Christmas at Barncastle Inn: Four-in-One Collection

by Susan Page Davis, Darlene Franklin, Janelle Mowery, Lynette Sowell

  Out of the corner of his eye he saw Waverly, his father, and the Andrewses doing the same thing in other aisles.

  They congregated behind the audience in time to hear Mary’s final words. “Everything that has happened on this night of nights is a treasure. I will never forget.”

  Nor will I. Alec clapped along with the audience, celebrating the God of the miracle of Christmas.

  The door closed behind them on the final performance of the weekend, and Christmas was only three days away.

  Cinnamon lay in her baby seat, her bright eyes following the sound of her mother’s voice. Waverly had spent the night in the kitchen, fixing a simple supper of chili and cornbread followed by a baking extravaganza.

  The whole time, Waverly sang along with the radio. The station played Christmas music with no commercial interruptions for thirty-six hours, from Christmas Eve throughout Christmas Day. Cinnamon had fussed once for a dirty diaper and again because she was hungry, but she seemed as content as her mother to welcome in the birthday of the Savior with music and food.

  After baking cookies and rolling date nut balls, Waverly tackled the most important project of the night: Jesus’ birthday cake.

  “Maybe I should have used the Christmas tree pan. It would have been easier.”

  Cinnamon gurgled.

  “What? You disagree? You’re probably right. Christmas trees didn’t come along until years after Jesus was born.”

  The cake, a treasure chest recipe chock-full of fruits and spices worthy of the Magi, had cooked perfectly in the rectangular pan. The cream cheese frosting, compliments of a handy can, spread easily across the top. She had used a special tip to scallop the edges with red frosting. She wanted to add a blue star, one with six points and a long tail, but the hands that handled a scalpel with confidence trembled when she practiced the star.

  Someone knocked at the door—Mrs. P. “I saw you were still up. And how is the little munchkin?” She leaned over Cinnamon, who wiggled and smiled at her. She handed Waverly a wrapped dish. “These are for you.”

  “Thanks.” Waverly laid down the tube of frosting and took the plate. Even without removing the wrappings, Waverly could smell the tantalizing aroma of cinnamon and ginger. “You must take some of mine with you as well. Do you have any hints on how to get a star on the cake?”

  “Do you have a stencil?” Mrs. P. peered around the table searching for one.

  “No.”

  “Well, that’s the solution. Lay a waxed paper stencil over the cake. It will catch any spills and leave you with a perfect star.” She dug through the cabinets and pulled out a roll of waxed paper.

  Fifteen minutes later, Waverly had finished. She sank into her rocking chair with one of Mrs. P.’s gingerbread menwhile she nursed Cinnamon and visited with her landlady. The phone rang—her parents, calling to wish her a Merry Christmas Eve—and Mrs. P. excused herself.

  “One last thing,” Waverly told Cinnamon after she got off the phone. “We have to hang your stocking so Santa will have a place to put your Christmas presents.” She picked up the darling pink-and-white quilted stocking she had found, embroidered with “Baby’s 1st Christmas.”

  Cinnamon slumped against her shoulder, fast asleep. Waverly kissed her softly, laid her in her crib, and pulled her blanket over her. Once again the enormity of the task in front of her—making sure her daughter met the Christ of Christmas, every December and all the days in between—loomed in front of her. How much better it would be if Cinnamon had two parents, sharing the job, as God intended.

  Waverly shook herself. No use wishing for what wasn’t going to happen. “God, with You on my team, I can’t fail.” She turned on the nightlight and left the room, adding a stuffed mouse into the pink stocking before turning in for the night.

  Her mind strayed to last year. Her mom and dad had stayed in Castlebury for Christmas, but had already packed to move. They seemed pleased that Waverly had “found someone,” as her mother so quaintly put it, glad Waverly wouldn’t be all alone this year.

  No one suspected her special someone would desert her. No, Waverly wasn’t alone this Christmas, but a child wasn’t the companion anyone had expected. Would she ever have someone again? How old would Cinnamon be? How many

  Christmases and birthdays would pass before—if—that happened? Alec’s face swam in front of hers, and she blinked back the tears that threatened. He treated her kindly, as one might a younger sister. Nothing more.

