Daughter of Joy (17 page)

The kitchen was fragrant with the scent of baked goods. Abby knew the mouthwatering smells must surely be seeping under the parlor’s closed door, where Conor and Beth MacKay were engrossed in some secret undertaking. At yet another peel of girlish laughter emanating from the other room, she smiled. It was good to hear Beth so happy. Perhaps it would indeed be a merry Christmas for them all.

Abby glanced at the small, polished oak cabinet clock sitting on the cupboard shelf. Half past nine. It would soon be time to head off to her own bunkhouse and bed. But not before, she quickly reminded herself, setting out the manger scene that she had and used every Christmas Eve since she was a child.

It would be the only holiday decorating she planned to do in her own little dwelling, and only there because such a blatant religious symbol would hardly be permitted in the MacKay household. Sadly, they hadn’t even thought to put up a Christmas tree and decorate it. Knowing that, Abby was certain Conor would never tolerate her manger scene.

She sighed. Though much progress had been made in the past weeks, she feared the name of God would never be allowed here. Still, it
was
Christmas. In the morning, Abby intended on giving out the gifts she had brought and made. Surely even Conor would not begrudge her that small token of the holy season.

When the last batch of cookies had cooled, Abby lifted them from the cookie sheet and onto the last empty plate. She decorated the little gingerbread men with the remaining icing, used colored candies for their eyes and mouths, then stepped back to study them with satisfaction. As she did, the parlor door opened, then closed again.

“Abby?”

She turned to find Beth standing there, dressed in a ruffled blue gingham dress, black stockings, and hightopped, buttoned shoes. Her hair was neatly combed, her cheeks flushed, her eyes bright with excitement.

Both delighted and surprised, Abby cocked her head. “Well, don’t you look pretty?”

Beth glanced down, suddenly shy. “Do you really think so?”

After wiping her hands on her white cotton apron, Abby walked over and crooked the girl beneath her chin. Raising her head, she smiled down at her. “Oh, yes. I do indeed.”

“I think you’re pretty, too.”

“Me?” It was Abby’s turn to blush. “Why, thank you, Beth. That’s one of the nicest compliments I’ve ever had.”

The girl grabbed her hand. “Come on. I’ve got something to show you. Something Papa and I did just for you.”

Abby arched a brow in surprise. Then, realizing how she must look after hours of baking, she pulled back. “Wait a minute while I take off this apron.” She hung her apron on a hook near the sink, swatted at her nose and cheeks in case some flour still lingered there, and gingerly touched her hair to make sure it was reasonably in place.

Beth grinned and held out her hand. “You look fine. Papa likes you just the way you are.”

Her words gave Abby a jolt of pleasure. “Thank you, Beth,” she murmured, attempting to make it appear as if she were giving the girl yet another lesson. “A lady, however, always tries to comport herself with dignity. And a flour-smudged face and hair askew are hardly the proper impression to leave with anyone.”

Beth shrugged, apparently not at all convinced. “Maybe so, but Papa seems to like you just fine with flour on your nose. He says it makes you look”—she struggled momentarily with the correct word—“fetching.”

Abby gave an unsteady laugh, took the girl by the hand, and walked with her to the closed parlor door. Beth halted her there.

“Now, close your eyes,” she ordered, “and I’ll lead you in. Otherwise, it won’t be a surprise.”

“A surprise?” Obediently, Abby closed her eyes.

“Yeah, and it’s a big one, too. The biggest one, I reckon, that we’ve ever had at Culdee Creek.”

Abby heard the door open, then felt another tug on her hand. She allowed herself to be led into the parlor. The scent of pine and beeswax reached her.

“You can open your eyes now.”

The unexpected sight that greeted her took her breath away. There, taking up the entire right hand corner near the fireplace, stood a magnificent fir tree. Its lush, graygreen branches were decorated with lighted beeswax candles, rows and rows of strung cranberries, colorful paper ornaments cut in various sizes and shapes, apples, and several oranges studded with cloves. It was the most beautiful Christmas tree Abby had ever seen.

