Treasured Christmas Brides

by Cabot, Amanda; Germany, Rebecca; Hake, Cathy Marie

  Oddly enough, she had gotten out of the habit of daily readings while living with the reverend and his wife. Still she knew her source of true strength could only come from praying and reading God’s Word.

  The month of November had passed, and with it Thanksgiving Day. No one had made any noticeable effort to celebrate the American holiday.

  Dyea had seen a few snow flurries the first two weeks of December, but then it rained, making the ground a treacherous mixture of mud and slush. Snow pummeled the mountain passes, and no trail over the peaks would be navigable until the snow packed. The town teemed with men who were putting together their Yukon outfits and taking in a lot of amusement before their trip. Even some from points along the trail like Canyon City and Sheep Camp had come to enjoy Dyea’s culture for a while.

  Charlotte rarely ventured out into the lawless streets—and never alone. Just last week a man had been murdered in the street two buildings away from Monroe’s. Shots were heard any time of day, be it for celebration or dispute.

  Charlotte kept to herself and out of the way of the Monroe men. Gabe headed into town every day on what seemed to be missions to learn more about the trail and what lay beyond the mountain range from those who were headed there and from some who had returned. He had even taken overnight trips to Skagway four miles away at the base of White Pass. He brought back a few hair-raising tales that made Dyea’s troubles seem tame in comparison.

  Philip spent his days in the store on the other side of the wall from her, but they rarely spoke. He always treated her kindly, but she had no indication that he thought about her becoming his wife.

  She spent her days preparing meals, reading to Sarah, and tending to the living area and laundry. Everything was as neat and orderly as possible in the tight quarters—not that she had a compulsion for neatness. The idle days dragged on, long and tiresome. Though she gratefully accepted the roof over her head in such foul weather, shouldn’t a maid get some pay?

  She pulled her shawl snug to her as she rose from her readings. It was hard to concentrate on the writings of Solomon, who lived in grandeur yet wrote about dissatisfaction in his life.

  The damp cold seemed to seep clear through, keeping her shivering all the time. At night she would climb the ladder to the loft at the rear of the store. Crates of supplies lined the low walls, and a mattress just fit under the eaves. She would tuck herself between Sarah and the stovepipe, but still she could find no warmth. If the cold bothered the child, she didn’t show it.

  “My, it’s warm in here,” Gabe remarked as he and Philip came in from the store where they kept their sleeping pallets near the heating stove. “I didn’t know that little cookstove could put off so much heat.”

  “I’m sorry. I—I hadn’t noticed,” Charlotte stammered. Philip chuckled. “You’ll get used to the damp cold here soon enough. Though I can’t promise it will get any better until at least April.”

  Charlotte served up the oatmeal with thick slices of toasted bread.

  Sarah pushed her bowl back toward Charlotte. “Mine sweet, Lottie.”

  Gabe came to attention on his stool. “What did she call you?”

  Charlotte felt blood rush to her cheeks. “S–she’s just taken to shortening my name. I–it’s easier for the child.”

  “Ahhh, well…I never…” Laughter rumbled from deep in Gabe’s chest, and Sarah clapped her hands, giggling.

  His brother just stared at him.

  Gabe quickly sobered. “Oh, I’m sorry.”

  Philip’s brows came together. “For what?”

  Gabe shot a look at Charlotte. She waited for Philip to display outrage at the nickname, so like his wife’s. His grief had ways of surfacing unexpectedly in conversations or routine tasks.

  Then Gabe relaxed. “Well, if you don’t mind…”

  “I mind that you’re keeping me from my breakfast.”

  Charlotte sprinkled Sarah’s cereal with a small amount of brown sugar, then she silently blessed the food while the men dug right in. It bothered her that the Monroes didn’t make giving thanks a part of each meal, but it didn’t seem her place in the household to point it out. She just continued to pray for God to make Himself real to each man in every area of life.

  “Does anyone realize that Christmas will be here in three days?” Philip asked as he sipped his coffee at the end of the meal.

