Expecting Christmas
— Chapter 8 —
Return to the Mountain
HOPE VALLEY, NORTHWEST Canada — New Year's Eve, 1903
• • •
"THERE'S THE STAGECOACH UP AHEAD!" Bill's sudden shout shattered the sound of toiling horses, their tack jingling comfortingly, and men talking amongst themselves, breath puffs of white before their bundled faces. It was a somber search party, hand picked by Nathan to bring some dignity to the dead and closure to his family.
"Whoa, boy, whoa." Nathan reined in Newton, nostrils huffing and hooves pawing at the cold air. "Easy, easy."
Glancing over, he followed Bill's pointing finger to a familiar looking thicket of evergreens that fringed the nearly indiscernible edge of the snowy path. They had been climbing the side of the mountain long enough that extremities had long since gone cold and scarves were double-wrapped around mouths, leaving their eyes unfettered access to the large stagecoach still lying on its side beneath snow frosted branches. Snow-laden mountains rimmed the sky above them.
"Bouchard!" Nathan called to the dark-bearded man who was riding closer to the wreck. "Where did you last see the body?"
Lucas Bouchard dismounted and moved closer to the stagecoach, clearly trying to re-situate himself; trace his movements back a week to the accident. He lifted an arm. "There. He was by the base of that middle evergreen."
Drifts had blown nearly five feet high up here in the windy altitude on the side of the mountain and the mound of snow at the foot of the tree was higher still.
"Good thing we brought shovels." Shane Cantrell moved his tall bay alongside Newton, empathy in his comportment. "Looks like we might be needing them."
Nathan nodded grimly as they approached the wreckage of wood and wheels. This was not a part of his job he relished, ranked alongside bearing bad news to the families of victims.
But it had to be done. By someone.
And today, that someone was him. . . and the small cadre of good men he'd brought with him.
To his left, came a jingle and the sound of heavy hooves crunching through the deep snow. Sam Tremblay's pair of tall blacks moved forward through the snow like it was no more hindrance than white popcorn, their sleekly muscled haunches rising tall above the sturdily-constructed sled they pulled. It was to be used to transport the deceased back down the mountain, its wide metal runners preventing it from sinking into the snow regardless of the weight it carried.
The original plan—hope the snow melted quickly and bring the coroner's wagon up for the body—was impossible. A cold snap had set in after the blizzard, and only a few days prior had the sun shone heavily enough to warm the surface, leaving the snow impassable for wagon wheels. Sam had raised the idea of an easily maneuverable stretcher instead, constructing it with the able assistance of Kevin Townsend in his smithy. They all knew, but refrained from saying out of deference to the dead, that the corpse would be stiff; unable to be easily carried over one of their horses. The sled provided a respectful and practical method for transportation.
Sam's footsteps were deadened by the louder sound of his horses' steps. "I'll tie them up here for now," he said, quiet but still distinguishable over the gusts barreling down the mountain path. Reins were wrapped around his gloved fist, and sober cast overtook the blue eyes visible under his hat brim as he looped the reins around the shaft of the stagecoach, avoiding the splintered wheel of the coach, spinning a lonely pirouette as the wind caught it.
A quiet settled over the men as they moved across snow still massed high to the area Lucas had pointed out and began to dig and scrape down into the huge drift. Their movements were gingerly, each one dauntingly aware of what their next layer of snow might uncover.
Kevin was the first to raise his hand. "Nathan." That was all he said. It was all that was necessary.
Every shovel paused as the men slowly straightened in wait. Nathan's boots made slow progress as he stepped around to the blacksmith's side. He knelt where Kevin gestured and pulling a glove from his hand, brushed away snow to reveal. . . what they had been looking for.
It never got easier, seeing this, no matter how many years he was Sheriff. He removed his hat slowly.
Not a word was spoken. But to a man, every last hat was removed and they stood there, bareheaded in the biting wind, in silent respect to the one who had lost his life just doing his job, trying to earn an honest living. Sam took a slow knee in the snow, bowing his head.
Lucas's mouth pulled down in a regret that was perhaps more personal than the rest. It had been he and his wife the driver had been transporting when his life had ended.
"Bill," Nathan looked to him as the eldest, "would you say a few words?"
