Christmas With the Colburns (7 page)
Read Christmas With the Colburns Online
Authors: Keely Brooke Keith
Orange rays of morning sunlight spilled into the kitchen’s
east window as Lydia prepared the last recipes for Christmas dinner. John was
in the barn milking the cow, and Bethany had already left to spend the day with
Everett at the Fosters’ farm. It was the first time Lydia had ever known the
Colburn house to feel empty on a Christmas morning.
She wiped the sugar and cornstarch from her hands as she checked
her mother’s lemon pudding recipe once more. While she poured milk into a
saucepan, baby Andrew yanked on her apron’s hem, trying to stand. She knelt and
offered her fingers to help him up.
Babbling, he gripped her thumbs and pulled himself up. His
knees buckled and straightened again as he tried to balance. Then he let go of
her and took one wobbly step by himself.
“Good boy!” Lydia barely got the words out when he plopped
down on the floor again. Though she continued to encourage him, he promptly
returned his attention to the slobbery measuring cups he had been playing with.
She smoothed his fine hair. “When your father gets home today, he will be
delighted to see what you’ve learned.”
She stood and glanced at the road, eager for Connor’s return
and also watching for any travelers. It might be the quietest Christmas ever in
the Colburn house, but that didn’t matter any more. Reading her mother’s story
had ignited her desire to continue the tradition of being prepared to offer
hospitality to others.
John opened the back door and sniffed the air as he set a
full milk pail by the sink. “Mmm, do I smell oyster dressing like your mother
used to make?”
“You do.” Lydia pointed at a stack of faded papers on the
counter. “I dug out some of her favorite recipes. We’re having roast turkey
with oyster dressing, mashed potatoes, turnips, stewed beets, squash, lemon
pudding, and Grandmother Colburn’s cherry salad.”
“Sounds wonderful. I hope Connor makes it home by dinner
time.” John patted her back and then held out his hands to Andrew as the baby
crawled to him. “There is my happy grandson.” After a moment with the baby, he
rubbed Andrew’s head, messing the strands Lydia had just smoothed.
She smiled at them both and began whisking egg yolks for the
pudding. John moved about the kitchen, working around her, as Andrew sat on the
floor alternating between biting and banging the measuring cups. He glanced at
her, and his eyes reminded her of Connor.
She added lemon zest and salt to the saucepan and moved it to
the stove to cook. While the pudding warmed, she reached into her dress pocket
and pulled out the little journal. “Father, I have something to give you.”
John stood at the sink, straining the milk. He didn’t look at
her. “Not a Christmas present, I hope. I know some of the villagers have
started exchanging gifts, but I believe it could lead to a view of Christmas
that takes our focus off the Lord.”
She and Connor held a different opinion of Christmas presents
from that of her father, but they respected him enough to keep their gift
exchanging private. “No, Father, it’s not a Christmas present.”
“Good. I do not want to start any more traditions.”
“It’s not really from me even, and I probably should have
given it to you before I read it.” Lydia glanced at her mother’s journal. “But
it helped me let go of the demands I was placing on everyone because of what I
thought Christmas should be.”
John furrowed his brow as he dried his fingers with a
dishtowel. “What is it?”
She held the notebook out to him. “Aunt Isabella gave it to
me before she died. I’m not sure how much she understood during her last few
days, but I think she knew I was upset that the others weren’t coming here for
Christmas dinner. She had this hidden in her wardrobe for years. She wanted me
to have it, but it belongs to you.”
John accepted the journal and opened it. “This is your
mother’s handwriting,” he whispered.
“It’s the story of when she fell in love with you.”
Without a word, John walked into the parlor, already reading
Hannah’s story. He sat in the overstuffed armchair near the hearth and held the
pocket-sized book with both hands. Tears welled in the corner of Lydia’s eyes
as she returned to the stove to stir the pudding.
