Bygone Christmas Brides: Six Stories of Old-Fashioned Christmas Romance
400
Bygone Christmas Brides: Six Stories of Old-Fashioned Christmas Romance
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Overview
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781683222910 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Barbour Publishing, Incorporated |
| Publication date: | 09/01/2017 |
| Sold by: | Barnes & Noble |
| Format: | eBook |
| Pages: | 400 |
| Sales rank: | 453,044 |
| File size: | 1 MB |
About the Author
New Englander Carla Gade writes from her home amidst the rustic landscapes of Maine. With eight books in print she enjoys bringing her tales to life with historically authentic settings and characters. An avid reader, amateur genealogist, photographer, and house plan hobbyist, Carla's great love (next to her family) is historical research. Though you might find her tromping around an abandoned homestead, an old fort, or interviewing a docent at an historical museum, it's easier to connect with her online at carlaolsongade.com.
PAMELA GRIFFIN is a multi-award-winning author who fully gave her life to Christ after a rebellious young adulthood. She owes that she’s still alive today to an all-loving and forgiving God and a mother who steadfastly prayed that He would bring her wayward daughter “home.” Pamela’s main goal in writing Christian romance is to help and encourage those who do know the Lord and to plant a seed of hope in them who don’t. She loves to hear from her readers and can be reached at words_of_honey@juno.com.
Tamela Hancock Murray is a bestselling author of both fiction and nonfiction whose work was honored with an Inspirational Reader's Choice Award from RWA. Tamela and her husband of 35 years are empty nesters who live in Virginia and love being the parents of two lovely daughters. Tamela enjoys time with her extended family, traveling, reading, and appreciating her readers! Please find Tamela on Facebook, where she is probably the only Tamela Hancock Murray, and on Twitter @Tamela_Murray.
JILL STENGL is the author of numerous romance novels including Inspirational Reader’s Choice Award- and Carol Award-winning Faithful Traitor. She currently lives with her husband and two spoiled cats near Raleigh, North Carolina. Her interests include drinking huge mugs of root-beer rooibos tea, spoiling her grandchildren, and indie-publishing sweet fairy-tale retellings. Visit her website at www.jmstengl.com to see her current writing projects.
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ECPA- bestselling author Gina Welborn worked for a news radio station until she fell in love with writing romances. She serves on the American Christian Fiction Writers Foundation Board. Sharing her husband's love for the premier American sportscar, she is a founding member of the Southwest Oklahoma Corvette Club and a lifetime member of the National Corvette Museum. Gina lives with her husband, three of their five Okie-Hokie children, two rabbits, two guinea pigs, and a dog that doesn't realize rabbits and pigs are edible. Find her online at www.ginawelborn.com!
Read an Excerpt
CHAPTER 1
That's a lovely portrait, Miss Meggie-moo," Rhiannon told her little cousin. "Now, how would you like to tell me who is in it?"
The strawberry-blond child nodded and smiled. "This one's Mama" — she pointed at one stick-and-blob figure with a great deal of plum stuff smeared over it — "and this one's Papa" — this one had gray instead of the plum — "and these are we."
The "we" wore splotches of various shades over their irregular physiques, but they all shared one characteristic. None could be recognized in any way. But that might be expected when the artist was a whopping five years of age.
"You are one very talented miss," Rhiannon declared.
Meggie beamed.
Rhiannon gave the girl a one-armed hug. Gwynneth, Meggie's younger sister, lay sprawled over Rhiannon's other arm, her expression angelic despite her earlier bout of fretfulness. It seemed the baby was in the miserable process of cutting teeth, and nothing short of absolute exhaustion appeared to help soothe her.
"Are you gonna hold 'er like that all day?" demanded Dafydd, the fiery, carrot-orange-haired three-year-old. "I wanna build a fortress."
"It seems to me, young man, that time has come for your afternoon nap."
"Nooooooo ..."
The boy ran toward the nursery door, but Meggie tackled him around the ankles and the two tumbled to the floor in a wild tangle of arms, legs, and giggles.
Rhiannon laughed. Without rousing the sleeping eighteen-month-old, she stood and took the baby to her crib. She tucked a whisper-soft wool blanket around the sturdy body, ran a finger over the silky cheek, and hurried back to the free- for-all in the other room.
She clapped her hands, but the two continued in their puppylike play. A smile curved her lips. The little scamps had stolen her heart the moment she'd laid eyes on them at birth. She'd always wished for younger siblings, but the Lord hadn't blessed her parents with any other children.
And then, when she turned sixteen, her mother died of influenza. Papa had been inconsolable and Rhiannon couldn't stem her own tears, much less help him. Her father had, of course, been in no condition to care for a young lady, especially since he bore all the burden of running his mine.
