Christine caught the cautious look Billy tossed her.
“The war’s over, Mama. The help here gets paid,” she remarked. “And in this house, Asa and the others are treated pretty much like family. It’ll feel different, eating with them in the dining room—but you’ll get used to it.”
Her mother’s startled expression was the response she’d hoped for; she was all too happy to let Mama’s best boy escort her inside. He could make those introductions, now that she’d completed her part of this mission.
For a few peaceful moments, Christine remained on the back porch, drinking things in. She’d forgotten the energy of those dogs as they chased the carriage into the barn. She’d missed the sight of these plowed fields, blanketed in white, that rolled on beyond the river, where the trees reached up with bared limbs toward a pale gray sky.
That tall black horse nickered at her. Like he knew her. He was standing at the corral fence, looking right at her, until—ignoring the snow that was ankle-deep—Christine stepped off the porch to see, once and for all—
“Christine! Come inside before you freeze. It’s so good to have you home, sweetheart!”
She turned and gazed at that gentle face, framed in chestnut hair that accented shining brown eyes. Mercy’s calico sleeves were pushed up past her elbows, and her flour-sack apron bore bright red smudges that could only be cherry pie filling. She opened her arms as she rushed forward, and for the first time Christine did that, too.
The phrase goodness and mercy, from one of the few psalms she’d ever memorized, popped into her mind—and as those strong arms closed around her, Christine knew why those two words belonged together. Mercy Malloy was goodness. And here in this kitchen, filled with aromas of yeast rolls and roasting meat, she could feel the love that had always been here. Just waiting for her to accept it.
Maybe all wasn’t lost if meeting up with Mama had made her realize how lucky she and Billy were that day Mike Malloy sat them down at this woman’s table. Maybe—
“Merry Christmas, Miss Christine!” an ancient voice cut into her thoughts. “We sure happy to have you home, child! And don’t you look just like your mama—’cept prettier!” he added slyly.
“Asa! You must’ve started cooking before dawn!” She glanced around the cluttered kitchen, at a sink piled with dirty dishes and a cookstove where bubbling pots gave off wonderful aromas—and, of course, there was a line of pies along the table’s edge.
Christine frowned. “You’ll have to excuse me for losing track of the days, but . . . is today Christmas?”
“It might as well be. Look who’s here—at last.”
“Miss Vanderbilt!”
Once more Christine rushed into open arms, and once more she knew the unrestrained hug of a woman who loved her in ways no one else ever had.
“I wasn’t expecting you to be here—”
“I got Mercy’s telegram that you were on your way back and I couldn’t stay away,” her headmistress replied. “Partly because the train makes the trip so easy these days, and partly—”
She looked toward the doorway to be sure her words weren’t overheard. “Partly because I just had to know how things have gone, Christine. From what we’ve heard, the trip was more . . . enlightening than you anticipated.”
How like this pillar of the Academy for Young Ladies to transform a conversational sow’s ear into a pretty silk purse. Christine laughed, relieved to be among women who would appreciate what she’d endured and wouldn’t think less of her for feeling, well—disappointed.
“To paraphrase the Bard,” she said in an elevated tone, “it’s been ‘Much Ado About Mama’ these past weeks. I—I’ll save my stories for a more appropriate time.”
Agatha Vanderbilt and her niece exchanged a conspiratorial grin.
“When you can’t think of anything nice to say—” Mercy began.
“—come sit by me!” her aunt chimed in.
The laughter that filled the kitchen gave her the best kind of comfort: balm to a soul that needed healing. Christine shrugged out of her coat, eager to see everyone . . . wondering just who might be here.
“You remember Temple,” Mercy said, as they entered the dining room. “Reuben and Sedalia are settled in my old home, caring for the horses and ready to help plant come spring. But Temple’s become my right hand. I don’t know how I would’ve managed this household without her.”
The young woman looked up from placing silverware around plates at the long table, and Christine stood amazed: Temple Gates wore a radiant smile—and one of the dresses Christine had left behind.
