Holidays with the Weavers Read online

  “Like what?”

  George smiled at the little girl. “Like play with your Christmas presents.”

  Autumn jumped to her feet and headed for the tree.

  “Clever,” Olivia stated. “But why did you tell her all that? Now she’ll keep bringing it up.”

  “Would you rather I told her you had no idea where you live?”

  Okay, he had a point. “No.”

  “There you are, then.” He looked up at her and nodded regally. “I have saved the fair damsel.”

  She looked at him, smiled and realized that he had.

  Thirteen

  Olivia watched the children open their gifts, saw the delighted looks on their parents’ faces (and Rufi’s) and sighed. She’d never seen so many happy smiles …

  She suddenly stiffened. “Oh my.”

  “What is it?” Ebba asked.

  Olivia shook her head. “I … I think I just remembered something.”

  Ebba took her hand and squeezed it. “You did? That’s wonderful!”

  Olivia’s brow creased. “I’m not sure it is.”

  “Why not?”

  Olivia watched the children as they laughed and began to play with their gifts. “I think a better way to say it is, I now know what I don’t remember.”

  Ebba looked confused. “I don’t understand.”

  “I mean, I don’t believe I’ve had an experience like this before. Something this … happy.”

  “Ohhhh.”

  “What are you two talking about?” Samijo asked as she joined them.

  “Nothing,” Olivia said with as much calm as she could muster.

  “No, seriously.” Samijo sat. “What?”

  Olivia sighed. “It’s silly, really. But I think I remember what I haven’t had.”

  Samijo exchanged a look with Ebba. “Huh?”

  “I think I understand now,” Ebba said. “Olivia has never had a happy family Christmas.”

  Samijo slowly turned to her. “You can remember that?”

  Olivia nodded. “I have no feelings, nothing, only what I have in the moment. Does that make sense? At other times I can feel something nagging to come out, maybe a memory. But all of this?” She waved at the joyful chaos around them. “This is new. I know it is.”

  Samijo stared at her before offering a weak smile. “Well, that’s progress.” She stood. “Congratulations.” She left to rejoin Arlan on the other side of the room.

  “She didn’t seem happy with your news,” Ebba said. “I wonder if something is bothering her?”

  “Well, it is sort of sad news.” Olivia spotted George leaving his chair and coming toward them. She’d been avoiding him since breakfast, but now that the children had opened their gifts, it was the adults’ turn.

  “May I join you?”

  Ebba stood. “You can have my place. I need to put the ham in the oven.” She left for the kitchen.

  George stared at the empty spot on the settee. “Do you mind?”

  Olivia shook her head, careful not to make eye contact. If she did, she feared she’d be lost in his gaze.

  He sat next to her, his hands on his knees. “Merry Christmas.”

  She looked at him. Oops. Sure enough, lost. “Merry Christmas,” she whispered back.

  “You look … different,” he commented as he studied her. “Where are you, Olivia?”

  She continued to stare at him. “What do you mean?”

  “Where have you come from? And where are you going?”

  “If I knew that, I probably wouldn’t be here.”

  His eyes roamed her face, settled on her lips, roamed again. “I’m glad you’re lost. I know that sounds bad, but if you weren’t, we might never have met.”

  She closed her eyes and nodded. If she looked at him one more second, she’d be tempted to kiss him. That would never do. “I don’t know where I’ve been, and I don’t know where I’m going,” she mumbled.

  “Perhaps if you can’t discover the answer, I can help you find one.”

  Despite herself, she opened her eyes and met his gaze. “How?”

  He smiled but said nothing.

  Olivia wiped her hands on her skirt and licked her lips. “I may never find the answers, George.”

  He leaned toward her. “I almost hope you don’t.”

  Her eyes went wide. “How can you say that?”

  “Because then I can help you.”

  She swallowed. If not for the room full of people, he’d be kissing her already. “Then … why don’t you help me now?”

  His eyes fixed on hers. “Because it’s not yet time. First I have to put a few things in order.”

