The 12 Brides of Christmas Collection

by Mary Connealy

  “We’re eating at your house?” Alma pivoted to look at him.

  “That’s what I said. The girls helped me set the table, even made some decorations, though I told them it’s not a holiday.”

  “Nothing wrong with expressing creativity. It will be fun to see what they’ve come up with. Did they collect things from inside or outside?”

  “You’ll have to wait and see. They like you—the girls.”

  “I like them, too.” She rubbed her hands together.

  “Are you cold? I have a blanket if you need it.” He reached behind her, brought it over the carriage seat, and handed it to her.

  Alma covered her lap and stuck her hands underneath. “Thank you. I should have brought my muff, but I didn’t want to give in to it being winter yet. I dread its full-blown arrival.”

  “There, I’ve learned something about you. Winter is not your favorite season.”

  “I didn’t say that. I love snow and ice skating, but the season lasts too long.”

  “I can never decide. In the heat of summer, I long for the cold. When it comes, I get tired of splitting wood and I want it to be July.” He pulled up in front of the house, stopped the horse, and helped her out of the carriage.

  Pete stepped out the door. “I’ll take care of Dolly and get her in the barn. Those girls are wound tighter than a top. It’ll be a rest to brush down the horse.”

  Inside, the girls wrapped their arms around Alma’s waist.

  “You came!” Frances said.

  “Of course she did. Papa said she would,” Elisbet said. “May I take your cloak, Miss Pickens?”

  “Yes, you may. Thank you.” Alma slid it from her shoulders and folded it in half before handing it to Elisbet. “There, maybe it won’t be quite so hard to carry now.”

  His girls made him proud. “Thank you, Elisbet.”

  Elisbet buried her nose in the fabric and came up smiling. “You smell good, like cookies.”

  “And she has the most beautiful dress.” Frances stroked the fabric. “Blue is my favorite color.”

  “Thank you.” Alma’s face flushed cranberry red.

  Frances snuggled her hand into Alma’s and tugged her toward the kitchen. “Come see the table.”

  Alma looked back at Roy. Was she trying to arch her eyebrow? He couldn’t help but grin at her. He figured she didn’t know how much his daughters craved a woman’s attention. “I’ll be right behind you.” A place he didn’t mind being, because his daughter was right. Alma smelled good.

  Dinner went well. Alma exclaimed over the girls’ efforts to make the kitchen “festive,” as she called it. He hadn’t seen Elisbet’s face hold so much joy in months.

  “Thank you for tucking them in while I checked on the calf.”

  “It was fun. I haven’t read that princess book in years.”

  “I can’t say the same. It’s the same book, or a variation, every night. Think you’ll be able to stand that after we’re married?” He stood in the parlor. Should he sit next to her on the sofa or in the chair across from her? They’d sat together in the carriage, but that didn’t count. Still, it was intimate sitting with a woman without a chaperone. Maybe he’d poke the fire again. “You mentioned a list?”

  “I brought it with me.” She slid her hand into her dress pocket and pulled out a folded paper. She did that little thing with her eyebrow that was a slight imitation of her father’s. On Alma it was downright cute. “You won’t toss it in the fire?”

  “Maybe after I read it.”

  “Then sit next to me and I’ll read it to you. That will eliminate the chance of its being destroyed.” She patted the sofa. “The fire is fine. It’s rather warm in here.”

  Was she bossy? Or practical? Janie never told him what to do. They’d married young, and she thought he could do anything. It had scared him to have someone think he was that capable. He’d let her down in the end. Maybe it would be better to have a wife with her own opinions, used to doing for herself. It would be harder to disappoint her.

  He sat by her but not close enough to touch. “Let’s hear the demands.”

  Alma unfolded the paper and held it up. “Isn’t it pretty?”

  The paper was bordered with tiny birds and flowers. Were those real pieces of ribbons glued to it? Roy nodded.

  “I like to paint. I’m learning more about it, and I’ve been saving for the Oil Painting Outfit Complete with twenty-five colors of paint so I can increase my skills.”

