Cascades Christmas

by Mildred Colvin

  Willum glared at her.

  She could be just as stubborn as he.

  He finally looked away then pointed to the pile of lumber. “You can sit there. And don’t move.”

  So he was letting her stay but wasn’t going to let her help. Fine. She would sit for now but would keep a watchful eye for an opportunity to help.

  Willum stared at the skeleton of the church building, at the framework for the walls and half the roof trusses. Work on the church had gone slowly. Rain had made it impossible to build. Clear drying nights, and drenching days. If he could get the exterior completed, then it wouldn’t matter if it was raining, he could still work on the inside. The gray sky felt heavy. The damp air sent chills clear through to his bones. He hoped the rain held off. It could rain all night every night if the days would just stay dry. It would be impossible to finish in two weeks for Thanksgiving. Even finishing before the Christmas Eve service was in jeopardy now. One drop hit his nose, another his cheek.

  Lord, I could use a little help here.

  “Hello, Willum.”

  He spun to see Natalie holding the daily lunch basket. Not that kind of help. Less rain and a work crew.

  Natalie glanced up, blinking at the sprinkles hitting her face. “Are you going to be able to work today?”

  “I’m going to have to if I’m going to have any hope of getting this finished by Christmas Eve.”

  “But it’s starting to rain.”

  She wore the same worn work skirt she wore every day when she came to help, not that he’d let her. “Go home, Miss Bollen. Get out of the rain.”

  She made that little pinched face she made when he’d started calling her Miss Bollen again. “I brought you something.”

  “You don’t have to bring me lunch every day. I’m capable of feeding myself.”

  “It’s about the only thing you’ll let me do around here.”

  And he didn’t exactly let her bring lunch. It was more like she forced it on him. She would literally stand between his hammer and the nail until he ate.

  The rain came as only a drop now and then.

  She set the basket down and pulled a blue bundle from inside her coat. She shook out a sweater. “I hope I got the size right. I used David to fit it on.”

  She knit him a sweater?

  “It’s wool and should keep you warm even if it gets wet.”

  “I don’t need a sweater.”

  “You’ve been working in the rain. You’ll get sick.” She held it out. “Put it on.”

  The set of her jaw told him she would not take no for an answer. He took the sweater and pulled it over his head. It was almost like having her arms around him. It warmed him inside as well as out. “Happy?”

  She gave him a triumphant smile. “I was thinking, if you removed both sets of bunk beds, and moved the table and chairs to one wall, there would be room for a bigger bed.” Her cheeks pinked. “Your bookshelf could go at the foot of the bed. A small rocking chair could go in the corner next to the potbelly stove.”

  She was rearranging his cabin? That was kind of cute, but she was trying too hard to prove his small place was fine with her, when they both knew it wasn’t. He folded his arms. “Why would I want to go to all that trouble?” He didn’t plan on staying around.

  “Well, I just thought when …” She tilted her head and looked up at him with a coy smile and her big brown coltish eyes.

  “When what?”

  “You know after …”

  Yeah, he knew. “After what?”

  “After we get married, we’ll need a larger bed, and one won’t fit in that corner.” Her cheeks went from their soft shade of pink to a deep red. “Maybe you could add on a bedroom.”

  “I never proposed.” He didn’t want her to think she had a legitimate hold on him.

  “Well, we’re courting, aren’t we?” Her tone held a note of concern.

  “I never asked for your hand.”

  “You asked Papa to court me.”

  “It’s not the same thing.”

  “Well, you want to marry me, don’t you?” The doubt was there in her voice and her eyes.

  He did, but he knew he shouldn’t.

  She seemed nervous with him just staring down at her. She raised her hands and brushed them across his shoulders. “I think it fits rather well.”

  He grabbed her wrists. He didn’t want her touching him. He didn’t want to be touching her either but couldn’t seem to let go. He didn’t want to let go. He wanted to keep her always but didn’t know how.

  Natalie’s heart raced at Willum’s touch, even if he did look a little mad. She would take whatever he would give her, so long as he didn’t ignore her. She still had hope. His grip was so gentle that she could have easily pulled away. He hadn’t said he didn’t want to marry her.

  His grip shifted slightly, but neither tightened nor loosened. “You don’t trust me to provide for you.”

  “I most certainly do.”

  “How do I know I can trust you not to get scared and run off?”

  “I’m here, aren’t I?”

  He didn’t look convinced, but his expression softened. His gaze shifted a shade to the left, and as quick as a whip his features hardened to stone.

  To her right she heard a voice. “Natalie, is everything all right here?”

  She wished he wouldn’t use her first name. She hadn’t given him permission. “We’re fine, Mr. Seymour.”

  Willum released her wrists and walked away.

  She missed his touch. She wheeled around. “Mr. Seymour, I appreciate your gallant offer, but I’m not in need of it.”

  “Please, call me John.”

  She would not encourage his attention. “Mr. Seymour, thank you, but good day.”

  He scooped up her hand. “You deserve better than him.”

  “You’re wrong.” She pulled her hand free. “It is he who deserves better than me.” She was a weak sentimental girl who thought more of her stomach than the man she loved.

