The Christmas Journey (11 page)

Ry chuckled, relieved that their problem had been so easy to resolve.

Would that his own could be handled so easily.

A
s predicted, Danny and Audrey both stopped by to visit once school was out. Neither visit was quite as dramatic as the one with the twins, though.

Audrey sat on the chair next to his bed, swinging her legs and telling him about her day, from the time she stepped into the classroom to the moment she came home. The highlight, apparently, had been when she received her assigned part for the upcoming Thanksgiving program. Thanksgiving, it appeared, was a major event in Knotty Pine.

“I’m going to be a gardener,” she said. “I can tell everyone why I’m thankful for the sun and the rain and the seeds and the fruit and everything.”

And for Audrey, “everything” would undoubtedly be taken literally.

Danny came by next and challenged him to another game of checkers. They played two, winning one apiece.

Once he left, Ry tried to sleep, and to his surprise, did drift off for a short nap.

When he woke up, he decided he’d been confined long
enough. It was time he tested his legs on something more ambitious than crossing the room.

Moving with care, Ry got dressed. He appreciated the use of Uncle Grover’s sleep shirts but it would feel good to be in his own clothes again. Maneuvering his injured arm into the shirt sleeve caused more then one wince, but getting his boots on was even trickier.

Once he was fully dressed he had to sit again to get his second wind. He contemplated leaving off the sling, but then decided it was best not to ignore the doctor’s advice just for the sake of his pride.

At last he stood and crossed the room, determined to prove to himself and the Wylie household that he was no longer an invalid.

Once in the hallway, Ry paused to get his bearings. His room—or rather Josie’s—was situated on the far end of a long corridor. Based on the enticing smells emanating from the room across the hall, he’d guess that would be the kitchen. Which was probably a good place to start.

When he pushed open the door, Cora Beth looked up from the stove. “Why, Mr. Lassiter, whatever are you doing up and about? If you’re hungry, all you had to do—”

He held up a hand. “No need to fret, ma’am. That is, I
am
hungry but that’s not why I’m here. I figured it was past time I started doing for myself again. I’ve imposed on your hospitality long enough.”

“Don’t be silly.” She wiped her hands on her apron. “While I’m glad you’re feeling well enough to be up and about, you were a very undemanding patient.” She turned to her oldest. “Audrey, please set another place at the table for Mr. Lassiter.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Josie pushed through the door, brushing past her niece.
“Cora Beth, if you have Mr. Las—” She stopped short when she saw him standing there.

“What in blue blazes are you doing up?” She fisted her hands on her hip. “You should—”

“I’m fine,” he said firmly. He rather liked the way her eyes flashed when she was irritated.

Cora Beth intervened before Josie could continue to argue.

“Jo, why don’t you take him in and introduce him to everyone while I dish up the peas.”

Seeing the stubborn thrust of Josie’s chin, he thought she might refuse. But she finally gave a curt nod and headed back into the hallway.

Without saying a word or slowing her step, she escorted him past what appeared to be a large dining room and to a door near the front entryway. Ry followed her into a comfortably appointed parlor containing three unfamiliar persons.

“Mr. Lassiter,” Josie said with uncharacteristic formality, “allow me to introduce you to Mrs. Beulah Plunkett, her daughter Honoria, and the town’s schoolteacher, Mr. Odell Saddler.”

Ry nodded a greeting to each in turn.

“Folks, this is Mr. Ryland Lassiter, the gent I told you about.”

Mrs. Plunkett, an elderly woman whose figure and hook-shaped nose put him in mind of a plump parrot, spoke first. “So you’re the young man who fought off those hooligans.”

He bowed, hiding a grimace. “With Miss Wylie’s help.”

“Modest as well as dashing—an admirable combination. Don’t you agree, Honoria?”

The younger woman, as slight and shy as her mother was broad and outspoken, flushed. “Yes, indeed, Mama,” she responded, without ever quite meeting his gaze.

Mr. Saddler intervened, mercifully taking the spotlight from the younger woman. “Tell us, sir, where did you travel from?”

“Philadelphia.”

“Really.” The schoolteacher leaned forward. “How fascinating. Philadelphia is such a rich cornucopia of our nation’s history.” The man’s face all but glowed with enthusiasm. “Have you advantaged yourself of the museums and exhibitions?”

