A Season of the Heart: Rocky Mountain ChristmasThe Christmas GiftsThe Christmas Charm

by Jillian Hart

  Maybe she should concentrate on her own unhappiness. At how she claimed to love solitude when for the past thirty-six hours, during every spare minute, she’d walk to her storefront window on the guise of checking the weather when deep in her soul she knew she was really checking and hoping for James.

  Holly cried in her cradle. Grateful for the distraction, Maggie lifted her into her arms. She rocked the precious child. “Are you hungry? Yes? Let’s go warm up a bottle.”

  When Maggie returned from the kitchen ten minutes later holding Holly, the babe freshly diapered and sucking on the bottle, James entered the store.

  “Sergeant Fielder!” Rebecca shouted.

  He smiled at the girl, and after nodding hello to Maggie and the other adults, called to Rebecca, “Brought you something.”

  When he held up his fist, the children swarmed him.

  “What is it?” The girl tugged at his fingers, trying to un-clasp the surprise.

  Crouched low to the children’s level, James opened his palm and revealed a tiny copper bell.

  Rebecca opened her eyes wide. “Where did you get it? It’s pretty.”

  “The tinsmith made it. I thought you might like to have it for a Christmas decoration.”

  Rebecca picked it up and shook. “It’s a jingle bell.”

  The children tore off toward the tree. They raced around it, trying to decide where best to put the bell as James rose slowly, like a giant rising to his feet, and glanced at Maggie.

  He considered her for a long moment before quietly nodding again. Neither of them had answers to what they’d argued about days earlier, and that still lingered between them on this windswept day.

  Her eyes followed the outline of his forehead, nose and set jaw. She wondered if there was more reason to why he’d come today, but as she watched him swallow, his Adam’s apple lifting and then settling back down, he didn’t utter a word.

  Clutching Holly to her chest while she tilted the bottle, Maggie was grateful that she had this tiny inquisitive face to console her. Maggie would personally see to it that no matter what they discovered, even if Holly was orphaned, she’d be taken care of with love and respect. The babe’s weight felt comforting, her miniature fingernails mesmerizing, and the tiny smacking sounds as she fed soothed the spirit. There was something about holding an innocent child in your arms that was calming, that ebbed away at animosity. Children were nature’s gift to the world, and Maggie would never leave her side.

  But just as Maggie thought it, she caught a movement beyond the window. She peered closer, quivering with unexpected nervousness beneath her blue, polka-dot blouse. Outside in the fading day’s light, a team of Mountie scouts, leading two dogsleds, rode over the crest of a distant snowy hill. They brought strangers.

  Ten minutes later everyone in the Spice Shop had gathered silently around the windows watching the Mounties draw closer, just as they had that first evening when James had brought Holly.

  Now, James slid out of his coat and stepped up beside Maggie and the baby as if somehow trying to protect the two. Her heart beat like a drum.

  One dogsled appeared to be carrying a woman wrapped in furs, accompanied by a child half her size. On the other sat an unknown man. Four Mounties led the teams.

  After what seemed like an eternity, they finally reached her store. Maggie couldn’t seem to move her feet, but James sprang to the door to let them in.

  One of the constables stepped in first. He nodded to James, but before he could speak, a bearded man, young woman and their young son rushed in. Engulfed by customers and calls of assistance to sit by the fire to warm up, the man thanked them. He bent lower to speak to his son, but his young wife scanned the group. Her fur hat slid down to reveal a head of matted black hair, clear white skin and weathered eyes moist with exhaustion. When her gaze settled on Maggie, then lowered to Holly nestled in her arms, the woman shrieked with joy.

  Maggie felt an aching lurch in her chest. She didn’t need an introduction; she knew who this woman was. Holly’s mother.

  “My daughter,” the woman sobbed.

  Holly let out a weak cry, her weight shifting in the blanket, her body warmth penetrating Maggie’s arms.

  The group parted as Maggie stepped forward, a lump in her throat the size of an apple, extending her arms and gently sliding the infant to her mother.

