Tracie Peterson, Tracey V. Bateman, Pamela Griffin, JoAnn A. Grote

by Prairie Christmas Collection

  Mantie’s thoughts turned from her brother’s marriage to Lane Powell’s news. “Did you know Mr. Frank sold the livery stable?”

  “Yes. He’s moving farther west. Walter told us at dinner last night. Don’t you remember?”

  “I must have been woolgathering.” She frowned. Likely Colin had filled her thoughts. In the five years since he’d passed, she’d thought of him almost every waking hour. She forced her attention back to the present. “I met the new owner today.”

  “Of the livery stable? Where?”

  “He came by the school to walk his brother home.”

  Alice dipped a long-handled wooden spoon into the soup pot. “His brother? Don’t you mean his son?”

  “No. Evidently it’s only the two of them. The rest of their family is dead. His name is Lane Powell. His younger brother is Nathan.”

  Alice grinned. “Another bachelor. Maybe this one will catch your heart. You’ve turned down all the others in town.”

  “You’re exaggerating.”

  “Mm.” Alice blew on a spoon filled with soup. “Those who haven’t asked to court you are afraid to. You’re chillier than a Minnesota blizzard toward the poor bachelors.”

  “I’m not breaking any hearts. The men aren’t interested in me because I’m me. They are only interested because so few single women live in the area.”

  “A fact for which most of the single ladies are thankful. But not you.”

  Mantie touched the cameo locket pinned at her throat. “Those women are welcome to the men in this town. There isn’t one man here who lives up to Colin.”

  Alice stared at her a moment, then put the lid back on the soup kettle and laid down the spoon. She walked slowly to Mantie’s side and rested her hand on Mantie’s arm. “Sometimes,” she said gently, “I wonder if you’re building your memories of him into something no man can live up to, memories even Colin could never have matched.”

  Pain jabbed at Mantie’s chest. Though gentle, the words were still a reproach. Mantie seldom allowed herself the luxury of speaking of her continued love for Colin. She well knew that her family believed the five years since Colin’s death had provided ample time for her to put her love for him behind and start a life and family with another. Alice’s comment, however, was the closest anyone had come to putting that sentiment into words.

  “Colin isn’t replaceable like a china plate that’s been broken.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

  “I know you didn’t.” Mantie walked to the open shelves built into the kitchen wall to retrieve bowls for the evening meal, glad for a reason to walk away from Alice’s touch. She tried to calm the anger that roiled in her chest. Alice doesn’t know anything about losing the man she loves, Mantie reminded herself. She doesn’t know what it’s like falling asleep every night remembering his kiss and waking every morning remembering you won’t see him that day. How can I expect her to understand?

  Mantie and Alice arose Thanksgiving morning before daybreak. It was pleasant working near the stove. The winter night had chilled the house as usual. They prepared stuffing while the oven heated. By the time Walter, Jesse, and Jenny awoke, the aroma of roasting turkey filled the house.

  When the dinner preparations were almost done—long after the breakfast of eggs, bacon, and oatmeal sweetened with maple syrup—Alice and Mantie left the kitchen to change from their working dresses.

  “Wear that beautiful emerald-green swirled silk you made last month,” Alice urged. “It brings out the green of your eyes.”

  “I planned to save it for Christmas.”

  “Why? There’s no one who will see it at Christmas who won’t see it now.”

  “But it’s always nice to have something new to wear for Christmas, and this is the only fancy dress I made. The other two are practical wools.”

  “All the more reason to wear it now. There aren’t many special days to wear it.”

  “I guess you’re right.”

  The prospect of wearing the emerald green cheered Mantie considerably. She poured cold water from the pitcher on her washstand into the matching porcelain bowl. The water refreshed her after the hours spent around the hot kitchen stove.

  To keep her hair out of the way when she worked in the kitchen, she’d left it in the braid in which she’d bound it before going to bed the night before. Now she released her hair with quick fingers, brushed it out, and swept it up into a figure eight at the back of her head. She anchored the hair with tortoiseshell pins.

