A Christmas Match

Rugged logger Daniel Braynard meets none of Ellen Hall’s husband requirements. Groomed for a prestigious marriage, she already has a choice between two wealthy suitors. She plans to make her decision by Christmas while visiting her hometown. But when tasked with creating the town’s decorations, she and Daniel are forced to work together. And her former childhood rescuer has matured into a man she can no longer ignore.

Daniel hardly recognizes the ambitious socialite Ellen has become. Somewhere beneath her airs is the spirited, warmhearted friend he has never forgotten. As Christmas nears, will the chill between them thaw to reveal the gift of a sweet love that was meant to be?

Pinewood Weddings: A village where faith and love turn into happy-ever-after

“Hey, Musquash. When did you come back to town?”

“Daniel!”

Ellen Hall spun to face him, her blue eyes brilliant with azure sparks. His gut tensed. He always forgot, between her rare visits home to Pinewood, how beautiful she was. He held his place as she walked toward him, the fabric of her long skirts swishing, small bits of the clinging snow falling off her swaying cloak to dot the plank floor.

“I’ve told you not to call me that, Daniel.” Her eyes flashed, high spots of color crept into her cheeks. “We’re no longer children, lest you’ve forgotten.”

As if that were possible. He looked away from her. “I remember. Though why you’d prefer to be called Muskrat makes no sense to me.”

“Don’t be boorish!” She sniffed and slanted a look up at him from beneath the fur-trimmed brim of her bonnet. “Would it destroy you to call me Ellen?”

Likely so, the way his heart jolted at that look—phony as it was.

DOROTHY CLARK

Critically acclaimed, award-winning author Dorothy Clark lives in rural New York, in a home she designed and helped her husband build (she swings a mean hammer!) with the able assistance of their three children. When she is not writing, she and her husband enjoy traveling throughout the United States, doing research and gaining inspiration for future books. Dorothy believes in God, love, family and happy endings, which explains why she feels so at home writing stories for Love Inspired Books. Dorothy enjoys hearing from her readers and may be contacted at dorothyjclark@hotmail.com.

A Season of the Heart

Dorothy Clark

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For where your treasure is,

there will your heart be also.

—Matthew 6:21

This book is dedicated with deep appreciation to my editor, Shana Asaro. I am truly blessed to have such a skilled, talented and delightful editor to work with. Thank you, Shana, for helping me make my books the best they can be.

And, once again, thank you, Sam. Paltry words, but rife with gratitude.

Commit thy works unto the Lord, and thy thoughts shall be established.

—Proverbs 16:3

Your Word is truth. Thank You, Jesus. To You be the glory.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

About the Author

Title Page

Bible Verse

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Epilogue

Dear Reader

Questions for Discussion

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

December, 1841 Pinewood Village, New York

“Daniel Braynard, what brings you to town in this snowstorm?”

Daniel looped the reins over the hitching post, squinted up through the thick fall of snow and smiled. “Your husband’s skills, Mrs. Dibble.” He stepped forward and offered his hand to the older woman descending the steps from the wood walkway that ran in front of the block of stores. “He’s doing some repair work on one of the stoves from camp. How have you been keeping?”

“I’m well. And busy helping Willa with Christmas preparations. Though I tend to hold the baby more than work. She’s such a sweet little mite.”

“She’s little, all right. Not much bigger than my hand.” He gave the proud grandmother a sheepish grin. “Truth is...she’s sort of scary to hold.”

“She won’t break, Daniel.”

“That’s what Willa said when she handed her to me.” His grin widened. “Trouble was, my big, clumsy hands didn’t believe it.”

Helen Dibble laughed, gripped the hood of her green wool cape against a sudden gust of wind and stepped toward the road. “That tiny baby takes a lot of time and care, and with all Willa has taken upon herself as the pastor’s wife—Christmas decorations for the church and all—I’m afraid it will be too much for her strength. And Matthew is too busy making calls on his sick parishioners to give her a hand. The grippe is bad this year.” She pinned him with a glance. “Mayhap Willa could put your strong back and those big, clumsy hands of yours to good use.”

That was not a suggestion. He grinned at the woman who had been like a second mother to him all his life, grabbed the empty burlap bag off the seat of the pung and tossed it over his shoulder. “I’ll be glad to help any way I can. I’ve no time to go there today, but I’ll stop by the parsonage next time I’m in town. Mind that slick spot.” The brown paper package in her hand crackled as he took her elbow and guided her around the patch of ice in the frozen rut. He helped her across Main Street, then hurried back toward Cargrave’s Mercantile.

The young boy shoveling the snow from in front of the stores stepped aside to let him pass.

“Looks like you’re fighting a losing battle there, Jasper.”

“Yes, sir, Mr. Braynard.” The boy blinked flakes from his eyelashes and gave him a gap-toothed grin. “It’s fallin’ faster than I can scoop it for sure. I get down to the end of the walkway, turn around and come back and start all over again.”

“Well, all that shoveling will make you good and strong.” He thumped the youngster’s shoulder, then slanted a look up at the large flakes streaming from the sky and frowned. If it started blowing and drifting, it would be hard going on the way back to camp.

He hurried to Cargrave’s Mercantile, stomped his boots in the store’s recessed entrance and shoved open the door. The bell overhead jangled a welcome. The elderly men hunched over a checkerboard in front of the woodstove at the back of the store looked his way.

“Hey, Daniel. Game’s almost over. You got time to play the winner?”

“You know you and Mr. Grant are too good for me, Mr. Fabrizio. I’d only lose.” He grinned at the men, yanked off the burlap bag he’d slung over his shoulder and tossed it onto the counter. The heat from the stove stung his cold hands and made his cheeks prickle.

“Must be some dire needs at camp to bring you to town in this weather.” Allan Cargrave pulled the bag toward him.

“Dire is right. One of the woodstoves needed repaired—” he pulled a list from his pocket and handed the paper to the proprietor “—the molasses is running low, the men’s chew is about gone and I’ll find the cook hanging by his toes from the ceiling if I don’t get back with some coffee before suppertime—among other things.”

He joined in the general chuckle, grabbed two shovels and an ax from the tools leaning against the back wall and carried them over to the long counter.

Allan Cargrave shoved four five-pound sacks of Old Java coffee beans into the bag and reached for the boxes of cut plug tobacco. “Looks like this cold snap has been hard on your tools.”

“It’s not the weather. We need more tools for the hicks.”

“Townsend’s lumber camps are still hiring?”

He nodded at Emil Grant and rubbed his cold hands together. “We’re having a hard time downing enough timber to hold against the spring rafting and keep the sawmill satisfied since Manning bought that clapboard machine and Cole—”

The bell jangled. He blew on his hands, glanced toward the door and eyed the woman who entered. The fur that traced the brim of her snow-covered blue wool bonnet hid her face. More fur formed a collar and edged the elbow-length shoulder cape of the blue wool cloak that fell to within a few inches of the hem of her dress. A fur muff enfolded her hands. Fancy. The hunter in him took a closer look at the fur. Rabbit.

He turned his attention to the basket of leather gloves on the counter. His had split into useless pieces yesterday. He pulled out a couple pair that looked as if they might fit, tried one pair on and flexed his fingers, then stole another look at the woman. Must be one of the guests at the Sheffield House. No Pinewood woman wore anything as fancy as that gear. Not even Callie, though she surely could now that she’d married Ezra Ryder in spite of all his money. His lips slanted into a grin. Callie had sure led Ezra a merry chase, refusing—

“Good morning, madam. How may I help you?”

Allan Cargrave’s voice drew him back to his task. He grabbed the top keg of molasses from the stack on the floor at the end of the counter.

“Good morning, Mr. Cargrave. I’ve come to see if there’s any mail for Mother. And I’m not a madam—yet.”

Ellen. The unexpected sound of her soft voice froze him with the keg hoisted halfway to his shoulder.

“My apologies, Miss Ellen. I didn’t recognize you.”

“Nor did I.” He settled the keg in place and turned. “Hey, Musquash. When did you come back to town?”

“Daniel!”

Ellen Hall spun to face him, her blue eyes brilliant with azure sparks. His gut clenched. The memory of her beauty dimmed between her rare visits home to Pinewood. He held his place as she walked toward him, the fabric of her long skirts swishing, small bits of the clinging snow falling off her swaying cloak to dot the plank floor.

“I’ve told you not to call me that, Daniel.” Her eyes flashed; high spots of color crept into her cheeks. “We’re no longer children, lest you’ve forgotten.”

As if that were possible. He adjusted the position of the keg and looked away from her. “I remember. Though why you’d prefer to be called Muskrat makes no sense to me.”

“Don’t be boorish!” She sniffed and slanted a look up at him from beneath the fur-trimmed brim of her bonnet. “Would it destroy you to call me Ellen?”

Likely so, the way his heart jolted at that look—phony as it was. Well, what of it? He was a man now, not a twelve-year-old boy with a first crush. He covered his agitation with a grin. “Is that what you have all your rich beaux in Buffalo call you?”

“Of course not!”

He reached down to the counter and grasped the neck of the filled burlap bag. “I must say, all those society doings in the big city agree with you.” He lifted his gaze back to her face and strengthened the teasing note in his voice. “You’re looking well...lots of color in your cheeks and all.”

The spots of red spread across her cheekbones. The delicate nostrils on her narrow nose flared. “I don’t know why I bother to talk to you, Daniel Braynard!” She tossed her head and turned toward the wall of glass mailboxes.

“For old times’ sake, I guess.” He kept his tone light, pasted a grin on his face. “It’s for sure not because I compare favorably with your rich new society beaux.”

“True indeed. My society friends have manners.” She gave a huff, glanced over her shoulder at him. “They would never think of calling me by such names.”

He chuckled, shoved the end of the burlap bag into his hand balancing the keg, then gathered the handles of the tools into his free hand. He’d had enough of this conversation. The words stung like salt rubbed into an old wound.

She whirled and glared up at him. “And they would not laugh at me. They are gentlemen. And they are devoted to me.”

The leather of the new gloves strained across his tightened knuckles. He relaxed his grip on the bag and the tools and lifted his lips into another slow grin. “Now, Musquash, don’t go all niminy-piminy on me. We go back too far for that. As for manners...” He leaned over and put his mouth close to the blue wool covering her ear so she alone would hear him. “I’ve never told anyone why I call you Musquash. How devoted would your fine gentlemen friends be if they’d seen you looking like a drowned muskrat?”

A sound, somewhere between a gasp and a growl, escaped her. He jerked his head up and barely missed getting his jaw clipped by the top of her head as she spun about and stormed to the waist-high shelf in the mailbox wall.

“Mother’s mail please, Mr. Hubble.”

“There’s nothing today, Miss Ellen. That new Godey’s Lady’s Magazine your mama’s waiting on didn’t come in yet.”

“Very well. I’ll come back tomorrow. Good day.” She gave a stiff little nod in the direction of the counter, turned and swept to the door. The bells jangled, then fell silent.

