by Hall, Karen
But she had been nice to him. Very nice. Because it looked more and more like Mr. Higginbotham would open a Haley’s Emporium here in Tyler and make her father the General Manager. And she wouldn’t take that chance away from Papa for the world.
Her fingers tightened around her fork as she asked, “Where do you get Christmas trees in New York City?”
“I never asked,” he said coolly. “But Mr. Hawthorne is considering selling them at Haley’s next year, aren’t you sir?”
“Yes indeed,” Mr. Hawthorne agreed, spearing another two sausages from the platter in the center of the table. “Maybe we can talk to the owner of the tree farm about that. Advertise ‘pure Tennessee Christmas trees’ in all the Manhattan newspapers, don’t you know.”
“Sounds good to me,” Papa agreed. “Victoria, will you drive out with us?”
Victoria’s brain frantically searched for an excuse. “I really need to grade some papers, Papa,” she said. “Or at least begin my next week’s lesson plans.”
“Oh, please, Miss Victoria,” Mr. Higginbotham pleaded. “This is my last full day in Tyler. Can’t think of a better way to spend it than have a pretty girl show me the countryside. And we can talk about the kind of fashion you prefer. Southern ladies like pretty clothes, don’t they?”
“Of course Victoria will go with you,” Mama said firmly, giving Victoria the glance she recalled from childhood, the one that promised a quick and dangerous retribution if she did not agree to Mr. Higginbotham’s request. “Won’t you, Victoria?”
“Yes, Mama.” The answer came to Victoria’s lips automatically. “Isn’t Henry supposed to drive you over to church this morning for your meeting about the Christmas rummage sale? How can he take us to the station if he’s doing that?”
“Don’t be silly, Victoria,” Mary scolded. “It will take Henry--who is waiting for me in the kitchen--no more than fifteen minutes to get me to - church and drive back here again. Please don’t keep him waiting when he does. It was cold outside this morning when I took Watson for his walk.”
So saying, she left the room, calling for Henry. Victoria watched her go, feeling Jake’s eyes study her from over the rim of his coffee cup.
“Well then, we best get ready,” Higginbotham announced. “Come along, Jake. Let’s get our coats.”
“Yes sir,” and to Victoria’s relief, her former love rose and followed his employer from the room.
Not five minutes later, bundled up against the cold, Victoria waited on the porch for Papa and their guests, watching for Henry and D’Arcy to return.
“It’s only another day,” she whispered. “Then Jake Dillon will ride out of my life again. No one will be the
wiser, and that will be the end of that.”
The floorboard creaked behind her, and the scent of bay rum enveloped her like an embrace. His scent. A scent he had always worn for luck during their debates, and later stamped itself on her clothing after a long kiss before parting for the night. Inhaling it now after so long, Victoria issued a silent command to her trembling knees not to fold beneath her as she turned. “Hello, Jake,” she said softly.
“Hello, Vicki.” He stepped closer and peered down at her. She had almost forgotten how tall he was.
But not how handsome. She would never, could never forget that.
“First time we’re alone together,” he commented. The graying light turned his eyes to nearly black.. “You’ve been quite successful at avoiding me, Vicki.”
“I’ve had things to do,” she retorted, trying not to sound defensive. “Like teaching every day and help the children practice for the school Christmas pageant. Some of us do have to work for a living, you know.”
“As a matter of fact, I do.” He bit off the words and a smoldering anger surfaced in his eyes. “Perhaps it’s a lesson I’ve had to learn late in life. But after one’s family loses most of its money through bad investments, and then more of it by gambling, hoping to regain it and leaving one with very little left over, the only choice left is to work.”
Lost their money? Victoria’s fingers curled against her gloved hands. “I-I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t know that.”
“My little lover of Sherlock Holmes hadn’t deduced that I had to work?” A sneer entered his voice. “What did you think I was doing with Higginbotham?”
Embarrassment heated Victoria’s face. “I don’t know,” she repeated stiffly.
