Six

Holly had barely closed the door after Tom when Aunt Daisy puckered her mouth. She set her knitting down on her lap, which was always a bad sign.

“It’s just our luck that Ole Man Watkins had a nephew,” she said.

Holly stooped to count the books Kate Tucker had sent from the Haywire Book and Sweet shop. “I don’t know why you say that. He seems nice enough,” Holly said, though admittedly they had gotten off on the wrong foot. But that had been more her fault than his.

“He did offer to help.”

“Hmm.” Aunt Daisy picked up her needles and resumed knitting, but for some reason she didn’t look happy.

Sighing, Holly made a notation in her notebook, then closed it and stuck her pen in the penholder. “I’ve got to get ready for dress rehearsal. If Nelson stops by with more toys, have him put them over there.” She pointed to the only place in the room that wasn’t stacked high with donations.

The knitting needles stilled in Aunt Daisy’s hands. “Speaking of Nelson, have you decided what you’ll wear to the Christmas dance?”

Holly groaned. Normally, she looked forward to the dance, but this year she’d hardly had time to think about it. Collecting toys had taken up her every thought.

“I’ll just wear…my green dress,” she said.

Aunt Daisy frowned. “You wore that last year. And the year before that.”

“You said you liked it on me.”

“I do like it on you. The green brings out the color of your hair and adds sparkle to your eyes. I still think you should have had Mrs. Cuttwell make you something new.”

Holly sighed. The town seamstress did fine work, but she didn’t come cheap. “After what everyone has gone through these last two years, I wouldn’t feel right throwing money away on a new dress.”

“It would be for a good cause,” her aunt argued. “It’s not every day that a woman gets a marriage proposal.”

“Now, Aunt Daisy. You don’t know that Nelson means to propose.”

“I most certainly do.” She gazed at Holly over the rim of her spectacles. “I’d have to be blind not to notice the way that man looks at you. If he doesn’t pop the question at the dance, that means he’s waiting for Christmas.” Her aunt gave a self-satisfied smile and held up her knitting to check her progress.

Holly knew it wasn’t just wishful thinking on her aunt’s part. She doubted a man would pay his crew to work all night decorating the town unless he had serious intentions.

“I just wish you’d be more excited about it,” her aunt said.

“I am excited,” Holly said. Only a fool would not be excited. Nelson was everything a woman could want in a husband. Once his ring was on her finger, she would be the envy of every single female in town.

“I am excited,” Holly repeated for no good reason. Okay, so she wasn’t exactly jumping up and down like her friend Janice had done when she sensed Jeff Myers was about to propose. But that didn’t mean she wasn’t excited. She just had a lot on her mind.

* * *

The wind had stopped by the time Tom left the shop with Winston in tow and walked the three blocks to Holly’s house.

The sky was overcast, and it felt cold enough to snow. The lamplighter had already made his rounds, and moths darted around the flickering lights in a frenzied dance. Ornaments were scattered all about, and none of the tumbleweed snowmen had been left intact.

After all the work Holly had gone to, he felt bad for her. Bad for the town. Still, he was at a loss to explain what had made him volunteer to help. What he should be doing is looking for a place to live.

Holly certainly had a way about her. A very nice way.

Reaching Holly’s house, he looked down at Winston. Earlier, the dog had refused to eat. Maybe Holly was right. Maybe Winston was lonely. Since so many locals feared rabies, Tom had to keep him chained in a corner during business hours. No doubt Winston missed the large yard back home in San Antonio, along with the neighbor’s children.

“Now behave yourself, you hear?”

The dog lifted his ears and wagged his tail. Shaking his head, Tom started up the walkway to the door.

Holly answered on his first knock. Her face lit up upon seeing his dog, and she immediately dropped to her knees. Tom watched as Holly and Winston carried on like two long-lost friends. It wasn’t just Winston’s tail that wagged; his whole backside swung from side to side like a trainman’s lantern.

