Her father was in his office, working on the week’s accounts. Ginny took the opportunity to take out her journal and choose the first batch of wishes she’d be “granting.” She was enthusiastic about the prospect of being part of something miraculous in someone else’s life. Not just miraculous, she thought with a thrill in her heart. Extraordinary.
She took out the first three, the ones that belonged to the Jameson family.
The first one read, Bless me with another daughter.
Ginny suppressed a sigh. That was surely Bea’s. Before having Alfred, Bea had miscarried a baby girl. She had been solemn for many months before becoming pregnant with Alfred, who would be her second son. I can’t exactly help with that one, Ginny thought sadly.
The second one read, Please keep our business booming as it has been, so that maybe we can save enough to send Hank to school like he wants.
That one could have been made by Mr. or Mrs. Jameson, but since the one didn’t do anything without the knowledge of the other, Ginny supposed the wish had been a joint venture. Millie’s youngest brother was eleven, and the smartest child Ginny had ever met. He was always at the lending library, his puglike nose buried in a book. He could do sums in his head that dizzied his mother when he helped her in the bakery, and everyone knew if he ever had the chance, he could go far.
Ginny didn’t know how she could possibly help with that. She hardly had enough savings to send a boy to college. Maybe if she saved up for several years and presented it to the family when Hank was of age. That would take too long, and she wasn’t even sure it would be enough. Fancy schools cost fancy money.
A noise outside stirred her thoughts, and she checked to see that no one was watching. Outside the shop doors, business was happening as usual on the main street as people bustled here and there. Ginny returned her concentration to the wishes. This wish-granting business was not for the faint of heart. “Well, if it was so easy, people wouldn’t have need of them,” she muttered to herself. She retrieved the last scrap of paper on the page and prayed that she would find something she could work with.
The third wish was written in a child’s writing. Ginny’s lips curved. “Oh, Hank.” She thought it was dear that the Jamesons had shared their opportunity to add something to the wish list. Given the nature of the first two, she doubted anyone but the wisher had been allowed to view the other papers. The paper read, “Help Millie find a husband, so she’ll stop mooning around all the time. And if you can, I would like to see the world. But I understand if it’s too much. Thank you.”
Hank Jameson, you’re the sweetest boy ever, Ginny thought. And this, she thought, is a wish I can work with. But she’d have to be quick since Christmas was less than two weeks away.
GINNY ORGANIZED THE first-ever Christmas “goods” auction within the church, the funds to be used to repair the roof over the school. Though Ginny was glad that her festivities would bring in much-needed aid to the school, her primary reason for organizing the event was much different. She needed a reason to throw a few people together.
Her father joined her at the table where she was organizing the home-goods section. Pastor Morrow was with him. He took her hand and squeezed. “Your father and I were just commenting on what a wonderful idea this was. I’m very grateful for your involvement in this event, Ginny.”
She saw her father’s pride by the way he stood with his hands on his suspenders, and felt the slightest twinge of guilt since her first impulse had not been completely selfless. Although, she reminded herself, her main goal wasn’t selfish, so maybe she shouldn’t feel guilty. It was all for a good cause, after all. Millie and the school repairs.
She was relieved when both men walked away to let her finish categorizing the items that would be up for auction. The Jamesons were going to auction off two items: a lesson in making apple pie as well as a two-week supply of free bread. The blacksmith offered his services for one full day; his wife included a home-cooked meal, which would go over well with the single miners, some of who were not lucky enough to live in boardinghouses or have homes of their own. The hotel was going to auction off a night’s stay in the best room of the establishment, the banker a beautiful leather pouch for gold dust, and so on. Ginny once again marveled at the generosity of Preston and her people. Sillier gifts were being auctioned, like a dance with Cecilia Gilliam, the mayor’s wife, but Ginny knew these would be auctioned off as well in the spirit of fun.
