His Winter Rose and Apple Blossom Bride

by Lois Richer

  “I said nothing about making cookies, Tati. Oh, hi, Ashley.” Michael closed the door behind her. “How are you?”

  “I’m fine.” He looked tired and a little grumpy. Ashley decided to make it quick. “If you’re baking I don’t want to intrude. It’s just that I’m leaving for Hawaii tomorrow and I wanted to drop these off first. Merry Christmas.”

  “Thank you. Tati has something for you, too. At least stay long enough for tea. And just so it’s very clear, I’m not baking anything. I never said I would. Tati’s just trying to talk me into it.” He took her coat, hung it up.

  “And you’re not persuaded?”

  “Daddy says he does breakfast, dinner and supper and sometimes pumpkins, but that’s it. But he could make cookies. Wanda says her dad helps her mom lots of times.”

  Exasperation appeared on Michael’s face, but he kept his voice gentle.

  “I told you that if you could play quietly with your doll for a little while, then after lunch we’d go hunt for a tree. So far you haven’t helped me much.”

  “I will.” Tati sat herself at the table. “After I have tea with Ashley.”

  “Well then, thank you. I’d love to stay for tea. Though I don’t usually have it in the morning.”

  “We slept in a little later today.”

  “I see.” Ashley turned to listen as the little girl described her wish list. “You want quite a lot, don’t you?”

  “Yeah. I’ll get it, too.”

  “Presents aren’t everything, Tati. It’s the—”

  “Spirit of the season,” Tati finished as if she’d heard her father a hundred times before. “I remember.” She sighed. “I wish you could have come to my Christmas concert at school, Ashley.”

  “I did, honey. I was a bit late, but I watched you.” Ashley pretended not to see Michael’s start of surprise. “I stayed in the back so I wouldn’t disturb anyone, but I was so proud of you.”

  “I didn’t forget one word.” Tatiana’s chest puffed out with pride. “Daddy bought me ice cream to celebrate.”

  “Good for Daddy.” She risked a glance at him, found his gaze on her. “I really liked your angel dress. It was so sparkly.”

  “Wanda and I both had matching ones. I wish I could have had my special dress to wear.”

  “Your special one?” Ashley wondered if she should change the subject. Certainly Michael didn’t look encouraging.

  “Yes. The one I want for Christmas. I’ll show you.” She clambered down from her seat and dashed out of the room.

  “Bad subject?” Ashley whispered.

  Michael shook his head. “I’ve got it covered. Not exactly as shown, though.”

  She admired the picture of the princess dress, as Tati termed it.

  “It reminds me of Piper’s wedding dress,” Ashley told her. “Wait till you see it.” She grabbed a piece of paper and sketched out the lines of the dress. “It floats around her feet just like your princess dress.”

  “Do all ladies get to wear a dress like that when they have weddings?”

  “Not all. Different ladies have different ideas about how they want to get married. Some don’t like fancy weddings. When you’re a lady you’ll be able to choose whatever you want.”

  Ashley tried to explain about weddings to Tati, but her attention was still fixed on Michael. He kept glancing at his watch, as if she was holding him up.

  “I’m sure you’re busy,” she said, rising as soon as she’d sipped the last of her tea. “I’ll let you and Tatiana get on with your day.”

  “But you could stay and help us bake cookies. Couldn’t she, Daddy?” Tati’s beseeching voice touched a soft spot in Ashley’s heart.

  “She’s welcome to stay and bake whatever she wants,” he said quietly, meeting her glance. “In fact, I’d really appreciate it if you could stay, Ashley. Unless you’re too busy?”

  “But this is a time for you and Tati—”

  “Daddy said he has to work for two hours,” Tatiana complained. “But we could make cookies while he’s working. Then we could all go get our Christmas tree. Couldn’t we, Daddy?”

  Ashley saw the truth as if it was written across his face. No wonder he wasn’t planning on baking cookies, he was trying to prepare something for his daughter’s first Christmas with him.

  “You need a break?”

