Page 21 of A Forgotten Heart (Wind River Mail-Order Brides #5)

She forced her eyes to the cornhusk when Tillie nudged her again.

“ The loss that brought us pain, That loss but made us love thee more .” His voice was low as the kids chattered around them.

Tennyson.

Their game.

“ Ever gentle, and so gracious with all his learning .”

Their eyes caught and held. A tiny, chagrined smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. He only looked away when Eli asked a question.

Elsie was left holding her breath.

She didn’t know what to do with this Nick. He seemed to be extending an olive branch, offering his friendship. But every interaction reminded her of what they’d once had.

The room was suddenly stuffy, and she dropped the cornhusk and hurried into the kitchen. She needed space.

The aroma of freshly baked cookies washed over her as she leaned against the doorframe.

Rebekah glanced over from where she was rolling dough for more cookies. “Oh, good! Elsie, do you mind pulling out the tray in the oven?”

“Of course.”

Happy for the distraction, Elsie picked up potholders.

“I can’t help but observe, Nick seems more settled when he’s with you,” Rebekah said.

Elsie slid the pan from the oven, trying to hide her shaking hands. She didn’t respond.

Rebekah placed the freshly cut cookies onto another pan. “Ed and I had a misunderstanding once. Before we were married. Back then, I’d just as soon snap at him than look at him. Now I realize we were meant to be together from the beginning.”

Elsie’s heart pinched. Why was Rebekah telling her this?

Rebekah picked up the pan with the fresh dough and held it out for Elsie to put in the oven. As Elsie took the tray, Rebekah held on as well, her expression adamant.

“Sometimes, if given a chance, beauty can come from ashes.”

Elsie didn’t move, even as Rebekah released the tray.

Beauty from ashes?

Nick’s words in the marshal’s office resounded in her head. After this, we are nothing to each other.

No, it was too late for them.

His poem had been an olive branch, but their future held nothing more than friendship.

Another six hours had passed. Almost thirty-six since Nick’s brothers had left. Too long without anyone riding back to check in.

Nick stood at the parlor window as dusk painted the horizon dark purple, his eyes scanning for any movement.

The stillness rattled him. Something was coming, but he couldn’t see it.

The house was decorated ceiling to floorboard. It should’ve felt festive, but the kids were picking up on the tension from the adults and growing restless again. They sat gathered at the long dining table after supper had been cleared.

The women had gone into the kitchen for cleanup. Pans and dishes clanked. He saw in the window’s reflection when Elsie emerged from the kitchen and joined Tillie.

He’d go out and track his brothers down if he thought it would help. Though, with his head still aching off and on, he’d likely be more hindrance than help.

Christmas isn’t the same without her.

Elsie’s words from earlier kept running through his head. Elsie had worked miracles with the kids—keeping them busy with crafts and games, noticing Ben’s and Eli’s hesitancy and comforting them. She’d jumped in wholeheartedly.

She had so much love to give. But she’d told Rebekah she’d be spending Christmas alone.

It didn’t make a lick of sense. Elsie took care of everyone else. But who took care of Elsie?

“I did not!” Eli cried. The punch he gave David, though they were sitting side by side on the bench, had some force to it.

Nick turned from the window, ready to intervene.

“Tillie just had a wonderful idea,” Elsie interrupted. “Why don’t we sing some Christmas carols?”

The words immediately threw him into a memory of their time at school—a night when a group had decided to go caroling.

Walking from house to house, he’d slowly maneuvered his way next to her in the crowd of carolers, allowing his shoulder to “accidentally” brush up against her. Once, she’d tried to teach him the tune, but his efforts had only made them both laugh until their sides ached.

Toward the end of the evening, an older couple had invited the carolers in for wassail. The fireplace had illuminated the room and his pulse had raced at the way the candlelight reflected across her face.

They’d stood next to the tree, out of sight of the other carolers, cups of wassail in their hand, talking about their hopes, their dreams, until he couldn’t help but gently tug Elsie behind the Christmas tree when no one was looking.

He’d leaned down and brushed his lips across hers.

“Merry Christmas, El-Belle.”

He’d never forget the way she’d smiled back, her heart in her eyes. “Merry Christmas, Mr. McGraw.”

Had it been the enchanting night, or was it Elsie who created the magic?

David groaned, the sound bringing Nick back to the present. “Singing?”

Tillie ignored him and pulled Elsie to stand next to the tree, now crammed with dried apples, popcorn garland, and an array of cornhusk ornaments. “Let’s sing ‘Angels We Have Heard on High.’”

Jo wandered over more slowly. “You just like singing the gloria part at the top of your lungs. Let’s sing ‘We Three Kings.’”

Elsie laughed, and its ring echoed in the recesses of Nick’s heart. “We can sing them all,” she said.

“Until bedtime,” Kaitlyn added as Nick’s three sisters-in-law joined them. She lowered herself into a chair by the fireplace.

Nick pointed to the door. “It’s time I make my rounds.”

Rebekah chuckled. Everyone knew he couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket.

But he got caught in Elsie’s gaze before his feet moved an inch. “We need your voice. You’re our only baritone.”

She remembered. He saw it in her eyes, in the bittersweet smile.

Tillie slid her small hand into his, breaking the moment. “Please, Uncle Nick. Sing with us.”

Elsie’s words echoed in his head. Your family needs more than a warrior. Maybe, in this moment, swallowing his pride and singing was what they needed.

He heaved a sigh and swung Tillie up in his good arm. She squealed.

“Only if you promise to help me sing on pitch.”

He sat in a chair facing the window, Tillie in his lap, as Elsie broke into a rendition of “Angels We Have Heard on High.”

Elsie’s voice rang out above the others, her soprano floating effortlessly. It reached out and nearly choked Nick. So beautiful.