“On a number of occasions.”

“Ah, I envy you.” He gave a self-deprecating smile. “I’m a bit of a history enthusiast.”

Danny stepped in the doorway with a quick “Dinner’s ready” announcement before disappearing again.

As they trooped into the dining room, Ry was surprised to discover everyone ate together, borders and family, from Uncle Grover right down to Pippa and Lottie. But the double-sized room with the proportionally long table easily accommodated all of them, with room to spare.

Uncle Grover took a place at the head of the table and Mrs. Collins took hers at the foot. Ry had every intention of sitting next to Josie, but somehow found himself holding a chair out for Mrs. Plunkett instead.

The next forty minutes was an interesting experience for Ry. Conversations were lively and the subject matters wide-ranging. Everyone contributed, including the children, joining in or not as the mood struck them. Discussions ranged from how everyone’s day had gone, to next week’s Thanksgiving festivities, to the relative merits of this year’s crop of pears versus last year’s. Audrey chattered on about her role in the upcoming school program and Danny bragged about how he could have won the schoolyard game of mumblety-peg if the tip of his knife hadn’t broken off in the last round.

It was chaos, but a comfortable sort of chaos, wrapping itself around Ry like a brightly-colored patchwork quilt on a
chilly evening. This was what a family should be, he thought, what his
had
been before his mother died.

Ry found his gaze drifting to Josie time and again throughout the meal. He was glimpsing a side of her he hadn’t seen before. Gone was the guarded, overly-responsible, got-to-fix-everyone’s-problems personality she normally wore with him. Instead he saw a relaxed woman who laughed and teased and chatted comfortably with those around her, a woman who had the confidence that came with knowing she belonged.

He envied her that.

Jo kept a surreptitious eye on Mr. Lassiter throughout the meal. He seemed to be holding up well, considering all he’d been through. He was doing more observing than joining in, but that might have more to do with his being seated next to Mrs. Plunkett than with his recovery. The woman tended to dominate any conversation she took part in.

Still, he didn’t show any signs he was ailing. In fact, he looked mighty good. She straightened, giving her head a mental shake. She’d meant from a health perspective, of course.

She glanced toward Pippa and Lottie, and felt herself soften again. When she’d arrived home this evening she’d caught them whispering, and in no time had gotten the story of the hand in the jar incident out of them. It seemed Ry was a hero in more than one sense of the word.

He glanced across the table just then and his gaze met hers. A slow, appreciative smile warmed his face and Jo’s breath caught in her throat. Then his attention was captured by a comment from Mr. Saddler and his gaze released her, allowing her to breathe again.

She glanced down at her plate, confused. How could one fleeting smile from him leave her feeling so tingly and on edge?
She must still be tuckered out from those nights spent watching over him, waiting for his fever to break. A good night’s rest would put things back in proper perspective.

She was relieved when the meal finally came to an end. As usual, Mrs. Plunkett and Honoria retired to their rooms while Mr. Saddler stepped out for his evening constitutional.

Mr. Lassiter stood, looking uncertain about what to do with himself.

He had a big day tomorrow, one that was likely to be difficult for him. And regardless of how he looked, he’d already been up and about long enough for the first time out of his sickbed.

“Mr. Lassiter,” she said, claiming his attention, “would you like Uncle Grover to help you back to your room?”

He frowned. “No, thank you, I can manage on my own.”

There was no need for him to sound so prickly. She was only thinking of his health. “Well, then, please don’t let us keep you from your rest.”

That annoyed frown made another appearance. Then he turned to Cora Beth. “That was a wonderful meal, ma’am.”

“Why, thank you. I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

“I wonder if you have any reading material I might borrow?”

“Sure do,” Jo answered before Cora Beth could say anything. Did he think they were illiterate? “There’s a bookcase plumb full of books in the family parlor.”

“Why don’t you show him where that is,” Cora Beth suggested. “We’ll get started with the evening chores.”

Mr. Lassiter paused. “If there’s anything I can do to help—”

“Don’t be silly.” Cora Beth waved him off. “You’re our guest. Go on with Jo and find yourself something to read.”

Now why did he take Cora Beth’s concern with a smile while he frowned at hers?