  “What … sorts of things?” she asked, her voice quavering.

  “Oh, Olivia, if you only knew …”

  “Olivia,” Arlan chuckled as he walked over, seemingly oblivious to George’s actions. “Here’s a little somethin’ from Samijo and me.”

  She gaped at him in gratitude for the box he held in his hands, and relief that he’d just broken the spell between George and her. “Oh yes, thank you.” She took the box. “I have nothing …”

  “Yer alive, that’s the main thing.” Arlan smiled at George, then unexpectedly sat, wedging himself between them. “Don’t worry, ya been real helpful around here.”

  “Thank you. I’m happy I’m able to lend a hand.” She turned the box this way and that and wondered if the couple had given her a dress.

  “Go ahead, open it,” Arlan urged.

  Olivia noticed Samijo heading over, then glanced at George smashed against the arm of the settee. Arlan was not a small man. To ease George’s position, Olivia stood. “Thank you, Arlan.” She tore the paper away, opened the box and … “Oh my!” It was a dress, and a beautiful one – cream-colored with a collar trimmed in red and a matching sash. “Samijo, Arlan, you shouldn’t have!”

  “Why not?” Samijo asked. “It’s Christmas.”

  “I don’t know what to say.”

  “We wanted you to have it,” Samijo said. “I think we’re about the same size. You’re a little taller, but the dress hasn’t been altered yet. It’s new – I’ve never worn it.”

  “I love it,” Olivia said, tears in her eyes. “I don’t think I’ve ever had such a fine gift.”

  “Are you sure?” George asked.

  Olivia shook her head. “No, I’m not.” She felt suddenly helpless, and wondered if George could really give her the help he’d been talking about. But she wasn’t sure what he’d meant by that. All she did know was that when she was with him her world stopped spinning. She could see clearly, hear everything, instead of being at the mercy of her absent mind, not knowing if she was coming or going. She felt that at any moment, she would remember something …

  “Woo-ee!” Grandpa said as he crossed the room. “That’s some dress! You should wear it to the Valentine’s dance.”

  … and it was gone, just like that. “Another dance?” she said.

  “Yep, a real fun one!”

  George smiled. “That’s a good idea. I’m sure you’ll be stunning in that frock.”

  Olivia folded the dress and put it back in the box. “Valentine’s Day is a long way off. I don’t know …”

  “Don’t worry about it now,” George told her. “Instead, enjoy your day.” He glanced around the room. “The children, the tree, the presents …”

  “The ham in the oven!” Daniel announced as he entered the parlor. “Yeehaw!”

  Arlan laughed. “Can ya tell Daniel likes his ham?”

  “We can now,” George said.

  Olivia smiled. She needed to take George’s advice and just enjoy the moment. After all, who knew what tomorrow would bring?

  * * *

  “Olivia, take a walk with me.” George said as he came up behind her.

  She turned, a rag doll in her hand. Autumn had asked her to braid its hair. “Here you go, sweetheart.” She handed the girl the doll.

  “Thank you, Olivia!” Autumn ran off to the parlor.<
br />
  Olivia looked up and down the hall. No one was there at the moment except her and George. “A walk?”

  He nodded. “We can take Grandpa, if you’d like.”

  She nodded. At this point that would be a good idea – she didn’t trust herself alone with him. “Very well. I’ll get a coat and hat.” She went to the door and looked out the window next to it. It was snowing. Maybe George was right and he and his family would be stuck with them a few days. She wasn’t sure if that was good or not.

  She went upstairs, got the coat Ma loaned her, a scarf of Charity’s and a bonnet, put them on and went downstairs. George and his grandfather were already waiting at the front door. “Ready?” George asked.

  “As I’ll ever be!” Grandpa said happily, then looked behind him. “You boys ready?” Naturally, no one was there.

  Olivia glanced at George and shrugged. He shrugged back. What could they do about it?

  The three left the house and stood on the porch a moment. “Isn’t this beautiful?” George asked.

