Just to See You Smile (17 page)

Anne stood on the landing of their staircase and rubbed sleep from her eyes. She was
never
the last one to wake up. How in heaven's name had she managed to do so on Christmas morning? She could hear Alec and the kids in the living room. The girls were reading gift tags and distributing the presents into separate piles. Their family traditions had started without her!

Despite her dismay, she was still groggy. Instead of continuing down the open staircase toward the living room, she turned and went down the enclosed back way to the kitchen. She needed coffee.

She remembered last night. When she went to bed, the kitchen was in a typical postcelebration shape: a mess. At the bottom of the steps, hand on the door that opened into it, she paused and reminded herself to lower her expectations about entering a spotless kitchen. Alec was not a detail person when it came to housework. The room was not going to look the same as it would if she had cleaned it.

She mustered up a Pollyanna take on the day.
Okay.
It was all right if the kitchen did not meet her standards. The point was Alec had asked what he could do, she had told him, he had offered, and then, last night, she had taken him up on the offer by going straight upstairs after closing the door on the Eatons. She hadn't looked in the kitchen, and she hadn't even heard Alec come to bed. He had tried, and that was what counted. Today everyone was on their own for breakfast. She only needed to prepare two dishes to take to
her parents' house later. That would require a little counter space, a cutting board, a knife, a clean bowl, and access to the refrigerator.

She opened the door, peeked around the corner, and studied the kitchen. There was not one inch of uncluttered countertop. Closing her eyes, she leaned against the doorjamb and whispered a prayer, “Lord, if it's as bad as it looks, please give me the grace to show him mercy
.
”
Lower, Anne,
she admonished herself,
lower those expectations a little more. Alec does not see things the way you see things.

Tightening her robe belt, she entered the room. Her slippers didn't stick to the floor. The good china was stacked. Clean, but stacked there rather than on the dining table or put away in the hutch. A few cookie platters were out…uncovered. Two casserole dishes sat atop the stove, their crusted stains soaking in water.

Her breath returned, and she noticed the coffeemaker. Fresh coffee was dripping into the pot. Alec must have heard her moving about upstairs and started it. She wiped a tear threatening to slide down her cheek and sniffed.

“Merry Christmas, sweetheart!” Alec's voice came from behind her.

She hurriedly sniffed again.

He put his arms around her waist and nuzzled the back of her head. “It's not too bad, is it?”

“Is that coffee for me?”

“Yes. So, what do you think?”

“It's…fine.”

“I know it's not perfect. Amy and Mandy are going to put the dishes away later, and Drew promised to scrub those pans.”

“Okay.” She knew that “later” could mean three days from now. Minimum.

“Go join the kids. I'll bring your coffee.”

She turned. His cinnamon eyes resembled a little boy's, anticipating and eager to please. That was the point, not the kitchen. She kissed his cheek. “Thank you. Merry Christmas.”

There was a roaring fire in the fireplace and a Christmas carol CD playing. Alec's coffee wasn't half bad. The children were not only civil with one another, they were kind and teasing. They all enjoyed the surprises she had wrapped for them and appreciated the necessities…a dictionary, socks, jeans…

Still, the tenor of the Sutton family Christmas morning was off. Anne suspected it was her exhaustion, her sleeping late, her not giving herself the time to get settled into that sense of her hand in Jesus' before she started the day.
If Mama ain't happy, ain't nobody happy.
Glancing around the snugly scene, she chided herself. They appeared happy enough. Maybe it was her imagination.

“Mom,” Mandy cried, “open the big one first! It's from all of us.”

Anne carefully tore off the shiny red paper from a large box and lifted the lid. Beneath the tissue paper lay a silky red robe. Holding it up, she ooh-ed and ahh-ed until she saw the back of it. No one would have heard her oohs and ahhs at that point. They were all laughing hysterically.

“Get it, Mom?”

Imprinted on the back of the robe was a royal blue triangle with a large, red “S”. She got it.
Superwoman.

After a moment she gave up her attempts at smiling. “Cute, guys.”

Alec came over and kissed her forehead. “You can do it all, sweetheart. You are Superwoman.”

And what had she been for the past 17 years?

“Here.” He handed her a small gift that hadn't been under the tree.

It fit in her palm. The paper was gold foil. She knew it was jewelry, knew it was the special gift he had mentioned wanting to buy for her. Except for the plain gold band and a promise ring with a tiny diamond chip, he hadn't given her jewelry. They had teased that maybe for their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary they could afford her engagement ring. Jewelry wasn't in the budget. Through the years she had admired Val's collection, and somewhere along the way she had dealt with her envy. Jewelry had become a nonissue. And now this…

Was this part of the anticipated bonus Alec had already spent?

