Keli Gwyn - Their Mistletoe Matchmakers

To Lavinia’s surprise, Gladys was the last one done. She dabbed at her mouth and laid her napkin on the table. “You outdid yourself, Mr. Henry. Everything was delicious.”

He smiled. “I’m glad you liked it. I noticed you tucked in a fair amount.”

“I reckon that’s because food tastes better when someone else fixes it.”

He acknowledged Gladys’s compliment with a wink. “Is anyone ready for dessert?”

Alex shook his head. “I’m too full.”

“Me, too.” Dot patted her stomach, producing three resounding thumps as evidence.

“I can squeeze in one more bite of stuffing.” Marcie forked a bite, ate it and licked the tines.

Lavinia overlooked the informality. It’s what the children were used to. There would be time enough to teach them proper etiquette when she got them back home. “I suggest we wait awhile. It’s a clear day. Perhaps the children would like to play outside, provided they put on their coats first.”

They voiced their approval of the plan and darted out of the dining room.

Gladys hopped up and began clearing the table, prompting Henry to stand as well. The children raced through the room and headed for the back door, with Marcie in the lead.

Lavinia rose and reached for Dot’s plate.

“You don’t need to do that, Miss Lavinia. I’m feeling a bit better this afternoon, and I want to help. It’s the least I can do after Mr. Henry did all the cooking. You two go on out and enjoy watching the children romp around.”

Lavinia wasn’t eager to spend time with Henry after their talk the day before. Following the startling revelation that he was an accomplished cook, she’d left the kitchen to collect her thoughts. Before she could, he’d shown up in the parlor bearing the prettiest mug of hot cocoa she’d ever seen with artfully carved chocolate curls on top of creamy white whipped cream. If she wasn’t mistaken, he’d even added a pinch of cinnamon to the steaming beverage.

She still couldn’t believe that he was trained by a student of Mrs. Elizabeth Goodfellow, the renowned cooking instructor who’d run the most highly regarded cooking school in the country, conveniently located in Philadelphia.

And she, Miss Lavinia Hélène Crowne, daughter of a highly successful hotelier, couldn’t even fry an egg. If only she’d been allowed to learn some basic cooking skills, as many of her friends had, she would be able to provide meals for the children. Henry could do so, but she had to rely on Gladys.

Henry was quick to thank Gladys for her offer of help. “I put the block of ice in a pan at the base of the pie safe and covered the door with some towels, so you can store the leftovers there.”

Gladys sent him one of her rare smiles. “You made us an icebox? How clever.”

He laughed. “You haven’t seen it yet. It’s not pretty.”

“If it keeps the food from spoiling, I don’t care what it looks like.” Gladys entered the kitchen with a dish in each hand, leaving Lavinia alone with Henry.

An awkward silence descended on the room.

“Do you want—”

“I’ll go fetch—” she said at the same time.

He nodded at her. “Ladies first.”

“I was going to say that I’ll get my cloak and head out back. And you?”

“You answered my question. I was going to see if you wanted to join the children.”

He waited in the dining room while she retrieved her cloak. They passed Gladys on their way out.

The late November day was clear but chilly. A breeze sent crispy brown leaves from the massive oak tree somersaulting over the ground. The large limb that had trapped her was nowhere to be seen.

“When did you find time to move the branch?”

“I saw to that while you and Dot went to the grocer’s to pick up the spices I needed yesterday. It’s behind the shed, waiting to be cut into firewood. I’ll get the lumber and shingles tomorrow and repair the shed on Saturday, provided the weather holds.”

The children were involved in a rousing game of tag, zigzagging across the backyard. Marcie chased after Alex with Dot not far behind. How they could run after all they’d eaten was a mystery.

Lavinia took a seat on the porch swing, sitting to one side so there would be room for Henry. He inclined his head toward the open spot as if asking permission. She nodded. He sat and promptly pushed his feet against the floor, setting them rocking.

She leaned back and closed her eyes, relishing the soothing motion of the swing. The children’s laughter helped drown out the distant rumble of the stamp mill at Leland Stanford’s Lincoln Mine north of town, which operated around the clock, even on holidays.

The quest for gold drove the town and many of its inhabitants. Although Mr. Stanford’s formerly fledgling mine was now doing well, most of the men who’d come west in the hope of striking it rich had little to show for their efforts. She’d been happy that Jack had come to California prepared to ply his trade, knowing a blacksmith’s services would be in high demand. He’d done all right for himself and built a nice home for his family, a larger one than she would have expected.

Lavinia stood and ran a hand along the wrought iron railing with its decorative pattern. The front porch had a matching railing, but the one on the staircase inside the house was even more beautiful. “This reminds me of Jack and Pauline. I can see my sister’s creative flair in the twists and curlicues, along with your brother’s fine workmanship.”

Henry smiled. “Pauline did have an eye for design. She wanted something even more elaborate, but I had to remind her that there was a limit to my, er, a blacksmith’s abilities.” He looked away, but not before she saw his lips pressed firmly together, obviously regretting his slip.

“I see. He was the salesman, but you did much of the work. Your talent is evident here as well as at the Crowne Jewel. Father might not have been happy about hiring Jack and having him win my sister’s heart, but he’s pleased with the job you did. Whenever he gives a tour of that hotel, he points out your artistry.”

The swing’s chains attached to the balcony overhead creaked rhythmically as Henry kept the swing in motion. “I appreciate the compliment, but I haven’t practiced that trade in years. Long enough for these to come clean.” He held up his hands and turned them so she could see the palms and then the backs. “I can offer to shake a lady’s hand these days without offending her sensibilities.”

She hadn’t thought about his coal-stained hands since the wedding, but his comment caused a memory to rush in. He’d held out a hand to her when she’d arrived at the Hawthorns’ home for the wedding, but she hadn’t been sure whether she should shake it or not. “My hesitation that day had nothing to do with your appearance. My mother had taught me that it was a woman’s place to make the offer, so yours gave me pause.”

He frowned. “I see. It wasn’t the stains then but my lack of manners. It must have been hard for you to be among so many common folks who don’t put as much stock in minding their p’s and q’s as those in your social circles.”

She straightened to her full height and lifted her chin. “You don’t know me as well as you think you do, Henry. I wanted to be at Pauline’s wedding so much that I went up against my father. He pushed back—hard—but I stood my ground. Even though I knew I’d be walking into a situation where people would pass judgment and whisper about me and my family, I didn’t let that stop me. I was prepared to stand by my sister no matter what. And I did.”

She drew in a calming breath and released the fists she hadn’t realized she’d formed. She’d spoken without thinking, but she didn’t regret her outburst as much as she ought to. The record needed to be set straight. She might have a wealthy father, but she wasn’t unfeeling.