“Miss Ellen, so beautiful she is. Ahh, to be young again...” Ilari Fabrizio’s deep, heavily accented voice sighed through the store.

There was a loud snort. A checker brushed across the wood game board. “Forget the dreaming and take your turn, Romeo.”

Good advice, Mr. Grant. There’s no one in this town good enough for Ellen. Not anymore. Daniel ducked his head and stole a look through the window. Ellen’s fur-adorned blue cloak and bonnet blurred and disappeared into the rapidly falling snow. Another image to join the others he’d stored up through the years. A fitting one—Ellen walking away. He took a firmer grip on the tools and headed for the door.

Allan Cargrave came from behind the counter and reached to open the door. “You two scrap with each other the same as when you were growing up, Daniel. I guess some things don’t change.”

“I guess.” He braced the keg on his shoulder and stepped outside. “Put the gloves on my account.”

He ducked his head against a rising wind and headed for the pung. The new snow was already higher than his ankles. He frowned, stashed his burden in the back of the long box, freed the reins and turned the horse to face the road. Allan Cargrave was wrong. Everything changed with time. Ellen certainly had. And so had their old friendship and the childhood crush he’d once had for her. He didn’t even like the woman she’d become.

* * *

Ellen turned into the shoveled walk that led to the parsonage, her boots crunching the newly fallen snow, her dragging hems leaving a wide swath behind her. A gust of wind flapped the front edges of her cloak and sneaked beneath the warm wool. She shivered and hurried to the porch. How she hated winter! Of course, the cold did give her a chance to wear her cape and bonnet, and the fur around her face was very flattering. Harold Lodge and Earl Cuthbert had both been lavish in their compliments of her beauty in the new garments. As had others.

The thought tugged her lips into a smile. She withdrew her gloved hand from her muff, fluffed the fur brushing against her cheeks and knocked. Daniel, of course, hadn’t even noticed. Her smile faded.

The door opened a crack. She stared at the blank space, slid her gaze downward. A pair of brown eyes peered up at her from beneath a mop of blond curls. “Oh. Good morning, Joshua. Is—” The boy’s head disappeared.

“It’s Miss Ellen, Mama!”

“Ellen?”

There was delight in the muffled reply. She smiled, then sobered at the sight of a furry black muzzle poking through the crack, the black nose twitching. The dog barked, thrust his head and shoulders through the opening and jumped out onto the stoop.

The memory of the snarling dog that had leaped at her out of the woods behind Willa’s home when they were children snapped into her mind. Don’t let him know you’re afraid! The words Daniel had shouted at her that day as he dropped from a tree and rushed between her and the dog held her in place. She stood perfectly still. There was no Daniel to save her from an attack today.

“Don’t let Happy out, Joshua! Take him to your room.” Hurrying footfalls sounded in the hallway.

Joshua leaned out and thumped his dog’s shoulder. “C’mon in the house, Happy!”

The dog rose, shook and leaped back inside. Willa appeared in the doorway. “Ellen! Matthew heard you’d come home last night. I’m sorry about the dog. Come in.”

She looked at Willa’s smile, the welcoming warmth in her friend’s blue-green eyes, and gathered her courage. “I didn’t know the children were home. I’m afraid I’ve come at an inconvenient time, Willa. But I wanted to see you and your baby.” She brushed off the snow as best she could and stepped into the small entrance, watched the boy thunder up the stairs with the dog at his heels and held back a sigh of relief.

“There was no school because of the storm, but I’m glad you came, Ellen. I was hoping to see you today. It’s been months since you were home. My, what a lovely cloak and bonnet!” Willa held out her hands. “Let me hang it on the peg and we’ll go into the sitting room and visit by the fire.”

“That sounds delightful.” She slipped off her gloves and tucked them inside the muff, then removed her cloak and untied her bonnet. “You’re looking well. How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine, Ellen. My confinement went smoothly. Did you have a pleasant trip home?”

“Yes.” She smiled and fluffed her curls, relieved at the change of subject. “Mr. Lodge insisted on accompanying me as far as Dunkirk. Then he sent me on in his enclosed sleigh while he tended to business there. With the wind blocked out, a warmed soapstone under my feet and the fur lap robe covering me, it was a comfortable ride.”

“I heard about the enclosed sleigh. But then, of course, I would.” Willa laughed and led the way to the chairs by the fire. “Tommy Burke and Kurt Finster saw your arrival last night and were very impressed by the odd-looking equipage. They spread the word.”

“I’m sure they did. There’s certainly nothing like Mr. Lodge’s sleigh in Pinewood. Truth be told, there are very few in Buffalo. Of course, Mr. Lodge and Mr. Cuthbert both have one.” She stopped and leaned over the baby sleeping in a cradle beside the hearth. “So this is Miss Mary Elizabeth Calvert.” A smile curved her lips. “She has your auburn hair.”

“Yes, though it curls like Matthew’s.”

The love in Willa’s voice drew her gaze. Her friend’s face was a picture of contentment and happiness. A twinge of envy curled around her heart. She sat and smoothed out her skirts, then fingered the layers of lace that formed a frothy V at her throat, taking comfort in the richness of her gown. She brushed back a curl and gestured toward the settee. “What is all that?”

“Several children are going to speak Scripture verses at church for Christmas and I thought it would be nice if they wore suitable costumes.” Willa gave the cradle a gentle rock and went to stand beside the settee. “I asked for donations of material to make the costumes, and this pile is the result.”

“You’re going to make the costumes?” She lifted her skirt hems higher to warm her feet.

“Yes. Agnes was going to help me sew them, but her aunt took sick and she’s gone to stay with her. Callie would help, of course, but she and Ezra have gone to visit his sister for the holiday—and Sadie has to watch over Grandfather and Grandmother Townsend. All the others I’ve asked have no time.”

Ellen swept her gaze over the narrowed blue-green eyes and slightly pursed lips that Willa always wore when she was considering something. Surely she wasn’t— No. She misunderstood Willa’s intent. No one ever asked her for help. She laughed and stretched her feet out closer to the fire.

“There is something amusing?”

She shook her head and fluffed her curls. “Not really. It was only that, for a moment, I thought you were going to ask me to help you.”

“Would you, Ellen?”

“Would I help you?” She frowned. “Stop teasing, Willa. I get enough of that from Daniel.”

“I’m not teasing.” Willa took a breath, gave her an odd look. “I hate to ask it of you...truly. I know you don’t do such menial tasks, Ellen. But I have the costumes to make...and the church decorations. And our own Christmas to prepare for, as well. It’s our first as a family, and I want it to be wonderful for Joshua and Sally and Matthew. Mother has offered to help, of course, but she tends to hold the baby more than work.”

She stared at Willa, unable to fully believe that she was serious in her request. “Well, I—I’ll give it some thought. I have plans to make for Mr. Lodge’s and Mr. Cuthbert’s visits.”

“Oh, of course. Forgive me, I shouldn’t even have asked.”

A look of disappointment swept over Willa’s face. Guilt smote her. Well, what did Willa expect? She didn’t sew. Still, it was nice to be asked for help, she—

“Who is this Mr. Cuthbert you mentioned, Ellen?” Willa moved back to the fireplace, lifted a piece of split log out of the carrier on the hearth and put it on the fire. “I don’t believe I’ve heard you mention his name before.”

A soft sigh escaped her at the welcome question. She was back on safe ground now. “He’s been paying me court since last August. He approached me at a soiree given by the Halseys, said he was quite taken by my beauty and asked if he might call on me.”

“What of Mr. Lodge? I thought he was your beau?”

“He is.” She glanced at Willa and sat a little straighter. “You needn’t look disapproving. I’ve not given Mr. Lodge my promise. I’m still free to accept another suitor if one takes my fancy, and I find Mr. Cuthbert’s maturity attractive.”

“His maturity?” Willa’s brows rose. She hung the poker she was using on its hook and looked at her. “As in steadfast character or years?”

She lifted her chin. “Both.”

“I see.” Willa’s eyes narrowed on her. “If I remember correctly, Mr. Lodge is six years older than you, Ellen. How ‘mature’ is Mr. Cuthbert?”

“That is not important.” She rose and held her hands out to the fire to avoid meeting that penetrating gaze. Willa was only two years older but she’d always had the ability to make her want to squirm. “Mr. Cuthbert is a man of great distinction and social eminence, and I’m flattered by his attentions.”

“And he is as wealthy as Mr. Lodge.”

Judged and found guilty. The indictment was in Willa’s voice. She squared her shoulders. “Not quite.”

“Ellen! You have true affection for this man?”

She took a breath and turned. “I have admiration for him and his accomplishments. He is a personal friend of the governor and may become the next secretary of state—if the Senate approves Mr. Seward’s appointment of him. And then...who knows how far his abilities may take him? Perhaps even to our nation’s capital.” She smiled, waited for the gasp of disbelief, the look of envy that always accompanied her announcement.

“I see.” Willa’s gaze shifted to the cradle, then came back to rest on her. “And what of love, Ellen?”

The question brought the romantic young-girl dreams she had forsaken rushing back. A frisson of anger slipped through her, stiffened her spine. She should have guessed that would be Willa’s reaction. Willa had been preaching to her about love in marriage ever since she’d wed Matthew Calvert. And Callie was as bad since her marriage to Ezra Ryder. No doubt Sadie would be the same. The fire crackled. Ellen took a breath and turned back to gaze down into the flickering fire. Seeing Daniel again made those romantic dreams all too real. But she was no longer a hero-worshipping child. She was a woman with a purpose. “What about love, Willa? You, of all people, know that love can be fickle.”

“Not true love, Ellen.”

Enough! She would not be belittled because she chose to follow her head instead of her heart. “And how does one know the difference?” She threw a challenging glance over her shoulder. “You and your mother were both deceived. I prefer not to take that chance.” She looked back at the flames devouring the wood, the way poverty turned love into ashes. “Mother told me love is simply an emotion that will trap you in a log cabin with a husband who spends his time trying to earn enough to provide food and shelter for you and the children that come of such a union. She was not interested in that menial sort of life. That’s why she married Father. And she’s never regretted her decision.”

She lifted her chin, turned and faced Willa again. “I’m not interested in that sort of drudgery either, Willa. I mean to have every advantage—and both Mr. Lodge and Mr. Cuthbert can provide them. And both have spoken for my hand. That’s why I’ve come home. I have to decide which man will best serve my plans. As for love—” she gave an eloquent little shrug “—I’m certain a fondness between me and the man I choose to marry will develop over the years. And if not...” She looked at the happiness glowing in Willa’s eyes and caught her breath at a sudden empty feeling inside. Daniel’s crooked grin appeared before her, enticing her. Foolishness. Daniel was nothing but a friend from her childhood. A teamster with nothing to call his own. She blinked the image away and ran her hands over the rich fabric of her gown. “If not...I will have the finest of everything to take its place.”

