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

by Prairie Christmas Collection

  Stella heard the door to the spring room open and the muffled sound of Papa stamping snow from his boots. She ran back to meet him. “How are the roads, Papa? Can we get into town?”

  “I am going, Stella, but the snow is quite deep and there are branches down everywhere. It will be slow going. I don’t think there is a chance that the academy will hold classes. And if they do, you won’t be the only one absent. I think it’s best if you stay home.”

  “But, Papa, I have an exam in history today. I can’t be absent!”

  The look he gave her made her feel as though her real reason for not wanting to miss class was written upon her forehead in India ink. She squirmed under his careful scrutiny, but she continued to try to convince him. “If we get there and find they’re not having classes, I could come to the mill with you and help out in the office,” she said hopefully.

  Her father held firm. “Your mother will need your help here today. It will be all the two of you can do to keep the fires going, the snow cleared from the walks, and the animals cared for.”

  Stella recognized the resolve in his voice and knew that there would be no changing his mind. She went to her room and pouted for a while, then came downstairs to help her mother. Mama was right. James would understand why she wasn’t there. But that wasn’t the point. Though she had seen him only hours ago, she realized that she didn’t want a day to go by without hearing that deep, gentle voice and that rumbling laughter she could so easily provoke in him.

  Another two inches of snow fell that night, and the wind drove the white stuff into drifts as high as horses’ backs along the hedgerows. Many of the trees, still heavy with leaves, had broken under the weight, and the countryside was littered with broken limbs and splintered branches.

  Even Papa stayed home the next day to deal with the havoc the storm had caused. Stella bundled up and went out to help clean up the mess in the farmyard, but when Papa forced her back inside after an hour, she thought she would go mad. She wondered what James was doing and whether he would go to the library for their regular Thursday session. She wondered if he was as disappointed as she to have lost two opportunities to spend time together.

  Finally, on Friday, the sun came out, the winds calmed, and Papa hitched the horses to the sleigh and declared that Stella could accompany him to town. It was as though she’d been lying beneath a load of bricks for the past two days and finally, blessedly, someone had come and removed them from her body.

  Papa let her take the reins, and as the horses trotted along the icy road into town, Stella’s hands and face felt frozen, but her heart was toasty warm. Though she didn’t have an appointment scheduled with James today, she had a feeling that she would see him anyway.

  Sure enough, as she crossed the campus in the middle of the morning, carefully minding her footing on the snowy pathways, she heard her name called out. That masculine voice had haunted her dreams more nights than she could count, and as she turned toward the sound, her heart began to thump in her chest.

  “Why, hello, James,” she said, striving to effect a nonchalant air. “Isn’t this something?” Her gaze swept the campus, which looked like a war zone. Though work crews had already picked up many of the limbs, the quadrangle was still littered with smaller branches and ice-encased leaves, and the sidewalks were lined with foot-high snowdrifts.

  James had smiled when she’d first turned to greet him, but he ignored her question. There was a timbre to his voice that she couldn’t interpret. “Stella, I—I’d like to speak to you.”

  She tilted her head, curious. “Right now?”

  “Do you have a minute?”

  “Well …” She turned to glance up at the tower clock behind her. “I have a class at eleven, James. I really can’t be tardy again.” She flashed him a coy smile at this blatant reminder of their first meeting, but he seemed not to notice. He appeared to be agitated and preoccupied.

  “Is something wrong?” she asked, reaching out to put a hand on his arm.

  “No … no.” He shook his head and gave her a smile that didn’t seem quite genuine. “It can wait. I–I just need to talk to you sometime. Will you be free after this class? I’d be happy to share my lunch with you.”

  She patted the bag that hung from her shoulder. “Thank you, James. But I brought my lunch. I’d like to eat with you, though.”

  “Good.” He glanced around the grounds of the academy and pulled the collar of his coat up around his neck. “I guess it’s not exactly picnic weather. Why don’t we meet at the library at noon? Maybe our study room will be empty.”

  She nodded her agreement, only slightly reassured by his reference to “our study room.”

