The 12 Brides of Christmas Collection

by Mary Connealy

  “It’s called the Courting Bridge. Young fellows from these parts bring their gals out here to spoon or ask them to marry. I’m a little surprised we have the place all to ourselves.”

  She nudged him in the side, unable to resist teasing. “Which one are we here for?”

  Clay chuckled. “Why, Miss Briggs, you do surprise me. Guess you’ll have to wait and see.”

  He clucked out the side of his mouth, and the horse stepped into motion. Clay drove the buggy onto the bridge, the horse’s hooves echoing on the wooden floor, and stopped. After setting the brake, he climbed out of the buggy and reached for her. She laid aside the blanket and let Clay help her down then took his arm as he led her to one side of the bridge.

  Karen leaned against the wooden planks and looked down at the slowly moving water as it bumped over the vast collection of rocks. If the temperature had been warmer, she might have been tempted to climb down the bank and soak her feet. “Thank you for bringing me here, Clay. It’s so peaceful.” He rested his hands on the wood railing. “Yes, it is. I sometimes come here when I’m having trouble hearing from God about a sermon topic. I don’t know if it’s being out among God’s creation or just getting away from the busyness of people and noise of the town, but I find I can hear Him at this place.”

  “I can understand, but why is there a covered bridge in the middle of nowhere? Who built it?”

  “The official name is the Baxter Bridge, and it’s over twenty years old. I heard an easterner built it because he wanted to propose to his beloved on a covered bridge like the one near her Vermont home.”

  “And did he?”

  “As far as I know.”

  “What happened to them?”

  “They must have married and moved away. I don’t know anyone living in this county with the Baxter surname.”

  Karen shifted toward him. “The bridge is a nice legacy.”

  Clay nodded and took her hands. “So, are you sure you want to marry me and live in Bakerstown? It’s just a small town, but the people are good, at least most of them are.”

  “Most of those I’ve met have been very kind, and the size of the town doesn’t bother me.”

  Clay studied her face for a long moment. “Why do I hear hesitation in your voice?”

  Karen shrugged and glanced at the river.

  “Tell me. Whatever it is, we can work through it.”

  How could she express all her fears and reservations? Clay had always been focused—always known he wanted to be a pastor like his grandpa. Her life had been like a rudderless boat rocked and tossed on turbulent waters. Her aunt had taken Karen into her home after her pa had left her. She missed both parents so much. That grief had shaped her and made her less trusting and less sure of things. There’d been times she’d even doubted God’s goodness and had ranted at Him when she was younger.

  “Karen, what is it? Please tell me what’s creating the confusion I see in your pretty face.” Clay’s brow wrinkled.

  She hated the worry that flashed in his eyes.

  “Have you changed your mind … about marrying me?”

  She laid her gloved hand on his cheek, hoping to reassure him. “No, Clay. I care deeply for you, and I’m looking forward to being your wife. But like I told you, what if I do something wrong at one of the church events? It might cause you to lose your church after you’ve worked so hard. How could I live with myself if that happened?”

  He blew out a sigh as the tension left his expression. “My career is in God’s hands, not the church board’s, so please stop worrying. Just be my wife and take care of me. I don’t care if you don’t have anything to do with the church other than attending the services, smiling at me, and giving a resounding amen every now and then.”

  She offered a tentative smile. “Maybe you wouldn’t, but the church people would. They expect certain things of their pastor’s wife.” She ducked her head. “And everything I do seems to flop.”

  Clay pulled her into his arms. “I should have married you years ago. You always were a thinker, stewing on things, contemplating how something might work out or not. I believe that God called us to be together.”

  “I believe that, too, but I can’t shake my doubts.” Karen stepped back as a picture of pretty Prudy infiltrated her mind. “Everything I do is a failure. First, Mrs. Willard caught us kissing; then I sewed my sleeve to the quilt the Ladies Society is making. Why, even my welcome sign split in half.”

  Clay chuckled, and she smacked his chest. “Don’t laugh. I’m serious.”

