A Plain and Sweet Christmas Romance Collection

by Lauralee Bliss

  He inhaled a quick breath, hoping it were so, as the wagon approached the outskirts of town. Dropping Mary off at the general store, Silas went to see about a shovel and to have the ax head sharpened. Several people asked about George, having heard about the accident. Silas told them what he knew and what the future might hold.

  “Very sad,” several said.

  “He trained my horse,” said another.

  Silas, too, felt remorse for the situation. He would do what he could to help while he remained there. Later he’d decide what would become of his journey westward or if Almighty God had other plans.

  He stopped the wagon before the general store to await Mary’s return. She soon came out of the shop carrying several parcels. She never looked prettier, even if her clothing was a bit drab with the black skirt and matching cape, and the black bonnet concealing her fine hair. He helped her with the packages, which included a pie, and put them in the wagon bed. He offered her a hand up. “The townsfolk shared their condolences over George’s accident,” he told her.

  “Several of the Friends asked about him, too. And one gave me the pie. The brethren are so sweet and giving.”

  Silas didn’t comment, though his thoughts buzzed as they headed out of town. While his opinion of the Quakers had changed since coming here to Ohio, he still couldn’t rid himself of what had happened in Philadelphia. How a roving gang of rogues came upon his grandfather on the road and beat him. The Friends who warned Silas not to take matters into his own hands. Then they forgave his grandfather’s murderers, allowing them to go unpunished, while he was cast off from among the Friends for harboring thoughts of revenge.

  “Thee is quiet all of a sudden,” Mary observed.

  Silas wanted to confess the inner workings of his heart, as she had done concerning Daniel Gray. But her advice would be like that of all the Friends. Treat everyone with respect, even the murderers. Do not give evil for evil. Allow God to deal in judgment.

  But Silas could not accept it right now. Instead, he made small talk, inquiring about the work that still needed to be done and what they would do about the holidays should any travelers arrive.

  “Mother will make her famous molasses cake she made the other night, I’m sure,” Mary said. “Last year Father allowed us to give gifts to each other. We had a nice dinner for those who came. And Father lit candles in the windows for each person present to symbolize God’s Light in all of us.” She paused. “I’m certain in Philadelphia thee did not celebrate Christmas.”

  “A few friends I know did. Not ‘Friends’ as in the Quakers,” he added, “but friends among strangers. I was invited to one such gathering over my father’s objections. It was a grand time. They had a feast, a Yule log, warm cider, and even a tree.”

  “A tree inside the house?”

  “They cut down a small tree in the woods, brought it inside, and decorated it with candles and paper trimmings. I had never seen anything like that before.”

  Mary shook her head. “Such grave idolatry. Worshipping a tree as if it could grant one Light. How foolish.”

  “They didn’t worship it. It was only a decoration, and many liked it. It was as if a bit of creation was brought inside. They said the candles on the branches bore witness to God’s Light in each of us. Which the Friends themselves believe of course.”

  Mary paused and dropped her head, folding her hands tightly in her lap. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be so judgmental.”

  Silas couldn’t help but chuckle. “Thee has a mind of thy own. And a mind God can surely use. He used it well with me.” Out of the corner of his eye he saw Mary smile. And again his heart leaped in hope. If only the past didn’t hover over them like a storm cloud.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  Silas sensed nervousness when he was called into Mr. Hall’s study one afternoon. The man sat in one of his fine chairs, his Bible spread open in his lap. He glanced up through wire-rimmed spectacles, which he slowly removed and folded. “Please come in.”

  Silas slipped inside the room and into a chair opposite the fatherly figure, wondering why he had been summoned. Had he been improper with Mary since the day of George’s accident? True, he did try to comfort her. He’d held her hand a few times. Whispered soothing words. And took her to town on an errand. But surely those incidents shouldn’t bring about a rebuke.

  “I wanted to thank thee for all thy help these many days,” said Mr. Hall.

  “I’m happy to do whatever I can.”