  Gabe shrugged.

  “A man came in yesterday asking about Christmas decorations.” Philip laughed. “With so many real necessities to haul up here, why would I give thought to stocking such baubles?”

  Heaviness settled on Charlotte. “Don’t you celebrate Christmas—Jesus’ birth and all?”

  “Oh, sure,” Philip responded casually. “Back home Mother would deck the whole house in Christmas finery, throw parties, and give out grand gifts. But up here, what’s the use?”

  Charlotte bristled. “Christmas is a reminder of how Christ came so humbly to redeem us. Lavish or not, wherever we are, we should do something to show thanks for what the Lord has done for us.”

  “He hasn’t done much for me lately,” Philip muttered.

  Gabe interjected, “He’s just saying that up here without parlors and families, there’s little call for all the fuss, but we can still have Christmas.” He pushed his stool back from the table and stood, his large frame dwarfing the others and filling the small room. “In fact, I’ll go into the forest today and see if I can’t find a small tree and some spruce boughs for you to liven up the place with. How would that be, Charlotte?”

  His face held such childlike expectation that she had to smile, and her heart did a flip. She truly appreciated his efforts to give her a Christmas celebration.

  “I’d like that very much.”

  She watched as Gabe bundled himself into his heavy brown duck coat, admiring his muscular shoulders and strong hands. His big heart seemed to extend to those hands as he ruffled Sarah’s curls and tweaked her nose on his way out the back door into the dark, misty morning.

  Charlotte sighed.

  When she turned back to the table, she was surprised to see Philip still sitting on his stool. He leaned against the wall with his hands clasped at his waistline, watching her. His eyes held a new sense of curiosity. Could this be interest?

  She couldn’t return his odd look. She had tried not to worry about her future or pine for solutions to her awkward situation. But she would rather be a maid in Philip’s home than his wife. When she gave him any real thought, he reminded her of what a brother should be.

  “Charlotte.” He waited until she looked at him. “I’ve failed to say thank you for all your work around here and the attention you give to Sarah. You are appreciated more than you may know.”

  He rose and flashed her a grin as he went into the store to open for the day.

  She slumped back against the simple rocker she always sat in at the meagerly furnished table. She fingered the locket that still hung around her neck. Maddening emotions battled for her attention, but the day wouldn’t be long enough to sort them out.

  Chapter 4

  The next afternoon, Philip stuck his head into the rear room and asked Charlotte to help out in the store while his assistant, Michael, went across town on an errand. Charlotte had spent her whole morning arranging pine branches on the two windowsills and cabinet top. Gabe had left them at the back door along with a skinny little spruce tree he had cut down. She would wait to bring it indoors tomorrow—Christmas Eve.

  Grateful for another diversion from her mundane days, Charlotte followed Philip into the store. Smoky lanterns lit the room even in the middle of the day.

  She arranged Sarah near the stove with some playthings, then eased behind the counter, awaiting instructions. He asked her to start by unloading a small crate of canned fruit onto a low shelf behind the counter.

  The flow of customers seemed to be extra heavy for this wintry day.

  A large woman with a manly frame leaned over the counter. “Ma’am, would you help us?
Your man doesn’t seem to know nothin’.”

  Charlotte straightened from her task and glanced around for Philip. He had moved to the end of the counter to help a man weigh a purchase.

  “Umm…certainly, if I can,” she replied.

  “I need spices for cookin’ a goose, and he”—she jerked her bony thumb toward Philip—“says he stocks no rosemary. Then he tells me there is no pure white sugar. What then do you have so I can make a proper Christmas dinner?” Her voice rose with exasperation.

  Charlotte searched her mind. She knew very little about what Philip stocked.

  “Well, I’m cooking a roast with lots of onions and baking a butterscotch pie. Can I show you our onions?”

  The woman clucked her tongue like a hen that had lost an egg. “I must find some rosemary or sage or thyme, something worthy of the Christmas palate. We can have onions any day here. I thought this was supposed to be the best-stocked store in town. I have been sorely deceived,” she stated with gusto.

