Love for All Seasons Page 3

  “No, I don’t,” Samantha huffed, throwing all her weight against her father’s resistant frame. “As I told you both, I’ll be fine.”

  “You’ve already discussed it with Rex?” His innocent expression set Samantha’s teeth on edge. “But you can’t go with her, lad?” he asked, turning to look at the younger man.

  “I . . . uh . . . didn’t say that, no. But . . .”

  “Oh, good. Then you can go with her.” With that seemingly settled, he finally allowed Samantha to steer him into the room. “Now you don’t have to go alone, daughter.”

  She glanced at Rex, who looked nearly as stricken as she felt. Would he refuse? He hadn’t exactly been given a choice. She considered signaling him to turn down her father’s request, but she knew it would be futile. Her father would badger them both until they eventually agreed to his scheme.

  As she watched Rex, a stoic mask replaced his expression of discomfort and hid his true thoughts from her. The realization filled her with sadness. At one time she could easily decipher his moods and opinions.

  “I can go with her, sir.” Rex’s tone held only resignation. It made her want to grab him by the shoulders and shake him until he confessed what he was really feeling. Or why he’d so willingly thrown away their future together.

  Her father, on the other hand, looked pleased enough to crow, but Rex’s agreement only brought Samantha dread. How would she make it through an entire evening with him? What would they even say to one another?

  She considered refusing or telling Rex to go by himself. Her father needed her here. But she’d already committed to making the run. Besides, she needed to prove to Rex, and to herself, that she wasn’t a petulant child or a spurned maiden. She’d loved and lost, and she was moving forward with her life. Or trying to, at least. She could survive one night, one sleigh ride.

  Still, as she helped her father back into bed and pulled the covers over his lap, she couldn’t help pleading, Please let me endure this night, Lord. I’m doing this for Papa and for our friends. So please, let me and my heart make it through intact.

  Chapter 3

  “What am I doing, Lord?” Rex muttered as he hitched the Whitefield’s new horse—or at least new to him—to the sleigh inside the warm barn.

  The prayer was a faint echo of those he’d voiced countless times during his time in the war. Those silently intoned as he sat shivering in his tent, his head in his hands. Those murmured on the battlefield in the midst of death cries from his comrades, the stench of gunpowder in his nostrils, and the cold grip of fear and adrenaline around his heart. Those whispered as he lay wounded on a hard plank table, pleading to heaven that he would keep his leg.

  The one time he hadn’t asked such a question of Heaven was when he’d written Samantha and asked her not to write him anymore.

  Rex pushed up his hat and wiped a gloved hand over his sweaty brow as he fought the painful memories. He was grateful to be alive and to still have his leg. Pushing the recollections to the back of his mind, he focused instead on double-checking the horse’s harness. It was a stalling tactic. If he stayed here long enough, maybe Mr. Whitefield would give up the idea of Rex accompanying Samantha, in this too-small sleigh, for the evening.

  Not that he didn’t want to help deliver the gifts—he hated to see the older man’s traditional Christmas Eve activity halted by illness, and Rex agreed that Samantha shouldn’t go out alone. But tonight’s outing would make keeping his promise to stay away from Samantha impossible.

  The memory of her green eyes flashing in stubbornness filled his thoughts and drew half a smile from him. She was still as pretty as ever, her long, brownish blond hair having darkened in color during his absence. Her freckles had faded somewhat too, but they hadn’t disappeared altogether—to his secret relief. He’d always liked the light brown dots scattered across her nose and cheeks.

  Frowning, he shook his head. “What am I doing?” he repeated, this time to the horse. The animal flicked its ears in his direction, then away as if it also thought Rex was foolish.

  How was he supposed to hold to his commitment to keep his distance if he had to keep looking into those deep green eyes of hers and listen to the words that fell from her pink lips?

  The tread of footsteps yanked his attention from his inner turmoil to the open doors of the barn. Samantha wobbled inside, her arms laden with the crate of jam. “I was going to come back for that,” he offered belatedly as he approached and took the box from her.

  “You don’t have to come, Rex.” She crossed her arms and regarded him warily over her brightly colored scarf. “I can handle Titus and the sleigh on my own.”

