A Log Cabin Christmas (34 page)

T
he snow drifted through the air.

Adie no longer thought it pretty as Derek crushed her against the rough logs.

His lips stung her neck.

She detested him.

He backed away.

She crumpled to the ground. The crunching of his boots faded.

Then she heaved.

She sat and trembled for a while before Noah arrived.

“Adie? Adie!” He rushed to her side, wrapping her in his arms. He felt so wonderful, so secure, that once her stomach was empty she cried.

He lifted her as if she were a child and carried her to the cabin. He tucked her in bed, folding the quilt around her. All the time, she sobbed, unable to stop her tears.

With the coverlet over her, he removed her high-button shoes. His respect for her modesty touched her. She wept harder. He sat beside her, holding her hand, stroking her hair.

A while passed before she’d exhausted her store of tears.

He touched her forehead. “You don’t have a fever. Do you still feel ill?”

She shook her head. Though her stomach had quit heaving, it rolled whenever Derek’s words echoed in her mind.

“Did you eat something that didn’t agree with you?”

She didn’t want to alarm him or make him worry, but she had to tell him. He needed to know.

“Derek threatened us.”

Owens. Hot anger and cold fear blasted through Noah as he stood over Adie. “What did he do to you?” He became aware of a bruise darkening her forehead.
Dear God, don’t let him have touched her
.

She sat and steadied herself. Regret coursed through him. He shouldn’t have been so harsh. He knelt beside her. “I’m sorry. It’s just that if he … I couldn’t stand it.”

“No. No. He didn’t hurt me.” The black-and-blue mark on her face belied that. “Cookie and I got the dishes done ahead of time, and I wanted to get home, so I left without you. I walked smack into Derek.”

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “He told me you needed to watch out for him, that he was coming for you. When he was finished with you, then he could have me all to himself. I think he was threatening to kill you.”

She might be right. He wasn’t afraid for himself, however. His concern lay with her. Their marriage had done nothing to halt Derek’s advances. Instead, it emboldened him.

Quinn had entrusted Noah with his beautiful, beloved daughter. She’d had two run-ins with the louse. He’d failed to protect her. What if Owens didn’t back off next time?

The picture of Owens with his hands on her blinded him with rage. She’d become important to him. A sense of comfort and a feeling of home had filled him as he’d watched her mend his shirts and darn his socks, shadows from the flickering firelight dancing across her freckle-spotted face. The gesture was personal and intimate.

She stared at him, her pupils wide in her emerald eyes.

He held her hand, rubbing small circles over the back of it. “Don’t worry about me.”

“But Derek can’t get to me unless he gets rid of you. Our marriage was a mistake. Now you’re in more danger than me.”

He remembered the emotions streaming through him when he’d discovered her in the snow, sick and sobbing. Her tears felled him. He was as helpless to stop his feelings as he was to stop a toppling pine.

He studied her. Her sunset-colored hair, her sparkling eyes, her proud chin, her soft cheeks, her gentle hands—all mesmerized him.

Far more than that, her lively, charming disposition and caring spirit captured him. She adored Cookie and worked hard to make the older man’s burden lighter.

What were these strange, tingling feelings coursing through his soul?

She cupped her hand over his whiskered cheek. “Please be careful, Noah. I couldn’t stand it if I lost you, too.”

In that instant he identified his feelings.

He loved her.

Noah ambled with Adie through the freshly fallen snow on the way back to their cabin the following night, her arm looped through his. They were joined, connected, and it felt right. He hadn’t expected love to happen, but it had. You can’t put water back in the pump.

He’d walked her to the mess hall this morning, not leaving until Cookie had arrived. Before breakfast, he’d reported last night’s incident to Mr. Larsen. His boss had claimed he could do nothing.

Nothing.

No one had witnessed last night’s exchange. Derek would deny it. Mr. Larsen warned him to be extra vigilant the next few days.

He kept his eye on Owens during work, barely caging his rage. He stayed in the dining hall after supper, helping her, and now walking her home.

His newly discovered love grew. He wanted to learn everything about her. Maybe she would trust him enough someday to open up. He wanted to woo her.

When he’d hung up her coat last night after she’d slept, he’d tucked her mittens into her pockets. A crinkling had come from one, and he’d felt a piece of paper. Had Owens slipped her a threatening note? He’d retrieved it. Before him, sketched in pencil, had been a little log cabin. She must have drawn it herself. He’d held his breath as he stared at the beautiful likeness. The proportions had been perfect, the details amazing. She’d included knots in the trunks and traced each chimney rock.

He twirled his mustache as they walked along, wanting to ask her about it, but she yawned. “I’m so tired. You must be exhausted, doing my chores after logging all day.”

He stifled a yawn and chuckled. “Guess I am. Maybe we should have devotions and head for bed.” The drawing could wait.

Once at the chilly cabin, they settled in for Bible reading. He chose Psalm 91. He wanted to reassure Adie—and himself—that the Lord watched over them.

