Читать книгу A Western Christmas - Louise M. Gouge - Страница 15

Chapter Five

Caleb stepped into the Wainwrights’ living room and took in all the Christmas decorations. A sense of homecoming slipped through him, calming his soul, reminding him of the kind of home he wanted to provide for his family, not only at Christmastime but all year long.

Standing here, looking at the festive living room, he tried to recall the last time he’d been in this house. It had to be before he’d married Lizzie. Not much had changed in the years during his absence.

The furniture, positioned in the same places, still looked comfortable and inviting. If he closed his eyes, he would still be able to navigate around the overstuffed sofa, the brocade-covered chairs, the piano and various tables. He could walk to the wallpaper and run his fingers along the swirling floral pattern.

He’d spent many happy days in this house, the family treating him as if he was just another Wainwright son.

Guilt clogged the breath in his lungs.

He should have kept in closer contact with Reverend Wainwright. The man had lost his wife to illness, his son to prison and then his daughter to a job in Colorado Springs.

As if his thoughts could conjure up the man himself, the reverend came up behind Caleb and clapped a hand on his shoulder. “I can’t tell you how happy I am you accepted my invitation. It’s been too long since you were in this home.”

“I’m sorry for that, Reverend.”

“Don’t be.” The man’s eyes held nothing but acceptance. “You’re in a busy season of life, still grieving your wife and raising five-year-old daughters on your own.”

“I’m not completely on my own,” he countered. “Your future wife has been a godsend these past ten months, keeping my house in order and caring for the girls.”

“My Betsy is a generous woman.”

Too generous, he knew. She had enough of her own concerns with her nephew and dying sister, yet she still managed to help out Caleb and his tiny family.

He really needed to find a wife, sooner rather than later. After the chaos Lizzie had brought into their home, after the long absences, the not knowing how long she would be gone, or if she would ever return, Caleb was determined to restore order in his home. His daughters deserved stability. They deserved a carefully controlled, ordered life.

There could be no more unnecessary upheaval in their lives.

As if reading his thoughts, Reverend Wainwright addressed the situation directly. “I hear you’ve enlisted Mrs. Jenson in your search for a bride.”

Caleb resisted the impulse to correct the other man. He wasn’t looking for a bride, but rather a mother for the girls.

To say as much would be splitting hairs. The important point was that the owner of the local boardinghouse was on the hunt for a suitable woman for Caleb to marry. “Mrs. Jenson seems confident she’ll have success soon.”

The woman knew his parameters, knew he only wanted a marriage of convenience.

Would she find him a wife in time for Christmas?

The holiday was three weeks away and Betsy was marrying Reverend Wainwright on New Year’s Eve. Even without the concerns with her sister, Caleb would soon be without help.

“Betsy and I have discussed your situation and we’ve decided she’ll continue working for you until you can find a suitable bride.”

Caleb blinked at the other man, humbled by the offer. Once she married Jedidiah Wainwright, Betsy would take on the role of a pastor’s wife, which would require all sorts of additional tasks besides simply running his home. She would visit the sick, as well as deliver aid to the poor and less fortunate.

No matter how desperate his situation, Caleb couldn’t take away from others in far greater need than himself. “If Mrs. Jenson doesn’t have success soon, I’ll figure something else out.”

Laughter came from his left. Out of the corner of his eye, Caleb watched Ellie direct his daughters to a spot on the rug, a ball and jacks in her hand.

“The offer stands, son.”

Son. The term washed over him like a warm summer rain. Caleb had done nothing to deserve this man’s kindness. The words from Reverend Wainwright’s sermon came back to him now. Grace is a gift undeserved and unearned, freely given to us by our Heavenly Father.

Caleb thought of his earthly father. Harold Voss hadn’t been a bad man, just a weak one, so swallowed up with grief after his wife’s death he’d had no problem abandoning his five sons to fend for themselves.

But Caleb hadn’t been completely alone. This man standing before him now had modeled the Heavenly Father’s love in too many ways to count.

The back of Caleb’s eyes burned and his throat closed up tight, too tight to push words past his lips. He thought of Brody Driscoll, of the difficult days ahead. At the boy’s age Caleb had his brothers, and Everett, and the Wainwrights.

Who did Brody have?

He had his aunt Betsy. But the boy needed a father figure, a masculine role model.

The thought had barely materialized when Betsy called her future husband into the kitchen to help her with moving chairs to the table.

Caleb attempted to join the reverend, but he shook him off with a smile. “I’ve got it covered. Go spend time with your daughters.”

“Thank you, Reverend, I believe I will.”

He found the girls still playing jacks with Ellie. He couldn’t take his eyes off her. A sunbeam streamed through the window, backlighting her in golden splendor. Her pale blue eyes were thickly lashed and shimmered with good humor. She was as lovely and as bright as the sun behind her, her skin as lustrous as a pearl.

Her pink lips parted in a smile and his mind emptied of everything but her. This is Ellie, he reminded himself. He knew he was in deep trouble the moment she looked in his direction.

