Their Mistletoe Matchmakers

by Keli Gwyn

  “Good. And we’re agreed on the price?”

  Dealy drummed the fingers of one hand against his biceps and stared at Henry, unblinking. “It’s fine.”

  “When would you like to complete the transaction?”

  The drumming of the young man’s fingers grew faster. He was as nervous as a hen on a hot griddle, as Henry’s mother used to say. “I’d hoped to take ownership by the end of the year.”

  “Sounds good to me. We could have a lawyer draw up the papers this afternoon if you’d like.”

  “We can’t.” Dealy’s frenzied movement ceased. “I wanted to buy the place right away, but... I don’t have the money.”

  “I thought you were going to get half the proceeds from the sale of your claim.”

  The young man scowled. “So did I, but my partner up and left town. He took my share of the profits with him, the scoundrel. We’d done real good. I would have been able to pay for the smithy and have some left over.”

  “That’s terrible. Do you have any idea where he went?”

  “None. He done slunk off in the middle of the night, leaving me with next to nothing.” He grabbed the hammer Henry had held earlier and brought it down on the anvil, tapping out a forceful rhythm.

  “Mr. Dealy!”

  He stopped and looked from the anvil to Henry, his eyes wide. Dealy set down the hammer and tugged at his collar. “Sorry. I don’t know what came over me.”

  His anger was understandable. “Did you report the crime?”

  “Sure did, but the sheriff don’t hold out much hope of finding the two-faced fraud, so I won’t be able to buy the smithy after all. Unless...” Dealy rubbed the back of his neck.

  “Yes?”

  “I could buy the shop if you was willing to hold the note yourself and let me give you a percentage of the profits each month. I’m a real hard worker. If I bunked in the back room to keep my expenses low, I reckon I could own the shop free and clear in a few years’ time.”

  Earnestness shone from the young man’s eyes, reminding Henry of the day eight years ago when he’d stood in front of a seasoned carpenter and asked if he’d be willing to take on a partner. To Henry’s surprise, the man had accepted his offer, enabling him to boost his savings and buy his hotel three years later.

  “Here’s what I propose, Mr. Dealy. Fire up the forge and show me what you can do. If I’m satisfied with your work, you’ll be the new blacksmith in town.”

  The young man grinned. “Thank you, sir. I won’t let you down.”

  That remained to be seen, but Henry had a hunch the young fellow would prove himself worthy.

  An hour and a set of expertly crafted horseshoes later, Henry had his answer.

  “You’ve proven yourself, Mr. Dealy. The shop will be yours as soon as we can get the sale recorded.” He extended his hand, which the young man shook with vigor.

  “Thank you, Mr. Hawthorn. You won’t be sorry.”

  He hoped that proved to be the case.

  Chapter Seven

  “Angels from the realms of glory, wing your flight o’er all the earth.” Dot walked around the settee, clutching the rag doll Pauline had made her and singing the words over and over. Loudly.

  Henry leaned against his brother’s rolltop desk in the corner of the parlor where Lavinia had been camped out ever since supper, making plans for her party. She seemed oblivious to Dot’s ear-splitting rendition of the carol, which their youngest niece had heard her siblings practicing for their upcoming school concert. Unfortunately, she’d only learned the first two lines.

  Alex and Marcie had escaped upstairs, where they were rehearsing their parts for the play the children would be performing at the Christmas Eve service. Alex, a shepherd, had three lines. Marcie, an angel, had one, but no line in the entire play would be as well-rehearsed, Henry was sure of it.

  He stooped and spoke into Lavinia’s ear. “How can you concentrate?”

  She looked up, putting her so close to him that he could see gold flecks in the dark brown of her eyes. “I’ve heard her sing those words so many times the past couple of days that I don’t really notice them anymore.”

  He’d been busy finalizing the sale of the smithy with Dealy and helping him get settled in. Because of that, he’d only been around at mealtimes, so he’d been spared the constant barrage. “Why haven’t you asked her to stop?”

