An Old-Fashioned Christmas Romance Collection

by DiAnn Mills

  Dreams and Secrets © 2002 by DiAnn Mills

  Miracle on Kismet Hill © 1997 by Loree Lough

  Yuletide Treasures © 2000 by Gail Gaymer Martin

  For the Love of a Child © 1997 by Sally Laity

  Paper Roses ©1999 by JoAnn A. Grote

  Dreams © 1999 by Peggy Darty

  Eyes of the Heart ©1999 by Rosey Dow

  Christmas Flower ©1997 by Colleen L. Reece

  Bittersweet ©1998 by Rebecca Germany

  Print ISBN 978-1-63058-167-1

  eBook Editions:

  Adobe Digital Edition (.epub) 978-1-63058-570-9

  Kindle and MobiPocket Edition (.prc) 978-1-63058-571-6

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted for commercial purposes, except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without written permission of the publisher.

  Scripture quotations are taken from the King James Version of the Bible.

  Additional scripture taken from the HOLY BIBLE, NEW INTERNATIONAL VERSION®. NIV®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.TM Used by permission. All rights reserved worldwide.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual people, organizations, and/or events is purely coincidental.

  Cover Image: Jeff Diener/GettyImages

  Published by Barbour Books, an imprint of Barbour Publishing, Inc., P.O. Box 719,

  Uhrichsville, Ohio 44683, www.barbourbooks.com

  Our mission is to publish and distribute inspirational products offering exceptional value and biblical encouragement to the masses.

  Printed in the United States of America.

  Contents

  Dreams and Secrets by DiAnn Mills

  Miracle on Kismet Hill by Loree Lough

  Yuletide Treasures by Gail Gaymer Martin

  For the Love of a Child by Sally Laity

  Paper Roses by JoAnn A. Grote

  Dreams by Peggy Darty

  Eyes of the Heart by Rosey Dow

  Christmas Flower by Colleen L. Reece

  Bittersweet by Rebecca Germany

  Dreams and Secrets

  DiAnn Mills

  Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, and cometh down from the Father of lights, with whom is no variableness, neither shadow of turning.

  JAMES 1:17

  Chapter 1

  November 1851, near Philadelphia

  Falling always came easy for Emma Leigh, especially when she had her mind on other matters. She smoothed the skirt of her worn, brown-and-pink-flowered dress, lifted her chin, and marched toward her employer’s office at the Jones Inn. Abruptly, she slammed headlong into Thad Benson’s armload of firewood.

  The smell of freshly cut wood enveloped her senses mere seconds before the impact knocked her to the floor. Thad’s bundle fell with a crash, but thankfully, none of the pieces hit her. Emma Leigh’s hoop skirt, however, soared upward in a less than dignified manner.

  “Oh my.” Her cheeks flamed. She scrambled to push down her heap of snowy white petticoats and restore some semblance of balance and poise.

  A calloused hand reached for hers overtop her hoop skirt and righted her to her feet.

  “Thank you, Thad,” she said, unable to look at him. He should have seen her coming. A combination of ruffled feelings and a bruised backside produced a bit of irritation.

  “Are you hurt?” he said, shoving aside the pieces of wood. “I’m really sorry, Emma Leigh.”

  Forcing herself to stare into his face lined with concern, she swallowed a stinging remark and braved a smile. After all, sweet Thad, the young man in charge of the stables and all the outside grounds, would never intentionally harm anyone.

  From the office came the sound of someone clearing his throat. Towering in the doorway, Alexander Jones, the owner of the inn, looked indeed formidable with his permanent frown. “What’s all the racket?”

  Thad whirled around. “Sir, I collided with Miss Carter. I do apologize for the incident.”

  “Is the young lady injured?” Mr. Jones crossed his arms over his narrow chest and leaned toward Emma Leigh.

  She met the owner’s gaze, feeling more humiliated than before. “No sir.” Only my pride.