Holly looked especially appealing tonight. She wore a white shirtwaist richly embroidered with green leaves over a red skirt. Her hair was piled on top of her head, with tendrils framing her face, and her eyes sparkled like newly polished emeralds.

Silver, bell-shaped earbobs swung from her ears as she laughed. Tom couldn’t seem to hear enough of her laughter, which bubbled out of her like water from a spring.

Surprised to find himself wishing that she was as happy to see him as she had been to see his dog, he stepped into the room and unbuckled Winston’s leash.

“Sorry,” he said, and ordered Winston to sit. “He seems to forget his manners whenever he’s around you.”

She stood and gazed at him with sparkling eyes. “I seem to have that effect on people, but never before on a dog,” she said.

“So…” He glanced around the small room, his gaze lingering on the blazing fire and comfortable-looking chairs and sofa. The small Christmas tree drew his gaze now, as it had earlier in the day. Once again, he regretted all the years that Christmas had been just another workday. Nothing special.

Staring at the bright ornaments, he made a silent vow that if he was ever lucky enough to have a home and family of his own, he would insist upon having the tallest Christmas tree he could find, even if it meant cutting a hole in his roof.

Surprised to find himself thinking such things, he cleared this throat. “What do you want me to do?”

Holly directed him over to the dining-room table that separated the parlor from the small kitchen. “I’ve got you all set up here,” she said, and handed him a letter opener with a mother-of-pearl handle. “Read the letters and put them into the appropriate basket. The baskets are marked. Requests for fireworks go into Mr. Gordon’s basket. Trains and blocks go here. As for dolls…”

After she’d explained the system, Tom tossed his hat on a chair and sat. Flopping down by his feet, Winston let out a contented sigh.

Holly took the chair opposite him, and they both set to work.

Conscious of her every move, Tom reached for an envelope and tried to concentrate on the job at hand, but his gaze kept wandering across the table. The fire cast a golden glow across Holly’s delicate features and turned her red hair into dazzling flames that begged to be tamed.

As if sensing his gaze, she looked up and regarded him through a ring of dark lashes. “Is there a problem?” she asked.

Embarrassed to be caught staring, he shrugged. “I was just wondering, what made you decide to be a teacher?”

A gentle smile curved her lips as if recalling the past brought her pleasure. “When I was in grammar school, we had a boy who couldn’t talk. His name was Eddie Polk. Everyone thought him dumb and paid him little attention. But my teacher, Miss Bridget, took special interest in him and taught him how to read and write. Today he works for the Washington Post.”

“That’s pretty impressive,” he said.

“To a ten-year-old, watching Eddie go from being the dumbest to the smartest kid in class seemed like magic. That’s when I decided to be a teacher.”

Tom studied her. “Your pupils are lucky to have you.”

“And I’m lucky to have them.” She slit the wax seal on another envelope. “What about you? What made you decide to be a blacksmith?”

“After my father died, I sold scrap iron to the local smithy. I’m not proud of this, but I stole rails from where track was being laid. The money I got helped feed the family. Watching that old smithy turn a piece of metal into something useful lit a fire in me. It seemed like…”

“Magic?” she said, and they both laughed.

For several moments, they worked in silence. Tom had expected to find lists of “I wants,” but that turned out not to be the case.

Some children wrote asking after Santa’s health or the health of his reindeer. One boy had gotten his mother to sign the letter proving that he had been good. A child named Artie explained the dime he’d sent in his letter to Santa.

I bursted my bank. Please give this to the poor little sick boy.

One letter made him laugh.

“What’s so funny?” Holly asked.

He read the letter out loud. “‘Dear Santa, please send a barrel of nuts, 14 pounds of candy, a small barrel of molasses, and chewing gum.’”

Holly laughed, too. “Why didn’t he just ask for a tummy ache?”

He tossed the letter into the basket marked Sweets and reached for the next envelope. “Why do so many children ask after Santa’s health?” he asked.

Holly looked up from the letter she was reading. “Parents unable to afford gifts last year told their children that Santa was sick and wasn’t able to come.”

