Expecting Christmas
— Chapter 5 —
Gathered Blessings
THE GLOW ELIZABETH FELT did not diminish as the sleighful of occupants slid gracefully through town all the whole way to the boarding house steps, not even as the others in the sleigh engaged in casual chit chat. The distracted new father was in a happy daze. Obviously a man of means and culture, he conversed easily among the four of them.
Upon arriving at their destination, Lucas Bouchard went ahead to see if his wife was awake and feeling up to visitors, while they waited in the high-ceilinged foyer, enjoying the reprieve from the nippy weather outside the doors.
His footsteps sounded in the stairwell again almost immediately as he hurried back down to the foyer, closely followed by Kevin and Katie Townsend, the town blacksmith and his wife. "The Double K" as the town affectionately dubbed them.
"We were just leaving," Katie explained, her piquant features relaxed. She held up an empty basket. "We dropped off some sandwiches and a fortifying broth for Mrs. Bouchard."
Deep brown eyes and a delicate chin, Katie Townsend was a spunky bundle of petite prettiness that tucked perfectly into her husband's encircling arm.
"What a wonderful idea," Elizabeth and Lillian spoke in perfect unison—then stared at one another, delighted surprise at their identical thought process slowly blossoming across their features.
"Please don't feel you have to rush out," Lucas said to the Townsends, as gracious as he was sincere. "Being mindful of Fiona's recovery, I just didn't want to overwhelm her with too many people in the room. Although, knowing her," he grinned dryly, a flash of white amidst the darkness of his close-cropped beard, "she'd probably say the more the merrier."
Elizabeth laughed. She had a feeling she was going to like this Fiona.
Kevin Townsend reassured Lucas generously. "We're new parents ourselves, and completely understand how important it is not to overtax a newborn's mother. Besides"—he glanced down to his elfin wife, their eyes catching in a smile—"we have to get to Katie's parents before our little William terrorizes every present under the tree. My father-in-law is a genie with him, but Will has a mad fascination with untying bows these days."
Calm, with a quietly brawny strength that belied the immense exertion of his strenuous occupation, the tall blacksmith was part of the vital bedrock in Hope Valley, a cornerstone for getting projects done in their town, as Elizabeth had recent cause to be personally grateful for. . .
Lucas laughed. "I'll have a feeling I'll be in your shoes before long myself. Mrs. Townsend, please give my regards to your parents—Mr. and Mrs. Ned Yost, I believe?"
Katie nodded, buttoning up her coat as Kevin took the basket for her. "They run the mercantile. If you or Fiona need anything from the store while you're here, it's on the house."
"God bless you." Lucas's throat worked. That he came from a comfortable background and would be easily able to pay his bills at the general store was obvious, but the generous nature of Hope Valley seemed to have touched him. "Merry Christmas to you both."
Little bells on the front door jingled as the Townsends took their leave. The stairs creaked only slightly as the small group remaining trooped up, Nathan supporting Elizabeth with a hand under her elbow.
The maternity room was bright and cheerful, luggage stored in the corner and the floor cleared around the large bed. A tiny Christmas tree decorated with deep purple ribbons was tucked on a pedestal table, filling one corner with cozy cheer.
Ensconced in pristine white bedlinens, a lovely woman with thick espresso curls and a cast of tired happiness over her mouth smiled at them, a tiny human cradled in the crook of her arm.
"Oh!" Elizabeth clasped her hands in hushed delight, propriety instantly forgotten as she hurried to the side of the bed. "Look at her!" She was dazzled by the minute perfection of the sleeping little pink face. "She's perfect, Mrs. Bouchard."
Both parents beamed, clearly in agreement.
"She's three weeks early, but right on time for us," Lucas said dotingly, standing as close as he could to his wife and daughter as he unwound his scarf and draped it over the headboard. "It's going to take a few weeks before her lungs and such are strong enough to travel, but we think she's perfect."
"As soon as Dr. Cantrell got here last night, Dr. Shepherd turned things over to her. It was such a happy surprise to see a woman." Fiona Bouchard's eyes were almost teary. "I cannot tell you what a comfort it was to have a female doctor."
"Believe me, I know," Elizabeth whispered fervently, keenly aware of the blessed reality. "We're beyond fortunate to have her here."
Female doctors were few and far between. Some days she still found herself in disbelief at the good fortune of the women of Hope Valley. Their tiny frontier town having its own female doctor was a godsend she never saw coming.
"Do you have a name in mind?" Nathan stepped forward and laid their bundle of tiny clothes for the new baby down on the walnut bureau with an indicative smile. "For you."
"Oh, we can't possibly," Fiona protested, but her eyes betrayed her, already running over the soft fabrics in grateful delight.
