“No,” the girl murmured.
“Good. No harm done.” He gathered the girl up in his arms. “I’ll take her to the hospital and check her over. Good work, Teddy. And Ivan...” Awkwardly he stuck his hand out from under the girl’s body and gave Ivan a hurried handshake. “She’s lucky you were here, Panovsky. You did the right thing.”
Teddy started after the doctor. “I’m gonna unsaddle my horse and then Jane-girl, Miss Marnell. I might be late to school.”
Christina drew in a shaky breath. “Y-you’re early, Teddy. T-take your time.” She sucked in more air, but she couldn’t seem to stop trembling.
“Christina.” Ivan touched her shoulder. “Are you all right?”
“N-no.” She stepped into his arms and burst into tears. He held her until she’d regained her composure, but he didn’t release her. “Ivan,” she said at last. “Ivan, I think you are the most wonderful man. How did you know what to do?”
“I did not know. Once when I was boy in Russia a troika turned over in our wheat field, and I watched driver do this.” He hesitated. “Do you really think I am wonderful man?” he asked, his voice tentative. His breath ruffled her hair and his arms tightened around her.
She couldn’t answer. The truth was she did think he was wonderful, and the last thing she wanted to do at this moment was move out of his arms. “Yes, Ivan, I think you are an extraordinary man.”
“Because I accidentally help girl?”
She lifted her head and looked up at him. “No, not just because of Roxanna. Because of you.”
“Christina...Christina, I have more wood to split, but first I want to kiss you.”
She reached to touch his cheek. “The wood box is full, Ivan. You need not split anymore. But kiss me anyway.” She stretched up on her toes and grazed her lips against his.
What heaven a kiss can be, she thought hazily. It went on and on and she never wanted him to stop. Inside she felt shaky, as if she had swallowed a mouthful of stars, and when he finally lifted his mouth from hers she couldn’t remember where she was.
“We must stop,” she whispered.
“Why?” He breathed the word near her ear, and for an instant she wanted to close her eyes and fly away somewhere with him.
“Because,” she said, her voice unsteady, “Teddy and the rest of my students will be here any minute.”
“I could kiss you until then,” he said with a quiet laugh.
“If you did, I would forget all the lessons I planned for today. And...” She brushed her lips across his chin.
“And?”
She smiled up at him. “And I would have to send all the students home.”
“That is very good idea.”
She laughed softly and stepped out of his arms. “Anna,” she said softly, “is very fortunate.”
Ivan watched Christina’s long blue skirt disappear into the schoolhouse, picked up his sheepskin jacket and strode over to the ax he’d dropped on the ground. He felt so good he could chop three more cords of firewood. Christina had said he was a wonderful man! Extraordinary. And she did like kissing him—he could tell. He could hardly wait to kiss her again. He wanted to kiss her all day! His heart began to hammer inside his chest. Maybe even all night.
The ax slipped out of his hand and plopped at his feet. You didn’t kiss a woman like Christina all night unless...unless she belonged to you. Unless she married you. He was one step closer. Maybe. But now Christmas was coming, and Annamarie said Christina was very busy with the play about Robin Hood. And it was winter and snow was everywhere...
He stopped short, remembering something his father had once told him about courting his mother. “When the winter snow came, we went on picnics.”
“Picnics! In the wintertime?”
“You will understand when you are older,” his father had said.
Ah, Papa, you would have liked Christina. She is a girl who will like picnics in the snow.
Chapter Nineteen
“A picnic?” Annamarie exclaimed, her eyes shining. “Oh, Ivan, she will love going on a picnic!”
“In the snow,” Ivan clarified.
“It is unusual, but then so is Miss Marnell. I think she will like it.”
“A picnic with me,” he added.
“Well, of course. Who else?
“Just me.”
Annamarie stopped chopping walnuts to throw her arms around him. “Yes! Yes—yes—yes!”
Ivan bit his lip. He was not so sure. Maybe Christina would not like being alone with him. Maybe she had other things to do, lessons for school or books to read or... In frustration he ran his fingers through his hair. He was not sure taking her on a picnic was the right thing to do. Maybe it would be too cold. Or raining. Or even snowing.
This past week it had snowed almost constantly. The schoolchildren sledded down the hills, laughing and screaming with excitement, and then they all trooped into town and stood in front of the store windows along main street, gazing at the fancy dresses and leather baseball gloves. One by one Christmas trees appeared in front-parlor windows, swathed in red and green paper chains and strings of cranberries and popcorn.
He tried to think about Christmas, about presents for Anna and special cookies they would bake together, but mostly he thought about Christina. About inviting her to come with him on a snow picnic, like his papa had told him about.
He wanted to marry Christina. But if he wanted to marry her, he had to ask her first. And before that, he had to court her, invite her to go on a picnic with him. In the snow.
At the bakery he found Uncle Charlie working behind the shiny glass display case.
“Miss Marnell, she is at home?”
“Yes,” the smiling Chinese man said. “Miss Marnell at home in apartment. Go upstairs and knock at door.”
Ivan hesitated.
