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

by Prairie Christmas Collection

  Susan took Margie’s empty chair. “It seems like a dream. My little girl will be married tomorrow.”

  “She’ll make a good wife for David. She took me to see her house last week. Such a lovely home it will be.” Estelle gazed into the fire.

  “You needn’t envy her, Estelle. You’ll make the parsonage into a lovely home, I imagine.”

  Estelle fanned her face. She had never been one to blush, but everything seemed different since her arrival in Iowa. “I never intended to marry.”

  “I believe Frank never intended to remarry, but then he met you. And tasted your cooking.”

  Estelle met Susan’s twinkling gaze. “You believe he wishes to marry me for practical reasons.”

  Susan laughed aloud. “Not for a moment. He loves you, Estelle.”

  “I understand practical. I don’t understand love.”

  Susan stared into the fire and spoke in dreamy tones. “Does anyone understand love? Why do I love Paul? Sometimes he annoys me; often I irritate him. Yet we are devoted to each other. God calls Christians to demonstrate love to one another whether we wish to or not. The amazing thing is that feelings often follow actions. I was afraid to love you when you first arrived here, Estelle. Yet I resolved to demonstrate God’s love to you, and to my surprise, I grew to love you dearly.”

  Estelle listened in silent amazement.

  “Love is perilous,” Susan continued. “God knows this better than anyone, for He loves most. At Christmas we celebrate His greatest risk of all. When I think of God the Almighty lying in a manger as a helpless baby, the chance He took for the sake of love quite steals my breath away.”

  “Chance? God?”

  “Yes, chance. For love of you, Estelle, He was mocked, beaten, and brutally killed. Then He conquered death and sin and returned to heaven to prepare a beautiful home for you. He could force you to love Him in return; He has enough power to make you do anything He wants you to do. But He doesn’t desire the love of a puppet, so He simply woos you as a lover and longs for you to return His love.”

  Susan’s words burned into Estelle’s soul like a hot iron. The pain finally propelled her out of the chair and upstairs, where she lay in bed and shivered for hours.

  Chapter 7

  Estelle smoothed a calico apron over the skirts of her blue satin gown and glanced around at the other women working to decorate the hotel dining room. Frank’s parishioners had leaped at the chance to help prepare the wedding reception for their minister’s son. Of course, many of these women had known Margie since her birth. Estelle found the townsfolk’s loyalty appealing.

  Of particular interest to Estelle was the plump, golden-haired young woman helping Susan arrange table centerpieces—Amy Nelson Syverson. Amy had greeted Estelle earlier with a twinkle in her blue eyes. She must know about her father’s intent to remarry, and apparently she approved. The knowledge boosted Estelle’s spirits.

  Entering the kitchen to see if she could be useful, she discovered several ladies in a huddle. Their concerned expressions roused her curiosity. “Is anything wrong?”

  “Nothing serious,” Mrs. Isobel Coon said. “We need a few more jars of fruit for an after-dinner sweet, but I suppose we can stretch what we have here to feed fifty people. If only Loretta hadn’t broken—”

  “Plenty of fruit in the parsonage cellar.”

  Estelle recognized that gruff voice. Mary Bilge stood at the huge cast-iron stove, stirring a pot, the old slouch hat pulled down over her eyes. Her change in clothing style had been short-lived.

  Mrs. Coon nodded. “Pastor Nelson is probably at the church already, but I’m sure he’d be willing to donate fruit for his son’s wedding reception. And the parsonage is just down the street. Where is Amy? Someone ask her to fetch us a few jars of peaches or pears.”

  Mrs. Fallbrook shook her head. “I saw her and Susan leave. Mary Bilge, would you—”

  “No.” Mary turned her broad back.

  The other ladies blinked at each other, obviously trying to remain pleasant. “Well then, I suppose we must do without.” They bustled off to finish their preparations.

  Estelle approached Mary. “I can stir that soup while you get the fruit. It’d be a shame to run short of food at David and Margie’s wedding reception.”

  “La-de-da. If you want it, you get it.”