  “I’m sorry, sweetheart, but you have to admit that was rather humorous, watching Mrs. Bodine trying to keep up with Mrs. Willard.”

  “You’re missing the point.” She turned and walked back toward the buggy, upset at him for the first time since arriving in Bakerstown. His parents had cherished him. He was always secure in who he was and always knew what he wanted out of life. Clay had no idea what it was to struggle—to wonder if he was doing the right thing. She wouldn’t be the cause of him losing his pastorate, even if it meant that she couldn’t marry him. But the thought of possibly losing him made her heart crack.

  “Karen, please. I’m sorry for laughing. You have to understand that those two ladies are always trying to outdo one another. Only one thing is important.” He gently grabbed hold of her arms and turned her toward him, searching her features. “Do you love me?”

  “You know I do. How could you doubt that?”

  “You seem so troubled.”

  “It’s my problem, not yours.”

  “That isn’t true. You’re a part of me already, sweetheart. When you hurt, I hurt.” He took her hands again. “God will get us through the hard times. We just have to trust Him. You have to trust Him. Can you do that?”

  She knew he spoke the truth. Even though she’d been mad at God for years for allowing her mother to die and her pa to leave, as she grew older, her faith in God and ability to lean on Him was what had gotten her through the difficult times she’d encountered and the long years of loneliness while Clay was gone to college and seminary. Prudy was merely another trial she must endure and survive. She smiled. “Yes, I believe I can do that.”

  He grinned, obviously happy with her response. “We’re a good team—you, me, and the Lord. Remember the scripture, ‘A threefold cord is not quickly broken’?”

  She, Clay, and the Lord—a trifold braid. She latched onto the picture in her mind, and if she could only hang on to that image, maybe her life wouldn’t unravel.

  Chapter 5

  Karen surveyed the nearly completed shirt she was making for Clay, which lay across her bed. She’d noticed his Sunday preaching shirt had dark stains on the collar and cuffs. He’d worn the same shirt both Sundays and several times during the week, so she assumed it was the only dress shirt he had and decided to attempt one for his Christmas present.

  “It doesn’t look half bad.” Karen eyed one place that puckered where the left sleeve and shoulder met. “I can’t thank you enough for your help, Patsy. I’d never have accomplished this without your guidance.”

  Patsy smiled as she put away her sewing supplies. “I’m glad to be of assistance. And besides, it gives me a reason to visit.”

  “You don’t need a reason. Come anytime.”

  “Thank you. The same is true for you.” Patsy bent over the shirt, examining it. “All you have left are the buttons and hem. Are you going to wait for Christmas or give it to him when it’s done?”

  Karen shrugged. “I originally thought Christmas—after we’re married—but it would be nice for him to have a new shirt to wear now since there are several church events for the holidays.”

  “Not to mention your wedding.” Patsy’s eyes gleamed.

  Karen touched her warm cheeks. Would she ever be able to talk about the wedding without blushing?

  Patsy grinned. “I remember turning red like you do every time someone mentioned me and Jared gettin’ hitched.”

  “How did you endure it? Peo
ple sure seem to enjoy poking fun at courting couples, especially Clay and me.”

  Shrugging, Patsy smoothed a wrinkle in her skirt. “You have to understand that everyone in Bakerstown loves and respects Pastor Clay. The folks around here are happy for you and just wantin’ to share in the fun. Folks in these parts work hard, so they need some fun and excitement and don’t mind intrudin’ on yours.”

  Some people may be happy for her and Clay, but Karen knew Prudy wasn’t. Every time the woman laid eyes on Karen, she was scowling. “What can you tell me about Prudence Willard?”

  Patsy stared at her with wide hazel eyes. “Why would you ask about her?”

  Karen lifted her eyebrows in a “Do I have to explain it?” expression.

  Patsy sighed. “I guess you deserve to know the truth. I just hope it’s not gossipin’ to tell you.” She gazed out the window for a moment then turned back. “Prudy is a lot like her mother. Helen is used to getting what she wants. Prudy is an only child, and she’s had things lavished on her all her life. It’s not exactly her fault she’s the way she is, but that’s beside the point.”

