Jubilant Montana Christmas (Bear Grass Springs Book 5)

by Ramona Flightner

  Soon her focus was on a stony Leena. “And now there is you. Entertaining men in the back room on a stormy night. Did you believe that the blizzard would prevent those of us astute enough to follow the goings-on in town from noticing that you had your lover visit you last night?” Mrs. Jameson smiled with malicious intent as Leena paled. “That you had him sneak out after your bout of passion, with less regard for the morals of this town than the whores at the Boudoir?”

  “I think you should leave, Mrs. Jameson. I fear I have nothing to sell you today,” Leena said, her words emerging clipped and tinged with anger.

  “You’re no better than my own daughter,” Mrs. Jameson said. “A strumpet who doesn’t even know how to keep a man.” She gasped as Leena slapped her across the cheek. “This isn’t the last you’ve heard from me.” Mrs. Jameson spun and burst out the door, holding her head high and her cheek out, as though to show it off to the townsfolk.

  Leena collapsed against the back wall as the fight left her. “What have I done?” she whispered.

  Fidelia marched through the room, flipped the sign from Open to Closed and pushed Leena to the back room. “Keep baking, but don’t answer the front or back door. Wait here.” She pulled on her coat as she rushed from the room.

  Less than ten minutes later, a breathless Fidelia returned with Warren on her heels. He looked at Leena and sniffed the air. “Whatever you are making smells wonderful.” Warren Clark, the town lawyer, had married Helen Jameson in February. A tall, lanky man, his brown hair was disheveled as though he had run his hands through it many times while reviewing a legal document, and his bright blue eyes were filled with curiosity as he waited for Leena to explain why he was here.

  Leena jumped up from a dazed stupor and pulled her pans of apple cake from the oven. When she had them on the cooling rack, she faced Warren Clark, her shoulders stooped. “I’m in trouble.”

  Warren motioned for her to sit and for Fidelia to join them. “I imagine you must believe so, or you wouldn’t have summoned me.” He waited for Leena to speak as he pulled out a small notepad from his breast pocket along with a pencil.

  “Mrs. Jameson visited today and accused me of acting like a … a …” Leena flushed and ducked her head.

  “Like a whore,” Fidelia said flatly. “She knows Leena had company here last night and accused her of entertaining her lover.”

  Warren frowned. “Who was here?”

  “My husband,” Leena whispered. “For a while. Until we fought, and he left.”

  “And he’ll attest to this?” Warren asked. He smiled as Leena blushed. “No need for embarrassment, Leena, if it was your husband. If it were someone else …” He saw her eyes grow wide at the suggestion, and he relaxed. “Good, so Karl was here. You fought. He stormed out, and Mrs. Jameson believes you are entertaining men in the back rooms while blizzards rage and the townsfolk are blissfully unaware.” He tapped his pencil on the paper.

  Leena nodded, suddenly fighting a smile at his ability to summarize the predicament in such a dry manner.

  “I’m still uncertain why you feel you need my help.”

  Leena ducked her head again as her smile faded. “I slapped her,” she blurted out.

  Warren raised his eyebrows and nodded. “I see.” He fought a smile and failed. “I imagine that felt …” He flushed and concentrated on his sparse notes as he ignored Fidelia’s chuckle. “She’s a woman who knows how to rile a person.” He cleared his throat as he fought saying anything more about his mother-in-law.

  Fidelia grinned. “Says the man who has to deal with her frequently.”

  He nodded. “Too frequently for my taste. Thankfully Helen has the sense not to invite her for dinner.” He half smiled as he winked at Leena. “I know Mrs. Jameson will try to imply that you abused her horribly in the bakery. However, Fidelia was present, and it can be shown that it was not in your nature to act in such a way.”

  Leena frowned. “She muttered about compensation and tax as she left.”

  “I imagine she believes the townsfolk are due a portion of the prostitute tax, due to the events she believed were occurring in your private rooms.” He smiled triumphantly, and Leena stared at him as his smile transformed him into an exceedingly handsome man. “I’d sue her for slander. And claim that you were defending yourself from her defamation of character.”

