Anth - Mistletoe & Magic

by Mistletoe

  Kate regarded her mother patiently. "There are angels in the Bible, Mama."

  "Yes, darling."

  "And that's true, isn't it?"

  "Well, yes, sweetheart, but that's different."

  "Then there are angels," Kate concluded logically. "There is one that comes here, and she said I might sleep in the room with the flowers. And I said, Thank you very much, Emily.'"

  "Kate," Rose said, and then stopped. "Never mind. It's a great imagination you have, but angels aren't like that. They sing to shepherds and visit the Holy Mother and things like that, but they don't go about dispensing rocking chairs and wallpaper. And that's that."

  "But you said, the Lord works in mysterious ways…"

  "So I did, but that's not what I meant. Now let's get busy, and no more talk of angels, thank you."

  "Yes, Mama."

  Rose stood, rubbing her back, as Danny lumbered in from the pantry with the trunk. It looked very shabby in the clean, new-looking kitchen.

  "Leave it there, for now. Run downstairs and see if there's a little bedroom. That will be our part of the house. Then bring some coal for the fire in the parlor and dining room, and we can begin there."

  She started by throwing open the deep-red draperies, beating the dust out of them. Beneath, the fine lace curtains were so yellowed and dusty that the edges looked brown and burned, and she pulled them down from the rods. the snow was heaped almost a foot deep on the wide balustrade of the porch.

  "I'll heat water and put these in to soak. Kate, I'll give you an old towel and you dust everything that's made of wood. Mind the lamps. Danny?"

  "Right here," he said, turning the comer.

  "Get the fires going, and don't burn yourself. Then come into the kitchen, and I'll get you ready to wash windows."

  He rolled his eyes, but didn't answer back, thank goodness.

  She stopped on her way through the dining room, and her eyes went almost involuntarily to the beautiful built-in sideboard with the heavy mirror over it.

  She thought of the heavy napkin ring in the drawer, the engraving on it. "EA."

  E for Emily, perhaps?

  "Great merciful heavens, you're as flighty as Kate," she muttered to herself, and hurried to the kitchen. She found a large boiler, filled it at the pump, and began heating water while she inspected the pantry and the cold cellar.

  No beans for lunch today; they would have a feast. Fresh-baked biscuits, and strawberry preserves. She found a smoked ham, and cradled it gratefully in her arms. She would bake it for supper, the outside basted with brown sugar. There was a full can of fresh milk. She would make potato soup, with bits of clear onion floating in a cream base. On her way out, she helped herself to a tin of peaches.

  This would be a feast fit for Christmas, with a summery dessert of peaches. It was wonderful.

  She hoped Joshua Asher would like it. She wanted him to be happy, so that he wouldn't object to them staying. Maybe he would even want it to continue on after they had worked off their debt. At least until the spring thaw. She knew she had bullied him into the agreement, and that he was more than likely to think better of it. they weren't out of the woods, yet.

  But if she could just impress him…

  It startled him, to ride up the drive and see the windows of the house spilling yellow lamplight onto the snow. For a moment he paused, startled, before he remembered Rose Shanahan.

  He rarely used the front rooms. For that matter, he rarely used the house. He tended to stay in his city house, managing his sawmills and the financial end of the coal mines. He only stopped here every few months to make sure the mine was being managed properly. He'd stay for a week or two, then leave.

  He didn't like staying too long in this house, so silent and lonely since Emily had died in childbirth. For years, it had been too painful. Now, it had simply become empty.

  As soon as his horse was safely stabled for the night, he went up the kitchen steps and in the back door.

  The snow had been swept from the steps, and he took care to knock the rest off his boots before he entered the kitchen, gratefully inhaling the rich scent of food.

  And stopped short. Rose Shanahan was standing next to the stove, lifting a heavy steaming kettle in her slender arms, her dark hair coiled neatly at the base of her fragile neck, and she was looking very tidy in a deep-blue dress.

  And very pregnant.

  He wasn't sure why it stunned him so. Perhaps it was the memory of Emily, standing in the same place, in the same state. Perhaps he was just startled because he hadn't noticed Mrs. Shanahan's condition that morning. But then, she had been wearing that huge coat, and had quilts wrapped around her.

