A Cozy Mitten Christmas (The Ornamental Match Maker Book 9)

by Christine Sterling

  A Cozy Mitten Christmas

  Christine Sterling

  A Cozy Mitten Christmas

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are all products of the author's imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblances to persons, organizations, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.

  The book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. All rights are reserved with the exceptions of quotes used in reviews. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage system without express written permission from the author.

  Scriptures quoted from the King James Holy Bible.

  All books titled or quoted in this story belong to their respective authors.

  An Angel for Christmas ©2018 Christine Sterling

  Cover Design by Erin Dameron-Hill https://www.edhprofessionals.com/

  Editing by Carolyn Leggo

  Acknowledgments

  I am eternally grateful to my Lord & Savior, Jesus Christ, who allows me to make a living through writing. I am living my dream because of you, Lord!

  My husband, Daniel, you deal with the ups and downs of a writer’s life.

  To my beautiful daughters, Rebecca, Nora & Elizabeth. You are so much inspiration for me.

  For Carolyn, who helps me look good in print. All errors are mine. #editorsrule

  For Danni Rone, thank you for allowing me to participate in this series!

  For The readers in the Chat, Sip & Read Group

  Thank you for your honest feedback, reading my books and writing notes telling me you love them, or where I made mistakes. You are a very loving bunch and you have made me a better writer. I appreciate every single one of you.

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Prologue

  Somewhere at the North Pole

  Mrs. Claus looked at the pile of packages on her table. Each one was wrapped individually with lovely bows and tags naming specific individuals. The papers were folded precisely and sealed with a bit of magic. She smiled as she knew the precious gifts contained inside each box.

  They were wishes for Christmas that she made come true. Of course, everyone knew about the elves building the gifts her husband would deliver on Christmas Day, but very few knew about her. Her work would begin in the early dark winter mornings as she scanned the globe looking for just the right people. They would be kindhearted, compassionate, and determined enough to overcome all the odds stacked against them.

  Once she identified the individual, she would spend the next few months observing them through her hand mirror to determine where she could best help them. Then the magic would begin. Staying late into the night in her workshop she would craft the most beautiful ornaments. Ornaments made of glass, fabric, wood or other materials. Then it was just a matter of delivering them to the right people at the right time.

  She lovingly looked down at a small knitted ornament. It took her less than an hour to knit the small pair of green and red mittens. That’s what happens when you have a magical workshop. Yes, this pair of mittens, no matter how small, were going to hold the heart of a certain group of children.

  Now, she just had to make sure it got into the right hands. That is where he came in.

  “Alabaster,” she called.

  Glitter filled the air and the shimmer of a diminutive man could be seen emerging from a door that magically appeared. He was no more than knee-high in a red coat with gold brocade on the arms and waist. He sported striped leggings and green boots with fur trim that matched his hat.

  “Are you ready, Mrs. Claus?” the man asked with a twinkle in his eye.

  “Yes. This year’s ornaments are ready to go.” She picked up the box she had just finished wrapping that contained the mittens ornament and handed it to Alabaster. “This needs to get to New York tonight. The young lady will be going on a journey and she must have these before she leaves. Can you do that?”

  Alabaster nodded and took the package. “It will be my pleasure.” With a quick shake of his coat he disappeared into a cloud of glittery snowflakes.

  Mrs. Claus smiled. She quickly cleaned up her workbench and poured a cup of tea. Taking a sip she settled down in her chair and looked out the window. The snow was starting to swirl and in the distance she could see a train with its large stack billowing dark smoke.

  Yes, she thought. This was going to be a very happy Christmas indeed.

  Chapter 1

  Mountain Home, Idaho, 1890

  Mid-November, Six weeks before Christmas

  Emma looked outside as she kneaded the dough. The sky was a beautiful orangish purple, with pink wisps of clouds fanned out as far as she could see. It made her feel wistful, longing for a time when she could look at those clouds and that sky, and not feel emptiness. Sunset always made her think of her mother.

  She had been gone for two years, which felt like an eternity in her young life. She knew the pain would eventually lessen, as it had since she had died, but she thought that she would probably never see sunsets without thinking about her momma.

  She pressed her fingers into the sticky dough, looking over at her little sister Susan, who was pressing and pulling her own little ball. She was standing on top of an old wooden box Emma had found in the backyard. It was probably from one of her father’s many deliveries into town. She pushed and pulled the dough and a cloud of flour rose in the air. She put her arm up so she could wipe the flour from her forehead on the sleeve of her dress before returning to the dough with vigor.

  She was teaching Susan how to bake bread, something her mother had taught Emma when she was the same age. She remembered the day, her mother’s smile and laugh filled the kitchen as she showed Emma how to turn the dough to get the best rise. It was a year before she got sick. Then she was gone in a matter of months. Emma lifted her arm again, this time to wipe a tear from her cheek.