  Ignoring her, he situated the jam at the foot of the sleigh’s second seat. He wouldn’t back out now. “Do you want me to get the toy sack?”

  She huffed with irritation, a sound he hadn’t heard in years. It nearly provoked another smile from him. “All right then. I’ll get the bricks I warmed up.” With that, she exited the barn.

  Rex found two lanterns that he lit and hung on either side of the sleigh. There was a thick blanket on the tack table that he grabbed as well. Placing the quilt on the seat, he climbed in. Images of he and Samantha cozied up on the seat made him swallow hard. Tonight would surely test his resolve, at every point, to let her go and allow her to find someone less wounded in mind and spirit.

  Clucking to the horse, he guided Titus outside, where the snow still fell in large flakes. The horse tossed its head, its breath forming a cloud. Beside the porch, Rex stopped the sleigh and ducked inside to grab the sack of toys. He could hear Samantha upstairs, bidding her father good-bye.

  By the time Rex had the toys stowed beside the jam crate, Samantha had returned outside with two wrapped bricks and another blanket. “These ought to help,” she said, “at least for a while.” She set the bricks on the floor of the sleigh and sat. Spreading the two blankets over her lap, she waved for him to climb in as well. “We’ve got to get going if we want to make it to every house.”

  Seeing her bundled up and waiting for him, the snow alighting on the scarf around her head, Rex felt a pang of something. Something he hadn’t allowed himself to feel since he’d written that last letter to her. But he pushed the emotion aside, a trick he’d learned as a soldier.

  “Coming,” he said. He slipped beneath the blankets she lifted for him and took the reins. “Where to first?” He did his best to ignore the warmth of her against his side or the way bewitching wisps of hair had escaped her scarf.

  “The Hammon place,” she answered.

  Rex shot her a look. “That’s the farthest house out.”

  “Yes, but that’s the one Papa always starts with.” She pulled the blankets up higher and folded her gloved hands on top. “He says it’s better to begin with those farthest away in case the weather gets bad.”

  A good point, Rex wagered, but that also meant a long sleigh ride together, without interruptions for several miles. “Very well.”

  Digging deep inside himself for the determination to stay his course when it came to Samantha, he drove the sleigh forward.

  • • •

  Samantha stared at the trees whizzing past, the lanterns lighting the way down the snow-packed lane. Here and there she could see an answering light from one of the farms they passed by. She watched those lights as long as she could, as if they were beacons on the Great Lakes.

  Anything to keep her mind off Rex seated close beside her on the seat. And the way the snowflakes tangled in his beard, urging her to reach up and brush them both.

  Perhaps she shouldn’t have insisted they attempt the same route her father always had. Now she had to suffer through uncomfortable silence alongside the man who’d chosen to end their friendship. But like their former relationship, her once-strong feelings for him were in the past.

  In charge of her head and heart once more, Samantha exhaled a long breath, creating a puff of white in front of her face. “Remember that winter we tried to see who could breathe the bi
ggest cloud of air?”

  “Yes.” She didn’t turn, but she sensed his half smile. “I believe I won.”

  “Only because I nearly fainted from trying. If I hadn’t almost passed out . . .”

  A deep rumbled laugh escaped his lips. “I won that one fair and square, Sammie. Unlike the time we tried to see who could stand out in that snowstorm the longest.”

  The murmur of her name from his lips warmed her as much as the long-forgotten memory. She couldn’t help laughing herself, thinking of Rex dancing back and forth in the snow, his young face twisted into a grimace. “Why else do you think I plied you with cup after cup of hot chocolate before I suggested going outside?” Poor Rex hadn’t lasted more than a few minutes before he had to abandon the dare to use the outhouse. Samantha had declared herself the victor.

  “We used to give my sisters such fits,” she added, smiling fully.

  Rex chuckled. When he spoke again, though, his voice held sadness. “I was sorry to hear about your brother-in-law Jack.”

  “Thank you.” A shiver swept through Samantha, but she resisted the urge to scoot closer to Rex. Instead she tugged the blankets higher. “I don’t think there’s a family in town that wasn’t affected by the war.”