  Charlotte sighed and looked toward Philip. Should she interrupt him? But what more could he offer the woman? He would still lose a customer, and she wouldn’t go quietly.

  Then Charlotte had a sudden thought. “Please wait a moment, ma’am. I may have something that will do.”

  Charlotte wove her way to the kitchen area of the back room and opened the small cabinet. She took out a little cloth packet she had noticed before. Pockets of muslin were sewn together along one side like a booklet. Each pocket had a button flap and stitched labels that read oregano, parsley, thyme, sage, rosemary, and chives. They looked like they’d never been used. Philip’s wife might have received the packet of herbs as a gift.

  Charlotte fingered the beautiful packet for a moment, then strode back to the store and handed it across the counter to the gruff woman. “We don’t stock herbs and spices, but you may have this.”

  The woman seemed shocked. She took it and read each label. “I never …”

  Another woman, dainty with a pointed nose, approached the counter. “Don’t take it, Mrs. Sheever.” Then barely lowering her voice, she added, “You don’t know what that Jezebel has been using those for.”

  Charlotte lurched backward against the rows of shelving.

  Mrs. Sheever dropped the packet and turned to the other woman. “Do tell.”

  “This may well be the most popular store in town because of the men who come just to catch a peek at the woman Mr. Monroe and his brother generally keep locked in the back room. She lives there with them…both,” the woman hissed with a twitch of her sharp nose, “but she’s not the sister or wife of either one, and God is surely disgraced.”

  Unshed tears threatened to choke Charlotte. “How dare you make accusations about my situation when you know nothing about me. There are plenty worse things…and people…in this town who need your kind of god’s attention more than me and my…family. Merry Christmas!” she spat as she turned on her heel and raced past Philip, who apparently had given the incident his full attention.

  She would have slammed the door behind her if Sarah hadn’t followed her.

  If Charlotte had been back in any small town in the States, the women of the church probably would have given her an old donkey and told her to load up and be gone by dawn. Her father had told her of just such a happening in the Illinois town where he first pastored.

  Charlotte dropped into the rocker as tears came like a tidal wave. Sarah wiggled up onto her lap and sat patting Charlotte’s cheek. “It be okay, Lottie. Chwistmas is comin’.”

  It hurt to smile, but Charlotte finally did.

  Lord, help me be more like a child and trust Thy protection and guidance.

  Later as she began to put supper fixings together, Charlotte heard Michael’s voice in the store. Soon Philip came into the kitchen. He paced a bit before saying, “I’m sorry, Charlotte, about that scene. I personally escorted the ladies out.”

  Charlotte kept her back to him as she worked at the little stove. They were no “ladies.”

  “I know things are hard for you, and you must get frustrated wanting things to come together.” He became quiet for so long that Charlotte thought he must have slipped back to the store. She glanced over her shoulder.

  Philip stood rubbing his chin while Sarah silently clasped her father’s leg in a bear hug. The child must have sensed the tension.

  “Perhaps I should move out,” she suggested. “Is there a minister and his wife in town who’d take me in?”

  Philip gave a half chuckle. “There are no churches in Dyea. We do have one minister who lives in Bailey’s Hotel and preaches hellfire and brimstone down at the waterfront. You’re much better off staying put. Just give it a bit more time,” he said; then kissing his daughter on her head, he returned to the store.

  Time. Time for what? If Philip knew he planned to marry her, why didn’t he just do it and give her his name? Time could be dangerous. More time to soil what name she had. More time to worry. More time to fall deeper in love with Gabe.

  In a town that had no churches and barely took time to sleep even under nearly eighteen hours of darkness per day, Philip kept his store open on Sundays. While the men treated Sundays like any other day, Charlotte used the time to teach Sarah hymns. She missed being in church and gathering with other believers.

  So it rather surprised her when Philip announced that he would keep the store closed on Christmas Day. Her joy quickly faded when she wondered what the four of them would do all day cramped into the tight quarters.

