An Old-Fashioned Christmas Romance Collection

by DiAnn Mills

  Dressed in his warmest attire, Andrew gazed through the window, watching snow flakes drift to the ground, and outside, he hurried to the stable. When the sleigh was ready, he grabbed the ax and gathered the buffalo robes, then guided the bays to the side door. Livy waited, her face framed by the window, and he bounded up the stairs to meet her.

  Settling into the sleigh, he tucked the heavy lap robe around their legs and steered the horses onto the road. The brisk wind whipped across their faces. Gasping in the icy air, Livy laughed at their adventure, chattered about his Paul Bunyan tale, and then asked about being a lumberjack.

  Andrew studied her and, realizing she was sincere, told her about the life of a logger.

  “That’s a long time away from home,” Livy said, her voice reflective. “Months.”

  “Lumberjacks are home from spring to autumn. Many are farmers and come home in time for planting. It’s a life we learn to accept.”

  “But what of the wives?” she murmured, then continued without waiting for his response. “And what do you do for fun in those long evenings?”

  Andrew laughed. “Getting up at four in the morning, I’m in bed early; but after dinner in the bunkhouses, they sing endless ballads, share personal stories, and tell folk tales. I hate to tell you about their trips to the nearest town. Some get mighty wild.” He glanced at her. “You can rest assured, I’m not one of those.”

  “Rest assured?” she repeated, returning his grin.

  When they reached the evergreens at the edge of the frozen river, Andrew secured the bays and helped Livy from the sleigh. He held her arm as they wandered through the fir trees. “What do you say, Livy? Which one? We need something that’ll fit in the alcove of the parlor.”

  Livy’s face glowed, and she pivoted in a circle, gazing at the myriad of trees. “There are too many, Andrew.”

  “Which do you like? Balsams? Douglas firs? White pines?”

  “Which is which? You tell me what tree is best for decorating, and I’ll pick the prettiest.”

  A smile perched on his lips. Livy was the prettiest, so pretty, he couldn’t drag his attention to the trees. They marched through the snow, slipping and sliding, grasping each other for balance. Each time, he longed to hold her at his side, yet he feared she’d resist. Instead, he forced himself to let her go with each laughable mishap.

  Finally, like a young girl, she darted between the trees to a shapely one, circled its branches, and returned to his side. “This one,” she said. “Look at its color and shape.” She bounced like a happy child while he pointed to the snow-laden limbs.

  “Good choice, Livy. It’s a blue spruce.” The tree stood at least seven feet high with well-shaped branches that would hold the candles safely.

  She touched the sleeve of his heavy coat. “It’s perfect, Andrew.”

  He swallowed his heart and lay his hand on hers. “But not as perfect as you. Your size, your color, your fragrance. You’re much more lovely.”

  Her face paled, then a rosy flush heightened her coloring. “Please don’t say things you do not mean, Andrew. I’m not a young woman who knows how to handle your teasing.” Her eyes pleaded with him. “I’m twenty-eight, not a young woman at all.”

  His hand slid around her shoulder, and he drew her to him, his emotions swaying like a pendulum. “You’re young, Livy. What about me? I’m thirty.” He dropped the ax and tilted her face with his thumb beneath her chin. “When I watch you with Davy, I don’t know, you’re…perfect, like an angel.”

  As she lowered her chin, she turned away. “No one’s ever spoken to me like this. I don’t know what to say.”

  He’d embarrassed her, and he admonished himself. Where was his self-control? Still, he doubted her words. He couldn’t believe she’d never heard such words before. So many questions filled his mind. Reining himself, Andrew dragged his hand from Livy’s shoulder and crouched down to clear the snow from the spruce’s base.

  When he swung the heavy ax, Livy gasped then cheered him on. No longer flustered, her lighthearted demeanor warmed his heart. Though felling trees was a daily chore at the logging camp, Andrew had never felt such pleasure with each stroke of the ax. Livy clapped her hands as the tree tilted, and for her amusement, he yelled, “Timber.”

  As the spruce toppled to the ground, Livy bolted to his side, and he nestled her in his arms. Silence wrapped around them, and he held his breath. “I want to kiss you, Livy.”