  Stella might as well have not been present in her history class. The professor had allowed them another week to study for the test, and now he droned on and on—something about the repercussions of the French Revolution on the economy. Stella scarcely heard a word he said, wondering why James had seemed so anxious to talk to her.

  After her class was dismissed, she hurried to the library and went to reserve the room where they had enjoyed so many hours together. She sat at the little table, daydreaming of James’s face, his voice, the sound of his laughter. But when he had not appeared almost an hour later, Stella ate her lunch alone. She finished, but still she waited in the room, getting up every few minutes to peer into the hallway to see if he was coming. Her thoughts were a tangled jumble, wondering why he hadn’t shown up. She skipped her afternoon mathematics class, and by then, she didn’t know whether to be worried sick or mad as a wet hen. Finally, when the clock in the main hall chimed five o’clock, she gathered her belongings and went to wait at the edge of campus where Papa had promised to collect her in the sleigh.

  That night Stella helped her mother and sister clear the dishes from the table while Papa stoked the fire before settling into his big chair in the parlor. At supper, Papa had mentioned that he’d met Dr. Whitestone for tea that morning. She was anxious to find out whether they’d spoken of James. Perhaps Papa could shed some light on why James had failed to make their appointment.

  The minute she came into the parlor, Papa put his newspaper down, leaned over, and patted the chair beside him. “Come. Sit for a minute, Stella. There’s something we need to discuss.”

  Stella didn’t like the sound of this. She watched her father’s face closely as she settled in the chair that Mama usually occupied in the evenings. She heard Helen reading to Mama in the kitchen.

  “Yes, Papa. What is it?”

  “I had a visit with Arthur Whitestone this morning. He tells me that you and this James Collingwood have been spending a great deal of time together.” He gazed into the fire, not looking at her, apparently waiting for a reply.

  Stella didn’t know how to respond. “You know we have, Papa. He tutors me each Tuesday and Thursday afternoon, and he’s been walking me to the mill each evening for some time now. But you know all that.”

  “Arthur says you’ve come by his office on Mr. Collingwood’s arm on several occasions.”

  She nodded. “Yes, Papa. I sometimes stop by Dr. Whitestone’s office with James on our way to the mill. He … he offers his arm as any gentleman would.”

  Her father cleared his throat. “I learned some rather disturbing things about Mr. Collingwood this morning, Stella. I’ve asked Dr. Whitestone to assign you a new tutor.”

  “But, Papa, why?” She couldn’t imagine what could have possessed her father to do such a thing.

  He turned to her and looked her in the eye. “I don’t believe an explanation is necessary, Stella, but I know you well enough to know that you will badger me until you find out the truth, so I’m going to do you the courtesy of telling you what I know, with the understanding that this information is to stay in this room.”

  Stella’s curiosity about what Papa had heard almost overwhelmed her anger at his actions.

  “Do you understand what I’m saying, Stella Mae?”

  “Yes, Papa, but—”
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br />   He stopped her with an upraised palm. “I am not a man to judge another by the deeds of his past, Stella, and what I am about to tell you does seem to be in the past. Nevertheless, when it comes to my daughter, I believe a man’s past is an important factor.”

  “Papa! What are you talking about?”

  Marcus Bradford leaned forward in his chair, put his elbows on his knees, and tented his fingers beneath his bearded chin. “It seems that James Collingwood got into a bit of trouble a few years ago. The details aren’t important, but it involved a serious crime—theft, if you must know. As I understand it, the young man has made restitution, and Arthur believes him to be rehabilitated. I trust Arthur’s judgment, and I’m willing to let time prove Mr. Collingwood’s sincerity. But until it has been sufficiently proven, I want you to have nothing to do with him.”

  “Papa! You can’t be serious! Theft? James would never do anything like that!”

