Biltmore Christmas

by Diane T. Ashley

  He spotted Charity on the path from the big house. As always, when her eyes met his, she ran the last little way like an excited child. His heart swelled with building emotions as he waited, watching her. “You ready?”

  She swung up into her saddle like she’d been doing it for years, not just a couple of weeks.

  “Where to today?”

  “I thought we’d head off over those hills.” He pointed west. “Circling around back to the river.”

  She lifted her face to the sun and closed her eyes. “I’m riding a horse! I still can scarcely take it in. Riding has made my job here most wonderful in every way. I thought doing laundry would be pure drudgery, but I enjoy caring for the fine linens. They require extra love and tenderness.”

  Seemed when Charity was around, all he did was smile. How he loved her enthusiasm. They often enjoyed a peacefulsilence as they rode, which he greatly appreciated. Some women he’d met filled every moment with chatter—unfortunately much of it useless. But not Charity. She appreciated silence as much as he.

  They rode a couple of hours. He’d never get over the beauty of this area. Then he led them to one of his favorite spots along the bank of the French Broad River.

  “How is this area for our meal?”

  “Beautiful.”

  He tethered the horses to a nearby tree, untied a blanket from the back of his saddle, and rolled it out. Then he loosened his saddlebags and unloaded fried chicken, biscuits, apples, boiled eggs, and oatmeal cookies. Charity settled on one end of the blanket and he on the other.

  “I love the sound of the water. Papa took us to the Atlantic Ocean once when I was about five or six. I still remember the crashing noise the waves made.”

  After Clay prayed, she took her first bite of chicken. “Most delicious.”

  “Thank the kitchen.”

  “I won’t be able to ride on my next day off. I need to go home and see my sisters.”

  He nodded, still chewing his bite of biscuit. “Where’s home?” he asked after swallowing.

  “Biltmore Village.”

  “Why don’t we ride together? I’ll drop you off and come for you after I’ve taken care of some business.”

  Excitement danced in her eyes. “I’d love that! My sisters could meet Trixie.”

  He laughed. “For a moment I thought you were going to say meet me, but no, all that’s on your mind these days is that silly horse.”

  Her face darkened to a pleasant shade of pink. “And you, too, of course. It’s just that my youngest sister, Melissa, has the same love for these four-legged creatures as I do. She will be green with envy at my current life circumstance. Why, I almost have a horse of my own.”

  Maybe that’s what he would give her for Christmas. Trixie, a big red bow tied around the mare’s neck, would make a fine gift, especially for his horse-loving Charity.

  Several afternoons later, she and Clay rode to Biltmore Village. If he was surprised by her home being the orphanage, he never let on. She did not want his pity and was thankful he showed none.

  When they arrived, she threw open the door. “I’m home. Melissa? Selma?”

  Both girls bounded down the stairs, Melissa just ahead of Selma. They ran into her arms. “I have a surprise to show you!”

  Holding their hands, she led them out the door to where Clay waited with the horses.

  “These are my sisters, Melissa”—she held a hand in her direction—“and this is Selma.” She gestured toward Selma.

  “My dear sisters, this is Mister …” She realized she didn’t know his last name. She paused, but he said nothing, so she added, “Clay.”

  “Good day, ladies.” He kissed each of their hands like atrue gentleman. Charity’s most silly wish was for the same treatment—a touch and kiss on the hand.

  “And this is Trixie.”

  Both girls gushed about the mare, but especially Melissa. “May I ride her?”

  “I must get to the bank, but when I return for your sister, I promise you a ride.”

  Melissa clapped her hands and spun around. “Thank you, thank you, thank you, kind Mr. Clay.”

  He bid them good-bye with the tip of his hat, leading Trixie away behind Buck.

  Both her sisters chattered at once, firing questions in rapid succession. Charity finally caught one of Melissa’s questions. “Do tell us how you have landed yourself a horse.”

  “And a man. And oh, what a man!” Selma teased.

