Sending up a prayer for patience, he clicked his tongue, turned the mule around, and headed back to town.
Inside the mercantile, Will continued his silent petition for patience as he waited his turn in line behind several other customers. Spying a Farm Journal magazine on an up-ended crate, he picked it up and began to thumb through it to pass the time.
Suddenly a black-and-white image on a page caught his eye, and he flipped back to it. Beneath the picture of a home rug loom, the manufacturer promised that for the price of twenty dollars, their product could provide a handsome living for any industrious soul.
Of course! If Lucinda had her own loom, she wouldn’t have to walk to and from Mercy’s house each day.
When it was finally Will’s turn at the counter, he asked for the baking powder and then held up the magazine. “How much for this magazine, Zeke?”
Zeke Reeves scratched his head, mussing the thin strands of gray hair he’d combed over his balding pate. “Aw, I reckon you can have it at no charge.” He shrugged. “It’s last month’s issue. I should get a new one in another day or two.”
“Thank thee, Zeke.” Will plopped a quarter on the counter to pay for the baking powder and then hurried out of the store with the powder and the magazine in hand. Whispering a prayer of thanks for God’s direction, he could hardly wait to get home and write out an order for the loom.
A half hour later, he’d just sat down at Simeon’s desk in the living room when he felt a hand on his shoulder.
“I hope thee does not plan to be long at the desk, little brother.” The mingled scents of sweat, chalk, and Simeon’s shaving soap filled Will’s nostrils as his brother hunched over the desk. “I have a satchel full of test papers to grade this evening.”
“No, I won’t be long.” Will stiffened beneath Simeon’s touch, rankling at the absurd term his brother insisted on using to address him. Though seven years Will’s senior, Simeon stood a good six inches shorter.
“What has thee here?” Simeon craned his neck, poking his head farther over Will’s shoulder as if checking the work of one of his students.
Shrugging away from his brother’s hand, Will slid his arm over the magazine’s cover. Though Simeon didn’t lack in Christian charity, he, like his wife, possessed a strong frugal streak. Will wasn’t at all sure how his brother might react to Will spending the substantial sum of twenty dollars on a gift.
“I found something in the magazine I thought might be useful and wanted to read more about it.” Will hoped his evasive answer didn’t stray too far from the truth.
Grinning, Simeon stood and backed away with his palms held forward. “Thee need say no more, little brother. My students are constantly reminding me that with Christmas only weeks away, this is the season for secrets.” With that he retreated to the sofa and picked up the newspaper, leaving Will alone to write the order for the loom.
When he finished, Will stuffed the letter into the envelope and tucked it into the magazine. Thankfully, for the past several months, he’d been setting aside money to buy a new saddle. Tomorrow he would use some of his savings to purchase a money order at the post office to pay for the loom.
“Simeon. Will. Thy supper is on the table.” Naomi stepped into the living room, smoothing back her jet-black hair that looked to Will as prim as ever.
Smiling, Simeon set the paper aside and rose from the sofa. “Thank thee, my dear. Sausages and cabbage, if my nose tells me right.”
“And fried potatoes,” Naomi added, turning her attention to Will. “Has thee washed up?” She trained her green eyes on his hands.
Will forced a stiff smile. “Thee knows I would not bring dirty hands to thy table, sister.” Still childless after five years of marriage, Naomi tended to treat Will more as an errant child than a brother.
After they gathered round the table and Simeon said grace, Naomi passed Will the fried potatoes. “At least thee is on time for supper this evening. I never know whether to cook for two or three.” She lifted her chin a smidgen, and the shadows cast by the kerosene lamplight accentuated her sharp features.
Will dished out a portion of potatoes, ignoring the censure in Naomi’s voice. “I am sorry, sister. But thee knows I often stop to do chores for our widowed friends, Lucinda and Mercy.”
“Of course thee should help Mercy.” Naomi’s voice lowered to a near whisper. “But does thee think it is wise to spend so much time alone with Lucinda?”
Will gritted his teeth as he slid his knife through the link of sausage on his plate. “I am only doing as the scripture commands—to see to the widows in their affliction.”
