Mail-Order Christmas Brides Boxed Set (59 page)

He would always do his best for her. If he had a heart, then she would lay claim to it.

“You found us a wonderful tree, exactly perfect, and it’s just the start.” Her optimism lilted like lark song. “This Christmas is going to be exceptional. You wait and see, Gertie.”

“It’s true. It’s already happening.” Happy tears stood in the child’s round eyes. “Last Christmas when the matron drove us all to church, I prayed with all my might. I thought God might hear me the best there, when the choir sang. I promised to be really good, if only next Christmas could be better.”

His defenses buckled picturing his daughter without comfort in that church, struggling to believe. He’d been powerless to protect her and regret battered him like a ram. His windpipe closed up, he couldn’t speak. All he could do was to lay his free hand on the top of her head, willing what comfort he could into his touch. His poor girl.

“That’s all behind you now. The past is gone. It’s today that matters.” Felicity knew just what to say, and he was grateful for that as she sidled up to the wagon box beside Gertie.

Yes, he was deeply thankful for the lady. When their gazes locked, he read the emotion in her expressive eyes the dark shadows could not hide. Her hand settled on his elbow, a gentle show of caring. Did she know what she did to him? The hard stone of his heart buckled when she smiled.

“How are we going to decorate it?” Gertie asked.

“I have a few ideas, but I’m going to need your help.” Felicity peered up at him. “We are going to need a stand of some sort. I’m sure you can come up with something?”

“I’m sure I can.” He had free time this evening. Simms hadn’t any extra work for him tonight, as business slowed with Christmas’s approach. Most folks were turning their thoughts to the holiday and not business. “I need to get Patches rubbed down first.”

“After supper, then.” Her approval rang in her words, and he couldn’t explain why he could sense what she wasn’t saying, the appreciation that hovered unspoken in the frigid winter air. He felt it in the
squeeze of her hand before she released him, in the slow silence of her smile that turned serious and in the echo in the space where his heart used to be.

“It’s a good thing I invited Ingrid and Devin over at the last minute. I had a feeling.” She swept away through the falling snow. “We are having a tree-decorating party. Does that sound like fun, Gertie?”

“A real party? Do you mean it, Felicity?” The girl clasped her hands together, overcome. “A real party?”

“Yes, as it’s too late for your pa to protest. Here come your aunt and uncle.” She offered him a shrug in apology. “Sorry. Maybe I should have given you a warning?”

“No.” Choked up, the word twisted on his tongue. He winced, aware of how dark he sounded. It wasn’t what he meant. Not by far.

“Aunt Ing! Uncle Devin.” Gertie hopped up and down. “We have a tree and a party and everything.”

“I told you things would be looking up.” Ingrid knelt before the child, careful not to bump her with the sewing basket she carried, and smoothed away a handful of flyaway curls.

The sight of Gertie surrounded by family, circled by love, struck another blow. The girl was flourishing, and his gaze riveted not to his child but to the slender golden-haired woman standing next to her, chatting away with Ingrid. Felicity. He owed her the world. He wished he had as much to give her. He wished he was the man he used to be. For her.

All he could see was her. The way snow caught in her hair and brushed her cheek. The obvious care she
felt for Ingrid as they hugged in greeting. The lyrical rhythm of her voice as it sailed on December winds.

“Hey, little brother.” Devin trudged around the wagon, heading his way, apparently glad to leave the females to their talking. Hard to miss that know-it-all grin on his face. “On a night like this, seeing Ingrid happy and Gertie laughing again, I can almost believe the hard times might be behind us—that things will start looking up.”

“I know the feeling.” He grabbed Patches’s bridle bits. “My advice is not to get caught up in it. Life is hard. Best to simply accept it.”

“Hard times pass, I’m sure they do, and good times come around again.”

“I don’t know about that.”

“You gotta have faith, Tate. Maybe by this time next year, the heartache we’ve all known will be behind us. That’s what I’m praying for.” Devin kept pace on the other side of the horse, keeping his voice low so the wind wouldn’t carry it back to the women, keeping to the shadows. “Ma and Pa would have adored her.”

“Felicity? Yes, and she would have loved them.” His throat choked up as it always did thinking about his folks. His mother had passed before the trial and his father after. The strain had been too much. Both of them had died of broken hearts, one right after the other. Unable to say more, he bowed his head. Devin’s understanding felt like a lifeline.