  Her lips tightening, Estelle nodded. “Very well. I shall. Tell the others where I’ve gone.” She hung her apron on a hook and located her cloak and overshoes. She would have to hurry. Josh had promised to stop by and pick her up on his way to the church.

  Estelle left the hotel by the side door closest to the parsonage. A light snow frosted her woolen cloak, but she was able to keep her skirts hoisted above the drifts lining the street. If her new gown became soiled before the wedding, she would never forgive Mary Bilge. The selfish woman! What had gotten into her lately? She seemed like the old Mary again, even smelling of cigar smoke.

  Frank must have shoveled his walk that morning. The front steps were icy but clear. It seemed strange to enter the parsonage uninvited. Belle greeted her in the hallway. “So you are lady of the house today?” Estelle stooped to stroke the cat. A mildew odor from the rug told her that Mary’s housekeeping enthusiasm had waned along with her personal cleanliness. Poor Frank.

  The kitchen was warm and smelled of something burnt. Restraining her urge to tidy up, Estelle peeled off her gloves and lit a candle at the oven’s banked coals. She lifted the wooden latch on the cellar door and stared down into darkness. Stale, frigid air wafted up the steps. “You stay up here, Belle. I don’t want to accidentally shut you in. I’ll be only a moment.”

  Her shoes clopped on the wooden risers as she descended into the hole, keeping her skirts from brushing the whitewashed earth wall. Shivering, she scanned the shelves and located two jars of spiced peaches and one of pears. To carry three quart jars and a candle while safeguarding her gown would be impractical, so she hunted for a tote basket. Candle lifted high, she spotted a dusty one on the end of a top shelf.

  Just as she reached for it, something banged up in the kitchen and Belle let out a yowl. Dust sifted through between the boards overhead. At that moment, the cellar door shut and the candle extinguished. Estelle spun about and heard the thunk of the latch dropping into place.

  “Oh, no!”

  Above, the floorboards creaked, and Belle meowed. Maybe the cat had bumped the door, causing it to close. Feeling her way in the darkness, Estelle hefted her skirts and climbed the wooden steps. She pushed at the unyielding door, then felt for the latchstring. It was missing. A cat would not have pulled it through to the other side.

  Someone had shut her in the cellar. Mary Bilge was the only person who knew she had come for the fruit. Mary must have done it. But why? What could she hope to gain by such a petty, senseless act?

  Rubbing her upper arms, Estelle sat on the second step down. At least she still wore her woolen cloak. Her gloves lay on the kitchen table, and her overshoes were near the front door. Frank would surely find her soon.

  Something furry touched her hand, and she yelped. A mouse? The something scrabbled at the door and gave a soft meow.

  Estelle relaxed. “Belle?” She felt along the crack beneath the door and found a paw. The cat was reaching for her. “You scared me.” Estelle slid her fingers through the opening and touched a warm, vibrating body, a shadow against the dim slit of light visible beneath the door. At least I’m not entirely alone. Someone will come after me before the wedding starts. They need me to play the piano.

  She tucked her feet in close and huddled beneath her cloak, resting her cheek against the solid door. “It’s cold down here, but I’m sure Frank will find me before I freeze to death, and you’re here to keep my fingers warm, Belle. Why would Mary lock me in the cellar? The person she hurts most by doing this is poor Marjorie, who will have no music for her wedding if they don’t find me soon.” Her voice sounded thin.

  Long minutes passed. Aside from Belle’s o
ccasional mew and rumbling purr, Estelle heard only her own thoughts. She considered calling for help, but who would hear? The cellar had no windows.

  She tried to estimate the amount of time passing. The gray slit beneath the door finally vanished. Would they go ahead with the wedding? She pictured Margie in her gown, gazing up into David’s adoring eyes. How lovely the bride would be, and how handsome her young groom!

  Trying to ignore the cold, she hummed the wedding march. Outside, snow would sparkle in the lantern light, turning Coon’s Hollow into a Christmas wonderland. At the wedding there would be laughter and rejoicing, yet for Estelle the night was silent.

  “Why did You allow me to miss Margie’s wedding, God?” Despite her disappointment, she couldn’t rouse herself to anger. Her recent studies of God’s ways and His nature assured her that He allowed nothing to happen without reason. Oddly enough, her soul felt peaceful as her thoughts drifted back over last night’s chat with Susan.