  Mr. Seymour tipped his hat. “When you grow tired of him, I’ll be waiting. I’ve always held fond affection for you.”

  Fond affection? How unromantic. Yet if Willum had said that, she might have swooned into his arms. She guessed that was how love colored words. They sounded better coming from the one a person loved.

  “What’s made you smile? I hope it’s me.”

  “Mr. Seymour, I am flattered, but I really must go.” She dipped her head to him and turned in the direction Willum had gone. To the back side of the church, she thought. She caught a glimpse of movement. Had Willum been watching? She hoped so. Then he’d see there was nothing between her and Mr. Seymour.

  Willum crouched near his toolbox, rattling tools. He looked up. “Where’s John?”

  “I sent Mr. Seymour on his way.”

  “You could have gotten a ride home.”

  She smiled. “Are you offering?”

  He thinned his lips. “I have work to do. If this rain will hold off, I can make some progress.”

  “If you’d let me help, it would go faster.”

  “I’m setting trusses. Too dangerous for a girl.”

  She could see several A-frames for the roof lying in the grass. “I see you have some built. How do you get them up there?”

  “With a rope.”

  “It’s starting to rain again.”

  He picked up the end of the rope that wasn’t attached to his scaffolding and tied it around the top of a truss.

  Large raindrops splashed on Natalie’s cheek, her glove, hat, shoulder, then everywhere at once, like a full bucket being dumped over her head.

  Willum pretended not to notice the rain. He was a stubborn man. He looked so silly with rain running off his hat and him trying to tie a knot in the rope.

  A giggle rose up from her tummy and burst out of her mouth.

  He shook his head and let his hands drop to his side. Then he slogged through the wet grass and took her by the elbow, leading her toward the
street.

  She snatched the food basket as he ushered her past it. She hoped the food wasn’t ruined. When Willum guided her to the livery, disappointment washed over her.

  “I’d like to rent a rig.”

  She held up the basket. “What about lunch?”

  “You’re soaked through.”

  “So are you.”

  “I’m not cold.”

  “See, I told you that wool sweater would keep you warm even wet.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “You’re not so lucky.”

  Mr. Parker hitched a buggy, and Willum helped her up into the seat. He climbed aboard and set the horse into motion, but not fast. A leisurely walk.

  This was nice. She wrapped her arm through his and rested her head on his shoulder. She felt his muscles tense under the sweater, and he looked down at her with his eyebrows pinched together in question.

  “I’m cold.” She was.

  He pulled his arm free of hers and her spirits plummeted then rose higher than the sky when he wrapped his arm around her shoulders.

  “Is that better?”

  She nodded and laid her head back on his shoulder. This was perfect.

  Chapter 10

  The week leading up to Thanksgiving broke into sunshine. Willum had finished the trusses and shingled the roof. Much to Natalie’s dismay. She had been stuck below drawing lines in the dirt with the toe of her shoe. She was cute to watch … when she didn’t know he was looking. The church looked peculiar with open studwork for walls and a completed roof. But he wanted to get the roof on before more rain. He didn’t need walls to work on the interior.

  Reverend Bollen’s buggy rolled up in front of the church. Natalie wasn’t with him. Wasn’t she coming today? He would miss her. “Hello, Reverend.”

  The reverend pulled on the reins then tipped his hat. “Willum.”

  Willum strode to the side of the buggy. “I hope everything is all right.” He hoped Natalie wasn’t sick.

  “Everything’s right as rain. I promised my daughter I’d stop by.”

  “Is she well?”

  “Other than driving her brothers mad with all her fussing, she’s fine. She wanted me to tell you that she won’t be arriving until lunchtime. Her mama needs her at the house.”

  So he would see her. “Thank you.”

  “She’ll be right along if she gets her work completed sooner. The way she was going at it, I’d say it will be sooner.”

  A smile crept across Willum’s lips.

  The reverend chuckled. “I see you’ve worked things out with my daughter.”

  He wouldn’t say they’d worked things out, but Willum was softening to her. “We’re getting there.”

  The reverend nodded and snapped the reins, putting the buggy into motion.

  If Willum could only figure out how to trust Natalie. How long would it take to trust her again? Years? Would he need a big fat bank account to keep her? He never thought money would have mattered to Natalie—that was one of the things that drew him to her. But if money was what it was going to take for her to trust that he could take care of her, and in return get him to trust her not to get scared off, how much would be enough?

  Throughout the morning, as he worked to finish the porch, these questions went through his mind. He anticipated Natalie’s arrival with both longing and dread. It wasn’t right to let her keep coming if in the end he wasn’t going to be able to commit to a life with her. She could let John Seymour or any number of other men court her. But the idea of Natalie with any other man rankled him. Isn’t that how this whole affair started?

  “What’s got you fretting?”

  Natalie’s lilting voice immediately soothed him like a cool balm. And her smile set his heart to pumping at a healthy rate. He felt a smile tugging at his lips but forced them into a frown. He shouldn’t encourage her. He should let her go.

  But he didn’t want to.

  She held up her lunch basket. “Are you hungry?”

  He smelled beef stew and biscuits. His stomach gave a silent growl of approval. “You really shouldn’t be coming here every day.”

