“You must be Mercy.” A kindly plump woman circled around the counter, her salt-and-pepper hair tied sternly back into a strict, no-nonsense bun. She wore a brown dress with no adornment, but a friendly smile chased away any impression of sternness. “I can’t tell you how good it is to meet you. This has been a long time coming in my opinion. If there’s anything this one needs, it’s a mother’s guiding hand.”
“I’m not sure how guiding I’ll be, but I’ll do my best.” Mercy took the woman’s offered hand, squeezing it warmly. When she looked into those dark eyes, she saw a friend. “You must be Eberta.”
“Yes, and no matter what that man tells you, I am more than capable of running this store without him.” The elder woman arranged her pleasant face into a schoolmarm’s glare. “Yes, very capable indeed. Cole, what are you doing back so soon? I thought you were taking the rest of the day off.”
“There’s thirty or so more minutes left of the business day.” Cole closed the door with a jangle of the overhead bell, swiping snow off his hat. “It is the busy season.”
His casual shrug belied his true feelings, or so Mercy suspected. She untied her hat, snow sifting to the floor, watching the man. Here, in the lamplight, she could see things she hadn’t been able to spot in the shadowy gloam outside. The deep lines radiating from his eyes, the sadness in them, the air about him as if he’d given up on hope entirely.
She recalled what he’d written in his letters. He’d told her his heart had been broken long ago. He had only pieces of it left to give, but he would give what he had to George.
She’d taken that to mean there were no pieces left over for her. And that was fine. George was what mattered here. She wasn’t exactly sure why that made her sad.
“That man, it’s all about work with him.” Eberta waved her hand, dismissing him, in the way of a good friend. Caring warmed her voice, softened the scowl she sent him. “We’ll see if you can change that, Mercy. In my opinion, it would be an improvement.”
“So you’re telling me this man needs to change for the better?” She couldn’t help teasing, keeping her tone gentle and soft, so that perhaps he would understand. “I suppose that’s true of every man, but I’ve vowed to accept Cole as he is.”
“Bad decision,” Eberta quipped, bustling back behind the counter when a customer approached. “Don’t you think, Mrs. Frost?”
“Absolutely.” A lovely blonde lady nodded emphatically as she set her purchases on the counter. “Goodness, my Sam was a disaster when I first met him. He took a lot of training up.”
“Funny.” Cole’s face heated, turning bright red. “I seem to remember Sam was just fine to begin with.”
“A man would say that,” Mrs. Frost teased as she pulled several dollar bills from her reticule. She rolled her eyes, good-naturedly. “If only they could see themselves from a woman’s perspective. Mercy, is it? I’m Molly. So glad to meet you. Something tells me you are exactly what a certain someone needs.”
“Hey, you can say my name,” Amelia spoke up sweetly. “It doesn’t hurt my feelings. I know I’m incorrigible. Pa tells me all the time.”
“Incorrigible?” Mercy noticed the way Cole winced, and also the fond look the customer, Mrs. Frost, sent the girl. She liked the sense of community here. She liked the friendliness these people had for one another. It chased away more of her anxieties. Whatever was ahead, Cole was clearly a man others thought well of. She winked at Amelia. “No one mentioned incorrigible in their letters.”
“I did warn you there would be surprises.” Cole looked terribly uncomfortable as he shrugged off his wool, tailored coat. His green flannel shirt looked to be new, of high quality, fitted well to his muscled shoulders and granite chest. “Molly, perhaps it would be best not to point this out until after the wedding?”
“Right, what was I thinking?” Molly winked, accepted her change from Eberta and her packages. “Mercy, it’s lovely to meet you. I hope to see you again soon. Amelia, try and stay out of trouble.”
“I’m never in trouble.” Amelia grinned widely. “It all depends on how you look at it.”
“Hmm, you sound like my girls.” Molly laughed, smiled warmly at Mercy as she passed and leaned in to say something quietly to Cole. She waved at George, slipped through the door Cole opened for her and was gone, leaving them alone.
Even in the busy store full of bustling shoppers, even with their children between them, she felt alone. Lonely. Mercy sighed quietly, for this was what she had expected. It was what she knew, what her first marriage had become. Why would this relationship be any different? As if not knowing what to say, either, Cole turned to help George off with his coat, for one of his buttons had gotten stuck. She’d sewn it on too tightly when it had popped off on the train.
“Amelia,” Cole said as he worked the button free. “Why don’t you take Mercy and George to their rooms? That is, unless you want to stay here and help me in the store, George.”
George bit his bottom lip, debating. Torn between going with his mother or staying with his new father-to-be. His blue eyes met hers imploring. “Can I stay here, Ma?”
“Of course you can. You come upstairs and find me when you’re ready.” Her words felt scratchy, sounded thick and raw with the emotion she felt. A mix of gratitude and relief and sadness. In gaining this marriage, she had to let go of George just a little bit, to share him with Cole.
This was for the best, she hold herself, knowing deep in her stomach it was true. Look at the care the man took with her son. Leading him around the counter, talking to him kindly, telling the boy he was just the helper he needed. Dreams for her son, the ones that had brought her here, filled her heart. George gazed up at the man with adoration, eyes wide with wonder.
Yes, a loveless marriage was worth that, she thought to buoy herself, letting Amelia pull her away. She touched her fingertips to the sprig of mistletoe pinned to her coat collar, remembering the conductor’s kindness. Well, she did not need a kiss on Christmas. No, she wanted a happy son and a happy daughter. It was the children who mattered.
“It’s getting dark.” Amelia dropped both satchels on the landing outside the door at the top of the narrow staircase, turned the knob and burst across the threshold. Her shoes tapped a merry rhythm as she darted ahead into the twilight room. “But Eberta lit the fire for you. It’s toasty warm up here.”
“Yes, it is.” Mercy unbuttoned her coat, moving into the shadowed rooms. Her steps echoed around her. “Can I help?”
“No, I’ve got it.” A flame snapped to life and Amelia carefully lit a glass lamp on a table next to a horsehair sofa. A nice, comfortable-looking sofa. The girl carried the match to the second lamp on an identical table, careful to protect the flame. “What do you think? Eberta and I worked real hard.”
“You surely did. It’s wonderful, Amelia.” Her throat ached at the thoughtfulness. What a comfortable room. A warm wool afghan graced the back of the sofa, quilted throw pillows added color to the room and lacy doilies lent an air of elegance. Warm braided rugs made the space cozy. “Thank you. I’ve never felt more at home.”
“Eberta made all of the afghans and lacy things.” Amelia lit the second lamp, shaking out the match.
Light danced to life, flickering into the recesses of the room, showing off a small kitchen and an eating area in the corner. A doorway must lead to the bedroom. After such a long journey, sleeping on the train,