Soldier’s Christmas Promise (Trinity Falls: Home for Christmas #8)

Chapter 1

ELLA

Ella curled up on the sofa at the end of a long day of work on the farm. Her daughter, Dove, was snuggled in her lap and hanging on every word the way only a six-year-old can as Ella read her another chapter from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.

The whole house smelled like the homemade bread that was currently baking in the oven.

And the only sounds besides Ella’s soft reading were the crackle of the fireplace, the gentle click of her mother’s knitting needles, and the occasional clearing of her father’s throat.

He was reading a book of his own while he waited for his bread to be done, but the fact that he hadn’t turned a page since she sat down made her think he was really just listening to the familiar tale of Charlie and Grandpa Joe that she had been reading to Dove all week.

If she closed her eyes, Ella could almost imagine she was a child again herself, listening to Dad read this same book to her and her brother, wrapped up tight in the comforting rhythms of the farmhouse where they had been raised.

It’s the right place for Dove to grow up too. This was a good choice.

Not that she had thought the move through all that carefully before coming home. Four years ago, after Lee died, Ella had packed up her toddler daughter and flown home to Pennsylvania on pure instinct, like a migrating bird.

“You’re welcome to stay as long as you want,” her mother had said, so much warmth and compassion in her voice it had brought tears to Ella’s eyes.

“Forever,” her father said firmly.

At the time, forever had seemed like a wild suggestion. But now Ella couldn’t imagine things any other way. Life was good here. She felt safe. And Dove might have to grow up without a dad, but at least she would be surrounded by other people who loved her.

Ella missed her husband—she always would. But there were plenty of people in this house for her to love and plenty of chores to keep her busy.

The timing of the move had been good for her parents too. Ella’s older brother, Andy, had been deployed right around that same time. Ella and Dove had arrived just a few weeks after he left.

Unfortunately, she had been a little too late to save Dad’s back.

He’d always had troubles, and he’d been foolishly trying to double his workload to make up for Andy being away.

In those few weeks, Dad managed to do enough damage to his lower back that the doctor said he shouldn’t do physical labor at all anymore.

Which meant that Ella and her mom took care of pretty much everything now.

There had been a steep learning curve in the beginning.

After all, Ella had been away, and Mom was a retired schoolteacher who had never really worked the farm.

But Dad was there to advise, so they’d hired some help and applied themselves fiercely.

Four years later, they seemed to have a good routine going on their little sweet potato and green bean farm.

Even so, Ella did lose a little time to worry as she tried to get to sleep each night. Mom was getting older too. She probably shouldn’t be pushing herself much longer. But Ella just didn’t have the physical strength to do on her own what her father had done all his adult life.

If Andy were here, he could run this thing in his sleep.

But Andy never made it home. It was still hard to believe that she would never hear his gentle laughter or be able to ask her big brother for advice again.

Losing her husband and her brother in the span of just a few years made her heart want to crack open whenever she thought about it.

Then don’t think about it. Think about what you do have instead.

If Ella was counting blessings, she had plenty—a wonderful daughter, a safe and comfortable home, a mom she loved working with, and a dad who wanted nothing more than to take care of them all, in any way he could.

After being forcibly retired from physical labor on the farm, Dad had turned his attention to the kitchen.

The bread making the house smell so good right now was just the everyday stuff he made for toast and sandwiches.

Tomorrow morning, he would rustle up a nice big breakfast, like always.

He told them that if they were going to work like farm hands, then they needed to eat like them.

When she first arrived home, Ella had begged her dad to sleep in and enjoy some rest after a lifetime of hard work.

But she was pretty sure his internal rooster had him awake in the wee hours anyway, and she sensed that he was glad to have something to do.

Everyone should take pride in their work, he used to tell little Ella and Andy when they were kids.

Now she saw that philosophy playing out every morning in pans of biscuits in thick sausage gravy, or delicate slices of apples and strawberries fanned across mountains of French toast.

Life can be so good, she reminded herself, brushing the top of Dove’s head with her lips when the chapter was done.

“One more?” Dove asked eagerly.

“No, no,” Ella laughed. “We have to make it last. Go on up and get ready for bed, and call me when you’re ready to be tucked in.”

Dove formed her lower lip into an adorable pout, but slipped out of her mother’s lap without arguing.

She was a well-mannered little girl and Ella tried to just be grateful for it and not worry too much that the child was being good because she didn’t want to cause upset in a family that she sensed was still in mourning.

Ella did her best to put on a cheerful face each day and apply herself to her work and her life with the optimism that used to fill her chest so easily. But some days it was harder than others, and she worried that her sensitive daughter took it all in.

