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The stranger on Phoebe’s porch held a large wooden box. “Mrs. Crain? I’m Eugene Henry. Mr. Newland sent me.”
The dollhouse. Phoebe stared at the box. It was the only thing she’d thought she would ever want from Spence, because it would make Maura happy. After only a month, she wanted much more from him. She wanted her own chance at happiness.
“Please bring it in, but quietly. My daughter is helping her grandmother in the kitchen, and I don’t want to attract her attention.” She led the way to her mother’s bedroom. Hopefully, Maura wouldn’t find it there. “You can leave it in that corner.”
He placed the box on the floor. “Is this where you want the other one?”
“Other one? I’m not expecting anything else.”
“I have a second box on the wagon.”
Surely she wasn’t being faced with a repetition of the cigar box and its mistaken delivery. “Whose name is on it?”
“Yours, ma’am, and your address. It’s also from Newland’s.”
Why would Spence send anything more than the dollhouse he’d committed to making for Maura, especially after she’d hurt his feelings at the river? “Yes, please bring it in here.”
She waited in the room while Mr. Henry went after the second box. When he returned, he carried a crate almost as large as the first one and set it on the floor.
“Let me get you—”
“No, ma’am. I’ve already been paid.”
He left, and she shut the front door as her mother walked out of the kitchen with Maura at her side.
“I thought I heard voices. Was someone here?”
Phoebe cut her eyes toward her daughter in warning.
Oblivious to the signal not to inquire, Maura said, “We’re making bread, and Grandma’s gonna let me punch the dough.” She fisted her little hands and punched the air.
Phoebe ran a hand over her daughter’s head. “Don’t hurt it.”
Maura cocked her head. “Can we go to see the trains?”
“Honey—”
“Pleeease, Mama. Sarah said the people at the station give children a candy cane on Christmas Eve.”
Phoebe sighed. What did it matter that they had no tree to hang it from? “After you and Grandma finish the bread, we’ll go to the station for a few minutes, but this will be the last time.”
Maura ran back to the kitchen. Her grandmother grinned and followed at a more sedate pace.
Phoebe returned to her mother’s room and closed the door. She removed the lid of the box she assumed held the dollhouse and dug through the packing material. Thankful the gift arrived in one piece, she fixed her interest on the second mysterious box with her name on the front.
It was about the same height and width as the first one. What did it hold? She glanced at the dollhouse. Of course. What was a child’s dollhouse without tiny pieces of furniture? She’d bought a miniature rattan sofa and chairs at Newland’s as a start and planned to add to the collection as she could afford it. But it would be like Spence to supply her daughter with a house full of furniture.
Phoebe pulled the cover off and set it aside. On top of the packing material was an envelope—the same envelope she had left on Spence’s desk with the payment for the dollhouse. His name had been scratched out and hers written above it. She thought she had settled the issue with him. Evidently, he didn’t agree.
The old fear reared its head and warned her against the consequences of expecting something for nothing. She chased it away and opened the envelope. It contained no money, only a sheet of paper, which she unfolded.
Dear Phoebe,
I regret many things these past days, not the least of which is how I walked away from you. Please forgive me for being another man who thought only of himself and caused you pain in the process.
Phoebe’s throat clogged. He was apologizing to her?
In my conceit, I found no reason why you could not see past my financial and social circumstances to the man who honors and esteems you in a way he esteems no other woman. Therefore, my actions proved your fears were valid. I beg you, do not let my vanity shatter the prospects for a closer bond between us.
Never.
If it helps, I should have listened to your advice on the day our carriage bogged down in the ditch. I should have depended on God, not only in my pursuit of an investor but in everything. I assure you I am learning to do so and to act on that direction—a lesson that is a long time in coming.
It is my most ardent desire that you will accept a personal apology from me when I return to Riverport on Christmas Eve.
Yours,
Spence
How could she not accept his apology when she owed him one?
P.S. I am keeping the payment for the dollhouse. No, I do not want it, but I have realized the gift is yours to give your daughter, and not mine. The second gift delivered by Mr. Henry is a different matter. It is from me to you.
A gift for her?
Phoebe dug through the second box, tossing aside straw and strewing it across her mother’s floor until she felt flat, satiny wood under her fingers. She pulled out a heavy cabinet stained a rich mahogany color and with four ball feet.
Not large enough to stand on the floor, it was perfect for a table. She opened the double doors on the front, counted ten rows of drawers two inches high, and realized the exact location he meant it to occupy. This was one of the finest sheet music cabinets she had ever seen.
Phoebe batted away the line of tears that careened down her face. Douglas had given her jewelry, flowers, candy, tickets to plays she’d never heard of. Nothing so special as this. Nothing so...her.
She pressed her hands to her head. Christmas Eve. Spence returned today. When? She reread the line in the letter, but it held no clue to the actual arrival time of the train.
Phoebe cleaned up her mother’s room and rushed into the kitchen to grab her coat. “I’ll be right back.”
Before Mama had time to voice the question carved on her face, Phoebe ran out the door and all the way to the train station.
Inside the building, she scurried up to the ticket window. “What time does the train from Chicago arrive?”
He checked his schedule. “Two ten.”
A glance at the large clock on the wall told her it was eleven thirty. That gave her time for a quick stop at Newland’s before returning home to prepare her gift for Spence.
At almost two o’clock, bundled in coats, hats, and gloves to ward off late December’s cold, the three of them left the smell of fresh-baked bread behind and walked to the train station. Phoebe carried a paper-wrapped package and yearned to rush her mother and daughter along, but they had time.