  Slipping into her silk dress, Mantie checked her reflection in the walnut-framed mirror above the washstand. Alice was right. The color of the dress did make her eyes look greener. It was the prettiest dress she’d made since Colin died. Clothes hadn’t seemed important after losing Colin and her brother Howard in the war. But when she saw the emerald-green swirled silk at the general store, a desire to wear the beautiful material leaped within her.

  Mantie wrapped a narrow black velvet ribbon around the dress’s lace neck and tied it in back. Turning, she looked over her shoulder at the mirror and smiled at the long ribbons hanging down her back, ending below the level of the mirror.

  Finally she picked up the locket lying on the stand. The locket had belonged to her mother. Inside Mantie had placed a picture of Colin. Wearing the locket made her feel closer to them both. She touched the hidden button, and the locket sprang open. Colin’s broad face stared back at her.

  Would she ever stop missing him? Had God placed her in this town with so many single men because He wanted her to marry, to help someone build a family? She pushed away the thought and the guilt that accompanied it. She was so horribly lonely, but she couldn’t imagine loving anyone but Colin.

  With a sigh, she closed the cameo locket and pinned it at the neck of her dress. Some might think the pale blue background against which the cameo was set clashed with the green dress, but she didn’t care. She wore it always. The townspeople were accustomed to seeing it. If anyone other than family knew it carried Colin’s image, they didn’t say so.

  Her fingertips rested against the cool ivory of the cameo. “I love you, Colin,” she whispered.

  Chapter 3

  Lane Powell’s gaze swept the crowded schoolroom. He grinned at Nate and Abe. “Seems Miss Clark’s prediction that the entire town would be at the Thanksgiving dinner was accurate.” So many people filled the room that the warmth was stifling.

  “Sure smells good. My stomach’s growling,” Nate complained.

  “Mine, too. Smells like turkey and ham.” The aromas were strong, in spite of the fact the meals had been cooked elsewhere. Lane spotted a makeshift table where there might be room for three more if the men didn’t mind squeezing together a bit. He made his way through the crowd, nodding at the few faces he recognized. Nate kept close on his heels, and Abe followed.

  Lane tapped the shoulder of a man whose brown hair was graying at the temples. “Excuse me. Room for a few more here?”

  “Sure thing. More the merrier.” The man dug an elbow into his neighbor’s side. “Scoot over.”

  Lane and Nate sat down beside the man. Abe made his way to the other side of the table. The men looked askance at Abe’s wide chest and huge arms but made room for him, to their own crowded discomfort.

  A high whistle screeched through the room. It brought everyone’s attention to a tall, skinny man in a black suit who stood on a chair at the front of the room. A grin split his long, narrow black beard. “Greetings, everyone.”

  “Greetings to you, Pastor.”

  “Howdy, Reverend.”

  The pastor rubbed his hands together. “Let’s thank the Lord for His bounty.” All heads bowed. At the end of the pastor’s prayer, “amens” rumbled through the room.

  “Remember, men,” the pastor warned, “no snoose and no cigars. This is a schoolhouse. There’ll be a church service here tonight, and I expect to see all of you. Let’s show the Lord you meant it when you thanked Him for the food these women have prepare
d.”

  A burst of energy followed as women bustled about the room with plates and bowls heavy with food. Silver clanked against china. Men’s voices rose in conversation and easy joking with the women.

  Lane caught sight of Mantie moving between the closely spaced benches, a bowl of mashed potatoes carried high above the heads on either side of her. In her dress of shimmering green, she looked more beautiful than he remembered.

  She set the bowl down on the table in front of him, reaching between Abe and his neighbor to do so. Straightening up, her gaze met his. Her smile blazed, setting his heart aglow.

  “You made it.” Her smile shifted to welcome Nate. “Hello. Are you ready to introduce the play after dinner?”

  Nate nodded and returned her smile with a shy one of his own. Lane indicated Abe with a wave of his hand. “This is the friend I told you about, the new blacksmith.” He introduced them.

