Snowflake Bride

The sting pierced him, but he tried not to let it show. Never, not once, had he caught her glancing his way. A few times, he’d spotted her in town, but she was busily chatting with her friends or running her errands and did not notice him.

Then again, he had never been alone with her, and she was fairly new to town. She’d arrived late in the school year last year. He remembered the day. How quiet she’d been, settling onto her seat in the back of the school room. She hadn’t made a sound, but he’d turned in his seat toward her, unable to stop himself. To him, she was like the first light of dawn, like the first gentle notes of a song and he’d been captivated.

“Everyone is talking about the poor economy,” he agreed. The low prices of corn and wheat this last harvest had been a disappointment to his family and a hardship to many others. He didn’t have to ask to know her family had been hard hit, too. “Did your father find work in town?”

“How did you know he was looking?” She glanced up from threading her needle. Wide, honest eyes met his with surprise. “How do you know my father?”

“He came by during the harvest, looking for work. We had already filled our positions, or I would have made sure he had a job.” He knew how fortunate his family was with their plentiful material blessings. He had learned a long time ago wealth did not equate to the goodness inside a person and that everyone was equal in God’s eyes. Having money and privilege did not make someone better than those without. God looked at the heart of a person, and he tried hard to do the same. When Jon Ballard had come to ask for employment with hat in hand, Lorenzo had seen a decent, honest, hard-working man. “I gave him a few good recommendations around town. I had hoped it helped.”

“It didn’t, but that was nice of you, Lorenzo.”

“It was no problem.” The way she said his name tugged at his heart. He couldn’t deny he was sweet on the woman, couldn’t deny he cared. He liked everything about her—the way she drew her bottom lip between her teeth when she concentrated, the care she took with everything, including the way she set the button to the shoe leather and started the first, hesitant stitch.

Snow clung to her in big, fat flakes of fragility, turning the knit hat she wore into a tiara and decorating her light, gossamer curls framing her face. Snowflakes dappled her eyelashes and cheeks until he had to fight to resist the urge to brush them away for her.

“In other words, you are in serious need of employment.” He kept his tone light but determination burned in his chest.

“Yes.” She squinted to draw her needle through the buttonhole a second time. “My brother has found work in Wyoming. Pa is considering moving there.”

“Moving?” Alarm beat through him. “Is there work for him there?”

“No, but he has the hope for it.” Her rosebud mouth downturned, she fastened all her attention on knotting her thread. “I would have to go with him.”

“I see.” His throat constricted making it hard to speak, harder to breathe. “You don’t want to go?”

Please, say no, he thought. His pulse leaped, galloping as if he’d run a mile full out. It seemed an eternity until she answered, her voice as sweet as the morning.

“I’m happy here. I wish to stay.” She bit off the thread and bent her head to re-knot it.

I wish that, too. It wasn’t exactly a prayer, he did not believe in praying for himself, so it was for her happiness he prayed. Give her the best solution, Lord, he asked. Please. He had no time to add any thoughts because a shadow appeared through the gray veil of the storm, which had grown thick, blotting out all sign of the countryside and of the lamp-lit windows of the house that should have been in sight.

Poncho gave a short neigh, already anticipating the command before it happened. Lorenzo tugged briefly on the right rein anyway as the gelding guided the sleigh neatly around the figure. A woman walked up the lane, her head covered with a hood and her coat shrouded with snow. She glanced briefly at them, but he could not recognize her in the downfall. His first inclination was to stop and offer her a ride, too, but then he wouldn’t be alone with Ruby. He felt Poncho hesitate, as if the horse was wondering why he hadn’t been pulled to a stop.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ruby, head down, intent on sewing the final button as fast as she could go. This was his one chance, his one shot to be alone with her. He hoped that she might see something in him she liked, something that might lead her to say hello to him on the street the next time they met or to smile at him across the church sanctuary on Sunday. He gave the reins a sharp snap so Poncho would keep going. Up ahead, another shadow rose out of the ever-thickening curtain as the storm closed in.

“There. Done,” Ruby said with a rush and stowed away her needle and thread. “Just in time, too. There’s the house.”

“It was good timing,” he agreed as he slowed the gelding in front of the portico. The tall, overhead roof served as a shelter from the downfall. While she leaned forward to slip on her shoe, he drank in the sight of her until his heart ached. He didn’t know why she opened a place inside of him, a deep and vulnerable room he had not known was there.

“That will have to do.” She shrugged, for a glimpse of her stocking still showed between the gap in the buttons. Her eyes had darkened a shade, perhaps with worry. She didn’t wait for him to offer his hand to help her from the sleigh but bounded out on her own.

That stung. He steeled his spine and straightened his shoulders, determined not to let the hurt show. She made a pretty picture circling around the back of the vehicle, her skirt snapping with her hurried gait. Snow sprinkled over her like powdered sugar. She couldn’t look any sweeter. His heart tugged, still opening up to her when he knew he ought to step back and respect that she didn’t feel a thing for him.

“Thank you, Lorenzo.” She stared down at her toes.

