An Old-Fashioned Christmas Romance Collection Read online

  Tenderly, she laid her right hand against his cheek. “And I love you.”

  He held her gaze for a silent, intense moment. “‘Thou dost show me the path of life, in thy presence there is fullness of joy, in thy right hand are pleasures for evermore.’ I reckon that about describes what the Lord has done for me.” He was taken aback when tears filled her eyes. “I had no idea the book of Psalms had such an effect on you,” he teased.

  Brynne snuggled into the crook of his neck. “It’s just that…well…I have a surprise for you, too.”

  “No blindfold?” he asked, chuckling. “I’m disappointed.”

  “I saw the doctor yesterday…”

  Holding her at arm’s length, he frowned. “The doctor? Why? You’re…you’re not ill, are you?”

  Smiling serenely, Brynne shook her head. “Of course not, silly.” Tilting her head, she said, “It seems we’re going to have a baby.”

  Clay’s eyes widened with awe and wonderment. “A…a baby?” He leapt up and danced a merry jig. “I’m gonna be a father!” he bellowed. His joyous shout echoed across the valley, and when it bounced back to him, he sat beside her again, and pressed his palm to her belly. “When, Brynne? When will our child be born?”

  “Christmas.”

  “Christmas,” he sighed. He gathered her close and whispered into her ear, “‘A man attested to you by God with mighty works and wonders and signs.’ ”

  “Yes, Clay,” she agreed. “Another miracle…on Kismet Hill.”

  Yuletide Treasures

  Gail Gaymer Martin

  Favour is deceitful, and beauty is vain: but a woman that feareth the LORD, she shall be praised.

  PROVERBS 31:30

  Chapter 1

  A cloud of black smoke curled past the window of the Chesapeake and Ohio locomotive. As the shrill whistle sounded, Livy Schuler snuggled deeper into her travel cloak and studied the changing winter scenery. Scattered buildings stood along the tracks and she sighed, sensing their lengthy journey neared completion.

  She gazed at her four-year-old nephew as he lay fast asleep, his blond curls bobbing against the stiff seat cushion as the locomotive swayed through the countryside. “Davy,” she murmured, “wake up.”

  The child shifted against the seat, but did not wake. Her heart ached for the boy. Christmas was no time for a child to be away from his parents, but his mother’s illness necessitated the journey. And when her brother, John, asked for her help, she acquiesced. With Ruth’s unfortunate stroke, how could she refuse?

  The trip from Detroit stretched into hours with stops for passengers and when an occasional cow wandered onto the tracks. She had amused Davy with toy soldiers and storybooks. Later, when he drifted off to sleep, she found a discarded newspaper and read about President Grant’s fight against the greenbacks and the resurgence of Queen Victoria’s popularity.

  “Next stop, Grand Rapids,” the conductor called, moving along the aisle.

  Opening his weighted eyes, Davy shifted and released a soft whimper.

  “We’re nearing the station, Davy. We’re going to have such fun with your Aunt Helen and Uncle Charles.”

  Only sadness filled his face, and she hoped Helen and Charles would understand the child’s lack of enthusiasm. Ruth’s brother, Charles, had been gracious to invite Davy for the holiday. Livy pictured her brother John’s somber expression when he had no other choice but to accept their offer.

  Livy could only imagine the Mandalay home and life among the wealthy. Charles owned one of the largest furniture-making businesses in Grand Rapids, which, after the war, became the furniture capital of the world. And Charles had found success on the coattails of inventive, skilled craftsmen like George Pullman and William Haldane. Livy shook her head in wonder at the life the Mandalays must lead.

  Anticipating their arrival, Livy returned Davy’s lead soldiers to her satchel. With the bag open on her lap, she looked at the small package John had asked her to deliver to Helen.

  Shameful curiosity overtook her, and she felt through the paper. Wood, perhaps, and a strange shape—rounded on one end, pointed on the other, one side smoothly curved, the other a jagged zigzag. She couldn’t determine what lay hidden within the paper. Guilt needled her, so she withdrew her hand from the satchel and latched it. The package didn’t belong to her, and as curious as she was, she had no cause to look inside.

