Acclaim for the authors of THE MAGIC OF CHRISTMAS:

CAROLYN DAVIDSON ‘For romance centring on the joys and sorrows of married life, readers can’t do much better than Davidson.’ —RT Book Reviews

‘Her novels go beyond romance to the depths of the ultimate healing power of love.’

—RT Book Reviews

VICTORIA BYLIN ‘Ms Bylin is a growing talent in historical fiction and her magic pen touches both your emotions and your soul with each turn of the page.’ —Romance Reviews Today

‘Bylin captures the aura of the wild west as skilfully as she creates memorable characters. The fast pace is tempered by the gentle passion that shimmers through the pages, bringing readers a wonderful experience.’

—RT Book Reviews on MIDNIGHT MARRIAGE

CHERYL ST JOHN ‘Ms St John knows what the readers want and keeps on giving it.’ —Rendezvous

‘PRAIRIE WIFE is a very special book, courageously executed by the author and her publisher. Her considerable skill brings the common theme of the romance novel—love conquers all—to the level of genuine catharsis.’

—RT Book Reviews

Reading, writing and research—Carolyn Davidson’s life in three simple words. At least that area of her life having to do with her career as a historical romance author. The rest of her time is divided among husband, family and travel—her husband, of course, holding top priority in her busy schedule. Then there is their church, and the church choir in which they participate. Their sons and daughters, along with assorted spouses, are spread across the eastern half of America, together with numerous grandchildren. Carolyn welcomes mail at her post office box, PO Box 2757, Goose Creek, SC 29445, USA.

VICTORIA BYLIN has a collection of refrigerator magnets that mark the changes in her life. The oldest ones are from California. A native of Los Angeles, she graduated from UC Berkeley with a degree in History and went to work in the advertising industry. She soon met a wonderful man who charmed her into taking a ride on his motorcycle. That ride led to a trip down the aisle, two sons, various pets, and a move that landed Victoria and her family in northern Virginia. Magnets from thirty states commemorate that journey and her new life on the East Coast. Feel free to drop her an e-mail at VictoriaBylin@aol.com, or visit her website at www.victoriabylin.com

Cheryl St John says that knowing her stories bring hope and pleasure to readers is one of the best parts of being a writer. The other wonderful part is being able to set her own schedule and work around her family and church. Working in her jammies ain’t half bad either! Cheryl loves to hear from readers. Write to her at: PO Box 24732, Omaha, NE 68124, USA, or e-mail CherylStJohn@aol.com Visit her website: www.tlt.com/authors/cstjohn.htm

The Magic of Christmas
Carolyn Davidson
Victoria Bylin
Cheryl St John

www.millsandboon.co.uk

A Christmas Child

Dear Reader

My memories of Christmas are many and varied, but within the most precious is the continuing theme of love, of commitment to family, of faith and hope for the future. For without the true spirit of Christmas within our hearts we can have little faith in ourselves or those who surround us.

During this season of the year we find ourselves more willing to forgive, more considerate of others, able to give more freely of ourselves and our resources. Certainly that unselfishness is but one result of the blessedness of the birth we celebrate. Christmas is a time for family, both related by blood and unrelated except by compassion, for we can find ourselves just as caught up in love and caring with strangers as with our own.

May each of you, my readers, seek out some way during this most holy of seasons to find ways of expressing your love for all mankind. May your holiday be happy and your heart be made joyful.

Carolyn

My story, A CHRISTMAS CHILD, is dedicated with love to a babe born during the years of my youth, my niece, Marianne. She has grown to be a woman of perception, a concerned, caring mother and a dear friend. To her I offer this story with all my love.

Prologue

The room held the fetid odor of death, and the babe who sounded his first wail in that hot, stale air waved thin arms and legs in a frantic motion, as though he sensed that his cries might be futile, that his future might be as dark as his past. For the woman who had given birth had already breathed her last. Her only contribution to the future lay in the doctor’s hands, and already he was eager to leave this chamber of death for the clean, pure air he might find out of doors.

The sun was setting, the sky ablaze with color, and such beauty of nature seemed almost unholy compared to the pall of death that hung low over the small clearing. The small cabin and outbuildings represented the life’s work and dreams of Joe and Charlotte Winters, both of whom lay abed in the cabin, their souls no longer of this world, their hearts no longer beating, only a small, scrawny infant boy child left to wail his sadness aloud.

The country doctor made haste to wrap the boy in a flannel rag, and carried him into the chill air of the December evening, rushing to the house that lay just over a small hill to the west, a place where the child might find warmth and nourishment, for he was small and weak and his chance of survival seemed slim.

The door of the farmhouse opened wide; a plump lady peered out and greeted the doctor with an uplifted arm. “Come in. Come in. Bring that child inside where it’s warm and let me find a blanket for him.”

“It’s best if I drop this flannel rag outside,” the kindly doctor said sadly. “It’s no doubt full of germs. Needs to be burned.”

“It’ll wait till morning,” Mrs. Baker said quietly. “It’s below freezing out there and the germs won’t live long in the cold.”

“Typhoid seems to be a hard thing to kill,” the doctor told her. “But maybe we can get this little mite washed up and into clean clothes and keep him alive. His mama’s last words were that he be cared for.”

“Charlotte was a good woman,” her neighbor said, tears running down her cheeks as she took the wide-eyed infant in her arms. “I’ve got hot water in the reservoir and lots of soap and washcloths. Reckon I haven’t forgotten how to wash a newborn.”

In but a few moments the tiny babe was covered with soap from head to toe, each particle of his body cleansed and rinsed in clear water. The woman who held him to her breast shed tears of sorrow as she worked, her mind on the future of the babe she held. It seemed that fate had decreed this child have a dark future, for he’d been left with but one remaining relative—a sister—barely able to care for herself, let alone an infant.

From the ladder that led to the sleeping loft, a voice called down, a cry of sadness that held but faint hope of good news. “Is Mama all right, Mrs. Baker? Did the doctor get here yet?”

“Come on down, Marianne,” Mrs. Baker called out softly. “The doctor is here and he brought us a wee bit of a present tonight.”

The girl, for she was not yet a woman, backed down the ladder, garbed in a white flannel gown, her long hair caught up in a braid that lay over one shoulder, and her feet touched the wooden floor of the cabin as Mrs. Baker turned to her with the child in her arms.

“Meet your brother, Marianne. Born just a bit ago, the last chore your poor mama managed to finish up before she died.”

“Mama’s gone?” As though it were a foregone conclusion, the girl spoke the words with gravity, her eyes dry, as though she’d already shed tears enough for the occasion, and now faced the future that awaited her. Her arms moved to take the babe and her head bowed over the tiny boy, eyes wide, mouth open, hands flailing the air. From the looks of things, he was primed to blow.

“I’ll bet he’s hungry,” Mrs. Baker said softly. “I’ve got a bottle around here somewhere I had to use for Joey years back. Let me look a bit and find it.”

She bustled across the kitchen floor, opening the cupboard doors that hid the shelves of dishes and dry goods. Poking around amid the plates and cups, behind the bowls and pitchers, Mrs. Baker came up with a round bottle, topped with a rubber nipple—used but still in working order.

“This oughta do it,” she said with satisfaction, turning to the sink to rinse and clean the small vessel. “I’ve got fresh milk in the pantry and it won’t take long to fix that baby up with his dinner.”

Marianne watched the proceedings, ensconced in a wide rocking chair, holding her baby brother in arms that delivered warmth to the infant and love that would nourish his soul. She bent over the tiny head, her nostrils catching a whiff of the sweet baby scent he bore, and tears streamed down her cheeks as she thought of the woman who had borne him but minutes since.

Her heart’s cry was for the woman she’d known as mother, the woman who had raised her and taught her the skills of a woman, who had been best friend and confidante to the young girl who had yet to find her own way in life. And whose path now seemed to contain a child, not of her own, but of her mother’s flesh and blood. A brother to love and care for.

Mrs. Baker brought the bottle to her and Marianne settled down for the first time to the task of feeding her infant brother, acknowledging the swell of love that filled her as the tiny mouth sucked at the nipple with an eagerness that expressed his hunger. He seemed to be a survivor, she decided, and if there was any way she could help him to do that very thing, she would set her sights on his future and do all she could to make it one worthy of him.

Joshua. She’d call him Joshua, for her mother had decreed that it be so, just days ago before the fever took hold and laid her low in a sickbed from which she would never rise. Papa had died the day before, but Mama had lived to deliver the child they had so longed for, had prayed for and were to finally see. The baby boy they had yearned for for so many years, with small graves in the orchard attesting to the failure of Mama to bear live children.

Now they had a boy, Joshua, almost a Christmas baby, for it was but three weeks until that most wonderful of holidays. One that would mean little this year, with the outlying ranchers and farmers burying their dead in the wake of a typhoid epidemic. To think that such a tiny bundle would survive, when all about the countryside strong men had succumbed to the dreaded sickness.

Marianne rocked and whispered soft words of comfort and love to her small brother that night, then changed his makeshift diaper and wrapped him in a bit of flannel that Mrs. Baker found in her trunk. He’d need new clothing, for the things sewn for him by his mother must be burned in the cabin, lest the epidemic be spread by their use.

In the morning Marianne watched as the menfolk of the surrounding community burned her parents’ cabin, knowing that such a dreadful thing must be done in order to contain the germs within. Only her visit with Mrs. Baker over the past days had kept her from the disease. Helping her neighbor had been a godsend in more ways than one, for she would surely have been a victim herself had she not volunteered her services to aid the neighbor after a bad cold had put her to bed with a fever and a case of the quinsy, leaving her house without a cook and someone to mind her three-year-old.

Mrs. Baker had a small son, but her other children were grown, most of them gone from home, and she had a wonderful husband who worked hard to support them. With spare rooms aplenty now that her young’uns were mostly grown, there was room for Marianne and the baby.

Yet Marianne knew that she must soon be on her own, that she must make provision to take care of herself and little Joshua as soon as she could. And to that end, she made her plans.

Chapter One

The horse she’d borrowed from her neighbor was less than perfect, but sometime in the past her mother had dutifully told her something about beggars not being choosy about what they got, and Marianne smiled at the memory. The old mare was swaybacked, had but one gait beyond walking, and that jolting trot was less than comfortable to the young woman’s sore bottom. She’d been riding for long hours, appreciative of the loan of the horse, but weary to her soul as she considered the future lying before her.