Chapter Two

“Whoa.” Camp had never looked so good. Daniel draped the reins over the edge of the wood seat, jumped off and trudged to the back of the pung’s low wood box. A quick swipe of his gloved hand cleared the mounded flakes off of the molasses keg and he hoisted it to his shoulder. Bits of clinging snow fell off the keg against his neck, sent a shiver chasing down his back. He ignored the chill and searched for the neck of the burlap bag, took hold and pulled it free.

The pigs milling around the kitchen door waiting for the cook to throw out the leavings from his supper preparations came snorting and grunting, pressing against his legs as they fought for position. “Give over!” He kneed them aside, stomped his way to the log building and gave the door a swift kick.

Irregular footsteps thumped against the puncheons of the kitchen floor. The door was yanked open. “Ain’t ya got a hand?”

“Not an empty one.” He thrust the burlap bag at the scowling cook. “Here are the things you ordered.”

“’Bout time.” The cook folded a meaty fist around the neck of the bag, kicked the door shut and limped his way over to the worktable.

“What are you grumbling about, Smiley? You’re still alive, aren’t you?” He grinned and shrugged the keg of molasses off his shoulder onto a long plank shelf on the wall. Heavy boots thumped against the floor in the other room. “You’d better get the coffee going if you plan to stay that way. The men are coming in.”

“I’m lame, not deaf. I hear ’em.” The cook tugged open the strings on one of the sacks of coffee beans, dumped some in the grinder and turned the crank. The beans popped and crackled, the fragments whispering down the chute into a bowl and releasing their tantalizing fragrance to blend with the smell of the beef stew simmering in the iron pots hanging in the fireplace. Loaves of fresh-baked bread piled on a table by the dining room door added their tangy sourdough aroma.

Daniel tugged the shoulder of his coat back in place, turned and took a deep sniff. “Smells good in here, Smiley. Feels good, too. It’s turning nasty outside. The temperature’s dropping fast.”

“Then, was I you, I’d stop jawing and get some heat in the dining room.”

“My exact intentions.” He grinned and clapped the scowling cook on the shoulder, strode by the table loaded with bread and into the dining room. “Irish, come help me carry the woodstove in from the pung.”

A roar of approval rose from the snow-covered loggers stomping in from outside to find a place on the plank benches alongside the sawbuck tables.

“Ja. Und be quick about it, Irish!” A ham-sized fist landed on the thin Irishman’s shoulder as he turned back toward the door. “Get those jigging feet moving so ve can have some heat in here, ja? It’s bad enough ve freeze—”

“Thump me again, Hans, an’ you’ll not be warmin’ yourself by any fire.” Irish scowled and pulled his coat collar up around his neck. “’Tis eatin’ an’ sleepin’ in a snowbank you’ll be doin’.”

The stocky German wobbled his knees and shook his arms, pretending to quake in his boots. A burst of laughter filled the room.

“An’ that—” Irish yanked the rolled brim of Hans’s hat down over the German’s face “—will get you the joy of helpin’ me fetch in an’ set up the stove, while Danny-boy-o tends to his horses.”

The crowd of laughing loggers parted, making a pathway to the door. Irish gave Hans a friendly shove and followed him outside.

Daniel grinned at their antics and stepped back into the kitchen. “Save me some supper, Smiley. I’ll be back when I’ve stabled Big Girl.”

“I ain’t yer servant. Come before the victuals are gone, or feel yer stomach pressing against yer backbone all night.” The cook grabbed a pair of gloves off the table and waved them in his direction. “What am I supposed to do with these—add ’em to the stew?”

“It might improve it some.” He laughed at the cook’s growl, took the leather gloves from his meaty hand and stuffed them into his jacket pocket. “Guess those got tossed in the bag by mistake. I’ll take them back next time I go to town.” He tugged his collar tight around his neck and headed for the door. “Don’t forget to save me some supper—a crust of bread will do. As long as it’s followed by some of that dried apple pie I see on the warming shelf.” He yanked open the door and hurried to the pung to unhitch. There didn’t look to be an abundance of those pies, and Smiley was only one man against all those hungry loggers.

* * *

“C’mon, Big Girl, that’s enough.” Daniel tugged on the reins and the mare obligingly lifted her muzzle from the creek and followed him to the stable. Soft whickers from her barn mates greeted them. The Belgian’s hoofs thudded against the puncheons, the vibrations quivering beneath his feet. He opened the stall door and led the mare inside, slipped her bridle off and stroked the white race that flowed from her poll to her muzzle. “Good job, pulling the pung through those deep drifts, Big Girl.” The Belgian lowered her head and nudged him in the chest.

“So you want food instead of praise, huh? All right, don’t push. I’ll get out of your way.” He stepped aside, and the chestnut stretched out her thick neck and grabbed a mouthful of the clean hay in the rack. He patted her shoulder, hung the bridle on a peg and grabbed a grooming cloth. The mare’s contented munching accompanied his long sweeping strokes as he dried her huge body.

Being a teamster wasn’t a bad life. He worked hard hauling logs and caring for the horses—not as hard as when he’d been a logger, of course. Still, he was tired enough at day’s end to sleep without dreaming most nights. The tightness in his gut told him this wasn’t likely to be one of them. His unexpected meeting with Ellen was too fresh, the images of her too strong, the sound of her voice too recent, for him to block them from his mind. It was always that way when she came home. A residue of his childhood love for her.

He frowned, swapped the wet cloth for a dry one, smacked the mare’s hip to let her know he was going behind her and crossed over to wipe down her other side.

He disliked teasing Ellen to the point of anger. Not that it took much teasing with her flash temper. But when he was face-to-face with the spoiled, selfish woman she’d become, disappointment stung him like a slap to the cheek and sharpened his tongue. She’d been so sweet, so kind and loving— He sucked in a deep breath, tugged his thoughts from what had once been. It was good for him she had changed. A grown man would look mighty foolish carrying around the sort of crush he’d had on her when they were kids. Especially since she wouldn’t give him a passing thought as a beau. Not with his life. And she was right not to. He had nothing to offer any woman, let alone a woman like Ellen who lived a life of ease.

The mare nickered, swung her head around and butted his shoulder. He shot out his right leg to brace himself. “Sorry, Big Girl. I didn’t mean to ignore you.” He tossed the wet rag over the stall wall beside the other one and picked up the comb to take any tangles out of the chestnut’s flaxen mane and tail. One thing about working with horses—you couldn’t waste time feeling sorry for yourself too long.

“You’re all set, girl.” Daniel tossed her blanket over the Belgian’s back, pulled the hold strap snug against her broad chest so it wouldn’t slide askew through the night, fastened the buckle, then strode to the feed bin. He shoved a pail beneath the hopper chute, lifted the door and let the grain flow until it was full. “Here’s supper, Big Girl.”

The gelding in the stall on his left whickered, tossed his massive head and thudded his front hoof against the floor.

“I’m coming, Big Boy.” He dumped the oats and bran into the mare’s manger, closed the stall door and returned to the feed bin for another pail of grain.

* * *

Ellen turned back a page and studied the dress in the picture. “Mother, have you any shaded velvet material at your shop?”

“Why, yes, I do.” Her mother glanced up from the feathers she was sorting. “I don’t recall any velvet dresses in that magazine. Why do you ask, Ellen?”

“I need a new gown for when Mr. Lodge and Mr. Cuthbert come to visit over the holiday, and I think this one may suit.” She pulled her fringe-trimmed silk wrap close around her, rose from the chair in front of the fire and walked over to sit beside her mother on the settee. “It’s this coatdress, with the high neck, moderate cape and tight sleeves.” She indicated the dress she was considering. “See how the narrow belt above the long full skirt shows off the model’s small waist.”

Her mother glanced at the magazine she held out, then leaned forward and placed a black feather in a pile with other black ones. “It’s a lovely dress, dear. But it’s made of silk.”

“Yes, but you know how I hate to be cold.” She gave her mother a hopeful glance. “Could you make me this dress in velvet? It would be so lovely and warm.”

“Well...” Her mother laid the remaining handful of feathers in her lap, took the magazine into her hands and tilted it so the candle on the stand beside her illuminated the picture. “Yes. This design is simple but elegant. It can be made of velvet.”

“Wonderful!” She rose and hurried back to the stand by the fire. “And with velvet in the shop, you can start—” She stopped, frowned. “What color is the velvet?”

“It’s a beautiful shade of plum.”

“Oh, Mother—plum? With my fair skin?” She put on a pout.

“That will not be a problem.” Her mother went back to sorting feathers. “I have a length of dark green velvet left from the cape we made for Rebecca Cargrave. I can use that for the high collar and add a wide band of it around the hem of the shoulder cape. It will look lovely against your skin and make your eyes seem bluer.”

“Plum with dark green trim...” Her lips curved in a smile. “That’s a wonderful idea, Mother. I’ll need the dress—”

“Before your beaux arrive—I know. Polly and Hanna are both engaged with other orders, but you’ve no need to be concerned. I’ll make it myself. I shall start cutting the pattern promptly.” Her mother looked up and smiled. “As soon as I finish attaching the trimming to the blue merino gown I made you for the holiday.”

“Oh, Mother...truly?” She laughed and moved a little closer to the fire. “I should have known you would think of my need for a new gown.”

“Indeed.” Her father raised his head from his reading. “You must look your very best when your gentlemen friends come to call. Have you made your decision as to which one’s hand you will accept?”

“Not yet.” Daniel’s grinning face flashed before her. She frowned and pushed at the curls dangling at her temples. “It’s difficult to know what is the wisest thing for me to do as each man has his own recommendations. That’s why I’ve come home to decide. I need your counsel, Father. And yours, too, Mother.”

“My choice is Mr. Lodge.” Her mother placed the last white feather on its pile, then folded the piece of fabric they rested on over them to make a neat package. “You did say he is the wealthier of the two, did you not?”

“Yes. But—”

“Don’t be hasty with your advice, Frieda.”

“Whatever do you mean, Conrad?” Her mother glanced at her father, then finished folding the fabric over the pile of black feathers and started wrapping the brown ones. “You’ve always said Ellen should marry a man of means and prestige.”

“I have indeed. And I stand by that opinion. I meant only that you are, perhaps, judging these men too quickly.”

“Well, I don’t see how that can be.” Her mother’s voice held a hint of irritation. “Ellen has told us that both Mr. Lodge and Mr. Cuthbert are men of wealth and prestige. And that there are no personal considerations involved. Therefore, I choose Mr. Lodge as the wealthiest.”

“He is the wealthiest at the moment, my dear. But Ellen is wise to consider the future.”

“Thank you, Father.” Her heart warmed at her father’s smile. His approval was seldom given.

“I don’t understand. Ellen can’t know the future, Conrad. No one can. It’s chancy at best.” Her mother frowned, stacked the small packages of feathers into a pile and secured it with a ribbon.

“Very true, my dear—in most cases. But Mr. Cuthbert is a politician of some renown.” Her father laid down his book, looked up at her and again smiled. “If, as Mr. Cuthbert has implied to Ellen, his appointment to the position of secretary of state, by his friend the governor, is approved by the Senate, he will be a man of great influence in the entire state.” His smile widened. “That opens the path to greater wealth as there will be those who wish to curry his favor. And, of course, should this come to pass, there would also be the possibility of a national political future for him. And great prestige for members of his family.”

