The WESTWARD Christmas BRIDES COLLECTION: 9 Historical Romances Answer the Call of the American West
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“Don’t worry. She didn’t break anything. All of your friends’ items are safe.”
“Yes, yes. All is fine.” Miss Vivian stepped up between them, not seeming to notice Samuel’s change in expression. Leading Molly to wonder if perhaps she was being overly sensitive. “But Melissa did find something special that might help with our decorating. Why don’t you take Samuel upstairs for him to see, Molly?”
Before either of them could react, Miss Vivian snatched the bowl from Molly’s grasp. “Go now.” She pushed them toward the stairs. “You don’t seem to have much of a mind for kitchen duties this morning anyway, Molly girl,” she tittered.
Molly knew the older woman was teasing kindly rather than criticizing. Either way, Miss Vivian wasn’t saying anything out of turn. All morning she’d been day-dreaming about Samuel. Now here he was, standing right in front of her. She may as well make the most of the moment. Besides, if he was concerned about his friends’ belongings, she could show him all was well.
“Would you like to come see what Melissa found?” she asked him. “Do you mind?”
Samuel followed Molly up the steps, paused on the pine flooring at the top, and then took a left into the room he’d been taking turns sleeping in with the other two men. All the while, his emotions warred, his mind clouded with deception. Undoubtedly, whatever Molly was about to show him was something he’d already seen. Yet he stood by, pretending to be clueless, not reacting or saying a thing. Not even when she opened the grand trunk sitting there and took out the ornately carved box that had belonged to Theresa’s grandmother.
“I’ve never seen such a beautiful box, have you?” Molly ran a hand over the unique surface. “Just look, each flower is different. No two are alike. And wait till you see what’s inside.”
He noticed how reverently she held the box, as earnestly as he imagined the magi might have guarded their gifts to the world’s Savior. Clutching it tightly, she took her time to sit down on the cold pine floor ceremoniously. What could he do but follow her lead? He bent down on one knee to face her.
With deliberate slowness, she opened the box, as if hurrying might somehow diminish the preciousness of the contents. Then layer by layer, she peeled back the cloth kerchief protecting the contents. Admittedly, her respectful handling of his wife’s heirloom gratified his heart in a way that surprised him.
“Aren’t they precious?” She held out the box for him to see, and he had to feign surprise over the pair of angels inside. Just as he recalled, one angel held a harp in its arms; the other had a trumpet perched at its lips. Each wore a holly wreath halo. Both were made of delicate porcelain that seemed to have become more fragile with age.
“I’ve never seen anything so pretty,” she said. “Just look at the eyelashes painted on this one,” Molly said with breathless appreciation. “Oh, and Samuel, did you see this?” She held up the angel holding the harp. “Why, you can see each little fingernail on her hands.”
“They’re certainly detailed,” he agreed. “If angels are real, well then, they sure look real as can be.”
Molly’s eyes immediately flashed from the angels to him. “Well, of course angels are real.” She gave him a crimped smile as if he was just being plain silly. But suddenly her expression turned serious. “You do believe in angels, don’t you, Samuel?”
If truth be told, he would say how he hadn’t believed in anything in a long while. Yet somehow in just the past few days, the world around him was softening. Somehow he was softening. Was it just because the focus of his thoughts had turned from himself to someone else—to Molly?
Initially he’d only been concerned about her safety and how to alleviate his guilty conscience. But after spending time with her, somehow ensuring her happiness had begun to concern him, too. After hearing about her granny, he’d woken up thinking how much she deserved a nice Christmas. More than anything, that made him put his ill feelings about the holiday aside. That’s what had him traipsing through the snow, cutting down pine boughs, and filling his pockets with pinecones.
But when she’d mentioned the trunk upstairs and the decorations Melissa had found, he was startled. He’d already guessed it was the angels—Theresa’s angels—that the young girl had discovered. He’d packed up the pair of seraphs long ago. They’d been too much of a symbol of the dreams he and Theresa had shared. Even right up till the last Christmas, the two of them were still hoping and praying that all would miraculously be well and that God would give them a future with children to pass the angels down to. When that didn’t happen, he had no plans to set eyes on the angels again.