Mrs. Baker had written out instructions to her sister’s home in the small town of Walnut Grove, Missouri, and sent Marianne on her way, the baby, Joshua, wrapped tightly in flannel blankets and with a small supply of diapers and wrappers for the child. Enough to last until Marianne could find work and a place to live. Her sister was Sarah, a woman with four children, but surely with enough goodness of heart to help a young girl on her own, Mrs. Baker had said.

December seemed to be an unforgiving sort of month, with snow on the ground and more in the air, causing dark clouds to hang heavily over the land, hiding the sun. Marianne had ridden for a day and most of a night already, stopping only to rest in an empty barn in the middle of a field. The house was gone, only stones and burned upright boards remaining to mark where once a family had lived.

The barn had been warm—at least warmer than the windswept fields—and, huddled in a stack of moldy hay, Marianne had kept herself and her baby brother warm. The prospect of meeting Mrs. Baker’s sister, perhaps even today, kept her going, even as she ate the last of the biscuits and bits of cheese Mrs. Baker had sent along. The baby had drunk from his bottle, the milk not warmed but nourishing, and yet even that was coming to an end, for the bottle now held the last of the supply she’d carried with her.

Ahead of her lay a small town, the main street lined with shops and buildings on both sides, houses lined up neatly as she approached, a sign beside the road designating it as Walnut Grove. Children ran to and fro, not caring that the snow threatened, calling out to each other, playing in the road. They all had homes to go to, Marianne suspected, warm coats to wear and mothers to tend to their needs.

For the first time in a week, her loss seemed overwhelming. The planning and working to accomplish this trek had taken her mind from the perils she would face—a woman alone, a newborn child to care for and but enough cash to buy a meal or two.

The map in her pocket was clear. If she would but turn her horse to a side street, down this alley and then turn right, she would arrive at the home of Sarah Nelson, Mrs. Baker’s sister. A kindly lady, she’d been told. And yet as she rode the mare close to the front porch, she heard a thundering roar from a man who erupted from the front door, fast on the heels of a young boy. Snatching up the child, the man delivered several hard swats of his palm against the boy’s backside and tossed him back into the house, then turned and looked at Marianne.

“You lookin’ for somebody, lady? Or just enjoying the scenery?”

Marianne froze atop the mare and shivered. “I was told that Sarah Nelson lives here,” she said quietly, to which the man snorted, then opened the door and shouted words that echoed back from the hallway.

“Sarah. Somebody here wants to see you.”

A small, skinny soul who bore but a slight resemblance to the sturdy form of Mrs. Baker came to the door, and a tentative smile lit her face. There was a resemblance after all, Marianne decided, there in that fleeting smile.

“I’m—or rather I was—a neighbor of your sister’s, ma’am,” Marianne began. “She told me I might find you here.”

“I’m here, all right” was the harsh reply. “What do you want?”

“A place to get my little brother changed and warm and some milk to give him in his bottle.”

The woman’s face softened a bit and then she looked up at the man who towered over her. “Ain’t got no room for anybody else in this house, girl. I’ll give you a cup of milk for the baby, but that’s the best I can do.”

Marianne’s heart sank. Mrs. Baker had been so sure…so certain that her sister would welcome the travelers. She watched as the skinny woman closed the door and waited until her return, just minutes later. Carrying a cup in her hand, she approached the horse, peering up at Marianne with a look of sorrow.

“Sorry I can’t be more hospitable, but my man don’t hold with givin’ away the food he buys. I couldn’t give you this, but I’m the one milks the cow and makes the butter and I told him it was mine to keep or give and I chose to give it to the babe.”

“I thank you,” Marianne said, well aware that there was no welcome here for her, hoping that Mrs. Baker would never find out how desperate her sister’s situation was.

“Head on into town. You might be able to get some help at the general store.”

Without awaiting a goodbye, the woman went back into the house, the door closing with a solid thud behind her. Marianne turned the mare and rode back down the drive and onto the road. The lights of several storefronts were still ablaze and she halted before the general store, sliding from the mare’s back in a quick motion, holding her small brother to her breast.

The store was warm, redolent with the scents of leather and pickles and smoke from the potbellied stove that reigned in one corner. Behind the counter a woman watched her approach and bent a smile in her direction.

“Hello there, young lady. You just arrive in town?”

“Yes,” Marianne said quietly, shifting the burden of her brother to rest him against her shoulder.

“You got you a young’un there. Looks pretty much like a newborn, don’t he?”

“He’s three weeks old now. My brother, Joshua.” Marianne pulled back the blanket and displayed the darkhaired child she held, his flawless skin pink and healthy looking.

“Sure is a good-lookin’ young’un,” the storekeeper said.

“Where you heading, honey?”

“Nowhere, just looking for a place to stay for a bit. I had instructions to find a friend’s sister, but she apparently doesn’t have room for me, so I rode on.”

“Who did you say you saw in town?”

“Sarah Nelson is the sister of my old neighbor. She sent me here, but Mr. Nelson didn’t seem too hospitable.”

“Hospitable! Hah, that’s one word you couldn’t apply to Henry Nelson. He’s a mean one, gives poor Sarah a hard time of it. Treats those young’uns like slaves.”

“Well, anyway, I won’t be staying there, and I was wondering if you knew of anybody who needed help, maybe in the house or with their children. I’m a good hand with cooking and cleaning and such.”

“Not around here, girl. Things are pretty tight in town, and with Christmas here, everybody’s pretty well taken up with their own business. Them with kids is doing their best to make it a good holiday, baking and cooking and knitting up mittens and such. It’s a poor town, sure enough, and barely enough to go around. I don’t know of anybody who’d be needing help. At least, not help they’d be willing to pay for.”

Marianne’s heart sank. She’d expected no more, but her hope had been that she would find a place to rest her body and keep the baby warm. Even that seemed to be a dream, for there was no help to be found here.

“Tell you what, girl,” the storekeeper said quickly. “I’ll let you sleep in the storeroom for the night if you like. There’s a kettle on the stove and tea in a tin out there and I can scrape up a loaf of bread and some milk for the baby if you like.”

“I’d be ever so grateful,” Marianne said, her heart beating rapidly as she recognized that she had a place for the night, and something warm to put into her stomach. “My name’s Marianne. Can I do anything to pay for the room? Sweep your floors or something?”

“You just get yourself into that back room and lie down on the cot and we’ll find some fresh milk for that baby, and you can sleep a bit.” The woman was kindly, Marianne thought, bustling back and forth through the store, locking up the front door and leading the way to a warm, dusty room where a small potbellied stove held the cold at bay, and offered a warm place to sleep.

A kettle atop the stove indeed held hot water, and a cup appeared with tea in the bottom of it, the leaves floating on the hot water that splashed into its depths. The water turned color as Marianne watched, and the scent of tea arose to tempt her nostrils.

“I haven’t had a cup of tea since my mama died,” she said, fighting back the tears that begged to be shed.

“Well, this one oughta make you feel some better, then. There’s milk and sugar to put in it if you like, and a piece of fresh bread and some cheese to eat with it. I’ll just wash out that baby’s bottle and fill it up with milk for him.”

The woman hummed beneath her breath as she pumped water and rinsed the bottle, then refilled it with milk and snapped the nipple in place. “That oughta be enough for him to last till morning.”

“He doesn’t drink a whole lot yet, about half a bottle at a time,” Marianne said. “This is just fine. He’ll have enough for his breakfast.”

“I’ll be back in the morning,” the woman told her. “My name’s Janet. Me and the mister live next door and we open up right early. Tomorrow’s gonna be busy, being the day before Christmas, so I’ll be back at dawn.”

By the light of a candle and the glow from the stove, Marianne watched the woman leave from the back door, heard the click of the lock as she was safely left inside and settled down to feed Joshua and drink her tea. The bread was good—fresh and still soft. The cheese was nourishing and the milk seemed to agree with Joshua, for he drank his fill and then burped, loud and long, before he snuggled against Marianne’s bosom and closed his eyes.

She lay down on the narrow cot, thankful for the warmth surrounding her. Her heart rose as she considered the generous spirit of the woman she’d just met, thankful she’d been given a bed to sleep in and food to eat. With no questions asked.

Joshua slept the whole night through and when the back door opened in the dim light of morning, Marianne sat up and rubbed her eyes, peering at the man who entered the back room of the store.

“You still here?” he asked roughly. “I told the missus you’d probably be off with everything you could carry before we opened up this morning, but she was sure you were a good girl. Guess she won this bet.” He moved on through the room, leaving Marianne stunned as she sat up on the cot, watching his progress through the doorway into the store.

She rose and brushed her hair back, wrapping Joshua more securely in his blanket before she placed him on the cot and followed the man into his store.

“Sir, I want to thank you for a place to sleep last night. I appreciated the warm bed and the milk for Joshua.”

“My wife’s a soft touch,” he said, turning to watch Marianne with narrowed eyes, his gaze covering her slim form quickly. “She said to tell you she’ll let you stay here another night if you want to, but we can’t do much more than that. She sent over some oatmeal she cooked for breakfast and a cup of milk for you and the baby. There’s still tea in the tin for you to use if you want it.”

The man’s welcome was not warm, but Marianne was pleased at his offering of food, especially that of milk for Joshua’s bottle. She rinsed out the dregs from the night before and filled it again, placing it beside the bed for when he would wake and be hungry. The bowl of oatmeal she held in her lap, sitting again on the cot and eating it quickly. Warm and nourishing, it filled her stomach and she was thankful.

She rinsed the bowl in the sink, washed her face and hands and brushed her hair back, dampening the sides to hold it in place.

From behind her, the gentleman spoke. “My Janet said to tell you to come on over to the house and tend the baby if you want to. She’s got hot water and soap and such you can use.”

“Thank you ever so much,” Marianne said. “Just point me in the right direction and I’ll be on my way.”

In minutes she was rapping on the back door of a twostory house behind the general store. Janet opened the door for her. “Come on in, girl. I’ll warrant that baby needs a good washing up and some clean clothes to wear, don’t he?”

“I’d surely appreciate a washcloth and a bar of soap for him,” Marianne said quietly. “He hasn’t had a bath in two days. And my mama always said a baby should be washed up every morning.”

“Your mama was right, and your little one there looks pretty healthy. You musta been taking good care of him.”

“I’ve tried my best,” Marianne said stoutly. “He’s doing pretty well, putting on a little weight and sleeping pretty well.”

“You’re a good mama to him, girl. Just go on over there and use that basin and towel and clean him up a little.”

Marianne washed Joshua and put a clean diaper on his bottom. Janet came up with a used but clean small kimono she said she had no use for.

“My Robbie is three years old, and he hasn’t worn this for a year or better. You might as well have it for your young’un,” she said kindly.