  Charity gazed into Selma’s twinkling eyes. “It’s not what you think. Clay is only a friend.”

  “Your words say one thing, but your face says quite another,” Selma said.

  “All right. Truth be told, if I were a different kind of woman, I’d simply swoon over that man, but he truly is a dear friend. We ride together almost every afternoon. He is also a servant on the Biltmore estate but works in the barns caring for the livestock.”

  She filled her sisters in on the past two-and-a-half weeks, one thrilled about the man and the other about Trixie.

  “When we are together, the time is joyous. We talk, we laugh. I do like him very much and hope he is spending as much time dreamin’ of me as I am of him. But I do not think it to be true.” She dropped her gaze to her lap.

  Chapter 4

  Stanton Courtland is here?” Clay felt the pulse in his jaw throbbing.

  “Not at this moment, but he is arriving later this afternoon.” Elizabeth reminded him of a cat with her eye on the prey. He could envision her licking her chops as she spoke of the scoundrel.

  “I can barely look at the man. You know he broke Rebekah’s heart. How could you invite him, knowing what he did to your own dear cousin?”

  “Stanton regrets his own immature behavior toward your sister, but how unchristian of you! ‘Twas several years ago. You should have forgiven and forgotten by now.”

  Those were true words. He should have, but the thought of that rascal being here under the same roof, at the same table, made Clay mad. And that Elizabeth would fraternize with him was all the worse.

  “I will ensure he is on a different floor than you. Will that make his presence more sufferable?”

  “Only slightly. How long is his stay?”

  “Two months. He will stay through the holidays and leave with the New Year.”

  “I feel like you’re betraying Rebekah.”

  “She’s on holiday with your parents in Europe and is none the wiser.”

  It’s still betrayal. “They return in two weeks. She will surely hear of this. How do you think she will feel, knowing you are interested in her ex-fiancé?” If he were honest, Elizabeth was interested in any man who showed the slightest amount of attention. Two years older than him, she’d well passed the mark of spinsterhood.

  “Stanton Courtland and Rebekah Claybrook are very old news. Unlike you, I’m certain she’s moved on.”

  “You are completely disrespecting both my sister and myself.” He turned on his heel and headed for the barn. Horses were easier all the way around and just as loyal as dogs, in his estimation. Perhaps more than some people.

  Since November had arrived, the autumn days were now dark and cold in the mornings. Clay had taken over the morning care and feeding of Trixie, which made Charity all the more eager to see the mare—and the man—each afternoon.

  As she hurried down toward the barn, a dandy, as Miss Bohburg would have called him, traveled the opposite direction in a fancy buggy. The dappled gray pulling the rig did a high-stepping trot and was quite beautiful.

  He stopped when he reached Charity. Tilting his hat, he said, “Good afternoon, miss.”

  Good manners forced Charity to stop. “Good day, sir.”

  He glanced around the area before his gaze returned to Charity. “Beautiful day for a drive through the country.” His golden hair reflected the sun, and his nut-brown eyes danced with mischief.

  “That it is. Now if you’ll excuse me, kind sir, I’ll allow you to be on your way.”

  “My dear, I’m
in no hurry at all. But you, on the other hand, seem to be. Have you no time to enjoy the afternoon? Perhaps a ride with me in the buggy?”

  Charity wasn’t sure if he toyed with her or if the invite were sincere.

  “Maybe another time. Good day, sir.” Charity headed toward the barn. Much to her dismay, he turned the buggy and drove next to her.

  “Might you consider a ride in my buggy tomorrow?”

  Charity stopped. Clay already had told her he couldn’t ride with her tomorrow on her day off. He had business in town that afternoon.

  The man’s brown eyes pleaded. She hesitated, and he cocked his head like a begging pup. “If I say yes, will you depart and let me get to my business?”

  His wide grin not only exposed a set of perfect teeth, but two dimples as well. “I’ll meet you here tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow,” Charity agreed, throwing caution to the wind. Anything to get him out of her way this afternoon, so she could ride with Clay. It dawned on her that she didn’t even know the man’s name, and glancing down at her attire, she realized he had no way of knowing she was only a servant. That might change his mind entirely.

