Chapter Twenty-Three
Twenty-Three
Frankie and Jubal were fairly jumping up and down with excitement, even though Lizbet had taken pains to explain to them that St. Nicholas had had a difficult time of late, just as they had, and might not leave the piles of presents they’d received in other years.
They had nodded solemnly in response to Lizbet’s words, and they’d both said they didn’t care if St. Nicholas passed them by this year, because they got to stay with her and live on Whitfield farm with Gabe and Finn and Hector.
Touched, Lizbet had marveled to see young children demonstrate such mature understanding. She suspected that Frankie no longer believed in the jolly old elf anyway, but she chose to pretend for her brother’s sake. And Jubal appeared to be content with things as they were.
For all that, for all the luscious fragrance of fresh spruce permeating the entire house, Lizbet felt downhearted whenever she thought of Christmas morning, when there would be nothing under that splendid tree in front of the parlor windows.
In daylight, it sparkled with tinsel, glass icicles and dozens of tiny stars, carefully cut from the lids of tin cans, according to Finn.
He and Gabe had made them together, when they were boys, as a gift to their mother.
She, and later Bonnie, had added crocheted angels and embroidered ornaments fashioned from scraps of fabric.
Now here it was, the morning of Christmas Eve, and all Lizbet had in the way of gifts were three fruitcakes—she’d sent Finn to town for the dried bits of cherry and orange and three pounds of walnuts—and he’d either paid for the items himself or charged them to Gabe’s account at the general store in Silver Hills. He’d never asked Lizbet for a penny.
She’d wrapped two of the cakes in dish towels fashioned from flour sacks, which Bonnie had apparently saved, and tied them with bows made from quilt scraps, also left by Gabe’s late wife and, before that, his mother.
Today, while the roads were still passable, they would all travel into town in the horse-drawn sleigh Gabe had recently purchased—along with a functioning milk cow and another flock of chickens—from a neighbor, an old man who was moving, now that his health was in decline, to Missoula to live with his daughter and her husband.
One of Lizbet’s fruitcakes was a gift for Ornetta; the other, for John Avery. The third would remain in the pantry, to be served when the time seemed right.
Since Gabe had recently paid Lizbet in advance for a month’s work, to her great surprise, she had spending money, but life experience had taught her caution.
A person never knew when the rug would be pulled right out from under their feet.
Finn made sure the ride into town was a cheerful experience by singing Christmas carols the whole way, at the very top of his lungs.
Frankie and Jubal sang along, just as loudly, when they knew the lyrics. When they didn’t, they made them up.
Gabe was taciturn, as usual, and he was still behaving like a man with a secret, but he made a few good-humored comments on his brother’s singing voice, which, if Lizbet would have been forced to say, had she been asked, was no threat to the great opera singers she’d heard at concerts back in St. Louis.
Something was different between the two brothers, too; the hostility was gone.
Their first stop was at Ornetta’s boarding house, where Frankie and Jubal would be staying for an hour or two, while the grown-ups tended to business at the general store across the street.
A tall, thick-limbed Christmas tree stood in Ornetta’s front window, bedecked with ornaments, some splendid and some tattered, and there were wrapped gifts beneath it.
Ornetta accepted Lizbet’s fruitcake and good wishes—Finn and Gabe had secured the horses and crossed the street—very graciously. She seemed pleased with the offering and thanked Lizbet with a kiss on the cheek and a sparkle in her eyes.
“The second cake is for John,” Lizbet said shyly. “He must be at his forge, since it’s so early in the day.”
Ornetta beamed, just as pleased with John’s gift as her own. “No,” she said, “he’s over at the church, practicing his message for tomorrow morning.”
Frankie and Jubal, delighted to be visiting the place where they had been so welcome before, shimmied out of their coats, took off their hats and mufflers and mittens and commenced to admiring Ornetta’s Christmas tree.
“You go on, now,” Ornetta urged Lizbet in a whisper. “I’d love a visit, but there will be time for that later. I know you have things to do.”
Lizbet gave her dear friend a grateful hug, instructed the children to behave themselves and hurried out of the boarding house, across the wide and surprisingly busy street and into the woodstove warmth of the mercantile.
The store was decorated for the holiday, with bells and wreaths and even a small crèche displayed alongside a tiny countertop Christmas tree.
The aroma of fresh pine boughs was festive indeed.
