Sleigh Bells & Mistletoe: A Short Story (The Brides Series 1.5) (2 page)

Becky’s throat thickened with emotion, and she determinedly smoothed down her velvet skirt. It was perfectly straight, without a single wrinkle, but she found the sensation of the rich nap against her fingertips had a certain soothing effect on her nerves. She prayed a quick prayer for everything else to turn out as perfectly as she’d hoped it would that day.

“But there’s pie?” Jem asked, glancing at her, his expression strained now. He liked his sweets.

Becky sighed and shook her head.

Everyone paused in silence to reflect on the lack of pie. She could feel the weight of their combined disappointment, felt her own sinking sense of loss and failure.

She could easily envision the perfect meals her good friends Meggie and Catherine had prepared for their families. They were so much better at just about anything to do with cooking. Or sewing. Or, it seemed, pretty much anything to do with being a wife and mother.

Just once, couldn’t she—Becky—get something right?

“There’s lots of dressing and roasted potatoes,” she said, striving to be positive. “And let’s slice up some of that oat bread.” She hurried to the kitchen counter and reached for yesterday’s leftover bread and a knife, sawing off six thick slices and hoping the hardened loaf would take on new life warmed up in the oven a bit and slathered with honey butter.

It couldn’t have taken her more than a minute or two to warm the bread, and when she turned, all eyes were on her—all her men looking at her expectantly.

Isaac smiled encouragingly, adjusting the position of the long tongs and knife on the table, which he’d use to slice the turkey. After she and Jem brought the remaining dishes over to the table, Isaac stood and held her chair out for her. Becky tucked her skirts around her, unused to having so much fabric to contend with. Her dress was much fancier than anything she normally wore around the house, or even to church on Sundays. It took her a few moments of tucking to get everything just so, and then she smiled her thanks to Isaac. He bent and gave her a quick kiss on her cheek before taking his seat at the head of the table.

Pop was already seated across from him at the foot of the table. Becky was at Isaac’s right, with Jem across from her at Isaac’s left, because both of the boys had wanted to sit next to Pop, and that was the only way it worked out.

Jake squirmed in his seat beside her, his eyes resolutely fixed on his brother’s chair across the table. His gaze flicked first to Pop and then to Jem, seated beside Levi. He hopped down, circled the table, and pulled on Levi’s arm. “I want to sit next to Jem!”

Just as Becky said, “
Jake
,” in her motherly, word-of-warning voice, Levi protested, “No! I was here first!”

“Momma!” Jake took a firmer hold on his brother’s arm. “Make him move. Not fair.”

“Of course it’s fair,” she said, striving to keep her voice calm and in control, embarrassed that the boys would behave this way in front of Pop and Jem. “Sit right beside me, and you’ll have your grandpop on your right.”

Jake’s little face got tight with anger. He grabbed his brother’s arm again, pinching him.

“Ow!”

“Jakob,” Isaac scolded him sternly. “Release your brother and go sit next to your mother.”

“I don’t want to sit next to
Momma
. I want to sit next to
Jem
.”

Becky felt a slice of hurt. Both her boys loved her, she knew, but Jake had always been the one to hang by her side. Levi had done the same with Isaac, as if at an early age, they’d come to a tacit understanding: Jake claimed Becky; Levi claimed Isaac. That was just the way it was.

And now Jakob didn’t even want to sit next to her.

Levi sat more solidly in his chair and shoved Jake away. “My chair. Me first.”

Jake’s face took on a mulish cast. He was a good boy, but he could be stubborn if pressed. If she didn’t do something quickly he’d start to cry. It was as predictable as dark clouds before a snowstorm.

“Come sit next to me,” she urged.

“No!” Jake stomped his foot.

A second slice of hurt came then.

“Doesn’t
anyone
want to sit next to me?” she blurted out. Immediately her face flamed with heat as all eyes fastened on her in surprise.

Isaac clasped her hand on the table and gave her fingers a squeeze. “I want to sit next to you,” he said soothingly.

She stiffened, in no mood to be managed or treated like a child—and yet she suddenly felt very much like a young girl, hurt because no one seemed to like her very much.