  “I do have some things to do,” he admitted. “It’s not fair to assume you’ll babysit on a moment’s notice, though.”

  “But…?”

  He assumed an innocence she knew was a mask.

  “But if you did happen to have some time to spare and wanted to help Tati make cookies, I wouldn’t try to talk you out of it.”

  “While you work, I assume.” She glared at him, shook her head. “Is it too hard to say, ‘Ashley, can you help us out?’”

  “Ashley, could you please help us out?” he repeated quietly.

  “Of course. Go. Do whatever you need to do. Take all day if you want. We could even go for the tree after supper if that works for you.” She stopped when he shook his head adamantly.

  “After lunch would be better.” Michael asked Tati to get dressed. When she’d left the room he spoke again, his voice lowered so as not to be overheard. “Our neighbor’s dog was attacked by a cougar yesterday evening. I don’t want to go into the woods after dark unless it’s absolutely necessary.”

  “I see.” A shiver of fear whisked across her nerve endings. Ashley shuddered. “How awful.”

  “Yes, it is. There’s a lot of talk about hunting it down before it attacks a human. There have been reports from neighboring counties about adults being chased. One woman even had to fight it off with a stick. Fortunately for her, a deer came by and the cougar found it easier prey.”

  “I hope they find it before the winter festival. That would really ruin the tourist trade. Many of the events are scheduled after dark.”

  He nodded but said no more as Tati returned.

  “Well, Miss T.,” Ashley said, hiding a smile at Tati’s lace top, dirty jeans and black patent shoes. “What kind of cookies did you have in mind?”

  “Gingerbread men.”

  Michael mouthed “thank you,” then left the room. Ashley assumed he had an office or something at the other end of the house. Not that it mattered.

  Thanks to her little helper they were both soon dusted in flour. They made gingerbread boys, chocolate chip mounds, pecan drops and a host of shortbread cutouts. While Tati was engaged in decorating them, Ashley mixed up some gooey chocolate squares, a batch of fudge and a chocolate cake. A withered group of apples huddled at the back of the fridge so she decided to make an apple betty. She managed to almost finish cleaning up before Tati tired of decorating the cookies.

  “I’m hungry.”

  “So am I. Shall we make your dad some lunch?”

  “Okay.” Tatiana’s eyes sparkled. “What should we make?”

  “Vegetable soup?” She could use up what was in the fridge and he could stock up on fresh food for the holidays.

  “It won’t have beets in it, will it? I don’t like beets.”

  “No beets,” Ashley promised. She gave the child a peeler and set her to work on the carrots. Soon they had a pot of vegetable soup bubbling on the stove, filling the house with a delicious aroma.

  But Michael did not reappear.

  When the biscuits were ready, Ashley checked the clock. If they didn’t eat soon, there wouldn’t be time to go for a tree.

  “Your daddy seems to be lost. I wonder if we should find him and tell him lunch is ready.”

  Tati carefully placed the last spoon on the table. “He always forgets when he goes in the workshop.”

  The place of his carving? “Let’s go tell him, then.”

  With Tati leading the way, Ashley followed, until they came to a side door. Tatiana opened it.

  “It’s lunchtime, Daddy. Me and Ashley made soup.”

  Ashley didn’t hear his response, she was too busy ogling the room. Ther
e were faces everywhere. A series of cunning faces arranged on the far wall were particularly fanciful, chiseled out of oddly shaped driftwood. There were larger, chunkier pieces carved out of tree trunks and logs. Thin slices of mahogany, oak and birch lay along a workbench like masks, each expression different from the next.

  Entranced by the detail she saw, Ashley moved forward to inspect them more closely.

  “This is what you do in your spare time.” She turned to face him. “They’re fantastic!”

  “Thank you.” He remained still, the chisel motionless in his hand as he watched her.

  She could sense his reserve. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  Michael shrugged. “I guess it hasn’t really come up.”

  She fixed him with a look. “Hasn’t it?”

  “I’m hungry. Can’t we eat the soup now?” Tati begged.

  “We sure can, honey.” Michael rose, placed his chisel on his counter, laid his leather work apron on top. But he didn’t look at her.