Ginny’s main plan hinged on a specific item being auctioned. Ginny had coaxed Millie into providing a picnic basket filled with fried chicken, potatoes, and a chocolate cake she’d made herself. She’d managed to evade Millie’s questions about why Ginny wanted her to do this by selling her on the romance. “Don’t you want to see who’s going to bid on it,” she’d said. She’d seen the question in Millie’s eyes and knew she’d won her over. Which was perfect, because her plan didn’t work if Millie didn’t provide something to the auction.
The pastor called for the bidders to take their seats so the festivities could begin, and Ginny looked through the crowd to find two very important people. She was quick in locating Phin Baldwin. She frowned because he was talking to her father. The coat he had ordered had already come in, and hopefully, he didn’t have a complaint about it, but she didn’t see any other reason for the two to look so chummy. His head swiveled directly to her, making her move back a step. He’d known exactly where in the room she was, and wasn’t that a discomfiting thought? She bit down on her lip. That was one. Her eyes traveled over the bright, smiling faces of the people and finally hit upon the other person. Alfred Jameson, six years old, was at his mother’s side. Ginny caught his eye and winked. He smiled wide, displaying a gap where one of his front teeth should be. She scowled at him to remind him this wasn’t a game, and he sobered quickly, winking back.
“Dear God, help me,” she prayed quickly. “If I’m using a child to help me in this endeavor, I must be out of my mind.” This thought, however, did not cause her to relent. She was going to go through with her plan no matter what.
PHIN SAT BACK in his chair as item after item was auctioned off. He considered bidding on a few objects himself. There was a toy horse carved out of pine that his sister Lisa’s son might like for Christmas, and as he had a mind to visit his family for the holidays, it was only right he come bearing gifts. He didn’t raise his hand once, however. When he saw how Mr. Wheeler’s son tugged on his father’s coat when the toy was shown, Phin didn’t have the heart. He couldn’t drive the price up for something that would mean more to Mr. Wheeler’s little boy than it would to Phin’s nephew.
He jotted down a few notes about the event since it was the first of its kind in Preston. He found his eyes wandering every once in a while to the event’s organizer. Ginny sat in the front with her father. She wore a kelly green shirtwaist with puffed-up sleeves over a long skirt made of brown linen. Phin knew from his sister’s detailed letters that fashions in bigger cities were changing to a looser, vertical style of dress. The times hadn’t caught up with little ol’ Preston, it was obvious, since Ginny’s cinched-in waist was evidence of the corset she still used. It suited her, as did the rich color of the blouse, and her dark hair, usually a rumpus, was combed back in a simple but elegant coiffure, accentuating the earbobs dangling at each ear. He frowned because he’d noticed her hair, noticed how her fair cheeks were suffused with warmth and how they curved up with her smile. Then he frowned some more because one wasn’t supposed to find his personal pain in the ass attractive. And damn it, she was.
He caught Ed staring at him funny, and he scowled at him. The kid next to Phin stared at him, too.
The pastor brought out the next item, a picnic basket filled with homemade delights prepared by Mildred Jameson. Ed sat up a little straighter in his seat, making Phin snicker. This time, it was Ed’s turn to scowl. Phin couldn’t wait to see how much Ed was willing to bid on the dinner.
“Now folks, you’re just going to have to take my word on it,
but Miss Millie Jameson is among the finest cooks it’s been my pleasure to meet. If you were standing where I am now, holding this here basket, you might just faint of delight, it smells that good.”
Pastor Morrow started the bidding low. Phin looked over at Millie and saw the flush of curiosity on her face. If ever there was a woman in search of a beau, it was Millie. The bidding war so far was between Ed, a miner named Steely Jack, Millie’s brother, and Rick, and surely the last two were only bidding in order to heckle—Millie’s brother wanted to embarrass Millie, and Rick wanted to do the same with Ed.
Phin felt a poke in the ribs, and looked over to the other side. The kid smiled up at him apologetically.