Naomi fixed Will with a green glare. “‘But the younger widows refuse: for when they have begun to wax wanton against Christ, they will marry.’ First Timothy, chapter five, verse eleven.”
Will dropped his knife and fork to his plate with a clatter. It took every ounce of his strength to stay in his chair. How dare Naomi use the scriptures to scold him for helping Lucinda. “I know the passage as well as thee does, sister.” He fought to keep the anger from his voice. “In that same chapter, Paul preaches that widows of a congregation should first be cared for by family. Alan was like a brother to me. I’m the closest thing to family Lucinda has here.”
“Brother. Wife.” Simeon’s voice held a weary plea. He breathed a heavy sigh. “I spend all day settling arguments between my students. Is a peaceful meal at home too much for a man to ask?”
At Simeon’s words, regret drove the anger out of Will. The last thing he wanted was to cause discord in his family. “I’m sorry, Simeon, Naomi. I meant no disrespect.”
For the next few minutes everyone ate in silence, which was only disturbed by the clinking of utensils against plates.
At length, Naomi took a sip of water and then delicately cleared her throat. When she spoke, her measured voice held the barest hint of contrition. “Please forgive me, Will, if I spoke too harshly. But as thy elder sister, I feel it is my place to guide thee.” She took another sip of water. “I must admit it pains me to see my dear husband shoulder more of the work here at home because of thy absence.” She reached over and placed her hand on Simeon’s arm. His mouth full, Simeon answered her wifely concern with a grateful smile and a pat on her hand.
As if emboldened by Simeon’s support, Naomi’s voice grew stronger. “I worry that thy well-meaning acts of charity might be…misconstrued.” On the last word, she lowered her voice to a near whisper and then gained strength again. “Lucinda has not attended Meeting for almost six months now. I am concerned that she did not experience true sanctification. Levi and Charity Braddock have attempted to labor with her and bring her back into the Light, but she refuses to hear them. So unless she shows in some way that her sanctification was genuine—”
Struggling to keep his voice even, Will pushed back from the table, scraping the chair’s legs against the wood floor, and stood. “If thee both will excuse me, there is something I need to work on in the woodshop before it gets too late.” He had quietly listened to Naomi’s admonishment of his conduct. But to hear her casually suggest that Lucinda had not experienced true sanctification was more than he could bear in silence. If he stayed another moment, he’d be putting himself in danger of sinning by saying something he would regret.
Will looked at Naomi but couldn’t force his lips into even the semblance of a smile. “I thank thee for the fine supper, sister,” he mumbled and fled the kitchen. As he passed through the living room, he snatched the Farm Journal off the desk and took it to his bedroom where he slid it under his pillow and then headed to the barn.
Five minutes later, he stood in a corner of the barn he’d avoided since Alan’s death. Here, years earlier, he and Alan had built a small woodworking shop.
He picked up a rasp from the dusty workbench and hefted it in his hands. The words he’d said to Alan when he first handed him the tool nearly eight years ago echoed in his ears. “We are brothers now. Everything that is mine is thine, too.”
&n
bsp; At nineteen, Will had simply tried to make the sixteen-year-old orphaned Alan feel welcome after he’d come to live with Will’s family. And indeed for the better part of seven years—with the exception of clothes that rarely fit both Will’s tall, lanky frame and Alan’s shorter, stockier build—the two had shared most everything.
A shared love of tools and carpentry had cemented their relationship and helped them become closer than many natural brothers. Certainly Alan had been more like a brother to Will than bookish Simeon.
Even after Alan’s marriage to Lucinda, he’d continued to stop by often and work on one project or another in the woodshop. But it was the project Alan had left unfinished that brought Will back to this place he himself had neglected for so long.
Will blew out a long breath, creating a misty cloud in the chilly evening air. The memory of the words he’d spoken to Alan so long ago returned to haunt him. Did that road run both ways? Had Will inherited what Alan had left undone?
The piece of cherry wood still fixed in the vise where Alan had left it said that he did. Alan had meant to finish the project for Lucinda’s birthday last August.
Shame filled Will. He should have finished Alan’s gift then and given it to her as Alan had wanted. But Christmas was coming.
