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DECEMBER 4, 1891
Lena didn’t turn from the sight of the receding train, standing motionless on the station platform until only she and a baggage handler remained. After taking in a slow breath, she released it even more slowly. Knowing Evan was gone for an indeterminate time accounted for only a portion of her anxiety. It was also the awareness of this approaching orbital shift in her relationship with her husband. With a child to raise, priorities must inevitably shift. More of her concern involved the question that had kept her awake for most of the night. Was she capable of raising another woman’s child as her own?
Nodding to the porter and exchanging morning greetings, Lena made her way from the station to where Evan had tied the buckskin and buggy. She ran her hand beneath the pony’s thick mane and drew another sigh. There really wasn’t any reason to hurry back to the ranch. No guests until May. No crisis with the twins. Nothing pressing on her time. In fact, this was the first time in many months she’d taken a trip to town for anything other than ranch business or to attend Sunday church services.
Lena stepped into Maddie’s bookshop to the happy tinkle of the bell announcing her. “Good morning, Mrs. Reynolds.”
“Lena, what a wonderful surprise to see you!” Maddie stepped from behind a display table with the label Fables and Fairytales. “What brings you to town?” The younger woman wrapped her arms around Lena with fervent enthusiasm that placed Lena a bit off-balance. “You cannot imagine how many times I’ve wanted to sit with you and have one of our epic conversations concerning the trials and joys of marital life. Mostly the trials, I suppose, make me desirous of a woman to woman tête-à-tête. Come in. Are you able to stay for longer than to say hello?”
“That is precisely why I stopped in to see you. I was hoping you’d have time for an early lunch with me.”
Maddie’s eyes sparkled with a glee reminding Lena of Tommy at his most mischievous moments. “I can think of absolutely nothing that could stop me.” She turned for her office. “Just let me pick up my coat.”
Clara emerged from a back room, looking concerned. “Hello, Mrs. Hartmann. Excuse me, Mrs. Reynolds, before you leave, will you sign the papers I placed on your desk this morning? The shipping orders?”
With a little moan, Maddie said, “Lena, can you give me a few minutes?”
“Of course. I didn’t exactly announce my visit, did I?”
Maddie started for her office again, calling back to her assistant, “Clara, why don’t you show Mrs. Hartmann what we’ve been up to since she was last here?”
“I’d love to.” Clara turned a radiant smile on Lena and gestured to the front window, where a curtain blocked the view to the street. “Mrs. Reynolds wanted to create a special Christmas display using Mr. Dickens’ Christmas Carol as the theme. We’ll put it all together this afternoon and then lift the curtain tomorrow morning.” She led Lena to the workroom. After unlocking the door, she turned back to Lena with a conspiratorial smile. “You mustn’t tell anyone. We want to surprise our customers.”
“I love Christmas secrets,” Lena whispered.
As she viewed the diorama assembled on the table, it was as if she’d become Gulliver, washed up on the shore of Lilliput and seeing their homes with the roofs removed. The scenes for each of Scrooge’s three ghostly visitations were presented with uncanny attention to details. Lena stepped closer to the table and bent to inspect the dollhouse-sized bed with its canopy and warming curtains. Astonished, she glanced up at Clara. “Did you do all this yourself?”
The young woman’s cheeks flushed, and she shook her head. “No,” she murmured. “Your Mr. Kincaid built most of the furniture. I made some sketches, based on the illustrated copy we have here. He took it from there.”
“This is amazing! Wonderful!” Lena marveled, she supposed, like Gulliver might have at the diminutive floor coverings, tablecloths and draperies any Victorian housewife would envy. Particularly entrancing was the scene depicting the Christmas dance in Mr. Fezziwig’s shop. “Will you have little people as well? Paper dolls perhaps?” She rather hoped Miss Webster’s answer would be in the negative, because somehow the imagination was better served by the absence of figurines. As she observed the tiny room, festooned with real greenery and scarlet ribbons, her mind supplied the dancers, she and Evan among them.
“Mrs. Reynolds thought it might be best to leave that to everyone’s imagination.” Miss Webster’s tone held a question, as though she weren’t in full agreement with her employer.
“I think that’s a brilliant decision.”
Maddie stepped up behind Clara. “Hasn’t she done a wonderful job?”
“Yes, and I’m amazed to learn that our shepherd, Mr. Kincaid, is also talented at woodworking,” Lena said. “I wonder if Evan knows this about him.”
“He came into the bookshop looking for gifts to send back home to his nieces and nephews,” Maddie said, picking up Mr. Fezziwig’s desk. “I can’t even recall how the conversation turned to dollhouses. It might have been as we were looking at some illustrations in one of the children’s books.”
“It was a book by George MacDonald,” Clara interjected. Even as she said it, she looked somewhat embarrassed by her recollection.
Maddie nodded. “That’s right. I forgot you were there. Mr. Kincaid made little boxes, rooms as they were. They were for his nieces to play with. He told us how he’d made furniture for them. It was a few days later, when Clara and I were discussing Christmas decorations for the shop, that we came upon illustrated Christmas Carol by Mr. Dickens. And we both thought of the little boxes he’d described to us.”
“But you were the one that thought of turning the window into a miniature theater set,” Clara said.
“And you’ve taken my little idea and made it a reality. Writers excel at imagining plots and characters and even settings, but we can’t bring them all to life. I could show you a considerable stack of notes I’ve made of brilliant plots for mysteries, engaging characters and dark, brooding medieval settings. But that is not the same as assembling them into something that the public can appreciate. Your talent for details and organization serve you well, Clara. There’s no need to deny it. False humility is unbecoming.”
Under the generous praise of her employer, Clara’s cheeks flushed again. “Thank you. But Mr. Kincaid created most of the furniture. I just made the sketches.”
There was something about the pleased expression on Maddie’s face that made Lena suspect she believed this partnership between Clara and Mr. Kincaid might involve more than a shared enthusiasm for craftsmanship. That was a pleasant thought to entertain, especially in the Christmas season.
“So, this is all ready to assemble in the window?” Lena asked.
“All but the mantel for Mr. Scrooge’s bedroom. Mr. Kincaid promised to bring it in today.”
Lena noted the slight change in Clara’s tone as she added the last, along with a stiffening of her shoulders. She glanced at Maddie for some sign that she was aware of the bristling reaction. But Maddie’s placid smile revealed nothing of her thoughts. Still, Lena sensed that their shepherd might be responsible in some way. Why this young woman appeared to have her ire stirred every time they mentioned his name was a mystery in need of a detective. Knowing her friend’s penchant for writing them, Lena suspected that the author already deduced the answer.