  After a breakfast of flapjacks, Gabe and Philip went outside together. Charlotte started the roast and rolled out her piecrust. She had little gifts for each of them, which she would give at dinnertime.

  The sun had already begun to wane when the men returned. Philip set something covered with a blanket on the table while Gabe placed a small cradle on the floor. Sarah sprang to his side. “What’s it? Mine?”

  Gabe coaxed her to pull the little blanket out of the cradle. Sarah tugged at the blanket like something underneath it might bite her. But her face filled with delight when she saw a new porcelain doll lying in the cradle. It had lovely long brown hair and a painted face with brown eyes.

  “Hello, Mary!” Sarah exclaimed.

  “Who’s Mary?” Philip asked.

  Sarah gave him an exasperated look. “My dolly, Daddy.”

  Gabe chuckled. “Well, I wonder where she got that name.”

  Charlotte hesitated. “Probably from the Bible stories I’ve been reading her this week.”

  Gabe nodded approval, and Philip just shrugged.

  He turned to the object on the table. “This is for you, Charlotte.”

  Charlotte stepped tentatively to it and pulled the blanket away. There sat a new china pitcher and bowl set. “Oh, why thank you.” She knew Philip didn’t stock such breakables in his store, only special ordered them for some hotels.

  “I figured you and Sarah might be tired of washing with the pail,” he mumbled.

  Charlotte almost wanted to laugh. The gift was thoughtful, yet practical.

  “Let me get your gifts.” Charlotte opened the cabinet, glanced at the herb packet that had mysteriously returned to its place, and pulled out three small packages she had hidden on the bottom shelf. She gave one to each person.

  Sarah tore right into the brown paper. She squealed over her new knitted slippers and tugged them on over her shoes. Philip thanked her for his wool mittens. Gabe took his time opening his package, unnerving Charlotte. She gripped the back of the rocker as his package revealed two hand-stitched and monogrammed handkerchiefs.

  “Oh.” He met her gaze. “Thank you very much,” he said, adding softly, “Lottie.”

  Charlotte felt the blush flame her cheeks and turned to the oven to peek in at her pie.

  As she cleared the table, she noticed that Philip had sat down on the floor with his daughter to play with her. Again, Charlotte marveled at what a good father he was, and she could understand how he didn’t want
to be separated from his child.

  Gabe stepped to Charlotte’s side, trapping her in the small area between the table, stove, and cabinet. “I, uhh…well, I have something for you. Just something little.” He practically shoved a paper envelope into her hands.

  Charlotte’s fingers shook as she unfolded the paper. A necklace lay in the center. On the chain a tiny charm was attached—a rough-edged heart.

  “Oh my.” Charlotte looked up into his eyes, and she could barely breathe under the tenderness in his gaze.

  He seemed to shake himself then. “It’s a real gold nugget that came shaped that way. Some old geezer had it, and I traded him for it. Think of it as a souvenir.”

  His words held a chill, but she wanted to believe some of his heart came with the tiny gold charm.

  Across the room, Philip rose from the floor and stared at them. Gabe turned around, and Philip’s eyebrows rose in an unspoken question.

  Gabe glanced away. “I’m going to wash up for dinner.”

  Charlotte slid her necklace into her apron pocket, but she fingered the heart shape a moment before she went back to setting the table.

  If someone asked her to define love, she wasn’t sure she could. She had loved her father with the devotion of a daughter. It was a love that had always been with her. She had loved Oliver with all the excitement of a young woman who at every step was being pursued by a love-smitten young man.

  Oliver had always been attentive. They met in school. He escorted her to every school and church function. He came by her home several nights a week to sit and converse with her and her father. She relished being the center of his world.

  When he suddenly announced that he was going to Colorado to seek gold, it nearly froze any feelings of love she had. But when he asked her to marry him, promising to return with riches that would set them up for life, she promised him her undying devotion. She believed him to be investing in their future, so that must mean he would always love her.