Suddenly Married (18 page)

And he had been pleased. She could see the happiness and surprise in his eyes, but there had been something else. Tenderness? Affection? Dare she hope for
love? Say it, she’d willed him, tell me that you love me!

Sadly, he hadn’t said anything. The only sound had been the quiet hiss of the quilt sliding to the floor. That, and the ever-present
click
of the alarm clock, counting off the minutes.

In the quiet moments afterward, she’d snuggled contentedly against him, thrilled at the love she felt for him. She’d fought the feeling long enough; giving in to it at last had been a blessed, comforting relief. It’ll be good for the kids, she’d thought drowsily, good for Noah, good for the babies we’ll have.…

Head high, she scrubbed the last stubborn stain from the roasting pan. To her surprise and relief, they’d left her alone with her womanly chores…and her womanly thoughts.

He was a good and decent man. Proud and determined, Dara believed he would keep his promise to take good care of her always. And she’d keep her oath to him to do the same. It might never be a rockets-andheartthrobs kind of marriage, she told herself, but it’ll be rock solid and long-lasting. She knew that the way she knew her name was now Dara
Lucas,
legally, spiritually, physically.…

So much had been said—without words—that night. But her heart ached with a bittersweet yearning for what
hadn’t
been said.
Let him love me,
was her sad, silent prayer.
Please, God, let him love me!

E
mmaline had insisted on “helping” with the decorations…and the baking and the shopping and the gift wrapping.…

And since Dara was determined to make this Christmas as perfect as it could possibly be, for the children
and
for Noah, she hadn’t fought Francine’s mother for control.

It turned out to be a blessing, actually, because while Emmaline ran around town, trying desperately to pull things together for the commercial side of the holiday, Dara enjoyed the season for its spiritual aspects.

She’d taken long walks with the kids down the snow-covered neighborhood sidewalks, sat between them on the family room sofa, reading fairy tales—Bobby’s favorite story, the “Three Pigs”; Angie’s, “Little Red Riding Hood.” She’d read the yarns so often, Dara believed she could recite them word for word from the
Big Book of Fables.

And while she played Scrabble and checkers and chess with the children—getting to know them even
better, falling completely in love with them—Francine’s mother plunged into Christmas like a child into a favorite swimming hole, and by December 20, the house smelled like a cookie factory and was alight with color. On the kitchen snack bar she’d stood a threefoot white pine and decked it out in spatulas and spoons trimmed with red gingham ribbons and bows. She’d done up the big Douglas fir in the corner of the living room in a regal angel theme of golds and whites. In the family room, the pointed tip of a fifteen-foot blue spruce scraped the vaulted ceiling. She’d garnished that one with teddy bears and tiny wooden wagons and candy canes; she called it the “children’s tree,” though Dara failed to understand why, since the kids hadn’t been allowed to hang so much as a strand of tinsel and weren’t permitted to get within five feet of it now that it was trimmed.

Christmas Eve, as it turned out, was the one-week anniversary of the wedding. Dara thought it would be nice if, after a hearty meal, the family would attend the evening service. Afterward, she’d brew up a kettle of warm and spicy apple cider and serve it with cheese and crackers. She’d packed up her old music books; if she could find them amid the boxes piled in the rented storage cube down on Route 40, maybe they’d gather around the spinet in Noah’s living room, sing hymns and carols, the way her parents and grandparents had when she’d been a girl.

The day after the Brewsters arrived, Dara had managed to slip away for an all-in-one shopping trip. It hadn’t been necessary to buck Beltway traffic or the crowds in the malls, because everything she needed could be found at the fabric store.

Her first stop had been the design aisle, where she
carefully picked through patterns, searching for just the right things: one little girl’s dress, a little boy’s blazer, a man’s sport coat, five bathrobes in varying styles and sizes, an assortment of vests. Next, she browsed through the colorful bolts of velvet, fleece, flannel and chenille. Then zippers and buttons, thread and lace, topped off the mountain of materials in her shopping cart.

And every night, as the rest of the family snoozed contentedly, Dara tiptoed downstairs to the laundry room, where she’d created an L-shaped sewing center by balancing two unhung doors on sawhorses. The portable machine she’d bought years ago hadn’t come equipped with bells and whistles, but it would get the job done.

It had taken all week—two hours here, four hours there—to complete the outfits, and she’d finished every gift with two days to spare! She felt cross-eyed from the eyestrain of burning the midnight oil, working in poor lighting. But she now had the satisfaction of knowing the only thing left to do was wrap the things she’d stitched up, label the packages and arrange them under the family room tree.

After dinner on the twenty-fourth, Dara handed everyone a slice of her deep-dish Dutch apple pie. She didn’t wait for compliments…or complaints; instead, she sat on the edge of her chair and made a quiet announcement.

