That reminded him of his gift for Nelle. He’d noticed that she kept a few pieces of special jewelry in a velvet bag, so he’d asked his friend who did wood carving to make her a small jewelry box to hold the rings and necklaces she’d brought from home. He’d picked it up the day he’d brought her home from Doc’s and hidden it in his room. It had an angel carved on the lid and was lined with green velvet which he’d learned was Nelle’s favorite color.
A smile quirked the corner of his mouth. If Nelle really became his wife, then the girls could move back downstairs into the room he now used. They’d fix it up all nice and pretty for them. Those happy thoughts stayed with him as he finished up the morning chores.
+++
Nelle had never been so content in all her life, not even when Mama had been alive. This house wasn’t near as grand as her home in Maine, but this one she shared with people she loved with all her heart.
In the few months she’d been here, she’d worked harder than she ever had back home. Some nights the tiredness seeped into her bones and sent her into a deep sleep. Now, the routine had become easier as she grew accustomed to how things worked. What had been a drudge at first had become her joy in the mornings. God had been so good.
She sensed Riley watching her, but she kept at her task and didn’t acknowledge him. Being in the house alone sent ideas into her head that she was ready to admit, but was Riley?
Last night she’d dreamed of him holding her in his arms and covering her face with kisses. Her body warmed with the visions invading her dreams. How she longed for them to come true. What if she said something now? Would they have what she’d only dreamed about?
The slamming of a door doused the flames of those thoughts. He didn’t want to be in the same house with her. A tear trickled down her cheek. Maybe her idea of a Christmas gift wasn’t such a good one after all. He’d been so tender in the doctor’s office and so loving that she imagined all sorts of things with him as his wife. Lord, please give me patience.
The rest of the morning Nelle spent mending and reading. Finally the girls returned and noise and laughter once again filled the rooms. The girls scrambled up the ladder to their loft and their giggles wafted down to the kitchen where Nelle set the table for supper. Riley had stayed outside all day, coming in only to grab something to eat before going to get Elizabeth and Katie at the Lehman’s.
Since they had no real church or preacher, there would be no special Christmas program or Christmas Eve candlelight service. If Jake did become their preacher, and they built a real church, maybe they could start having a Christmas Eve service then. That was in the future, and this was now.
Davey gurgled and babbled in the same chair the girls had used when they were babies. Miranda’s father had made it special for them, and it allowed Davey to sit closer to them at the table. He banged with a spoon on the tray built onto the front and giggled when she tickled him under the chin. She handed him a soda cracker and he grinned, his new teeth shining bright.
Anticipation for the night and morning ahead put a spring into her step and even caused her to all but forget the nagging pain in her head. The doc had said it would go away as the gash healed more, but for now, she could bear it.
+++
Christmas Eve had been a wonderful day. Riley had accomplished much out in the barn with repairs that needed to be done. He’d managed to avoid being alone with Nelle all day. He wanted the setting and time to be exactly right before he declared his love for her.
After supper they’d gathered around the fire to read the Christmas story. As Riley read, he glanced up to see her face glowing with happiness. One thing he noticed now that hadn’t really caught his attention before. Nelle and Elizabeth had nearly the same color hair, and with it hanging down their backs in one long braid now, they could very well be mother and daughter. The thought shook him to the core, and he stumbled over words that were as familiar to him as his own name.
After the reading, they sat in the firelight until Davey fell asleep in Nelle’s arms. The scene before him was the most perfect in a long time. Nelle rocked Davey, Elizabeth sat on the floor beside the rocker, her hand on Nelle’s arm. Katie sat and leaned against Nelle’s knee, her little head bobbing with drowsiness as the chair moved back and forth.
This was his Christmas Angel, his Christmas blessing. God had sent her into their lives and she had wrapped them with her love. Now was the time to let her know.
He reached down and picked up Katie. “I’ll take the girls up to bed. Put Davey to bed, too, but then wait here for me. I have something to say.”
+++
Nelle’s heart squeezed with love, fear, and a little doubt. What did he mean? Was she too much trouble? No, he didn’t look at her as though he wanted to get rid of her.
She held Davey close and hurried to his crib. If he went to bed without waking, there would be time to change into her special gown. Soon as he hit his little mattress, his thumb went into his mouth and he was down for the night.
Nelle shed her skirt and shirtwaist. Flinging her undergarments aside with one hand, she reached for the gown with the other. She pulled it down over her head and smoothed the fabric down over her body. Her face flushed with heat at the thought of what she was going to do as she buttoned the cuffs of the sleeves and tied the bow at the neck. This was either going to be the best night of her life or the worst.
She hurried back to the parlor and the rocking chair. With the lacy shawl wrapped around her shoulders, she waited.
Riley entered the room and stood before her. He took her hands into his and knelt down. “Nelle, you have made such a difference in our lives. You filled this house with a love I thought was gone forever. I had doubts when you first came, but you’ve proven you can take care of us better than I ever imagined. I said I’d wait until you were ready before we actually became man and wife. I’m ready now. Are you?”
