Enchanted Christmas

by Craig, Emma

  On the other hand, he feared that working on any instrument at all, even that old piano, would send him spiraling back into memories he didn’t want stirred again. Hell, he had a hard enough time of it just getting through one day at a time, sometimes one second at a time, without reminders.

  What would happen if he opened that piano up and all the memories came flooding back? He hadn’t had to think about everything he’d lost for some time now. He was pretty sure digging around in the guts of Mrs. Blackworth’s neglected instrument would open barely healed wounds. Noah wasn’t sure he could survive going through them a second time. He’d damned near perished the first time.

  “Well—”

  “I hope to God you’re not going to say no, Mr. Partridge. ‘Cause if you do, I reckon I’ll just have to keep ridin’ west from here, mebbe on out to Californy. It won’t be worth my while to go back to the ranch and tell Mrs. Blackworth I failed. She don’t hold with a man failin’.”

  Noah searched the young face, which seemed fresh and untouched by the world’s badness. He decided the cowboy was only half joking.

  Taking refuge in his cocoa, Noah hoped inspiration would strike soon and hand him a good excuse for not going, because otherwise he was on the verge of capitulating to Gus’s request. He had a shrewd notion that if he did give in, he was going to be in for some rough days.

  Not to mention the fact that while he was playing with Susan Blackworth’s decrepit piano, wishing he could work on her organ, and tearing the scabs from his own old injuries, he’d be losing precious ground with Grace Richardson. Glancing at her out of the corner of his eye, he sighed. Not that he’d gained much ground in the first place. Hell.

  “All right.”

  The words were out of his mouth before he knew he was going to say them. Then he silently cursed himself as a benighted simpleton.

  Gus didn’t seem to notice. His face lit up. “Thanks, Mr. Partridge. Sure glad I don’t have to find me a new job.”

  “Can we go to Mrs. Backwort’s and listen to the piano when Mr. Noah gets it fixed, Mommy?”

  Noah’s head swung around to observe Maddie, her big blue eyes shining, smiling at her mother. Grace tilted her head to one side as she considered her daughter’s request. “You know, Maddie, that sounds like fun.” She turned to peer at Noah, and his gaze slid away. “Do you have any idea how long it will take you to fix that piano, Mr. Partridge?”

  “No, ma’am.” He was getting nervous about it already. He might not be able to fix it. Or it might need a part he didn’t have and couldn’t improvise. Or he might get attacked by his goblins and have to run away before he finished the job. As Noah knew from unhappy experience, anything could happen, and seldom was any of it good.

  Chapter Seven

  Noah and Gus left the next morning, late. Grace made them eat a good, hearty breakfast before she’d allow them to set out across the windy plains.

  “It’s not icy any longer, ma’am,” Gus pointed out. “It’s a lot warmer than when I rode in here yesterday.”

  Noah, watching him from over the rim of his coffee cup, could tell the boy enjoyed being fussed over. He was making quite a show of being strong and manly. God, had Noah ever acted like that? He had a vague, shadowy recollection of being young and alive and eager to please once.

  “Nonsense,” said Grace, refilling Gus’s cup. The boy stared up at her with worship in his eyes. “I’m not letting either one of you set foot out of this house until it’s at least a couple of degrees warmer out there.”

  She knew she had Gus’s puppy love. Noah saw her smile affectionately at the boy, like a mother bestowing a blessing on her son. Her easy, good-natured affection somewhat soothed Noah’s over-strung nerves. At least she didn’t look like she’d be succumbing to the young cowboy’s adoration any time soon.

  Not that Noah gave a rap, personally, if the two of them paired up. What he worried about was that Grace might marry one of the men out here, any of whom would probably leap at the chance to have her. Then her land would be lost to Noah forever.

  Of course, if Noah married her himself, then the land would be his. He scowled into his coffee cup. Where in the name of holy hell had that notion sprung from?

  For some reason, he glanced at Mac. It didn’t surprise him when he found the old man grinning at him as if he could read every single twisted thought in his head.

