A Wells Landing Christmas Page 22

  She needed to give her hair a quick detangling, then pull it back from her face and neck so she could better sleep. But there was something soothing in each stroke she took, something almost therapeutic each time she ran her fingers through the tresses in the wake of the brush.

  Tonight had been one of the best she could remember in a long time. Yes, she was still grieving over Ethan, but she was doing her best to keep all things in perspective. She loved the time she got to spend with Zeb and her grandfather. For the first time in a long time, she felt . . . normal. Like her life was where it was supposed to be. But she knew it couldn’t continue that same way. She could never have the normal that she had experienced tonight. And for several reasons. Zeb would be returning to Florida soon. He might not be able to say the words, but she saw the look in his eyes whenever anyone brought up Pinecraft. There was something there that was special to him. She didn’t believe it was a woman. Or maybe it was that she didn’t want to believe it was anything other than the place itself.

  She would have to join the church, atone for her transgressions, one way or another, and pray like anything that she could reverse the damage she had done to her reputation. The problem was, she wasn’t sure repairing her standing in the community was possible.

  You can always go to Indiana.

  She pushed that voice away. That was the last thing she wanted to do. Though she had a feeling that was exactly where her life was headed.

  She dropped the brush into her lap and scooped her long hair into a ponytail at the base of her neck. Then she tied a handkerchief around the bright tresses and pulled back her covers.

  For now, she would stay in Wells Landing and enjoy the time she had there with Dawdi and Zeb, for she knew that, like Christmas, it would pass all too soon.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Christmas morning dawned cold and bright, without a cloud in the sky. As she had done every year of her life that she could remember, Ivy raced to the window to see if by chance any snow had fallen during the night.

  But alas, it was to be yet another green Christmas.

  It wasn’t all bad. Or disappointing. She quickly dressed and straightened her handkerchief covering. She would have to change it when they went into town, but for now, at the house, it was fine. After a short trip to the bathroom and a quick brush of her teeth, she raced down the stairs.

  Someone was already up. The candles on the mantel had been lit, the smell of coffee wafted in from the kitchen, and a fire crackled merrily in the fireplace.

  A rustling sound drew her attention to the doorway leading to the kitchen.

  “Merry Christmas.” Her grandfather smiled and handed her a steaming cup of coffee.

  She took the coffee and returned his smile. “Merry Christmas.” She took a sip of the strong brew, then blew across the surface. It was a little stronger than usual, but she was beginning to get used to it. “Where’s Zeb?”

  “He’s out in the barn taking care of the chores.”

  “What?” She started toward the door. “He shouldn’t be out there.” It was Christmas, and they weren’t his chores.

  Dawdi laid a hand on her arm to stop her. “Girl, let him help you.”

  She wanted to protest. Wanted to give him all the reasons why Zeb shouldn’t be helping, starting with how she was beginning to get used to having him around and going straight down to how sad she was going to be when he finally left. And everything in between.

  “Pour me another one of these,” she said, indicating the cup of coffee. “I’ll let him help, but he’s not going to do it alone.”

  She grabbed her coat, scarf, and muck boots, then trudged out to the barn with a cup of coffee in each hand. She pushed her way inside and quickly located him working with the horses.

  He turned as he heard her approach. He smiled, and she warmed immediately. Or maybe it was the coffee.

  “Merry Christmas,” he said.

  “Merry Christmas.” She handed him one of the mugs and tried to look as if it was no big deal. This was almost as bad as waking up next to him on the couch. Bad in all the best ways.

  “I’ll be done here in a minute. You can go on back to the house.”

  “I came out to help.”

  He shook his head. “I want to do this for you.”

  She started to protest, but he took a healthy gulp of the coffee, grimacing as it slid down his throat. “What is this?” he said, effectively overshadowing whatever she had been going to say.

  “Coffee,” she said with a small frown.

  “Are you certain?” He shuddered.

