Love Inspired Historical November 2017 Box Set

by Karen Kirst

  She stood and slid a foot forward slowly, tentatively. Nice and slippery. No wonder the children could zip about with such ease. She’d have to be careful or she could take a tumble just as Pauline had that December day so long ago. She removed her coat and hat, leaving them, her gloves and her reticule filled with the notes she’d taken at Mr. Price’s office on the bench, and set off across the floor with a gentle swaying motion.

  The years melted away, and she was back in the ballroom with Pauline. Lavinia could almost smell the invigorating scent of the fir tree that the servants had set up in anticipation of her father’s first Christmas party, although they had yet to do the decorating. It was ’42, the year she’d turned ten. When he’d heard about Queen Victoria and Prince Albert setting up a tree for their family the year before, her father had planned to embrace the new custom, which he’d done in his usual grand style, importing ornaments from Germany for the occasion.

  Lavinia and Pauline had slipped away from their governess, eager to see the tree. No sooner were they in the ballroom than Pauline peeled off her boots and began skating. At her sister’s urging, Lavinia had enjoyed a gleeful few minutes slipping and sliding and spinning over the floor.

  Shoving her memories aside, she turned, began sliding backward and prepared for a jump. She lifted off, arms flung wide and hit something solid. Henry. He managed to remain standing, but she ended up seated on the floor, her stocking feet clearly visible beneath her splayed skirts, a most unladylike pose.

  Henry was on his knees beside her in an instant. “Are you all right?”

  She was mortified but uninjured. “I’m fine.”

  “I’m glad to hear it.” He straightened, offered her a hand and helped her to her feet, sending a rush of warmth surging through her. “I didn’t expect you to fall all over yourself in your attempt to best me.”

  She stood there, staring up at him. When he smiled like that, with merriment dancing in his bright blue eyes, she had a hard time forming coherent thoughts. She pulled her hand free and said the first thing that came to her mind. “I didn’t expect you to be there.”

  The irritating man grinned. “I have a knack of showing up when you least expect it, don’t I?”

  Indeed. “I think I’ll focus on going forward.” And avoiding any more confusing collisions with Henry that caused her traitorous heart to race.

  Not that she was smitten. He was just being nice. There was nothing between them—and never could be.

  * * *

  Nine years had passed since Henry had bent over a forge and made his living as a blacksmith. Standing at Jack’s the following day with hammer in hand while awaiting another possible buyer sent a flood of memories rushing though Henry’s mind.

  He’d spent his first months in Sutter Creek working on the railings and fence for Jack and Pauline’s house, receiving room and board in exchange. Since Jack had used the forge by day, Henry had worked at night. He’d learned to sleep during the daylight hours, despite the many noises that came with having a baby in the house. Thankfully, Alex hadn’t cried as much as Marcie. She’d made her presence known from the start.

  How quickly the children had grown up. Dot would be heading off to school before he knew it. Until then, he could use the money from the sale of the smithy to cover the household expenses. The loss of Jack and Pauline had driven home the fact that life was fleeting. He intended to spend as much time as possible with the children. Once they were all in school, he could figure out what his next venture would be.

  As hard as it would be to part with the business Jack had poured ten years of his life into, the last thing Henry wanted was to take up the trade again. He was a good smith, but he’d spent more than enough time dealing with the stifling heat, sore muscles and deeply embedded grime. He set down the hammer, held out his hands and flipped them over. They were no longer stained, and he wanted to keep them that way.

  He’d offered a hand to help Lavinia get back on her feet after she’d taken that tumble during their skating adventure, and she hadn’t hesitated to take it. She’d kept hers in his for several seconds while she gazed at him with admiration. At least, that’s what he liked to think. It was more likely that she’d just been embarrassed or flustered.

  The possibility of Lavinia Crowne being attracted to him was laughable. He wasn’t in her social class. She’d probably end up choosing one of the suitable men her father picked out for her, like that Stuart Worthington fellow, and be content with a companionable marriage, but she deserved so much more. She deserved a man who saw her for the loving, caring, generous woman she was, not one who was eager to increase his bank account by becoming the heir to the Crowne hotel empire. A man who would respect her, cherish her and challenge her to be the woman God made her to be, free of constraints.

  For the first time in his life, Henry wished he had more to offer.

  Lord, help me be content with what I have and not pine after what is out of reach.

  He pulled out his pocket watch and checked the time. Five after nine. The potential buyer should have been there by now. What was keeping him?

  Ten more minutes passed before the door creaked open. Finally. He’d begun to wonder if Mr. Dealy had changed his mind.

  “I’m sorry I’m late, Mr. Hawthorn. Old Gus over at the barbershop was moving his jaw faster than his scissors.”

  Henry chuckled. “He does like to talk. Are you ready to look around?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Because of Dealy’s barrage of questions, the tour took the better part of an hour. The muscular young man, who was all of twenty years old, had a good grasp of the trade and all it entailed. Not having owned a shop of his own before, though, he was understandably curious about the business aspects, which Henry appreciated. He took his time explaining all that went into running a successful smithy.

