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

by Prairie Christmas Collection

  The sound of feet stamping on the porch and laughter outside the door cut off her reminiscences.

  Mantie pushed her chair back. “I’d best get cups out for everyone. Will you and Nate join us for a supper of baked beans and bread?”

  “And broken cookies for dessert?” Lane’s eyes danced. “Or maybe a whole cookie if you behave very well.”

  Happy chatter filled the kitchen as the family entered. Mantie smiled and nodded as they spoke, but her mind remained on her memories of Colin.

  I remember the timbre of his voice, the way it dropped and grew husky when he said, “I love you.” Most of all, I remember that.

  The next afternoon, Mantie stopped at the general store for crochet thread. She was eager to get started on the collars she planned for Jenny and Alice for Christmas. The clerk was busy helping Lane when she entered the store. She looked in surprise at the large order of red ribbon the clerk was cutting for him. She lifted her eyebrows in curiosity. “Are you planning to dress up the horses at the livery with red bows for Christmas?”

  His face turned almost as crimson as the ribbon. “It’s a surprise. I mean, what I plan to use the ribbon for is a surprise.”

  “I see.” She didn’t, of course. What use could a man possibly find for red ribbon? If he had a sweetheart, she’d suspect the ribbon was for the woman’s hair. But no woman needed the yards of ribbon he was purchasing. She was certain he wasn’t buying it to trim an outfit. She refused to pursue her rampant curiosity with more questions.

  The clerk completed measuring the ribbon for Lane. “Anything else, Sir?”

  “Some red paint if you have it. Otherwise, brown will do. And candles. I need a lot of candles. A couple dozen, I’d guess.”

  Red ribbon, red paint, candles. It was a riddle to Mantie.

  While the clerk wrapped the candles and ribbon in brown paper and tied the package with cheerful red twine, Mantie waited beside Lane.

  “Beautiful weather today,” Lane said. “Crisp air, no wind, no clouds, not too cold but cold enough to keep the snow and ice from melting.”

  “Yes, beautiful.” Weather was always a safe conversational item.

  “Would you like to go sleighing?”

  It was on the tip of her tongue to refuse. A negative response to a man’s invitation was habitual. He spoke again before she could answer.

  “It would be a shame to waste an evening like this. I have a great sleigh at the livery.”

  A smile tugged at her lips. “Red, I suppose.”

  “How did you know?”

  “Oh, just a suspicion.” What could it hurt to accept his invitation? After all, he acted almost like a brother toward her. “I haven’t been sleighing in years. It might be fun.”

  “Wonderful. I’ll come by with the sleigh about eight. Late, but we want the benefit of the moon.”

  Mantie watched him as he left the shop, still wondering about his strange combination of purchases.

  The clerk discreetly cleared his throat.

  She turned about with a bright smile, embarrassed to have been caught watching Lane. She selected her threads and left the shop.

  Lane was right. The weather was perfect for sleighing. Her spirits lightened at the prospect.

  Chapter 8

  Lane hung lanterns at the front of the sleigh and walked around the vehicle for a last check. He’d taken time to polish it this afternoon after Mantie’s unexpected agreement to go sleighing. It didn’t matter that by the time he got to her house the polish would be smudged. It didn’t matter that it was night and Mantie wouldn’t see his effort. He’d wanted to polish it; a symbol, he supposed, of how important this evening was to him.

  A buffalo robe covered the leather seats. Another robe was folded and lying on the seat. The metal foot warmer filled with warm coals sat on the floor. Was he forgetting anything?

  He patted the dapple gray and adjusted its blanket, making sure it was secure and wouldn’t fall off or get tangled in the harness as they traveled. He’d selected his favorite, most trustworthy horse for this duty. “You ready, Jeremiah? Be on your best behavior tonight. You’ll be pulling precious cargo.”

  The horse snorted and shook its mane, setting the sleigh bells a-jingling. Lane chuckled. “You’re right. I’d better be on my best behavior, too. Knowing Mantie Clark, I won’t have a second chance to put my best foot forward.”