  Karen twisted her hands together. “But why does she look down on me? I’ve never done anything to her.”

  “You’re marrying the man she planned to wed.”

  Karen gasped. “But how is that possible? Has Clay given her any special attention?”

  Giving her a sympathetic look, Patsy shrugged. “I don’t think so, but Pastor Clay came about the time Jared and I were married. We missed his first two Sundays here because we went home to Independence for the wedding. It’s possible that Prudy took one look at him and decided to woo him.”

  “So, you’ve never seen Clay encourage her?”

  “No. Not at all.” Patsy reached over and laid her hand on Karen’s. “You don’t need to worry. Anyone can tell that man cares deeply for you.”

  Karen resumed stitching the hem of Clay’s shirt, dearly wanting to believe what her friend said. But Clay had been gone from Arcadia for years and had sent her precious few letters during that time. After Aunt Alice died, she thought she could live well in the house her aunt had left her, but then she discovered that Aunt Alice owed hundreds of dollars in back taxes and other debts. Once the house was sold and the debts paid, there wouldn’t be much left.

  When she explained the situation to Clay’s mother, the kind woman had offered to let her live with them, but Karen didn’t want to accept charity. If only she had some skill with which she could support herself. The day she received Clay’s telegram, asking her to marry him, she’d thought her problems were over. She agreed to wed because of their strong friendship and because she’d cared for him for a long while. But was he merely offering her another form of charity, because as a pastor he needed a wife, or did he truly want to marry her?

  But hadn’t he proved that point? Even stated it out loud?

  Karen hated that her father’s abandonment made it hard for her to trust. But if she couldn’t trust Clay, whom could she trust?

  She sighed, frustrated with her confusion. Clay had always been a cherished friend and had treated her with kindness. He’d been the one to make her laugh for the first time after her father left. He’d been a confidant with whom she’d shared her deepest hurts—the brother she never had. But now she wanted him to be more. The man who loved and cherished her—her husband. So why was she doubting him? Had she allowed the needling voice of the enemy to cause her to distrust her best friend and his good intentions?

  “I hate to go, but I reckon I oughta start fixin’ supper.” Patsy rose and gave her a quick hug. “Don’t worry about that man of yours.”

  Karen closed the door after Patsy left and walked to the window. Before coming to Bakerstown, she’d spent several weeks deciding what to take with her and what to sell. Clay’s mother had helped, but one day she showed up with some of Karen’s friends, announcing that Karen needed a trousseau, so they’d switched gears and started sewing. Since her arrival, she’d been busy with Clay and finishing her sewing projects. A long time had passed since she’d spent time reading, the Bible and praying regularly. Was it possible that marrying Clay was not God’s will for her life? In all her hustle and bustle, had she moved forward with her own dreams and left God behind?

  On Sunday morning, Karen sat in church waiting for Clay to enter. Would he wear the shirt she’d given him last night? His surprised and pleased expression when she presented it to him had warmed her heart, as had the gift he’d given her—a pine-green apron with an embroidered bib sporting a cardinal. If he kept surprising her with gifts, she might soon become spoiled, although she secretly enjoyed them. Her aunt had always given her a birthday present and something at Christmas, but no one had ever given her random gifts before, and she cherished them even though they were practical.

  A commotion to her left drew her gaze to the aisle, where Patsy halted with a tall, thin man. “Can we sit with you?”

  Karen smiled. “Of course.” She slid over to make room for the couple.

  Patsy scooted in, followed by her husband. She yanked on his arm. “This here’s Pastor Parsons’s fiancée that I been tellin’ you about.” She turned to Karen, beaming with pride. “This here’s my Jared.”

  “I’m happy to meet you,” Karen said.

  Jared nodded, the skin above his neatly trimmed beard turning red.

  Patsy leaned toward her, eyes gleaming. “So, did you give Pastor the shirt?”

  “I did, and he seemed quite thrilled with it.”

  “Did he wear it?”

