by Janette Oke
The news did not need to be kept secret for long. Amy Jo’s next letter to her folks told them all about Ryan Taylor. She begged and pleaded for them to please, please, give her one more extension of her visit. She wanted to spend Christmas with Ryan and his family. She would be home early in the new year—at least by Easter, she promised—and she sent her love to each one of them, thanking them for their patience and understanding.
Clare and Kate were dumbfounded. They had not realized that their little girl was so grown-up that she might fall in love on her trip out west. Belinda was quite sure they would have kept her closer to home if they had even considered such a possibility. Now the damage was done. Amy Jo was miles away and felt herself deeply in love with a young man that her parents had never seen.
A long letter from Missie, which soon followed, helped the situation a bit. She wrote to Clare and Kate, giving them a detailed account of Ryan and his family. He certainly seemed to be an upright and worthy young man, but that fact did not move him one mile closer to the Davis farmstead. Still, it did manage to reassure Clare and Kate to some degree. It did nothing for Dack. He fretted and cried and declared that Christmas just wouldn’t be Christmas without his big sister.
Belinda felt the same way, but she didn’t add to the gloom of the family by stating it.
Three days before Christmas, Luke’s Abbie had a baby girl. The precious little one added new meaning to the season for all of them. She had arrived two weeks early, but though she was tiny, she was wiry and healthy. Belinda felt she had never seen anyone so small and so sweet.
So they missed Luke’s family at the Christmas dinner table, too, but the rest of the family gathered as usual. Belinda did not linger for long. If Luke should be called out on an emergency, someone would need to be with Abbie and the children. She ate as hurriedly as she dared, shared in the opening of the gifts, and then saddled Copper and headed for town. Marty was sad to see her go, but she told her that she knew Belinda’s responsibilities made it necessary.
“Yer first Christmas,” Belinda crooned to the tiny Ruth Ann as she held her that evening. “What did ya think about it? Oh, it was a little different this year. No big dinner for ya with all of the cousins and aunts and uncles. Not much fuss and bother in presents because we didn’t know ya were coming quite so soon. But the real Christmas—that was the same. This is Jesus’ birthday, Ruth Ann. Ya almost shared His day. I wonder if He was ever as tiny as ya are.” Belinda’s finger stroked the soft cheek. “His mama didn’t have much of a Christmas, either, thet first year. No presents—until later when the wise men came—no warm room or fancy dinner. But she did have some guests. Strangers—not family. Shepherds. Not too polished, I would think.
“But I’m sure she was happy, because she had her little Son. She knew He was special—but she didn’t know then jest how special. And she didn’t know all about the heartache she would suffer because of what people would do to her Son. She just loved and enjoyed Him that first Christmas.” Belinda paused in her soliloquy to lift the baby to her shoulder.
“We don’t know what lies ahead for you, either,” Belinda continued, “but we know God loves ya—and we all love ya, and I hope and pray that everything waiting for ya in life will be jest good things.”
And so saying, Belinda kissed the soft little head and tucked the baby in her crib until her next feeding. Christmas really had been rather special after all.
Six
Rand
Belinda was getting Ruthie ready for bed when she heard a rap at the door and Luke answer it.
“What now?” moaned Belinda. She had been looking forward to a free evening. But instead here was another emergency call for the doctor. Then Belinda heard a male voice say, “Good evening. Is Miss Davis in?”
Luke replied that Belinda was.
“I’m Rand O’Connel” was the reply. “May I speak to her, please?”
“Come in,” invited Luke, and Belinda found her heart skipping and her mind all flustered.
My, I must look a sight, she admonished herself and couldn’t resist a quick peek in the mirror at her flyaway curls. She heard Luke invite the guest into the parlor, and then he came through to the kitchen to inform Belinda that she had a caller. “I’ll finish with Ruthie. You go ahead,” he told her.
“I’m ’most done,” replied Belinda, her head still whirling. “I was jest ready to take her on in to her mama.”
