Gideon’s face lit up as if an inner glow had possessed him, and indeed it had, for he was filled with delight at the thought that he would be a father for the second time. “I can’t begin to tell you how pleased I am,” he said softly as he leaned close, placing his cheek next to hers.
“What’s going on over there?” Grandpa said from his spot on the sofa.
“Is something wrong, Daddy?” asked Joseph, who had slid closer to his father. “What’s wrong, Mama?” he asked Joy, worry in his tone.
She hastened to reassure the boy. “Nothing is wrong, Joseph. In fact, everything is right. I just told your father that his Christmas gift will be a little late in arriving. It won’t be here for seven months, but I wanted him to know about it beforehand, so he can help me make ready for it.”
“Well, now, that’s about the best present anyone ever had for Christmas, I’ll warrant,” Grandpa said with a chuckle. “I’m pleased as punch, Joy, for this means I’ll be a great-grandfather for the first time.”
“You’re already a great-grandfather,” Joseph said, his puzzled expression bringing a chuckle from Grandpa.
“Your grandpa means he’ll have cause for rejoicing, come July,” Gideon told the boy. “Your mama will be having a baby right about then, and we’ll all have to give her lots of help over the next few months.”
Joseph crept closer to Joy and laid his head on her shoulder, leaning close to her ear to whisper words of encouragement. “I’ll help you, Mama. I’ll tote and carry for you and even help with stuff like churning the butter and carrying in wood for the cookstove and working in the house garden for you. I’ll set the table every night for supper, too.”
He seemed to have listed all his good intentions and Joy hid her yearning to laugh aloud at his earnest expression, for the boy was certainly sincere in his need to lend a hand wherever he could.
“I’ll be ever so grateful for your help, Joseph. I knew I could count on you.” Her words seemed to make his chest expand, and his grin spread wide as she spoke.
Gideon patted his son on the back. “You’re a good lad, Joseph. Your mama and I will certainly be able to use your help. And yours, too, Grandpa,” he said, shooting a glance at Joy’s grandfather.
Joseph moved closer to his father and in moments was sitting on his lap. “We’ll have a good time with a new baby, won’t we, Daddy?”
“We certainly will,” his father said, one long arm reaching to pull Joy closer, making a circle of the three of them. “And what better time to begin looking forward to a baby’s birth than on Christmas Day, when we’re celebrating the birth of another babe, this one in a faraway place. In Bethlehem.”
“Our baby won’t be born in a barn, though,” Joseph said firmly.
“But he’ll still need a new cradle to sleep in,” Joy said, looking up at Gideon.
“Let’s you and me get busy on that, Joseph,” Gideon said to his son.
Joseph stood and looked down at Joy, who was still on the floor. “Let me help you up, Mama, before Daddy and I go out to the barn to find wood for the baby’s new bed.”
Joy took his offered hand and stood with graceful movements. “And I’ll get busy fixing a Christmas dinner while you men take care of that,” she said. “I have two chickens ready for the oven, so I’d better get busy in the kitchen.”
“I’ll go with you and have a cup of coffee while I watch you work,” Grandpa said.
“Ah, some things never change, do they?” Joy asked, her smile warming her words as she bent to give Grandpa a kiss on his cheek.
“Merry Christmas, Grandpa,” she said, and then turned to her husband and son. “And a merry Christmas to both of you, too. I’m so happy you dropped in for a visit last year about this time. It’s been a wonderful year, hasn’t it?”
“The best ever,” Gideon said heartily, and Joseph added his own opinion.
“I’ve got a new mama since last Christmas, and that makes it the best year of my life.” He turned in a circle and included his whole family. “I’ve got the happiest life in the whole world.” He chortled. “I’m the luckiest boy alive.”
And the three who watched him could only nod in agreement.
* * * * *
A Christmas Miracle
Carol Arens
Dear Reader,
For me, there is nothing like the feeling of love that is the miracle of Christmas. All year long I look forward to finding the perfect tree, listening to beautiful music and gathering with loved ones to indulge in delicious treats that are forbidden most of the year yet amazingly have no calories in December. But, more than this, I cherish that special feeling in the heart that comes only with the Christmas holiday. Strangers smile and wish each other “Merry Christmas,” even in long shopping lines. People are especially generous—not only with their money but with their time.
Indulge yourself, during this hectic yet happy time, with the story of Rayne and Laira Lynne. May your Christmas be full of joy and warm blessings.
Carol Arens
DEDICATION
To my daughter, Linda Cathleen, who has been
a blessing since the day she was born…
a true gift from God.
Look for Carol Arens’s Rebel with a Heart
coming November 2013 from Mills & Boon® Historical
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter One
“I say we string the fellow up by his ears!” Harvey Molton punctuated his declaration by pounding his hand on the table.
“Tar and feather him! Send him back to his granddaddy good and whooped!” Oliver Post pumped his fist in the air.