  There were four children in the Parker family. Emma was the oldest at 9 years old. The twins, Susan and Forrest were next, at 5 and then there was Harry. He was the baby at 3 years old.

  Emma took a small pause to look over at her brother, Harry, who was playing with wooden blocks on the rug. His third birthday was only a few days earlier. They had a small cake Emma had baked and her father carved those blocks especially for him. The twins painted them bright colors. Harry was so happy when he received them, he wanted to play with them almost immediately. It gave her joy to see how happy he was.

  There was a brush of cold air to her left, as her father came through the door, carrying vegetables from the root cellar. Forrest followed him tracking in dirt from the porch. Emma sighed. Add it to the list of chores. She would ask Susan to help her sweep before lunch.

  Her father walked over and kissed her on the head. “What are my girls doing today?”

  Susan smiled. “Emma is showing me how to make bread, Daddy!” she exclaimed, throwing her hands up in the air, and wiggling her dough encrusted fingers at him.

  Emma finished up forming dough into a round shape and carefully placed it into an oiled Dutch oven. She did the same with Susan’s dough and then placed both in the wood stove. It would take about an hour for the bread to bake.


  Her father smiled widely. “That looks so good, I can’t wait to try it.” He leaned over and kissed Susan’s cheek. “I have such good daughters.”

  Emma laughed as Susan answered “Yes!”

  He placed the basket of vegetables on the table and grabbed a sharp knife from the drawer.

  “Forrest, Harry, go get ready for dinner.” Forrest helped his brother from the floor and then they left to retrieve water from the spigot outside the door. “Be sure to wash your hands,” he called to them. “You too, Susan. You are going to get dough everywhere.”

  Emma wiped her fingers on her apron as she had seen her momma do a thousand times before. She picked up a knife and went to sit by her father. “I need to quickly wash these and then you can help cut them.”

  When he placed the bowl of cleaned vegetables back on the table Emma picked a carrot out of the bowl and started slicing into rounds. These were all vegetables they had grown over the summer and fall and stored in the root cellar on the side of the house. Her father sold the excess to the mercantile in town. It brought in a little extra money for them.

  She looked at her father concentrating on cutting the vegetables into various shapes. She thought about her father doing something small like cutting vegetables. Her classmates, all five of them, teased her about her father doing women’s work. Their fathers wouldn’t be caught cooking or cleaning.

  When her mother caught the fever and became ill, her father took over the cooking. After she died, he picked up the rest of the chores. It was a lot for one man to handle. Even though the children helped out where they could, they were still too young at the time for some of the chores, like milking the cow or taking care of the animals. Harry was just a baby, so he hired Mrs. Baxter to come help six days a week. Since it was Sunday, she was off and at home with her own family.

  Emma was now old enough to help him in some of the household chores. She had tried to take a few chores off her father’s shoulders, even going so far as to tell him that she would stop going to school so she could focus more on the house and watching her siblings, but her father wouldn’t allow it. Mrs. Baxter was just what they needed, so Emma could continue to focus on her studies.

  Emma loved school, but she was willing to make the sacrifice for her family. After all, it would be expected of her when she became of age to marry anyway. Why not get a head start on taking care of a house? Her mother married when she was sixteen and had Emma the following year. Even at 9 years old she was thinking about her future.

  Her father insisted that she finish her schooling. It was an opportunity that wasn’t afforded to her mother when she was younger, so it was imperative that Emma finish school.

  Emma was grateful that her father had made sacrifices for her. He was completely devoted to his family. She saw other fathers lose all interest in their children if their wife died. But not her father. Poppa was the best.

  She could tell it was taking a toll on him, however. Even though her siblings were very well behaved and helped whenever they could, she could see it in her father’s face that it was a lot for him to handle on his own.

  She thought back to right before harvest, when one of her school friends had asked if her father had thought about remarrying. She hadn’t given it much thought herself; her mother had been gone just two years, so the wound was still fresh. She waved the thought away, telling her friend that her father wasn’t interested in that. In fact, it was never a topic of conversation.

  She had seen how the women in town fawned over her father; she thought her father was the most handsome of men. In the weeks after her mother died, women from town flocked to their small farmhouse, with food and small gifts, all trying to vie for her father’s attention. When he realized that they were husband hunting he put a stop to it immediately and hired Mrs. Baxter.

  Still, she wondered, why her father didn’t do anything about finding someone else. It was a lot for her young brain to process.

  Emma wasn’t interested in finding a new mother; she desperately missed her own. Mrs. Baxter was wonderful, but she wanted her father to have a companion; he worked so hard for this family, he deserved to have someone in his life. Someone who could make him smile the way that he used to smile when her mother was alive.

  “Christmas is coming soon, aren’t you excited?” her father asked, startling Emma from her thoughts. Her siblings sat at the table, their faces and hands freshly washed. Forrest carried a bucket of water which he placed by the stove.