Luke gently eased the baby from Belinda’s arms and walked toward the bedroom, whispering sweet talk to her. Belinda stood in the middle of the kitchen floor watching him go and wondering what on earth she should do next.
Awareness that someone sat in the parlor waiting for her to make an appearance finally spurred her into action, and she rushed upstairs to her own bedroom, stripping away her soiled apron as she went.
There wasn’t time for a thorough cleanup. She pulled off her wrinkled dress and slipped into a fresh one, then attacked her hair with a brush. Its unruly curls gave her some trouble, but Belinda managed to get most of it tucked into the pins. Taking one final look at herself in the dresser mirror, she drew a deep breath and went down to meet her caller.
Rand was seated where Luke had left him on the parlor sofa, twisting his hat nervously back and forth in his hands. At the sight of Belinda, he quickly rose to his feet and managed a smile that showed his dimple. Belinda smiled in return, though her nervousness refused to leave her.
“Good evening,” she greeted him in proper fashion.
Rand nodded his head slightly and responded in kind.
Belinda didn’t know what to say next. Scrambling through her haphazard thoughts, she eventually stammered out, “Please . . . please be seated.” She held her hand toward the sofa and then moved to a parlor chair to seat herself.
“I was wondering iffen we might walk instead,” Rand answered. “It’s a lovely evenin’ . . . an’ . . . I thought ya might like some fresh air.”
“Thet . . . thet would be nice,” Belinda said in relief. It would be so much easier to walk and chat than to sit and chat. “I’ll just grab a coat.”
On her way she informed Luke and Abbie of her plans.
“I won’t be long,” she promised.
She was turning to go when Abbie stopped her. “Belinda . . . feel free to help yourself from the kitchen to serve your young man refreshments.”
It was meant sincerely and Belinda appreciated it, but the phrase “your young man” brought the color to her cheeks. Rand was not “her” young man. She scarcely knew him. They had been youngsters in the same country school—nothing more.
She murmured a thanks to Abbie, determined to straighten out the misunderstanding on the morrow, and went to join Rand.
He was still standing, waiting for her. As soon as she appeared, he moved forward to help her with her coat, then opened the door to allow her to pass out into the twilight.
Rand was right. It was a perfectly beautiful evening—crisp, yet not the bone-chilling cold of winter. The promise of another spring was in the air, and off in the distance Belinda thought she heard a bird singing.
Rand fell into step beside her and they walked a few paces in silence. Breathing in the evening air, Belinda looked skyward where the stars were just beginning to make an appearance, and sighed.
“Long day?” asked Rand solicitously.
Belinda shook her head and laughed slightly. “Not particularly. Just routine things. The evening always affects me this way. I guess it’s my favorite time of day—but I haven’t been seeing much of it recently. Baby Ruthie always needs her bath then, and the boys need to be tucked in.”
“I thought you were a nurse,” Rand said good-naturedly, “not a nursemaid.”
“Oh, I am,” Belinda quickly explained. “It’s just thet Abbie hasn’t really gotten her strength back since Ruthie arrived. Luke still sends her to her bed early—and I love to help with the little ones. Ruthie is such a dear, and the boys are no problem at bedtime . . . much.” She finished h
er speech with another little laugh. “Sometimes they test me,” she admitted.
Rand was watching her as she spoke. He nodded his head and gave her a smile.
“I . . . I haven’t seen you around,” Belinda said to change the direction of the conversation away from herself, and then bit her tongue. He would think she had been watching for him, expecting him to call. What a foolish thing to say! she berated herself silently.
But Rand answered matter-of-factly, “I’ve been away.” He added softly, “I took yer advice.”
“My advice?”
“After givin’ it some thought, I remembered a man down near my uncle who was a builder. I decided to go see him. He put me right to work—jest like ya said. I’ve learned a lot over the past months.”
By the time Rand had finished, Belinda was beaming with pleasure.
“Really? I’m so glad!” she exclaimed.
He smiled warmly, and from the expression on his face, Belinda sensed that he really couldn’t believe he was actually going to have his dream come true.