“I’ll wash out Joshua’s other two gowns and hang them up to dry if I can,” Marianne said softly. “His diapers need to be washed, too.”

“Use the bath water if you want to,” Janet told her. “You can hang them behind the stove. They’ll dry there real quick.”

By noon, the small stash of laundry was dry, including Marianne’s underclothes and her dress, and she folded the few diapers and gowns and placed them in her bag. Donning her own clothing, she determined that she would offer Janet cash for the food and care she’d received at her hand. The offer was turned down without hesitation, and Marianne was pleased to find such kindness in the woman.

“I can’t thank you enough for your help,” she said, her words sincere, even though her smile wobbled a bit. “I’m going to set off and look for a place to stay, a job of some sort that will allow me to keep the baby with me.”

“Had you thought about letting some couple take him to raise?” Janet asked. “He might be better off with a father to care for him.”

“Well, his is dead and gone,” Marianne said, “and I’ve thought of giving him up to a family, but it seems that most everyone has enough of their own to take care of.”

“The Thornley family, out east of town, might take him,” Janet said. “They’re good folks, with no little ones of their own. Maybe you could ride out and see them.”

“I’ll think about it,” Marianne said slowly, not willing yet to give up her brother, remembering her mother’s hopes for his future and unable to turn her back on her own flesh and blood while she could still tend to him herself.

“Ma’am, if I could help you some in the store or in your house today, I’d be pleased to earn out my bed for last night and maybe tonight. I don’t like to take your food and impose on you any without paying back in some way.”

Janet hesitated, then nodded. “I appreciate your honesty,” she said, scrubbing at a skillet in the sink. “If you’d like to lend a hand, I’ve got to get our Christmas dinner ready for the morning. My man’s folks will be coming in from out of town later on today to spend Christmas with our young’uns. They always come early so’s we can go to church on Christmas Eve together.”

“I’ll do whatever you’d like for me to,” Marianne answered with a smile. “Maybe by morning I’ll come up with something else to do. Might be if I go to church for the service tonight, I’ll see somebody who might need a hired hand or help around the house.”

“Being a hired hand is no work for a woman,” Janet said bluntly. “The places hereabouts are pretty well run already. Can’t think offhand of anybody who’d need help. But it won’t hurt to ask around if you go to the service tonight. It’s Christmas Eve and folks are in a softer mood than usual this week. I’ll ask around, too—maybe between us we can find something for you to do.”

Marianne spent the day scrubbing and cleaning Janet’s house, using a brush on the kitchen floor and a dust cloth on the furniture in the parlor. Late in the day Janet’s husband, Tom, dragged in a tall spruce tree, freshly cut from the woods north of town. He quickly formed a stand for it with four small pieces of wood, and it stood in the corner of the parlor, almost touching the ceiling.

Janet’s four youngsters gathered around as their father carried boxes of decorations from the attic and placed them on the floor. “Have at it, young’uns,” he said jovially. And with glad cries and laughter, the four children hung glittering stars and angels on the tree, the ornaments showing signs of the years past, but shiny and bright nevertheless. Marianne watched with sad eyes, remembering the Christmases she’d spent with her family, her mother and father always making a fuss over the tree and the decorations they made from pinecones and bits of ribbon.

They’d had big plans for this holiday season, with a new baby due to arrive, her mother finally able to carry a babe full term after years of losing babies, one after another. And now there was little to celebrate, it seemed to Marianne, for her family was gone and she had no future that she could see. Only a darkness that threatened to overwhelm her.

Silently she wrapped her small brother in his warm blanket and set off from the house, unable to bear the joyous laughter of the children and the happiness in the house she left behind. It was growing dark, for winter brought long nights, and even though it was but suppertime, the sun was setting and the houses she passed on her slow trek were well lit from within.

The bright candlelight from a Christmas tree caught her eye as she passed a large white house, and from inside she could hear the voices that carried on the night air. Happiness seemed to surround her, but left her on the outside, looking in, and her heart ached with the pain of loss.

The small village church was dark, but it would soon be time for the late service to begin, probably within an hour or so, she thought, remembering that she’d told Janet she would attend with her family. She slowed as she passed the white building, a bell tower high overhead with a cross atop it catching her eye.

On the grass before the church was a Nativity scene, set up by loving hands apparently, for the figures were freshly painted, the robes of the Virgin mother and the kindly Joseph glistening in the final rays of the setting sun. A final beam of light cast its glow across the setting, and drew Marianne’s eyes to the empty manger. Sheltered just within the framework of a makeshift shed, it was rough, unpainted and held straw, or perhaps hay, providing a bed for the child who would be born this night.

She’d heard the story for years, read from her father’s Bible—a tradition in the family, that they hear the chapter in Luke that told the tale of shepherds and wise men who came to worship the babe in the manger.

From the house next door to the church, a door opened with a clatter and a man stepped onto the porch, shutting the door behind him, then stepping from the porch to walk toward the center of town, nodding at Marianne as he walked past her. Probably the minister, she thought, noting his young age. For her own pastor in days gone by had been an elderly man, with grown children. From the looks of the man she turned to watch as he strode toward the general store, he was but thirty or so, younger than most ministers in her experience.

Drawn by an urge she could not explain, she walked across the width of the churchyard, approaching the manger scene, and peered within the small, rough bed itself. And with no warning she heard a voice within her speaking.

If you leave Joshua in the manger, someone will want to keep him and give him a good home.

She looked behind her, seeking the owner of the voice she’d heard, for it had been distinct and the words seemed to vibrate in her mind. Without hesitation she bent, placing her brother in the wooden container, one meant for a holy babe on this, the most holy of nights. And if a baby was all the scene needed to make it complete, surely there was a reason for her being here in this place, a reason for her to do as she had. The thought of abandoning her brother was enough to break her heart, but perhaps this was the answer to her dilemma. And Joshua would be the better for it, if a man and woman without a child of their own should see him and claim him tonight.

She shivered, the warmth of her brother gone from her arms, and as she bent to him, she whispered words of farewell, unable to foresee the outcome of her actions, only desperate enough to hope that it would work out for Joshua’s good.

Running quickly to the side of the church, she waited in the shadows, knowing that it would soon be time for the baby to eat, and he would arouse from his slumber soon, hungry and anxious for his bottle.

Chapter Two

David McDermott faced his first Christmas in his first church. A graduate of the seminary in St. Louis, he had been sent to Walnut Grove, Missouri, to serve as their pastor in the small community church there. With his wife, Laura, he’d made his home in Walnut Grove, making friends and working to spruce up the building he’d been given as a parsonage during his tenure there.

Bearing her first child was to have been a joyous event that first year of their marriage, but the birthing took its toll on Laura, and she succumbed to the loss of blood and horror of a childbirth gone wrong. The babe she bore lived but hours and breathed his last as his father named him and held him close, aching for the future he’d lost, in the death of those he loved best.

Buried in the church cemetery, Laura held her child in her arms within the wooden casket created by the town’s carpenter. They lay beneath the ground with but a simple wooden cross with two names engraved upon it. “Laura McDermott, wife of David.” And beneath those words was the name of his son, “Darren McDermott.” Simple words that seemed barely enough to describe the youthful beauty and dignity of the woman he’d married, and the son she’d borne.

David had worked hard all summer long, painting the small church, cutting the weeds that threatened to overcome the grass before the parsonage, and in general keeping busy, day by day, his heart aching with the loss of his wife and child.

For nearly a year he’d lived alone and served his parish, loved by the people he served, and after a while he became a target for the young women, who saw him as a prime catch. He was tall and admittedly good-looking, for he saw his face in the mirror every morning and knew that his features were pleasing—dark hair that waved just above his collar, and blue eyes that held a remote sadness.

It had been a hard year, and by summer’s end he’d felt a renewed interest in his work, found that the townsfolk had taken to him with a warmth he hadn’t expected. Perhaps because of his loss, maybe because he’d made it his business to visit the sick, pray with those who needed his comfort, and in all things had done his best to serve the people of Walnut Grove.

He’d received several invitations for Christmas dinner from various members of his congregation and had accepted none of them, unable to find in his heart any joy in this season of the year. If only…His thoughts returned to the family he’d buried and he shook himself abruptly, knowing that self-pity was the last thing he needed to indulge in tonight. For the Christmas Eve service was scheduled to begin in two hours and he still hadn’t purchased his groceries this week.

Donning his hat and a warm jacket, he made his way out the front door, determined to put the sorrow of the past behind him and concentrate instead on the joyous message he would bring to his congregation in just a short while.

The walk to the general store was short, and in less than ten minutes he’d gathered up the basic necessities needed for his kitchen. Not much of a cook at the best of times, he managed to make do with fried eggs for breakfast, bread and cheese and sometimes sausage or bacon for his dinner hour and often was the recipient of casserole dishes from the ladies nearby, who tended to drop off dishes for his supper.

Perhaps they knew that cooking was not a skill he’d mastered in his life or maybe they felt he needed the nourishment of hot meals on occasion. Whatever the reason for the generosity shown him, he appreciated the chicken casseroles and hot vegetable dishes left at his front door several times a week.

Tomorrow was a day that loomed long before him, a day of happiness for the children in town, a day of feasting in most of the homes of his congregation, several of which would welcome him with open arms.

He lingered in the store for but a few minutes, speaking to Janet and her husband, knowing they were anxious to close the door and return to their family in the small house next to the store, where their four children were no doubt enjoying the lights of a Christmas tree in the parlor.

Waving goodbye and reminding them of the service that would begin in an hour or so, he walked the short distance back to his home, his arms full of bundles—the coffee, bacon and sack of eggs he’d purchased. A tin of lard hung from his index finger and he shifted the wrapped parcels to free his hand to open the front door.

The Nativity scene caught his eye and he admired the fresh paint he’d applied to the figures just last week. The shepherds were tall and stalwart, the sheep and donkey suitably humble and the young parents knelt beside the manger. All was ready, awaiting the addition of the small statue of a babe he would add to the scene after midnight, when the service at church was finished and his parishioners were once more in their homes.

He’d heaped the manger with hay, deeming straw to be harsh for a babe’s fragile skin, even though the small statue was but an imitation reminder of the Christ Child and neither hay nor straw would damage its hard surface. The sun had set and the moon was making an appearance in the sky, sending down beams upon the scene he’d created for his church and its people.

The manger seemed to glow with the light of the moon upon it, the simple brown cradle awaiting the final touch that would—David halted suddenly, his breathing loud upon the silence of the evening. For there, waving in the moonlight, was a small hand, a tiny arm. And the sound that reached his ears was that of a babe, a whimpering cry, escalating into a wail of distress.

