Chapter Thirty-Four

They didn’t have a Christmas tree. To even get firewood on the prairie, the army traveled east all the way to Council Grove, so making a special trip for a tree was out of the question. And it didn’t matter much. After all, they’d gone to Major Adams and Louisa’s for Christmas Eve after the dinner in Darlington, and one Christmas tree was enough in Jack’s book.

But one could never have enough mistletoe.

Jack waited just inside the dining room as he heard Hattie coming. After church, she’d baked while he looked after his correspondence in the adjutant’s office. Now the house was filled with the scents of cinnamon and nutmeg, his work was complete, and the rest of Christmas Day was all his. His to share with her.

She was humming to herself as she came down the stairs. “Hark! The Herald Angels Sing,” it sounded like. Her footsteps faded as she crossed the parlor rug, then returned as she neared the passage into the dining room. He knew better than to jump out at her. She’d had enough scares to last a lifetime.

Instead, he stepped into the doorway just as she reached it. Her humming halted. She drew up, pulling a large flat bundle against her chest, then broke into a laugh. He wrapped both arms around her waist and drew her against him despite the awkward package between them.

“How surprising,” she said. “It appears you’ve caught me under the mistletoe again.”

“What a coincidence.”

“I’m not so sure. It seems like there’s a sprig of mistletoe over every doorway, support beam, or lamp.”

“Which is exactly why I haven’t allowed Major Adams or anyone else to visit. Not until I take it all down. In the meantime, you’re my only victim.”

Hattie moved the package out of the way as she smiled up at him. “A willing victim.” She tilted her head back, allowing her husband to gleefully prove his love for Christmas traditions.

Kissing his wife was enough to make Jack forget about any Christmas gifts. Well, almost enough.

“Is that a present?” he whispered as he strayed from her lips.

“Of course.” She still held it in one hand, although its safety seemed precarious.

“Is it a painting?”

Her eyes narrowed, and she pushed him away. “You aren’t supposed to guess.”

“Is it a painting of me?”

Her jaw dropped. “You are wicked, Jack Hennessey. Have you been snooping?”

He couldn’t help his devious chuckle. “It’s just deduction, dear wife. Look at the shape of the package. Of course you painted a picture. Why would it be wrapped up? Well, it is Christmas, after all. And of all the fascinating subjects you could choose from, what would you find most endearing?” He shrugged. “The answer is obvious.”

Hattie twisted, trying to pull out of his embrace while swatting at his hands, but he kept a hold of her and stumbled into the parlor as she dragged him along. She was feisty, twisting and spinning in ways that only encouraged him in his advances. When they landed on the sofa, they barely took up half the length of it. Her skirt splashed across his lap. His feet tangled with hers. With a quick adjustment, he bounced her into a cozier position and took the package from her.

“I could deduce that it’s a picture of me, but I doubt it’s flattering.”

“Why should it be flattering? My aim is honesty.”

Jack winced. “Honesty in words is admirable, but if you looked like me, you’d be more appreciative of flattery when it came to portraits.”

“Misplaced humility.” She laid her head on his shoulder. “Are you going to unwrap it or not?”

The paper crumpled beneath his hand as he reminded himself that Hattie was an excellent artist. No matter how painful the portrait looked, it would be accurate. And he had to act thrilled, even if it hurt his vanity.

But instead of a portrait of Lieutenant Jack Hennessey, it was a picture of a puny youngster standing in the doorway of the Van Buren secondary school.

Jack was captivated.

“Is this how I really looked?” Throughout his life, he hadn’t spent much time in front of mirrors. He did have a good recollection of a family photograph around that time, but his whole family looked starched and stiff in it, so he hadn’t taken it for truth.

“Exactly how you looked,” Hattie said. “Remember how your arm was white when your splint came off in the autumn? See right there, where your sleeve is rolled up. And you’re carrying the book on horses. I always thought it was funny that you read books on horses instead of riding them, but look at you now. You’re a regular . . . what is it?”

“Centaur?”

“No . . . horseman. That’s it. And the second book you’re carrying. It was poetry, right?”

Jack squinted at the spine. “That’s Sonnets from the Portuguese. That’s right. I read them when I was recovering from the broken arm. How do you remember this?”

“It’s just a picture of you I’d carried with me.”

Jack groaned. “It’s a wonder you ever talked to me at all if this is how I looked. Such a defenseless bookworm.”

“Look again,” Hattie said. “I’m learning about myself and how I paint. When I painted that picture of the outlaws, I hadn’t understood the significance of what was right before my eyes, but I was able to paint it, even so. That’s what happened here. Look at this boy. No, he’s not the strongest boy in the schoolyard, but look at that determined jaw. Look how straight and proud he walks, even past the boastful bullies. Look at the sensitivity in those brown eyes. When you see all that, it’s no surprise the boy will grow into a man like you.”

It was all there in the painting, just like she said. Jack didn’t believe her memory was accurate, not this far removed, but if he had to decide between a love who remembered everything perfectly and a love who colored the past in his favor, he knew which he’d choose.

“I love it,” he said. “Mostly because it reminds me how lucky I am to have adored you for so long. Found Treasure is an apt name.”

She purred as she snuggled into his side. “I’m glad you like it. I’m sure I’ll like my gift just as much.”

The minx. “What makes you think you’re getting anything?” But Jack had never learned how to bluff. He pulled an envelope out of his coat pocket. Hattie snatched it out of his hand and moved to the edge of the sofa, suddenly as alert as a hawk.

“There’s a bump in it,” she said as she felt along the length. “You tried to hide it by putting paper in there, but I can feel the bead. Next time you should consider wrapping it. A simple box—”

“Just open it,” he said.

She pried her finger beneath the flap and then paused. “Maybe you should keep it. It was part of the bargain.”

“I am keeping it. It was my wedding ring, and I’m never letting it go. This is just a replica. But that’s only part of the present. You didn’t even look at the papers.”

She was too busy putting on the earring, although her habit of wearing only one had grown on him. “The papers?” She nearly ripped the two sheets pulling them out of the envelope. “Tickets?” Her eyes sparkled. “Tickets to Colorado? Oh, Jack, it’s wonderful. And you’re coming with me?”

“I’ve already arranged it with Major Adams. I wouldn’t miss your first exhibition for anything.”

“My first—?” Her face went pale and her eyes filled with terror. “What are you talking about? What have you done?”

“I received a telegram from the Denver Exhibition saying that they accepted your painting of Tom Broken Arrow as part of their show. They also said that one of the board members owns a gallery, and he is interested in any other paintings you might have.”

Her hands squeezed his like a vice. “My painting was accepted? It was accepted?” She darted forward and kissed him on the mouth. “You are the most wonderful—wait! Did you say they want more paintings to display?” She pressed her hand against her heart. “More paintings? And we’re leaving in a month? Oh, my dear, what did you do to me? I’ve got to get to work. I have some sketches that are coming along nicely. A couple of them might be worthy of the canvas, but I hadn’t considered . . .”

And just like that, she was up and gone.

Jack hummed to himself as he eyed the portrait she’d left behind. Propping the picture up against the window, he smiled at the ambitious little fellow. “Don’t worry if she flits around,” he said, now that it was just the two of them. “Once she comes to her senses, she’ll see you. And when she does, she’s worth all the waiting you’ve done.”

Then, with a wink, he went upstairs to see what he could do to remind his wife that they were sharing the most wonderful Christmas ever.