Mountain Christmas Brides

by Mildred Colvin

  Tomorrow, he would get a list from her and start. But for now, he just wanted to rest. Exhausted, he sprawled out on the bed and closed his eyes.

  “Build My house.”

  Willum sat straight up. It was dark outside. He must have fallen asleep. He raked a hand through his hair and fumbled for the matches next to the lamp on the bedside table. He struck one and the room was cast in eerie, wavering shadows. The match began to burn his fingertips, so he blew it out. He lit another then the lamp. What time was it? He pulled out his pocket watch and opened it.

  Midnight.

  Mr. Seymour stepped onto the boardwalk beside Natalie. “May I offer you a ride?”

  She kept walking. “No, thank you. It’s not raining.”

  “But it has recently and the ground is all muddy. You’ll ruin your shoes.”

  “I’ll be fine, thank you.” She’d been wrong once, she wouldn’t be again. She would walk through a monsoon before accepting a ride she shouldn’t from any man.

  He gripped her arm, pulling her to a stop, and she backed up against the building. He leaned one hand on the planking next to her head. “Rumor around town is that he left. No good-byes, just left.”

  Natalie fought sudden tears. “He’ll be back.” He had to come back. She loved him. He wouldn’t just leave her without saying good-bye. He had no reason to leave.

  “Most folks say he won’t.”

  She ducked under his arm and hurried off. Crossing the muddy street, she went inside the house Willum was building. He would be back. He had to finish this house for the man who’d hired him.

  Natalie gazed around the living room. A thick layer of wood shavings covered the floor. The crown molding around the ceiling had a vine of delicate flowers carved into them. Even the molding at the base of the walls had the carvings. No wonder it was taking Willum so long. The details were incredible. It must have taken him hours and hours to carve each section of the moldings. This wasn’t the simple house she’d thought from the outside. She’d been wrong about this house and wrong about Willum not being able to complete a “simple” house. There was nothing simple here. Willum had poured his heart into this house. She could see him in all the details.

  She crossed to the middle of the room where a worktable made from two sawhorses and a wooden door stood. On the table lay a piece of the lower molding, the design penciled on, the carving barely started. His tools were gone.

  Willum must have had a family emergency to not tell her or Papa or his friends where he was going.

  She left the house and walked straight to Willum’s cabin. She put her hand on the latch and stopped. Please don’t let the same thing happen as last time.

  What if Willum had returned and was home?

  She knocked.

  And waited.

  And knocked again. “Willum?” She opened the door. The room was dim, cold, and damp. No one had been here in several days at least. A lamp and matches sat on the small table. She lit the lamp and a warm glow filled the room. She waited for the feeling, the dread, the shaking, the difficulty breathing, the weak knees, the nausea, the walls moving. None of that happened this time. She took a deep breath then closed the door and looked around.

  On the bare bunk sat a small lump of wood. She picked it up. A partially carved doe curled up with her fawn. She hugged it to her breast. She would rather have one of Willum’s carved animals that cost him nothing than a hundred hair combs in the fanciest designs.

  Willum, where are you?

  She slumped onto the bunk and curled up.

  He had to come back.

  He just had to.

  Natalie woke to Papa shaking her. “Natalie!”

  She sat up and could see that it was dark outside.

  “We were so worried about you. Are you all right?”

  She shook her head. “Where is he?”

  “I don’t know.”

  She threw her arms around Papa and cried.

  Willum woke and looked at his watch. Midnight. He rubbed the back of his neck. That was three nights in a row. He would sleep hard until midnight, wake suddenly as though someone had shaken him, then wouldn’t be able to sleep well the rest of the night. What was going on?

  “Build My house.”

  Willum jerked around. “Who said that?” Silence.

  He lit the lamp and held it high. “Who’s there?” The room was empty.

  “Build My house.”

  The voice hadn’t come from in the room, but closer. But from where? His head? But it had been so audible. Was he going mad? Or was it …?

  “Lord?”

  “Build My house.”

  He sat up. The Lord was speaking to him? “Your house? The church? But the money was stolen.”

  “Trust Me. Build My house.”

  Had the Lord seen to it that the thief had been caught? “But that would mean returning to Tumwater.”

  “Build My house.”

  The thought of seeing Natalie with another man festered the hurt already inside of him. “I don’t want to go back.”

  “Build My house.”

  He swung his legs over the edge of the bed. “I can’t go back.”

  “Build My house.”

  He raked his hands into his hair and grabbed two fistfuls. Could he do it and not see Natalie? No. Everyone would know what he was doing once he started swinging his hammer. They would all come to gawk and laugh. He released his hair and stood. “I won’t go back.”

  The voice went silent.

  “Lord?”

  Willum stood on E.V.’s porch in the cold. Was returning the right decision? Part of him said no. The part that was still in love with a girl who had betrayed him. But the other part, the part that knew better than to try to run from God, knew he was supposed to return. He prayed that the money was returned and he could build quickly. He knocked.

  E.V. opened the door and immediately pulled him into a back-slapping hug. “Where have you been? Frederick told us you left. I’m so glad you’re back. You’re staying, right?”