  Mr. Jones pressed his lips tightly, but his mustache and beard jiggled, betraying his gruff reaction. The scene must have looked amusing, further intensifying her humiliation. “Gather up the firewood, Thad. You are dismissed.” Nodding to Emma Leigh, he stepped aside from the doorway. “Miss Carter, I’ll see you now.”

  Emma Leigh followed him into his office. She’d felt nervous before the fall, but now every part of her trembled. For a moment she feared toppling over his desk.

  “Are you certain you are uninjured?” He peered down over his long, pointed nose.

  “Yes sir.” She hoped her voice sounded stronger than the weak reply rising in her ears.

  Mr. Jones, impeccably dressed in a black suit, eased into his chair. She’d heard some of the staff refer to him as Old Matchstick. Although Emma Leigh didn’t comment on his skeletal frame, she did wonder if he’d blow away on a blustery day. He smiled on occasion and greeted those who graced his inn with the utmost of hospitality and respect, but he insisted upon a meticulous establishment. Most of the staff feared him. He had the type of voice that carried—rather rolled—like thunder. Perhaps his mannerisms had something to do with his military background. But in any event, Emma Leigh had been summoned to his office.

  “Sit down, Miss Carter.” He gestured to an empty chair in front of his desk. His booming voice, devoid of passion, further alarmed her. “I’ve been observing you as you interact with the guests, and there’s a matter we need to discuss.”

  The lump in her throat grew to boulder-sized proportions, and she rubbed her clammy hands together. A dozen grievances flashed across her mind. He surely must believe she shirked her duties. She lowered herself onto the chair, sitting stiffly on the edge, and gave him her attention.

  “Christmas will be here before we’re prepared.” The grandfather clock in the main entrance struck ten times to punctuate his words. “In the past, the staff has engaged in merriment, which I believe is appropriate for the celebration of our Lord’s birth. This year—” Mr. Jones cleared his throat. “This year I’d like for us to partake in something different, and I believe you can be of assistance.”

  Emma Leigh dug her fingers into her palms. “In what way, sir?”

  He drew out a sheet of paper from his drawer and placed his spectacles on his nose. Picking up his quill, he dipped it into the inkwell. “Miss Carter, you have a way of exhibiting excellent social skills in your duties as the inn’s hostess—however, you do at times overindulge.” He scrutinized her over his spectacles.

  “Yes sir. I mean, I’m sorry, sir.”

  He paused. “Very well. I’m assigning you the task of organizing a frugal yet highly enjoyable Christmas party for the staff. In the past, too much emphasis has been placed on an abundance of gift giving. This year, I’d like to see the holiday made more simple and meaningful.” He painstakingly wrote something on the paper, then handed it to her. “This is your budget and your orders. Mrs. Weares will be notified of your extra duties, and that you will be assisting her in selecting the menu for the Christmas dinner.”

  Emma Leigh hastily read her new directives. “Thank you, Mr. Jones. When would you like for me to have this completed?”

  “Ten days hence,” he said. “I plan to call a holiday meeting to appoint those who will be decorating the inn and such. You can present
your findings then. Of course, I need to approve them beforehand.”

  Humility washed over Emma Leigh. “Yes sir. I…I am greatly honored.”

  His eyes widened. “Goodness, girl. I don’t bite. Calm yourself and go on about your business.” A slight smile tugged at his mustache. “After all, we’re talking about a Christmas celebration. Just remember I want a memorable holiday.” With those words, Mr. Jones dismissed her with a perfunctory nod.

  Ah, he wasn’t so fearsome after all. Stepping into the entranceway of the inn, Emma Leigh saw the polished floor had been swept spotless. Not a trace of bark or splinter remained to tell of the collision. For the first time, she realized she could have been badly hurt with the firewood flying in all directions. Poor, shy Thad. He must feel terrible. At her first opportunity, she’d reassure him the happening was indeed an accident and as much her fault as anyone’s. She’d been so caught up in meeting with Mr. Jones that she hadn’t paid attention to anything else.