She turned to find Conor and Beth standing there, smiling back at her. Tears filled her eyes. “It’s—” Abby struggled to put voice to emotions which had suddenly spiraled out of control. “It’s the most wonderful surprise I’ve ever had. I didn’t expect …” Her throat went tight, and tears spilled down her cheeks.

Overcome by gratitude and delight, Abby ran to them. She grabbed up first one of Beth’s, then Conor’s, hands. “Thank you,” she whispered. “Now, it truly seems like Christmas.”

“Ella said it’d be important to you.” High color stained Conor’s cheeks, and he gave Abby’s hand a quick, awkward squeeze. “Beth wanted you to have some sort of gift for Christmas. She’s spent the past few weeks cutting out decorations and stringing cranberries at Ella’s.”

Abby covered the little girl’s hand with her free one, and squatted to meet her beaming gaze. “So this is why you’ve been running off to Ella’s so much of late.”

“Well, I sure couldn’t make all the decorations here. You’d have found out for sure.” Beth looked up at her father. “There’s just one thing left to make it a real Christmas tree, Papa.”

Conor quirked a dark brow. “And what’s that, girl?”

“Ella said we need a manger and the wise men, and Mary and Joseph, and all the shepherds.”

Her father frowned. “We don’t have any such things, and well you know it.”

Beth turned to Abby. “But I bet you do, don’t you, Abby. Ella said you told her about your manger scene.”

“Well, yes,” Abby agreed carefully, shooting Conor an uncertain glance in case he should imagine that she had set this up with Ella. “But I wasn’t planning—”

“Can Abby put her manger scene beneath our tree, Papa?” The little girl pulled free of Abby’s clasp and grabbed her father by the hand. Jumping up and down, she began to pump his hand in excitement. “Oh, I so want to have a real Christmas tree, and it won’t be real unless—”

Conor heaved a great sigh, and rolled his eyes. “Fine, fine. If Abby agrees, you can bring in her manger scene and put it under the tree.” He turned to Abby. “But only because it’s Christmas, and Beth wants it.”

Beth released his hand, and turned to Abby. “Can we go now, and bring back the manger scene? Can we, can we, Abby?”

She held out her hand. “Yes, we most certainly can.”

They left the parlor, and strode through the kitchen, where Abby threw on her shawl and insisted that Beth don her jacket. Then, hand in hand once more, they walked out the back door.

With a cry of delight, Abby looked around, then upward. Crystalline flakes danced and swirled in the cold night air. A light dusting of white already coated the ground. And, high above, millions of stars twinkled through a light curtain of falling snow.

“Oh, Beth,” Abby exclaimed, her heart near to bursting with happiness, “it’s snowing. It’s snowing!”

The girl laughed. Then, after a moment’s hesitation, she flung her arms about Abby’s waist and gave her an exuberant, bone-crushing hug. “Merry Christmas,” she cried. “Merry, merry Christmas.”

Abby leaned down, enfolded Beth’s little body in her own arms, and held her close. Love for the child swelled in her heart. “And merry, merry Christmas to you, too.”

The mantle clock was just chiming midnight when Abby crept back into the main house, a basket of gifts over her arm. She had not told Beth about them, wanting them to be a surprise when the little girl awoke later that morning. Ever so carefully, she tiptoed through the kitchen and into the parlor.

Though the candles on the tree had been doused to prevent any possibility of inadvertently causing a fire, the warm red glow from the hearth was sufficient to illuminate the room. For a long moment Abby gazed at the tree. It was indeed beautiful, but the most glorious sight of all would always be the memory of Conor and Beth standing there, their eyes alight with anticipation and a satisfied joy.

The room was warm, cozy, and the fir smelled so heady, so good. Abby knelt before the manger scene placed beneath the tree, and began to pull the cloth wrapped gifts from her basket. There were doll dresses, a pair of knitted mittens, copies of Louisa May Alcott’s
Little Women
and
Little Men.
And, though until tonight Abby had wondered how it might be received, a pretty red dress she had made for Beth.