He figured opening that box would be like opening a wound that could never heal.
Yet when Molly opened the carved box, he’d been surprised again. With her sitting near, with her close, he didn’t feel that way at all. It wasn’t like he forgot the past or Theresa. It was just that the aching emptiness of the loss didn’t completely devastate him as it always had.
“Samuel.” Her soft voice interrupted his thoughts. “You do believe in angels, don’t you?” she asked again, her beguiling eyes searching his.
With her face poised toward the diffused morning light coming through the window, she appeared radiant … much like an angel herself. One who was slowly restoring his soul.
“Yes,” he said, barely audibly. Then more strongly, “Yes. Suppose I do.”
“Well, good then!” She sighed, apparently relieved. Then she picked up one of the kerchiefs and began to wrap the harp-playing angel. “You know, the more I think about it, I don’t believe we should use your friends’ angels. I’m thinking we should leave them be.”
He knew she wasn’t posturing or being long-suffering. She was simply being sincere. That’s why he blurted, “No. I think you should set them out. Use them to decorate.”
“You think that would be all right with your friends?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Well then … we can put them on the mantel where they’ll be out of everyone’s way.”
“That’s a fine idea.” He nodded.
“You’re sure now? Be honest with me.”
She looked into his eyes, and he recalled the first day they’d met. How even then her kind gaze somehow made him feel as though he wanted to share what was true. Though he knew she was referring to his honest feelings about the angels, all he could think about was how he hadn’t been forthcoming with her at all. It was time to tell her the truth.
“Molly, I—”
“Molly!” Charlotte’s voice rang up the stairs. “Have you seen the nutmeg?”
“The nutmeg? No, I don’t think—”
Gently, she handed the box to him. He watched as she felt at her pockets. “Oh, silly me! I accidentally put the tin in my pocket.” She shook her head at herself. “I have it,” she called out to Charlotte. “I’ll be right down!”
“You go ahead,” he said. “I’ll get the angels downstairs safely.”
“Thank you.” She stood up and smoothed her skirts. “I promise I’ll be more careful with the angels than the tin of nutmeg.”
“I’m sure you will.”
She gave him the sweetest smile and started to go then turned at the doorway.
“Oh, Samuel, was there something you started to say?”
“I, uh … no.” He shook his head.
But of course, that wasn’t the truth either.
Chapter 9
It had been a long day of cooking and decorating. By the time Molly climbed the stairs to get dressed for the evening’s festivities, the late afternoon sun was casting shadows about the bedroom.
She was far too excited to be tired from the day’s activities. Instead, she lit a kerosene lamp then knelt down in front of her trunk and opened the latch. She rooted through her meager parcel of belongings until she located the special something she was looking for. The Christmas dress her granny had made for her when she’d first come to St. Claire.
Made from sumptuous green velvet, her fingers could’ve e
asily detected the dress’s soft lushness with no light at all. She’d never known where on earth her granny had gotten the luxurious material. It was a secret Granny never divulged, only remarking it was from an “earlier time.”
Molly’s heart ached as she took the gown from the trunk, remembering the woman who had stitched it so lovingly and had hummed joyfully all the while she sewed. Pressing its softness to her cheek, how she wished she would’ve worn the dress more than once in her granny’s presence. What had she been thinking when she put it away, setting it aside for some unforeseen special occasion? As if wearing it for the woman who had meant everything to her wasn’t special enough?
Then just days ago, she’d packed the festive dress in her trunk, believing the special occasion she’d been saving it for was close at hand. She thought for certain she’d be wearing the emerald frock on Christmas Eve upon meeting Clement Jones.
Yet all along, God knew that wouldn’t come to be. Clement was still just as far away tonight as when she’d first placed the dress in her traveling case. Perhaps, even further—as far as her heart was concerned.