  Lordy, maybe it’d do him some good to get away from these people for a while; maybe a little time off would save him from being seduced into total insanity. Marriage and mind-reading wagon-yard owners. Shoot. He had plenty of problems already without adding those two, thank you.

  # # #

  “Be careful, Gus. Be careful, Mr. Partridge.”

  Grace had made them take a huge bundle of food with them. It was lumpy and bounced against the flank of Gus’s horse. Noah hoped the poor animal wouldn’t get a sore from it. He didn’t say a word.

  “Bye-bye, Gus. Bye-bye, Mr. Noah.”

  When Maddie’s farewell filtered through the layers of fleece and wool he’d wrapped himself in, Noah had already hunched into his comfortable, keep-the-world-away mode. Her tone of voice, which seemed to expect a response, yanked him out of it momentarily. He didn’t appreciate it. Nevertheless, since he’d never been a cruel man, no matter how crazy he was, he wouldn’t allow himself to disappoint her. He straightened in his saddle, turned his head against the layers of bundling, and looked back at the porch.

  And his heart stumbled in his chest. Grace stood there, in a dark skirt and white shirtwaist, that woolen paisley shawl caught around her shoulders to ward off the brisk weather, Maddie in her arms. The cold wind had nipped at her cheeks and nose until they glowed with it, and it whipped her hair out of its carefully knotted bun.

  A sudden blind longing struck him. With vivid clarity he recognized that it hadn’t been merely his past that the great conflict and its aftermath had snatched from him. It had taken away his future too. He’d never have a woman like that to wave at him when he left home or to run and greet him when he came back again. He’d never have a sweet little girl like Maddie to call him pa and sit on his lap and kiss his cheeks.

  He gave Maddie a brief wave, which she returned with vigor, and glanced at his traveling companion. Those sorts of lives were the provenance of men like Gus Spalding—whole men; men who hadn’t been ruined by a vicious and mercurial fate.

  As a rule, Noah didn’t feel sorry for himself. He knew what he was, accepted it, and tried his best to live with the devils that had been set loose inside of him. He knew he wasn’t the only man in whom similar devils had been unleashed during that awful, bloody war.

  Today, as he rode behind Gus out through the wagon yard gates, Maddie’s chirpy farewell singing in his ears, his heart ached with a sickening sense of loss.

  # # #

  “You took your time getting here.”

  “Sorry, ma’am. I was froze by the time I got to McMurdo’s place. Mrs. Richardson had to dry my clothes before she’d let me go again.”

  “Humph. A likely story.”

  Susan Blackworth’s onyx eyes snapped with irritation. Gus shuffled and fidgeted with the hat in his hands.

  Noah didn’t say anything. It was nothing to him if this old lady was a shrew. He’d come at her request; he could leave again in his own time if she aggravated him. Peeking at Gus, he knew it would go hard on the boy if he got fed up and left, so he determined to stick it out. External events were nothing to Noah Partridge. He carried his own environment around within him.

  He didn’t like the way she bullied Gus, though. “You got tools, ma’am?” His voice fractured from being called upon to work. He and Gus hadn’t spoken a word on their ride out here because they’d been too busy trying to keep from freezing to death. Noah thought it was interesting that he could get out of the habit of talking so quickly. Must be because he hadn’t exercised his vocal chords enough in the short time he’d been at McMurdo’s to make up for his years of silence. For
the first nine or ten months, as he’d lain in that hospital bed after he’d been carried out of the prison camp, he hadn’t spoken a solitary word. The mind he’d sent away so that it wouldn’t suffer with his body, had a hard time coming back again.

  “You don’t have the tools of your own trade with you?” Mrs. Blackworth barked her question, and pitched it to let Noah know she considered him an idiot at best and a shiftless wastrel at worst to have ridden out here unprepared.

  Noah didn’t like her. He lifted his gaze from where it had been idly inspecting the carpet at his feet and eyed her narrowly, keeping his expression blank. “It’s no longer my trade, ma’am. I came out here at your request. You have tools or not?” He wanted her to know without a doubt that he’d be just as happy to go away again without looking at her damned piano. Happier.