“I’m so glad,” she repeated.
“I owe it all to you, ya know.”
“Nonsense!” said Belinda. “Yer the one who had to take the risk and—and do all the work. And yer the one who had the ability in the first place. I really had nothin’ to do with it.”
“Not true,” insisted Rand. “I would never have tried iffen it hadn’t been for you. When we talked thet night, suddenly you made me realize it all depended on what I was willin’ to do ’bout it. Dreams are fine . . . iffen they don’t jest stay dreams. But they git ya nowhere iffen ya don’t put some effort ’long with ’em.”
They walked on in silence for a while. Belinda was truly pleased that Rand had found the courage to take the first step toward becoming a builder. He did seem like a nice young man.
“So now what?” she asked softly, hoping he wouldn’t misunderstand the question and give her interest greater importance than she intended. “What will you and the man down south be building next?”
“I won’t be buildin’ down there anymore. He kindly taught me all he could . . . then gave me his blessin’ an’ sent me on my way to build on my own.”
“Here?” asked Belinda in surprise.
“Here,” he laughed. “And thet’s why I came to see ya first. I wanted to properly thank ya.”
Belinda flushed slightly. “But there’s no—”
He held up his hand. “I know what went on in my head,” he laughed, “an’ I had already given up the dream until ya urged me to try and suggested a way to start. So I know I owe ya a heap of thanks.”
Belinda smiled and nodded her head playfully. “Fine,” she said. “I accept yer thanks. I’m mighty glad to have had a part in yer decision. I think you made the right one.”
Rand chuckled along with her.
“Now, fer a properlike thanks, I’d like to take ya out to supper,” he continued.
“To supper?”
“Over to the hotel dinin’ room.”
“There’s no need fer thet,” Belinda hurriedly replied.
Rand stopped walking and placed a restraining hand on Belinda’s arm. He looked down at her, his eyes studying her face in the soft dusk. “I’d like to,” he said intensely. “Please?”
Belinda was flustered. Yet what harm could it do to go to supper with a young man in the local dining room? Especially if he felt honor bound to express his thanks. She swallowed and nodded her head in agreement.
“Fine,” she managed. “Fine. If ya like. It would be very nice to go to supper.”
Rand released her arm. “Thank ya,” he said fervently. “Tomorra?”
Belinda nodded again, trying hard to think ahead to what day “tomorra” was and what commitments she might have. She could not think of any, but she hoped she wasn’t making an arrangement she would need to break. “Tomorra,” she agreed.
She could scarcely see Rand’s face now in the gathering darkness, but she did see him smile.
“I’d . . . I’d best be gettin’ on back,” Belinda said, and they began to retrace their steps.
It was a quieter walk back through the darkness. Rand reached out a hand to her elbow on occasion to steady Belinda as they walked over the uneven planks of the boardwalk. She knew the familiar walk like her own bedroom, but she didn’t pull away from the offered assistance. Rand was a mannerly young man and would offer the same kindness to any lady he accompanied, she told herself.
“What will ya build first?” she asked in the darkness.
“I start on a house tomorra. The fella who has the hardware store don’t wanna live above it anymore. His wife wants her own house . . . an’ own yard. So he’s havin’ me build it for ’em.”
“That’s wonderful! What is the house like?”
Rand chuckled softly. “I wish I knew. That’s the only . . . the only ‘fly in the ointment,’ so to speak. His wife still hasn’t made up her mind, so the next few days are gonna be spent tryin’ to get ’er settled on what she wants.”
“I wish ya well,” laughed Belinda.
They reached the doctor’s house, and Rand opened the door for Belinda. She suddenly remembered Abbie’s offer.
“Would ya care for some coffee . . . or . . . or lemonade? Abbie said we could use the kitchen.”
“Not tonight, thank ya. I still have lots of work to do on buildin’ plans iffen I’m gonna be ready to show Mrs. Kirby some ideas tomorra.”
Belinda’s eyes fell to the parlor clock. “Oh my!” she exclaimed. “It’s already late. I’m sorry we took so long.”
