Page 34 of Papa's Little Bride

Epilogue

Faith

“Papa, wake up!”

He rolls over and drapes an arm around me, and I shake him harder.

“Papa, it’s Christmas morning! Wake up, wake up, wake up!”

He peeks one eye open, so briefly I almost miss it, and the corners of his mouth twitchfor a second too. I give a sigh of exasperation, because I suspect he’s been awake this whole time and is playing with me.

Well, two can play at that game.

I crawl out of bed and head to his bathroom, where I don a robe and traipse back into the bedroom, heading for the door.

“Well, I guess I’ll just go downstairs all by my lonesome,” I say with a dramatic flair. “Or maybe,someone needs a spanking for not getting up on time.” I creep back to the bed, throw the covers off him, and raise my hand, preparing to smack his backside. He rolls over and captures my hand before I manage to hit my target and promptly sits up and pulls me into his lap.

“Your bottom is the only one that gets spanked in this house, young lady.”

I giggle, then promptly melt whenhe kisses my forehead.

“Let’s get ready to go downstairs. Hmm, I wonder if Santa left you presents, or switches and coal?” He waggles his eyebrows at me.

My heart hammers in my chest. I hope he likes my present for him.

After he dresses in a dark pair of trousers and a sweater, he leads me to my bedroom and selects a frilly red dress and green stockings, insisting I’ll lookmost festive in the outfit. Once I’m all dressed, I model my holiday outfit, twirling around for him until my skirt flares up and reveals my white petticoats.

“Cute as a button.” He smiles. “Let’s go downstairs now.”

As we make our way downstairs, the smell of baking ham makes my mouth water. Mrs. Summers has already started preparing the Christmas feast. She promised I could assisther in making pumpkin pies after breakfast, and I’m excited to help with the meal. Since I’ve come to live here, I’ve been helping out in the kitchen more and more and becoming quite the chef. Twice a week, I even make dinner all by myself, much to Papa’s delight. He’s encouraged me to pursue the two things that make me happiest—cooking and painting—and provides me with all the necessary ingredientsand supplies for my culinary and artistic ventures.

We reach the sitting room, and I’m shocked by the amount of presents under the tree.

“Oh, Papa. You shouldn’t have. I only got you one thing.”

“Nonsense, Faith.” He sits on the sofa and gestures for me to pick up a present. “Go on. Open one.”

In awe, I stare at all the presents. Piles and piles of them. Boxes in allshapes and sizes, wrapped in the prettiest paper and ribbon I’ve ever seen. But instead of picking out one for myself to open, I reach for Papa’s present, which I’d carefully laid against the wall near the tree last night.

“You go first, Papa.” I hand him the long, flat package, and hold my breath.

He accepts it, his eyes shining with joy, and slides the ribbon off and tears awaythe paper.

“Faith, this is wonderful! Did you paint this yourself?”

“Do-do you really like it, Papa?” I sit on the couch next to him and gaze at the painting he’s holding. It’s a picture of us on our wedding day, standing in the sitting room next to the Christmas tree, with a view of the snow-covered street beyond the large paned window. But, to add a unique touch that hopefullywill go along with the other paintings in his house, I added several flying cars in the sky, giving the painting a historical look.

“I love it, little girl. And I love you.” He gathers me close and kisses my cheek. “Thank you.”

“I love you too, Papa. Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas, my little bride.”

THE END