Carol Ritten Smith Read online

  Across the room, Beth watched Tom and Davy, their heads close together, taking turns peering through a miniature kaleidoscope. Beth smiled. Tom was a good role model for Davy. At that very moment, Tom glanced at her and returned her smile.

  And she felt her heart trip a little.

  Chapter 9

  Wagons lined up on either side of Whistle Creek’s First Methodist Church. It was Christmas Eve and families, bundled in layers of clothing to ward off the cold night air, came in masses to attend the evening service. The yellow glow from the candles and oil lamps inside bid one and all a warm welcome, and soon the small church was filled to capacity.

  At the front, fresh evergreen boughs and holly sprigs graced the altar, and Beth had to agree with Davy; she had never seen anything so beautiful.

  They sat on the left hand side of the church, squeezed into the pew like peas in an overcrowded pod. Ahead of them, on the opposite side, Bill sat with Annaleese and her family. He spent every spare minute he had with the Hewns. Mr. Hewn worked as a section man for the railway and was often away from home. To ingratiate himself with the family, Bill volunteered to do the chores during his absence. With no boys in the family, his help was most welcome, especially by Mrs. Hewn.

  For the third time, Davy pried himself loose from between Beth and the bulky man sitting on the other side to stand and have a gander about. The man smiled tolerantly, though Beth sensed growing annoyance. Still, she decided her little brother was no more restless than any other child on Christmas Eve, so she reprimanded him only slightly. “Davy, you’ll have to try to sit still when the service starts.”

  “I will. I’m just lookin’ to see if Tom is here.” Suddenly he pointed to the doorway at the back of the church. “Look, there he is. He’s with Mr. and Mrs. Betner.”

  Davy quickly slipped past her and she managed to grab him by the elbow. “Where are you going?” she whispered.

  “I’m going to say hi.”

  “No, you’re not.” She tightened her grip on his spindly arm. “The service is about to start any minute. You can talk to him afterward. Now sit.”

  “Jeepers.” Clearly miffed, Davy sat down, wiggling his rump into the bench seat. Before long, he rotated again to see if he could see his friend. Beth got him facing forward just as Reverend Harding stepped up to the pulpit with the opening prayer.

  When everyone rose to sing the first hymn, she held the hymnal low to accommodate her little brother who was just beginning to read. She needn’t have bothered since he was standing on the pew facing backwards, trying to catch Tom’s attention. Those nearest were amused by the lad’s actions, but Beth wasn’t. With a swipe of her arm, she hauled him off the pew to stand beside her.

  “Enough!” she whispered vehemently. “Keep it up and you’ll get a lump of coal from Santa.”

  Apparently the ultimate threat worked, because he meekly endured the rest of the service, never once turning about. But Beth, occasionally hearing a strong clear male voice singing above all the others, had to fight temptation not to turn and look herself.

  Immediately after the service, the moment there was a clear passage, Davy grabbed Beth’s hand and made a bee-line toward Tom who was sandwiched between the Betners. He pushed past Earl and tugged on the hem of Tom’s suit jacket. Tom turned and, upon seeing the boy, grinned. “Whoa there, Bud. Don’t tear my suit. I’ve only got the one.”

  “For heaven’s sake, Davy, be careful,” Beth admonished.

  Tom smiled at her, immediately noting she’d let her hair hang loosely around her face. It suited her. “Good evening, Beth.”

  “Hello, Tom. Mary, Earl. Merry Christmas.” To Tom she added politely, “That was a lovely service.”

  “Yes, yes it was,” he replied just as courteously. “Lots of Christmas carols.”

  Davy piped up. “I could hear you singing, Tom. You sing real good!”

  “Yes, you do.” It was out before Beth knew she was even going to say it.

  Tom laughed off the compliment. “Must have been someone else.” Then speaking to Davy, he added, “Though when I was your age I used to sit on the front stoop and sing at night. Pretty soon, I’d have a whole chorus of coyotes joining in. We got so good, we started singing harmony.”

  “Ah, go on.” Davy knew a yarn when he heard one.

  “No. It’s true.”