Bill gave a rough nod, the wind watering his eyes. He shifted on his feet, and without preamble, moved his doffed hat over his heart. "Lord," he led gruffly, "you know I'm not good with words, but death is a hard thing for any man, especially alone and in a storm. You told us 'Death comes like a thief in the night,' and I pray this man was ready, for it came upon him all of a sudden. He may be a stranger to us, but we pray that he lived his life in such a way that he is now surrounded by legions of the heavenly host, forevermore in thy presence, enjoying the beatific vision. We commend his soul to thy hands. May the souls of the faithful departed, through the mercy of God, rest in peace."
"Amen," they prayed, united. The simple but heartfelt prayer represented them all.
"Come, gentlemen." Nathan stood, firmly tugging his hat upon his head. "Let's free this poor soul and get him off this mountain. He's been here long enough."
As the men worked to free the man and then strap him to the sled, Nathan noticed that Sam had slipped away. He found him deeper under the trees, hacking at a fallen tree limb with a short-handled hatchet. When he turned, there were two varied lengths of shaved wood in his hands, one long, the other shorter. He affixed the two pieces to the base of the tree where they'd found the man, exposed now from all the digging. He produced a hammer and several long nails from a leather wrap case that lay open on the snow, and hammered the pieces into place. Finished, he straightened the crosspiece, gathered his things and stood back—and it was then that Nathan saw what he had created.
There was a simple wooden cross now nailed to the tree, starkly beautiful in the windswept, desolate location. A memorial. A reminder.
"Good man." The hand he clasped to Sam's shoulder conveyed a respect that was as deep as it was silent.
Sam exhaled, breath dissipating to a cold white cloud. "It's the least I can do," he said with the quiet thoughtfulness Nathan had begun to recognize as a hallmark of his character. "A soul went to its eternity here." He looked back at the cross. "Seemed fitting to mark the place."
"Nathan." Bill stood watching. "We're ready to go here." He didn't reference the cross, but the nod he gave Sam was brief and intentional—the approving equivalent of a resounding back slap from any other man.
Nathan followed Sam out from the trees, ducked his head against a blow of snow, then looked around at the gathered men, serious under the wintry white sky. "Thank you, gentlemen. We did a good thing here today. Now let's get him safely to his family—and all of you home to your families in time to celebrate the new year."
The trip down the mountain was almost as slow as it had been the week prior with two expectant ladies and the aftermath of a squall at their back. This time, the bulk of the men led the way, Sam and his team of blacks with their hybrid stretcher-sled in the middle of the formation, and Nathan and Bill bringing up the rear.
When at length they reached the road leading into town, the way became easier, wide paths cut through deep snow, cleared to the ground. A team of farmers from the outlying areas had attached plows to their hefty farm horses and over the course of the week, plowed free the roads going in and out of Hope Valley and the town's main thoroughfares.
The search party traversed slowly up the main street, the light pack of snow covering its surface quiet under their horses' hooves. Residents had shoveled paths from their front doors out to the plowed streets; the boardwalks had been cleared, and roofs freed from the snowy weight that had caused more than one cave-in. Nathan was proud of the way the town had pulled together, the way the town always pulled together.
Carson was waiting for them outside the coroner's offices, a sober figure in black. "Hello, Nathan. Gentlemen," he greeted them seriously, his gaze encompassing the fur-wrapped figure so still on the transport sled. "Let's bring him inside."
By silent consent, Nathan and Bill took over the duty of carrying the sled inside, Lucas and Sam assisting, while the others waited outside. When they ducked out moments later, the men were beginning to disperse.
"See you day after tomorrow?" Kevin asked Sam and Nathan in an aside. They nodded and he lifted a hand in silent farewell as he rode off home to his dainty wife and little son. The three men had begun constructing a new, covered overhead for Sam's wagon bed, as well as a revamped cozy interior, so that when Lillian was up to traveling, he could drive her and their baby daughter home to Brookfield, protected from the elements and in comfort.
Across the road, a door opened and a light voice called with relief, "Shane, sweetheart! You're home!"
Shane bid them good-bye with warm New Year's wishes, then strode across the road to embrace his pretty doctor wife waiting for him in the infirmary doorway.
Ned Yost scurried past on the boardwalk, headed for warmth and the indoors. "It's a good thing you did up there, men," he called out. "Bill," he pointed a congratulatory finger, "I hear you have a godchild!"
"I have a goddaughter!" Bill's chest nearly puffed with pride.
Nathan stifled a grin.
The man was giddy. Positively preening. Bill Avery was never giddy. And he did not preen. Ever.