  “Could I do that?”

  Warren nodded as Fidelia clapped her hands with glee. “Of course. A woman should know better than to attack another woman’s reputation. And, when she accuses you of acting in a manner that could lead to the dissolution of your marriage and could hurt your business here at the bakery and could cause you the loss of respect in the townsfolk’s eyes, you have every right to protect yourself as you see fit.” He sighed as he rubbed at his forehead. “I know for a fact it can be hard to get that woman to stop yammering when she gets a harebrained idea.”

  “Should I speak with Karl first?” Leena whispered.

  Warren shrugged. “Since you two are separated, that will take additional time, and right now we have strategy and surprise on our side. If we squander those elements, you will lose some townsfolk support as Mrs. Jameson spreads her vicious gossip.”

  “What would you suggest, Warren?” Fidelia asked as Leena sat in deep contemplation.

  “I would have the town lawyer speak with Mrs. Jameson and inform her that she is to be sued for her actions. And then I’d have the newspaper woman report about it. Tomorrow is a day for the paper, and J.P. is always looking for news, especially in winter.”

  Leena looked at Warren for a long moment before she sat tall. “Ja, I agree. Please do as you suggest.” She looked around the bakery. “I don’t know when I’ll have time today to speak with Mrs. MacKinnon.”

  Warren winked at Leena as he rose, smiling as he accepted a cooling apple cake from Fidelia. “It’ll be J.P.’s pleasure to come speak with you.” He paused as he approached the door. “Don’t worry, Leena. All will be fine. Bullies rarely know what to do when they are challenged.”

  Leena watched Warren leave and then rose to pull out the pepperkake from the oven.

  Fidelia sighed and rose too, pausing before entering the front room to flick the sign to Open. “This will be one day Annabelle is sorry to have missed working.” Fidelia shared a rueful smile with Leena before settling behind the counter in the front room.

  Chapter 6

  The next morning Leena entered the General Store—or the Merc, as the townsfolk called it—with a jingle of the bell hanging over the door. An empty basket swung on her elbow. Although now two general stores were in Bear Grass Springs, only Tobias Sutton, who owned the Merc, had reliably ordered the spices Leena required for her baking. Tall windows on either side of the glass door allowed whatever dim light from the cloud-covered day to enter the store. Lamps along the walls enhanced nooks and crannies jammed full of household necessities and farming equipment, lending the store a mysterious air.

  Tobias emerged from the back and smirked at Leena. Although Irene and Harold Tompkins were his aunt and uncle, Tobias had none of their charm or compassion. “Well, if it isn’t the latest strumpet to call the bakery home.”

  She stiffened, her back going straighter as she met his derisive gaze. “I have done nothing I am ashamed of.”

  He snorted as his eyes danced with malicious glee. “Do you think the townsfolk will remain eager to purchase any goods from you? Never mind Christmas goods?” He leaned forward as though imparting a secret. “Christmas is a time of family, charity and remembering what is holy. No one will want your treats to sully their home or their Christmas table, unless they’re served at the Boudoir.”

  Leena blushed beet red as she glared at Tobias. “Ja, Christmas is a time of family. It is also a time to remember what should be cherished. Trust. Honor. Respect.” She watched him curiously as her words affected him.

  “Your spices are here, but I find that they’re more expensive than the last shipment.” He quoted a price th
ree times higher than their arranged price.

  Leena blanched and then nodded. “I feared you would act in this manner. So did Jessamine.” She waited as Tobias stilled. “You are too friendly with those who should be avoided and relish listening to their gossip.”

  “Nothing you say will change the price of your spices.” He smiled as though he had the upper hand. He seemed to take joy in his ability to threaten her business.

  “I hope you will see reason and keep the previously arranged price so that Jessamine does not feel a need to publish an exposé on you.” Leena sighed and shrugged. “Although she has it prepared and ready to print at a moment’s notice.”

  Tobias paled and then flushed a crimson red. “That’s despicable. How dare she?”