  When Clay spotted her, he waved, gathered the reins, and walked toward her. “What took so long?”

  For whatever reason, she didn’t want to mention the dandy, not wanting Clay to believe the wrong idea. “A guest.”

  “Those guests can be quite the distraction,” he teased.

  She mounted her horse. Thankfully they headed in the opposite direction as Mr. Dandy and his fancy buggy. Tomorrow she’d wear her servant’s uniform and quickly change his mind.

  “Charity, I’ve been meaning to ask since our trip to the orphanage last week. Do you know any of the Bradford children? My understanding is they are living in the same house where your sisters reside.”

  Her stomach knotted at the mention of her own last name. What could he want with her family? “That is my family name.”

  Clay stopped Buck and turn to stare at her. “You are Charity Bradford?”

  “Yes.” She drew back on Trixie’s reins, stopping next to Buck. “How do you know of my family, and why do you ask?”

  “Your father was a reverend?”

  She nodded.

  “Abraham Bradford?”

  “Yes, but he has been gone at least a dozen years. Did you know my father?”

  Somehow this news endeared Charity to him all the more. How ironic that he’d met and was strongly attracted to Reverend Bradford’s daughter.

  “What? What is it? You look as if you’ve had the shock of your life.”

  “Your father led me to the Lord.”

  Her expression glowed at his news.

  “I attended his last crusade before he died. I met your mother. You have a strong resemblance to her.”

  Her smile grew wider. “Do you think so? I’ve always hoped, but Mama was so beautiful.”

  He knew by the way she worded it that she had no idea she was, too. “As are you, Charity, quite beautiful, indeed.”

  The familiar soft pink tint spread up her cheeks. She nudged Trixie forward, and Buck stayed right beside her.

  “I see that you do not believe me, but you are every bit as pretty as she.”

  “Thank you, but enough about me. Do share with me every detail of that revival. I was only eight when they died and am hungry for every snippet of information about them that I can gather.”

  Clay understood. He thought back to those very special days and began to share. He recalled portions of the messages and how they touched him. He told her of his walk to the front of the big tent and how her father prayed with him. She listened intently, like a sponge soaking in every detail. By the end of his recount, a few stray tears had rolled down Charity’s cheek.

  “It is a beautiful story. Thank you for sharing.” She patted her cheeks dry. “I struggle to understand why God let him die, when he was doing such good work. And Mama, too. We needed her so.” Charity voice cracked on that last sentence, so they rode awhile in silence. Both pondering. Both remembering.

  Clay knew Charity had embedded herself deep in his heart. He longed to pull her from the horse into his armsand whisper sweet promises in her ear. He’d been trying to figure out how God wanted her to fit into his future.

  The following afternoon Charity walked out to meet the nameless man with the fancy horse and buggy. She grinned, wondering how surprised he might be by her servant’s garb. His buggy waited in the same spot where they’d met yesterday. She saw shock register in his eyes, but he quickly recovered.

  “Good afternoon.” He stepped down from the buggy. “Another fine day.”

  Charity raised her eyes to the sky. “Yes. Yes it is.” Then her gaze settled on the gentleman.

  “Where would you like to go this afternoon?”

  Charity decided to be direct. Raising her chin a fraction, she plowed forward. “You may bow out, and I shall not hold it against you. I realized yesterday that you most likely had no idea by my clothing that I actually am employed here at Biltmore.”

  “No. No I did not, but I did promise you a ride. Shall we?” He bowed slightly from the waist, his arm outstretched toward the small black buggy.

  Charity accepted his help and settled onto the black leather seat. Such luxury. Mr. Dandy went around to the other side and climbed aboard.

  “Where to, miss?” He paused. “What poor manners I have exhibited. I failed to formally introduce myself. I am Stanton Courtland.”