* * *
Lydia arranged the dishes for Christmas dinner on the buffet
near the table and set a warming stone in the center. Andrew wiggled in his
high chair, tossing bread cubes to the floor. John stepped to the buffet,
holding a steaming pan of carved turkey. He centered the pan on the warmer then
removed his oven mitts. “This looks incredible, Lydia. Your mother would be
proud of you.”
Outside the kitchen window, a dust cloud rose at the end of
the property. Lydia yanked off her apron and tossed it onto the counter. “He’s
here!” She lifted Andrew from his highchair and dashed outside with him.
Connor dismounted and jogged across the yard to meet her. She
held the baby and hurried toward Connor. Whiskers darkened his unshaven face,
but they didn’t dim his charisma. When he reached her, she opened her mouth to
say
Merry Christmas
, but before she
could speak, he kissed her.
Andrew squealed and reached for his father. Connor took the
baby with one arm and drew Lydia closer with the other. “That was a much better
welcome than the first time I came here.”
Lydia tucked her hair behind her ear. “Thank God you came
back to us in one piece!”
“Just like I said I would. Am I too late for dinner?”
“We haven’t eaten yet.”
Connor pointed at the medical cottage. “Is Sophia eating with
us?”
“No, she went to her sister’s house for the day.”
“Are you expecting anyone else?”
“No, we were just waiting for you.”
Connor inclined his head toward her. “Are you okay?”
“I am.” She smiled out of true joy. “I have a lot to tell you
about.”
A wagon turned onto the property. The man and woman on the
bench seat waved, while three children in the wagon bed talked excitedly to
each other and pointed at the house. Lydia pulled away from Connor. “Who are
they?”
“The Vestal family. I met them on the road. They’re traveling
to Stone Hill this week, and I suggested they stop here for the night. I didn’t
think you would mind,” he grinned at Lydia, “seeing as how you’re going to be
the next overseer’s wife.”
“I will be? It’s certain then? You decided to train for
Father’s position?”
“I did.” His confidence was softened with humility. “I have a
lot to tell you later, too.”
Overcome with delight, she didn’t know if she should kiss him
or greet the guests first. “This is wonderful!”
Connor waved the visitors toward the house and passed the
baby back to Lydia. “And there’s more.”
“More?”
He stepped around his horse, removed something from a strap,
and held it up. “The overseer of Woodland sent a wreath for you.”
“How beautiful!”
“And Adeline and Maggie sent a few things to make your
Christmas a little brighter.” He opened one of the saddlebags and reached
inside then pulled out several packages one at a time. “Adeline sent cookies
and a block of cheese and,” he shook a brown paper packet, “these are roasted
nuts from Maggie. She and Thomas are expecting their next child. That is why
she didn’t feel like making the trip today. And Adeline and Isaac wanted to
stay in Woodland with them.”
“Oh,” Lydia said as she took one of the packages. “Now I
understand. I wish she’d said that in her letter. Are they all doing well?”
“Yep.” Connor glanced over her toward the kitchen door.
“Merry Christmas, John!”
“Merry Christmas,” John replied. He walked outside and opened
his arms to Connor. “Welcome back, son!”
“Thank you, sir. Your daughters sent gifts from Woodland.”
Connor handed the packages to John and immediately drew another from the
saddlebag. “I think this one is fruitcake—everybody’s favorite.” He
winked at Lydia.
The visitors parked their wagon near the house. John took the
packages from Connor and said, “I see you have brought guests. Welcome, friends!”
After Connor made introductions, Lydia welcomed the travelers
inside to share her feast and her home. She would continue the tradition of
hospitality and bless others the way her mother and grandmother had. With a
heart full of gratitude for her family—those with her, those absent, and
those now with the Lord—she blinked back happy tears. She put Andrew in
his high chair and, as the guests washed for dinner, she hung the wreath on the
door.
“Looks great,” Connor said, smiling.
“Thank you.” Lydia paused before stepping back in the full
kitchen. She gazed up into the clear blue sky and whispered, “Thank you.”
