Abiding Love

by Melody Morgan

  Buying for Jonathan had taken longer. His interests centered only around hunting and fishing, and even though she knew he would dearly love to have his own hunting knife, she couldn't bring herself to buy one. Instead, she bought the best fishing pole in the mercantile. The next day she returned to buy a game board with checkers for winter evenings, when he was usually so bored.

  Casting a glance toward the stairs, sensing the restrained excitement generated by the two wide-awake children upstairs, Irene placed all the gifts near the richly decorated Christmas tree.

  Earlier that day, when Howard had brought them the tree, the entire house had instantly filled with the scent of woodsy pine. Lydia and Jonathan had been entranced, if not spellbound. Unlike her usual talkative self, Lydia became quiet, even pensive. But Jonathan had more than made up for her silence with hundreds of questions about where the tree came from, what they would put on it, how they would reach the tip of it, if any squirrels still lived in it. Most of her answers satisfied him until he asked if Ross would be coming to Christmas dinner along with Mr. and Mrs. Gregg. She had been unprepared for his reply to her simple "no." Quietly, with his head turned to one side, he'd asked, "Why? Aren't you friends anymore?"

  Stumped for an answer, she searched his small face and found only bewilderment. Sitting on the edge of the settee so they were at eye level, she took his hand.

  "Jonathan," she began, but hardly knew how to go on. "It isn't that we aren't friends anymore as much as we shouldn't be friends."

  "Why not? Did he say something bad to you?"

  "No," she answered honestly. "It isn't anything he's said."

  "Did he do something wrong?" He squinted his eyes, trying to understand the way that grownups thought and why they made everything so complicated.

  "Let's just say that he and I really have nothing in common, and friends need things in common so they can talk." She smiled weakly at her lame attempt to justify her actions. "Do you understand?"

  Shaking his head, he replied, "No."

  How could she tell him that it was improper for her, a schoolteacher, to spend a family holiday with a saloon keeper? The implication would be far too obvious to the townspeople, as well as the superintendent, even if it weren't obvious to a small boy.

  And in spite of the challenging words that Ross Hollister had spoken several nights ago, she had to consider the impropriety of having him sit at their Christmas dinner table. Jonathan would simply have to accept a final "no" as her answer.

  She stood back now looking at the beautiful tree with its strings of popcorn and tiny bows of ribbons. As wonderful as it was to be able to share the holiday with the children and her mother, there was still an emptiness within herthat same emptiness that drew her to the novels beneath her bed. But now, even they didn't fill the need. And without intentionally doing so, her mind settled on the memory of Ross Hollister standing before her in the moonlight, his arms holding her close to his heart.

  Giving a shake of her head to dispel the thought, she chided herself. "Such a foolish romantic heart, Irene. Mother was right."

  And with that, she blew out the lamp and went to bed.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Christmas morning brought snow from the heavy, overcast sky, but neither Jonathan nor Lydia even noticed as they scurried around getting dressed.

  "Let's wake her up," Jonathan whispered while the two of them stood outside Irene's door.

  "All right," Lydia agreed, her whole body trembling with excitement. "Miss Barrett?" she called through the closed door as she knocked gently. "Are you up?"

  "She won't hear you if all you're gonna do is whisper," he whispered to his sister in exasperation.

  "Well, I'm not going to bang on the door!" Lydia said, raising her voice slightly.

  Jonathan eyed her with irritation. They'd never have Christmas if he left it to her.

  Suddenly, the door opened. "Good morning, you two," Irene said smiling. "It's barely daylight. You could have stayed in bed a little while longer."

  "We couldn't sleep," Jonathan answered, anticipation shining in his eyes.

  Placing her arms around their shoulders, Irene led them to the stairs. "Neither could I. I suppose we might as well go down and build a fire."

  "Oh, no you don't," called Winnie emerging from her room. "Not without me."

  Once downstairs, with the frigid air surrounding them, Jonathan and Lydia stood transfixed, staring at the gifts beneath the tree.

