elbows in the palms of his hands, kissed her forehead. “Let them have Christmas,” he said.
Either he was extremely perceptive, or he’d seen the worry in her face.
She nodded. Dashed at her eyes with the back of one hand.
It took all afternoon to festoon that Christmas tree, and what a magnificent sight it was, bedecked in ribbon garlands, delicate blown-glass ornaments of all shapes and colors, draped with shimmering strands of tinsel. Even Juliana, who had grown up in a Denver mansion with an even grander tree erected in her grandmother’s library every December, was awestruck.
Tom appeared at dusk, while Lincoln was doing the chores in the barn. He carried a large white package under one arm.
Juliana, peeling potatoes and trying to think what else to prepare for supper, couldn’t help looking past him to see if he’d brought the justice of the peace along.
She was both relieved and disappointed to see that he was alone.
He smiled, as though he’d read her thoughts again, and set the parcel on the counter. “Chickens,” he said. “All cut up and ready to fry.”
Mildly embarrassed, Juliana reported that she’d looked in on Rose-of-Sharon and little Joshua earlier, and they were doing well.
Moving to the sink to wash his hands, Tom nodded. Although, since his back was turned to her, and Juliana couldn’t be sure, she thought he was smiling to himself.
He brought lard and a big skillet from the pantry, set the pan to warming on the stove, then rolled the chicken parts in a bowl of flour. They worked in companionable silence, Juliana finishing up the potatoes and putting them on to boil.
The savory sizzle of frying chicken soon brought the children in from the front room, where they’d been admiring the Christmas tree.
“We’ll need an extra place set at the table,” Tom commented mildly, after Theresa had counted out plates and silverware for everyone. His dark eyes twinkled as Juliana turned to him. “For the circuit preacher. He’s out in the barn with Lincoln.”
Juliana nearly gasped aloud, and before she could think of a response, the back door opened and Lincoln came in, closely followed by a very large white-haired man in austere black clothes and a clerical collar.
The circuit preacher’s eyes were a pale, merry blue, in startling contrast to his sober garments, and before Lincoln could make an introduction, he lumbered over to Juliana like a great, good-natured bear, one hand stuck out in greeting.
“This must be the bride!” he boomed.
Juliana’s face flamed. She fidgeted, unable to meet Lincoln’s gaze, and shook the reverend’s hand.
Gracie piped up. “This morning when I went into Papa’s room—”
Theresa put one palm over the child’s mouth just in time.
The reverend turned to look at Tom, drawing in an appreciative breath. “Is that fried chicken I smell?”
Tom laughed, nodded.
“And me just in time for supper!” the reverend roared.
Just then, Daisy crept up beside the big man and tugged at the sleeve of his coat. “Are you Saint Nicholas?” she asked, almost breathless with her own daring.
The reverend bellowed out a great guffaw at that. Daisy started, but didn’t retreat.
“Why, bless your heart, child,” the preacher thundered, “nobody’s ever mistaken this ole Bible-pounder for a saint!”
“That’s Reverend Dettly, silly goose,” Gracie informed Daisy solicitously. “Saint Nicholas always wears red.”
“You’ll spend the night, won’t you, Reverend?” Lincoln asked, taking the preacher’s coat. “It’s dark out there, and mighty cold, even with the thaw.”
“I reckon I’ll burrow into a hay pile out in your barn, all right,” Reverend Dettly said. “A belly full of ole Tom’s chicken ought to keep me plenty warm.”
“Surely we can offer you a bed,” Juliana said shyly.
Reverend Dettly smiled down at her. “I won’t be putting anybody out of their beds,” he said. “If a stable was good enough for our Lord,
Either he was extremely perceptive, or he’d seen the worry in her face.
She nodded. Dashed at her eyes with the back of one hand.
It took all afternoon to festoon that Christmas tree, and what a magnificent sight it was, bedecked in ribbon garlands, delicate blown-glass ornaments of all shapes and colors, draped with shimmering strands of tinsel. Even Juliana, who had grown up in a Denver mansion with an even grander tree erected in her grandmother’s library every December, was awestruck.
Tom appeared at dusk, while Lincoln was doing the chores in the barn. He carried a large white package under one arm.
Juliana, peeling potatoes and trying to think what else to prepare for supper, couldn’t help looking past him to see if he’d brought the justice of the peace along.
She was both relieved and disappointed to see that he was alone.
He smiled, as though he’d read her thoughts again, and set the parcel on the counter. “Chickens,” he said. “All cut up and ready to fry.”
Mildly embarrassed, Juliana reported that she’d looked in on Rose-of-Sharon and little Joshua earlier, and they were doing well.
Moving to the sink to wash his hands, Tom nodded. Although, since his back was turned to her, and Juliana couldn’t be sure, she thought he was smiling to himself.
He brought lard and a big skillet from the pantry, set the pan to warming on the stove, then rolled the chicken parts in a bowl of flour. They worked in companionable silence, Juliana finishing up the potatoes and putting them on to boil.
The savory sizzle of frying chicken soon brought the children in from the front room, where they’d been admiring the Christmas tree.
“We’ll need an extra place set at the table,” Tom commented mildly, after Theresa had counted out plates and silverware for everyone. His dark eyes twinkled as Juliana turned to him. “For the circuit preacher. He’s out in the barn with Lincoln.”
Juliana nearly gasped aloud, and before she could think of a response, the back door opened and Lincoln came in, closely followed by a very large white-haired man in austere black clothes and a clerical collar.
The circuit preacher’s eyes were a pale, merry blue, in startling contrast to his sober garments, and before Lincoln could make an introduction, he lumbered over to Juliana like a great, good-natured bear, one hand stuck out in greeting.
“This must be the bride!” he boomed.
Juliana’s face flamed. She fidgeted, unable to meet Lincoln’s gaze, and shook the reverend’s hand.
Gracie piped up. “This morning when I went into Papa’s room—”
Theresa put one palm over the child’s mouth just in time.
The reverend turned to look at Tom, drawing in an appreciative breath. “Is that fried chicken I smell?”
Tom laughed, nodded.
“And me just in time for supper!” the reverend roared.
Just then, Daisy crept up beside the big man and tugged at the sleeve of his coat. “Are you Saint Nicholas?” she asked, almost breathless with her own daring.
The reverend bellowed out a great guffaw at that. Daisy started, but didn’t retreat.
“Why, bless your heart, child,” the preacher thundered, “nobody’s ever mistaken this ole Bible-pounder for a saint!”
“That’s Reverend Dettly, silly goose,” Gracie informed Daisy solicitously. “Saint Nicholas always wears red.”
“You’ll spend the night, won’t you, Reverend?” Lincoln asked, taking the preacher’s coat. “It’s dark out there, and mighty cold, even with the thaw.”
“I reckon I’ll burrow into a hay pile out in your barn, all right,” Reverend Dettly said. “A belly full of ole Tom’s chicken ought to keep me plenty warm.”
“Surely we can offer you a bed,” Juliana said shyly.
Reverend Dettly smiled down at her. “I won’t be putting anybody out of their beds,” he said. “If a stable was good enough for our Lord,
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