  Mary gave Tom a good-natured slap. “Such a story and in church no less!” Then drawing Beth aside, she asked, “My dear, Earl and I were wondering if you and the boys would care to join us tomorrow?”

  Beth was taken aback. “Oh, Mary, how nice of you to ask, but we wouldn’t want to intrude.”

  “Nonsense! I love cooking for a crowd and now that most of our gang has moved away — well, it just doesn’t seem like Christmas unless the house is full. And our turkey is huge this year. Believe me, you’d be doing us a favor.” Mary wrapped her arm about Beth’s shoulders. “And if the boys want, they can go sledding. Maybe all of us. And then later we could warm up with some hot cocoa.”

  She was very persuasive and Beth felt herself weakening. “It does sound wonderful, but I imagine Bill will be going to the Hewn’s.”

  “Then you and Davy come.”

  “May I bring something?”

  “It’s not necessary.”

  “I’d honestly like to. I baked Christmas pudding and I didn’t realize until it was too late that the recipe said it would feed twelve.”

  Mary laughed. “Then this is working out perfectly, because I didn’t get around to making mine. You bring your pudding and I’ll take care of the rest. I plan on having the meal around two. But come early so we can visit while things cook.”

  The two ladies returned to the men.

  “Ready to go, dear?” Earl asked his wife.

  “Yes, I think so. I want to get the turkey prepared tonight.” She turned to Tom. “Be sure to bring your guitar tomorrow. Maybe you could favor the Pattersons with some of those lovely coyote carols.”

  Tom and Beth looked wide-eyed at each other and uttered in unison, “You’re going to Mary’s for Christmas?”

  Davy was exuberant about spending the day with Tom. He let out a whoop and a holler, the likes Whistle Creek’s First Methodist Church had never heard, and announced, “This is going to be some Christmas!”

  Mary smiled. “Yes, hopefully one we will all remember fondly.”

  • • •

  “Well, that takes care of everything.” Mary removed her apron and draped it over a chair. “The potatoes and turnips just have to finish cooking and in a few minutes Earl can carve the turkey. Let’s sit and relax a bit.” She led Beth into the parlor. “Funny, I thought Tom would have been here by now.”

  A minute later, Tom burst loudly into the kitchen, stomping the snow off his boots onto a mat. He had a box of chocolates in one hand and his guitar in the other. “Merry Christmas, everyone,” he yelled.

  There was a scramble between Mary and Davy, but Mary, despite her size, got to him first. She threw her arms around him, chocolates, guitar, and all, and planted a smacking smooch upon his cheek. “Merry Christmas, Tom dear,” she said, hugging him close, rocking him like a six-foot tall baby.

  Tom grinned helplessly over her shoulder.

  Earl came to the rescue. “Woman, at least let the poor man put his things down before you attack him.” He divested Tom of his load. “Sure doesn’t get that excited when I walk through the door.”

  “That’ll be the day when you come home with chocolates,” Mary chided.

  “Ah, you poor dear. How you suffer.” Tom laughed and draped his heavy coat onto a chair and sat down to yank off his boots.

  Davy had waited long enough. “Merry Christmas, Tom.”

  “And to you too, Bud.” Tom picked him up, squeezed him, flipped him upside down and carried him around the kitchen, pretending he hadn’t noticed he was holding the giggling, squirming boy wrong side up. “Yessiree. Something sure does smell good. Turkey, potatoes — wait a minute! What
’s that?” He sniffed as if testing the air and then frowned. “I just got a whiff of something rotten.” He sniffed until the scent led him to turn and look at the lad’s stocking feet. “Well, Davy Patterson, what in the name of holy socks do you think you’re doing? Don’t you know which way is up yet?” He flipped the delighted red-faced boy around. “There, that smells better.”

  He grabbed a couple cookies from a tray, giving one to Davy and biting off a chunk of the other before Mary slapped his fingers.

  He turned to Beth standing in the doorway to the parlor. “Merry Christmas.”

  “Thank you. Same to you,” she answered, smiling congenially.

  Davy practically climbed up Tom’s chest to whisper in his ear, and when Tom nodded and set him down, Davy giggled behind his hands.

