A/N: Blessed Christmas, TN family! I know it's late Christmas night and many of us are maybe finally taking a breath after the busy lead-up to Christmas day or perhaps curling up before a fireplace with a little eggnog or wassail to enjoy the serene ambience cast by tree lights. . . but I wanted to get this up for anyone who might be looking to wind down with a little more N&E Christmas reading. I hope you had a blessed celebration of Christ's Birth w/your loved ones and are basking in a happy glow now, but if today was tough, I send a hug from my heart to yours. I'm so glad to be along on this ride with all of you. It's been a tumultuous last few years to say the very, very least—but the truth is finally coming true on WCTH.
Please accept this story, my Christmas gift to you, N&E family! Feliz Navidad! Joyeux Noël! Buon Natale! Frohe Weihnachten! Hyvää joulua! Whatever part of the world you're reading this from—MERRY CHRISTMAS!
— Chapter 1 —
O Holy Night
HOPE VALLEY, NORTHWEST Canada — Christmas Eve 1903
• • •
"But it is in the old story that all the beasts can talk, in the night between Christmas Eve and Christmas Day in the morning (though there are very few folk that can hear them, or know what it is that they say).
When the Cathedral clock struck twelve there was an answer—like an echo of the chimes—and Simpkin heard it, and came out of the tailor's door, and wandered about in the snow.
From all the roofs and gables and old wooden houses in Gloucester came a thousand merry voices singing the old Christmas rhymes—all the old songs that ever I heard of, and some that I don't know. . ."
HER VOICE EBBING AND FLOWING, changing to suit each character and alteration in narration, Elizabeth Grant read from The Tailor of Gloucester, stopping from time to time to adjust the book's propped angle atop the shelf of her very expectant midsection.
The latest pause must have been too long, for the unborn babe inside her gave a soft little push, as if in gentle protest of being deprived of the tale. She smiled to herself, tenderly rubbing the spot as the center of her heart suffused with warmth. Not much longer, tiny one. Any day now your daddy and I finally get to meet you and shower you in the kisses we've stored up for so long for you.
The little faces clustered on the floor around her over-stuffed chair were turned up to her, rapt with attention at the marvel of this Christmas tale from far-away England. Their eyes held a glow of enchantment as their fertile imaginations drifted to another world—the world of a tailor who took ill while commissioned to make a fine wedding suit for the mayor of Gloucester's Christmas wedding, a stubborn cat names Simpkin, and a family of mice who left the very tiniest of stitches on the miraculously finished suit when the poor despairing tailor came down to his shop Christmas morning. . .
Page after page turned in the short Yuletide story, the paper crisp under her fingers for the publication was fresh from the press. Even the spine creaked with newness as she let it splay open, better to see the elegant typeset as she turned the book closer to the oil lamp at her side or around to watch the children's faces change as they eagerly examined the quaintly drawn illustrations.
Little Opal Weise's rosy round cheeks were so near at hand, it was all Elizabeth could do not to reach out and place a gentle hand against one.
Opal was the sweetest soul, quiet and serious, with big brown eyes almost as round as her cheeks. Honey blond hair spilled over her shoulders onto the worn teddy bear she clutched to her chest with both hands as she listened raptly to Elizabeth read the night's story.
Each December night leading up to Christmas there was a reading in the town library for the children of the area. Each night was a different story, read by a different volunteer.
Tonight, Christmas Eve, was the final night. And it was Elizabeth's night.
Tomorrow they would hear the most important story of all, in church. A true story, this time. The story of the Nativity of the Christ Child, without Whom there would be no Christmas, for He was the reason the world paused in its busyness and celebrated.
Spellbound, the children sat in silence as Elizabeth reached the final sentence, the last word ringing in the air. The power of the written word had cast its golden spell over them, something that warmed Elizabeth's heart, being a firm proponent of good literature. And the tale of the poor tailor trying to survive in his freezing workshop during Christmas time—with the secret help of his mice friends—seemed to resonate deeply with them. Most of them were from working families themselves and had known deprivation, the remembrance of which lingered in their memories.