He was now.
Ned waved a hand at the new fathers as he hovered in his doorway, torn between conversation and freezing. "In fact, I hear all three of you are owed congratulations!"
The trio of brand new girl fathers beamed at him, unapologetically proud.
"Happy New Year to you, Ned," Nathan raised his voice to the man as he finally gave up and escaped to the heated indoors.
Bill stuck out a hand. "I've got a new cookbook to get home to, thanks to you, Nathan. Happy New Year to you gentlemen."
"Glad you liked it, Bill. I'll be sure to tell Elizabeth." When Nathan shook his hand, it struck him that in the rush of the week he'd also neglected something rather important. "By the way, Bill—these gloves? Warmest gloves I've ever owned. Your baby blanket was the first thing Livia was wrapped in. And that lasagna? Shrimp and mushroom in a white sauce? Like nothing we've ever had before; literally melted in our mouths. Your gifts were perfect."
There was a red to Bill's cheeks that hadn't been there a moment before. "Glad to hear it," he mumbled. "You give my goddaughter a kiss for me, and tell her I'm coming to visit her tomorrow."
As Bill rode off on Hero, Lucas pulled the collar of his coat higher. "Was he jesting about the cookbook, or. . . ?"
"Nope." Nathan shook his head. "Bill has a vast library of cookbooks and is as delighted with the latest as he was with the first."
"I'll be." Lucas watched Bill's disappearing figure. "Your deputy is a man of surprising interests."
"That he is." Nathan included both Sam and Lucas. "By the way, speaking of our daughters, I meant to ask—would you like me to take newborn photos? It won't take but a few minutes, but I understand if the ladies would prefer a more scheduled time. I just thought I'd take advantage of us all being together in town before you leave."
Sam looked up with interest from brushing snow out of his horses' hooves. "You have your camera with you?"
Nathan tapped the pocket of his new coat, the one Elizabeth had gifted to him for Christmas. "Right here."
"I'll ask Fiona, but I think she'll be fine with the idea." Lucas seemed positive.
"Lillian will probably be delighted. Let me just turn these boys in for the night"—Sam stroked each horse's massive arched neck and their heads bobbed responsively at his affection—"and I'll join you at the boarding house. Lucas, could you mention the plan to Lillian so she has a bit of warning?"
Nathan joined him as Lucas started down the boardwalk alone. "I'll help with the horses, Sam. That will give the ladies some time to get ready."
The two men worked with quiet ease when they reached the stable, both soaking in the earthy realities of sweet hay and the warmth of the horses' coats as they readied them for the night. When they entered the boarding house some time later, the building was quiet until the soft cry of an infant broke it.
Sam paused in conversation, his head cocked toward the stairs. "That's mine," he diagnosed without hesitation. "Why don't you start with the Bouchards and I'll go see if I can help settle my little one before you come in?"
Nathan chuckled as they started up the stairs. "If you'd told me a month ago that I'd be able to pick out my baby's cry. . . "
"But you can, right."
"In the blink of an eye. It's a crazy thing."
"Or a connection only God could forge."
Feet in thick hallway carpeting, one hand lifted to knock on the Bouchards door, Nathan paused, struck by Sam's phrasing. "Only God could forge. . . " he echoed. "Isn't that the truth."
Heaven knew he felt it every time he looked at Livia. At the thought of his daughter, an eagerness to return to her possessed him, but he reined it in. He first had photos to take for his new friends.
Another plaintively soft little cry sounded from behind a closed door, and Sam's head swung around. "Sounds like she needs a cuddle."
"Best get to it, 'Dad'," Nathan teased.
Sam's smile was a flash in the muted hallway lighting. "I will. See you shortly. This dad is off to get a cuddle in."
The Bouchards were a striking and photogenic little family and Nathan was pleased with the shots he got of them. He wrote down their address and promised to mail the photographs to them, should they be developed after they'd returned home. With lungs a little under-developed due to her early delivery, their daughter needed at least another week before either Dr. Cantrell or Dr. Shepherd would even consider clearing her for travel, especially in the cold of winter.
When Nathan made it to the Tremblays door, Sam swung it open before he could even knock, a bundle in creamy pink wool secure in his arms. "Come on in. She's all settled now."
Beyond him, Lillian was standing by the window, slender and graceful in a loose gown of seafoam green, smiling a gracious welcome at Nathan. "This is so kind of you, Nathan. Truly, the best gift you could have given us. Well, excepting perhaps the work you're helping with on our wagon."