  At length, Dealy seemed satisfied. He leaned back against the forge that hadn’t been fired up since Jack was alive and folded his arms. “I want the place.”

  “Good. And we’re agreed on the price?”

  Dealy drummed the fingers of one hand against his biceps and stared at Henry, unblinking. “It’s fine.”

  “When would you like to complete the transaction?”

  The drumming of the young man’s fingers grew faster. He was as nervous as a hen on a hot griddle, as Henry’s mother used to say. “I’d hoped to take ownership by the end of the year.”

  “Sounds good to me. We could have a lawyer draw up the papers this afternoon if you’d like.”

  “We can’t.” Dealy’s frenzied movement ceased. “I wanted to buy the place right away, but… I don’t have the money.”

  “I thought you were going to get half the proceeds from the sale of your claim.”

  The young man scowled. “So did I, but my partner up and left town. He took my share of the profits with him, the scoundrel. We’d done real good. I would have been able to pay for the smithy and have some left over.”

  “That’s terrible. Do you have any idea where he went?”

  “None. He done slunk off in the middle of the night, leaving me with next to nothing.” He grabbed the hammer Henry had held earlier and brought it down on the anvil, tapping out a forceful rhythm.

  “Mr. Dealy!”

  He stopped and looked from the anvil to Henry, his eyes wide. Dealy set down the hammer and tugged at his collar. “Sorry. I don’t know what came over me.”

  His anger was understandable. “Did you report the crime?”

  “Sure did, but the sheriff don’t hold out much hope of finding the two-faced fraud, so I won’t be able to buy the smithy after all. Unless…” Dealy rubbed the back of his neck.

  “Yes?”

  “I could buy the shop if you was willing to hold the note yourself and let me give you a percentage of the profits each month. I’m a real
hard worker. If I bunked in the back room to keep my expenses low, I reckon I could own the shop free and clear in a few years’ time.”

  Earnestness shone from the young man’s eyes, reminding Henry of the day eight years ago when he’d stood in front of a seasoned carpenter and asked if he’d be willing to take on a partner. To Henry’s surprise, the man had accepted his offer, enabling him to boost his savings and buy his hotel three years later.

  “Here’s what I propose, Mr. Dealy. Fire up the forge and show me what you can do. If I’m satisfied with your work, you’ll be the new blacksmith in town.”

  The young man grinned. “Thank you, sir. I won’t let you down.”

  That remained to be seen, but Henry had a hunch the young fellow would prove himself worthy.

  An hour and a set of expertly crafted horseshoes later, Henry had his answer.

  “You’ve proven yourself, Mr. Dealy. The shop will be yours as soon as we can get the sale recorded.” He extended his hand, which the young man shook with vigor.

  “Thank you, Mr. Hawthorn. You won’t be sorry.”

  He hoped that proved to be the case.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  “Angels from the realms of glory, wing your flight o’er all the earth.” Dot walked around the settee, clutching the rag doll Pauline had made her and singing the words over and over. Loudly.

  Henry leaned against his brother’s rolltop desk in the corner of the parlor where Lavinia had been camped out ever since supper, making plans for her party. She seemed oblivious to Dot’s ear-splitting rendition of the carol, which their youngest niece had heard her siblings practicing for their upcoming school concert. Unfortunately, she’d only learned the first two lines.

  Alex and Marcie had escaped upstairs, where they were rehearsing their parts for the play the children would be performing at the Christmas Eve service. Alex, a shepherd, had three lines. Marcie, an angel, had one, but no line in the entire play would be as well-rehearsed, Henry was sure of it.

  He stooped and spoke into Lavinia’s ear. “How can you concentrate?”

  She looked up, putting her so close to him that he could see gold flecks in the dark brown of her eyes. “I’ve heard her sing those words so many times the past couple of days that I don’t really notice them anymore.”

  He’d been busy finalizing the sale of the smithy with Dealy and helping him get settled in. Because of that, he’d only been around at mealtimes, so he’d been spared the constant barrage. “Why haven’t you asked her to stop?”

  “I did, but she has a good reason for singing. Once I heard it, I didn’t have the heart to silence her.” Lavinia tapped the end of the pen against her lower lip. “I’d like to get these lists finished, but perhaps you could distract her by asking her why she’s singing that particular song. Would you do that, please?”

  “Very well.” If he wanted to hear himself think, he had no choice.

  He stepped into Dot’s path. “Dimples!”

  She swerved to miss him and kept marching and singing.

  “So, you think you can avoid me, do you?” He laughed. “Well, you’d better watch out because I have long legs.”

  She increased her speed. He slowed his, waited for the right moment and spun around and scooped her up. “I got you!”

  Instead of giggling as she normally would have, she glared at him. “Put me down, Uncle Henry. I have to sing.”

  He sat in Jack’s favorite armchair with Dot in his lap. “Why is that?”

  “Because.” She clutched her doll to her chest and jutted out her chin.

  “Because why?”

  A tear trickled down Dot’s cheek. “Because Mama and Papa are up in heaven where the angels are, and I’m down here. I have to sing loud so they can hear.”

