Christmas Day passed in a blur of cooking and feasting, and by the time they gathered around the fire that evening, Opal’s body ached from all the activity. Not to mention that she’d overstuffed herself with Dresdner stollen. An interesting recipe Mrs. S. said had been handed down through five generations of her family’s women.
But now…now was the moment she’d been preparing for. She shouldn’t be nervous. Either these people would like her gifts or they wouldn’t. She shouldn’t let their opinions be so important to her.
The Shumeisters handed out their gifts first, hers being a new apron embroidered with an elegant rose and her name. Then the doctor’s turn. He’d given her lovely writing paper and one of those new fountain pens she’d heard about before she left Riverdale. Had he ordered away for it? Very thoughtful.
Matthias motioned for her to go next, and she first pulled out the packages for the Shumeisters. Mrs. S. gushed over the gloves—a paltry gift, and it made her almost wish she’d gotten the brooch, too.
But when the dear woman wrapped Opal in a tight embrace, she murmured, “Danke, liebling. You’re the best gift I could ever have.” And that brought a smile to Opal, even through the tears that threatened again. She’d never been so emotional in her life.
Mr. S. opened his book next, and gave her such a wide grin, her heart threatened to melt right in her chest. He stepped forward and planted a kiss on her cheek, his bushy mustache tickling in a way that made him all the more dear.
“Your turn, doctor.” She handed him a package of candies—his favorite licorice—and he offered his own kiss on her cheek. Good thing the room wasn’t bright enough for them to see her blush. So much attention centered on her.
Finally, she turned to Matthias, fully aware of all three pairs of eyes watching them. He had that twinkle in his eyes, and the flickering light from the fire made the stubble on his jaw glisten.
She handed him the simple brown, paper-wrapped package. He took it, a smile curving the corners of his mouth.
His fingers looked large and a little clumsy as he found the slit and peeled back the edges of the wrapping. The green wool of the scarf peeked out.
Her gaze wandered up to his face as he lifted the gift she’d spent the last several nights knitting. Was that disappointment that flickered across his face? Maybe just her nerves imagining things.
As he fingered the fringe at the edge, he looked at her, his lips meeting in a warm smile that eased the knot in her middle. “You made this?”
She nodded, melting into the tenderness of his gaze.
At last, he shifted his focus back down to the gift again, still fingering the yarn. Then he reached for his own pile of small packages. These were wrapped in an indigo cloth that reminded her of the skirt material Mrs. S. had been working with a few weeks before.
He handed his gifts out at the same time, but Opal held her small, flat bundle while she watched the others. Mrs. S. gasped as she unfolded the cloth edges, the clatter of wood bumping against wood drawing everyone’s attention.
She held up the outline of a bird. A cookie cutter? “They’re lovely, Matthias. You carved them?” She raised another outline, this one a tree. Then a heart.
He nodded, and Opal leaned closer to see the remaining shapes in the box. The detail was exceptional.
“Sind schön. Lovely.” Mrs. S. leaned forward then and pulled Matthias close enough to kiss his cheek. “Merry Christmas, liebling.”
’Twas hard to tell in the dim light, but Matthias’s face seemed to grow a few shades ruddier.
The doctor opened his next—a leather-bound journal. Then a book for Mr. S.
Opal shot a look at Matthias and he gave a little shrug, his mouth curving up. “At least he’ll have enough to read for a while.”
Then nothing was left but for her to open her own gift from Matthias. Everyone watched as she peeled back the cloth. Inside was another layer of cloth, this one folded carefully into a small square. She could feel something hard inside it.
She shot a glance at the expectant faces around her, careful not to linger on Matthias’s. As she opened the last of the wrapping, she discovered a wooden cross rested inside, shaped exactly like the metal pendant Matthias wore that had been passed down through centuries of Björk men.
This ornament wasn’t strung on a leather thong but on a rich blue velvet that gave the necklace an air of elegance. Yet nothing could overshadow the detailed beauty of the cross, with the scrollwork on each of the arms. The beauty of the piece was enough to bring a surge of emotion to sting her eyes.
’Twas almost a perfect match to the cross he wore. Had he carved it himself? She met his gaze, seeing her answer in the raw emotion showing there. How many talents this man possessed.
“’Tis beautiful, Matthias. Exquisite.” Holding the wooden piece in her hand, she studied the detail. He must have made it from cedar wood, because the red and blonde striations added breathtaking detail to the scrollwork.