Keeping an eye out for Finn and for Gabe, since she planned to give them each a pair of woolen gloves as a Christmas gift and didn’t want them to see what she was buying, Lizbet went about her shopping. Maybe gloves weren’t a very thrilling choice, but it was the best she could reasonably do.
Once she’d selected the gloves, she placed them in the hand-carried basket provided, and headed for the section where the toys had been set out.
They looked picked over, since it was almost Christmas, but she found a copy of Heidi for Frankie and a picture book for Jubal.
She added crayons, a packet of coloring paper and two large sticks of peppermint, and that was where her budget ended.
Although she eyed the pretty dolls and the shining red fire wagons and other toys, she did not give in to temptation to buy what she couldn’t afford.
Yes, she was employed now, and her and the children’s living expenses were mostly covered, but she wanted to save as much money as she could over the coming months.
Since it seemed unlikely that Gabe would ever risk falling in love again, she needed an alternative plan.
If she had enough saved, come spring, she and Frankie and Jubal could move back to St. Louis and settle down for good.
She’d already written the head of the girl’s school where she’d taught since getting her teaching certificate, inquiring about a future position.
The letter was in her pocket, and she would send it off when she paid for today’s modest purchases.
Did she want to leave Silver Hills and Gabe and Or netta and John and, yes, even Finn, though his energy often wore her out, to start over from scratch?
No. In fact, the thought of leaving very nearly broke her heart.
But she couldn’t wait forever for Gabe to open his heart. She was nearly twenty-three years old, already a spinster by anyone’s reckoning, and she wanted a chance at a happy marriage and at least one child she’d borne herself.
She knew it was impractical of her, but all her instincts said, “Stay.”
Could she trust them?
She knew she would never love another man the way she did Gabe, and she didn’t want to be an old maid. She could still offer companionship, couldn’t she?
Surely some decent, upstanding man would want her to be his wife and the mother of his children.
She was thinking these thoughts when Finn approached, holding an armload of parcels wrapped in brown paper. He grinned and nudged her lightly.
“Penny for your thoughts,” he said.
“You wouldn’t want them,” Lizbet replied, squaring her shoulders. “Complete waste of money.”
“Surely not,” Finn replied smoothly.
Such charm, wasted. Lizbet laughed and shooed him away—Finn would have stood with her at the cash register if she hadn’t.
Once she’d paid for everything and dispatched her letter, closing her eyes and giving a silent prayer as the storekeeper dropped it into a bag of outgoing mail, she collected her single lumpy package and joined Finn by the door leading to the street.
“Where’s Gabe?” she asked.
“He’s busy at the moment,” Finn answered. “I’m supposed to squire you to the dining room at the Statehood Hotel. He’ll finish up here, pick up Frankie and Jubal from Ornetta’s and meet us there for lunch.”
The meal, served by former fellow boarder, Nellie Carlyle, was hot, aromatic and delicious—roast beef, gravy, boiled potatoes and green beans boiled with bacon. Gabe said very little throughout, but he made a point of sitting next to Lizbet at the table, and that made her heart flutter.
Once they’d all finished eating and Gabe had settled the bill, leaving a generous tip as well, much to Nelly’s appreciation, it was time to go back to the farm.
Jubal, who’d received a bag of shining red, blue and silver marbles from Ornetta earlier, clutched them, even though he practically fell asleep at the table.
After helping the boy into his coat and other things, Gabe whisked Jubal up into his arms and carried him out to the sleigh, which was waiting in front of the hotel. Frankie walked primly alongside Lizbet, a miniature lady, showing her the package of colorful paper dolls Ornetta had given her.
Not for the first time, Lizbet imagined the four of them, Gabe, Frankie, Jubal and herself, as a family, and had to blink back tears.
When everyone was settled and covered in blankets, Gabe snapped the reins lightly onto Shadrach’s and Abednego’s backs, and the journey home began.
Back at the farm, Gabe dropped Lizbet and the children off near the kitchen door—fat, feathery flakes of snow were beginning to drift down and twilight was already deepening the shadows up in the hills—and then he and Finn went on to the barn.
Supper was light that evening, due to their sumptuous midday repast at the Statehood Hotel.
Lizbet served canned peaches with cream, both of which Gabe had purchased that day at the general store, and the children spent a couple of happy hours playing with the gifts Ornetta had given them.