“Looks like we have a new bidder,” Pastor Morrow said. “Phin Baldwin.”
Phin’s eyes widened. His hand had gone up when he’d been poked, but surely that couldn’t be misconstrued as a bidding attempt?
The pastor asked for a counter to Phin’s offer. He sighed in relief when Ed took it.
The kid tugged at a piece of his hair. Phin yelped and stared at the kid in befuddlement.
“I’m sorry, Ed, but it looks like Phin wants him some fried chicken. Do I have another offer?”
Phin waited to see if someone would get him out of the fix. He wouldn’t be able to recant and say he hadn’t intended to bid—twice—that would only serve to embarrass. Steely Jack helped him by upping the ante.
Out of the corner of his eye, Phin saw the kid preparing for another attack. He decided to take precautionary measures and ducked his head close enough for the kid to hear, but no one else. “I don’t know if you think this is a game, boy, but I’m putting a stop to it.”
The boy stared at him, blue eyes round and bright. Then he kicked Phin in the shin, and Phin barked out a grunt, and just like that, he was in the race again.
If he hadn’t seen Ginny looking at him, biting her lips to keep from laughing, then turning away rapidly when she detected his scrutiny, he would have been none the wiser. But he was a smart man, and he put two and two together. He leaned down to the boy. “You’re Millie’s nephew, right? Sam and Bea’s boy?”
The boy nodded silently.
“How about I tell your father what you’ve been up to? What do you think he’ll say to that?”
The boy’s face turned pale. “I’m sorry, mister. Please don’t tell Pa. I apologize, really I do.”
Phin shushed him quickly so that he wouldn’t cause a scene. He leaned in once more, “All right. Listen to me. If you answer my next question honestly, I won’t tell your father about this little incident, understood? But you have to be honest.”
He saw the relief course through the boy.
“Who put you up to this?”
He saw the boy turn guilty, opening his mouth, then closing it. The boy didn’t want to rat out his accomplice, which, Phin admitted, was admirable. He tried a different tack. “Let’s do this. I’ll say a name, and you nod if that’s the person, all right?”
The boy nodded rapidly, this plan much more to his liking. Luckily, Phin only had one name on his list.
“Was it Ginny Overton?”
The boy nodded once more, confirming Phin’s suspicions. When would the woman leave him alone?
“You’re not going to tell Pa, right, Mr. Baldwin? A deal’s a deal.”
His grinned at the reminder. “You’re right, son. A deal’s a deal. Go on over to your family.”
During his conversation with the boy, whom he belatedly remembered was named Alfred, the bidding had continued without him. Steely Jack had outbid the others, and Ed was grumbling beside him.
“Luck wasn’t with you,” Phin said to him.
Ed glared at Phin. “Nothing to do with luck. And just what in tarnation were you about bidding for Millie’s basket? I thought you didn’t like Millie.”
Phin’s eyebrows rose at the rankled tone in his friend’s voice. “I like her fine, but not like that. I thought you felt the same way.”
Ed’s tongue tangled in his mouth, so that he somehow turned a muttered denial, a flippant joke, and a “hrmmph” into one syllable. The man stood up discreetly, as they’d taken seats in the back, and put on his coat. “Let’s go. They’re almost done anyway, and they’re only going to have cookies and punch later before everyone goes home.”
Phin couldn’t go home. He still had one more task to do. “You go ahead. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Given how that vixen had conspired against him, this next part was going to be delicious—and Phin had her father to thank.
GINNY WAS IN a stunned stupor as the remaining items were auctioned off. Her plan had been simple enough, but at some point, something had gone horribly wrong. She still couldn’t believe it. Alfred had done his part, God bless him, and yet, Phin had stopped bidding so that someone else had gotten Millie’s wares. Ginny knew Millie enough to know that she’d be hearing about that for the next few weeks to come. Millie wanted a husband, but not someone like Steely Jack, who was always three sheets to the wind and was missing several teeth, besides the fact that he was in his late forties. And then, as if her failure were not enough to contend with, she’d been thrown for a loop when, suddenly she was being included in the auction. Without her knowledge, she was entered to provide three sessions to paint a free portrait. When it was being announced, she turned to her father. He beamed at her. Ginny had dabbled with sketches and occasionally paints when she could get her hands on them, but she was nowhere near being accomplished enough to take someone’s likeness and make it a portrait.