  He grunted agreement. “How’s your sister Cecilia doing?”

  “She says she’s all right. Things have been less worrisome for her since she and her children moved to her in-laws’ farm. Though she still wears mostly black.” Samantha ached to fully erase the shadows clinging to her sister. Rex appeared to carry similar shadows, and for the first time in two years, she wondered if that had anything to do with his decision to end things between them.

  She cut a glance at his face, at least what she could see beneath his hat. “Did . . . did you lose many friends in the war?” It was something she would have likely asked a long time ago, if she’d been allowed to keep writing.

  His jaw appeared to tighten, and his shoulder stiffened against hers. Tension clouded the air as thickly as their breath. She opened her mouth to take back the inquiry, but Rex spoke first. “I did . . . lose many friends.” He cleared his throat, his entire demeanor tortured. “Too many.”

  Compassion swelled inside her at his grief-stricken words, prompting her to offer him comfort. Would he allow her to give it now that they were no longer friends?

  Pushing her hesitation aside, she lifted one glove-clad hand from the cocoon of blankets and placed it on Rex’s coat sleeve. His gaze jumped from her hand to her face, his eyes wide and filled with apprehension. “I’m so sorry, Rex. No one should have to witness that.” Perhaps talking about it would help. It seemed to with Cecilia. “Will you tell me about it?”

  He tensed again and shifted his weight, breaking her hold on his arm. “No.”

  Sharp disappointment cut through Samantha as she slid her hand back beneath the blankets. She’d do well to remember things were vastly different than they’d once been between them.

  This wasn’t her childhood friend and competitor seated next to her. This was a man who no longer wanted or welcomed her friendship. Tears pricked her eyes, but she sniffed them back. Crying would only freeze her cheeks.

  Silence as heavy and deep as a snowdrift settled over them, and Samantha could think of nothing else to say to ease it. Just when she thought she might choke from the strain, she glimpsed the Hammons’ farm up ahead.

  “Looks like we’re here,” she murmured.

  When Rex stopped the sleigh, she hurried out, eager to navigate her way without his help. She grabbed two bottles of jam from the crate as Rex shouldered the toy sack. They moved in tandem to the front door.

  As they stood there, waiting for the Hammons to answer, Samantha suddenly wished this was their last stop instead of the first. Then the entire awkward evening would nearly be over rather than just beginning.

  Chapter 4

  Light and warmth flooded the porch as the Hammon family crowded around the door, bringing instant relief to the discomfort icing the air between Rex and the woman he’d once loved with all of his heart. He recognized she only wanted to help him by asking about the war, but there was nothing she could do. And he wouldn’t sully her mind by telling her what he’d seen and experienced.

  Once he started talking, he knew he wouldn’t be able to stop the tide of horror and blood that would spill from his mouth. And he couldn’t bear the thought of Samantha thinking less of him because of it. Or worse, despising him.

  “Come in, come in,” Mrs. Hammon called, waving the two of them inside. “We weren’t sure anyone was coming, what with your father being ill. But here you are.”

  “We wouldn’t think of not coming,” Samantha said with obvious sincerity.

  Mrs. Hammon’s gaze flicked from her to Rex, her curiosity evident. “You’ve brought a new helper this year. Say ‘Merry Christmas’ to Mr. Montgomery, children.”

  Rex tipped his hat to the group as the children chorused, “Merry Christmas.”

  “Here is some of his mother’s wonderful jam.” Samantha handed the jars to Mrs. Hammon. “And now that we’ve delivered those . . .” She paused, a familiar spark of teasing filling her green eyes. “I suppose we’ll be off . . .”

  She turned toward the door, but she was smiling. The Hammon children groaned in protest. With a laugh, Samantha spun around. “Maybe we have something for you too.”

  Lowering the bag to the ground, Rex stepped back to allow Samantha room to pass out the gifts. The children crowded her, their gazes alight with excitement. There were carved toys like the one in his pocket and rag dolls and a fancy lace handkerchief for the oldest Hammon daughter.

