Sweetwater Springs Scrooge: A Montana Sky Holiday Short Story (The Montana Sky Series) by Debra Holland Page B
Authors: Debra Holland
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would have been hard pressed to hide amusement at the sight. Ever since coming to live in Sweetwater Springs three months ago after his father died, her grandson had frequently tickled her funny bone, often without Noah even knowing it. Laughter was a gift during her time of mourning.
Marian thanked God every day that Noah had not caught the influenza that killed his mother and weakened Edward, his father. Poor Edward had never completely recovered his health, leaving him vulnerable to a second illness that had carried him away a year and seven months after Juliana’s death.
Still shaken by the broken vase, Marian fetched a broom, dustpan, and waste bucket from the kitchen, and then returned to the parlor.
With a sigh, she bent to carefully pick up the biggest piece with her thumb and forefinger, in the process inhaling the dusty scent of dried flowers—the powdery remains of a bouquet of violets Elias had given her. She’d hung the flowers upside down and dried them, then displayed the arrangement in the vase. When Marian had given Elias back his ring, she’d been so hurt and angry that she’d crushed the flowers down into the bottom of the vase—out of sight. She’d never used the vase again, nor dusted the inside.
Perhaps it’s just as well the vase is broken, Marian told herself in the brisk mental voice that sounded too much like her mother. She winced at the thought. Martha Hutchinson had never favored Elias Masters as a suitor for her daughter, preferring Harold Williams’s polite manners and stolid personality. I should have given away the vase years ago when I accepted Harold’s offer of marriage.
She laid the fragment on her palm and studied the violet pattern. This time, tears welled up in her eyes as her mind took her back thirty years in time to when Elias courted her and life was exciting and full of promise. And I was young and foolish.
That spring afternoon, while in the mercantile with Elias, she’d admired the white vase covered with her favorite flowers. When he’d impulsively bought it, the generosity of the gift had gone straight to her heart. Outside the store, he’d placed the vase in her hands and asked her to marry him. Of course, she’d said yes. She’d been deliriously happy, believing Elias to be the most generous and wonderful of men. That illusion had taken a while to wear off. But when it did….
She shook her head, as if dislodging the girlhood memory from her mind. Usually all she needed to stop regretting the past was to think of the eccentric, miserly Elias of the present day.
When she saw him around town, Marian would give him sideways glances, trying not to be obvious in her scrutiny of her former beau, feeling torn between old hurt and relieved validation of her decision to wed Harold. If I’d married Elias, would I have become as threadbare as he? Had to practice heaven knows what ridiculous economies at home? Constantly fought with him about money? Seen his stinginess slowly wear away my love?
Marian tossed the shard into the waste bucket, hearing the piece clatter against the bottom. No, I made the right choice.
She let out a pained sigh. So, why does the broken vase hurt so much?
~ ~ ~
In his small room, Noah flung himself on the bed, ignoring how he rumpled the green-and-blue box square quilt his grandma had made him. A sharp, hot feeling welled up in him; at the same time, his throat tightened, recalling the stricken expression on his grandmother’s face after he’d broken her vase.
If only I hadn’t come here to live. If only Pa and Ma hadn’t died.
Longing seized him, and Noah wished he could go home. Crenshaw wasn’t far away—several hours by train. But the city was far bigger than Sweetwater Springs, and he and his gang of friends always found plenty to keep them occupied. His thoughts rattled over everything he missed. But even if he managed to get home, Ma and Pa wouldn’t be there.
He rolled over and stared at a yellow stain in the
Marian thanked God every day that Noah had not caught the influenza that killed his mother and weakened Edward, his father. Poor Edward had never completely recovered his health, leaving him vulnerable to a second illness that had carried him away a year and seven months after Juliana’s death.
Still shaken by the broken vase, Marian fetched a broom, dustpan, and waste bucket from the kitchen, and then returned to the parlor.
With a sigh, she bent to carefully pick up the biggest piece with her thumb and forefinger, in the process inhaling the dusty scent of dried flowers—the powdery remains of a bouquet of violets Elias had given her. She’d hung the flowers upside down and dried them, then displayed the arrangement in the vase. When Marian had given Elias back his ring, she’d been so hurt and angry that she’d crushed the flowers down into the bottom of the vase—out of sight. She’d never used the vase again, nor dusted the inside.
Perhaps it’s just as well the vase is broken, Marian told herself in the brisk mental voice that sounded too much like her mother. She winced at the thought. Martha Hutchinson had never favored Elias Masters as a suitor for her daughter, preferring Harold Williams’s polite manners and stolid personality. I should have given away the vase years ago when I accepted Harold’s offer of marriage.
She laid the fragment on her palm and studied the violet pattern. This time, tears welled up in her eyes as her mind took her back thirty years in time to when Elias courted her and life was exciting and full of promise. And I was young and foolish.
That spring afternoon, while in the mercantile with Elias, she’d admired the white vase covered with her favorite flowers. When he’d impulsively bought it, the generosity of the gift had gone straight to her heart. Outside the store, he’d placed the vase in her hands and asked her to marry him. Of course, she’d said yes. She’d been deliriously happy, believing Elias to be the most generous and wonderful of men. That illusion had taken a while to wear off. But when it did….
She shook her head, as if dislodging the girlhood memory from her mind. Usually all she needed to stop regretting the past was to think of the eccentric, miserly Elias of the present day.
When she saw him around town, Marian would give him sideways glances, trying not to be obvious in her scrutiny of her former beau, feeling torn between old hurt and relieved validation of her decision to wed Harold. If I’d married Elias, would I have become as threadbare as he? Had to practice heaven knows what ridiculous economies at home? Constantly fought with him about money? Seen his stinginess slowly wear away my love?
Marian tossed the shard into the waste bucket, hearing the piece clatter against the bottom. No, I made the right choice.
She let out a pained sigh. So, why does the broken vase hurt so much?
~ ~ ~
In his small room, Noah flung himself on the bed, ignoring how he rumpled the green-and-blue box square quilt his grandma had made him. A sharp, hot feeling welled up in him; at the same time, his throat tightened, recalling the stricken expression on his grandmother’s face after he’d broken her vase.
If only I hadn’t come here to live. If only Pa and Ma hadn’t died.
Longing seized him, and Noah wished he could go home. Crenshaw wasn’t far away—several hours by train. But the city was far bigger than Sweetwater Springs, and he and his gang of friends always found plenty to keep them occupied. His thoughts rattled over everything he missed. But even if he managed to get home, Ma and Pa wouldn’t be there.
He rolled over and stared at a yellow stain in the
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