A Texas Christmas Reunion

He took off his coat, hung it on a peg on the wall.

“Hand over that cleaning rag.” He extended his hand. “You must have more important things to tend to. I appreciate what you’ve done, but I’ll finish.”

It was true. She ought to get back to the café, but she was not quite ready to part company with her old friend yet. It felt nice to hear the sound of his voice, to look at him and see the man he’d grown into.

Clearly, he had changed a great deal while he’d been away.

“There’s another rag beside the stove. As long as the babies are sleeping, I might as well stay and help. The students are anxious to get back to school.”

“Are they?” He took the cleaning cloth, dipped it in the soapy water. “I hope so, but I can’t remember ever feeling that way about it. I’ll get the floor if you want to clean the desks.”

“Well—one of them is, at least. Cora. She’s a studious little thing.”

“Like you were?”

“Not really. I was shy. Cora is—well, you’ll see.” She scrubbed vigorously at a dry inkwell. “Have you brought your family with you, Trea?”

The question had to be asked.

She purely hoped the answer was yes. If he’d come home a married man with children, he might be more easily accepted as the schoolmaster.

“I never married.” Squatting, he scrubbed at a stubborn stain, looked up at her with that endearing crooked grin. “Came close to it once, but the lady and I both agreed we weren’t meant to be.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, pretty sure that she truly meant it.

“Don’t be. She wanted more than I could give her in the material way and I—just wanted more.”

What kind of more? The meant-to-be sort of more—like she used to believe in?

Where were her emotions wandering? No place they should, and that was a fact.

She was a mother, a business woman. What she was not was a starry-eyed child.

* * *

Walking through the gently falling snowflakes and pushing the buggy with Juliette’s babies inside—the pair of them sleeping like small angels under the blanket—Trea was sorry that she hadn’t believed him when he’d called her Beautiful.

The doubt shadowing her eyes had been unmistakable.

Her disbelief, he felt, had nothing to do with her own self-confidence. Not at all. From all he could see, she had grown to be a strong, capable woman.

The respect he felt for her, raising these amazing babies on her own, was a mile long.

It shamed him that her doubt was because of him, of the way he’d been back then. There was no reason for her to believe that the town flirt had ever meant what he said or that he meant it now.

While they walked and chatted, even laughed a bit at old times, something became clear to him.

One day he was going to call her Beautiful and she was going to know he meant it, that it was from his heart.

It was important to him that she understood who he had become, that he no longer passed out false flattery as easily as whispers on the wind.

Of course, he’d always been genuine when it came to her. But given the mischief-maker he’d been back then, how could he blame her for having doubts about his sincerity?

Who would not?

For a long time now, he’d been preparing himself for the fact that it was going to cause a stir when people found out who would be educating their children.

“This place doesn’t look much like the Beaumont I remember.” It seemed dull and grungy. Not at all the respectable place he’d last seen.

“It isn’t. The rail spur brings all kinds of strangers to town—thieves and gamblers, to name a few. Can you believe there are three—”

A blush bloomed in her cheeks. He saw it, even through the snowy dusk.

“Saloons, you mean? And my father owns two of them?” He smiled when he said it, to assure her that her words had not wounded him.

It had taken him years to really understand, but he did at last accept that he was not his father. He did not carry his pa’s sins upon his shoulders. Only his own.

Now here he was in Beaumont Spur, hoping to make amends.

“I don’t know about you, but I’ve worked up an appetite with all that scrubbing. What do you say we have dinner together at the café? It looks like the only decent place in town to get a bite.”

She winked at him. He’d forgotten a lot of things over the years, but not how much he liked that gesture. It always made him feel warm—accepted, somehow.

“It is. And I own it.” A small squeak came from under the blanket. Juliette petted one of the tiny mounds and the fussing stilled. “I needed to make a living after Steven died. The children and the restaurant gave me a reason to put my feet on the floor each morning.”

“I can sincerely say I’m grateful you did. I reckon I’ll be a regular customer. I can cook—I’d just rather not.”

“Tonight the new schoolmaster eats compliments of the house.”

“Mighty grateful.” A dusting of snowflakes crusted the brim of Juliette’s hat. It made her look like an ice queen from a fairy tale.

“Of all the things I ever imagined you would do with your life, I never once thought you’d become a schoolmaster.”

“You imagined my life?” Judging by the way she glanced suddenly away, he probably ought to have kept that thought to himself—even if it did make him feel a bit like crowing.

Juliette had thought of him over the years! Finding that out was worth coming home for, all on its own.

“I’m sure I’m not the only one, Trea. You did have a reputation.”

