Tomorrow's Garden (25 page)

“Once again, I don’t know how to thank you.”

“I’m your friend,” Lawrence said, looking down at the petite woman who figured in so many of his dreams. “Friends help friends.”

“Then thank you, friend.”

Harriet extended her hand. Though he knew she meant for him to shake it, Lawrence raised it to his lips and pressed a kiss on the back. It wasn’t what he wanted to do. What he wanted was to draw her into his arms and hold her close; what he wanted was to kiss her lips and caress her soft skin, but this was not the time or place.

18

Thomas frowned at the sound of church bells. It was all her fault. Here it was, Christmas Eve. He should have been home, sleeping in a warm bed. Instead he was halfway between Ladreville and Fortune in a town so small he didn’t bother to learn its name, watching people stream into the church. He knew what the minister would say, for he’d heard Uncle Abe recite the story so often he had it memorized. They’d all smile at the story of a babe in Bethlehem, and then they’d sing hymns, praising the infant Jesus. And when it was over, they’d go home to succulent feasts, while he was stuck out here, facing another night of sleeping on the cold ground.

Thomas slowed his horse as he considered his actions. What he needed was money, but it didn’t look like anyone in this miserable town had much. Oh, he could search a few houses, looking for a hidden stash, but there was no point in risking being caught, not when it seemed there wasn’t enough silver here to matter. Still, there was no reason to sleep outdoors tonight. If he played his cards right, he could get a hot meal and a soft bed. Christmas made folks generous. When they learned his plight, the tale of a man with no place to sleep would remind them of the story they’d just heard, the one about a family forced to stay in a stable because there was no room at the inn. He nodded. That’s what he’d do. Hitching his horse, he made his way into the crowded church.

An hour later, Thomas grinned. The ploy had worked exactly as he’d expected. In truth, it had worked far better than he’d expected. He’d chosen a seat next to a couple with graying hair and no children nearby. Experience told him they’d be the easiest marks. When they’d introduced themselves after the service, he’d let slip the fact that he was passing through, embellishing the story with the tale of his horse’s injury keeping him from spending this holy night with his invalid uncle. They’d believed it, lock, stock, and barrel. Before he could say “Merry Christmas,” they’d invited him to follow them home. That was what he’d hoped for. But they had given him something else—something far more important than a night’s rest. As they’d left the church, the woman had murmured to her husband.

“We need to stop at the school,” the old man, who turned out to be the schoolmaster, explained. “My wife wants to be sure we have enough candles.” The words were innocent. The schoolmaster and his wife had no way of knowing that they’d triggered new thoughts in Thomas’s mind. The school. Things stored there. Of course. That was where Harriet had hid her money. He’d been looking in the wrong place. Exultation raced through his veins. Tomorrow morning he’d head back to Ladreville, and this time he wouldn’t be leaving empty-handed. No, sirree.

Thomas grinned. You couldn’t ask for a better Christmas gift than that.

“I’ll get it.” The excitement in Ruth’s voice when she heard the knock on the door made Harriet turn from the table she was arranging and study her sister. Today Ruth looked prettier than ever, but that, Harriet suspected, was not because of her new dress, nor did the flush that colored her face owe much to the heat of the oven. Ever since they’d decided to invite Lawrence and Sterling to spend Christmas Day with them, Ruth had seemed more animated than Harriet could remember. Today, she was practically sparkling as she tossed her pinafore aside and rushed to the front door.

She was too slow.

“Merry Christmas!” Mary tugged the door open and greeted the family’s guests. The gust of cool air mingled with the heady scents of pine and candle wax. Though Harriet would not allow the candles on the tree to burn all night, as Isabelle had said was the custom in Ladreville, she had agreed that they could be lighted during the day, so long as someone was nearby.

“Merry Christmas.” Sterling and Lawrence formed a duet as Ruth ushered them into the parlor.

Harriet laid the last plate on the table and joined the rest of the family in time to hear Mary shriek. “Presents! You brought presents!” She pointed toward the bulging sack that Lawrence carried.