She raised her gaze to his again, trying to infuse a little bit of her heart into her words. “Thank you.”
He nodded, his eyes looking just a little hungry. As though he’d thought of her with every brush of the carving knife.
She wanted to ask him to tie it around her neck. But the others still looked on, making her too self-conscious to make the request just now. Mrs. S. would help if she asked, but it seemed only right for Matthias to fasten it on her.
So she settled back in her seat, turning a smile on the others. “’Tis been a wonderful Christmas. Each of you has made it most special.”
Doctor Howard pushed to his feet, holding his gifts to his chest. “I heartily concur. And now, I’ll bid you all good night and Fröhliche Weihnachten.”
Opal repeated the German expression for Merry Christmas along with the others. She’d picked up more German in the past months with the Shumeisters than she’d expected. Not that she could speak it very well, but she could understand most of the phrases Mrs. S. slipped into daily life.
Mr. S. rose to his feet as well, then moved to the fire and began to bank the coals, their sign the festivities had drawn to a close. Opal stood with the others, gathering her new treasures, along with the wrapping supplies. After bidding the older couple good-night, she headed toward the stairs.
She could feel the presence of Matthias behind her as she climbed, even if she couldn’t hear the steady thump of his boots. They reached the upstairs landing, and she stopped just outside his door. She’d not thought to bring a lantern up, and shadows cloaked Matthias’s face.
Shuffling sounds drifted from the doctor’s room across the hall as Matthias fiddled with the handle of his door. “Let me set these down.”
When he stepped into his room, moonlight spilled into the hallway in a swath as wide as the door frame. Matthias reappeared in the doorway, the light behind him outlining the breadth of his shoulders as his face sank into deeper shadows. Thankfully, he moved into the hallway, turning so the light brushed one side of him.
“Thank you for my scarf.” His voice was deep and a little husky.
Heat crept into her face. “’Tis not much. Hopefully it’ll help keep you warmer on the trail.”
His face seemed to pinch. “Yes, I’m sure it will.” But he said it as though the thought was painful. Had she misspoken? Maybe he was trying to decide whether he would keep up his life as a wanderer. Could he be contemplating building a house in the area? Maybe settling down...
Her pulse ratchetted up at the thought. But ’twas probably just her own longings seeking any sign. Maybe he was actually planning to leave as soon as possible. Maybe he was eager to be back on the trail.
She summoned her courage and did her best to keep the angst out of her voice. “When will you leave for the northern territory?”
His expression pinched again. It seemed her second conjecture was the correct one. “I’d rather wait ‘til the end of Yule, but I hate to delay another seven days.” He scrubbed a hand through his hair. “I’ve told myself a week won’t make any difference, but then I worry I’ll miss the one person who might actually know where she is.”
His anguish was real, that was plain from the stark honesty in his voice and the tight lines of his jaw. Her chest ached with a little of the same pain he must be feeling.
She stepped closer, resting her free hand on his chest. “Go tomorrow. Find your sister and bring her back to us.”
He placed his hand over hers, holding her there. His throat worked, but he didn’t speak. Was he still not sure?
“Are you…?” He paused. His throat worked again, the sound of his breathing touching the silence. “Would you…?” He stopped again.
If he didn’t finish his sentence, her heart might just burst through her chest.
But then, before she could realize his intent, he lowered his head and pressed his lips to hers, his mouth sweeping like a hawk for its prey. His kiss spoke of hunger. Need. A bit of desperation.
She tried to infuse a calm steadiness in her response. I’ll be here when you come back to me. If a kiss could speak, that’s what she wanted him to hear.
At last, he seemed to calm, and his actions turned sweet. Achingly sweet, and she almost lost her resolve to send him north. This man had her heart, she could no longer deny the fact.
He pulled away, hovering with the thinnest sliver of air between them as he seemed to struggle for breath. And she was doing the same.
Then he rested his forehead on hers, bringing his hand from her shoulder up to finger a lock of hair that had escaped her chignon. “I’ll leave so I can come back again. Wait for me?”
Did he have to ask? She nodded, moving both their heads as his forehead still rested against hers. His mouth curved.
Now might be her last chance to ask him. “Matthias?”
“Hmm?”
“Will you fasten my cross?”
He lifted his head and studied her for a moment. Did he feel the same way about the significance of the act as she did? Probably not. She was turning into a sentimental sap, but this mountain man wouldn’t harbor the same girlish whims.