The wavering shadows cast by the oil lamp fell over their dear faces and Elizabeth prayed silently for each one as she slowly closed the book and looked upon them with a warm smile. The fragrance of the scented pine cones in a decorative bowl at her elbow filled the air with the smells of the season.
Timmy Lawson, mannerly and thoughtful under his headful of brown hair, was the first to break the silence, sounding far older than his tender years. "That was wonderful, Mrs. Grant. Thanks for ordering it in. I'm glad you were able to get a copy of it in time for the Christmas reading tonight."
"Oh, Timmy, so am I," she admitted. Mail was sometimes slow reaching their tiny frontier town, but she had pre-ordered the book even ahead of its October publishing, figuring that should give just enough time to traverse the distance between London and these far reaches of western Canada. "Maybe the angels hurried it along with their wings."
Timmy smiled at the thought, eyes happy.
"I'm glad mean Simpkin didn't get the mice," Opal confided in her cutely diminutive voice, an obstinate little light in her eyes. She hugged her teddy closer as if shielding it from looming feline threat. "He wasn't nice."
"He was just being a cat," one of the older boys told her. "It wasn't personal. Cats hunt mice."
"No, they don't," Opal shook her head, a telltale quiver starting over her lower lip. "Our cat Whiskers never ever hurt a mouse."
Anna Hayford, older by several years, laid a comforting hand on Opal's shoulder, her straight hair white-blond in the lamplight. "Not all cats are mousers, Opal, and isn't it nice that the mice family not only got away in tonight's story, but were also able to save the tailor with their act of kindness towards him?"
Opal's eyes softened. "They were good mice," she said sweet solemnity. "They were kind at Christmas."
"And isn't that how we should all be towards one another?" Elizabeth inserted softly, drawing several of the children to her with warm arms and looking around the ring of upturned faces. "As kind to each other as Baby Jesus was in coming to Earth, by doing good to each other but above all in being good for Him?"
There were some nods and murmurs of, "Yes, Mrs. Grant," before she playfully tapped a finger on the ear of Opal's teddy bear. "I know you all need to get home before St. Nicholas arrives to leave special packages under the tree for good girls and boys, so let's conclude with our Christmas prayer and then we can go home to our warm beds."
Folding her hands, she bowed her head. There was a rustle of fabric as the children followed suit.
"Hail and blessed be the hour and the moment in which the son of God was born of the most pure Virgin Mary, at midnight, in Bethlehem, in piercing cold. In that hour, vouchsafe, O My God, to hear our prayers and grant our desires through the merits of Our Savior Jesus Christ and of His Blessed Mother."
"Amen," the children prayed together in humble culmination.
"That was beautiful," Elizabeth said, just above a whisper, afraid to break the spell cast by the grace-filled moment. "And you know what would keep our Christmas Eve beautiful? To go home, keeping close the remembrance of Christ's Birth, thanking Him for it and the gift of good families and friends He's blessed you with."
Small hands clasped her knee. She looked down to find Mollie, Rosemary Coulter's petite three-year old girl, gazing up at her solemnly from the blue eyes she'd inherited from her mother. "'Wike you, Missus 'Wiz'beff," she lisped adorably.
She hugged the little girl to her, eyes misting. "Oh, Mollie darling, I love being your friend." She pulled back, laughing as she dabbed her eyes. "Alright, children, I'll see you all tomorrow at church. Don't forget to bundle up warmly before leaving—Robert, that means you too!" She wagged a finger at the curly-haired boy hustling his little sister Sarah Wolf out the door.
The children filed out, leaving her warm with their thanks and smiles. She'd just finished slipping into her coat—not an easy feat with her rounded tummy—and was bending to help little Mollie with her gloves when the door opened. Rosemary and Lee stepped inside, come to fetch their only child. A few surprise snowflakes blew in with them, on a wintry breeze stiffer than Elizabeth expected.
Lee scooped up his daughter. "Hello, my sweetheart, did you enjoy Mrs. Grant's story?"
Mollie nodded. "'Dey was good mice, daddy, and we haf' to be good like 'dem."
