A Texas Christmas Reunion Read online

  “I want to run an advertisement,” Juliette said.

  “Oh, good. That’s something I know how to do.” Nannie glanced about, looking for something to write with. “Did you know that Trea was seen coming out of the saloon? I’m trying to convince Abby and Stella it was all perfectly innocent, but you know how those two love to spread tales.” Nannie lowered her voice for the last since the girls were standing nearby.

  “You can tell them that Trea’s father is ill and he was taking breakfast to him.”

  “I already have,” she said in a louder voice. “He confided in me when we met behind the saloon.”

  “What else did he ‘confide,’ Nannie?” Stella asked.

  “If I go behind the saloon, maybe he’ll confide in me, too,” Abby added with a giggle.

  And this is how Trea would be ruined. Folks were too ready to believe wagging tongues.

  “Nannie?” she said. “My advertisement?”

  “What would you like to sell? I’ve found that I am good at describing goods for sale—I would never have imagined it.”

  “It’s the grand opening of the hotel and restaurant. It will be on Christmas Eve and the whole town is invited for dinner. The time will be after the school pageant is finished.”

  “Oh, how lovely.” Nannie’s gaze slid to the sisters, her attention focused on what they were saying about Trea more than on business. “I’ll write up something wonderful about it. Christmas Day, did you say?”

  “Christmas Eve, after the school pageant.”

  “Of course. And mark my words,” Nannie whispered. “Trea will never dally with them in the alley. He’s much too taken with me to even give them a thought.”

  “You did write down Christmas Eve?”

  “Yes. Right here.” Nannie tapped the pencil on a word that was so scribbled that it might have said Easter—or Halloween.

  “This is crucial, Nannie. So much depends upon getting the word out to everyone. Families might not move away if they have a nice place to spend an evening.”

  “Possibly, but you are next door to the saloon.” She snapped her fingers, grinned. “But I do promise, you can count upon me and Trea to be your first customers.”

  Perhaps. He was certainly free to choose who he wanted to spend time with.

  But while the other women fantasized a romantic encounter with Trea, she had an actual memory.

  No matter how she tried, and she did—on occasion—she could not quit feeling the slide of his fingers on her cheek, the huff of his warm breath on her skin.

  In that moment when he’d nearly kissed her, she’d felt her world shift and not quite right itself again.

  * * *

  Trea had been avoiding making this visit since the moment he came back to town. Now, walking the uphill path that led to the cemetery gate, he could no longer delay the pain visiting his mother’s grave would cause.

  Grief, he had found, could not be outrun. Even after so many years he would hear a sound—sometimes close at hand, other times distant—or catch a half-remembered scent, and his heart would squeeze.

  The way it did now, as he opened the gate and gazed across a hundred feet of snow-dappled gravestones.

  Partly because his mother’s marker was half toppled and grimly adorned with last spring’s dried-out weeds, but also because Juliette was there, kneeling in the far corner of the cemetery.

  With her back to him, she plucked dried vegetation from the base of a gravestone. By the gray light of a cloudy afternoon, he could tell that the headstone had not been worn down by passing years.

  She must be vising her husband’s grave.

  The crunch of his boots as he walked across snow and gravel caught her attention. She looked up with a smile that must have been on her face before he opened the gate.

  “Good memories?” How many people weeded a grave and smiled over it?

  “Good afternoon, Trea.” Wind caught her cloak, fluttering it about her. “Most of them are, once you get past the tears.”

  He set his mother’s small, plain marker to rights then crouched in front of it and yanked out a weed.

  Luckily, Juliette was not so far away that they could not carry on an easy conversation.

  “What is the one that’s got you smiling now?”

  Truly, he wanted to know because he could not imagine anything that might rise from his mother’s grave to make him smile.

  “Actually, I was thinking of my sister-in-law. How on our shared wedding day, we did up each other’s hair. Mine refused to take a curl for all of Lillian’s best efforts to tame it. She accidentally cussed. We laughed ourselves silly. So when I think back, it makes me happy.”

  “You must miss her terribly, miss all of them. To have had to bury them so young, and so close together.” He felt a lump constricting his throat just thinking of what she must have gone through. “And yet you visit the cemetery without letting grief overwhelm you. I envy that.”

  “I was overwhelmed, Trea. But I was also busy with the babies and Warren. I gave myself a time to cry, but even more important, I gave myself a time to laugh. Truly, how could I look at those sweet baby grins and do anything but smile back?”

  “You always have been quick to smile. It’s something I always admired about you.” He glanced down at the small pile of weeds he had extracted. Perhaps he should not admit this, but—“Did you know that when I was a boy, I took something from the general store without paying for it? Course, I felt wicked and returned it the next day. I got caught putting it back. No one would believe I meant to, so I went along with being a thief. Figured I’d get a whipping from my pa, but he said he was proud of me. I couldn’t sleep that night, thinking about how I could only make him proud by shaming myself.”

  He traced one finger over the letters engraved on the tombstone. “Or worse, shaming Ma. She’d only been dead two years by then.”