  That bothered Ashley more than the fact that he’d kept silent about his art.

  She followed Tatiana out of the room, served the soup and biscuits, accepted their praise. But she couldn’t get the questions out of her mind. Michael knew she was collecting works for her gallery. Why hadn’t he offered some of his? Did he think Serenity Bay was too small-town to show in? Or was it her gallery he thought too small?

  “Maybe you and Tatiana should go get your tree by yourselves,” she offered quietly when Tati left to wash her hands and get her snow clothes ready. “It’s something you should share together, not with me.”

  “But we’d like you to go with us.” Michael shook his head. “I know what you’re thinking, Ashley, and it isn’t true. But I can’t talk now. Wait until later. Please? I promise, there’s a good reason why I didn’t explain.”

  Sure there was. He didn’t want to hurt her feelings.

  She thought about it as they cleared the table together. Then she remembered the cougar.

  “I suppose it would be smarter to go together,” she agreed. “That way I can keep an eye on Tatiana while you cut down the tree.”

  “That isn’t why I was asking you.”

  “Isn’t it?” Ashley didn’t know what to make of Michael’s secret. But she did want to hear his explanation. “I’ve got my ski suit in the car. I’ll go get it.”

  He nodded, but it was what Michael didn’t say that mattered.

  Chapter Eleven

  Michael closed the door to Tati’s room with a sigh of relief. Finally he’d get a few minutes alone with Ashley. He prayed for the right words to explain and realized there wasn’t a good way to say it.

  “The tree looks good, don’t you think?” She looked at him with her big silver eyes and his heart started doing somersaults. “Tatiana did a great job with the popcorn strings and her star is very pretty.”

  “Ashley, I—”

  “It’s getting late. I should probably get moving.” She rose, sidestepped him and headed for the door.

  “Wait!”

  From the way she came to a stop he knew he’d surprised her but he had to tell her—now.

  “Will you let me explain about the carving?”

  “You don’t owe me any explanations, Michael. Your private life is your own business.”

  The tinge of hurt frosting the edges of those words hit him hard and he wished he’d handled this before. But regrets did no one any good.

  “Please?”

  She studied him for several moments, finally nodded. He motioned to the sofa and she sat, but on the edge, as if she couldn’t wait to leave.

  “I’ve been trying to carve for ages,” he began. “I earned my teaching degree, used it for a few years, but I wanted to carve. So I spent two years in New York working with Hans Leder. Have you heard of him?”

  Dumb question.

  “Who hasn’t?” She tipped her head to one side. “He doesn’t usually take students. You must have impressed him. After seeing your work I can understand why.”

  “I didn’t carve faces then. I was more into sculpture. I even had a showing.” He swallowed. “It didn’t go well.”

  “First showings often don’t.” She leaned back in the chair. “Go on.”

  “Actually it went very badly. Hans tried. He talked to several galleries, even arranged for some of my pieces to be shown along with his. That was a mistake. The reviews were less than kind. I went back to teaching.”

  “But you didn’t quit carving.”

  “I couldn’t. Somehow the wood just kept calling.” He laughed at himself. “That sounds stupid, but it’s how I felt.”

  “It’s not an unusual feeling for a creative person.”

  “I guess. Anyway, I was teaching math then. A girl came into my class midterm. Her name was Maria. She was fourteen and she had brain cancer. Inoperable.”

  “Oh, no.”

  “Yes. Maria knew she didn’t have much longer, but she wanted to spend as long as she could being what she called ‘normal.’” He closed his eyes, tipped his head back and remembered. “I don’t think I’ve ever met a person who touched my spirit so deeply. Her face would wrinkle, she’d get this determined look in her eye and push for an explanation until the concept was clear to her. She was a delight to teach.”

  He opened his eyes to see if she understood. Ashley sat watching him, her face expressionless, except for those expressive eyes. They shone with unshed tears.