"Both are my pleasure," Nathan assured her genuinely. "Now, how about I get several shots of different family poses. . . "
He took some with Lillian holding the baby and some with Sam holding the little girl, then took one of the baby propped up with pillows on the bed, and a final shot of the Tremblays silhouetted sideways by the window, Sam embracing Lillian from behind, their profiles almost turned away.
"Perfect," he murmured, and meant it. It was a tender portrait, illustrative of the love between the two, almost dreamy and private in its composition. "I think you'll be happy with the results." He took down their address as well, in case life necessitated mailing the photographs.
The little girl amidst the pillows mewled softly, but was soothed lighting-fast by her father's arms. "Would you like to hold her?" Sam looked to Nathan as she quieted.
Nathan set the camera down with alacrity. "May I? I didn't want to impose, but I've wanted to hold her since I stepped into the room."
"They're hard to resist, these daughters of ours," Sam said as he gently transferred the baby into Nathan's arms.
Nathan cradled her close, shifting naturally into a soft side-to-side rocking motion.
"Do you have a name in mind?" he murmured, looking down into the little beauty's face. Faith hadn't been exaggerating when she'd described her. The baby was a bundle of sweetness; glimpses of sea-green when her golden lashes lifted and serious eyes regarded him, matching curls in soft blond fluff around her pint-sized face, bow-shaped lips a soft pink against porcelain skin.
Sam tipped a loving smile at his wife. "We've had a bit of a debate, but I think Gemma is winning out."
"You, too?" Nathan shook his head. "You should see the list we've gone through, but I think Livia has come out on top." A big yawn came from the tiny mouth in his arms. "Hello there, sweet girl," he said softly, feeling a bitty palm wobble into place atop his finger. He glanced at her parents, smiles like diamonds gracing their faces as they watched. "She's a treasure. Gemma Tremblay has a ring to it. I think it will suit her."
There was an energetic knock at the door just then and before Sam could even start for the door, it opened and a man's head popped in.
"Surprise!" he called merrily.
"Gabriel?" Sam said in surprise as the door opened to further reveal a slim woman in earthy tones who was tugging on the newcomer's arm and chiding him about opening the door before being invited in.
"Lucie?" Lillian looked delightfully astounded.
The names slid into place. This was the cowgirl and her fire marshal husband from Union City that Sam and Lillian had talked about over Christmas breakfast at their house.
Sam was laughing and shaking his head at the couple. "When I sent that telegram, I never dreamed—"
"—that we'd show up out of the blue, with no warning?" The woman, Lucie, suggested with sweet wryness, sliding her husband a look all husbands knew. "Sam, you should know Gabriel better than that by now."
"It's true." Gabriel, jolly-faced and warm eyed, admitted. "You had to know you can't send us a telegram informing us that your family has grown by one baby girl and not expect me to immediately come meet her."
Sam turned to Nathan. "When the telegraph office opened after the storm, I sent off telegrams to family and friends assuring them of our safety and our baby's birth."
"And Gabriel promptly bought us tickets, hopped on a train, and then took a coach into Hope Valley." Lucie removed her coat and placed it neatly on the coat rack by the door. "We were lucky; apparently the roads in only opened recently."
"I'm sorry." Gabriel was watching Nathan with frank curiosity. "Where are my manners? Allow us to introduce ourselves. Gabriel Kinslow, and this"—he turned with unmistakable but quiet pride to the woman taking off her flat-brimmed hat, revealing lustrous wood-bark hair arranged in a simple braided chignon—"is my wife, Lucie Clay."
"You mean Kinslow," she scolded him with a meaningful poke from her eyes.
He planted hands on his hips, but drew closer to her. "No, I mean Clay. I always liked your last name." He sighed. "I still think we should have changed our name to yours, not mine."
"I don't think that's legal, honey," Lucie murmured, looking down as if to hide a welling of emotion, but Nathan had been watching her as her husband spoke and had seen the roll of emotions suffuse the cowgirl's slim sun-warmed cheeks as her eyes melted. Despite their sass, she was clearly a wife well loved—and loving well in turn.
"I'm Nathan Grant. I'd offer to shake your hand, but. . . " He nodded down to the bundle in his arms.
"Let me take her." Sam eased his daughter from Nathan's arms. "Nathan's the Sheriff around these parts, Gabriel."
