Western Christmas Brides

by Lauri Robinson

  Christina was so tired of changing partners as man after man cut in and whirled her away she thought about leaving the dance altogether. But of course she couldn’t do that; she had driven out in Uncle Charlie’s buggy, along with Iris Ming and Verena Forester. She had no other way to get back to town. She pasted a patient expression on her face and tried to ignore the thick paw crushing her fingers.

  “What ’bout you, Miss Marnell?” her partner wheezed. “You glad you come out West?”

  She drew in a breath. “Yes, I—” Before she could finish her sentence her partner vanished and she found herself in Ivan’s arms.

  “My goodness, where did you come from?”

  He chuckled. “From behind Simon’s back.”

  Christina smiled. “Your shirt feels cool to the touch. Have you been outside?”

  “I walk around the barn outside.”

  “Oh? Why?”

  He didn’t answer. Instead he expertly positioned her to block the group of men waiting to cut in, guiding her through a few steps and then moving her away from another hovering male.

  “Thank you,” she murmured.

  “For what do you thank me?”

  “For keeping those other men away.”

  Ivan blinked. “You do not mind? Most girls like when they are, how you say, in demand.”

  “I do not.”

  He drew back to see her face.

  She looked him straight in the eye. “I do not want to be ‘in demand,’” she repeated.

  “You do not mind dancing with one man only?”

  “That,” she said quietly, “depends on the man.”

  “What about with—” he hesitated “—with me?”

  “No,” she said. “I do not mind dancing with you.”

  His heart soared up out of his body, and his hand trembled as it held hers. Suddenly he could think of nothing to say.

  A long minute passed in silence. “Anna does look very pretty tonight,” she said again.

  “Yes. Her mother was very beautiful.”

  “Was she Russian?”

  “From Ukraine. My father, too.”

  “Is that where you learned to dance in a line like that? From your family?”

  He nodded. “Anna, too. But we learned in New York, after my father married Anna’s mother.”

  “It must have been hard to leave your family when you came out West.”

  “No. I want to come. After my mother died, and Papa remarried to Anna’s mother, Papa want to be sure Anna would have a good life. But not in New York. Papa grew up on little farm. He never liked big city.”

  “Anna seems to like it in Smoke River,” she said slowly. “Especially her lessons at school.”

  “She is good student, is she not?”

  “Oh, yes. Annais one of my smartest students. Her intelligence is not the problem, Ivan. The problem is how pretty she is.”

  “Ah, the boys. But that is good, is that not so?” He cut his eyes sideways to where Annamarie and Kurt were lining up with other couples for a Virginia reel.

  “No, it’s not the boys that are the problem. It’s the girls.”

  “What? How do you mean?”

  “I mean,” she said firmly, “that the same thing happened to me when I was her age.”

  Ivan glanced at her tightened mouth. “What should my Anna do? What did you do?”

  She gave him a wry smile. “I set my sights on what I wanted and I ignored everything else.”

  “Ah. And what was it that you wanted?”

  “I wanted to excel at my studies. I wanted a good education so I could teach school. That is all I have ever wanted to do.”

  Ivan was quiet for some minutes. He was glad that Annamarie’s teacher was so dedicated, that she understood things he had no idea about. He admired her for that. But an odd, heavy feeling settled behind his breastbone, and once again he could think of nothing to say. Not one thing.

  He tightened the hand he pressed against her back and watched couples line up for the Virginia reel. He needed to think.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Christina sat on a wooden bench at the edge of the dance floor, resisting the impulse to pinch herself. Was she dreaming? Had she fallen asleep over her lesson book and would wake up tomorrow and find that this evening was nothing but a dream?

  Oh, she did hope not. In the past three hours she had learned two new ways to dance, both of them exciting and a little bit wild—a real expression of the boisterous, free-spirited Western frontier. And she had exchanged thought-provoking words with Ivan Panovsky. Her memories of this night would stay with her for the rest of her life.