###
2 eggs
1 cup sugar
1 cup heavy whipping cream
(2) 14.5 ounce cans pitted tart red cherries
1 cup crushed walnuts
In a saucepan, beat eggs with a wooden spoon. Add sugar and
cream. Cook over medium heat until thick (about 15 minutes), stirring
continually as not to burn it. Transfer to a food container and cover. Chill
the sauce overnight. Chill the cans of cherries also. Once sauce and cherries
are cold, drain cherries. In a 2-quart bowl, pour sauce over well-drained
cherries and add crushed walnuts. Toss salad gently and chill until ready to
serve.
Author’s note:
This recipe was handed down to my mother from her
grandmother. We don’t know how many generations it’s been in the family, but we
enjoy it with every holiday meal. I hope you do too!
If this is your first visit to the Land, continue reading for
Chapter One of
The Land Uncharted
and
discover how the series begins.
If you’ve already read the Uncharted series,
sign up here
to receive
an email when the next book by Keely Brooke Keith is released.
More Books by Keely Brooke Keith
Available now (Edenbrooke Press)
Lydia Colburn is a young physician dedicated to serving her
village in the Land, an undetectable island in the South Atlantic Ocean. When
Lt. Connor Bradshaw’s parachute carries him from the war engulfing the 2025
world to Lydia’s hidden land, his mission could expose her simple society. As
Connor searches for a way to return to his squadron, his fascination with life
in the Land makes him protective of Lydia and her peaceful homeland, and
Lydia’s attraction to Connor stirs desires she never anticipated. But will they
be able to keep the Land off the radar?
Written like a historical, set like a scifi, and filled with
romance, past and future are woven in this inspirational story of life in a
hidden land.
Available now (Edenbrooke Press)
Mandy Foster regrets her past. If anyone discovers her
secret, tradition dictates she will be shunned. She’s determined to guard her
heart, even if it means a lifetime alone.
Breaking from the Land’s tradition, carpenter Levi Colburn is
building his house outside the village—across the road from Mandy Foster
to be exact. Though he hopes to marry Mandy someday, she rejected him once and
has been unattainable to every man in the village ever since. When rebels tear
through Good Springs and abduct Mandy, it’s up to Levi to find her. But will
she accept the tender care of the one man who truly loves her?
Book Two in the ground-breaking Uncharted series,
Uncharted Redemption
weaves dramatic new
layers into life in the Land.
Available now (Edenbrooke Press)
Bethany Colburn is finally allowed to court and Everett
Foster is ready to confess his love for her. As the outside world closes in on
the Land, a new man arrives in the village of Good Springs. He brings charm
Bethany has never encountered and illness the Land has never known. While the
medicinal power of the gray leaf tree is put to the test and the Colburn
family’s strength is stretched thin, Bethany must choose between the love of
her life and the intriguing new man. But nothing will matter if the Land is
invaded.
Book Three in the Uncharted series,
Uncharted Inheritance
weaves heartbreak and hope while delivering
long-awaited answers in this suspenseful story of life in a hidden land.
The Land Uncharted - Chapter One
Lydia Colburn refused to allow a child to bleed to death.
Pulling a sprig of gray tree leaves out of her wind-whipped hair, she rushed
inside the farmhouse and found the injured boy sprawled across the bed exactly
as Mr. McIntosh had said she would. She dropped her medical bag on the floor
beside Mrs. McIntosh, who was holding a blood-soaked rag against young
Matthew’s lower leg.
Lydia touched Matthew; his skin felt clammy and his breath
came in rapid spurts. “He’s still losing blood. Get the pillows out from under
his head.” She slid her hands beneath his fractured limb and gently lifted it
away from the mattress. “Put them here under his leg.”
Mrs. McIntosh’s thin hands shook as she moved the pillows. “I
gave him tea from the gray leaf tree as soon as his father brought him in the
house.” Her voice cracked. “I know he doesn’t feel the pain now, but it hurts
me just to look at him.”
“You did the right thing.” Lydia maintained her professional
tone as she opened her bag and selected several medical instruments. She peeled
back the bloody rag, revealing the fractured bone. Its crisp, white edges
protruded through his torn skin. “You’re going to be all right, Matthew. Do you
feel any pain?”