  Her father was silent for a moment, gazing again into the crackling flames. When he finally spoke, his voice was soft, but Stella didn’t miss the waver it held when he told her, “Then you have just proven your poor discernment where the man is concerned, Stella, because Arthur heard the story from James Collingwood himself. It seems that Mr. Collingwood was employed for a time at the hotel in Barton’s Grove. He was caught stealing from the owner. Quite a large sum of money, as I understand it. I don’t mind telling you that the fact that Mr. Collingwood has chosen to keep this information from you offers me no comfort.”

  Stella’s mind was reeling. What Papa said couldn’t be true! Yes, James had hinted at a rebellious period of his youth. But the things he had said implied the usual boyish tomfoolery—turning over privies and other harmless pranks, she had imagined. Not criminal activity!

  But Papa said Dr. Whitestone had heard it from James himself. It must be true, then. And of course, this explained why James had broken their appointment this morning. Her heart lurched, and her face flushed as she realized what a fool she’d made of herself defending James to Papa. No, she corrected herself, it was James who had made a fool of her. Her hands began to tremble, and she wished James were here so she could give him a piece of her mind.

  Instead, she stuttered, “Papa, I don’t know what to say. I–I assure you, James has been nothing but a gentleman toward me.”

  Papa reached out and put a warm hand on her arm. “Stella, from what Arthur says, it appears that young Collingwood is making an effort to reform. However, this black mark on his past causes me to feel very cautious, particularly when I learn that my daughter is spending an inordinate amount of time with the man and, in addition, he has told her none of his story.” Again, Papa cleared his throat noisily. “I have requested that Arthur assign you a new tutor. I trust that will relieve Mr. Collingwood of the opportunity to accompany you to the mill after your sessions, but should he persist, I want you to let me know immediately and I will see to it that the man leaves you alone.”

  “But, Papa—”

  “I don’t intend to discuss the matter further, Stella. If Mr. Collingwood has kept his record untarnished a year or two from now and if he still has an interest in pursuing a respectable courtship with you at that time, we shall revisit the matter. Until such time, I have asked Arthur to see to it that his assistant has no dealings with my daughter.” Papa picked up his newspaper and turned his back on her.

  Chapter 5

  Please, I’d like to speak to Mr. Collingwood.”

  The young girl behind the desk in the antechamber of Arthur Whitestone’s office in Voorhaven Hall was preoccupied, sorting a stack of what looked like examination papers. She barely glanced up at Stella. “He’s teaching this morning, Miss.”

  “Oh. Do … do you know which class he’s teaching?”

  The girl puffed out her cheeks with annoyance and put her work aside. She opened a drawer of the desk and took out a schedule. Running her finger down the columns, she said, “It looks like he’s filling in for Professor Cramer in Room 201 Andrews. That class gets out at half past ten.”

  “Thank you.” Stella hurried from the building and started across campus. Leaving the narrow brick walk, she tromped through the snow, taking a shortcut across the lawn. She paused for an anxious glimpse at the tower clock. Quarter past ten. She should be able to catch him if she waited outside the entrance to Andrews Hall. Brushing off the snow that had blown onto the bench in front of the building, Stella pulled her collar close and sat down to wait.

  She stayed there, shivering, for twenty minutes. The carillon clock chimed the half hour, and the campus filled with students. But a few minutes later, the crowd of young people thinned, most of them inside again for the last class of the morning. And still no sign of James.

  Stella stood, put her hands on her hips, and spun full circle to scan the pathways that radiated like the spokes of a wagon wheel toward the immense limestone buildings. Laughter drifted from a distance down one walk, and she spotted James Collingwood strolling her way. But Stella tensed as she saw the young woman at his side. The girl was flirting boldly and giggling, as though James were not only the best-looking man on campus but also the funniest.

  A streak of jealousy shot through Stella, though she could hardly fault the girl. As the two came closer, Stella recognized Iva Mae Waxler, a first-year student who was in her English Grammar class—the same class in which Stella had met James. She started down the walk to meet them, and James greeted her with something like relief in his eyes.

  “Hello,” Stella said, looking pointedly at James. She suddenly realized that she had no idea what she would say to him. But she had to talk to him—alone. She forced a smile in Iva Mae’s direction. “Hello, Iva Mae.”