He ran a piece of sandpaper along the rough edge of the plank, smoothing it. After checking for any missed splinters, he took the plank from the vise, set it aside, and replaced it with another rough-cut piece.
Alan had done much of the work. So if Will devoted an hour each day to this project, he should have it done long before Christmas.
“Will.” Will turned toward Simeon’s voice behind him. In the dim lantern light, Simeon’s hard features looked as if they were chiseled from stone, a sight eerily reminiscent of Will and Simeon’s dead father. “My wife’s intent was not to anger thee. But she is right. It is unseemly for thee to spend so much time alone in the company of Lucinda Hughes. If thee cares naught about thy own reputation, at least think of thy sister’s. I will speak with the other elders of the Meeting, and we shall see to it that Alan Hughes’s widow is provided for.” His voice took on a no-nonsense tone Will could imagine him using with an unruly student. “But as Naomi’s husband and thy elder brother, I must insist that thee refrain from visiting Lucinda Hughes further.”
Chapter 5
Lucinda waddled along the leaf-strewn brick walkway that led to Mercy’s porch as quickly as her unwieldy figure allowed. How wonderful it would be when she could walk with ease again and carry her sweet child in her arms instead of in her belly. Thankfully, the weather had remained mild enough for her to continue making the daily trek. And because of that, her skill at the loom had markedly improved in the two weeks since she wove her first rug.
Thoughts of that day brought with it thoughts of Will. At the memory of their ride together on his wagon through the snowy twilight, warmth flooded her cheeks. She could still feel his hands, strong and secure, lifting her to the wagon’s seat. How carefully he’d tucked a woolen blanket around her. Several times, he’d inquired of her comfort and had used his tall frame as a barrier to protect her from icy gusts of wind. And when they finally reached the cabin, he’d eased her down to the ground as if she weighed no more than a feather.
Remembering that moment, and how close she’d come to leaning her head against his chest and inviting his embrace, a blast of shame shot through her. What kind of woman entertained such feelings about a man—even a good man like Will—less than six months after she’d buried her husband? The husband whose child she would bear in little more than a month.
Knowing she couldn’t allow another such moment to happen, she’d kept a more diligent eye on Mercy’s mantel clock while working at the loom. Each day, she made sure she headed home a good hour before the grain mill’s whistle blew, signaling the end of Will’s workday.
She let herself in the front door as Mercy had instructed her to do. Inside, she was met by the welcoming scent of gingerbread. Not finding Mercy at the loom, she hung her shawl and bonnet beside the door and then followed her nose to the kitchen and the source of the delectable, spicy aromas.
“There thee is.” Smiling, Mercy turned from rolling fragrant brown dough at the kitchen table. Her round cheeks glowed pink from the oven’s heat, and her sleeves were rolled up at the elbows. Flour covered the tabletop as well as Mercy’s hands, which gripped the worn rolling pin.
“Since thee has helped me get caught up on my rug orders, I thought this would be a good afternoon to do some Christmas baking.” Mercy pressed the rolling pin against the shapeless piece of dough and angled a grin at Lucinda. “I was lookin’ through my cookie recipes and ran across my mother’s old gingerbread recipe. I thought maybe thee would like to help me make gingerbread men for the children at the orphanage.”
Joy filled Lucinda’s heart as she rolled up her own sleeves. “Oh yes. I’d love to.” Though Christmases at home growing up were sparse, somehow Ma always managed to scrape together enough ingredients to make at least one batch of cookies with the help of Lucinda and her older sisters, Esther and Lydia. Those memories, among the few happy ones of Lucinda’s childhood, brought unexpected tears to her eyes.
If Mercy noticed, she kept it to herself. She snatched an apron from a peg on the wall beside the stove and handed it to Lucinda along with a cookie cutter shaped like a little man. “Thee can begin cutting out the cookies while I start a new batch of dough.”
Lucinda tied on the apron and then pressed the sharp edges of the tin form into the rolled-out dough, repeating the process until she had a dozen faceless, chubby, little men-like figures.