  “I wish, especially with the approaching season, to keep my establishment open to all who travel,” Mr. Hall continued. “But I fear without George’s help, I will be unable to do so. I know it isn’t right to ask thee to remain any longer, as I know thee has other plans….” The man hesitated and looked down at the Bible. “I wonder if thee might consider staying on to help.”

  Silas sat still, absorbing this.

  “I would pay thee fairly. And we expect more visitors wishing to celebrate Christmas, as I’m sure thee does.”

  “I do not celebrate it, Mr. Hall.”

  “Oh? I would have thought a man of the world would.” He hesitated. “Not that God doesn’t abide in all of us, for He surely does. But anyway, I would be most happy to have thy presence at the inn. Please consider it.”

  “I will. Thank you.” Silas shook the man’s hand, stood, and wandered out. He saw the open door leading to the bedroom where George had been since the accident. He walked over and peeked in. George lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling, his wounded leg a mass of bandages and resting on a feather pillow.

  George’s gaze fell on him. “Silas.” He tried to shift in bed and grimaced.

  “Please, don’t move on my account. How does thee feel?”

  “In pain. And frustrated. The horse I was training will falter if the training isn’t continued. Father wanted to shoot the horse for attacking me.” His face twisted at the thought. “I told him no. The horse didn’t know any better. It was an accident.”

  “I’m sorry thee is hurt.” Silas was glad to use the Friends’ language. A wounded Friend lay before him, one who struggled with a terrible injury, who might even be crippled. Using the wording was wholly fitting and honoring of the man and his beliefs, the one who had tried his best to help him and Barzillai.

  “Thanks. I don’t know how long I must stay in bed. No one will tell me.” He tried once more to sit up and muttered in pain. “Has thee heard any news?”

  “Only that it’s a severe break. And how sick thee has been with the wound where the leg bone pierced through.”

  George winced. “I may never be the same, will I, Silas?”

  The voice of desperation tugged at the core of Silas. “I—I don’t know, George. I will pray.” And he meant it. Pray he must, but restoring fellowship with God he must do first. If he could reconcile the past.

  He walked out, his head down, scuffing along the wooden floor, when he noticed a pair of leather shoes before him and a brown skirt. He looked up to see Mary, carrying a pitcher. “Did thee see George?” she asked. “His fever has broken. I’m so thankful.”

  “He looks much better. And he’s asking questions about his condition. How long he might be in bed. He fears being crippled.”

  Mary’s hands trembled at the words, and for a moment Silas thought she might drop the pitcher. He thrust out his hand to steady the vessel, which she placed on a nearby table. “The doctor comes again today. I fear what he will say. But we must remain hopeful in God.”

  “I told him I would pray.”

  Mary stared at Silas in appreciation when he said these words, as if they had unlocked another door between them. During the past week he’d already sensed a door opening. The other day she’d thanked him for helping her father with the chores around the house. What would she say now if she learned that her father wanted to hire him? Would she welcome it? Or would she wish him gone, as she did before the accident and after the kiss they’d shared?

  Silas decided not to say anything just y
et. Instead, he went to the woodpile to make certain the woodbox was filled. He then walked to the corral and George’s precious herd of horses, including the rambunctious stallion that had been the cause of the young man’s misfortune. He knew a little about training horses from helping with Barzillai. What a surprise it would be for George if he could train the animal not to rear up and kick. It was a small price to pay for the way the young man had nursed Barzillai back to health.

  Silas picked up the pole George had used with the animal and began gently rubbing the tail. At first the horse neighed and backed away. Ever so slowly Silas worked with the animal. A gentle prod there. A poke here. And then he was able to lead the horse to one side of the corral. Excitement built within him, even more so when he noticed Mary coming over to the corral to watch.

  “Wherever did thee learn to do that?”

  “My grandfather. Barzillai was actually his horse. He gave her to me.” Silas allowed the horse to rest and met Mary where she stood by the fence. “I thought it might be a nice surprise for George if I could continue at least some of the training.”

  “It’s kind of thee.”