  A whistle blast jarred her back to the present. The train slowed and came to a shuddering halt. Livy rose, buttoning her dark gray travel cloak, then hooked Davy’s coat and, grasping his hand, led him down the aisle.

  With the conductor’s assistance, she stepped to the platform while soot from the smoke stack showered down in a fine spray of drifting black flakes like ebony snow. Her gaze swept along the station’s visitors, looking for Charles’s son, Andrew, whom she had never met. Seeing no likely prospect, she turned and lifted Davy to the ground and headed toward the small depot, searching for warmth.

  “Hello. Miss Schuler?”

  She pivoted, hearing the voice, and looked into a pair of glinting, ice-blue eyes. Her pulse lurched as radically as the chugging locomotive had. “Mr. Mandalay?”

  “Yes, but please call me Andrew.” He paused, bending at the waist. “And this must be Davy.”

  The child peered at him and nodded.

  “How do you do, Davy? I’m your cousin, Andrew.” Straightening, he focused on Livy. “How was your trip? Too long, I’d guess.”

  Livy drew her gaze from his delightful smile. “Six hours, yes, but tolerable.”

  “Leaving your friends and family during the holidays is very generous of you. I’m sure Uncle John was grateful.”

  “Yes, but I had no choice. John and Davy needed me.”

  “No matter, it was very kind. Well then, it’s much too cold on the platform. The carriage is this way.” He motioned behind him, then reached for her satchel. “I’ll carry that for you, Miss Schuler.”

  “No need, thank you. It’s light, and please call me Livy.” She turned, pointing to the two small trunks sitting on the baggage cart. “But those cases are ours, if you don’t mind.”

  “Aah. Then I’ll retrieve those,” he said. “Wait here for one moment.”

  As he darted down the platform, admiration rose within her. Besides his dazzling eyes, Andrew had been graced with other handsome features. His fair hair contrasted with his darker skintone, likely the result of his days at the logging camp. John mentioned Andrew had only arrived home for the holidays.

  Watching him return with their baggage, she noted his tall stature and broad shoulders, dwarfing her own petite frame. She imagined his muscular arms swinging an ax to fell a pine tree or hoisting a log onto a large logging sled. As he approached, she caught her breath. His firm, square jaw was softened by his deep dimples and generous, captivating smile on his full, sensitive mouth.

  “Ready?” he asked, moving to her side. “Follow me.”

  Tucking Davy’s hand in hers, she hurried behind Andrew, following his long strides. He stopped beside a carriage, a claret-colored Dearborn pulled by two matching bays, then opened the door and slid their baggage inside.

  “Come, Davy,” he said and lifted the boy into the coach. Then he reached for Livy’s hand. As she stepped to his side, his gaze swept across her face and heat rose to her cheeks. They stood so close, the scent of his damp woolen coat and peppermint filled her senses. He assisted her into the conveyance and spread a thick robe across their laps.

  “That should keep you warm,” he said, his dimples glinting with his steady gaze. “The ride is short.”

  She swallowed, finding her voice. “Thank you.”

  He grinned again and closed the door. Livy nestled against Davy, her thoughts shifting back to Andrew’s earlier comment, “Leaving your friends and family during the holidays is very generous of you.” Leaving my friends? If the situation weren’t so pitiful, I would laugh.

  Lately, her life rose before her in a dismal, gray picture like
the winter day. At twenty-eight, she was a spinster, a word she detested. Looking in a mirror, she saw no reason for her lack of beaus. Though she would not be considered a beauty by most, her features were pleasant, her figure was trim, and she earned a suitable income as a music teacher. But single, she was.

  Though the Bible said God would provide, “ask, and ye shall receive,” she had long given up asking God for a husband. The Lord, from all she could comprehend, desired her to remain the detested word—a spinster. But she had other plans.

  Recently, Henry Tucker, owner of the neighborhood mercantile, delayed her in the shop with casual, genial conversation. She sensed his interest, and though she had little attraction for him—none, if she were honest—he was a likely candidate as a husband. Not God’s plan perhaps, but her own.