  "My, but it's cold in here!" Winnie said, shaking down the ashes in the parlor stove. Quickly, she laid pieces of kindling and lit them.

  Wrapping her shawl closer, Irene watched the children. Jonathan's eyes sparkled as he stepped closer to the tree. Lydia didn't move. She just stood there with wide eyes, staring at the doll in the cradle.

  "Isn't it ever going to get warm in here?" Winnie complained, fiddling with the damper.

  "I don't suppose there's any chance of having breakfast first . . ." Irene teased.

  Jonathan turned toward her, hopeful. "Do we have to?"

  Smiling, Irene answered, "No. Breakfast can wait." She moved to the tree and lifted a long narrow package wrapped in brown paper. "This is for you, Jonathan."

  Without reserve, he tore the paper away to reveal the fishing pole. He'd hoped that was what was inside. "My own fishin' pole! Now Ross won't have to let me use his all the time." He studied it and touched it lovingly.

  "Lydia?" Irene bit her lip, wondering if she'd insulted her by giving her a child's toy. Perhaps the doll had been a mistake.

  As if released from a trance, Lydia turned to Irene. Never in her life had Christmas been this beautiful. She wanted to say her thoughts aloud, but they stuck in her throat. Bending to lift the fragile doll from the cradle, the remnants of her childhood surrounded her and she held the doll close. For a long time, she'd hoped for a home where she'd be cared for, instead of carrying the burden of caring for others. As she stared down at the lace-and-satin-dressed doll cradled in her arms, a new kind of serenity enveloped her. The doll signified to her that someone did care, very much. With a small movement, she brushed away the tear that trickled down her cheek.

  "Do you like her?" Irene asked, softly.

  Glancing up, Lydia nodded. "I love her." Smiling, she added, "Thank you."

  With a quiet sigh of relief, Irene pulled another brown package from under the tree and handed it to Jonathan.

  Laying his fishing pole aside, he took the gift. "Thank you." Opening it, he found the wooden game board and pieces.

  "We'll have all winter to challenge each other," Irene said.

  "You'll have to teach me. I don't know how to play. Is it hard?" He touched the wooden squares, thinking it would certainly be better than doing homework, no matter how hard it was.

  "Not really," Irene replied. "We'll try it out later when Mr. and Mrs. Gregg arrive."

  After that, they all handed out the gifts they had made or bought.

  Winnie gave matching mittens and scarves to each of them, and even Jonathan appreciated their bright colors and warmth. Lydia gave Winnie and Irene handkerchiefs that she had meticulously embroidered, and a pair of socks that took her forever to knit went to Jonathan.

  Now it was Jonathan's turn. Excited but shy, he produced from his pocket a small, well-polished rock that he gave to Irene. "I found this along the river," he began. "I thought maybe you could use it to hold the papers down on your desk when the wind blows in the door."

  Irene took the rock, studying the distinct layers, admiring its polished surface. "Thank you, Jonathan. It's a wonderful, thoughtful gift." She leaned over and kissed his cheek.

  Ducking his head, he moved on to Lydia. "I found this in the woods when me and Ross went hunting." He reached into his pocket and placed an arrowhead in her palm. "I saved it until Christmas to give it to you."

  "Oh, Jonathan!" she exclaimed, turning it over and over. "Thank you. It will always remind me of the adventure we had at the cabin."

  Turn
ing to Winnie, he reached inside his pocket once more.

  "Ross said this would bring good luck to anyone who has it," he said as he dropped a soft, silky rabbit's foot into her hand.

  Forcing herself to accept the gift without showing her queasiness, Winnie smiled and responded, "Thank you, Jonathan."

  Irene looked around and felt a warmth she had not known before. The children brought her a measure of happiness she hadn't expected. By direct contrast, she was also keenly aware of the emptiness deep within her being. And lately she had come to realize that even Andrew hadn't filled that emptiness. Then, with a shake of her head to dispel her gloomy thoughts, she reminded herself that they had guests coming.

