A Plain and Sweet Christmas Romance Collection

by Lauralee Bliss

  Lucinda breathed a deep, ragged sigh and rubbed her arms against the biting wind. Staring wouldn’t cause Will’s wagon and mule to materialize.

  She emitted a small groan as she bent over her expanded waistline to lift three pieces of firewood into her arms.

  Inside, she laid the largest—a chunk of maple—on the stone hearth that jutted out from the large fireplace.

  From her perch on the horsehair chair, Mercy glanced up from sewing together strips of faded calico that Lucinda would soon weave into a new rug. “How much snow did we get last night?” Since their conversation three days ago, neither woman had spoken again of Lucinda’s plans to return to Kentucky in the spring.

  Lucinda cradled the two small pieces of willow wood meant for the cookstove in the crook of her arm. “Looks like about four inches.”

  “Thee should have waited to bring in the wood, Lucinda. If the pile of wood on the porch is as low as thee says, Will probably will stop by on his way to the mill to bring us more.”

  Fearing her face might reflect her hope that Mercy was right, Lucinda turned toward the kitchen. “Maybe. But that won’t help me keep the fire going in the cookstove now.”

  “Thee should make biscuits, I think,” Mercy called after her. “I would like some biscuits, and I’m sure Will would, too, if he should stop by.”

  Lucinda didn’t reply but carried the two pieces of wood into the little kitchen.

  Warmth radiated from the cookstove in which she’d earlier built a fire with corncobs soaked in kerosene.

  Using a piece of quilted flannel, she pushed down the hot lever on the door covering the stove’s firebox, swung the door open, and pitched in the two pieces of willow wood. The cold, wet wood sizzled and popped as she fed it into the hot stove, sending orange sparks flying.

  Two pieces should be enough to bake biscuits. Mercy was right. If Will did stop by to bring them wood, he would appreciate hot biscuits.

  As she reached for the flour sack on the shelf beside the cupboard, guilt nibbled at her conscience. If, as she suspected, Will did harbor a special affection for her, was it fair of her to encourage his affection when she planned to leave both Indiana and the Quaker faith?

  Minutes later, her heart fluttered at the sound of a wagon rattling to a stop in front of the cabin.

  “I think thee has company, Lucinda.” Mercy’s voice held a noticeable smugness as she called from the front room.

  Using a dish towel to protect her fingers, Lucinda reached into the oven and grasped the hot pan full of fragrant, golden-brown biscuits. She plunked the pan of freshly baked bread onto the stove top and started for the front room.

  Opening the door, she found Will peering around a pile of split maple wood in his arms.

  “I see thee needs more wood. I have brought plenty for both the fireplace and the cookstove.” He stamped on the porch boards, knocking snow from his boots.

  “Thank thee, Will. I was hoping thee would come.” The words leaped from Lucinda’s mouth before she thought. Not only did they express her true feelings, but she realized that she had lapsed back into the plain Quaker speech. Just as well. Will didn’t need to know that she had all but abandoned the Quaker faith. She moved aside, inviting him to come in, and admonished her racing heart, which refused to behave at his smile.

  “Good morning, Mercy.” Will stepped into the front room and turned his smiling attention to the older woman. “I pray thee is feeling better.”

  Dropping her work back to her lap, Mercy returned his smile. “I am. Thank thee, Will.” She gingerly touched her fingers to the dark scab forming on her bruised forehead. “My cut is nearly healed.” Then she lifted the forked stick she now kept beside her chair. “Lucinda found this outside beneath the big old poplar tree in the yard.” She grinned. “Just sitting in this chair gets powerful tiring, so with this I can manage to hobble around some.” Half turning in her chair, she glanced over her shoulder toward the front window. “Does thee think it will snow again tonight?”

  “Think so.” He shifted the load of wood in his arms. “The wind has picked up, and it is coming from the north now.” He shot a worried look at the lonely piece of wood lying on the hearth. “Are thee both staying warm enough?”

  “Plenty warm,” Lucinda chimed in. “In fact”—she grinned at her houseguest—“Mercy more often complains about being too warm.”

