Christmas Bells (Christmas Holiday Extravaganza)

by Jewell Tweedt

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright 2015 Jewell Tweedt

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Thank you

  Christmas Bells

  Jewell Tweedt

  “I heard the bells on Christmas day their old familiar carols play, and wild and sweet the words repeat of peace on earth good will to men.”

  Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, 1807-1882

  Copyright 2015 Jewell Tweedt

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  Cover Art by Joan Alley

  Editing by Paula Mowery

  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events, or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are the product of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Published by Prism Book Group

  ISBN-10: 1943104336

  ISBN-13: 978-1-943104-33-8

  First Edition, 2015

  Published in the United States of America

  Contact info: contact@prismbookgroup.com

  http://www.prismbookgroup.com

  Chapter One

  Omaha, Nebraska

  November 1878

  “Hey, Ma! Where you at? Ma?” Seven-year-old Andy Simonson slammed the front door. The bells jangled as he tore through the dining area of Rose’s Café. Diners looked up from their meals, grinning at the exuberant boy as he skidded to a stop at the counter where Connie Rose Simonson handed change to a customer.

  “Andrew, lower your voice. You’re disturbing our guests.” Connie shook her finger at her son and bit back a smile. Andy was a tiny replica of her late husband. How could she get mad at the sight of him so happy and excited? Ever since Percy was taken from them, Andy’s smiles and her own were few and far between.

  “You’ve found me. What is it that has you so riled up?” She wiped her hands on a dishtowel and leaned over the counter to push a lock of blond hair out of her son’s eyes.

  “Aw, Ma, don’t do that. Not in front of everybody.” He squirmed out of her reach. “Mrs. Maxwell says to come to her ranch Saturday. It’s her birthday, and she’s invited us over. Can we go, huh, can we?” He clasped his hands together, prayer-like. “Please, they’ve got new puppies there, and I wanna see ’em. Can we please?”

  “I don’t know, son. Saturday is one of our busiest days. Now that we’ve got the other restaurant up and running, I really should spend some time there, give them a hand.”

  The boy’s chin dropped, and Connie’s heart twisted. Her cook, Doris, sidled up beside her and patted her hand. “Connie, you go. Have some fun with your boy and your friends. You’ve been working hard, and the break will do you good. We can handle it here. Besides, Claire is your best friend. You have to go. You can’t disappoint her.”

  Connie turned to Doris and grinned. “You’re right. It has been a while since Andy and I have done some socializing. Maybe I’ll even bake a fancy birthday cake.”

  “Does that mean we can go, Ma? Does it?” Andy climbed onto the counter and threw his pudgy arms around his mother.

  She buried her face in his hair and nodded. “Yes, let’s plan on it. I’d like to see the puppies too.”

  “Yippee!” He scrambled to the edge of the wide counter and jumped to the floor. “I’d better go find me a present for her. She’s a nice lady.”

  Love and pride welled in Connie’s chest until she expected it to burst. “All right, but no frogs or toads,” she called to his back as he scampered toward the door.

  “Aw, Ma!” he hollered as the door slammed behind him.

  Her customers broke out into laughter as soon as the boy disappeared. A couple of burly cowboys slapped their thighs, and an elderly couple hid their smiles behind their hands. Children really added life to a room.

  Connie’s cheeks flushed. “Sorry, folks, he’s a bit high-strung. We didn’t mean to interrupt your dining.” She slammed the cash box shut and smoothed her apron.

  One of the cowboys leaned back in his chair. “Good to see the young fella has plenty of spunk—just like his pa. No disrespect, ma’am. His pa was a right good man, even if he did lock me up a time or two.” He wiped his chin with the back of his grubby hand.

  His buddy elbowed him. “Shut up, you mangy cuss. You deserved it, getting drunk and dancing on the saloon’s piano top. You always did lack horse sense.”

  “Gentlemen, thank you for your kind words. Percy always tried to be a good sheriff and fair to everyone.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” The first cowboy grinned as he reached for his coffee. “I promise I won’t dance on your table tops.”