Laira Lynne Rowan’s fingers skittered across the piano keys with a thunk and a clunk. A dozen and a half children, practicing a Christmas carol, sputtered on a high note.
“Remember where we are, boys,” Laira Lynne admonished the men. “Church is no place for such talk.”
“Tain’t church proper.” Harvey heaved his wide body up from his chair and tossed the eviction notice that he had crushed to a sweaty pulp into the fireplace.
“It’s only the social room.” Oliver tore his own notice in half and let the pieces drift to the floor. He ground them into the polished oak planks with the heel of his boot.
“Sanctuary or not, I’m sure the good Lord can hear your unkind words.” Laira Lynne cast the men a frown, but not a severe one. Ordinarily Harvey and Oliver were the souls of kindness, but just now they were under an emotional strain. “Don’t you agree that he would rather hear the children singing?”
“There won’t be any children to hear singing once Rayne Lantree gets here and forces us all out of our homes,” Hilde Molton’s voice, high and singsong, trilled from the church kitchen where she was busy warming hot cocoa for everyone. “It’s a sad and sorry fact.”
The soothing scent of chocolate drifted out of the open door.
“Well, he’s not here yet and I, for one, intend to carry on as if he were not coming at all,” Laira Lynne replied. “The Christmas pageant will go on and we will deal with the rest later.”
A sudden gust of wind rocked the building as though it, too, was cursing Rayne Lantree.
Laira Lynne nodded to the children. They started from the beginning of the carol, sounding as sweet as angels. Surely if Mr. Lantree arrived and heard them, he would reconsider his plan to evict one and all for the sake of railroad expansion.
Daniel Bolt, postmaster and keeper of the general store, fidgeted in a chair beside the
window, gazing out. Judging by the sour look on his face, he expected Mr. Lantree to materialize out of a twist of wind.
“We need a plan,” Daniel declared, loud enough to be heard over the voices singing about going a’wassailing. “If we want to save the town from the clutches of that spawn of Satan, we need a plan.”
That might be the case, but they did not need a plan this very instant. Laira Lynne stood up, scraping the piano bench across the floor.
“Tonight the children are practicing their Christmas Eve performance. If you want to discuss mayhem, you can do it over at the general store.”
The men gazed at her as though she were addled.
“We always discuss town affairs here. Besides, I already banked the fire in the stove.” Oliver Post got up to stand beside Harvey Molton and warm his backside by the fire.
“Let’s stuff Rayne with cookies,” the elderly Mrs. Blue said, shuffling into the social room with six mugs of cocoa clattering on a tray. “I remember him as a little boy. He did love his sweets. He wasn’t the spawn of Satan way back then.”
“Nicely done, children,” Laira said. “Let’s take a break for some chocolate.”
While the children gathered about the table, Laira crossed the room to stand with the gloomy-faced people convened about the hearth.
“It’s one week until Christmas Eve,” she said, turning in a circle and smiling at her neighbors one by one. “For the children’s sake, at least, we need to rejoice in the season.”
“There won’t be much rejoicing on Christmas morning when Santa doesn’t come because we are out of our homes,” Mrs. Fulton, the mother of four of the members of the children’s choir, grumbled.
“I don’t believe that will happen,” Laira Lynne answered. And she didn’t. No one could be so cruel as to put folks out of their homes on the most wonderful day of the year.
“The notice says, as clear as my nose, we are to vacate no later than December twenty-fourth,” Oliver Post snarled. “No Christmas for Snow Apple Woods this year, or any other.”
“I am going to call the children back to rehearsal now because I don’t believe that.” She pivoted in a circle, spreading smiles again. “Christmas miracles happen all the time.”
“It would take one. Old Man Lantree loves his money.” It looked as if Harvey wanted to spit, but because he was in the social room of the church, he only wagged his finger. “We all know that even two days late on our rents, he charges a fine.”
“William, the old goat, has a cold, hard heart,” Hilde Molton agreed with her husband.
“I recall that I was in love with him once.” Mrs. Blue’s eyes crinkled at the corners. “I was quite young then and he was ever so gallant.”
“He’s not gallant anymore,” Daniel huffed. “Not him or his devil spawn.”
“Shoo, all of you,” Laira Lynne said, flicking her fingers at the disgruntled group. They were casting a pall over the Christmas cheer that should be blessing this time of year. “Go home if you can’t feel the joy of the season. Come back for your children in an hour.”
“Maybe Laira Lynne doesn’t feel the same about Snow Apple Woods as the rest of us, being a newcomer.” Oliver shrugged his slim shoulders and glanced about, probably seeking confirmation.
Luckily, no one seemed to give it to him, since that was simply not true. After living her life in the hustle and bustle of New York City, the peace of this lovely town had healed her soul when she didn’t even know it was wounded.
Snow Apple Woods was where she wanted to spend the rest of her life. Raising her cousin’s five children would keep her content the rest of her days.
“We can’t go home and come back,” Hilde said. “Listen to the wind. It’s blowing like that time back in ’78.”
