Christmas Bells (Christmas Holiday Extravaganza)

by Jewell Tweedt

  Rubbing his hands in front of the flames, he nodded. Yes, she was starting to see things his way. The final weeks before Christmas, the café should be doing a brisk business. That stuck-up Simonson woman would be expecting nice receipts. People were out shopping and wanting to stop in for a hot drink or meal. When Margaret failed to make any profit, Connie would sell to cut her losses. She’d have to. Then he’d have that corner lot he had his eyes on. He’d turn that little café into a gentlemen’s establishment with huge portions, cigar smoking, lively music, and maybe even dancing girls.

  He took another drag on the fat cigar as his mind skipped back to Claire Maxwell. She’d been Claire Secord when she came to town several years earlier. He thought he’d wrangle that mercantile away from her, but she outfoxed him. How was he to know she’d had some legal knowledge? Then that schoolteacher, Grace Freeport, managed to keep her job when she’d lied to everyone. She’d gotten away with that too. But not this one. Connie Simonson was going to sell him Wild Rose’s with those stupid jangling bells. He couldn’t wait to yank them down from the door. No one would ever underestimate him again. Never again would he be cold and hungry like he’d been when his mother abandoned him as a child. He plunked back down at his desk.

  Reaching for a sheet of paper, he drew a quick diagram of what that street could look like. The men’s establishment, another post office/telegraph office, a new freight line he’d co-own, and of course, a branch of his bank.

  Omaha’s growth crept west. Real estate was cheap that far out, but it wouldn’t be for long. Yes, he needed that café’s spot in order to monopolize that part of town. Puffing out his chest, J.J. rose and strutted around his wood-paneled study. Indeed, no woman was going to get the best of him. Not now. Not ever again.

  Chapter Eight

  Connie glanced up as the mantel clock struck ten a.m. She twisted a corner of her apron in frustration. “I told her to be here first thing, Doris. The morning’s near over.”

  “Now dear, she probably had something come up. All those youngsters needing her attention.” The cook scrubbed away at the huge cauldron used for that morning’s oatmeal. “She’ll be along. I know her family. She’s a good woman. Tries real hard with all them kids. Shame too, her husband dying at such a young age.” She held up the pot. “There. Clean as a whistle and ready for tomorrow. Pour yourself a cup of tea and relax. She’ll be along.” Doris motioned to the cozy covered teapot on the counter.

  Connie poured a cup and eased into a seat at the worktable. “I’m just tired and a little cranky. I got up at three a.m. to get the baking done. I don’t know how much longer I can keep doing this. I love baking, but maybe it’s time that someone else does it. And Andy was fretting last night. I could hear him thrashing.” She sipped her tea and looked down at her cup. The brew was darker than usual. “This is really delicious. What kind of tea is this?”

  Doris shrugged and reached for a bowl of eggs. “I don’t know. Whatever you made.”

  “I didn’t make this. I thought you did.”

  “Not me.” Their gazes darted up to the shelf above the large range. A canister of Chinese oolong perched next to the box of matches. “Where’d that come from?” they said simultaneously. Connie turned and stared at Doris.

  Doris’s eyes grew round. “If I didn’t make it, and you didn’t make it, then...”

  At that moment, the back door opened, and Margaret burst in, shaking snow off her coat. “Sorry I’m late. I had to give instructions to the lady you sent and then stop by the doctor to see Ben. He’s much better today. I can bring him home tonight.”

  Connie, still thinking about the tea, missed the first part of Margaret’s explanation. “Your son is ill?” She gripped the edge of the table. He had seemed pale when she’d stopped by Saturday. Her Andy was pale today too. Did they catch something?

  “Yes, Dr. Connor thinks he has influenza. But he says Ben will be right as rain in a few days. That’s his words, ‘right as rain.’ He sure is a good man, that doctor is, handsome too.”

  Envy stabbed Connie’s chest. Margaret thought James handsome as well? She pushed that unexpected feeling away. She had no claim on him. If Mrs. Dawson was interested, good for her. She motioned to the teapot. “Care for some tea? It’s fresh and hot.”