A sad smile graced Mercy’s face as she poured a cup of sugar into a crockery bowl. “My, but this takes me back to when Jedidiah used to help me make these cookies. That is, before he got old enough to consider such things woman’s work.” She gave a little chuckle, but Lucinda thought she noticed tears glistening in the older woman’s eyes. Mercy rarely mentioned her only son, who had worked as a brakeman on the Ohio & Indiana Railroad and died years ago in a train crash.
Struck by life’s unfairness, something akin to anger flared in Lucinda’s chest. Mercy didn’t deserve to lose her son, and later, her husband, any more than Lucinda deserved to lose Alan. Yet God had allowed their loved ones to die. Still here she and Mercy stood, making Christmas cookies to celebrate God’s love in the person of the Christ child. Did Lucinda even believe in God’s love anymore? That was a question she wasn’t prepared to explore. So she was glad when Mercy’s bright voice intruded on her dark musings.
“Did I ever tell thee about my mother?” Mercy plopped the sticky blob of gingerbread dough onto the floured tabletop.
Lucinda shook her head. “No, I don’t think so.” She only remembered Mercy mentioning that she had been raised in Illinois and later came to Indiana with her husband, Ezra, whom she’d met at a Quaker yearly meeting.
“Well,” Mercy said as she rolled out the dough, “Mama was quite a character. The black sheep of the family, thee might say. Papa always said she was as spicy as her gingerbread.” She grinned. “Some say I take after her.”
“Then she must have been a good cook, too.” Using a spatula, Lucinda carefully lifted a dough man from the table and laid it on a waiting greased and floured jellyroll pan.
Mercy chuckled. “Oh no. Mama was a terrible cook. In fact, this cookie recipe was one of the few things she could cook really well. And what was worse, her family didn’t even want her to make it…at least, not as any celebration of Christmas.”
At Lucinda’s puzzled look, Mercy explained that her mother had belonged to a sect of Quakers that did not observe religious festivals such as Christmas.
As she talked, Mercy reached into the flour sack for a handful of the white powdery stuff and gave the table, dough, and rolling pin all a generous dusting. “As a young woman, Mama craved anything exciting and interesting. And though her family refrained from sharing in the Christmas traditions of their non-
Quaker neighbors, Mama was drawn to them. Like this recipe for gingerbread men, she collected anything associated with Christmas celebrations.” She shook her head. “Well,” she said with a huff as she began to roll out the dough, “as thee might imagine, that didn’t set well at all with her folks. And then when Mama’s appetite for excitement plopped her smack dab in the middle of Papa’s family of river pirates—”
“River pirates?” At Mercy’s stunning revelation about her family’s history Lucinda’s eyes popped, and she stopped in her work of decorating the cookies with pieces of raisins.
Mercy laughed out loud, and her blue eyes twinkled. “Don’t gape, child! I will tell thee all about it later. But the upshot is that Mama learned that our lives don’t always go as we think they will. No matter what happens, God still has a plan for each of us.” She paused in rolling out the dough and cocked her head. Her forehead scrunched in a thoughtful expression. “I reckon thee could say He has a recipe for our lives.”
Last year, Lucinda could clearly see God’s plan for her life. But when Alan died, that plan, that recipe had become smudged and unreadable. She pressed raisin eyes into the round face of a gingerbread man. “But what if we can’t read all of God’s recipe for us?” She blinked back tears. “What if parts are missing?”
Mercy came around the table and took Lucinda’s hands in her flour-covered ones. “Dear one, God is the only one who can see the full recipe.” She sighed. “When I put this dough together, I did it one step, one ingredient at a time. We must take each step in faith. Just be open to God’s direction.” She smiled. “Sometimes God surprises us, so don’t reject His instructions just because they are not what thee expects.”
“But how can I tell if it’s God’s direction, or just something I want?” Oddly, the image of Will’s face flashed in Lucinda’s mind.
“Thee should know by now that thee will only find discernment through prayer.” An imploring look came into Mercy’s eyes, and she gave Lucinda’s hands a gentle squeeze. “Thee needs to come back to Meeting, Lucinda. The longer thee stays away, the dimmer the Light within thee becomes.”
A Plain and Sweet Christmas Romance Collection Page 9