Five Golden Rings: A Christmas Collection

by Sophie Barnes

  “Mr. Baldwin sure is a popular man,” her father said as he waited for her to take her seat in a pew. Ginny faced the front and refused to look over to Phin again; she already knew what she’d find. He was surrounded by doting mothers and fawning daughters. She could hear him being invited to Sunday dinners, and she had no doubt he’d accept one of them. He did have a purpose for being in Preston, after all.

  “I can go over and ask him to supper, dear. What do you think?”

  Her face must have shown her horror because her father laughed. “Would that be so terrible?”

  “Father, the only reason those women are over there is because they are trying to catch themselves a husband, something I have no intention of doing.”

  Thankfully, her father remained silent. She sighed, willing the service to begin.

  “Maybe you should be over there, Eugenia. You should be thinking of getting married and starting a family, same as those girls.”

  Her mouth opened slightly as she turned to her father. She didn’t know what to say. Did he want her out of the house? Had she worn out her welcome? It was true, most women her age were married and had children. She couldn’t lie to herself, these were things she wanted as well. But she’d never been interested in a man enough to consider marrying him. There certainly wasn’t anybody in her life for whom she would consider abandoning her father. Still, she hadn’t considered that her father didn’t need her anymore.

  “Is that what you want me to do, Father? Get married?”

  He took her hand into both of his, and squeezed it tight. “I would keep you to myself forever if I thought I could. But we got ourselves caught up in this little life, and I fear we might get stuck. I don’t want you to get stuck, Ginny.” She saw him swallow hard, and she felt the beginning of tears prick at the corners of her eyes. He wasn’t a man who expressed himself easily or often, and that’s how she knew this was important to him. So she listened as he continued.

  “I want you to be happy, darlin’.”

  He didn’t use the endearment often. She covered his hands with her free one. “I’m happy with you.”

  He shut his eyes and shook his head. “No you’re not. Ginny, you’re going to get old one day, and I’ll be gone, and you’ll be sitting alone in that shop thinking, “what if.” It’s not a good feeling. I don’t want you to have any “what-ifs.” I want you to have your own family and watch your children grow. If they’re half as wonderful as you, you’ll be blessed.”

  One hot tear rolled down her cheek. “Father . . .”

  “Give it some thought, Ginny.” He released his hands from her grasp, and patted them once before becoming the dignified, stoic man she knew.

  She didn’t listen to a word Pastor Morrow said, nor did she sing a hymn. She could only wonder what “what-ifs” her father was carrying around and if he was right in thinking she was starting to cultivate some of her own.

  PHIN WAITED PATIENTLY with his landlady, Mrs. Dixon, and the others from the boardinghouse. Ed found him through the crowd and took a place beside him as they stood by the rectory.

  “Looks like you’re neck deep in alligators, friend,” Ed commented, jutting his head to each side to illustrate his point.

  Phin supposed it was a reflection of how quickly he’d become accustomed to the female attention that he didn’t notice how they’d formed a circle around him. Mildred Jameson was to his left, and the hotel owner’s youngest, who couldn’t be older than fourteen, was to his right.

  He felt an uncomfortable prickle race up the back of his neck when the young girl’s mother waved at him, then elbowed her daughter to do the same. By God, she was just a child.

  Ed laughed at him and clapped a hand over his shoulder. “It’s got to be the smile, right, Phin?”

  “You’re a jackass.”

  “I’ll be a jackass to your stallion any day if it means I’m not the one being sought out morning, day, and night.”

  “I’ll thank you not to curse in the Lord’s house,” Mrs. Dixon murmured through the thin line of her lips. She didn’t even look at them when they offered their, “Yes’ms.” They muted their voices as Pastor Morrow approached, holding something in his hands.

  “What is that?” Phin asked.

  Mrs. Dixon openly glared at him this time, and he apologized.