Now, to her surprise, she’d be wearing the dress this Christmas Eve with people she never knew she’d meet, or become so close to. The dear Miss Vivian and Charlotte. Mr. Cottingham. Melissa. Daniel. And … Samuel.
He’d been so helpful all day long. Helping to hang things in high places. Lifting things, large and small. He and Daniel had even sneaked into the smokehouse, thinking Samuel’s friends wouldn’t mind if they helped themselves to a bit of meat for the Christmas stew.
She had to admit she liked the feeling of having Samuel nearby. And though their time together wasn’t yet up, she found she was already missing him.
Sighing, she looked up and gazed out the window. With all her heart, she wished the weather would never improve. Then nothing would change. They’d all stay in this house, and Samuel would never have the chance to head west again.
It wasn’t realistic, she knew. But still, she wished it. Because now her dreams of Clement felt more uncertain than ever. Huxley suddenly sounded foreign, while everything around her was beginning to feel more like home than it had in a long time.
Clutching the dress, she felt torn in ways she hadn’t for a while. She’d been quick to leave St. Claire when there was nothing and no one to stay for. But now there was.
Or was there? Her brow creased, wondering if she was being unrealistic in that respect, too.
After all, when Christmas was over—when the snow melted—how would things be then? Should she stay in St. Claire and hope her new acquaintances would become even better friends? Wait there in hopes that when Samuel left, he’d come back again soon? Or should she plan to set out, too?
Anxiety threatened to overwhelm her. Thankfully, in the midst of it, her granny’s words came to her, clear as anything: “When times come that you want to throw your hands in the air, best you get down on your knees and pray.”
Molly was already kneeling. So she closed her eyes and let her words and feelings pour from her heart.
“Gotta admit, Tack, this situation’s got me stumped.”
Clean shaven. Hair combed. Dressed in his Sunday best for the Christmas Eve celebration. Samuel felt out of place in his own barn. But he was glad for the excuse to go out and feed the horses before dinner. It gave him time to mull things over with the closest thing he had to a best friend: Tack.
Taking his familiar seat on a nearby bench, he leaned back, spewing out his thoughts while the horses crunched and slurped.
“I look at that muddy old stagecoach outside”—he pointed toward the barn door—“and remember how I felt the first time I laid eyes on it. I was downright mad, remember? I grabbed your reins, ready to go. Then got angry when my conscience glued me to the spot. I was still peeved when I was driving the thing all the way back here.” He shook his head at the memory. “Now, I gotta tell ya, I look at that stagecoach, and it’s a different kind of feeling I get. Like I’m going to be sorry to see it go.”
Of course, it wasn’t the stagecoach he’d miss. Obviously, it was Molly. But that didn’t help his consternation. It only added to it. He wasn’t quite sure how he felt about that either.
“You haven’t been around her much. But if you were, you’d take a liking to her, Tack.” A smile crimped his lips. “Remember Daisy? That strong-willed filly we used to have? Molly’s feisty like that, but with a good heart. Like Daisy, she’s not afraid of anything.”
As soon as the words left his mouth, he caught himself. Theresa had always said the same of him—that he was fearless. But that just wasn’t so. The truth was he’d put on a good act for her. In reality, being helpless to find a cure to save her had frightened him like nothing else ever had. Losing her had torn him up in ways he never knew possible.
“I don’t know, Tack. Just don’t know if I ever want to go through that again—caring for someone … loving them.”
And losing them.
He didn’t say the words out loud, but instinctively Tack seemed to know just what he meant. Lifting his head from the feed, he gave Samuel a sympathetic look.
“I appreciate your concern,” he said, “but I shouldn’t be talking all serious like this, should I? Not tonight.”
It was supposed to be an evening of celebration, after all. The ladies had worked hard preparing for a merry Christmas Eve. He reminded himself of that as he got the horses back to their stalls and covered Tack with a blanket for good measure.