  The baby gurgled and her mother cried.

  Maggie tried to restrain her own tears, but the touching moment grew overwhelming. Holly’s family loved her. The mother quietly cooed, kissed and clung to her baby. The father and dark-haired little boy joined her in praise, unable to stop patting the infant. Their skin seemed to glow orange in the streaks of the sunset. Maggie would have this moment frozen in her mind for years to come.

  “Thank you,” the mother wept, turning to Maggie. “I don’t know by what miracle she was brought to you, but thank you.”

  Maggie nodded, still unable to speak from the ache in her throat and tremble to her heart. She had many questions to ask these folks, but until everyone had calmed down, words weren’t necessary.

  Her husband repeated the sentiment. “Ma’am, we’re forever grateful.”

  “It was my pleasure,” Maggie finally murmured, her arms feeling cold from the baby’s absence.

  James stood beside her. Had he been there the entire time?

  When told by the other Mounties that James was the one who’d found their daughter and brought her here, they thanked him profusely, too.

  His mouth tightened with sentiment, his eyes glistened with deep satisfaction, and he couldn’t seem to tear away from the vision of the mother rocking her baby.

  Then with a tender unexpected touch, James rubbed the tense spot between Maggie’s shoulder blades as if he knew just how much she would miss the child. Physically connecting with him in spite of their argument—or maybe because of it—intensified her reaction. His gaze roused an agony in her, an inexplicable emptiness at how she’d argued with him about his family, in sharp contrast to these strangers before them who felt no shame in pouring out their hearts to each other.

  Stepping away from her, James kneeled to help the young boy undo his heavy furs. “You must be tired after such a long journey. Here, come here by the sofa and heat up your hands.”

  “Yes, please,” offered Maggie, coming to her senses. “This way for all of you—please sit down.” Abiding her manners would restore calm to her disquiet. Fussing around the family would give her something to do with her trembling fingers.

  “Are you all right, Maggie?” her elder sister whispered as they made their way to the sitting area.

  Maggie nodded softly. There was no need to be concerned about her.

  But her younger sister patted her other shoulder when Maggie sat down on the sofa. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes,” Maggie murmured politely, tugging at a loose button on her polka-dot blouse. Why wouldn’t she be? Holly had found her family. But the empty ache of loneliness still scraped at the pit of Maggie’s stomach.

  Maggie turned her attention to the family as introductions were made.

  “I’m Kyle Lattimer and this is my wife, Lynne. Our son David. And of course, you know Angelina.”

  “Angelina,” Maggie repeated with delight, quivering at the beauty of the word, and thanking God that the mystery of the baby’s past had ended so incredibly well. “It’s a beautiful name for a little girl.”

  While folks warmed themselves by the fire, Maggie’s sisters insisted she sit while they prepared tea and a spread of food for the guests. Maggie relented, but wished they wouldn’t treat her as if she was ill and needed to rest. Losing Holly—Angelina—to her folks was a blessing and Maggie’s feelings were unimportant and irrelevant.

  “What happened?” Maggie asked the Lattimers as soon as she could, when the room had settled and she could breathe again. The other children had taken David out of earshot, to the spare room and were playing games. “The ferry house burned down. How did you escape
the fire?”

  Mr. Lattimer rubbed his beard and sighed. In the light, he looked a lot younger, likely in his early twenties. “It was awful. Lynne here had taken the baby to the spring house to wash up at the pump and collect some water while David and I were building a fire in the cabin. The chimney must have been plugged with a dead animal. Or maybe an old nest. Anyway, we started the fire but the plugged chimney made the fire sweep into the room, just as fast as you might snap your fingers. Before I knew it, David and I were trapped.”

  Mrs. Lattimer shook her head. Her messy black hair tumbled down her blouse—the same dark color as Angelina’s. “I had taken Angelina outdoors for some fresh air and was filling up the bucket in the pump shack when I smelled it. By the time I raced in with my useless pail of water—”

  “—the log frame of the house was as dry as cinders—”

  “—all it took was one spark—”

  “—I heard David screaming—”

  “—Lynne left the baby in the spring house where it was safe so she could rescue us—”

  “—by the time the lumberjacks arrived to drag us out, the three of us were unconscious from the smoke.”

