Too Rich for a Bride (32 page)

Tucker Raines had accepted Morgan’s invitation to join the family on Christmas Day. So where was he?

“Hark! The herald angels sing, ‘Glory to the newborn King.’ ”

Hattie warbled the last sentence while the word
King
resounded in Judson’s tenor voice.

Morgan played the final note on his square grand piano and looked up at Ida. “Looking for Mr. Raines, are we?”

Soprano, alto, and bass snickers echoed off the window. Bracing herself, Ida faced her family, counting Hattie among them. She wasn’t sure her “big sister” stare would work on Morgan, but it was worth a try.

“Why, you’re redder than the berry pie I brought for our supper, dear,” Hattie said, her brows arched.

Ida already knew her stare wouldn’t work on her landlady. She swallowed her indignation and focused on Morgan. “He accepted your invitation. And since he’s not here, I’m merely concerned.”

“The lady doth protest too much, methinks.” Kat sat beside Morgan on the piano bench, a smirk curling a corner of her mouth.

Ida shook her head. Relentless teasers, every last one of them. Yes, she’d taught her sisters well.

“Tucker stopped by the hospital Wednesday evening.” Morgan thumbed through a stack of sheet and pulled a page to the top, no doubt enjoying having her on a hook. “Said he was boarding the train to Colorado Springs the next morning—yesterday—to go see his parents.”

“That’s good.” She looked down at the song sheet, hoping he’d catch her hint and begin playing the next carol. No such luck.

“He expected to be back in town last night,” Morgan said, “but he could have decided to stay over.”

Ida nodded. “I imagine that’s what he did. So we have nothing to be concerned about.”

A grin spread the freckles dotting Nell’s nose.
“We
weren’t concerned.”

Her family was in rare form today, which meant it was best the preaching ice man remain in Colorado Springs for the day.

So why did the thought of not seeing him on Christmas Day bother her so?

Tucker felt as if he and his valise were floating up Carr Avenue toward Morgan Cutshaw’s new home instead of slogging through a fresh layer of snow. He’d spent yesterday visiting with his mother and father, first outside and then in a sitting room. After eating supper with Pastor Frank and learning
more about his father’s spiritual transformation, Tucker went with his mother and father to his aunt’s house three miles from the hospital. He spent the night in the sewing room and awakened on Christmas morning to the sounds of his family stirring in the kitchen. They shared a hearty breakfast of corned beef and eggs with biscuits before he boarded the train bound for Cripple Creek.

On the way back, he wrote a letter to Willow, explaining the depths of his reasons for leaving California. He even told his sister the reasons he might like to stay in this particular mining town in Colorado.

It had been three days since he’d seen Miss Ida Sinclair. What was it she said her father liked to say? Something about missing someone you loved was like a burr in your union suit—a real motivator.

Motivated, he practically raced up the shoveled walkway to the front door of the Cutshaw home.

There, he’d admitted it—he loved Ida Sinclair.

Morgan opened the door. “Merry Christmas, and welcome to our home.” He motioned Tucker inside.

“It’s good to be here.” Tucker looked down at his valise.

“We can put that here by the coat tree.” Morgan took the bag and set it on the floor while Tucker shed his coat and hat. “How are your folks?”

“Very well. Thank you.” Tucker followed his host down a wide entry hallway toward the sound of chatter and laughter. “I apologize for being late. I decided to stay over.”

“I hoped you might.”

They stepped into a well-appointed and well-peopled dining room. Thankfully, Colin Wagner wasn’t present.

“Look who’s here, everyone.” Morgan glanced toward Ida, who sat between her two sisters. Tucker watched her turn pink from her pretty neck to her hairline and got the distinct impression they’d been talking about him
and teasing her. Willow would have been doing the same thing—and might be, soon.

Morgan returned to his half-empty plate at the head of the table. Judson sat at the opposite end, and when Tucker met his gaze, Judson lifted the red napkin on the plate to his right and held it up in invitation.

Following a round of Christmas greetings, Tucker sat between Judson and Hattie and laid the napkin across his lap. Several hours had passed since breakfast. Seeing this fine meal and the company surrounding it, he realized his intense hunger. A platter of thick-sliced beef led a parade of foods that included whipped potatoes, gravy, cooked carrots, and what he recognized as Hattie’s honey-wheat rolls.

“Oh, and you must try Ida’s canned-pea salad.” Hattie took a fluted bowl from Morgan and passed it to Tucker.

Cold peas with onion wouldn’t normally appeal to him, but if Ida made the salad, he’d try it. He spooned a large helping onto his plate, hoping he liked it. “This all looks delicious.” After offering a silent prayer of thanks, he took a generous bite of pea salad. Like her, Ida Sinclair’s salad was a pleasant surprise.

While he ate and visited with what felt like his second family, he knew he wanted what Morgan enjoyed with Kat and Judson with Nell, and what George had experienced with Hattie in their marriage—the companionship of a woman he loved and who loved him. Although Ida had given him little encouragement in that direction, something inside him believed the oldest Sinclair sister could be
the one
. Swallowing a bite of spiced carrots, he looked across the table at her as if he expected to see the answer written on her face.