  Her eyes were wide open and not at all showing any fear that he might disapprove. Not that he would. She’d find out soon enough how little time there would be to paint. “It’s good to have something you love to do.”

  “I do love it. That’s why it’s on my list.”

  “Painting?”

  “Yes, I want to paint the furniture.”

  Janie had picked out the furniture he hadn’t made for them. “What’s wrong with—” Alma dropped her gaze to the floor. He hadn’t meant to hurt her, but those were changes he couldn’t allow. He’d discuss it with her later. Surely she would understand when he explained what the pieces meant to him. “What else is on that list?”

  “First, I want a real wedding at the church, and after it, I want to have cake and punch for our friends. I can make my own wedding dress. Elisbet and Frances should have new ones, too, and shoes, maybe hair ribbons to match.”

  Roy grasped the paper and slipped it from her hand. “Let me read this.” She wanted him to bring her flowers. Where did the woman think he was going to find flowers in November in Illinois? Did she think he had special growing powers that could make them bloom in the middle of winter? It became clear to him there might be a reason she hadn’t married. He continued reading. Spend time together every day and … “Exchange special gifts at Christmas?” What did that mean?

  Chapter 7

  Settled on Jewel’s sofa, Alma and her friend hunched over a fashion plate in Godey’s Lady’s Book, admiring a dress.

  Alma caressed the page. “It’s perfect.”

  “You’ll be beautiful. The bottle-green satin will make your eyes look bluer, and with the touches of red on the cuffs and inside the stand-up collar, it’s perfect for Christmas.”

  “I think the cuffs should be red velvet.”

  “What about the hat?” Jewel wore a cat-grin.

  “I’m not wearing a bird, especially a brown one!” Alma put her hands together on top of her head and flapped her fingers as if they were wings. “That would make quite a stir.”

  “I’m sure the bird is stuffed.”

  “Doesn’t matter. Feathers are fine, but a dead bird is not.” Alma frowned. “I have to find a gift for Mr. Gibbons, too.” Why had she thought it would be a wonderful idea to make him a special present?

  “Shouldn’t you call him Roy?”

  “I suppose. It feels too soon.” And it was. Since she’d agreed to this marriage, her old life had disappeared. Precious objects were packed and stored; furniture had been moved as well. Papa had wasted no time readying to leave. Her body ached with sadness. “Jewel, this is the first time I won’t be spending Christmas with Papa.”

  Jewel slid her arm around Alma’s shoulder. “It’s going to be fine. You’ll be Mrs. Roy Gibbons on Christmas, and you’ll have two excited daughters to wake you.”

  “I don’t know what to make him.”

  “What does he like? What’s his favorite color? You could knit a cap.”

  “I don’t know. I wanted to do this because Mama and Papa did, but they were married almost a year before Christmas came.” She, of course, had to do this the hard way. Meet a man, agree to marry him, and make him a meaningful gift in four weeks.

  Jewel’s son, Caleb, woke with a scream. “Time for me to go back to being a mother and not a schoolgirl. Why don’t you ask around at the store and see if you can discover anything. Mrs. Remik up at the Star Store knows about everyone.”

  Alma felt light as relief pushed out the sadness. “She does!” She
grabbed the Godey’s Lady’s Book and held it to her chest. “I’d love to stay and play with Caleb, but I have to go on a spying adventure.”

  Roy rode up to the front porch and slid down from the saddle. He was worked up about what he’d heard in town. He and Miss Pickens were in need of a serious talk. He rubbed the back of his neck. He’d fallen asleep reading to the girls last night and slept there for a few hours before realizing he wasn’t in his own bed.

  Alma opened the door with red-rimmed eyes. She’d been crying. His shoulders tensed as he waited for a problem to show up he’d be expected to solve.

  “Evening, Mr. Gibbons. Papa isn’t home, so I can’t let you in.” She sniffed.

  “He’s a few minutes behind me. Told me to tell you not to keep me standing outside.”

  Alma backed away and held the door open. “I always honor my father’s requests.”

