Before the Dawn (Truly Yours Digital Editions) (13 page)

No. He couldn’t do it. They would spend the holidays here. But maybe he could make it up to her—extend the peace of the season and make some smaller concessions. He’d grown weary of his own recalcitrance. Perhaps it was possible for them to achieve some measure of happiness together. Tomorrow he’d talk to Buckford about sending a message home. Karen’s Christmas gift lay in his bureau drawer at the house. Mother could send it in plenty of time.

Straightening, he leaned back in the chair and rested his head, pushing his guilt over Karen to the back of his mind. For now, he would examine everything Mrs. Doolin had said about her husband’s last words. Perhaps, if he thought on it enough, he could make some sense of the cryptic message.

TWELVE

The letter to Aunt Hattie needed two stamps, but it weighed much less than Karen’s spirit. She battled down resentment and tried to understand things from David’s perspective, but it took much prayer and soul-searching, and nothing she did seemed to alleviate the heaviness. In the same mail, she sent a letter to David’s parents, declining both their invitation for Karen and David to come to Martin City and their offer to journey to Denver so they could all be together for the holidays. She shopped for gifts and contemplated the idea of going by herself, but the thought of spending their first married Christmas apart didn’t sit well with her, and she discarded the idea. Perhaps he’d feel more confident by springtime and they could travel to see Aunt Hattie together. Or Hattie could come to them as soon as the doctor gave her leave.

The closer they drew to Christmas Day, the more homesick and lonely Karen became. The package from Aunt Hattie nearly broke her heart. Buckford brought her the crate and helped her open it. Beneath layers of excelsior, she unearthed the hand-carved crèche and figures of her aunt’s beloved nativity set. Brought from Europe by Karen’s great-grandmother, it had held a place of honor in the Worth household. The card expressed Hattie’s disappointment at not being together for the holidays, but now that Karen had her own home, the nativity should be hers. Karen didn’t try to stop the tears as she lifted the wooden animals and shepherds and wise men from the crate and set them on the mantel. Each dear, loved figurine only made her miss her aunt more. By the time she lifted the natal family into place, she was sobbing.

Voices in the hall had her scrambling to mop the tears and present at least a facade of calm. Lessons must be over for the day. She straightened her hair and tucked her handkerchief away and went to say good-bye to Rex until the new year. When she reached the doorway, she stopped, not wanting to interrupt.

“You’ll never have any measure of independence until you’re willing to leave the safety of this house. Why won’t you even take a walk down the street with me? You have to be weary of being cooped up here day after day. The only place you’ve gone in almost two months is a single reception at the school, and I had to strong-arm you into going then.” Rex placed his hat on his head and his hand on the doorknob. His walking stick, twin to one he’d brought for David that stood unused in the umbrella stand, jutted from under his arm. “Your training won’t be complete until you can go where you want, when you want.”

“I don’t need that. I wish you’d stop pushing me.”

“It’s my job to push you.”

“Then it’s my job to push back. I appreciate what you’ve done for me—teaching me to read again, to eat and dress and organize. I don’t want anything beyond that.”

“But there’s so much more that you’re capable of. So much more you could do.”

“Good-bye, Rex. Until the new year.”

Rex left unsatisfied, and Karen sympathized with him. She was unsatisfied, too.

❧

Early on Christmas morning, Karen donned a russet wool dress and wrapped her cape about her shoulders. As she passed David’s door, she had to blink back tears. In spite of her best efforts, she had gotten no further than Rex had, and David refused to accompany her to church, not even on Christmas.

Though he must have felt some remorse for denying her request that they go to her aunt’s. Or maybe it was the holiday that brought about the subtle changes. He had seemed softer these past few days.

She slipped into the back pew and surveyed the congregation. How she missed the fellowship of the little whitewashed church in Martin City and dear old Pastor Van Dyke’s sermons. Though the soaring spaces and stained glass of this large church in Denver inspired awe and she was surrounded by many times the number of worshippers in Martin City, the experience left her remote and cold. The droning, vibrating tones from the pipe organ sent chills across her flesh, and she shivered as she opened her Bible for the reading.

If she and David had gone to Kansas City for Christmas, she would be sitting with Aunt Hattie in the nice church Karen had visited when she went there to take care of her aunt. Was it really less than three months since she’d been there, listening to the young preacher, Silas Hamilton, deliver a poignant and stirring message? If she was with Hattie in that church, Christmas and Christ would seem very near.

As it was, she sat through the formal service, detached and unable to focus. Her thoughts bounced from missing her aunt, who was distant from her by days and miles, to frustration with her husband, who was distant from her by pride and fear.

When she got home, she draped her cloak over the banister to carry to her room later and wandered into the parlor. Off-key humming accompanied the clank of cookware from the back of the house and made her smile. Taking a long match from the holder on the wall, she touched it to the coal fire then went around the room lighting the candles among the pine and holly. Not even the spicy, resinous scents that mingled with the smell of roasting goose lifted her spirits.

“God Rest Ye, Merry Gentlemen” boomed from the kitchen. Mrs. Webber, a choir of one.

Karen stopped before the nativity scene, touching the pieces lightly, her heart sending Christmas wishes to her aunt and to David’s family. Karen fingered the cameo at her throat, a gift from the Mackenzies.

She turned when footsteps sounded in the hall. “Hello, David. Merry Christmas.” She forced the words out. So far the day had been anything but merry.

“You’re back. How was church?” He crossed the room easily and reached for his chair.

“Fine. It’s a beautiful building, lots of brick and stained glass. Their organist is very. . .enthusiastic.”

The corner of his mouth quirked. “So is Mrs. Webber. She’s been singing carols all morning. I think it’s her not-so-subtle way of bringing Christmas cheer into the house.” He breathed deeply. “Though I have to admit, the place sure smells like Christmas. Would you like your gift now?”