At the station, smoke from a recently arrived train filled the air. Children stood in a long line near the building as they waited to receive a hooked stick of white candy. Parents either stood with them or in groups, talking to friends.
Phoebe balked. Crowds meant a greater chance of someone saying something cruel to her or Maura. Nonetheless, they couldn’t live secluded from others, and Phoebe had tired of running. “If you want candy, you’d better get in line.”
Maura hung back, her attention on the train. She gasped and tugged on Phoebe’s hand to turn her around. “It’s him! I knew it would be him. Let’s go, Mama.”
Phoebe drew an unsteady breath. He was early. She followed Maura, butterfly wings beating inside her stomach.
***
SPENCE STEPPED OFF the train, ready to inform his parents of his trip, without revealing Clifton Lark’s secret. Even though Lark’s friend had not agreed to a partnership, the man showed a strong interest, and they would talk again.
God provided. Not Lark and not Spence.
He stretched his shoulders. The movement exposed the tightness in his muscles after sitting on the train for hours.
“It’s him! I knew it would be him. Let’s go, Mama.” Maura’s voice rose over the engine’s steam and the noise from the other passengers.
Before his delight overpowered him, Spence glanced around to be certain the child’s excitement wasn’t meant for another man.
Phoebe’s gaze latched on to his. She smiled, her stride toward him confident. His own pace quickened until they met in the middle of the station yard. His arms stiffened at his sides to keep from reaching out and pulling her toward him, from enfolding her in his arms and never letting her go.
Not here. But soon.
Maura wrapped her arms around Spence’s legs, and he picked her up. “Merry Christmas, Miss Maura.”
“Merry Christmas.” Her little arms encircled his neck and nearly choked him, but he would never complain.
“Merry Christmas, Phoebe.” About to jump out of his skin, he couldn’t go another minute without making things right between them. “I’m sorry for the way I responded to you. I promised to never let you fall, and I broke that promise.”
“Did you fall, Mama?”
“No, Miss Maura. It was...” How did he explain a mature subject to a five-year-old?
“It was Mr. Newland’s way of saying he wants to be friends, darling.” She peered up at him with an expression of trust and expectation. His insides lit with the warmth of her smile.
“That’s right.” It was too early to say he wanted something deeper and grander for them. He and Phoebe needed time to explore the extent of their feelings for one another. Her being here told him the time was coming.
Mrs. White reached for her granddaughter with misshapen fingers. “I’ll take her, Mr. Newland. While you and Phoebe talk, we’ll be in line for a candy cane.”
Standing alone with Phoebe, he restrained the tip of his shoe from toeing the ground like a girl-shy teen. A porter placed his suitcase beside him and left with an ample tip.
Spence led Phoebe to a bench near the building and sat beside her. “I spent the entire train ride going over what I would say to you, how I would apologize in person for my actions.”
“You’ve already explained everything. And the cabinet...” Phoebe breathed a sigh. “It’s beautiful, Spence. I’ll treasure it.”
“Then you read my letter?”
She glanced around, then scooted a little closer. “Would you like to hear my reply?”
“You wrote one?”
“No. But if I had, this is what it would say.” She pulled his letter from her purse and unfolded it, then turned it to the blank side and pretended to read. “My dear Spence, I also have regrets, one being that I implied you were no better than Douglas. On the contrary, your integrity and strength of character far exceeds any he could have summoned on his best day.
“What happened at the river was as much my fault as yours. Like you, God has taught me a lesson, and the learning of it was long overdue. Rather than look on the heart as He does, for years I listened to my predetermined judgments and hurt a man I’ve come to respect and esteem as I have no other.” She looked up, regret shining in her eyes. “Given the revelation of my past, it won’t be easy, but please do not let gossip and my ignorance destroy your desire for a closer bond between us.”
“Oddly enough, I can’t remember what you’re talking about.”
Phoebe laughed, then focused on the paper again. “P.S. This is my Christmas gift to you.” She handed him the package she’d been holding. “Merry Christmas.”
Spence untied the string and tore off the plain wrapping to reveal a new music book. He flipped through the pages of preprinted staffs, many of them hand-inked with musical notes. His jaw dropped a little more with each new title he read. “These are compositions you’ve written?”
“Over the years.”
His ability to read notes gave him an idea of how the first arrangement in the book might sound. As much as he wanted to search out a piano to play the piece, he tried to give the book back to her. “This is remarkable, Phoebe, but I can’t take it. It’s too valuable.”
She pushed it back at him. “You’re right. It is valuable to me, and I want you to have it. Perhaps, in the future, I’ll add to it.”
He could barely breathe, much less thank her, so he simply took her hand.
“Mama, I got it!” Maura ran up to them with a stick of candy shaped like a shepherd’s hook.
At seeing the book on Spence’s lap and the discarded paper, Mrs. White glanced from one to the other of them. A smile formed. “Are we finished here?”
Not yet ready to leave them, he said, “I’ll walk the three of you home.”
As they left the station, Maura wriggled between Spence and Phoebe. She grabbed the hand of each of them and said, “I told you, Mama. I told you he’d come for Christmas.”
Spence stood taller. There was nothing more charming than being the prince in a little girl’s fairy tale.
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Did you enjoy Unwrapping Hope? Then, you’ll want the following peek into Enduring Dreams.
The story of the Widow’s Might women continues with Claire Kingsley.