Just three months before Mama went to meet her Lord in heaven, Auntie Deirdre had married. Everyone expected her and Uncle Owen to have children immediately, so it was decided that Rhiannon should live with the newlyweds as they awaited the blessed arrivals. That way, she'd be ready to help her aunt, whose health had always been considered delicate, at the appropriate time.
But the Lord didn't see fit to bless her aunt and uncle with children for another three years. During that time, Rhiannon became educated, and she and her young aunt had become the dearest of friends, almost inseparable. Then the stream of rambunctious little cousins flowed forth. Rhiannon loved every single moment she spent with the children.
But enough was enough. "Come along, you two. It's time for a nice, long nap now. Go on — to bed with you both. Cousin Rhiannon has loads to do this afternoon."
The usual grumbles followed, but Rhiannon remained firm. After a few more minutes of the expected wheedling, the children marched off to their beds. Rhiannon ran downstairs, hoping Auntie Deirdre felt well enough to have tea downstairs instead of up in bed.
She found her father's much-younger sister in the parlor, a tufted footstool under her swollen ankles.
"I'm so glad to see you here!" Rhiannon hugged the lovely blond. "Is today a better day for you?"
"The nausea isn't as fierce as it's been," Deirdre said, relief in her voice. "But these ankles — I now know quite well how a sausage feels."
"Oh, Auntie, I'm so sorry for all this."
Deirdre smiled. "Just think of the blessing at the end of my time. That is all I'll let myself consider."
"And rich blessings your little ones are, too." The pillow under Deirdre's right arm seemed flat, so Rhiannon reached down to adjust it. "That pillow doesn't look very comfortable," she said. "Let me fluff it up for you."
Deirdre smiled, Rhiannon fluffed, and the two women discussed details of the meals for the following week.
A short while later, Mrs. Llewellyn, the Wylies' housekeeper, came into the pleasant room. "'Fraid I must interrupt. We've a stranger at the door, here to see Miss Rhiannon, he says."
Rhiannon frowned. "A stranger? A man? Me?"
The dour housekeeper nodded.
"Goodness!" Deirdre exclaimed. "Who could it be?"
Mrs. Llewellyn shrugged. "Won't know if you don't go see."
Many times over the years, Rhiannon had longed to have a private chat with the sometimes insolent woman. But because the housekeeper did run the house so smoothly, she'd refrained from speaking out about the unpleasant attitude. Today, with Deirdre so beset by the troubles of pregnancy, she was again sorely tempted. She bit her tongue, however, and waited until Mrs. Llewellyn returned to her kingdom in the kitchen.
Deirdre tried to rise.
"Oh no, you don't, my dear," Rhiannon chided. "Don't even give it a thought. I'll take care of this matter myself. And it shouldn't take long. I can't imagine what anyone would want with me."
"Be careful, Rhiannon. You never know who might concoct an odd ruse with which to distract you. He may have evil motives, you know."
"I understand, Auntie, but I also know the Lord goes with me wherever I go. He'll fight my battle for me."
"If you wish, you can show the gentleman here into the parlor. There's always safety in numbers."
"If I feel the need, I surely will."
In the entry, the closed front door surprised her. Mrs. Llewellyn's blatant disdain of Rhiannon's caller made her chuckle — laughing was better than letting irritation rule. The woman did have a way about her, one Rhiannon didn't understand, much less appreciate, but she preferred to view matters in a humorous light whenever possible.
She opened the heavy wooden door. "Joseph!"
Her father's — exactly what was Joseph? Her father's secretary? Valet? Manservant? What did Joseph do?
Oh, it didn't matter, did it? "What —"
"Hello, Miss Rhiannon."
"What are you doing here in Cardiff?"
"Ahem!" He yanked off his hat and twirled the plain brown head topper in his hands by the brim. "I — ah — had business here. How are you, miss?"
Rhiannon knew all too well about Joseph's tendency to come and go — mostly go — as he wished. He sometimes left Papa in a bind at the mine office.
"I'm fine, as you can see for yourself." She couldn't get him to meet her gaze, and so she feared the worst. "Is — is Papa well? Oh, please tell me he's not — not ..."
"Goodness, Miss Rhiannon! Don't even entertain such a notion. Your papa is ... as well as can be expected."
"Joseph! Speak and tell me the truth. I beg you. You've never been one for half answers and vague ramblings. Don't start now. What is wrong with Papa?"
"Well ... Mr. Mervyn is beset by another episode of gout, miss. He is in ... some pain. Gout is a painfully miserable condition."