  Margaret slid into a chair. “Yes, please. Let me start off by apologizing. I know it was wrong of me to close your café Saturday. It won’t happen again. You see, I was feeling overwhelmed and frustrated by trying to do what J.J. wants, what you want, and what my children need. But now that I have a boarder to care for my children, it works out perfectly.” She sipped. “My, that’s good. Oolong, if I’m not mistaken.”

  Connie and Doris exchanged glances. “What do you mean, what J.J. wants? What does he have to do with my restaurant?” Connie’s hands curled into fists. Dawson was a skunk, and his wife wasn’t much better. She still got angry every time she recalled what he did to Claire and Grace. He’d tried to steal her store and have Grace fired as the town’s teacher simply because she’d been a widow. The town’s statute declared only single women could be teachers.

  “He wants to put you out of business.” Margaret stared down into her cup. “He wants the food to be so bad and the service so terrible that people will stop going there. That’s why he made me lock the doors and go home Saturday.”

  ”But why?” Connie sputtered, knocking over her cup. It crashed to the floor, and the dark liquid splashed everywhere.

  Doris hurried over with the mop. “Let me take care of this. Go on, Mrs. Dawson.”

  Margaret toyed with the cup’s handle. “He has big plans for that part of town. He wants to close Wild Rose’s down and put in a gentlemen’s club. I’m sorry. I was stretched so thin with working at the café, trying to raise five children, and never having enough money, that I gave in.” She sobbed, her hands shaking. After a few moments, she continued. “He said he’d make me the manager of his club. I’d earn more money and be able to provide a better life for my family. Now that I think of it, he’d never allow a sister of his to be at a gentlemen’s club. It wouldn’t be seemly. He’d fire me, and I’d have no income at all.”

  Connie reached over and gently removed the china cup from Margaret’s shaky hands.

  “I understand,” she said. “J.J. Dawson may be your brother-in-law, but he’s a scoundrel. I’ll bet if we put our heads together, we can outfox him and find a way to get you more money and me more customers. That café must be on a pretty important corner for him to want it. There’s plenty of land elsewhere he could buy. What do you say?”

  Margaret looked up. “You’d do that for me? After how I cheated you and stole food?” She gulped. “That stew you saw us eating Saturday—that was from the café. It’s a sin to steal.”

  Connie nodded. Margaret was a good woman. “I know. I recognized the pot. I’d say that ‘waste not, want not’ applies here. It’s also a sin to waste what God provides for us. You used the stew to provide food for those precious children. Now, let’s start fresh, you and me. Right here, right now.”

  * * *

  Late that afternoon, Connie ran up the steps to check on Andy. He’d come home from school dragging his feet and headed straight upstairs. She sighed as she reached the top. This wasn’t like him. His usual routine was to come in the cafe door, holler “Hi, Ma!” to the amusement of customers, and head for the cookie jar in the kitchen.

  “Andy, what’s wrong?” She stopped in his doorway, surprised to see him sprawled on his bed. Two quick steps had her kneeling at his side, her hand on his forehead. “Sweetie, you’re burning up.”

  He looked at her and nodded weakly. “Uh, I don’t so feel good, and lotsa kids are sick. Teacher said no more school ’til this is over.”

  She rocked back on her heels. “That many children are sick?” An image of James popped into her head. He must be overwhelmed, caring for everyone. No wonder he hadn’t been in recently. The poor man.

  “Ma, I’m gonna be sick.” He t
urned his head away from her. She pulled the clean chamber pot from beneath his bed and tucked it under his chin. He gave up the contents of his stomach, moaned, and whimpered, “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t fret. You couldn’t help it.” She wiped the corner of his mouth with her lacy handkerchief. “I’m going to empty this pot and bring it right back. Then I’ll make some tea to settle your tummy. You rest now.” She pulled the heavy quilt to his chin and smoothed his brow. “Try to sleep.”

  She paused in the parlor to stoke the fireplace. The temperature outdoors had dropped, and the small apartment held a chill. She ran down the stairs and emptied the chamber pot outside.

  Returning to the warm kitchen, she found her cook stirring a large pot. “Doris, please boil some water for huckleberry tea. The dried berries are in a canister in the storage room. Andy’s sick. I’m going to run over to Dr. Connor’s office and ask if he can stop by later. If I don’t get back right away, take it up to him, will you?”