  He left three more pieces of split wood on the hearth and then headed to the kitchen, Lucinda following behind him. “But we would freeze for sure if it wasn’t for the wood thee brings,” she said as he stacked six pieces of willow wood by the cookstove.

  “I’ll bring in as much as I can pile up by the hearth then I’ll finish the rick on the porch.” A worried look etched a V between his pale brows. “But thee must be careful when thee goes out on the porch to fetch it. And do not carry too much at once.” He glanced at her distended middle. Immediately, his face turned bright red, and his gaze skittered quickly away.

  His sweet concern touched her deeply, bringing a knot of hot tears to her throat. She swallowed them down and forced a light tone to her voice. “Thee will stay for biscuits and coffee, won’t thee?” She turned her back to him and began transferring the hot bread to a stoneware plate. If her eyes held hope, she’d rather he not see it.

  His voice behind her smiled. “I was hoping thee would ask when I first walked in and smelled them. I would not want to miss thy biscuits, Lucinda.”

  When she turned back to place the plate of biscuits on the table, he leaned his face close to hers, sending her heart skipping. He lowered his voice to a whisper. “Thy biscuits are better even than Mercy’s,” he said with a glance toward the front room, “though thee must not tell her I said so.”

  At his nearness, Lucinda’s breath left her lungs. Grasping the table’s edge to support her suddenly weak knees, she caught only a glance of his grin as he turned and headed toward the front room.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  Will’s heart pounded as he stood at the back of his wagon and loaded his arms with wood. Guilt had smote him at finding such a small amount of firewood on Lucinda’s porch. He should have come two days ago. But before seeing her again, he had needed to spend much time in prayer.

  After the first of the year, Simeon and the other elders would likely meet with Lucinda and question the state of her faith. And if, as Simeon believed, she had turned away from the faith, Will might be forced to choose between her and his brother.

  Last night as Will lay in bed, praying for God to give him the answer, one came. Not heralded by trumpet or an angelic choir but a still, small voice that spoke directly to his heart. The words he heard were simple. “Love is to give.”

  He needed to keep doing what he had been doing all along—taking care of Lucinda. And as long as she allowed him to, that was what he would do.

  He turned toward the cabin, and his gaze flitted over its weathered porch posts. The porch would need painting in the spring. Hefting the firewood in his arms, he prayed he’d be the one doing the work. But when he shared with her the burden he’d carried for six months, Simeon’s opposition to Will seeing Lucinda would likely be rendered irrelevant

  Sometime soon he would have to tell her. But not today. This morning he wanted only her smiles. Today he needed to go to the mill still believing that in the spring he would paint Lucinda’s porch.

  After building up the stack of wood on the porch and bringing in all that the hearth could hold, Will walked to the kitchen.

  There Lucinda stood pouring steaming cups of coffee, while Mercy sat buttering biscuits.

  “Sit down, Will.” From the end of the table, Mercy motioned him toward the chair across from the one in which Lucinda had taken a seat.

  He dragged off his hat and ran his hand over his hair in an attempt to smooth it down, aware that it must look like so much straw. After hanging his hat on the knob of the chair Mercy had indicated, Will sat down.

  Mercy looked over at him. “Will, would thee say
the blessing, please?” Although it was Lucinda’s home, the older woman seemed to have assumed the role of host, as befit her age.

  Will bowed his head over his plate of buttered biscuits and cup of black coffee. “Lord, we thank Thee for this food and all Thy blessings and the opportunity to commune with Thee and dear ones of like precious faith. In Jesus’ name, amen.”

  When he raised his head, he looked across the table, directly into Lucinda’s eyes. He hadn’t seen her bow her head, but he might have missed it.

  Her glance flickered from his face to the lone plate of biscuits. “I’m sorry I have no eggs to serve thee. The chickens have slowed down on their layin’, but I haven’t checked this mornin’, so there might be some out there.”

  “Too cold.” Mercy shook her head. “The cold weather always slows them down.”

  “Thee has no business traipsing out to the chicken house through this snow.” Concern roughed his tone. Every time he thought he’d done all he could to keep Lucinda safe, another worry cropped up. “I’ll feed and water the chickens and check for eggs before I leave.”