Beside the pile of Beth’s gifts Abby laid a package for Conor. It was a fine pair of rich brown calfskin gloves. She had seen how worn his own pair had become, and now that the coldest months of a Colorado winter were fast approaching, she hoped he would be able to put her gift to good use.

There were also gifts for all the hands of colorful new bandanas, and several presents as well for Ella and her family. As Abby finished laying out the last of her gifts, she leaned back to survey the bounty. There was only one thing left to complete the picture, and add the final, finishing touch to this very special Christmas.

Reaching into her basket, Abby withdrew the last, but definitely not the least, of all the items. It was a baby Jesus figurine. She never put it into the tiny manger until the stroke of midnight on Christmas Eve. As she did so now, a bittersweet surge of emotion engulfed her.

Two years ago this very night, a four-and-a-half-yearold Joshua had last laid the Baby Jesus into his little manger. Two years ago. How long it now seemed. Like a lifetime. A vast, yawning eternity of empty, heart-wrenching loneliness. Yet here she knelt again, performing the same ritual in someone else’s home, sharing Christmas with people who were not her own family, and in so many ways not like her at all.

Fear and confusion engulfed Abby. Sorrow, so heavy it all but dragged her to the floor, pressed down on her. A sense of disorientation swallowed her.

Oh, Lord, what am I doing here? she silently cried. How has my life come to this that I now find myself all alone, kneeling on Christmas Eve on the floor of some stranger’s house? All I want, and oh, how I want it, is to be with my own family on this night of nights.

Clasping her arms tightly to her, Abby began to rock to and fro, fighting against the agonizing welter of emotions that rose within her. Yet still the tears rose, spilled over. Abby sobbed, softly, brokenly.

In the next moment, in a rush of movement, other arms, strong arms, encircled her. She was pulled up hard, tightly, against a masculine chest. Conor, Abby thought through her hazy, pain-wracked blur.
Conor.

He smelled of man, and wool, and leather. He felt warm, solid, comforting. She snuggled closer and sobbed harder. Her hands moved, sliding up past hair-roughened skin within his open shirt, to encircle and clasp behind his neck. Ah, but he felt so good, so very, very good!

“What is it?” The words rumbled in the depths of Conor’s chest. “Tell me, Abby. Tell me.”

The tenderly couched words plucked at her heart. She yearned to tell him all. Of her loss, her despair, her confusion and need. Of her rage against life, and her anger at God. Somehow she knew he would understand. But the words lodged in her throat, and would not come.

All she could do was sob, her body shaking with its intensity. And all Conor could do was hold her, rocking her gently as if she were a babe in its mother’s arms. Rock her, croon nonsensical words, and endlessly, soothingly stroke her hair.

His tenderness stunned Abby. His kindness overwhelmed her. Gratitude, and a hunger so intense it took her breath away, welled up and overflowed within her. She lifted her tear-streaked face, gazed deep into Conor’s eyes. There she saw an answering hunger, and an unguarded yearning in him the likes of which she had never known before.

As two long-starved, they came together, their lips meeting and melding. Like two long-starved, they drank of each other, sipping deeply at the wellspring of each other’s souls.

At long last, though, they parted. Abby suddenly remembered herself, where she was, and what they were doing. She pushed away, breaking the kiss, and shoved to her feet. Flushed and shamefaced, she couldn’t bear to look at him.

“I-I’m so sorry,” she stammered, backing away. “I don’t know what came—”

“Don’t, Abby.” Conor stood. “You did nothing wrong.
We
did nothing wrong. It was only a kiss.”

Fighting to recapture her shredded composure, Abby clenched shut her eyes. Perhaps it was only a kiss to you, she silently cried, but to me …

“You’ve nothing to be embarrassed about.” As if reading her mind, Conor took a step toward her, and reached out to grasp her arms. “I don’t think any less of you. I pray you don’t think any less of me, either.”

Abby backed away. “I don’t understand. How could I possibly lay any blame on you? It was I who responded to your innocent overtures, and all but begged you to kiss me.”

“And I think you take far too much credit for what happened.” He fixed her with an unwavering look. “I hardly pushed you away, did I? But I’ll tell you true, Abby.