“It was a tradition in my family to make something special for the people you loved.” She caught Noah smiling at her, and blushed. “I, ah, I thought it might be nice to blend traditions this year, since I’m so new to the family.”

“Sounds like a great idea,” Noah said softly. “What do you have in mind?”

“Well, I know this is a little out of the ordinary,” she said, choosing her words carefully, “but you’re all going to have to open one gift tonight.”

“Co-o-o-ol,” Bobby said, grinning.

“Neat!” his sister agreed.

“Open gifts before Christmas morning?” Emmaline clucked. “Out of the question!”

“But—”

Bobby’s interruption was silenced by his grandmother’s raised finger and haughty stare.

Dara had been afraid this might happen, so she’d prepared a speech just in case. “Not everything, Emmaline. Just one of the gifts I’ve made for each of you.”

“
Made
us?” Emmaline put down her dessert fork and sat ramrod straight in her chair. “One of your gifts to us is…is a
handicraft?
”

From the look on her face, Dara thought grimly, you’d think I was wrapping yesterday’s potato peels as gifts. “Actually,” she began, her smile firmly in place, “everything I’m giving was handmade.”

“By you?”

Dara nodded.

Francine’s mother rolled her eyes. “Regardless,” she huffed, “we
never
open our gifts before Christmas morning.” She looked to Noah for support. “Do we, darling?”

He tucked in one corner of his mouth and regarded her for a moment before saying, “Ordinarily, that’s true.” He met Dara’s eyes then and, smiling warmly, added, “You say your family opened one gift apiece on Christmas Eve?”

Another nod…a hopeful one that was mimicked by Angie and Bobby.

“You
are
a part of this family, after all, and I see no reason your traditions can’t become part of our traditions.” He winked. “When would you like to get started?”

“Now!” Bobby suggested, leaping up from his chair.

“I’m finished with my pie,” Angie volunteered, standing beside him.

Emmaline’s lips formed a tight, straight line. “This is highly irregular.”

Standing beside her, Noah bent down, slipped an arm around her shoulders. “Ease up, Emmie,” he said, grinning as he kissed her cheek. “It’s
Christmas,
for goodness’ sake.”

“Not until tomorrow morning it isn’t!” She tossed her napkin on top of her uneaten pie. “I let you get away with that nickname when my daughter was alive because she asked me to overlook it. But she’s gone now, and I’ll thank you to address me by my given name.”

Noah straightened, his smile vanishing. His narrowed eyes glittered like blue diamonds as his brows dipped low in the center of his forehead. From all outward appearances, he seemed to be gearing up to raise the roof, and Dara couldn’t help but wonder what was going on in that handsome head of his.

Then he pursed his lips and took a deep breath. “I assure you, Emmaline,” he said with deliberate slowness, “I meant no disrespect. I’m genuinely sorry if I offended you.” He held out one hand and smiled affectionately. “Now, will you join us in the family room?”

He’d handled the matter with gentle aplomb, yet there was no doubt in anyone’s mind who was in charge of the situation. The choice he’d given Emmaline was simple: join the family or sit alone in the dining room.

Emmaline’s cheeks flushed as she considered her options, and as she fidgeted with the corner of her napkin, it surprised Dara to feel a twinge of pity for the woman. It must have been hard for Emmaline, Dara thought, to lose her daughter and now to see Noah finally starting over again, with a new wife.

A tense moment passed before Francine’s mother put her hand into Noah’s. “Oh, very well,” she muttered. “I read a report just the other day,” she continued, clinging to his arm, “that said change keeps us mentally alert, keeps us young.” She gabbed all the way into the family room, kept right on chattering until everyone was gathered around the tree. “Well,” she sniffed, “we’d better get on with it if we don’t want to be late for the Christmas Eve service.”

Dara handed Emmaline an artistically wrapped box of iridescent maroon, tied up with a huge, pink satin bow. “This one is for you,” she told Francine’s mother.

The woman balanced the pretty package on her knees. “Let the children open theirs first.” She lifted her chins. “Christmas
is
for children, after all.”

Correction, Dara wanted to say, Christmas is for Christ. But she picked up two more boxes, instead. “Here you go, Bobby, Angie.”

Giggling and squealing, the kids ripped into the parcels as if they’d never experienced the holiday before. Angie got into hers first and stood. “Oh, Dara.” She sighed. “It’s so
pretty!
” She pressed the deep green
velvet against her and twirled several times, nearly overturning the arrangement of pine-scented green candles and pomegranates in the center of the coffee table. “Look, Father,” she gushed, “it has rows and rows of lace, and pearl buttons and a little lady pin on the collar.”

“It’s called a cameo,” Dara said. “It belonged to my grandmother.”

Noah’s left brow shot up. “You…you gave her a family heirloom?”

“Why not?” she said matter-of-factly. “She’s family now, isn’t she?”