  He could tell she hadn’t expected him to stand up to her. A wave of contempt dribbled through him. What a harpy.

  “Humph. Well, come along. I’ll see what I can find. I used to have the tools my father bought along with the piano.”

  He didn’t answer, but followed her into the parlor. As soon as he did, he caught sight of her reed organ again, and he wanted it. Damn, but it was a beautiful old thing. And it was one his grandfather had made with his own two hands. Noah had loved that old man; loved him more than his father, which wasn’t surprising. Noah’d heard it said once that grandparents and grandchildren always got along because they had a common enemy. Not that Noah didn’t respect his father, but he had found it much easier to love his grandfather, who hadn’t had anything to prove with Noah.

  But no. He wasn’t here for the organ. His business was with the piano. Fortunately, the piano stood in the opposite corner from the organ, so Noah’s back would be to the organ and he wouldn’t have to see it as he worked.

  He brushed right past Susan Blackworth and went over to the piano without looking at her, although he was vaguely aware of her scrutiny of him. To hell with her. Let her look. Noah didn’t care what she thought of him.

  Somebody had dusted it. That was something, anyway. And she’d lowered the protector over the keys. By this time, they were probably sticky with dust and worse, but at least she’d done that much. He ran his hands over the finish. It looked like somebody’d taken some wax to it, too.

  “How long since it’s been played?” He didn’t look at her.

  “Years. I haven’t played since the rheumatism twisted my hands up.”

  Noah suspected he ought to feel some compassion for her, but he didn’t. She was such a bossy bit of goods. When he glanced at her again, he caught a look in her eye that made him soften a millimeter. She was gazing at the piano with longing. Maybe she was cantankerous because of her own lost hopes, like he was crazy because of his. Since he didn’t much like her, he decided to wait a while before he changed his poor opinion of her.

  “You got a child who wants to play the piano, ma’am?”

  She snorted. “None of my sons would be caught dead doing anything so civilized, Mr. Partridge.”

  He looked up at that, into her dark, dark eyes. Again, he wondered if her caustic exterior hid a hurt she didn’t want people to see. Lots of folks didn’t like to exhibit their weaknesses to the world, Noah reckoned. He wasn’t the only piece of broken merchandise wandering around loose in the world.

  “Well? What do you think?” She folded her arms across her chest. Her posture seemed to challenge him, as did her tone.

  Noah shrugged. “Can’t tell until I open her up and poke around for a while, ma’am.”

  “What about the organ?”

  His head jerked up of its own accord. “The organ, ma’am?”

  “Yes. What if I decide to have the organ fixed. Can you do it?” Her voice was hard, challenging.

  Noah swallowed, trying to tamp down the surge of hope in his chest. “Again, I’d have to open it up and look at it. If nothing’s broken, and if the reeds are whole, I expect I can tune it. You might have to order pads and replacement reeds from back east.”

  “Oh? And just where does one get replacement reeds, Mr. Partridge, if your business has been burned to the ground?”

  She asked the question as though she suspected Noah of trifling with her. He cocked his head and studied her for a few moments. She glared right back at him, unflinching. A tough old bird, Susan Blackworth. A reluctant appreciation of her grit began to steal through him.

  It was funny how some people, when faced with hardships, developed a hide. Others, like Grace Richardson, remained vulnerable. Noah guessed it had something to do with their basic natures, and wondered if either reaction to adversity was better than the other. Maybe Susan Blackworth was better off than Grace. She had more money, at least.

  None of that mattered. “The Estey Organ Works is still in business, ma’am. I expect you can write to them if you need to replace stops or reeds or anything.”

  Her eyes squinted up, as if she still didn’t believe a word he said. He found her skepticism extremely irritating. “And where might this Estey Organ Works be located, young man?”

  “Name’s Partridge, ma’am,” Noah said dryly. “Noah Partridge. And Estey’s in Brattleboro, Vermont.”

  “Vermont! Why, that’s at the ends of the earth!”

  He shrugged again. What the hell did she expect from him, anyway?

  “How long would it take to get parts from them, Mr. Partridge?” Evidently recognizing his growing impatience, she made her tone not quite so sharp.