He sat at her feet, clearly eager for her to open the gift. She reminded herself that she always kept Alec's gifts unless the size had to be exchanged. He gave her thoughtful gifts, filled with his love. Now, she picked at the wrapping paper and uncovered a black velvet jeweler's box. She eyed him.

He smiled and winked.

Inside the box was a pair of diamond stud earrings. While not ostentatious, neither were they minuscule. They were, quite simply, beautiful. “Alec!”

The girls squealed. Drew patted his dad on the back. “Way to go, Dad.”

Anne wondered if it was the entire bonus.

Britte chewed her thumbnail and glanced around the farm's big kitchen table. The remains of a Christmas breakfast feast littered the tabletop. She, Gina, and Brady had joined her parents and Ryan for breakfast. Megan, along with her husband and two-year-old, would be coming later, as well as Ryan's girlfriend…as well as Joel Kingsley.

Her mother reached over and pulled Britte's thumb away from her mouth. “Want some more coffee, honey?”

“I can get it.”

Barb stood. “I will.”

“I'm not an invalid.”

“You could have been.”

Britte stifled a sigh. Her mom and dad were not helping matters. Their concern for her welfare brimmed in their eyes and coated their words. And they wouldn't stop waiting on her! She stood and clanked a spoon against her juice glass. “Listen up, everybody. I have an announcement to make.”

Everyone quieted.

“I look a hundred times worse than I feel. Five days have passed. I'm getting over it.” That was easy to say. The sun was shining, and she was spending the night here. “I need you all to get over it, too.”

Her dad cleared his throat. Though less talkative, Neil was an older version of Brady in looks: tall, lanky, with more gray than blond hair, and perpetually tanned from living outdoors year round. “Honey, you've got this ‘deer caught in headlights' look, you keep chewing your thumbnail, and you haven't made one smart-alecky remark all morning.”

“But I'm fine!” She plopped back down onto the chair.

Ryan, a shorter version of their dad and brother, grinned. “Dad, she invited company for today. If you'll note, our little Christmas enclave this year includes our immediate family with Grandma and Grandpa Swanson, Megan's
husband,
Brady's
fiancée,
and my
girlfriend
of
six
months, for whom I had to get a special dispensation in order to invite. Where exactly does
Joel Kingsley
fit into this picture?”

Brady hooted and raised a hand toward his brother for a high five. “Brilliant.”

“He's just a friend,” Britte raised her voice to be heard above their laughter, “who doesn't have any family nearby!”

Gina put a protective arm around her shoulders, but the male raucous continued, and her mother smiled that funny smile she hadn't had an opportunity to direct Britte's way in years.

Oh, what in the world had she been thinking last night?

Britte scooped snow with her mitten-covered hands and formed a snowball. Her right arm still ached, but she managed to hurl the ball ten feet and splat it against Joel's shoulder. A barrage of snowballs sailed toward her, and she screamed, ducking behind her team's fort wall.

It was an intensely beautiful Christmas night. The snow had started falling early in the afternoon, huge, fat flakes that quickly transformed the barren fields into a fantasy winter wonderland. Inches upon inches accumulated as the storm blew in. The wind lessened by nightfall, but the flakes continued to fall, weightless puffs of elegance adding brilliance to the already sparkling white carpet. Reflected in the overcast sky, the snow lit the night in a soft glow and cushioned the countryside in silence.

Britte and Joel were outdoors with Megan and her husband, Ryan and his girlfriend, Brady and Gina. Earlier they had all rummaged through the basement mudroom for thick socks, boots, jackets, mittens, and stocking caps. As far back as Britte could remember, the supply had been there. The odds and ends had accumulated over the years, furnishing visitors with warm clothes for winter play and even ice skates for when the pond froze.

Once outside, they'd discovered ideal conditions for snowpacking. Though Megan kept trying to build a snowman, everyone else rolled massive balls and stacked them into three-foot-high walls. Two forts immediately arose on the
front yard. Teams were created, the Olafssons against the Others.

Now sitting in the snow behind a wall, Britte lifted her chin and stuck out her tongue to catch the flakes.
Thank You, Father!
It had been such a perfect day. Her dad and brothers had behaved themselves. There was plenty of food and activity and topics of conversation. Joel had been welcomed and evidently enjoyed himself because he was still there. She had heard his laughter often. They teased each other in front of others about their intensity toward work.

Megan slid down beside her. “Britte, it's too quiet over there. We think we should attack.”

“Please don't use that word.”

“I'm sorry!”

