Will wasn’t the right man, either, even though she loved him so much she thought her heart would break.
Nan washed her face with cold water, then hurried downstairs. Clara sat in the gathering room rearranging her village for at least the sixth time.
“Where’s Will?” Nan asked Gertie as she accepted a cup of coffee.
“He saddled a horse and rode off to the village the minute the snow slacked off,” Jake said.
The snow had stopped completely, and the sun glistened with blinding intensity on the pure white of the virgin snow.
“Did he say why?”
“No, just that he had business to attend to.”
The faint hope that remained splintered and shattered. If his business was important enough to draw him out in all this snow, he’d never change. It would be better for her if he left as soon as possible.
Nan put down her coffee and marched into the gathering room. “Have you ever built a snowman?” she asked Clara.
“What’s a snowman?”
“Get your coat. I’ll show you.”
“I can hardly see,” Clara complained after she had been bundled into a heavy coat, gloves, a scarf, and boots.
“It’s very cold outside,” said Nan, who was just as thoroughly covered. “And it takes a long time to build a good snowman. Now let me see, we need a hat and scarf and coal for the buttons and eyes. I wonder if Gertie has any carrots. Of course we could use a parsnip.”
“What do you need all that for?”
“I’ll show you,” Nan said, infusing her voice with gaiety she didn’t feel. “We’re going to build the biggest snowman in Beaker’s Bend.”
Clara didn’t seem to be having much fun at first. The snow was so deep, she had trouble walking even when she followed in Nan’s footsteps. It was also bitterly cold. But by the time Nan had rolled the first ball about a foot thick, Clara caught the spirit. She rolled the ball all over the yard while Nan started on the second. They laughed and shrieked and had so much fun, they got the balls too big. They had to get Jake to lift one on top of the other.
“It’s a good thing you didn’t make them any bigger,” Jake said. “I wouldn’t be able to put the hat on his head.”
Clara rolled the third ball all by herself. Her nose was bright red and her gloves were covered with snow, but she didn’t utter a word of complaint.
“Now we have to make his face,” Nan said when Jake balanced the third ball of snow on top. “That’s why I brought the coal.” Nan chose two big pieces for his eyes and several little pieces for his mouth. “Now you do his nose.” Nan handed Clara the parsnip.
“I can’t reach it,” she said.
Nan lifted her up. Clara jammed the parsnip into the snowman’s face with such vigor that his head fell off.
Jake put it back on and shoved a long, narrow stick through the middle to hold it in place.
This time Clara put the nose in place with great care.
“Now,” Nan said, “we have to do his buttons. I’ll do the top ones, and you do those on the bottom.”
“People don’t have buttons on their bottom,” Clara said.
“Snowmen do,” Nan insisted.
That was good enough for Clara. She happily placed six pieces of coal on the bottom ball of snow. Nan only had two left for the middle. She wrapped the scarf around his neck.
“Now for the hat. Do you think you can reach that high?”
“I can if you hold me.”
“It’ll have to be Jake. I’m not that tall.”
But Will was. Why wasn’t he here? What could he be doing in town that was taking so long? He should have helped his daughter roll the balls of snow. He should be holding her up so she could put the hat on the snowman. It was a hunting hat with flaps that folded down. It wasn’t an elegant hat, but it was the only kind of hat Nan’s father ever wore.
“There, it’s all finished,” Nan said as she stepped back to admire their work.
Clara looked around. “We messed up the yard.”
Nan decided that Mrs. Bartholomew must never have let Clara make a mess when she played. The snowy perfection of the large yard had been seriously marred by the numerous tracks they made rolling the balls, but Nan didn’t mind. They had a wonderful snowman, and the trees were still gorgeous.
“I’ll race you to the house,” Nan said. “I’ll bet Gertie has lunch ready.”
Clara didn’t move. “I wish Daddy was here,” she said. “I want to show him our snowman.”
Nan wished he were here, too, but she was also angry that he should deny Clara the pleasure of sharing her first snowman with him. She was even more angry that he had never taken the time to build a snowman with his daughter. If she married him, she was going to make some major changes in his life.
But she had already decided she wouldn’t marry him. There was no use thinking of it. It would only take the hurt longer to go away.
“He’ll be back before long. You can show him then.”
“It might melt.”
“Not today.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive. Now let’s get inside before we turn into snowmen as well.”
“I can’t be a snowman,” Clara said as she struggled through a snowdrift piled up against a buried bush. “I’ll be a snow girl.”
“And I’ll be a snow woman,” Nan said. She picked Clara up and carried her to the steps.
“Can we build a snow horse and a snow cow?”
“You’ll have to talk to your father about that. I’m not good enough. Anyway, it’s too cold to stay out here anymore today.”
They warmed their feet and hands in front of the fire, but Will didn’t return. They ate hot beef and gravy on thick slices of toasted bread and had hot baked apples spiced with cinnamon and cloves for dessert. Still Will didn’t return. Clara went to bed for her nap, and Nan baked six loaves of Christmas bread to take to church that night. No Will. He stayed away so long that the wild thought occurred to Nan that he might have gone back to Boston without telling her. She dismissed it immediately, but she was completely out of patience when he returned barely in time for dinner.