  Kate was seated at the kitchen table, drawing on her school slate, and she smiled shyly at him. The boy was nowhere in sight.

  "Mr. Asher," Rose greeted him quickly. "If you'd like to repair to the front of the house, I can serve dinner as soon as you're ready."

  "I don't 'repair' to anywhere, as a habit. I usually have my dinner right here." He tried not to look at her stomach, but it was making him mighty nervous. He was no doctor, but he was relatively certain that women didn't get much larger.

  Good God, a housekeeper was one thing, and he hadn't been altogether sure about that; but a housekeeper who could go into labor and drop dead at any moment was another thing altogether.

  He resisted the urge to rush forward and seize the heavy kettle from her hands, but waited until she set it heavily on the stove.

  "Mrs. Shanahan?" he said. "If you would be so kind as to 'repair' to the parlor, I believe we have some business to discuss."

  "Certainly."

  She followed him out of the kitchen, patting her daughter's head as she passed.

  A fire blazed in the dining room, each place at the table was set with shining silver. On the sideboard, a copy of the Seattle Ledger waited. It was last week's paper, which he had already read, but the effort was nice.

  He noted the small changes-— the silver bowl on the table filled with pine boughs and apples, the shining windows, the dust gone from the heavy dark tables.

  She had a fire in the parlor lit, too, coals glowing comfortably, warming the wine colors of the furniture and patterned carpets. It made a pretty contrast to the deep blue and white of the snowy night outside.

  "I wasn't familiar with your habits," she explained hurriedly. "If you'd prefer your paper in the parlor before dinner, and what time I should serve. We shall have to arrange that. Also, what time you eat your breakfast, and what you like, and… all that sort of thing."

  "I see." He sat in the armchair nearest the fire, and gestured for her to be seated. She sat awkwardly on the edge of the sofa, watching him warily.

  "Mrs. Shanahan." He reached in his pocket for a cigar, and twisted it uncomfortably between his fingers. Best to be blunt. "This just won't work."

  "What won't? Why?" Her face, which had been flushed from the heat of the kitchen, paled a little.

  "To start with, Mis. Shanahan, and forgive my being frank, but you are in an interesting condition, as they say."

  She didn't blush, at least.

  "Yes, sir, I am. But as you can see, that doesn't prevent my working."

  "No, no, I can see that. But you must see… well, I just can't have it. You can't be cooking and lifting and getting up at dawn to make breakfast."

  "I can do it," she said simply. "I'm used to hard work."

  "I wouldn't feel right, having you wait on me, and working for me. And, if I may be frank again?"

  She gave a quick nod.

  "You just can't be here alone in that condition. What if you were to… to…" he struggled for a delicate way to put it.

  "Begin labor," she supplied.

  "Begin labor, and there was nobody here to help you? What would you do?"

  She considered his words at length, tipping her head to one side.

  "Mr. Asher? If I may be frank?"

  He nodded.

  "The fact is," she said bluntly
, "I brought my first child into the world by myself, on the floor of a canvas tent on a ninety-degree day, outside a desert mining camp in Nevada. the only excuse for a doctor was an old medicine peddler with one leg, and he was so drunk I'm not sure he knew which end to look at. I threw him out of the tent before he had the chance to do any damage. It was dusty, dirty, utterly terrifying, and as hot as the fires of hell must burn. If that didn't kill me, nothing will."

  "Well." He had never heard a woman speak so bluntly, and it surprised him that he had blushed before she did.

  "Be that as it may, beyond that, I'm quite happy without a housekeeper. I'm set in my ways. I like dinner in the kitchen, alone, and I like to read the paper while I eat, and put my dirty boots on a chair, and scratch myself, if I choose. And I don't want to be sitting there every night waiting for you to finish the dishes, worrying about you walking home in the dark."

  "Oh. Well, as to that…" Her hands twisted the fabric of her blue skirts quickly.

  "Hadn't thought of that, had you?"