Harriet stared at the tall, handsome man who was grinning like a schoolboy. When she’d seen him earlier today at the Christmas morning service, he had said nothing about presents. “Oh, Lawrence, you shouldn’t have.” While it was true that she had wrapped a gift for him, suspecting it might be the only one he would receive, she had not expected him to bring anything.

Unexpected tears pricked her eyelids, and her heart warmed at the thought that Lawrence had taken the time to choose items for her family. His gifts would help make the day special.

Lawrence shrugged, the action emphasizing the breadth of his shoulders. Though his frock coat was not the latest style, a point Isabelle had made the first time she had seen him in church, Harriet thought it suited him. Lawrence did not need fashion to enhance his rugged good looks.

He gave Harriet a quick smile. “Sterling and I wanted to express our gratitude for being included in your holiday.” When the expression on the minister’s face said he knew nothing about the packages Lawrence had deposited near the tree, the warmth that had gathered in Harriet’s heart spread throughout her body. How kind it was for Lawrence to pretend that Sterling had been part of the gift-buying process. Though others might consider him brusque and intimidating, this was the true Lawrence: thoughtful and generous. This was the same man who’d sent tingles all the way to her shoulder when he’d pressed his lips to the back of her hand. Harriet had lain awake most of that night reliving not the pageant but Lawrence’s kiss. Now he was here in her home, sharing this special day. Truly, it was good that she’d brought her family to Ladreville, for how else would she have met this wonderful man?

“Can we open them now?” Daniel stared at the packages beneath the tree as if he didn’t trust Mary, who had plunked herself next to them, not to open his. Sam’s grin told Harriet he had urged his brother to ask the question, while the gleam in Jake’s eye gave lie to his feigned nonchalance. Only Ruth paid no heed to the gifts. Her gaze was fixed on the young minister.

Harriet nodded. Though the food was ready to be served, it would not spoil if they waited half an hour. Besides, it was obvious that the younger Kirks were too excited to enjoy even the best of meals. As she settled into one of the wingbacked chairs on one side of the rug, smiling when Lawrence took its companion, Harriet watched her siblings arrange themselves. Ruth perched on the edge of a wooden chair, perhaps because it was the closest to the horsehair sofa where she’d suggested Sterling sit. The other children positioned themselves on the floor only inches from the tree and the packages that so intrigued them.

Contentment rose within Harriet as she thought about the day she had once dreaded. So far, it had been amazingly pleasant. Sterling’s sermon had stirred the congregation as he’d asked them to reflect on what Mary and Joseph had felt that Christmas Day almost two thousand years ago. “What do you suppose it was like,” he asked, “once the angels and the shepherds left? New parents are always nervous, worrying that they won’t know how to care for their child. What must it have been like, knowing this was no ordinary baby?” Harriet had smiled as Isabelle gripped Gunther’s hand, no doubt thinking of her impending motherhood.

“Do you suppose Jesus spilled milk?” Mary asked when they returned home. Fortunately, there had been no spilled milk or squabbling as the family ate breakfast, despite the fact that the youngest three were visibly anxious for their presents. Even opening the gifts had been more pleasant than normal, for Ruth’s choices had been excellent, filling each of the children with delight. Though Harriet had feared otherwise, it appeared that no one regretted not being in Fortune today. She certainly did not.

As Sterling distributed the packages Lawrence had brought, consulting the tag on each to deliver it to the correct member of the Kirk family, Ruth’s smile broadened, and in that moment, she was beautiful.

“Look, Harriet!” Mary held out the bonnet that was a perfect match for the dress her new doll wore. When Harriet gave Lawrence a questioning look, he mouthed the words “Madame Rousseau.” It appeared that Isabelle’s mother had told him of the doll Harriet had ordered for her youngest sister. But the boys’ gifts—jacks for Daniel, a cribbage board for Sam, and a chisel for Jake—were not Madame Rousseau’s selections. Harriet knew that as surely as she knew the boys would treasure their presents. She smiled, hoping Lawrence would read her approval of his choices.

“We can’t forget our hostesses,” he said. In response, Sterling handed Ruth a small bag, while Lawrence held out a flat package to Harriet.