Quizzically, Lee glanced at the book on the table. "Ah! I've heard about Beatriz Potter's new Christmas tale. Mice, eh?"
The father and daughter duo continued their sweet chatter while Rosemary went to Elizabeth's side to help her with her scarf. "How're you feeling?"
Elizabeth looked at her best friend wryly. "Like this little one"—she placed a hand to her tummy—"is ready to join us for their first Christmas."
Rosemary's eyes widened. "That soon?"
"Well, Faith did say any day now." Dr. Faith Cantrell was a local doctor and a recent mother herself, having given birth to a healthy set of twins who joined a delighted older half-brother Phillip. After some romantic troubles, Faith had finally found fulfillment and joy with a returning widower, Shane Cantrell, back in Hope Valley after a number of years away.
Rosemary put her hands on Elizabeth's shoulder. "You send Nathan to get me the minute you need me, you hear? Even if it's just to hold your hand till Faith arrives. Or at least the hand that Nathan isn't holding."
With a watery laugh, Elizabeth covered her hand. "I will."
Outside, the air had a frigid chill as Elizabeth closed and locked the door behind her and tucked the key into her pocket. As town librarian, the key stayed with her at all times.
"Doesn't look good up there," Lee muttered as they set out down the covered boardwalk, heading in the direction of their homes. He gestured up to the mountains rising behind the town. The whole upper portion of the mountains was wrapped in a lowering cloud of stormy white.
Elizabeth knew what that meant. Snow. A lot of it.
A vague trepidation tiptoed across her lungs. Nathan.
Several townsfolk were standing in the street, peering at the distant mountains with concern on their faces. "Might be coming this way," she heard one of them utter. "Hope it doesn't get too bad."
Lee held his daughter closer. "We'd all best get home."
Rosemary hugged her husband's arm, white fur stole swathing her neck. "We might get our white Christmas after all."
Lee glanced across at the dark and shuttered building across the way. Sheriff's Office, the carved wooden sign read, creaking in the wind as it swung back and forth, the trailing ends of its festive maroon bow fluttering. The hitching rail was empty. Neither Nathan or his deputy's mounts were tied there. "Nathan not back yet?"
"No." She shook her head and lifted her eyes to the white mountains. "He was called to assist up in Pine Gap."
Lee frowned, following her gaze. "That means he took the mountain pass."
Rosemary wrapped an arm around Elizabeth's waist. "He'll be fine, Elizabeth. Just like he always has before. He's faced much worse than a snow storm and survived—and he knows how to handle himself in one."
"Oh, I know. But thank you, Rosemary." She hugged her friend back. Despite her confident words, a sneaking sense of foreboding plagued her. She tried not to let it show. As wife of a law enforcement officer, these worries were not uncommon, but they made her glad to have friends like the Coulters nearby.
Elizabeth's gaze fell on a comfortable house they passed, where warm lights glowed from within. Beyond the gold-and-green ribbon festooned door lay another Christmas miracle. Henry Gowen, never married and childless, with a checkered past but a repentant heart, had married Abigail Stanton, a widow with several children and heartbreak of her own, and had thus gained the family his heart had long yearned for, filling a hole. Her love was his final healing; a balm on their past of angst and turmoil—much of the blame for that lay at his doorstep.
And in one last hole-filling that could only be divine, the week prior Abigail had confided to her in a voice choked with tearful happiness that God had blessed the desires of their hearts. She and Henry were expecting a later-in-life baby.
Elizabeth related to her tearful happiness in more ways than one. . .
Little Mollie grabbed for a pair of silver bells as they passed a streetlamp, its gaslight glowing golden in the evening nightfall. "Leave it, Mollie," her mother caught her gloved hand lovingly and pressed a kiss to it. "That's not ours, and we have lots of decorations at home, remember?"
Home found them soon enough and they parted at the gated walkway to Elizabeth's home with Nathan—a sturdy, cozy two-story building with a rugged edifice of large grey stone that he'd built for her with his own two hands. Bracketing either end, the double chimneys rose dark against the skyline.
