Page 23 of Smoke River Family

That afternoon, while Zane was at the hospital, she paid a visit to the dressmaker, Verena Forester, and returned with seven yards of red ribbon. Quickly she cut it into short lengths and tied pretty red bows onto each tree branch. When she finished, it looked so beautiful her throat hurt.

Then she fashioned a lacy star from four white paper doilies and spread a red tablecloth beneath the tree. On top she laid the gaily wrapped presents she had brought from St. Louis.

“Much pretty,” Sam observed, then turned a worried look on her. “Boss won’t like.”

True, Zane might not appreciate it, but she didn’t care. Rosemarie would love it!

At supper that evening Zane didn’t say a word about the tree until she asked him about it point blank. “Do you like the Christmas tree I decorated?”

“What tree?”

“In the library. Go look.”

He returned a few moments later, his eyes shiny. “That was good of you, Winifred. Celeste had boxes of fancy ornaments stored up in the attic, but I never liked them much. And after she— Well, I like your red ribbons. Very original.”

His words brought a rush of heat into her chest. If she didn’t know better she’d think she was moved by his approval.

But she did know better. Winifred Von Dannen was too old to be moved by Christmas trees or red ribbons or a busy physician’s approval or anything else. Still, she found herself smiling at him.

And later, when Rosemary gurgled and pointed a finger at her creation, Winifred felt her own eyes fill with tears.

* * *

Zane drove Sam to the station to meet the train bringing his houseboy’s new bride. They arrived two hours early because Sam was fidgeting so much he kept the house in an uproar and Zane couldn’t stand it any longer. The houseboy had changed Rosemarie’s perfectly dry diaper twice, spent an hour combing and rebraiding the long black queue that hung down his back, pressed and re-pressed every dress Winifred had brought with her and even steamed her green velvet gown and hung it in the empty hall closet, so nothing would wrinkle it. Unconcerned by all the bustle, the kitten curled in the corner, asleep.

Now, even bundled in a wool cape Sam had unearthed from a mysterious box he kept under his bed, the Chinese man shook in the frosty air. It was three in the afternoon and still the ground sparkled with frost.

At last the train from Portland pulled in and with a yelp Sam leaped from the buggy and raced onto the station platform.

Zane followed at a discreet distance.

Travelers stepped off the passenger car and one by one were whisked away or drifted into the station house to get out of the cold. But there was no sign of a young Chinese woman. Sam jigged from one foot to the other, squinting at the crowd.

“You think she maybe get lost?” The crestfallen houseboy clasped his arms across his body. “Maybe she not come?”

The locomotive gave a prolonged whistle and began to roll on down the track. Sam looked at Zane, his black eyes anguished.

“Not come,” he said softly. He turned away, wringing his hands.

But across the tracks stood a small figure dressed in a high-collared yellow jacket and baggy black trousers. A piece of white paper was pinned to her chest, but Zane was too far away to read what it said.

“Sam,” he said slowly. “Look.”

Sam pivoted, his gaze following Zane’s pointing finger.

The man’s eyes grew wide and then the most beatific smile broke over his face. He lifted one hand toward the girl and started across the tracks.

Zane stayed put. He’d let them meet for the first time with no onlookers. He watched Sam stop before the girl, bow low and say something.

She looked up and Zane caught his breath. Sam’s bride was exquisite, slim as a reed with straight black hair and skin like alabaster. The top of her head reached just to Sam’s chin.

Then the Chinese man Zane thought he knew so well surprised him. Sam stepped forward and scooped his bride up into his arms, then made his way carefully across the tracks to where Zane waited.

“Slippers thin,” he explained. “Not good for cold, so I carry.”

He spoke a few words in Chinese and the girl nodded at Zane. The sign pinned to her blouse read “Dougherty. Smoke River.”

“This is Yan Li,” Sam said, his voice reverent.

Zane inclined his head and led the way to the buggy. Sam deposited Yan Li onto the seat, then stripped off his cloak and wrapped it around her. He sat shivering as the horse trotted all the way up the hill to the house.

When they arrived, Sam leaped to the ground, motioned Yan Li to the edge of the buggy seat and snatched her up once again. He carried his bride up the porch steps and into the house. Zane remembered carrying Celeste the same way.

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