  His thoughts raced to the evening ahead as he drove toward the bridge over the river and the road to Mantie’s house. He could barely believe she’d said yes. From the day less than a month ago when he’d met her at the school, he’d had the impression this was the woman God intended for him. This was the woman who was the answer to his prayers for a wife.

  “Is this faith, God?” he spoke into the winter night. “Or am I deluding myself because I’m tired of living without someone to love and someone to love me? The way she talked of Colin yesterday, it’s hard to imagine she might ever love anyone else.” Even if she was a little interested, he’d need to take it slow and easy, building up to keeping steady company with her.

  But she said yes to going sleighing tonight.

  Maybe it’s sleighing she likes and not the company. Maybe it’s best not to get my hopes up.

  But they were up, no denying; they were up high.

  “Don’t forget, you and Nate and Abe are spending Christmas Eve with us,” Alice reminded Lane as he and Mantie headed out the door. “Don’t you let Abe sit home, you hear?”

  “Yes, Ma’am.” Lane grinned. “I’ll make sure he’s here, if it means carrying him myself. Thank you for the invitation.”

  Mantie waited while he placed the foot warmer she’d prepared next to his own on the floor of sleigh. He helped her up and climbed in beside her, then settled a thick buffalo robe over their laps. With her gloved hands in her fur muff and the fur-trimmed hood of her cape covering her ears, she felt snuggled in warmth.

  “Ready?”

  She nodded. “I’m excited. I haven’t gone sleighing in years.”

  They started slowly, for the road led downhill to the river. Jeremiah’s hooves crunched in the snow. The lanterns danced from their brass hooks on either side of the sleigh, sending golden streams of light shimmering across the snow to banish blue shadows cast by the moon. An owl hooted overhead, startling Mantie and Lane, and they laughed together at themselves. Lantern light briefly silhouetted a deer at the forest’s edge. It stood as if frozen, staring toward them, then turned and darted away.

  Skaters moved like shadows along the river as the sleigh passed over the bridge. With the cloudless sky, the moon’s light made the skaters’ way clear. Flames from a small warming fire on the riverbank waved orange and welcoming.

  Here the road became flat as it headed into the village. Lane urged Jeremiah to a faster pace. The runners hissed against the snow and the bells’ song quickened. The sleigh slipped into a gentle rocking motion.

  They passed other sleighers and called and received cheerful greetings. Lamplit windows added a friendly sense of welcome to the town. The crisp air carried the scent of wood smoke, which rose in straight columns from every chimney.

  The wood smoke was left behind when they headed out of town, down the road that ran along the river where the land was flat. Only the moonlight and their lanterns lit the road here, but that was sufficient. The silence was broken only by the bells, the singing runners, and Jeremiah’s hooves.

  Mantie remembered the feel of the cool breeze created by the ride and the way it tugged at her hood. She remembered the way her cheeks felt chilled even while the rest of her body was snug and warm beneath the lap robe. She remembered the sounds and the pleasant rocking.

  She’d forgotten how sweetly intimate it felt to ride through the beauty of a quiet, moonlit night with her shoulder rubbing against a man’s.

  Lane’s conversation didn’t tend toward romantic intimacy. He asked about the town’s short history and queried about her childhood and her life in New York. He shared stori
es of his own childhood, some which made her laugh, some which made her wish it were possible to hold and comfort him without his misinterpreting her concern.

  Sleigh bells announced another sleigh coming up behind them. When it drew alongside, Mantie saw the occupants were red-haired Torey and her new husband.

  “How about a race?” the recent groom challenged.

  “No, thanks,” Lane called back.

  “More important things to do?” The challenger and his wife grinned.

  Embarrassment swept through Mantie, but Lane only smiled and waved.

  The other sleigh picked up speed and was soon out of sight around a bend.

  Lane looked at her. “I hope you didn’t want to race. I don’t cotton much to racing, especially at night. A horse could take a nasty spill.”