“No, but it feels weird. I don’t like it.” His chin quivered
as he spoke. He stared at his mother with swollen eyes.
Mrs. McIntosh drew her lips into her mouth as she fought the
urge to cry. Her hand passed over his head with rigid strokes. “You’re going to
be fine, Matthew. Miss Colburn will fix it.”
When Lydia put her hands on the boy’s leg, he recoiled and
screamed. It was not from pain but from terror. With his fractured leg tucked
close to his body, Matthew buried his face into the ribbing of his mother’s
dress. Lydia gave Mrs. McIntosh a chance to muster her courage and make her son
cooperate, but instead she coddled him. Though Lydia appreciated a nurturing
mother, this was no time to help a child hide his wound. “Your mother is right.
You’re going to be just fine.” She reached for his leg again. “You don’t have
to look at me, but you must leave your leg on the pillow. Matthew? Let me
straighten your leg.”
Mrs. McIntosh glared at the bloody wound and then began to
weep. “Oh, Matt, I’m so sorry. My poor baby!”
“Mrs. McIntosh?” Lydia raised her voice over the woman’s
sobs. “Mrs. McIntosh? Rebecca! I know this is hard, but please, be calm for
Matthew’s sake. I need you to help me. Can you do that?”
Mrs. McIntosh sniffled and straightened her posture. “Yes.
I’m sorry, Lydia.”
“I need more light. Do you have another lamp in the house?”
“Yes, of course.” Mrs. McIntosh wiped her nose on her sleeve
and scurried out of the room.
Relieved that Mrs. McIntosh was gone, Lydia caught the boy’s
eye. She touched his foot with both hands. “Matthew, you must lie still while I
work on your leg. You won’t feel any pain since you were a good boy and drank
the gray leaf tea your mother made, but now you have to be brave for me and
hold still. All right?” She was prepared to hold him down but loathed the
thought. Matthew seemed to understand her seriousness and allowed her to move
his broken leg back onto the pillow. She worked quickly and methodically until
the bleeding was under control. She cleaned his flesh with gray leaf oil, then
looked into the open wound and aligned the bone.
Mrs. McIntosh’s footsteps echoed in the hallway, but Lydia
was not ready for the anxious mother’s return. “Please, bring some cold water
and a few clean rags first. I need them more than I need the extra light.”
Lydia gave her voice enough volume for Mrs. McIntosh to hear her without
entering the room.
She glanced at her patient’s face as she continued to work.
His eyes were clenched shut. Her heart ached for the pallid and broken boy. “I
heard you had a birthday recently, Matthew. How old are you now? Fifteen?
Sixteen?”
Matthew opened his eyes but stared at the ceiling. “I’m
seven,” he slurred through missing teeth. His respiration had settled; the gray
leaf’s healing power was beginning to take effect.
“Ah, I see you’ve lost another baby tooth.” She cut a piece
of silk thread for suture and kept the needle out of his sight while she
threaded it. “Soon you will have handsome new adult teeth.”
Matthew closed his eyes again and lay still. Mrs. McIntosh
walked back into the room with a pitcher of water in her hands and a wad of
kitchen towels tucked under her elbow. She set the water jug on the floor
beside Lydia’s feet and bundled the rags on the bed. “Is that enough?”
“Yes, thank you.”
“I’ll be right back with the lamp.” Mrs. McIntosh vanished
from the room again.
Lydia covered the stitches with a thick layer of gray leaf salve.
As she wrapped his leg loosely with clean muslin, she heard Mr. McIntosh enter
the house. Mrs. McIntosh spoke to her husband in a hushed tone then walked into
the room holding a lit oil lamp.
Mrs. McIntosh sighed. “Oh, thank heavens you’re done.” She set
the lamp on a doily-covered table by the bed then sat on the edge of the
mattress beside Matthew. “He’s asleep,” she whispered.
Lydia slathered her hands with the disinfecting gray leaf oil
then wiped them on a clean rag. As she gathered her medical instruments, Mr.