  Anxiety filled her face. “Please, Andrew, I’m terribly confused. Your life is so different from mine. I can’t respond until I know my mind.”

  “I’d never do anything against your will. Believe me. But I’ll ask you again, Livy. You can be sure.” He had dampened her pleasure. For that, he was sorry. Grabbing the ax and hoisting the base of the tree, he pulled it to the sleigh and heaved it onto the back. He tucked Livy beneath the lap robe and joined her.

  Before he called to the horses, he paused, turning to Livy. “I assume you think I’m forward. But I want to tell you something. When you first came, I found you attractive, but you seemed like the parish women, prim and proper. Yet I’ve changed, and now, I see a different side of you.”

  She lifted her head, and the sunlight glinted in her eyes like the diamonds sparkling in the snow.

  “I don’t know why you’ve never married, but you’re meant to be a wife and mother. It’s clear to me. You belong with a loving husband who’ll support you with a good business. One who wants children and loves you with all his heart. I believe that’s what God has planned for you.”

  “I don’t know if you’re right, Andrew. For the past few years, I believed that God has no husband for me. Some days, I think about taking the matter into my own hands. Then I’m ashamed of my frustration with the Lord.”

  Andrew couldn’t hold back his grin. “Livy, you’re not alone. We’ve all tried to sway God to our thinking. I’ve done it myself…too often, I’m ashamed to say. Wait and see. Put your life in God’s hands, and I’ll do the same.”

  “I’ll try,” she whispered.

  He prayed she understood his obscure message and moved the bays back onto the path. He’d say no more.

  Livy’s mind spun with all that had happened. As if Andrew knew Henry, he’d described him with perfection. A business man eager for children. A Christian man who understood the commitment of marriage. Yet it wasn’t Henry, but Andrew, whom she wanted to open his heart and tell her he loved her.

  A logger’s life didn’t seem adapted well to marriage. Lumberjacks were away from their homes for months at a time. Not a welcome life for a new bride. Still, she could imagine keeping a pleasant home and awaiting her husband’s arrival. Each time he returned, she pictured how she would open her arms and greet him.

  Life would be lonely when he was at camp—as lonely as her present life as a spinster—maybe worse. No, she wouldn’t be content, married to a logger. And Andrew was a lumberjack. Better to have a life with a businessman, a man like Henry Tucker.

  Livy bowed her head, sensing something was wrong. What would the Lord want her to do? Was a spinster’s life what God meant for her? Or maybe a life tending orphaned children? Was safe, faithful Henry Tucker the man for her? Or Andrew? Could she trust him, knowing his taste for alluring, flirtatious women? No, she’d never attract a man like Andrew. Why even think about it?

  Chapter 6

  Returning home, Andrew dropped Livy off at the door. After leaving the horses and sleigh with the stableboy, he came back to the house and brushed the snow from his boots. When he entered the keeping room, his father sat in his favorite chair, reading the Grand Rapids Eagle.

  “Good evening, Father.”

  “Andrew, sit and listen to this,” Charles said, motioning to the newspaper. “The newfangled Christian Women’s Temperance Union is holding a rally tonight.” He released a boisterous chuckle. “I wonder if Governor Bagley will be forced to deal with the issue. Pressure’s coming from all over.”

  “I don’t know. Did you rea
d about the lobbyists in yesterday’s Detroit Free Press? They’re fighting for exclusive river rights for running their logs to the sawmill. Now that worries me.”

  Charles peered over his spectacles. “Could be a serious problem for the small logging camps.”

  “Like mine,” Andrew said, thinking of his young lumber camp. Though his business had grown, he wasn’t eager to pay heavy costs to boom logs on the river. He had a distance to go before becoming a lumber baron, but the title was inevitable, and he had to use good judgment. He’d noticed many young women fawning over him, and he guessed it was his future wealth that appealed to them. He hoped that wasn’t cause for Rosie or Agatha’s obvious attention. Andrew didn’t question Livy’s friendship, certain that her intentions were pure.

  “I suppose, son, you should try to keep a positive attitude.” He pulled his gaze from the newspaper to Andrew. “You have mail on the hall table, and there’s a letter for Livy, too, I noticed.”