"We'd be indebted." Lucas sat beside his wife and took her free hand. "The mercantile has many things, mon cœur, but infant clothes it does not. Nor does the dress shop."
"True," Fiona conceded. "In that case, we'd be ever so grateful. I can't thank you enough. They look so precious; I can't wait to see her in them."
"It's our pleasure," Elizabeth said warmly. "Our friends have been abundantly generous gifting us baby clothes and we have more than enough."
Fiona glanced at the distinctive swell of Lillian's stomach with a twinkle. "I may need to loan you some next."
Lillian blushed and perched on the edge of the bed opposite. "I can't help but hope that's true. We're so ready to meet this little one."
Fiona's smile grew as she glanced between the female visitors before settling back on Elizabeth. "You must be Mrs. Grant." She patted the bed for Elizabeth. "Please sit. Being on your feet at this late stage is a chore, I know."
But it was Lillian whose face a delicate blush swam up at Fiona's words. She wafted a rueful glance at her husband who was watching her with a broad smile. "I'm going to have a hard time living down this morning's misguided walk to church."
Fiona gasped. "You didn't!"
"I did. But the Grants came along and rescued me from my folly."
Elizabeth leaned across the bed for Lillian's hand. "Not folly. You thought you were doing a good thing."
Sam settled a broad palm against Lillian's back. Barely visible, his fingers moved supportively, almost as if coaxing her not to be so hard on herself. She sent him a quick, grateful look under her lashes, then squeezed Elizabeth's hand before letting go. "Still, lesson learned."
Sensing Lillian's readiness to change topic, Elizabeth looked at Lucas with interest. "Nathan tells me you were scouting new locations for your telephone business, Mr. Bouchard. Are you considering Hope Valley?"
Fiona glanced up from stroking a forefinger over her sleeping daughter's cheek. "It wasn't in our scope of focus before, but. . . "
She looked to her husband, who nodded and finished, "But it is now."
"That's intriguing." Sam had been following closely, eyes decidedly interested. "Perhaps we can persuade you to come to Brookfield next."
Attentive, Lucas looked over. "Maybe we'll do just that," he responded thoughtfully.
"In the meantime," Elizabeth stood, "can we invite you to join a group of us back at our house for breakfast, Mr. Bouchard?"
"Go, love," his wife urged him. "It'll do you good. And don't fuss about me." She caught his hand, pressed a kiss to it like they were the only two in the room. "I've had some of Mrs. Townsend's broth already, and right now, I just want to sleep. Well, as much as this little girl will let me." She smiled as she looked down at the lace-bedecked bundle in her arms.
Lucas was clearly torn, but finally agreed, promising Fiona he'd be back shortly.
"Oh! Sheriff Grant?" Fiona called after them as they were exiting the room.
Nathan turned.
"You asked about a baby name." Fiona looked down into her daughter's resting face. "Nanette Maeve. To honor both our family backgrounds. French and Irish."
"It's lovely," Nathan nodded, glancing at the baby. "It suits her."
Elizabeth agreed, fighting the urge to turn back and scoop the baby up to soak in all her deliciously blissful baby scent.
They left with promises to visit soon, leaving the idyllic scene behind as they dropped the Tremblays off at the town stable, then waited for them to follow in their own wagon, Sam thinking it the most prudent course of action after a sweeping look across the skyline.
Snow flurries earlier in the day had given way to crisp, breezy air, and if their luck held, it would stay that way for the duration of the breakfast visit. But the air had grown stiller with each passing quarter-hour, laden with the scent of snow. Elizabeth hoped it didn't portend the calm before a storm. The menfolk were in agreement it was best to have separate transportation—just in case.
When they reached their house, the watchful evergreens above thickly dusted with snow, the two men dropped the women off at the front steps. Lucas jumped off to give them a courteous hand down, then assisted them up the stairs to the house. Before they could reach the front door, Bill pulled it open from inside, wiping his hands on the white apron tied about his waist as his quick eyes took in the trio on the doorstep and Nathan and Sam driving the transportation around back.
"Get out of that cold," he scolded crustily, pulling them inside. "It's not good for you ladies. Hello, Bouchard; you and the missus get any sleep? I hear you had an eventful overnight."
As the two men moved back to the kitchen and chatted, Elizabeth settled Lillian beside the cheerfully crackling fire with a cup of spiced apple tea, then sat down opposite as their husbands stomped inside and came over to insist on putting their feet up on footrests.
"Neither of you are lifting a finger to cook," Nathan decreed sternly, lifting Elizabeth's feet onto a comfortable footrest as Sam did the same for his wife.