“Well, don’t you look pretty!” she blurted. “It’s good to see you filling out that amber gown—looking almost as fine in it as I did!”
Temple laughed aloud, curtsying playfully. “This one’s my favorite, Miss Christine. Now, don’t tell me you didn’t make it just for me! And thank you,” she added with a warm smile. “I’ve found my purpose here with Miss Mercy and Mr. Mike. I’m truly blessed to call this my home.”
There it was again: home. Spoken with conviction; much more solid than her wistful notions of belonging when she felt she had no place to go.
Christine walked over to the colorful quilt of Mercy’s homestead and this patchwork family, hanging proudly on the wall—and then she grinned at the framed photographs on the sideboard below it. Beloved faces greeted her, the smiles and dogs and love Tucker Trudeau had captured with his camera.
And there she was, standing between a proud Agatha Vanderbilt and Mercy Malloy . . . leaning against the porch pillar . . . nose-to-nose with Lily, and—
Right smack in the middle of this happy family. Surrounded by the children she loved, and by the adults who had loved her even when she didn’t want them to—even when she’d defied and challenged their affection with her every unkind word and selfish deed.
It’s divine magic, that little voice whispered. And it’s with you always, just as I am.
Had anyone else heard that? Christine glanced around the cheerful dining room to see that Mercy and Miss Vanderbilt had returned to the kitchen, and Temple was taking glasses from the cabinet across the room. The young woman smiled, as though she had heard that still, small voice—and was quite comfortable with it, because she listened for it all the time.
“I’m glad you found your mama, Miss Christine,” she said softly. “It sounds like quite a story, and I’d love to hear it sometime.”
Christine could only nod, awed by the sense of blessing and light in Temple’s presence. Recalling how this girl had come here under the worst circumstances, lost her baby, and then nearly died from an infection, Christine realized she herself had a long way to go—and a lot to be thankful for, even if Mama sorely tried her patience.
Strains of a Christmas carol drifted in from the front parlor. Her heart halted midbeat as an accented male voice began to sing.
“ ‘A-wayyyy in a manger, no crib for His bed—’ ”
Christine rushed toward the music. Little voices chimed in with a high, angelic sweetness that made her cry. There in that sunny room, where the window’s beveled glass made a rainbow on the wall, sat Tucker Trudeau. He was beaming at the boy and girl who stood on each side of him, fascinated by the bellows and buttons of his accordion. His gentle voice encouraged them with the words they were just learning.
“ ‘The lihhttle Lord Jesus lay down His sweet head.’ ”
Christine held her breath in the doorway. Overhead, footsteps told her Billy was showing Mama her room, so she could powder her nose before dinner. From a wing chair near the window, Veronique grinned at her, and she wiggled her fingers in greeting. But she wanted nothing to interrupt this wonderful moment—this music sent from angels high above and long ago. Just for her.
“‘The stahhhhrs in the sky-y looked down where He lay . . . The lihhhtle Lord Jesus, asleep on the hayyyyyy.’ ”
Tucker embellished the final chord, and she sighed. Was it the sentiment of that carol—the first she’d learned as a child—or the sight
of that big, sable-haired Cajun singing with those little children, that filled her with an inexplicable tenderness?
This, too, is divine magic, Christine. And it can be yours.
When she gasped with the power of this whispered message, they all looked up at her.
“Kwis-teen! Kwis-teen, it’s weelly you!”
Lily launched herself across the braided rug, arms flung forward, while Joel whirled in excited circles. Christine caught the little blonde and held her high, until her shrill giggles filled the room. She wore a dress of candy pink velveteen with a white pinafore, and the bows in her hair were already loose from the morning’s commotion. Joel landed against her thigh, nearly toppling them all. Luckily, there was a large upholstered chair to catch them.
She had a lapful of wiggling, giggling children, and she’d never been happier.
But it was Tucker’s smile that made her heart stop. She hugged Joel and Lily close, so she could return his gaze above their bobbing heads.
“Tucker, I—wasn’t expecting—how’d you get here?”
He slipped his arms from the accordion’s straps and came over to crouch beside the chair.