  Ivy laughed. “Dawdi made it. I should have warned you. Sometimes it’s perfect, and sometimes it’s not. I think he either forgets that he’s already added the coffee and adds more or he forgets how much to add and gives it a guess.” It was just another problem for her to worry over. If he couldn’t make coffee, how much longer before he started forgetting other things? And how much longer before the times all blended into one big memory loss?

  She pushed the thought away. It was Christmas. There was no room for negative, worrisome thoughts today. Now, that would be a Christmas miracle—but one she hoped to make true.

  “Take it slow this time,” she said as Zeb raised the mug to his lips once again.

  He took another sip and winced. “Not sure that helps.”

  “Sissy,” she teased and took a big drink of her own coffee. Just to show him how it was done.

  He eyed her warily. “How do I know you didn’t water yours down before you came out here?”

  She offered him her cup. “Want to trade?”

  He shook his head, but set his coffee off to one side. He picked up the shovel and went back to work on the horse stalls.

  “Tell you what,” Ivy said. “You let me help you finish this, and I’ll make a new pot when we get back to the house.”

  “Coffee?” he asked.

  “Jah.”

  “Not jet fuel.”

  She laughed. “Nope, just plain ol’ Christmas coffee.”

  He handed her the shovel, grabbed the pitchfork, and started toward the loft’s vertical wooden ladder. “All right, then. You got yourself a deal.”

  * * *

  “It’s time to open presents,” Dawdi said once the last of the breakfast dishes had been washed and put away.

  “Just a minute, Dawdi.” Ivy used a damp rag to clean the table. The dishes might be done, but there was still work to do. Sweep the floor, wipe down the countertops, store the leftovers.

  When she and Zeb had come back into the house, she had been grinning like a crazy fool. But she couldn’t help herself. In that moment she had everything, and she knew it. How long it would last was anyone’s guess, but she was going to ride it out until the end.

  Just sitting across the table from him this morning was like a treat. Things she had dreamed about, but never thought would come to be. Not after everything that had happened.

  They had all piled into the kitchen and cooked breakfast like they were a real family. Dawdi had fried up the bacon, Zeb had set the table, and Ivy made the biscuits by her secret recipe. And as promised, she had made a fresh pot of coffee that wasn’t so hard on the taste buds.

  “Can we open the presents now?” Dawdi asked a few moments later.

  Ivy chanced a look at Zeb. His smile was barely controlled. Ivy knew what he was thinking. Dawdi was as bad as a child when it came to Christmas. But she knew he enjoyed the giving as much as the getting. Maybe even more.

  “Jah,” she said, somehow holding in her chuckles. “We can open presents now.”

  Dawdi gave a gleeful laugh and rubbed his hands together in anticipation.

  They went into the living room, where they had left their presents. Each had created their own pile next to their favorite seat. Not surprisingly, Dawdi’s was the largest.

  “Can I start?” Dawdi asked, his eyes twinkling.

  “Of course.” Ivy hid most of her smile and managed not to shake her head. She love
d when he was like this and hated that his slipping memory seemed to be robbing him of his joy as well. He had improved lately, but she feared it was just a matter of time . . . She pushed that thought away, unwilling to let it intrude on their Christmas cheer.

  He rummaged through the packages at his side, coming up with the one he wanted. “Here you go.” He handed it to Ivy. “Merry Christmas.”

  “Merry Christmas,” she returned and started to open the package. Inside was a beautiful material of the deepest purple with a slight sheen to the fabric. Ivy had never seen anything like it. At least not in Wells Landing. She looked up at her grandfather, stunned. “Where did you get this?”

  He smiled. “Your mother sent it.”

  Ivy looked back to the beautiful fabric. “She did?” Tears rose in her eyes. She had felt like her mother had forgotten all about her after she moved to Indiana. She knew in her heart that it wasn’t true, but it was hard being left behind. Even if she hadn’t wanted to go. But there in her lap was proof that her mother hadn’t forgotten about her. That her mother still cared. And that was the best present of all.