He lifted her chin. “So much for graduating magna cum laude from Radcliffe.”
“Summa cum laude,” she snapped. “But even that didn’t make me good enough to marry into your family, did it?”
“Sorry it took so long, my dears.” Higginbotham’s breezy voice intruded on their talk. “But I simply had to have another quick cup of your mother’s delicious coffee, Miss Hawthorne. Don’t get coffee like that in Manhattan. So, now we’re going to go find that perfect Christmas tree and--AAAARRRGGGGHHH!”
A roar issued from Cyrus Higginbotham’s throat as his feet hit a patch of ice on the first step, plummeting him the rest of the way down to the pavement just as Henry pulled up at the curb with D’Arcy.
“Cyrus!” Papa catapulted out of the door but took his time descending the steps to kneel by a writhing Mr. Higginbotham.
“Sir!” Jake darted after him, and Victoria followed, joining him on Mr. Higginbotham’s other side.
“My leg!” Higginbotham groaned. “My back! By thunder, it hurts!”
“Don’t move,” Jake advised. He looked at his host. “Do you think we can carry him inside?”
“I wouldn’t advise it,” Papa said. “If his leg is broken, we don’t want to risk further injury.”
“Papa’s right,” Victoria said. “Doctor Bailey’s office is only minutes away. Henry can have him back here in no time.”
Papa stood and shouted, “Henry! Go get Doctor Bailey right away. But be careful!”
Nodding, Henry slapped the reins against D’Arcy’s blanketed back, and the horse galloped off.
“Victoria, my dear, go get a blanket from the closet,” Papa said. “We need to keep him warm until Henry gets back.”
“Yes, Papa.” Victoria stood and stepped forward, only to lose her balance and fall forward. A pair of arms grabbed her from behind and a delicious warmth carried on a wave of bay rum enfolded her again as she leaned against Jake’s back.
“Be careful, Miss Hawthorne,” he warned, turning her around and holding her in place. “We don’t need two injured people in the household.”
“Thank you,” she said. Stepping carefully, she made her way up the steps to enter the house, grab a blanket from the back of the sofa in the parlor and return to the men. A light snow had started, spreading a lacy blanket of flakes over Cyrus Higginbotham.
“C-confound it, it’s c-cold,” the millionaire said through chattering teeth. “D-didn’t know it got this cold in T-T-Tennessee.”
Victoria gently laid the blanket over him. “Did you notice those big foothills when you arrived?” she teased. “Those were the Smoky Mountains. Bears live up there. Are you sure you want to open one of your Emporiums here?”
“Victoria, hush,” her father pleaded. “Ah, thank goodness. There’s Henry with Doctor Bailey.”
A quick examination of Higginbotham by Doctor Bailey provided the diagnosis of severely pulled back muscles and a badly sprained ankle. After loading Higginbotham onto the stretcher he had brought, Bailey and Jake carried him into the parlor and helped settle him onto the sofa.
“I don’t think we should carry him upstairs,” Bailey said after giving Higginbotham a small dose of laudanum. “We need to move him as little as possible.”
“But we’re going back to Manhattan tomorrow,” Jake argued. “We have a board meeting on Monday morning.” And one more ni
ght in Victoria’s home will have me howling at the Tennessee moon.
“Perhaps you do, sir, but not him,” Bailey said firmly. “Pulled back muscles are serious. Several days’ bed rest, perhaps a week is what he needs to make a full recovery.”
“A week? You mean spend Christmas here?” Disbelief slammed into Jake’s brain. Christmas in the Gobi would be a better option.
“If you want him to recover, yes,” Bailey repeated.
“You just tell me what I need to do to take care of him, Doctor, and I’ll do it.” Alfred had entered the room, followed by Victoria. Obviously she had gone upstairs to tell him of his employer’s accident.
“Oh dear,” Hawthorne sighed. “I don’t know what Mary will say about all this.”