The blue eyes staring back at him didn’t look away until he dropped his fork and it clanged against his plate.

Tucker managed to avoid further mishaps the remainder of the meal.
By the time he’d had his fill of berry pie with cream and enjoyed a full-bodied coffee, he felt satisfied on many levels.

Morgan tapped the rim of his cup with a spoon. “It’s probably time we retire to the parlor for our family gift exchange.”

On his way to the parlor, Tucker pulled the sack of gifts he’d brought from his valise. The parlor glowed with homey warmth. Handmade ornaments and strung popcorn added color to the tree, reminding Tucker of his evening at Poverty Gulch. The memories of the migrant families and descendants of freed slaves joining in a community Christmas celebration wasn’t all that different from these festivities. Family and friends gathered in Jesus’ name to commemorate His perfect gift to all people. However, the polished tin star on top of the tree and the wrapped gifts on a side table reminded him he was counted among the more fortunate, at least financially.

The women took their seats, and Tucker chose to sit at one end of a brocaded silk sofa, opposite Ida.

Once everyone had settled, Morgan opened his Bible. “Kat and I are so honored to have you all here with us for our first Christmas as man and wife.” He reached for his wife’s hand. “Our union is nothing short of a gift from God.”

Tucker witnessed an exchange of intimate winks between Judson and Nell, and he leaned against the back of the sofa. Yes, he wanted a love ordained by God.

“Before we exchange gifts, Kat and I want to read from the second chapter of Luke in celebration of the greatest gift of all.”

Jesus
.

Following the reading of Scripture, Morgan closed the Bible and set it on a side table. “The greatest gift you can give us is your love and your presence. But I know some of you brought bonus gifts as well, so we’ll let you do the distributing.”

“I’ll begin.” Hattie bent over and pulled small fabric bags from a box under the parlor table next to her. “I have a sack of my butter brickle for everyone.”

When Tucker received his sack, he peeked inside and sniffed. “You really know how to get to a man’s heart, Miss Hattie. Thank you.”

Next, Nell handed out scarves she’d knitted. His was a black-and-white herringbone pattern, very distinguished. Kat had written everyone a poem. The subject of his was, not surprisingly, a traveling preacher.

Ida stood. Reaching behind the tree, she lifted out packages wrapped in pieces of red or green velveteen wallpaper.

Kat unwrapped a new portable writing desk, and Nell a sewing box. Hattie received two new cylinders for her Edison phonograph. The gift created a welcome break in the stunned silence, as everyone chided Hattie about not having to listen to the same three songs anymore.

Ida gave Judson an imported ivory pen set, and Morgan a gold pocket watch chain. Even Morgan and Kat’s yet-to-be-born baby received a gift—a folding go-cart baby carriage. It alone probably cost close to seven dollars.

They were all store-bought gifts, expensive gifts. Was Ida trying to earn their favor or trying to prove something?

Ida looked straight at him. “I have a gift for you too.”

“You shouldn’t have.” He meant it.

Ida handed him a round box.

“I didn’t expect—”

“Please open it.” Ida stood at the end of the sofa.

Inside, he found a pure beaver stiff hat with a narrow, curled brim and black satin hatband. Tucker held the suit hat up for all to see, but he couldn’t bring his voice to comment. He didn’t wear suits as a general rule. She’d bought a hat for a dandy, not for him.

She didn’t like his old hat. Of course she didn’t. He was a traveling
preacher. She was a city businesswoman. He wore chambray. She wore silk. Her hats seemed to flower and command attention. His, while comfortable, apparently didn’t make enough of a statement. Or maybe she wasn’t comfortable with the statement his hat did make.

“You don’t like it.” The disappointment in Ida’s voice seared his heart.

“It’s not that.” He returned the hat to the box.

“Then what’s the problem?”

Everyone else looked anywhere but at him. He didn’t really like being himself at this moment, but she deserved an answer even if it made her mad. “You spent too much.” Tucker glanced down at the fancy hat, then back up at her. “I brought you and everyone else an ice pick with the company’s name on it.”

Ida stiffened. “Oh.”

“Oh, I did spend too much?”
Or,
“Oh, you’re only giving me an ice pick?”
Tucker didn’t have to ask. He saw the answer written in the furrow in her brow and in the tightness of her jaw.

Ida Sinclair could never love a man who wore a simple hat and thought an ice pick was an appropriate gift. Colin Wagner was the type of man she’d shopped for. He would have no doubt welcomed such an extravagant gift.

“So God might not have a problem with women earning their own money, but you do.” Sadness rather than anger clouded her face.

“It’s not the woman, or the money. It’s more a question of extravagance.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, I’m the one who should be sorry. It’s a nice gift. Thank you.”

“You’re right—the hat isn’t appropriate for you. I’ll take it back to the store.” She took the hatbox and sat down as far from him as possible.

It didn’t matter that his heart believed Ida could be the one for him. She would never believe it, especially now.

THIRTY-SIX

hristmas night, Ida lay in the dark and listened to branches crack under their burden of snow. She knew how they felt. She’d been tossing and turning in her bed for two hours. Her past kept colliding with the present, both weighing heavy on her heart and mind.