Her head came up. “I didn’t know if we would be exchanging gifts. I got you something, too.” Weeks ago.

“I know you’ve been upset with me about staying here alone for the holidays, and I’m sorry you were disappointed. Maybe we can declare a truce from hurt feelings for today?” He spread his hands, palms up. “After all, it is Christmas.”

She tugged on her lower lip then dropped her hand to her lap with a sigh. “Very well. You’re right.” A wry smile touched her lips. “Peace on earth, goodwill toward men.”

“That’s the spirit.” He pulled open his jacket and dug into the inner pocket. “Now I can return your greeting. Merry Christmas, Karen.” He withdrew a velvet pouch and held it out to her. When she hesitated, he swung it toward her a bit. “Go on. It’s for you.”

She took the bag and loosened the drawstring. Running her fingers over the gold-embossed jeweler’s name on the bottom of the pouch, she tipped it upside down. A glittering ribbon of white and red stones slid into her hand. She gasped then breathed, “David.”

He smiled. “I bought that when I bought your engagement ring. The garnets match the setting in your ring. Do you like it?”

The jewels captured and shot back the lights from the candles, winking warmly as she turned them. “They’re beautiful.” She rose and went to the mirror over the mantel where she draped the necklace at her throat. “Thank you.” A lump formed in her throat.

He came to stand behind her. She stood stock-still when he cupped her shoulders. “Their beauty must pale beside your own. You always were the most beautiful woman in any company.” Then, as if he thought he had gone too far, he stepped back and shoved his hands into his pockets. “Now, what’s this about a gift you have for me?”

Karen turned from the mirror and laid the necklace on the table beside her chair. “It’s in my room. I’ll get it.” A truce, for today. Their marriage so far had been one long, pitched battle interrupted by small truces. When would they reach an accord they could both be happy with? She retrieved the package from her bottom bureau drawer and returned to the parlor.

David stood at the mantel, his fingers trailing over the nativity figurines. When she entered, he turned toward her. “That’s a really fine set. The carving seems so detailed, and there are so many pieces. It was nice of your aunt to gift it to you.”

She exhaled slowly. “I think it would be in the best interest of our truce if we don’t talk about Aunt Hattie. Please, sit down and I’ll hand you your present.”

When he had resumed his seat, she placed the squareish object into his hands and stepped back. The qualms she had when she first bought it came galloping back. Would he think the present emphasized his blindness? Or would he realize she only wanted to help him? She laced her fingers under her chin and waited.

Slowly, he pulled the end of the store twine and pushed back the brown paper. His fingertips grazed the fine wood. “An abacus.” The beads whispered on the rods and clacked together when he tilted the frame.

“I found it in a shop downtown. The owner is Chinese, and the place was stuffed with herbs and tea and artwork. I saw this in the window, and it was so pretty, much better than the one Rex loaned you from the school.” She knelt beside his chair and spun one of the wooden beads. “The frame is cherry, the rods white hard maple, and the beads are polished walnut.” She searched his face for a reaction. “I thought it might be useful.”

He flattened his palm and ran it across the face of the abacus, rotating the walnut disks. “This is really fine. Thank you.”

“You like it? It’s all right?”

“Very much. You’re very thoughtful.” He reached out and touched her hair, letting his fingers trail down her cheek. Then his hand dropped away. “How about if we go in search of our Christmas dinner. It must be nearly time to eat.”

“You’re eating with me?” She tipped back on her heels and gripped the arm of his chair to steady herself.

He rose and the paper and string in his lap drifted to the floor. “Would you mind?”

She gathered the paper and tossed it on the fire, trying not to read too much into his offer. “I’d like that.” Smiling for the first time in days, she tucked her hand into his arm.

He set the abacus on the table beside his chair and walked with her to the back of the house.

❧

Late that night, David sat in his bedroom with the abacus in his lap. Idly, his fingers did calculations while his mind drifted. Dinner together had been a success from where he sat. He’d managed not to spill anything on himself or her, and the conversation had flowed passably well.

In keeping with both their families’ traditions, once they’d returned to the parlor, Karen had read aloud the Christmas story from Luke chapter two. They’d passed the rest of the evening with Karen reading aloud from a new book Sam had given her for Christmas,
Life on the Mississippi
by Mark Twain. David had relaxed in his chair and let her voice take him through a history of the mighty river and Twain’s exploits as a riverboat pilot. Altogether the best evening they’d spent together in months.

He ran his hand along the abacus frame. A beautiful and thoughtful gift. Useful, too. He wished he’d known how to use one before the cave-in. It would’ve lessened his workload considerably not having to work everything out on paper.

His mind turned back to his work. The images of his maps and drawings remained firm in his head, the calculations and projections. He still hadn’t been able to find the weakness. Where had he gone wrong? If he was starting from scratch on the project, what would he change? And where did Paddy Doolin’s message come in? Was it just the raving of a dying man or did it have some bearing on the cave-in?

David rubbed his forehead and got up to prepare for bed. The more he worried the problem like a terrier with a rat, the more muddled he became. Perhaps he’d have to accept the fact that he would never know where he’d gone wrong. Marcus had remained silent, which meant either he hadn’t found anything or he’d found something he didn’t think David should know. Relief mingled with defeat as he thought about letting go of the past.

He set the abacus on the desk in the corner. A smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. He wished he could’ve seen Karen’s face to determine if she really liked the necklace and if she recognized it for what it was: a peace offering. Just like the cave-in, perhaps it was time he accepted things the way they were and get on with living, an action that included letting go of his fears and having a normal marriage—or as normal as he could manage—with his beautiful wife.

Worms of doubt wriggled through him, whispering that he was a fool to consider it, that he wasn’t man enough, that he would only get his heart broken.