  Karen shrugged. “I haven’t seen him. He likes to spend Sunday morning praying and studying.”

  The pianist took her seat and began the opening song. The chattering around the sanctuary quieted as everyone sat down and turned their attention toward the front. Clay stepped in through the side door and took his place behind the lectern, his gaze immediately seeking her out. He smiled then glanced around the room at the others. “Will you all rise and join me in song this bright Sunday morning?”

  Delight soared through Karen to see the vivid white shirt she’d painstakingly stitched peeking out above Clay’s waistcoat. She sat a bit straighter, glad she was finally mastering the art of sewing. Clay’s mother would be proud.

  He cleared his throat. “Mrs. Willard, would you please come forward and give today’s announcements?” He stepped back, rolled his shoulders, and tugged on one of his sleeves.

  Helen, who sat on the second aisle, stood and hurried forward. “As you all know, next Saturday evening, we’ll have our annual Christmas sing-along and auction to raise money for the Buckner Orphans Home in Dallas.” She cocked her head. “My daughter, Prudence, will be making several of her famous rhubarb pies, so I know you unmarried men will be eager to bid.”

  Karen was pretty sure Jared snorted—or maybe he had something caught in his throat. Either way, he received an elbow in his side, courtesy of his wife.

  Helen continued, “I do hope all you ladies will be as generous as you have in the past to support this worthy cause. This auction helps the orphanage to provide the children with hearty meals. And don’t forget the very special Christmas Eve service a week from Thursday and the wedding that follows of our own Pastor Parsons and Miss Karen Briggs.”

  Clay stepped forward, again tugging on his sleeve. Karen felt the blood rush from her face. Had she forgotten to remove some pins?

  “Thank you, Mrs. Willard. I haven’t had the pleasure of sampling the fares of the bake sale, but I look forward to it.”

  He glanced down at his sleeve and frowned. Karen stared at it, and her heart skipped a beat. If she wasn’t mistaken, the cuff hung farther out from the end of his coat sleeve than it had before.

  “If you have your Bible with you, please open it to, uh …” Clay rolled his right shoulder then stared at his cuff, eyebrows dipped. He gave it another tug and pulled the sleeve out a full two inches. He lifted his questioning gaze toward Karen.

  She slid down on the benc
h, using the man’s head in front of her to block her view of her fiancé. What had she done wrong?

  Patsy leaned over. “Looks as if Pastor’s got a problem. You did remember to stitch in the sleeve and didn’t just leave it basted?”

  Karen flicked a glance at her friend as she felt the blood drain from her face. Had she forgotten that step in her haste to finish before she and Clay had dinner last night?

  Clay chuckled. “Pardon the distraction, folks. It seems I’m having garment troubles today.”

  Face burning, Karen hunkered down on the bench, praying no one had overheard Patsy’s loud whisper about her making the shirt. Why, oh why had she thought she could tackle such a project? Even on her best day she’d never been a good seamstress. But Clay needed a shirt so badly—and he’d given her so much.

  Patsy rose, and Karen realized she hadn’t heard a single word of Clay’s sermon. She stood on shaky legs, hoping to make a quick getaway and not talk to anyone.

  She dared to peek at Clay, and the horrid sleeve now covered his fingertips. As he talked to a man who’d sat on the front row, he surreptitiously folded the cuff in half so that it didn’t look so bad.

  As soon as Patsy stepped into the aisle and moved aside, Karen squeezed into the crowd, making her way to the back door. She was supposed to have dinner with Clay, but at the moment, she couldn’t bear to see him. No matter what she did, she was a failure.

  Chapter 6

  Karen wished she could ignore the knocking on her door, but she couldn’t abide being rude. She swiped her eyes and pinched her cheeks then opened the door. Fragrant aromas from downstairs drifted in the door, making her stomach gurgle in spite of her lack of appetite.

  Mrs. Grady lifted one brow. “Must have been one troubling message the pastor preached.”

  A tiny smile tugged at one corner of Karen’s mouth. “It’s not that. I’m surprised you haven’t heard what happened yet.”