A Log Cabin Christmas (50 page)

Knowing this man wanted to court her caused her to see things, to see him, differently. Hoping her appraisal didn’t show, she collected his features—the broad shoulders, well-muscled neck, square jaw, lashes thick and straight, and a smile that made her heart bump. She’d known he was handsome, but standing this closely, knowing he would like to call upon her, that he had sized her up and found her to his liking, that heady combination took her breath away.

“Yes,” she managed to get out, gathering her scattered wits and remindingherself not to be silly. He might want to call upon her, but she had turned the offer down. Not that he knew of that yet, but he would. And her reasoning was sound. Her life had been mapped out long ago. Marry a minister, and serve God in the church. No blacksmith, not even a deacon blacksmith, had any part of her future.

“Would you like me to go with you? I could light the fire in the stove if you’re going to be there awhile. The church will be too cold for you to play the piano.”

“Thank you, but I don’t want to take you from your errand.” She motioned toward the buckets.

“No trouble. I was heading to the church anyway. Thought I might spread these ashes on the path to melt some of the snow. I’d hate to see anyone slip on the stairs.” He turned on the narrow path and headed back the way he’d come, his buckets clanking.

Beth followed in his wake. It was thoughtful of him to think of the safety of others. Very thoughtful. Too bad he wasn’t a preacher.

A
t the end of the Sunday service, Beth closed her hymnal and lowered the keyboard cover on the piano. She turned down the kerosene lamp next to the music stand before rising from the bench. Congregants stood in little knots in the aisles and amongst the pews, chatting, greeting one another, everything harmonious.

Grandpa gathered his Bible and papers and strolled toward her.

She offered her cheek for his kiss. “Wonderful sermon, Grandpa.”

“Thank you, dear. You played beautifully.” He took her arm and steered her to the back of the log church. They took up their accustomed places, side by side, shaking hands and giving each parishioner a personal greeting.

Beth loved this part of her duties, a substitute for her grandmother, who had passed away in the same epidemic that had taken her parents, leaving her an orphan and her grandpa a widower.

Mrs. Sophie Amboy tottered up, leaning hard on her cane. “Pastor, thank you for opening the Word for us today. We surely appreciate having a fine pastor like you to lead us.” She offered her gnarled hand in its fingerless lace glove. The scent of lavender drifted off her rusty-black dress. “And Beth, the music lifted my spirits. So festive. Well, I won’t keep you, but I will see you this afternoon. Looking forward to taking part in this program you’re planning. I haven’t been in a Christmas program since I was a girl.”

“I’m glad you’re looking forward to it. I’ll see you back here at 2 p.m. sharp.” She held out little hope that Sophie would be on time. She, like many of the members of the congregation, had a rather fluid take on timetables and was apt to show up late more often than not.

“Miss Sorensen.”

She jerked. Mr. Rambek stood before her. A rock lodged in her throat, and heat rushed into her cheeks. A quick glance at Grandpa told her he had yet to speak to Mr. Rambek about her refusal of his suit. Grandpa became engrossed in the story the grocer’s wife told.

“Mr. Rambek.” Beth held out her hand, and his came up, clasping it and dwarfing it between his palms. His work-roughened skin rasped against hers, warm and tingly. Beth smiled politely and withdrew her fingers.

“I’ll see you for lunch.” His brown eyes so mesmerized her she failed to take in his words. “Thank you for the invitation.”

Finally what he was saying penetrated her fascination. “What?” Her voice shot high, and her mouth fell open.

Brows bunching, he tilted his head. “Your grandfather invited me to share the noon meal with you.”

“Oh, he did?” She tore her gaze away and sought out Grandpa’s face.

Shrugging, a sheepish grin on his lined face, Grandpa stepped closer. “Didn’t I tell you? I meant to, but I guess I forgot. Must’ve had my mind focused on my sermon. No matter. Beth always makes plenty. A great little cook, she is.” Grandpa put his arm around Beth’s shoulders and hugged her.

She painted a pleasant expression on her face. Grandpa would hear about this, but not in front of the blacksmith. “Of course, Mr. Rambek. You’re most welcome. If you don’t mind, I believe I’ll head home now to make preparations. You can come with Grandpa as soon as he’s done here.”