  “Now you.” She shot Zeb a pointed look, then passed him a wrapped present.

  “Me?” His eyes grew wide.

  “You didn’t think you’d be opening presents?”

  “That’s not it. Why do I have to go next?”

  She got the feeling as he unwrapped his gift that he didn’t like having all eyes on him. Too bad. She wanted to see his face when he saw what she had given him.

  With a small sigh, he accepted the package and began to unwrap it. “Thank you, Ivy.” He held up the crocheted hat and matching scarf she had made him out of dark blue yarn.

  “I wasn’t sure how long you are staying, but for while you’re here,” she said softly. While he was in Wells Landing, he would need warm things—scarves, hats, gloves—but once he went back to Florida, those would be unnecessary. And he would go back. That was one thing she was sure of.

  “Thank you,” he said again, his voice oddly choked.

  “My turn,” Dawdi exclaimed, squirming as he waited for Ivy to hand him a package to open.

  She did, and he ripped into it with childlike enthusiasm. But he stopped when he caught sight of what was inside. “Ivy.” He raised his gaze to hers.

  “You’ve been complaining about being cold.”

  He pulled the crocheted afghan from its wrapping. “Jah. But this . . .” He stopped. “When did you have time?”

  She shrugged one shoulder as if it were no big deal. She had worked on the afghan in the evenings after Dawdi had gone to bed. It had taken months to make what should have taken less than a week, but one look at his astonished face and she knew that it had all been worth it. “When you love someone, you find the time.”

  They took turns opening presents until the piles were gone. Dawdi had received a new shirt and a sweater from Ivy, as well as a calendar where he could mark his auction days from Zeb. The calendar was oversized and easier for him to read than a standard one.

  Ivy had received a copy of Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland from Zeb, along with a stack of new handkerchiefs to cover her hair when she was working and at night, and a new pair of gloves from her grandfather. But the greatest gift of all was a box containing her grandmother’s German Bible. It had been given to Mammi by her grandmother and was certainly special to the family.

  “I can’t accept this,” Ivy protested. This time the tears that threatened slipped free and slid down her cheeks. She wiped them away with the back of one hand.

  “Of course you can.” He smiled and patted her knee. “I want you to have it. Your grandmother wanted you to have it.”

  It was something she had always admired. But to have it . . . she felt she needed to make a commitment to God, to the church. She needed to ask for forgiveness. She needed to be forgiven. She needed to take the baptism classes, join the church, get her life together. Then, and maybe only then, would she be deserving. “I can’t.” She shook her head.

  He smiled and pressed the Bible toward her. “You can.”

  “Thank you,” she whispered. She didn’t feel worthy. She didn’t want to accept it, but she wasn’t going to ruin the day by arguing.

  “You’re welcome.” Dawdi returned to his seat and retrieved the last present he had stashed there. “And this is for you.” He handed it to Zeb.

  The man took it and turned it over, staring at it quizzically. “You didn’t have to get me anything.”

  “Of course not. I want you to have this.”

  “Thank you,” Zeb replied.

  “Well, come on,” Dawdi said impatiently. “Open it.”

  Almost hesitantly, Zeb started to pull the paper. It seemed to take the longest time, but finally he held a pocket knife in his hands. “Yonnie . . .” He rolled the knife between his fingers, testing its weight and balance. “I don’t know what to say.”

  “Thank you will work.”

  “This knife—”

  “—is very old,” her dawdi finished. “My grandfather gave it to me when I was about ten or so.”

  “If you’ve had it all these years, you should keep it.”

  Dawdi shook his head. “That’s the exact reason why I need to give it away.”

  The look on Zeb’s face clearly conveyed that he was confused, really confused, but he wasn’t sure how to respond. Finally he settled on “Thank you.”