His smile warmed her all the way to her toes. He focused on his daughter then. “You’ll have to take very good care of the pin, sweetie. It’s very valuable, and it meant a great deal to Dara.”

Angie threw her arms around Dara’s waist, squeezed her tight. “Oh, thank you! It’s beautiful!”

“I’m glad you like it, sweetie, and I hope the dress fits. I made myself one exactly like it.”

Noah took the dress from Angie, held it at arm’s length. “This looks store-bought” Admiration glowed in his eyes when he looked at her. “You’re amazing, you know that?”

Angie, jumping up and down, said, “Can I wear it to church tonight?”

“
May
I,” Bobby corrected, smirking.

Laughing, Dara ruffled his hair. “Pay this little tease no mind, Angie.” She kissed the boy’s cheek. “And yes, you may wear the dress to church. That’s one of the reasons I wanted you to open the present now.”

“Oooh, oooh,” she chanted, bouncing in place, “may I put it on now, Father. Pul-eeeeze?”

“Let’s see what Dara has for the rest of us, first, okay?” he suggested.

She started to pout, but one look at Dara stopped her. Brown eyes gleaming, she smiled. “You’re the best mother in the whole world,” Angie said, hugging her again. “I love you!”

Biting her lip, Dara returned the girl’s hug. “I love you, too,” she said as tears filled her eyes.

Bobby held up a sport jacket whose pocket bore the Baltimore Orioles’ bird and insignia. “Co-o-o-ol,” he said, awestruck. “I won’t mind wearing
this
coat to church!” he shouted as Dara handed Joseph his gift.

“A vest?” Francine’s father said.

“I noticed your favorite one was a little frayed around the hem.” She shrugged. “I tried to find material to match it, but that was the closest I could come.”

She watched as the older man ran his hand along the satiny lining.

“You know, I don’t believe anyone has ever given me a more thoughtful gift.” He rose, crossed to where Dara stood and kissed her cheek. “Thank you. You’re a wonder.”

While she blushed, Noah said, “You’re next, Emmaline.”

Almost reluctantly, the woman pulled the wrapping from the box on her lap. When she peeled back the bright-pink tissue paper inside, she emitted a tiny gasp. “A cashmere sweater?” She met Dara’s eyes. “Such a shame they’re so itchy.”

“But, Grandmother,” Angie interrupted. “It’s just what you’ve always wanted. You said so last year, remember?”

She raised one eyebrow. “It’s very nice,” she said stiffly. “The detail is—”

“The detail is simply exquisite,” Angie said for her, doing a perfect imitation of her grandmother.

“The detail is quite nice,” Emmaline concluded, primly folding the sweater on her lap.

“Aren’t you going to put it on, Grandmother?”

She shot Angie a withering gaze. “On Christmas morning. That’s the proper time to try on gifts.” She aimed a hot stare in Dara’s direction. “You say you made this? When did you find the time?”

Dara shrugged. “They sell bolts of knitted fabric these days, it was no big deal, really.”

“Your turn, Father,” Angie said. “
Please
open your present so I can go upstairs and put on my beautiful new dress.”

Chuckling, he did as his daughter asked. “What have we here?” he asked, digging through the tissue paper.

“It’s a sport coat just like mine!” Bobby hollered. “We’ll be twins, Dad! Isn’t that the coolest?”

“You bet,” he said as the grandfather clock in the foyer began to chime.

“Six o’clock,” Angie announced, grabbing her dress, and dashed toward the stairs. “We’d better hurry up if we don’t want to be late!”

“Right,” her brother agreed, running after her. “Remember how crowded it was last year?”

Dara met Noah’s eyes. “I didn’t see you in church last Christmas.”

“Well, I saw you.”

The heat issuing from his eyes could have ignited a fire, and sent a thrill pulsing through Dara that refused
to be doused by the chattering children, the curious stares of Emmaline and Joseph, the gonging clock.

“Last one ready is a rotten egg!” Bobby hollered from the top of the steps.

“Robert, really,” Emmaline scolded as she headed upstairs, “must you be so vulgar? What’s gotten into you lately, with all this uncouth talk?”

“Uncouth?” Dara repeated lightly. “What on earth do you mean? He’s the most polite little boy I’ve ever met!”

The woman rolled her dark eyes. “‘Cool’ and ‘neat’ and now ‘rotten egg.’” She aimed a stern stare at her grandson. “You’d better watch your language, young man, or I might just have to wash your mouth out with soap!”

Bobby’s blue eyes widened, then filled with tears.

“Grandmother,” Angie said, slipping an arm around him, “he’s very sensitive. I think you’ve hurt his feelings.”

“Sometimes a little pain is necessary,” she said, head high and shoulders back, “to ensure that children will grow up right.”

“Say, Emmaline,” Dara whispered conspiratorially, winking and smiling, “in honor of the holiday, what do you say we lighten up on the little guys?”