  “Oh … hi, Stella,” the girl said, as though she’d just noticed Stella’s presence.

  James gave Stella a look she couldn’t interpret and glanced at his watch. “Well, I hope I’ve answered your questions, Miss Waxler,” he said to the student. Then, turning to Stella as though he owed her an explanation, he said, “Iva Mae had some questions about the essay assignment.”

  Iva Mae bestowed an adoring smile on James. “Mr. Collingwood has been so helpful,” she gushed, her voice revealing her Atlanta roots. “I don’t know what I’d do without his help.”

  “Just doing my job,” he said, tipping his hat and coloring slightly. “Well, good day, Miss Waxler.”

  The young woman’s smile drooped, but she said, “I’ll see you this afternoon for our tutoring session, won’t I?”

  James’s color deepened. “Yes … yes, of course.”

  Iva Mae wished them good day and turned to walk slowly up the path toward Andrews Hall.

  “How are you, Stella?” James’s tone was polite but distant, exactly as it had been with Iva Mae.

  “James? What is going on?”

  He took a step back, as though he were uncomfortable being so close to her. Looking down at his boots, he said, “I assume your father informed you of his discussion with Dr. Whitestone?”

  “Oh, James, it’s all mixed up! He’s forbade me to see you! Papa heard some things—awful rumors—that make him think you’ve done something terrible.”

  James ran his fingers through his hair, and when he looked up, she saw that his face had paled.

  “Tell me what he heard, Stella.”

  His voice was a low monotone, and she almost imagined that he was trembling. Watching him, she knew it couldn’t be true. Her James was simply not capable of the things of which he’d been accused.

  “Dr. Whitestone told him you’d been arrested for stealing! From the hotel in Barton’s Grove. Isn’t that preposterous? You’ve probably never even been to Barton’s Grove! I think Papa is just looking for any excuse to keep us apart. He didn’t want me going to the academy in the first place, and now he’s afraid someone is going to take his precious little girl away—”

  James took a step toward her and placed his hands on her shoulders. “Stella, we need to talk.”

  Som
ething in the tone of his voice frightened her, but she couldn’t seem to stop babbling. “He’s just an old ogre!” She stamped her foot. “I knew he’d try to keep us apart. I just knew it—”

  Again, he spoke the words. “We have to talk, Stella.”

  “What, James? What is it?” Her heart was beating like a drum. After Papa had told her the news last night, she’d been angry with James. But now, seeing his kind face, hearing his voice, she knew that even if what Papa had said were true, anyone who knew James now knew that he’d straightened out his life. She didn’t know a more generous, kind, upstanding gentleman. Perhaps he’d had some trouble in his past. He had told her that he’d been a bit of a rebel in his youth. Granted, he’d never given her the details. But that was all in the past. It didn’t matter now. Papa just needed to give him a chance.

  Silently, James steered her down a short sidewalk to the stairs that led into Andrews Hall. He slumped onto the top step and pulled her down beside him. “Your father is right, Stella.”

  “What? What are you talking about, James?”

  His Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat, and his words came out in a whisper. “I was caught stealing. In Barton’s Grove … just like your father said.”

  Her breath caught. “But … why didn’t you tell me, James?”

  He tipped her chin, forcing her to look at him. “You must believe me, Stella. I didn’t mean to keep it from you. I’ve never lied to you. You have to believe that. But neither have I told you everything. And that was wrong of me.”

  “I–I know you said you’d done some wild things, but James, stealing?”

  He pressed his fingertips to his temples. Then as he stared at the ground, the story unfolded. “I was sixteen. Sylvia became ill, and Mother couldn’t work any longer. Since I was the oldest, I was expected to provide for them. I took a job at the hotel. It was hard, going to school all day and working till late at night, but it was the only way to put food on our table. Except that Sylvia’s medicine took almost every dime I made. I got to eat for free in the hotel’s kitchen, and sometimes Mr. Browne—the owner—let me bring home scraps. But Sylvia and Mama were hungry all the time, Stella. It about killed me to see them near-starving like that.”