Placing his packages on the frozen ground, he reached the manger in half a dozen long strides, reaching into its depths even as he caught sight of the tiny babe, wrapped in a bit of white flannel. The blanket had been disturbed by the infant’s flailing arms and he saw that dark hair crowned the tiny head, as with openmouthed cries the child demanded attention.

He picked up the small bundle, his eyes searching the surrounding area, hoping for a glimpse of whoever had left this child here in the cold. Holding the swaddled babe to his chest, he rose, standing before the makeshift shed amidst the shepherds, a sheep on one side, the donkey on the other, and looked down into the face of innocence.

Apparently soothed by the hands that held it, the baby snuffled, poking one small fist into its mouth, sucking earnestly on his hand and opening his dark eyes to look up at the man who held him. David caught his breath, recalling with sorrow the last time he’d held a child thusly, the day of his son’s birth. The poignant memory scalded his eyes, and tears poured forth, dropping upon the white blanketwrapped bundle in his arms.

He turned hastily toward the parsonage and as he did so, he caught a glimpse of a figure darting from the side of the church, into the bushes by the road. It had been a woman, a slender form that seemed almost ghostly, yet he knew what he’d seen, and in vain he called out to the woman.

It was cold, the wind picking up, and he quickly carried the baby to his house, opened the door and stepped into the parlor, where he stood immobile for a moment, unsure of his direction. His groceries lay in the churchyard and he placed the baby on his sofa and turned to retrieve the results of his shopping, hastening across the small distance to pick up the bundles of food.

A slight figure walked quickly down the road, heading for the middle of town, and he called out to her, for it was obviously a woman, her skirts swaying as she hurried on her way. Dark hair hung past her shoulders, and a dark cloak was wrapped around her. Yet in the moonlight she cast a glance behind her and he saw the face of a girl, not a woman after all. But a girl with tearstained cheeks, gleaming in the light of the rising moon.

His groceries at hand, he bent and picked them up, then returned with haste to the parsonage, there to hear the wail of the child who lay on his sofa. He dropped the foodstuffs he’d bought onto the kitchen table and returned to the babe, bending to unwrap the blanket, the better to see the infant he’d rescued.

Wrapped in the folds of the blanket was a diaper and a bottle, filled with milk, a nipple attached to it in readiness should the child require feeding. And from the sounds of things, David decided that food was essential, for the cries were louder, the small face redder, and the arms and legs had kicked off the blanket, exposing small limbs and bare feet that did not measure nearly as long as his index finger.

Gathering the baby to himself, he held it cradled in his left arm and offered the bottle to the tiny mouth, a mouth that opened wide to accept the rubber nipple, apparently accustomed to being fed in such a way.

His heart was gripped with an emotion unlike any he’d ever experienced, a pouring out of his need, the memory of an infant, buried in his mother’s arms, and hot tears fell as the child’s face blurred before his sight. His arms tightened as his thoughts soared. If only…And yet there were no such miracles, no such travels back in time in which he might have a taste of the joys of holding his child, a joy that had been denied him.

For these few moments he could dream, and dream he did, his mind moving on to the service he would hold in but an hour. A service of happiness, of joy, of worship. The sight of their pastor carrying in a child to the service might be beyond their ability to understand, and so deciding to spare his small flock the sight, he arose from his chair, discovered that the infant he held needed a dry bottom and tended to that small chore.

Not familiar with such doings, he took much longer than the babe deemed necessary for the task. But in another ten minutes he’d wrapped the tiny form in the flannel blanket, added a shawl he’d hidden deep in a dresser drawer, to provide additional warmth against the winter night, and set off for his church.

Arriving early, he lowered the lamps, lit them and set them in place, then placed the sleeping babe on the back pew of the choir loft, careful to prop hymnals before the tiny form, lest it roll to the floor.

Within a half hour the small church was filling with his congregation, the children excited, whispering among themselves, the adults properly worshipful for this most holy of services in the life of his church.

They sang with uplifted voices, they sang from memory the old carols that told the Christmas story, of Mary and the babe of Bethlehem. They sang of shepherds, of the kings from afar, and then, after the reading from St. Luke, they bowed in prayer. To the faint echoes of “Silent Night” the flock filed from the church, and David stood before his pulpit, watching as one lone woman knelt in the very last row of seats.

He picked up his charge, thankful that the baby had slept throughout the hour-long service, and with the wrapped bundle against his shoulder, he walked silently down the long aisle to the back door of the church. As he passed the last pew, he looked aside to where the young woman knelt, and paused there.

Marianne looked up, knowing that there were eyes intent on her, feeling the warmth of someone’s scrutiny. Her eyes were blurred with tears, for she had just committed her small brother into God’s hands, not knowing what his future might hold, but trusting that somehow he would find sanctuary this night.

In the dim light of the moon, shining through the church doors, a tall man watched her—the pastor of this church, the man who had lifted Joshua from the manger just hours earlier. Now he held the baby against his shoulder, the white blanket a pale blur against his dark suit.

“Do you need help?” the man asked, his voice deep and tender, as if he knew somehow who she was. “Why don’t you come with me and have some tea over in the parsonage kitchen?”

He waited, unmoving, as she looked into eyes that even in the dim light seemed to glow with an unearthly light. There was no question of trust, for she’d known from her first glimpse of him that this man was kind and wore the cloak of goodness on his shoulders. How such a thing could be, Marianne didn’t understand, but she felt a trust in him that was without reason. Perhaps he’d been sent to help her; maybe he would be the answer to her prayers.

She rose and left the pew, looking up at him as he ushered her to the door, his hand on her elbow, his head bent to look into her face.

“Are you hungry?” he asked. And she nodded slowly, unwilling to admit her need, but aware that she must have nourishment to sustain her for the night to come.

They walked from the church together, most of the congregation already leaving the churchyard, only a few townspeople lingering to call out their messages of holiday cheer to the pastor.

Marianne walked ahead of him, aware of the watching eyes, the whispers that followed her progress along the path through the light snow that formed patterns on the ground. Janet, the storekeeper’s wife, stood near the gate and lifted a hand in greeting.

“Where are you staying, dear?” she asked quietly. “Do you need to sleep at the store tonight?”

Marianne looked over her shoulder at the tall figure who walked just behind her. “I’m going to have tea with the minister and then decide where I’ll go,” she said softly, lest anyone else hear her words. It would not do for the representative of the church to be spoken of badly should he give refuge to a woman so late at night.

“David McDermott will take care of you. He’s a good man,” Janet said readily. “You come and see me the day after tomorrow if you need anything. The store will be locked up tomorrow, but you know where I live.”

Marianne nodded, smiling her thanks as she reached for her small brother and took him from Mr. McDermott’s hands. The small churchyard emptied rapidly, for the parishioners were anxious to return to their warm homes where Christmas celebrations were about to begin.

Together Marianne and Mr. McDermott walked next door to the parsonage and entered the foyer of the small house. Removing his coat and hat, he turned to her, offering his big hands to take the baby, allowing Marianne to take off her cloak and hang it on a hook by the front door before returning her brother to her arms.

She felt awkward, out of place, and knew that her cheeks were red with embarrassment. “I can’t thank you enough for inviting me into your home for tea,” she said, her voice shaking with emotion, for tears hovered near, and she dreaded shedding them before a stranger.

“I could not leave you out in the cold, young lady,” he said kindly. “For I have a dish of chicken and gravy, sent me by one of the ladies of my congregation, and it will go to waste if you don’t help me eat some of it. There are potatoes to go with it, and I can slice some bread. Someone sent me a pound or so of fresh butter yesterday, so my kitchen is well equipped to handle a Christmas Eve meal.”

Marianne felt her small brother awaken in his blankets, for he wriggled and pushed his feet out, demanding that he be unwrapped from the binding of his blankets. One arm rose from the wrappings and waved in the air, even as he cried aloud, craving attention.

“I think he’s hungry again. Would you have the bottle handy that I left with him?”

“So it was you who put him in the manger. I thought as much, when I saw you in the back of the church. I caught a glimpse of you when you walked away from here earlier, and I figured you’d show up sometime tonight. I knew you’d be wanting to check on the baby.”

David pulled a chair from under the kitchen table and offered it to Marianne, watching as she sank into its depths, the infant in her arms squirming now, anticipating his next meal. She unwrapped him, delving beneath the blankets to check on the condition of his diaper, and her face flushed as she looked up at the man before her.

“I need to have a bit of privacy to change him, I fear. There are several clean diapers in my bag, if you’ll let me use a flat surface somewhere to clean him up a little.”

David smiled, his thoughts not altogether above reproach, for this young woman was appealing to him on a level he had not considered for some time. Her scent was fresh, clean and her face was akin to what he thought the young mother in Bethlehem might have looked like. Dark hair hung long, waving and thick, in a veil that almost covered her back. She was dressed in rough clothing, but everything about her was clean. Even the child she carried in her arms had not carried the scent of an unwashed body, but had been as fresh and clean as a babe could be.

Somewhere she had found resources to keep the child well fed and clean, and he admired the courage of a young woman so able to do her duty as she saw it. “How old is your little boy?” he asked, attempting to lure her into conversation, lest she be frightened and flee his house.

“He is three weeks old, sir. But he is not my child, but my baby brother. My mother and father died of the fever and he was born as my mother breathed her last.” Her head bent over the baby and a tear fell on the blanket, one he knew she’d tried not to shed, for she had been careful up until now not to show her emotional state.

“Bring him into the parlor,” David said, leading the way. “I’ll warm up the chicken and heat a bit of milk for his bottle while you change him and make him comfortable.”

Marianne followed him, thankful for his help, her stomach rumbling as she considered the meal she would eat at his table. Her bag held the clean diapers she’d washed earlier at Janet’s home, and in much less time than David had taken to do the same task she had changed and freshened Joshua’s bottom, then she wrapped him again and headed back to the kitchen.

Smells of food were welcome, for she knew she must keep up her strength, and she sat at the table once more, watching as the tall minister worked around the kitchen. Adept at his chores, he stirred the chicken as it simmered on the stove, took plates from the cupboard and found forks in a drawer, all simultaneous moves that astonished Marianne. Her own father had been useless in the kitchen, her mother had often said, for the man was more at home with cows and horses than in the house where the food was prepared.

This young minister seemed to know his way around the kitchen, and in just a few minutes he set a plate of chicken and gravy, side by side with a helping of mashed potatoes, in front of her. A plate of sliced bread and a pat of butter were between them as he settled into a seat across the table, with his own plate of food.