“Oh, my! I hadn’t thought—” Her mother gazed up at her, a speculative look in her eyes that morphed into one of admiration. “Why, Ellen...you could attend dinner parties and soirees with our governor and...and perhaps, someday, with the president! Oh, daughter—” her mother rose, rushed to her side and wrapped her in an enthusiastic hug “—you have exceeded our plans and expectations. I’m so very proud of you!”

* * *

Ellen strolled around her bedroom, reflections of the flames from the fireplace dancing on the flowing silk of her dressing gown. Which man should she choose? Her father had given her a great deal to think about. She hadn’t considered that a highly placed politician would be in a position to make wealth from those who curried his favor for one reason or another.

A twinge of unease rippled through her. Was that lawful? To sell your political influence? Oh, of course it was. Her father wouldn’t have been so approving if it were not. And anyway, what did it matter? If she chose to marry Mr. Cuthbert, his actions would have nothing to do with her.

The uneasiness rippled through her again. She pushed it aside, stepped out of her slippers and removed her dressing gown. The softness of the mattress and warmth of the covers enfolded her. She stretched out her legs, searching with her toes for the towel-wrapped, heated soapstone the housekeeper would have placed at the foot of the bed. Ah, there it was! She placed her feet against the warmth, snuggled into a comfortable position on the down-filled mattress and yawned.

She had been favoring Mr. Lodge as her future husband. He was much younger and better looking than the stout, balding Mr. Cuthbert. And Mr. Lodge’s dark hair and beard were a handsome contrast to her blond curls and fair skin. And he was the wealthier of the two. Still, the prestige of being a prominent politician’s wife was not to be overlooked....

She tucked the quilt more closely beneath her chin and smiled. Imagine dining with the governor! Her mother and father would be so proud of her. And if what her father had said was true—and it surely was—Mr. Cuthbert might soon be wealthier than even Mr. Lodge. He would surely be more powerful. And there was another reason to give preference to Mr. Cuthbert. His age. He was a widower with grown children older than she. He would not demand an heir, as would Mr. Lodge. Yes, she would have to reconsider.

What of love?

Her face tightened. She turned onto her side and stared at the flames devouring the wood on the hearth. Willa had no right to challenge her decision to follow her parents’ advice and marry for comfort and prestige. Her friend was only jealous. Willa would be forever stuck in this small village, serving the people as their pastor’s wife, while she would be living a life of ease and social prominence in Buffalo—or attending parties with the governor and other high officials in Albany. Oh, what an entrance she would make into that social scene!

She smiled and closed her eyes, imagining her first attendance at a governor’s ball. The men would all be in handsome evening wear, and the women would all be richly gowned. But her gown would be more lavish and beautiful than all the rest, and every eye would be on her as she entered on Mr. Cuth—Daniel.

Her breath caught.

She jerked her eyes open to rid herself of the image of him standing in the midst of all that finery in his logger clothes with his green eyes laughing, his mouth slanted in that teasing, heart-stealing grin and his hand held out to her.

* * *

Daniel shivered and tugged the covers closer around his neck. The temperature had to be below zero and falling to make the boards creak like that. Even with the drafts adjusted wide and the coals burning hot, the woodstove couldn’t warm the small lean-to attached to the stable. The cold emanated from the sawn-wood wall behind his cot and chilled his back, even through his blankets. Nights like this, he almost wished he slept in the common room of the camp house with the loggers, snores, smells and all. At least the log building held the cold out and the heat in. He frowned and flopped over so his back was toward the stove.

Ellen hated to be cold.

The thought came unbidden and unwanted along with a memory of her looking up at him from beneath her fur-trimmed bonnet. He scowled and opened his eyes to replace her image with the sight of the moonlight-washed rough board only inches from his face. Why didn’t she stay in Buffalo? When she came home, when he’d seen her again, all the old memories resurrected in spite of his good sense.

He stared at the board, at the grain that looked like flowing water. He’d loved Ellen when he pulled her, pale and struggling for breath, out of the flood-swollen waters of Stony Creek twelve years ago, and a remnant of that boyhood love was buried beneath all that had transpired since that time. It lingered with the stubbornness of a burr in a horse’s tail. He’d given up thinking the memory of that childhood love would someday die. If his dislike of the uppity, citified, stuck-up fidfad Ellen had grown up to be hadn’t killed it by now, nothing would.

He blew out a cloud of breath. At least his pride was intact. Only Willa knew how he’d once felt about Ellen—and she’d promised to keep his secret. Callie and Sadie suspected, but they didn’t know. And Ellen, for sure, didn’t know. As long as that was true, he could live through her rare visits home. He just came out of them feeling like the boor she accused him of being.

He pulled in a lungful of the cold air, coughed and burrowed his head beneath the blanket to block the aching cold on his forehead. The memories had brought the familiar knots to his stomach. He pressed his lips into a thin line and forced himself to stop remembering that it could all have been different, if only his father hadn’t died.

Chapter Three

It was still snowing. Ellen tossed the magazine onto the settee, rose and went to the window. Snow clung to the wood grids that separated the glass, leaving only the center section of each small pane clear. She caught a glimpse of movement, leaned close and looked to the side. Asa was shoveling their slate walk. For what purpose? There would certainly be no callers today.

She glanced at the road, at the snow rutted by the runners on pungs and sleighs and trampled by the hoofs of the horses that pulled them. Not that many were passing. The blizzard had slowed village life to a crawl. Her warm breath fogged the glass. She shivered at the draft of cold air coming off the small panes, pulled her lace-trimmed silk wrap more closely about her shoulders and went to stand by the fire.

A log popped. Cinders dropped to the shimmering coals and the flames flared. She pulled her long full skirt back away from the edge of the hearth, smiled and ran her hand over the smooth Turkish satin material. She loved the way the skirt was caught up at random intervals with a silk knot securing the resulting puff. She was the only one she knew who had a dress of this design. Of course, the other women in the social set would have copied it by the time she returned to Buffalo.

Her smile faded. Her women acquaintances in the city would not be standing in an empty room wishing for something to do. They would be at the dressmaker’s being fitted for a new gown, or paying calls on others of their set and enjoying a gossip over tea this afternoon, before hurrying home to prepare for the evening’s entertainment. What would it be for tonight? A dinner party? A musical? Or the theater? There was always something important to attend. One had to be seen at the right places. Had she erred in coming home for the holiday?

She sighed and ran her fingers over the silk knot that secured the narrow band at her waist. What good was a stylish gown if there was no one to admire or envy it? The silence pressed in upon her, increased her restlessness. Her mother and father had gone to their shops. There was no one to talk to and nothing to do. Her mother didn’t even need her for a fitting for her new gowns. And she certainly wasn’t going to walk to town in this weather.

She shivered at the thought, walked back to the window and looked out. There was nothing to see but the road, the empty field across the way and the parsonage, barely visible through the rapidly falling snow. She huffed out a breath, turned away, then turned back. The parsonage wasn’t that far. And Willa was there. Of course, there was that open field to cross.

The wind gusted, drove the falling snow sideways and moaned around the window, dashing her hope. It was foolishness to even think of going outside. Still, her cloak was warm....

The lure of tea and conversation with her old friend pulled at her. She whirled from the window and hurried up the stairs to her bedroom. Wading through that deep snow in the field would ruin her silk gown. She would wear one of her old dresses.

* * *

“Give me twenty minutes or so, Daniel. That wound is going to take some cleaning before I stitch it up.”

“All right, Doc. I’ll be back to get him.” Daniel led Big Boy to a spot beside Doc’s stable where he’d be out of the wind, fastened the blanket on him, then trudged his way across lots to the parsonage.

“Woof!”

“Hey, Happy...” He bent down and scratched behind the ears of the dog standing watch at the top of the back porch steps. “Waiting for Josh, are you?” The dog let out a whine, lay down with his muzzle resting on his crossed front paws and stared toward the road. He grinned and thumped the dog’s solid, furry shoulder. “I wish I’d had a dog like you to roam the woods with me when I was a kid. We’d have had ourselves a time.”

He brushed the snow from his shoulders and pant legs, stomped it from his boots crossing the porch, rapped three times and opened the kitchen door. “Hey, Bertha.” He hooked his hat and jacket over one of the pegs on the wall. “Those cookies sure smell good.”

“I’ve never had no complaints.” The housekeeper dropped small mounds of dough onto the emptied tin and slid it in the oven, then swatted at his hand as he helped himself. “You might ask first.”

“Why waste time? We both know you always say yes.” He grinned, took a bite of the warm cookie and smacked his lips in approval. “Where’s Willa?”

“In the sitting room. And leave some of them for Joshua and Sally.”

He waved the second cookie he’d snatched in the air and headed down the hallway to the sitting room devouring his treat. “Hey, Pest, what’s that you’ve got?”

“Daniel! I thought I heard your knock.” Willa dumped the load in her arms onto the settee and smiled up at him. “I might ask you the same question.”

He popped the last bite of cookie into his mouth. “Nothing.”

Her lips twitched. “You’re not very imaginative, Daniel. That’s the same answer you always gave Mama, Grandmother Townsend and Sophia.”

“It was always true.”

“After you swallowed.”

He gave a loud gulp, and they both burst into laughter. A cry came from the cradle sitting by the hearth. He stepped over to it and squatted on his heels, his chest tightening at the sight of the sweet baby face topped by downy auburn curls. He’d hoped to have children one day. He shoved the thought away and rocked the cradle. “Sorry, tiny one, I didn’t mean to disturb your rest.” The cries grew louder. He shot to his feet and sent a panicked look to Willa. “What’s wrong? I only rocked her.”

“Our laughter startled her. She wants comforting.” Willa leaned down and wrapped the baby in her blanket, cuddled her close for a moment, then held her out to him. “You hold her while I sort through those clothes.”

“Me!” He shoved his palms out toward her and backed away. “She’s too little. I don’t want to hurt her.”

“You won’t. You only need to keep her head supported.”

His heart lurched as Willa placed the baby in his arms. He cuddled the infant close, rocked her gently. The cries turned to a whimper, then stopped. He lifted his gaze to Willa and grinned.

“She feels safe.” She smiled and turned toward the settee. “Mama said you were going to come see me, but I didn’t expect you to come to town in this blizzard.”

He stayed rooted in place, afraid to move lest the baby begin crying again. “A hick slipped with his ax and sliced open his leg. I had to bring him to Doc to get the wound sewed up, so I came on over. I’ll need to take him back to camp shortly.”

“I hope the man heals well. What was it you wanted?”

“Your mother said you needed help with Christmas decorations or something.”

Willa lifted a shirt that had seen better days off the top of the pile she’d dropped on the settee and grinned at him. “You needn’t whisper. Mary won’t waken.” She set the shirt aside. “So you are obeying Mama’s orders to come help me?”

He matched her grin. “Something like that.”