“Nonsense,” Rand declared. “I won’t sleep tonight anyway,” and he chuckled.
“I s’pose yer pretty excited,” agreed Belinda. “Guess I would be, too, if I was about to build my first house.”
“The house has little to do with it,” Rand informed her, leaving Belinda to puzzle over his statement.
“See ya tomorra night,” Rand went on. “What time?”
“I . . . I guess we should make it . . . say six-thirty. If thet’s okay with you.”
“Six-thirty,” agreed Rand. “I’ll be here.”
Just before he closed the door, he turned back to Belinda. “Thank ya,” he said sincerely, “for agreein’ to walk on such short notice. It was bold of me to jest drop over . . . but I didn’t know how else to see ya.”
“It was nice to see you,” Belinda heard herself saying and wondered at her frankness. Then with a smile and a tip of his hat, Rand closed the door and was gone.
Seven
Supper
Belinda rushed through the surgery cleanup the next day so she might have plenty of time to make herself presentable. She had never been out to supper with a young man before, and her stomach was so knotted up just thinking about it that she wondered if she even would be able to eat.
Over and over she reminded herself that this was simply an opportunity for Rand to say thank-you for what he considered to be her part in nudging him toward his dream. Belinda quite successfully talked herself into its “common courtesy” aspect rather than seeing it as a social occasion, even though she still felt she deserved no such gratitude.
Luke and Abbie didn’t look quite as convinced when Belinda explained to them the reason for her not sharing in their usual evening meal. They said nothing, but Belinda noticed the twinkle in Abbie’s eyes as she nodded a bit knowingly toward her husband.
Aaron and Thomas, along with their older cousin John, who was there for a visit, didn’t seem to catch the lack of special significance in the event, either.
“Why are ya goin’ ta eat with a man?” asked Thomas.
“Because . . . because he has asked me,” responded Belinda. “He wants to say thank-you by taking me to supper.”
“Can’t he talk?” inquired Aaron.
“Of course,” Belinda answered, her cheeks flushing.
“Then why don’t he jest say it?” demanded Aaron.
“Well, he has said it.”
&
nbsp; “Then why do ya hafta eat over there? Why don’t ya eat here with us?”
“Well, he . . . he . . . wants to say it again . . . in another way.” Belinda felt flustered. How could one explain such a thing to children?
“I think it’s dumb,” put in Thomas.
“I think it’s dumb,” echoed Aaron.
“It’s not dumb. It’s . . . it’s a . . . a social nicety,” argued Belinda. “A . . . a kindness. Mr. O’Connel is bein’ a gentleman.”
The boys thought about that for a moment. Belinda was hoping she had finally succeeded in making them understand and was about to shoo them from her room so she could finish pinning up her hair in peace.
“Can I come, too?” asked Aaron.
Belinda stopped her pinning and spun to look at the young boy. His earnest eyes looked intently into her face.
“Not . . . not this time,” she answered, trying not to seem unkind.
“Why not?” he insisted.
“Because . . . because . . . ya haven’t been asked,” Belinda said evenly.
Thomas reached out a hand to draw his younger brother back. “He don’t got nothin’ to thank you for, Aaron,” Thomas reminded him.
Aaron reached a hand into a trouser pocket and pulled out a fistful of childish treasures. “I’ll give him my blue marble,” he offered.
“Don’t ya understand nothin’?” put in the older, wiser John, who had been quietly listening to the whole exchange. “Aunt Belinda is goin’ to eat with him ’cause she wants to. It’s called courtin’. Pa told me. O’Connel says ‘thanks’ an’ takes her to supper, then she says ‘thanks fer the supper’ by invitin’ him to tea, then he says ‘thanks fer tea’ by takin’ her on a buggy ride. It’s called courtin’.” John finished his factual recital while Belinda stood with her mouth open. She wanted to protest, but John already was gathering his two younger cousins and herding them toward the door.
“I still wanna go,” insisted Aaron.