  Leena firmed her shoulders and stepped all the way up to the counter, placing her basket on it. “How dare you threaten me when all you know is gossip, not fact? What do you believe would happen to your store when the truth is known about you?”

  He glared and spun to his back room. A few minutes later he emerged with smalls sacks of spices for Leena. “Fine. I agree to our original terms. But I won’t forget this.”

  Leena met his glare. “Neither will I.” She placed her parcels in her basket and marched out of his store with a triumphant air.

  Karl poked his head into the sawmill’s small office, frowning to see Nathanial sitting, staring into space. “Nathanial?” He spoke to him in Norwegian as they were the only ones around. A tiny window let in the day’s weak sunlight, and a small potbellied stove kept the room warm.

  Nathanial turned to stare at Karl and frowned. “Why are you here? I thought you were moving to Butte.”

  Karl flushed and walked into the office area with a hesitant step. “No. I realize that would only make me more of a fool.” He sat in his customary chair on the other side of Nathanial’s large desk, where they had spent so many hours together doing paperwork, hammering out ideas for expansions and the correct prices for their lumber.

  His friend stared at him and then gave a grunt of agreement. “Ja. What are you going to do?”

  Karl shook his head. “I don’t know, but I know I want Leena back. Somehow Leena and I will find our peace.” He frowned as his friend flushed. “What is it, Nathanial? Have you found a new partner?”

  Nathanial glared at him. “No, you are my partner, even if you have been acting like a fool. I had hoped we would settle this before the busy season started again.” He shook his head. “I heard a rumor when I was in town this morning. That Leena …”

  Karl canted forward, his gaze desperate and intense as his friend broke eye contact and ducked his head as though ashamed. “What about Leena? Is she ill? Is she leaving town? Has she …” His voice broke. “Has she found another?”

  Nathanial’s eyes flashed with regret at the last question. “Leena had a visitor a few nights ago. Late at night.” His tortured gaze met Karl’s. “I …” He frowned as Karl grinned and then laughed.

  “That was me,” Karl said as he leaned back in his chair and sighed with relief. “Me.”

  Nathanial grinned at his friend and relaxed into his chair. He rubbed a hand through his blond hair and then laughed. “Thank God. I feared … I feared you had waited too long.” He frowned. “But it didn’t sound like Leena. I know she has been angry with you, but I also know she loves you.”

  Karl’s delight dimmed at his friend’s words. “I hope what you say is true.” He paused. “Somehow I have to show her that I am the man she still wants.”

  That evening Karl sat at the café and listened to the townsfolk murmur. He had attempted to ignore the fact that their chatter came to an abrupt halt when he entered and then restarted in low whispers that could not be overheard when he sat. He sighed and picked up the newspaper on the table as he awaited his meal. He choked on his coffee as he read the prominent story of the day.

  News and Noteworthy

  It has come to this reporter’s attention that a certain resident of this town is insistent on making those around her as miserable as she is. Discontented because her daughter escaped her orbit of influence by marrying the town lawyer, she is intent to ruin or discredit anyone she deems vulnerable.

  However, this time, it appears she has met her match. Our newest baker, Mrs. Johansen, is unwilling to suffer Mrs. Jameson’s disparaging comments nor is Mrs. Johansen willing to risk her reputation or marriage to Mrs. Jameson’s imaginings.

  If you are unaware of the details, it appears Mrs. Jameson is so desperate to fabricate gossip that she will wander the streets of our town, even on the night of a blizzard. During such a night, she saw a man visit Mrs. Johansen, who currently resides at the bakery. The following day, without knowing the particulars, Mrs. Jameson accused our respectable baker of partaking in activities made popular by the Boudoir Beauties. Needless to say, Mrs. Johansen was irate at such an accusation as she had had a private dinner with her husband at the bakery after hours.

  Mr. Clark, our honorable lawyer, has informed Mrs. Jameson that she will be sued, for an undisclosed amount, for slander. Who, dear reader, are you rooting for?