  “Lunch is the least we can provide with you doing all this work to rebuild the church.”

  So would she rather not be here? Was this just serving her duty to the church? “You don’t have to come.”

  Her smile turned to that special one that he imagined was only for him. “But I want to. If I had to choose between being here with you—rain or shine—or shopping at the biggest department store in the biggest city”—she sat down on a pile of lumber—“I’d stay right here. Do you know why?”

  He couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to sit in the cold with the threat of rain day after day when they could be inside a dry building in front of a warm fire. And what woman would ever turn down the chance to go shopping?

  “Because I’m happy being near the man I love.”

  His heart flipped over and over. Was love enough for her?

  “Shall we eat?”

  “It smells like stew and biscuits.” He sat next to her on the stack.

  “It’s still hot.”

  After his stomach was satisfied, he knew he should get back to work and rose to a stand.

  “Pie?”

  “Pie?” He hadn’t smelled any pie. He sat back down. “What kind?”

  “Apple.”

  After his mouth was satisfied with the sweet taste of cinnamony fruit and flakey crust, Willum stood again, pulling on his work gloves. “I really need to get back to work.”

  “What are you working on today?”

  “I finished the porch entrance and now I’m going to put on the siding while I wait for the hay to be delivered.”

  Natalie inclined her head. “I remember you putting hay in between the outer and inner walls on the house you’re still building. Does it really keep a building warmer?”

  He nodded. Even if he filled every crack from top to bottom, a building could still be difficult to heat from corner to corner. But with a layer of hay between the walls, the cold didn’t seep in as much.

  He set up a sawhorse in the middle by the side wall. He took a siding board and rested one end of it on the sawhorse and walked down the length to the other end and lifted it to where it needed to be on the wall. The other end slipped off the sawhorse. Usually, he would have had another man hold up the opposite end, but working alone didn’t afford him that luxury. He’d had to get creative several times to do portions by himself he normally had help for. He replaced the board onto the sawhorse and tried again. It fell. But the third time he tried this system the board stayed and then some. It raised level with where he was trying to nail it on the side of the building.

  He looked down the length of the board. Natalie stood at the other end, smiling back at him. He wanted to tell her to put it down and go back and sit, but truthfully, he could use her help, and the Lord hadn’t impressed upon him that she was not allowed to help. Quite the opposite. He would be a fool to keep refusing her assistance. “Hold it right there.” He reached into his tool belt and pulled out his hammer, quickly pounding in a nail then rushed to her end, raised the board even, and pounded in another nail. “You can sit now. That will hold while I hammer in the other nails.”

  She gave him a curtsy and sat back on the pile.

  When Willum turned back to the side of the church to hammer in the rest of the nails along the first board, Natalie let her feet dance up and down. He’d let her help. Maybe he was finally forgiving her. She hoped so.

  She helped him with the next board and the next. When she couldn’t reach high enough any longer, he set up an A-frame ladder for her.

  He held out his gloved hand to her. “You be careful up there.”

  She put her pink-mittened hand in his. The contrast between ruffled mitten and worn leather work glove almost made her laugh. “I will.” She didn’t dare allow herself to be careless or get hurt, or he would banish her from ever returning.

  He leaned one end of a board up a
gainst the ladder. “Don’t touch that yet.”

  She nodded.

  He positioned a couple of boards between two sawhorses and jumped up on it then lifted his end of the board. “Okay, grab that end.”

  She did and lifted it into place.

  “I’m going to slide it your way a bit.”

  She held it secure.

  As Willum pounded the nail, the board shook loose from her hands. She tried to hold on tighter but the board fell out of her hands and slivers jammed through her mittens into the flesh of her palms. “Ow!”

  Willum jumped down and ran over to her. “What happened?” The board hung on to the wall at Willum’s end.

  “I’m sorry it slipped.” She held her slivered hand to her stomach. The wood pieces hurt, but she couldn’t let him know that.

  He snagged her wrist and helped her down off the ladder. “Slivers?”

  Dare she admit it?

  He pulled gently on her mitten.

  She sucked in air through her teeth. “Ow, ow, ow. It’s catching on the slivers.”

  He took a slow breath. “Can you get it off?”

  She put the tip of her other mitten between her teeth, but when she began to pull, she could feel a sliver in that hand, too, being embedded deeper. “Ow.”

  He took her other wrist as well. “Here. Let me. Which one is worse?”

  She raised one a little.

  He squeezed the other. “Where on this hand is the sliver?”

  “I only feel one on the heel of my palm.”

  He slipped his index finger under the edge of her mitten to free the fibers from the sliver.

  Shivers coursed up her arm at his touch.

  He worked the mitten off. “That’s not too bad. I see a couple of smaller ones as well. Can you get the other off?”

  She worked her free fingers inside the other mitten. There were more splinter ends to catch. Once she had her fingers covering her palm and the slivers, she said, “You can pull it off now.”

  He pulled slowly.

  “Ow. There’s one in my middle finger.”

  He pulled the yarn away from the finger and moved it around until the fibers became free of the wood, and then he pulled the mitten off. He shook his head.