by Karen Welch
Once the tea was steeping, he cautiously tested the balance of his load, and headed for the front room. As she had done, he set their meal on the table in front of the window, stepping back to look over the tray for anything out of place. It looked appropriately generous, he decided. Overall, he was pleased with the effect.
A gentle rapping startled him out of his appraisal, and an instant later Jack's face appeared around the opening front door. “I thought you might need this.” He set Stani's suitcase in the floor and came in, closing the door gently. “How is she?”
“Hot bath.” Stani jerked his head toward the stairs.
“Fell to pieces, didn't she?”
“How did you know?” Stani moved closer, as they maintained a near whispered exchange.
“She does that, piles so much on and then when she overflows, it's pretty devastating. It probably had more to do with you than with that baby, you know.” Jack grinned, as he caught sight of the loaded tray.
“So she tried to tell me. Poor girl, she was absolutely drained. Will she be all right?”
“Oh, yes, by morning if not sooner, she'll be back to normal, like nothing ever happened. Her mother was the same, if not more so. It's really part of her charm, you know.”
“Remind me of that once she's herself again. She gave me quite a fright, I can tell you.”
Jack looked again at the table, laying a hand on Stani's shoulder. “Looks like you've got things under control. Call me if you need anything, but I'm pretty sure you won't. Merry Christmas.”
As the door closed, Stani grabbed his suitcase and carried it into the guest room. Setting it on the bed, he snapped it open and removed the two parcels packed on top of his clothes, the tiny blue box from Tiffany's, tied with a gold ribbon, and the package he’d received from Emily. He took an extra minute to strip off his damp shirt and pull on a heavy turtleneck sweater, shaking his still drying hair into some semblance of order. Returning to the front room, he placed the gifts under the Christmas tree and paused to catch his breath.
Emily was coming down the stairs, her slippers making little slapping sounds against the treads. Going to meet her, he held up his hand, searching her face for signs of improvement. Her cheeks were rosy and she was smiling, if somewhat weakly. Taking his hand, she followed him to the table and sat down with a long sigh.
“Feeling a bit better now?” Stani poured her tea, watching as she plucked a grape and raised it to her lips.
“Yes, thank you. This looks so good.” There was a faraway note in her voice, but he could see she was responding to the sight of food. She took bread, pulling off bits and eating with increasing relish. Stani sliced cheese, pushing it toward her. Sitting across the table from her, he thought she had never seemed more adorable, her damp hair framing her face, her skin glowing. “You did all this yourself? And you said you couldn't make toast.” Just a hint of a grin appeared over the rim of her cup.
“I can't make toast. I can apparently assemble things on a tray, as long as everything's already at hand. Have a biscuit?” She was coming back to life. He felt as though a huge weight had been lifted. “Jack stopped by. He brought my bag. He was worried about you.”
“Jack knows me too well.” Picking up an apple, she took a healthy bite. “He knows I'll bounce back, too. Did he tell you that?”
“He says it's part of your charm. He's an amazing man, you know.”
“How did you end up in church tonight? Was that some conspiracy between the two of you?” She held out her cup for more tea.
“Yes. I telephoned him several weeks ago and we worked out a plan. He was to meet me out on the highway, but my driver got caught up in traffic around DC this afternoon and we were very nearly late. You didn't see us come in?”
“No. I think I went into shock, when all of a sudden you appeared out of nowhere.” She was more and more herself. “Did you really say you can stay for five days?”
“I did. If you'll have me.” Pushing back his chair, he went to stir the fire.
“If you go on spoiling me like this, I'll have you anytime. Hot baths, tea and shortbread. I may start to fancy myself the lady of the manor.” Joining him by the hearth, she stood behind him, slipping her arms around his waist and resting her cheek against his shoulder. “Thank you. For everything. For being here and taking care of me. For coming to spend Christmas with me. You know we just had an anniversary? Three years ago, I could never have imagined a night like this, you like this. It's a miracle, just as it was then, but it's oh so much nicer this way.”
Stani turned in her arms, holding her close. “And this night, I'm sure to remember.”
They sat by the fire for a long time in contented silence. He could believe in miracles after this night. His experience in church, witnessing the birth of a baby, and the discovery of just how intensely he loved her, wanted to protect and care for her, were all miraculous. Every hour with her seemed to change him, lead him forward to a new sense of himself. He tried to recall the pastor's words at the close of the service tonight. Words like strengthen and support, honor and serve; words that gave direction, pointing to a better life. Peace and love, and courage. He had begun to believe he might be capable of much more than he'd ever attempted. With inspiration in the form of this girl now nestled so warmly at his side, he might learn to be the kind of man she deserved.
Three years earlier, it seemed to him now, he had in fact died, only to be born into this new life. If almost losing his life had earned him this amazing woman's love, then he could accept the idea that there was a plan, a divine vision for them. There was so much more to learn, more to discover on this journey; but he knew that tonight he had at last opened his heart and, as she had promised, God had been there, had spoken to him, and he had recognized his voice.