“What matter?” Charlie inquired. “Is not proper to knock on Sunday? I know she not go to church. Never go to church. Go to school only.”
Ivan bit his lip. The day was perfect for a picnic. The sky was so blue it looked painted, and the snow shimmered in the sunlight like spun silver. Annamarie had helped him pack a picnic lunch into a big wicker basket, and he had rented a horse and buggy.
But maybe Christina was busy with her schoolwork? Or perhaps she did not like picnics?
Charlie reached into the display case, selected six chocolate cookies with crinkly tops and wrapped them up in a square of butcher paper. “You take these,” he said with a twinkle in his black eyes. “Always better offer small gift.” He waved away Ivan’s offered coins. “Is also gift for you. Look like you need courage.”
Ivan accepted the small packet, drew in a deep breath and started up the stairs to Christina’s apartment.
She smiled when she opened her door, and the speech Ivan had thought about all night froze on his tongue. Instead, he thrust the package of cookies at her.
“Why, thank you, Ivan. I was just going out for a walk. Would you like to come with me?”
“No,” he said. “I come to invite you on picnic. Anna and I pack lunch and—”
“A picnic? But it’s the middle of December!”
“I know. But my papa say that is how he—I mean, I bring warm blanket and the sun is shining. It is beautiful day.”
“Yes, it is a beautiful day,” she said. “And I feel like doing something unusual. After all, it’s almost Christmas!”
Ivan couldn’t seem to stop smiling. “I am glad. I have buggy to drive us.” He waited while she gathered up a shawl, then took her elbow and escorted her down the stairs past a grinning Uncle Charlie and out onto the board sidewalk.
She looked so beautiful his mouth was dry. She wore a long yellow wool dress that looked like it was made of sunshine and a yellow knitted wool shawl draped ove
r her shoulders. He found he couldn’t utter a word, so he handed her into the buggy.
She gazed at him in silence for a long moment, and finally he managed to choke out the first thing that came to mind. “Anna made fried chicken. And potato salad. You like potato salad? Is not Russian salad, but...” He flapped the reins on the chestnut mare and the buggy rolled forward.
“Yes, I like potato salad,” she said as the wheels crunched over the snowy road. “And we have the cookies you brought.”
Ivan could think of nothing more to say, so he concentrated on guiding the buggy out of town along the road that led to the river. The meadows looked like they were covered with whipped cream, and as they drew near the water, snow sparkled on the shrubs along the riverbank. The air smelled of fir trees.
He selected a quiet spot at the bend in the burbling river and drew the buggy to a halt. Christina wrapped her skirt around her knees and watched him unpack the wicker picnic basket.
“Are you teaching Anna to cook? Or is she learning from a recipe book?”
“Mrs Beeton’s Book of Household Management,” he said with a chuckle. “My mama would laugh.”
“Your mother probably never looked at a recipe book in her life,” Christina said with a smile.
“My mama was married when she was fifteen.”
“Fifteen! But that’s so young!”
“In old country, girls marry young. She learned to cook from her mama. Not from book.”
“But Ivan, you can learn so many things from books!”
“Not most important things.” He unpacked the chicken and potato salad and handed her a plate.
“All of human experience is contained in books. Think of Shakespeare. What important things can you not learn from books?”
He touched her hand. “Those are stories about life, not life itself. Do you understand? Reading about happiness is not same as feeling happiness.”
“Oh.” She bit into a drumstick, but she kept looking at him, her blue eyes slightly narrowed and her expression thoughtful.
“I have learned something,” he said. “Not from book, from you.”
“Oh? What have you learned from me?”
“Is about Anna. I think is important for Anna to read books. To have education. I learn this from you, Christina. Not from book.”
“Oh, Ivan, you are the most surprising man! I think you are a wonderful brother. You are a wonderful man!”
He sucked in a lungful of air and opened his mouth. “Christina, something more there is I want to tell you.”
“Yes?” She lifted her head. “What is it, Ivan?”
“It is this.” He took another breath and lifted the drumstick out of her hand. “I—Christina, I want to marry you.”
A long silence fell. “Ivan,” she breathed at last. “Oh, Ivan, there is no man I care for more than you. You know that, don’t you?”
A bubble of joy floated into his chest and he could scarcely speak. “I did not know that.”
She reached to touch his cheek. “But I told you once that I will never marry. Do you remember?”
“Yes, I remember. Only...only I do not believe, not truly. That was before I kissed you. I thought you liked, because you let me kiss you again, and then I think...”
“I did like kissing you,” she said softly. She took his hand. “I do like it. Every time you kiss me I am so happy it makes me cry.”
He lifted the shawl away from her shoulders, pulled her forward and covered her mouth with his. When he broke away, he pressed her head into his neck and stroked her hair. “Do you love me, Christina?”
“Yes, Ivan,” she said, her voice quiet. “You know I love you.”
“But you do not want to live with me, is correct?”
She gave brief laugh and raised her head. “Oh, I would live with you in a minute! I just can’t marry you. A married woman is not allowed to teach school in the state of Oregon.”