  James stood in the corner with the other Mounties, listening to the Lattimers.

  Maggie tried to slow them down so she could grasp everything they were saying. “So the three of you were trapped inside the cabin, Angelina was by herself in the spring house waiting for her mother to come back, and passing lumberjacks pulled you out?”

  Nodding, Mr. Lattimer confirmed it. “They’d been logging in the forest, caught in the unexpected snowstorm when they saw the smoke. We were unconscious so couldn’t tell him our girl was left behind. They took us back to camp and when we woke up the next day—” He choked on his words. “It was the worst day of our lives. They didn’t know there was a fourth member to our family. They didn’t know to look for Angelina.”

  Mrs. Lattimer sobbed again. “We thought we’d lost her.”

  “By the time the lumberjacks went back, she was gone.”

  “The worst Christmas of our lives.”

  Turning his head to the Mounties in the corner, Mr. Lattimer scratched his ear. “But then five days later, four Mounties arrived. Like a miracle.”

  His wife drew in a rattling big breath, then smiled. “And now…we’ll never forget this Christmas as long as we live. It’s the best Christmas of our lives.”

  The words brought a hush to the room.

  Maggie fought another round of tears. She listened to the wood crackling in the fire, and the gleeful voices of playful children drifting from the spare room.

  She lifted her gaze to James’s face, searching for a hint of what was going through his mind, finding only that silent intensity that threatened to undo her. She felt as if they’d accomplished this together—the safety and survival of an infant, providing a temporary loving home for Angelina until she could be reunited with her family.

  Maybe when the Lattimers left, perhaps James would stay behind and Maggie would offer amends for her earlier comments. The argument still clung between them—she could feel its chill.

  “…so we’d best be going. We’ll get a room at the inn.”

  Alarmed to see the couple rise, Maggie jumped to her feet. “You’re leaving? But you haven’t told us everything. Why were you traveling in the storm? And the clues James found at the burned cabin—did you buy spices from me recently?”

  “We’re terribly sorry,” said Mr. Lattimer with a shaky hand at his wife’s back as they walked to the front door. “We’re tired and losing track of what we’ve said. Initially, the purpose of our journey was traveling to a small town beyond the lumber camp to say goodbye to Lynne’s mother. She was gravely ill, but she passed away, at least meeting Angelina and seeing David one last time.”

  Touched by the sorrowful news, Maggie offered condolences. Mrs. Lattimer looked to the floor, then smiled as David came running up with the other children. David was showing them a handful of yellow beads he was playing with in his pocket, identical to the yellow bead James had found at the fire scene.

  While his son donned his coat and mittens, Mr. Lattimer finished the story.

  “It wasn’t storming when we started more than a month ago from Ram’s River, about fifty miles south of here. And as for the spices, yes, we passed through here. I waited at the inn with the children while Lynne came in and bought a few things for her mother. I believe your mother, Miss Greerson, served her.”

  “I see,” said Maggie. It finally made sense.

  “These warm chinook winds will make it easy to return home. But we’re tired now, and need to get back to that inn.”

  “Of course. Sleep well.”

  “I’ll escort you,” said James. “The constables can return to the barracks.”

  James was going with them? Maggie’s heart began to thump. He wasn’t staying with her?

  She looked his way, but he was already sliding into his sheepskin coat. Maggie told herself it didn’t matter, that she had a lot to do to prepare for tomorrow’s big day—her busiest day of the year—and that it was better if she was left alone. But her utter, irrefutable disappointment made her speechless.

  “We’ll see you in the morning, Miss Greerson,” said the Lattimers.

  Some of the customers had already left—the others did so now, joining Maggie’s sisters and their children, the Mounties and then James himself.

  “Good night, Maggie,” was all James said to her.