The tantalizing aroma of coffee and bacon drifted through the air.
"Yes, dear," Elizabeth said meekly, then twinkled a mutual smile across to Lillian as Sam knelt alongside her chair, quietly extracting a promise from the auburn-haired woman that she also would allow the others to make breakfast.
Lillian touched her husband's cheek as she consented, her green eyes shot with tiny veins of hazel, deepening like mossy forest ponds full of secrets known only to them. Sam leaned a kiss to her temple and they stayed without moving for a heartbeat. Then, deft-handed, he settled back and assisted her in unfastening her long emerald cloak, nudging it gently from her shoulders.
Elizabeth's eyes widened.
So this was the dress whose color and fabric had teased her vision earlier in the sleigh.
Smokey topaz and fired to a silken sheen in the glow of the fireplace, the dress a luscious drift over the fullness of Lillian's condition, ripe with child. Its tones deepened the green of her eyes as she gazed at Sam and ignited her creamy skin with luminous luster. Upswept, with tiny seed pearls glowing like specks of creamy snowflakes, her mass of titian hair appeared almost incandescent, as if lit from within.
Her husband's broad shoulders were hugged in a dark suit coat that formalized his strong frame and sunbronzed skin as he knelt beside her chair; the earthy green of the Christmas tree a befitting contrast behind him.
The vision they made together in the golden firelight was striking. Radiant. They glowed.
There was a soft click next to Elizabeth's ear.
She glanced up to see that Nathan had immortalized the moment in photograph, snapping a shot of the couple with the handheld Kodak No. 2 Brownie camera he kept handy for moments such a this; photography being a hobby he'd slowly acquired over the past two years since the camera model launched.
"I couldn't let the moment pass," he whispered in her ear. "I'll develop the photo and we can give it to them as a belated Christmas present."
She squeezed his arm. "You have the best ideas."
A flurry of voices and laughter outside the front door had their heads swiveling in united surprise.
"We expecting someone?" Nathan queried as there came a loud knock at the door. Bemused, Elizabeth shook her head. He strode to the entryway, opening the door on a blast of air that seemed colder than before. Outside on the porch, the laughing faces of the Coulters and Gowens turned to greet him.
Elizabeth pushed herself up in the chair, calling "Come in from the cold," as Sam quietly leveraged a settee pillow behind her aching back to support her.
"Thank you, Sam," she said gratefully, touched by his thoughtfulness. "That's much better."
He smiled down at her and again the likeness of his eyes to Nathan's threw her. "I thought it might be." He offered Lillian a pillow, who shook her head at him in smiling rejection.
"I'm alright, honey," she murmured, and Elizabeth's eye didn't miss the fleeting way Sam laid the back of his fingers to her cheek before he quietly let them fall away, seemingly heedful their audience.
The draft from the open door burrowed across the floor, wavering the leaping flames in the hearth.
Rosemary swooped over. "Elizabeth, not to intrude—we forgot your gifts at home earlier, and Mollie being anxious you receive them today, we thought we'd pop over just to drop them off."
She and Lee deposited a veritable armful of brightly wrapped presents under the tree while Mollie promptly made herself at home on the floor before the fire, to the amusement of all watching.
"Rosemary, you shouldn't have," Elizabeth protested. "But this does give us an opportunity to give you ours as well."
Before she could point out their gifts, the sound of a pronounced gait coming closer caught her ear. Henry Gowen approached with his slight limp, a large basket in one hand, and his young step-son Cody right by his side. Abigail's oldest son Peter had recently married a pretty girl named Clara Flynn, and Cody had grown even more attached to Henry in the absence of his brother.
"Elizabeth," Henry greeted her, quietly sweeping his bowler hat off in an unpretentious courtly gesture that never failed to touch her. "We didn't realize you already had a houseful or we wouldn't have bothered you." He glanced at Cody who was looking at him like he was the tallest man in the room. "Abigail baked you a loaf of cinnamon bread, and I. . . I thought you might like a pot of chicken soup and some biscuits."
Elizabeth accepted the bread, mmm-ing as she inhaled the fragrant loaf. Henry whispered in Cody's ear and sent him off to the kitchen with the bulbous pot of soup.
Abigail drew closer, her arm about the waist of Cody's sister, Rebecca. "I see my husband is a step ahead of me."
"Per usual," Rebecca giggled behind a shy little smile.
"Per usual, my foot," Abigail rejoined crisply, then broke down in a warm smile that illuminated her heart-shaped face—a smile that liquefied as her eyes met her husband's.
Elizabeth felt Nathan's hand on her shoulder and looked to find him sending her a look much like one she had sent him earlier. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" she asked under her breath.