A profound ache spread from his heart and traveled up into his throat. Unable to resist her, he entered the room. The click of his heels on the hardwood floor was as familiar as the fixtures on the wall. The look and smell of Christmas was all around him.

“I love your tree, Miss Ellie,” Hannah remarked in a wistful tone.

“We don’t have one in our house,” Grace added, looking—and sounding—as forlorn as Caleb had ever witnessed.

Regret swirled in his stomach. He’d been so focused on finding his daughters a mother he’d let the smaller, equally meaningful matters slip away from him. Just because he didn’t have a wife to provide the girls with a stable home didn’t mean he couldn’t get them a Christmas tree.

“There’s a simple solution,” he said, stepping fully into the room, into the moment. “I’ll cut us down a tree of our own this week.”

“Oh, Papa, do you really mean it?” The restrained joy in Grace’s eyes was mirrored in Hannah’s gaze.

Their genuine surprise came as somewhat of a blow. “I absolutely mean it.”

The girls cheered, then hopped to their feet and rushed to him. He trapped them against his chest.

“My dear sweet girls,” he said in a low, choked voice.

How he loved them.

“You’re the best, Papa,” Grace said into his shirt.

“The very, very best,” Hannah agreed.

Overcome with emotion, he leaned down and buried his face in their baby-fine hair that smelled of the lilac soap he’d bought at the mercantile last week.

He felt his chest tighten with unspeakable love so strong it nearly brought him to his knees. A soft gasp came from Ellie. On impulse, he glanced over at her. Her eyes swam with some unreadable emotion. The look made him feel somehow taller, maybe even heroic.

“If you need help decorating your tree,” she said, shifting to a standing position, “I’d love to offer my assistance.”

The girls stepped out of his arms and proceeded to shower their enthusiasm onto Ellie.

Caleb caught what looked like a vulnerable expression on her face. Was it a look of longing, he wondered, or was it a trick of the light?

Betsy called them all to the table. There was a festive feel to the meal. Heaping bowls of whipped potatoes, corn and preserves were passed around, while varied conversations collided over one another.

Why had he avoided this home?

Why had he denied his daughters the taste of normalcy and stability he himself had found with this family?

The meal went by in a blur.

Once they finished eating and Betsy had set aside two plates of food for her sister and nephew, the girls asked if they could sing their song. Betsy guided the twins toward the piano in the living room.

Reverend Wainwright joined them.

Caleb stood beside Ellie in the doorway and watched his daughters entertain the older couple. A silence—comfortable as only one between longtime friends could be—settled over them.

Now, he told himself, make your offer now.

“Can we talk?” He waited for her to swing her gaze to his to finish the rest of his request. “In private?”

The question seemed to render her momentarily speechless. She rallied a second later. “Yes, of course. Why don’t we take a short walk?”

“Splendid idea.”

* * *

Huddled inside her coat, Ellie fell into step beside Caleb. They walked in companionable silence for several blocks then retraced their steps at a slower pace. Not quite sure what had motivated his request to speak with her alone, she slid a covert glance his way from beneath lowered lashes.

He appeared lost in thought, and she wondered at that, wondered what was on his mind. But then she feared she knew.

“Is this about the Christmas tree?” she blurted out. “Did I overstep by offering to decorate it with you and the girls?”

“You didn’t overstep.” He drew to a halt and looked at her with an easy smile, prompting her stomach to twist.

She opened her mouth but shut it when she realized he wasn’t through speaking. “In fact, I want to thank you for the offer. The children have never had a Christmas tree, so I’m pleased they’re going to get one this year.”

No Christmas tree? Ever? “But surely your wife—” She cut off the rest of the words. “Never mind, I shouldn’t have brought up Lizzie.”

But now that she had, she realized this would be Caleb’s first Christmas without his wife, and his daughters’ first Christmas without their mother.

“In answer to your unspoken question, no, Lizzie didn’t decorate for Christmas.” Something cheerless came and went in his eyes. “Holidays made her melancholy.”

Ellie sensed there was more to the story, but she didn’t think now was the time to pry. “I’m sorry, Caleb, for you and the girls.”

“Thank you.” He began walking again. She trotted to catch up then slowed her pace to match his.

The tension on his face told her he needed to unburden himself about something. Ellie reminded herself that above all else she was this man’s friend. Friends offered one another support, no judgment, no condemnation, no inquisitions.

“Christmas isn’t solely about the decorations,” she began. “It’s about being with family and...”

She let her words trail off, regretting opening her mouth, fearing he would misunderstand what she’d meant to say.

“I don’t disagree, Ellie. Family is everything. But the girls have never experienced a real Christmas with all the trappings. I want that for them.”

Those poor children.

This poor man.

No wonder Caleb wanted to remarry so quickly after his wife’s death. “At least you have Betsy,” Ellie offered in a small voice. “She’ll make your house a home this Christmas.”

“I’m sure she will.” His response lacked enthusiasm.

In that moment, Ellie felt such longing. I want to be the woman to give the Voss family a happy Christmas, all three of them.

What was stopping her?