Now where had that come from?

Isaac was just trying to help. He was being sweet, in fact. And she was being, well, childish.

And Jake was just a little boy. He could sit next to her anytime. Pop and Jem were only planning to stay one night.

And one
morning
, she realized.

She squeezed Isaac’s hand back, took a cleansing breath, and, as she did so, said a quick prayer for peace. A sense of calm strength stole over her. “You can sit between Pop and Jem in the morning, Jake,” she promised, “and Levi will sit next to me.”

He hesitated.

“Or…” She paused for effect, hoping against hope that he wouldn’t challenge her on this one, “you may take your dinner in your room.”

The boys shared a glance—Levi’s triumphant and Jake’s resigned. His shoulders drooped, and he trudged back to his chair, scraping the legs across the floor in a way that made her wince. He plopped onto the seat.

Pop smothered a grin and helped Becky pull Jake’s chair in so he wasn’t a full foot away from the table.

Isaac nodded, and they all joined hands and bowed their heads as he said a blessing, “Lord, thank you for all your gifts. For the gift of your Son, which we celebrate this day. For the gift of my father; my good friend, Jem; and my sons, Levi and Jakob—who are sitting so patiently...” He paused with an air of expectancy, and Becky heard a soft shuffling sound. She peeked through her laced hands to find her sons sinking back into their seats. She frowned, wondering exactly which dish they had gotten their fingers into. Their heads were bowed over their own laced fingers, and their eyes were squeezed tightly shut, so there was no way to know for sure, but probably the sausage dressing. It was sitting directly in front of them, and several times earlier she’d caught them picking off crunchy bits of cubed bread from around the edges of the platter.

“We are so richly blessed,” Isaac continued. “And lastly”—he gave Becky’s fingers another little squeeze—“thank you for the blessing of my wife and for this delicious food we are about to partake in. Amen.”

“Amen!” the boys shouted.

Becky opened her mouth to correct them, but Isaac lifted her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles. She took a breath to protest that they shouldn’t be allowed to be so noisy at the table, even though they were excited about Christmas morning and their presents, but Isaac captured her gaze in his, looking up at her from under his lashes. A tingle of warmth flared up her arm at the intensity of his regard.
Oh my
.

She pulled her hand free to discreetly fan her cheeks and settled back in her chair. “Who wants some bread?”

“Me!”

“Me!”

She winced and smiled to herself, shaking her head as she served up slices of bread to her sons. She passed the basket to Pop and Jem and watched as they took the oat bread without complaint and smeared generous helpings of honey butter on both sides.

Not nearly as good as fresh biscuits hot out of the oven
, Becky thought, pulling a face.

Pop poured out glasses of the cold pressed cider he’d brought with him and proposed a toast. “To family!”

They all raised their glasses. Becky took a sip of her cider. “It’s delicious, Pop,” she said, appreciating how sweet and refreshing it was. As he was explaining his cider-making process, she moved to set her glass down. Her aim must have been off, for she heard a
clink
as the base of the glass caught the edge of her plate. The glass tilted forward in an alarming way.
It’s going to fall
, she thought, paralyzed by surprised confusion, like it was happening to someone else and not to her. She could have sworn she was setting the glass down properly, but she must have misjudged. Although nothing had moved, things just didn’t seem to be where they should be. Cider splashed onto her best white tablecloth. She gasped and tried to catch her glass, but it was too late. Every last drop had spilled out. The coppery tide seeped into the lace.

Three cloth napkins came flying in her direction as Isaac, Pop, and Jem tossed theirs onto the spill. She rose and blotted the mess, her eyes smarting yet again. Her best tablecloth. The one her mother had given her. The one that had been Aunt Mari’s—who hadn’t really been her aunt at all, but her birth mother, a secret Becky had learned when she was packing to leave Pepperell. Since Aunt Mari had died young, it was the only memento Becky had of her.

How could she have been so clumsy?

Her chin wobbled, but she was determined not to cry. It was just fabric after all, and it wasn’t as if anyone had gotten hurt.

