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

by Prairie Christmas Collection

  Carefully steering the team, Stella called a low “Whoa” and brought the horses to a halt along the curb. She jumped down from the sleigh and reached over the side to retrieve the wrapped basket of food.

  “You wait right here, Helen,” she told her sister. “I’ll only be a minute.”

  “Why can’t I go with you?”

  “Because,” she said evasively. “Now sit still. Don’t scare the horses.”

  With her heart racing, Stella walked up to the front entrance and rapped the brass knocker against the oaken door. Within a few minutes, she heard footsteps. Her heart pounded in her ears.

  The door opened slowly. She faced James. “Stella? Hello. What … what brings you here?”

  She held out the basket. “I heard Sylvia was ill. We wanted to bring you some chicken and some other things—to help out a bit. I hope Sylvia is feeling better.”

  “She’s improving, I think. Slowly.” He took the basket from her hands, but his eyes never left her face. “Thank you, Stella. This is very kind of you.”

  “Well, I didn’t make it by myself. Mama fried the chicken. I–I helped make the brown Betty. And there are peaches from Mama’s orchard. She canned them this summer. We thought you might enjoy them. They’re really quite good. Oh … and Mama would like to have the jar back.” She was babbling like a flustered old woman, but she couldn’t seem to stop herself.

  “Thank you, Stella. It … it’s so good to see you.” She suspected that the expression in his eyes was much like what he must be seeing in her own. In that moment, all her doubts about James—his past, his character, even his relationship with Iva Mae Waxler—vanished. She knew that the man who stood in front of her, this man who had taken time away from a job he loved to care for his ailing sister, was as kind and generous and honorable as she’d always thought him to be.

  “Oh, James, I’ve missed you so.”

  “I’ve missed you, too, Stella,” he said softly. “You said your mother helped with the food. Does … does that mean your father knows you’re here?” He looked to the street beyond her as though he half-expected to see Marcus Bradford waiting for her.

  She inclined her head toward the sleigh. “Yes, Papa knows. He sent Helen with me—to chaperone, I think—and he gave strict instructions that I’m not to stay for any length of time.”

  His shoulders slumped. “So he hasn’t changed his mind about us seeing one another?”

  She shook her head sadly. “I don’t think so, James.” She stamped her foot on the porch. “Oh, I hate this!” she cried out in frustration. “I hate it that Papa has practically exiled me. I hate it that we—”

  Her words were lost in a deafening boom. A few yards in front of the sleigh, a heavy branch had fallen under the weight of ice and snow, crashing to the ground and spraying ice and water in every direction.

  Startled, the horses bolted, but the fallen branch was directly in their path. One steed veered to avoid the obstacle, but the other reared up on its hind legs, causing the sleigh to tip precariously.

  Helen’s screams pierced the air, and even from the porch, Stella could see that her sister’s face was a mask of terror as the team dragged the sleigh over the curb and onto a sloping lawn. Narrowly missing the broad trunk of the sturdy oak from which the branch had fallen, one runner under the sleigh slid up over a rock-hard drift of compacted snow.

  Stella stood paralyzed as the sled toppled over onto its side. Helen was thrown from the seat like a rag doll. The child flew through the air and landed in a heap on the snow with a sickening thud. Stella watched in horror as the overturned sleigh skidded across the lawn, shuddered, and came to rest on the very spot where Helen’s crumpled form had landed. The dead silence that filled the air in the aftermath of the calamity caused Stella’s heart to cease beating.

  Chapter 8

  Before Stella could cry out his name, James flew off the porch and raced to the neighboring yard where the overturned sleigh rested. He bent to peer under the body of the sleigh, then quickly placed his hands beneath it. Straining under its weight, he lifted the carriage a few inches off the ground.

  “Stella!” he shouted. “I need your help! She’s trapped underneath.”