  Dawdi smiled, clearly satisfied with the exchange. “You’re welcome.”

  * * *

  Zeb pulled back the shades and looked out the front window. After they had opened presents, Ivy had gone into the kitchen, made a new pot of coffee, and gotten everyone a slice of sweet potato pie. He knew what she was doing: refueling everyone so she could leave. She was anxious to go to the retirement home and see what arrangements had been made for Ethan Dallas. Zeb had tried to convince her that a simple call would be enough, but she figured no one would give her much of an answer since she wasn’t part of his family. If she went in, she could talk to the other residents, who would surely tell her everything they knew.

  But now . . .

  He let the shade fall back into place. The clear sky of early morning had turned into the gray clouds of afternoon. Now it was sleeting. No weather to be out running around in. Not unless it was absolutely necessary. He knew it was important to her, but it wasn’t a necessity. No matter what she said.

  “It’s sleeting,” he reported.

  Ivy stopped gathering up their pie dishes and flew to the window. She peered outside, then shot him an almost accusing look. As if somehow he had made it sleet so she couldn’t go into town. For a moment he thought she was going to say something, then she deflated before his eyes, crumpling under the reality.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. And he was. He hated that she had lost a friend. It seemed that she had so few these days. He was sorry that this was possibly the worst time of the year to lose a loved one. Not that any time would be ideal, but Christmas was supposed to be about joy and celebration. Not funerals and eulogies. “Maybe it’ll warm up some tomorrow, and we can go then.”

  Things like ice and snow didn’t last long in the Sooner State.

  “Maybe,” she said. But he could see the disappointment in her eyes. Suddenly he was struck with the notion that he never wanted to see her disappointed again. How many times had he seen that look? Too many. When she lost the baby, when he told her he was leaving town, today. He wanted that expression gone from her choices. But he had no idea how to make it happen.

  “What’s the matter?”

  He looked up, only then realizing that he had started staring at her shoes. “Oh. Nothing.”

  She nodded, but he could tell she didn’t believe him. If he didn’t want to tell her, she seemed to be okay with that. But he did want to tell her. He wanted to tell her how much he loved her, how much he had missed her, and how there were so many days that he wished he had never left.

  And that would get him . . .
absolutely nothing. Nothing but another one of those disappointed looks from her.

  “Let’s play a game,” he said, hoping to take her mind off Ethan Dallas and the weather.

  For a moment he thought she would tell him no, then she nodded and crossed to the china hutch. The bottom cabinets contained games of all sorts: Scrabble, dominoes, Rook cards, Uno cards, and even a machine that would shoot Uno cards at unsuspecting players. That one was always good for a laugh. “Let’s play Uno Attack,” he said.

  Ivy shot him a look. “I thought you didn’t like Uno.”

  “That one is different.” And maybe it will make you laugh.

  “You sure?”

  “Jah.” He nodded.

  Ivy retrieved the shiny red-and-black device and plunked it down on the middle of the table. Then she set the special deck of cards next to it. “Are you playing, Dawdi?”

  He waved her suggestion away with one hand. “Bah,” he said. “I think I’ll take a nap.” He pulled the footrest up to his chair and settled in for a Christmas afternoon snooze.

  “Looks like it’s just the two of us,” Zeb said.

  “Uno’s not as much fun with two people,” she pointed out.

  “Why do I feel like there’s more to it than that?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know. Hey. Why don’t you teach me the game you and Dawdi were playing the other day?”

  He shook his head. “That game is messed up.”

  “Y’ all seemed to be having a good time playing it.”

  “Jah.”

  “But?” she prompted.

  She wanted to play something. He could tell. And she didn’t care what. She simply needed to get her mind off of what had been going on the last few days.

  “We’ll play Uno,” he told her. “But only if you promise to make me some more of those Christmas cookies this week.”

  “It’ll be after Christmas,” she pointed out.

  He smiled. “It’s always a good time for Christmas cookies.”