“Maman and I, we thought you needed time alone with your mother, chérie,” he said, placing his hand on her arm. “We got on the same train you did in San Francisco. Mr. Carson, he followed you off at the Cheyenne station, but we came back here. To wait for you. Everything went all right there, with your mama?”
Christine dodged two little heads, smiling wryly. “Well, Mama was in for a shock when the money from Wyndham’s mailboxes had been confiscated, but she still had the last word. Made a big show of coming clean, saying she’d apologize to those ladies in North Platte—already knowing our train wouldn’t stop there to . . . ”
His aquamarine eyes were fixed on her lips.
Christine swallowed hard. Should she break such a mesmerizing mood with an apology?
“I—I’m sorry I ran out on you, Tucker. It was rude and childish—like Mama’s way of handling things.”
“But I understood, ma princesse,” he whispered.
He was still watching her talk, the same way she focused on his mouth—such firm, lush lips, accented by his dark, curling beard.
“You know, I hope,” he went on softly, “that Maman et moi, we had good intentions—printing that poster to find your mother. But I didn’t mention it earlier, so you learned of it at a bad time. I’m sorry you were hurt, Christine. Disappointed in me.”
“I could never be disappointed in you, Tucker. I love you.”
The words slipped out as she leaned toward him to make her point. He caught her up in a long, lovely kiss, to clarify things between them.
“Mama kisses Papa like that allllll the time,” Lily chirped. And she clapped her hands on their cheeks to hold them that way.
“You will still marry me, oui?” Tucker asked. His eyes shone with a pale blue fire that sent a sunburst through her.
“Oh, oui, Tucker! Next spring? Right here?” The words tumbled out as she studied his rugged face, amazed at the love and longing she saw there. “The flowers will be blooming, and—”
“Of course, ma princesse. You are absolutely right.”
Joel laughed, wiggling down from her lap. “Papa says that to Mama alllll the time! Don’tcha, Papa?”
Tucker chuckled, watching the boy rush across the room. “Your papa, he is a wise man, Joel. A wise and happy man, non?”
“A wise and happy man, yes,” Christine echoed.
Michael Malloy smiled at them from the arched doorway, looking truly contented as he surveyed the parlor, the Christmas tree, and the three of them near the picture window. He scooped Joel up to his shoulder, kissing him noisily.
“I come, like the angel Gabriel, with tidings of great joy!” he announced. His sandy hair fell softly around his face and his grin held the promise of Christmas joy—and perhaps a secret—that made Christine hold her breath.
“It’s time for dinner! So come to the table. And you—” he said to the boy who looked so much like him, “you may go upstairs to fetch Billy and Mrs. Bristol. Please and thank you.”
Joel squirmed to the floor and then shot up the oak stairway, his footsteps thundering grandly. “Come ’n’ eeeeeat!” he hollered as he reached the top. “Bihl-eeeee!”
“Kwis-teen! Sit by me!”
Christine blinked. Even though she’d just made up with Tucker and reaffirmed her love for him—even though she was so caught up in the familiar rhythms of this family, feeling as though she’d never left—the little girl in her lap had just taken her breath away. With the grip of those fingers, urging her out of her chair, Lily was showing her the joy of being chosen by a child. A child whose blue eyes sought her out; a child who loved her without limits or conditions.
Why—that little girl could be yours! her mother repeated in her mind.
Christine smiled; it was probably the most worthwhile thing Mama had said on the whole trip.
As they reached the dining room, Mama was coming downstairs ahead of Billy. Her mother stopped to watch her: Christine was being led by a blond toddler, and she was leading a tall, dark-haired Cajun. And they all wore happy smiles, as though Tucker had posed them in front of his camera.
It was an image that would remain imprinted on her heart, for it was the moment Christine realized she had a life of her own to look forward to. A life separate from her mother’s. A life that revolved around her own abilities and purposes, because God had a plan for her.
Everyone took seats around the extended table while Asa placed the last of the steaming bowls in its center. Michael was thumbing through the large Bible he’d taken from the sideboard.