But when they arrived at the chorus, Tillie lifted her chin and shouted the gloria with such gusto that the three boys started to snicker.

She responded by closing her eyes and singing loud enough to burst Nick’s eardrum.

A laugh bubbled up from Nick’s gut. No sense in letting Tillie have all the fun. So he joined her.

Eli wrapped his arms around his torso, laughing until he fell over on the floor. “Uncle Nick, please stop.”

Nick glanced over at Elsie.

Another woman might have been annoyed at his silly antics, but not Elsie. She rolled her eyes at him, but she was smiling. The same way she had that night long ago.

The song ended with laughter bouncing around the room.

“Sing ‘God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen,’” Jo said. “It’s Ma’s favorite.”

“It’s only Ma’s favorite if Uncle Nick doesn’t sing,” David declared.

Nick put his hand onto his chest. “Why wouldn’t you want me to sing?”

Ben leaned over the arm of Nick’s chair. “Because you really stink at it.”

Elsie pealed with laughter.

Nick pulled a face. “I happen to be a wonderful actor?—”

“Acting ain’t the same as singing,” Eli called out.

Jo doubled over with giggles.

Nick’s gaze found Elsie next to the tree, watching him. When his eyes met hers, she didn’t look away. Only stared at him with an openness that made his heart soar.

With a shy smile, she started to sing. “God rest ye merry, gentlemen, let nothing you dismay…”

Oh, her voice sent a shiver up Nick’s spine. The others joined in the carol, but Nick couldn’t force his voice to work.

How did she fit in so perfectly with his family? Almost like she was the missing piece no one knew they needed.

Joy flushed her cheeks as she took Ben’s hands and began to dance around the room. Kaitlyn started clapping, and others followed suit.

“From God our heavenly Father a blessed angel came…”

The tempo picked up speed, his heart keeping the same rhythm. Elsie danced Ben around the room faster to keep up until she huffed between words. Her arms lifted into the air with an exuberant “Hey!” at the end before she plopped backward onto the settee.

Cheers echoed around the room.

“Again!” Tillie shouted.

Elsie’s hand came to her chest. “Let me catch my breath first. How about a slow one?”

Kaitlyn lifted up the first verse of “O Come, All Ye Faithful,” and one by one, the family joined her.

Except for Elsie. Her smile dipped, a faraway expression on her face as she looked out the window. Was she thinking about when he’d whistled the tune in the clinic, no matter how poorly, while they’d huddled together to stay warm?

Or maybe her thoughts had turned to her real father. Or their time at school.

Whichever it was, an expression of sorrow passed over her face, and Nick’s breath hitched.

Really, they’d been so young in school. Both trying to make adult decisions without really seeing the whole picture.

The more he knew her, the more he understood. For the little girl who’d been abandoned, love had always been conditional. Something to earn.

Once, he had told her he would forget about her, but the truth was he’d never forgotten.

What was he doing? He couldn’t fall for her again.

He tore his gaze away. When he did, he saw Clare watching him with raised eyebrows.

He was making a fool of himself all over again.

Tillie nudged Nick with her elbow. “Come on, Uncle Nick, sing with me.”

They had moved into “O Holy Night” and were almost to the chorus. Nick inhaled, then belted out, “Fall on your knees! O hear the angel voices…”

Nick’s voice cracked on the top note, and Patch bolted up from where he’d curled by the door, releasing a long howl that overpowered every other voice in the room.

Everyone froze until Patch’s howl ended and laughter erupted.

Jo gasped for air. “Patch’s voice is even worse than Uncle Nick’s.”

Patch moved forward and nudged Nick’s leg with his nose as if to apologize. Nick scratched him behind the ears. “Take a bow, Patch.”

Patch lowered his front legs and dipped his head.

Kaitlyn pushed up from her chair. “I think it’s time for bed.”

A chorus of “no” and “not yet” rang out.

Clare must’ve also seen how exhausted Kaitlyn looked. “We’ll send them up to bed in a bit.”

Kaitlyn nodded and traipsed upstairs.

As she left, Ben asked, “How did you teach him to do that?”

Nick grabbed a handful of popcorn and helped Ben teach Patch a few basic tricks.

Elsie had distracted the other kids with some paper and pencils at the dining table, something about writing a Christmas pageant.

Once Ben heard that, he tugged Nick over to join in the fun at the table. Nick sidled up to Tillie, who was focusing hard on her paper, her tongue sticking out.

He couldn’t help but observe her shaky letters. Her handwriting was really coming along. Except for one thing.

“Your lower case d should face the other direction. Like this.” He drew it for her. Then he connected his left-hand fingers with his index finger up, making the shape of a b , then did the same in his right hand, except making a d . “Say the ABCs with me.”

When she said b he held up his left-hand b , then when she said d , he held up his d .

He waved the b he made with his left hand. “Reading left to right, b comes first, so it faces this direction. ‘ D ’ comes second, so it faces this direction.”

“Oh!” Tillie scratched a new d on her page. Then another. And another.

Nick felt a tiny prick of pride that he’d helped. “Good work.”

“How come you aren’t a teacher like Miss Elsie, Uncle Nick?”

A hot ache expanded in his stomach at the innocent question.

Elsie looked up from across the table to watch him.

“I don’t know.” The words fell like stones from his mouth.

Isaac had asked him the very same thing. The answer had felt wrong when he’d said it to his brother, and it felt wrong now.

Tillie didn’t seem to realize she’d stirred up a hornet’s nest in his thoughts. “You’re a good teacher, Uncle Nick,” she said absently, already working again.

Five years ago, when he’d been expelled, he’d thought his dream was over. Thought it was a sign his pa had been right, that schooling was a waste of time.

But what if he’d been wrong?