  They returned to their meal, and Connie turned back to Doris. “Aren’t they a hoot? Thanks, I know the place will be in good hands. I’ll stop in at the other location soon and make sure they’re covered. Guess I’ll start thinking about what kind of cake I want to prepare.”

  Doris spun on her heels. “Anything you bake will be popular,” she said over her shoulder, heading for the kitchen. “I can cook, but nobody bakes like you.”

  Connie’s cheeks warmed at the compliment. People often told her she baked the best breads, rolls, and desserts in town. And now, with two cafés to bake for and operate, there wasn’t much time for seeing friends. By the time night arrived and she fed Andy and tidied their home, she was pretty much tuckered out. But she liked it that way. She wanted to be so tired she didn’t have time to think or dream.

  The noon rush was over, and only a couple of customers lingered over their apple pie and coffee. Connie refilled their cups and cleared dirty dishes from surrounding tables. One of the servers grabbed the dish tub from her and bustled back to the kitchen. When there were no customers, servers doubled as dishwashers to earn extra money. Connie slipped behind the counter and pulled out her recipe box. The cake had to be perfect for her dearest friend. The two had been close ever since Claire Maxwell had come to town ten years earlier.

  After a few minutes, she located the recipe for White Velvet cake. It was simple to make yet elegant, with a fine flavor and smooth, velvety texture. Iced with her famous chocolate buttercream frosting, it would make a lovely birthday cake for her friend. Tucking the recipe in her pocket, she hurried to the storeroom, scanning the shelves for the necessary ingredients.

  Yes, everything was there. While she was at it, she’d make two cakes. Any remaining cake, Claire’s family would surely enjoy. Connie’s pulse quickened at the prospect of a party. She shook her head. She worked too hard, but she was a widow now and had to support her son. Still, that didn’t mean she couldn’t enjoy an afternoon at the Maxwell ranch.

  She returned to the dining room. It was empty, and the dinner crowd wouldn’t be showing up for a couple of hours. The tables were washed and set, each boasting a smal
l arrangement of autumn leaves set in glass jars. It was this kind of attention to detail as well as the large portions and baked goods that kept her customers coming back.

  She poked her head into the kitchen. Doris and the other employees sat around a small table, taking a much-deserved coffee break. The dishes dried in the large drainer. Huge stockpots simmered with the delectable aroma of beef stew. “I’m stepping over to the mercantile. Keep an eye on Andy, would you?”

  “Sure, Connie, he’s in the back yard, playing with Emily Maxwell. I just gave them each an oatmeal cookie.” Doris sipped her coffee. “You go on now. While you’re there, we could use some eggs. Say three or four dozen.”

  “Sure, thanks, ladies.” She grabbed her shawl from a peg, wrapped it around her shoulders, and stepped through the back door. She shaded her eyes against the blue autumn sky. A high-pitched rustling caught her attention. “Andrew, what are you doing up there? Is that Emily with you?”

  “We’re just looking for apples.” He called down from a sturdy branch of her best producing tree. “Some got missed.” His pockets bulged. He plucked another and crunched. “These are good.”

  “Hi, Mrs. Simonson.” A little blonde cherub peeked out from an even higher branch. “We’re being careful.” The little girl anticipated the warning before Connie could get it out of her mouth. “My mother said she’d bake a pie if I found some.”

  “Just be careful, you two. I’ll be back soon. I’m heading to the store to visit your mother, dear.”

  She chuckled and slipped out the back gate. Emily was nearly the same age as her boy and every bit as energetic. Silently, she thanked God she’d had the foresight to fence in the yard behind the restaurant. The area held gardens for fresh vegetables and herbs as well as cherry, apple, and pear trees for the restaurant. Now, it helped rein in an active boy when he wasn’t in school.

  She strolled around the building, pulling the shawl closer against the chill in the air. It was the week after Thanksgiving, and the Christmas season would soon be upon them. She shivered. Another Christmas without Percy. Well, she’d do the best she could for her boy. At least she had a sled picked out for him.