  Sadly, Henry’s young wife and baby had died in childbirth. Now at forty, he told her he longed for a wife and family. Each time she entered the shop, he looked at her with yearning, and she had begun to wonder if this were the man for whom she might set her cap.

  Heat rose to Livy’s face, recalling her deceptive words to John as she boarded the train earlier in the day. She explained a commitment to the church choir influenced her to hurry back to Detroit. But in truth, a different reason motivated her.

  Shame filled her at the deception. Telling a lie, no matter what color, was a sin. But she couldn’t admit to John that Henry indicated he’d come to call during the Christmas holiday. That was the true reason she needed to be home. Though she hadn’t extended an invitation to him directly, Henry was most persistent. And he was a man of his word.

  A chill shivered through her as she felt the icy air and considered her possible future—a loveless marriage. Why? She asked herself the question many times. Why did she long for marriage if it wouldn’t be filled with love and contentment? The answer that marched into her head was always the same. She recalled Noah. God guided the animals to the ark two by two. She was a one. And besides, if God had a change of heart, her amiable feelings for Henry might grow to love.

  Livy pulled the lap robe higher around Davy’s shoulders and her own chilled body. The carriage jolted, and she slid sideways as the horses trotted around a corner. Elegant houses stood along the rutted roadway, and she huddled closer to Davy, as much for her own comfort as for his.

  Picturing her handsome driver, Livy admired Andrew’s splendid frame. A strange sense of longing rose in her chest. She closed her eyelids and wondered what the next days might bring.

  Chapter 2

  Andrew snapped the bays’ reins, and the carriage lurched forward. He adjusted the heavy blanket across his legs and veered the animals onto the rutted roadway. To satisfy his father’s wishes, he’d been genial to the guests. More than genial, he’d been pleasant. Yet, he hoped his own plans weren’t thwarted by their stay.

  Three months at the logging camp left him eager for feminine companionship, and with four more months to follow, he was unwilling to sacrifice his own plans to entertain a child. His memory drifted to a flirtatious young woman he had met at a house gathering in the autumn, and he looked forward to seeing Rosie Parker again.

  His mother discouraged such relationships, prompting him to find a suitable young lady from the church, particularly the music director’s sister. He’d seen the prim and proper young parish women dressed in their demure, somber gowns but found himself drawn to Rosie. She was so like her name—curly blond hair, crimson dress, musky perfume, and a spirited wit.

  He grimaced, recalling the biblical missive ringing in his mind: women should dress modestly and decently, not with gaudy jewels or expensive clothes, but with good deeds. Despite the verse, Rosie’s image filled his head. She didn’t fit God’s description, but he’d live for now with his sinful desire. Rosie beguiled him.

  Yet, his mind drifted to his passengers inside the carriage. He recalled the sad, frightened face of his young cousin, Davy. The poor boy had been forced to leave his home at Christmas. Then, Livy—Olivia Schuler, John’s unmarried sister. A spinster, they called her. He noted she dressed in somber colors like the young church women he knew. Still, the shy sparkle in her green eyes hung in his memory.

  As the house appeared, Andrew slowed the bays. He drew the carriage to a halt beside the long pillared porch and climbed down. After hitching the horses, he opened the coach door. At the same time, his mother, wrapped in a fur-trimmed cape, stepped from the house.

  “Here we are,” he said, assisting Livy to the ground then swinging Davy beside her. “I hope you were warm enough.”

  “We were fine.” Livy’s gaze swept across the wide expanse of house. “Your home is lovely.”

  “Thank you,” he said, grabbing her satchel and guiding them up the steps. “A servant will see to your luggage,” he added.

  Livy forced her mouth closed after she gaped at the vast structure before her. The lovely home of broad, white clapboards and black shutters was graced by a sprawling porch.

  As she headed toward the entrance, John’s sister-in-law, Helen, waited for her. They’d met only once, years earlier. Livy had forgotten how lovely she was. It was clear that Andrew, with his fair hair and blue eyes, had inherited his mother’s good looks.

  As Livy approached, Helen stepped forward, her arms opened wide in greeting. “Davy, Olivia, welcome.” She swooped down to wrap Davy in her arms, but he slid behind Livy’s cloak and peeked out at the gracious woman.

