Judith Bowen

by The Man from Blue River

  She shook her head. How perfectly ridiculous, Martha Virginia. Ghosts. What would Gran Thomas say? “Vapors, lass, nothing but vapors”—she could hear her grandmother’s abrupt dismissal now. Gran Thomas had had no patience for what she considered excessive female whimsy.

  Gran Thomas. That made Martha think of her mother. Fraser had handed her a letter the day before that informed her of her mother’s travel arrangements and that, yes, she was bringing Harry and mountains of gifts for everyone, including some decent coffee, which she was positive Martha couldn’t get up there in God-Knows-Where, Wyoming. She sounded absolutely delighted to have been asked to share their Christmas celebrations. Martha was amazed. She’d really had no idea that her mother had even one tiny ribbon of sentimentality in her no-nonsense pragmatic Danish character, let alone a streak a yard wide.

  Fraser had seemed…well, if not pleased with the news of the Christmas festivities Martha was planning, at least resigned to playing host. Martha had made it clear right from the beginning that she intended to make a big deal of Christmas and Santa. The girls’ lives had been too grim and dreary for too long.

  Fraser.

  Martha’s heart melted when she thought of him these days. The passion he brought to their bed at night more than made up for the distant self-contained man he was during the day. It was as though she’d married two men—a silent nighttime man who loved her deeply and passionately, and a reserved daytime man, always polite, who rarely touched her. Sometimes Martha longed for a word, a gesture that showed her he cared.

  When it happened—such as that one afternoon in the barn or the evening he pulled her into his arms after she’d checked on the sleeping girls—it was always a surprise. He’d chanced upon her in the hall and kissed her so hungrily she nearly fainted. That time, he’d come close to taking her right there on the cold bare floorboards, before he’d smiled and said he was too damn old for that sort of thing and had gathered her into his arms and brought her to their bed.

  Or the time he’d come back from an auction late one night—only a few days before—to find her at midnight still in the living room, knee-deep in paper, scissors and ribbon, wrapping up a few last gifts for the girls, things she’d ordered from a friend back in Wisconsin.

  Fraser had made love to her in front of the roaring fire, surrounded by the domestic debris of her afternoon with the children—crushed paper lanterns and popcorn chains, plates of clumsily decorated sugar cookies, half-filled mugs of cold chocolate. She didn’t think she could have dreamed up anything more romantic.

  Afterward, snuggled against his chest, listening to the now familiar sound of his heart, Martha had felt a few fat tears leak through her closed lids. She was sure she’d never, ever had a happier moment. And then he’d turned to her and spoken, and she knew she’d been wrong.

  “Martha,” he’d said softly, stroking her hair. He looked so serious in the firelight. “I want to thank you for everything you’re doing for the girls. For me. I…” He’d paused, then after an eternity, gone on, his voice rough, “I never dreamed you’d bring us so much joy.”

  Then she’d wept. And couldn’t explain to her mystified husband exactly why she wept. Everything struck her that way these days. Everything was truer, crisper, more deeply felt. She didn’t understand any of it; only that she was happy.

  Happier than she’d ever thought possible.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  WHISPERS AND MUTED giggles woke Martha Christmas morning. For a few moments she just lay there, as she often did in the morning, reveling in the sensation of Fraser’s large warm body next to hers. His right arm was outflung, his face turned toward hers, unshaven, relaxed and handsome. Still, apparently, sound asleep. For a long moment she studied the face of the man she’d married, then feeling warm and happy inside, she slipped out of bed and pulled on her robe. Then she tiptoed out to see what all the giggling was about.

  Anne and Daisy were huddled near the tree. One of them had plugged in the lights, and the sight that greeted Martha took her breath away. The girls in their pajamas, slipperless, hair awry, and their sweet shining faces—Martha thought she’d never seen anything so truly moving.

  “Did Santa really bring us all this?” Daisy whispered, hugging her tattered kangaroo to her side, eyes big and round

  Martha nodded. “I guess so,” she whispered back. She took a comb from the pocket of her robe and went to work on the worst of Daisy’s tangles. “Let’s make you all pretty before Grandma and Harry get up,” she said, smiling.