  Pastor Morrow began. “Once again, folks, we are here for the annual gifting of the wise men. For those of you new to town, let me explain. This custom dates back twenty or so years when a man named James Peterson found himself lonely on a cold, wintry Christmas Eve. He’d left his family back in St. Louis to try to make a new life out here, but it didn’t stop him from yearning for those he loved most. He wasn’t doing too well at his venture, some of you here can attest to that.”

  A few murmurs from the crowd.

  “Peterson was a fairly good hand at carving. That Christmas Eve, instead of going out to the pageant like everyone else, he stayed home and made his own company out of a hunk of oak. He created this little figurine, consisting of the three kings presenting the baby Jesus with three gifts. That’s where you’ll see these little empty boxes.” He indicated them with the tip of his thumb. “He made the men’s faces to reflect those of the men in his family whom he respected, thereby ensuring that he was, indeed, surrounded by family. And that night, he slipped a little paper with a wish on it into each empty groove. They were his wishes for the coming year, you see.”

  “I never tire of hearing this story,” Phin heard someone behind him say.

  “I hope I get it this year,” a little red-haired imp whispered to his brother.

  Phin’s curiosity was definitely piqued; the preacher knew how to deliver a story.

  “Now, we’ll never know for sure what those three wishes were exactly, but something powerful took hold of Mr. Peterson. The next day, he felt rejuvenated, unlike anything he’d felt before. He told everyone he knew that his wishes had come true, and little more than a week after Christmas, Mr. Peterson found a vein of gold down by a stretch of land that had already been mined. He became wealthy enough that he returned home to his family, confident he could provide for them comfortably until he came upon a new enterprise. Not long after, he sent this very figurine to this church with a note, saying how he wanted others to be as blessed as he had been that lonely Christmas Eve. Ever since, it’s become a tradition for us to have a lottery drawing to see who will have the chance at three Christmas miracles. For those of you with skeptical minds, ask anyone, and they’ll tell you we’ve had our fair share of wishes come true in Preston. Who’s to say it’s not the work of the wise men? Now, gather round, put your names on the scraps, and give ’em to Mr. Overton if you’d like to participate in the drawing.”

  Phin watched as the people behind him dispersed to write their names on the slips of paper handed out by Ginny Overton. Her father held the tin canister where they were being placed. He turned his head to make a comment to Ed only to see his stalwart friend slipping his name into the canister. He crossed his arms at his chest and stared smugly at Ed as he made his way through a crowd. Ed shrugged. “I’m no one to say no to a miracle. If they’re being handed out, don’t see why I shouldn’t get my fair share.”

  “Your choice.”

  “Put your name in, too.” Ed grinned devilishly at him, and reached for the pipe in his right breast pocket. “Given your task at hand, you could do with a few wishes.”

  “All right, folks. Here we go.” Pastor Morrow shoved his hand into the canister and withdrew a slip of paper.

  Phin could feel the excitement of the people around him, almost as if it were Christmas morning itself. He had to admit he enjoyed the pleasure the people in Preston took in small things. He’d grown up in a family where only big events merited the type of delight on the faces of his current neighbors. He took out his leather-bound notebook and pencil to record the more salient details of the night’s events to include as a personal interest story in the newspaper. It wouldn’t be anything new
since it was a town tradition, but Phin found that sometimes people preferred to read about familiar events in which they took part instead of the bigger, flashier stories.

  He was busy jotting down the number in attendance when Ed tapped him on the shoulder.

  Phin looked up and saw that everyone was beaming at him. “What happened?”

  Mrs. Dixon took his notebook and pushed him up to the front. “You’ve been chosen as this year’s recipient, Mr. Baldwin. Go on.”

  Phin couldn’t find words, which was a sad state to be in, given his profession. He surveyed all the happy faces and settled on Ginny Overton’s since she was the only one not smiling. She was regarding him with a serious expression on her face.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “It’s you, Phin.” Ed said, walking him up to receive the figurine.

