by DiAnn Mills
She shifted the roses clumsily to one arm, which was barely able to contain them. Then she knelt and held out her free arm. Lily slipped into it. Vernetta’s heart swelled until her chest hurt when Lily’s arms tightened about her neck. One after another, each girl received a hug and thank you.
As the last girl slid her arms around Vernetta’s neck, Vernetta glanced up. Thomas leaned against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest, his Irish smile not as jolly as usual. Was it tears she saw glistening in his eyes as he watched her and the flower girls? Or were they only a reflection of her own tears?
Lily touched a delicate, red-and-white tissue paper rose. “This is the one I made.”
“It’s the prettiest one of all,” Vernetta whispered in her ear. Gently, she pulled it out of the bouquet. While Lily held the other flowers, Vernetta fastened Lily’s rose to her gown with the dainty silver bar pin she was wearing. Lily’s huge smile showed her pleasure.
Vernetta heard a man greeting Thomas loudly and looked up to see who was behind the unfamiliar voice. A man was setting down a tripod and a large camera.
Thomas introduced the man to Vernetta. “I’ve asked him to take pictures of the children tonight. Why don’t we begin with one of you with the flower girls?”
“Oh, I would like that!” How nice it would be to have a picture of the girls she was growing to love.
The children’s program went well. More of their parents and families showed up than the volunteers had dared hope, and the children outdid themselves in their efforts to impress them. They succeeded.
Standing to one side in the crowded basement, Vernetta watched the children’s happy, proud faces and the proud, loving faces of their families. Children’s voices rang with the music of “O Little Town of Bethlehem”: “The hopes and fears of all the years, are met in thee tonight.”
Her heart skipped a beat. She tensed, suddenly alert to the words of the beloved hymn. Hope meeting fear. Hope in the form of God’s Son, Jesus Christ, meeting humanity’s fears.
I didn’t understand! she thought. I thought hope meant the elimination of fear, the elimination of the evils that cause fear, or at least knowing the answers to eliminating fears and evils. For the first time, she saw they existed together, that hope was God’s presence in the midst of fears, His promise that the fears wouldn’t win in the end. She relaxed against the wall. A serenity she’d never known filled her chest.
After the program, Cora and Cornelia distributed the mittens to the children and other volunteers handed out small bags of peanuts supplied by the church. At first, Erik and some of his followers hung back, telling Thomas they weren’t charity cases and didn’t need the mittens.
Vernetta held her breath, her arms clutched tightly over her chest, watching Thomas anxiously. What would he say? Many of the children had chapped, raw hands from going without mittens or gloves.
Thomas listened attentively to the boys, nodding, his hands in his trouser pockets. “It’s your decision,” he finally said quietly. “Many of the women who made these have no families of their own to give gifts to, no children of their own to love. I don’t think knitting these mittens was an act of pity but an act of love.” He shrugged. “Of course, I may be mistaken. You must each do what you feel in your own hearts is right.”
Erik shifted his feet uncomfortably. The other boys watched him. Vernetta knew whatever Erik decided for himself, he decided for them all.
After what seemed many minutes to Vernetta, Erik lifted his chin. “Guess it would be rude not ta take the mittens when the old women worked so hard on ’em.”
Vernetta let out a soft sigh of relief.
When the boys started forward to accept their gifts, Thomas sidled over to Vernetta. He nodded toward the piano. “See that?”
Vernetta’s mother was still seated on the piano stool, one arm about Lily’s shoulders. Lily leaned against her, looking as comfortable as though they’d known each other all of Lily’s short life. Vernetta’s heart contracted in a sweet pain at the sight. She pulled a lace-edged handkerchief from the wrist of her gown and dabbed at her eyes. “Everything seems to bring tears to my eyes tonight,” she told Thomas in a jerky voice.
He smiled down at her. “Christmas is a time for miracles of the heart.”
“Yes,” she agreed, wondering at and thrilling to this man’s sensitivity, as she had so often since he’d come into her home and life.