  Anne grinned and made a hesitant gesture toward the gift-laden tree. “For us?” Martha nodded again.

  “Can we open up one of these?” Daisy asked in a wondering voice, touching one of the gaily wrapped packages. Martha’s eyes filled. She was remembering the excitement of her own childhood Christmases—and how she’d wished for a brother or sister to share it with.

  “Can we?” Daisy asked again.

  “Why not?” came the quiet gruff voice from the doorway.

  “Fraser!” Both girls rushed over to grab him by the hands and pull him into the room. Fraser looked sheepishly at Martha. “Hated to miss all the fun,” he said with a slow smile. Martha felt her heart turn over. He was wearing a dark plaid robe and—she was quite sure—not much else.

  “Okay One gift before the others get up,” Martha said, and sat down to watch the girls. Santa had brought Anne a complete illustrated set of the Anne books, which she regarded with awe. For Daisy, there was a beautiful doll with long brown hair and socks and shoes and a dress that could come off—which itpromptly did—and there was even a doll-size pajama set and a tiny brush and comb to go with it. Martha noticed that the kangaroo was quickly put to one side while Daisy examined her new doll in minute detail.

  “For me?” Martha asked foolishly as Fraser handed her a wrapped gift she hadn’t noticed under the tree the night before.

  “For you,” he said with a smile Martha felt all the way to her toes.

  It was an exquisitely carved leather box. Inside, resting on dark blue velvet, was a single shiny horseshoe nail. Mercredi. A precious memento of the day he’d given her the mare, the day her marriage had really begun.

  “Oh, Fraser!” Martha felt tears close to the surface. He reached over and pulled her into his arms.

  “Like it?” he murmured. “I’m afraid I’m not too good at this stuff.”

  “It’s perfect,” she breathed, and grew bold enough to kiss him right in front of the girls, both of whom giggled.

  Martha gave him her gift then, a pair of fur-lined leather driving gloves that she’d had a friend in Wisconsin send her. Luckily they fit perfectly. Martha blushed when he returned her gesture and kissed her boldly. This time, to her dismay, both girls clapped their hands and shouted, “Yay!”

  Which must have roused her mother and Harry, who came in smiling a few minutes later. After Martha managed to convince everyone that they should wait till she put on a pot of coffee, they got down to the serious business of unwrapping the remainder of the gifts. There was smoked salmon and Starbucks coffee beans from Harry, matching sweaters and caps for the girls from her mother, more toys and oodles of other things, including more books for Anne and more doll clothes for Daisy, clothes that miraculously fit her new doll perfectly.

  Harry turned out to be sleek, silver-haired and an occasional pipe smoker. He was also a successful semiretired real-estate broker, five or six years younger than Martha’s mother, and deeply in love. That was clear to anyone who spent any time in the same room with the two of them.

  Her mother, Martha discovered later, had no intention of doing anything about it.

  “Marriage! Whatever for, darling?” she said later that morning, helping prepare the goose she’d always insisted go along with the turkey. It was a Danish custom, and she’d followed it for as long as Martha could remember. “I was married for thirty-seven years to a dear and decent man who provided me with enough to live on, thank goodness. I’ve made a few good i
nvestments. I work two days a week at the library. I golf. I play bridge whenever I want to. Do I need to start cleaning some man’s toilets again at my age?” Ullie Thomas was seventy-one.

  “Don’t get me wrong, dear. Marriage is great for you young people when you’ve got a family to worry about. Those two sweet girls.” She patted Martha’s hand and smiled. “And probably a dear little baby to take care of soon.”

  Martha smiled, too. The sooner the better. If her mother only knew. “But what about companionship, Mom? Don’t you miss having someone around?”

  “You mean sex, dear?” Ullie made a dismissive gesture. “Heavens, you can get all the sex you want without getting married, Martha. You should know that at your age.”

  “Mother!” Martha was glad the girls weren’t in the kitchen with them.

  Ullie looked at her daughter. “Honestly.” She shook her head. “You young people are so old-fashioned sometimes. Where do you keep your skewers, Martha?” She pawed through drawers until Martha located them in a cupboard and handed them to her.