  “I did, but she has a good reason for singing. Once I heard it, I didn’t have the heart to silence her.” Lavinia tapped the end of the pen against her lower lip. “I’d like to get these lists finished, but perhaps you could distract her by asking her why she’s singing that particular song. Would you do that, please?”

  “Very well.” If he wanted to hear himself think, he had no choice.

  He stepped into Dot’s path. “Dimples!”

  She swerved to miss him and kept marching and singing.

  “So, you think you can avoid me, do you?” He laughed. “Well, you’d better watch out because I have long legs.”

  She increased her speed. He slowed his, waited for the right moment and spun around and scooped her up. “I got you!”

  Instead of giggling as she normally would have, she glared at him. “Put me down, Uncle Henry. I have to sing.”

  He sat in Jack’s favorite armchair with Dot in his lap. “Why is that?”

  “Because.” She clutched her doll to her chest and jutted out her chin.

  “Because why?”

  A tear trickled down Dot’s cheek. “Because Mama and Papa are up in heaven where the angels are, and I’m down here. I have to sing loud so they can hear.”

  He thumbed away the tear. “They do hear singing.”

  “They do?”

  “Let me show you.” Henry reached for his brother’s well-worn leather Bible on the side table and flipped through Isaiah. He located the verse in chapter forty-nine that he’d read many times since receiving the news about the tragic accident. “It says here, ‘Sing, O heavens; and be joyful, O earth; and break forth into singing, O mountains; for the LORD hath comforted His people, and will have mercy upon His afflicted.’”

  “What does that mean?”

  “That there is singing in heaven and here on earth. It also tells us that God will comfort and care for those who are sad.”

  Two more tears spilled over. “I’m sad. Are you sad, too, Uncle Henry?”

  His chest tightened as it did whenever he thought about their loss. “I am.”

  She caressed his cheeks with her tiny hands. “I miss Mama and Papa, but God gave you to us. That makes my heart happy.”

  He returned the Bible to the table and pulled her to his chest, his throat too thick to attempt a response, and placed a kiss on top of her head. They sat there a good minute before he trusted himself to speak.

  “God brought your aunt all the way from Philadelphia, too. If you ask her nicely, she might help me teach you the rest of the words to that song.” Lavinia could use a break from her party planning, even if she couldn’t see that. Besides, he’d missed her company.

  Dot perked up. “Will you help, Aunt Livy?”

  “I will, but could you wait a few minutes, please? I’m almost done here.”

  Dot’s shoulders drooped. “You’re always working.” She turned to Henry. “Can you teach me?”

  He could, and he would. Perhaps when Lavinia saw the fun they were having, she’d be enticed to join them. “Sure. Why don’t you run upstairs and see if Alex and Marcie want to join us? Tell them we’ll be singing some of the carols from their concert.”

  “Goody! This will be just like when Mama was here. She played the piano for us all the time.” Dot hopped out of his lap and dashed from the room.

  With her gone, it was so quiet in the parlor that Henry could hear the sc
ratch of Lavinia’s pen as she worked on her lists. He rose, stood behind her at the desk and rested a hand on her shoulder. “How are things coming?”

  She tensed, not relaxing until he removed his hand. Was it his friendly gesture or the interruption that had stiffened her shoulders? “I’m having a hard time concentrating, so everything’s taking longer than I expected.”

  Definitely the interruption and not his touch. Good. “Pauline used to say that becoming a mother had taught her the meaning of the word flexibility.”

  Lavinia placed her pen on its stand and looked up. “My sister balked at rules and conventions. She didn’t make plans because she didn’t want to be bound by them.”

  “You said her adventurous nature was one of the things you admired most about her.”

  “I did. She broke free, but I was left behind to—never mind. It doesn’t matter.” Lavinia exhaled an audible breath and picked up the pen.