"Oh dear. I'm afraid I don't know much about it, Joseph. I do know Papa has these spells every so often. Is it serious?"
"Well, miss, the pain does fell him. He must take to bed since he becomes quite incapacitated by the disease."
"Incapacitated!" Rhiannon's pulse pounded in her temples. "Why didn't you send for me? Why didn't you fetch me sooner?"
Again Joseph averted his gaze. "You must know what an unassuming man your dear papa is. He would never wish to impose on you —"
"How can you say that? Papa would never impose on me. I'd consider it an honor and would love to care for him."
A strange, satisfied smile burst onto his face. "As I told him you would at each of the previous occasions. But he feels that to alert you to his medical woes would only trouble you with his misfortune. And, of course, he always mentions your fear of the mine as a reason to leave you be."
Guilt brought tears to Rhiannon's eyes. "Does he think I'd be so selfish as to put my fear before him?" A sob rose to her throat. "Oh, Joseph. Please tell me this isn't so."
For a moment, distress seemed to flit over Joseph's nondescript features. Then the slender man squared his bony shoulders and met her gaze. "He entertains no such notion, Miss Rhiannon. Still, I knew you'd want to know just how the man is faring. After all, you've always been a good Christian girl, and the dear Lord does call children to honor their parents."
"Oh, I do, I do, Joseph." She dabbed at her eyes with her lace hanky then squared her own shoulders. "My mind is made up. Even though Auntie Deirdre is in a bit of a difficult time, she does have Uncle Owen. Oh, and Mrs. Llewellyn, too, in spite of her temperament. Papa has no one."
"Ahem!" Joseph tipped his chin upward. "He does have me, miss."
"Of course, Joseph. But it's just not the same thing. I'm his daughter, and you — you're his — his ..."
"Precisely!" He tugged his lapels straight. "So what is your plan, Miss Rhiannon?"
"Goodness, Joseph! I have scarcely learned the news, and you want me to have a plan ready-made?" She shook her head. "Aside from going to his side, I'm not sure what I'll do. I suppose I'll figure it out as I go."
He didn't seem satisfied, but Rhiannon couldn't do a thing about that. Right now, she had packing to do, a delicate aunt to upset with the news about her brother, sweet children to sadden at the departure of their adult playmate, and her own comfortable routine to disrupt.
But it was all for a worthwhile cause. Papa needed her. Even if he still lived near the mouth of that murderous hole in the ground. She would have to trust God to keep underground accidents at bay. She could never bear to witness the grief and turmoil the families of the miners suffered with each loss.
And there was —
But no, she couldn't think about him.
Why did God have to let tragedies happen? They touched so much. Even the heart and hopes of a young girl — the young girl she'd been when she vowed never to return to the village. Tragedy touched even the choices she made later in life.
She feared it always would.
CHAPTER 2
Rhiannon didn't know quite what to think when she walked out of Papa's room. She'd arrived only a scant fifteen minutes earlier and had rushed to see him. She'd expected to find him wan and racked by the pain. Instead, she'd seen the same Papa she always saw, a robust, hearty man, rosy-cheeked and cheerful, if indeed sore from the gout.
He, in turn, had been stunned to see her. Happy, yes, but stunned nonetheless. She never liked to think the worst of others, but she had to wonder if Joseph had lied to her about Papa's condition. He wasn't in agony, much less on his deathbed, as Joseph's vague hints and evasiveness had suggested.
Rhiannon had found his behavior odd for the usually straightforward if not blunt man, and in light of Papa's real condition, she found it outright bizarre.
She leaned against the bedroom door. The house was familiar, and she felt as though she'd wrapped a warm, comfortable blanket around her. But the village ...
Arriving had brought back memories she'd tried hard to suppress. But she hadn't been able to do so. They'd come at her with a life all their own. As she'd ridden in the carriage, she'd tried not to look out at the cottages that filled the village. Many of them sheltered miner families, and too many of those families had lost loved ones in the mine.
That accursed hole in the ground.
Her stomach roiled just at the thought. The sound of the widows' wails, the sobs of the orphans it created, rang in her heart. How could anyone with any sense go down there? How could any woman tie herself to a man who did that kind of work day after day after day? How could anyone live with the risk?
Over all the normal sounds inside the family home, and despite its thick walls, she could still hear the pumping of the machines that made the colliery work. They emitted a relentless pulsation, and it felt to her the beats counted out the number of men whose lives it had taken, those men whose lives it had yet to take.
It wasn't loud, but rather hushed, like death itself.
"Well, hello there!"
The deep male voice startled her back from her somber thoughts. Rhiannon looked up and couldn't prevent a gasp. "Tre–Trefor?"