  She sipped the glass of lemonade clutched in her hand and tried to calm her racing heart. Square dancing was certainly strenuous! She’d never dreamed her crippled ankle would allow her to execute such complicated steps. And it was exhilarating, floating across the floor in...in... Oh, mercy! In the arms of Ivan Panovsky.

  Then another thought popped into her mind, one she desperately tried to wriggle away from. She would never forget the pleasure she felt being held close to Ivan Panovsky.

  Across the floor Annamarie was now dancing a spirited two-step with Kurt—no, it was Adam. And now it was Kurt again. How competitive young men could be! The next moment the musicians struck up a waltz, and a shadow fell across her.

  Ivan stood before her, holding out his hand. He looked as if he wanted to say something, but instead he tipped his head toward the dancers circling the floor, and his dark eyebrows rose in a question. When she hesitated, he bent, plucked the lemonade glass out of her hand and set it on the bench beside her.

  She rose and took his hand. Without a word he led her onto the dance floor, turned her toward him and placed her hand on his shoulder. Then he pulled her so close the ruffles on her pink-flowered shirtwaist brushed against his chest. His gray-green eyes held hers, and she caught her breath.

  The music was slow, a tune she didn’t recognize, but apparently Ivan did because he began to hum the melody. In the next instant she became acutely aware of his hand at her back. Still he didn’t speak, just held her close, and they moved together around the perimeter of the polished wood floor. Dancing with him was like floating.

  Over his shoulder she watched the other dancers swirl and circle, and then she looked up into Ivan’s face. He was almost smiling, but not quite. Instead, she saw an odd hesitation in his eyes.

  “Ivan?”

  He drew her closer, so close she could feel the warmth of his body. “Do not talk, Christina.” His breathing hitched and then evened out. She liked that, knowing that he was feeling something unusual, because she was feeling something unusual, too. It was a strange sensation, a kind of understanding between the two of them that had nothing to do with the music or the fact that they were moving together in the slow steps of a waltz. Some kind of...recognition.

  Ivan tried to swallow over the rock in his throat, tried again and then gave up. He couldn’t speak with Christina moving so close to him. He wanted to drop the soft hand he held and fold her into his arms. It would embarrass her, here among all these people. Perhaps it would even frighten her, and he didn’t want her to move away from him. He wanted to hold her close and never let her go.

  He sucked in a long breath and tried to ignore the scent of her hair. Did all men feel this way being close to a woman, like they were drowning? Every breath she took, every movement of her warm body under his hand sent his senses spinning. He felt like he did when he was working at the sawmill, only now he wasn’t the man prodding a log toward the saw, he was the log! Sharp iron teeth were ripping into his chest. But not only did he want that, he wanted even more.

  Am I losing my mind?

  Maybe so. He did not care if he was going crazy. All he wanted was to keep hol
ding Christina in his arms. He wanted it with every breath he took, and he could not think beyond this moment.

  She stumbled slightly, and he realized he had turned her too quickly, trying to keep the other men prowling at the edge of the dance floor from cutting in and spiriting her away from him. He never wanted to let her go. He would fight every man here to keep Christina in his arms, even though he knew that a fight at one of Peter Jensen’s barn dances would mean he could never attend another one. Rancher Jensen was very strict about that.

  Christina had not said a single word since he had asked her not to talk. He should never have said that. A man did not order a woman around in that way. She would think he was uneducated, which he was. Worse, she would think he was rude, which he was not. Or at least not up until tonight.

  He wanted to explain. He wanted to say that he was content holding her close without talking. Now his chest felt hot and tight, and little birds in his belly swooped and darted about. And below his belly he felt himself grow hard.

  What was she thinking? What was she feeling? God. He closed his eyes. Speak to her, you idiot. Say something. Anything.

  He opened his lips. “Christina...”

  She glanced up and looked into his face, her gaze calm and steady. “Ivan,” she said with a slight smile, “do not talk.”