“No, child,” Grandpa cut in. “Todd here can escort you to the cabin, and I’ll be along shortly. He can help you lift that roast from the oven. I won’t be long.”

Neatly hemmed in unless she wanted to cause a scene, Beth acquiesced. Perhaps it was better this way. Grandpa clearly hadn’t spoken with Mr. Rambek about his desire to call upon her, so it was up to her to disabuse the blacksmith’s mind that there could ever be any feelings between them.

He helped her with her coat and held her Bible for her while she tied her bonnet strings. When she went to take back her Bible, he shook his head. “I’ll carry it for you.” He held the door and took her elbow to help her down the stairs. Her boots crunched on the cinders he’d spread yesterday, and with the thin winter sun filtering through the pines, they made their way along the path to the parsonage.

With every step, she knew she should tell him. But how did one get started? Just blurt it out? Mr. Rambek, you’re welcome to lunch with us, but after that, I don’t want you to call ever again
.

Wouldn’t that sound lovely? A fist of tension pressed under her ribs, and she wished she had her Bible to hang on to, something to do with her hands. It might not sound lovely, but the man had a right to know.
Stop dillydallying, and just say it
.

“Mr. Rambek—”

“Miss Sorensen—”

They spoke at the same time, and she stopped on the trail.

“Please, go ahead, and I’d be obliged if you’d call me Todd.” He ducked under a low-hanging branch—a branch that she’d walked under with no trouble—and waited.

Her mouth went dry, and she tugged her lower lip, letting the scratch of her woolen glove distract her for a moment. Finally, she mustered her courage. “Mr. Rambek—Todd—my grandfather informed me that you asked his permission to call upon me … socially.” Warmth surged through her cheeks, further intensified by the light that leaped into his eyes. “While I am flattered, I must decline the offer.” There, it was out.

“You don’t care for me?” He tilted his head, the gleam dying from his eyes, leaving puzzlement and hurt behind.

“I don’t really know you.”

He shifted his weight from one great boot to the other and switched the Bibles to his other arm. “Then why turn down the request? You could get to know me better before deciding. That’s what courting is for, to spend enough time together to see if we would suit one another.” Thankfully, he kept his voice low so none of the people walking home around them would hear.

And while what he said sounded reasonable—and would be if she weren’t so sure of God’s calling on her life—she knew she had to stand firm. “I’m sorry, Mr.—Todd, I have my reasons.”

“Does someone else have your affection?” He crossed his arms over her Bible and his against his chest.

She blinked. “No. Not yet.”

“Then I see no valid reason why you shouldn’t allow me to call upon you. We’re both believers, of good health, near enough the same age.”

His logic made her feel rebelliously illogical. “Really, this is silly. You’ve asked to call, and I’ve declined. I would prefer not to go into why. I was trying to be polite, to break it to you as gently as possible, but I can see I must be blunt. I do not wish you to call upon me socially. I could never have tender feelings for you. You’re obviously well qualified to make someone a wonderful husband, but you will not be mine.” She turned and marched up to the parsonage door, flung it open, and closed it in his face before she remembered he was supposed to dine with them.

Pastor Sorensen was right in one respect. Beth Sorensen was a fine cook. Roasted beef and vegetables with thick, brown gravy, hearty wheat bread, and dried-apple pie with a crust so flaky it shattered when he cut it. Todd forked a portion into his mouth.

Beth held herself so stiffly he thought she might shatter like the pie crust. She picked at her food and avoided looking at him.

Pastor Sorensen alternated between amused tolerance and exasperation, smiling and frowning by turns. He kept the conversation going but had to ask Beth questions point-blank to get any response.

Todd pressed the tines of his fork into the bits of syrupy apple filling and crusty crumbs on his plate and savored the last bite. Pushing his plate back, he rubbed his stomach. “An excellent meal. Thank you for your hospitality. As a bachelor, I don’t often enjoy such fine cooking.”