  “Thank you,” Andrew said, returning to the foyer. On the table he found the two envelopes.

  He opened the mail addressed to him and scanned the enclosed invitation, a New Year’s Eve gathering hosted by Rosie Parker’s family. Days earlier he would have smiled with pleasure, but now confusion tugged at his conscience. He wanted Livy to stay for the holiday, and he wouldn’t have her sit home while he attended a party.

  Yet, if Livy were determined to leave, sitting home on New Year’s Eve would be twice as long and lonely, knowing his friends were enjoying the evening. He fingered the card, contemplating his decision. He decided to wait before accepting the invitation, wait until he knew what Livy planned to do.

  Holding his invitation, he carried Livy’s letter up the stairs. When she opened the door, the scent of ironed linen and soap filled the air. Livy smiled, and he delivered her mail, hoping it was good news from her brother, then went to his room to prepare for the evening.

  Inside her room, Livy read John’s letter which was filled with satisfactory news. Though Ruth hadn’t fully recovered, she’d made progress. He hoped they would bring Davy home within the next two or three weeks. Thrilled with the good news, she was anxious to share it with her nephew.

  Placing the letter on her dresser, she peered again into the chifforobe, pondering what she might wear. Tonight, if she attended the dinner party, she’d select her most fancy gown, a light blue dress of voile with embroidered Valenciennes lace. The modest neckline wasn’t stylish, but her unassuming personality made it most appropriate.

  That evening, Davy seemed content with Grace’s company, so Livy slipped on her pale blue gown, tucked her hair into a chignon ornamented with blue ribbons, and joined the family. When she descended the stairs, Andrew observed her with an admiring smile, causing her heart to flutter like birds’ wings.

  “You look striking this evening, Livy,” he said.

  His words nestled into her memory. “Oh, it’s nothing special, thank you. It’s the most festive gown I have.”

  Without comment, he grasped her hand and brushed it with his soft lips. As Helen added her own compliments, Livy’s heart danced.

  With everyone ready, a servant held open Livy’s cloak, and after each donned his outerwear, they departed.

  A light snow drifted from the sky, sparkling in the brightness of the rising moon. The coachman helped them into the carriage and soon they were rattling down the rutted lane. Livy nestled beneath a heavy lap robe beside Helen. Charles and Andrew sat on the seat across from them. Facing Andrew’s broad shoulders covered by his chesterfield, her memory drifted to the sleigh ride earlier in the day. The day’s events took her breath away.

  In the growing snowfall, the bays halted before an attractive dwelling. Though smaller than the Mandalay home, the house glowed with candles in the windows, and through the panes, firelight flickered on the hearth. Livy climbed from the carriage and followed the others into the foyer with smells of spices and roasted meat filling the air.

  “My, my, something smells wonderful,” Charles boomed as he pulled off his heavy coat then removed his steam-covered spectacles.

  “Cloves and cinnamon,” Agatha simpered as she took their wraps and hung them on the hall tree. “You smell my mulled cider.” Then, leaning closer to Andrew, Agatha added, “And maybe a bit of lavender.”

  “Yes,” Livy agreed, “lavender is lovely. My favorite is lily of the valley.”

  Agatha dismissed her with a nod and motioned for them to enter the parlor. Livy sat on the divan, and to her pleasure, Andrew joined her. Agatha took note, evidenced by her frown.

  Roger arrived with a tray of steaming mugs and, after greeting his guests, handed each a cup of the warm brew. The heat permeated Livy’s hands, and as she sipped, it warm her chilled body.

  After dinner, the conversation flitted from one topic to another until Roger slid onto the piano bench. “Now, Livy, won’t you sing something for us? A hymn or carol.”

  Comfortable with singing, Livy rose and stood beside him at the piano. After a brief moment to agree upon a song, Livy looked at her small audience. “I hope you’ll enjoy one of the newer carols. Have you heard ‘O Little Town of Bethlehem’?” No one had, and they listened with interest as Roger played the introduction.

  Livy drew in a deep breath and began the words of the less famous carol. Singing to this intimate group of friends, Livy’s knees trembled before she gained courage. From her vantage point, Andrew sat enraptured, his gaze riveted on her.

