SIX
oooooooooooooooo
Whether it was Carrie's Christmas angel or not, they'd never had such a Christmas.
The day was over and the girls were in bed. Caroline was cleaning up in the kitchen. Charles sat in the rocker by the hearth staring at the unexpected gifts that lay strewn across the floor. There had been eight boxes in total – two each for the girls and one for him and one for Caroline. He shook his head in wonder. While he didn't really doubt God, he'd been skeptical of an angel being behind it until he saw what the colorful boxes contained. In their first box Laura and Carrie each got a china doll, and Mary, a special set of books she'd been wanting. The second set of boxes for their girls each contained a scarf, hat, and mittens – all from the Oleson's New York stock. They were the very ones he'd wanted to buy them. Caroline got the same thing plus a winter shawl and he, well, he'd opened his box to find the one carpentry tool he was missing.
God did, indeed, move in mysterious ways.
The injured man's gaze went to the fireplace mantel, which was empty now. He'd been pleased as punch when the girls were just as excited about the simple things their stockings contained – cookies, a peppermint stick, raisins and two pairs of new stockings each that their ma had knitted – as they were with the store-bought goods. Charles' eyes filed with tears.
They were good girls, grateful for any and everything they had.
"Charles, are you all right? Did you over-tire yourself?"
He looked up to find his wife standing over him, a concerned look on her face.
The curly-haired man shook his head. "I'm fine, Caroline. Just givin' thanks for the blessings of our days."
His wife's hand brushed his cheek and then she sat in the chair opposite him. He watched as her gaze went to the multitude of goods. "Who do you think sent them?" she asked.
The item were so precise – exactly what they had needed or wanted – that he had to wonder. Who had he told about any of it? Who could have known?
Charles snorted. "I'm with Carrie. I think it was her Christmas angel."
Caroline looked thoughtful as she sank back in the chair. She paused and then asked, "Are you all right with it?"
It was hard for him. He wanted to provide for his family and not take any help to do it. But, as he sat watching the girls open the unanticipated boxes and saw the joy that it brought them, he told himself it was okay. If not for the wisemen who came bearing gifts, Joseph and Mary wouldn't have been able to take care of the baby Jesus.
God, it seemed, wasn't too proud to accept a little help.
He gave her a shy smile. "You're never to old to learn, I guess."
"Learn what?" his wife asked.
"That in order for someone to give, someone else has to be willin' to receive."
oooooooooooooooo
Winter had come and gone. It had been a long, hard one between him recovering from the accident and the constant snows that fell, cuttin' them off from Walnut Grove and it seemed, at times, the world. Once his leg was healed enough, Charles had begun to work on the cabinet Mrs. Mulvaney had ordered back in the autumn. He'd sent the older woman word via Doc Baker that it would be ready come spring. Hiram had come to call on a fairly regular basis while makin' his rounds to be sure he and everyone else was all right. She'd been about as gracious as could be, tellin' him to take care of himself and not worry about gettin' it done on any kind of schedule.
Which, of course, made him complete it first.
It was spring now. The snows were over and the first flowers were showin' their colors; their bright faces poppin' up through grass not quite green. He wasn't quite fit as a fiddle, but he was on his feet and workin' a normal day and - even though it was painful – spendin' time on his knees thankin' the Lord that he could. They were still in debt, but it wasn't so deep that he thought he couldn't work his way out of it. Looking over his shoulder at the tall, well-built, stately cabinet anchored securely in the back of his wagon – with its shinin' cherry wood and glass front - Charles grinned.
Once he had the bank draft to pay for the work he had done, they'd be all right.
The Widow Mulvaney had a house located between Sleepy Eye and Mankato, though she claimed the former town as her home. She'd come out West after the war ended to stay with a sister who had since passed. She wasn't terribly old – he thought, maybe, in her late fifties or early sixties – but life had been hard and full of loss and she seemed a good bit older than her years. Doctor Baker said she was 'distracted'. Hiram said she'd suffered so and lost so many that she couldn't bear it and so, she pretended that it hadn't happened. The Doc said it wasn't such a bad thing. Human beings found ways to survive and it seemed Margaret Mulvaney had found hers in forgettin' the past and lookin' forward to a bright tomorrow that could never be.