  “I’m excited,” exclaimed Susan, as she looked at the oven, willing their bread to bake. “I can’t wait for Father Christmas to come.”

  “Me too,” Harry said. “We asked Father Christmas for something special this year!”

  “Are you still wanting a puppy?”

  Harry jumped up, “Yes, a puppy.”

  “Silly goose,” Emma said. “Why do we need a puppy. Forrest makes enough of a mess.”

  Her father laughed. “What about you, Emma? What do you want?”

  Emma thought for a moment. She was excited for the Christmas season. She loved the cold weather, the tree their father would bring to decorate, and the presents they would receive from Father Christmas.

  Christmas was her mother’s favorite holiday, so their father made it a point to keep up all their traditions. “I’m excited for the snow flurries,” added Emma, as she took the pieces of vegetables and placed them in a bowl. She would fry them for dinner with a little bit of salt pork.

  “Teacher talked about writing letters to Father Christmas in school yesterday,” said Susan, as she looked up from her crouched position in front of the oven. “She says that if you place a letter in the mail addressed to Father Christmas, it will find its way to his house.”

  Emma was tempted to tell her sister that this is not how letters work, until her father spoke. “I think that would be a lovely idea. You both should write letters, and then help your brothers write letters too.”

  Emma turned to her father with a peculiar look on her face. “But what makes you think that he will get the letters? We don’t have an address for him.” She had been taught how to mail letters when the teacher took them to the general store to meet with the post master. She knew this was not the way to get the letters to Father Christmas.

  “Oh, sweet Emma, but that is indeed how it works. Do you believe in Father Christmas’s magic?”

  Emma was caught by surprise. “Of course, I do,” she said. She couldn’t explain how Father Christmas would always know the gift she wanted without thinking that it was magic. It had to be! One year she got a dress she really loved that was on display in the mercantile window and last next year she received a pack of new pencils and a pad of paper for drawing. Yes, Father Christmas always knew what she wanted.

  Her father gave her a quick squeeze. “If you simply address the letter to Father Christmas, we can drop it off at the post office tomorrow. It will magically find its way to his house.”

  “Really?” Susan asked, her eyes sparkling with wonder.

  “Of course! Would I lie to you?” he said, as he nipped her nose with his fingertips.

  As she giggled, Emma had a wonderful thought.

  It popped into her head instantly, almost as if it was planted there from an unknown source. She was mad at herself for not thinking of it sooner.

  After dinner, when she had helped clear the table and wash the dishes, she excused herself to the room she shared with Susan. Using the lantern in her room, she took out her school supplies and fetched a clean piece of paper and her favorite pen. As she started to jot down her thoughts in curly penmanship, her sister came into the room. “Daddy is putting Harry and Forrest to sleep. He says he’ll be here to tuck us in.” Susan walked over to Emma, peering over her shoulder. “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “I’m writing a letter to Father Christmas,” said Emma.

  “Oh, I want to write one too! What are you asking for?” she said, clamoring to sit on the same seat as Emma.

&
nbsp; “Christmas isn’t about asking for yourself; you should be thinking of others,” said Emma, trying to hide her letter from her sister’s prying eyes.

  Susan’s eyes started welling up with tears. “But, I thought we were supposed to send letters to let Father Christmas know what we want for Christmas?”

  Emma sighed. She didn’t want to be too hard on her little sister. “Yes, of course. I can help you with a letter to him later. You should be ready for bed before father gets here.”

  Susan, not to be deterred, moved her body so she was draped over Emma’s side. “What are you asking for?” she asked again.

  “I’m not asking for myself,” she said. “And if I tell you, it might not come true.”

  “I thought that was for birthday wishes?” Susan countered.

  Sighing and rolling her eyes, Emma turned her body and Susan landed on the ground with a thud. She knew her sister would not rest until she got the information out of her. “I am going to tell you Susan, but you need to promise me that you are going to keep it a secret. You can’t tell anyone, not even Poppa.”

  Susan put her hand on her chin, as if she was in careful thought. Then she pushed her hand back on the ground. “I promise.”

  Emma didn’t know if she trusted what her sister said, but she knew she was going to have to take her word at the moment. “I am writing a letter to Father Christmas to ask for a mother.”

  Susan’s face dropped into a frown. “But I thought Momma was gone? Daddy said she wasn’t coming home because she was in the clouds.”

  Emma took her sister’s hands and brought her up to stand in front of the chair. Her golden hair shone in the small light bathing the room. “Yes, Momma is up in heaven now. She is able to watch over us and keep us safe from harm.”

  “But I miss her,” Susan said solemnly.

  “I miss her too. But Father Christmas’s magic doesn’t work like that.”

  She could see the questioning in her sisters’ eyes, but she knew she couldn’t let the girl think that this is what she was asking for. It would give her false hope. “I’m asking for a new mother.”