  “I wouldn’t know.” He glanced back at the organ. Sadness welled up inside him. “You should have taken better care of it, ma’am. It’s a fine old instrument and deserves care.”

  “Don’t you presume to lecture me, young man.”

  Noah sighed, and decided that wasn’t even worth a response. He patted the piano. “Listen, Mrs. Blackworth, do you want me to take a look at this thing or not?”

  “Well, of course, I do! Why do you think I called you out here?”

  “I wouldn’t know. All I’m telling you is that your instruments have been neglected. As for the organ, it may need parts or tools that I don’t have. You can get replacement parts in Brattleboro, Vermont. Now, do you want me to look at this piano or not?”

  “Yes!” Her eyes were as hard as flint. “But don’t you go thinking I’m made of money, young man, because I’m not. My husband has seen to that.”

  Hmmm. Was that her problem? Did she think he was going to soak her for repair bills? Noah shook his head. “I won’t overcharge you, Mrs. Blackworth.” He licked his lips, suddenly frightened, and blurted out before he could stop himself, “Do you want me to look at the organ while I’m here too? I’ve been hoping I could get my hands on that thing, ma’am. I haven’t worked on an organ for years.”

  Tilting her head to one side, she studied him, as if gauging the veracity of his confession. Her lips pinched up as tight as the knot on a noose, and wrinkles radiated from them. He wondered if she was as old as she looked, or if her acerbity had dried her out and shrunk her up and sapped the juice out of her. Noah wondered if Grace Richardson might look like Susan Blackworth in a few years, and rejected the notion immediately.

  Grace didn’t have Susan’s acidity. Noah had a feeling that if Grace went through hell, she’d be more apt to end up like Noah himself. Grace didn’t seem to possess the natural internal defenses against the slings and arrows life flung at her that this old woman did.

  At last she said, “Humph. Well, take a look at the piano and tell me what it needs. Then you can look at the organ and do the same thing. I’ll have to decide whether or not I can afford to have you finish the organ repairs. I want the piano fixed.” She eyed him keenly for another second or two. “Don’t worry, Mr. Partridge. I’ll pay you for your time.”

  It sounded as though she expected him to protest, although the notion hadn’t even occurred to him. Hell, if he told the truth, he’d work on this thing for free. Music—pianos and organs—used to be his life. He could hardly wait fo
r her blathering to cease so that he could begin work. He nodded.

  Without another word, she turned and rustled away from him. Because the job in front of him was so intensely personal to him, he waited until she’d left the room before he turned and gazed at the piano again. He’d do this job first. Then, if he still had an ounce of sanity left in him, he’d tackle the organ. Because he couldn’t help it, he turned and gazed across the room at it.

  Lordy, it was a beauty. One of his grandfather’s first and finest. A feeling of reverence the likes of which he hadn’t experienced in years settled over Noah, and when he at last approached the piano, he did so with gratitude and respect.

  # # #

  Grace grabbed her daughter around the waist and laughed. “Don’t bounce too hard, Maddie, or you’ll fall right out of the wagon.”

  Maddie giggled at her mother’s dire warning and calmed down. She crawled up onto Grace’s lap and snuggled against her. The weather had warmed up some in the three days Noah had been gone from the wagon yard, but the winter wind felt as if Mother Nature were trying to blow them all away from her plains, as if she were trying to rid the land of usurpers. The wind was cold, too, and harsh, and Grace had to keep checking the bed of the wagon to make sure it hadn’t dislodged anything. She’d baked several pies for the Blackworths, set them into a wooden crate, and covered the crate with a blanket. Even though she’d snugged the edges of the blanket under the crate, the ride was bumpy, and she feared the crate would slide and allow that pesky wind to whip under the edges of the blanket and coat her crusts with grit.

  Mac, who was driving the team along a path only he could discern, chuckled.

  “But, Mommy, I never heard a piano before!”

  Grace’s heart gave a sharp spasm. That’s right. Born and reared out here in the middle of nowhere, Maddie’s life had been circumscribed in ways Grace no longer even thought about half the time.