  "Yes, I had. And you see, Mr. Asher, as I understood it… That is… Mrs. Louis, when she was your housekeeper…"

  "Mrs. Louis lived here," he pointed out. "She didn't have to fret about that."

  "Exactly." She smiled that sweet, bright smile that he already distrusted. "How perfectly suitable. We shall be very comfortable here, and how kind you are to worry about us. I shall make sure that the children stay out of your way, and…"

  "Woman, what are you thinking? I don't want a housekeeper at all, much less a housekeeper with two kids and a third ready to make an appearance God knows when. No sane man would hire you, in your condition. Are you crazy?"

  Her dark eyebrows arched up at his outburst, stark against the pale white of her forehead. She appeared to consider her reply carefully, then spoke. "No, not crazy, Mr. Asher. Desperate. That's all. I'm alone, and I'm poor, and I'm desperate. What you say is true. No one would hire me in this condition. That's why I made such an effort to…"

  "Bamboozle me."

  "Secure the situation," she corrected, her voice prim.

  "T'm sorry for your situation, but it can't be helped."

  She lowered her head, and nodded. He watched her quietly, the way her dark head shone in the firelight, and the way her dark lashes made half moons over her pale cheeks. He sincerely hoped she wouldn't cry.

  She didn't. She simply drew two or three deep breaths, then smoothed her skirts over her knees. He noticed for the first time that the blue cuffs around her slender wrists were fraying.

  "Well," she said, finally lifting her head. "Some things can't be helped. May we stay for tonight, or would you like us to leave for the hotel?"

  "Oh, no need for that." He couldn't help but be impressed by her quiet dignity. A ridiculous guilt gnawed at him. "You can't leave town tonight, anyhow. I can take you to the depot myself, tomorrow."

  "Thank you. If you'll excuse me, I'll see to supper."

  He avoided watching her struggle to her feet. He had no reason to feel guilty. She was none of his business.

  Still.

  "Where will you be going?" he asked.

  "Oh." She stopped, and put her head to one side while she thought. "Someplace. Seattle, maybe. Perhaps even Olympia. I haven't decided quite yet." She gave a quick little shrug and smiled, for all the world as if she was discussing making holiday plans abroad and it didn't really matter. "If you'll excuse me now."

  Somehow, her brave nonchalance made him feel even more guilty than if she had cried.

  He ate his dinner alone in the dining room, feeling slightly ridiculous in the formal setting. From the kitchen, where the Shanahan's were eating, he could hear the sound of Rose's clear, finn voice, and the softer answers from her children. Occasionally, they laughed together, and he wondered what on earth they could find to laugh about.

  She was no whiner, he'd allow that. She had spirit enough for ten women.

  She also had a fine touch with a ham. It was a pity, really, that she couldn't stay.

  But she couldn't. Tomorrow, when that coal train chugged down into the valley, she would be on it.

  Chapter Four

  It snowed again that night; not the gentle, wafting flakes of the night before, but a fierce, driving snowstorm that toppled ancient pines, buried roads, and collapsed roofs beneath its frigid weight.

  In the morning, the little town of Black Diamond was snowbound, isolated from the rest of the world. One look outside told Rose that the coal train wouldn't be coming up through the foothills today.

  She was delighted. Dressing herself quickly in the room that had lately belonged to Mrs. Louis, she hurried to the kitchen. Outside, pink and gold light touched the snow. She quickly added more coal to the fire, put the kettle on to boil, and started coffee in the speckled pot.

  Lugging the coal, she hurried into the front of the house, stirred up the embers in the cold rooms, and started fresh blazes in the grates.

  Shivering, she pulled open the curtains, and sighed with delight at the sight of the mountain. It was breathtaking, vivid, and sharp against the early morning sky of pink and lavender and gold. Soft, light clouds blew past its shadowed peak, like fairy boats in the sky.

  Down the hill, Black Diamond was half-buried in the drifts of white, surrounded by the tall, frosted pines. the road was invisible, hidden somewhere beneath shimmering blankets of ghost white.

  From one of the rooms above, she heard stirring, and after a few minutes, she heard Joshua Asher descending the kitchen staircase. She wondered if he ever used the front one.