He took comfort in the silence that fell between brothers as they broke through the snow on the way to the barn. He felt pulled to Felicity, unable to go the
length of the yard without searching for her through the veil of snow.

Her light trill of laughter snared him like a trap. Held captive, unable to blink, he watched as she pretended to race Gertie up the steps and lost, on purpose. Ingrid applauded, while the little girl raised her hands in victory at the top, and yet his attention remained on Felicity.

He was going to let her down. He couldn’t stand the thought. He rubbed at the pressure cracking across his chest, thinking over Devin’s words. Maybe good times were waiting up ahead. Maybe hardships were behind them, but he feared his marriage to Felicity would be a hardship for her. She wanted love. She deserved love.

He drew Patches to a stop in the lee of the barn, watching as the lamplight spilled across the tiny porch like a carpet of gold at Felicity’s feet. She ushered Gertie inside and steered Ingrid in ahead of her. She must have felt the weight of his gaze because she turned, searching for him. Her smile could light up the dark.

She lifted her hand in a fluttery-fingered wave. Love lingered in her wake as she slipped into the house. Her love, not his. His failing, and he hated it. He wanted to love her, he wanted to gaze at her the way she looked at him.

But he had nothing left in him. Nothing of value left to give.

He wished more than anything that he did.

Chapter Nine

“Y
ou are a wonder, Felicity.” Ingrid leaned close to scoop a handful of flatware out of the rinse water. “Look at how happy Gertie is. It’s heartening to see.”

“She’s a doll. I had nothing to do with that. Tate did.” She held up a plate to the lamplight, water dripping, and gave it a final scrub. Gertie’s happiness heartened everyone and Felicity felt anchored, no longer alone and drifting. She belonged here with these people. After a family supper full of conversation, she was no longer a stranger. She slipped the plate into the rinse water. “Tate raised her. I’ve done hardly anything at all. Mostly just made a few meals for the girl.”

“Oh, you’ve done a great deal more than that.” Ingrid’s dark eyes filled with caring. “You have brought her back in a way I couldn’t. Don’t think I didn’t try. She needed you.”

“I needed her.” That was simply the truth. She might have been lost and forever drifting without that
child. Standing at the table she had a good view as Gertie swung open the door, hopping in place, her feet barely touching the floor as she waited for the men to haul in the tree. A mother’s affection took deeper root in her heart, an ever-growing love.

“And the difference you’ve made in Tate…” Ingrid shook her head, tearing up, blinking hard as if fighting strong emotion. “The man released from that prison was not the same one who went in. The man we knew didn’t exist anymore. It was as if he’d died, too. Tonight at supper, I saw glimpses of that man again. You have no idea what that means.”

“I didn’t do so much. I didn’t search for his lost daughter. I didn’t visit him at the prison. You did that.” Felicity set down the dishcloth, remembering their conversation together when she’d first arrived in this house. “You and Gertie would take the train to the prison, so you could see Tate. That’s why you were sad.”

“Yes. It was hard knowing he was there, knowing he didn’t belong behind those bars and leaving him behind. Worse than those things, it was seeing him lose all hope. With every visit, there was less of it. Less of him.” Agony lined Ingrid’s face, a testimony to the hardship of that time. She shook her head, visibly struggling to erase the emotion. “He’s coming back to himself. Look.” She nodded toward the door. “He’s coming back to us.”

“Pa! I’ve got the door open.” Gertie gave another hop. “I’ve been waiting and waiting for you.”

“And letting out all the hot air,” Ingrid quipped, chuckling.

Yes, the girl’s wide carefree grin and sparkling blue eyes were good to see.

Footsteps knelled on the steps, a cane clunked on the porch. Branches rustled and whispered as the men strong-armed the tree through the doorway, base first. Devin angled in, but it was Tate she saw. No longer a remote mountain of a man, she realized as he ambled out of the shadows. To her, he was larger than life, the center of her world, and everything faded around him, paling until there was only the man shouldering the tree around the door.

I love him so much,
she thought. Surely it was happening. He was beginning to love her in return.

“Over here, Pa.” Braids bobbing, Gertie bounded across the sitting room. “Put it right there, Uncle Devin.”