  “Lately it does seem that every conversation, every argument circles back to the subject of love. Your love for me and my lack of love for others.” She spoke just above a whisper. “I arrived here in the heat and light of summer, yet my heart was colder than ice. Now I sit in frozen darkness and feel the warmth of Your love. Your presence, not my circumstances, makes the difference.”

  Music wafted through her thoughts, and she began to hum, then sing quietly. “Silent night, holy night. Son of God, Love’s pure light.” She hummed again, pondering the words. “All these years I have denied Your love. I struggled alone in despair when I might have rejoiced daily in the knowledge of You. Because my parents failed me, Paul left, and John died, I quit believing. You offered to share my burdens and ease my load, but I refused You.”

  Tears welled up in Estelle’s eyes, overflowed, and burned her cheeks. “It’s not too late for me, is it, Lord? I acknowledge my hopeless condition; without You I am nothing—a selfish, cold, meaningless woman. Love is painful—You know that better than anyone—but I want to live and love and hurt along with You. Forgive my anger and my unbelief, and truly be Lord of my life.”

  The walls of ice split apart and crashed into the sea of God’s love. The floodgates of Estelle’s soul opened wide, sweeping away every icicle of bitterness and anger and filling her with living water. For the first time in more than twenty years, she wept cleansing tears of joy.

  She must have slept, for the next thing Estelle knew, the door swung away and Frank lifted her into his arms. Still groggy, she felt his brushy beard against her cheek. He trembled as if he were cold, yet his embrace enveloped her in warmth. She rested her face on his waistcoat and patted his shoulder. “Dear Frank, is the wedding over?”

  “How on earth did you get shut in there?” he asked, his voice breaking. “We’ve been looking everywhere for you! I knew something must be wrong when you didn’t show up for the wedding, but I waited until after the ceremony to panic. How did you end up in my cellar?” He sat on a kitchen chair and settled her on his lap, rocking her like a child. His big hands pressed her to his chest, stroked her face, tucked her cloak around her, then hugged her again as if he could never bring her close enough.

  Light from the lamp on the table glowed in Belle’s golden eyes. A moment later the cat leaped into Estelle’s lap to join the embrace. “Belle kept me company and warmed my fingers.” Estelle tucked a fold of her cloak around the purring cat.

  Worry still vibrated in Frank’s voice. “I’ve got to let Paul know you’re safe. First tell me what happened. Josh feels terrible; he was supposed to pick you up at the hotel, but when he arrived there, you were already gone.”

  Estelle told her short tale. “Mary Bilge is the only one who knew where I went. I suspect she shut me in the cellar, but, Frank, please don’t confront her about it.”

  “Why ever not?” His eyes blazed in the lamplight. “You might have frozen to death down there!” He smoothed hair from her temple, and she felt his fingers shaking.

  “Nonsense. It isn’t that cold, and I’m sure Mary expected you to find me today. Her conduct was spiteful and childish, not vicious,” Estelle said. “But poor Margie! Did she walk down the aisle in silence?”

  To her surprise, Frank chuckled. “No. Your prize piano student played the wedding march with more animation than accuracy.”

  “Flora?” Estelle sat up straight.

  “Yes, Flora. The child performed well, and Margie seemed as happy as any new bride despite the lack of refinement in her accompaniment.”

  Estelle laughed aloud. “I would almost suspect Flora of shutting me into the cellar, if she’d had any opportunity. The little sprite undoubtedly enjoyed her chance to shine.”

  Frank stared.

  Estelle touched her face, wondering if she had smeared dirt on her cheek or nose. “What is wrong?”

  “I’ve never heard you laugh before.”

  Suddenly conscious of her position on his lap, Estelle pulled away and rose. Belle squawked in complaint and jumped to the floor. “Would you like a cup of tea? I need something warm to drink.”

  “No, thank you.”

  She moved the kettle over the heat. “I must tell you something, Frank. You deserve to know.”

  He looked wary. “I’m listening.”

  Estelle busied her hands with setting out a teacup. “Although I’m sorry I missed the wedding, I believe the Lord wanted time alone with me.”