  The urgency in his voice brought her to her senses, and as the meaning of his words registered, Stella ran to his side, her breath coming in short, painful gasps. Together, they lifted the sleigh, and when they got it a few feet off the ground, James wedged one shoulder underneath its frame to hold it steady.

  One horse was down, forelegs flailing in an effort to stand. The other pawed at the ground, trying to free itself from the dead weight of the sled, which tethered it to the spot. James spoke low, soothing syllables meant to calm the beasts.

  “Oh, please, God. Please don’t let her be dead,” Stella prayed through sobs.

  “Crawl under there and see if you can drag her out,” James ordered, breathless from bearing the heavy weight on his back. “Check for broken bones first.”

  Stella knelt in the snow and scrambled under the sleigh. Helen was lying prone on the ground, her red coat a startling stain on the pristine snow. Her form was as still as a hitching post on a windless day, and Stella feared the worst. She bent and put her head beside her sister’s face. Helen’s breathing was shallow and uneven, but Stella silently thanked God that the girl was breathing at all.

  The canopy made by the sleigh blocked out what was left of the waning sunlight, but Stella did her best to feel Helen’s limbs through the girl’s heavy coat and boots. Gently, she rolled her sister’s slight form over, and throwing off her gloves, she worked the large buttons on Helen’s coat. The little girl gave a low moan. “Helen! Helen? Can you hear me? Say something, Helen,” she pleaded. James’s voice came from above her, muffled and tight with fear and exertion. “Do you think you can drag her out into the open, Stella?”

  “I’ll try,” she panted.

  Stella pulled the red coat snug around the little girl and fastened the topmost button. Then moving to huddle near Helen’s head, she rose to her knees and grabbed onto the collar of the coat. She backed out, inch by painful inch, dragging Helen from beneath the precariously balanced sleigh.

  All the while, his back to them, James held the thing steady, anchoring it upon one strong shoulder as he continued to speak softly to the frantic horses.

  When Stella was sure she and Helen were clear of the sleigh, she shouted, “We’re out, James. You can let go now.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Yes, we’re clear.”

  He lowered his shoulder and staggered back. The carriage dropped with a resounding bang. Stella saw him rub his shoulder and wince, but he turned and hurried over to where she was working over her sister.

  “Is she breathing?” he asked, reaching up to lift each pale little eyelid.

  “Yes, but just barely.”

  The commotion had brought a parade of neighbors from surrounding homes. Stella heard someone shout that they’d go for the doctor. A group of young men worked together to right the sleigh and get the downed horse on its feet.

  James had taken off his vest and folded it into a pillow to place under Helen’s neck. Together, he and Stella inspected the girl for blood and bruises, finding only the latter. Several times Helen’s eyelids fluttered, but each time she gave a breathy sigh and drifted from consciousness again.

  Stella suddenly realized that Dr. Pulliam and Papa were standing beside her. With deep relief, she left Helen’s side to make room for the doctor. Even as Dr. Pulliam quickly examined Helen for broken bones and internal injuries, the little girl started to come around.

  Stella ran into Papa’s arms and he held her close.

  “What happened?” he whispered, his gaze trained on Helen’s piteous form.

  “Helen was waiting in the sleigh while I delivered the food to … to Mr. Collingwood and his sister.”

  She looked around for James and spotted him helping with the horses.

  “That branch fell and spooke
d the team,” she continued, pointing to where the limb had landed. “The horses bolted and overturned the sleigh. Oh, Papa, it was awful! Helen was trapped underneath.”

  “Underneath?” her father gasped. “However did she get out?”

  “James held the sleigh up so I could drag her out from under. I thought she was dead, Papa!”

  “He held it up by himself?”

  “Yes, Papa. And it took me a long while to get her out.”

  She told her father the whole story then, but before she could finish, Papa put his hands on her shoulders and looked her in the eye. “Wait right here,” he said.