"We should ask them to breakfast?"
"We should ask them to breakfast," she confirmed.
"How about we keep things simple?" Nathan proposed, searching her face after looking to where Bill was surveying his food like he knew it was no longer enough.
"Simple?" Almost comically she looked at their crowded home, filled with laughter and friends, people talking and hugging, introducing themselves to the new faces.
"We'd better keep it simple." Overhearing them, Lee stepped in and raised his hands in mock alarm. "Because my cooking skills aren't fit to feed a rat."
"Lee!" Rosemary scolded, then rolled her eyes theatrically at Elizabeth, but her smile was wide. "He's not that bad."
"Won't you all stay for breakfast. We're having. . . " Unsure, Elizabeth looked to Bill.
"Eggnog French toast," he announced with a definitive wave of his spatula. "Setting another batch on the griddle now. We've plenty of time; it's not even ten o'clock yet.""
"Whadda'bout ginja'bed pancakes?" Mollie's small voice filled the space plaintively. Clearly, she'd not forgotten the breakfast Lee had used to entice her out of Nathan's arms after church—and to a three-year-old, pancakes rang a familiarity bell that French toast, it seemed, did not yet in her short life.
Rebecca knelt beside the disappointed little girl and promptly pulled her onto her lap to comfort her. "We can make gingerbread pancakes, Mollie, right. . . Dad?" She looked over at Henry and the little hesitation in her voice gave away the tentative novelty of her new relationship with him.
Only those who really knew Henry recognized the fractional tightening around his eyes for the panic it was. He was a fair-to-middling cook, having been a bachelor fending for himself in the cooking department most of his life, but gingerbread pancakes were clearly out of his wheelhouse.
Abigail glanced at Henry with the intuitive awareness she'd always shown concerning him, and started for his side. Henry tucked his arm about her when she arrived, but spoke for himself.
He cleared his throat. "I-I'd love to, sweetheart." His fingers worried the rim of his bowler hat, but his voice never faltered. His face softened into a nugget smile of gentleness at the girls.
His step-daughter and Mollie beamed up at him; Rebecca's content smile holding a sliver of surprised delight.
Bill looked over and with a compassion that usually masqueraded as snark, rescued him. "It's just pancakes with some spices, Henry," he said gruffly. "Come get yourself aproned."
Henry laid his bowler hat on the back of the settee, light catching the silver streaks peppering the steely thickness of his hair. "I better apron up." He squeezed Abigail's petite waist, with a meaningful look toward the settee. "Won't you sit? Dr. Cantrell—"
"Dr. Cantrell," Abigail laid her hand on his chest, "said I could do moderate activities within reason. She did not put me on settee rest."
"Settee rest." He snorted lightly at her play on words. "Maybe I should suggest bed rest to Dr. Cantrell—"
She snagged his tie between two delicate fingers, gave a teeny tug. "You wouldn't dare, Henry Gowen."
He lifted a mild eyebrow. "Wouldn't I?"
"Better listen, Henry," Nathan advised, a grin teasing the edges of his mouth. "It doesn't pay to aggravate women, what with their delicate constitutions."
"Nathan Grant!" Elizabeth, Rosemary, and Abigail all chorused as one. Lillian covered her mouth with her hand, but her eyes were dancing.
"Oh, boy," was all Lee said, plaid suit jacket flared as he stood with hands on hips.
Nathan pretended to duck behind Elizabeth's armchair. "There." He spread his hands wide. "See what I did? Just like that, I became the bad fellow instead."
"Thank you, Nathan," Henry said with supreme dryness.
"Any time, my friend." Nathan was all obliging. "And for the record," he looked down at Elizabeth, eyes darkening with authenticity, "I don't think there's anything derogatorily delicate about women's constitutions. I think they are"—he bent and punctuated each word with the lightest of kisses to her palm, leaving her blushingly discombobulated—". . . beautifully. . . mightily. . . complex."
"Like a spider web?" Sam suggested helpfully, but his eyes sparkled with a wicked sense of humor.
Lillian and Rosemary broke into coughing fits trying to hide their chortles.
"That's it!" Elizabeth, trying to smother her own laughter, clapped her hands and pointed to the kitchen, where Bill was unsuccessfully stifling a grin over the stove at their antics, cooking alongside Lucas, who had a kitchen towel clapped over his face as his shoulders shook with mirth. "Out! All you men, out! Shoo!"
"You realize," Lillian was laughing softly, "they just played us and got exactly what they wanted—all us ladies resting here and them taking over all the work."
Abigail rubbed her husband's arm, watching Nathan, Lee, and Sam join the kitchen crew. "Alright, Henry, I take your point. I'll sit here with the ladies."