  “It took me forever to smile again after my mama died.”

  “The point I’m getting at is—you did smile. I want you to know that it’s your smile I saw in my bed some nights. Seeing it in my mind was the only way I was able to sleep. I don’t know why I want you to know that, but I do.”

  “We were friends, are friends. It’s not so surprising.”

  No, she had been more. But he would keep that to himself.

  “Tell me how you do it. Come here and smile.”

  “It’s not such a mystery, Trea.” Standing, she rubbed the dirt off her hands then came to crouch beside him. “Tell me something you loved about your mother.”

  “How she smelled.”

  “But you don’t think about it because it makes you sad?”

  He nodded. Even now the loss made him feel hollow.

  “Try doing this. Close your eyes and imagine how it was.” He didn’t want to, not after her eyes fluttered closed in illustration. All he wanted to do was look at the sweep of her dark lashes against her fair skin, gaze freely upon the way her lips puckered slightly while she thought. “Now, unless I’m wrong, this makes you sad.”

  He closed his eyes. “It does.”

  “That’s because you are looking backward, through the grief. Try and take yourself to a place before that. Your mother isn’t dead—she’s holding you, tickling you, and she smells good.”

  The warmth of Juliette’s hand covered his where it rested on the cold stone. He opened his eyes to see her looking at him and, yes, smiling.

  “Do you see? Looking at a memory through loss hurts, but putting it back in its time and place—it’s a joy.”

  “You are a joy.”

  “And you are still a flirt.” She stood up, brushed snow and bits of dried grass from her skirt. “That’s enough looking back for one afternoon. I’ve got a thousand things to tend to at the hotel.”

  She looked as graceful as a willow walking away. At the gate,
she turned, winked and waved goodbye.

  He looked again at the headstone, searching for another memory to look at for what it had been.

  Somehow, all he could see was that blue-eyed wink.

  * * *

  The next morning, Trea strode over to the schoolhouse stove and pitched in another log. Even though it was sunny outside, the wind was blowing and cold air seeped in through cracks he hadn’t been aware of.

  “That sounds lovely, Cora,” he said when her fa-la-la-la-la rose above the other voices.

  All the voices sounded lovely, in fact, whether on key or off.

  “All of you do. I appreciate the effort you are giving. Your parents will be proud of you.”

  Six-year-old Maxwell Finch raised his hand in the air, waggled it.

  “What is it, Maxwell?”

  “Mama says if we don’t move away, we can deck our halls. She’ll be glad I can sing fa-la-la-la-la-la-la-la. Was that enough la’s, sir?”

  “The more the better. How would you all like to decorate the classroom?”

  Judging by the cheers and smiles, the answer was yes.

  “Bundle up, then. We’re going to the woods behind the school to gather boughs.”

  It was a shame that Charlie was absent today. The boy would have enjoyed this outing more than he did most things they did in class.

  Trea didn’t think he was wrong to worry about the child’s absence.

  Not only was he falling behind in his studies, but with his part in the Christmas pageant, as well. The boy had a clear, fine voice and was supposed to sing “O Come, O Come, Emmanuel” solo.

  Trea followed the children outside, carrying his ax. They selected the branches and he hacked them off.

  The idea was for each child to decorate one for the classroom, then, after the Christmas program, take it to adorn his or her own home.

  It was good to hear the students’ laughter, see them leaping and running around.

  Education ought to be fun. There was no reason that learning had to be a somber affair.

  A movement caught his eye, a flash of brown plaid on the hillside dashing between a tree and a boulder.

  Ten to one odds it was Charlie. What he could not figure was why he would be hiding instead of coming inside. For all that the boy claimed to hate school, Trea did not believe him.

  He was smart—clever, too. At times, Trea believed he pretended to be ignorant of things he actually knew.

  Unless he figured wrong, it was not that the boy hated school so much as he felt an outsider among the group.

  Lord knew, that’s how Trea had felt. It’s why he’d raised the devil as a child. Somehow he thought his misbehavior would earn the respect of the boys—his flirtations the affections of the girls.

  It’s why, after he had been accused of the theft he’d told Juliette about, he committed a couple more, just to see if he felt good enough about his father’s approval to be a thief.

  He didn’t, and even though he never took anything else, the image of being a bad seed had stuck to him like an ugly smell.

  Trea was dedicated to all his students, but Charlie—that boy needed him in a way the others did not.

  “Good work, boys and girls.” He called loudly enough for Charlie to hear from his hiding place. “Drag your branches back to the porch. When we get inside, I’ve got a surprise for each of you.”

  Moments later the children sat at their desks, wriggling and grinning in anticipation.

  He drew a blanket off the books he had hidden under his desk. Picking up the stack, he passed out new copies of Clement Moore’s ’Twas the Night Before Christmas.

  He supposed he ought to have spent the money repairing his house, but there was not much he could do until spring, anyway.

  The children cheered at the gift. A moment later, as he had hoped would happen, he spotted Charlie’s face peeking briefly through the back window.