  Alec might not be a child any longer, but he still woke up at farmers’—and vets’—hours on Christmas morning. Well before daybreak, as excited as a six-year-old about the day ahead. He took his time dressing, wanting to look his very best for their guests. His favorite Vermont sweatshirt, green mountains in the background with gangly moose and stately deer munching on grass peeking through a covering of snow, looked well with his ruddy coloring. He lingered in the bathroom, making sure every hair was neatly groomed.

  “You almost done in there?” His father’s voice boomed through the door. “You’re taking as long as a girl.”

  “Just a minute.” Alec tilted his head each way and laid down his razor. He couldn’t change his basic looks. He was who he was, for better or for worse. He splashed on aftershave, one he liked that reminded him of pine woods in spring, and opened the door.

  “About time.” His father squeezed past him into the bathroom, and Alec went downstairs to the kitchen where he could smell cinnamon rolls baking in the oven. His mother hummed Christmas carols to herself while she washed dishes in the sink.

  Alec turned on the oven light.

  “They won’t be ready for another ten minutes, so no use peeking.” His mom handed him a dish towel. A slow smile spread across her face. “Don’t you look fine.” She leaned forward and hugged him. “Smell fine, too.”

  He dried a measuring cup and put it back on the shelf with the flour without commenting.

  “Couldn’t have anything to do with our guests today, could it?” Her eyes twinkled as she handed him a coffee mug.

  His neck tickled under his collar, but he shrugged it off. “Can’t a guy get dressed up for a holiday?”

  She raised her eyebrows. “Most men I know use it as an excuse to dress down. It’s like pulling hen’s teeth to get them to look presentable.” She looked at him again. “Did your father notice?”

  Alec shook his head.

  She winked. “Don’t worry. Your secret is safe with me.” She ran rinse water over a handful of silverware before standing it upright in the cup at the corner of the dish rack. “But don’t keep it a secret from that sweet young thing for too long.”

  Heat rushed into Alec’s face until he was certain his face must be as red as his hair, and he turned his back on his mother, drying each piece of silverware until it shone. Maybe it would help if he opened the front door and stood in the cold air for a few seconds. At last he regained some degree of composure. “Mom, I’m not sure if she’s ready.” If I’m ready.

  His mother snorted. “Ready or not, she’s a mother, and she could use a good man to help her raise that precious baby. If Americans practiced arranged marriages, the two of you would have been promised years ago. So what’s holding you back?”

  Tires crunched on the drive. The car door opened and Mrs. P.’s Misty bounded out. He turned to his mother, a silent plea in his eyes.

  “Don’t worry. I won’t say anything—except to God.” His mother dried her hands and headed for the front door.

  Waverly leaned into the backseat, where she must be unlatching Cinnamon’s car seat. Babies traveled with a lot of baggage, he’d noticed. Diapers, wipes, clean clothes, bottles, changing pads … a whole assortment of things longer than his mother’s shopping list. He tugged on a jacket and walked out the door. “Merry Christmas!”

  “Merry Christmas to you, too.” Waverly didn’t look at him as she pulled the strap of the diaper bag farther up her shoulder.

  “Anything I can carry?”

  “There’
s food in the trunk.” Mrs. P. popped it open.

  Several stacked plastic containers, as well as pie plates and cake pans, lined the floor of the van. Alec’s mother joined them. “You didn’t need to bring anything.”

  “We wanted to. I don’t get many excuses to bake anymore.”

  Alec started to pile some of the containers on top of the cake. “Careful, there!” Mrs. P. took the cake from him, and he could see the decoration.

  “Nice work, Mrs. P.”

  “To tell the truth, Waverly did that.”

  Waverly beamed. The diaper bag hung from one shoulder and a baby seat dangled from her other arm, a blanket hiding Cinnamon from view. “Brr. Let’s get inside.”

  Alec’s mother bustled to the stove and extracted the pan of cinnamon rolls from the oven, as well as her favorite breakfast casserole made with croissants, eggs, bacon, andcheese. “Just in time for breakfast.” She winked at Waverly. “That baby’s still young enough to allow you to enjoy a good breakfast before she opens her presents.”