  Clearly, it mattered a great deal. “What was it like after she was gone?”

  “Different.” She dipped the pen in the ink bottle and proceeded to add another item to her list.

  If she didn’t want to talk about it, he wouldn’t force her. But perhaps he could show her how much fun she could have if she embraced life’s unexpected pleasures.

  He sat at the piano, lifted the fallboard to reveal the keys and launched into one of his favorite carols, “God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen.” The words and music chased away the melancholy of the past few days. Disposing of Jack’s business had dredged up memories of good times spent there with his brother and intensified the pain of Henry’s loss.

  Lavinia’s chair scraped on the floorboards. She headed his way, stood beside the piano and watched him. Her blank expression gave no indication what she was thinking, but her folded arms told him she wasn’t happy.

  He finished the stanza and stopped. “Are you taking a break after all?”

  “You didn’t tell me you play.” Her clipped words sounded like an accusation.

  “It didn’t come up.”

  “We talked about music. For the party. Don’t you remember?”

  Of course he did.

  “You could have told me then.”

  “I saw no reason to. It’s not like you’d want me to play at your party. I’m not that good.”

  She gave a dry laugh. “How can you say that? I just heard you play. You’re as accomplished as I am, or more so.”

  Really? He found that hard to believe. She’d probably received lessons from some of the finest instructors in Philadelphia. “You’re too kind.”

  “When did you learn to play?”

  “One of the miners who took a room in my hotel was an accomplished musician back east before he contracted Gold Fever and headed west. I offered to discount his rent if he could make a pianist out of me. He was a patient fellow and didn’t give up on me and these clumsy workman’s fingers.” He wiggled them.

  “How resourceful. I’d never think of bartering like that, but you did it to get those cooking lessons, too.”

  She wouldn’t have had to resort to bartering, not with all the money at her disposal. To better himself, he’d done whatever he could to acquire new skills, including granting a few favors or exchanging labor for lessons. “I’ve found most people are more than willing to help me out.”

  “That must be nice.” She heaved a wistful sigh. “I’ve had numerous people attempt to take advantage of me just as Mr. Benedict’s done.”

  So she was bothered by the greedy building owner’s tactics after all. “I’m sorry he did that.”

  “I’m used to it. It’s one of the disadvantages of being Paul Crowne’s daughter—and a woman. I should have asked you to negotiate for me.” She picked up a porcelain bird from the top of the piano and studied it.

  “Why didn’t you? I’d have been happy to help.”

  She set the figurine down and pinned him with a steely gaze. “Has it occurred to you I might not want your help? This party is my undertaking, my opportunity to show you that—” She clamped her lips together and turned away.

  “To show me what? That you’re determined to win the children’s affection? I know that. I just don’t think you’re going about it the right way.” Ugh! How tactless could he be? “What I mean is—”

  “I know what you mean.” She whirled around, her dark eyes flashing. “You think you can do a better job caring for them than I can, that because I’ve led a sheltered life I don’t have the necessary skills. You think you’re going to show me that they belong here with you. But you’re mistaken. I’m more capable than you give me credit for.”

  “I think you’re more capable than you give yourself credit for. You traveled all the way to California, even though you had to challenge your father to do it.”

  To his surprise, she didn’t correct his assumption, which told him his suspicion was correct. Knowing she’d stood up to her domineering father for the sake of the children ran counter to Henry’s earlier view of her. Lavinia was more like her spirited sister than he’d thought.

  Since she made no move to speak, he continued. “You arrived to find that life here isn’t what you’re accustomed to, but you don’t complain or put on airs. You just roll up your sleeves and tackle whatever tasks need doing.”

  She sank into the nearest chair and stared at the rug for several seconds before looking at him. Determination shone from her dark eyes. “I appreciate your kind words, but if you think plying me with compliments will make me see things your way, you’re mistaken. My father and I could offer the children a life beyond their wildest dreams. This party is just the beginning.”