  He stared at the horse as it gathered grass from a hay bale.

  “So does thee plan to stay here?”

  Silas glanced at their fine home and then at Mary. “Does thee want me to stay?”

  She looked at him in surprise. “It’s not for me to decide. I know Father asked if thee might be able to help him. He needs an extra hand, what with all the work that must be done.” She paused. “I would be grateful if thee did stay.”

  “Then I will stay, Mary, if thee wants me to.” He saw her face brighten and even the teasing of a smile form on her delicate lips. Inwardly his heart sang. Not for their circumstances, but that those circumstances could be used in good ways. Like being with Mary.

  Mary turned and made for the house. Then he heard the rumble of a wagon from the road. Friend Daniel Gray. Silas blew out a sigh. The pious Quaker had come for a visit and maybe more. So much for his good intentions where Mary was concerned. He feared he would be forever lost in the elder Friend’s holy shadow.

  Chapter 6

  Mary sat still in her chair, her hands folded demurely, her gaze focused on the wooden flooring beneath her shoes as Friend Daniel sat opposite her. He had come to pay a call, first to check on George’s progress and then to be with her. She’d heard the elder and Father conversing in the sitting room and wished she were a mouse scurrying about so she could overhear their words. But afterward Daniel came out, his thin lips curved into a crooked smile, and inquired if she would like to sit with him. She knew then the result of the meeting. He’d asked Father’s permission for visits between them in their home, and Father had agreed.

  But now her gaze drifted to the window and Silas outside in the front yard, hard at work splitting wood. From the swiftness of his work with the ax, she wondered if he wrestled with some internal struggle. He turned back to the house with his face contorted in a grimace. Her cheeks felt warm at the sight. What might he be thinking? Was he dismayed over Friend Daniel’s visit? Did he have a desire to be inside talking to her rather than her conversing with the elder?

  She heard Daniel clear his throat, and her gaze turned to him. He stared at her. “Once again thee appears preoccupied during our visit. Is thee upset to be with me?”

  “Of course not. I’m glad thee is here. George is thankful to have an elder come bear his burden. Thee brings the joy of God’s Light into our home.” She hoped she didn’t sound too zealous, even as her sights once more drifted to the window and Silas attacking the logs as though the chunks were some enemy he wished to conquer. She considered the last few days. George’s accident and how Silas had rushed to help. The trip into town. His decision to stay and help Father. She spoke up then. “Does thee know that Friend Silas is staying to help us?”

  “I did ask thy father if he required help, and he said that Silas Jones agreed to stay and assist. I was very glad to hear it.” He paused. “I was wondering—would thee consider accompanying me to Meeting this Friday?”

  “Go to Meeting with you?” Her mind was a blank.

  “We are having a special gathering. I thought thee might want to attend with me.”

  “I…” She found herself twisting her fingers. “Oh, I do love Meetings, Friend Daniel. It’s just…” She paused. “George may still need help. If we have guests also, Father and Mother need help serving them.”

  Daniel looked at her rather somberly. “Why do I feel as if thee is avoiding me? Have I done something wrong?”

  Mary straightened and looked into his dark blue eyes that displayed his concern, along with the rigid lines crisscrossing his face. “Oh no, certainly not. It’s just…” Mary didn’t even know why she stumbled over such an important invitation. Surely it couldn’t be the man behind the ax outside their window. She felt strange even considering it. There was, too, the other reason she had confessed to Silas during their journey to town. “I know that with thy loss of thy wife, Elizabeth…,” she began.

  “Is that what this is about? Mary, please don’t think that my previous affection for Elizabeth means I cannot love and care for another woman. It has been over a year since her passage to glory. She is in a better place. God is the healer of our wounds and the giver of life and love.”

  Her gaze fell once more to the window. To her startled surprise, Silas was staring straight at the window at the same moment, as if they shared some secret communication of the heart and soul. She wondered if God would heal Silas’s wounds and be the giver of life and love in their circumstances. Oh dear, what am I thinking?