  He spoke briefly with the doctor, then strode to where James was working to untangle a badly twisted harness. Stella watched with wide eyes as Papa shook James Collingwood’s hand and spoke quietly to him. She couldn’t hear all their words, but she knew by Papa’s demeanor and the timbre of his voice that he was expressing his deep gratitude to James.

  As he started to step away, Stella heard her father tell him, “I’d like you to stop by our house tomorrow evening if you could, Mr. Collingwood. I know my wife will want to offer you a proper thank-you.”

  Though Stella had been waiting on pins and needles for James’s knock, when it finally came, she began to tremble inside. “He’s here!”

  Helen giggled and ran to admit their caller. Stella was right behind her.

  Helen opened the door. James stood on the porch, looking handsome as ever.

  “Hello, Stella,” he said, tipping his hat.

  “Hello, James.” They stood staring at one another, and Stella felt unexpectedly shy.

  She felt a tug on her skirt. “Aren’t you going to ask him in?” Helen’s silvery voice cut through the fog in her brain.

  “Oh, my,” she breathed. “Of course. What am I thinking? Please, James. Come in.”

  She opened the door wider, and he ducked under the lintel, removing his hat as he stepped inside.

  Papa and Mama came into the hallway and stood, waiting to be introduced.

  James nodded in their direction, and Stella finally came to her senses. “Papa, you remember Mr. Collingwood?”

  “Pleased to see you again, Sir,” James said, extending his hand. The two men shook hands, then James turned toward Mama. “And you must be Stella’s mother. I can certainly see the resemblance.”

  Mama blushed at what was obviously meant to be a compliment. As she took James’s hand, her gratitude poured out, mingled with tears. “Oh, Mr. Collingwood, how can we ever thank you?”

  “No need, Ma’am. I didn’t do more than any other man would have done under the circumstances. Stella is the one who should get the credit.” He gave her a smile that turned her knees to jelly.

  “You were both very brave,” Mama told him. “Stella couldn’t have gotten to Helen if it hadn’t been for you. We are mighty grateful, Son, mighty grateful.”

  James knelt beside Helen, who stood in the hall staring up at him with a gaze of absolute adoration. “And how is Miss Helen feeling this evening? Have you recovered from your little adventure?”

  She gave him her sweetest smile. “Yes, Sir. I’m feeling fine.” She bowed her head shyly. “Thank you for … for saving me.”

  “You are very welcome, Helen,” James said, putting a gentle hand to her cheek. “I couldn’t have done it without your sister’s help.”

  Helen nodded solemnly.

  “Please, come into the parlor,” Mama urged. “I have cocoa on the stove, and Stella made a cake.”

  Stella and her mother served refreshments in the parlor. Papa and James seemed to have found several common interests, and the women could scarcely get a word in edgewise. Stella couldn’t have been more delighted.

  Later, as James got ready to leave, Mama surprised Stella by issuing an impromptu invitation. “James, we’re having dinner at the hotel Saturday night. Why don’t you come along and be our guest?”

  “Well, Ma’am. Thank you, but that’s not necessary. That cake and cocoa were plenty of thanks—”

  Papa jumped in. “Please, James. We insist. We’d be honored to have you.”

  Stella could scarcely believe her ears.

  James looked at her, then back at her father. “Well, thank you, Sir.” He looked to Mama and nodded his thanks. “Ma’am, I appreciate the invitation. I’d be honored.”

  Mama beamed, and Stella knew that James had succeeded in charming his way into each of their hearts.

  Chapter 9

  The dining room was crowded, and the tinkle of silverware and crystal and happy voices made pleasant music to accompany the Bradford party as they dined. But Stella Bradford’s thoughts were focused in one direction only. James Collingwood sat across from her at the table, and by the way his eyes had held her gaze throughout the evening, she knew that his thoughts were directed toward her as well.

  She could hardly believe that Papa had not only allowed James to be here with them but had extended the invitation himself. Helen sat at a place of honor at one end of the table, and she giggled every time James looked her way. He was Helen’s hero, but more importantly, James had become Papa’s hero.