  He came out from the kitchen, and stared in amazement at the arctic landscape spread beneath the mountain.

  "Son of a bitch," he whispered.

  Rose laughed. "Not exactly my reaction, but yes, it's a powerful lot of snow."

  "It's an all-fired lot," he agreed, crossing the room to join her at the front window. He raked his dark hair off his forehead, his blue eyes blinking in the light.

  "Should have worn two sets of long Johns," he murmured, and then glanced at Rose. "Begging your pardon, ma'am."

  She smiled quickly, forgiving the impropriety, then went to fetch the coal bucket back to the kitchen.

  He joined her there, sniffing happily at the scent of the coffee.

  "Sit and have a cup," he urged her. "Get off your feet." He apparently thought that very pregnant women should be told to get off their feet, though he probably wasn't sure why.

  I've just gotten on them, thank you," she replied. "You're an early riser."

  "You, too. What in tarnation are you doing now?"

  "Hotcakes," she said, eyeing a scoopful of flour, and dumping it in a heavy bowl. After some thought, she added two more.

  "Rose—I mean, Mrs. Shanahan—"

  "Rose will do."

  "I told you I don't like to see a woman in your condition waiting on me. Please don't go to any fuss."

  She turned around and took a good look at him.

  He was a handsome man, no doubt about it. Younger than she had imagined. Probably in his early thirties. And kind, too. Not the aging widower that she had imagined, citified with a topcoat and bristling side whiskers. She allowed herself the brief, vain wish that she had her figure back.

  "I'm not fussing for your sake, Mr. Asher. I spied a tin of maple syrup in the pantry, and I've been awake for an hour waiting to get at it. And also, I have other selfish reasons for wanting to feed you well."

  "I'm not surprised. Dare I ask?"

  She laughed. "I want you to be so stunned by my cooking that you won't mind when you realize the train can't possibly ran today. You'll ask me to stay until the tracks are clear, and I won't have to spend my money at the hotel. Then I can eat maple syrup every day for a week, if I'm lucky."

  "Damnation." He hadn't thought of her being stuck in town. "You're probably right. I don't see any way around it, reasonably."

  Suddenly, it seemed like the right thing to do. Hell, it was pleasant to have someone to tal
k to in the quiet morning hours, and to drink coffee without grounds floating on top, and to hear laughter in the huge emptiness of the house.

  The tranquility of the moment was shattered by a clatter on the staircase, and her children came rushing up from downstairs, their faces eager at the sight of the snow outside the windows.

  "Enough noise!" Rose exclaimed. "And you may as well go to school today, so get your books. Mind your manners; say good morning to Mr. Asher, who has been kind enough to let us stay until the train can pass."

  Danny offered him a perfunctory "good morning" that lacked enthusiasm of any sort, but the little girl smiled brilliantly, revealing a missing tooth.

  "How long will that be?" she asked.

  Her bright-eyed look of adoration made him uncomfortable. "Well, that depends."

  "'Till Christmas?" she persisted. Her face shone beneath her mussed hair, and the hope in her eyes was too keen to shoot down.

  "Till the end of the month," he said, and then wondered what in the devil had possessed him.

  The child clapped her hands with delight, and Rose's shoulders drooped with relief.

  He stood, taking his cup of coffee, suddenly uncomfortable with his role of benefactor. "But I expect you two to keep the noise down, and behave. And you, young man"—he turned to Danny—"I expect you to get up and start the fires in the morning. That's no work for your mother. You're old enough to be helpful to her."

  "Yes, sir."

  Kate was whispering in her mother's ear, and Rose nodded. "Run down to our room, and take my shawl. Hurry."The child disappeared down the hall, came back up wrapped in her mother's shawl, and rushed out the back door.

  Ash watched her out the back window, plowing a trail to the outhouse, chattering away to nobody he could see. Odd creatures, little girls.

  A thought occurred to him.

  "Are you all down in Mrs. Louis's old room? All three of you?" he asked.

  Rose nodded, smiling absently as she watched her daughter out the window.

  "Well, that won't do. May as well make yourselves comfortable. There's a room upstairs that will do for you and the little one. End of the hall. Flowery paper on the walls."