  She hastened down the two blocks until she arrived at Weikert-Secord Family Mercantile. The exterior of the building was already decorated with evergreen swags tied with wide ribbons. Pushing open the heavy red door, she breathed in the comforting scent of pickles, coffee, and cigar smoke. Lifting a hand in greeting to the two farmers hunkered over a checkers game, she spotted Claire at the post office wall.

  Claire turned from sorting parcels and beamed as their gazes met. Connie hurried over and hugged her friend. “I understand you’re the birthday girl. I came to see if I could bring cake for the party. Andy is so excited. So am I.”

  “Oh, good, then you’ll come? I was afraid you’d be working.” Claire set down the parcels and hooked her arm in Connie’s. “Cake sounds terrific. Can I get you a cup of coffee? I just made a fresh pot. Or tea? I have hot water on the range.”

  “Tea sounds nice. It’s getting cold out there. Feels like it could snow.” Connie unwound her shawl and flung it on the wide oak counter. Claire produced a china pot from behind the counter and placed a few fragrant leaves in the bottom. She poured in hot water and set the pot aside to steep. “I get so tired of coffee. I’ve started carrying a variety of teas here, and I’ve been trying them all.” She lifted the lid from a glass candy jar. “Caramel? They just arrived from St. Joe.”

  Connie smiled. Claire had a sweet tooth. It was a miracle she was as trim as a girl. In fact, that’s how they became acquainted years ago—over slices of Connie’s peach pie.

  The two friends leaned on the counter, discussing details for Claire’s party, sipping hot tea, and nibbling on the best caramels Connie had ever had. After thirty minutes of heart-filling girl talk, Connie remembered the eggs.

  Claire stepped into the storeroom to retrieve them. The front door swung open, and Emily came tearing in. “Andy’s fallen! Come quick! I think he busted his arm!”

  Connie gulped, yanked on her shawl, and hollered, “Claire!”

  Her friend swung through the storeroom door. “I heard. Go! I’ll get Dr. Connor.”

  Connie sprinted down the street, praying all the while. She hurried around the back of her building. Andy sprawled on the ground, holding his arm. She dropped to her knees and cradled him carefully. “You okay, baby? Anything else hurt?”

  The boy’s face was pale, but he shook his head. “Just my arm, Ma.”

  She closed her eyes. “Lord, please let Andy be all right. Lord, he’s all I’ve got left of Percy. Please. And let the doctor get here soon.” When she opened her eyes, Dr. Connor was hurrying through the gate. “Thank you, Lord.”

  She held her son still while the doctor inspected the boy’s left wrist. “Andy, can you tell me what happened?” He probed the swollen flesh, his long fingers gentle yet thorough.

  Andy squeezed his eyes shut and sucked a breath through his teeth. “I saw an apple, a big, shiny one. I wanted it for Emily, but my foot slipped. I tried to catch myself, but I couldn’t hold on. Guess I fell.” He leaned back into Connie’s bosom. “Sorry, Ma. Don’t be mad.”

  “Honey, I’m not mad, just worried for you. But everything’s going to be all right. Isn’t that so, Dr. Connor?” Her eyes searched the man’s face for reassurance. He looked up with tender intensity. Her heart did a double thump. Her son was in good hands. Dr. Connor had delivered Andy and many other babies in Omaha since his arrival a few years earlier.

  “Yes, I think so. Andy, your wrist is broken but should heal fine. I’m going to wrap it then carry you over to my office where we’ll look you over more closely and make you a sling. What do you think of that?”

  Andy opened one eye. “Can I have a black sling? Then I’ll look really mean and tough. Like that outlaw Sheriff Reynolds has in the jail.”

  Doctor Connor smiled. “You are tough. Why, I haven’t seen you cry yet. You’re as tough as your brave father was. And yes, I can rig you up a black sling.” He tucked his instruments back into his bag and reached for the boy. Connie noticed how carefully he lifted him and her heart tugged.