Though Ruth quickly opened the bag and exclaimed over the sweets it contained, Harriet was loath to unwrap her gift. Whatever it was, she wanted to savor the moment. She turned toward her youngest sister. “Mary, I think you’ll find two packages on the other side of the tree.” Harriet had placed them there when the family had finished opening their gifts. “Would you bring them to me?” She handed Ruth the one for Sterling and watched, bemused, as both her sister and the minister blushed when their hands touched.

Sterling studied the package, turning it over in his hands as if he were considering what the contents might be, though the size and shape indicated it could only be a book. “The gift of your company is more than enough. I don’t need a present.”

Leaning forward, Ruth shook her head. “Please open it. I chose it for you.”

His flush deepened as he unwrapped the book. “St. Thomas of Aquinas.” Sterling’s tone was reverent as he admired the leather binding. “What a fine edition!”

“It was our grandfather’s,” Ruth explained. “I thought you might enjoy it.”

“Oh, I will.” He leaned forward so that his head was practically touching Ruth’s, and the two began to converse quietly. With the other children engrossed with their new toys and Ruth and Sterling occupied, Harriet could almost imagine that she was alone with Lawrence.

“This is for you.” She handed him the remaining gift.

Though he accepted it, he made no move to unwrap it. “Please open yours first. I hope I wasn’t mistaken when I chose it.”

Unlike his gift and Sterling’s, which were clearly books, the contents of Harriet’s package were not obvious. Slowly, so she could extend the moment, she untied the ribbon and slid the paper away, then carefully opened the box. “Oh, Lawrence!” Harriet gasped at the contents. It was a book, but what a book! “I’ve never had anything like this.” She stroked the cover, admiring the embossed leaves and vines, then smiled at the pictures of flowers that graced its pages. The artist’s skill was undeniable. “They look so real that I can almost smell them.”

Lawrence’s eyes sparkled, and she saw that her words had pleased him. “You said you liked flowers, so I thought you might enjoy looking at this, especially during the winter when nothing is blooming.”

“It’s perfect.” She spoke softly, not wanting the others to intrude into her conversation with Lawrence. “I couldn’t have wished for anything better.” When his smile broadened, she gestured toward the package he still held. “It’s your turn now. I’m sure you’ve already figured out that it’s a book.”

“I did have a slight suspicion,” he admitted with a mischievous grin. “The title will be the surprise.” He grinned again at the words embossed on the cover. “
The Aeneid
.” Lawrence opened to the first page and began to read, “‘Arms and the man I sing.’ I’ve heard of Virgil’s epic poem,” he admitted, “but I’ve never read it.”

“Like Sterling’s gift, it’s another one of my grandfather’s books. I hope you don’t mind that it’s not new.” Though she tried not to let her nervousness show, Harriet could not disguise the slight trembling of her voice. She had hoped Lawrence would like his gift, but now, faced with the beautiful new items he’d given her family, she wondered whether she had made a mistake.

He waited until she met his gaze before he spoke, and when he did, Lawrence’s eyes shone with sincerity. “To the contrary, the book is more valuable because of its age and history.” He fingered the leather binding and smiled. “I feel as if you’ve given me a part of yourself.”

Harriet drew in a deep breath, then returned his smile. Thank goodness, she had not made a mistake. She had chosen
The Aeneid
for a number of reasons. First, it had one of the most beautiful bindings in her grandfather’s collection. Secondly, as a story of heroic deeds and great adventure, she thought it would appeal to Lawrence. It might even remind him of his days as a Ranger. But most of all, Harriet had selected it because it was one of her favorite tales and she wanted to share it with Lawrence.

Grandpa had had a copy in the original Latin, but this one, which he had acquired soon after they moved to Texas, was English. Since Harriet doubted that Lawrence read Latin, the choice of edition had been simple. What she had questioned was whether he would enjoy the story. Now, seeing his reaction to the gift, she was hopeful that he would.

The afternoon passed more quickly than Harriet had thought possible. Though they lingered at the dinner table for over an hour, savoring the meal Ruth had worked so hard to prepare, and then spent several more hours in the parlor, watching the boys play with their new toys while the adults conversed quietly, it seemed as if only a few minutes had gone by when Sterling rose and declared it time to leave.