A Pioneer Christmas Collection

by Kathleen Fuller

  He opened the door and stepped inside. As he expected, it was nearly empty. Unionville wasn’t a large town, just a small village with a tavern serving as a stagecoach stop. He hadn’t spent much time in the area, but he knew that several families lived nearby and that they had built a small schoolhouse that doubled as a church on Sundays.

  He glanced around and saw the Irishman O’Reardon at his usual table, reading the paper. In the back corner of the tavern sat a plump woman Elijah recognized as Milly’s aunt. He continued to search the room. Where was Milly?

  Finally, she appeared from the kitchen, tying a white apron around her narrow waist. Elijah removed his hat, flakes of snow falling from the brim. He looked at her and couldn’t help but smile. His heart flipped as she smiled in return.

  “Welcome, Mr. Montgomery.” She walked from behind the counter. “I’m glad you’re visiting us again. I’m surprised, considering the holiday. We may not have many guests tonight.”

  That was fine by him. He wouldn’t mind a bit if only he and Milly were there, although her father might have something to say about that.

  They held each other’s gazes for a moment, and his pulse began to thrum. Sometimes he thought she might have feelings for him, especially when she looked at him with such sweetness. Then again, it was possibly an empty wish on his part.

  She clasped her hands in front of her, her eyes never leaving his. “I hope you enjoy your stay at our tavern.”

  It was her standard greeting to all their guests. He’d heard it several times during his previous visits. And as he usually did, he responded, “I will, Miss Kent. I always do.”

  Milly lowered her eyes before looking at him again, this time with enough sparkle to make his smile widen. All the thoughts and doubts of his trip west vanished.

  Chapter 2

  Can I take your coat and hat?” Milly asked, willing her hands not to tremble. He was here. She couldn’t believe it. And as he handed her his top hat and thick, black wool coat, she gazed up at him—tall, lanky, and with shock of black hair that curled over his forehead and brushed against his collar. She hadn’t seen him for months, but he hadn’t changed. Except for being even more handsome than she remembered.

  She pulled her gaze away, lest he realize she was staring. She’d been smitten with Elijah Montgomery since he first walked into the tavern almost two years ago, on his first trip west of Cleveland. She’d kept her feelings for him a secret, something she dared not change. She wouldn’t make a fool of herself or open her heart to rejection, because nothing would ever come of her attraction to him. This fine man, whose father was a prominent preacher in Buffalo, wouldn’t settle for a simple tavern girl.

  Yet he would settle for a meal. That much she knew. Despite his gangly frame, he enjoyed eating. “I suppose you’re ready for supper, Mr. Montgomery?”

  He nodded. “Yes, Miss Kent. I am famished.”

  She draped his coat over her arm. “I’ll let Father know. In the meantime, I’ll prepare your room.”

  “Don’t go to too much trouble, Miss Kent.”

  She smiled. He was so kind. “It’s no trouble at all.” Milly left the dining room and walked into the kitchen. Her father was shoving wood into the stove. He shut the small iron door, stood, and wiped his damp forehead.

  “Mr. Montgomery is here,” she said. “Along with the stage driver. I believe it’s Mr. Menough this eve.”

  Her father lifted a bushy eyebrow. “I wasn’t expecting anyone to arrive until after Christmas.” He shrugged. “I suppose Montgomery is ready to eat?”

  “Isn’t he always?” Before she could catch herself, Milly’s cheeks heated like the burning embers in the fireplace. She quickly turned her face away from her father. “I should get the gentlemen’s rooms ready.” She rushed out of the kitchen and hurried upstairs. A chill hit her as soon as she reached the top step.

  Milly opened the first door on the right, which opened to what would be Elijah’s room. She placed his hat and coat on the stand in the corner of the room, letting her fingers linger over the rough wool, still damp from the falling snow outside. Then she quickly built a fire, pulled an extra quilt out of the cedar chest at the end of the bed, and turned down one corner of the bedding. One last fluff of the pillow and she moved on to Mr. Menough’s room.

  When she finished, she went downstairs. “Milly!” her father called out from the kitchen.