“Where have you been?” she demanded. “Clara’s been worried sick about you.” Nan didn’t let the fact that Clara had only asked once trouble her conscience. The child had probably become so used to her father’s absence that she accepted it without thinking.
“I had some business to take care of.” No apology, no nothing. In fact, he looked very pleased with himself. She guessed he looked so happy because he’d been able to get in touch with his office in Boston. He’d probably tied up the telegraph all day.
Nan tried to tell herself that what Will Atkins did didn’t concern her in the least, but she failed miserably. She saw him slipping further and further away. No matter what her mind said, her heart had not given up all hope. She might know she was being foolish, but she couldn’t help it.
“You’ll have to hurry if you’re to get dressed before dinner.”
“Dressed? What for?”
“We’re going to church for the Christmas Eve service.”
“Did I know that?”
“You would have if you’d been home today.” Good God! She sounded like a nagging wife, and she wasn’t even married to the man. She wouldn’t be surprised if he tried to sneak away in the middle of the night. “I was going to tell you, but I slept too late.”
“No problem. I’ll be down in a jiffy.”
Nan would have held dinner back if it had been possible, but it didn’t matter. Will was back in five minutes. At least, living out of a suitcase had taught him to concentrate on the essentials.
* * *
“We have to hurry,” Nan said as she got up from the table. “We’ll have dessert when we get back.”
“How are we going?” Will a
sked. “I doubt a wagon can get through all those drifts.”
“You’ll see. Just make sure you bundle up.”
When they stepped outside, Jake was waiting with a long-legged white horse harnessed to a sleigh. The harness bells jingled as the horse pranced expectantly.
“A sleigh!” Clara squealed and dashed down the steps. She stumbled in the deep snow, but she got to her feet and climbed into the sleigh before either Nan or her father could reach her.
“Sit between us,” Nan advised as she covered Clara with a fur robe. “It’s going to be awfully cold.”
But Clara was too excited to feel the cold. The bells jingled merrily as the sleigh moved smoothly over the snow. Moonlight reflected off the pristine surface, making the night almost as light as day. They hadn’t gone far before Clara bounced up in her seat, pointed, and shouted, “There’s another one.”
In front of them, a sleigh pulled onto the road from a farm lane.
“You may see more before we reach town.”
Clara saw three more, and she waved and called out to each one. They all waved back, laughed, and called to each other. At the church, however, everyone hurried inside out of the cold with no more than a few hurried greetings.
Will felt as though he had stepped into a different world.
A small pipe organ played Bach softly in the distance. Candles seated in beds of greenery illuminated each stained-glass window. Running cedar had been wound around the end of each pew. Two enormous white candles on the altar and two branches of smaller candles on each side caused the brass and silver to glisten and gleam. Above the altar was a scene of Christ surrounded by children.
As Will followed Nan into the Carson family pew and knelt to offer his prayer, he felt at peace with himself for the first time in a long while.
The service of lessons and carols lasted less than an hour. Will had heard better choirs and seen bigger organs, but this service moved him as others never had. He felt a chill up and down his spine when the children’s choir came down the aisle, their youthful voices—some sweet, some hopelessly out of tune—raised in song. Their white smocks and freshly scrubbed faces made them seem like angels.
The young people and the adults followed. Will guessed each family in the community must be represented by at least one member in the choir. He wasn’t much of a singer. His deep bass voice always seemed to be an octave below where it should be. But Nan sang with a light, clear voice. Much to his surprise, Clara did as well.
He had never heard his daughter sing. He didn’t know until now that her voice was as pure and sweet as any in the choir. His vision became misty, and he reached over to put his arm around her shoulder. They would sing together again. Soon.
After the service, everyone repaired to the social hall for hot drinks and the bounty of the Christmas season. Will had forgotten how much food could appear at a country gathering. He could have eaten dinner all over again. He contented himself with hot, spicy punch and about a half-dozen of Nan’s shortbreads. Clara did her best to sample every kind of cake and cookie in the room.
By the time they headed for their sleigh, Will was certain he’d been introduced to every person within ten miles of Beaker’s Bend. Clara exchanged shouted good-byes with several new friends she met in the social hall.
“Can I go to Peggy’s house tomorrow?” she asked her father even before she snuggled under the fur robe.
“Tomorrow’s Christmas,” Will said. “I doubt that’s a very good time.”
“Peggy asked me most especially to come.”
“I think you’d better discuss it with Nan, but we’ll talk about it tomorrow,” Will added when Clara turned to Nan, ready to ask her right then. “It’s a beautiful night,” he said, changing the subject. “It’s a shame it’s so cold.”
It was also a shame Clara wasn’t home in bed. He would have liked the opportunity to ride home alone with Nan. He slid his arm along the back of the seat until his fingers reached Nan’s shoulder. He felt her stiffen, but she didn’t pull away. He gently rubbed her shoulders. Her muscles tightened, then gradually relaxed. He let his hand rest on her shoulder, his thumb moving gently against the nape of her neck.