"On settee rest?"
Settling onto the settee in question, she looked up at him with a huffing little laugh. "Yes. On settee rest."
"Good," he said with quiet, deep sincerity and bent to kiss her cheek, which bloomed with color under his lips. "I'll join the men in the kitchen then." His fingers brushed across her knuckles in a caress before he glanced across at the two girls before the fireplace. "I have some special Mollie pancakes to cook."
Mollie bounded to his side, tucking her hand into his. He looked down on her small face with no little bemusement. "I hew'p," she declared stoutly.
On his other side, almost shyly, Rebecca slipped her hand in his. "I'll help, too."
Henry's eyes glistened strangely. "Lead the way then, girls." His gravelly voice was rougher than usual.
Elizabeth watched Abigail's eyes melt as she watched the burly man adjust his steps to the two girls flanking him as they walked hand in hand to the kitchen. Cody awaited them, looking befuddled at the grinning menfolk around him. She marveled at the rare happiness of her friend, unthought of a mere few years earlier.
Rosemary angled herself into the opposite corner of the settee. "How are you feeling, Abigail?"
"Queasy, off and on," Abigail admitted. Her hand lay against her still flat stomach. "But it's worth every moment of nausea."
"Try this." Lillian searched in her cloak pocket and handed over a tiny amber glass vial. "It's wild-crafted oil of sweet mint that I pressed. Just breath in. It works like a charm for my nausea. Keep it, please. I've another in my luggage."
Abigail closed her eyes, took a whiff. Her eyes opened, clear with surprise. "That. . . is better. Goodness, thank you. How did you know of this?"
"My mother was an herbalist and I learned from her. Sam made me a wonderful herb garden our first year of marriage, and I love making all manner of products from its bounty."
Elizabeth leaned forward, propping her chin on her hand. "When did you wed?"
In answer, Lillian slipped off her wedding band and passed it across. Elizabeth took a moment to appreciate the ring's understated elegance before reading aloud the inscription inside.
Lillian Walsh and Sam Tremblay
Two Hearts Made One
Toward Eternity, Now We Walk Side by Side
August 9, 1902
"How beautiful," she whispered, heartfelt. "And last August! Oh, what a beautiful time of year for a wedding, Lillian. Nathan and I wed Christmas Eve, five years ago."
Amidst the women's anniversary congratulations, she wbecame distracted seeing Nathan and Lee at the kitchen window, looking out. Flakes were falling, more thickly than she'd thought possible in such a short time. Before long, Sam joined them, a slight frown tugging his brows low as Nathan gestured outside and said something.
Rosemary followed her gaze with a frown. "I hope it's not bad weather."
"I think we're about ready to eat, ladies." Lucas had made his way to their group and gestured invitingly toward the beautifully set long table. "Won't you join us?"
Nathan snagged Elizabeth as she rose, coaxing her over to the tree. "Sam knows how to operate a camera and is going to take our Christmas portrait, lighting fast before we sit down. That alright?"
"Definitely." She pressed his hand. "I'd love to."
Elegant in their Christmas finery, Sam took their photograph there in front of the cheerily decorated pine tree. Circumspect but tender, Nathan's hand curved to Elizabeth's tummy, her back partially tucked against his chest as she leaned back into him, flushed and happy, lips tilted sweetly.
"Our first Christmas photograph with BGG," she ribbed Nathan whisperingly.
He laugh-groaned into her hair. "Honey," he growled.
"Nathan, you want to lead us in grace?" Bill called.
They parted laughing, with warm thanks to Sam.
Bill had outdone himself.
The table was filled with platters of piping hot food and carafes of steaming coffee—with a special pot of raspberry leaf tea for the three expectant mothers. A festive runner in pomegranate brocade ran the length of the table, strewn with fragrant pine cones and bits of evergreen. And in the center of it all was the Advent wreath, its tapers awaiting their final lighting for a twelvemonth.
"You doing alright?" Henry murmured lowly as they took their places, hovered protectively behind Abigail's chair as he leaned close to her.
Abigail laid her hand over his, showing him the tiny oil vial. "This works marvels. The food odors hardly bother me."
Down the table, Lucas was doing the honors and lighting the Advent wreath. With a flash of fire, the final candle was at long last lit, sparking into orange flame atop white wax. Voices raised in harmony, the table sang through the verses of hymn, finishing with the final one.
O come, Desire of nations, bind
All peoples in one heart and mind;
Bid envy, strife and quarrels cease;
Fill the whole world with heaven's peace.
Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel
Shall come to thee, O Israel.
A gust rattled the wreath against the front door just as they finished. They laughed, although a few of the men glanced at each other in a flash of seriousness.
