Francisco, the urge to strike out on her own in a new place with new opportunities was something she couldn’t pass up. Fortunately, once her own graduation came around, Mollie wrote to her about another opening in the clinic where she worked, and Joy did jump—right up out of her seat with excitement. And now, three months later, she was settled in and eager for her first day at her new career as a nurse at the Bartlett Clinic.

  Both ladies, now dressed in their light blue frocks and white aprons and caps, left their room to descend the wide, lushly-carpeted stairs to the main boarding house foyer. The entry way was large and featured a high-top front desk, a wide arched opening on one side for the dining room, and another arched opening on the other side for the sitting room. Everything was so elegantly appointed and yet comfortable. Nothing like the boarding houses in San Francisco, where comfort took a back seat to affordability and overhead costs.

  They were basically clapboard boxes with straw beds and mites.

  Joy shuddered at the thought.

  “Good morning, ladies,” a sweet, accented voice called from the corridor leading to the back of the building where, more than likely, the office was. Joy turned to greet the boarding house proprietress, Mrs. La Fontaine. Golden-haired with creamy skin, and an obvious, rounded belly, the woman glowed like the first soft rays of sunlight, peeking over the horizon.

  “Good morning, Mrs. La Fontaine,” Joy said, smiling. She hadn’t known the woman long, but she liked the woman immensely. What was there not to like about her? It didn’t hurt that the woman was as elegant and comfortable as her boarding house, with her lovely French accent, her bright smile, and her twinkling coffee-colored eyes.

  Mrs. La Fontaine clicked her tongue and planted her hands on her hips. “Joy, you must call me Becky.” She canted her head to the side and winked. “Mrs. La Fontaine is so formal, and there are already three of us…I prefer you address me as your friend, especially if you will be staying with us in Dry Bayou.”

  Warmth spread through her, and Joy’s smile grew. This feeling…it was something she hadn’t felt in San Francisco, where there were too many people and not enough friendliness to go around. But since arriving in Dry Bayou a week ago, she’d felt nothing but welcome, hospitality, and a heaping of heart and soul.

  “Good morning, Becky,” Joy began again, and Mollie laughed beside her.

  Becky laughed, too, then reached out to squeeze Joy’s hand. “That’s better,” she remarked. “Now, are you two off to the clinic?”

  Mollie nodded. “Yes—it’s Joy’s first day.”

  Excitement clashed with anxiety in her gut. “That it is.”

  Becky’s gaze softened with understanding. “Nervous?”

  “Only a little, Dr. Bartlett is such a nice man, and the clinic runs so well already…” From what Mollie had told her, the clinic ran as well as some hospitals in New York and Boston, but it still held that bit of down home charm you could only get from a small town. It ran so well, in fact, that the only reason Dr. Bartlett hired another nurse was because the number of patients had grown too large for the doctor to care for both the more serious cases like bullet wounds or births and surgeries, and the less than serious cases…like belly aches and warts.

  “Wonderful doctor and wonderful clinic. Those are both good things, non?” Becky asked, lifting her golden eyebrows quizzically. “Hank truly is a wonderful man, and his wife, Tilly, is such a lovely woman. Working at the clinic will be the best experience of your life, mark my words.”

  The rise of sudden panic began to subside, and the warmth returned. Pulling her shoulders back, Joy tipped her chin skyward. “You’re right.”

  Mollie tugged at Joy’s elbow. “Of course, she’s right. Now let’s get going! I can’t wait for you to meet Tilly, Dr. Bartlett’s wife. She’s coming in today to meet you.”

  And with that bit of somewhat encouraging news, Joy and Mollie left the boarding house and made their way across Robinson to Main. It wasn’t a long walk to the Bartlett Clinic, but Joy couldn’t help but want to stop and look at everything. Certainly, she’d been there a week already, but there was just so much to see!

  In the week since she’d arrived, the town had undergone a transformation; the buildings were decked with ropes of dark green leaves, like ivy clinging to the edge of each roof. Large red and gold bows were pinned along the ropes, equal distance apart, giving the impression of gift-wrapped edifices. Each business had a silver bell hung
over the door that would tinkle joyfully as each patron stepped through into their welcoming shop. Some shops had even filled their display windows with carefully chosen gift items, like boxes of chocolates, small handmade toys, and some of the most beautiful bonnets Joy had ever laid eyes on. Wreaths of holly decked several doors, and the posts along the boardwalk were wrapped with wide bright red and white ribbon. The smells of peppermint and cinnamon wafted through the air, filling Joy’s nose with scents of holiday treats she just had to taste!

  Dry Bayou was getting all dressed up for Christmas! The excitement she felt slipped when she remembered her mother would spend the holiday alone—well, not entirely alone. She did have a household of servants…

  Guilt plowed through the glee of the moment; she was leaving her mother alone at Christmas.

  But you are here, you have the job you’ve been working toward for years. This is your chance to take something for yourself. She knew this was what was best for her, but it didn’t stop the ache. The sense of loneliness.

  “Miss Mollie!” someone called from the other side of the street, and Mollie waved and yelled back, “Good morning, Mrs. Osbourne!” They weren’t walking at a leisurely pace but that didn’t stop people from yelling warm greetings as they passed in a hurry.

  People greeting one another…like they actually cared; another thing she never would have witnessed in San Francisco. Folks in her neighborhood had kept to themselves, only greeting one another if there was a new piece of gossip to natter about over the hedgerows. That was a common practice among the well-to-do families, of which her family was one—but only because her father had been such a well-respected physician. He’d established himself as the premier doctor in the state, and people from all over would come to see him about their ailments that their own doctors had called “incurable.” In some cases, her father would agree with the initial diagnosis and prognosis, but more often than not, he could actually help the hurting.