“Emily, it's almost Christmas. Should we put the baby in the manger now?”
Together, they went to the mantel and she took the tiny figure from its hiding place. Ever so gently, she placed it on the little straw bed. Softly, lovingly, she spoke words familiar, but never before understood. “And he shall be called Wonderful, Counselor, the Mighty God, the everlasting Father, the Prince of Peace.”
They had fallen asleep, curled together on the couch. Each time he woke, just enough to be sure she was still there, he’d been aware of his overwhelming desire to protect her, watch over her. Was that what she had felt, that night three years ago, for a stranger she never expected to see again? And now here they were, embarking on what he knew would be a life filled with all the love and warmth, all the goodness they could bring to each other. He had the urge to wake her, tell her of his new awareness. He'd almost told her when she’d opened her gift, when her eyes were gleaming with pleasure at his choice. There had been tears, but tears of joy this time. When he'd opened the locket and she’d stared at the curl of red hair, her smile had been a radiant reward for his efforts. “Perfect. Oh, Stani, you couldn’t have done anything more perfect.” But he wanted to wait a day or two longer, let the wonder of Christmas subside just a bit, before he told her of his plan.
He was still wearing the tartan scarf. She had lovingly wrapped it around his neck, crossing it over his heart. He was delighted with the symbolism, the fact that she’d thought of something so specific to him. He would have it with him, wherever he went, the soft wool a reminder of her gentle hands.
He marveled at the thought that he had held her by his side all night and felt such powerful love and concern, but not a trace of unbidden desire. Was it really possible for a man to love a woman so much and yet set aside desire until the time was right for them both? She had opened herself to him, shown him her willingness, her trust of him; and he had no doubt that when that right time came, they would come together as equal partners. But for now, he was more than content to anticipate that time. There was nothing to prove, no need to rush to something they would share for the rest of their life together.
Chapter Forty-five
Stani woke with a start, realizin
g that he was alone. Though the drapes were still drawn against the light, he sensed the sun had been up for some time. From the direction of the kitchen he thought he heard music, mingling with the pleasantly promising sounds of glass clinking and water running.
Slowly, stiffly, he sat up and ran his hands through his hair, trying to shake the last remnants of sleep from his brain. He’d been dreaming, a slightly disturbing dream of Emily, her tear-streaked face floating above him. He had stroked her cheek, in his dream, trying to console her, as he watched the firelight reflected in her eyes. But he'd been powerless to comfort her, as she laid her head on his chest and sobbed. She had pleaded with him to stay, her voice that soft, sad voice of his old dream. He couldn't stay, he couldn't hold on to her, and he had floated away into the darkness, leaving her with that serious little smile on her lips.
Throwing off the quilt she must have spread over him, he started toward the sound of Emily in the kitchen, Emily waiting for him to join her. He was here. She was just in the next room, no darkness now, only the light of a new day. Christmas Day!
She was standing at the window, and beyond her he could see that the morning was brilliant. The rain had washed the sky to a perfect blue, not a cloud in sight. Frost shimmered on the broad expanse of lawn behind the house. She turned at the sound of his steps, and smiled with so much warmth that he had no choice but to take her in his arms and kiss her before she vanished like the vision she must be.
“Merry Christmas,” she said, her lips still touching his.
“Merry Christmas. How long have you been up?” He held her at arm's length. She was dressed this morning in jeans and a soft white sweater, which she’d covered with an old fashioned apron, its ruffles standing up at her shoulders like wings. Her hair was tied at the back of her head with a ribbon, and she wore not a trace of makeup. “You're beautiful, you know? More beautiful every time I look at you.” He was rewarded with a long, sweet kiss.
Moving away, she opened the oven door, peering inside. The countertops were littered with evidence of her activity, bowls and utensils, eggshells and little trails of flour. “What have you been doing, and what is that heavenly smell?”
“Cinnamon bread. I've been wondering if you were ever going to wake up. I'm starving!”
He laughed, pulling her close again. “When are you not starving? I can see you're going to require a great deal of care and feeding.”
They ate well, eggs and sausages, fresh fruit and the warm, rich bread, and lingered at the kitchen table, talking of the previous night, Christmas music from the radio providing a background. Stani noticed with pride that her fingers went frequently to caress the locket, hanging very near her heart. Today, she was herself again, no trace of last night's anguish. She had indeed bounced back quickly, apparently none the worse for wear.
“When will Jack be here?” he asked, carrying his plate to her at the sink.
“Near noon, unless he has a call. We'll plan for that, but we'll wait for him if he's held up. I need to get started on lunch soon.”
“Are you going to cook all day?” He nudged aside the ruffle at her shoulder, encircling her waist as she stood washing dishes. “You are the very picture of domesticity, cooking and cleaning. I've never known a girl with so many useful talents.”
“You've never known a girl who grew up in the country, I'll bet. We know how to take care of our men.”
“That has a lovely ring to it.” He kissed her neck, just under her ear, and she shivered, humming with pleasure. “Now this man needs a shower. Where do I go to make myself presentable?”
