They were alone. Kate came around the counter and took Ewan’s face in her hands. “Ten more days. Mama, Malcolm, and I are rooting for you. God will provide.”
“Thank you,” he whispered. Ewan’s arms came around her, and the kiss was worth all the anguish.
Maybe even better than making music together.
Chapter 9
Ewan tossed the last log into the schoolhouse stove. He planned to borrow Malcolm’s wagon after school and haul firewood. A teacher’s job involved more than classwork in Fairhope’s school.
He didn’t remember being so chilled while attending classes. Of course, he’d shared a desk and students huddled together when they felt cold.
“Okay, let’s try it again. Top left index finger on the front hole, blow through your flutes, and let’s play ‘Joy to the World.’”
It was a tricky song with only five holes to play, but Kate had carved holes in the back of the flutes and shown the children how to place their thumb over half the hole, which gave them an octave-higher sound. It also turned the flute into a sharp whistle the boys enjoyed too much, but Ewan had convinced them to play softly for the Christmas carol. He knew their parents would be surprised and pleased.
The children had written poems in honor of Jesus’ birth, and they had memorized the second chapter of the Gospel of Luke. Ewan planned to purchase a stick of Christmas candy for each of them with his limited resources. He was going to miss the mark to satisfy Mr. MacDougall, and eleven pennies wouldn’t make much of a difference.
“‘In every thing give thanks,’” he whispered. Ewan had taken to quoting scripture when he felt discouraged.
“I’m cold, Mr. Murray.” Grace Cummings shook. “Can I put on my coat?”
“What happened to the window?” Tommy asked.
So caught up in the lesson, Ewan hadn’t checked the window lately. Like the rest of the class, he stared. It was perfectly white, as if someone had whitewashed the panes.
He peeked out the door. Whiteout conditions. He couldn’t see any farther than the end of the porch. He slammed it shut. Eleven pairs of frightened eyes stared at Ewan.
You could hear rain pounding on the roof and bouncing off the stove pipe, but not snow. Snow came on quietly, tumbling from the sky in soft, fat flakes that landed as gently as a feather. They hadn’t heard a sound.
Ewan’s mind raced. The last wood already in the fire, the room cooling rapidly, town a ten-minute run in good weather but not in bad. He had eleven children to care for. Would anyone come to help?
“We need to pray.” He called the children together, and they knelt in a circle. “Dear God, the snow makes it hard to see. Please give us wisdom and help us make it safely back to town. Amen.”
“Amen.”
Surely someone would come for them. Should they stay? But it would be dark soon. If they could find their way to the road not twenty feet away from the north end of the schoolhouse, they could follow the ruts into town.
“Put on all your warm clothing and huddle together,” Ewan said. He had an ax, a coil of rope, and eleven children.
And eleven flutes.
Staying made more sense. He stuck his head out the door again. He could make out the bush beside the road. He jerked up his head. What was that sound?
Ewan grinned in relief. “Grab your flutes and get into a line. I’m going to tie you together.”
He put little Charity and Silas in the front and Tommy at the end. “We’re going outside, and you need to blow your flutes as loudly as you can. Turn them into whistles. We’ll walk together to the road and head to town. You make as much noise as you can then stop to listen with me.”
They stepped out slowly onto the porch, Ewan leading Charity and tugging the rest behind. He could not risk losing anyone in the swirling white. “Blow,” he shouted.
They blew, high and loud.
He waited.
A honking, screaming, squabbling noise responded. Bagpipes! Ewan turned his face in the direction of the sound. “Let’s go. Pipe.”
They shuffled through the snow, already three inches deep, and the cold seeped into their feet. Charity clutched his hand and blew her whistle. He did the same.
Honk. Squawk.
Ewan walked in the direction of the sound. When he tripped on a furrow, he knew he’d found the road.
“Pipe!”
Eleven whistles. Ewan added a twelfth. “Silence.”
The shrill trembling noise sliced through the falling snow, calling like a beacon. Ewan pulled the roped children in the sound’s direction.