"Night, my goddaughter." Elizabeth pressed a kiss to Mollie's forehead and the little girl's responding, "Night, godmudder!" trailed back to her as the Coulters moved off with merry waves.
Elizabeth opened the gate, pausing to ensure that the oil lamp fastened atop the post Nathan had installed to light the gated entry had enough oil to last the night. She didn't know when Nathan would make it back, but she wanted the home light burning for him when he did.
Her boots crunched in the light layer of snow covering the flagstone path as she made her way toward the house. The lit oil lamps anchored on either side of the front door threw a beckoning welcome onto the generous, wraparound porch and the large evergreen wreath bedecking the glossy wood of the front door, slightly obscuring the small, beveled privacy windows Nathan had installed at eye level.
As always, a feeling of warmth stole over her as she approached their home.
She loved this house, loved the hard-working man who'd built it, loved the work he put in building their marriage, their future. . .
She rested a hand on her belly where their child had quieted for the night and prayed for Nathan's safe return, thanking God for the gift of Nathan's love in her life. Lifting her face to the heavens, she closed her eyes and sent prayers heavenward on snowflakes under the cocooning watch of the sentinel evergreens that edged the back and sides of the house in a protective half-moon.
The clear night air smelled of impending snow.
She mounted the steps, noticing with some surprise a large basket by the front door with a card affixed to its handle. Reading the note as she stepped inside and flicked on more oil lamps, she was touched to read in Bill Avery's black scrawl:
You're eating for two, Nathan's needed these, and being born in winter, my godchild is going to need to stay warm. Merry Christmas to three of my favorite humans. (And you know I don't like many of them.) Know I love you all. -Bill
A shrimp and mushroom lasagna in white sauce. A new pair of rugged work gloves. And the softest, downiest baby blanket Elizabeth had ever felt. And she'd felt a lot by now, thanks to the overflowing kindness of friends and neighbors, who'd gifted her a stack of them.
Discarding her wrappings, Elizabeth wasted no time putting the gifts away. The gloves went under the tree. A mixture of elegance and woodsiness, branches laden with delicate glass ornaments, earthy pine cones, and wide gold ribbon sheer as gossamer, it welcomed the new gift below its boughs with a sprinkle of fragrant needles. Elizabeth smiled as she brought them to her nose and inhaled the crisp scent. Folding the new baby blanket, she laid it on the stacked blankets. This one went right to the top.
It took her less than ten minutes to change into a nightrail, wash her face, and brush her hair till it lay soft and waved over her shoulders, gleaming like silk under the lamplight.
She was on her way out of their bedroom when she stopped at the large wardrobe against the wall, crafted by Nathan's hands. She paused before reaching inside for one final article of clothing, easing it over her head. Satisfied, she padded on stockinged feet back out to the front room where she lit a roaring fire and curled into an armchair before the fireplace, snuggling down into a thick blanket as she opened Nathan's family Bible, and began to read the story of the Nativity. This would be her best companion as she awaited her absent husband.
Nathan was tough. Resilient. Please bring him safely home to me, Lord. To our child.
The child inside her moved softly, as if sensing her worry. She smoothed a hand over the movement and the baby quieted.
Ever since their wedding day, they'd prayed for a baby. Five years they'd prayed. Five years tonight for this night was their five-year wedding anniversary—Christmas Eve 1898, they'd married. They'd seen the dawn of a new century since then. It had taken half a decade, but their prayers had at long last been answered. The babe nestled under her heart was God's answer. It hadn't been no after all. It had been wait.
Now, she waited again, this time for the father of her baby, entrusting him to God's care and holding fast to that faith.
·oOo·
THE WORLD WAS WHITE. Driving. Blowing. Pure. White.
All around them was white, blowing in an impenetrable barrage that pummeled them as if holding a personal vendetta. The mountain path. The towering pines spaced on either side and staggered up the mountainside above them, swaying in the wind. Even their saddles had turned white. Their horse's trudging steps were muffled in the snow, four inches deep and accumulating fast.