“‘He that dwelleth in the secret place of the most High shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty. I will say of the Lord, He is my refuge and my fortress: my God; in him will I trust. Surely he shall deliver thee from the snare of the fowler, and from the noisome pestilence. He shall cover thee with his feathers, and under his wings shalt thou trust: his truth shall be thy shield and buckler.’”

He peered at her. Tears ran in rivulets down her pale cheeks. He bolted from his chair, flying to her side, grasping her hands. “What’s the matter? Did Derek threaten you again?”

Adie shook her head, unable to turn off her tears for the second night in a row.

She’d never been one to cry, but the words Noah read tonight probed all her pain. Ever since Mama had died, and then Daddy, she’d had difficulty reconcilingthe idea of a loving God with the things happening in her life. Why did He leave her alone in the world? Why did He allow Derek to threaten her and force her to marry a man she’d spoken less than a dozen words to? In this passage, God spoke to her. After all these years, He had a message for her.

“Read it again.”

He returned to his chair and traced his finger over the page. “‘And under his wings shalt thou trust.’ “She stopped him.

“Under his wings.” The concept drew her back to sunny childhood days. Daddy had bought Mama laying hens as a birthday surprise. At first they hadn’t collected many eggs. They’d allowed some to hatch to increase their flock. She’d loved to watch the fluffy chicks scurry about the coop. When she’d bend to scoop some into her apron, they’d scatter and dart under the hens’ wings. Their mothers protected them from Adie’s chubby, too-tight grasp.

Was God like that? Did He protect her like the hens protected their chicks? Another memory bombarded her—their log cabin, alone in the Big Woods. No matter how fierce the winter winds had howled, her family had remained snug and secure.

“Is that what God is like? Like the walls of a log cabin keeping out the snow and the predators?”

His eyes shone in the lamplight like melted chocolate. “Yes, I suppose He’s as dependable as these four walls. That’s a beautiful idea. So perfect. We need to trust with a childlike trust that God will protect us.”

She wanted to believe him more than she had wanted to believe in fairy princesses and handsome knights when she was young. “If only I could.”

Noah lay in bed and stared into the darkness. Adie had yet to open up to him, but after tonight he held out hope that perhaps he’d thawed the tiniest bit of her barrier. To get her to confide in him might take a long, long time. Noah would wait. Love demanded patience. One wrong word might send her skittering away forever.

His plan to win her heart would commence, though. And he knew the perfect Christmas gift for his wife.

A
die turned the bread dough, dug in the heels of her hands, stretched away, gave it a quarter turn, and dug in again. She loved to knead. The rocking lulled her, pulling her into her dreams. She imagined firelit shadows on a log wall and a family, happy, laughing, loving. Turning the dough, the dream changed, new shapes appearing.

Two heads, bent over a book, one lean body much taller.

The dreams faded, and her musings wandered to Noah. Gentleness tinged his touch when he’d tended to her after the run-in with Derek. His arm around her ill body had lent her peace and comfort. It had been right that he was there. She’d seen Daddy embrace Mama much the same way when she’d felt sick or had been upset.

When he’d scooped her up and carried her home, his beating heart had knocked against her ribs. They connected. They shared the same fear and pain and formed a marriage union. That circumstance linked them forever.

Adie rounded the dough and patted it. Smooth as a baby’s bottom. She divided it into four pieces, shaped them into loaves, set them in pans, covered them with towels, and pushed them to the back of the counter to rise.

She wiped her flour-coated hands on her big apron.

After Noah had laid her in bed the other night, he’d clucked over her like a mother hen.

There appeared that hen image again. This time Noah was the hen, removing her shoes, tucking her into bed, watching over her, protecting her. If she had both God and Noah shielding her, then why did Derek continue to bother her? If God took care of her like He said He did in that psalm, why did she find herself in this situation?

She turned toward the pantry to get flour for pies. Distracted by her contemplations, she rammed into a body. She jumped.

Derek!

Gnarled fingers clasped her forearms. “Whoa, there!”

It was Cookie. She told her heart it could start beating again.

“You’re ‘bout as skittish as that colt I bought for my Jane one year. He’d eye her, watching, wary, and when she’d get close to him, he’d back up in his stall so far I was afraid he’d kick himself a hole in the wall and take off for the pasture.”

“I’m sorry. Did I hurt you?”

The wizened man released his grip and examined himself. “Looks like I’m pretty much in one piece. When you’re my age, that’s a mighty good thing to say.”

She giggled. Cookie had a way of turning on the sunshine. He watched out for her, too. Between him and Noah and God, Derek shouldn’t be a problem.

But he was.

“Now you’ve gone and gotten sad looking. What’s troubling you?”

Would he understand everything happening inside her soul? “I have so many things whipping around my brain, I wouldn’t know where to start.” Her life felt like river rapids, running over rocks, redirecting course at a moment’s notice.

“Things been changing for you an awful lot. That’s enough to upset anyone. But you want to know a secret?”