Lap robes and happy memories of the evening kept everyone warm on the way home. The Wibbey sisters chatted merrily about the program and mitten tree. Mother revealed that she’d decided to offer free piano lessons to any of the flower girls who wished them. “Little Lily wants so to learn to play, and surely others will want to learn, don’t you think?”
Shocked and delighted, Vernetta could only nod.
“Will there be any objection to my using the hall and the piano?” Mother asked Thomas.
He assured her that he would arrange it, and she settled back contentedly against the thick leather carriage seat.
Vernetta was the last to be helped from the carriage by Thomas. “Would you like to go walking after I’ve put away the carriage and looked after the horse?” he asked, with her gloved hands clasped in his.
“That sounds lovely.”
The home was filled with the smell of pine from the fir tree that stood in the bay window in the parlor and the pine roping that decorated the tops of the doorways in the broad hallway. With Dora’s help, she found some vases and filled them with her treasure of paper roses while waiting for Thomas, her heart racing with anticipation.
Was it wishful thinking, or had his glances and touches been more intimate than usual tonight? She tried to quiet her heart. Perhaps it was only the knowledge that he was not in love with Dora that encouraged her to believe he was romantically interested in her.
It was snowing when they went out. Large, soft flakes drifted lightly down, making a gentle hissing sound as they slid through the bare trees. Mellow light from the gas streetlights spread blue shadows on the snow-covered yards, walks, and street.
A rabbit peeked out at them from beneath the spreading branches of a fir tree. They laughed together at it, and in their shared laughter, Thomas slipped his arm about her waist and drew her close to his side.
Vernetta almost stopped breathing. It was so special, walking together that way. She heard him clear his throat.
“I hope the pictures the photographer took tonight turn out well,” he said.
“I’m so glad you thought of having photographs taken.”
“I’m glad you feel that way, because…” He hesitated.
She looked up at him, curious, waiting. Her cheek brushed the wool of his coat, and her awareness of his nearness cleared everything but Thomas from her mind.
He cleared his throat again and looked away from her gaze. “I hired him to take a picture of you with the flower girls. I hope you won’t think it presumptuous of me, but…I…the picture is my Christmas gift to you.”
Vernetta stopped, and Thomas stopped, too. His arm slipped from her waist. He stared at her, his brown eyes unusually anxious. Surely he cannot think I find his gift unwelcome! She held out both hands. “It is the loveliest gift you could have given me. How is it that you know my heart so well, Thomas Michael McNally?”
He took her hands. “I have a suspicion about that.”
She wasn’t certain she was ready to hear his suspicion! She gently pulled her hands from his and began walking again, her heart beating like a child’s Christmas drum. She changed the subject and told him about her revelation during the Christmas program, her new view of hope.
“Since Father’s bank failed, there have been many times I was afraid hope was as unreal as the flower girls’ paper roses, but I tried to cling to hope, to God’s promises, anyway.” She stopped beneath a streetlight, snowflakes falling softly about them, and looked into the face that had become so dear to her. “You helped me do that. In many ways, it’s due to you that I’v
e discovered the God of Hope is real.”
“I can’t believe I’m responsible. I saw the strength and courage in you the first day I came to your home. You accused me once of being an angel. I warned you then that I am only a man.” He rested his hands on her shoulders. “Dora told me about Andrew.”
She blinked. It took her a moment to realize he was speaking of the man she’d thought only weeks ago that she would marry.
“I realize it may take a long time for your heart to heal from losing him,” Thomas was saying, “but I give you fair warning that my hope is for your love, and I don’t intend to give up hoping until I win it.”
The suddenness of his declaration took her breath. Then happiness swept over her like a winter wind sweeps down a hillside, filling her with joy and delight and amazement. “I haven’t thought of Andrew in weeks.”
She saw hope flash in his eyes. Dropping her gaze in shyness, she made herself continue. It was forward and inappropriate to express her feelings this way, she knew, but it was so important that he understand. “Andrew can’t measure up to the man you are, Thomas Michael McNally.”