Nelle eased her hands from his, her heart pounding in her chest. The words she’d been waiting to hear ringing in her ears as sweet as any church bells. With his face now cupped between her hands, she bent low and whispered, “This is your Christmas present. Me.” She leaned in and kissed him.
His arms went around her as their kiss deepened. He pulled back, stood and gathered her up into his arms. He kissed her again as they entered her bedroom. He kicked the door closed behind him. “I’ve been waiting to close that door and be on this side of it. Merry Christmas, Mrs. Thornton.”
“Merry Christmas to you, too, Mr. Thornton.”
The End
Mistletoe Mistake
By Lynette Sowell
Chapter 1
With every mile between Sophia Webster and Merville, Maine, the pain in her heart over selling her beloved piano lessened. Lord knew it was only a material thing of this earth, but her Ezekiel had bought it for her as a wedding gift. The last thing she owned that his family hadn't taken away from her.
As she and her fellow travelers rode along in a series of wagons from the train station, she took in her surroundings. The air, chilly even for her, bespoke winter to come. She wondered what winter would be like in Wyoming, compared to Maine.
Oh, Lord, have I done the right thing? How did I allow Becky to carry me along with her in this plan?
Sophia knew she wasn't long in the tooth, by any means, but marriage to Ezekiel Webster for twenty-three years had produced no children. She realized a while back, if she'd borne a child to her late husband, he or she wouldn't be much younger than Miss Becky Patterson.
The idea made her feel old, even as she straightened her spine where she sat on the wagon seat. The younger ladies had deferred letting her ride on the seat while they jostled in the rear of the wagon. Truthfully, she didn't mind having a place with a semblance of a cushion as they all bumped along for these last miles to Angel Vale.
What a lovely name. She hoped the place was just as lovely, but she harbored no hope of that.
Matthew Thomas' letter painted no pretty picture of the ti
ny settlement in the western wilds.
“It is my hope that we can build a Godly community here and put down roots in which future generations can call home,” he had written in his letter.
The letter was in her satchel. She'd read and re-read it countless times while praying and deciding whether or not to put some of her remaining resources into this journey.
“I am in want of a wife who is mature, temperate, sensible, hardworking, with good humor, and carries herself like a lady. I am partial to titian hair but it is not a requirement.”
The use of the word “titian” made her smile. No, she did not meet that requirement, but her dark brown hair when seen in the sunlight did have the slightest undertone of chestnut. So, while it wasn't quite titian, perhaps Mr. Thomas would find it appealing.
Not that whether her hair color appealed to Mr. Thomas mattered to her in the least. Being a mail-order bride, she had no dreams of finding love. Finding companionship, perhaps. A measure of security, perhaps. A place where not everyone knew her sad tale and had no reminders of the life she'd led for more than two decades, no standing in judgment by the Websters, who gave her silent reminders of where she'd fallen short as a wife. She had no hope of children, had likely passed the point where she dreamed of hearing merry little voices echoing in every corner of the home.
The only niggle of worry inside her was Mr. Thomas had never responded to her letter of introduction. She'd thought and prayed as she'd written it, telling him she was interested in meeting him upon her arrival to Angel Vale.
“I am forty-two years of age, widowed one year and three months, and have no children. There are no prospects for me here in Maine and I seek the will of God for myself in Wyoming. I am a former schoolteacher, having left that pursuit upon my marriage when I was much younger. I am not only interested in the possibility of becoming your helpmate, but also working beside you in the newspaper venture. My English grammar proficiency, both written and spoken, is impeccable and I have a naturally inquisitive mind.”
She hoped her age didn't rule her out, but with Mr. Thomas being her age, she could not tell from the tone of his letter about his desire to raise a family. If he hoped for children, she did not know if that would be a possibility. The idea of close physical contact with a man other than Ezekiel Webster caused her cheeks to flame hotter.
“We're almost there. I can see some buildings,” one of the women called out, an excited voice rising above the women's chatter.
And so they were.
One of the men driving the wagon murmured something about Matt Thomas's printing press being a larger and heavier item to transport than they had planned.
It seemed that Sophia's arrival along with that of the press were more than coincidental. But she did not seek God for signs. She had expected to grow old with Ezekiel. She did not expect to cross nearly the entire continent to meet and possibly marry a stranger.
She glanced toward Becky, her younger friend. She fairly glowed. She had high hopes for meeting her Jake and seeing what the future held for them.
Sophia allowed herself to smile at the expression on Becky's face. Ah, such anticipation was for the younger ones, not tempered by time and experience. Some of them, she knew, held darker secrets and this journey could only mean better things for them. Or so they hoped and prayed.
A verse came to her mind, the passage in the book of Lamentations that had helped buoy her spirits during many dark days.
It is of the Lord's mercies that we are not consumed, because his compassions fail not. They are new every morning: great is thy faithfulness. The Lord is my portion, saith my soul; therefore will I hope in him.
The days seemed brighter since she had written the letter to Matthew Thomas. She had to believe they would get brighter still, now that she had arrived in Angel Vale.