  It was nice to know he was missed. At least by his friends.

  “Come in.”

  Willum welcomed the warmth. He sat down at the table with E.V., Larkin brought them each a cup of coffee. “Thank you.”

  “Did they find the man who stole the church building fund?”

  E.V. shook his head. “He got clean away.”

  He was afraid of that. What am I supposed to do now, Lord?

  “The church is planning a bake sale this Saturday to get the building fund going again.”

  “That will take too long.”

  E.V. furrowed his brows. “Too long for what?”

  Last time, Willum had donated money from his own savings so the building could start. He’d thought it an investment in his own future. He took a deep breath. “I need you to do me a favor tomorrow.”

  “Anything.”

  “I need you to make arrangements at the sawmill to have my share of recent profits be converted into lumber and delivered to the church building site.”

  E.V. frowned. “You’re going to supply all the lumber?”

  “Apparently.” Willum took a sip of his coffee.

  “You can go into the mill yourself and do that.”

  Willum shook his head. He’d been a silent partner in the mill from the beginning to help E.V. get started. No one in town knew he was associated with the mill except as E.V.’s friend. “I don’t want anyone to know I’m back yet.”

  “You mean Natalie.”

  He didn’t want to talk about Natalie.

  E.V. curled his hands around his cup. “I can put together a crew. Find a reliable foreman to report to you. You would never have to be at the church while it’s being built.”

  He liked that idea. That could be the solution to his problems.

  “No. You build My house.”

  Willum lowered his head into his hands. Alone, Lord? That will take a long time. Even Noah had his sons to help.

  �
�This is not the ark.”

  This deal was getting worse by the minute. Willum shook his head. “No crew.”

  “You aren’t going to build it all by yourself?”

  Willum drew in a deep breath. “Apparently so.” He really wanted to be gone by Christmas. Could he get it completed by then, working alone?

  “Why?”

  Willum raised his head. “Don’t think I’ve lost my mind.”

  “I won’t.”

  “The Lord told me. I know it sounds crazy. Every night for a week and a half I was awakened at midnight. Exactly midnight.” He got up and paced. “I heard this voice. I heard it just like I hear your voice. But no one was in my room.”

  “What did it say?”

  Willum stopped pacing and looked E.V. in the eyes. “ ‘Build My house.’ ” It sounded ridiculous. “I said no several times. But I kept hearing, ‘Build My house.’ When I outright refused, the voice stopped.”

  “So what changed your mind?” E.V. took a swig of coffee.

  “I kept waking up every night at midnight. Like a silent plea. After another week of it, I said yes. That was the first night I slept all through the night. I woke up feeling more rested than I had in a very long time.”

  “I’ll get the lumber ordered and delivered.”

  “You believe me?”

  “Of course. Look at what happened to Jonah when he refused the Lord’s calling. I don’t want you to end up in the belly of a whale, my friend.”

  Chapter 8

  Natalie stood across the street from the church ruins. Last night at supper, Isaac told Papa about the lumber being delivered to the church. Papa had claimed it was a miracle. Natalie knew Willum must be back. She had wanted to go see, but Papa wouldn’t let her wander around after dark.

  A horse-drawn wagon full of plank lumber pulled up to the rock foundation. Four men jumped off the wagon, two from the front seat and two from the back atop the lumber.

  Where was Willum?

  She waited for a buggy to pass, and a horse with a rider then crossed. She stepped around several puddles. “Excuse me.”

  One of the workmen turned her way. “Yes, miss.”

  “Where is Mr. Tate?”

  “Can’t say that I know.” He turned to the other men. “Anyone know a Mr. Tate?”

  Each man shook his head no.

  “Well, didn’t he order this lumber?”

  The workman hefted the end of a stack of at least six planks. “E.V. gave us the order to deliver the lumber.”

  “Mr. Renier?” How disappointing. She was sure Willum would be building the church.

  “Yes, miss.” He slid out the planks and another man hoisted the other end.

  “Is Mr. Renier at the sawmill?”

  “Yes.” Together the men carried the boards to the pile of planks stacked up beside the foundation.

  Natalie hurried to the sawmill and knocked on Mr. Renier’s office door.

  “Come in.”

  Natalie opened the door.

  Mr. Renier looked up from the papers he had in front of him with his easy smile, but it faded ever so slightly. He stood. “Miss Bollen, what can I do for you?”

  “The men at the church said you ordered the lumber being delivered.”

  “Just filling an order.”

  “Who ordered it? The church’s building fund was stolen.”

  He stood silent for several moments. “One of the sawmill’s investors donated the lumber to rebuild the church.”

  Of course it had to be an investor. Willum wouldn’t be able to just order a building’s worth of lumber. “Who’s going to build it?”

  “That will be up to the investor. If that’s all, I have work I really need to complete.” He walked around his desk and held the door.

  Natalie held her ground. “I’m sorry for taking your time. I’m just worried about Mr. Tate. He left without a word.”

  Mr. Renier’s features softened slightly. “Willum has always been able to take care of himself. I wouldn’t worry about him.”

  “Has he contacted you?”

  Mr. Renier just stared down at her.

