Page 20 of On a Midnight Clear

The wind howled around the barn , making more noise than a pack of wolves.

Noah shifted on his bedroll and pulled the blanket tighter around him. The nearby woodstove put out plenty of heat, but his mind wouldn’t settle enough to allow him to sleep.

Maybe he should go inside for that cup of tea Miss Palmer had offered. The family would be asleep by now, but she’d reminded him before he went out to the barn that she would keep a pot of tea on the cookstove all night, and he was welcome to it any time.

With that thought to fuel him, he rolled to his feet and found his boots. His fingers fumbled with the laces until they were tied tight enough to withstand the snowdrifts between here and the house.

When he stepped into the biting cold, the wind nearly stole his breath. He pulled his coat tighter around him and trudged through the snow, his boots sinking deep with each step.

At last he reached the house and pulled the latchstring they’d left out. The door opened, and he slipped into the warmth, closing the door quickly to keep out the wind. He breathed out an exhale and straightened his shoulders as he turned to check on Sam in the dim light from the hearth fire.

A figure sat beside the bed pallet. Miss Palmer.

She’d turned to face him, and weariness lined her eyes. “Mr. Bentwood.” She kept her voice soft. “I didn’t expect to see you until morning.”

Noah stretched out his cold-numbed fingers. “I couldn’t sleep. Thought I might take you up on that offer of tea, if it’s not too much trouble.”

Hope’s lips curved into a tired smile. “Of course. I’ll fetch you a cup.”

She started to get up, but he motioned for her to stay seated. Then he gestured to the still form beside her. “How is he?”

She glanced back at Sam, her brow furrowed. “His fever’s worse. I’ve been cooling his face, trying to bring his temperature down.”

Noah stepped closer, studying the driver’s flushed face in the flickering firelight. The man’s breathing was labored, each breath rattling in his chest.

A knot of worry formed in Noah’s middle. “What can I do to help?”

She glanced around, then picked up a large wooden bowl and held it out. “Would you get more snow for me?”

He took the container and made quick work of the task. When he returned to their patient, she had moved down to Sam’s feet. She motioned toward the man’s head. “Will you wrap snow in that cloth and place it on his forehead? I’m going to rub his feet to bring some of that warmth down to his limbs.”

Noah eyed the old driver’s bony appendages. Maybe he should offer to do that part and let her bathe his face. But Miss Palmer had already settled into the task and didn’t seem bothered by touching a stranger’s feet. A natural nurse, this woman.

He sat down next to the man to do as she’d directed. When he placed the snow-filled cloth over Sam’s brow, the heat rising from the man’s skin nearly burned him.

Lord , heal this man.

He glanced over at Miss Palmer, who was looking down, focused on her work.

Her dark hair had begun to escape its practical bun, and a few tendrils curled around her face.

The flickering firelight cast a warm glow on her skin, highlighting the compassion in her eyes.

Despite the weariness that lined her features, there was a strength about her that he couldn’t help but admire.

She glanced up, catching him watching her.

He worked for a casual expression. “What else can be done?”

Her gaze roamed Sam’s body, halting on his injured arm. Her lips rolled in, her expression turning uncertain. “I’ve done everything else I can. Everything I know to do.”

Noah studied the fresh bandage on Sam’s arm, the clean shirt covering his good arm and most of his abdomen. “You’ve done more than I would have been able to.” He looked up to meet her gaze. “I’m thankful you were here to help. I suppose we wait now?”

She gave a small nod.

He pushed to his feet. “Would you like a cup of tea?”

“Thank you.” Her quiet voice trailed behind him as he moved to the cookstove. The kettle sat where she’d promised, and he grabbed two mugs from the shelf.

As he carried the steaming cups, warmth seeped into his chilled fingers.

She accepted the cup from him with another “Thank you.” When she took a sip, her eyes closed briefly as the hot liquid worked its magic.

He almost smiled. Observing her was a unique pleasure.

He eased down in his previous spot and sipped his own drink. The warmth spread to his insides, and after swallowing, he released a long, slow breath.

Miss Palmer was watching him, her green eyes catching the firelight. “Thank you for your help, Mr. Bentwood. I know you must be tired after your long journey.”

He shook his head. “I actually came in because I couldn’t sleep. I’m glad to help at least a little.”

She nodded, understanding. “You’re traveling to California?”