  Martha felt so tired. She’d felt that way yesterday, too, She wasn’t used to so much activity, she decided. The extra heat in the kitchen didn’t help, either. With plans to cook both birds for Christmas dinner, Fraser had fired up the old wood-burning range, which they used in addition to the propane range.

  Or perhaps it was the excitement. She’d even sneaked an afternoon nap the day before Christmas Eve, when Fraser had taken the girls to meet Harry and her mother at the Pine Ridge airport. She’d never napped in her life!

  There were more Christmas visitors coming, besides Harry and her mother and Tom. Fraser had heard from a younger brother, one of the twins, who was planning to stop by in a few days on his way to a ski holiday with his girlfriend. The LeBlancs were arriving later this afternoon with some of their grandchildren, who’d been invited to join Daisy and Anne on the sleigh ride that Tom had promised as a Christmas gift. They were bringing their newest granddaughter, just three weeks old, to show off to the neighbors.

  “I wonder when Fraser will be back,” Martha mused aloud. He’d gone to check on the sheep and help Tom harness the horses before the LeBlancs arrived. The two women were readying a tray of sweets to serve with coffee later. Ullie had brought a supply of Martha’s favorite homemade brune kager, the crisp brown clove-laced cookies Martha remembered from her own childhood Christmases.

  “He’s a wonderful man, Martha, your Fraser.” Her mother’s blue eyes were bright. “At your age…well, I thought you were married to your career. You’re lucky some other woman hasn’t snapped up a man like that by this time. Of course,” she added, laughing, “he’s lucky to get you!”

  Then she shook her head again. “But I have to admit I thought it was too much to hope that you’d make me a grandmother one day. I’m glad it’s all worked out for you, dear,” she finished softly. “Since you lost your job and all.”

  Has it? Martha felt a deep pang. It was far too early to tell. “That’s the doorbell, Mom,” she said, wiping her hands on a kitchen towel. “I’ll get it.”

  Probably the LeBlancs. Comfortable people to be with. But Martha was nervous about meeting Fraser’s brother and his girlfriend later in the week. She’d face that when the time came. She felt she was on display. His family must have wondered at the speed with which she and Fraser had married. She was sure her own mother had. But her mother, thank goodness, had asked no questions.

  As she expected, the LeBlancs had arrived.

  “Here, you hold her,” Birdie said, and thrust her newest grandchild at Martha. Martha took the baby, although there wasn’t much baby to see, wrapped up as she was in quilted bunting bag and blanket.

  “Hugh’s right behind me,” Birdie said, bending to unfasten her boots. “He’s gettin’ some stuff out of the trunk. And Verna and Patrick decided they’d go on the sleigh Tom’s got rigged up.” She glanced at Martha, eyes bright. “The girls wanted them to go. Fraser’s out there, too. I told Verna we’d keep an eye on the baby.”

  “What a sweetie she is, aren’t you?” Martha cooed to the bundle in her arms. It hurt, it literally hurt, to have this tiny infant in her arms, knowing that soonshe hoped and prayed—she’d be holding her own child. Hers and Fraser’s.

  The baby waved one hand as Martha freed her from her cozy prison. She set the baby down on the sofa and gently untangled the blanket. Then she undid the zip on the bunting bag. The other tiny hand popped free, and the baby stared up at her, eyes wide, rosebud mouth pursed.

  Martha felt her heart squeeze. Her mother came into the room and Martha introduced her to Birdie.

  “Ah, your little granddaughter?” Ullie smiled at Birdie, then the baby. “What a darling!”

  “Isn’t she?” Birdie leaned down to pull the baby’s legs free of the bunting bag. Martha smiled helplessly. The baby wore red fuzzy sleepers with a candy cane stitched on each leg. Her little legs churned, and she waved her arms at them.

  “She’s beautiful,” Martha said, stilling her speeding pulse. How could Fraser be so set against having a child of his own? Surely, when he saw a healthy happy baby like this…“Is Verna nursing her?”

  “Heavens yes,” Birdie replied. “She fed her just before we left, though, so she won’t be hungry yet. I hope!” She bent and made clucking noises at her granddaughter. “Will you, sweetie? Here.” She picked up the baby and handed her to Martha again.