So they went for an endless time in freezing solid white. The snow fell upon them like shawls, blowing into their faces and clinging to their clothing. The pattern remained. Whistle, pause.
Bawl, shriek, screech.
Shuffle, shuffle, whistle.
Peep, shrill, squeak.
Tug, trudge, stumble. Whistle.
The piping slit through the snow like a knife, and the answering yammering squeal beckoned them.
By the time the first building appeared, a shroud of darkness in the impossible white, Charity and Silas were crying. Tommy and Jimmy, however, hooted when they weren’t piping, and soon the answering honking, oinking squeal was loud. Never had he been so happy to hear an off-key note sounding more like a bleat than music.
Malcolm reached them before they stumbled to the steps of the mercantile. He scooped up Charity and blundered into the rope, falling with a yell.
Up on the covered porch, Kate dropped her bagpipes and shouted for her father. Mr. MacDougall, Reverend Cummings, and two farmers ran out of the store. They seized the children and carried them into the warm room, where Mrs. MacDougall waited.
“God be praised,” she cried.
Ewan sighed as he sank to the wet, snowy floor. “Amen.”
Kate shivered violently when she entered the mercantile. She felt frozen, and her lips ached. The warm air entered her sore lungs, and she gasped in great gusts. The bagpipes clattered beside her into a blubbering whoosh. She felt dazed from the exertion. Where was Ewan?
“Share my cup?” Covered in snow and with blue lips, Ewan croaked his invitation. He held a tin cup to her lips filled with hot tea, but she barely registered the warmth.
“Ewan, get by the fire.” Mama bustled up with another cup and a blanket. “You’ll both have frostbite before this day is done.”
Ewan’s voice cracked. “Only if my favorite bagpipes player will join me.”
Malcolm picked up Kate and carried her to a bench beside the fire where she joined the children and Ewan. They’d removed their sodden garments and huddled together, trying to get warm. The adults pressed hot tea to the children’s mouths and held them close while everyone told their story.
Ewan put his arms around Kate and kissed her forehead. “How did you think to play those pipes? We wouldn’t have found our way without them.”
“I was practicing and noticed the snow coming down,” her teeth chattered. “I didn’t think much of it until Reverend Cummings came in looking for Malcolm. He wanted him to take his wagon to get the children. When we saw how fast it was coming down and how little we could see, I remembered how sound carried. I thought if I played, you might hear me.”
“I wouldn’t have left if I hadn’t heard you squawking. You saved us. We might have frozen in the schoolhouse.”
“Or you could have lost all those children on the road,” Mr. MacDougall said. “You took a mighty big risk.”
“I took a calculated risk,” Ewan said. “The bagpipes could bring us home as long as Kate played them. You must have heard our piping?”
“Not at first. I was about to give up when I heard the whistle. I recognized it and kept playing.”
“You’re my heroine.” Right in front of her father, Ewan kissed her.
“I’m your helpmeet.” Kate laughed with relief. “After all that bagpiping, I was afraid my lips wouldn’t work!”
Ewan rubbed his cheek against hers. “Your li
ps work just fine.”
Chapter 10
The snow fell for two straight days, and the school board declared school finished until the New Year. Ewan traipsed from house to house in Fairhope looking for anyone to hire him to do anything. On December 23, he cleaned his fiddle for the last time, wrapped it in the newly washed and pressed white cloth, and closed the case.
He tucked the worn purse with $66.78 into his pocket and stepped out into the shining afternoon. Ewan had only one hope, and a faint one.
The entire MacDougall family was in the mercantile when the tiny bell rang his entrance. He nodded at Mrs. MacDougall and Malcolm, gazed a moment at Kate, and then extended his hand to Mr. MacDougall. “I’ve come about our deal, sir.”
“Very good. Do you have the money to show me?”
“No, sir. I’m a little short, but a deal is a deal. I wonder if you would buy my fiddle for five dollars. I’d have enough then.”
MacDougall crossed his arms. “I don’t have any use for a fiddle.”
“Papa,” Kate cried. He put up his hand to silence her.
Ewan swallowed. “Malcolm, would you like to buy my horse?”