Jo mulled that over as she dutifully led him to the family
parlor, the one room their boarders never entered. She opened the door and waved him inside. “The bookcase is there on your left.”

Leaning against the jamb, she crossed her arms while he looked over the titles. It might not be much compared to what he was used to, but she was certain there was enough there to satisfy his needs for today. There were Uncle Grover’s insect books, Aunt Pearl’s books about far-off places, Cora Beth’s poetry books, some morality tales and lighter fiction, books about gardening and some of her father’s books about carriages and harnesses.

He finally selected two volumes. “These should do for now. Thanks for the loan.”

She straightened, shoving her hands in her pockets. “Feel free to come in here and fetch a book whenever you want.”

They stared at each other awkwardly for a moment. Then he gave her a crooked smile. “Guess I’ll head back to my room and put these to good use.”

“Yes, of course.” She stepped aside to let him pass.

But not quite far enough. His arm brushed against hers and she was startled by the way her pulse jumped in response. Had he felt it too?

She watched him walk away, absently rubbing the place on her arm he’d touched. There was no sign that his injuries were bothering him.

Or anything else, for that matter.

R
y closed the book with a resounding
thunk
. He’d read the same page three times and still had no idea what it contained. Not that it was the book’s fault. The part of the travelogue he’d managed to absorb proved both entertaining and informative.

Trouble was, he found himself unable to concentrate. Too many of his own thoughts crowded out the words on the page. He eyed the bed from his vantage across the room with a jaundiced eye. No doubt the same restlessness that kept him from enjoying the book would prevent him from sliding into an easy slumber.

Muted sounds of conversation and laughter floated in under the door. So, the Wylie household hadn’t turned in for the night yet.

The sound was seductive, enticing.

It had been quite some time since he’d been in a true family setting. Life at his grandfather’s was comprised of a string of formal interactions. On the few occasions each year when he returned to the ranch, he and his siblings interacted with each other like near-strangers.

And at supper he’d felt like one of the borders. Allowed into the Wylie family circle for a time, but still an outsider. Sort of
the way it was when he tried to pin down his own family life. Part of both worlds, belonging in neither. Was it something about him? Had he forgotten how to get close to people?

What would it feel like to be a member of a large, demonstrative family like the Wylies?

He shook his head, pushing away that thought. There was no point getting too close to these folks. Once he met with Reverend Fields tomorrow and found out what he could about Belle’s last days, he planned to head over to Hawk’s Creek. Probably never pass this way again.

For some reason, that thought didn’t sit well with him either.

He dropped the book on a side table and stood. On the other hand, it wasn’t as if he’d form any long-term attachments just from joining them for an evening.

Before he could change his mind, Ry headed for the door.

When he stepped into the kitchen he had a few moments to look around before anyone noticed him.

The Wylie family—blood kin and otherwise—were gathered around the table. Cora Beth sat at one end with some sewing, an oil lamp at her elbow.

Audrey stood on a chair nearby, reciting what sounded like lines for the Thanksgiving program with all the verve and passion of a seasoned thespian. Pippa and Lottie sat cross-legged at her feet, playing the part of rapt audience.

Halfway down the table, Uncle Grover and Danny were shelling pecans and having a lively discussion that had the older man gesticulating enthusiastically.

It was Josie, though, who caught and held his attention. Was she carving a pumpkin?

Then Danny said something Ry didn’t quite catch and Josie, laughing, reached across the table, snagged a bit of pecan shell and tossed it at him.

The cozy family scene, complete with the scent of a pie in the oven and a warmth that came as much from the people as from the cook stove, sent an unexpected pang through Ry, one he refused to analyze too closely.

A moment later Josie looked up, and, predictably, greeted him with a frown. “Shouldn’t you be resting?”

He ignored both her question and tone, turning instead to Cora Beth. “I hope I’m not intruding. It’s too early for sleep and I’m afraid the book I chose didn’t hold my interest as I’d hoped.”

“Please, come on in,” she answered with a warm smile. “You’re more than welcome to join us.”

Josie set her knife down and pulled a chair out. “Here, have a seat.” It was more command than suggestion.

“Thanks.” As he eased into the chair, the others resumed their activities.

“What’s that you’re working on?” he asked, nodding toward the pumpkin.