  Phin sat at a table surrounded by townsfolk, who were busy chatting away. He thumbed the rough-hewn faces of the wise men; the figurine itself was shaped into a circular ring with a diameter of about five inches, each wise man’s shoulders pressing up against the next. The oak had been painted with earth colors, the three kings wearing robes of sienna, sage, and a gray-blue that reminded him of the South Dakota sky on a rainy day. The faces of the figures were distinguishable, and Phin could well picture the men who had inspired them. Noble men of strong moral character. Each wise man held a little box without a cover. Phin dipped his index finger in the warped wood of the box of the sienna wise man and dug his nail into a little nick created over time and wear.

  “How does this work exactly?”

  Mrs. Clancy, sitting beside him, spoke first. “It’s really quite simple. Tonight, when you go home, think about three things you would like to happen. Wishes, you see. You write each down on a separate sheet of paper, fold them up, and put one wish in each of the boxes.”

  “Then what?”

  She blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

  Phin felt half a dozen pairs of eyes on him. He scratched the back of his neck. “Well, ah, I just mean, what happens after I do that?”

  Mildred Jameson, Ginny Overton, and another young lady joined his group. Millie giggled. “You don’t do anything, Mr. Baldwin. You only have to wait until Christmas to see if your miracles were granted or not.”

  “Yes, and then?”

  Mrs. Clancy spoke. “I guess it seems a bit silly to you, coming from a big city, waiting on something magical to happen. In our defense, though, we do seem to have a lot of people who have admitted to having a dream come true.”

  “You wouldn’t admit otherwise, though, would you?”

  “We don’t tend to lie, if that’s what you mean, Mr. Baldwin.”

  “I wouldn’t dare think so, Mrs. Clancy, and begging your pardon if that’s what you thought. What I mean is, you’d want to believe something happened even if it didn’t. You’d convince yourself that you’d seen a change, more so when the people in town are so invested in knowing the results. I can’t blame you. The story is enchanting.”

  The gathering was quiet again, while the noise from the other sections of the room could be heard.

  “It sounds like you don’t believe in miracles, Mr. Baldwin.”

  The comment was made in a serious tone. Phin and the rest of the party looked over to Ginny Overton, whose face was inscrutable.

  “I’m not saying I do or I don’t. I take it you do?”

  Her hair was well behaved tonight, every strand in place. “Yes.”

  “This is curious, indeed, Miss Overton. Please share your stories of wishes and miracles. I’m assuming you’ve had at least one little wish come true.” He smiled at her, but she didn’t smile back. He became conscious of the presence of tension that hadn’t been there only moments before. Too late, he remembered her history. It wasn’t exactly rife with glowing endorsements for the existence of miracles. Deceased mother and brother, absent sister. The dreary routine of a soon-to-be spinster in a small town.

  “You don’t intend to make your own wishes, then?”

  He glanced at the ring in his hand, and shrugged. “I haven’t decided. This might be the year the old fellows get a break from wish-granting.”

  “Oh, but you must follow the rules, Mr. Baldwin,” Mrs. Clancy exclaimed. “It’s tradition.”

  Phin saw a glimmer in Ginny’s dark eyes that fascinated him. She was angry with him. Something he had said or done was provoking her ire, and he was mildly curious to know what it was, if only because he wasn’t accustomed to having a woman upset at him.

  He turned his attention to the matron. “I’m not sure, Mrs. Clancy, but don’t fret. I’ll display the figurine in the newspaper office and anyone who passes by can see it. They’ll still be part of the Christmas season like they’ve been every year since the tradition started.

  He looked up again to see that Ginny was gone.

  Chapter Three

  LET FATHER MOVE on past his grief.

  Keep our family in good health.

  Let me experience something truly extraordinary before the end of my days.

  These were Ginny’s three wishes. They had been her wishes since she could remember, and she was always hopeful that she’d get the opportunity to put her thoughts to paper and slip them into the wise men’s boxes. Each year, she was disappointed, but she at least had the comforting thought that the recipient of the wise men would be a believer who wouldn’t throw away the chance for something magical to happen.