Gabriel's interest sharpened. "It seems we're both in public service."
"Sam mentioned." Nathan extended a hand and they shook. "Were you able to procure lodgings?"
"The landlady had a room open here, conveniently."
"Oh, that's wonderful," Lillian said softly, watching as Lucie waggled pleading arms and Sam shifted their baby into them. "We'll be able to catch up and perhaps you can keep me company, Lucie, when the men work on our wagon."
"Wagon?" Concerned, Gabriel looked from one to the other. "What's happened to it?"
Sam explained briefly, then, "Speaking of constructing things, did the weather hold up there? Were you able to get any more work done on the ranch?"
"We got hit with six inches of snow, but I've been able to get out there most every day after work and continue working on the plans. Lucie here, however," he smiled at where his wife was cuddling the tiny baby girl, "seems to have ducked out of helping me lately." He sighed teasingly. "So much for us being partners. I can't help but wonder how long my wife is going to be missing in action from my side?"
Lucie said distractedly, focused on the baby in her arms, "Just for the next eight months or so."
Gabriel went white and still. "L. . . u. . . cie?" Shock coated his voice.
She looked up and a long, taut stare went between them. Her huge alarmed eyes and brightly flushing cheeks gave away her startlement. She had clearly not intended to reveal what she just had.
"No!" Lillian gasped. "Lucie, are you—?"
Lucie nodded mutely as Sam discreetly took Gemma back, her cheeks tingeing with shy rosy happiness as Gabriel drew her to him with tender fingers that were strong against her slimness.
"Truly?" he asked hoarsely.
It seemed all Lucie could do was nod, a brimming in her eyes, but it was enough. Gabriel picked her up and swung her around for sheer joy. "A baby! We're having a baby!"
Nathan caught Sam's gaze and with smiling eyes, tipped his head to the door, letting him know he was going to make a discreet exit. Sam nodded back with an understanding smile, and Nathan quietly slipped out to let the two friend couples celebrate their shared joy in private.
It seemed new life abounded.
·oOo·
The oil lamp at the end of their flagstone walk was lit, a beacon guiding him home like a life preserver through a storm. Its glow illuminated the stately outline of the horse bell Elizabeth had gifted him, silhouetted against the deepening purple-grey of dusk. Nathan leaned from the saddle and rang the bell once, just to let Elizabeth know he was home, but as he looked down their cleared walkway to the house, he saw it was unnecessary for she was already there, ducking out the front door to wait for him on the front porch.
He left Newton at the foot of the steps and hurried up to her as a cool mist of snow blew off the roof and swirled down around them, spraying them with a dozen big fat flakes.
"Elizabeth, you'll catch your death in this cold," he scolded gently and without heat. Stripping off his gloves, he snugged them over her hands, and unable to resist her snow-sparkling beauty or the sweetness of finding her eagerly waiting for his return, he kissed a snowflake off her temple, then one from each of her closed eyelids, then one from her lips.
Elizabeth leaned forward to bury her face against his neck, inhaling him. He knew she loved the cold crisp of winter that always lingered on his skin when he came in from the outdoors.
"You're back," she murmured, and shrouded in the opening of his long winter coat, she rested her hands at his waist and tiptoed up to kiss him again as he closed his coat around both of them and gently pivoted them so they were hidden from any eyes that might be passing by. "We missed you today. I couldn't wait any longer to see you."
He rested his forehead against hers, and told her in sparing words about the successful body recovery; remembering how just the day before, he'd been gently explaining to her—in much this same position, but indoors—why he had to leave her to go up the mountain and how accepting she had been, without hesitation.
"Let's go inside," he finished in a whisper, pushing the door open over her shoulder and walking her backwards into the house. She clutched at him for balance, burying her giggle in his shirtfront.
The melodic strains of Auld Land Syne, wafting from the gramophone, hit his ears as the warmth and ease of coming home began to seep into his bones. "Livia, is she. . . ?"
"Sound asleep."
He wondered if it would ever get old, coming home to a child and a wife now.
"Dance with me?" he invited. "Our last dance of 1903."
The softness of her acceptance, the glow in her eyes. . . the way she placed her hand so trustingly, so unhesitatingly in his. . .
"My little piece of heaven on earth," he whispered, tipping his head to look into her eyes. "You and Livia, here with me in this house."