“Thanks for listening, pal.” He ran a hand down Tack’s mane before gathering extra firewood and exiting the barn.
With arms full, he made his way around the stagecoach parked outside, trying not to notice it. But it loomed beside the barn door like a monster he hadn’t been able to face. A constant reminder that change was on its way again.
There was no denying that the temperature was slowly rising—and had been all day. With the weather improving, his company would be going soon, and of course he’d be clear to go his way, too.
If he chose to.
His mind bantered, weighing his options as he strode across the yard to the house. He stopped in his tracks.
The house looked just the way Theresa had always loved it. “So cozy,” she would say. A thinning layer of snow edged the rooftop. White spirals of smoke swirled from the chimney, stretching into curlicues in the ebony sky. And each window shone with a friendly amber light, promising enough warmth to shake off the cold. As he stood and stared, he recalled that even in her pain such sights had always brought a pleased smile to her face.
Taking up his steps again, he was reminded of something else. Of how they’d stood outside, staring at their snow-covered house one night, and she wouldn’t go in. Not until he promised—crossed his heart—that after she died he wouldn’t live his days there alone. “It’s people who make a house a home, Samuel,” she’d said.
As if he hadn’t already known that. As if he didn’t know that now.
In the past days, the people he’d rescued had lifted the veil of gloom from his house. And Molly, she’d come into his life quickly like the whirlwind she was, stirring feelings that had been lost to him for years.
The only problem was, once again, he really wasn’t as brave as he pretended to be. And even though Molly brought a brightness to his life that had long gone missing, he wasn’t sure if he was willing or ready to accept it.
Did he really want to take the chance of losing someone again? Enough to be free to love again?
Molly stood in front of the fireplace and let the first of Clement’s letters slip from her hands into the blaze. The others she tossed more purposefully into the fiery pit. She watched the flames devour the coarse paper, instantly turning the creamy sheets into curly brown remnants and finally into puffs of dusty ashes.
She felt curiously relieved.
She didn’t know what was going to happen to her next. Yet after praying, she felt that if she stayed true to her feelings and stepped out in faith, Go
d would be there for her. Every step of the way. Vague as that immediate path seemed, letting go of Clement’s letters still felt more right than anything she’d done in a while.
When the front door opened and Samuel walked in, she’d been so lost in thought, she gasped.
“No need for alarm. It’s just me.” He grinned. “I figured we’d need some extra firewood this evening.”
Her green velvet skirt swayed as she moved, and suddenly with Samuel close by depositing the logs, she felt so self-conscious in the elegant dress that she couldn’t stop from fidgeting. She smoothed the lace edging around the waistband. Felt for each tiny covered button at her wrist. Anything to keep her fingers busy.
Meanwhile, he crossed the room to hang up his hat and coat at the door. When he turned, she startled at the sound of her name.
“Molly?”
Her hands immediately stilled. Looking his way, she felt as surprised as he sounded. His hair was raked back from his forehead. And his whiskers had definitely seen the sharp edge of a straight razor. Both made it easier than ever to see the inherent strength in his face. The square of his jaw. Each of his classically handsome features.
She knew she was staring. But fortunately, he appeared to be staring at her, too. He hesitated then walked toward her slowly as if scrutinizing each step.
“You look …” He paused, as if he didn’t know the right word to say. “You look pretty, Molly. Beautiful.”
Her cheeks lit on fire at his words. “Thank you, Samuel.”
“And your hair. It’s different, isn’t it?”
“My hair? Why, yes.” She touched the bow at the back of her head. “I thought I’d try it pulled back from my face,” she added shyly, wondering if his noticing meant he liked it.
“It looks good. And the green is good, too. That dress is perfect—a perfect color for you, I mean.”
“My granny made it,” she said proudly.
“She did a fine job. Really fine.”
“And look at you in your friend’s clothes.” She nodded at the outfit he wore, the black pants, white shirt, and the buttoned wool vest that noticeably outlined the contour of his chest. “Did you have any idea they’d fit you so nicely?”