  “Here we go.” He held her son against his broad chest the three blocks to the clinic. Connie trailed behind, murmuring soft words of comfort to her child and thanks to her Lord. Once again, He’d provided all she needed, her son and a compassionate doctor to care for him.

  That night, after she checked on Andy and put herself to bed, Connie reached over and clutched Percy’s pillow to her chest. Even now, two years after his death, she couldn’t help but miss him. The pain was not as sharp as it had been. Every day, it eased a tiny bit, but in the quiet hours she missed having him lie beside her, to hold her, to comfort her, to love her. She and Percy had six short years together, but they had been good years—years of hard work, laughter, the wonder of Andrew, and fear. Percy had been sheriff of Omaha. And he was a darn good one. She’d never told him how scared she was when he went off to work every day. Omaha was a wild town, and it kept on growing. Things got a little better when Jason Reynolds came back to town as Percy’s deputy, but even with his skills, Omaha was a lot to handle for two lawmen.

  She smoothed the old pillow and tried to find a comfortable position in the lonely bed. Oh, how Percy had courted her. He’d laughed and joked, taken her dancing, and called her Connie honey. He’d been so sure of himself, of them. He’d told her one night that she was his and that they’d be getting married. When she’d asked him if he thought that meant they were engaged, he’d turned his laughing eyes on her and said, “Kinda, sorta.”

  She’d kicked him out of her café and told him not to return until he was ready to propose properly. The look of amazement on his face was hilarious and, even now, brought a sad smile to her lips. Only knowing he was at peace in heaven gave her the strength to carry on, for her and for their son. Percy was with Jesus, and maybe even right now, he was strolling with Him in a glorious garden
. She sure hoped so.

  Now her son slept in the next room, his arm bandaged. If only she’d stayed to watch him or insisted he climbed down from the tree. Maybe this wouldn’t have happened if Percy was around and she wasn’t so busy. It was her fault he’d fallen. Why did she think she could run two restaurants and raise a spirited boy? Who was she kidding? She climbed out of bed and flung the pillow to the floor. No comfort was coming tonight. Time to face reality, move forward, and stop mooning about the past. It was just her and Andy, and that was how it was. She padded down the short hall and eased open the door to the other bedroom. The doctor had given her son a diluted dose of laudanum, and he was finally resting.

  Connie stood over her son’s form and prayed. Thank you, Father, that the break was a clean one, and the doctor was in his office. Thank you for his calm presence and skilled hands. Please allow Andrew’s arm to heal with no ill effects. Help me to focus more on You, your Son, and mine. In Christ’s name I pray. Amen.

  A sense of calm washed over her, and she could now sleep. In her busy life, her attempts to do it all, she’d forgotten she could do nothing without God’s grace. Easing the door shut, she tiptoed back to her bed and pulled the covers up to her chin. She promised herself that tomorrow, she’d begin to simplify her life, to make God and Andy her priorities and maybe find a little happiness for herself. Maybe even remarry someday. Percy would have wanted that. She slept, dreaming of a gentle doctor holding her child and smiling at her.

  Chapter Two

  Dr. James Connor leaned back in his office chair until it balanced on the two back legs. He clasped his hands behind his head, stretching until his spine tugged. Shifting his weight forward, James let the chair settle. The wall clock struck midnight, and he yawned as he closed Andrew Simonson’s file. It had been a busy day, but he wanted to make his notations while they were still fresh in his mind.

  He pictured the boy cradled in Connie’s arms. His wrist injury was painful but not severe. The buckle fracture involved the end of the radius and would heal in about four weeks. Youngsters recovered so much quicker than adults. He smiled. Andy was a brave soul. So was his mother. Neither had cried, but tears were intended to calm and soothe. Connie held her composure and comforted her child, but the anguish in her brown eyes shone so clear, James had nearly pulled her into his arms to comfort her. He’d never had that reaction to a patient’s mother before.