  Clutching the paper outlining her new duties, Emma Leigh took her position at the front desk where she greeted guests, showed them to their rooms, and helped them in any way she could. Excitement caused a smile as though Christmas were tomorrow. During the moments when her services were not needed, her thoughts and prayers would be engrossed in providing a memorable celebration for the staff at the Jones Inn.

  Thad lifted the ax high above his head and sent it crashing into the log. Sawdust and splinters flew every which way. Tossing aside the split wood, he set another log in its place.

  He should have seen Emma Leigh coming.

  He’d been thinking about those large doe eyes and the sound of her sweet voice when he sent her sprawling to the floor.

  And right in front of Mr. Jones. The owner had just spoken to him about raising his pay and extending his duties to include inside maintenance of the inn. Thad grimaced. He’d left such an improper impression.

  Most likely Emma Leigh would never speak to him again, and Mr. Jones would forget about elevating Thad to a new position. Both probabilities ended his dreams of saving additional money and someday inviting Emma Leigh to spend the rest of her life with him.

  Thad lifted the ax and rested it on his right shoulder. He’d known Emma Leigh since they were children in school. Back then his parents were living. Those were happier days, when laughter swept through their clapboard country home like a breeze on a hot day. His father, a country doctor, and his devoted mother never said no to a single person in need—whether the need be medical or financial. But all their goodness ended when his parents drowned in a tragic buggy accident.

  Thad had spent the first three years since their deaths living alone in Boston, but then he had returned to his home village and moved in with his uncle and Swedish-born aunt. He could fend for himself in his parents’ home, but he simply chose not to spend time alone. Sometimes he visited the homestead and tidied up a bit, often reflecting on more pleasant times, but he didn’t allow his thoughts to be consumed with bitterness or regret. God had taken his parents for a reason, and they’d left a legacy of unselfish giving. In their memory and with the peace God had given him, Thad chose to live his life just as his parents had: serving the Lord with all his might. Like his father, Thad had committed his life to medicine.

  Kicking aside the split wood, he set the last piece in place and sank the ax all the way through. The chunk divided into two separate pieces, just like Emma Leigh and him.

  His favorite memory of her occurred when she was about nine and he nearly eleven. George, one of the older boys, had insisted upon bullying a younger one, and Emma Leigh must have had her fill. She marched over to the children watching the badgering and pushed her way through. She stomped her feet and shook her fist in the bully’s face, her light brown pigtails bouncing with her denunciation of the ignoble deed.

  “Jesus doesn’t want us hurting other people,” she’d said. “When you do, it hurts Him!”

  Thad still recalled the way Emma Leigh’s turned-up nose wrinkled when she concentrated—like poor George that day. Oddly enough, George had released the younger boy.

  Even then, Emma Leigh possessed the ability to make folks see the error of their ways. Yet she always did so in a tender fashion. After confronting George, she shared her noon meal with him. Years later, George had become a preacher—a good one, too.

  Back then, Thad had cared for the little girl, and now he found himself hopelessly in love with her. But she needed an outgoing man, one who could give her a good life and show off her grand beauty. Because of her father’s long illness, she knew nothing but poverty, and Thad had medical school to complete. He couldn’t ask her to marry him until he had something more to offer.

  Thad needed to apologize. And he must speak with her today.

  Evening shadows danced across the quiet yard of the inn before he finished his chores. Already the ground beneath him crunched in anticipation of another frost. Glancing back at the barn, he saw the moonlight reflecting in a silvery glow from the weathered side of the structure. Beauty in simple things. Perfection in God’s creation. They served to remind him of Emma Leigh.

  He entered the inn through the back near the kitchen and stomped his feet until no trace of debris could be tracked inside. His gaze noted the cook, Sarah, placing the finishing touches on a platter of beef, garnished in potatoes, carrots, and onions. Her white bonnet accented her red hair, and the warm glow of the fire spiced her cheeks like red apples. The woman smiled.

  “Aye, Thad. Working late, are ye?”

  “Yes ma’am. Mr. Jones is expecting a large party tomorrow from Philadelphia, and I wanted the harnesses shined before I fetched them in the morning.”

  “Good boy. Are ye a-needin’ something?”