  Even if that was true, he was the children’s guardian. They wouldn’t be going anywhere, especially not to live under Paul Crowne’s roof—and his thumb.

  “I’m sure the party will be spectacular, but life is made up of everyday pleasures mixed with plenty of love and a sprinkling of laughter. Like your idea of skating in the hall. The children will remember that for years to come.”

  “That was fun, but a few minutes spent sliding over a polished floor can hardly compare with a party like the one I’m planning.” She rocked onto the balls of her feet, her eyes aglow. “I can hardly wait to see their faces when they walk into the meeting hall and experience the excitement in the air.”

  Most likely they would be overwhelmed. Well, maybe not Marcie. She embraced new experiences, but Alex and Dot were more reserved.

  “Come on, slowpokes!” A clatter of feet followed as Dot raced down the stairs.

  Henry chuckled. “I think we’re in for some excitement now.”

  Dot burst into the room, jammed her hands against her hips and shook her head. “I went up to tell Alex and Marcie we’re gonna sing Christmas songs, but they said they was too busy practicing for their play. Will you still play for me, Uncle Henry?”

  “Of course, but I don’t think it will be long before your brother and sister show up, especially if we’re all singing. You will join us, won’t you, Lavinia?”

  She twirled a loose curl around her finger and looked deep into his eyes, her own lit with mischief. “That depends.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “On...?”

  Her lips twitched for a moment, as though she was holding a smile back. It burst forth suddenly, warm and radiant. “On whether or not I know the song you’re playing.”

  “How about ‘I Saw Three Ships’? Even if you or this eager singer—” he inclined his head toward Dot “—don’t know the words, they’re easy to pick up.”

  “Good thinking. We’ll do such a fine job together that we’re sure to draw Alex and Marcie in.”

  Dot tugged on his jacket. “What are the words, Uncle Henry?”

  “Some of them change, but just remember ‘on Christmas Day.’ We’ll sing them a lot. Can you do that?
”

  She nodded.

  He launched into the carol, one he’d played many times for the miners up in Marysville. Lavinia sang along, her voice a bright silvery mezzo soprano that harmonized well with his baritone. Dot chimed in on her lines with gusto.

  They’d just started the second verse when Alex and Marcie rushed into the room, breathless, having thundered down the stairs. The two caught on to the song’s repetitive pattern in no time and joined in.

  Their little group reached the end of the nine verses, and Dot clapped with glee. “More, Uncle Henry. Play some more, please.”

  “What would you like to hear?”

  Alex was quick to answer. “Can you play the songs we’ll be singing in the school choir?”

  “Could you remind me what they are?”

  “Yes, Alex. He needs to know that.” Marcie pulled a face at her brother.

  Lavinia gave Marcie a pointed look and tilted her head toward Alex.

  Marcie held out her hands and feigned innocence. “What? I was just trying to help.”

  “Apologize to him, please.” Lavinia waited a moment, but Marcie said nothing. “Now.”

  “Fine. I’m sorry.”

  Although Marcie’s apology lacked sincerity, Lavinia didn’t press the matter. Her patience with the children was admirable. “What carols are you singing, Alex, other than ‘Angels From the Realms of Glory,’ that is? Thanks to Dot, I know about that one.” He tugged on her braid, earning him a smile.

  “‘O Come, O Come, Emmanuel,’ ‘O Come All Ye Faithful’ and ‘It Came Upon the Midnight Clear.’”

  “I know all of them except the last one.”

  Lavinia began singing that carol, her voice strong and sure. The joy radiating from her was palpable. Henry watched, enthralled, as did the children. She completed the first verse, stopped and looked from face to face, surprise reflected on hers. “What is it?”

  Dot was the first to speak. “You’re the bestest singer I ever heard, Aunt Livy.”

  “Thank you, sweetie. I didn’t mean to get carried away, but ‘It Came Upon a Midnight Clear’ is my favorite carol.”