Was it his imagination, or did her soft voice warm just a tad when she said his name? The wind gusted, driving snow between them, and he couldn’t be sure. He cleared his throat, hoping to keep the emotion from his voice. “Glad I could help you out, Ruby.”

“Help me? You saved me. This way, your mother won’t see me sewing on my buttons in her entry.” She bobbed a little on her feet and lifted her eyes briefly to him. “Thank Poncho for me, too.”

“I will.” He rocked back on his heels, shocked by the impact of her gaze. Quick, gentle and timid, but his heart opened wider.

She was shy, he realized, which was different from not being interested in him. Her chin went back down, and she swept away like a waltz without music, like a song only he could hear.

Chapter Two

Ruby stared at the marble floor beneath her, where the snow melting from her shoes had left a puddle. A stern housekeeper in a black dress and crisp apron had taken her mittens, coat and hat and left her clutching her reticule by the strings and staring in wonder at her surroundings. The columns rising up to the high ceiling were marble, too, she suspected. Ornate, golden-framed paintings marched along the walls, which were wainscoted and coved and decorated with a craftsmanship she’d never seen before. She felt very plain in her best wool dress, which was new to her, being handed down from her older cousin. Very plain, indeed.

“Lucia tells me you are quite early.” A tall, lovely woman came into sight. Her sapphire-blue dress of the latest fashion rustled pleasantly as she drew near. “With this storm, I expected everyone to be a bit behind.”

“My pa has a gift for judging the weather, and he thought a storm might be coming, so I left home early.” Ruby grasped her reticule strings more tightly, wondering what she should do. Did she stand? Did she remain seated? What about the puddle beneath her shoes?

“Over an entire hour early.” Mrs. Davis smiled, and there was a hint of Lorenzo in the friendly upturned corners. She had warm eyes, too, although they were dark as her hair, which was coiled and coiffed in a beautiful sweeping-up knot. “Why don’t you come with me now, since everyone else is late? We can talk. Would you like some tea? You look as if you could use some warming up.”

“Yes, ma’am.” She stood, feeling the squish of her soles in the wetness. “But first, should I borrow something? The snow stuck in my shoe treads melted. I don’t want to make a mess.”

“Lucia will see to it. Don’t worry, dear. Come along.” Mrs. Davis gestured gently with one elegant hand. Diamonds sparkled and gold gleamed in the lamplight. “Come into the parlor.”

“Thank you.” Her interview was now? That couldn’t be good. She wasn’t prepared. She hadn’t recovered from being with Lorenzo. Her mind remained scrambled and his handsome face was all she could think of—the strong line of his shoulders, the capable way he held the reins and his kindness to her over the button disaster.

Pay attention, Ruby. She set out after Mrs. Davis. Squeak, went her right shoe. Creak, went her left. Oh, no. She stopped in her tracks but the woman ahead of her continued on and disappeared around a corner. She had to follow. Squeak, creak. Squeak, creak. She hesitated at a wide archway leading into the finest room she’d ever seen.

“Come sit across from me,” Mrs. Davis invited kindly, near to a hearth where a warm fire roared. “I hear you know my dear friend’s daughter.”

“Scarlet.” Squeak, creak. She was thankful when she reached the fringed edges of a finely woven rug. Her wet shoes were much quieter as she padded around a beautiful sofa. Squish, squish. She hesitated. Mrs. Davis was busy pouring tea from an exquisite china pot. The matching cups looked too fragile to actually drink from.

“I hear you girls went to school together.”

“Yes, although Scarlet graduated last May.” She knew the question would come sooner or later, so she might as well speak of it up front. “I haven’t graduated. I wasn’t ready.”

“Yes, I heard you did not have the chance for formal schooling before you moved to our town.” Mrs. Davis eased onto one sofa and gestured to the one across from her. “Do you like sugar, dear?”

“Please.” Her skirts were still damp from the snow, so she eased gingerly onto the edge of the cushion. She had to set her reticule down and stop her hands from shaking as she reached for the tea handed to her. Clink, clink. The cup rattled against the saucer. She didn’t know if she was still shaky with nerves over her encounter with Lorenzo or over her interview with his mother.

A little help please, Lord. She thought of her pa, who was such a good father. She thought of her brother, who worked so hard to send money home. For them.

“You must know my Lorenzo.” Mrs. Davis stirred sugar into the second cup. “You two are about the same age.”

“Yes, although we were not in the same crowd at school.” She didn’t know how to say the first time she’d ever spoken to the handsome young man had been today. He’d been terribly gallant, just as she’d always known he would be. He treated everyone that way.

She knew better than to read anything into it.

“Tell me what kind of kitchen experience you have.” The older woman settled against the cushions, ready to listen.

“None.” Already she could see failure descending. She took a small sip of the hot tea and it strengthened her. “I’ve never held a job before, but I am a hard worker. I’ve cooked and cleaned for my pa and my brother since I was small.”

“And your mother?”

“She passed away when I was born.” She tried to keep the wistfulness out of her voice, the wish for a mother she’d never known.