Frankie seemed fascinated by the paper dolls, with their flapper’s haircuts, saucy poses and short skirts, while Jubal pestered both Gabe and Finn into more than one game of marbles.
Once the children were in bed, Lizbet wrapped their gifts in quilt scraps salvaged from a trunk in the attic and placed them under the tree, which was shadowy by then, though a flash of lantern light caught some of the more sparkly ornaments, like the tin stars, now and then.
The effect was so simple, but it was magical, too.
Lizbet said good-night to both Finn and Gabe, who were playing a cutthroat game of checkers by then and showed no signs of being sleepy, and retired to her room.
She performed her ablutions and went to bed.
Sleep claimed her immediately, though she woke up once, near dawn, thinking she’d heard the merry jingle of sleigh bells.
Silly idea , she’d reflected. You were dreaming.
When morning arrived, she was awakened not by the bright winter sunshine streaming in through her window but by Frankie and Jubal, who jumped onto her bed and bounced until she was awake.
She yawned and stretched, briefly forgetting that it was Christmas morning.
The children each grasped her by the hand and literally dragged her out of bed, giggling and hopping from foot to foot.
“St. Nicholas was here!” Jubal shouted, in pure glee. Hector, who had accompanied the pair into Lizbet’s room, began to bark, as if to bear witness to the boy’s claim. “ He didn’t forget us , Lizbet!”
Confused, Lizbet grabbed her dressing gown—it was modest and warm and covered her as well as any dress would have done—and tried to hush the children.
Finn and Gabe had been up late the night before, playing checkers. It would not do to rouse them so early.
But they were up, with coffee made. In addition, they had done the morning chores, and they were waiting in the parlor when Frankie and Jubal fairly dragged Lizbet down the stairs.
She froze in her tracks when she saw the Christmas tree.
There were a number of packages underneath, but it was the wonderful doll-sized house and the beautiful wooden sled with its sleek runners that the children were so excited about.
Frankie rushed to the dollhouse and knelt beside it, almost reverently, trying to hug the whole thing, though it was nearly as tall as she was, then standing up. “It’s mine!” she cried. “Mr. Whitfield said so!”
Jubal, meanwhile, had perched on top of the sled, while Hector circled curiously, sniffing as he went. “And this is mine!” the little boy crowed. Then, in a more subdued tone, he added manfully, “But I mean to share it with Frankie. It’s big enough we can ride it together.”
Lizbet was literally unable to speak, and when her gaze found Gabe’s, she nearly wept with gratitude.
She mouthed the words, “Thank you.”
He merely nodded.
While Finn distracted the children with other gifts—Lizbet’s and other things, too, a toy car for Jubal and a lovely storybook doll for Frankie, to name only a few—she simply stood there on the stairs, too amazed to move.
“Come and sit down,” Gabe said, speaking at last, walking over to the base of the stairs and extending a hand to her.
Lizbet was suddenly and painfully aware that she was still in her nightclothes, which was improper, whether they covered her well or not, but Gabe caught hold of her hand before she could flee.
His smile was gentle, and it shone in his eyes, though that sadness he carried was still there, too.
He led her to the parlor sofa, which still held Finn’s bedding, and sat her down.
Then he brought her a box wrapped in silver paper and tied with red ribbon, real ribbon, shining and smooth.
“Open it,” he said, very quietly, and for a moment, it was as though they were the only people in the room.
With trembling hands, Lizbet obliged. Inside was a beautiful wooden jewelry box with roses carved into the lid and a velvet lining.
“Ornetta put in the velvet,” Gabe explained, looking shy.
“But you built this,” Lizbet marveled. “With your own hands.”
“Yes,” he said, very quietly.
“Oh, Gabe,” she whispered, stroking the top of the box with the fingers of her right hand and thinking of the humble gift she’d bought for him. Woolen gloves, for heaven’s sake. “It’s lovely. Thank you.”
“You’re most welcome,” he said.
They simply gazed at each other for the longest time, and Lizbet was almost certain he would have kissed her, if Finn and the children hadn’t been present.
It was Lizbet who broke the spell—if she hadn’t, she would have initiated a kiss herself—by rising to her feet, clasping the jewelry box close and announcing, “I’ll just get dressed now, and then I’ll start making breakfast.”
She was jubilant, at least on the inside, and once she came back downstairs, the pots and pans made a merry sound as she set them on top of the stove.