  Beth watched the blacksmith swallow his cookie, brush away the crumbs from his mouth and run his tongue over his teeth as he sauntered toward her. By the time she realized his intentions, it was too late to escape. He grasped her gently by her shoulders and whispered, “Mistletoe. I’d be less than a man if I let this opportunity pass by.”

  Panic coursed through her as he leaned forward, closer and closer, until his slate blue eyes nearly filled her vision. And then her own eyes closed just as naturally as she breathed and she felt his lips gently press against hers for a few seconds.

  Peppermint. He smelled of icy peppermint, though his lips were anything but icy cool. They were soft and warm, and her stomach did a wonderful little flip-flop. So this is what it’s like to be kissed by a man. Rather nice. Her lips turned up slightly. I feel so … so tingly all over.

  A second kiss brought Beth abruptly from her reverie. Her eyes popped open to find, not Tom’s, but Earl’s face lifting away from hers. She blushed profusely as chaotic thoughts coursed across her mind. What had Earl thought as she stood there with her eyes closed? Did he presume she was waiting for a Christmas kiss from him also? Across the kitchen, Tom leaned against the dry sink, his arms crossed in front of him, and an amused smirk upon his face.

  Though she would have preferred racing out the door to cool her burning cheeks, she held her head high, and thrust her chin out as if daring him to say a word.

  “Earl dear, come carve the turkey, would you please?” Mary ushered them both into the parlor and when Beth protested, insisting she should be helping, Mary answered, “Heavens, you’ve already helped more than any guest should.” She pointed to a chair. “Sit. We’ll call you when it’s ready.”

  Tom stood until Beth was seated and then he took the armchair across from her. Davy crawled right up on his knee, no invitation extended.

  “Davy,” she admonished, “there are plenty of chairs.”

  “I know.” Nevertheless, he settled comfortably against Tom’s chest.

  “Where’s Bill?” Tom asked, rearranging Davy so the boy’s bony butt didn’t dig into his thigh.

  “At Annaleese Hewn’s,” she replied.

  “I’ve seen them together around town.” He turned to Davy, who, at the moment, was playing with the strings of his bolo tie. “So, Bud, what did you get from Santa?”

  Davy sat forward on his knee. “A spinning top. And it whistles. Don’t it, Beth? It’s in my coat. Wanna see it?”

  “I sure do.”

  Davy scrambled off his knee and when the boy was out of earshot, Tom said, “I hope you don’t mind, but I have a gift for him.”

  “That wasn’t necessary.”

  He shrugged. “I wanted to. It’s my old knife. My pa gave it to me when I was about Davy’s age. He’s had his eye on it for some time now, and I don’t need two.”

  “But it’s from your father. Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure.” He placed the small wrapped package under the tree and was back in his chair before Davy returned. Soon the two of them were on their hands and knees, chasing the spinning top across the hardwood floor, while Beth lifted her feet whenever it scooted past.

  Before long, Mary called them for dinner. “Beth, why don’t you sit here and, Tom, you take the seat on her left.” She steered Davy by the shoulders to the opposite side. “How would you like to sit beside Earl on the other side? That’s a boy.”

  Tom shook his head and decided if there was one thing his dear aunt lacked, it was subtlety. Mistletoe in every doorway. Special seating arrangement. What a matchmaker! She just couldn’t bear to see anyone unattached.

  “Shall we bow and join hands for grace?” Mary suggested as she took her seat.

  “Who’s Grace?” Davy asked.

  Beth cringed.

  Not to embarrass the boy, Tom patiently explained, “Grace is the prayer we say before we eat to ask God to bless the food.”

  “You say prayers before you eat?” The look on his face displayed that this was something he’d never before considered. “Gee, I only say prayers at night.” He shrugged his shoulders as if he didn’t care, so long as he got to eat soon.

  Around the table, they all joined hands. Tom’s large hand covered Beth’s, his fingers curling hers up inside his palm, and he gave her hand a gentle squeeze.

  • • •

  “Let’s go, Tom.” Davy positioned the sled at the top of the hill.