  She stirred in her seat, again feeling the warm flush in her cheeks. Then she sensed Daniel’s stark perusal, as if he could read every thought and feeling passing through her. She stood quickly. The wrap around her shoulders fell to the floor. “Let me fetch us some tea, Friend Daniel. Please excuse me.” She grabbed the shawl off the floor and hurried into the kitchen, thankful for the respite. “Dearest God, what am I going to do?” she said aloud, looking for the kettle. “I don’t know what to do.”

  “Is something wrong, Mary?” Mother entered the kitchen, clad in her apron dusted white with flour from the morning’s baking.

  “I—I was only praying, Mother.”

  “A good thing to do, dear one.” Mother gave her a kiss on the cheek. “But thee does seem troubled these days. I must say I’m not sure why. George is feeling stronger every day. I believe we will soon see a miracle with his leg.”

  Mary sighed, thankful Mother didn’t realize her inner turmoil had nothing to do with George, though she did care for him. It had everything to do with the two men outside the walls of the kitchen, each playing with her heart in different ways. “Mother, did thee always know Father would be thy intended?”

  “Of course. Our parents agreed to it. And so did the eldership. There was no mistaking it.”

  “I don’t want to make a mistake either.”

  “Oh dear one.” Mother reached out to take Mary’s hand in hers. “Is it Friend Gray? I know he has asked to court you.”

  “He is a nice man. A good man of God. But…” She hesitated. “I don’t know if he’s the man for me. I fear thee and Father will both agree that he is, and then my heart will be forever troubled, wondering if it was truly God’s will.”

  “Mary, thee must trust God in these things. He guides us in matters of the heart. He will guide thee and help thee see His will with regards to the perfect man and husband.” The kettle began to steam, and Mary fetched a cup. Mother poured hot water over the tea leaves. “I believe thee will be happy and content with God’s choice.”

  Mary nodded and carried the tea to Friend Daniel who, to her surprise, stood with his back to her, staring out the window to witness Silas in his labor. He whirled as she entered. “Thank thee,” he said quietly as she set the cup on a table. “Is this outsider, Mr. Jones, still affecting thee?”

  “Affecting me? I don’t unders
tand.”

  He picked up the teacup. “I know thee was deeply troubled by his difficult mannerisms when thee came to see me awhile ago.”

  Mary remembered it well and now wished she had never made the visit. Perhaps if she had given her fears over to God and allowed Him to correct them as He saw fit, she wouldn’t be in this predicament of the heart. “He did apologize.”

  Daniel grimaced. “Does thee realize the man was once a Quaker and then disowned by the Friends in Philadelphia?”

  Mary stared wide-eyed. “Silas told me he was a Friend. But I…I didn’t know he was disowned. What did he do so wrong among the brethren?”

  “Awhile ago I met with a visiting Friend in Waynesville who was once associated with the Friends in Philadelphia. It seems Silas Jones had a grandfather who was mistreated by outsiders. The man eventually died from his wounds. Instead of embracing the Light in this grave situation, Silas wanted revenge. That, of course, is not the Friends’ way. When he became disorderly, looking to take matters into his own hands, he was asked to leave.”

  Mary continued to stare at Daniel until she realized what she was doing and shifted her gaze to the floorboards. “I didn’t know this. I knew he was troubled by some matter. I knew he’d suffered loss.”

  “He didn’t just lose a loved one, but I fear he has also lost his soul and spirit. Thee would do well to allow others to deal with his condition, Mary. Thee isn’t meant to have this brought upon thyself, nor is thee meant to correct it. He must bear witness to the truth.”

  Mary listened to the elder’s advice. Instead of yielding, she yearned to help Silas even more now that she understood why he reacted the way he did. She realized how the previous disagreements they had were spurred by events in his life. Loss can sometimes cause one to do things one wouldn’t normally do. Driven by grief, in deep mourning, some must act out their feelings. She recalled his struggle with injustice. How the Friends had seemingly turned a deaf ear to the things that weighed him down. The shattered glass of life could be mended still. All was not lost.