  When she finished the carol they assailed her with compliments. “Sing another,” Andrew said. “Anything, please.”

  “That was lovely,” Helen added. “Truly lovely.”

  “One more,” Livy agreed. “This is another new carol telling the story of our recent war, I think you’ll like the refrain, and when you catch on, please join in.”

  Roger played, and Livy sang. “I heard the bells on Christmas Day, their old familiar carols play.” As she reached the end of each verse, her spirit lifted as the voices joined hers with the words of hope, “of peace on earth, good will to men.”

  When the song ended, Livy returned to her chair. Then together they sang familiar carols which ended when Agatha rose to bring in dessert.

  “Livy, you must sing in church for Christmas if you decide to stay. Your voice could be enjoyed by the whole congregation, not only the few of us here,” Roger said. “Will you stay for the holiday?”

  She peered from one to the other, wondering what her answer would be. “I’m still not sure. In the morning, I’ll see how Davy is feeling.”

  “If you do stay through the holiday, I’d enjoy your company on New Year’s Eve,” Roger said.

  Livy’s heart sank to her toes. If she extended her stay, she prayed that Andrew would be her escort for the evening. “Davy’s health will make the determination,” she said again.

  “Well then, we’ll wait and see,” Roger said. “Andrew, are you up for a New Year’s Eve celebration?”

  “I’ve received an invitation already, Roger…but don’t let my plans ruin your own.”

  “We’ll decide later then. If Livy stays, we’ll find an agreeable time for everyone to celebrate the New Year.”

  Hearing Andrew’s answer, Livy made an immediate decision. Tired of wishful thinking and useless dreams, she prayed Davy would be well by morning. She refused to stay another minute in Grand Rapids with her uncontrollable, romantic fantasies. She guessed his invitation was from Miss Parker. No matter what Andrew said to Livy in private, his heart seemed tied to the vivacious woman.

  No matter what compliments Andrew dropped in her presence, she’d block them from her hearing. Andrew wanted only one thing: for her to care for Davy. She was certain. No matter how many sweet things he said, he had no interest in her whatsoever.

  Her mind sent up a silent prayer, asking God, once again, for forgiveness. Andrew’s captivating personality and good looks aroused feelings she should never have. God expected chaste thoughts, and Livy assumed that her longin
g for Andrew’s hand on hers and his lips pressing against her mouth could be nothing but sinful.

  At twenty-eight, her inexperience embarrassed her. With no older sister, she wished she could garner courage to talk with Helen about love and romance before she returned home. Even though Ruth lived near Livy in Detroit, her illness made her seem an unlikely candidate to discuss romance. John certainly showed his wife affection, but Livy had a difficult time imaging Ruth feeling the strong emotions that wended through Livy’s thoughts.

  Helen seemed an appropriate counselor. Remembering the wooden heart, Livy was certain the keepsake held a tale of love.

  Determined to leave on the next train, Livy packed her bags before the sun had fully risen the following morning. She hurried to the kitchen where Grace was mixing a large pot of oatmeal for the family’s breakfast.

  When she entered the kitchen, Grace turned. “You’re up early, Miss Schuler. Would you like some warm oatmeal?”

  “Yes, and tea, Grace, if it’s ready.”

  Livy downed her quick breakfast then returned to the second floor, eager to see Davy. When she entered his room, the boy looked at her with sleepy, reddened eyes. He lifted his head from the pillow, squinting at her traveling gown. “How are you feeling today?” Livy asked, sitting on the edge of his bed. “Did you have fun with Grace?”

  “She told me about Joseph and Mary and the baby Jesus. Mama tells me the story sometimes when she’s not sick.”

  “I know. And she’s feeling better, according to your papa’s letter. You’ll be going home in a while.”

  Davy placed his hand on the sleeve of her traveling dress. “Are you going away?” His mouth pulled downward, and his coloring appeared mottled.

  “I’m catching the train this morning.”

  “With me?”

  A pang of regret caught like a knot in her chest. “No, Uncle Charles and Aunt Helen want you to stay for Christmas, but I have reasons to go home.”