“Excuse me, Mr. Hawthorne.” Henry joined the group. Snowflakes clung to the front of his overcoat. “But you best know that snow is on the way. Pastor Anderson told me when I dropped off Mrs. Hawthorne this morning. They’re calling for at least six inches by tomorrow.”
Gritting his teeth, Jake looked at his employer.
“Congratulations, sir. Looks like you’re going to have a white Christmas after all.”
Chapter Four
Much later that afternoon…
“I need to go into town and send some telegrams before I return to Manhattan.”
Doctor Bailey had gone, and at least for now, Cyrus Higginbotham was snoring on the parlor sofa. Listening to Jake’s declaration, Victoria watched him pace her father’s office. She blinked back the unexpected tears pricking her eyes as she recalled trying to keep up with his long-legged stride during autumn hikes with their friends. He’d nicknamed her Crazy Legs while she learned to negotiate the winding trails. Now, it seemed like such a long time ago.
“You must do what you think best, but if what Henry says about the approaching bad weather is true, I wouldn’t count on returning to Manhattan any time soon,” Papa warned. “Ahh-ahh-choo!”
“Papa, are you catching cold?” Victoria took the handkerchief tucked inside her belt and gave it to him.
“Not at all my dear. Ahh-ahh-ahh-choo!” Her father buried his face in the cloth’s delicate folds.
Jake stopped and shoved his hands into his pockets. “Mr. Higginbotham has never missed a board meeting. And since he can’t travel, he’ll need me there as his representative.”
“Then let’s hope for both your sakes, the trains will be running tomorrow. Ahh-ahh-choo!”
“Agreed. Can Henry take me to the telegraph office?”
“Mama had a list of things for him to do so he’s out with D’Arcy,” Victoria put in. “I’ll hitch up Dickens and drive you to the telegraph office, Mr. Dillon. It’s at the train station.”
“But it’s snowing, Victoria,” her father protested. “I can take Mr. Dillon to send his telegrams.”
“Papa, you’ve sneezed three times in two minutes,” Victoria said. “Mama will have forty fits if you get sick from being out in the cold. I can drive in the snow as well as you can. You stay here in case she comes home early. Get your coat, Mr. Dillon.”
She marched from the room into the hall and took her coat and scarf from the closet. After putting them on, she made her way back through the kitchen to the barn, where she hitched old Dickens to the wagon, got in, and drove him into the yard. Jake Dillon, suitably attired for the weather, came down the back steps and waited for her to join him. Climbing up beside her, he said, “I can drive if you like.”
Two bright patches of red appeared on her cheeks as she took a pair of gloves from her pocket and pulled them on. “I know how to drive.”
“I know you do,” Jake said, trying not to recall the lacy hat she wore in the spring when they ,along with some friends took the train into the country to rent pony carts and drive about. She -was the prettiest woman there, and she had been with him. “A gentleman always drives when a lady is with him.”
Something like a pout hovered around her lips. “Is that another silly New York Society rule? Besides, Dickens doesn’t like strangers. If you try to drive him while I’m sitting here, he’ll either bolt, or just stand there.”
Her tone, not to mention the rapidly falling flakes, only added to Jake’s aggravation. “Don’t be perverse.”
“See for yourself,” she said, handing him the reins. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
“Get - up, Dickens,” Jake commanded, flicking the reins against the horse’s back. Dickens shot Jake a baleful stare before turning his head away, feet planted firmly -on the ground.
“I said, get - up,” Jake’s voice rose as he slapped the reins again. Dickens remained where he was.
“Satisfied?” Victoria took the reins and called, “Take us to town, Dickens.”
The little white horse trotted forward, and soon they were moving down the street at a surprising pace. Snow swirled around them, making tiny pinpricks of light in the surrounding overcast sky. Only one or two wagons passed them, and they rode on in silence.
“I’m sorry,” Jake said at last.
“That’s quite alright,” she countered, keeping her eyes on the road.