#
“Matt, you act like you're more excited about that press arriving than you are about your lady.” Jake, his fellow mastermind of the mail-order brides project, gave him a not-so-gentle nudge. They, along with the other men expecting brides from back East, waited on the street was the caravan of wagons drew closer to the mercantile.
“No. Not quite. Or maybe.” Matt shrugged. “I know what I'm getting with the printing press.” He had received a letter from Mrs. Sophia Webster, along with her tintype. She had a look of maturity about her, yet not age. If going by the tintype alone, he would have guessed her age to be around thirty years, instead of her a few years over forty.
His face hurt from the fresh shave, and he rubbed his chin. He reminded himself the venture was to make some money and get this town established.
Originally. But then he'd found himself sending a letter along with the others in a packet to Merville, Maine. He didn't know if anyone would respond to him. He had good prospects, but better than that, he had vision. Angel Vale would be a thriving community one day, he hoped, due to his and Jake's efforts. This mail-order “angels” venture was about more than him finding a woman. Part of him, though, wasn't quite sure he needed a bride after all.
But, here they were and one of the women who rode the wagon was coming for him. He had read her letter, then responded with another of his own. He had sent an explanation that while he hoped she would come to Angel Vale, it might be wise for her to try things out before making her final decision. That, and she could always stay in Maine because he wasn't quite sure of marriage himself. She'd never written back, so he supposed she decided to jump into the adventure ahead of her in Wyoming—with or without marriage.
Matt immediately recognized Sophia. She stepped from the wagon as if she were an arriving dignitary assessing her surroundings. He straightened his shoulders as her gaze fell upon him. He whipped his hat from his head. She definitely had the schoolmarm look about her, even though she'd written those days were long behind her.
Her dark eyes the shade of walnuts narrowed briefly as she took in the sight of him, and her lips curved into a slight smile. She gave him a nod.
Oh, boy. If he'd been her student when he was a whippersnapper, he'd have been in trouble just so he could sit in the corner closer to her desk. None of his teachers had ever looked like Mrs. Sophia Webster.
She was saying something, making an announcement, her voice strong and clear enough for all to hear. Not harsh or shrill, or deep. Ah, she was introducing the lot of them. He ignored that and studied one wagon which bore not brides, but a pile of trunks and boxes and a larger, blanket-covered lump that should be his press.
He left Jake beaming like a kid looking at freshly baked cookie, and headed for the press. This would replace the aging press he'd picked up from a fellow in Denver. This one could produce more copies, more often, and more quickly. The Courier might not have a large circulation now, but a man had to think and plan ahead.
Sophia had expressed an interest in helping him at the newspaper. Perhaps she could work in the office, while he walked the town, looking for stories and talking to people. If he had someone at the office, she could take notes. By her letter, she seemed sensible enough and he could likely teach her how to set the type. But about marriage. . .he swallowed hard.
“Mr. Thomas?” A tug on his elbow. He glanced down to see a gloved hand, small but strong.
“Mrs. Webster.” He turned to face her. He replaced his hat, remembered in time, then removed it again. But not before he bopped Sophia Webster square on the nose with the brim.
“Oh!” She clutched her nose, cutting off her exclamation into a muffle.
“I apologize, ma'am.”
“I'm quite all right.”
This wasn't how he intended to formally meet Sophia Webster. The others milled about the wagons, speaking with their respective brides. Or, possible brides. He for one hadn't exactly proposed to Sophia, and she hadn't spoken of a wedding or how soon to marry. Which, she wouldn't, he assumed.
What a mess. He'd been tongue-tied when it came to the fairer sex, another reason he'd likely never gotten hitched all these years. That, an
d he didn't cotton to someone fussing over his clothing and choice of a meal and such.
But now, looking into those dark brown eyes that sparkled with a few tears he'd caused, he couldn't say what was going through his jumbled head despite his reservations but a few moments ago.
“Here, I can step over to the barber to get a cloth.”
Sophia took a step back, still holding her nose. No blood. That was a good sign. “No, please, Mr. Thomas, that is not necessary. I'm certain I require no medical attention.”
“Well, ah.” He glanced at the press, still covered in a thick blanket. “I suppose we should gather your belongings, and I'll show you to the ladies' accommodations.”
“I suppose so.” She set her lips into a firm line. “It's been a long journey, and I know the others must be tired as well. Shall we. . .”
She paused, staring at the wagon.
“Shall we. . .?” He didn't quite know the reason for her silence.
“You do eat supper?” She appeared to assess his frame.
“Every day, sometimes twice if I'm real hungry.” He had to be ornery, if for the sole reason to make her smile after he bopped her on the nose.
“Very well, I would be concerned if you didn't. I am a passable cook.” Sophia then studied the wagon. “Shall we get the wagons unloaded?”
“Yes, we shall.” He waved to the driver. “Let's get the trunks to the mill house, then see about my press.”
Sophia stood beside him, her hands clasped in front of her. “What time, and where, shall we meet for supper? We do have some things to talk about.”
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