  A hint of a smile touched Lucinda’s lips. “If thee finds some, maybe I could make a Christmas cake, if thee would care to share it with Mercy and me.” Her cinnamon-colored eyes looked almost childlike in their hopefulness.

  All morning, he’d tried to think of how best to invite her to the midweek Meeting on Christmas Eve, two days away. So her unexpected mention of the coming holiday seemed to present the perfect opportunity. Thank Thee, Lord.

  Aloud, he said, “I would love to share thy Christmas cake. If thee would like, I’d be glad to take thee to Meeting on Christmas Eve.” He fixed his gaze on his plate. In the past six months, she’d turned down every invitation to attend Meeting. But it was Christmas. He needed to try.

  She paused and then exhaled a long sigh that frayed at the edges. “Yes, I think I’d like that. Thank thee.”

  It took him a couple of seconds to accept what he’d heard. “I’d best come by about six thirty, then. Meeting is at seven.” He tried hard to keep the surprise from his voice as his ridiculous heart sang.

  His joy immediately withered.

  I’ll tell her then. I’ll have to tell her then.

  He couldn’t allow it to go on. She had to know. And if telling Lucinda the truth killed all hope of winning her love, then so be it. Maybe he deserved that. Maybe that would be fit penance. The burden had grown too heavy. On Christmas Eve he would lay it down.

  Chapter 10

  Six o’clock Christmas Eve, Lucinda frowned at her reflection in the oval dresser mirror. Tugging at her best black bombazine dress, she wished it fit better. She’d been able to let out enough pleats to accommodate her swollen belly, but it seemed to hang all wrong. Hopefully, her black wool shawl would hide a lot.

  Had she made a mistake in agreeing to this? How would the congregation she had so long shunned receive her? Worst of all, would God view her as a hypocrite? Well, it was too late to change her mind now. She’d promised Will and couldn’t bear the thought of disappointing him.

  Chiding herself for her case of nerves, she slipped another pin into the coil of hair she’d twisted into a bun at the back of her head.

  Outside, the jangling sound of a wagon sent her to the front room, her heart racing with her feet.

  “Will is here,” Mercy called unnecessarily from her chair in the front room.

  When Lucinda answered the knock at the door, her focus shifted from Will’s face to the long, narrow parcel wrapped in brown butcher paper that he held in his hand.

  “Good evening, Lucinda, Mercy.” He knocked the snow off his boots and stepped into the front room.

  “What has thee brought?” Curious, Lucinda followed him as he stepped to where Mercy sat.

  “Merry Christmas, Mercy.” He held the package out to her.

  Mercy accepted it with a puzzled grin. “What could thee have brought me?”

  “Open it up and find out,” he said, his smile stretching his face wide.

  “Yes, Mercy, open it up!” Leaning forward, Lucinda clasped her hands together, trying to guess what Will’s gift to Mercy might be.

  Mercy tore away the paper to reveal a wooden stick. But the gift was more than a stick. It was a lovely, varnished cane of dark wood. Lucinda guessed black walnut. The end was crooked like a shepherd’s staff and padded with black cotton material.

  “I thought this might work better for thee than the forked poplar branch.”

  “Oh, thank thee, Will! It is perfect. Exactly what I need.” Mercy’s eyes filled with wonder and tears. She immediately used her new gift to stand and give Will a hug.

  Lucinda’s heart swelled at his sweet gesture. Was there ever a kinder, more thoughtful man? She didn’t want to contemplate how empty and sad her life would be without him.

  Oddly, without saying a word, he went out the door again. A few seconds later, he returned holding a large object wrapped in a crazy quilt. “This is for thee,” he said to Lucinda.

  Her mind whirling, Lucinda stepped back to allow Will and his mysterious burden into the front room. Her curious gaze followed the quilt-wrapped gift as he set it down in front of her. “But thee already got me the loom. Thee didn’t need to—”

  “I’m really just delivering this,” he broke in, his tone almost apologetic. “Alan started it,” he said, stealing away her breath. “I only finished it.”

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  Will held his breath as he lifted the quilt from the cherry wood cradle. How would she react?