“Good! I accept your help. But I’m not ready yet. I need—” She stopped at a knock on the front door. “Someone must need Matthew, to come out in this weather. The grippe is hitting people hard....” She hurried toward the entrance hall.

“Ellen! Is something wrong?”

Ellen? What was she doing out in the storm? He glanced down at the baby, wished he dared put her down and leave.

“No, everything is fine. I only came to visit.”

He took a long breath and braced himself to see her again so soon.

“I can’t believe you braved this snowstorm, but I’m so glad you did. Here, let me take your cloak and bonnet. You go in by the fire and warm yourself.”

“Thank you, Willa. I’m chilled through and through. The wind is terrible.”

Soft footsteps crossed the small entrance toward the sitting room. Ellen swept through the doorway, stopped and stared at him, her azure eyes looking bluer than ever above her rosy cheeks. Her blond curls had been blown into disarray around her forehead and temples, and one dangled from behind her ear to lie against the high collar of her dark green gown. She’d never looked more beautiful. But he always seemed to think that. He slanted his lips in a teasing grin. “Hey, Musquash. What are you doing out in the cold?”

Her eyes flashed. She tossed her head, lifted her snow-rimmed hems and came toward the fireplace. “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be hauling logs or something?”

The words cut deep. He broadened his grin. “Shouldn’t you be home writing to your rich beaux in Buffalo? You don’t want them to forget you.”

Her chin jutted into the air. “There is no danger of that. And no need for letters. I’m to be betrothed. I’ve come home to decide which of two men I shall accept as my husband—Mr. Lodge or Mr. Cuthbert.”

There was a soft gasp from the doorway. He shot Willa a look, then dipped his head to Ellen. “My felicitations. It must be hard to choose, with all that wealth involved.”

She gave him a cool smile with anger shadowing its edge. “And prestige. One mustn’t forget that.” She gave her skirts a sharp shake and bits of clinging snow fell off onto the warm stone hearth and melted into small dark blotches.

“Oh, I’m certain you won’t. Prestige and wealth. My, my, however will you choose?” He shook his head in mock gravity and watched the pools of moisture shrivel and dry up like the dream of marrying her he’d had years ago.

“That’s none of your concern.” She looked down at the infant in his arms. “Aren’t babies supposed to cry a lot?”

“Mary Elizabeth knows she’s safe with Daniel. Babies are very intuitive. And smart enough to follow what their hearts tell them.”

How could the swish of a skirt sound angry? Or maybe it was the decided edge in Willa’s voice. He jerked his gaze to Willa’s blue-green eyes—dark and shooting sparks. She had her dander up all right. “You are a proud mama, Pest.” He chuckled and stepped forward to stand between Willa and Ellen, blocking their view of one another. “Take the tiny one, Pest. I have to go. Doc will be through with his stitching by now.” He put his mouth close to Willa’s ear and hissed, “You don’t have to protect me, Pest. I was over her long ago. Remember your promise.” A quick glance in her eyes told him she would say no more; her tight-pressed lips said she didn’t like it. He winked, turned toward Ellen and made an exaggerated bow. “If you’ll excuse me, Musquash, some of us don’t have the luxury of sitting around idle.”

“Stop calling me that name!”

He grinned, turned his back on her furious face and headed for the kitchen to get his jacket and hat.

* * *

Ellen looked away from the unsettling expression on Willa’s face and watched Daniel stride from the room, irritated by the uncomfortable notion that she had missed something. Willa considered Daniel the brother she’d never had, which was understandable as they’d lived next door to one another all their lives, but it had bred a closeness between the two of them that was annoying at times.

The pile of worn clothes and pieces of fabric on the settee looked higher. She seized on the opportunity to talk about a neutral subject. “It looks as if you’ve gathered more material for making the costumes.” She lifted her skirt hems and stuck her right foot out closer to the fire to dry her damp stocking.

“Yes. Matthew brought more offerings home with him after his round of visits to sick parishioners yesterday.”

A long sigh followed Willa’s words. Ellen glanced over her shoulder. Willa was fingering the top garment, a look of frustration on her face.

Some of us don’t have the luxury of sitting around idle.

“Willa.” Her friend looked over at her. “You are always so efficient, I can’t believe you can’t manage to make the costumes, but if you need me—”

“I do, Ellen. Truly, I do.”

She lowered her gaze from Willa to the pile of fabric and tried to remember the last time she’d done any sewing. “All right, then. I’ll help you.” Doubt over her ability to do so rose with the declaration. Her face tightened. She shouldn’t have allowed Daniel’s words to goad her into offering to help.

“Oh, Ellen, truly? What of your preparations for your suitors’ visits?”

The perfect opportunity to back away from her offer without losing face! She drew breath to explain she wouldn’t be able to help after all and glanced up—there was such a hopeful look in Willa’s eyes. The recantation died unspoken. “Mr. Lodge and Mr. Cuthbert will be staying at the Sheffield House when they come. And Mother will arrange any entertainments. I have only to look fetching and be charming while they are here.” She brushed her hand down her skirt. “Not that I can manage that in this old green wool dress.”

“You don’t need fancy gowns to look beautiful, Ellen.”

She looked down at her dress, eyed the plain bodice and the long full skirt devoid of tucks or ruffles. “Thank you, my dear friend. But I’m afraid Mr. Lodge and Mr. Cuthbert would not share your opinion.”

“Then they do not deserve you.” Willa sank onto the settee next to the pile of old clothes. “I can’t thank you enough for offering to help me, Ellen. I’m sure I don’t know how I would have managed the costumes and the decorations and— The decorations.”

She stared at Willa’s aghast expression. “What decorations?”

“I forgot....” Willa rose, crossed the room and stood looking out of a snow-encrusted window.

“What have you forgotten?”

“To ask Daniel to make arrangements for the pine boughs. I’ll never have time to get the wreaths and swags finished now.” Her shoulders slumped. “I can’t leave the baby, and I can’t take her out in this weather to go and ask Grandfather Townsend if he will donate the branches. And Matthew is too busy to help me make the decorations even if he does.”

“Why, Willa! I’ve never heard you speak in such a discouraged way.” She stared at her friend’s dejected posture, uncomfortable in the position of comforter. She was always the one being cosseted. “Of course you will manage. You always do.”

“I’ve never been the wife of a pastor with two children and a new baby at Christmastime before.”

Willa’s defeated tone tugged at her heart. “Even so, everything will be all right. I’ll help with the decorations, as well.” Had she lost her mind?

Willa turned and looked at her, hope in her eyes. “Are you certain, Ellen? With your beaux coming—”

“We’ll make the decorations before they arrive. I’ll take Father’s cutter out to Butternut Hill to ask about the pine boughs today. I’ve been wanting to see Sadie anyway.”

“But the snow, Ellen... You can’t—”

“Of course not. I’ll have Asa drive me. I’ll leave as soon as I’m warmed. Meanwhile...” She stepped to the settee and lifted a threadbare brown wool dress from the pile to distract herself from the panic building at her rash offers. “This would serve for a shepherd’s robe.” She glanced up as Willa joined her, reading relief and something more in her friend’s blue-green eyes—satisfaction? Willa truly needed her. It was an odd sensation. She had always been pampered and taken care of. No one had ever needed her. She tilted her head and smiled. “I assume there is a shepherd?”

“Yes. And the Three Wise Men. And Joseph and Mary, of course.”

“Of course. Is there anything green in this pile? I think green would be lovely for Mary—it’s the color of life.”

“A wonderful suggestion, Ellen.” Willa smiled and scooped the pile into her arms. “Let me put these on the chair by the hearth while we make our choices. That way you’ll get nice and warm before you leave for Butternut Hill.”

“A good idea. Perhaps we can— Oh, my...”

“What?”

She laid aside the brown wool dress she held and touched a bit of white lace peeking out of the pile. “Look at this.” A tattered lace-trimmed tablecloth unfolded as she pulled it from the pile. “Is there an angel?”

“Certainly. We can’t have the Christmas story without including the angel that brought the good tidings.” Willa smiled at her, then leaned down and riffled through the pile. “What have we to use for Joseph? Perhaps dark blue? Ah...”

“What?”

“Here is something green.” Willa tugged a dress from the pile and held it up. “Is this the color you had in mind for Mary?”

She stared at the deep green color of the dress—the color Daniel’s eyes turned when he was angry. The color they were whenever he looked at her. Her pleasure in their quest for the right fabrics dulled. “It’s perfect.” She draped the white tablecloth over the chair back and moved closer to the fire to warm herself. Daniel was on his way back to camp, and soon she would be following his path on the sleigh ride to Butternut Hill. He was leading the way, cutting a trail as he always had. A bittersweet smile touched her lips, then turned to a frown. She had to stop remembering. Thankfully, Daniel would be busy at work hauling logs during her time home and would not be around to remind her of her silly, childish dreams.

Chapter Four

“Ease up, Big Girl. Whoa, Big Boy.” Daniel hopped off the sledge and tromped forward as yard workers, peaveys and steel rods in hand, swarmed onto the pile of logs he’d hauled in.

“Daniel!”

He turned at the hail, spotted Cole Aylward and trudged through the trampled snow of the log yard to the sawmill. “You wanted me?”

“Yes. Come into the office while the men unload your sledge.”

He glanced up at the smoke rising from the chimney. “With pleasure.” He stomped up the log slide to the sawmill deck and followed Cole into the attached room. Warmth from the woodstove greeted him. He tugged off his hat and stayed close to the door, lest he get chilled when he went back outside. “Is there a problem?”

“Yes. Mine, not yours...yet.”

He lifted a brow, stared at Cole’s grin. “I’m not sure I like the word you tacked onto the end of that sentence.”

His boss’s grin widened. “Ellen Hall came to see Sadie today. She passed on a request from Willa. She needs pine boughs for decorating the church and asked if Townsend Timber would provide them.”

He stuffed his hat into his pocket and rubbed his gloved hands together to create some warmth. “We’re behind in our lumbering because of the snow.”

“Yes. I mentioned that.”

He studied Cole’s face, let a grin tug his lips aslant. “Sadie cajoled you into it, did she?” He chuckled and shook his head. “I’m thinking it didn’t take much coaxing on her part.”

Cole’s grin matched his. “I collapsed like a felled tree. As did Manning. We’ve donated a wagonload of boughs. And more if needed.”

There was something in Cole’s voice.... Daniel tugged off a glove to scrub his hand across the back of his neck. “Ah, yes. The ‘yet.’ Let me guess.... I’m elected to deliver the boughs?”

“That would be correct.” Cole’s face sobered. “After you’ve cut them.”

He raised his brows.

“I know.” Cole settled into his chair. “I’d like to give you a man to help you, Daniel, but I can’t spare a logger while we’re so far behind.”

He nodded, tugged his glove back on and pulled his hat from his pocket. “You can’t spare your teamster either. It won’t help any to cut logs if you’ve no one to haul them here to the mill. Fortunately, there’s a full moon at present, and with it shining on the snow, it’s as bright as day. I’ll down a couple of small pine and hemlock tonight, fill the pung with the boughs and deliver them after I’m through hauling logs tomorrow.”