“You brought Christmas into this house.” Ingrid leaned close. “Thank you.”

“No, not me. It takes a family to do that, but I’ll take credit for the tree. That was my idea.” Laughter filled her, a wonderful feeling.

“Is this the right spot?” Devin hunkered down to lower the trunk to the ground, holding it upright. “Right here? I don’t want to get this wrong. Tree placement is very important.”

“Let me see.” Gertie sailed around the tree, bobbing from side to side, the hem of her pink calico skirt springing along with her. “Yep, it’s just right. Isn’t it, Pa? It couldn’t be nicer.”

“I agree.” Tate bent down on one knee to tweak his daughter’s chin. For a moment he looked like someone else, a man she did not know. The granite set to his handsome face softened into a warm and real smile without a trace of sadness. It was easy to see the gentle and loving father he’d been, the one he was now. “Good work, Gertie. Let me get the trunk in the stand I made, and we’ll be set to decorate it. Will you do me a favor?”

“Yes. Do you need candles yet? I can get those.”

“Great, but not yet.” With no shadows to darken him, his eyes shone brighter, not midnight blue but an arresting shade of navy. “First we need to give this tree a drink. Fetch a cup from Felicity and fill it from the water pail.”

“Okay!” Determined to do her part, Gertie skipped across the room, too buoyant to simply walk. “Felicity, do you see? Don’t you just love the tree?”

“I absolutely do.” How she adored this child. The strength of it crashed through her like an ocean, growing ever stronger. She caught the girl’s cheek in her hand, love overpowering her at the bliss shining in those wide, dark blue eyes. Tate’s eyes.

She felt him across the room like a magnet pulling and her heart responded, turning toward him until he was all she could see. The lamplight glossed his thick dark hair, still in need of a cut, and highlighted the dimples bracketing a smile as he watched his daughter accept a freshly dried cup and saunter over to the water bucket. The unguarded love in his poignant navy-blue eyes riveted her, love for his child.

A reason to adore him more. Gertie dipped the cup, water splashing. What a dear. She couldn’t seem to drag her attention away. A brush whispered across her face, not a touch but a sensation. Her pulse tripped, lurching in her chest. Tate watched her. Their gazes connected, freezing time. The room silenced until there was only the beat of shared emotion between them.

There was no affection dazzling in his honest eyes. It was not his love for her that bound them together, but regard did beam from his halting smile. His respect stretched across the room to touch her soul, where it mattered most.

Can you love me?
she silently asked.

“This way the tree won’t get thirsty.” Gertie cradled the full cup in both hands, carrying it with care across the room. “I’m gonna check the water every day, so it stays green and pretty.”

“It’ll look prettier once you gals get it all decorated.” Devin was a less-shadowed version of Tate, quick to grin. “I reckon that means this tree will look dapper before evening’s end.”

“I’ll put the cup down,” Tate broke in, accepting the water from his daughter. “If Devin will lift up the tree.”

“Sure thing. I might as well make myself useful,” his brother quipped.

“Why start now?” Ingrid teased gently. Good-natured laughter rippled through the room as the trio in the sitting area hunkered down to tend to the tree.

The plea remained within her, an innocent longing. She dowsed the cloth in the sudsy water and came up with another plate to swipe. Hammer beats of Gertie’s shoes reverberated through the room as she skipped around the now-watered tree. Tate watched her, no longer stoic, no longer bleak even in the shadows.

“I’ll finish up these last things.” Ingrid’s suggestion came from very far away, drawing Felicity back.

“What?” She blinked, realizing she still held the plate in mid-rub. “Oh, no. It will only take a few minutes more with both of us sharing the work.”

“Forget it.” With affection, Ingrid stole the plate and the cloth. “You go get started with the decorations. Look at that girl. She’ll skip herself into exhaustion if you don’t.”

That wasn’t the reason Ingrid sidled into place beside the wash basin.

“Look at Tate.” Ingrid’s voice fell, too heavy with emotion to carry far. “I’m starting to think love can heal anything. Go to him. Go on.”

Tate knelt beside the tree, substantial shoulders wide, one forearm resting on a bended knee, shadows gone. Lamplight gravitated toward him, as if to celebrate the moment when the man, who’d been so lost, laughed full and hearty as his daughter twirled like a snowflake whirling around the tree.