"A fitting end to our song!" Rosemary declared as Nathan and Elizabeth began to lead them in grace.
Henry divested himself of his apron and laid a plate in front of Mollie. Her pancake filled it. He'd made her custom pancake in the shape of a full-skirted gingerbread girl.
Mollie wiggled her short legs in squirmy delight. "T'ank you, Mist'uh Gowen!" she squealed. "Look, papa, it's a guwl pancake!"
"It sure is a girl—just like you." Lee helped her with her utensils while Rosemary looked on, wreathed in smiles. "Thanks, Henry."
Sitting himself between Abigail and their two children, Henry looked across the table at Mollie. "You're very welcome. A special girl deserves a special pancake."
Elizabeth could only look around in contentment, at her tableful of friends old and new, the smiles, the good food, the convivium; the Christmas decorations bedecking the room, the homey clatter of dishes as her guests ate their fill. . .
A gathering of blessings, both seen and the unseen.
Little about this Christmas had gone to plan.
But sometimes God's greatest gifts were disrupted plans.
·oOo·
"COFFEE, NATHAN?" SAM RAISED a carafe inquiringly.
"Yes, please." Nathan accepted the beverage. "We know how the Bouchards came to be passing this way, but how were you and Lillian in this neck of the woods? You were headed home?"
Sam nodded. "We were on our way back to Brookfield after spending the week visiting our friends Lucie and Gabriel Kinslow in Union City."
"Well," Lillian smiled, "it was half visit, half work."
"I sense a story." Nathan raised his refreshed coffee cup to his lips.
"Gabriel's the Fire Marshall in Union City," Sam explained. "Lucie's a former ranching girl from Brookfield who gave it all up for love and followed him to the city. Now that he's worked his way up the ranks—youngest Fire Marshall in Union City history—he bought her a modest piece of ranch property outside town as a Christmas present, and asked me to consult in building her the house of her dreams."
Nathan knew Sam was a builder and could fix just about anything, but he was also an architect.
Lillian smiled, cutting another bite of Bill's tender French toast. "Patience not being his strong suit; he couldn't wait till Christmas and presented her with the property a few weeks ago."
Sam chuckled, shaking his head. "He was so excited to show her. She's over the moon. Dove right in and is already busy building up a small herd of cattle, with all kinds of plans for the ranch."
Elizabeth's arm brushed Nathan as she leaned forward, sitting beside him at the head of the table. "She seems like a go-getter."
Lillian took a sip of her tea. "She definitely is, and so loving."
"They match well," Sam nodded. He glanced at Nathan. "You'd like him."
"I'm sure. Sounds like a man as dedicated to hearth and home as he is to occupation, and I respect that."
"He is. Very conscientious, with a jolly sense of humor."
Bill was making his way down the table. "How's the food? Everyone filling up? Refills needed?"
Nathan leaned back, letting the others answer as he finished his coffee, one arm along the back of Elizabeth's chair as she chatted with Lillian and Abigail, while Rosemary chimed in from time to time, between helping Mollie finish her last bites.
Platters and plates were nearly empty, but their hearts were full.
He was proud of Elizabeth's open heart, her generous hospitality, even her talent in decorating the house. It was a pleasure to be able to tell the men it was due to Elizabeth's skill when they complimented the beautiful decor.
The room was laden with evergreen boughs, holly, and berries, scarlet against the greenery. Tucked into the greenery in complimentary intervals were dried orange slices with cloves pressed into their centers, filling the room with a fragrance he, frankly, found intoxicating. There was something heady about the combination of spiced warmth and mellowed citrus.
He leaned over to Elizabeth, drank in the scent he found infinitely more heady. Hers. "In case I haven't said it enough, I'm so proud of you, my love. For this. For everything." His gaze swept the house, their chattering guests.
She rubbed his forearm in wordless recognition. "'And hospitality do not forget; for by this some, being not aware of it, have entertained angels,'" she quoted softly. "Of all days to live out that scripture, how could I not on Christmas day?"
Under the cover of the table, he wove his fingers through hers. He loved this woman more than life. And this, this was one of the reasons why. "I adore you, Elizabeth Grant," he whispered throatily. "You know that, right?"
"You make me feel it every day," she whispered back, and it was a struggle not to lose himself in the love written all over her eyes.
He caressed his fingers around hers under the table, but thought it best to shift the conversation before he did something truly unwise. Like kiss her in front of a houseful of guests.
"Good." Roughly, he cleared his throat. "How are you feeling? I've hardly had a chance to ask you with all the activity."
"It's. . . been steadily tightening." She placed a hand on her lower back.