“That’s a lot of extra work for no pay, Daniel. Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me—thank your wife.” He grinned and pulled his hat on, tugged the rolled brim down to cover the tops of his ears. “I never could withstand Quick Stuff’s coaxing either.”

* * *

Ellen glanced at her mother studying the fashions in the new Godey’s Lady’s Magazine she’d received, drew breath to speak, then exhaled and turned back to the fire. She’d started to ask her mother if she would donate trims left over from dress orders at least a dozen times since dinner and then stopped. It would be best to wait a few days, until the costumes were finished but for the final touches. Coward. She frowned at her lack of will and pulled her wrap closer about her bare shoulders. The silk gown she’d donned before her parents came home was stylish but chilly.

“You seem restless tonight, Ellen. I hope you’re not feeling adrift because of the lack of suitable society in Pinewood.”

“No, Mother, I’ve been spending time visiting with Willa. And I had Asa drive me out to see Sadie today. I’m only...thinking.”

“You took the cutter out to Butternut Hill in this weather?” Her mother gave her an astounded look. “Whatever for?”

She drew breath to explain about the pine boughs for the church, then swallowed back her words. “I wanted to see Sadie.”

Her father lowered his book and peered up at her. She held still, determined not to fidget beneath his penetrating gaze. Her answer had been the truth—as far as it went.

“Are you any closer to a decision as to which gentleman you will accept as your husband?”

“No, Father.” She’d been so busy she hadn’t even thought about her beaux today. Only Daniel. But that was natural, since he’d been present—and annoying. She leaned down and added a piece of log to the fire lest her father read the truth in her expression, and she read disapproval in his as a consequence.

“Well, you tend to what your mother and I say. Don’t allow your old friends to talk you into accepting less than you can achieve in life by a good marriage.”

“Indeed.” Her mother looked up at her, a hint of a frown on her face. “Willa, Callie and Sadie have done quite well for themselves considering they have settled for village life. But we have groomed you for the greater, more important things of high society, Ellen. You mustn’t forget that. Now go and cream your hands. And don’t handle any more rough wood, dear. You want your appearance to be perfect when Mr. Lodge and Mr. Cuthbert arrive.”

* * *

Suitable society. Ellen rubbed cream into her face and hands, swirled her silk-and-lace dressing gown on over her nightdress and stepped to her bedroom window. Cold air seeped from beneath the hems of the winter drapes her mother had fashioned from a woven bed coverlet and chilled her slippered feet. She drew her dressing gown close and pushed one drape aside far enough to look out. Large snowflakes fell through the moonlight that shone on the rutted ribbon of Oak Street and glistened on the snow-covered ground across the way.

Beyond the park stood the new parsonage, but the snowfall was so thick all she could distinguish was a small glow of lamplight from a window. Had she made a mistake by offering to help Willa? Performing such mundane tasks would lessen her worth in Mr. Lodge’s and Mr. Cuthbert’s opinions. If she could even do them. And her mother was right. What about her hands? What if she suffered needle pricks? Or if her skin became roughened and dry from handling the pine boughs? Oh, why had she let Daniel’s words prod her into saying she would help? It would, of a certainty, displease her parents as well as her beaux. Still...

Cold coming off the window chilled her. She let the drape fall back into place and crossed the room to her bed. She’d felt odd but nice all afternoon. The truth was, she had enjoyed helping Willa. Still, there was no possible way she could do the work without it becoming known. There were no secrets in Pinewood.

A wry smile tugged at her lips. That was one thing she and her friends had learned while very young. No matter what secret adventure they set off on, it was always already known by the time they returned home. Or soon confessed. Especially if they faced Callie’s aunt Sophia. The woman was formidable! She laughed and shook her head. The truth was, she’d always been a little frightened of Sophia Sheffield in spite of her kindness. What a timid child she’d been....

The silk of her dressing gown whispered softly as she shrugged it off her shoulders and down her arms. A chill slithered down her spine in spite of the fire as she stepped out of her slippers. She slid beneath the covers searching out the heated, towel-wrapped soapstone at the foot of the mattress with her cold feet. “Ahh.” Warmth caressed her toes as she tucked them in a fold of the warm cloth. Did Willa enjoy even such a small luxury as this? Likely not, even though she was married to Reverend Calvert and had Bertha Franklin for their housekeeper.

Suitable society.

A twinge of apprehension tingled through her. How would she entertain her beaux? Reverend Calvert and Willa would qualify as suitable society, but neither Mr. Lodge nor Mr. Cuthbert cared about church—except for appearances’ sake. Callie and her husband would qualify—Ezra Ryder was wealthier than either Mr. Lodge or Mr. Cuthbert. Unfortunately, Callie and Ezra were away visiting Ezra’s sister for the Christmas season. Sadie and Cole? No. Sadie spent her time looking after her grandmother and grandfather, and Cole—well, Cole was too straightforward to get on well with her beaux.

That thought gave her pause. She frowned, closed her eyes and directed her thoughts away from the unflattering comparison. Her parents would simply have to entertain her beaux—there was no one else who would be...compatible. She would keep her word and help Willa, but she must finish the tasks quickly. It would not do for her beaux to come and find her working like one of their servants. That would not do at all.

How long would it take to make the children’s costumes? She was certainly not skilled at sewing, and Willa had the baby and Joshua and Sally, as well as her husband and home to care for. A smile curved her lips. Sally was a sweet little girl. And she would make a beautiful angel with her fair skin and her golden curls. The white lace tablecloth would make her a lovely flowing gown. But what of a halo? Or— Her old gowns! Perhaps she wouldn’t have to ask her mother for leftover dress trimmings after all.

She threw the covers aside, pulled on her dressing gown and slippers and hurried across the bedroom to open the large chest that held some of her old dresses. There was a yellow watered silk with a narrow band of gold braid that tied around the waist....

Firelight flickered on the various fabrics as she dropped to her knees and looked through the piles. Rose...green...silver—she’d always liked that dress—blue...copper...yellow. Ah! There it was. She slipped the yellow dress out of the pile and sat back on her heels to free the band of gold braid. It was stiff enough to hold a circular shape. A perfect halo. Wait until she showed Willa. A tiny twinge of excitement wiggled through her. She smiled and set the gold braid aside, put the dress back in the trunk.

Some of us don’t have the luxury of sitting around idle.

The words grated. She shoved her curls back over her shoulders and tossed her head. She’d show Daniel Braynard. He’d have to swallow those words when he saw the work she did with Willa on the costumes and the decorations—and she hoped he choked on them!

She leaned forward onto her knees and plowed through the pile of dresses again. The lace-edged net of the overskirt on the silver gown would make lovely wings. She yanked the gown from the pile, dropped it on the floor beside her and dove back into her search. There had to be other things she could find that would be helpful in making the costumes. She’d show Daniel! She’d make the best costumes Pinewood had ever seen!

* * *

Silence reigned, the only sounds the soft, muted thud of the Belgian’s hoofs and the whisper of the pung’s runners over the deep snow. It was as if the forest were holding its breath. Daniel smiled at the whimsical thought, looked up at the snowflakes shimmering in the moonlight that lit the forest track and wished he had a wife beside him to witness the beauty.

Ellen.

His imagination placed her beside him, their shoulders touching, their laps covered by a thick, warm blanket. He frowned and glanced at the folded, snow-covered horse blanket on the seat to disperse the yearning. That dream had died years ago. There would be no wife, only grim reality. He would not subject any woman to the sort of life his mother had known—most certainly not the spoiled Ellen Hall with her fancy gowns and fur-trimmed bonnet and cloak.

“Hup, Big Boy, hup!” He snapped his wrists and rippled the lines, and the huge Belgian dragged the pung off the track into a small clearing, his great muscles rippling as he plodded through the knee-high snow. He reined the gelding to the right, around the edge of the clearing to a spot a short way beyond a small thickly branched hemlock. “That’s far enough. Whoa, Big Boy.”

The Belgian stopped, tossed his head and snorted. Hot breath puffed from his nostrils, forming small gray clouds. He pawed the snow with his right front hoof and snorted again.

“I know. You don’t like having to work tonight. But orders are orders. And it’s to help Willa.” He grabbed the horse blanket beside him, jumped from his seat, then tossed it up over Big Boy’s back and tugged it into place. The buckle on the hold strap glinted against the gelding’s massive chest. “There you are, fellow.” He patted the thick neck and went back for the feedbag. “This will keep you content while I work.” He slipped the bag on, adjusted it and left Big Boy munching on his oats and bran while he lifted his ax out of the pung and trudged through the snow toward the hemlock.

The moonlight gleamed on the snow-covered ground and reflected off of the snow-burdened branches of the trees that circled the small clearing, protecting it from the worst of the winter storm. Wind rose, tossed the tops of the towering pines and whistled softly through their lower limbs, its power diminished by the thickness of the forest.

At least he could see. He smacked the hemlock’s branches with the flat side of the blade to knock off the snow and grimaced at the shower of white that rained down on him as the limbs flew up to their normal position. He yanked off a glove and swiped the cold, moist flakes from his face and neck. The things he did in the name of friendship! No. It was more than that. He tugged his glove back on, took hold of the ax and lopped off the lower limbs. Willa and Callie and Sadie and Ellen had pestered him mercilessly when they were kids, but he’d grown to love them like sisters. All except Ellen. What he had felt for her had nothing to do with brotherly affection. Would that it had.

He scowled, dragged the branches he’d cut off to the pung, tossed them into the box and returned to the tree. His first hefty swing buried the blade deep into the exposed trunk. He yanked it free and swung again, the power of his strong shoulders behind the stroke. Thunk! A chip flew from the trunk and buried itself in the snow. More chips followed in rapid succession. There was a creaking, cracking, splintering sound.

He leaped aside, watched the small tree wobble, then fall with a soft thud across the track made by the pung. Perfect! He hurried to the downed tree and lopped off the smaller top branches with one stroke each. In five minutes he had denuded the top of the tree. He buried the blade of his ax in the bared trunk and used both arms to scoop up the small branches. Snow packed in between his gloves and the sleeves of his jacket, chilled his flesh. He pulled off his gloves, shook the snow out of his sleeves, then tugged his gloves back on and picked up the ax.

Willa and Sadie were going to pay for this. It would cost Sadie a batch of those good molasses cookies she made, and Willa would have to let him take Joshua and Sally skating on his next weekend in town. It was as close as he’d ever get to being a father. He pressed his lips together against the pain of the thought and went back to work.

The snow came faster. It piled on his shoulders, hat and collar of his jacket, found the bare spot between them and melted against his neck. He ignored the shivers it caused and looked around for a small pine. None offered.

He trudged through the snow to the smallest pine standing on the edge of the clearing, eyed the snow-laden branches and frowned. He’d really get a snow shower this time.