She watched as he lowered his head and spoke soft words of blessing on their food, then she picked up her fork, shamed by the trembling of her hand as she lifted it to her mouth. “I didn’t know I was so hungry,” she said quietly. The food was good, tasty and nourishing, for there were bits of carrots and peas mixed in with the gravy and the chunks of chicken were hearty and plenteous.

A slice of bread was halved and buttered and placed on her plate, and she smiled her thanks. “I suspect it might be difficult to deal with a baby and butter your bread at the same time,” David said with a smile.

Marianne had held Joshua across her arm as she ate, resting his bottle on her breast as he nursed, leaving her free to eat while feeding him. “I usually lay him across my lap and let him sleep while I eat,” Marianne told him. “But he’s wide-awake tonight for some reason. And until he finishes and gets rid of his burp, he’ll be restless.”

David smiled and a chuckle escaped his lips. “Probably because he slept all through the service tonight. He was behind me on a pew and I had hopes that I could outtalk him if he woke up before we were finished.”

“I didn’t see him up there,” Marianne said. “I wondered what you’d done with him, for I saw you carry him into the church.”

“What did you think would happen to him when you left him in the manger?”

She shook her head. “I didn’t know, but I’d decided to watch until someone found him and then thought I might offer my services to help take care of him. I really didn’t plan ahead well, but when I saw the empty manger in front of the church, I knew I should put him there and hope for the best.”

“You’re a brave young woman.” He leveled his gaze at her and his voice was soft as he asked her name.

“Marianne Winters. Joshua, as I said, is my brother.”

And if she expected him to believe that, he’d do his best to accept her words as truth, David decided. For the child bore a definite likeness to her—eyes widespread, dark hair and a pointed chin that were small replicas of her own. If he was not Marianne’s own child, it would be a miracle, for being born in the midst of a typhoid epidemic such as the one running rampant over the county during the past month or so was a death sentence in itself. The child surely would have been exposed to the dread disease upon birth. To live through such a thing would have been a miracle.

“If you would like to stay here for the night, I have a spare room to offer you,” David said suddenly. Whether or not his congregation would approve was not an issue as far as he was concerned. This woman needed help and a warm place to sleep with her child, and it would not behoove him as a man of the church to cast her out into the cold. Perhaps she would be willing to work for her keep until she could find a job with enough pay to care for herself and her child.

“I need someone to keep house for me,” he began slowly, offering the idea for her to chew on. “Perhaps you would be interested in working here during the day and staying in a nearby home at night. I’d not be able to pay you a lot, but your food would be included in your wage and I don’t mind having the baby around.”

Marianne looked up in surprise. That such an offer might be made tonight was beyond her wildest dreams. And especially from a man living alone, a man who stood to ruin his good reputation if it became known that he had opened his home to a single woman and a child.

“I wouldn’t do anything to damage your name in town,” she said quietly. “I’m sure it would cause talk if I were to spend my days here, and even though I need work to support myself and Joshua, I hesitate to accept your offer.”

“Stay for tonight anyway, and we’ll see what tomorrow brings,” David said.

“Thank you, Reverend,” Marianne said, her words sincere, for she hadn’t expected such a welcome.

“My name is David. Would you mind calling me by name? It’s been a long time since anyone spoke to me without a title. Sometimes I yearn to be an ordinary man, and I fear that my congregation has put me in a box and labeled me as a man of the church, and I miss being just David McDermott.”

“Have you never been David to anyone here in town?” Marianne asked, seeking to know more about the man who sat so quietly across from her.

“My wife called me David, and had he lived, my son would be calling me Daddy by now, I think.” His eyes grew dark with sorrow as Marianne watched and she rued her words that had caused him such pain. Her hand patted Joshua’s back in a rhythmic fashion as he stirred against her shoulder, and she rubbed the length of his back, knowing that the burp he held within was making him restless.

It erupted on a loud note and Marianne laughed softly, bending to kiss the small head, accepting his offering gladly, for without it he would have slept badly. Now the chances were that he would last until morning without food, kept warm and cuddled closely as he seemed to enjoy.

“Thank you for the meal and for your help,” Marianne said, looking up at David as he cleared the table. His hands moved rapidly as he put the plates into the dishpan, the silverware with them, and then poured in hot water from the stove’s reservoir.

“I’d like to wash the dishes, if you’ll show me where to put the baby down,” she said, rising and looking about for a hallway that might lead to the bedrooms.

“Follow me,” David said quickly. “There are clean sheets on the bed in the spare room and we can leave the door open to let the heat from the stove enter. It’s the room closest to the kitchen, so he should be warm enough.”

The bedroom was small but clean, the bed covered with a handmade quilt, and two fat pillows were propped at the headboard. “This is lovely,” Marianne said, pulling back the quilt to place Joshua in the middle of the big bed.

“I wish I had a cradle to offer you for him, but the one I made for our son was given away after he and his mother died. I couldn’t stand to keep it in the house, and a lady outside town was having her first child and they couldn’t afford a bed for the baby. It seemed the right thing to do, so I offered the one I’d made. They put it to good use.”

Marianne’s heart ached for the loss he’d suffered and her tender heart went out to him, wishing she might have the words to offer that would give surcease to his pain.

“I’m sure your wife would have wanted someone else to use the cradle, David. I think she’d be happy to know that another child slept in it.”

“Thank you,” he said, avoiding her gaze, as if he hid a trace of tears in his eyes and did not want to share his grief.

Marianne propped pillows around Joshua, making sure that he was well padded so that should he wet his diaper it would not dampen the bedding. Then she went back to the kitchen and found a dishcloth, preparing to clean up the kitchen. It was a small matter, washing and drying the few dishes they’d used, cleaning out the pan he’d warmed the food in and then hanging the dish towel and cloth to dry on a small line he’d strung behind the stove.

She wiped the table clean, swept the floor and lowered the lamp a bit, to save the kerosene for another day. David sat at the table, paper and pen before him, bent over a letter he had begun.

“I’ll go on to bed now,” Marianne told him, walking to the bedroom doorway, then turning back to face him.

He looked up from his writing, his eyes distracted by her words, then he smiled. “I’m just writing a letter to my folks, back home in Ohio. I’m telling them about you and Joshua and the way you left him in the manger for me to find. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Will they think badly of me for abandoning my brother that way?”

He shook his head. “They’ll understand that you were desperate, that you had no resources to care for him by yourself. It was a smart move for you to make, actually. You just didn’t imagine that I would be the one to find him and take him indoors, did you?”

Marianne flushed uncomfortably, for she had indeed thought just such a thing might happen and her words verified that fact. “I thought perhaps a minister and his wife would care for a foundling like Joshua. I had no idea you were alone here in the parsonage.”

David smiled, his thoughts hidden from Marianne. “I think perhaps things worked out the way they were supposed to, anyway. I needed Joshua as much as he needed someone to care for him.”

“I’d have spent my whole life tending him if I could, Mr. McDermott.”

“I thought we’d gotten past the Mr. McDermott thing,” David said quietly. “I liked it much better when you called me by my given name. I felt we were becoming friends, Marianne.”

Bravely Marianne spoke her thoughts aloud. “I’d like to keep house for you, David, if the offer is still open. I’ll see if Janet will let me sleep at the store, and then I can come here during the day to cook and clean for you. In exchange, perhaps you would consider giving Joshua a home until I can provide for him.”

“I’ll want to talk to the men on my church board before I make a commitment to you, Marianne. I can’t do anything that would reflect badly on my position here, and I don’t want any hint of gossip to touch you or Joshua.”

“Can you do that? Talk to the men who run the church with you? Do you think they’ll object to such a plan?”

“They’ve known for quite a while that I need help in my home and surely it is an obvious solution to my problem and yours, too. I’ll speak to them after the Wednesday-night meeting.”

“And for tonight you think I should stay here in your spare room?”

He nodded agreeably. “I don’t see that we have any choice. Tomorrow is Christmas and the town will be closed up tighter than a drum, with folks celebrating with their families and such. Why don’t you plan on cooking dinner for me and getting Joshua settled in here? You can walk over and talk to Janet in the morning and sound her out about you staying at the store nights.”

Marianne considered the plan, not willing to put David to shame in any way, but the hour was late and the lights were out in the houses around them. It was beyond time for folks to be in bed and she accepted that her fate for this day was out of her hands.

“All right. We’ll do as you say, David. I’ll go on to bed now and be up early with the baby, then it will be time enough to cook your breakfast and take a walk to see Janet.”

He watched as she went into the bedroom, closing the door behind her, and his heart was full as he considered the day to come. He’d been beyond lonely without the companionship he’d come to enjoy with a wife. His years with Laura had been few, but his months without her had seemed an eternity, so quiet had been the house, so empty his heart.

For a moment he thought of another plan that might work, and decided to seek out Marianne’s thoughts in the morning. Should she be agreeable, they might be married and share the parsonage together, thus satisfying any gossip that might arise in town concerning her presence here. She was a lovely girl, with pleasing ways about her, and he didn’t doubt that she would be more than capable of running his home as his wife.

Whether or not Joshua was her own child or her brother, as she claimed, he was willing to accept her as she was, without any guarantees, and he might find an end to the long days and nights he’d spent alone.

He went to his bedroom and closed the door, aware that even through that stout panel he would hear should Joshua awaken during the night.

Chapter Three

The rooster in his neighbor’s chicken coop sounded his usual early-morning call, and David pulled the quilt up over his head, unwilling to leave the warmth of the dream he had enjoyed for the past few minutes. A dark-haired girl, her form slender yet pleasingly curved, had been featured throughout the night hours, and his sleep had been broken, his eyes opening suddenly several times as he awoke from nocturnal thoughts that were far from dignified.

He sat up suddenly, recalling the heated dreams he’d indulged in, and his heart stuttered within him as he considered the woman in the next room. Even as he thought of her, he heard the movement beyond his bedroom wall as she arose, heard the small, soft sounds of a baby’s cry as Joshua awoke, announcing his hunger aloud.

His trousers were on the bedpost and David slid into them quickly, made haste to don his shoes and stockings, tucked his shirt into his pants hurriedly and went to the kitchen.

He found Marianne there before him, intent on heating milk for Joshua’s breakfast. She’d put on a small pan, warming an amount of milk from his pantry that would be sufficient to fill the baby bottle she was washing in the sink. He watched her from the doorway, noting her quick movements, the soft curves of her arms as she worked the pump handle, the sway of her hips as she turned back to the stove to rescue the milk, lest it be too hot for the baby.

“Good morning,” he said quietly, not wanting to startle her. Her head turned quickly to where he stood and a rosy flush covered her cheeks, as if she had been trying to be quiet and had still disturbed his sleep.