  So that’s what the crying was about. She still didn’t want to marry him. He wasn’t sure he wanted to marry her, either, but he’d shaken hands with her father. “It’s time you started calling me Roy, don’t you think?”

  “I suppose so … Roy.” She closed the door. “I’ve got dinner about ready to serve for Papa. Would you like some?”

  “I came to talk to you, then I need to get home. Pete’s with the girls, but I’m feeling bad about having him watch them so I can see you every night.” She looked as if she might burst into tears. “Alma, that didn’t come out right. Would you be agreeable to a few nights a week instead of—”

  “No, I wouldn’t. We need to know each other better.”

  “Is that why you’ve been asking around town what color shirts I like best and what I buy at the store?”

  “Mrs. Remik told you?” Her eyes were wide as a doe’s.

  “Yes, and when she couldn’t understand why you were so interested, I told her we were getting married.”

  “So now everyone in town knows.” Her shoulders sagged as she turned away.

  “They’ll know soon anyway. I don’t see a problem.”

  “Of course not. Why would you? This is an arrangement between Papa and you. I don’t have a choice.”

  “Is that why you’ve been crying, Alma?” His heart softened, and he put his hand on her shoulder. He prayed his daughters would never be in this situation. He would do his best from now on to make her feel treasured. Starting with taking her flowers, as soon as he could figure out some way to get some.

  “No. It’s because … I can’t get my kitten heads to be round.” She rested her hand on his for a moment then brushed it away. “I need to stir … something.”

  Roy scratched his forehead and followed her into the kitchen. He would never understand women, but he knew enough not to ask about the kittens. When it came to females, he’d learned a small problem generally covered a bigger one.

  Alma shivered on the porch step. Elisbet and Frances had rushed past her. “It’s early. Why are you here, Roy?”

  “I saw your father in town. He said you wouldn’t be opposed to watching the girls. I’ve taken on extra work at the mill and won’t be able to meet them after school.”

  “Papa said to bring them?” How was she to continue packing the house, making her dress, and figuring out what to give Roy for a gift with two little girls running around?

  “He thought it’d be a good idea for you all to get to know each other better. He’ll watch them while we sit in the parlor after dinner. Doc wants to get to know them, too. Since he’ll be their grandfather.”

  “If he wants to be one, he should stay here in Trenton.” She wrapped her arms tightly around her waist. Had he said supper? She needed to cook for all of them every night?

  “Then, sweetheart”—he reached out and stroked her cheek—“we might not be getting married.” Roy flashed his dimples and then winked.

  Sweetheart? Her knees went weak. Her body felt the way it did when she’d been double dosed with Mrs. Winslow’s Soothing Syrup—all warm and happy. Did that mean …? Could it be that he did care for her?

  Chapter 8

  Ten inches of snow covered the ground. On his one day off in over a week, Roy ought to be inside doing chores. Instead, once again, he stood on Alma’s porch at an odd time of day. Under a heavy blanket, his girls waited in the sleigh. Music-box giggles floated through the air.

  Alma squealed with delight at the sight behind him. “Sleigh ride!”

  “Would you like to go with us?” Was she bouncing on her toes? “Can you get ready fast? I don’t want to undress those two while we wait. It takes too long to put them back together.”

  “I’ll hurry!”

  She meant it, because when she appeared less than five minutes later, the twist of hair on the nape of her neck was off-center and the yellow ribbon didn’t match the skirt he saw hanging from underneath her cloak. The fashionable Miss Pickens had turned into a little girl. She bounded past him, twisting a scarf around her neck. “How long can we ride?”

  “Until the first one whines.” He helped Alma into the sleigh and slid in next to her. When his arm brushed against hers, sparks he hadn’t felt in a long time ignited. He urged the horse forward.

  Alma rubbed her muffed hand under her chin. “It’s the most beautiful thing, isn’t it? Snow? Wouldn’t it be perfect if there were bells on the sleigh, Elisbet?”

  “Papa! Can we get bells?”

  “Bells!” Frances chimed in.

  “Please, don’t encourage them.” Roy glanced at Alma. “What’s wrong with your eyebrow?”