  Livy took the woman’s hand with a gentle squeeze. “Thank you, Helen.” She motioned to Davy. “He’s a bit shy, but he’ll adjust with time.” Livy caught her nephew’s hand and pulled him out from behind her skirts. “Davy, this is your Aunt Helen. Say hello.”

  A soft greeting fell from his lips, but instead of looking at her, his focus riveted to the expansive dwelling.

  “Won’t you come in?” Helen moved forward while a servant pushed the heavy door inward and gave them wide berth.

  Livy scooted Davy ahead, and they entered the central hall. A broad staircase rose to the second story, and a door stood open on the right where Livy could see a fire burning on the hearth. “Come,” Helen said, motioning toward the fireplace. “Warm yourselves. We’ll have tea and chocolate.”

  The word “chocolate” seemed to motivate Davy. He hurried ahead of her, wide-eyed as he took in the scene. After the servant brought in a heavy tray, they sat in the parlor sipping hot chocolate and nibbling on tea cakes.

  “We’re having a small dinner party this evening in your honor,” Helen said. “Our young choirmaster, Mr. Daily, and his sister will join us.”

  “How nice,” Livy said. As she spoke, Andrew’s expression drew her attention. He grimaced and his reaction aroused Livy’s curiosity.

  When teatime ended, Andrew left the room, and shortly thereafter, Helen led them up the stairs to their bedrooms where their baggage had been placed. After unpacking Davy’s trunk, Livy left him playing with his toy soldiers and headed for her room next door.

  She made quick work of hanging her few garments. As she emptied her smaller satchel, her hand settled upon the keepsake John had given her, and she lifted it from the bag. She recalled John’s discomfort as he asked the favor. “Would you…slip this trinket to Helen? I’m sorry I can’t explain, but it’s a keepsake from long ago. She’ll understand.”

  Livy had eyed the package with curiosity and agreed to deliver it safely, but as John slipped her the parcel, he added, “And…er, I’d appreciate the utmost discretion. The memento is nothing, really, but…” He had faltered without finishing his sentence. With his fervent request for tact, she wondered how she might secretly deliver the gift to Helen.

  As if her question were heard, Helen tapped on her open door. “I hope everything is satisfactory.”

  “The room is lovely,” Livy said, admiring the deep rose and delicate blue decor and the elegantly carved bedstead. “Thank you.”

  “I suppose leaving home during the holiday season was difficult. It’s very kind of you to bring
Davy here.”

  “I hope to return to Detroit before Christmas—if Davy seems settled,” Livy said, clutching the small package.

  “I see. John didn’t mention your plans. I’m sure Davy’ll be fine after a day or two. We’ve asked Andrew to spend time with him. I hope that’ll help.”

  Livy smiled. “I imagine Andrew has other plans for his holidays, but I appreciate everyone’s kindness. Davy is a good boy, but he’s never been away from his parents before.”

  “How is Ruth?” Helen’s face knit with concern.

  “It’s sad. She can’t speak or use her left limbs properly. But praise God, the doctor expects a good recovery.”

  “I pray that’s true,” Helen said. “She and I were best friends when we were young.”

  “Best friends? I didn’t know.” She hesitated. “You knew my brother, John, then.” She ran her finger across the jagged edge of the memento clutched in her hand.

  Helen plucked beneath her collar at the pleats of her bodice. “Oh yes, John and Charles were school friends. To Charles, I was only his younger sister’s friend. But one day, he noticed me.” She paused for a moment. “Your brother and I were dear friends even before Charles.”

  “I wondered,” Livy said, extending the tissue-wrapped parcel toward her. “He asked me to give you this package. He said you’d understand.”

  Helen stared at the gift without moving. When she took it, her fingers followed the erratic shape beneath the tissue and a faint smile rose to her lips. “Yes. Yes, I believe I do understand. Thank you.” Her fingers curled around the tissue, and her shoulders lifted with a sigh. “Well then, I’ll get back to the dinner arrangements. Our guests are expected at seven.” She turned toward the door. “Please let me know if you need anything,” she said, before she disappeared down the hall.