  She pulled on her old coat and wound a scarf around her head and face. Stepping outside, she gasped. Freezing rain pelted her cheeks. No wonder people were sick. The weather was horrid. Merry Christmas to us. At once, she felt guilty for whining.

  Please Lord, let this not be serious. Help me care for Andy. First, we had the broken wrist and now this. I’m trying to be a good Christian and help Margaret’s family. What else can I do? The answer came in a gust of wind. Listen for the bells.

  She stopped in front of the clinic. What bells? She shook her head. Now she was hearing things. She convinced herself it must have been the wind and pushed open the heavy front door.

  “Oh my.” She scanned the packed waiting room, full of coughing, shivering, sniffling people. Arianna looked up from her desk. “Connie, are you ill too? Sit down. You’ll have a bit of a wait.”

  “No, it isn’t me. Andy’s at home, and he’s throwing up and feverish. Can James…I mean Dr. Connor, come check on him?”

  “I’ll ask him when he’s done with these folks. It could be pretty late.”

  “Late is fine with me. Just so he sees my son. Thanks, Arianna. Looks like you two could use another doctor here.”

  “Tell me about it. I’m putting in as many hours as I can. Dr. Connor has written to everyone he can think of for another doctor or at least a full-time nurse. No one wants to travel to the Nebraska frontier in December. Can’t understand why.” She cocked an eyebrow.

  Connie flashed a brief smile. “I guess this isn’t a very inviting place to strangers. I’m always surprised when people do come to Omaha. But it’s home for us. I’ve often wanted to tell you how proud my Percy would have been with the job Jason is doing as sheriff. When Percy was killed by that bank robber, I wanted to leave Omaha, but I couldn’t. My family is here, and my future is here. I just know it. Well, I’m babbling, and you have folks to attend to. Please tell the doctor to come no matter what time it is. Have him pound on the back door. I can hear it upstairs.”

  “I will. I hope Andy gets better.” Arianna glanced over at her own son playing in a corner. “I’ll be praying for you, and I’ll leave Doc that note.”

  Chapter Nine

  James glanced down at the note left on the front desk: Andy Simonson, house call, late okay. Groaning, he pulled his pocket watch out. ten p.m. He had yet to eat, and his last patient had just left. His hands shook, and he looked down at them as if they belonged to someone else. I’m just tired, probably a little dehydrated as well. He swallowed some water, lit a lantern, and extinguished the lamp in his office. The sooner he saw Andy, the sooner he could go home to bed. Bed sounded wonderful.

  Food would have to wait until tomorrow. Margaret’s mush soup was gone, and his cupboards were bare. He missed Mrs. Cullen’s efforts on his behalf. She’d spent hours shopping for and preparing his meals. Most of which he hadn’t eaten. When he pulled on his coat, it hung loosely. Now that I think of it, I had to take in my belt another notch this morning.

  James’s legs wobbled as he trudged the few blocks to the back of the café. The lights above were lit. A sense of longing washed over him as he grabbed hold of the handrail and hoisted himself up the two back steps. This was Connie’s home. How was it that a few rooms over a café were more inviting than his own fine house?

  Because a home is not made of timber and bricks but the people who live inside. People like Connie and Andrew. Families. People who love one another. An overwhelming longing struck him. A need to belong to a family. Hers.

  He hesitated, wiping the perspiration from his brow. He wanted to be there, needed to be there in those cozy rooms, with someone who cared for him. Snowflakes swirled around his head in the freezing night air. A cough formed deep in his chest. No, I can’t be sick. I won’t allow it. Who will take care of the town? Three people died today, Lord. I did all I could, but there’s no cure for this malady. If I get sick, how many more will die while I’m lying in bed? Please God, let me care for Andy and go home to sleep. That’s all I need, a few hours of sleep. Don’t let anyone die while I sleep. Please.

  He pounded on the door. Connie swung it open. “James. I’ve been hoping you’d come. Andy is...” Her palm went to his cheek. “You’re sick. Oh, James...here let me help you.” She pulled him inside and shut out the cold winter night. The warmth of the kitchen enveloped him.

  “No, I’m okay, just tired. It seems like I’ve seen the entire town in my office the last few days. Now, where’s Andy?”

  “Upstairs in bed.” She reached out for him again.