  Abe nodded at her greeting, his gaze not quite meeting hers.

  Lane was accustomed to his friend’s bashful nature around women. Abe only spoke to members of the fairer sex when he couldn’t find a way around it. The man whose strength and size intimidated other men was as timid as a hare when it came to women.

  “Hey, Miss Clark.” The man beside Lane vied for Mantie’s attention. “You decide to marry me yet?”

  Lane’s breath caught at the man’s bold comment. Mantie Clark was a lady, not the kind of woman one spoke to in such an uncomely manner.

  A blush covered Mantie’s cheeks, but she smiled gamely. “Tom Morrison, if I said yes, it would frighten you so, you’d skedaddle out of town before sundown.”

  Tom joined the other men in laughter. He waved his fork back and forth and lifted his eyebrows in a teasing manner. “One of these days, Mantie Clark, I’m goin’ to quit askin’, and then you’ll be sorry.”

  She didn’t reply but kept her smile as she turned away.

  A man with curly red hair who looked to be in his mid-twenties stopped her after two steps. “How about marrying me? I could sure use some good home cooking like this every day.”

  A chorus of “Me, too” went up from the table.

  Mantie shook her head. “And what’s the benefit in that to me? I’d be better off opening an eating establishment and feeding the lot of you for money.” Chuckles mixed with groans.

  Lane watched Mantie with admiration. She threw back the men’s teasing comments with charm, though their comments obviously embarrassed her.

  “Hush up, you men.” A young woman with black hair grinned from behind Mantie. “The women in town have decided there’ll be no more marriages in this town until there’s a proper church building to perform the ceremonies in.” A roar of protests greeted her announcement.

  “Alice Clark, you take that back.” A girl with red hair that waved in glorious color down her back stood with hands perched on narrow hips. “I’m to be married next week, and I’m not waiting for any church building.”

  Lane grinned as the bachelors visibly and audibly relaxed.

  Alice handed a gravy bowl to a man seated near her. “That’ll be the last marriage until you men pitch in enough money and labor for the church.”

  “No need for us to worry, Mrs. Clark,” Tom Morrison spoke up. “You up and married Walt on us last summer. Torey here,” he indicated the red-haired girl, “has agreed to wed young Spangler. Mantie won’t court any of us. Hardly any women left for us poor old bachelors and widowers to marry.”

  “Notice you didn’t come up with this church-first-weddings-later idea until you married Walt,” the man beside Abe challenged.

  Alice laughed with him. “I wasn’t about to give the best-looking man in town a chance to back out of marrying me.”

  The women headed back to the front of the room, where platters and bowls covered the teacher’s desk.

  “Lack of women in this town’s not such a joke,” Tom Morrison informed Lane between forkfuls of turkey. “Single women are snatched up almost soon’s they hit the county.”

  “That’s right.” The young man with red hair agreed. “Torey there, she’s barely turned seventeen. Moved here with her ma and pa two months ago.”

  “Now, Mantie Clark, she’s different from the rest.” Tom emphasized his point with a shake of his empty fork. “She and her brother have lived here for three years. She’s turned down every man in town who’s had the courage to ask to court her.”

  “Good woman, too,” the redheaded man assured. “A man’d be lucky to have her for a wife.”

  Lane tried to avoid being obvious about his interest in Mantie, but he watched her throughout the meal. Most women he knew eagerly anticipated marriage. Many snatched up the first man who asked, especially after the war killed off so many young men. Why wasn’t Mantie Clark interested in marriage? Was she still holding on to the pain of losing her beau?

  Or had the Lord been keeping her for him? He was probably being fanciful, but he was attracted to her more than any woman he’d ever met. Had to admit, though, it didn’t look likely she’d return his interest; and if what these men said was true, moving to Peace might not have been wise for a man looking for a wife.

  Lane discovered he liked the easy bantering among the townspeople. Mantie’s description had been correct: The people here were like one big family. Warmth filled his chest. Maybe he’d made the right decision following Abe to this young town.