  Thad felt his cheeks warm and his toes tingle in his boots. “I needed to speak with Miss Carter.”

  Sarah tilted her head and gave him a sad smile. Did the dear woman read his heart? “Her father already came by.”

  Determined to hide his disappointment, Thad thanked her kindly and trekked outside. Emma Leigh lived about three miles from the inn. He’d gladly walk the distance to ease his conscience. There’d be no resting for him tonight until he knew she’d forgiven him for the fall.

  Chapter 2

  Emma Leigh chatted with Papa all during the wagon ride home from the inn. The cooler air caused her to wrap her arms about her as she told him about the meeting with Mr. Jones and her new assignment. Of course, she bent poor Papa’s ear until she knew he must be ready for her to hush.

  “I’m sorry, Papa. I’m talking on and not bothering to ask about your day.”

  Papa reached to give her shoulders a squeeze. “I daresay the happenings at home were not as exciting as yours. With the grain harvested, my hours are starting to slow a bit. We have good apples this year—I believe plenty for the months ahead.”

  “They will taste good when the wind is blowing and the snow is piled high.”

  For the past year and a half, neither Papa’s crops nor his health had done well. Emma Leigh had taken the job at the inn to help her family, despite her father’s protests. Her duties at the inn interested her, and she’d stayed on. The extra money provided additional food and clothing for her family.

  “Talk to your mother about the inn’s Christmas. I’m sure she can help you much better than I.”

  Once home, Emma Leigh greeted her five brothers and sister before helping Mama ladle tender chunks of rabbit, potatoes, and a few scant carrots into mismatched pieces of cracked crockery for dinner. The enticing aroma of apples and spices slowly simmering over the fire and transforming into thick, dark apple butter tantalized her senses. The wind whistled around the meager cabin, ushering a draft through the cracks in the rough-sawn logs. She glanced at the children and saw they were warmly dressed, but patches were worn thin. A shiver raced up her spine from fear for her siblings in the winter ahead.

  Oh, Lord, keep them healthy. We’ve already lost three to putrid fever. Charles is still
not well. Help me not to complain but be a humble servant.

  Emma Leigh roused the dog and ordered him to play next to the younger children where the animal’s heat would keep them warm. Taking a deep breath, she turned her attention to Mama and explained her dilemma about the inn’s Christmas celebration.

  “What can I do?” Emma Leigh accidentally stuck her finger in the hot stew and yanked it back. Poking the finger in her mouth, then rubbing it vigorously, she glanced up at her mother expectantly.

  Mama wiped her hands on a clean apron and silently examined her finger. Hearing a howl, she cast a disapproving glance at one of her sons, who had pulled his brother’s hair. “It’s Emma Leigh’s turn for your mama’s attention. Mind your manners.” She lifted a crusty brown loaf of bread from the hearth. “Emma Leigh, I think you need to pray about the matter. I will say those fine people at the inn want a holiday that knits their hearts with friendship and love. Simple joys and laughter are the best gifts of all, especially when they are tied with a ribbon of love.”

  Emma Leigh always paid attention to her mother’s wisdom. Simple joys and laughter. “How can one give joy and laughter? They can’t be wrapped and tied with a colorful piece of yarn.”

  “But those things are everlasting, the kind of treasures from which memories are made.” Her mother snapped her fingers in the direction of the children. “Joseph, do not tease your brother again or you will forfeit your supper.”

  “I’m confused.” Emma sighed and picked up baby Charles, who had crawled to her feet and tugged at her skirts. His little shirt and drawers bore knee marks from the day’s adventures.

  “Emma Leigh, you will find a way.” Mama smiled and planted a kiss on Charles’s cheek before motioning for the other children and Papa to gather around the table.

  As soon as Papa had asked the blessing, Emma Leigh buried herself in thought. The hum of children’s voices rose and fell in the wake of contemplating Mr. Jones’s request. The stew tasted delicious, and the hot bread thinly coated with freshly churned butter filled the empty spot in her stomach, but she still had no idea how the staff should celebrate Christmas.