  "I suppose," she said, heading for the kitchen, "we'd better get that turkey in the oven, or we'll be eating it for dinner tomorrow!"

  "You're absolutely right," Winnie replied, rising from her seat. "You children pick up those papers."

  Irene brought the turkey from the ice-cold pantry and prepared it, while the stove burst to life under Winnie's capable hands. Lydia placed three pies on the side table in the seldom-used dining room and six of the eight places available were set with Irene's china.

  In a short time, the house radiated warmth from the kitchen to the parlor, where Jonathan had taken an armload of wood. There was an excitement in the air that only Christmas could bring, and none of them was exempt from feeling it.

  Later, when the smell of turkey was strong in the air, a knock at the back door brought Irene from the pantry, dusting her flouted hands on her apron. She opened the door, expecting to find Howard and Emma arriving early, but instead found Ross Hollister burdened with an armful of packages.

  Surprise and shock coursed through her body. She wanted to send him away immediately, remembering their last encounter when he walked her home after rehearsal, yet at the same time she wanted to invite him in.

  "Merry Christmas," he said, looking at her and relishing what he saw.

  Stepping aside in invitation, she answered, "Merry Christmas to you." She untied her apron strings behind her, then changed her mind and tied them again. Flustered and confused by his appearance at her door, she waited for him to make the next move. But as usual Jonathan saved the moment for both of them.

  "Ross!" Jonathan cried gleefully. "Boy, are we glad you came. This makes Christmas just perfect!" Out of the corner of his eye, he glanced at Irene, hoping she wouldn't send Ross away.

  "I'm real glad to be here too, pal," he said softly.

  Ross held Irene's gaze even though he spoke to Jonathan, and she knew he meant to include her in his statement. She didn't know whether to blush or be angry, and the heightening pink in her cheeks could be evidence of either.

  "What've you got there, Ross?" Jonathan asked, bouncing around on his toes.

  "This is Christmas, isn't it?" Ross teased.

  "Sure it is!"

  "Maybe you could lead the way to the tree so I can set these things down." He continued to look at Irene, but she knew he was actually speaking to Jonathan. Whatever he had in mind was already set in motion, and there was little she could do to stop it.

  "This way. Can you see?" Jonathan asked, trying to see Ross over the top of his load.

  "You bet I can." Ross forced himself to look away from Irene and followed the boy through the house to the parlor, where a cheery fire crackled and popped.

  Irene, with a grumbling Winnie trailing behind her, followed in single file right after Lydia, who could barely contain her rising excitement.

  "That sure is one nice tree," Ross commented as he placed his packages on the floor, then turned to Irene.

  "Howard brought it," she offered. "He gets one for me when he gets his."

  Ross wondered if Andrew had ever cut down his own tree and taken her with him just to enjoy her company on a special occasion. He knew he would.

  Looking at his gifts wrapped in paper, Irene said, "You really shouldn't have."

  With a shrug he replied, "I just thought this is the time of year to put behind us any differences we have. And I'd hoped you wouldn't be able to turn away a man bearing gifts."

  His genuine smile, combined with the mischievous twinkle in his eyes, made her smile in return.

  "That's a start," he said, glad to see she didn't plan on throwing him out. But he wasn't so sure about her mother, who stood glowering behind her.

  With a timid tug on Ross's coat, Jonathan asked, "Are these for us?"

  "Yep. I wouldn't let Christmas pass by without bringing something for a special boy and girl." Ross squatted down on his haunches and reached for a package.

  Seeing him like that, in her parlor before her tree, did something to Irene. She felt the emptiness within her suddenly ebb, and for the first time she was willing to admit that his presence wasn't foreign, but welcome.

  ''Let's see . . ." Ross began, pulling a long, narrow package from the pile. "This is for you." And he handed it to Jonathan.

  Hiding a smile behind her hand, Irene recognized the shape of the package as a fishing pole.

  Jonathan tore the paper away to reveal another fishing pole. "Oh, boy! Two of 'em! Now I can ask Bobby to go with me. He doesn't have one."