  “My parents spoiled me. When I was little, we’d all get up at midnight on Christmas Eve and open presents. Well, the kids got up. Mom and Dad had never gone to bed.” She laughed. “But I intend to do things the old-fashioned way. No presents until Christmas morning, and that’s that.” She unzipped the bunting and picked up Cinnamon.

  “Oh, how cute!” Alec’s mother reached for the baby, who was dressed in a green-and-red plaid dress with gold worked through the material. “They make the most adorable things for babies anymore.” For his part, he couldn’t take his eyes off of Waverly, who wore a sage-green sweater adorned with a simple jingle bell necklace made to look like a snowman that rang whenever she moved.

  After breakfast, Waverly sat on the floor next to the Christmas tree. Alec handed her the Santa hat. “You’re elected to hand out the presents.”

  She raised an eyebrow at him. “Okay.”

  Before they opened the presents, Dad read from the second chapter of Luke. “The story we’ve seen acted out before our very eyes all month.”

  “Do you mind if we do one more thing before we open presents?” Waverly hopped to her feet and came back with her Christmas cake, complete with a burning candle. “Jesus’ birthday cake. I know Cinnamon is too young to understand, but I want to start off right.”

  “Happy birthday, dear Jesus. Happy birthday to You!” The group held out the last note and then clapped. Cinnamonwhimpered at the noise. “Did we scare you, little one?” Waverly rocked her in her arms and kissed her forehead. “Merry Christmas, Jesus Christ is born,” she whispered in her ear.

  Alec looked at Waverly, his heart aching with the holiness of the moment. He could think of nothing more sacred than sharing the good news of Jesus with his children, and no one better to do it with than Waverly. He longed to spend this Christmas and every future Christmas with her and Cinnamon.

  He had to find a way to talk with her. Soon.

  Chapter 6

  I don’t mind keeping Cinnamon today.” Mrs. P. repeated her offer.

  Waverly didn’t know what she would do if Mrs. P. didn’t stop hovering over Cinnamon like a worried nurse. To hear her tell it, one would think no child had ever spent a moment outside in the winter.

  “It’s the day after Christmas, Mrs. P. I want to spend the day with my daughter, and besides, when else will she have a chance to meet camels up close and personal?” She zipped the pink baby bunting closed and looked at Cinnamon’s scrunched-up face, smiling up at her in recognition. “We’ll have fun today, won’t we?”

  “Of course you do, child.” Mrs. P. picked up Misty, who wriggled out of her arms. “Don’t worry about me. I have Misty to keep me company.”

  Oh dear, now Waverly had hurt Mrs. P.’s feelings. She sat down to listen to her landlady.

  “I just thought you might like some time alone with Doc, is all. Does he even have a place for her car seat in that rattle trap truck of his?”

  “Yes, he does. The backseat is cramped, but there’s plenty of room to buckle her in.”

  “And I’m worried about the little one. She seemed a mite peckish last night.”

  “That was just the excitement of her first Christmas.”

  Mrs. P. harrumphed.

  The doorbell rang. Alec had arrived. “We’ll see you when we get back.” Now she’d have to spend the evening doing penance for hurting her dear friend’s feelings.

  If only this afternoon could mean more than an afternoon’s drive through the still-brown, though cold, winter landscape. Waverly allowed herself a moment to dream, to wonder “what if” she wasn’t a single mother with little chance of romance in the near future. Cozying up next to Alec, even in a truck with two smelly camels in tow, would be downright nice. Spending Christmas with his family had been so much fun, so natural, that she could imagine a whole string of Christmases just like it.

  Waverly shook her head to clear it. Her top priority remained Cinnamon. That meant keeping her baby with her when she wasn’t working, and that included today. She pulled on her lambskin boots, a warm sweatshirt and ski jacket, and gloves. She draped a blanket over the top of the carrier and opened the door.

  “Happy Boxing Day.” The flaps on Alec’s cap had flipped up, leaving his exposed ears beet red.

  The cold air tore into Waverly’s throat when she opened her mouth. “Cold enough to freeze your blood.” She shivered.

  “Then it’s a good thing we’re warm-blooded.” He offered her his arm, and she noticed a couple of slick spots where the driveway had frozen over.

  “I need to get the car seat from my car.”