  Martha took her carefully. “What’s her name?”

  “Elizabeth. They’ll probably call her Betsy, Verna says.”

  The door opened. Hugh was there, his arms full of packages. And so was Fraser.

  Martha thought her heart had stopped. The look on Fraser’s face made her blood freeze. His eyes burned into hers, his face pale beneath the tan, his jaw grim.

  “Here, Hugh,” Fraser said quickly, his voice strangled. “Let me get those.” He stooped to retrieve several packages Hugh had dropped. Birdie bustled over to help her husband, leaving Martha standing in the center of the room with the child in her arms. Fraser straightened, and again his eyes went straight to hers. She’d never seen such pain, such bleakness on a man’s face.

  “I—I thought you were out with the girls,” Martha stammered. She had to say something—anything—to fill the dreadful silence.

  “Tom had a full load.”

  Birdie glanced from Fraser to Martha, then stepped forward and scooped up the baby.

  “Fraser!” she cried, apparently oblivious to the undertones in the room. “Look who’s here. You haven’t seen Verna and Patrick’s latest, have you?” She thrust the child right under Fraser’s nose. “Isn’t she a doll?”

  He stood back as though he’d been branded. His eyes were black with emotion. Anger, too. “She…she’s great, Birdie.”

  Martha suddenly realized that Birdie would know exactly what had happened with Fraser’s first wife. Since she knew, why was she doing this?

  “You take her, Fraser.” Birdie handed him the baby. “There, just hold her like that for a minute. I’m going to help Hugh get these packages straightened out and stick some of them under the tree. You can help me, Ullie. We brought parcels for the kids, and some of my mincemeat tarts, although they’re not so good this year as last, Hugh says. Umpteen things for the kids to play with…” She scurried around the room, arms loaded with packages.

  Martha heard Birdie’s voice through a haze, like wind rattling dead leaves in a storm. She couldn’t take her eyes off Fraser. She thought he was going to be sick. He held the baby as though she were made of the most delicate crystal, as though she’d break if he dared to breathe. He wouldn’t look at the child’s face, and when he looked at Martha, his eyes were desperate. “Take her, Martha, dammit,” he muttered, seemingly frozen in place. “Take her!”

  Martha stepped forward and took the baby. She noticed his hands were shaking. With another oath, he turned on his heel and disappeared into the kitchen. She didn’t dare follow.

  She didn’t have muc
h time to think about what had happened. A few minutes later, Birdie took the baby from her with a quick shake of her head. “I thought he’d have changed since he married you, Martha,” she said sadly. “I thought it’d be different now.” She clucked and sent Martha’s mother an enigmatic look, but didn’t explain.

  Refusing to be outdone in the grandmother department, Martha’s mother cooed and fussed over the baby, too, until Verna returned twenty minutes later, rosy-cheeked and laughing from the sleigh ride. “Patrick’s still out there with the kids. They’re going to take another turn down to the road and back.”

  Half an hour later, all had returned, and Fraser quietly rejoined them. He said nothing, although Martha noticed he somehow managed to avoid whichever part of the room the baby was in—all the children wanted a turn holding her—and whenever Martha managed to catch his eye, his expression was bland.

  Daisy and Anne opened the gifts the LeBlancs had brought, accompanied by squeals of excitement, at least from Daisy. Anne was quieter, but her shining face told Martha she was having a wonderful time. And when she stood at the kitchen counter making hot chocolate and Anne came up shyly and slipped an arm around her waist, resting her head gently, briefly, against her side, Martha felt her own heart spill over with joy. All of this—everything—was worth it, just to see these children’s happy faces, after what they’d been through.

  Later Martha sat by the fire and sipped her cup of tea. The trays of sandwiches and sweets they’d set out earlier had largely disappeared, and Verna had gathered up the plates and the children’s sticky hot-chocolate mugs and joined Ullie in the kitchen to wash up. Patrick leafed through a stock magazine beside his youngest daughter, who lay on the sofa. From time to time he glanced at her and smiled and said something Martha couldn’t hear. The baby’s legs kicked vigorously in response to her father’s words.