He frowned, chest tightening with concern—and a leaping anticipation. "Henry lives closest to Faith; I'm going to ask him to stop by on their way home and alert her that we might need her as soon as tonight." He glanced toward the windows. "If this weather doesn't get worse."
To the right of Elizabeth, there came a slight commotion.
Lillian suddenly clutched Sam's arm tightly and gasped, calling her husband's name with eyes gone huge in a paling face. "SAM! It—it's time."
"Oh, my heavens!" Elizabeth did the closest approximation of jumping to her feet she could.
Nathan nabbed Lee, who tossed his napkin down and leaped up. "Sam, we'll get your wagon hitched."
He beelined for the door, stopping only to secure a promise from Elizabeth that she would not rush around, to leave that to the many capable others. As he was exiting, he heard Henry say he would have offered the Tremblays his covered carriage as it afforded protection from the elements, but their team of huge blacks were much faster than his horse Judd.
Bill joined them as they ran for the stable, slipping on the thick wet snow now pelting down fast and hard. The stable doors shuddered in the wind. Straining, they threw them open and plunged inside.
The black horses were hitched in three minutes flat. Nathan raced the wagon to the front of the house. The door was open. Inside, he saw Sam scoop Lillian into his arms the instant the wagon wheels stopped. He tore down the steps, holding her as if she might shatter with any bump.
Nathan tied the reins and vaulted down to help lift Lillian onto the wagon seat. Her mouth was tight, nails digging into her palms as she bit her lip against pain, leaving white tooth marks on the rosy flesh.
"I've got you, sweetheart, I got you," Sam murmured as he layered her in blankets, barely audible over the wind. "I'm right here, I'm not going anywhere." He squatted before her and took both her hands in his. "Everything is going to be fine. I'll drive as carefully as I can in the snow, but I need you to hold on tight."
She nodded, teeth chattering, whether from nerves or cold, it was impossible to tell. "I w-will. Sam—we're g-going to have. . . our baby."
The light that filled his face was blinding in its joy, but he jumped into practical action, gathering the reins in one hand and looping his other arm around her. "I can't wait," he said fiercely. "Let's go; this baby isn't waiting on any storm."
Bill was suddenly there, clambering onto the seat, and taking the reins from Sam's hand. "You concentrate on holding your wife," he barked, the warmth of his eyes belying his tone's briskness. "I'll drive."
Nathan reached up and clasped Sam's hand. "Keep her safe, Sam, we'll be praying."
Elizabeth materialized by his side, reaching for Lillian's hand. "You're going to have the most beautiful baby, Lillian. Breathe through it."
"I will," Lillian gasped, flinching as another pain hit her. "You, too, Elizabeth. I can't wait to meet"—her eyes flicked to Nathan and there was teasing even through the pain—"BGG."
With a shout of laughter, Nathan shook his head at the tease, seeing their smiles fade into white as they pulled away. He shielded Elizabeth as best he could, hurrying her to the shelter of the porch, but they were coated in white with mussed hair by the time they reached the door.
Snow was coming down in earnest now, nearly shrouding the wagon's occupants from sight before it even reached the gate, the well wishes of the gathering rising in a volley after them.
A bustle radiated throughout their guests as word spread how fast the storm was rolling in. Uneasy, they murmured how it looked to be whipping into a gnarly blizzard. The men hastened to ready their conveyances, with the Gowens offering Lucas a ride, while inside, the women gathered up hats and scarves and gave the kitchen a hasty cleanup over Elizabeth's protestations, storing the leftovers for easy meals.
In a whirlwind of blowing snow and flurrying farewells, their houseful of guests left, arms loaded with Christmas presents from Nathan and Elizabeth. . .
Leaving them alone with each other as a Christmas storm bore down on their home and town.
They looked at each other and suddenly couldn't contain laughter. "What a Christmas," Elizabeth exclaimed helplessly, pressing her hands to her temples. "And it's not even noon yet!"
"And it looks like we've hours of storm ahead." Nathan's laughter died a little grimly. "Elizabeth, honey. . . I don't think anyone's going to be able to make it here in this storm, should you. . . "
She just nodded, showing none of the alarm she had to be feeling. "This storm escalated so rapidly. It might be best to get the childbirth kit out. Just in case."
Nathan added another log to the fire and then in their bedroom fireplace, checked all the windows and doors, brought out the large basket of childbirth supplies with hands that shook slightly, and finally returned to Elizabeth, showing none of his worry as he hauled her into his arms and carried her to the settee.
He settled her on his lap, looking into her eyes. "You're really alright?"
"For now. But if this is what I think it is, alright is relative." She lay forward over a large pillow and moved his hands to her lower back. "Can you rub here?"