And so it was. She hadn’t been here in ’78, but she’d heard the tales of that windstorm. Cows, it had been reported, had been blown over and couldn’t stand again until the next morning.
“You may stay, then, as long as you sing along with the children.”
That ought to take their minds off the arrival of the devil for a while.
It was Laira Lynne’s firm belief that a Christmas carol could soothe the heart like nothing else could.
* * *
Rayne Lantree grabbed for his hat, but the cursed wind snatched it off his head and blew it away into the dark.
Curse it! He had planned to arrive in Snow Apple Woods well before nightfall, but frigid wind had fought him and his mount at every turn. If he was shivering under his heavy coat, what must the horse be feeling?
Had it not been for the stubborn folks living in the insignificant town refusing to accept the generous relocation offer that his grandfather had extended, he wouldn’t be out in the elements fighting to keep his teeth from chattering.
Snow Apple Woods must be full of foolish people, turning down more money than their homes and businesses were worth.
It was true that his grandfather was not a warm-and-fuzzy man, and that he was dedicated to earning a dollar, but it was just as true that he was fair in his business dealings.
He’d given the folks of Snow Apple Woods six months to move on and they had ignored every offer.
It now fell to Rayne to give them one last chance. With the generous contracts he was bringing, they might mistake him for Santa Claus. He ought to come riding into town wearing a red suit, a fake bushy beard and grunting, “Ho, ho, ho.”
If they didn’t take the new offers and move on by December twenty-fourth, the law would evict them as trespassers.
He’d like to feel sorry for them. He’d visited the small town a few times as a child and remembered it as a pleasant place, but the people living there today were acting mule headed. Starting over would be easy with everything his grandfather was giving them. They could buy enough Christmas presents to make their holidays merry this year and next.
All of a sudden the steady plod of his horse’s gait changed. It skipped a beat.
“What’s the problem, Harvard?” He’d named his mount after the university he had attended, but his affection for the horse surpassed that of his education.
Being away from the ranch where he had grown up had felt like banishment. Grandfather hadn’t cared that he’d wanted a future in ranching; he’d shipped him off to Harvard to learn how to earn money.
Hell, he’d learned it, but it still hadn’t scrubbed the love of the land out of his blood.
He slipped from Harvard’s back, gently probing the length of his front leg for an injury. It wasn’t easy to see in the dark with dust and who knew what blowing in his eyes.
He felt something warm and sticky. Blood leaked from a knot beginning to swell just above the horse’s hoof.
“I reckon you’ll be fine. We just need to clean your leg and keep it still for a while.”
He remembered that the town didn’t have a hotel, not even a boardinghouse, but he’d been told there was a woman who let rooms to the few strangers passing through. Her house was the first one that he would come to on the road in.
“We’ll take it slow, boy.” He patted Harvard’s glossy black jaw while he walked beside him. “Sure hope the lady opens the door. With all the debris flying around, she might not hear us knocking.”
Chapter Two
Laira Lynne stood in the doorway of the social room, peering outside with her five small nieces gathered about her skirt.
“It’s windy,” noted three-year-old twins, Abby and Jane. Sometimes when the girls spoke, it was two voices expressing one thought. Since they were very bright and full of thoughts, they were fascinating to be around.
“We’s going to...” Jane said.
“...blow away,” Abby finished.
“Babies don’t know anything,” five-year-old Belle declared. “If we jump and flap our arms
, we don’t have to blow, we can fly.”
“Won’t you let me walk you home, Miss Laira Lynne?” Oliver Post gazed over her shoulder, watching a bucket tumbling and clanking down the street. “It will only take me a moment to close things up here.”
Oliver was a slight-built man, as likely to be blown across town as anyone else.
“That’s kind of you.” She meant that; his offer was kind. Sand and grit blew so hard a body could barely make out the bend in the street, and Oliver lived on the opposite side of town from her. “We’ll make it fine.”
The children bid Oliver goodbye with hugs about his legs. He patted each of their heads, then went back inside to close up the church for the night.
“Anyone who will fit, get under my skirt.” That would at least keep the dust out of their eyes.
Abby, Jane and Belle ducked underneath, jostling the plaid fabric while they giggled.
At seven years old, Ruthie probably thought she was too old for such an adventure, but by the look on her face, she desperately wanted it.
“Go ahead, sweetie, you’ll fit.”
Ruthie ducked under and the skirt billowed like ocean waves.
Nine-year-old Lynne grabbed her hand. “I’m much too tall for that.”
“And getting taller every day, but here.” Laira Lynne opened her coat. “Snuggle in beside me.”
They would appear a sight to anyone who might be peering out their window. They must look like a big plaid ball with a dozen legs rolling past the general store, then the bakery and the barber.
“We’ve got to have snow for Christmas, Auntie,” Lynne, Laira Lynne’s namesake, said. Her voice sounded muffled through the wool. “Mama always loved a white Christmas. Since she is going to be here in spirit, we’ve just got to have snow.”
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