He nodded and held out his hand. She placed the cross and ribbon in his palm, her fingers brushing against his work-worn skin.
Then she turned and tilted her chin down to give him access to her neck. She’d worn her hair up, so at least he wouldn’t have to struggle with it.
His fingers grazed her collar as he worked. When he brushed her skin, a tingle swept down her back. “My fingers are too big and clumsy. There.”
He inched back, and she turned to face him again, reaching up to finger the smooth wood and the grooves of the decoration. “The detail in your carving is remarkable. I didn’t know you had that particular talent.”
The lines of his face pulled into a smile, illuminated by the moonlight from his room. He reached up to brush her cheek. “Good night, Opal. Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas.”
He stepped back and into his room. With the shadows hiding his face, they made it impossible to see if any longing marked his expression. There was no doubt the yearning in her chest proved she was already missing him. That yearning would grow much worse when he left.
Tomorrow.
Matthias guided his horse through the laden streets of the little mining town. ’Twas a jest to call the place a town really. More like a muddy hovel with more soot-covered men than any square mile should boast.
It couldn’t be possible that his sister had lived here. Nor his great-aunt and great-uncle for that matter. Although the last missive he’d received had only mentioned Alanna and Uncle Enoch. Had Aunt Astrid passed on then?
Tents lined both sides of the street, and even Karl seemed reticent to slog through the mire and mass of filthy men. How in the world would he locate a particular person here? Some of the tent posts had handwritten signs affixed to them, and—wonder of wonders—one even had a telegraph wire connected to a high post, which fed down into the tent. Likely the most stable part of the whole flimsy place.
He headed that direction.
The black man inside appeared cleaner and more civilized than three-quarters of the throng outside the tent walls. “Yessuh.” He sat behind a wooden trestle table that looked like it might double as a plank to feed a hungry horde of men. “I knew Mistuh Björk. Nice fella, that. Too bad about his niece.”
Too bad. Matthias’s hand went to his gun belt, although ’twas instinct only. He certainly didn’t plan to use it on this man. Unless he’d hurt Alanna. “What about the niece?”
The man’s dark brows sank low over his eyes. “She got awful sick. That’s why they left.”
“What kind of sick? Do you know where they went?” So many other questions clogged his mind. What kind of woman had Alanna grown into? Was she still kind and beautiful like his eight-year-old mind remembered her? Or had she weathered into a hard, careworn hag, far older than the twenty-eight years she would be now. Or…heaven-forbid… God, please don’t let her have been forced to compromise herself. Or worse, had it forced upon her in this vice-ridden place.
The other man shrugged and glanced down at the papers on the table. “Don’t know where they went. She had the consumption, or somethin’ like it. Coughed a lot. Mistuh Björk was takin’ her some’ere she could get better.”
“Was that farther south? Or maybe to the west?” He gripped his coat to keep from grabbing the man and extracting the answer from him. ’Twas like living a dream to think he was actually talking to someone who’d known Alanna.
The man looked up, past Matthias. Staring, as though into the past. “Seems like he said somethin’ about goin’ north. Maybe some hot springs? I might be rememberin’ wrong.” The man focused back on Matthias, sharing an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry I can’t help more.”
Matthias let out a long breath. “I appreciate everything you’ve been able to tell me. One more question. The man’s wife wasn’t with them, was she? A Mrs. Astrid Björk?”
The other fellow shook his head. “No, but Mistuh Björk did mention his dear departed wife once, if memory serves.”
A lump clogged Matthias’s throat and he rubbed the back of his neck. He’d fought so much bitterness through the years toward his great-aunt and uncle for taking Alanna and leaving him with a family already overstuffed with eleven of their own children. Yet Enoch and Astrid were still family. And now his three remaining kinfolk had just slipped down to two.
“I’m sorry about that, Mistuh. Was she your ma?”
Matthias looked up at the man, seeing the empathy there. “My great-aunt. The lady with them is my sister.”
The black man nodded, lips pinching a bit. “If I think of anythin’ else, I’ll be sure an’ let you know. You got a place to stay?”
He shook his head. “Was planning to camp outside of town.”
“That might be best, but if you decide you want a roof over yer head, Curly’s is the only decent place around. You’d be layin’ yer bedroll twixt two other fellas, but at least there’s a heater. An’ Curly makes flapjacks in the mornin’s.”
“I’ll keep it in mind.” Matthias extended his hand. “I appreciate everything.”
The other man gripped his hand with a massive paw. “Glad to help.”