“I mean, I’m sorry for everything,” he amended. “I didn’t mean to hurt you, Vicki. I never should have said you and your family weren’t good enough. Your parents are fine people.”
Her eyes flickered at him, then returned to focus on the road. “Really?”
He nodded. “My parents were obsessed with their position in Society and about having the ‘right’ kind of people as friends. And do you know what? When Father lost most of his money in bad investments and then nearly all the rest in gambling to try to regain it, those so-called ‘friends’ turned their backs on them. The shock killed both my parents, and I had to scramble to - salvage what was left so my sister Eleanor could have some kind of security. My great-aunt Rosalind reluctantly took her in, but I was on my own.”
She pulled on the reins, slowing Dickens from a brisk trot to a slow walk. “So that’s why you’re working for Cyrus Higginbotham,” she said. “I’m sorry for what happened, Jake. I truly am. People need friends when something like that happens to them.”
“I seem to remember you didn’t care for the Society papers,” Jake said, lightening his tone. “So you wouldn’t have heard what happened.”
“And Tyler Today probably wouldn’t have reported it anyway.” She looked at him and her sudden grin lit up her face and warmed his heart. “It’s a small newspaper that comes out three times a week. And Tyler Today only reports the talk of Tyler town. Is that alliterative enough for you?”
They both laughed, and a wave of affection for her swept over Jake. How could he have ever agreed with his parents about her not being good enough?
Coward. The old accusation echoed his head. You’re a coward. If you’d really loved her, you would have stood up to your father.
“So what have you been doing with yourself all these years?” he asked. “You said something about a job?”
“I teach fifth grade at one of the schools,” she said. “I had to go to a teaching seminary for a year to qualify, even though I had a degree in English from Radcliffe.”
“Do you enjoy teaching?”
Her face lit up with the enthusiasm he had never quite forgotten. “I love it. The children can be a challenge at times, but for the most part they behave and are eager to learn.”
“And I’m sure you make learning fun,” he said. “You always did have a zest for life, even for the simple things.”
“Sometimes simple things are the best,” she said.
“What could be more fun than driving through the country or ice skating on a frozen pond and coming back to warm up with hot cider?”
Her recitation of things they had done together brought a lump to Jake’s throat and he coughe
d it away.
“Not much,” he admitted. “Not much.”
She halted Dickens in front of the train station. Jake jumped out, pulled down the wagon’s steps and held out his hand. Her long, slender fingers wrapped around his palm, and as she descended the steps, he impulsively wrapped his hands around her waist and lowered her to the ground. Her hands slid up to his shoulders and her eyes widened, watching him and waiting.
“You forgot to wear a hat,” she whispered, brushing the snowflakes from his hair. “You don’t want to get sick, do you?”
“No.” Jake’s heart began to hammer with a rib- bruising force and he lowered his head to brush his lips against hers in a feathering sweep. He heard her sharp intake of breath and his arms slid down to her waist. “Victoria,” he whispered. “I--”
A train whistle’s shrill scream interrupted him. “We better get those telegrams sent,” she said, stepping back and making her way to the station door.
Silently cursing the train’s arrival, Jake followed her, the rumble of - wheels pounding in his ears. Could things ever be made right between them?
He joined her at the telegraph counter and wrote out the needed messages. Handing them to the clerk, he asked, “What have you heard about the weather?”
The man grimaced. “A blizzard has already hit Virginia and is coming this way, not to mention the one coming over the plateau.”
Anxiety speeded up Jake’s heart. “Then you would advise against traveling?”
“Mister, I wouldn’t travel with anyone right now but Santa Claus, and even he might have trouble getting through. The last train just got here, and only a fool would try to get in or out of Tyler with that snow coming.”
“I see,” Jake said. “Thank you.”
“Oh dear,” Victoria murmured. “I suppose that means my brothers and their wives won’t be able to come for Christmas. Mama is going to be so disappointed.”