His fingers tightened on her shoulders. “Are you sure of that, Vernetta?” His voice was husky.
“Completely,” she whispered. “I could never love Andrew after knowing you.”
He pulled her into his embrace with a deep sigh. “Oh Vernetta!”
She leaned against his chest. She’d never experienced the contentment that filled her now, the knowing that this was the place she was meant to be for the rest of her life.
She felt his lips touch her hair, the edge of her eyebrow, the corner of her lips. His breath was warm against her ear as he whispered, “And if I should ask if there’s any hope I will win your heart, Vernetta?”
She slid her arms around his neck. “It is already yours, my love.”
His arms tightened in a bear hug. Then he released her just enough to bend his head to hers and claim her lips. Vernetta melted into his embrace as simply and naturally as the snowflakes melted against their cheeks.
Dreams
Peggy Darty
Chapter 1
August 15, 1894
Pine Ridge, Alabama
Caroline Cushman sat on the board seat of the one-mule wagon as her grandmother gripped the worn reins and guided Ol’ Bill down the red clay road.
“Granny, how many times do you reckon you’ve driven this road?” Caroline smiled tenderly at her grandmother.
“Oh child, I can’t count that high. Spent my life here at Pine Ridge and only left a few times. Never could wait to get back.”
Caroline sighed. “I know I’m going to be homesick. But I want to make you proud.”
“I’m already proud of you, Caroline!”
Caroline was a slim, five feet, six inches with hair as dark as a raven’s wing, pulled back from her oval face in a neat bun and secured with the black satin bow she had made the night before. Her deep blue eyes were large and wide-set, fringed with dark lashes. The round nose and mouth contrasted to her square chin, a determined chin—just like her father’s, Granny often boasted. Her cheeks were smooth hollows, her cheekbones soft ridges. Her complexion, normally a smooth ivory, was still tanned from the summer sun, for she had worked many long hours out in the vegetable garden beside her grandmother. Selling vegetables was their main source of income, and Caroline had planted, hoed, gathered vegetables, and sold or canned them with Granny for most of her life.
Suddenly, all their years together blended into one sweet memory as Caroline glanced again at her grandmother. A tower of strength resided in the seventy-year-old body, and although her hair was white and her tanned face deeply lined, there was still a joy for life that gleamed in her bright blue eyes and quick smile.
Caroline reached across to touch her grandmother’s hand. “Thanks for all you’ve done for me,” she said, her throat tight.
“I think we’re about even,” Belle said, squinting down the road. “You’ve been a blessing from God after so much tragedy. First my beloved Clarence, then your parents….” She broke off for only a second, then continued bravely. “I’d ‘ave shriveled up and died with them if I hadn’t the gift of you to raise.”
Caroline’s blue eyes swept the Alabama hills, and for one anxious moment, she wondered if she could bear to leave the only home she had ever known. Well there had been another home, but she was too young to remember it. As a child she often had nightmares of flames and smoke; she would wake up screaming. Then Granny would be at her bed, hugging her, assuring Caroline she was safe.
The wagon rattled on, making the last turn into Pine Ridge. The Nashville-Birmingham train ran along the tracks opposite the storefronts once a day at twelve o’clock. If a red flag hung from the pole beside the platform, the train stopped to pick up a passenger or some cargo going into Birmingham. If there was no flag, the train never slowed down.
Her eyes flew to the pole. The red flag was flying. “I’m glad Mr. Willingham didn’t forget to put up the flag.”
“He wouldn’t dare!”
The front door of the general store opened and Frank Willingham lumbered out, hands thrust in the pockets of his overalls.
“Morning, Belle. Caroline.” He angled down the front steps to wait as Ol’ Bill trudged into the vacant spot at the hitching rail. Then he reached into the wagon and removed Caroline’s suitcase. “Young lady, you’re the only person from the ridge ever to go off to college.”
“To Davis University,” Granny spoke the words proudly. “The good Lord blessed my child with a real sharp mind,” Belle stated, braking the wagon and hopping down as spryly as a teenager.