McIntosh stepped into the room.
He cleared his throat. “Is there anything I can do?”
Lydia glanced at Mr. McIntosh. “I need a couple thin pieces
of wood to splint his leg, if you don’t mind.”
Mr. McIntosh nodded and left the house. A moment later, he
returned with two flat, wooden shingles. Lydia used them to splint Matthew’s
leg, then she began to clean and pack her instruments. As she worked, she gave
Mr. and Mrs. McIntosh instructions for bandaging and cleaning his leg. Then she
handed Mrs. McIntosh a jar of gray leaf salve. “Use this twice a day on the
wound. With rest and proper use of the medicine he should heal completely in a
few days.”
Lydia followed Mr. and Mrs. McIntosh out to the porch. Stars
crowded the clear sky and crickets’ intermittent chirps pierced the cool night
air. Lydia’s horse snorted as Mr. McIntosh gathered the reins and walked it to
her.
“Thank you, Lydia.” Mrs. McIntosh fanned her face with her
hands.
Mr. McIntosh removed his wide-brimmed hat and wiped his brow
with a cotton handkerchief. “It seems too dangerous of a job for a
woman—taking the forest path alone at night like you did to get here.” He
put his hat back on his head and dabbed at the sweat on his neck. “I’m grateful
you got here in time to save my boy, no doubt about it, but the way you rushed
down the forest path instead of taking the main road scared me. Granted you
beat me back here by twenty minutes, but still it’s too dangerous at night
to—”
“The cover of darkness does not mean I’m released from duty.”
She stepped around Mr. McIntosh and strapped her medical bag to the saddle.
He nodded then handed her the reins. “That’ll be the last
time Matthew climbs to the roof of the barn.”
“Yes. Please see to it.” She smiled and tucked a loose strand
of hair behind her ear.
“I heard your family will be gathering tomorrow night to
celebrate Isabella’s seventy-fifth birthday. How about I deliver a lamb roast
as your payment?”
“That sounds fine. I’ll tell my father to expect you.” She
mounted her horse. “I know Aunt Isabella will be glad to have roast lamb at her
party.”
“A lamb it is. Thank you, Miss Colburn. Oh, and do take the
road back to the village. I’d never forgive myself if something happened to you
on your way home.”
* * *
As Lydia surveyed the feast, she straightened the
turtle-shaped broach pinned to her dress. Satisfied with the preparations for
Isabella’s party, she left the kitchen through the wide entrance to the parlor,
walked past the staircase, and knocked on her great-aunt’s bedroom door.
“Come in,” Isabella answered. Lydia turned the glass doorknob
and stepped inside. The dark room and unmade bed struck a chord of sadness in
Lydia. She left the door open, and the afternoon sunlight that filled the rest
of the house spilled into the room.
Isabella was sitting in her rocking chair by a curtained
window. Her knitting needles clicked in rhythm. “What is it, dear?”
“We are ready for you, Aunt Isabella.” Lydia smiled as she
spoke, but the elderly woman’s face remained impassive. Isabella continued
knitting for a moment then reached to a basket beside her chair. She lowered
the yarn and knitting needles into the basket, then touched the side table by
her chair and felt along its edge until she reached the handle of her cane.
Isabella’s fingers traced the cane’s curve. “I do hate a
fuss. I hope you didn’t waste time on decorations. They are a frivolity.”
Lydia walked closer. “No, there aren’t any decorations, but
the food looks wonderful. Mr. McIntosh delivered a roast lamb, and it smells
delicious. Everything’s ready for you. Won’t you come to the kitchen?”
“It does smell good.” Isabella pulled the cane toward her.
“Seventy-five. Isn’t that old?” She sounded surprised by her own age.
Lydia knelt beside Isabella and touched the elderly woman’s
arm. “I think seventy-five is lovely.”
“Sweet girl.” Isabella patted the top of Lydia’s hand. “I am
blind and even I can see that seventy-five is old.” She leaned on her cane and
remained in her chair. Lydia watched Isabella and waited for her to speak.