  Karl sat, his mouth agape at the article. He slowly raised his head and stared at the other patrons in the café, who surreptitiously watched him for his reaction. Setting aside the paper, he took another sip of coffee and then tapped his fingers with impatience for Harold to appear. After a few minutes the older man approached Karl’s table but without a plate of food.

  “I thought you might like to sit in the kitchen,” Harold said with a wink. “I saw you reading our day’s entertainment.”

  Karl flushed red and rose, following Harold to the kitchen, where Irene whipped together another batch of biscuits. Karl sat, a bowl of hearty beef stew and a plateful of biscuits slathered in butter in front of him.

  “Eat,” Irene said. “Everything appears worse on an empty stomach.” She swiped her hands on her apron and watched Karl as he sat in stupefied wonder. “Had no idea the lawyer had been summoned, did you?”

  Karl shook his head. “Why wouldn’t Leena speak to me about something that important?”

  Harold sat beside Karl for a moment. “I imagine she has her reasons.” He waited until Karl looked at him. “And I wouldn’t get notions of not being needed until you hear from her. If Warren was called in, and it sounds like he was, there probably wasn’t time to get you involved too.”

  “I hate this,” Karl whispered. After Irene motioned for him to eat, he took a bite of the stew and ate the entire bowl without further comment. He watched as Harold came and went between the kitchen and café, sitting in a stupefied state.

  “What do you hate, Karl?” Irene asked. She sat with a groan to finally be off her feet after so many hours working.

  “Being the center of the town’s gossip. That Leena was shamed for no reason.” He shook his head and stared at the kind woman who acted as an aunt to those close to her.

  “Speak to your wife, Karl. I imagine she is worried about how you are reacting after reading the paper.”

  He rose and nodded his thanks for the meal. “Thank you, Mrs. Tompkins.”

  She squeezed his arm as he moved past her and then exited the café’s front door. When he stood on the boardwalk, he paused a moment before walking the short distance to the bakery. The curtains were drawn, and no lights were on in the front part of the bakery. He knocked on the front door, holding little hope that Leena would answer it. Just as he was about to find a way through the snowdrifts to the back door, he saw a light flickering inside the bakery.

  “Leena, it’s Karl,” he called out in Norwegian. He held his breath until he heard the lock click, and the door eased open. “Hello, love.”

  “Karl,” she breathed and then shivered as cold air entered the storefront. She stepped back to allow him to enter. “I … I thought you might visit.”

  He nodded. “Ja, when you are the center of the town’s gossip.”

  She stiffened and thrust back her shoulders. “I hav
e done nothing wrong.”

  He stilled, watching as a mantle of defiance and despair clung to her. “No, you haven’t. But I want to hear from you, my wife, what really happened.” He waited as she watched him guardedly. “I want to know why you had to act with such speed that you couldn’t speak with me first, ja?”

  She nodded and then motioned for him to follow her to the warm kitchen where the ovens still pumped out heat. She stilled as he grasped her shoulders and massaged them for a few minutes, easing some of her tension. “Heaven,” she whispered as she leaned back into him.

  “What did that woman say, Leena?” Karl asked as she sat on a stool next to him. He held onto her hand, refusing to sever all connection with her.

  “She accused me of entertaining men in the back room. Of acting no better than a woman who works at the … at the …” She tilted her head to the side in the direction of the Boudoir.

  “She called you a prostitute?” Karl roared. He stood, his hands forming fists as though ready for battle.

  She jumped to her feet, running soothing strokes over his shoulders and arms in an attempt to calm him. “It’s all right, Karl.”

  “How can you say that her calling you such a thing is all right?” He breathed deeply as though he had just run a mile. “That woman should be horsewhipped for speaking about you in such a manner.” He calmed as he saw his wife bow her head, and he watched her curiously because he was uncertain if she felt shame or pride.

  “Leena?” he whispered, tilting her chin toward him with two fingers so she would meet his gaze.

  “I slapped her,” she said with a defiant lift of her chin. “And she ceased her accusations.” At the pride shining in his eyes, her smile bloomed. “However, I never meant to act like that. I’ve never hit anyone before.”