Caroline lifted the long skirt of her blue cotton dress and planted her black ankle boots firmly on the ground. The boots had been a gift from the Women’s Missionary Society, and everything else she owned had been sewn by her and her grandmother during many a long night at the treadle sewing machine.
“Train’s on time,” Frank said, crossing the street with her little suitcase as Granny and Caroline hurried after him.
In the distance, the chug-chug of the approaching train filled the summer day, and both Caroline and her grandmother looked north until they spotted the train, like a giant cockroach, lurching toward them.
Suddenly, a feeling of panic clutched at Caroline’s stomach. Could she really do this? Could she really go off to a world of strangers?
She whirled to her grandmother and met a glow of pride in the blue eyes that looked Caroline up and down. “You look mighty pretty, Caroline. Just don’t go forgetting any of the morals you’ve been taught.”
Caroline shook her head, close to tears. “I won’t. I couldn’t.”
Her arms flew around her grandmother, who was shorter by several inches and weighed no more than a hundred pounds. The scent of lilac engulfed Caroline, and she knew that whenever she thought of Granny, she would always recall the pleasant sachet she wore. Despite her efforts, Caroline couldn’t hold back the tears.
“Now don’t do that or I’ll start blubberin’,” Granny scolded, turning pale. “We already talked about this. You’re gonna write and it ain’t that long till Christmas.”
Caroline sniffed. “I know.”
The train’s whistle and then a screech of brakes ended their conversation. Caroline turned, squaring her shoulders, as a little man rushed down the train steps and reached for her suitcase and ticket.
“Good-bye, Mr. Willingham,” she called.
“Good-bye, Caroline. You do your granny proud, now. You hear?”
She nodded, blinking. “I’ll do my best.”
“All aboard,” the little man said, interrupting their emotional good-byes.
Belle’s arms flew around her in a tight hug, then with an even mightier strength pushed Caroline forward. “Go now.”
Taking a deep breath, Caroline lifted her skirt and climbed the steps to enter the train. She located a seat near the window and looked out at Mr. Willingham and Granny. Caroline waved agai
n, trying to memorize every feature of the little woman she loved so much.
Then the train was speeding off and tiny Pine Ridge gave way to rolling green hills. She pressed her head against the seat and closed her eyes, praying for courage and guidance in the coming days. Comfortable and warm, Caroline soon forgot everything as her eyelids grew heavy after a sleepless night.
Sometime later the conductor’s voice jolted her awake.
“Bir-ming-ham,” he announced, walking down the aisle.
She sat up, staring wide-eyed through the window. The train was puffing into the station and her eyes flew over the waiting crowd. In her last letter from Davis University, she had been informed that a Miss Agnes Miller, Dean of Students, would meet her train. She smoothed her hair in place, straightened her dress, and summoned her courage.
When she stepped tentatively onto the platform and scanned the sea of strangers, she spotted a small, handmade sign that bore her name. A blond woman in a gray taffeta dress and matching hat held the sign. She had a slim face with sharp features and clear hazel eyes, now sweeping Caroline as she approached.
“I’m Caroline Cushman,” she said, smiling at the woman who was slightly shorter but at least ten pounds heavier than she.
“I’m Agnes Miller, Dean of Students. Welcome to Birmingham.” Her gloved hands lowered the sign. “William,” she said over her shoulder to a tall man emerging from the crowd. “You’ll need to pick up Miss Cushman’s trunks.” She turned to Caroline. “How many do you have?”
Caroline swallowed. “Just one suitcase.” She described her cardboard suitcase to the man, certain he would have no trouble spotting it among the trunks.
“This way,” Dean Miller said, lifting her skirt and walking ahead of Caroline. “You’re going to like Davis.”
“I’m real excited.” Caroline trailed after her to an elegant carriage.
William had caught up with them, her suitcase swinging lightly from his hand. He opened the carriage door and withdrew a small rail that enclosed three steps.