  Her wishes were simple. She wasn’t asking for a pot of gold to fall in her lap or for the gift of flying. She only wanted to see her father happy, and not the facsimile he displayed for the world since her mother’s death. She also worried for his health, and for Eliza’s. Ginny’s sister had miscarried two children and was delicate. Their father had had a terrible bout of influenza when Ginny was fifteen, and in those days of caring for him, she had really discovered what life would be like if he were gone. She’d have no one. Not only that, it wasn’t fair that her father had only known happiness for such a short time, only to have it taken away. A person should have more to his life than that.

  Her last wish was selfish, and it belonged to the young girl she’d been. She couldn’t bring herself to change it. After all, its promise helped get her through many lonely days at the shop. She wasn’t even sure what she wanted to see or do. Maybe she would travel by train to visit her sister, and the trip would be extraordinary. Or maybe she would witness something marvelous. The not knowing was part of the allure. This wish was one of the few dreams she allowed herself. And Christmastime was the perfect time to dust out the dream and hope all over again, for Christmas was full of magic.

  Which is why she was so appalled, and truth be told, angry with Phin Baldwin. If ever there was a sign that he was not the love of her life after all, it was this. He came in with his big-city ways and his amusement at their expense, then, to top it all, he was chosen for something that everybody else considered an honor, and what did he do? He spurned it, that’s what. Her cheeks burned just to remember his smug smile. He was a skeptic, and he was going to waste the opportunity that someone else would have cherished.

  “You’re very quiet,” her father said.

  She removed her gaze from her untouched supper. “Am I?”

  She knew her father was curious about her, but he didn’t ask; nor did she share.

  Ginny’s foot tapped a frenetic beat along with the wind outside, which was in full swing.

  Her father had stared at her from across the store all morning, and she’d calmed herself enough to stop her foot’s little jig. Only to start all over again a few minutes later.

  Finally, he came out, and announced, “Ginny, if you’ve got something on your mind, I sure wish you’d come out and say it. You’ve got my nerves dancing to your ditty.”

  She tried smiling, only to have it come out flat. “Do you think we can visit Eliza this coming year?”

  “That’s what you’re worried about?” he asked. She could read the
skepticism in his furrowed brow.

  “I’d like to see her. It’s been years since she visited us. She has a new baby. I’m an aunt to a whole passel of children whose faces I’ve never seen.”

  Her father gazed at her directly, and she almost winced. He saw right through her, and even if he wasn’t certain of the true reason for her distress, he knew it had nothing to do with Eliza. She started counting gray hairs again. She felt herself tense up as he walked around the counter and over to her section by the dry goods. He dug into his pocket and fished out a few pennies. “I think you need something to keep you busy for a bit. Go on over to Mrs. Jameson’s and get us a few rolls.”

  The bakery. It only served as a reminder that Phin Baldwin liked the bakery’s hot cross buns.

  “When you return, we can talk about it.”

  Her eyes widened. “About what?”

  “About what’s really bothering you.”

  She bit her bottom lip. “I’m fine, Father.”

  He forced her to go, anyway.

  I’m being ridiculous, she told herself as she walked over to the bakery. The wind was icy and sharp, cutting a path across her cheeks and neck that brought tears to her eyes. At least the dirt of the road was somewhat wet, so it didn’t cast a cloud over her. She couldn’t understand why she was being so sensitive about the figurine. She hadn’t ever been called in the drawing, and she hadn’t expected to be called this time, either. So it wasn’t disappointment. It all had to do with Phin Baldwin, that’s all. That’s it. You knew he wasn’t for you, but you could still dream. But when he didn’t take this one little custom seriously, you realized that he really isn’t from this place or like its people. You’re upset that this dream has died. That’s all. She felt her shoulders relax a little. She’d been silly, placing so much importance on a trifling matter, and now that she realized it, she could move on. She went into the warm, yeasty comfort of the bakery and sighed with relief. She went over to the counter and greeted Mr. Jameson.

  “How’s your pa, Ginny?”