  “You and Cinnamon get in the truck, where it’s warm. I’ll get it.” He held the baby seat while Waverly hopped into the truck, then handed Cinnamon to her.

  The truck’s heater blasted, nice even after so few minutes outside. How well did camels tolerate cold, she wondered. They were creatures of the desert, after all. But these particular camels lived year-round in Vermont, so they must have adapted.

  Alec snapped the car seat in place like an old pro. “I’ll take her now.” He looked down at the baby. “Good morning, Cinnamon. Are you looking forward to seeing the camels today?”

  Cinnamon smiled widely. Waverly noticed she responded to the deep tones of a man’s voice. Not just any man—this man. Alec was a good man, and good with Cinnamon. Don’t go down that road, Waverly warned herself, again, but her heart didn’t want to listen. She had learned the hard way not to put her heart’s desires ahead of common sense and God’s will.

  “Here you go.” Alec settled Cinnamon in the seat and secured the fastenings. Waverly twisted around to check that everything was snug tight. She gave Alec a thumbs-up and he trotted to the driver’s side.

  He got in, blew on his fingers, and grinned. “We all set to go?”

  “As ready as we’re going to be.”

  Alec plucked the hat off his head and set it on the console between them. How a man could look as good as Alec did, bundled up in a heavy ski parka with streaks of paint on it, mystified Waverly. Stop looking. She turned her attention to the skies overhead. “Think it might snow anytime soon?” Although the opportunity for a white Christmas had already passed.

  “Snow! Snow! Snow!” Waverly sang the first three notes of the song from the Bing Crosby/Danny Kaye musical White Christmas.

  “It will come soon enough.” Alec kept his hands lightly on the steering wheel but peered out the window. “Those clouds look promising.”

  Cinnamon whimpered.

  “Another country heard from.”

  Waverly checked her watch—too soon for her next feeding. Cinnamon fussed for another minute, Waverly tense while she waited to hear if she would settle into sleep.

  “I thought babies loved riding in cars.” Alec shot a grin in Waverly’s direction. “Do you want to check on her?”

  “I’m sure she’s fine.” Waverly told herself to relax. “I may need to take a break before we get there, though.” The
closest exotic animal farm willing to rent them camels for the weekend was located in New York, a solid two to three hours’ drive each way.

  “I was planning on it. A meal, too, if I can twist your arm. There’s the state line, up ahead.” He nodded at the sign reading WELCOME TO THE EMPIRE STATE. “We’re almost halfway there.”

  Cinnamon took exception to leaving her native state behind and bawled. Waverly asked, “Is there a welcome center or anything up ahead?”

  Alec looked at her. “It’s not the interstate. No, I don’t think so. Ah, but I see a coffee shop.” Without asking, he pulled into the parking lot.

  As soon as the truck stopped, Waverly climbed down. Biting cold air slapped her face. She debated. Take Cinnamon inside or bring her to the front of the truck, where she could have privacy if the baby wanted to nurse for a moment or two? She wished she had packed a bottle like Mrs. P. had suggested, but she had expected Cinnamon to sleep until they reached their destination.

  Waverly opened the back door and eau de dirty diaper assaulted her nostrils. “I need to get her inside.” She didn’t want to get Alec’s truck dirty in the process of changing.

  “Sure thing.” While she unhitched the baby and wrapped the blanket around her, Alec came around the truck. “I’ll get the doors for you.”

  Waverly bent her head into the wind and carried Cinnamon, now letting go with a gale-level squall. At the last minute the wind whipped the blanket away. “Go on in. I’ll get the blanket.” Alec dashed outside.

  Waverly was glad to see the restroom came equipped with a changing table. She wrestled with the diaper bag and spread the changing cloth—still warm from the truck—across the cool surface. She laid Cinnamon down and unzipped the bunting.

  “No wonder you were complaining.” Waverly cleaned and changed her baby. “Did all the Christmas food Mommy ate yesterday upset your tummy?”

  Cinnamon’s cries settled to whimpers, but she ran her hand across her gums. “Went right through you, did it, and now you’re hungry again.” The bathroom was devoid of any chairs or other comforts. Waverly snapped Cinnamon’s bodysuit back in place and found the hostess.