Isabella’s face moved in slight gestures before she spoke. “I mostly thought of
my mother today.” Her voice sounded low and gravelly. “I always do on my
birthdays. I suppose that’s odd after all these years.”
“Not at all.”
“Yes, I know you understand. You miss your mother as much as
I miss mine. You always will, dear. I assure you.” Isabella stood with slow,
stiff movements. “Have your father and Levi come in from their chores yet?”
“Yes, they’re washed up and waiting in the kitchen. Everyone
is ready for you. Maggie and Adeline made all your favorite dishes, and Bethany
came straight home after school to help too. You should have stayed in the
kitchen with us while we cooked. We had an enjoyable afternoon together.”
“The four of you girls together in the kitchen all afternoon
and with the little ones whining at your feet—” Isabella gave a small
laugh. “My years of finding that enjoyable have passed. Besides, I don’t enjoy
a crowd—not for long anyway.”
“Maggie and Adeline and their families so rarely visit. I
like it when we’re all together.”
Isabella smoothed the front of her dress. “Is Mandy here? I
want her to play her violin in the parlor while we eat so I can hear the
music—but not too loud. Tell her not too loud.”
“Yes, she knows.”
Isabella held her cane in one hand and found Lydia’s elbow
with the other. “What dress are you wearing?”
“The maroon one with the white lace at the bottom.”
“The blue dress is softer.”
“It’s not cold enough tonight to wear the blue dress.”
“It will be cold soon; the equinox is coming. I can feel it.
The atmosphere changes somehow on the autumn equinox. It always has. Do you
have on your mother’s broach?”
“Of course.” Lydia touched the silver turtle pinned to her
dress over her heart.
Isabella took a step then stopped. She drew a long breath and
waved her cane in front of her. “I was born in this house, just as you were.
Not in this particular room. After your grandfather and I were born, our father
added this room onto the house. Then when your grandfather married your
grandmother, they made this my own private room. They added a new nursery onto
the house when your father was born. Oh, how they hoped for many children, but
neither of your father’s siblings lived past infancy.” Isabella sighed then
smiled, causing Lydia to wonder if the nostalgic interlude was authentic
sentiment or a stall tactic. “But when your father married your mother and they
had the five of you children, well, that’s when the house finally felt full to
me.”
They inched out of the bedroom then Isabella stopped in the
hallway. She turned to Lydia but her eyes did not settle. “I have lived
seventy-five years in this house, and none of my time was wasted so long as I’m
not a burden.”
“You’re not a burden to anyone. We all love you, and that’s
why we are honoring you tonight. Come now—everyone’s waiting.”
Isabella straightened her posture as if readying herself for
the crowd. “I can face another seventy-five years, so long as I find a way to
make myself useful.”
Lydia walked Isabella into the kitchen where the hungry
family was waiting. After Lydia’s father said the blessing, Lydia filled a
plate at the buffet table and scanned the room for a place to sit. Unable to
sit in the crowded kitchen, Lydia took her plate to the staircase in the parlor
where she sat on the steps and balanced her plate on her lap. From there she
could see into the kitchen where her family crammed around the table with
Isabella. One of Lydia’s brothers-in-law sat between his two small children at
the table, and the other brother-in-law sat nearby on the edge of the stone
hearth with his plate balanced on his open palm. Lydia’s two-year-old niece
could not reach the breadbasket and began to cry. The men strained to keep
their conversation going over the top of the other voices. The flurry of sound
produced a cacophony that flowed into the parlor.
Lydia’s brother, Levi, walked out of the loud kitchen. He sat
beside Lydia on the staircase. Levi grinned as he handed her a napkin. She took
it and offered him an olive. He popped the olive into his mouth and followed it
with a forkful of potatoes from his plate. Lydia watched his face change as his
gaze settled on the violinist in the corner of the parlor.
Mandy Foster stood near the front door playing slow and soft
music on her heirloom violin. Her eyes were closed as the notes flowed from the
instrument. A blanket of auburn curls covered her back and danced along her
trim waistline.