  She wrung her hands together. “If you hear from him, would you tell him I’m anxious to speak with him? Thank you for your time, Mr. Renier.” She stepped outside, and Mr. Renier closed the door behind her.

  Why would Willum leave town without telling her and possibly return in the same manner? Unless he was preparing a surprise for her. She headed off in the direction of his cabin. Maybe he was there.

  Willum watched Natalie return from the direction of the sawmill. When she stopped briefly in front of the house, he took a step back from the upper window. He doubted she could see him, but just in case. She moved on down the street to the church building then headed in the direction of his cabin.

  He’d been right not to go back to his cabin. But hiding out in the unfinished house made him feel like an outlaw. A house that would never be finished.

  He waited until the supper hour when most folks would either be home eating or at one of the saloons. The fewer people who came out to see the spectacle the better. And in the evenings, he was sure Natalie would never come by. He strapped on his tool belt, took up his toolbox, and grabbed an unlit lantern. He wouldn’t light it until he needed it. He didn’t have much daylight left. He left the house and headed for the church. If there weren’t clouds threatening to rain on him, he could work for some time in the moonlight.

  He laid out several more floor beams before he needed to light the lantern. When he turned around, three shadow figures stood outside the foundation. He crossed over to them.

  Tuck was the first to shake his head then the other two followed. But it was Frederick who spoke. “You would get done faster if you worked during the daylight.”

  E.V. said, “And if you’d hire a crew.”

  Tuck put on an Irish accent. “People be talkin’. Some be jokin’ it be elves or leprechauns buildin’ in the middle of the night.”

  E.V. said, “Children think it’s ghosts because it’s at night, and they don’t see them.”

  “The more spiritual say it’s the Holy Ghost,” Frederick said.

  Willum didn’t want to fool anyone into thinking he was some sort of deity, and certainly not God Himself.

  Tuck leaned over the foundation wall and put a hand on Willum’s shoulder. “What are you afraid of? That she doesn’t care for you anymore? Or that you may discover that you don’t care for her? Or that you do care and don’t want to be without her?”

  Leave it to Tuck to get to the heart of the matter. His heart.

  E.V. said, “She seemed sincerely concerned about you when she came by the sawmill today.”

  “You can’t avoid her forever,” Frederick said.

  “I can try.”

  The following morning, Natalie ate as quickly as she could and started in on the dishes. Matthew was still at the table poking along. She stood behind him, and when he stabbed the last of his fried potatoes, she swiped his plate and turned toward the kitchen.

  “Hey!”

  “I waited until you were done.” Natalie quickly finished the dishes, put on a cardigan sweater, and swung on a crocheted shawl. “Mama, I’m going into town. Do you need me to pick up anything for you?”

  “You went to town yesterday.”

  Matthew made a face at her. “She wants to see if Willum is back.”

  Mama scowled at him. “That’s enough. You better hope that one day when you fall in love, your sister doesn’t tease you. Now you have work to do. You best be doing it.”

  Matthew slumped out.

  Mama turned to her. “With the way he acts, you would think he was five years younger than you rather than a year older. He is the most worrisome of all you children.” She set a basket of apples onto the table. “So Willum has returned?”

  “I think so. He wasn’t at his cabin when I went out there yesterday, but I think he might be staying with one of his friends.”

  “Natalie,
you shouldn’t be going to a man’s cabin unaccompanied. We know Willum well, but it’s still not proper.”

  Oops. She hadn’t meant to admit that. “I’m sorry, Mama. I won’t do it again.” She had been so excited to see Willum that she hadn’t thought about propriety. “I’m just going to go to the church and see the progress on the construction. May I go?”

  Mama smiled. “If it is Willum, tell him we have all missed him at supper.”

  “Thank you.” She kissed Mama on the cheek and hurried out.

  Even before she could see the church, she heard the hammer’s pounding echoing through the trees. Hoping it was Willum, she picked up her pace. As she got closer, she could see a lone figure swinging a hammer. Even though his back was to her, she recognized him.

  “Willum?”

  He swung the hammer three more times before turning her way. He was back.

  She smiled. “I’ve missed you.”

  “I have a lot of work here.”

  Did he want her to leave? No, he was probably just tired. She tried to sound perky. “I can see that. Where is your crew? Did they take an early morning break and leave you with all the work?”

  “No crew. Just me.”

  “You’re going to build the church all by yourself?”

  He pulled a nail from the pouch hanging from his tool belt and held it to the board. “Apparently.”

  “I’m sure Papa could find some men to volunteer. Men in the church.”

  “No thank you.” He pounded the nail.

  She waited until the nail had been driven all the way in. “Where did all the lumber come from?”

  “Donated.” He pulled out another nail and beat on it.

  She waited then said, “I know that. By whom?”

  “People are tired of meeting in the schoolhouse. I have work to do.” He sounded cross and lifted a beam on one end.

  “Are you mad at me?”

  He stopped but didn’t turn toward her. He just stood, holding the board.

  “Do you not love me anymore?”

  He dropped the board and ducked under the beams from the middle of the foundation area to her on the other side of the wall. “I saw you with John Seymour.”