He obliged willingly, praying God give his hands the gift of easing her suffering. "Elizabeth, say the word and I'll ride for Faith."
"In this storm, and endanger yourself and Newton?" She shook her head. "I'm worried enough about our friends who went out in it. I can't risk you out there if I'm alone here in labor. While you hitched Sam's team of blacks, I was able to ask Henry about alerting Faith and he promised he would if conditions allowed. Let's be content with that, and entrust ourselves to God's hands. I won't. . . can't risk l-losing you." Tears spilled from nowhere.
Murmuring with alarm, Nathan lifted her face, smoothing kisses down her wet cheeks. But the tears fell faster than he could dry them. "Sweetheart, sweetheart, what is this? I'm here, I'm fine, I'm not leaving your side."
"But you might freeze to death under a-a pile of snow if you go out there," she choked, watery. "And then I'd never find you, and, oh—"
This was not the time for reason or logic.
Nathan simply gathered her back into his arms, pillow and all, murmured a deep-chested "Oh, honey," and just held her, letting her cry it all out in his cocooning embrace.
After soaking his neck in a long, tearful interlude, she gave one last sniffle, blew her nose in the handkerchief he silently offered, and draped herself over the pillow again, manually re-settling his hands against her lower back with a little wriggle to get comfortable. "Pregnancy hormones," she whispered.
He almost smiled. "I know, honey." Gently, he massaged the tightness, almost certain he felt a tiny rhythmic contraction in the band of muscle so taut under his hands.
Her whisper came again. "I'm sorry."
He touched her hair. "I'll never need an apology for how you're feeling." He settled her onto the settee over her murmurs of protest. "If you can spare my hands for just five minutes, there's something I'd like to give you."
"Now?"
"I think you might be glad to have them."
"Five minutes?"
"Maybe not even."
"'K." Somehow, she managed to dimple at him.
He almost melted. Keep it together, Grant, he chided himself sternly. But she was so beautiful, so full with child in her Christmas dress of smoked-blue, and he never had been able to resist her dimples. . .
"Nathan?"
He shook himself as if from a stupor. "Sorry. Lost in your beauty and wanting to kiss your dimples. Be right back." He sauntered from the room to the accompaniment of her laughing, sputtering blushes.
"NA-than! You can't just say something like that and walk away."
"Watch me." He grinned over his shoulder.
"I want my dimple kisses, Sheriff Grant!"
"And you shall have them, madam wife, but not till I return."
Her theatrically heavy sigh accompanied his chuckle as he moved into one of the spare bedrooms where he'd hidden the items in question behind a large bookshelf project he was crafting. It took two trips back and forth, but he finally had Elizabeth's blanket-and-bow covered Christmas gifts ready.
"Close your eyes," he called from outside the room. He carried first one then the other to a spot directly in front of her so all she had to do was open her eyes. "No peeking."
"I'm not," she promised, hands over her eyes.
He situated the gifts. "Alright, open." Her eyes flew open, registered the general shape of the draped forms and the huge gold bows that designated them as gifts—just before he pulled both covers off in tandem. "Merry Christmas, Elizabeth."
"OHH!" She caught her breath, hands clasped over her heart. "Nathan."
Slowly, she got to her feet and approached, fingers running almost reverently along the lines of the hand-crafted baby cradle and rocker he'd made out of wood from their property to deepen the symbolic significance. "Was this the mystery project you were working on out in your workshop at all hours and in all temperatures?"
"Since the day you told me I was a father," he confirmed huskily. "Remember that old walnut tree that fell over the creek?"
Her eyes blew wide. "Really?" she whispered. "You used our wood for these?"
"I started that same day I found out our baby was on her way to us. I wanted these to be something of personal meaning, a touchstone of connection to our home, our family land, for you and someday, for her."
He could see her eyes turning leaky and sprang forward, using the soft underside of his cuff to catch the salty liquid.
"They'll be that and so much more to me." She raised herself on tiptoe and rested with her lips to his cheek for a still moment. "Thank you." The words were whispered against him, each letter aching with a gratitude that yearned for expression.
His eyes closed. If he could bottle this moment. . .
She cried out against his cheek and it was shock and pain. His eyes exploded open. "Elizabeth, what is it?! What's—?"
Her nails pitted his upper arms as she began to shake. "Nathan—Nathan."
Sweat broke out. "What's wrong? Is it—?"
"This cradle and rocker?" she gasped, breathless, somehow smiling through the pain, so beautiful it stole his breath; her joy beneath the pain shining like diamond facets under a golden sun. "We're going to need them tonight. BGG is on her way."