  Her father was piling a plate high with slices of tender roast beef and small boiled potatoes. He placed a thick slice of bread on the side and handed the dish to Milly. “For Montgomery.”

  She grabbed a knife, fork, and cloth napkin and took them to the dining room. Elijah was sitting at a wooden table nearest to the kitchen. She put his meal in front of him. He inhaled. “Smells wonderful.”

  Milly glanced around the dining room. Her aunt was still there, along with Mr. O’Reardon, but they were ignoring each other. “Where is Mr. Menough?”

  “He said something about taking a look at the stagecoach after he settled the horses.”

  “Is there something wrong?”

  Elijah snapped the napkin open and laid it in his lap. “I don’t know. The ride wasn’t any different than it normally is. Bumpy.” He started to fold his hands but stopped to look at her. “Have you eaten?”

  The question took her off guard for a moment. “No I haven’t.”

  “Well then, would you—” He glanced away for a moment. Then his gaze met hers. “Would you mind joining me?”

  Her heart flipped. He’d never asked her to eat with him before. Surely it was only out of kindness. It was suppertime, and she did have to eat. Although she normally ate with her father in the kitchen or sometimes behind the long counter where they kept the glasses and beverages—

  “Miss Kent?”

  She gave her head a quick shake and looked at him. Then she realized that Mr. Menough hadn’t returned. Her father would never let her eat without the guests being tended to first. “Thank you for the offer, Mr. Montgomery. But I’m afraid I can’t, as I’m working right now.”

  “But surely you can break for a meal.”

  Was that disappointment she saw on his face? How odd and thrilling at the same time.

  “Milly.”

  She turned at the sound of her father’s voice. He approached the table and stretched out his hand to Elijah. “Nice to see you, Mr. Montgomery. I hope your trip from Buffalo was uneventful.”

  Elijah accepted her father’s beefy hand. “Very much so, fortunately. Albeit a little chilly.”

  “Milly, bring Mr. Montgomery a cup of coffee, will you?” Her father turned to her.

  “Yes sir.” She glanced at Elijah again before getting the coffee. When she returned, he had his head bowed in silent prayer. She waited until she heard him whisper, “Amen,” before giving him his coffee. “Do you need anything else?” she asked.

  He took a sip of the coffee. “No thank you.”

  She smiled. “Let me know if you need anything, Mr. Montgomery.” Milly moved to walk away. Suddenly, he put his hand on her forearm, stopping her. Then he jerked back. When she looked at him, his cheeks were slightly flushed.

  “Elijah,” he said. “Please, call me Elijah.”

  She gazed at him for a moment. He’d never been so informal with her before, and she didn’t mind it one bit. “Elijah.”

  His mouth tilted upward as he picked up his fork and started eating.

  Milly practically floated to the kitchen, her thoughts so filled with Elijah’s smile that she bumped into her father.

  “Milly!” Water sloshed from the bucket in his hand. “Watch where you’re going, girl.”

  “Sorry.” She walked to the counter and put a linen towel over the sliced bread in the basket.

  “Have all our guests been taken care of ?” he asked.

  “Yes,” Milly said. “Except for Mr. Menough. He’s still outside.” Her stomach rumbled. How she wished she could have joined Elijah for supper. But their guests came first.<
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  “Make sure he’s taken care of when he comes inside.” He set the bucket down. “Is Mr. Montgomery satisfied with his meal?”

  Milly walked to the swinging kitchen door and peeked outside. As he usually did when he was a guest at the tavern, he was eating his food with relish.

  “He seems to be.”

  “Good.” Her father bent over and rinsed his hands in the bucket. “He’s one of our frequent customers. I don’t want to disappoint him.”

  She took one last look at Elijah before shutting the door. Me either.

  Elijah bit into the tender roast beef. The meal, as always when he stayed here, was delicious and satisfying. But he couldn’t concentrate on the food, not when he kept glancing at the kitchen door, wishing Milly would come out.