  Maggie hoped to hold Angelina one last time to say goodbye. With a warm smile she extended her arms, but Mrs. Lattimer hadn’t seen it, spinning quickly while scooping the infant inside her coat to shield her from the pressing wind.

  Maggie peered into the cool, dark wind into which James and the rest had escaped. The wind bit into her sleeves but she barely noticed.

  Closing the door, Maggie listened to the echo of the fire as it caught another log and the crackle loomed in the heavy silence. Her chest rose and fell with her breathing.

  She pressed her forehead to the icy door and stood there for a long time. Everything had turned out so well, she told herself. It was for the best. But the pain seeped into her pores, as well as the heat reaching her from the fire.

  They’d taken the dear child, and without so much as a blink, James had slipped away from her, too.

  Chapter Ten

  Palms braced against his mattress, James arose the next morning to the usual sounds of a bugle playing reveille. Except this morning the jokester at the bugle, a lad of sixteen, quickly followed it with an energetic rendition of “Deck the Halls.”

  Tonight was Christmas Eve.

  Swinging out of bed, James planted his bare feet on the cool floorboards. A lot had come to him last night watching Maggie with the Lattimers. It had been emotional for everyone, and especially difficult for Maggie. On his moonlit hike back to the barracks, he’d thought about what a caring woman she was, and how wrong he’d been in uttering the words selfish and Maggie in the same sentence.

  Wincing with regret, he hoped she would forgive him. He planned on saying just that, and a whole lot more, to her today.

  At this moment, maybe it was the lively music or the comforting thought that Angelina had reunited with her family that made him smile. Then again, perhaps it had more to do with the difficult letter James had written yesterday…or simply the happiness he felt in seeing Maggie today. No matter the reasons, he had a tingling of Christmas spirit rising within him, as he hadn’t had since he was young.

  That’s how the Yuletide cheer came upon you, he remembered while shaving at his dresser. It would come and go in tiny moments—flashes of sunlight on a freshly painted toboggan, a pair of new blue socks, his mother absently humming “Deck the Halls” while ironing his father’s shirt.

  James spent the morning attending to his duties at the fort. He met with the commander to outline the work schedule for the first two weeks of the new year, he stopped to listen to the band practicin
g for the outdoor festival later that afternoon, and then he dropped in to wish the cook good cheer.

  At one o’clock when most men were leaving the fort to prepare the town square for toboggan races, sleigh rides, skating and games, James donned his newest red uniform and navy wool breeches. On top of that, he’d wear his buffalo furs. Now that all the roads were plowed, it would be a short gallop into town. The massive horses penned up in the stables needed exercise every day, no matter the weather, and constables were encouraged to ride them.

  Still humming “Deck the Halls,” James hastened his bay toward Maggie’s store. He couldn’t wait to see her.

  In the early afternoon, the scent of mulled wine greeted James as he strode through the door of the Spice Shop. Sunshine beat through the windows, into the store where a dozen customers had gathered, alongside Maggie’s huge family. Some customers carried packages while they shopped, others held cuts of meat from the butcher shop where they’d picked up a Christmas goose or freshly stuffed sausages or a fine cut of beef.

  It always amazed James, as he entered Maggie’s realm, how well liked and appreciated she was in Goldstrike.

  He tossed his coat into the corner and looked for her. James spied her near the Christmas punch bowl, scooping cups of cheer into decorative china bowls for neighbors’ extended hands.

  He took a moment to savor how she looked, scanning her high collar, the fashionable white-lace blouse adorning her bosom, and her golden hair swept up beneath a red-velvet Saint Nicholas cap. Her long red skirt, also cut from red velvet, followed the movements of her hips as she twisted and turned. Her pointy cap had a small bell sewn onto its long tip, so when she bent over the punch bowl, it fell across her chest and dinged. His muscles tightened watching her.

  “Wassail!” the tinsmith shouted as he drank.

  Maggie laughed. “Wassail!” Then she caught James’s gaze as he towered above the heads. Her face grew somber for a second, and in that second, time seemed to freeze. She didn’t want him here, he feared. She didn’t want him interfering.