She brightened and leaned near so he could whisper in her ear. She loved secrets. As a schoolgirl, her classmates had confided their deepest and darkest desires because they knew she’d never tell. “Go ahead.”

“Noah loves you.”

She hopped back. Did Cookie murmur those three words? “Noah loves me?”

“Hush now, gal—it’s supposed to be a secret.”

“How do you know this? Did he tell you?”

“Nope. He didn’t have to. I just looked at him looking at you. He can’t help himself. He’s got it worse’n a cat’s got fleas.”

“That’s such a lovely, romantic picture, Cookie.”

He tipped his head and shrugged. “My Jane seemed to think I was pretty romantic. Anyways, only a man crazy in love would do dishes without being hounded. And I seen the way he puts his hand on your back when you two leave. Yup. He sure does love you.”

Cookie must have been touched in the head, perhaps even a mite senile. Noah didn’t love her. Theirs was a marriage of convenience. At his suggestion.

He couldn’t love her.

Cookie continued toward the stove and his simmering soup while she continued to the pantry. As she loaded the apples in her apron, she considered the old man’s words. She had married the kindest, most thoughtful man. He took his promises and obligations seriously. The look in his cinnamon-brown eyes caused a giggle to slide up her throat. Maybe a bit of truth hid in Cookie’s words.

And Noah gave up his one dream for her. He didn’t speak of it much, but when he did she caught the pain that flashed in his face. He wanted to be apreacher. And he’d be a good one. He answered her few questions with care and listened to her thoughts as though they were profound.

Put all together, did that mean he loved her? She dumped the apples on the big scarred farmer’s table in the middle of the room. She’d forgotten the flour. Before she could retrace her steps, Cookie interrupted with a wave of his wooden spoon. “I got you a Christmas present.”

Her heart skidded. She didn’t have anything for him. “What is it?”

“Now, if I up and told you, it’d ruin the secret.”

She could keep secrets, but she detested not being told one. Cookie knew that. “That’s not fair. Please tell me.”

“Nope. You gotta guess.”

The worst punishment. “I hate guessing.”

“Then I won’t tell you.” He turned his attention to the beef soup.

She gave an exaggerated sigh. “A palace of gold?”

“Be reasonable, gal.”

“Okay, a new apron.”

“Better guess. But not right.”

The man downright relished teasing her. “A china doll with eyes that open and shut.”

“Now where’d I get that? The wanigan don’t have none.”

“I guessed three times. Now you have to tell me.”

“Who made up that rule? I’m not telling you.”

Men were the most infuriating creatures God made. She took two steps toward the pantry.

“I’m giving you Christmas Eve supper off so you and Noah can spend it together, without them other men there. Maybe he’ll even tell you he loves you himself.”

Christmas Eve. Tomorrow night. The night she planned to give Noah her gift. “I can’t leave you to do the cooking and dishes yourself. That’s too much.”

“It’ll be soup and cold sandwiches. The men’ll have their Christmas goose the next day.” He took the empty water pail and exited through the back door, ending the conversation.

Daddy had always made Christmas a nice celebration for them. Before they came to the camp in the late fall, he’d hide away a few sticks of peppermint candy and some small item—hair combs, fabric for a new dress, the photograph of him and Mama that sat on the mantel.

This year she dreaded it. Knowing Noah loved her would make it a hundred times more difficult to set him free.

Noah and Adie hung their coats on the peg driven into the log near the doorbefore rubbing their hands together in front of the fire. Even though the walk between the mess hall and their tiny home took three minutes at the most, with the temperature plummeting below zero tonight, their fingers froze in that short time.

Noah cast a glance at his wife. She turned away and studied her red hands as if they fascinated her. Several times this evening, while they’d done dishes and swept the floor, she’d also glanced his way. She peeked at him again, a quizzical look slanting her auburn brow.

“What is it? Do I have crumbs in my mustache?” He twirled the end.

Ribbons of pink streaked her cheeks.

She shook her head. “I was thinking.”

“About what?”

She paused. “Nothing.” With a swish of her skirts, she twirled toward the table and sat down. “What is this? Where did you find it?”

Adie held the log cabin drawing in her hand. He’d neglected to put it away before he went to fetch her. The few minutes each day he had here without his wife he spent whittling and fashioning her gift. He’d finished it tonight, imagining the look in her green eyes when he presented it to her.

“I wasn’t snooping. The night of your encounter with Derek, I stuck your mittens in your coat pocket. The paper crackled, and I was afraid I’d wrinkled it, so I took it out to see. It’s beautiful. It’s so realistic it could almost be a photograph. Did you draw it?”

She nodded. “My parents and I lived there. I never wanted to leave. Every night I dream of returning. I drew this picture a summer or two ago, so I would never forget.”

He couldn’t wait to give her the replica he’d made. If he hoped before she’d be pleased, now he knew without a doubt that she’d love it. He almost reached under his bed to give it to her now, but then decided against it. Tomorrow, Christmas Eve, he’d hand it to her. Perhaps in her eyes he’d spy the same love he felt.