Malcolm bolted upright. “Yes! But I don’t have any money, I just bought new harnesses.”
“Do you have $3.22?” Ewan kept his eyes on Mr. MacDougall.
“No.”
“How would you earn your keep,” MacDougall asked, “if you sell the two assets you need to work?”
“Do you have any job I could do to earn $3.22 by the day after tomorrow?”
Duncan MacDougall looked him up and down. “Josiah Finch was in yesterday telling me about his house in Clarkesville and all the plans he’s made to wed Kate. Do you know what I said?”
Despite his curdling stomach, Ewan answered as calmly as he could. “No, sir.”
“I told him Kate had a better offer. My answer to him was no.”
Kate gasped.
“Josiah Finch could give Kate a houseful of possessions, but he can’t feed her soul. He can’t give her the music she craves. He’s a taker, not a giver.”
Ewan willed himself to remain steady. “What about our deal?”
“The way I see it, there’s two ways to make money. There’s the money you earn and then there’s the money you don’t spend. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
“No.”
“The Good Book says a worker is worthy of his hire. A man deserves decent pay for hard work. You saved eleven children from freezing in the schoolhouse. You led our church in worshipping God with your fiddle.”
“Kate saved the schoolchildren,” Ewan said. “She made their flutes and called us with her bagpipes.”
MacDougall pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his face. A log shifted in the stove with a crunch, and the hot cider pot on top bubbled.
“A joint effort. You taught my son how to cipher, and by helping us find the errors with the haulers, you gave him a profession,” the mercantile owner said. “But more importantly, you make my daughter happy and she loves you. I’d be a fool not to count your bill paid in full.”
Ewan stood tall and smiled at Kate, who gazed back with proud adoration.
“Except,” MacDougall said, “we had a deal.”
Ewan’s heart sank.
“Oh, Duncan,” Mrs. MacDougall cried. Kate cleared a sob from her throat.
MacDougall reached under the counter. “I have an envelope for you from the school board. Sam Finch wanted you to have it after your students’ impressive display last week.”
Ewan slit open the heavy envelope. Five silver dollars fell out. His lips parted and he stared, first at MacDougall and then at Kate.
“After Josiah left, the school board voted again. Sam Finch, like me and Reverend Cummings, is no fool. Your newfangled methods may not make sense to us, but those students have a stronger grasp of ciphering than they ever had before. You’ve earned a Christmas bonus from all of us, Ewan.” MacDougall began to laugh.
Kate squealed and shuffled into a little dance.
“Your hard work earned Kate’s helping hand. She’s all yours, a bagpiping, helpmeet of a bride. Tell him about your dowry, Kate.”
“While my dress is made in MacDougall tartan and I’m ready to wed, I’ve been practicing how to be a good helpmeet.”
Ewan thought of the teaching job and the smokehouse meat he’d helped prepare and nodded.
“While you’ve worked so hard to prove yourself, I’ve put up food from the harvest and bought winter supplies from the mercantile. We won’t starve.”
“I only have $71.78 to my name,” Ewan laughed. “But I have a heart full of love and music for you. Will you marry me?”
“You realize if we wed, you have to take the bagpipes, too?”
Ewan took her in his arms for a confirming kiss.
He didn’t really care.
Kate was worth any sort of music: fiddling, fluting, singing, or squawking—as long as she was his.
“Is that a yes?” Kate dimpled and batted her beautiful eyes.
“I love you and your bagpipes.” He laughed again and kissed his yuletide bride. “Yes.”
About the Author
Michelle Ule took her first piano lesson at the age of six and has been playing musical instruments ever since, usually woodwinds. She even marched in the UCLA Band! These days, she sings in the choir and plays her clarinet at church. Despite all her musical experience, Michelle has the worst arithmetic skills in her family—for whom she bakes a Ule log cake each Christmas in northern California. You can learn more about her at www.michelleule.com.
For further informtion about The Yuletide Bride, including a video of Michelle playing the bagpipes, see her page: http://michelleule.com/books/yuletide-bride/
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