  Ross looked up at Irene, who'd been watching with amusement. "Did you already give him one?" he asked, a half smile lingering at one side of his mouth.

  She nodded.

  "Well, he doesn't seem disappointed," Ross replied.

  "Heck, no!" Jonathan answered. "This is great!"

  Searching to the bottom, Ross pulled out a small package and handed it to Lydia.

  She accepted the gift with a quiet "thank you." Inside was a rainbow of ribbons for her hair. "They're beautiful. I've never had so many before." Impulsively, she kissed his cheek.

  Pleased that he'd made the right choice, he winked at her. Then he reached for one of the two remaining packages, handing it to Winnie.

  Caught somewhat off guard, Winnie sputtered, trying to say nice things while deep in her heart her misgivings about him hadn't changed. She untied the string, letting the paper fall away to reveal a beautiful shawl the color of a summer sky.

  Truly at a loss for words now, she wrapped it around her, mindful of the dusty apron she still wore. "I . . . I don't know what to say. . . ."

  "If you like it, that's all that matters," Ross said, watching while the war within her was reflected in her eyes.

  "I do. Very much. Thank you." She could see plainly now that his appearance on this day stated very clearly what his intentions were toward Irene. And try as she might, she couldn't help but draw a contrast between Ross and Andrew, with the saloon keeper at a distinct disadvantage. Her loyalty still belonged to Andrew.

  Ross brought the last package to Irene and placed it on the settee beside her. "It was a little awkward to wrap," he apologized, sitting near her but separated by the gift.

  She stared at the odd shape, puzzled.

  "Open it," he urged.

  As she pulled the paper off, she found the smallest coffee grinder she'd ever seen, and it was accompanied by a tin of coffee beans and a coffeepot.

  "I thought maybe you'd like to offer your guests coffee now and then," he said with a twinkle in his eyes. "And one more thing . . ." He reached inside his pocket and took out another package, handing it to her. "I hope you like it."

  Not knowing what to say or do from the moment Ross had arrived at her door, she quietly accepted the flat, rectangular gift. Inside the plain paper wrap was a book of poems by Elizabeth Barrett Browning. Irene's heart practically flipped over in her chest. This was her favorite reading by far. She looked up into Ross's face. How could he have known? Even Andrew hadn't guessed.

  "Howard told me how much you like books, so I chose this one because it has your name on it. Barrett." He watched her expectantly for some sign of approval. He'd read some of the poetry, and while most of it wasn't in a style he easily understood, he did realize that it was basically poetry of the heart. Would Irene be offended or emba
rrassed by such a gift?

  "It's beautiful," she said softly. "This is a favorite of mine. Thank you."

  Winnie had some difficulty in keeping her eyes from rolling toward heaven for help. He had appealed to that part of Irene that was always off on a dream cloud, and she had to admit it had probably gained him favor, at least from Irene.

  "You didn't have to . . ." she began, indicating with her hand all the gifts he'd brought.

  "I wanted to," he replied simply. And even with her mother and the children sitting around, he couldn't take his eyes off her face.

  She squirmed slightly on her seat, uncomfortable with his searching look. "Well . . ." She tried to think of something to say to get past this awkward moment. "It was very nice of you to think of us."

  A knock at the front door interrupted any further conversation, and Irene gratefully opened the door to Howard and Emma. A round of greetings and a handshake between the two men changed the somber tone to a lively one. Irene took their coats and hung them on the pegs behind the door.

  "We're a little early," Emma said, "but I thought maybe I could help with dinner. And I brought a cake."

  Winnie took the cake, sniffing it appreciatively. "Smells wonderful."

  "Sure smells like the ladies cooked us a fine dinner, huh, Ross?" he said with a wink.

  An embarrassed silence fell over the group.

  "I, uh . . ." Ross began.

  "Mr. Hollister just dropped by," Winnie interjected.

  "And so, of course, we invited him to dinner," Irene finished, sending a glare of defiance at her mother. This was her home and she could invite whomever she wished, regardless of what her mother or Emma or anyone else thought!