“It’s going to be Thanksgiving soon,” Dove said as she stopped at the stair landing and turned back to Ella with a big smile. “We’re going to help Grandpa cook.”

“We sure are,” Ella said, feeling deep relief that at least for now, Dove wasn’t worrying.

“I’ll be grateful for it,” her dad said. “I’ve got big plans for this year. Can you help me decide which recipes to try out, Dove?”

Dove’s face lit up and she nodded up and down enthusiastically.

“I’m gonna hold you to it, young lady,” he said, winking. “Go on and get some rest.”

Dove darted up the stairs and her grandfather chuckled.

“She loves to help,” he said approvingly.

“She’s a good girl,” Mom agreed, nodding. “And smart as a whip. You’re doing such a great job with her, Ella.”

“We all are,” Ella said honestly.

She would never stop being grateful that her parents had decided to hold onto the farm that kept a roof over all their heads instead of selling and running off to some warm place for the retirement they had probably been dreaming of.

And they had both had a big part in Dove’s upbringing over the last few years.

“So, what’s on the docket for tomorrow?” Dad asked.

Even though he couldn’t do the physical stuff, Dad still kept up with all the ins and outs of the business. Ella and her mom talked him through all their accomplishments for the day and sketched out what they planned to do tomorrow.

Dad nodded and tugged at his short beard.

“Yep,” he said when they were finished. “All of that is exactly what I would do. We’re having a great year.”

“Really?” Ella couldn’t help asking. “You wouldn’t do one thing differently?”

“Not this time, peanut,” he said. “You and your mother know what you’re doing. I’m just enjoying the ride.”

“Mama, I’m ready,” Dove called down the stairs.

Ella highly doubted that her dad didn’t have at least a bit of advice. Mom would tease any suggestions out of him. But it was nice to hear that he thought they were doing well overall.

Though four years was a long time in some ways, Ella was already realizing that no two years on the farm would ever be the same. Dad’s decades of experience would always be valuable. He saw patterns that she didn’t, and he knew the quirks of all their suppliers and buyers too.

Ella headed up the stairs, avoiding the creaky one without even thinking about it, and made her way down the hall.

Dove was staying in Ella’s childhood room, and it made her smile to see her own little girl in a flannel nightgown with a long braid, standing on the blue and gray rag rug, just the way Ella once had.

“Did you brush your teeth?” Ella asked.

Dove nodded.

“Did you lay out your clothes for tomorrow?” Ella asked.

Dove pointed to the jeans and pretty red sweater carefully arranged on the chair.

“Great job,” Ella told her. “In you go.”

Dove crawled into bed and Ella pulled the thick quilts up over her daughter’s small form.

The farmhouse still had its original wavy glass windows, and drafts always found their way through the cracks.

This bedding had been made by the hands of generations of Bennett women, and Ella liked to think that her grandmother and great-grandmother were still watching over the family in a way, keeping them warm on cold fall nights like this one.

“Do you think we’ll make more than one kind of pie on Thanksgiving?” Dove asked sleepily as Ella brushed the flyaway strands of hair from her forehead and bent to kiss her cheek.

“I’m sure of it,” Ella told her. “Grandpa loves apple crumble, and Grandma and I love pumpkin.”

“Do you think we might have three kinds?” Dove asked.

“I guess we can ask your grandpa what he thinks,” Ella said, trying to hide her smile. “Did you have a certain kind in mind?”

“No,” Dove said dreamily. “I just thought it would be nice to have three pies.”

“Well, you think about what kind of pie you want to try out while you’re going to sleep,” Ella told her fondly. “And you can tell me all about it in the morning.”

“I’ll think about it after I say a little prayer for Daddy and Uncle Andy,” Dove said firmly.

“Yes, after that,” Ella agreed, her heart tugging at her daughter’s fierce loyalty to the two men she probably couldn’t even remember.

Dove closed her eyes and Ella slipped out of the room, reminding herself once more of all that they had to be grateful for.

She had just made it back to the sofa and pulled out a book of her own to read when there was a knock on the door.

“That’ll be Bill Haddington returning my paint sprayer,” Dad said. “Come on in, Bill.”

Mom shook her head at him as she scooped up her knitting and got up to open the door herself.

But it swung open before she got the chance, and for a moment they all froze. The figure of a big man in fatigues with a tight haircut carrying a huge duffel bag stood in the entry, silhouetted by the porch light.

For one wild instant, Ella thought she was seeing her brother, coming home from the Army. Of course that was impossible, but something about this man was vaguely familiar, even though she was sure they’d never met.

“You’re not Bill Haddington,” Dad said.

“No, sir,” the man replied in a deep, rusty voice as he stepped inside and closed the door behind him. “I’m Dalton Tyler, and I’m here because I made a promise to your son.”