  Do not talk? Had she really said that? Did that mean she wanted to dance with him and not talk? He closed his eyes and breathed in the scent of her hair.

  * * *

  Perhaps it was a minute later, or an hour later—Christina didn’t know and she didn’t care. Riding back to town in Uncle Charlie’s buggy, she touched her heated cheeks with fingers that trembled. She felt different.

  She wasn’t tired, not even after two Virginia reels and she didn’t know how many waltzes with Ivan. Not the least bit tired. In fact... She caught herself up short. In fact, you feel wonderful, full of warm, sunshiny bubbles. Full of happiness.

  She would never forget this night. Through all the coming years of her life she would always remember this one evening.

  But the following Monday morning, her glorious, floating-on-air feeling evaporated like so much soapsuds on a snowy day.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Monday morning was rain-soaked and miserable. Christina’s stomach tightened anticipating the trial she faced in keeping her students inside at recess and at lunchtime. Already the day had turned out to be more of an ordeal than usual, which she attributed to Annamarie Panovsky. No matter what rainy-day diversion she undertook, Kurt and Adam focused all their attention on showing off for Annamarie, and the rest of the class either took sides and rooted for one boy or the other or started similar contests of skill or daring or just plain mischief.

  Roxanna Jensen loudly challenged Teddy MacAllister to a horse race, which was a perfectly safe challenge since it was pouring rain outside. The other students teased and poked fun at Roxanna for her audacity, and even peaceable little Manette Nicolet couldn’t resist laughing at the girl. This resulted in tears and a bloody nose for Teddy and a sullen Roxanna sitting alone in the corner, glowering at everybody.

  Christina bit her lip. More psychology than teaching skill was required to bring education to the young people of Smoke River! Still, she wasn’t going to give up. She had worked all her life preparing to teach these students, and she wasn’t beaten yet. She rapped sharply on her desk.

  “For the next hour we will not tease or fight or giggle—” she shot a meaningful look at Sally Lynford “—or make any noise at all unless it is to make a point for your team.”

  The word team snagged their attention. “We gonna choose teams?” Kurt asked, his brown eyes shining.

  “We are. Roxanna, I am appointing you captain of Team One. Manette, you will be captain of Team Two. Now you may start choosing your team members.”

  “What are the teams gonna do?” Kurt demanded.

  Roxanna ignored him, rose importantly and swaggered to the front of the room. “I choose...”

  “Wait a minute,” Kurt yelled. “We gotta know what the contest is gonna be.”

  “We have to know...” Christina corrected. She emphasized the correct grammar and raised an eyebrow at Kurt. “So I will tell you. This will be a Word War.”

  “Ooh, a war!” Sally Lynford crowed. “How exciting! Choose me, Roxanna! Choose me!”

  Roxanna ignored her plea and chose Sammy Greywolf. “Sammy always gets a hundred on the spelling tests,” she explained.

  Manette scanned the expectant faces and pointed to Annamarie. “She gets hundreds, too.”

  Christina noted with amusement that Kurt and Adam ended up on opposite teams, as did Sally and Edith Ness. Nothing would ensure avid interest more than trying to best one’s rival.

  “Now,” Christina began, “the first word is monogamy. You must spell it correctly and then you must use the word in a sentence.” There were two lessons to be learned in this contest; first, the correct spelling and usage of a new word; and second, that being the oldest student or the strongest or the loudest wasn’t enough to excel.

  “Aw, that’s easy,” Kurt blurted out. He spelled it correctly, but his use-in-a-sentence effort made everyone laugh. “Uh...we drink monogamy at Christmas.”

  When the giggles faded, Christina announced the next word. “Epistle.”

  Not to be outdone by Kurt’s performance, Adam Lynford puffed out his chest and easily spelled e-p-i-s-t-l-e. Then he wiped out the point for his team by announcing his definition, “An epistle is the wife of an apostle.”