As his wagon rolled into the yard, the door to the elegant manor house opened and the woman who owned it stepped outside. She was dressed as she usually was, in a dark gown that was twenty years old and two sizes too large for the thin wraith of a woman she'd become. Though she wasn't all that old, Margaret's hair was snow white. She wore it parted in the middle and pulled back in a bun that was anchored at the nape of her neck. Her eyes were a pale blue, like the sky on a misty day, and seeme at times to look on a world no one else could see.
"Charles Ingalls!" she exclaimed as she stepped off of the porch. "It is so good to see you! I trust you have not over tired yourself to finish my cabinet?"
"No, Ma'am," he said as he climbed down from the wagon seat, careful to favor his left leg. As he approached her, he smiled. "Matter of fact, that fancy cabinet of yours complained so much about it's humble surroundings, that's it's a pure joy to bring it where it belongs."
The older woman laughed. "So you don't find my 'surroundings' humble?"
Charles' gaze took in her beautiful home – all three floors, with a cupola at the top and a detached carriage house to one side. "Well, if it is, then it gives a new meaning to the word," he said with a wink.
Margaret turned to look too. "It's lovely, but you know, I would trade it in a heartbeat to return to the home where I started with my Robert." The older woman looked at him. "I imagine it is much like your home. Robert was a carpenter too, before he became owner of the mill and made his fortune." She sighed with the memory. "He built our first home with his own hands."
"Well, yes, Ma'am, I imagine it was then since I did the same." Charles turned toward the wagon. "Still, seems to me this here cabinet would feel a bit out of place where I live."
It seemed she had forgotten why he was there until he mentioned it. Moving to the side of the wagon, the older woman peered in.
"Oh, Mr. Ingalls, you have surpassed all expectations!" she said as she ran her hand over the fine, highly polished wood. "It is a work of art!"
Charles beamed. "Thank you, Ma'am."
She looked at him. "Margaret, please. I am too young to be a 'ma'am', and too old to be a threat to that pretty wife of yours."
He laughed. "Only if you agree to call me 'Charles'."
"Charles, it is then. Now, let me get the boy who works for me and we will satisfy your cabinet by giving it a home worthy of its beauty."
oooooooooooooooo
Margaret invited him to stay for supper and offered him a room for the night and he agreed. The journey had worn him out more than he wanted to admit and by the time they had installed the cabinet, it was dark. He'd told Caroline he might be overnight so he knew she wouldn't worry, though he had intended to get a room in town. The older woman was delightful company and, though the food her chef prepared was richer and finer than what he was used to, it was flavorful and filling. Up until supper – while they worked – he'd seen no signs of what everyone talked about; how Margaret lived in the past. But during supper their talk had turned to family and she had begun to tell him all about her boys, where they were and what they were doing and how she was worried about the conflict that was ragin' and how they might have to go to war.
He'd gone to bed a mighty sad man – grateful for all he had, but sad for her loss.
When the morning came, Charles dressed quickly and came down the stairs to find breakfast already on the table. Margaret was nowhere to be found and he just about thought he was gonna end up leavin' without seeing her, when she came down the stairs with a box in her hands. After dismissing the servant, she asked him to come into the parlor with her and he did.
"Please, take a seat, Charles," she said.
He did as she did the same, sitting near the hearth in a blue velvet chair about twice her size. When a minute passed without her saying anything, he asked, "Is there somethin' I can do for you, Margaret?"
She smiled sweetly. "You can tell me about your little girls," she said. "Mary, isn't it? And Laura and Carrie?"
He nodded. When he'd come to take measurements – not too long before Christmas – they'd talked a bit about their families. She'd had three boys. He had three girls and so on.
"What would you like to hear?" he asked.
"Did they enjoy Christmas this year?"
The question caught him off-guard. "Christmas?"
The older woman nodded. "Yes, Christmas. You did have one, didn't you? I mean, in spite of your accident?"
She knew all about that, of course, from the letter he had sent her. "Yes," he said, hesitantly. "Funny thing was, because of the accident, I couldn't get them what...I..."
Charles stopped.
Margaret was staring at him. "Yes?"
"It was you? Wasn't it?" he asked, astonished.
She folded her hands over the box in her lap. "It was me, 'what'?"
He remembered now. The last time he had come to take measurements he had told Margaret how he wanted to buy the scarves and mittens at the mercantile for his wife and girls, and how Laura and Carrie were wishing for china dolls and Mary for the set of books, but that he would have to choose – there was no way he could pay for all of those things.