Will didn’t think he’d ever seen a more beautiful night. As the other sleighs turned off into their lanes, the silence deepened until they had the night to themselves. Even the forest animals had fallen silent. A full moon bathed the world in a bluish light. It seemed almost as bright as day but was much more intimate. Snow-covered trees and endless fences cast inky-black shadows across their path, causing the horse to shy now and then. Only the steady jingle of the harness bells broke the silence.
With sudden and unmistakable clarity, Will realized that he had become a different person from the man who left Boston a week earlier. These last days had removed a kind of crust, an artificial overlay, gradually developed during the last fourteen years. Something inside him had now reached back to a time he had lost, or forgotten. In doing so, it had pulled the present into focus. He saw himself clearly now—no cloudy spots, no shadowy corners.
The life he and Louise had built in Boston had become his past. He had to let go of it in order to live in the present, in order to build a future for those he held most dear.
He understood all this because of Nan, this quiet miracle of a woman who had invaded his life and transformed it in a twinkling. He wanted to tell her how much that meant to him, how much she meant to him. How much he loved her.
He would. He would never stop telling her.
The drive ended much too soon. Clara had fallen asleep against him. He carried her upstairs. Nan undressed her while he turned back the bed and took her wet clothes downstairs. When he came back into the room, she called, “Daddy,” in a sleepy voice and held out her arms to him.
Nan slipped out, leaving Will alone with his daughter.
He sat down on the bed and put his arms around Clara. She hugged his neck.
“I want you to stay with me always. Nan, too,” she added sleepily.
“I will, darling. Maybe Nan will, too.”
“Talk to her, Daddy. Make her stay.”
“I will, sweetheart. Now it’s time to go to sleep. It’ll be Christmas when you wake up.”
* * *
Nan was struggling with the dollhouse when he closed the door to Clara’s room.
“Since you seem determined to give away your childhood, let me carry that for you.” The dollhouse was sturdy and quite heavy.
“Set it here on this table.” Nan had set up a table clearly made to hold the dollhouse. “Now we get to put everything inside.”
“You get to put it inside,” Will said. “I wouldn’t know where to begin.”
“Then you can bring down the rest of the things on my bed.”
Nan had apparently emptied her attic. There were two dolls, a baby crib, a stroller, a sturdy winter coat and mittens, and an assortment of candy. There were also two dresses, a pair of shiny black shoes, and enough ribbons and bows for Clara to wear a different one every day for weeks. Will was embarrassed by the bounty.
“Clara is never going to want to leave after this.”
Nan paused. “I hadn’t thought about that. If you think—”
“I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just that I never know what to get her. I keep putting it off until it’s too late, and I end up not getting anything.”
“Which is all the more reason you should leave her with me,” Nan said, getting to her feet. She turned around to find herself face-to-face with Will. His arms closed around her.
“Do you really want a daughter badly enough to take Clara?”
“I wouldn’t be taking Clara, just taking care of her for a while.”
“Don’t you want children of your own?”
“Yes, but—”
“Wouldn’t you need a husband for all of that?”
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“Of course, but what—”
“Do you still love me?”
“Will Atkins, I answered that question last night. I’m not so fickle as to change my mind today.”
Will kissed her soundly.
“And you’re certain you couldn’t marry a man callous enough to give up his daughter.”
“That’s not exactly what I said, but the answer is still the same.”
Nan tried to wriggle out of his embrace, but Will grinned and held her tighter. “I was just making sure.”
“Are you certain you didn’t take a nip from that bottle Homer Knight had hidden under his jacket?”
Will laughed. “No, I didn’t sample Homer’s white lightning, or whatever it was. But I’m feeling tipsy just the same.”
Nan didn’t understand. He seemed to be delighted that she wasn’t going to marry him. Yet he held her in his arms and had kissed her several times. That didn’t make sense. She would have been hurt that he was so happy if she hadn’t been convinced he was talking about something else all the while.
“Maybe you’d better go to bed until you get over it. You’re not making any sense.”
“I’m not ever going to get over you.” He kissed her again. “Now I’m going to go to bed because I can’t wait for Christmas morning.”
He waltzed her over to the mistletoe. “Ever since I was a little boy, I’ve wanted to kiss the woman I loved under the mistletoe on Christmas Eve.”
“It’s time to stop this nonsense,” Nan said. She was finding it difficult to keep her spirits up. Will seemed to be having a good time, but she just wanted to go to her room and cry. “I don’t know what kind of silly game you’re playing, but—”
“I’m not playing a game. I’m deadly earnest. The only thing silly is that I didn’t have enough sense to know what to do earlier.”
“I don’t understand—”
“Don’t try to understand. Just believe.”
“Believe what?”
“That I love you.”
Then he kissed her. Nan started to draw back; she felt certain she ought to, but she couldn’t. She didn’t want to. She had been allowed a small window of time to taste some of the joy life could have given her. She didn’t know why she should be restricted to just a taste, but she decided to take every bit she could get. It would come to an end soon enough.
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