Britte laughed. “I'm kidding. You're pregnant, Meg. You should go back and work on your snowman.”

“I am not an invalid!” Her sister was the only one of the four of them who resembled their mother, and not just in looks. Eighteen months older than Britte and 18 months younger than Brady, she was short and had naturally wavy, light brown hair with matching eyes. Her motherly attitude had been an integral part of her personality since they were children.

Brady and Ryan joined them on the ground. “They're out of ammo,” Ryan announced. “We've got plenty. We're going over. Are you with us, Britte?”

Before she could answer, a loud cry arose from the other fort. “Charge!”

Brady and Ryan flew to their feet. Britte, still stiff from her ordeal, rose more slowly alongside Megan. A free-for-all was in progress, snowballs flinging every which way. Britte spotted the bright red ski jacket and yellow stocking cap charging straight for her.
Uh-oh.
She turned and trudged clumsily away through the deep snow.

She made it to a split-rail fence now half-buried in snow. Her body protested, but she boosted herself atop the crossbeam and swung her legs to the other side just as Joel caught up. He grasped her sleeve and lunged over the fence, pulling her with him. Both wildly laughing, they tumbled into the soft snow, the fence rail clanking loudly.

“Ow!” Britte's cry was half-serious. “That hurt!”

“Are you all right?”

“Better than you're going to be if you broke my dad's fence.”

“I'll deal with that Olafsson later.” Joel raised himself on his elbow and looked down at her, his other hand holding aloft a snowball.

“Don't you dare!”

“Do you surrender?”

“Never!” She whacked his arm and the snowball fell away. “Olafssons rule!” she yelled.

Before she could scramble out of reach, he had both of her wrists in his left hand and was scooping snow onto her face with his right. “Surrender!”

“All right!” she sputtered. “I surrender!”

He released her arms and laid back in the snow, laughing again. “
Others
rule!”

She sat up, tore off a mitten and brushed the ice-cold snow from her face. “Okay, okay. You don't have to gloat. I can't believe you did that. I'll probably get pneumonia!”

“You're a sore loser, Princess.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“I know you don't let your girls get away with that whining attitude.”

“No, not that. I meant the ‘Princess' tag.”

Joel got to his feet, held his hands out for her, and pulled her up. Letting go of her hands, he took off a glove. “There's still snow in your hair.” Finger-combing the damp strands
of hair that hung below her stocking cap, he slid his gloved hand around the back of her head. “I take it you grew up here on the farm? That this has always been your home?”

She nodded, distracted by his closeness.

He touched her face now, deflecting the snowflakes falling on it, his hand warm against the cold dampness. “The way I see it, you've got this magnanimous family. I show up with a tin of homemade candy and a poinsettia plant, both of which my mother sent me. You all welcome me like one of the family and even give me a gift.”

She smiled. “Ryan's old yellow tie to replace the one of yours I ruined hardly counts.”

“But it does count. And then you've got all this open space and enough winter clothes and boots to outfit a platoon. It's like a fairy-tale castle. All it needs is a princess.” His hand stilled, cradling her cheek. “A beautiful, benevolent, joyful young woman.”

She blinked at the snowflakes floating onto her eyelashes, but she saw him lower his face.

“Someone just like you.” And then he kissed her.

It was after midnight, but still Joel lingered. He felt somewhat like a teenager. Except for their few moments outside in the snow, he and Britte hadn't been alone all day…and he wanted to be alone with her.

Now at last everyone had gone either home or upstairs to bed. Brady and Gina had finally driven off ten minutes ago, promising to call if the roads were impassable for anything less than a 4x4. The snow had tapered off, but there was some wind, some drifting, and the county road plows had already quit for the night. They'd be out before sunup,
though. He said that seemed an archaic practice. The Olafssons explained to him it was just the way things were done in Jacob County. One either drove a 4x4 or stayed put.

“Joel.” Britte turned to him now. They sat side by side on the carpet in front of the fireplace, their backs against a couch. “If you won't spend the night here, then drive my Jeep home. I'm staying put, and your car won't make it through the drifts out on the county road.”

“If you say so. Is that my exit cue?”

She smiled. “Only if you want it to be.”

He slouched down, laid his head against the couch, picked up her hand, and held it between his. It was her eyes that scrambled his thoughts. He chose to stare at the fire instead. “I'd like to just sit here awhile and hold your hand. Will that upset your dad?”

She scrunched down, settling her arm against his. “Not if you fix the fence.”