The storm had sprung up out of nowhere. It had whirled in fast and furious, typical of mountain snow squalls. It wouldn't last forever, that was not the nature of squalls, but while it lasted, it was fierce and a force to be reckoned with. People underestimated them to their own peril.
They needed to find shelter for themselves and their horses. Fast.
Wrapping his scarf around his lower face and yanking his Stetson lower in an attempt to shield his face, Nathan Grant peered ahead through lashes clumping with icy snow. What was that ahead under a grove of evergreens, by the side of the barely discernible mountain path? Was that a stagecoach turned over on its side?
"Help!" Feeble in the wind, he barely heard it.
He froze.
"HELP!" There it was again. Louder this time.
He swiveled his head. Unerring, his eyes found those of Bill Avery, his deputy sheriff and closest friend despite the grizzled man being old enough to be his father. Even through the driving snow and cold, the silent communication flashing between them needed no words. Not after eight years of working side by side, day in and day out.
They urged their mounts forward, who responded readily despite the weather conditions.
"Just a little further, boy," Nathan bent low against the gale and murmured to his huge dark horse. "We're almost there." He knew without looking Bill was saying the same to his horse Hero.
Reaching the stagecoach, now resembling a lumpy mound of snow, they dismounted, tying their horses to what was left of a wagon wheel.
"Hello?" Nathan hollered, ducking against the wind as he tugged on the wedged door, sparing a look at the empty driver's seat and vacant traces that had once contained horses. If there were tracks, they'd long since been covered by the snow.
"In here!" came the response from the depths of the coach.
All four wheels were splintered, tilting the coach at an oddly collapsed angle. But the body of the stagecoach looked to be in one piece, and probably their best bet for shelter. He hoisted himself inside. At a glance, he took in the situation.
Two occupants. A man, blood running down his cheek from a nasty looking gash on his forehead, cradled a woman in the tilted interior. The woman was heavily pregnant and breathing hard, clearly in distress. Her hands cradled her abdomen, the gesture reminding him so much of Elizabeth, his heart squeezed.
"It's alright, I'm the local sheriff. How are you hurt?" He approached carefully, not wanting to unsettle the delicate balance of the coach.
"My wife, she's with child, and she slammed forward onto her stomach when the stagecoach crashed," the man explained urgently. One of his hands was missing a glove, and on his scraped finger a wedding band gleamed as he stroked his wife's arm. "Fiona, mon cœur, just breathe. You and our baby are going to be fine." But over her head, his dark eyes were distraught as they met Nathan's.
Nathan was no expert in childbirth, but as Sheriff, he'd learned a basic knowledge, and questioned the woman lowly as Bill gingerly entered the space.
She was weeping quietly now. "I'm not due for another three weeks," she cried. "Something is wrong. I-I think my labor has started. This doesn't feel like false labor."
"How long ago did the pains start?"
"When we crashed." Nathan held back a wince. "A-about thirty minutes ago?"
That was both reassuring and worrying. "It's not safe to leave now. This squall's got teeth. It'll be dark soon, but squalls don't usually last more than an hour or two. We can try to get down the mountain then."
"But surely—" the man began.
"Visibility isn't worth beans out there right now," Bill said bluntly. "In these conditions, you'd be dead, frozen, or buried under snow before you ever reached civilization."
Nathan handed the man his missing glove, flopped into a corner. "Put this on. You don't want frostbite." He glanced outside, then back. Lowering his voice, he asked, "The driver?"
The man glanced at his wife, then caught Nathan's gaze and silently gave his head a slow, meaning-laden shake. "Broke his neck," he mouthed.
Beside him, Nathan heard Bill exhale roughly. This was one of the harder aspects of their job. He pitied the driver. Poor soul. The man had likely been killed when the crash catapulted him off the stagecoach. When the weather cleared enough, they'd come back up first thing, try to recover the body, give the man's family some closure.
Nathan hunkered in front of the woman. Fiona. They could be here awhile and there wasn't much he could do except try to keep her calm.
He tried to distract her by asking questions. He found out her husband was the owner of a telephone company and they'd been in the area scouting expansion locations when they'd decided it was time to head home for Christmas. From the fine wool of their coats and the exquisite detailing of their winter footwear, it was clear theirs was a successful enterprise.