  She seemed to grow more beautiful each time he came to Unionville Tavern. Her soft, kind voice only enhanced her loveliness. Inviting her to dine with him had been a rash decision, but he’d hoped she would have agreed. Her refusal, while not surprising, was disappointing nevertheless.

  “Ye have to try harder than that, son.” Mr. O’Reardon sat down in the chair next to him uninvited, but Elijah didn’t mind. O’Reardon always seemed to be here, even though he had a small house a few yards down the road. “I’ve noticed ye been eyeing the lass for a while now.”

  Elijah looked down at his plate. He thought to deny O’Reardon’s words, but it would be a lie. “I didn’t intend to be so obvious.”

  “Nay, you’re not.” O’Reardon gave him a sly smile. “At least not to her. But this old lad’s been around a time or two. I know a smitten look when I see one.”

  Elijah stabbed at a piece of potato with his fork. “Not that it makes a difference.”

  “Why would ye say that?”

  He looked at O’Reardon, the Irishman’s hat perched at a jaunty angle. “After today, I won’t be returning to Unionville.”

  O’Reardon frowned, stretching the craggy lines of his face. “And why not?”

  “Because.” He put down his fork. “It’s time I quit running from my responsibilities.” Elijah sighed. “My calling.”

  “I see.” O’Reardon leaned back in the chair. “Well, ye must do what ye must. But a word o’ advice, son.”

  “Yes?”

  “The heart, it has a mind of its own. Sometimes ye have to listen to what it’s tellin’ ye, instead of what yer noggin’s sayin’.”

  Elijah frowned. “What?”

  “Ye’ll know what I mean when the time comes.” He stood then clapped Elijah on the back.

  Milly appeared beside O’Reardon. She looked at Elijah’s plate. “Can I get you anything else?”

  Elijah stared at her, his heart pulsing. You, he wanted to say, but dragged the thought back into the recesses of his mind where it belonged. O’Reardon’s friendly advice changed nothing. Elijah was on a path chosen by God, one that didn’t include Milly. He could only imagine his parents’ reaction if he admitted that he’d rather stay in Unionville and court Milly—if she would allow him to—instead of preaching. They had made it perfectly clear that his focus was on God’s work and nothing else.

  “We have a few slices of apple pie left,” she said, clasping her hands in front of her, the insides of her wrists brushing against her white apron. The sturdy cloth was covered with food stains, some fresh, some faded from time and repeated washings. Milly worked hard. He’d always respected that about her.

  “Go on, lad.” O’Reardon gave him a little shove on the shoulder. “The pie is delicious.” He winked again and walked back to the table.

  “What was that about?” Milly asked, glancing at the man as he crossed the room. O’Reardon sat down and resumed reading his newspaper.

  “Nothing. He was just making conversation.”

  “I see. So, about the pie?”

  The tension released in his shoulders. At least he had the night before he was back on the road again. He might as well enjoy it. “Yes, Miss Kent. Some pie would be agreeable to me.”

  “I’ll be right back.” But she didn’t move. “As long as you promise me one thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “If you want me to call you Elijah, then you must call me Milly. It’s only fair.”

  Milly. He liked how her name rolled off his tongue. She’d been his Milly for a while now—only she never knew it. “Milly it is.”

  Chapter 3

  A few hours later, Elijah rose from bed. He stoked the fire a bit, poking at the warm coals. Other than the soft pop and hiss from the fading fire, silence surrounded him. Sleep had been elusive, as it had been for the past week. Every time he closed his eyes, he’d hear his father’s coercive voice prodding, pushing.

  Where is your obedience? Why do you disappoint the Lord with excuses, Elijah? He always equips us for His will. This fear you have is not of God, Son. It is from the evil one.

  He closed his eyes against the words, against the memory of disapproval in his mother’s eyes as his father lectured him yet again, reminding him not only of his duty but of his legacy.

  You are our only child. Our miracle that we prayed for, like Hannah prayed for Samuel. And like her, we dedicated you for God’s purpose. And you continually turn your back on Him—and on us!

  He was failing them. He knew, they knew. And by failing them, he was also failing God.