She shrugged, her face reddening slightly. “Cora Beth cleaned out this pumpkin yesterday to make some pies. I’m just tinkering around with the shell.”

“Jo’s being far too modest,” Cora Beth interrupted. “She’s a real artist with a carving knife.”

Ry studied Josie’s handiwork and found he agreed with Cora Beth. The top third had been artfully removed from the pumpkin, leaving a bowl shape with a fluted rim. But it was the design on the bowl itself that was truly remarkable. A dragonfly hovered above an almost-completed flower. The detail was amazing.

“Just trying out a new design I might use for the Thanksgiving Celebration.” Josie sounded uncharacteristically hesitant. “Not sure yet if I like it.”

“Well, I do.” Ry’s words earned him a pleased smile from Josie. “So what’s this Thanksgiving Celebration?”

“It’s like a big party,” Danny answered. “The whole town gathers together. There’s lots of food and games and contests. And the grown-ups dance.”

Ry smiled at the sour face the boy made over that last bit.

“Don’t forget the pageant,” Audrey chimed in.

“Jo’s pumpkins and gourds are used as decorations,” Cora Beth paused mid-stitch to explain. “They hold fruit and flowers, and once evening sets in, they’re used to hold candles.”

“Does that mean you’re going to be making a lot of pumpkin pies?”

Josie laughed. Ry decided he liked the sound of it.

“Most of the ladies around here donate the empty shells from their own cooking,” she said. “By next week we’ll be tripping over pumpkin shells and gourds around here.”

“I’m sure that’ll be a sight.” Not that he’d be here to see it.

“Is this enough?” Danny held up the bowl of pecans for Cora Beth’s inspection.

She put a finger to her chin as she studied his offering. Finally she nodded. “I suppose you’ve earned yourself an extra piece of fruitcake when we cut it.”

Danny let out a whoop that echoed through the room.

“Must be some fruitcake,” Ry said dryly.

“Yes, sir. Best you’re ever gonna taste.”

“It’s a holiday tradition around here,” Josie added. “Both for Thanksgiving and Christmas. Lot’s of folks want one for their own table, and they fetch a handsome price. In fact she has two in the oven right now.”

Ry noticed the pride in Josie’s tone. “Sounds like quite a delicacy.”

“That they are,” she said. “Cora Beth takes a blue ribbon at the county fair every year.”

“Now you all hush before you give me a big head. I’m
certain Mr. Lassiter has been to any number of fancy restaurants that serve finer desserts than my fruitcake.”

“Well, ma’am, there’s been many a time when I would’ve traded those so-called fancy restaurants for good home cooking.”

Cora Beth set her needlework aside and stood. “Then we’ll cut one right now.”

Ry held up a hand in protest. “Please, I wasn’t angling for a taste. Especially if you have customers waiting in line.” He didn’t want to steal from their livelihood.

“Nonsense,” she waved a hand dismissively, already taking saucers from the cupboard. “The family usually samples a few of them, anyway.”

“Just to make certain she hasn’t lost her touch.” The crinkles at Uncle Grover’s eyes belied his serious tone.

“In that case, I confess to being both curious and eager to try a bite.”

“Hey, girls!” Danny set down his bowl of pecans. “We’re going to slice into one of the fruitcakes.”

Ry accepted the dessert-laden saucer and forked up a bite, aware that every eye in the room was on him. He mentally prepared himself to give them the reaction they expected, no matter what.

Because, as Cora Beth had said, he’d eaten at some of the finest restaurants in New England. And he’d dined at the homes of socially prominent hostesses who prided themselves on hiring only the best chefs for their kitchens. He’d be very surprised if this dessert could compete with their signature creations.

But as soon as the first bite entered his mouth, Ry found he didn’t have to pretend. This was unlike any cake he’d ever tasted. It had a robust, burst-in-your-mouth flavor, both ambrosially sweet and slightly tart at the same time, without any of the heaviness usually associated with fruitcakes. And there
was an underlying flavor he couldn’t quite identify that added a tantalizing zest to the whole.

“Mmm. I understand why these are so popular.”

“It’s Cora Beth’s own recipe,” Josie bragged. “She uses a honey syrup and spiced apple cider and some other special ingredients. Ladies around these parts have been trying to pry the recipe from her for ages.”