Beth rose and began clearing the plates. She lifted an apron from a peg beside the washtub and tied the strings into a perky bow at the back of her tiny waist. Moving efficiently, completely at home in her kitchen, she poked the fire, poured water from the kettle over a cake of soap in the washtub, and began washing dishes.

Everything about her spoke of what a great wife and homemaker she would be. Why had she spurned him? Was she being coy? That didn’t line up with what he thought he knew of her.

Pastor Sorensen cleared his throat, jarring Todd, making him realize he’d been staring. Winking, the pastor inclined his head.

Todd grinned, a spark of hope lighting his chest for the first time since Beth had slammed the door in his face. Though her response had set him back for a while, he knew himself well enough to know he wasn’t finished yet. He loved a challenge. If Beth could just get to know him a little better, she’d see what he’d known for a long time. That they were meant for each other. If she thought she could just brush him off and he’d fade away, she had another think coming. “I’ll dry.” He scooted his chair back and plucked a towel off the counter.

Pastor Sorensen chuckled and opened his newspaper.

When Todd reached for the first wet plate, his fingers brushed hers, sending forge-hot sparks up his hand.

Beth flicked a glance up at him from under her long lashes, giving him a glimpse of the blue-green depths of her eyes. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure. Not long now until practice.” The clock on the mantel nudged past one thirty. “Seems like everyone I spoke with this morning was looking forward to the service. Are you?”

She whisked dishes through the hot water so fast he was hard-pressed to keep up. “Of course. It will provide something different for the children. I’m sure, come Christmas Eve, you’ll be surprised at what we’ve come up with.” This time her eyes looked right into his.

So, she didn’t intend for him to be part of the cast? A grin tugged at his lips. “Oh, but I won’t have to wait until Christmas Eve. I plan to be there for every practice.”

Before she could protest, Pastor Sorensen broke in. “That’s terrific, Todd. I’m sure you can help Beth in so many ways, like building the set and hangingthe decorations. She’s told me some of what she’s planned, and I have to say, it’s an ambitious undertaking. I’ve told her she might be flying too high for the time and people she’s got to work with, but with you helping her out, it’s sure to be a success.” He beamed on them over his half glasses.

Todd didn’t miss the twinkle in Pastor’s eyes, nor the exasperated sigh from Beth.

“Really, there’s no need.” Beth added more hot water to the dishpan. “I can handle the decorations, and I thought perhaps Billy Mather would build the stable for me. I’m sure you’re much too busy with the shop to volunteer for the Christmas service.”

“I’m never too busy to serve in the church. I’ve been looking forward to it. Billy can give me a hand if I need it, but it won’t be any trouble at all for me to volunteer wherever there’s a need.”

She plunged her hands into the dishwater, and a fluff of soap floated up and clung to her eyebrow. Blinking, she tried to rub it with the back of her wrist, but Todd grasped her arm.

“Hold still. You’ll get soap in your eye. Let me.” He stepped close, inhaling the scents of cinnamon and apple that clung to her. The top of her head came to about his collarbone, and the bones of her forearm were light and small. He swallowed. “You’ll have to look at me, so I can wipe that soap off.”

She turned her face upward so slowly he thought his heart would stop completely. No woman had ever affected him like Beth did. Her blue-green eyes held a challenge, but the way her breath hitched told him she wasn’t immune to his nearness. Carefully, he dabbed her brow with a dry corner of his dishcloth.

Pastor Sorensen cleared his throat, and they sprang apart. Beth handed Todd a fistful of cutlery and edged around him to put away the dry dishes. Pastor yawned and stretched. “Todd, you’ll walk Beth over to the church, won’t you? I think I’m going to take a nap.”

“Yes, sir. And I’ll see her safely home, too.” He wanted to laugh at the look on Beth’s face, as if she’d somehow been betrayed.

Her mouth was set in a straight line, and her movements were more jerky than smooth as she snagged his coat from the hook and shoved his hat into his hands. “We might as well go then. It wouldn’t do for me to be late.” She took her own coat from the peg and stepped away from him before he could offer to hold it for her.

Here’s your hat. What’s your hurry?
Yep, courting Beth Sorensen was going to be a challenge.