  As Mantie had warned, men continued to crowd into the church. Those fortunate enough to find seats at the first serving gave up their places to others as soon as they completed the main course. Pie was eaten standing up along the walls or in the cloakroom.

  After the meal was over, dirty dishes were piled into baskets to be taken home and washed, and the few leftovers were stored temporarily. While the baskets were carried out to wagons and buggies, the men removed the planks that had made up the tables.

  The children, their eyes shining, assembled in the cloakroom with Mantie. The adults took their places on the backless wooden benches and waited, sitting shoulder against shoulder to make room for as many as possible. Some men cheerfully offered to stand against the walls or sit on the floor.

  Lane was pleased when Mantie’s brother, Walter, sat down beside him. Walter introduced the black-haired Alice as his wife. Her pretty young face lit up when Lane was introduced as the new stable owner. “Walter told us about you. Welcome to our little town. You and your brother must come to dinner with us some night soon. I simply won’t hear otherwise.”

  “Thank you, Ma’am. We’d be honored.” The prospect of dinner at the home of the elusive Mantie pleased him. He wanted to know the woman who turned away most of the single men in town.

  “Perhaps this Sunday?” Alice inquired. “You do close the livery on Sunday, don’t you?”

  “I only accept business on Sundays when it can’t be helped,” he replied cautiously. It often couldn’t be avoided. People needed stables and transportation when they needed them. However, he didn’t go out of his way to work on the Lord’s Day.

  The audience quieted as Nate made his way to the front of the room through the men seated on the floor. A tall black paper hat rested on his ears and hid his brown hair. A round black-and-white collar embraced his neck and stuck out over his shoulders. When he reached the front of the room, the audience broke into applause.

  Lane shifted in his seat as he watched Nate’s face grow red. Would the boy have the courage to say his few lines?

  “Ladies and gentlemen, we, the students of Peace school, invite you to join us in reliving the first Thanksgiving in this bount … bounti … bountiful land.”

  Lane held his breath. Keep going, Nate. You can do it, he urged silently. Nate’s panicked gaze met his. Lane smiled and nodded.

  Nate pressed his lips together before starting again. “The Lord … the Lord led the Pilgrims to the shores of this great land. The natives welcomed them with kind and generous hearts.” His voice grew stronger and the words came quicker. “Together they shared t
he bounty of the fer … fertile land. Celebrate that day again with us now.”

  He kept his gaze on the floor as he made his way back to the cloakroom amid a spattering of applause.

  Lane knew the rest of the play was as important for the parents of the other children as Nate’s presentation had been to him, but he could barely wait for it to be over. He wanted to tell Nate how proud he was of him.

  When the play ended, Lane made his way to the cloakroom. It was filled with parents and children finding each other. The children still carried or wore their simple aprons and paper and feather hats that made up most of the costumes.

  Lane rested his hand on Nate’s shoulder. “You did a fine job. I’m proud of you.”

  Nate stuffed his hands into the pockets of his corduroys and kicked at an unseen pebble. “I stammered, and I almost forgot part of it.”

  Suddenly Mantie stood beside him. “Anyone could stammer over some of those big words. And you didn’t forget anything. You were wonderful.”

  Lane could have hugged her for her kind words. “See there? If the teacher says so, it must be true.”

  “She isn’t the real teacher,” Nate grumbled. But Lane noted the twitch of Nate’s lips and knew the boy was struggling not to smile.

  He winked at Mantie. “Nope, but she does pretty well in a pinch, don’t you think?”

  Nate shrugged.

  A girl and boy stopped by. Mantie introduced them as her niece and nephew, Jenny and Jesse. Lane remembered Mantie had said that the hat Nate wore for the play was Jesse’s. The boy wore it now and carried the paper collar. Nate’s gaze lingered hungrily on the hat. Lane glanced about. All the other children appeared to be taking their simple costumes home with them. Nate hadn’t a costume of his own, of course. Lane’s heart sank. He should have anticipated that.