He guided her in a gentle swaying motion, not wanting to exert her still recovering body. She curled her free arm around his waist and leaned her cheek to his chest, their dance becoming little more than a slowly rocking embrace of silent love and mutual contentment.
"You miss being at the library?" He finally broke the silence. "My librarian wife."
She nodded against his heart. "I loved being keeper of the books; running my fingers along the spines as I meandered from book case to book case, the smell of aged paper. . . " She was silent for a moment and just when he was beginning to wonder, she went on. "But now, I smell Livia's sweet baby smell, run my fingers over her tiny limbs, feel a sense of wonder and awe at being keeper of this tiny being, at being blessed to love her, to get to raise her with you."
He kissed the top of her head. "I love watching you be a mother and can't wait to see what the rest of our lives look like. The library will be waiting when you're ready."
The song on the gramophone trailed its last notes as they swayed one last time to its sweetness. In the quiet that fell, Nathan became aware of an odd sound coming from the direction of their bedroom. Alarm iced his heart. "What's that?!"
Elizabeth laughed softly and took him by the hand. "Come and see."
Their bedroom was warm and dim, lit only by a fire burning low in the hearth, Livia's cradle off to one side to safely capture as much of its heat as possible. Pulling him by the hand, Elizabeth tiptoed over to the cradle. Looking inside, he could see the movement of Livia's tiny chest interrupted in rhythmic intervals by—
"Hiccups?" He stared at Elizabeth.
Her smile was wide and sweet. "Newborn hiccups," she whispered. "They're quite common. That's the noise you were hearing."
He shook his head. "She's never done them before."
"There's a first time for everything." Elizabeth laced her fingers through his as they stood, watching over their daughter side by side. "By the way, Nathan, I've been thinking. . . "
"Oh?"
She leaned her head into his upper arm. "You remember the words you used when talking about finding me a winter rose?" He nodded and she continued, straight-faced. "Well, I've been thinking and perhaps we ought to give serious consideration to the name Briar Rose."
One eyebrow slowly arched. He looked down at her, catching her eyes somewhat cautiously. "Briar Rose Grant?"
She dissolved into giggles, hiding her face against his arm.
He laughed under his breath. "I admit, it does have a fairy tale ring to it."
"Doesn't it?" She sighed. "I do like it, but it's a bit too much, all things considered. What would people call her? Briar?"
It was his turn to keep a straight face. "BRG?"
"You big brat." She hit his arm without force, then used it for anchorage to pull him down and even more softly kiss his cheek. "Livia is just fine," she whispered against him, her breath a tickle of sweet warmth across his cheek.
"I'm relieved to hear it," he teased her. "But I do think Briar Rose has its merits."
A finger over his lips stopped him. "It's Livia, Nathan. That's what you're going to carve into her cradle."
He kissed the silencing finger. "I know, but you're so adorable when you're teased."
Her eyes were aglow with love in the muted lighting. "Speaking of adorable. . . " she whispered and drew his gaze downward.
Below them, Livia was awake, all hiccups gone as she slowly blinked up at her parents from big eyes.
Murmuring an endearment, Nathan bent, lifting her from the cradle into his arms. "Hello, my precious," he greeted her with a kiss, then pulled back with a start. He stared at Elizabeth. His hand smoothed over Livia's swaddled form. "Is this what I think it is? Is this my old Henley?"
The same one Elizabeth was wont to don when she missed him.
"It soothes her like nothing else," Elizabeth confirmed simply. She came close, laid her open hand on his chest right above Livia. "It seems both mother and daughter need you close, Nathan Grant."
Words deserting him, Nathan embraced both his girls with his arms, holding them tight to his heart where they would forever belong. "Happy New Year, Mrs. Grant."
She whispered it back, and they looked down at their offspring, snuggled into her father's arms. "Happy New Year, Livia," they said simultaneously, smiled at the coincidence, and laid their heads together as they gazed at the armful of Christmas miracle that was all theirs.
1904 lay ahead. In all its unknowns. In all its blessings.
Whatever it held, they would embrace. Together.
·oOo·
A/N: Hope you enjoyed this penultimate chapter. We're close to the end—one more chapter (an Easter 1904 epilogue) and then this Christmas tale of N&E and Baby Livia wraps up! Hugs, everyone. :) P.S. Am I the only one who thinks Briar Rose Grant is kind of adorable as a name? LOL! ;) And don't worry; Newton was not abandoned outside. Nathan obviously would go back out to put him in their barn, it just happened "off screen."