Wind howled around the coach, whistling through cracks. The woman shuddered, curling her face into her husband's chest. He began talking to her in soothing French whispers. Nathan decided to step back and let him take over.
There was nothing but a wall of white any way they looked out the coach. He knew when the storm ended, there would be freezing sheets on top the snow, caused by the swift drop in temperature that accompanied squalls.
He and Bill exchanged grim looks. How were they going to get this poor woman down the mountain to help? Their only option was on horseback, and even that was less than ideal.
Bill rubbed his hands together for warmth, then plunged them into his coat pockets. Nathan wrapped the scarf tighter about his neck and settled back to wait out the storm. From time to time, he had them all move their limbs as much as possible to try and keep circulation moving. After what seemed like forever trapped in the small confines, he pulled out his pocket watch. An hour had passed since they found the coach.
Outside, darkness had fallen with the abruptness winter sundown brought.
Nathan thought of Elizabeth down below in Hope Valley. He hoped her Christmas reading went well—she'd been so excited when the special book she'd ordered for it had finally arrived a few days prior—and prayed she was at home, warm and safe. He wished there was something he could do to ease the worry he knew was gnawing her heart over his whereabouts. I'm coming, my love. I will make it home for Christmas—home to you and our baby.
Darkness may have fallen, but blessedly, in ever slowing intervals, the storm lost its fury.
"Hear that?" He spoke to the couple, but more to the woman, staring back at him out of large, pained eyes. Her chocolate waves, pinned up in a chic couture, were crushed against her husband's coat, and her skin was washed pale, causing its smattering of freckles to stand out starkly. "The storm is letting up. Let's see how it looks, Bill."
Bill grunted as he tried to uncurl his long legs from their cramped position. Moving cautiously, they both pushed open the door and stuck their heads out. The storm hadn't lifted, but it had eased significantly.
"Good news." Nathan glanced back at the couple. "It's downturned enough for us to leave." He hesitated. "Unfortunately, our only option is on horseback."
Bill dropped out of the coach and tested the snow lying thickly amassed on the ground. "Ice isn't bad," he called back. "If we move carefully, I think we can do this."
Nathan nodded. "Ready to try?" he directed at the wife. Lord, please come to my aid and help me get these two—no, three—souls safely down off this mountain.
She bit her lip to stifle a cry of pain. "I'll try," she whispered, looking up at her husband, brave but ashen. He pressed his cheek to her hair and whispered something inaudible to her, but it brought a tiny blush of color to her cheeks.
"By the way," her husband looked over and extended a hand, "I never introduced myself. I'm Lucas Bouchard."
They shook. "Nathan Grant. My deputy Bill Avery's outside. We're from Hope Valley. That's where we're heading. It's the nearest town with medical facilities." He flickered a smile. "And two doctors."
"Two?" That got a surprised smile from the woman.
"Two," he confirmed, then called, "Hey, Bill?" He needed Bill back inside to assist in getting Fiona Bouchard out of the stagecoach.
But from outside, there was a sudden disturbance; sounds of an approaching conveyance—he could hear horses snorting and tack jingling—and Bill's voice raised to hail the newcomers.
"Whoa, whoa," a male voice could be heard, quietly directing horses.
Nathan looked out. A wagon with a large flat bed and a double team of massive black horses was pulling up outside, gas lanterns swaying fore and aft like winter fireflies against the evening duskiness. At the helm sat two figures, the man with an arm around the woman. Hair the color of molten copper framed her face, a thick lock escaping the emerald wool of her hood to fall across her neck and catch the light of the lantern.
"Stay here," Nathan directed the Bouchards, then joined Bill on the ground.
"You folks alright?" the driver called. With a soft aside, he handed the reins to the woman and alighting in a lithe move, he strode across the snow to join them. Beneath dark gold lashes, keen eyes the color of blue glass bottles swept first them, then the accident scene behind them. Nathan had the impression they didn't miss much. "How can I help?"