  He shook his head and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Let me take a look. What are his symptoms?” He began to remove his coat and nearly toppled over.

  “Please, let me help you,” Connie repeated as she stepped behind him and gently removed the damp coat. “Looks like it’s been snowing again. It’s going to be a white Christmas for sure.”

  “Hmm, yes. I think you’re right.” Picking up his medical bag took an immense amount of effort. His head buzzed. “Take me to Andrew.”

  When he paused twice on the staircase to rest, Connie’s concern showed on her face. His heart tugged. She did care about him. He started to reach for her. “Here.” She turned, holding out her hand. He slipped his hand into it and gratefully accepted her strength the last couple of stairs. He stared at their entwined fingers. There was definitely chemistry. An image of them locked in a close embrace flashed through his brain. Perspiration ran down his back and pooled under his arms. It’s only the fever. Don’t be foolish, man.

  “You’re sick, James. Only makes sense. You’ve been exposed to so many ill folks. I imagine you’re running a temperature. Your eyes are bright, and your face is flushed.”

  “Hey, who’s the doctor here?” As soon as the curt words slipped out, he chided himself. She’s only being kind. She has no idea how her touch affects me. They reached the top of the staircase, and Connie yanked her hand back.

  “Sorry, Doctor. You are.” She huffed her way to Andrew’s room. “I was only concerned for you. I declare, men.”

  Andrew was sound asleep, one arm flung over his chest. James focused on practicing medicine and bent over to feel the child’s forehead. “No fever. Has he been keeping food down? Water?” He looked up at Connie and wavered on his feet.

  “Yes, he finally had chicken noodle soup and a glass of water, and they’ve stayed down.”

  “He’ll be fine. I suspect the worst is over for him. Keep him in bed a couple more days.” James stumbled around the other side of the bed and ran his long fingers over the boy’s wrist. “Wrist is healed too. You’ve done a good job. Keep up with the nourishing food and rest.”

  “How long has it been since you’ve had a decent meal?” Connie stood at the foot of the bed, hands on her curvy hips, sparks flashing from brown eyes. “You’ve lost a lot of weight. Lose any more, and you’ll dry up and blow away.”

  “I...uh...” James was taken aback by her stern tone. “I can’t remember when I ate last. I’ve been so busy.
I do have patients to care for.” Irritability crept back into his voice.

  Connie flinched and then squared her shoulders. “Yes, and if you don’t get well, how are you going to be able to do that? Why isn’t Mrs. Cullen bringing your meals to the clinic?” She brushed a shiny strand of hair from her face and stepped closer to him.

  James resisted the urge to tuck it behind her ear. What would it be like to run my hands through those tresses? He collapsed on a chair as the thought vanished along with his strength. “I really don’t have the energy to argue with you. I’m just going to rest a minute, and then I’ll be on my way.”

  “James.” Her voice softened. “You close your eyes, and I’ll bring you a bowl of chicken soup. It’ll warm you for your walk home.” She bent and smoothed Andy’s rumpled quilt.

  James’ eyes were already closed and his head nodding as she scurried down the stairs.

  Minutes later, she returned. “James, are you asleep?” she whispered. She carried a tray of chicken soup, several slices of lightly buttered toast, and two mugs of hot tea.

  He looked up, momentarily confused in the dim room. “No, I was just resting my eyes. It’s nice here—warm and quiet. It feels good to sit.” He struggled to stand. “I’ll be on my way.”

  Connie beckoned with a finger. “Please, have a cup of tea first and some soup. It’s cold outside.”

  “That does sound good.” He placed his hand on the wall to support himself. “I seem to be more tired than I thought.”

  Once more, Connie reached her hand out to help him. Her fingers were warm and strong. Soon, he was settled on the parlor sofa, and she handed him the soup. “I can spoon that up for you if you’d like.”

  “I can manage, but thank you.” His tone of voice was soft now. He couldn’t take his eyes from her full pink lips. Her clean scent intrigued him as well—vanilla and a touch of crisp linen. As busy as she kept, Connie stayed scrupulously clean. He wished that were true of more of Omaha’s citizens. Bathing didn’t seem to be a priority for most of them. The majority of illnesses could be prevented with proper sanitation. He yanked himself from his musings when she spoke.