Janet Tronstad - Mail-Order Holiday Brides - Home for Christmas / Snowflakes for Dry Creek

“I’ll toe the line, ma’am.” He winked at the older lady, grateful for her intrusion. When it came to Christina, he’d be wise to keep his heart closed or she would surely break it.

Remembering what the doc had said about Christina’s intended groom, he prayed that the pig farmer would fall hard for her, too, and be the good husband she deserved.

Love could make a man better, Elijah thought as he waited for Christina to fetch her coat from her room. Lord, let that be true for Tom Rutger.

Chapter Four

“Hello, there.” Christina peeked around the door frame into the boy’s room. The meal she carried, still steaming hot, made her stomach twist painfully in hunger. She breathed in the spicy richness of peppered roast beef, buttery mashed potatoes, doughy buttermilk biscuits and bacon-studded green beans. “The marshal thought you would like something to eat.”

The child sat with his back to her and said nothing, staring at the wall. His slight shoulders drooped, his spine slumped and his mop of freshly washed hair promised to be a mix of blond and brown when it dried.

No one had come for him. Didn’t anyone care?

“How does your head feel?” She set the plate on his bedside table.

No answer. His back rose and fell slightly with each breath.

“It’s good to see that you’re all right. I was really worried about you.” She withdrew a napkin, which Mildred had provided, from her skirt pocket and tucked it beside the plate. “I’m Christina. What’s your name?”

The boy shook his head.

At least he’d acknowledged her. That was progress, right? Encouraged, she sat on the foot of the bed.

“I’m new to town. I only know the marshal, and now the doc and the lady who runs the boardinghouse where I’m staying,” she explained. “I could use a friend.”

“Why?” One thin shoulder shrugged. “You’re better off on your own.”

“I’ve never found that to be true.” She knew what it was like to feel alone and disheartened. “Friends always make life better. They help you, you help them. They share their life, you share yours. Why, I was all alone coming out here on the train—”

“The train?” he interrupted, his back stiffening rod-straight.

“—and I met someone who was feeling the same way,” she continued. Maybe the boy had learned not to trust other people. Was there maybe a way he might open up to her? “Annabelle and I started talking and next thing you know, we were friends. Just like that, wanting to help each other and cheering each other on. I was hoping you would be my friend, too.”

“Uh—” His emerald-green eyes stared up at her like a deer caught in a hunter’s snare.

“I used to live in Dove’s Way, Dakota Territory with my Ma and Pa, until Pa’s death. Then Ma passed away late in the summer.” She slipped the plate off the night table and held it out to him. “That’s when I went to Spring Glen to look for work. It was a bigger town along the railroad. Where do you live?”

The boy gulped, still staring at her. His face turned red and he bowed his head. He took the plate from her and stared at it hungrily.

“I spotted a school bell tower when I was walking here.” She heard footsteps in the hallway, coming closer. “I could see it over the tops of the buildings on the street. Is that where you go to school?”

Instead of answering, he seized the fork tucked on his plate and shoveled in a heap of mashed potatoes.

“Hey, good progress.” Elijah shouldered into the room, seeming to fill it. She couldn’t look anywhere but at him and his wind-tousled dark hair, his easygoing grin and strong, reassuring presence. He paced deeper into the room holding two plates of food. “You got him eating. Any chance he told you his name?”

“No, but he’s going to have to, as we’re now friends.”

“Is that so?” Elijah set one plate on the nightstand. “Slow down there, fella. Eating so fast isn’t good for you. I ought to know.”

The boy didn’t look up. He didn’t slow down. A fringe of too-long hair tumbled over his forehead and hid his eyes as he forked in load after load. If he had glanced at the man before him, he would have witnessed the solemn understanding deep in the marshal’s midnight-blue eyes. Maybe then the child wouldn’t be so afraid.

“Still not using your left arm?” Elijah handed her a plate loaded with food.

“I’m just resting it. It’s fine, really.”

“Right. Like I believe that.” He shook his head, scattering thick dark hair, and gave her a glimpse of a slight set of dimples. “You know I have plans for you and the doctor.”

“I figured there was a price to be paid for this meal.” She still couldn’t wiggle her fingers, so maybe a doctor was needed. She set the plate on her lap, grateful for it. “Let’s say grace.”

“Sounds good to me.” Elijah took her hand warmly in his own.

Little snaps of awareness skidded down her arm, heading straight for her soul. No need to worry about those little snaps. It was harmless, perhaps because she and Elijah were so alike. Without words they recognized the silent boy’s plight because they had been there. Elijah’s dark blue eyes riveted to hers, and the steady light of reassurance she read there drove out everything else.

Yes, his friendship was a surprise blessing. Proof that the good Lord watched over her every step of the way. In gratitude, she bowed her head. Before she closed her eyes she saw Elijah’s broad, capable hand gently catch hold of the boy’s. His fork stilled and he gave one last swallow.

“Thank you, Father, for the bounty of this meal. We are truly grateful.” Elijah’s deep tone rumbled like a hymn, reverent and earnest. “We are also thankful for the blessing of friends You have placed in our lives. Please let us find ways to help each other according to Your word. Amen.”

“Amen.” When she opened her eyes, the lamplight flickered more brightly and Elijah seemed to be surrounded with it, bronzed by the golden glow. His goodness shone through. She could see it clearly.

There is so much good inside of everyone, she reminded herself, thinking of Tom. Sometimes it just takes a while to get to know someone before you can see it. She needed to have faith. Tom had been the only man to answer her letter. She’d answered twenty advertisements that frigid November day when a magazine skidded down the alley she was huddled in, blowing like a leaf in the wind, and came to a stop at her feet. It was all the change she had for postage and paper. And it had led her here, where she was safe and warm with friends. She had to believe that God had brought her here for a reason.

“My ma taught me to pray.” The boy’s words came raspy, almost like a whisper. His bottom lip trembled as if using all of his courage. “Did your ma teach you?”

“She did.” Elijah’s answer rippled softly, warm and comfortable. His earnest wish to help the boy touched her. They’d left so much unspoken about the child. The ragged clothes, being too skinny and the haunted look in his wary green eyes all pointed to one simple truth.

“My older sisters showed me how to steeple my hands and kneel before my bed to pray at night.” Christina found herself answering, longing for what was lost. She plopped a forkful of potatoes on her tongue, so good, so smooth and buttery. That’s when she noticed the boy’s plate was empty. She chewed and swallowed, planning on giving the boy half her food.

“My ma taught me, too.” Elijah leaned over and slid half his roast beef slices onto the boy’s plate. “She could sing like an angel. She was always humming one hymn or another, especially this time of year.”

“We celebrated with music, too.” Christina slid her biscuits onto the child’s plate. “We would spend Christmas Eve going through all the carols and hymns we knew, singing along while my adoptive ma accompanied us on her piano.”