“It’s all right, Momma.” Jake climbed onto his knees and patted his napkin into the spill, dragging his elbow through the gravy in the process. “I spilled mine too.”

“Me too,” Levi said, not to be outdone. He climbed to his feet on his chair, napkin in hand, as if determined to reach across the table and join his brother—through the platter of dressing and the dish of green beans. Jem and Pop reached out in unison and tugged him down into his seat before any damage was done. And, for whatever reason, watching it all unfold like a scene in a play, Becky felt the ball of unhappiness in her chest pop like a soap bubble. Her two boys could certainly go from hot to cold in a matter of seconds, couldn’t they? And...she wasn’t much different, evidently. The world seemed suddenly brighter.

She handed her glass to Pop for a refill, mashed all four napkins—hers, Isaac’s, Jem’s and Pop’s—into the squishy puddle of cider, and turned to Jakob, smiling. “Thank you, Jake,” she said, mopping his sleeve with his cider-soaked napkin, which had a ridiculousness all its own. She nodded to everyone at the table. “Thanks to you all. I’m afraid that’s the last of the napkins.”

Jem leapt up. “I’ll get some dish towels?” he said, ending on an upward note, as if asking her permission.

“Thank you, Jem. That will do nicely,” Becky said, taking her fresh glass of cider from Pop.
What a mess
, she thought, as she pushed aside the heap of napkins so she’d have a place to put her glass.

Her beautiful Christmas dinner.

She sighed.

It was nowhere near as nice as she planned it to be. It seemed perfection had decided not to show up for dinner. She finished the meal with a dishrag on her lap, a huge coppery stain before her, and all the delicious turkey and gravy she could eat in her stomach. To be honest, it was better than she’d feared, but she still wished she’d had biscuits for everyone. And she mourned for her ruined pie. Or rather,
pies
.

THREE

A
fter dinner—after all the dishes were cleared and the leftover food was placed in the icebox—Isaac pulled Becky aside, practically cornering her between the kitchen and the dining room table.

“Becky, what is it?” he asked peering into her face. “Are you tired? You’ve been on your feet all morning. Do you need to lie down for a bit?”

“No, it’s just...it’s just...I wanted everything to be perfect.” She sighed with disappointment. Another Christmas where she ruined something or other.

“Everything doesn’t have to be perfect for it to be perfect.”

She looked up at him quizzically. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Doesn’t it?” Isaac looked pointedly around their cabin. The fire was snapping merrily in the hearth, glowing with red and orange flames. The bear rug lay on the floor in front of it, inviting the children to roll around, which they were doing. Pop was stretched out in one of the rockers with his legs stuck straight out. His eyes were shut, and he was snoring softly. Jem stood at the basin whistling as he washed dishes. Not so long ago, he’d been a boy in terrible circumstances. Now he was safe. With them. As close as a brother. Becky’s heart warmed at the thought. Her letter from home was propped up on the mantel, reminding her of what she’d left behind—a loving family who missed her. And Isaac beside her—what she’d found. And a hand on her belly—what was to come.

Isaac waited patiently for her to take all this in, then asked, “Wouldn’t you say this is good?”

“Yes,” she admitted.

“Good enough?”

“What?”

“Maybe everything didn’t turn out ‘perfect,’ but this is ‘good enough,’ isn’t it?”

“Good enough?” she repeated thoughtfully, studying Isaac and seeing him as with fresh eyes.

As she looked him over, he stood at attention, bracing his shoulders. He was the same Isaac, and yet he was different too. If anything he’d grown more handsome. Perhaps love had clouded her eyes, but she didn’t think so. He was the same confident, hard-working man who valued honesty and integrity, but now... He was just more so. His face was more manly, his stride more self-assured, and his manner a tad more tolerant with his men. It was rare, but a few men chafed under their boss’s high standards and would move to another operation. Isaac simply paid them, wished them well, and didn’t waste time with sentimentality. Nor did he second-guess his convictions. He did his job. He expected others to do the same.

And he loved his boys. They often demanded his time and attention and sometimes followed him when he told them to stay put. He was known to scold them rather passionately when this put them in danger, much as she scolded them herself. An accident with a falling tree could be deadly, one of the many dangers of living on this mountain. He protected them—and he protected her—fiercely.