“Ah, then I have lesson for teacher.”
“A lesson? What lesson?”
“Christina, you must decide how you are going to live your life, what you in life value.”
“Yes,” she said softly. “And I know what that is, Ivan. It’s being a teacher. I have spent my whole life preparing for it. I know who I am when I’m in the classroom. What I am worth.”
He said nothing, just looked at her.
“Ivan, I would be no good as a wife. I can’t even cook. And,” she added with a soft laugh, “if I moved into your house, the sheriff would arrest me!”
“Because you are single woman?”
“Yes. That would be the most scandalous event in Smoke River!”
“This teaching, it means so much to you?”
“It does. Besides, love doesn’t always last, does it?”
“Ah. I have another lesson for teacher. This I learn from my mama. When you love someone you do not love them all the time in same way. There are, how you say, downs and ups, just like in life.”
She opened her mouth to reply, but he placed his forefinger against her lips. “Wait. If you become my wife, you cannot teach, and that is what you say you want. But if you keep your teaching, I will not have what I want, and that is to marry you.”
She nodded, her eyes full of tears. “Oh, Ivan, I am sorry.”
“Also me,” he said, a catch in his voice. “I look forward to teach you how to cook.”
She laughed, and then she cried, and he kissed her for a long time. Then he packed up the picnic basket and drove the buggy back to town. A heavy silence lay between them. When he left her at her apartment door, she clung to him and cried some more.
“Christina, I love you,” he whispered against her lips. “I would make you happy.”
“I know.”
She kissed him again and disappeared inside.
* * *
The next week of school was the most miserable she could ever remember. Christina’s students performed well, showing they had learned a great deal in the past few months. She was proud of them. Proud of herself.
But...but underneath her feeling of success over their accomplishments lay a hollow, dark, unhappy, empty sensation. Something was missing.
At lunchtime on Friday, Annamarie stayed inside at her desk, her head buried on her folded arms. Christina studied the girl with concern. “Anna, are you not feeling well?”
The girl raised her head. “I feel all right, Miss Marnell.” But her voice was lifeless.
“Something is bothering you. Can you tell me about it?”
“Yes, I can,” she whispered. “I shouldn’t tell you, but I can.”
Christina waited.
“It’s Ivan.”
Her heart thumped. “What about Ivan?”
Annamarie swiped tears off her cheeks. “He’s so...unhappy, I guess you’d say. He doesn’t say much. In fact, he doesn’t say anything at all. It’s like something has gone out of him. Every night he sits out on the front porch step in the cold, staring at nothing.”
Christina bit her lip. She knew exactly what was wrong. It was the same thing that was eating away at her during all hours of the day and night. Oh, God, how can loving someone be so painful?
There was nothing she could say. She patted Annamarie’s shoulder and turned away.
Chapter Twenty
“Please, mister?”
Ivan bent down to the little girl’s level. It was Roxanna Jensen, the girl who’d been thrown from her horse a week ago. “Ah. Roxanna, what is it?”
“My daddy said to give this to you.” She thrust a note into his hand and darted away onto the school yard.
Ivan straightened and unfolded the paper.
You saved my daughter’s life. If there is anything I can do for you, please let me know.
Peter Jensen
* * *
By Saturday morning, after another week of sleepless nights and unhappy days, Christina finally admitted to herself what was wrong. Yes, she loved teaching school. But she also loved Ivan Panovsky. When she was with him her heart was so full of joy her chest ached, and when they were apart all she wanted was to be near him again. At night she tossed and turned, unable to sleep, and in the morning she had no appetite. Each day the first thing she wanted to do was be with Ivan.
Finally one afternoon she went to visit Iris Ming.
“Christina,” the diminutive woman asked as she poured out two cups of tea, “I can see you are not happy.”
“Oh, Iris, I don’t know what is wrong with me, I really don’t.”
“Ah. But your students are doing well in their studies. You like them, and they like you. You have everything you want, do you not?”
“Yes, I do have everything I want. Or I thought I wanted. Now I am not so sure.”
Iris set her pink rosebud cup down on the saucer with a soft click. “For an intelligent woman, Christina, you learn very slowly.”
Christina released a long sigh. “And I was always so convinced I knew everything about life,” she said with a quiet laugh.
“Well,” Iris said briskly, “it is never too late to learn. Old Chinese saying.”
“Were you unsure when you married Charlie?”
“Unsure? No. Frightened, yes. Any intelligent woman would be frightened to marry a man she had never set eyes on.”
Christina twisted her fingers together in her lap. “Iris, what can I do?”
“Listen to your heart, Christina.” The Chinese woman reached over and squeezed her hand. “Listen hard.”
* * *
Ivan propped his boots up on the front-porch railing and bent over with his elbows on his knees. Peter Jensen, the rancher whose young daughter he had saved, had just given him a heartfelt handshake and left with an encouraging grin. He dared not think what that meant.
Annamarie had left for church, and he was alone with his thoughts. He closed his eyes and breathed in the scent of Mrs. DuPont’s fir tree next door.
Western Christmas Brides Page 18