  He thumbed away the tear. “They do hear singing.”

  “They do?”

  “Let me show you.” Henry reached for his brother’s well-worn leather Bible on the side table and flipped through Isaiah. He located the verse in chapter forty-nine that he’d read many times since receiving the news about the tragic accident. “It says here, ‘Sing, O heavens; and be joyful, O earth; and break forth into singing, O mountains; for the LORD hath comforted His people, and will have mercy upon His afflicted.’”

  “What does that mean?”

  “That there is singing in heaven and here on earth. It also tells us that God will comfort and care for those who are sad.”

  Two more tears spilled over. “I’m sad. Are you sad, too, Uncle Henry?”

  His chest tightened as it did whenever he thought about their loss. “I am.”

  She caressed his cheeks with her tiny hands. “I miss Mama and Papa, but God gave you to us. That makes my heart happy.”

  He returned the Bible to the table and pulled her to his chest, his throat too thick to attempt a response, and placed a kiss on top of her head. They sat there a good minute before he trusted himself to speak.

  “God brought your aunt all the way from Philadelphia, too. If you ask her nicely, she might help me teach you the rest of the words to that song.” Lavinia could use a break from her party planning, even if she couldn’t see that. Besides, he’d missed her company.

  Dot perked up. “Will you help, Aunt Livy?”

  “I will, but could you wait a few minutes, please? I’m almost done here.”

  Dot’s shoulders drooped. “You’re always working.” She turned to Henry. “Can you teach me?”

  He could, and he would. Perhaps when Lavinia saw the fun they were having, she’d be enticed to join them. “Sure. Why don’t you run upstairs and see if Alex and Marcie want to join us? Tell them we’ll be singing some of the carols from their concert.”

  “Goody! This will be just like when Mama was here. She played the piano for us all the time.” Dot hopped out of his lap and dashed from the room.

  With her gone, it was so quiet in the parlor that Henry could hear the scratch of Lavinia’s pen as she worked on her lists. He rose, stood behind her at the desk and rested a hand on her shoulder. “How are things coming?”

  She tensed, not relaxing until he removed his hand. Was it his friendly gesture or the interruption that had stiffened her shoulders? “I’m having a hard time concentrating, so everything’s taking longer than I expected.”

  Definitely the interruption and not his touch. Good. “Pauline used to say that becoming a mother had taught her the meaning of the word flexibility.”

  Lavinia placed her pen on its stand and looked up. “My sister balked at rules and conventions. She didn’t make plans because she didn’t want to be bound by them.”

  “You said her adventurous nature was one of the things you admired most about her.”

  “I did. She broke free, but I was left behind to—never mind. It doesn’t matter.” Lavinia exhaled an audible breath and picked up the pen.

  Clearly, it mattered a great deal. “What was it like after she was gone?”

  “Different.” She dipped the pen in the ink bottle and proceeded to add another item to her list.

  If she didn’t want to talk about it, he wouldn’t force her. But perhaps he could show her how much fun she could have if she embraced life’s unexpected pleasures.

  He sat at the piano, lifted the fallboard to reveal the keys and launched into one of his favorite carols, “God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen.” The words and music chased away the melancholy of the past few days. Disposing of Jack’s business had dredged up memories of good times spent there with his brother and intensified the pain of Henry’s loss.

  Lavinia’s chair scraped on the floorboards. She headed his way, stood beside the piano and watched him. Her blank expression gave no indication what she was thinking, but her folded arms told him she wasn’t happy.

  He finished the stanza and stopp
ed. “Are you taking a break after all?”

  “You didn’t tell me you play.” Her clipped words sounded like an accusation.

  “It didn’t come up.”

  “We talked about music. For the party. Don’t you remember?”

  Of course he did.

  “You could have told me then.”

  “I saw no reason to. It’s not like you’d want me to play at your party. I’m not that good.”

  She gave a dry laugh. “How can you say that? I just heard you play. You’re as accomplished as I am, or more so.”

  Really? He found that hard to believe. She’d probably received lessons from some of the finest instructors in Philadelphia. “You’re too kind.”

  “When did you learn to play?”

  “One of the miners who took a room in my hotel was an accomplished musician back east before he contracted Gold Fever and headed west. I offered to discount his rent if he could make a pianist out of me. He was a patient fellow and didn’t give up on me and these clumsy workman’s fingers.” He wiggled them.

  “How resourceful. I’d never think of bartering like that, but you did it to get those cooking lessons, too.”

  She wouldn’t have had to resort to bartering, not with all the money at her disposal. To better himself, he’d done whatever he could to acquire new skills, including granting a few favors or exchanging labor for lessons. “I’ve found most people are more than willing to help me out.”

  “That must be nice.” She heaved a wistful sigh. “I’ve had numerous people attempt to take advantage of me just as Mr. Benedict’s done.”

  So she was bothered by the greedy building owner’s tactics after all. “I’m sorry he did that.”

  “I’m used to it. It’s one of the disadvantages of being Paul Crowne’s daughter—and a woman. I should have asked you to negotiate for me.” She picked up a porcelain bird from the top of the piano and studied it.