  “You go ahead. I’d better wait awhile. I think I overdid it on your sister’s Christmas pudding. Here, I’ll help you get going.” He held the sled while Davy climbed aboard. “Ready?”

  At the boy’s nod, Tom gave a hefty push. It was a swift ride to the bottom, but a long walk back up. The adults watched as the boy went repeatedly down and up the hill.

  “Land sakes, I wish I had that boy’s energy,” Mary laughed.

  “I don’t know about anyone else,” Tom said, “but I’m ready to give it a go.” The next time the sled went down the hill, Tom was on the back with Davy squeezed between his knees.

  A short while later they returned and Tom flopped back in the snow, grinning ear to ear. “That was great. You should try it, Beth.”

  “Yeah, you and Tom go,” Davy suggested.

  Mary was quick to agree. “Yes, do. That’s a wonderful idea.”

  “But the sled’s not long enough for two adults,” Beth protested, shaking her head.

  “Nonsense. Why it held three of my big strapping boys when they were growing up. There’s plenty of room.”

  “Come on, Beth,” Davy coaxed. “Don’t be scared.”

  “I am not scared.”

  Tom grinned as he swept the snow off the sled. “Prove it.”

  Under duress, she plunked herself down on the sled, rearranging her bulky skirt so it wouldn’t drag on the snow or get run over by the runners.

  “You’ll have to slide forward to make room for me,” Tom said.

  She wiggled her way forward some and he sat behind her, his bent knees cradling her body in an all too personal way. She felt his arms come around her to hold the rope, hugging her from behind. It was strangely exciting yet disconcerting at the same time.

  Tom worked his feet under her skirt and then leaned forward and whispered, “There’d be more room on this sled if you were wearing those britches you had on the first time we met.”

  That did it! She was getting off, but just as she tried to stand, Earl gave the sled a mighty shove and she fell back into Tom’s arms. They were off.

  It was a fast, fearsome, heart-pounding ride. Snow from the runners sifted up into her face and the ground passed in a blur of white. Sturdy twigs, poking through the snow, snagged her skirt, pulling until the hem dragged in the snow. The sled veered right. Too late, she saw the jump made by some dare-devil. They hit it going full tilt, sending the sled airborne. Its two passengers flipped and landed like rag dolls tossed upon the snow. Tom, laughing, stood first and brushed the snow off his clothing.

  Beth didn’t stir.

  “Beth?”

  She didn’t move.

  Fear gripped at his heart. He quickly knelt beside her. She was lying face down in a tangled heap of skirts and petticoats. Her hair was torn fr
om its tidy chignon and fanned out upon the snow. “Beth,” he repeated, distressed by her stillness, “are you all right?” Ever so gently, he rolled her on to her back.

  She blasted him with a handful of loose snow, hitting him in the face. For a fleeting second he was too surprised to respond and she took advantage of his momentary disbelief to scramble to her feet.

  “That’s for the remark about my britches,” she said indignantly, though she had a difficult time remaining that way when he looked so comical with snow caught in his hair and eyebrows and eyelashes. Furling her skirt around her, she turned and trudged up the hill.

  Thud! A snowball hit her squarely between the shoulders.

  “And that’s for scaring the hell out me,” he called after her. “I thought you were dead.” And then he threw another one at her which whizzed past her head.

  She spun about. “And what was that for?”

  Tom held up his hands in an innocent shrug, his grin wider than a sickle blade. “No reason. Just because.”

  Okay, mister, if a snowball fight is what you want, a snowball fight is what you’re going to get. She retaliated by grabbing up a handful of snow, forming a hasty snowball and winging it for all she was worth at him. She took refuge behind a cluster of shrubs on the side of the hill.

  He raced to the sled, flipped it on its side and took cover. They hurled snowballs back and forth in fast and furious succession, most missing their mark, but a few right on target.

  Eventually there was a lull from Tom’s front line. He’s stockpiling them to throw all at once. Beth busied herself doing the same, giggling in nervous anticipation. Cautiously, she peeked around the shrubbery. He was coming toward her, waving his handkerchief above his head like a white flag.