"Indeed. And you must be my little friend Rhiannon, all grown up."
The light in his warm brown eyes reflected more than memories of the young girl who'd tagged along behind him. She suspected her own eyes were full of appreciation for her champion and hero. He seemed to like what he saw.
To her dismay, she liked what she could see, as well. Tall and broad- shouldered, Trefor resembled the youth she remembered in the clean-cut lines of his attractive features, the curve of his smile, and the confident way he carried himself. The former, however, had been a boy. This was a man.
"Cat nab your tongue, then?" he asked, humor in his words.
"Silence surely is unusual for me, don't you think?"
"There is a truth, indeed."
His gaze never left her face, and Rhiannon felt her cheeks go hot. Her fair skin would reveal every hint of her discomfort. But there was nothing she could do about it.
Before she could respond, Trefor asked, "What would be bringing you back? I understood you'd vowed, back when you were all of sixteen, that you'd never be setting foot in the village again."
Rhiannon shrugged. "Circumstances change. Papa is ill. I felt the need to be at his side."
Trefor looked puzzled. "But this isn't his first spell of gout. And you've never troubled yourself to return before."
Her blush turned fiery. "And just who made you judge of my choices, Trefor Davies?"
"Not judging, I am. Just repeating what I've heard."
She still sensed the sting of judgment. "And what is it to you if I come or go? My father does understand me."
"We're all after understanding your fears, and everyone respects the dangers in the mine, but we cannot comprehend why you'd be leaving your father and your home. It's not as if you've ever needed to deal with the mine itself."
"Does compassion count for nothing with you? I've seen too many women and children torn to shreds by the pain of their loss. My own mother never forgot the loss of her father and brother. I cannot bear to see more of that."
Trefor's expression changed, but Rhiannon couldn't quite read what it revealed. Then he asked, "What is making this spell of gout so much different from the others? Why did you rush to your father's side this time when you didn't before?"
"No one ever bothered to let me know before. Joseph showed up at my auntie Deirdre's home — surprised me, to tell you true — told me Papa was ailing, and so here I am."
"So here you are. And will you be staying this time?"
Rhiannon couldn't contain the shudder. "Only so long as it takes for Papa to be back on his feet. Auntie Deirdre needs me in Cardiff. Her newest babe is due to arrive just after Christmas."
Trefor's lips pressed tight. "I see."
Rhiannon felt like stamping her foot, but she was no longer the young girl who'd followed him and fought against being dismissed by him and his friends. "I doubt you do see, but it's not for you to see, is it?"
He seemed ready to object but then changed his mind. "Will you be spending the Christmas holidays here at home, or will you be running away to Cardiff again?"
"Will you close down the colliery?"
"That is not what my job would be calling me to do. It's only your father who can be making that decision. But I heartily hope not."
"Why ever not? Do you want more men to die?"
Anger flared in his eyes. "Of course not, Rhiannon. But the men make a good wage in the mine. It's decent, honorable work that feeds and supports all those families. What would you be having them do if the mine were closed?"
She couldn't answer, so she chose the coward's way, and she knew she did just that. She changed the topic. "What brings you here today?"
He gave her a wry smile. "The mine. I'm after having my daily meeting with your father."
Rhiannon's stomach lurched. "So you really are a miner."
"And proud of it, Rhiannon. Don't you be forgetting that."
She really wished he'd chosen a different line of work. The interest she'd seen in his gaze matched the interest she felt. Not to mention that it brought back to life all the girlish feelings of adolescent love she'd once held for him.
She shook her head to dislodge the troublesome thoughts. "Ah — what do you do for Papa?"
"I'm his superintendent."
The groan slipped past her lips. "So you're responsible for the well-being and safety of the men."
He again shrugged. "I'm told I do a good job."
"I don't doubt it. But you're in and out of that pit."
"Daily."
"I see." The chat had gone on long enough. At least for her it had. "Well, Mr. Davies, it's been interesting to meet you again."
"Rhiannon?" he said in a soft voice. "Don't be forgetting the most important thing."
"What would that be?"
"The Lord goes with us into the mine, just as He goes with us to chapel on Sunday mornings."
"Then why would He leave anyone to die in the pit?"
He shook his head, a sad look on his face, nodded farewell, and then went into Papa's room.
A pity. Such a splendid man wasted and in danger deep in a hole in the earth.
(Continues…)
Excerpted from "Bygone Christmas Brides"
by .
Copyright © 2006 Ginny Aiken.
Excerpted by permission of Barbour Publishing, Inc.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
Table of Contents
Lost and Found,
'Tis the Season,
I Saw Three Ships,
Colleen of Erin,
A Right, Proper Christmas,
Mercy Mild,
