“Ooh, finding new dresses for you is gonna be so much fun,” Amelia said, diving toward a rack of lovely winter dresses. “Hmm. George is gonna get real cold if he stands out there for much longer. Mrs. Jones, would it be all right if I got him a cup of hot chocolate?”
“Absolutely.” Cora brightened as if she liked the idea very much. “In fact, I’ll be happy to make you both a cup. Mercy, would you like some, too, or would you prefer a cup of tea?”
“Tea, please.” She took one last took in the mirror as she removed the bonnet. The Lord had answered every one of her prayers. He’d found a good husband for her and a fine father for George. They had a safe home, plenty of food, basic necessities met. They even had Howie and Polly.
I’m so thankful, Father, she prayed silently, her gaze fastened on the window and on her son. Am I wrong for wanting more?
She felt that way. She felt selfish, when as a mother her only concern should be her two children. As if heaven agreed, the sunshine chose that exact moment to dim, fading away to gray shadow. The first snowflakes fell, chunks of white plummeting straight to the ground. No-nonsense, as if driven by a sense of duty.
It felt like an answer.
* * *
“So thrilled for you, Cole.” The young Mrs. Ruby Davis beamed at him from the other side of the store’s front counter. “Eberta told me all about your upcoming marriage. Best wishes to you.”
“Thank you.” He did his best to force a smile, as he’d done throughout the afternoon whenever a customer had gushed about his good fortune. Looked like he’d best give Eberta another talking-to or she’d be unstoppable, telling any customer who would listen about his impending marriage.
He grimaced, handing over the new bride’s purchases. Happiness lighting her up, Mrs. Davis accepted the package, likely a Christmas gift for her husband, Lorenzo. She looked like the very picture of what a joyful wife should be, and it brought to the forefront all his doubts.
“Merry Christmas, Cole!” Ruby said over her shoulder on her way toward the door. “I’m looking forward to meeting your bride.”
“So am I.” A woman with a heart-shaped face, curly brown hair and compelling eyes stepped up to the counter and plunked down a bundle of wooden train tracks from the toy section. Mrs. Christina Gable, glowing from her pregnancy, radiated another kind of happiness he remembered well.
And reminded him of the man he’d become. He was aware of that a lot lately, he thought as he tore paper off the roll to wrap the purchase. The nearness he’d allowed with Mercy yesterday troubled him. It had been too close, too familiar, too everything. Frowning, he handed the package back to Christina Gable and reached for his account book.
“What a blessing a new wife will be for you,” Mrs. Gable said kindly. “You’ve been alone for so long.”
“Intentionally,” he said without thought, wincing because the truth felt so harsh.
“Broken hearts can mend,” she merely said, as if he hadn’t been rude at all. She tucked her package under her arm, understanding etched into her face. “Remember that. Maybe the best is yet to come in your life.”
“Merry Christmas,” he said with a nod, ignoring the wrenching crack of pain in his chest. Thinking of Mercy and a future with her made him hurt with the same strident, unrelenting pain of his long-ago grief. He gritted his jaw so tightly his teeth ached. That was a good thing. It distracted him from his troubles.
“That’s the last customer of the day,” Eberta announced the moment the door closed behind Mrs. Gable, and she turned the lock. “Whew, what a day we’ve had. My feet are complaining.”
“You’re welcome to quit at any time.” He scribbled Mrs. Gable’s purchase onto her account and closed the ledger. “It would be preferable to you telling everyone in this store about my wedding.”
“Why wouldn’t you want everyone to know?” Eberta asked slyly. She knew him well enough to guess why he’d been silent all day, except for necessary conversation with customers. She tapped toward him, concerned. “You’re having second thoughts, aren’t you?”
“No, not second thoughts.” He tucked the ledger into place on the back shelf. “Fifth, sixth, seventh thoughts maybe.”
“I see.” Eberta sighed heavily, her disappointment in him echoing in the store. “What about Amelia? What are you going to tell her?”
“I haven’t decided for sure.” The pain behind his ribs wrenched harder at the thought of disappointing his daughter. Of having to let go of George. The children weren’t the issue.
Mercy was.
“Well, you think long and hard before you turn away that nice woman.” Eberta’s tone held a note of understanding. She’d been his employee back then, too, stood beside him during the double funeral where they’d lowered his wife and his son into the ground.
Emotion clogged his throat and he swallowed hard, trying to force it down. But the sorrow stayed. He’d never had the strength to deal with it. The grief had been too huge, too much to handle; it would tear him apart, destroy him, leaving nothing of him.
So he coped by turning to his work. He opened the small closet door behind the counter and hauled out a broom and dustpan. “I’ll take care of cleanup. You get home before the storm worsens.”
“A little snow won’t hurt me, I’m too tough for that.” Eberta marched around the counter and stole the broom from him. Her jaw was set, but her gaze compassionate. “I insist on closing up and I won’t take no for an answer. Amelia is waiting for you. George will be there. Mercy is fixing supper.”
Oh. His step faltered. He hung his head. She’d been haunting him all day, sneaking into his thoughts, tormenting him. And that kiss. He’d let his guard down too far last night. He was in danger of letting her in. In the decade since he’d become a widower, no one—no one—had gotten this close. At a loss, he blew out a breath, fisted his hands and unfisted them.
“Thanks for all your hard work today.” The words croaked past the tightness in his throat as he headed toward the back door. The frantic urge to stay and keep working, to remain busy to delay the inevitable, overtook him, but Eberta was right. He needed to go home. He had to figure out what the right thing to do was—and he feared it wasn’t marrying Mercy.
In the back room, he shrugged into his coat, hardly noticing what he was doing, and launched out the door into the alley. Thick, busily falling chunks of snow hailed toward the ground, and he knuckled down his hat to shield his face. Mercy. He wasn’t looking forward to facing her. The sick feeling in his gut told him he already knew what he had to do.
She was young and beautiful, and regardless of what she’d agreed to, she wanted a loving marriage. She deserved that. As he trudged down the alley between buildings toward the intersecting street, snowflakes struck his face like tears. He cared about her. He couldn’t help it. Last night, talking with her, sharing his painful past, had opened up a door to that pain he could no longer close. He could not live like this day after day, with the agony of what he’d lost wringing him out over and over.
“Why, it’s Cole Matheson,” a friendly voice called out. Reverend Hadly climbed out of his sled in front of the livery stable. “I was just thinking about you and your upcoming wedding. Christmas Eve ceremonies are my favorite. There’s something special about them on such a sacred night.”
“I agree.” His throat closed up and he was barely able to squeeze out the words. Seeing the minister reminded him of the commitment he feared he couldn’t make. That failure troubled him. “I hope you are on your way home. The temperature is dropping.”
“It