  “Maria wasn’t pretty but she was beautiful. Do you know what I mean?” Michael saw her nod. “From the inside, radiating out. You’d start out feeling so badly when you saw her return day after day, thinner, paler, wasting away. But Maria would have you laughing in a minute and then she’d join in.”

  “I wish I’d known her.”

  “I do, too. Anyway, I became intrigued by her personality and one evening I was fooling with a piece of wood. I could see her face in it and I began to carve her as I’d first seen her. When I was finished that, I carved another and then another, trying to catch a certain look, a glint, a spark in the likeness. She died two days after school dismissed for the summer.”

  “The cancer finally took over. That’s sad.”

  “It was. Her death prodded me back into carving in a new way. I began to look at the world through Maria’s eyes and because of her I saw things in people’s faces, things others ignored.”

  “Your pieces do have fantastic insight. It’s like they ask you to look behind what everyone else sees.” Her gaze never left his face. “I understand wanting the time and space to create, Michael, but that doesn’t explain why you couldn’t tell me. Or why you had to keep it a secret.”

  “It wasn’t really a secret,” he muttered. “Okay, it sort of was.”

  “Because?”

  It was confession time. “That showing I told you about—it did a number on my ego.”

  “I can imagine.”

  “But it was more than that.” He ran his fingers through his hair, remembering the depths his soul had plummeted to. “I was so certain that carving was what I was supposed to do, and so I plunged into it, believed I had a future. When I read those reviews I felt abandoned, as if God was mocking me. Like everyone else was.”

  Ashley said nothing, allowing him to feel his way through.

  “Maybe that’s why I became infatuated with Carissa. She was a success, doing what she loved, acclaimed all over the world.”

  “And next to her you felt like a failure.”

  “I was a failure.” He swallowed. “At first she reminded me of Maria, always laughing, relishing life. I grabbed and held on. It was only after we were married that I saw beneath the mask.”

  He paused, recalling that day as clearly as yesterday. Carissa had been sitting in the hotel room, so silent he’d wondered about her mental state. Then a fan had arrived.

  “Tell me, Michael.” Her soft encouragement drew the words from him.

  “Carissa came alive when she danced. She lived for
the ballet. Without it she was lost. I realized that she’d left New York, and me, because I asked too much of her. I needed too much and she couldn’t give it. No one could. It’s something I had to find within myself.”

  “Except that you have a daughter now.”

  Michael nodded, wishing there was a way to avoid discussing his ex-wife. He never had before. But Ashley was different. He needed her to understand.

  “Yes. But with Tati came the same old feelings—the need to prove that I was good enough, as good as her mother. That I was excellent at one specific thing.”

  “It sounds like you were in competition with your ex-wife.”

  Shame washed over his face. “In a way I guess I am.”

  “Why?”

  “Haven’t you heard Tati? My mommy this and my mommy that.” He felt like a fool saying it, but in another way it was a relief to get it out. “She idolized Carissa. How do I compare to that, Ashley?”

  “Why do you have to?” She leaned forward to study him. Her voice dropped. “Carissa is gone. You are Tatiana’s father. Every night you get to tuck her into bed, listen to her prayers, kiss her cheek. Isn’t that enough?”

  “No.” He raked a hand through his hair. “I know it sounds stupid, but when she talks about going to the theme park in Paris or spending Christmas in the Alps—I have nothing to compare to that.”

  “And you want to.” She wasn’t asking. “You want to hear her brag about you. But she does, Michael.”

  “Yeah, she talks about the sets we’re building or the cupcakes—stuff like that. Stupid little things that—”

  “Mean the world to her,” she whispered. “You put aside your hopes and dreams, took the teaching job to support you both. When you have a spare moment, you spend it on the wood. There’s nothing to be ashamed of in that. You’re doing more than a lot of men who have a wife to help them.”

  She didn’t understand. How could she?

  “It isn’t enough.” He was going to come clean and he prayed Ashley would understand. “I had a plan, you see. I figured that if I had enough pieces and a gallery would choose some that I’d risk it again, one last time. I’d hold another showing. If I blew it—well, then I’d know I misread God, that I wasn’t good enough, never would be.”