  He opened his eyes, threaded his trembling fingers through his hair, and rested his elbows on his crouched knees. They were right. He felt that failure deep inside. It pulled at his conscience, draining him. He tried to keep up the facade, at least on the outside. But he couldn’t manage it for much longer.

  Failure and cowardice. Yet innumerable prayers beseeching God to give him confidence and peace about being a circuit preacher in the western territories had gone unanswered. Instead, more turmoil churned inside him.

  Elijah stood. Paced the room until his foot hit a creaky board. He froze. Everyone else was asleep; he didn’t want to wake them, especially Mr. Menough, who was so exhausted he had barely made it up the stairs to his room.

  Elijah put on his robe and slippers and crept downstairs.

  When he reached the bottom, he saw the warm glow of firelight in the large fireplace on the opposite side of the tavern entrance. A wooden mantel protruded from the sand-colored stone surrounding the hearth. Two high-backed chairs braced the fireplace. If he couldn’t find peace, perhaps he could at least find physical warmth from the glowing coals.

  But when he rounded the staircase, he halted his steps. Someone was sitting in one of the chairs. He thought to go back upstairs again, but when he turned, another board creaked.

  Milly jumped up from the chair. She peered in the darkness. “Hello?”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

  She moved toward him, a shadowy figure outlined by flickering light from the fireplace. “Elijah?”

  Sheepish, he pressed his lips together. “Yes.”

  She hugged her slender body, her hands rubbing the arms of her night wrapper.

  “Are you cold?” He moved toward her and saw the fire was starting to die down.

  “A bit.” She didn’t return to her chair. “I was just about to add another log.”

  “Allow me.” He picked up one of the short pieces of split wood from the pile on the stone hearth and put it in the fireplace. He grabbed the poker nearby and settled the log until it had caught fire. Heat surrounded them.

  “Ah,” she said, her palms facing the fireplace. “That’s better. Thank you.”

  He nodded. “I’ll leave you to it then.” He moved to head upstairs when her sweet voice stopped him.

  “Elijah?”

  He turned and looked at her.

  “Please. Stay.”

  “Are you sure? I don’t want to intrude.”

  “You’re not.” She gestured to the opposite chair. When he sat down, she added, “I couldn’t sleep.”

  “Me either.”

  She sat down. Fingered the
ribbons on her night wrap. “I thought some time to myself by the fire might still my thoughts.”

  Elijah frowned. He hated the idea that she was troubled. “Do you want to talk about it?”

  She sighed. “You’ll think me silly.”

  “I doubt I could ever do that, Milly.”

  She smiled as she gazed at the fire. “I’m trying to figure out how to avoid my aunt. Actually, not avoid her per se but her incessant matchmaking.”

  Jealousy stabbed at him. He cleared his throat. “I can see how that would be a problem.”

  Milly glanced at him. “Are you mocking me, Elijah?”

  He shook his head. “Of course not.” He leaned forward, his forearms on his thighs. “It’s obvious you’re not happy with her attempts.” He did find that a little gratifying.

  “Definitely not. She means well…and she’s right.”

  “About what?”

  “About getting married.” Milly tilted her head as she gazed at the flickering flames. “I had just hoped…” She glanced down at her lap. “I mean I wished things could be different.”

  “In what way?”

  “That someday I could run this tavern. Take the business over from my father.”

  “It is your dream then?”

  She nodded. “Yes. Foolish, isn’t it?”

  He gazed at her. “Not at all. We all have dreams, Milly.”

  “And sometimes they come true. But not this one.” She smiled, but her lips were tight at the corners. “I have two choices. Work here for my father and hope he sells the tavern to someone who would want to keep me on. Or get married.”

  “Do you not want to marry?”

  She looked up at him but didn’t answer right away. Finally, she said, “I do.”

  Milly stared at the fire, unable to look at Elijah. She’d spoken more about her thoughts and dreams tonight than she had to anyone. She finally glanced at him. He, too, looked at the fire, the shadow of the flames casting flickering shadows on his profile. Perhaps she shouldn’t have said anything so personal. Yet speaking to him about this was so natural. And cathartic.