  “I don’t like racing, either.” She did like the way he cared for his horse; liked that he kept it blanketed against the cold; liked that he didn’t use a whip.

  There wasn’t much she didn’t like about Lane Powell, she realized.

  She was enjoying the evening so much that a sliver of disappointment ran through her when Lane turned the sleigh around and headed back toward town. Her gaze fell on his gloved hands, which held the reins firmly but gently. What would it feel like to be held by this man?

  The image shocked her. She hadn’t thought in such terms about any man but Colin. What was happening to her that an evening in a sleigh could make her so unfaithful to Colin’s memory?

  Lane kept up a friendly but impersonal conversation, and before they reached town, Mantie’s emotions relaxed once again.

  Lane pulled Jeremiah to a stop on the bridge. “Still a few skaters braving the chill,” he observed. The sound of blades scratching against ice was audible in the winter quiet.

  “The scene is beautiful in the moonlight, isn’t it?”

  “There’s something about bridges that appeals to me. During the war, one bridge in particular became special to me.”

  She studied his profile. “You haven’t spoken about your war experiences before.”

  He shrugged, still watching the skaters. “Not much to tell. Not much different than the experiences of other soldiers. Too much blood. Too much death. Too much sorrow.” He breathed in a deep, shaky sigh.

  Mantie rested a hand over his. “I’m sorry.” She slid her hand away.

  “It seemed too much for a while. One summer night when the moon was full, I stood on a bridge like this talking to God. I told Him how weary I was of the fighting. I asked how man could be so evil to his own kind.” He shook his head.

  “Did He give you an answer?” She didn’t blame God for the deaths of Colin and her brother, but no answer ever seemed sufficient for the war and evil that caused their deaths.

  He nodded. “In a way. I carried two books with me through the war. One was the Bible. The other was poems by Longfellow.”

  Mantie still found his love of poetry unusual. She smiled but didn’t interrupt him.

  “Standing on that bridge, the words of Longfellow’s poem ‘The Bridge’ came to me. Do you know it?”

  “No.”

  “It ends like this:

  ‘And forever and forever,

  As long as the river flows,

  As long as the heart has passions,

  As long as life has woes;

  The moon and its broken reflection,

  And its shadows shall appear,

  As the symbol of love in heaven,

  And its wavering image here.’ “

  Mantie swallowed the lump that swelled in her throat at his words. “That’s beautiful.”

  “When I remembered those words, it was like I understood them for the first time. They gave me hope. Man isn’t perfect; that’s no secret. The best love we’re capable of is only a ‘wavering image’ of God’s love, a symbol of His love. And I suddenly realized that both God’s love and man’s love are always around us.”

  “Even in war? Even on a battlefield?”

  “Even there: soldiers risking their lives for each other, women who needn’t be there at all coming to help wounded soldiers, soldiers sharing the last of their food with each other.” He turned toward her, and their gazes met. “Then there are people like you.”

  “Me?” Mantie blinked in surprise.

  “Yes, you. You and all the other people who raise children orphaned by the war.”

  “I never thought of that as anything special. How can a person not love the children?”

  “That’s the answer God gave me on the bridge that night.” He smiled at her and lifted his hand to her cheek. “As awful as war is, it hasn’t the power to destroy love.”

  It seemed the most natural thing in the world when his lips touched hers in a kiss that was gentle and warm and filled with reverence. When it ended, he pressed his lips against her forehead. His voice was gruff with emotion when he said, “I’d best get you home.”

  He slid his arm about her shoulders. She allowed herself to be pulled closer until her head rested against his shoulder. She was glad Jeremiah walked the rest of the way, pulling the sleigh up the winding road. She was glad, too, for the time to spend close in Lane’s embrace, without the need to look into his eyes. What would she see there, and what would he see in hers?

  Amazement filled her that she’d welcomed a man’s kiss. She wanted to push away questions and doubts and relax in the beauty of the moment. Of one thing she was certain. Only Lane Powell could have broken through her defenses. She would never have allowed another man such intimacies.