She led him to the guest room, going into the bathroom beyond to turn on the electric heater. She laid out towels and soap, and drew the curtain around the tub. “There, anything else you need?” Standing in the doorway, she watched him spread his clothes on the bed. “Stani, you do realize we slept together last night?” Her voice was soft and pointedly suggestive.
He pulled his sweater over his head, welcoming the sting of cold air on his skin. Approaching her with what he hoped was a menacing glare, he took her by the shoulders and steered her out of the room. “Out!” He could hear her laughing as he closed the door, leaning against it as he struggled for control. Setting aside desire might prove more difficult than he’d hoped.
When lunch was over, the three of them sat gazing at what had been the centerpiece, a perfectly roasted wild duck, now a mere carcass of bones. Jack and Stani, in high spirits, acknowledged their good fortune at having been born at the right place and time. They toasted Emily with their water glasses, her loveliness and grace, her skill in the kitchen as well as the rear seat of a police cruiser. As she laughingly rose to clear their plates, Jack asked what Stani's plan was for the remainder of his visit.
“You made it through one night. Do you still need my protection?”
“Absolutely. I've tried to explain to her that the questions generated by my sleeping here would far exceed anything she might have encountered after merely saving my life.”
From the kitchen, she called out, “I did not save your life!”
Both men laughed, but Stani was serious when he turned back to Jack, whispering “Come back for me this evening, whenever it's convenient for you. She won't like it, but. . .I'm not made of stone!”
“Em, we'll meet you at church, and you can have him back for the whole day, I promise. I have a little date of my own Sunday evening, but I'll get him out of your way before bedtime.”
As she brought their dessert from the kitchen, she gave him a disbelieving look. “Not a 'date' date, Jack? Surely some woman hasn't finally entrapped you into a real date?”
“Sort of, but if you must know, this is not the first 'date' date we've had. We just know how to be discreet.” He was grinning broadly, and suddenly Emily gasped.
“Martha Jean! It's Martha Jean. Why didn't I see it? How long has this been going on?”
“Almost a year. And we'd really like to keep it quiet. We don't need half the women in town flocking to the shop just to be nosy. And by the way, she said to be sure to come in Monday. She's got a big after-Christmas sale on, and she set a pile of stuff aside for you.” He tucked into his chocolate pie, still grinning.
“Martha Jean has dressed me since high school, and she always holds things back that she thinks I'll like, and she's usually right,” Emily explained to Stani, watching him sample the dessert. He had said he rarely ate sweets, but after one bite, he went at the pie with apparent relish. “I think I will check out the sale, since the one thing I bought myself this year got totally ruined last night. Small price to pay for a safe delivery, but I really liked that blouse.” She twisted her lips in a little grimace of regret. “Have you heard how Ruthie's doing?”
“As a matter of fact, I had a call from Bobby this morning. Both girls are doing fine. They wanted to be sure of your name, because they’d like your permission to name the baby after you. I didn't tell them the whole thing, but I do think you could let them have 'Emily'.”
“What whole thing? What are you hiding from me?” Stani waited expectantly.
She held up a cautionary hand, with a discouraging frown in Jack's direction. “Too much too soon.”
“Oh, come now, you know about Stanley, and you haven't held it against me. Tell me. How bad can it be?”
“It isn't. It's just silly and it takes some explaining. I'll tell you some day, I promise. But Jack, yes, I'd be thrilled if they called the baby Emily. What does Bobby do for a living?”
“County road crew. With four kids, you can imagine the kind of rough time they have. You'd think they'd stop having babies, and maybe now they will. They have three boys and were hoping for a girl. Maybe this Emily will be their last. I hate to see six people try to live on a little paycheck like that. In fact, they were one of the Christmas Families. The three little boys who all wanted dump trucks? Want to be just like Daddy, I guess.” Jack scraped the last smear of chocolate from his plate and pushed back his chair. “I hate to eat and r
un, but I've got a couple of people to check on. You wouldn't happen to have any oranges, would you?”
“Sure. Who needs oranges?” Emily thought she knew the answer, but she noticed Stani listening thoughtfully to the exchange.
“Old Miss Hagen. She said she always got an orange in her stocking when she was a little girl. I thought it might be nice for her to have one this year. I just didn't make it to the market in time last night.”
Emily went to the kitchen and put a pair of oranges from the bowl on the counter into a little paper sack. Rummaging in the drawer of the sideboard, she found a scrap of red ribbon, and tied a bow around the top of the sack. “How's that? Anything else you need?” Turning to hold out the package for Jack’s approval, she realized Stani had left the room.
“Just a Christmas kiss from my best girl and I'll be on my way.” Jack leaned down for her kiss and was headed for the front door when Stani returned from the guest room.
“Jack, would you mind doing a favor for me? See that Bobby and Ruthie have this?” He pressed a folded bill into Jack's palm. “Tell them it's a welcome home gift for their Emily.” Jack gave him a long, approving look, and the two shook hands.