“What you’re doing here,” he began slowly, locking her in his gaze, “is really great.”

Her dimpled smile made his heart skip a beat. “I couldn’t do it without a lot of help.”

Fearing he was about to drown in the depth of her green eyes, he looked away. “You still deserve a lot of credit,” he said and carefully pulled the letter out of the envelope in his hand. This one was from a boy who wrote that he was seven years old. Instead of wanting toys and candy, he asked for something far more difficult to provide. Dear Santa, he wrote. All I want for Christmas is for you to move into my house so that Ma and me will feel safe again.

“What do I do about this one?” Tom asked and read the letter aloud.

Holly stopped what she was doing. “Oh dear. Who wrote that?”

Tom checked the name on the bottom of the letter. “His name is Joe-Joe.”

Nodding, Holly heaved a sigh. “Joe-Joe Adams is one of my pupils. His father died last year, and someone recently stole their horse and chickens.”

Tom furrowed his brow. “Why would anyone do such a thing?”

“Like I said, times are tough. Fortunately, some of the other farmers got together and replaced what was stolen, but Joe-Joe’s worried it will happen again.” She slit open another envelope. “I’m afraid Joe-Joe’s request might be because of something I said.”

“Oh?”

“One of my students asked what would happen if a thief snuck into the North Pole. I said that would never happen. No one would ever steal from Santa because he’s all about goodness and kindness and love, and those things can’t be stolen.”

“So, this boy…Joe-Joe…thinks that if Santa comes to live with him, he and his mother will be safe from future thefts.”

“It appears that way,” Holly said.

Tom rubbed his chin. “What do we do?”

Holly shook her head. “There’s not much we can do,” she said, and Tom could see how much it pained her to say it. She paused for a moment. “Put it in the empty basket. I’ll talk to his ma.”

Tom folded the letter ever so carefully and placed it in the basket. Having lost his own father when he was only twelve, he felt for the boy.

For several moments, Tom and Holly worked quietly, each in their own thoughts. Holly was the first to break the silence. “Do you like staying at Mrs. Greenfield’s boardinghouse?” she asked.

“Holly, I’ve been meaning to tell you. I’m no longer stay—”

A knock sounded at the door, and Winston jumped up, barking.

While Tom calmed Winston, Holly rushed across the room to open the door. A man dressed in a frock coat, dark trousers, and a tall hat entered carrying a wooden crate. The man’s impeccable dress made Tom wish he hadn’t talked himself out of purchasing a new shirt.

“Mason asked me to drop off these wooden blocks,” the visitor said.

Looking pleased, Holly pointed to a corner. “Set them over there.”

After setting the crate on the floor, the man turned. Seeing Tom, his forehead creased with lines of curiosity. “Looks like you roped in another helper,” he said.

Holly made the introductions. “Nelson owns the hotel,” she said.

While Tom and Nelson shook hands, Winston growled. Not that Tom could blame him. Someone who spent as much time on appearances as Nelson had to have a character flaw somewhere. Tom just wished it was visible to more than just his dog.

If Nelson heard Winston’s low growls, he chose to ignore them. “You must be new in town. Don’t recall seeing you around.”

“I’ve been here for two weeks. My uncle recently passed away and left me his blacksmith shop.”

“Oh, so you’re a smithy.” Nelson somehow managed to make it sound like a lowly profession.

“Every town needs at least one,” Tom said evenly. That wasn’t necessarily true of hotels, but he bit down on his tongue to keep from saying it.

“And this,” Holly said, stooping to pet Winston on the head, “is Cupid.”

Ignoring the dog, Nelson turned his full attention on Holly. “The wind did a job on some of the decorations. But don’t worry, I’ve already got my crew working on them.”

Holly’s smile was as bright as the midday sun, and once again, Tom wished he had been the one to put it there.

“Thanks, Nel, you’re the best.”

Winston didn’t seem to like Nelson any more than Tom did. Or maybe he just didn’t like someone else getting all the attention. Whatever it was, Winston’s throaty growls rolled across the room like thunder.