  Lane pulled Jeremiah to a stop in front of the house and wrapped the reins around the terret to keep Jeremiah still. All the while Lane’s arm remained around Mantie’s shoulder. Her heart raced, but she stayed in his embrace. His lips brushed her cheek, and when he tentatively kissed her lips, she yielded completely and joyfully.

  Neither of them spoke while he helped her out of the carriage and walked with her to the door, his arm around her waist. At the door he set the foot warmer on the porch. Then he kissed her again, and she wondered at how right and safe and good it felt to be in his arms.

  “Good night, sweet Mantie,” he whispered.

  Their gazes met. Mantie dropped hers after a brief instant. It was still all too new. She knew her eyes shone with joy and awe and was afraid they were making promises her heart wasn’t ready to keep.

  She was torn between relief and yearning when the door closed between her and Lane Powell.

  Lane’s thoughts were a jumble as he climbed back into the sleigh and started down the hill. He hardly dared examine the evening. Mantie had let him kiss her. More than that, she’d seemed to welcome his kiss, had rested in his embrace.

  His heart soared with joy. He lifted his gaze to the sky. Was it possible the Lord was answering his prayer so quickly? He wanted to stand up and yell out his thanks.

  Yet one small corner of his heart warned him to wait, warned him that Mantie Clark’s heart would not be so soon and easily won.

  He didn’t want to listen.

  Instead he wrapped himself in the memory of the feel of her lips, warm and yielding and sweet beneath his own. And he hoped.

  Chapter 9

  Mantie went to sleep remembering the enchantment of Lane’s arms. His arms were her first thought on waking. The chill set in to her bones and her heart as soon as she stepped out of bed and onto the cold bedroom floor. How could she have been so foolish? A little moonlight, a kind man, and she allowed herself to enjoy his kisses. No matter how much she liked Lane Powell, she couldn’t love him. It simply wasn’t possible to love anyone as much as she loved Colin. Of course kisses and hugs felt good to a woman who’d lived without the kisses and hugs of the man she loved for over five years. That didn’t mean she was ready to give her heart away to another.

  At breakfast, she avoided the family’s teasing questions as best she could. With a smile firmly in place, she told them she’d enjoyed the ride and scolded them for trying to make something ro
mantic of it. “You know Lane and I are friends.”

  The children and Walter let it go with a laugh, but Alice’s expression made it clear she wasn’t certain Mantie was being entirely forthcoming.

  That afternoon Mantie and Alice collected pine boughs and cones from the surrounding woods. They piled the collection on the kitchen table and worked together to form garlands. It was fun hanging swags around the parlor and kitchen walls. They tucked fragrant boughs behind the tortoiseshell-framed portraits of Alice’s parents in the parlor and the print on the kitchen wall by Currier and Ives titled “Skating Scene—Moonlight.” The picture brought tears to Mantie’s eyes. She’d always loved it. Now it raised memories she didn’t dare face.

  Mantie wasn’t happy to discover Lane and Nate were again invited to supper. “Really, Alice, do you think that’s necessary? They’ll be here tomorrow night for Christmas Eve, after all.”

  Alice’s eyes registered surprise. “That’s not at all like you, Mantie. Did you and Lane argue last night?”

  “No. I just think our family should be able to spend a few nights by ourselves.”

  “We do.”

  The truth of Alice’s reply only sparked Mantie’s impatience. “Lane and Nate shouldn’t depend so much on our family. They can’t spend their evenings here for the rest of their lives.”

  Alice shook her head. “I hope you never go for another sleigh ride. Sleighing obviously doesn’t agree with you.” She tied a strip of red patterned calico about the bottom of the kerosene lamp in the middle of the kitchen table. “There. Doesn’t that look festive?”

  The red bow reminded Mantie of Lane’s purchase of red ribbon. Isn’t there anything that won’t remind me of that man? she wondered. She headed for the stairs and the sanctuary of her room. “I still have some Christmas gifts to finish.”