“I tried not to wake you,” she said, and he smiled, aware that he had read her aright.

“That’s all right. It was time for me to be up and about anyway. The rooster always sounds his alarm at dawn, and I find it a good time to begin my day.”

She poured the warmed milk into the bottle, careful not to spill any on the stove, and he watched her graceful movements, his breath coming quickly as he bent his appreciative gaze on her. The nipple was snapped into place and she turned her attention to him quickly.

“I’ll just go and get Joshua and feed him before I make your breakfast,” she said, heading for the spare room.

“Why not bring him out here and let me feed him and you can go ahead with breakfast. We’ll kill two birds with one stone, so to speak.”

Her smile was quick and ready, and he basked in the warmth of it. “I’ll wait here in the rocking chair.” And for the first time in months he sat in the rocker he’d bought for Laura during her pregnancy, pressing his foot against the floor in a slow fashion, allowing the chair to perform as it had been constructed to do.

Marianne came back from the bedroom, Joshua wrapped securely in his blanket, and collected the bottle from the table as she approached David. Her arms were extended to him and he took the small bundle from her, feeling an emotion akin to sorrow as he held the tiny mite against his chest. So might he have held the child Laura had borne months ago, and he caught his breath quickly, lest Marianne think he did not want to feed Joshua as he’d offered.

His eyes felt damp with tears that he refused to shed. Not that it was a matter of manliness or masculine pride, but he would not make her uncomfortable with his spasm of sorrow. His grief was no longer fresh, and he found that he spent hours without its presence in his heart. Now he had the opportunity of holding a child, though not his own, yet in a sense he felt a kinship to Joshua.

That he had found the child in his manger in the midst of the Nativity scene he’d constructed with his own hands was certainly part of his feeling of ownership of the child. Though children could not be possessed as might a dog or cow or some other belonging, he felt that Joshua was meant in some distinct way to be a part of his life. He had had a wife, never treating her as a possession, but as a partner in the wonders of marriage. They had been happy together, her cheerful demeanor giving him joy each day, her loving arms filling him with the satisfaction of a relationship that went beyond friendship, and hovered on the edge of love.

He’d made the mistake of not speaking his love aloud to Laura, assuming that she knew of his devotion to her, and had spent long hours of regret after her death, that he had never declared his heart aloud. Should he ever have the opportunity again to share such a relationship with a woman, he would not make the same mistake, he vowed silently.

And then he cuddled the baby against him, testing the warmth of the milk in the palm of his hand as he offered the nipple to Joshua’s rosy mouth. With gusto the baby attached himself to the rubber nipple and nursed. The span of eight hours or so had made him hungry and he clung tightly to the source of nourishment, almost choking on the abundance of milk he consumed.

Finally he released the nipple and his burp was loud and long, Marianne turning from the stove to laugh at him.

“He has no manners to speak of,” she said with a joyous light in her eyes. “I’ve never enjoyed anything so much in my life as I have tending him over the past weeks. He keeps my grief at bay somehow. Even though I miss my parents terribly, he manages to soothe my heartache.” Her words were soft, almost whispered, but David heard them clearly, knowing the truth in what she said, for she did not seem to have any sense of protecting herself from him. She was open and her heart was clearly involved in the child he held.

He watched her as she sliced bacon and placed it in his skillet, cracked eggs and whipped them to a froth with a turning fork, then poured the mixture into a second skillet. Bread was sliced and she slid it into the oven, lifting a stove lid to check the flames within. She was efficient, capable of tending to the making of a meal, and she’d obviously been well trained in her skills in the kitchen.

“Did you cook for your mother and father?” he asked, and she nodded, as if unable to speak of it aloud. He thought her shoulders trembled as she faced the stove and then she uttered words of regret, making him sorry he’d asked his question.

“I used to think it was a chore to cook sometimes, but my mother was not well when she carried Joshua and I had the full load of tending the kitchen and keeping the house clean. I thought if I were cooking for a family of my own it might have been more enjoyable, but I could foresee years ahead of helping with my parents and the child that came so late in their lives. They had not expected to have more children after I was born, for my mother bore several infants born too soon and they were not able to survive. There were four graves beyond our orchard, and she was not happy when she discovered that Joshua was on his way, for she was certain that he would share a similar fate with those who had come before.”

“How fortunate that he was a survivor,” David said softly, looking down at the sleeping child he held. The bottle was almost empty and the baby had bubbled a drop of milk from his mouth, making David yearn to bend low to kiss it away.

“My mother would have been heartbroken had he not lived. I like to think that she knew somehow that he was a healthy child even though she died in birthing him. It wasn’t the birth that caused her death, but the fever she had suffered with for two days. The doctor said it was a miracle that Joshua hadn’t succumbed to it himself, but he didn’t ever show signs of sickness, right from the first. I think he was meant to live.”

“I agree with you, Marianne. He has a purpose in life to fulfill, as do we all. Your mother’s may have been in bearing him and giving him life. We have no way of knowing what lies ahead for a child, only that we must do our best to raise him in such a way that he be a good man and a credit to his parents.”

“I’ll do my best to fulfill my mother’s dreams for him, David. She and my father were so looking forward to his birth, and it seemed I was bitter and angry with God for taking their lives just when it seemed happiness was in their future.”

“We don’t know why things happen the way they do, Marianne, but I’m sure Joshua will be a good man, with you to raise him and provide for him.”

She put two plates on the table, steam rising from the scrambled eggs, and then retrieved the bread from the oven, where it had toasted golden-brown. “Let me take Joshua now,” she said, moving toward the rocking chair, her arms outstretched. She took him carefully in her arms, bent to press her lips on his forehead and carried him to the bedroom.

Within moments she was back, taking her seat at the table, across from where David awaited her presence. He bent his head and spoke brief words of thanks for the food, asking a special thanksgiving for the joyous blessings of Christmas, and then lifted his eyes to meet her gaze.

“Eat while it’s hot, Marianne. We have things to tend to this morning. I haven’t found it in my heart to celebrate Christmas this year, but I find that there is reason to rejoice today. I’m going to speak to our mayor this morning. I don’t want to interrupt his holiday with his family, but I think he will understand the reason for my concern.”

“Will you stay here while I go and see Janet first?” she asked, needing to make arrangements for a place to sleep should Janet be agreeable to the plan she had concocted.

“Of course. Let Joshua have his morning nap while you go, and I’ll clean up the breakfast things.”

Her face lit with a smile, and he thought once again that she was a lovely girl. A woman really, for she was certainly of age to be married and have a child, at least almost out of her teens. And to that end he asked a question that had gnawed at his mind.

“How old are you, Marianne? Perhaps it’s none of my business, but I don’t want anyone to think I’m taking advantage of a young girl, asking you to work for me with little in the way of payment.”

“I’m eighteen,” she answered. “I might have been married and expecting a family of my own by now, but the young man who had been courting me contracted the fever and was buried just before my parents died.” Her eyes were dark with the additional sorrow of that loss and he felt a pang of pity as he considered the grief she must bear.

“I’m sorry for your pain. It may be that we can comfort each other in our grief, Marianne. For if my plans go aright, I’m going to ask my church board their opinion of a marriage between you and me. I think it would work out well for us, and I want you to know that I would not expect you to fill the role of a wife before you felt ready for it. Joshua would have a home and I would have the advantage of a wife in the parsonage, a helpmeet for me in my work. Can I have your permission to ask such a thing?”

She looked up at him, surprise alight in her face. “I hadn’t thought of such a thing, David. I’d only thought of working here and having a chance to give Joshua a good life, with enough food and more clothing as he grows. The thought of marriage hadn’t entered my head.”

“I realize that,” he told her, “but I spent a lot of hours last night trying to find a solution to your problems. This seems to be the answer for both of us. I’d hoped you might be agreeable.”

Marianne was quiet for a few moments as if she must assimilate all he’d said. Her head was bowed as she considered David’s words. She’d not thought of marriage, for having Joshua to care for made her somewhat of a burden for a young man just starting out in his life. Whereas David had been married, knew the ups and downs connected with a relationship with a woman and, much to her surprise, he was willing to take her on, along with her brother, and make a home for her here in the parsonage. She felt a thrill of delight that such a man would be interested in her, that he found her attractive, for surely he would not marry a woman who did not appeal to him.

She donned her cloak, watching as David cleared off the table and rinsed the plates in the sink. He was obviously used to washing up after a meal and she could not help but notice his skills as he wiped off the table, put the dishes into the pan and readied them for washing. He would be a husband to be proud of, she decided, hoping that his plan might bear fruit, that their marriage might be welcome to the townspeople who supported his church and paid his salary.

“I’ll be back shortly, once I talk to Janet,” she told him, opening the back door and stepping onto the porch.

“Joshua will sleep for an hour or two—at least he usually does in the morning after he eats. I’ll give him a bath when he awakens and do his washing. I hope you won’t mind if I use the line behind the stove to dry things on.”

“You are welcome to do as you please while you’re with me, Marianne. I enjoy your company, and having Joshua here is a bonus for me. I feel attached to him already. I hope you’ll truly consider what I’ve asked of you. I’ve only proposed once before, when I asked Laura to be my wife, so I probably didn’t do a very good job of it, but I want you to know that it is the desire of my heart to take care of you and Joshua and give you a home where you’ll be safe and happy. I think I should make it clear that you may have your own bedroom, for I have no intention of pushing you into an intimate relationship. If and when you are ready to truly be a wife, I’ll expect you to let me know, for I’m more interested right now in getting to know you better and finding out how we get on together.”

She smiled, standing in the open doorway. “That’s quite a speech, David. You’ve made me an offer I can hardly refuse. I hope you won’t find any dispute to your proposal from the board of your church, for this will be the answer to my prayers, if all goes as you have planned.”

She blushed as his scrutiny swept her from head to toe, and his smile was approving as he walked toward her. His hands rested on her shoulders and he bent to her, pressing his lips against her forehead.

“Talk to Janet about it if you like, Marianne. See if she gives her approval. I honestly think she will, for she is a sensible lady, one who will see the obvious advantages for both of us.” He held her apart from him and his smile was warm, his lips curved in a look of pure happiness. “Merry Christmas, my dear. I hope this day will be a happy one for both of us.”

Marianne walked quickly to the house next to the general store, rapping once on the door and waiting as she heard footsteps approaching, the sound vibrating on the porch. Janet opened the door wide and welcomed her inside.

“Merry Christmas, Marianne. I wondered what had happened to you last night. I left the store unlocked in case you wanted to sleep there, but I noticed this morning when I went over to put wood in the stove that you hadn’t been there.”