Since Nelson obviously intended to stay, Tom decided he and Winston had best leave.

Holly saw them to the door. “Thank you for your help,” she said softly. “Do you have any free time tomorrow?”

Tom stepped out into the thin, cold air and turned. For some reason, her inquiry lifted his spirits. “After I close at six,” he said, trying not to sound too eager.

She afforded him a grateful smile. “I’d like to offer you a proper supper, but the kitchen is piled high with toys. If you don’t mind bread and cheese…”

The thought of sharing bread and cheese with Holly sounded like a meal made in heaven, but nevertheless he turned her offer down. “That’s all right. I’ll grab a bite at the Feedbag Café,” he said, not wanting her to go to any trouble on his behalf. A thought occurred to him and he brightened. “But I can bring you and your aunt something to eat.”

“That’s very kind of you to offer, but we’re fine,” she said. “See you tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,” he said.

She offered him a quick smile before closing the door.

Tom shoved his hands into his coat pockets. Winston looked up at him and whimpered.

“Don’t blame me. You’re part of the reason why we had to leave. But don’t worry. We get to come back tomorrow.”

Tom tugged gently on the leash and started down the walkway. A fancy carriage drawn by a fine horse was parked in front of Holly’s house. Frowning, Tom headed back to the cold loneliness of his shop.

* * *

For the next several days, Tom quit work, cleaned up and, after wolfing down a quick supper at the Feedbag Café, made a beeline to Holly’s house to sort letters and toys.

Each night, the stacks of toys grew taller. The only chair safe from being taken over was Aunt Daisy’s. By Wednesday night, there was no place for Winston to lie down.

“Oh, you poor dog,” Holly said, and rearranged a pile of rag dolls to clear a spot for him.

After making Winston comfortable, she took her place opposite Tom.

“Where’s your aunt tonight?” Tom asked.

“Aunt Daisy’s literary group meets on Wednesday nights,” she said.

“So, your aunt likes to read?” Tom asked. All he’d ever seen her do was knit.

“No. She just enjoys the company.”

“She’s lucky she has you,” Tom said.

“Actually, I’m the lucky one. She and Grandpapa are the only family I have left. After my parents died, I was raised by my grandparents. When Grandpapa moved to the home, I invited her to come and live with me.”

They worked in silence for several minutes before Tom asked, “What did you decide about Joe-Joe?”

“Nothing yet. I haven’t had a chance to talk to his ma.” She thought for a moment. “How do you make a child feel safe when his little world has been turned upside down?”

“I wish I knew,” Tom said.

They spent the next two hours organizing the newly arrived toy donations. Finally, Holly clapped her hands to her chest and let out a happy little laugh. “That’s the last of it,” she announced. “All the children’s wishes will be granted.” She let out an audible sigh. “Except for Joe-Joe’s.”

Tom craned his head to look at her over the mountain-high stack of building blocks. He marveled at how she could do so much for so many and still bemoan the one child she couldn’t help.

“I’m afraid that’s out of Santa’s hands,” he said.

“I was hoping for a miracle.”

He glanced around the room. “I’d say this is a roomful of miracles,” he said. “I just wish there was something more I could do.”

She smiled up at him. “You’ve done enough. The rest is up to Santa’s elves, also known as parents.”

“I…guess you won’t be needing me anymore,” Tom said. He watched her face, hoping the realization was as disappointing to her as it was to him.

“’Fraid not,” she said, giving him no clue as to what she was thinking.

“Holly—”

He’d meant to ask her out, but before he had a chance, the door opened, and Aunt Daisy stepped inside, letting in a cold draft. “Are you two still at it?”

“We’re finished,” Holly announced.

Aunt Daisy pulled off her knitted gloves and scarf. “It’s about time,” she said.

Since Tom couldn’t think of a legitimate reason to postpone his departure, he reached for Winston’s leash and dropped to his haunches. “Come on, boy. Time to go.”

Winston looked as reluctant to leave as Tom felt.