A Lady for Luke

by Donna K. Weaver

  “Don’t make me start crying again,” she said, blinking her eyes against the burning.

  “All right.” Luke lifted his head and met her gaze, his expression soft and loving. “But we still have unfinished business to discuss.”

  “Yes, we do. Now, come.” With emotion threatening to burst from her chest, Judith began towing him toward the performance area.

  15

  They took their seats in the back of the large room, and Luke wondered briefly what had happened to their attacker. It was a shame the doctor and those helping him were going to miss the end of the program.

  Folks had to squeeze in on the benches and many still stood. Judith had been right. Pulsifer’s poem about missing family while out on the range was perfect to lead into the children’s Christmas story.

  As the scholars gathered, Luke scanned the benches. With his arm around Judith’s waist and his sisters sitting on his other side, a lump formed in Luke’s throat. Even when he’d been sent away to school, he’d still been part of a family. It had only been when their father had forbidden their communication with Luke that he’d given up. After moving to Wyoming after his mother’s death, he’d tried to accept the loss of his family. Then two years ago Frances’s first letter had arrived. It had truly been a gift.

  Like the little family being portrayed on the stage, he was grateful for this blissful moment. He accepted that difficult things were yet to come. He wasn’t in Heaven yet after all. Luke tightened his arm around Judith—and she scooted a little closer. He wanted to shout his love to the world. The corner of his mouth twitched. In a very public way.

  Little Devon Teague did a fine job as one of the three kings placing a gift in front of the baby Jesus with pride. The boy didn’t look nervous at all. Luke could only hope he wouldn’t suffer from bad dreams tonight.

  Luke had expected the baby in little Florence Breckinridge’s arms to be a doll until the audience began to clap at the conclusion. The bundle in her arms began the wail of a newborn. Florence shot a worried glance to the side, where Mary Teague was hurrying over to take the babe.

  “To begin,” the mayor shouted above the din of chatting people, “I’d like to thank our scholars for their magnificent portrayal of the Christmas story. Let’s give them another hand for a job well done.” When he was able to quiet everyone again, he continued. “I would call our first Christmas Fair a success, and I hope we can count on the fine women of the Ladies’ Improvement Society to continue it in future years.”

  “See what you did,” Luke whispered in Judith’s ear.

  “I’ll now turn the time over to Mrs. Teague,” the mayor said, when the applause had died down again.

  She stepped forward. “We’ve already had enough excitement for today, and I promised my husband I would only stay a few minutes.” Mary looked lovingly at Steve who stood near the door holding the baby. “As I’m sure you can guess, it’s no small feat to pull off an event like this, trust me. There’s more to it than simply making a list of the events. It takes people anticipating what could go wrong and being prepared for it.”

  “Like a dog attack?” one of the cowhands called out, setting some in the crowd to chuckling, while others hissed.

  “I have no idea how anyone could have anticipated that.” Mary’s face had gone pale at the reminder, and she glanced to where Devon stood with his father. “I wanted to acknowledge the hard work of our volunteers and, even more, to honor one lady I could always count on to do anything and everything I needed her to. She was full of ideas on how to make things run more smoothly. Her insight and organizational skills are the finest I’ve seen.” Mary glanced at the mayor with a sly grin. “If we ever need someone else to help run this town, I know just who to suggest running. And that is Miss Judith Breckinridge.”

  Judith blinked as the crowd began to applaud. A few people were slow to start, but they finally joined, most with enthusiasm. She stared out at the throng, struck by how many of them she had become acquainted with. Mrs. Knox grinned at Judith. She’d heard the woman didn’t often leave her home and was glad her quilt had won a prize.

  “Go to Mary,” Luke said.

  “But everyone in the society worked hard,” Judith argued. “I don’t deserve special recognition.”

  “Don’t be an idiot.” Frances took one of Judith’s arms and Maude the other, as though they intended to drag Judith up to the stage.

  Rather than create a scene, she let them pull her to her feet. Pain at the movement made her groan, and Luke was on his feet in an instant. He groaned too.

  “I guess we’re both a little stiff after hitting the ground so hard.” He offered her his arm.

  “I hope I don’t look like an old woman walking up there.” Judith slid her arm through his, and they slowly made their way to the stage. She was grateful there were only two steps.

  “You’re the one who made this happen,” Judith said as she stepped beside Mary.

  “We made it happen,” Mary said, her voice loud and firm, “we and the people of Lilac City. But it would not have been this grand affair if not for your dedication and perseverance. On behalf of the Ladies’ Improvement Society, we thank you.”

  The mayor’s wife stepped forward and handed a lap desk to Mary who, in turn, held it out to Judith. She stared at the beautiful carving of the local mountain range.

  “Mr. Hamblin mentioned your lap desk was looking the worse for wear after putting in so much work on behalf of our Christmas Fair, so we commissioned a new one for you.” Mary smiled. “We hope you’ll use it as you continue to bring culture and, need I say, fun to Lilac City.”

  Once again, the crowd broke out with enthusiastic applause, this time including a few cheers from the cowhands.

  “There’s one more thing,” Luke said, stepping to Judith.