“I slept at the parsonage,” Marianne admitted quietly. “David felt it would be better for Joshua to be in a warm house where there was everything available to tend to him. He’s sleeping now in the spare bedroom. And that was where I spent the night, Janet. I hope you don’t think there was anything out of order going on last night. David gave me a place to stay and I got up and made his breakfast.”

She slid her cloak from her shoulders and sat in the chair Janet offered, nodding her head as she offered Marianne a cup of tea, a gift received with a grin.

“Thank you. David prefers coffee apparently, and I didn’t ask if he had any tea. My mama used to always have a cup for breakfast or in the middle of the morning. I miss sitting at the table with her and talking of what we would do during the day and what work needed to be done.”

“What have you and Mr. McDermott spoken of, Marianne? I think from the look on your face that you have something to talk over with me. Am I wrong?” Janet sat across the table, lifted her teacup and sipped at the warm brew, waiting till Marianne should decide to speak.

“He wants to marry me,” she said softly. “He asked if I would live there and keep house for him and cook and do the laundry and all that is entailed in being a wife.”

“All?” Janet asked quietly, her brow rising as she posed the query.

“All but the sleeping in his bedroom part,” Marianne said, feeling awkward as she explained the circumstances David had suggested. “He said he would not expect that of me, for we barely know each other, having met but yesterday. I think he’s willing to give me as much time as I need to become accustomed to his company before he makes a change in our relationship.”

“And how do you feel about it?” Janet asked, as if she were feeling her way, trying to negotiate a rocky path. “Would you be comfortable living in the parsonage and answering to the ladies in town, for surely you know they will watch you like a hawk.”

“I hadn’t thought of that,” Marianne told her. “I suppose they feel somewhat protective of David, given the circumstances of his wife’s death and the loss of his child.”

“It could well be the best thing that could happen for both of you,” Janet said slowly, as if her mind must catch up to her words. “I assume you’ve had a good upbringing, Marianne, and your parents were no doubt strict with you. Have you had a gentleman friend in your life before this?”

“A young man in our neighborhood wanted to court me a couple of years ago and my father told him he could come calling so long as he didn’t see me alone, without a chaperone. He talked about marriage for the past few months, and I had just about agreed to the idea, for he was a good man, with good prospects.”

Janet eyed her, obviously noting the tears that threatened to fall as she spoke. “What happened? Did you change your mind?”

“No. He came down with the fever and died just before my parents became ill. A lot of the folks in our part of the county fell ill and many of them didn’t make it. There are a lot of homes without mothers, some without a breadwinner, and the winter looks to be a sad one for several families who are grieving for loved ones.”

“Is that why you left home with Joshua?”

“My neighbor said her sister lived here in town and I might be able to stay with her while I found work. You know how that turned out, once her husband got wind of the idea. I don’t think my old neighbor is aware of the situation in her sister’s home.”

“Well, you didn’t need that sort of problem anyway,” Janet said bluntly. “What you’ve been offered is far and away the better choice for you.”

“David said he’s going to speak with the mayor today, even though it’s Christmas. He’s anxious to get someone else’s approval of his proposal.”

“The mayor is head of the church board, and if he gives his okay, David has clear sailing,” Janet said with a grin.

“I’ll bet he’s anxious to get things in motion. I wouldn’t be surprised if you’re not a married lady by tomorrow.”

Marianne almost choked on her tea. “So soon? Do you really think he’ll want to do things that quickly?”

“He can’t keep you in his house without marrying you, Marianne. You’re old enough to know folks will talk if such a thing were to be going on. It’s better for you and David both if you speak your vows right away.”

Marianne stood, gathering her cloak up from the chair and tossing it over her shoulders. “I think maybe I’d better get back to the parsonage and let David do his business with the mayor, hadn’t I?”

Janet smiled, her eyes beaming with anticipation. “I can’t wait till tomorrow. Every lady in town will be in the store before the day is over, wondering what is going on. You’ll have their eyes glued on you, I’ll guarantee it.”

Marianne felt a flush creep up her cheeks. “I don’t know if I’m looking forward to that. I’d thought maybe we could keep it very quiet if we decided to do this, sort of just make it a private thing.”

“Not a chance,” Janet said with a hoot of laughter.

“Everyone in town will be wanting to give you a pounding.”

“A pounding?” Marianne’s eyes widened as she considered the word, wondering at its meaning.

“A pounding is where each family brings a pound of this or that to the happy couple’s home. A pound of coffee, or flour or maybe sugar or butter. Quite often it’s more than just a pound, for folks think highly of Mr. McDermott and they’ll want to welcome you into the parsonage as his wife in fine style.”

David left the house as soon as Marianne returned, heading for the mayor’s home, leaving Marianne with a smile, and his expression speaking of his pleasure at the circumstances. He obviously was pleased at the idea of gaining a wife so readily, Marianne decided. It was likely that he was weary of taking care of himself, although the parsonage did not show neglect in any way. He apparently had taken good care of his home, keeping it clean and caring for his belongings.

She spent an hour preparing dinner, first finding a piece of smoked pork in the pantry, then placing it in a baking pan, sliding it into the oven and deciding on a kettle of green beans and potatoes to go with it. Most men enjoyed their big meal of the day at noontime—at least her father had, and her mother had said it was the usual circumstance to have a large meal at noon, then just soup or some such thing for supper later on in the day.

She heard Joshua’s cry as he awakened and she made haste to wash her hands and set a pan of warm water on the table for his bath, then gathered him up from the bed and stripped him of his clothing so that she could give him a fresh start. He was a pleasure to tend, contented to allow her to wash his head, using a cloth to wipe his arms and legs and then his back. He shivered as she finished the task, and she wrapped him in a clean towel she’d found in David’s bedroom. His small head smelled sweet, she thought, just as an infant should, and it was with joy that she diapered him and found the last clean gown for him to wear.

The laundry must be done soon, for he was almost out of diapers, having only just a few more than a dozen to his name. A washtub on the porch offered her a place to soak his clothing, and she put it in front of the stove, half filling it with warm water from the reservoir.

His bottle ready, she held him in her arms in the rocking chair and sang to him as he ate his meal, his hands clutching at her fingers, his nose nuzzling her as he searched out the nipple she’d carefully washed and readied for his use.

He was warm and soft and she felt an overwhelming love for the mite as she rocked him, holding him close, humming a lullaby she’d heard her mother sing as she worked around the house, one she remembered hearing as a child.

When David returned from his jaunt across town, she had just put Joshua down on the bed, knowing that he would sleep again for at least two hours. He was a good baby, her former neighbor had said, quickly accustoming himself to the schedule of eating and sleeping. Marianne had not spent much time with children up until this point in her life, but tending to her brother was a chore she accepted as her due.

David had good news. “The mayor seems to think it would be a good idea for us to be married. He said every man needs a wife, and a preacher especially so. The parsonage is usually the place where people come with their problems, and it is better if there is a true family living there. I understand what he was saying, for it isn’t a good idea for a man of the church not to have a wife of his own. He said I’ve been the object of several young ladies’ attention of late, and I suspect he is right. For I feel sometimes like I’m on display.”

Marianne nodded at his words. “What do you think we should do?” she asked.

“Did Janet have any ideas?” David wanted to know. “I thought she might speak her mind to you.” Marianne nodded, looking down at her hands, clenched tightly in her lap. “She thinks it’s a good idea, our getting married. I just don’t want you to jump into something you may be sorry for later on. What if you find that you don’t like me well enough to share your life with me?”

The expression on David’s face was almost comical, for he’d apparently not thought of that possibility. “I see no reason why we couldn’t make a good marriage. You’re a woman who would appeal to any man with eyes in his head, and I’m not immune to the allure you offer.”

“Me?” She was stunned by his words. “I didn’t think you had looked at me that way, David.”

“You don’t know much about men, do you?” At the quick shake of her head, he continued, his voice soft, his gaze upon her seeming as warm as a spring breeze. His words were genuine, spoken from his heart, and he felt the pace of that organ in his chest vibrating in a mysterious rhythm. “You are slender and most appealing, Marianne, with curves that speak of feminine form and beauty. Your eyes are lovely, your hair looks like pure silk. It makes my hands itch to touch it and run it through my fingers. Altogether you are a woman any man would be proud to marry. Best of all, your demeanor is modest, your upbringing obviously that of a girl with a good background. I’ll bet your folks were strict with you, weren’t they? I doubt they allowed you to be alone with any young men, did they?”

He halted, watching her with a warmth in his eyes that made her wonder at the many charms he had described, made her stomach swim in a delightful manner. She shook her head in bewilderment. “No one has ever spoken to me this way before. I don’t know what to think, David. I look in my mirror every morning when I wash my face and brush my hair, and I swear to you I don’t see the woman you have described.”

“Perhaps I look with the eyes of a man who is attracted to you, Marianne. Maybe my viewpoint is so different than yours because it is one of masculine interest. Know that I am being as honest with you as I know how. I would never tell you an untruth or exaggerate my feelings. You are a tempting woman and I would find it no hardship to put my ring on your finger and claim you as my wife.”

Chapter Four

“Is this what you told the mayor? That you were ready to speak vows with me?”

David nodded silently, then awaited her answer. It was not long in coming. “I’ve decided to do as you’ve asked, David. I’ll marry you and take up the reins in your home and do my best to make you happy and make your life as easy as possible. I’ll keep your house clean and your clothing in order and in all ways act as a minister’s wife should when the occasion warrants it.”

His hands found hers, long fingers clasping smaller digits, warmth sheltering small chilled fingers, and his smile was enough to warm the entire house, she thought.

“You’ve made me a happy man, Marianne. The circuit judge will be making a stop here tomorrow morning to make a ruling on a man the sheriff is holding in jail. I’ll visit him early in the day and ask for his assistance in this matter. I’m certain he’ll arrange to marry us before the day is over. Will that please you?”

She was speechless. That her whole life could so quickly change, that her position be elevated to that of wife in less than twenty-four hours was something she had not believed could happen. Yet if David were to be believed, that would be the plan for the morrow. And she knew, somehow, deep inside, that David did not make plans without the intent of carrying them out in full. And so she smiled up at him, nodding her agreement.

And as if he was tempted beyond his ability to refrain, he surrounded her with his arms and held her against his body, lowering his head and tilting it just so, until his lips were hovering over her own and his breath warmed her mouth. “Am I being too bold, asking a kiss from you, sweetheart? I ache to hold you and know that you will be mine tomorrow, and I need to know that you are not averse to kissing me and allowing my caresses.”