Nothing. Absolutely nothing was holding her back, except her own fears. And her selfish worry over what it would do to her if she allowed herself to get too close to this man and his children.

Well, this wasn’t about her. This was about a family in need of something she had the ability and desire to give.

Ellie remembered what it was like to lose a mother, to experience that first holiday with the hole in the home left after her death.

“I have a proposal,” she said when they arrived back at her house.

“I was going to say the same.”

They shared a smile and for that brief moment a spark of hope kindled to life deep within her.

“You first,” he said. “Tell me what’s on your mind.”

“Well. I was thinking.” She paused at the foot of the porch, gathering her thoughts. “Maybe I could—”

The sound of pounding feet up the walk cut her off. She looked over her shoulder. “Brody? What’s wrong, what’s happened?”

Before the words left her mouth, Caleb was spinning around to face the boy.

“It’s my mama.” He skidded to a stop, slapped his hands on his knees and sucked in several gulping breaths of air. “She fell down and hit her head. There was lots of blood, but she made me promise not to get Doc. I helped her clean up as best I could. When she fell asleep I came here. Aunt Betsy is the only one who can convince Mama to let Doc inside the house.”

“I’ll fetch your aunt for you.” Ellie rushed inside the house.

After a brief explanation, Betsy and Ellie’s father grabbed their coats and hurried outside.

Deciding the others accompanying Brody was enough, Ellie stayed behind with Caleb’s daughters. She did her best to keep Hannah and Grace occupied with a story. Their eyes drooped, a clear indication the excitement of the day was catching up with them.

As Ellie directed them to join her on the couch, she lifted up a silent prayer for Brody and his mother. Lord, heal Clara Driscoll, bring her peace and freedom from pain, and give Brody the courage he’s going to need in the coming days.

When the girls went from tired to cranky and started arguing over who got to hold the book, Ellie settled them on each end. Covering them with a blanket, she began singing a favorite lullaby from her childhood.

Their eyes shut almost immediately. Just about the time their breathing evened out, Caleb reentered the house.

One look at his face and Ellie knew Brody’s mother was in a bad way. She cocked her head toward the sleeping children, then motioned for Caleb to follow her into the dining room.

As soon as the swinging door shut behind them, Ellie broke her silence. “How is Brody’s mother?”

“Better than we feared. Doc didn’t appear too concerned over her injury.”

“Good.” She breathed a sigh of relief. “That’s really good news.”

“I left her with your father and her sister.” Shadows swirled in Caleb’s gaze, dark and worried. Wanting to offer comfort where she could, Ellie touched his arm.

He blessed her with a slight smile.

As a thought occurred to her, she slowly pulled her hand away. “Betsy will want to spend as much time with her sister as possible, day and night.”

“Yes.” Caleb rubbed a hand over his eyes. “As she should.”

“That leaves you in a bind.”

He nodded. A pensive look shaded his face, but he said nothing more.

“I’ll watch the children for you.” The offer came out of her mouth as natural as a breath.

Caleb eyed her speculatively. “Actually, I had a more permanent solution in mind.”

Her heartbeat slammed against her ribs. Hope rose. She shoved it back with a hard swallow. This wasn’t about her. It wasn’t the realization of a dream, or a fairy tale. It was real life and real people in need. A woman was dying, a fractured family in pain.

“You’re a good influence on my daughters, Ellie. I trust you with them completely.”

Ellie sought to still the pounding of her heart. There was no reason to feel alarm. So she’d caught Caleb watching her throughout the day, his brows knit together as if working out a puzzle, or sorting through the particulars of a plan.

“You’re a steady woman, smart and capable. Easygoing, and not prone to outbursts or unnecessary drama.”

Listening to Caleb describe her with such bland words, Ellie didn’t know whether to be flattered or insulted. Steady, capable, not prone to outbursts. Was she truly that boring?

That forgettable?

Did he think her lacking in the finer, feminine qualities of kindness, gentleness and, well, prettiness?

“We’ve known each other for years.” He touched her cheek with such tenderness she thought she might cry. “I’ve always liked you, Ellie.”

“I’ve always liked you, too, Caleb.”

A broad range of memories swept across her mind, dragging her back to childhood when this man had been a boy, and she a young girl with stars in her eyes. He’d championed her on more than one occasion, such as the time when Everett had stuck her braid in an inkwell. It was Caleb who’d helped her wash out the black goo.

Then, on the worst day of her life, when her mother had died, Caleb had been by Ellie’s side. He’d let her cry on his shoulder, had tenderly dried her cheeks with the pads of his thumbs.

“...and that, Ellie, is why I’m asking you to marry me.”

What? Had she heard him correctly? Had he just asked her to marry him, while she’d been skipping down memory lane?

Surely she’d misunderstood.

Untangling herself from the past, she forced herself to focus, to recall the precise words he’d uttered. One line came back to her. You’ll make the girls a good mother.

There’d been no mention of love.

“Well?” He touched her arm, looked at her expectantly. “What do you say?”

“Could...could you repeat the question?”

He smiled. “Ellie Wainwright,” he said in a low, soft, affectionate tone. “Will you marry me?”