How many times did I watch Judd Monroe do this? And Billy? And this fine man, Michael, who has changed every life in this room with his simple, honest faith.
They settled into their places, waiting for the reading that would grace the meal. Christine’s stomach rumbled as she gripped Tucker’s hand under the table. Slices of gravied roast beef filled one platter and pieces of golden fried chicken another. A jellied cranberry salad shone like a huge ruby in its glass bowl. Steam rose from buttered, seasoned potatoes, along with three other bowls heaped with vegetables preserved from Mercy’s large garden.
But it wasn’t Christmas dinner. This feast was spread because she’d come home.
“We’ve all waited for this day,” Michael began, smiling at her, “because there were plenty of times we wondered if Christine’s dream would really come true. It’s a pleasure and an honor to have you at our table, Mrs. Bristol.”
Mama’s cheeks flushed and she sat up straighter. In a dress of olive and bronze stripes, with her hair pulled into a braid that encircled her crown, she looked younger and more vibrant than Christine had seen her in years. Probably because she sat beside her beloved Billy—
And that’s as it should be, she reminded herself. Good things come to those who wait, and Billy did his share of that. It’s his turn to watch over Mama now.
“I’d like to grace this meal with a reading that befits the season, and tells of a special surprise, too,” Michael went on.
Faces lit up with anticipation as he found his place. Miss Vanderbilt beamed fondly at Christine over Lily’s tousled curls, while across the table, Asa and Temple winked at each other. Mercy sat beside her husband, looking sleek and queenly even in calico; she and Veronique exchanged a glance that put a feline smile on Maman’s exotic face.
“This passage comes from the first chapter of Luke, about a very famous angel visitation. For we’ve each felt the presence of angels, and they’re with us now, seated around this table.”
Michael cleared his throat, smiling like he couldn’t contain his excitement. “And the angel Gabriel was sent by God to a city of Galilee named Nazareth, to a virgin betrothed to a man named Joseph. And the virgin’s name was Mary,” he paraphrased. His voice was low and loving, caressing the familiar story as though it were one of his children.
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br /> “And the angel came inside, and said, ‘Hail, you who are highly favored! The Lord is with you; blessed art thou among women.’ When Mary saw him she was afraid, and wondered what sort of greeting this would be.
“So the angel said, ‘Fear not, Mary! You’ve found favor with God, and behold, you shall conceive and bring forth a son, and you’ll call his name Jesus. He shall be great, and shall be called the Son of the Highest. The Lord God shall give Him the throne of His father David, and He shall reign forever and ever, and His kingdom will never end.”
Michael closed the Bible. He slipped an arm around Mercy’s shoulders, grinning like a kid. “You’ll never mistake me for the angel Gabriel, but I’m saying that Mercy’s going to have my child! Just like Tucker’s mother predicted.”
Excited cries went up around the table, and hands clapped together with the joy of it. Mercy beamed at them.
“The baby will be here next summer,” she said. “Probably in July. This will mean four children under the age of five in this house! So Temple will become even more of a guardian angel, and we’ll be very, very busy.”
“And very happy,” Michael added. Then he smiled at Christine. “We’re glad you made it home when you did, honey, because we couldn’t keep this to ourselves much longer.”
Christine laughed. As everyone congratulated Mercy and Michael, she once again felt honored by their attention. And after a moment’s hesitation, she, too, stood up.
“While we’re sharing good news,” she said, her hand fluttering to Tucker’s shoulder, “I would like to announce that Tucker and I are getting married—”
More cries of excitement circled the table. Christine kept talking before her courage ran out—and before Mama’s wounded expression made her feel she’d been too bold and independent.
“—and we’d like to have the ceremony here, next summer—”
“Of course you will!” Michael blurted, while beside him, Mercy looked extremely pleased.
“—and that in the meanwhile I’ll return to St. Louis to finish my schooling.”
The room was quiet. Christine focused on Miss Vanderbilt, and then looked at Mercy with a grateful smile.
Journey to Love (Angels of Mercy) Page 28