“Still do, I imagine.” He shrugged. It was a fact. “I didn’t imagine being a schoolteacher, either, not for a long time. I spent a couple of years carrying on same as I did here. Then I met a man. He taught school. Mr. Newman was his name. He told me he used to be like me, swore we were kindred spirits. He saw inside me, knew I wanted to make up for the past and showed me how.”

The way she looked over at him, not a hint of condemnation in her blue eyes, made him glad he’d worked so hard to get back here. Every hour spent studying by lamplight in the livery shed had been worth it.

“So, here I am. Following in his footsteps, I reckon.”

“I’m glad you came home.”

So was he, even more than he’d expected.

“I bought a house not far from here, right in town, so I’ll be a regular customer at your café.”

Approaching the front door, he was glad for such a place to have his meals. Glancing through the windows, he saw how warm and inviting the café looked. With the wind picking up and the temperature dropping, warm was going to be a fine thing.

“Customers are always welcome. Which house did you purchase?” she asked, peeling the blanket off the babies and scooping them up, one in each arm.

“The Morrison place. A quarter mile past the schoolhouse. I recall that it was a nice home.”

“Well, yes...the Morrison place was very nice, once.” She muttered something under her breath that he didn’t catch, then said, “We all wondered who bought it.”

He opened the front door, noticed the lingering scent of soap as Juliette passed in front of him. Picking up the baby buggy, he carried it inside. He reckoned Juliette would not appreciate having muddy wheels leaving a mess on her highly polished floor.

It was odd, but he could swear she was frowning. Blamed if he knew why, what he might have said or done. Until now, she’d been nothing but friendly and smiling.

By the time he set the buggy in a corner and closed the front door, her troubled expression had passed.

The smile he remembered from years ago was back on her face as she answered the greeting of a young girl sitting at a table near the window.

No, not the same smile, quite, but more mature. Clearly, she’d lived tragedy, embraced joy and come out of it with more inner beauty than he could imagine.

Watching her glance down at her son, smile and coo—yes, he was certain he had never seen anyone more lovely in his life.

No pampered lady, this, with a maid to tend her needs. As far as he could tell, Juliette did it all on her own.

But, of course, hadn’t she always? With her mother gone of influenza when Juliette was young, it had fallen upon her to care for both herself and her father.

While other twelve-year-olds were being dressed in ruffles and bows by their mothers, Juliette had been left to figure it out on her own.

As children they’d had that in common—growing up without a mother. It was a hard thing for a girl. Just as hard for a boy.

The squeak of a door hinge drew his attention from the past to the here and now.

A young woman hustled out from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a well-used apron that looked too long on her petite frame.

She stopped short, glancing between him and Juliette with a smile.

“Good evening, sir,” she said. “You’ve come at a good time. It’s quiet now. All the folks from the train have come and gone. What can I get for you?”

The girl sitting at the table drummed the end of a pencil on the cover of a book while she stared at him in open curiosity.

“Rose, Cora.” Juliette tipped her head toward the girl wearing the apron, then toward the child. “Please meet my friend, Mr. Culverson.”

Rose’s smile fell and her brows shot up like a pair of arrows touching tips.

Cora clenched her pencil, her fingertips going white.

“I knew it!” The child’s eyes grew round as a pair of full moons. “The wicked son come home to take up with his pa and wreak havoc on us all.”

Funny how the prospect of his evil intentions seemed to delight her more than frighten her.

Truly, he hadn’t expected to be welcomed home with open arms right off. But to be looked at so suspiciously by one of his pupils before she ever set foot in the classroom? It was disheartening.

“Cora McAllister! Mind your tongue.”

“I apologize,” Cora said with a deep sigh, then focused a glare on her sister. “But you know as well as I do, Rose, it’s all everyone is talking about.”

“Not everyone. Trea, would you mind holding my sweet boy? He’s getting heavier every day.”

Juliette placed the baby in his arms. He thought she intended the gesture as a demonstration that she believed him worthy of the honor. Something shifted inside of him. He wasn’t sure what it was or what it meant, only that it made him feel warm inside.

“That’s true.” Cora tapped her pencil on her chin. “It’s mostly the women Juliette’s age who have been saying it. And a few men who are jealous of your handsome looks. It’s what the ladies say, at any rate. Naturally, I’m far too young to take note of such a fact on my own. Sheriff Hank has a bit to say, too, but he only wants to catch you at some evil deed so that he can look reliable. Although, I doubt it will help.”

“Cora! What did I just tell you not half a second ago?” Rose looked stricken. He didn’t remember her, but she would have been very young when he left Beaumont.