Marianne tilted her face to his. “I’ve only been kissed twice before, from the man who wanted to marry me, so I’m probably not very good at it, but I’m willing to learn, David.”

In a few long moments she discovered that the whole exercise was an experience of true delight, that the man’s lips were soft, yet demanding, that his heartbeat was strong and rapid against her breast and she was more deeply involved in the brushing and pressing of lips than she’d thought possible. A thrill of surprise ran through her body, her arms developed gooseflesh and her legs felt weak, as if she were standing on limp noodles.

“David?” Her voice had even developed a strange lassitude, for she could not seem to speak aloud, only murmur his name. “David,” she whispered again, and his eyes were lit with discovery, his cheeks flushed with a line of ruddy color over his jawline.

“I think kissing you will fast become a habit,” he said softly. “You are a lovely woman, Marianne. I’ll enjoy very much being married to you.”

His arms tightened their grip on her and she was pulled tautly against his long frame, the powerful lines of his chest cushioning her breasts, his long legs surrounding her more feminine lines. Her hands moved from his shoulders to his hair, to that dark, waving mass of silky stuff that invited her fingers to investigate and caress the fine threads that seemed to be as soft as dandelion fluff in the spring.

She tilted her head back and looked closely at his face, the straight nose and dark brows over blue eyes that glowed with a strange light even now. His jaw was firm, with just a trace of whiskers to mar the surface, and her hand went there, feeling the roughness of his beard, which was so much a part of a man. She was held tightly against him, and his legs were taut with a strength she had not realized—his very body seemed coiled and ready, as if he would move on to another phase of this courting he’d undertaken. For surely that was what he had set into motion. An accelerated courting that would last only a day, for on the morrow they would be wed.

“I don’t know much about what goes on in a marriage, only that my mother and father were happy together, and worked together to make a home. I know she loved him and cared for him, and he felt the same way about her. They touched frequently, his hand on her shoulder or her hand reaching to touch his fingers at the table. And I know there was a connection between them that defied my imagination, for they were very close, very loving when they thought I didn’t notice.”

“It sounds to me as though you had a good pattern to follow, Marianne,” David said with a broad smile. “My own parents had just such a marriage. We always knew that they put each other first in all things, that we children were loved, but that their marriage was important to them.”

“That’s what I want in life,” she said quietly. “I need a man to care about me and my brother and always take care of us.”

“And is he your brother, Marianne? I know that the ladies in town have spoken in the general store and the mayor asked me outright if Joshua was indeed your brother or if he was your own child.”

“I haven’t told you any falsehood, David. It is exactly as I said. My mother died just minutes before he was born. He’s my only relative, my brother. I’m sworn to care for him and provide him a good life.”

“All right. I don’t want you to be upset, sweetheart. It’s just that folks have noticed he holds a close resemblance to you, and that fact alone made the ladies suspicious. I’ll be sure that they know the truth of it.”

“I can’t prove it, David, unless I write to my old neighbor and ask for a letter of verification from her.”

“It may come to that one day, but for now I’m satisfied with what you’ve said.”

And yet a pall hung over Marianne’s mood, for if there was the slightest doubt in David’s mind that she was not what she claimed to be, she would not be happy in this marriage. It was with a heavy heart that she retired that night, the loneliest Christmas of her life, for there had been no gifts to exchange, no words of celebration, only the dinner she’d cooked and a second reading of the Christmas story from St. Luke.

She slept better than she’d expected, Joshua being well fed at bedtime and sleeping throughout the long night hours. The rooster from next door awoke them again at dawn and she rolled from the bed and dressed quickly, carrying Joshua to the kitchen to feed him. In minutes she had warmed his milk and filled his bottle, and she was settled in the rocking chair when David came from his room.

“Good morning,” he said quietly. “You haven’t changed your mind about today, have you, sweetheart?” He watched her closely from his place by the stove, one hand holding the stove lid, the other a chunk of wood he was planning to lay within the black cave, where it would provide enough heat to cook breakfast.

“No, I’ve not changed my mind. I was wondering the same about you, though.”

“I don’t make an offer I’m not prepared to follow through on, and my offer of marriage to you is firm, Marianne. I’m waiting anxiously to hear that the judge has arrived in town, and when he does we’ll walk over to the sheriff’s office and I’ll introduce you to him. I’m sure the mayor will make it his business to do the honors when we get there, for he’ll be on hand for the occasion. I’d thought you might ask Janet to stand by your side during the ceremony, and the mayor will stand with me. Does that suit you?”

“Of course. I’m sure Janet will be agreeable to the notion. I’ll stop by and ask her early on so’s to give her time to get ready. And in the meantime, I’ll stop by at the general store and see if there is a dress there I may purchase to wear myself. I haven’t anything fit for such an occasion, David. But I have enough money to purchase a dress, I think.”

“If you haven’t enough, I’d be happy to buy you a dress, sweetheart. May I go along?”

“Will the store be open early, do you think?”

“Janet is generally there by eight o’clock. Let’s eat quickly and take a walk over.”

“If you’ll finish feeding Joshua, I’ll fix breakfast,” Marianne offered, and with a grin, David switched places with her, holding the baby in his arms and presenting the nipple to the tiny mouth. It was an eager little boy who ate his breakfast, almost as though he knew there were plans afoot that included his presence. By the time his bottle was empty and he’d been properly burped over David’s shoulder, Marianne had made gravy from the leftover dinner, and along with fresh biscuits from the oven and the savory mixture of meat and gravy, they sat down to a veritable feast. David ate quickly, obviously anxious to be on his way, but strangely enough, Marianne seemed to have lost her appetite this morning, for she ate but half the food on her plate.

“I’m nervous,” she explained, donning her cloak, then wrapping little Joshua warmly and carrying him beneath the thick woolen garment she wore. “The wind is brisk and I don’t want him to get colic from the cold air. And I keep feeling chills down my back. Do you suppose I’m coming down with something, David?”

His grin was wide. “I think you’re having bridal nerves, Marianne. You’ll be fine once we get together with the judge and things start rolling. Just don’t change your mind on me, will you?”

She shook her head, a quick firm movement that fully expressed her thoughts, for she’d decided in the long hours of the night that living in David’s house with the handsome man as a husband might just be the best fate that could have befallen her.

They headed to the sheriff’s office, made their arrangements and then walked across the street to the general store. With a great deal of whispering and laughter, Janet and Marianne sorted through several boxes of clothing and finally selected a dress both thought would be suitable for a wedding. A session in the storeroom with David holding Joshua at the front of the store, warming them both by the potbellied stove as he waited, ended with Marianne emerging from the curtained area garbed in a shimmering white dress dotted with golden daisies and sashed with a wide ribbon of the same color.

“You look beautiful,” David said in a hushed voice, his eyes warm with a tender emotion as they scanned her form. “Just as a bride should look, Marianne. Have you spoken to Janet about what we discussed?”

Janet spoke up quickly. “Yes, she surely did, and I’d be so proud to stand by her side while she marries you, Mr. McDermott. This is the finest thing that could have happened here in Walnut Grove. What a wonderful ending to a delightful Christmas.”

It was almost noon when the small group trooped across the street to the lawman’s office and appeared at his door. The familiar figure of Judge Pearson stood from his position behind the sheriff’s desk and extended a hand toward David. “Mr. McDermott, I understand we have a happy occasion to celebrate today. I’m honored to officiate at your wedding, sir. And is this the bride?” he asked, peering down at Marianne, whose blushing countenance had assumed a look of confusion.

“Yes, sir, I’m Marianne Winters. I’m new in town, for my family, all but my small brother, died of the fever over in the next county early in December. Janet over at the general store let me stay there for a bit and then on Christmas Eve when Mr. McDermott found my little brother in the Nativity scene, he was kind enough to give me shelter and has decided I would make a good addition to his home. I plan to be his wife, cook for him and keep things up over at the parsonage. In return, he will care for me and my brother and be responsible for our well-being.”

“Well, that’s quite a speech for a young lady. Sounds to me like you’ve got your plans all lined up well, ma’am. And how do you feel about this situation, Mr. McDermott?”

David grinned widely. “I’m feeling on top of the world, sir. Being a married man was a most wonderful thing when my Laura was alive, and I have every hope that Marianne will be as fine a wife as Laura ever was. We seem to have hit it off well, and she is a lady through and through. She even comes equipped with a little boy, her brother, Joshua.” With those words he reached to Marianne and took the baby from her arms. “Between the three of us, I think we’ll make a good marriage and have a fine home together.’

His words stunned Marianne with their forceful enthusiasm, for she had no idea he was so motivated about this marriage to be performed today. She’d felt his approval of her and Joshua, had known he was a good man, willing to put forth any effort to help her, but to have him so thrilled over the wedding itself was a surprise to her.

The judge eyed them for a moment, glancing at Janet and the figure of the mayor who stood next to David, and then began his task. Opening a small book from his pocket, he began reading the familiar words of the marriage ceremony. They floated over Marianne’s head like so many bumblebees, the sound but a buzzing in her ears, and when the judge looked at her pointedly and cleared his throat, she realized he was waiting for a response from her.

“I will,” she said, hoping that those words were the proper ones to have uttered at that point. They seemed to have been what he’d waited for, for he turned to David and asked questions that David listened to intently, and then nodded and repeated the words Marianne had spoken. “I will.”

A brief prayer was spoken then and in a sonorous voice, with great dignity, the judge announced that they were to be considered husband and wife, in the eyes of the Almighty and the laws of this Territory. “You may kiss your bride, sir,” the judge said with a smile.

David gripped Marianne’s shoulders and bent to her, his lips touching hers with a light caress that offered his troth in a simple gesture. He’d slid a narrow gold band onto her finger during the ceremony and it weighed heavily there as she curled her fingers and held it tight, lest it fall to the floor, for it felt a bit large for her.

David apparently had noticed it, for he whispered a message in her ear. “We can go over to the store and pick out one just a bit smaller, if you like. I’m sure Janet has a selection we can look at.”

Marianne nodded, holding Joshua firmly against her breast, watching as David shook hands with the judge, then the mayor and the sheriff, who had been standing by with a wide smile on his face. The judge approached Marianne and spoke kindly words.

“I’m sure you’ll be a happy bride, Mrs. McDermott. You have a good husband, and David will take good care of you and your child.”

Her mouth opened to deny Joshua’s belonging to her, for she wanted to make it clear that he was her brother, not her son, but the moment passed and David ushered her from the building, across the street to the general store, where Janet’s husband was busily tending his customers. He sent a bright smile in their direction as they entered his domain, and hugged his wife as she walked close to where he stood.

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