  “I’m dismissing class a little early, but I want you to take the books and spend some time reading. Tomorrow we’ll discuss the poem.”

  Within a minute, the classroom emptied of students and he sat at his desk pointedly thumbing the pages of the book he intended for Charlie.

  It took ten minutes, but the door finally opened.

  Trea looked up and smiled as if he were surprised to see him.

  “Good afternoon, Charlie.” He stood up and crossed the room because the boy seemed hesitant to come past the desk closest to the door. “We’ve missed you. Have you been ill?”

  “No, sir, Mam’s needed me at home, is all.”

  It was evident that Mrs. Gumm put no value on education. He would have to fight for Charlie, do his best to make sure the boy got what he needed to be successful in life.

  “This is for you.” He put the book in Charlie’s hand. It was good to see his frown give way to a smile, even if it was half smirk. “Read it tonight. We’ll be discussing it tomorrow in class.”

  Charlie stared at him in silence, but he tucked the book inside his coat.

  “You’ll be here?” Trea clapped the boy on the shoulder. “We miss you.”

  “You’re the schoolmaster—you have to say so.”

  With that, he spun out from under Trea’s hand and raced out the door.

  A smear of ash dusted Trea’s hand. The scent of kerosene lingered in the air.

  * * *

  “Here’s one for you, Lena.” Juliette held up the stocking she had spent the afternoon sewing. “Yes, I should have been organizing the kitchen, but Santa will be coming soon and he’ll need someplace to put your new rattle.”

  Bending down she kissed Lena’s cheek then turned to attach the stocking to the lobby mantel.

  There was a mantel over the fireplace in her living quarters, but this room was the one that needed decorating.

  Some of the furniture had been delivered and arranged in groupings about the room. It looked as elegant as she’d imagined it would.

  The only thing lacking was heart. The room needed something that stated, Come. Enjoy a peaceful moment at the fireside. Rest your feet and feel at home.

  Stockings hung by the chimney with care was a good start.

  “And here’s one for you, my sweet Joe.” He was waving one round little fist in the air, so she put the stocking close to him. He latched onto it and stuffed the toe into his mouth. “You’re just a little man already, hungry all the time.”

  She tacked Joe’s stocking beside Lena’s, stood back and nodded.

  “The room is still sparse looking as far as decorations go. But...” She turned around and clapped her hands, gazing down at the twins. They both smiled and kicked their feet. “By the time Santa comes, it will look as festive as anything you ever saw. Not that you have seen a decoration before.”

  She bent over, tickled a round belly and was rewarded with a giggle.

  “But you will.” She tickled the other belly and got a coo for her efforts. “I promise Santa will not be disappointed and neither will you.”

  Nor would the guests who would fill this room on Christmas Eve.

  She could barely wait to see the display in the newspaper. Hopefully Nannie was as good at advertising design as she believed she was.

  Mentally going over everything that still needed to be done, she sighed, straightened up and placed her hands at her waist. She arched her back, easing away some tension. With a groan, she closed her eyes and reveled in the stretch.

  Many tasks flitted through her mind. She tried to pluck the most urgent one.

  Seeing to Father Lindor’s dinner. She hated to wake him from his nap. During the two hours he’d been dozing in his new room, she had been able to finish the babies’ stockings, feed them and even do a bit of organizing in the kitchen.

  Half reluctantly, she opened her eyes.

  Her gaze collided w
ith Trea’s. He stood on the stair landing, holding his small dog while staring raptly down.

  There was no telling how long he had been there. Long enough, she supposed, for her blush to be deserved.

  Judging by the half grin pushing his mustache up on one side, he’d witnessed her indulgent performance—heard her groan out loud.

  From now on she would keep in mind that the lobby might feel like home, but it was not the same thing as being in the privacy of her own quarters.

  “You are just in time,” she said, deciding to pretend he had not seen what he had seen. It would be easier not to speak of it.

  “I was just thinking the same thing.”

  In spite of his effort to reform, Trea Culverson was still a tease. The thing was, she was not sure she minded.

  Well, she would if his teasing was directed at another woman. Nannie, for instance. She would mind that.

  It was astonishing to discover how much. Yes, astonishing and not exactly welcome.

  She had quit envying other girls long ago and was not about to begin again.

  The handsome man on her stairs was her friend, her boarder and nothing more.

  Not only her boarder but the schoolmaster. Any hint of impropriety between them would be the end of his career.

  If this town was to survive, it needed its children to be educated.

  For that they needed Trea Culverson. Finding a new teacher would not be a quick or easy thing to do. Besides, from what Cora had told her, the students liked him, looked forward to going to school, even.

  That was bound to have an influence on their parents. Perhaps enough to convince them that moving to another town was not the best thing, after all.

  Juliette would not do anything to jeopardize the future of her town.

  Not only had she invested her heart in Beaumont Spur, but her newly come fortune. Nearly all of it, in fact. The success of the town was now critical to her financial future—to the security of her family.

  “The dog is more who I was speaking to.” She plucked a red sock off the chair cushion. “She’s just in time to see her stocking being hung.”