“I apologize again. On occasion I say the first thing that pops into my mind. My sister says I lack maturity. I don’t mind so much because I’m afraid I will be stifled by it. From what folks say, you were not a bit stifled. And really—truly—I do admire that.”

“In that case I will do my utmost not to stifle you, Miss McAllister.”

“I don’t know how you could, since—” She gasped suddenly, dropped the pencil. It rolled off the table and came to rest at the toe of his boot.

Stooping, he carefully cradled the infant boy to his chest. He snatched the pencil off the floor and handed it back to Cora.

“As I think you just guessed, Cora, Mr. Culverson is our new schoolmaster,” Juliette announced, the quirk of her lips indicating that she bit back a laugh.

Juliette had always had an easy laugh. Thinking back, he remembered that she had never used it to smirk or deride, only to express humor.

“Oh.” Cora accepted the pencil, set it on the table with a quiet click. “I reckon I’ve never made so many apologies in such a short time. I’m sorry, and welcome, Mr. Culverson.”

“I accept your apologies, Miss McAllister. I hope you’ll be ready for class to begin in two days. We’ll be starting rehearsal for a Christmas pageant first thing.”

Cora clapped her hands. “I can’t remember the last time we had one of those!”

The idea of the pageant had been brewing in his mind for a while now. It seemed a good way to get to know the students and give them a chance to shine in front of their parents. Making their children sparkle was a good way to win them over. If he didn’t manage to win over the parents, he might as well go back to frying chicken, since he’d be out of a job by the new year.

Watching Juliette while she smiled down at her daughter, tapping the child’s button-like nose with her long, slender finger, well—he knew he did not want to leave here. And for more reasons than his need to make amends for past wrongs.

“I add my welcome, Mr. Culverson.” Rose hurried across the room, her hand extended in greeting. An interesting and familiar blend of scents floated around her. Vanilla and fried food overlaid with coffee was his guess. “And you ought to know that, in spite of Cora’s frankness, she is dedicated to her studies.”

“Devoted to them,” Cora declared. “Quite faithful, in fact. I’d rather learn than do most anything.”

“That’s admirable, Cora,” he said.

“Practical, I’d say more than that. One day we women will have the right to vote, and I don’t want to make foolish decisions.”

One day women would vote, and that would be a fine thing, but for now he suspected little Miss Cora needed to learn to have some fun along the way.

“The babies are sleeping, Rose,” Juliette said. “I can take over now. Why don’t you and Cora go on home.”

“I’ll be back first thing in the morning. I reckon you’ll be busy at the hotel. The gossip is that Elvira Pugley is leaving town tomorrow. She says if she spends one more day next door to that Ephraim Culver—” She shot Trea a suddenly sheepish glance. “I’m sorry—I plumb forgot that the man is your father.”

“Don’t trouble yourself over it. That’s a fact I wouldn’t mind forgetting, myself.”

Rose took off her apron while Cora gathered up her book and her pencil.

At the doorway, Cora turned back and shot him a sober glance. “Mr. Culverson, I, for one, do not think you are the devil come home to roost and I’ll say so to anyone.”

* * *

The devil come home to roost!

Even after five minutes Cora’s innocent declaration of the town’s attitude toward Trea Culverson put Juliette on edge. Things had not changed in that respect over the years.

It did not matter who he had become; all some people would ever see was the reckless son of Ephraim.

Glancing through the portal window between the kitchen and the dining room, she watched Trea while she prepared his meal.

He lifted Lena in his arms, jiggled her, then smiled when she giggled.

“You letting a stranger hold my granddaughter?” Warren asked from his chair beside the stove.

“He is not a stranger, Father Lindor.”

“You sure? I don’t know him.”

That was one good thing about her father-in-law’s fading memory. Years ago, his voice had risen over the others in maligning Trea.

Still, her father-in-law’s mental decline worried her. Some folks forgot everyone, in time, even themselves. She only hoped this did not happen to Steven’s father.

He was not an easy man to care for, but she was his only living relative and she meant to do her best for him.

“He used to live here a long time ago. He was a friend of Thomas’s. He’s come back to teach school.”

“All right, then, I suppose he can hold the baby if you don’t have the time.”

Juliette slid a steak out of the frying pan with a spatula then eased it onto a plate. She ladled a large mound of mashed potatoes beside the meat and topped it off with gravy.

Given the bad news she was about to deliver, she added more gravy. Not that it would help overmuch, but she did make delicious gravy. It was her late father’s recipe and it always brought her comfort to serve it.