  Samantha smiled fully at each child as she presented the gifts. Even the lamplight couldn’t compare to the radiance shining on her face. She’d always been a compassionate person; it was something Rex had greatly admired in her.

  Her expression now reminded him of the night three and a half years ago, right before he’d kissed her. The trust and adoration in her gaze as she’d peered up at him had filled his chest with warmth, which had burned brighter when their lips met. He’d been so full of plans and dreams back then.

  But those dreams had crumbled and died amid the ugliness of war. The same ugliness he still felt inside him. Not for the first time since his return, he wondered why she hadn’t married in his absence or had herself a new beau. There would have been a shortage of young men during the last three years, but surely someone as lively and kind and beautiful as Samantha Whitefield would’ve been snatched up at the first opportunity.

  His gaze shifted from her and the children to the man seated by the hearth, staring into the flames. Only then did Rex realize Mr. Hammon hadn’t come to the door with the rest of his family. A crutch leaned against the man’s chair and his pant leg hung empty below his left knee. Rex knew Mr. Hammon had fought in the war—he had even seen him at a distance a time or two—but he hadn’t known the older man had been wounded.

  He recognized the look of despondency on Mr. Hammon’s face though. Rex had felt that same way more times than he could count. Nudged forward by something deep inside him, he approached the older man. “Evening, sir.”

  Mr. Hammon lifted his head, his eyes taking a moment to focus on Rex. “Evening, Montgomery.” His voice came out flat.

  Rex took a seat in the other chair by the fireplace and leaned his arms on his knees. “Feels a bit strange not being around a campfire this Christmas, listening to a bunch of smelly men sing carols.”

  “It is a bit strange,” the older man said with a smirk. He cut a look at Rex, then away. “I heard you made it home hale and whole.”

  A wave of shame threatened to overwhelm Rex. Why should his prayers to keep his leg have been granted and this man’s had not? “Don’t know that any of us came back completely hale and whole or the same as we once were,” he admitted truthfully. “I think we all left a portion of ourselves back on some battlefield down there.” He cleared his throat of the lump forming there. “And maybe we d
on’t ever get that part back.”

  Mr. Hammon regarded him fully and some of the beaten quality to his demeanor dropped away. “I ’spect you’re right, son.” He glanced at his family across the room and Rex followed suit.

  “A real nice family you’ve got there.” Rex looked back at the man, suddenly wanting to help a fellow solider if he could. “Can’t imagine what they would’ve done or felt had you not come back at all.” He stared down at his hands. “I went to visit a good friend’s farm this summer, to see his widow and four children.”

  Rex saw the fire glinting off the moisture in Mr. Hammon’s eyes. “I think she would’ve done anything—anything, sir—to have her husband back, whole or not.”

  They sat in stillness, both lost in their memories, interrupted only by the gleeful sounds of the Hammon children and the crackle of the fire. At last Mr. Hammon took up his cane. His eyes bore into Rex’s for a moment, understanding passing between them, then he rose to his feet.

  “What’s all this fuss over here?” he barked good-naturedly as he shuffled toward his family.

  Standing as well, Rex caught the tearful smile of Mrs. Hammon from across the room. “Thank you,” she mouthed. Rex nodded in acknowledgment.

  “Should we go?” he asked Samantha as he hoisted the toy sack.

  She studied him, then nodded. “Yes, we probably should.”

  A chorus of “good-bye,” “Merry Christmas,” and “thank you” followed them out the door. Rex put away the sack and joined Samantha on the front seat of the sleigh. He no longer felt as if he’d made a grave mistake by coming. His interaction with Mr. Hammon had bolstered his spirits. As he guided Titus down the lane, he couldn’t help feeling a bit eager at the thought of bringing more Christmas cheer to the next house.

  • • •

  Samantha glanced sideways at Rex, trying to puzzle out his behavior as the sleigh carried them down the road. Thankfully the earlier tension between them had disappeared. But it was more than that. The rigid quality to Rex’s shoulders and jaw had faded as well. Did it have to do with him persuading Mr. Hammon to join in the merriment? That had been a tiny Christmas miracle.