Not "Can" but "How." Nathan liked him already. "We've got an injured couple inside. The man seems ambulatory, but the wife is"—he hesitated—"in a delicate condition and needs to be moved with care. We could use a hand if you're willing."
No hesitation. Just the quiet immediacy of assent. "I'm willing."
Bill stuck out a hand. "Bill Avery, deputy sheriff, Hope Valley. Where you folks headed?"
The wide-shouldered man shook their hands. Nathan liked the man's handshake. Firm. Brief. Strong. Liked his direct gaze, too. "Sam Tremblay." He turned back to his wagon with a look Nathan knew. He recognized it on his own face every time he looked at Elizabeth. "My wife Lillian."
Handling the horses with ease, the woman smiled back at her husband, creamy skin tingeing with roses under his look. She turned her attention to them as they nodded a greeting to her, and in the circle of warm gold thrown by the wagon's lamplight Nathan saw she was lovely. Her forest-green eyes were made more vibrant by the richly-hued plaid scarf of heathered purple and grey at her throat.
"We're headed home, but got caught in the storm." The man nudged his head over his shoulder back in the direction they came from, the ongoing snow already obscuring the fresh wagon wheel ruts. "We took shelter some ways back till the worst of it passed."
"Mighty glad you came along when you did," Bill said with feeling.
"Definitely an answer to a prayer." Nathan shook his head wryly. "Your wagon is a godsend for getting Mrs. Bouchard off this mountain."
From inside the coach came a whimper of pain. The eyes of the three men flashed together in silent accord. With one mind, they turned toward the overturned coach.
It took ten minutes and three tries in the darkness, but they were finally able to ease the suffering woman out of the coach and into the back of the Tremblay's wagon, where they cushioned her on a bed of blankets.
"Bouchard," Bill said gruffly, "let's sit on either side of her to mitigate the jostling."
"Or I could." The auburn beauty had slipped quietly off the seat to stand with them at the back of the wagon bed.
"Lillian." That was all her husband uttered and it was gentle, but his gaze drifted downward with soft pointedness, hand grazing her arm in caution even as he turned his body to shelter her from the wind.
Nathan followed the angle of his glance. No longer hidden by her seated position and the long, hooded cloak she wore, now trailing softly on the snow behind her, he saw she was large with child.
From her prone position, Fiona Bouchard gave a laugh that was half-groan. "That's all we need, Mrs. Tremblay—for both of us to go into premature labor after being bounced around."
"No, you're right." Lillian Tremblay slipped a silently apologetic hand into her husband's. "I hate seeing another woman in pain and wanted to help, but I should. . . exercise caution. May I at least offer you some water before we embark?"
Water readily accepted, the canteen was passed around, and they were on their way; Sam helping his wife up onto the cushioned wagon seat with careful hands, Nathan taking Hero's reins and tying them to Newton's pommel.
Nathan took the lead, knowing if there was treacherous ice to be found, it was better he go down than all seven souls behind him.
The descent was cumbersome. Though mitigated from its earlier intensity, the remnants of the storm system still clawed at them. Darkness, snow, and wind was a combination he fought against even as the lights of Hope Valley began to glimmer below off the side of the mountain.
Home. Almost home.
But Newton was surefooted and Nathan's prayers never stopped accompanying their trudging progress down the mountain. By the time they reached level ground, his hands were clenched tight around the reins, and he sighed with relief that the worst was behind them. It was only lightly snowing down in the valley, with a gusty wind kicking up swirls of snow every so often. When they turned onto Hope Valley's main street, he relaxed his hold on the reins and had to stifle the impulse to go to Elizabeth at a gallop.
That would never do. He had charges to attend to.
He cantered toward the boarding house on the end of town, feeling a sense of home growing.
Night tucked in around Hope Valley; the rest glowed in the warmth of street lights and Christmas lighting. Boughs filled windows, wreaths hung from lampposts, strands of cranberries draped around door frames.
The boarding house windows glowed in front of them as they pulled up. Sam helped his wife down from the wagon. Nathan couldn't help but notice the trusting way her hands clutched his shoulders as he lifted her down to the street. Her eyes looked tired, but she mustered a soft smile for her husband.