He chuckled, and then they fell silent. The large fire snapped and crackled, throwing heat across the raised brick hearth and enveloping them. Joel held up a foot to catch it and dry his sock and pant cuff still damp from the snow that had lodged in his boot. Lights twinkled from the Christmas tree. “Well, Princess, what do you think?”

“Umm.”

He lowered his foot and glanced sideways at her. “You're not going shy on me, are you?”

“Oh!” It was a loud, exhaled syllable. “Oh.” That one sounded more like a whimper. “I am. You tell me first. After all, you're the oldest.”

“Don't remind me. I feel like I'm robbing the cradle.”

“How old are you?”

“Nine years older than you.”

“How do you know—?”

“Personnel file. You're 29.”

“I see. What else did you learn from that thing?”

“College. GPA. Honors and extracurricular activities. Reviews. Johannah.” Her middle name. “That's gotta be a family name.”

She laughed. “My great-grandmother's.”

“And then there was the negative stuff.”

“Holmes.” He was one of her former principals.

“He didn't like your attitude much, did he?”

“He didn't like
me
period, though he stood by me a few times. Actually, he helped me become a better teacher. He was the perfect example of what I did not want to become.”

“You're ruthless, Miss O.” He squeezed her hand. “Oh, sorry. Does that hurt?” He inspected her palm. The scrape wasn't as raw.

“It's fine.”

He curled his fingers more gently round her hand and gazed into the fire for a few moments. “I hate that this happened to you, but the silver lining is I'm holding your hand. I don't know if I would have been otherwise. Not yet, anyway. I mean, the incident allowed you to be vulnerable.” He looked at her profile in the firelight. “You're not a very vulnerable female. You're even a tad bit intimidating. Are you aware of that?”

“I know,” she said quietly.

“I don't know what would have gotten your attention.”

She turned her face toward him now. “Were you
trying
to get it?”

“Not consciously.” He dropped her hand and reached over to touch the sapphire necklace at her throat.

Her breath caught and she sat up, surprise in her raised brows. “It's from you.”

“Took you long enough.” He grinned and straightened, turning sideways to face her. “I don't like shopping. I guess this is what I mean by not consciously trying to get your
attention. I had drawn your name, and I knew I was to buy something appropriate. The megaphone caught my eye on the Internet. That was appropriate.”

She giggled. “And the necklace? You obviously didn't catch the ‘cheap' part of the guidelines.”

“Uh, no. I was at the mall, buying my mother a Christmas gift. It's a tradition to give her a special piece of jewelry. I saw the necklace there, and I thought, hmm. That looks like the school color Miss O always wears. I'll throw that in with the megaphone.”

She laughed out loud. “You're right. That's not conscious. So when did it become conscious?”

He hesitated, wondering if he should stop this unchecked flow of revelations. Then he remembered the kiss in the snow. “Well, it tried to get into my conscious mind at the dance. I mean, when I held you, it was practically kicking down the door. But I successfully ignored it…until that morning when you chewed me out.”

“Oh, no,” she groaned.

“You were wearing the necklace that day.”

“I was?”

“Yes. And as you were leaning across my desk it kind of dangled and the light caught it. I realized it matched your eyes. I also finally admitted I could get lost in those eyes, if I wanted to.”

She blinked.

“Last night, after I left your house, I admitted I want to get lost in them.” He smiled. “Your turn.”

She stared at him for a long moment. “Oh, Joel,” she whispered. “I want you to get lost in them!”

It felt as though something inside of him burst.
Is this what joy feels like?

“Nah, on second thought,” a tiny smile tugged at her mouth, “you're way too old for me.”

He sighed and shook his head in disbelief, even as he reached for her and encircled her waist with his hands. “I liked you better when you were speechless and shy.”

She grinned, sliding her arms around his neck. “I'm not finished.”

“Excuse me.”

“You may be too old, but there's this big brass band playing somewhere inside of me.”

“What's it playing?”

“Something like, ‘Whoa, Nellie! Hold on to your hat!'”

He burst into laughter and drew her close. She laughed with him, her head against his shoulder. As their chuckles died away, a wave of emotion washed through him. “Britte, I've never been here before.”

“Me neither.”

“Do you know what I'm talking about?”

“Well, I don't think you're talking about this house.”

“Got any words for what it is?”

She shook her head.

“Me neither.”

He kissed her then for the second time that night, and when he did, he knew that the “it” was something beyond words. As if he'd landed on Mars, he didn't have a clue what to expect in such strange territory. “Brady hasn't called. The roads must be passable—”

“Joel,” she murmured, her lips brushing against his ear, “you talk too much.”

“I should go home.”

“Mmm, late hours are kind of tough on old folks.”

On second thought, maybe it wasn't time to go home just yet.