  Her heart raced at the determined expression on his face. He took the box and handed it back to Mary. Did he mean to have that interrupted discussion now? Wasn’t that just like him?

  Luke took her hand and brought it to his chest before turning to face the crowd.

  “Many of you may have heard I’ve been courting Miss Judith. Today I told her I love her and wish to marry her.”

  Judith closed her eyes, her cheeks flushing. He was really doing it.

  “Believe it or not, she thinks she’s not good enough for me.” Luke almost shouted the words, his tone rich with disbelief. “What about you all?”

  “Say yes, Miss Judith,” Nick Reynolds shouted. “Say yes.”

  When others joined in, she opened her eyes. The men had taken up a chant of say yes, and the ladies were adding their voices. Many in the crowd were clapping their hands and stomping their feet.

  Judith met her brother’s gaze. He watched her expectantly. She raised her free hand, and the crowd quieted.

  She swallowed and said, “This was not the atmosphere I’d intended following the Christmas story.”

  Some people laughed and others groaned.

  “Are you going to put the man out of his misery?” Marshall called.

  Judith looked at Luke and his delicious dark eyes.

  “I love you, and I can’t live without you,” he said, his expression open and vulnerable. “Will you please marry me?”

  “I love you too.” She took a deep breath and said, “If you’re willing to live with my failings, I’ll gladly marry you.”

  The people started cheering, and hats went flying into the air.

  Luke pulled her into his arms. “I’m not exactly perfect either, sweetheart.” His lips met hers, and he kissed her. Right there before God and everyone.

  Epilogue

  Frances

  Frances slowly sat up in her bed on Christmas morning and rubbed her eyes. When awake, she usually managed not to think of her father, but this morning she couldn’t help it. Not with the memory of the dream so vivid.

  In it, the four of them had been gathered around the dinner table as they had that evening last March. Just as he had then, h
er father looked at her. Truly looked at her for the first time in years. There’d been such love and pride in his expression that her breath had hitched. He’d handed her a letter of acceptance to the music school with a date in the fall.

  Her classes would have begun three months ago. The too-familiar sense of loss nearly overwhelmed Frances, and her throat tightened, a knot of pain making her rub her chest. She refused to think about either the music or her father.

  As she moved her legs to the edge of the bed, another bit of the dream came to her. Father hadn’t looked well for a couple of weeks before his collapse but had eaten fairly well that night.

  A sense she sometimes got when things didn’t quite add up hit her as forcefully as the images in the dream had. Something was wrong, and her mind was trying to tell her what. She must pay attention.

  Frances stilled and closed her eyes, allowing memories of her father to flow through her. They began as little snippets of things she’d overheard. He’d barely been able to be in her presence the last two years, so she’d taken to eavesdropping whenever she could just to hear his voice. She’d found if she quoted Shakespeare he would stay at the dinner table longer, but toward the end that hadn’t worked. Even now, anger made the muscles in her neck tighten.

  Something niggled at her memory, and Frances forced herself to relax and not let anger distract her. She allowed the recollections to flow through her mind. Father had been talking in his office to someone she hadn’t liked, so she hadn’t stayed near the door very long. Her gut told her it was important to remember who it had been.

  She took a deep breath, tightening and then relaxing her muscles. The memory of the man’s voice became stronger, louder.

  Uncle William.

  Why had he been there? The brothers couldn't abide each other's company and rarely saw each other. If it hadn’t been for Aunt Ann, Frances doubted they would have spoken at all.

  The memory tugged at her again, and she gave it her full attention. They’d been having words of some kind. The threatening tone of her uncle’s voice had drawn her back to the door. Uncle had been demanding her father give him something, but he’d refused. When her uncle had stormed from the office, he’d caught her by surprise. She’d had to scramble to hide behind the statue and pillar in the nearby alcove to avoid being seen.

  Her mind shifted back, and she made the connection. Her father's stomach complaints had begun the next day. Coincidence? At first the doctor had suggested it was an ulcer of the stomach. He'd provided Father with powders and counseled him to ease back on his responsibilities.

  Over the course of the next two weeks, his health had rapidly declined until he’d collapsed at dinner. The doctor had declared it a heart attack brought on by stress.

  Frances popped open her eyes, a chill running down her spine. She’d read more than one newspaper article where people who had ingested a poison and been thought to have died of a heart attack.

  Something clattered against her bedroom window, startling her from her thoughts. With a pounding heart, she hurried to it and pulled back the curtain. Nick stood below in early morning light. He raised his hands in disbelief. She opened the window.

  “I’ll be right down to help with the feeding,” she called, shivering against the cold.

  “We’re already done, so take your time.” Nick grinned. “I wanted to give you a hard time about sleeping in.”

  “You coming to breakfast?”

  “Course.”

  “Good. I need to talk to you about something.” Frances closed the window and let the curtain fall back into place. She had a lot to consider.

  “I can’t believe you were able to get your hands on this so quickly,” Nick said, hurrying to the wagon. Where he’d come from in Texas, they hadn’t had much snow. Definitely not enough to make it worth the effort to put sleigh runners on a large wagon.