Her confusion became horror when none other than Phin Baldwin outbid everyone else for the sessions and portrait. The pastor brought the event to a close, giving her special thanks and a prayer for organizing the event. Then he gave people leave to go by the tables for refreshments before going home.
She swallowed audibly as she saw Phin walk toward her. She saw the devilish gleam in his eye and immediately knew that Alfred had sold her out. She couldn’t blame the boy; he was no match for this sandy-haired heathen.
“You and I need to talk.”
She looked to her father for help. The traitor only smiled and walked away to speak with acquaintances.
They both waited while a few citizens came over to praise Ginny for her involvement in the event and to gush about the prizes and who’d taken them home. When they were alone, Phin took her by the elbow and steered her to a secluded spot by the church’s back door, used by the pastor to enter from his garden in the back.
Phin would have taken Ginny somewhere where they could be completely alone if it were not improper to do so. He was upset and, quite frankly, confused by her, but he couldn’t do that to her, or to himself.
He expected her to be ashamed. Therefore, his confusion was compounded by surprise when she lashed out at him the moment they obtained a degree of privacy. She yanked her arm out of his grasp, and hissed, “What were you thinking, bidding for me?”
He stared at her for a good five seconds before he found his tongue. He had to play this just right, though, because when he was around her, he suddenly forgot his cool, not to mention his manners.
“Miss Overton, Ginny if I may?”
“You may not.”
“As I was saying, Ginny, first, I did not bid on you per se. Secondly, if I bid on your auction item, it was at the behest of your father.”
It was Ginny’s turn to remain silent as she contemplated his words. “What do you mean?” But she had a feeling she knew, and it all started with her father’s friendly chat earlier that evening with the man before her.
“Your father says you are too modest about your artwork to have entered on your own, and he wanted to make sure someone bid on your work, lest you be disappointed.”
She would have words with her father tonight. She could feel the flush of embarrassment reaching her hairline. Her hands found their way to her waist, and she leaned in. “This may all be as you say, but the question remains, what on Earth would you want with a
portrait? Done by me? You’ve made no secret about your feelings for me.”
That was true. Staring at her huffing and puffing, he felt the beginnings of a smile coming on. She was the most royal of pains, he’d decided tonight, but, it had to be said, she was certainly fun.
“I can’t think of anything that I need less than a portrait of myself. However, like I said, I was simply doing your father a favor.” He could see that she wanted to continue, but it was past time he took the upper hand. “Since you have started us off nicely with recriminations, I’ll make a few of my own. Why did you turn Alfred loose on me?”
He could see that he’d painted her into a corner because her hands left her hips, and her mouth clamped shut.
“Whatever do you mean?”
“Let’s not play the game where we both pretend I don’t know what you’re up to. I see through you so much, it’s beginning to scare me. Are you going to deny that you are trying to match me up with your friend?”
She took a breath and lifted her chin so that her eyes directly met his. She practically looked as if she was about to challenge him.
“Well, now that you know, there’s no use in denying it. And perhaps it’s better this way.”
“How so?”
Her eyes sharpened, and he felt, rather than knew, that he wasn’t going to like the answer.
“Because you are looking for a wife, yourself. Isn’t that why you’re here in Preston? Because your family tasked you with finding an ‘appropriate’ wife? Are you going to deny the truth behind my words . . . Mr. Whitemore?”
Damn, she’d gone and surprised him again.
Chapter Seven
Five Golden Rings: A Christmas Collection Page 17