  Mama turned to James. “I hope your sister is feeling better, James. Sylvia, isn’t it? I’m sorry she could not be with us tonight.”

  “Yes, Ma’am. Sylvia is much better, thank you. She asked me to give her regrets. She would have joined us, but there was a special gentleman coming to call this evening.”

  Stella turned to James with a cry of delight. “Is it John Matthews?”

  He nodded, a smile of satisfaction on his face. John worked for Papa at the mill, but he and Sylvia had met when James hired him to do some carpentry work on the boardinghouse.

  “Oh, James. I’m so happy for her.”

  The young girl who was waiting on their table came with the coffeepot, and they fell silent. The girl refilled Mama’s cup and began clearing empty dishes from the table.

  “Thank you, Miss,” Papa said politely as she took away his dinner plate. “Might I ask your name?”

  The lass gave him a shy smile. “It’s Mariette, Sir.”

  “A very pretty name,” Papa said. “Thank you for serving us tonight. You did a fine job.”

  Stella could tell the young woman wasn’t accustomed to having gratitude shown in such a genuine manner.

  “You are most welcome, Sir. It was my pleasure,” she said, bobbing her head in a tacit curtsy.

  Stella smiled as she thought of the surprise that awaited the girl a few minutes from now.

  As though he’d read Stella’s mind, Papa reached into his breast pocket and slipped out a small envelope, along with his fountain pen. Before they had left for the hotel, Stella and Helen had watched Papa tuck a five-dollar bank note inside the envelope. Helen had been more fascinated with the intricate depictions of Christopher Columbus on the paper bill than she had been with the idea of what it could buy.

  As was their tradition, the Bradfords had prayed at home for the then-unknown person who would serve them their meal. Having observed the girl during the evening, Stella knew that this gift would make a significant difference in the life of young Mariette. She was proud of Papa’s generosity and elated—as she had been every Christmas for as long as she could remember—to be taking part in this family tradition.

  Papa wrote something on the ivory parchment, then closed the flap and laid the envelope on the table, tucking one corner beneath the porcelain saucer that held his empty cup.

  Stella watched from the corner of her eye. Sure enough, Mariette’s name was spelled out across the front of the envelope in Papa’s loopy scrawl.

  Stella knew that Papa was trying to be unobtrusive for James’s sake. He had always said that it canceled the deed to blow your trumpet about it. But Helen was watching, too, and her eyes lit up. “Can we stay and watch her open it, Papa?”

  “Hush,” Mama chided, shaking her head.

  Papa smiled at his youngest daughter. “You know the rule, Shortcake.”
/>
  Helen pouted, and James turned to Stella, his knit brows indicating puzzlement.

  “It’s one of our holiday traditions,” she whispered.

  “I don’t understand.”

  Leaning toward him and lowering her voice, she explained, “There is a five-dollar note inside the envelope. Every year before Christmas, we choose a night to eat dinner at the hotel. It gives Mama a break from cooking during the busy holiday season, but the real reason we do it is to bless someone who might not be as fortunate as we are. We always pray before we come that God will send the person to wait on us who most needs an extra Christmas blessing. But the rule is that we can’t stay to watch them open the envelope. We want it to be a good deed done in secret.” Listening to herself, she realized that she sounded like Mama explaining the special tradition to Helen.

  James had a strange expression on his face.

  Stella put a hand to her mouth. “Oh, and now I’ve ruined the secret part by telling you about it, haven’t I? I’m sorry, James. I don’t mean to crow. But it seemed rude not to explain it to you.”

  He put up a hand and shook his head. “No, it’s not that,” he said.

  Concern filled Stella’s heart. His complexion was pale, and he looked as though he might be sick.

  “James? What’s wrong?”

  Without saying a word, James Collingwood pushed his chair back from the table and hurried from the dining room.