  After the laughter died down, Christina supplied the next word. “Spouse.”

  “That’s easy, Miss Marnell,” Sally Lynford sang. She sent a superior look across the room to Annamarie, her rival for Kurt’s affections. She spelled “S-p-o-u-s-e.” Then she undid her achievement by announcing her definition, “After school we are all going home and spouse around.”

  The class roared. Defeat came hard to Sally; she sulked the rest of the morning.

  Gradually each team came to rely not on the most popular or the prettiest member, but on the smartest. Thus Sammy Greywolf and Annamarie were left to break the tie, and that fact brought new respect and acceptance for both students. Sammy emerged the champion, though Christina suspected Annamarie had purposely let the boy win.

  At the end of the hour Christina listened in disbelief as Adam Lynford blurted out, “Gosh, Miss Marnell, I hope it rains again tomorrow!”

  She suppressed a groan and prayed fervently that tomorrow the sun would shine! By afternoon, she was as drained and limp as a wet dishrag. When school was over, she helped Manette into her galoshes, found Kurt’s missing knit cap and gathered up her books and papers. Halfway to her apartment she was overtaken by Ivan Panovsky, who stopped her with a hand on her arm and pulled her around to face him.

  “I, uh... I wondered if...um...”

  “You want to discuss Anna, is that it?” She hadn’t seen Ivan since the night of Jensen’s dance. She hated to admit how glad she was he had stopped her.

  “Yes...uh...yes, that’s it. I want to discuss Anna. We could have coffee?” He gestured at the restaurant just ahead.

  Inside, they sat across from each other in stiff silence until the waitress approached with her order pad. “Afternoon, Miss. Ivan. You folks come in for some fresh rhubarb pie?”

  “No,” Ivan said quickly. “Just coffee, Rita.”

  Christina’s mouth watered. “Oh, yes, I would love some rhubarb pie.”

  “Say, aren’t you the new schoolteacher? Can’t say I liked the last teacher much, but you look about right.”

  “About right? Whatever does that mean?”

  “Oh, you know. Real intelligent lookin’ and not too pretty.”

  Christina gasped.

  “I mean,” Rita amended, “not so pret
ty that you’re gonna run off and get married all of a sudden like the last one did.”

  “Certainly not,” Christina assured her.

  Ivan’s eyes looked troubled. When Rita disappeared into the kitchen he leaned across the table. “Christina, she does not mean insult to you.”

  “I was not insulted, Ivan. What she says is true. I am not used to the way people are so outspoken here in the West, but she is quite right. I am not going to ‘run off and get married.’ I don’t ever intend to marry. I have known this since I was Anna’s age.”

  A frown creased his forehead. “How can you be so sure?”

  “Because—” She broke off when Rita returned with two cups of coffee and a slice of rhubarb pie. “Because all I ever wanted to do in life is teach school.” She picked up her fork. “Anna could become a teacher, too.”

  Ivan shook his head. “No. Is not enough.”

  Christina laid her fork back on her plate. “Not enough for what?”

  “Not enough for woman to be happy.”

  “But your sister is gifted, Ivan. She could—”

  “No.”

  “I don’t understand. How can you take it upon yourself to speak for her? Decide what she wants?”

  “I am Anna’s only family. I want her to be happy.”

  “But you don’t want her to be like me, is that it?”

  Ivan looked away, focusing his gaze out the window where an elderly woman picked her way across the muddy street. Then he looked back at Christina. Was he wrong to want the best for his Annamarie? He felt such responsibility for her, such love and concern for her future. Was he wrong to want her to be happy? How could he explain this to Christina?

  “I know how much Anna admires you,” he said at last. “But—”

  “But you don’t want me to encourage her in her studies, is that it? You want what you want for her.”

  “I want what is best for Anna.” His hand shook when he picked up his coffee cup, so he set it back on the saucer with a click. “And there is more.”