  Still no words.

  Mercy emitted a soft gasp.

  Lucinda’s trembling fingers ran tenderly, almost reverently over the varnished red-gold wood, her large eyes questioning, unbelieving, helpless. At last she turned them to him—huge brown eyes glistening with tears.

  The silence lengthened until he could no longer bear it. He had to fill it.

  “He’d started working on it right after he learned about the baby. He’d planned it to be a birthday gift for thee last August.” Will squirmed, his nervous hands crushing his good black hat.

  Her tears escaped their beautiful confines and slipped silently down her cheeks.

  “I hope it does not offend thee that I finished it. I thought he would want…” Will felt lost now. Floundering. Unsure.

  “Yes. Yes, that’s exactly what he would have wanted.” Her voice quivered, but he marveled at her courage and how her words had hastened to his rescue. “Thank thee for finishing it and bringing it to me.” Her words lent the impression that she’d sensed his discomfort and wanted to console him!

  His heart writhed. If only he could put his arms around her. But that wouldn’t do, especially with Mercy looking on.

  But Mercy’s glistening eyes were fixed on the cradle. “It is a beautiful cradle, Will. I can see the love shining from it.”

  “Thank thee,” Will mumbled and then cleared his dry throat.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  An hour later, in the midst of the midweek Meeting, a peace Lucinda had not felt for many months settled over her heart. The Prince of Peace. Moments ago, she’d sung those words in a carol along with the rest of the congregation.

  Entering the meetinghouse, she’d expected snubs and even outright hostility. Instead, she’d been met with smiles and welcoming hugs. Even Naomi and Simeon Davis had greeted her with smiles, albeit a tinge stiff.

  In the congregation’s loving embrace, Lucinda realized the truth in Mercy’s words. God had not abandoned her nor had the congregation of Serenity Friends Meeting. Lucinda was the one who had left them. She had let her anger at God separate her from His comfort, His peace, and His Light.

  When they left the meetinghouse, Will tucked Lucinda’s arm securely around his and helped her across the snowy ground to the wagon. As they walked, she glanced up at the quiet figure of the man beside her. God had not left her alone. Whenever she needed something, Will had been there. He never gave up on her. As he was doing now, he’d quie
tly provided caring support. Patiently and lovingly, he’d nudged her back to God’s guiding Light. And with that Light shining brightly within her once more, she could now see clearly God’s direction for her life. And that direction was not back to Kentucky, but right here in Serenity with the man to whose arm she clung.

  As Will ensconced her on the wagon seat, wrapping her in a quilt, Lucinda returned his smile. She no longer needed nor wanted to deny what her heart felt for him. At last she could unflinchingly call it by name—love. Yes, love.

  Her heart twirled with joy at the admission. Oh, love hadn’t come with the sudden loud clatter of a summer thunderstorm as it had with Alan. This time, love had crept slowly, quietly, like a winter snowfall, covering her heart like a soft, warm, comforting blanket.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  Will’s fingers tensed around the reins as the mule pulled the wagon away from the meetinghouse. When would he tell her? How would he begin?

  The wagon had come up even with the cemetery’s wrought iron fence when she pressed her hand against his arm. “Will, stop for a little.”

  “Is thee warm enough?” Concerned, he reached to snug the lap quilt around her.

  “Yes, I am warm.” Her sweet smile relaxed his worried frown.

  The time to tell her had come.

  “Lucinda…” Praying for courage, he hesitated.

  She waited quietly for him to continue. Their gazes drifted to the cemetery, which looked serenely beautiful in the moonlight. The new snow covered all the reality, white fluffy caps softening the headstones.

  Will cleared his throat and began again. “There is something I need to tell thee. Something I should have told thee before.” He took a deep breath and then allowed the words he’d harbored so long to escape in a rush. “It should have been me, not Alan.” There, he’d said it.

  “No, Will. Thee mustn’t say that.”

  She didn’t understand. He would have to finish it. His courage nearly deserted him. He kept his gaze directed toward the vicinity of his friend’s grave. If he looked into her beautiful brown eyes, he’d be lost.