Ry eyed Josie thoughtfully. Even though he knew Cora Beth could drive her crazy, she hadn’t stopped bragging on her sister since he’d entered the room. There was a deep bond between the members of this family that he found oddly touching.

He cleared his throat and refocused on the rest of the room. “So, are these only available to locals, or can anyone order one?” Purchasing some of the fruitcakes would be a way to repay part of the debt he owed the Wylies.

But Cora Beth shook her head. “If you’re wanting one for yourself, we’ll just consider it an early Christmas present.”

“No, no. I was actually thinking of purchasing several as gifts. One for my brother and sister, one for the hands at the ranch, one for my grandfather, one for his law partner…”

Cora Beth laughed. “My goodness, if you keep adding on orders you’re going to become my biggest customer ever.”

“Absolutely.” He pointed his fork at her. “Honestly, this will be a huge help to me. I never know what sort of gifts to get for my family and friends at Christmas, but each and every one of them will love this.”

Cora Beth relented at once. “Well, of course, if you’re certain you want them, just let me know how many and I’ll add your order to my list.”

“A dozen ought to cover it.”

Cora Beth blinked, her eyes growing rounder. “My goodness, a dozen?”

“If that’s not too much trouble.”

He caught the speculative look Josie shot his way. Was she on to him? Had he overdone it?

“No, no, not at all,” Cora Beth said. “I’ve just never had such a large order from one person before.”

“In Philadelphia you’d have folks banging down your door, begging for the chance to order these.”

“Hey, why don’t we play the ‘where in the world’ game?” Danny had obviously grown tired of this talk of food.

“I don’t know, Danny.” Josie carried her own saucer to the sink. “Mr. Lassiter probably—”

“But we always play it when we have someone new at the boardinghouse,” Danny protested.

“Mr. Lassiter isn’t exactly a boarder.”

Ry wondered if her reluctance had anything to do with him. He leaned back. “What is this ‘where in the world’ game?”

“Jo made it up,” Danny explained. “When someone new comes around, we ask them to name the most interesting place they’ve ever visited. Then they have to say what makes that place so interesting to them.”

Ry gave Josie a considering look, remembering the maps covering the walls of her room, as well as the things she’d told him about her Aunt Pearl. “I see. Sure, I’ll be glad to play.”

Everyone took a seat and stared at him expectantly.

“Let me think—the most interesting place. Hmm. I’d say that would be New York Harbor.”

Josie still leaned back against the sink, but even from this distance he could sense the keenness of her interest, almost feel the thirst she seemed to have for his words. And he suddenly wanted to paint the most vivid picture he could.

“Why there?” Danny asked.

“It’s an energetic place,” he answered, keeping his eyes
focused on Josie. “I’ve never seen anything like it. It’s busier than a stirred-up ant hill. People coming and going, speaking more languages than you would have heard at the Tower of Babel, goods from the most commonplace to the unimaginably exotic being loaded and unloaded on the docks, the smells of spices and smoke mingling with that of fish and brine. And everything moving at a pace that makes you dizzy just remembering it all.” He looked around at each of them in turn, then returned his gaze to Josie. “But none of that is what makes it the most memorable place I’ve been to.”

He paused, deliberately taking another bite, inexplicably wishing he could actually show her the sight that had so captured his own imagination.

“Then what is it?” Audrey finally asked.

Ry smiled and pointed his fork at the child. “The most amazing thing of all is the Statue of Liberty, standing tall and beautiful, guarding the harbor.” His gaze slid back to Josie. “It’s a sight that, once seen, can never be forgotten. She stands a little over three hundred feet tall and is majestic in a way that has to be seen to be appreciated. She’s an especially stirring sight when one is returning home after a trip abroad.”

The faces around him showed varying levels of interest, but in Josie’s he saw a longing, an almost painful yearning that made him want to scoop her up and take her there straightaway.

“Three hundred feet.” Danny whistled, breaking the spell. “Why, that’s even taller than the church steeple.”

Ry nodded. “Probably about ten times taller.”

“Amazing.” Cora Beth stood. “But we don’t want to tire Mr. Lassiter out with all our questions. Girls, it’s time for the three of you to get ready for bed. I’ll be up to tuck you in and hear your prayers as soon as I clear these dishes.”