And...

She loved him.

He made her steps quicken to greet him. He made her heart beat faster—even now.

Where he was standing, he was framed by the kitchen window. Behind him, beyond the glass, tiny snowflakes were still falling, sparkling in the afternoon light. All the trees looked like they’d been painted with thick white icing. A beautiful wintry scene. Home. Seattle. Washington Territory. The majestic Cascade Mountains. The trees. So many beautiful trees.

She couldn’t imagine life anywhere else. Everything she saw—inside and out—was “good enough.” A blessing. An early Christmas gift of sorts.

What did burnt biscuits matter? Or apple pie?

Isaac wrapped an arm around her waist and tugged her snuggly against his side. He was so warm and solid, always there for her. And she fit so nicely against him, her cheek resting against his chest.

“It’s perfect—isn’t it?” he asked.

Becky swallowed, her nose prickly and tingly with tears. She nodded once.

“Are you crying again?” he asked, resting his chin on the top of her head. How often had they stood like this? Watching over the boys as they slept... Staring up at the stars over the mountains... Just enjoying each other’s company... She could stand like this forever.

“No.” Becky blinked rapidly, grateful he couldn’t see her face. Her nose was likely red and her eyes a little too shiny.

“Liar,” he teased, wriggling his chin against her hair.

“They’re tears of happiness,” she said defensively.

“Oh, well, I guess that makes them ‘good enough’ too.”

She swatted his arm and giggled, sniffling back her tears.

But he was right.

It was good enough.

More than good enough.

After Becky put her tablecloth in a tub to soak, and after she finally managed to get Levi and Jakob settled down, building towers on the floor with their wooden blocks, she realized Isaac and Jem had disappeared.

Where did they go
? she wondered, looking around. One moment they were there and the next they had simply vanished without a word.

“Where are Isaac and Jem?” she asked Pop.

“Out to the barn?”

“Again?” she asked distractedly.

Pop looked meaningfully at the boys who paused over their tower to look up at them. They were sprawled on the floor on their bellies, nose to nose, feet up, looking much like bookends.

With sudden understanding, she pictured Isaac and Jem planning some special surprise for the boys, and she’d almost spoiled it. She knew Isaac had been doing some woodworking over the past few weeks. He’d gone out to do barn chores, supposedly, only to return home with tiny wood shavings dotting his clothes and smelling of fresh cut pine. It was very possible he’d made the boys a hobbyhorse or some other surprise gift he hadn’t seen fit to tell her about. That man did love his little surprises.

“Oh, right,” she said, perhaps a little too loudly, “
the barn
. I bet Jem wanted to check on—”

“—
the mare
,” Pop finished for her, and they smiled at each other. “And now,” he added with an air of decision, “I either need to take a real nap in a real bed, or we’d better get some music going.”

“Music?” she asked with a hopeful smile.

“Music!” The boys leapt to their feet, abandoning their tower. It toppled to the floor, blocks scattering in all directions. She’d be finding them days later under tables and chairs, she was sure.

“I thought you’d say that.” Pop rubbed his hands together briskly and then pushed off the rocker arms to stand. He gathered the case he’d left by the doorway and returned to his rocker by the fire. With a twang of strings, he pulled a long, beautifully crafted and polished wooden box from his bag. He set the dulcimer carefully aside, and then reached inside the bag again, making a big show of searching around the bottom. Something jangled inside the bag, a muffled metallic noise.

“What’s this?” he asked, pulling out a long strand of sleigh bells, which jangled ever louder as he lifted them out. He managed to look completely befuddled by the discovery. As if a six-foot length of sleigh bells had somehow gotten in there by itself. The rascal. He was enjoying every minute of this. Just as he’d enjoyed the sleigh ride they’d taken after church on Sunday.  They all had.

Levi looked at his brother wide-eyed. His mouth fell open in the most comical fashion, but he didn’t say a word.

“Sleigh bells,” Jake said in a hushed tone. He covered his mouth with both hands. Levi copied him, covering his mouth too. They simply stared at each other, evidently enthralled.