At the rear, Bill and Lucas had Fiona supported between them, her head drooped on her husband's shoulder. This time of night on Christmas Eve, the medical clinic was dark, but Nathan spared no more time than it took to bang on the boarding house door and explain their needs before sending Bill to fetch a doctor.
It was Dr. Carson Shepherd who appeared in the boarding house doorway minutes later, obviously come in a rush. Nathan regretted they'd probably disturbed his Christmas Eve with his whipsmart wife Sophia Connelly, an architect and Rosemary Coulter's childhood best friend who'd shown Carson that he could open his heart again and trust. Nathan often thought how fortuitous it had been that Sophia had gone through a dry spell of work in New York City and come to visit Rosemary in the downtime, meeting Carson almost immediately. The attractive blond and tall doctor made a handsome pair.
"Dr. Faith's on her way as well," Carson shot a reassuring glance around the crowded room. He and Faith Cantrell shared area medical duties, a smoothly working team that handled the diverse needs of the populace. "If everyone but the husband could vacate the room, I'd like to attend to Mrs. Bouchard."
Nathan waited till both couples were settled, food and shelter in place for themselves and the Tremblay's horses, then clasped the men's hands in brief farewell as he wished all a Merry Christmas.
Bill clapped his back as they exited together. "Go on, get home. I know you've been itching to ever since we rode in. Give Elizabeth my best. Merry Christmas, Nathan."
"You know me too well." Nathan grinned dryly. "Can't hide anything from you."
"Nope." The other man's eyes grew serious. "Good job up there tonight. That could have gone wrong any number of ways. Instead they're safe in our town, and a baby is probably on its way with not one but two doctors in attendance. It was a good night's work."
From a simple call to Pine Gap to a tense snow rescue spanning hours—such was the mercurial life of law enforcement. But helping others fulfilled Nathan. He loved being sheriff, loved that his town trusted him to hold the office.
"Thanks, Bill. We did a good deed tonight. Merry Christmas! See you tomorrow at church."
The short ride home felt like forever. His heart expanded when the gate lamp and softly glowing windows began to shimmer through the trees. She'd kept the home lights on for him. She always did. She was his home light.
Teeming with impatience to ascertain Elizabeth's welfare, he leaped off Newton, temporarily tying his trusty steed to the handrail before taking the steps two at a time to turn the key in the lock. The front door swept open. The scent of home and the fragrant cinnamon and orange of Elizabeth's Christmas decorations washed over him.
And there in front of the fireplace, sound asleep before its dwindling fire and stockinged feet to the warmth of the wood logs, was the woman who kept his heart beating. Her nightrail trailed long and white about her ankles. She was clad in one of his old Henley's and his throat closed up at the sight. He swallowed tightly.
On silent feet, he crossed to her side, touched her belly where their baby kicked in response, and pressed a hand to her cheek. She was breathing, temperature normal to his touch. All seemed well.
Drinking in one last sight of her, he slowly exited the way he'd entered, gently closing the door behind him as he left to stable Newton for the night. The compact stable he'd erected behind and to the rear of the house was warm and airtight, but he made sure to give his horse extra oats and hay and ensure his water trough wasn't frozen before heading back to his slumbering wife.
A gust of snow kicked up just as he was entering the house, rattling the door on its hinges and flickering the gas lights in a mad dance across the ceiling and walls. The festive greenery around the doorway fluttered, sending scents of balsam and fir swirling around him.
And his Christmas Eve wife, so cozy and serene before the fire, stirred in her armchair.
·oOo·
A/N: The opening text is lifted from "The Tailor of Gloucester" by Beatrix Potter, originally published in October 1903 (right in time for our December 1903 tale!) and now in the public domain. I listened to "The Tailor of Gloucester" on dramatized audiobook as a little girl, and reading it again as an adult brought back so many memories of being curled up next to a speaker, enchanted and lost in another world. . .
Although not wrapped with a bow, I nevertheless hope you all enjoyed this little Christmas "present" from me. See you in Ch. 2. :) Hugs! ~Paths