"It was you who had someone put that sack full of presents outside of our house," he said. It was probably the servant who had helped him unload the cabinet. Suddenly, the bank draft in his pocket was burning a hole through his pride. He reached in and drew it out. "I can't take this. You had to have spent twice as much – "
"Charles."
"What?"
"Can you put a price on joy?"
He frowned. "I beg your pardon."
The older woman shook her head. "Men. God bless and God take them!" she laughed. "You are just like my Robert. He never took a thing in his life that he didn't earn and you know what?"
He was almost afraid to ask. "What?"
"He never gave anyone else a chance to know the joy of giving."
"But, Ma'am..."
"Margaret," she corrected. Then she rose and came to his side and held out the box.
Charles looked at it and then at her.
""Have you learned how to, Charles?"
oooooooooooooooo
Caroline awoke with a start. It took her a moment to realize that she was still in the chair in front of the hearth. Charles had told her he might be overnight delivering the cabinet to the Widow Mulvaney, but it had been two days and she had become worried. She kept waiting and waiting and when he didn't come, must have fallen asleep. Straightening up, she put a hand to her back and groaned. Then, she laughed. There was a time when sleeping in a straight chair overnight would have had no ill effect, but she wasn't as young as she once had been and she was feeling every minute of it. With a glance at the window that showed her the sun was up and she should be too, the blonde woman rose from the chair and headed for the kitchen. The girls would be up soon and they would need breakfast.
As she reached the stove and opened the cupboard beside it to draw out the coffee pot, the blonde woman heard the sound of a wagon rolling into the yard. Closing the cupboard door again, she quickly crossed to the window and drew back the sash. It was as she thought. Charles was just climbing out of the wagon. From her place of concealment, she watched him. He was still limping. He tried to hide it when he knew she was looking, but was making no effort to do so now. Doctor Baker had said the limp would go in time, but she was still worried about him.
He had pushed himself too hard to get that cabinet done, and just because they needed the money.
As she heard his footstep on the stoop, Caroline hurried back to the kitchen and opened the cupboard door. She was just placing the pot on the stove when the door opened and he stepped inside.
"Charles!" she exclaimed as she went to his side. "You're back!"
The look he gave her before he kissed her, told her he knew she'd been at the window. "You the only one up?"
She nodded. "I let the girls sleep in. It's Saturday."
Charles' gaze went to the loft before he made his way to the table. It was only as he did that she noticed the box he carried. He sat down and placed it on the table before him, one hand to either side of it.
"What's that?" she asked as she joined him.
The look he gave her was almost comical. It put her in mind of a little boy who had been told his coat was buttoned wrong.
"A gift," he said.
The blonde woman blinked. "For the girls?"
"No."
"Not for me? Charles..."
"No, not for you either."
She sat back in her chair. "Well, then, for who?"
He looked at the box and then leaned back and sighed. "The Widow Mulvaney passed yesterday."
Shock made her unsure of what she had heard. "What? She...died? Charles, while you were there?"
Her husband nodded. "We were sittin' in her parlor. She'd just given me this when..." He paused, composing himself. "When she started talkin' to her son."
Caroline cast her mind back. "Aren't all of her children..."
"Dead. Yes." Charles drew in a breath and ran a hand across his face. "Her heart gave out. The doc said it was a blessing."
"Oh, Charles! I'm so sorry. I know how much you were counting on that bank draft."
His green eyes flicked to her and then back to the box. "She paid me. I put it in the bank this mornin'."
She was at a loss as to what to say. Finally, not knowing what else to do, she asked, "Do you know what's in there?"
He was silent for a moment. "Another blessing," he said.
As she watched, Charles lifted the lid of the box and set it aside. Within, nestled in a cradle of translucent tissue was a beautiful glass and wire angel tree topper with feather wings. He took it out and then walked over to the fireplace and set it beside her little china figure.
"God has given you two hands, Charles, she told me," he said. "One to give with and the other to receive. Whenever you forget that, just look at this Christmas angel and she will remind you."
Caroline joined him in front of the fire. She looked at the angel and then at him. "The gifts last Christmas? They were from..."
He turned and reached out a hand to cup her cheek.
"It just goes to show, Caroline, where there is great love, there are always miracles."