Becky and Pop shared a look of amused surprise.
Now
they were quiet?

“Ah, yes,” Pop said as he laid the bells across their waiting hands like a big sagging W. “Now I remember. I have a special song to play, and I’m going to need your help.”

“Jingle Bells!”

“The One Horse Open Sleigh,” he corrected. “At least that’s what we called it when I was a much younger man.” His eyes twinkled.

Pop was the same as always, Becky decided, watching him. He was perhaps a little older looking, but still as fit as a man half his age. Today, he’d taken special care with his appearance. His silvery-white hair was neatly combed and tied with black twine at the back of his neck, in his customary Western queue. He wore his Sunday-going-to-church black wool trousers, his best black boots, and a navy button-down flannel shirt that brought out the blue in his steel-blue eyes. She thought he looked especially nice. Distinguished. Dashing even. And where the hem of his trousers rode up over the top of his boots, she saw a band of bright red, the tops of a pair of wool socks. Bright red. She shook her head, amused. His hearing was the only real sign of age that Becky had noticed. Sometimes, she suspected he heard what he wanted to hear and didn’t hear what he didn’t want to hear, but just as often she wasn’t sure anymore.

Now, as she watched him tune the strings of his dulcimer, she noticed how closely he bent over the polished wooden board, as if he was straining to catch each strum and pluck of the cords. He frowned as the boys ran past with the long strand of sleigh bells trailing behind them, making a racket. She suspected he could hear his instrument well enough to tune it, but that it was more of an effort.

“Can you get them to be still?” he asked her, his voice gravelly and a little gruff. His eyes sparkled with the light of good humor though, so she knew he wasn’t as irritated as he sounded.

“Boys!” Becky lassoed them in her arms as they ran past, yelling, and gathered them close. “Grandpop needs a few minutes of quiet so he can get the dulcimer ready. You want him to play, don’t you?”

“Play it!”

“Play it now!”

“You’re going to have to be very quiet, all right?” She placed one hand on Levi’s shoulder, the other on Jake’s, bracketing them before her, the sleigh bells trailing on the floor between them. She gazed at them in a solemn fashion. “Or…” she added thoughtfully, as if she truly had her doubts, “maybe you
can’t
be quiet...?”

Immediately, their eyes grew wide with offense.

“We can be quiet!” Jake protested.

“Can so!”

“Levi! Too loud!” Jake’s whisper likely could have been heard down at the barn.

“All right then,” Becky said, hiding a smile. “Show me.”

The boys shared a glance, and some silent communication passed between them. Without a word, they slunk off, with the sleigh bells carried carefully between them, and disappeared underneath the dining table to watch their grandpop working over his dulcimer, his forehead creased with concentration.

Becky tilted her head, considering him. For all his barks, that man loved his family. He loved Isaac—enough to risk sending off for a bride for him without permission or foreknowledge—and he loved their boys.

And he loved
her
.

He’d become closer to her than her own father had ever been when she was growing up. She no longer constantly felt like she didn’t measure up. Or at least when she did feel that way, she also recognized the thoughts were coming from within. Pop certainly wasn’t making her feel that way, and neither was Isaac. It came from a deep place inside, from a lifetime of insecurity and self-doubt.

Those times came less frequently now. More often she felt a deep sense of peace, even contentment. It was like one of the scriptures Isaac liked to quote, about finding the secret of being content in all circumstances, whether rich or poor, wherever you were. There were so many blessings. So many ways to see God in the little things. And the big things.

She’d do well to remember not to take herself so seriously whenever she failed. Like with the biscuits. And the apple pies.

“You ready?” Pop called out to the boys, and they came running, tripping over their own feet and dragging the sleigh bells behind them. Loudly.

Pop winced only the slightest bit and patted the edge of the bear rug, well away from the snapping fire. “All right, we’re going to practice a bit first. You stand here, and when I give you the nod, you’re going to shake those bells. All right?”

“Bells!” Levi cried, nodding vigorously.

“Bells, bells, bells!” Jake chimed in, equally as loud, evidently deciding they’d been set free from their imposed silence.