  His name sounded quite distinguished. Charity shouldbe impressed, but she found herself comparing him to Clay at every turn, and Mr. Courtland fell short.

  “Charity Bradford. And I’d like to go into Biltmore Village for a brief visit with my sisters.” She’d been missing them so much and, since yesterday, could hardly wait to tell them Clay’s story about Papa. “Do you have some business to attend to? I would hate to bore you with a family visit.”

  He chuckled—a deep, hearty sound. “I shall drop you at your family home and find a way to amuse myself while you tend to your sisters.”

  How shocked would this man be to discover her family home was the local orphanage? Charity nearly giggled aloud at the thought.

  “What brings you to Biltmore?”

  “I’m on holiday for the next few weeks. My older brother oversees the family fortune, while I jaunt around the world spending it.” He clearly amused himself. “I could use a pretty lady by my side to help me with my spending.”

  His flirting held no appeal. The Bible spoke of laziness time and again. One day this man would come to ruin, if he didn’t change his ways.

  She could, however, imagine many women falling for his charm, and he was quite personable. Here he sat in this fancy contraption, exuding wealth, with a servant girl at his side. Instead of treating her as an inferior, he was conversing with equality and ease. She did appreciate that about him.

  He dropped her at the orphanage, hiding well any shock or surprise he may have felt. “I’ll return for you in an hour.”

  “Agreed.” With that she entered the building, not glancing back.

  While sharing afternoon tea with her sisters, she told them Clay’s story.

  “Did he bring you today?” Melissa cocked her head to the side, studying her sister.

  “No.” She then informed them about Mr. Courtland.

  “You have two suitors?” Selma’s mouth dropped open.

  Charity giggled. “I have no suitors. Clay is a good friend. Mr. Courtland is far too pompous to even consider. Nor, I am certain, would he ever consider a woman of my social standing.”

  “Because he’s rich, some might find his arrogance tolerable,” Melissa said.

  “In our station, none of us will marry rich. What we need are fine hardworking men.” Charity’s tone had grown firm, almost stern.

  “Like Clay?” Selma grinned.

  The words caused Charity’s heart to contract. “Yes, like Clay. He is God-fearing. May we each meet a Clay someday.�
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  “But you’ve already met him,” Melissa reminded.

  “This Clay doesn’t see me in that way. We are only good friends.” But she often dreamed he felt otherwise.

  “Are you certain?” Selma asked. “When he looks at you, his eyes light up.”

  “And his face softens.” Melissa raised her pinky as she lifted her teacup to her mouth.

  Charity’s heart pounded. “I don’t think so.” But how she wished. “Sometimes I think he forgets I’m a girl.”

  The hour passed quickly, and Mr. Courtland returned. On their way out of town, they passed Clay in front of the bank. She smiled and waved. The scowl on his face made her wonder if they were even truly friends.

  “And who might you be waving to?” Mr. Courtland asked.

  “Clay. He is another servant who works with the livestock. We often ride together.”

  “Hmm. Clay. And he’s a servant?”

  Charity nodded. How strange Mr. Courtland acted.

  “And what might Clay’s last name be?” He squinted as if inspecting her.

  Charity lifted a shoulder and let it drop. “You know, I’ve never asked.”

  “Maybe you should sometime.”

  Chapter 5

  Clay agreed to join Charity for a dinner and celebration at the orphanage the Sunday after Thanksgiving. Servants were not, of course, permitted to take holidays off, so Charity awoke, excited to have an entire Lord’s Day without work responsibility. She dressed in the one Sunday go-to-meeting dress she owned. She brought it from home on her last visit.

  Slipping the powder-blue dress over her head, she knew it complimented her eyes, deepening the shade. She’d found herself thinking more and more about Clay. How she wished he saw her as more than a tomboy.

  He met her in a buggy—every bit as nice as Mr. Courtland’s—at the servants’ entrance. He climbed down and lifted her up into the seat. The expression in his eyes nearly stole her breath away. Maybe he does see the woman within.