  “I didn’t think it was going to make it here in time.” Luke grinned. “This will be the perfect Christmas present for Frances. Can you run and get some more help? This thing’s a bear to lift, even with the legs off it.”

  “Sure thing, boss.”

  Nick didn’t have far to go because several of the other hands had come outside to see what Luke was up to.

  “Throw some more dirt on the walkway,” Tom called. “We don’t want to slip carrying this to the house.”

  “Nick, you come help lift it off,” Luke said. “I trust you not to drop it.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He hurried over. He’d heard of a Steinway before had brushed it off as one of those fancy and expensive things the rich folks back East liked to brag about owning. He’d been with Luke when he’d placed the advertisement in papers from larger cities between Billings and Salt Lake City. Judith had said a Steinway could take a year to build. No wonder they cost so much. Luke had gotten lucky to find a used one in Cheyenne.

  They carefully moved it into the parlor where they put on the legs and positioned it near the Christmas tree. Nick kept glancing at the door, expecting Frances to come down the stairs and catch them at it. But she didn’t.

  He came to stand by Luke and said, “This is nothing like my mother’s upright. These things certainly deserve the name ‘grand.’”

  “I imagine all of you are hungry for breakfast,” Mrs. McDaniel said from the doorway. “I’ve got it set up on the sideboard.” She shot a concerned glace at the stairs. “I thought Frances would be down by now.”

  “I think she’s probably missing her father,” Nick said, shooting an awkward glance at his boss, whose expression had darkened at the mention of the man.

  “Ah, that makes sense,” Mrs. McDaniel said. “It is her first Christmas without him. Well, let’s bless the food, so you men can eat.”

  Once Luke had, the cowhands hurried into the dining room. Nick held back. He wanted to see the look on Frances’s face. She might even be willing to play something. She’d only mentioned once she could play, but her expression had turned so sullen he’d never dared to bring it up again. He’d assumed it was because she hadn’t liked to play and had considered it one of those womanly things she’d been forced to learn and hated on principle.

  “Any sound of her moving up there?” Luke asked as he returned from the dining room.

  “There she is now," Nick said, as her booted feet appeared at the top of the stairs. He’d recognize the sound of her footstep anywhere.

  Luke let out a deep breath. It was the first sign the man was nervous. Was he worried his sister might not like his gift?

  “You okay, sir?” Nick asked.

  “She’s either going to love it or hate it and make our lives miserable.”

  “Nah.” Nick watched as she came down the stairs. “Frances is opinionated and not afraid to speak her mind, but she’s got a good heart. She’d never punish anyone for such a thoughtful gift.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  “What are you two standing like that for?” she asked with a frown.

  “I’m waiting to show you your Christmas present.” Luke extended his hand.

  “Now?” Her posture had turned wary.

  “Now.” He took her hand and gently led her into the parlor.

  With a gasp, Frances came to an abrupt halt. Nick nearly ran into her back.

  She dropped her brother’s hand and dashed to the piano. Running her fingers over the wood, she looked up, her eyes glistening. Then she launched herself into Luke’s arms with a sob.

  Nick took a step back. Frances hated to cry, especially where anyone could see. Whenever one of the men suggested she might be about to cry, she’d go after him with her gun. It was only new guys now who dared to pull it. Yet, here she was, crying like a baby.

  “Do you like it?” Luke asked.

  “I love it.” She released him and spun on Nick. “If you dare say anything—”

  “Not a word.” He raised his arms like he was being held up. “I promise. You going to play something?”

  “Don’t be an id
iot. Even shifting it a little requires a professional tuning.” Frances went back to it and sat on the bench. Nick expected her to lift the fall-board and expose the keys, but she only rested her hands in her lap and stared at it.

  “Judith mentioned it’d have to be tuned, so I have someone coming from Billings tomorrow.” Luke came to stand beside her. “I didn’t know what music you might like, but we can order whatever you want.”

  “For right now, it’s all here.” Frances pointed to her temple. “I can’t thank you enough for this, Luke, but it’s too much.”

  “Consider it ten years’ worth of birthday and Christmas presents.”

  “You’d best come eat before it’s gone,” Mrs. McDaniel said, peeking in.

  Luke bent over and kissed his sister on the temple before striding from the room.

  Watching her gaze lovingly at the piano, Nick experienced a twinge of jealousy. His thoughts drifted back to the Christmas Fair where Reverend Pearce had approached him and asked his age.

  “Twenty-three, parson. Why?”

  “I’ve recently talked with Mrs. Champion.”

  “I ain’t heard of her. She must be new in town.” Nick had wondered what the parson was leading up to.

  “She’s starting up a business.” Reverend Pearce had rubbed his jaw. “She’s a matchmaker and will be bringing in some mail-order brides.”

  Nick had taken a step back. “Why are you telling me that?”

  “Well, a young man your age ought to consider getting married and settling down.” With a glance at Frances, the parson had patted Nick on the shoulder and said, “Some women just have no desire for matrimony.”

  Watching her now, Nick wished she’d look at him like she did that dang piano. He heaved out a breath. No matter what the parson had said, Nick didn’t want any other woman. Either he convinced Frances to marry him when she was ready, or he’d stay single.