Coming from the kitchen to the dining room, she set the plate on the table in front of Trea, then reached for Lena. It did not escape her notice—or her heart—that he nuzzled her baby’s round pink cheek before handing her over.

Given that he was the devil come home to roost, he was quite doting.

Laying her daughter over her shoulder, Juliette sat down across from Trea. She patted Lena’s small back and breathed in the intoxicating scent so unique to infants.

“I think the Christmas pageant is a grand idea, Trea. Our town needs something like that. Beaumont Spur has become such a hopeless place. Good families are threatening to leave. I hope something like gathering to hear their children sing will make them reconsider.”

“It seems to me there ought to be a bit of fun along with learning arithmetic and the ABCs. I don’t recall that we had that.”

“You don’t recall it because we didn’t. It’s a good idea, though.”

Juliette was glad there were no late evening customers tonight. It was cozy in the dining room with the snow falling gently past the windows and the fire snapping in the hearth.

For just an instant, she thought how lovely it would be to have a home, complete with a father for her babies.

She did not let the dream linger for longer than an instant, though. The reality was that her family consisted of her babies and her father-in-law.

She was content with that. Yes, she most surely was.

Still, it was nice to look across the table and see her childhood friend—well, for honesty’s sake, she would have to admit he was her handsome childhood friend—smiling at her.

“This has been nice, Juliette. I reckon I’ll be back in the morning for breakfast.” Trea scooped up the last bit of gravy with a spoon. “But I’d better get on my way before the snow gets any worse. I’m anxious to see the place I bought.”

“Yes—well, about that. There was a fire last week. It burned your house—half of it, anyway.”

Chapter Five

The next morning, wet ash coated the soles of Trea’s boots when he walked from the burned side of the house to the standing remains. It didn’t leave a mark, since the floor was already dredged in soot.

The storm having blown over, sunlight shone through holes in the ceiling, illuminating the damage.

He felt a few holes in his sense of financial security, as well. Buying this place had cost him most of his savings.

“Well, hell,” he muttered, since no one was close enough to hear the dejected curse.

Had it been summer, he might have been able to live in the house while he made repairs. But in deep December the nip of the icy wind made him shiver, even though he stood in a patch of weak sunshine.

A bug bite on his rear end made him wonder if, even with the cold, he ought to live here. Juliette had warned him about the hotel, but he’d had no choice but to spend the night there.

Glancing about, he didn’t wonder long. The stench of smoke in ruined furniture and black streaks coating scorched walls told him he’d be spending a lot more nights at the hotel.

Which was not such bad news as it might have been, even having insects for roommates. The woman who owned the hotel was leaving this afternoon and Juliette, he had been surprised and happy to discover, was the new owner.

When he’d left his room this morning a crew of young people was already coming in to clean the place.

“From attic to basement,” Juliette, standing in the lobby early this morning, had announced with a great smile.

In fact, she had been glowing, her blue eyes sparkling when she told him of the plan she had come up with during the night to bring the town together.

Her intention was to open on Christmas Eve and host a dinner for everyone in her new restaurant. She believed this was a grand way to introduce the place.

She might have given herself an impossible task. Christmas Eve was only three weeks away. A fact that he was not about to point out to someone who, he suspected, was floating an inch off the ground when she spun away from him to follow the cleaning crew upstairs.

Then again, his impression was that Juliette had grown to be a determined woman. Not only that, she was even more industrious than she was determined.

There was every chance she would accomplish the impossible.

Glancing about the ruins of his home, he decided to take her example to heart. He would fix this place up with a cheerful attitude, a positive frame of mind. He would not allow the hole in his finances to make a hole in his intentions.

While he waited for spring and the chance to rebuild his bank account and his house, he would win over the townsfolk and educate their children.

If it was within his power, he would stand in the way of his students taking the hard, twisted path he had followed.

“Heard you were back.”

Trea turned toward the voice coming from the burned side of the house. It still sounded as hard as grinding gravel.

He’d expected his father to look older, but he was surprised to see how dissipated he’d become. Hard living showed in his face and it was a disquieting thing to look at.

“Good to see you, Pa,” he said, even though it was more lie than truth.

“Heard a rumor that you’re the new schoolmarm.” His father dabbed his nose on his sleeve then coughed, the congestion sounding thick and sickly.

“You ailing, Pa?”

“Sick at heart, thanks to you. At least tell me you faked the education that got you the sissy job.”

Trea knew he shouldn’t let his father’s attitude cut him like it did. The man was who he was and nothing Trea did or did not do would change that.

He hadn’t come back to town thinking to impress his father, only—

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