  “When Papa wants to make a point, he arches his. I can’t, not yet. I’m training it.” She used her finger to arch it. “Bells are not extravagant, if they make you happy.”

  Roy pursed his lips then rolled them under. This was not a moment to laugh. “Look, there’s a hill and sledders. The snow must be well packed. Anyone want to give it a try?”

  A chorus of “I dos” rang from behind him.

  He helped everyone from the sleigh and untied the wooden sled he’d brought. “Who’s first?”

  “Me!” Elisbet said.

  “Me!” Frances jumped in front of Elisbet, lost her balance, and toppled in the snow.

  “Me!” Alma helped Frances get up. “Let’s make snow angels before we go home. That way we won’t be as cold and can sled longer.”

  Alma took him by surprise. He hadn’t imagined she’d want to fly down a snowy hill. “I think this sled can hold two, so Franny and I’ll go first. Unless, Elisbet, you want to ride with her. She is covered in snow.”

  Roy lost track of how many runs Alma and the girls, even he, made down the hill. Finally he had to say, “I think it’s time to go.”

  “No, you have to ride with Miss Pickens!” Elisbet insisted.

  He started to refuse, but Alma had already climbed on the sled. He settled behind her, the closeness of her, the sweet scent of her hair clutching his heart. Before he let his mind run off the rails, he sent the sled down the hill and into a snow bank. Snow covered her face. Before he could help her up, she giggled then went into a full-throttle laugh, fell backward, and made a snow angel.

  “I want to do that again!”

  “Maybe next time. I think it’s best to get all the red-cheeked women in my life home and warmed up so there aren’t any more colds.” He couldn’t handle another close ride with her. Not until they were married, anyway.

  He loaded everyone on the sleigh then went to attach the sled to the back. On his way, he noticed a yellow ribbon. He picked it up and slid it into his pocket with a smile. He had his first piece of the gift he’d make Alma.

  In the Gibbonses’ warm kitchen, Alma yanked on Frances’s boot until it gave up and released her foot. “Your stockings are wet. Are yours, Elisbet?”

  Elisbet nodded.

  “Let’s find dry clothes for you two before you catch a chill. While we’re gone, Roy, could you make some hot chocolate for us?”

  “You have to say please.” Frances’s teeth chattered.

  “P
lease.” Alma bent down in front of Frances. “You’re right. I should have said that.” She stood and took the child’s hand. “Shall we?”

  Once Alma had the girls in warm clothes, they returned to the kitchen. She’d brought along their brush. “Frances, you’re first. Let’s get the knots out of your hair.” The little girl stood still while her hair was put back in order.

  Elisbet took her place. “You hurt less than Papa.”

  “I’ve had years of practice unsnarling hair.”

  “That’s true. My hair has never been that long and won’t be. Enjoy it, girls, because it’s still a few weeks until Christmas.”

  “And we get Miss Pickens for our mama!” Frances shouted.

  “Settle down. The cocoa is ready.” He ladled it into cups.

  The girls slid into their chairs. Chilled, Alma hesitated. She wanted to sit next to the stove, but that was Roy’s seat.

  “Sit here,” Elisbet demanded, then added, “please.”

  Roy set cups in front of Frances and Elisbet. “Yes, that’s a good spot for you. I’m sure you’re cold and wet, too. We should have taken you home first.”

  “I don’t mind. I only did one snow angel, so I wasn’t as wet as these two.”

  Roy placed a cup in front of her. “This will help warm you. Good suggestion, Janie.”

  If a heart could make a sound when it broke, Alma’s would have. Janie. His dead wife’s name. She wanted to disappear, be anywhere but Roy Gibbons’s kitchen. Her throat closed.

  Roy’s pale face swam through her watery eyes. “Alma, I’m so sorry. For a moment it felt like we were a family, and I guess that’s why I called you Janie. You’ve filled a vacancy today, and my heart felt whole. Thank you. Can you forgive me, Alma?”

  “Is Papa in trouble?” Frances hopped from her chair and was by his side, hot chocolate forgotten.