  When she looked up, surprise lit Frank’s features. She glanced away, still trying to control her emotions, yet her voice trembled. “I finally understand about love.”

  “You do?”

  A smile broke free and spread across her face. “Oh, Frank, how much I have missed all these years! You tried to explain, but only God could reveal the wonder of His love. I know I can never make up for the years I’ve wasted, but all the life I have left belongs to the Lord.”

  He covered his face with both hands. Emotion clogged his deep voice. “I’m so glad, Estelle. So glad.” He pulled a handkerchief from his jacket pocket and mopped his eyes, avoiding her gaze.

  Her hands formed fists. She hid them behind her back, sucked in a deep breath, and took the plunge. “I would gladly spend the rest of my life with you, Frank Nelson.”

  He pushed back his chair and arose but remained at the table. “No more anger?”

  She shook her head. “No more fear?”

  “Actually, I’m terrified.” Her legs would give out at any moment.

  He sounded short of breath. “So am I. Dearest Estelle, are you certain you can endure living in this tiny old parsonage with a rustic boor of a minister? You’re so genteel and elegant, and I feel like a buffalo around you sometimes. I know my loud voice annoys you, and I leave my clothes lying around and forget to change into a clean shirt or polish my boots …”

  Estelle dared to look at his face. “Then you need me to remind you. I want to feel needed. The happiest days of my life were the days I spent caring for your home and preparing meals for you. I shall try to be gentle and meek instead of bossy and high-handed.”

  “And I shall endeavor to be considerate.” He folded his arms across his great chest. “Often you remind me of Belle, the way she demands affection only on her terms.”

  Estelle translated his unspoken question. “You fear angering me with unwelcome attentions?”

  He slowly nodded.

  She lowered her gaze and pondered the matter. “I have never possessed a demonstrative nature, and adjusting to the demands of marriage may require time. If you can be patient, I shall accustom myself to fulfilling your needs.” Her face grew hot.

  “I promise the same to you. And now, much though I hate to end this moment, we must consider the needs of our family and friends and assure them all of your safety.”

  Estelle lost interest in tea. She moved the kettle off the stovetop. “I have no idea what time it is. Are we too late for the wedding reception?”

  “Not at all. The wedding ended less than an hour ago. The food sho
uld be hot and plentiful. Let’s join the guests at the hotel and announce our own news.” He paused, and his brows suddenly drew together. “We do have news, don’t we? You will marry me?”

  Estelle smiled. “I shall.”

  His face beamed like a summer sunrise. “I confess I jumped the gun and told Amy about my hopes. She seems to approve of my choice.”

  “I suspected as much; she was particularly friendly to me. A lovely young woman, Frank.”

  “I think so.” He glowed with pride.

  Estelle drew on her gloves. “I hope Paul approves. I know Susan will. Oh! We mustn’t forget the three jars of fruit.”

  “I’ll fetch them. You stay out of that cellar until I fit it with a modern doorknob that doesn’t lock.” Frank tapped her cheek with one finger. His eyes caught her gaze and held. “I love you, Estelle.”

  “Frank,” she whispered, then found herself wrapped in a mighty hug. Her arms slid around him, and she pressed her cheek to his chest. His hand cupped her head, destroying her hairstyle, but she didn’t care.

  Chapter 8

  Christmas morning dawned clear and bright. “No wind yet,” Josh announced as the men came in from chores for breakfast, red-cheeked and stamping snow from their boots. “It’s a perfect day for a sleigh ride.”

  Flora squealed and danced a little jig with Eliza frisking around her skirts. “Did you see what St. Nicholas put in my stocking, Josh? An orange, and horehound candy, a penny, and a little doll with a real china head!”

  Estelle smiled as she set a dish of fried potatoes on the table. She had purchased the doll head at a shop in Madison many years earlier, unable to resist its sanguine smile. Together she and Susan had completed the doll for Flora and created its miniature wardrobe.

  Joe played with his new gyroscope until Paul reminded him that the breakfast table was an improper place for toys. Joe hid it beneath the tablecloth. “Did this really belong to you when you were my age, Pa?”