Page 69 of A Late-Blooming Rose
His spirits lower than the sleigh’s runners, he drove Rose home, remaining quiet the whole time and barely listening to her praise of Mr. Marsden and his confounded books.
In this mood, his gloom would only affect others in a negative manner.What a poor companion I’ll be tonight.
Best do everyone a favor and not attend the Christmas Eve party.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
After spending the afternoon in his bedroom reading and otherwise avoiding the world, Andre knew he’d have to make an appearance to send off the others to the Christmas Eve festivities. So, he steeled himself to seek out his daughter, hoping she wasn’t with Rose.
He found Delia in the downstairs tower room she used as a private study for her work as a minister’s wife. She was already dressed in her silk finery in a shade of Christmas green, but had her outdoor scarf wound around her neck, perhaps to warm herdécolletage.
She sat at a small desk with curved cabriole legs, the surface of inlaid flowers and leaves almost hidden by an enormous, open notebook, a silver inkstand with a cupid perched between each inkwell, and a green paper Christmas tree made by Micah.
Pen in hand, Delia bent over the notebook, muttering to herself and crossing out items on a list—for tonight’s church service, no doubt. She and some of the other ladies, including Rose and Cora, worked hard to organize the perfect Christmas Eve for the community. They’d purposefully kept him at arm’s length, wanting him to be as surprised and pleased as everyone else.
Up until today, he’d looked forward to attending.
Delia must have heard him enter, for she looked up and smiled. The color of her gown made her eyes look green.
“Hello, dear one. I just stopped by to say I’m not up for going out tonight. I’m going to stay home.”
Her smile vanished, and her brows drew together. She set down the pen, stood, and came from around her desk toward him. “But it’s Christmas Eve. YouloveChristmas.” Her eyes narrowed, and she fisted both hands on her hips. “Papa, what aren’t you telling me? Is your heart bothering you?”
He wouldn’t lie, but he could equivocate. Andre leaned forward to kiss the crease between her eyebrows. “I promise my heart is ticking away as well as can be.”
“You’d tell me if you weren’t feeling well?”
“I’m fine.”Physically fine.Delia had no need to know about whatwasn’tfine. “Just a little tired.”
“I wish I could believe you’re up to your elbows in Christmas planning. But you have a different air about you when you’re organizing one of your surprises.” She studied his face. “You seem downcast.” She started to unwind her scarf. “You can’t stay home alone. Even the servants will be at church and the party. I’ll remain with you.”
He caught her hand. “You’ll do no such thing, oh minister’s wife. You have a responsibility to attend the church service, which you and the other ladies have worked so hard on.” He wound the scarf back around her neck. “Go, my love. Enjoy yourself. I’ll rest and be ready for our family celebration tomorrow.”
Before his daughter could format any more protests and wear him down, Andre turned and left the room. He practically fled down the hallway, dimly lit by electric lights, to take refuge in his study. He pressed the button on the switch to turn on the electricity and firmly closed the door, wishing he’d thought to install a lock.
Normally, he’d light the lamp on his desk to better see what he was reading, but even Marcus Aurelius held no appeal. Instead he flopped onto the chesterfield, as if he were Micah’s age.
Then, deciding he might as well be comfortable, he sat up again and positioned a pillow, decorated by Delia with a needlepoint Christmas tree, under his head and a green and gold striped afghan—last Christmas’s gift from the Nortons—over his legs and torso. Even here in his sanctuary, he couldn’t escape the reminders of the holiday.
I’ll have a locksmith in after New Year’s.
* * *
With a holiday air of excitement, people jammed the church, filling the pews to capacity and lining the aisles and back of the room. The only light came from candles burning on the decorated Christmas tree in the front corner near the piano, as well as those placed amidst the boughs of holly and fir on the windowsills and on the Advent wreath on the altar.
Rose sat between Cora and Delia, and next to Mary Norton in the front pew near the tree, inhaling the scent of pine and watching the children’s choir on stair-step risers facing the congregation.
With scrubbed faces and in their best clothing, they sweetly sang, “Oh, Little Town of Bethlehem.” Even Micah, standing next to Walter McCurdy, the sheriff’s adopted son, managed to look angelic.
Although, she absorbed the beauty of the service, Rose remained acutely aware of the empty place beside her. Well, not an empty place in the tightly-packed pew but the one in her heart.
You’d think by now I’d be used to the lack.
By coming to Sweetwater Springs, she’d started the downward slide into the dangerous territory of unrequited love. Now, all Rose could do was dig in her heels lest she slip deeper.For the sake of my own future happiness.
No, she corrected.True happiness wasn’t possible.She’d lived with that knowledge over the last twenty-two years.Instead, a worthwhile life of service to others. One of contentment.All in all, being content wasn’t a bad feeling to live with. She had plenty of practice.
The time had come to stop pining over Andre Bellaire. After the New Year, she’d start by moving out of his home and into her own lodgings.Hopefully Cora will agree.