The quick, sharp blows of his ax shook the tree. Snow cascaded from the upper branches, fell in large clumps that plopped against the ground and broke into pieces against his head and shoulders. That was two batches of cookies for Sadie! And an added afternoon of sledding with Willa’s children. No penalty for Ellen, though he knew the one he’d like to claim. He’d like to send her back to Buffalo! As much as she hated the cold weather, how had Willa talked her into going out to Butternut Hill to ask Manning Townsend to donate boughs, anyway? He swung again and the large limb split from the trunk and fell at his feet. He dragged it out of the way and took his frustration out on the next one. Snow showered down on him as he chopped it off.

He dragged it over beside the other one. It was dangerous to fell a tree this large alone using only one notch. When the trunk got thin enough, the tree could twist and fall in the wrong spot. He frowned and swept his gaze over the area at the tree’s base. The snow was too deep and the branches of the trees too tangled together for him to get behind it to make a second notch. He eyed the branches on the back side of the tree. They were half-buried by the snow. It was possible they would hold the tree from twisting or kicking out and toppling before he could get out of the way.

“I’m going to need Your help with this one, Lord. Please let the trunk hold until I can get free.” He shot a look toward the sky, took a firm grip on his ax and swung it again and again, watching the trunk as the chips flew off into the snow, listening to the sound as each stroke hit. There was a creak. The trunk trembled. The far edge of the thin remaining piece of trunk splintered. The tree lurched and twisted, the buried back branches bursting out of the snow into the air.

He threw his ax through the branches of the neighboring pine and dove after it, hit the snow and rolled toward the massive trunk.

Craaack! The hewed tree slammed against the pine. A shudder traveled down the trunk. He curled tighter, covered his head. Snow and sheared-off branches rained down. “Lord Jesus, be with me!” The falling tree slid down the pine’s trunk and crashed onto the limb over him, its large branches driving deep into the snow, cracking and splintering when they hit the frozen ground.

Silence. Nothing but the whisper of the pine needles on the quivering branches, the soft plop of bits of snow sliding off to hit the ground. The snapping and shattering of wood had stopped.

He pulled his hands away, raised his head and opened his eyes. Pieces of broken branches, pine needles and shreds of bark littered the snow, while larger boughs formed a tangled tent over him. A weight pressed against his back, pushed down on his shoulders. He craned his neck around, eyed the deep crack in the broken limb above him and the trunk of the fallen tree that rested across it, its branches buried in white. “Thank You, Lord, for the deep snow.”

His words were swallowed by the night. A cautious sweep of his arm cleared away the debris between him and the pine’s trunk. He said another quick prayer for the cracked branch to hold, pawed the snow from beneath his chest and slithered out from under the damaged limb. Free!

The end of his ax handle was sticking up out of the snow at the base of the sheltering pine. He grasped it in his trembling hand and pushed through the snarl of broken branches, then looked up at the sky. “Thank You, Lord, for Your protection. I’ll take You for my partner over any other, anytime.”

His hat was dangling from the nub of one of the small offshoot limbs he’d broken when he dove for safety. He shook it free of snow and debris, tugged it on, then hacked his way clear and went back to work, tossing the branches into a pile.

The snow came thicker and faster, closing out the moonlight. Time to quit. He shouldered his ax, tromped through the snow to the pung, removed Big Boy’s feedbag and led him toward the downed pine’s skeleton. There would be another five or six inches by morning, and it was already too deep for safely logging and hauling out timber—as he’d just proved.

He frowned and started throwing the branches in the pung. It was likely the jobber would call off operations until the storm stopped. If so, he would stay in town and help Willa. And there was another blessing to the worsening storm. Ellen would stay at home in front of a nice warm fire, sip hot tea brought to her by the housekeeper and ponder which of her two wealthy beaux she should marry. There would be no chance he would accidentally meet her when he delivered the boughs to the parsonage tomorrow evening or while he worked with Willa on the decorations. “Thank You, Lord, for the storm.”

Chapter Five

The horse’s nicker stilled her hands. Ellen shot a curious glance toward the dining room window. Who would be paying a call on Willa in this weather? Or perhaps it was someone needing the reverend. She dropped Willa’s scissors on top of the skirt she was cutting from the old brown wool dress and hurried to the window. A man, head lowered against the blowing snow, halted a team of huge horses, jumped to the ground and headed up the shoveled pathway for the back porch. Daniel.

She didn’t need the pung heaped with pine boughs to identify him. She would know those broad shoulders and that confident stride anywhere. What was he doing here this time of day? Why wasn’t he at the camp hauling logs or something? She stepped to the side, lest he look up and find her watching as he passed the window. He had always been—

“There! Joshua and Sally are on their way to visit Mama. Now I can— What are you looking at, Ellen? There’s nothing outside but snow.”

She started and whirled from the window to face Willa, heat rushing into her cheeks as if she were guilty of a misdeed—which was ridiculous. “I heard horses. Daniel has brought the boughs.” She fluffed the curls at her temples, walked to the table and picked up the scissors.

“Already? That’s wonderful! I didn’t expect them until this evening.” Willa rushed to the window and peered through the frost-rimmed panes. “Oh, look! The branches are heaped. We shall have enough boughs to decorate the gazebo, too. May God bless Grandfather Townsend for—”

“The gazebo?”

The growled word jerked her gaze from Willa to the doorway. Daniel stepped into the room wearing a mock scowl.

“Are you planning to decorate the whole town, Pest? And what about a blessing for me? I cut and hauled those branches—near killed myself, too. It’s going to cost you.”

Willa laughed and left the window. “Not me, Daniel. It’s Grandfather Townsend you work for.”

“Not alone and in the moonlight, I don’t. And not when I’m cutting branches for your husband’s church.”

A chill traveled up Ellen’s spine. Daniel had downed the trees alone? At night? How could he make light of the danger? Or had he made it up to tease Willa? She lifted her gaze to his face. Light from the candelabra glinted on his green eyes and played over his uncovered head, making his hair look more red than brown—the way it was when he was young. Memories surged. She frowned, breathed in the scent emanating from him. He had always smelled of the outdoors—and now a bit like horse. She resisted the urge to sniff and instead lowered her gaze to rest on the knit hat he clutched in his gloved hand. He had big hands. And strong. Even when he was—

“All right, you win. What is it to cost me?”

Willa’s laughter cut into her reverie. She looked up, caught her breath at the warm smile curving Daniel’s lips. He’d once smiled at her that way.

“Two afternoons of skating and sledding with Josh and Sally.” He turned slightly and his gaze fell on her, hardened. “Hey, Musquash. I didn’t see you there at the table. What are you— Scissors?” His gaze dropped to the table, and his brows shot toward the ceiling. “You’re sewing?”

His shocked tone stiffened her spine. She jutted her chin into the air. “You needn’t be so—”

“Ellen is helping me make costumes for the children who will be speaking in church at Christmas, Daniel. Isn’t that kind of her?”

Willa’s voice drowned out hers—which was probably for the best. She took a calming breath, then made the mistake of meeting Daniel’s gaze. His green eyes were dark, his expression dubious. She lifted her chin another notch and glared at him. “There’s no reason for disbelief, Daniel. I am capable of performing an act of kindness on occasion.”

A grin slanted across his lips, showed his teeth white against his red beard. “No doubt you are, Musquash...on occasion. But, sewing?”

“You know full well mother is a seamstress! Even I was bound to learn something of the skill from watching her over the years.” She tossed her head and resumed her cutting, praying there was at least a modicum of truth in her words so she could make Daniel Braynard swallow his.

“Did you need something in town, Daniel? Is that why you were able to deliver the boughs so early?”

A sigh rose to her throat at Willa’s less-than-subtle change of subject. She glanced up through her lashes, caught the easy smile Daniel gave Willa as she moved toward the table. The sigh turned to a painful pressure. All he ever gave her now was that mocking grin.

“No, it’s because of the storm. The jobber has stopped logging operations until this blizzard passes and the temperature warms a bit. So I’ll leave the pung here at the parsonage until it’s time to go back to camp—if that’s all right.”

He would be in town! She frowned and placed the cut-off skirt on the growing pile of ready-to-work material.

“Yes, of course it is, Daniel. It will save you having to unload all those boughs into the back room of the church.”

“Is that where w—”

“Oh!” Willa lurched, bumped against Daniel.

“Careful, Pest....” Daniel gripped Willa’s arm and steadied her.

“I’m sorry. That was clumsy of me.” Willa brushed back a lock of hair that had fallen onto her forehead. “What were we— Oh, yes.... What of the horses? We haven’t stalls for them.”

Her frown deepened. What was wrong with Willa? She sounded flustered.

“I know. I’ll stable them at Dibble’s, then get settled in at home. Do you want me to com—”

Willa broke into a coughing fit.

Alarm tingled along her nerves. Willa had said Matthew was busy visiting those sick with the grippe. Had he brought the illness home? Was that why Willa looked a bit flushed? She took a step back. Willa glanced her way, and understanding flashed in her eyes.

“There’s no cause for alarm, Ellen. I’m not ill. It’s only a tickle in my throat. I’ll be fine when I get a drink.” Willa spun toward the door. “Come with me, Daniel. We’ll finish our discussion in the kitchen.”

She stared agape as Willa all but shoved Daniel out the door ahead of her. She’d never known Willa to act so...strange. So...undone. She really did need her help. That odd sense of satisfaction she’d felt the other day returned. She smiled, picked up the scissors and began cutting the sleeves from the old green overdress they’d chosen to make Mary’s garment.

Daniel would be in town. Her stomach flopped. She would have to be watchful to not run into him. If he called her Musquash one more time— Oh, no! She froze, then took a breath and slanted a glance up at the ceiling. “Please, Lord, make the storm stop so Daniel will be back at camp working soon. Please don’t let him be in town when Mr. Lodge or Mr. Cuthbert arrive. Please.” She clenched her teeth and cut off the other sleeve. It would be bad enough if her beaux came and found her helping Willa with the sewing or decorations, but if Daniel were to—

“Steady, Big Boy. Back, Big Girl...back.”

Daniel’s muted voice came from outside. Chains rattled. He was leaving. Good. She glanced at the window, pressed her lips together and cut along a side seam to turn the green dress into a flat piece of material. Where was Willa? They had to get this work done!

She rose and started for the doorway, paused as the chains rattled again, then gave in to her urge and crossed to the window. The pung now sat behind the church. She wrapped her arms about herself and watched Daniel unhitch the team, his movements confident and sure. She couldn’t even imagine Mr. Lodge or Mr. Cuthbert attempting such a feat. What a disaster that would be. And how disloyal was she to even think such thoughts?

She whirled from the window and hurried back to the table, picked up the green dress she’d finished cutting and folded it. What did it matter if Mr. Lodge and Mr. Cuthbert knew nothing of hitching and unhitching horses? They had money enough to hire others to do it for them.

“I’m sorry for my delay in returning, Ellen. The baby was fussing.”

Ellen pulled her thoughts back to the task at hand, looked up and smiled as Willa entered. “No matter—you’re here now.” Her fingertip poked through a threadbare spot as she shook out a piece of what was once a blanket. “I have the fabric ready for Mary’s cloak. That leaves only Joseph’s garment. Do you think there will be enough of this blanket left when I’ve cut around the holes?”