Noah shifted his gaze to the fire, watching the flames dance. “To Sacramento. My mentor and employer, Mr. Whitmore, is Miss Whitmore’s father. I needed to return to California to meet with him, and he asked if I would escort his daughter home at the same time.”

Miss Palmer studied him over the rim of her mug. “It sounds like he has a lot of faith in you.”

“I suppose so.” He allowed a small smile.

“I first met him when I was barely more than a boy. He was traveling through our town and bought fruit from our little stand. He told me later I reminded him of himself as a youngster. He offered me an apprenticeship, taught me everything I know about business. Eventually, he sent me east to handle the business dealings on that side of the country.” It might sound like bragging to mention Mr. Whitmore’s offer to make him a partner in the business.

Best to focus on his mentor, not himself.

“He’s a man of integrity. I owe him a great deal. ”

They lapsed into silence for a moment, the only sounds the crackling of the fire and Sam’s labored breathing.

Her gaze returned to the ailing driver, her brow furrowed with concern. “I wish there was more I could do for him.”

“You’re doing everything you can. The rest is up to God.”

She glanced at him, her eyes widening a little. “You’re a man of faith?”

He nodded. “I am. My faith has seen me through many difficult times.”

“Mine as well.” She hesitated, then added softly, “Would you pray with me? For Sam?”

Warmth spread through his chest that had nothing to do with the tea. “Of course.”

They bowed their heads together, and Noah searched his heart for the right words. He asked for God’s healing touch on Sam, for strength and wisdom for him and Hope as they cared for the driver, and for safety and protection for all of them during the storm.

When he finished, Miss Palmer whispered a soft “Amen.”

They settled into a quiet more peaceful than before as they drank their tea. Even Sam’s breathing seemed to have settled. Miss Palmer’s eyelids began to droop, and a yawn slipped out that she quickly covered.

“Why don’t you get some rest?” he asked. “I can sit with him for a while.”

She looked like she might protest, but then she yawned again. “All right. But wake me if anything changes?”

He nodded. “I will.”

With a grateful smile, she rose and slipped from the room.

He added more snow to the cloth over Sam’s brow. The skin didn’t feel quite as hot this time. Thank you , Father.

There didn’t appear to be anything else he could do, so he refilled his mug and settled on the floor against the wall.

It might be a long night, but he was ready for whatever might come.

Hope placed the steaming platter of ham on the table next to the porridge, the savory smells of the morning meal filling the cozy room.

She glanced over at Mr. Thompson, still asleep on his bed pallet against the wall.

His face gleamed with sweat, but his breathing seemed steadier now, more even.

Thank the Lord his fever had lessened as the night progressed.

She turned back to the others gathered around the table—Martin and their two stranded guests. Mr. Bentwood still wore his coat, his eyes flicking to the frost-covered window. Miss Whitmore kept her hands folded in her lap, her posture poised.

“Thanks.” Martin gave Hope an appreciative nod. “This looks fine on a cold morning.”

Hope smiled at her brother’s compliment as she took her seat. “We’ll need our strength for all the Christmas preparations ahead of us. The holiday is only three days away now.” She passed the platter of ham to Mr. Bentwood.

He accepted it as he sent a glance toward one of the frost-covered windows. “The storm seems calmer this morning. Any idea when the snow’ll stop?”

Martin cleared his throat. “From the looks of it, the worst of the storm has passed. But with the snow piled so high and Sam laid up...” He shook his head, his expression grim. “I reckon travel won’t be possible until after Christmas, at the soonest.”

Mr. Bentwood’s face tightened, but he nodded and returned to his meal.

As the others finished eating and she began to clear the table, she glanced at Ellen. “Perhaps you’d like to help me string popcorn garlands for the tree? It’s one of our traditions.”

Her face brightened. “I’d be delighted. I confess, I’ve never had the opportunity.”

“You’re in for a treat.” Martin grinned at their guest. “Hope’s garlands are the prettiest in the valley. She’s got a real knack for it.”

Ellen’s lovely smile slipped out with a hint of shyness. “Well then, I shall have to watch closely and learn her technique.”

Hope fought to keep in a grin as she gathered her sewing kit and the sack of popcorn she’d popped yesterday.

Ellen had a sweet disposition, just like her brother did.

Those two would be so sweet together. “Here we are. Everything we need.” She settled in her usual rocker and tugged a comfortable armchair closer.

“Come, sit with me, Ellen. I’ll show you how it’s done. ”

Ellen joined her with a graceful rustle of skirts, her rosewater scent drifting in the air.