* * *

“More gingerbread?”

Daniel shook his head and grinned. “There’s no place for any more, Ma. I ate too much pork pie. Smiley’s food is good, but he can’t cook like you.”

“Well, if you’re certain, I’ll clear this mess away.” His mother beamed a smile at him, rose and began stacking the dirty dishes. Her long skirts swayed from her plump hips as she carried the dishes to the sink cupboard, scraped the scraps into a bucket and slipped the plates into the water in the wash pan. “I hope we don’t have a storm like this over Christmas. It’ll delay my trip to Syracuse to care for your aunt Ruth. I’m plannin’ on leavin’ when you go back to camp. Ruth’s rheumatiz is bad with the cold, and I was figurin’ to go and stay with her till the weather warms. She’s no one to do for her since Asel passed.”

“You’re a good woman to make that long trip during the cold weather, Ma.”

“Bein’ good or not ain’t got nothin’ to do with it.” She lifted the steaming kettle off its trivet over the coals in the fireplace and tossed him a look over her shoulder. “She’s a need, and you do for family.”

He rose and put his arm about her soft shoulders. “And you do for any others that need help, as well, Ma. Even if it costs you time or discomfort.”

“Well, it’s the Christian thing to do, helpin’ others.” Steam rose in a cloud as she poured the water into the pan. “I’m strong and able, and you share the blessings God gives you with them less fortunate. Don’t you forget that, son.”

“I won’t, Ma. How could I, with you for my example?” He leaned down and kissed her pink cheek. Her green eyes shone up at him, warm with pleasure.

“You’re a good man, Daniel. You put me more in mind of your pa every day. It’s good to have you home.” She set the kettle aside, tossed a bar of soap into the water and picked up a cloth. “What will you be doin’ to help Willa with the Christmas decorations?”

“She hasn’t told me. But I know it will take longer than I figured.” He crossed to the door, took his jacket off the peg and shrugged into it. “She’s decorating the gazebo, too. Says it will make it more festive for the carol sing.”

“The gazebo...” A smile touched his mother’s mouth, then disappeared. She ducked her head and soaped the cloth. “Seems like you’ll be spendin’ a lot of time at the parsonage.”

“Seems like you’re probably right.” He pulled his hat from his pocket. “Maybe that’s why we’re having this storm. Maybe Willa took her need for help to her Abba, Father. He seems to pay close mind to her prayers.”

“And mine.”

“What? I didn’t hear, Ma. I was putting on my hat.”

“Nothin’ important.” She swished a plate through the rinse pan and set it on the towel on the wood drainboard. “It gonna bother you, havin’ Ellen so close by while you’re there workin’?” She flashed a look in his direction. “Her bein’ across the street, I mean.”

There was no sense pretending he didn’t understand her. “That’s an old dream that died long ago, Ma.” He pulled up a grin and shot her a teasing look. “Surely you know Ellen’s come home to decide which of her rich beaux she’ll marry.”

“I heard. But she ain’t betrothed yet.”

There was a determined note in his mother’s voice that said clearly she wasn’t letting up on her prayers. Twelve years she’d been at it. He tugged his hat down over his ears, exposed by his newly trimmed hair, frowned and ran his hand over his clean-shaven face. Did she think... “Look, Ma, Ellen will be at home sitting cozy and warm in front of their fire while Willa and I are working on the decorations in the back room of the church. She won’t even see me. I stopped at Fabrizio’s for a haircut and shave to get rid of the itching, not to change Ellen’s goal. Besides, I’m not that good-looking—except maybe to you.” He chuckled and put on his gloves.

She looked at him.

He wished for the hundredth time he’d never told her that making himself an acceptable suitor in the eyes of Ellen’s parents when he was old enough to court Ellen was the reason he’d apprenticed himself to the counting house in Olville when he was twelve. She knew that had all come to a halt when his father died. And she still felt guilty that he’d had to give up his dream and become a logger in order to keep the cabin and provide a home for her. “Look, Ma, I was only a kid with a crush that lasted longer than it should have. It’s over. You can stop praying for me.”

“And what makes you think it’s you alone I’m prayin’ for?” His mother looked down, swished the cloth over another plate.

What did that mean? He stared at her, shook his head and walked over to pick up the bucket. “I’ll throw these scraps out back for Millers’ pigs on my way to Willa’s. See you at supper, Ma.”

Snow was still falling, though it had eased up. He tossed the scraps onto the trampled-down area where the neighbor’s pigs rooted, set the bucket back inside the kitchen door and tromped out to the road. The wind picked up, blew cold against his bare cheeks. He tucked his chin down into his collar and wished it were as easy to bury his scruples. He hadn’t exactly lied to his mother, but he hadn’t told her the truth either. He hoped Ellen would see him around town, all clean-shaven and with his hair trimmed just like those rich beaux of hers. Not to try to change her mind, though. That part was true. It was a pride thing.

A wry smile tugged at his lips. He sure couldn’t tell his Ma that. He knew exactly what she would say—Pride goeth before destruction, Daniel. But in his case, there was nothing for pride to destroy but the memory of his childhood love for Ellen—and he’d sure welcome that. He’d been carrying it around for too many years. It was time to be done with it.

* * *

Ellen snipped the thread and stuck the needle in the pincushion that was fastened to the arm of Willa’s chair. That was the last seam. She caught her breath, turned the garment and held it up. Nothing was crooked or puckered. A smile tugged at her lips, but she refused it possession. It was silly to feel such a sense of accomplishment. Sewing straight seams required no real talent with a needle.

“You’ve finished the shepherd’s robe.”

She glanced at Willa, her heart warming at her friend’s smile. “Well, I’ve sewn it together. But I’m afraid my ability with a needle is unequal to the hemming required around the neck and armholes.”

“That’s not needed, Ellen. That wool won’t ravel. And it need last only one day. Which is a very good thing because my finger keeps poking through this cotton!” Willa wiggled the exposed fingertip of her hand tucked beneath the fabric on her lap. “I’m afraid one of the Wise Men is going to look quite tattered.”

“Well, he has been on a very long journey.”

Willa laughed, real, genuine laughter, not the polite titter of the elite women in Buffalo. The sound of it brought her own laughter bubbling up. It felt wonderful. How long had it been since she’d really laughed? She shoved the thought aside, carried the folded robe to the table and eyed the costumes waiting to be sewn. She so wanted to make the angel’s costume, but she was simply not that capable with needle and thread. She picked up the pieces for Joseph’s robe and turned back toward her chair. Willa was looking out of the window—again. “Are you expecting a caller?”

Willa started, sat back in her chair and resumed sewing. “What put that notion in your head?”

“That’s the third time I’ve seen you looking out of the window.”

“Well, that doesn’t mean— Bother! I’ve poked another hole.” Willa cut her thread, stuck her needle in the shared pincushion and jumped to her feet. “I’d best find different fabric and cut another Wise Man’s costume. This cloth will fall apart if Tommy moves.”

She watched Willa hurry to what remained of the old clothes and start sorting through the pile, pursed her lips and crossed to the window to see for herself what was so interesting. If there was one thing she easily recognized, it was evasion—the elite were masters at it. There was no horse and buggy, not even the tracks of one, only undisturbed snow. And more falling. Would it never stop? She sighed and lifted her gaze toward the sky. Ah. “So that is what you were watching for—a glimpse of your husband as he walked over to the church.”

“What are you talking about, Ellen? Matthew went to Olville directly after dinner, and—” Willa jerked upright, a faded red garment in her hands. “Is someone out there?”

“No, but a fire has been started at the church. Smoke is beginning to rise from one of the chimneys—the rear one.”

“Are you certain? It’s hard to tell with the snow.” Willa tossed the dress back onto the pile, hurried to her side and peered out the window. “Yes, you’re right—there is smoke. He’s here.”

She stared, taken aback by the flash of satisfaction in Willa’s blue-green eyes. “So you were expecting someone?”

“Not exactly. Daniel only said perhaps he—”

“Daniel?”

“Why, yes.” Willa looked down, brushed at the front of her skirt. “Didn’t I tell you he is going to help us with the decorations?”

“Daniel is going to—” She squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. “No, Willa Jean, you did not. And if—”

“Well, I meant to. It must have slipped my mind while I was caring for Mary.” Willa sighed, slanted a glance up at her and sighed again. “Babies take so much time, Ellen. I simply don’t know how I would manage all I have to do without your help.”

Her protest died. It was plain she would have to endure Daniel’s presence for Willa’s sake. She had given her word. And he would be going back to the lumber camp soon. Please, Lord! Meanwhile, she would avoid him as much as possible. The parsonage wasn’t a large house, but it was big enough to—

“Come along, Ellen.” Willa lifted her hems and hurried toward the doorway.

“Come along where?”

“To get our cloaks and go to the church. We will make the decorations in the back room, and I want to get started while Mary is napping and Bertha can watch over her.”

Her stomach sank. She took a breath and offered the only excuse she could think of that might delay the inevitable. “What of the sewing? I’ll stay here and—”

Willa didn’t even pause, merely glanced back over her shoulder. “I’ll work on the costumes in the evenings after the children are abed. It’s the decorations I’m most concerned about—or was, until your kind offer of help. And Daniel’s, too, of course.”

Willa’s smile stole her resistance. “Very well.” She laid the costume pieces she held on the table and frowned down at her old green wool dress. If she had known about having to work with Daniel, she would have worn one of her lovely gowns. Not that he would notice. But, even so, they gave her confidence. And she needed that around him. Daniel was the only man she knew who could undermine her self-assurance with merely a look. She blew out a breath, fluffed her curls and followed Willa into the hall. At least her old dress would be hidden from Daniel’s view by her lovely new cloak.

Chapter Six

Daniel dumped his armful of branches on top of the growing pile in the corner. That would be the last load until they were used up. Any more and he and Willa would be crowded right out of the small room.

He brushed his jacket free of bits of bark and pine needles while he took inventory. His small hand ax lay on the upended piece of log he would use for lopping the offshoots from the branches, the coil of twine Willa had requested was on the table, the woodbox was full and the stove was going. It was time to let Willa know he was here and they could start working. He slapped his gloves together over the pile to rid them of snow and tugged them back on. The latch clicked. He jerked his head around as the door swung open, hit the heel of his boot and stopped.

“Daniel, the door is stuck!” The door was drawn back, shoved forward again with more force.

“Whoa! Hold on, Pest.” He turned and pulled the door open. “That’s my foot you’re—” The words froze on his tongue. He stared at the blue wool visible between Willa and the doorframe, scowled and shifted his gaze to Willa’s face. She gave him a sweet smile. Asked and answered. His scowl deepened. Willa stepped into the room and his vision filled with blue wool and rabbit fur.

Ellen looked up and stopped dead in her tracks. Her blue eyes widened.

“Don’t look so surprised, Musquash. Your rich beaux aren’t the only ones who enjoy a shave and a haircut. Even we lowly loggers like to get one now and then—when we come to town and all.”

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