  “Looks like snow to me,” Grandpa commented. “Same stuff we get every winter, George.”

  “Yes, but I don’t get as much where I come from. And you forget, I’m usually in town, not in the country.”

  “Then maybe you ought to buy a place out here,” his grandfather suggested.

  “I’m afraid that’s not possible right now, Grandpa. Maybe later.” He looked at Olivia and smiled. “So long as I’m able to make furniture and work on people’s houses and other buildings, I’m going to.”

  “I don’t blame you,” Olivia said. “I hope I’m able to find work one day.”

  George smiled in sympathy. “You will.”

  “What’s that?” Grandpa said, a hand cupped to his ear.

  “I told her that she’d find work,” George said a little louder.

  “Not you – I’m talking to Albert.”

  George sighed. “Of course you are.” He looked at Olivia and shook his head.

  She smiled back in understanding. Should they humor the old man or just ignore it?

  “Let’s walk through the orchards, shall we?” George suggested.

  “Sounds good to me,” Grandpa left the porch. Olivia and George exchanged another look and followed.

  They crossed the barnyard and entered one of the orchards. Olivia stopped and pointed. “Look, a trail.”

  “That would be Samijo and Arlan’s footprints,” Grandpa said. “Their place is through this orchard and across the meadow. Arlan built himself a nice little cabin over there.”

  “Let’s follow it,” George declared. “At least their footprints haven’t been completely filled in by the snow.”

  “Does it really matter where we walk?” Olivia asked.

  “Well, the snow isn’t as deep where they’ve already trod.” He looked at her feet. “And your shoes aren’t exactly made for deep snow, my dear.”

  She looked at her feet and saw he was right. It would only be a matter of time before her feet were freezing. “Then we’d better not go too far.”

  “Good idea,” he agreed. “I wouldn’t want you to catch cold.”

  “Neither would we,” Grandpa added with a grin. He looked to his other side. “Would we, boys?”

  Olivia thought she heard George mutter “oh, Grandpa.” But there really wasn’t anything they could do for the old man. Or was there? She looked at Grandpa and smiled. “How do Albert and his friend like the snow?”

  George’s head snapped around, his eyes wide. “Olivia!”

  “I was just asking.”

  “They like it fine,” Grandpa said happily. “Cold doesn’t bother them. Neither does heat as far as I know.”

  “Why is that?”

  “On account they’re angels, of course.”

  Olivia and George stopped and looked at each other, then at Grandpa, who was still grinning. Finally George took Olivia’s hand and leaned toward her. “Don’t encourage him,” he hissed.

  “I’m sorry. I just thought I’d try to help.”

  “Is he trying to help jar your memory?”

  Olivia’s eyes were downcast. “No. I’m sorry, George – I didn’t mean any harm.”

  George tucked a finger under her chin and raised her face again. “I know you didn’t. I’m just not sure it’s wise, that’s all.” He leaned a little closer as their eyes locked. Was he going to kiss her in front of his grandfather? Good heavens, she hoped not! Not that it mattered if the old man was there or not – a kiss from George would do her in for sure.

  “Did you know your red hair against the snow is beautiful?” he whispered.

  Olivia’s body warmed in response. She’d never felt anything like it – she was pretty sure of that. Like the rest of the Weavers’ holiday, it was all new to her.

  “Ahem,” Grandpa huffed. “Are we going for a walk or not?”

  George took a deep breath and looked away. “Yes, we are.” He offered her his arm. “Shall we?”

  Olivia stared at it, still stunned.

  “Better take it, sweetie,” Grandpa said. “You don’t want to slip on the snow.”

  “Yes, you’re right.” She wrapped her arm through George’s, thankful that doing so made it easier to look straight ahead rather than at him.

  They walked to the other end of the orchard and marveled at the snow-covered meadow between them and the tree line beyond. A curl of smoke was rising from a chimney somewhere in the trees. “This is lovely,” Olivia said.

  “Sure is.” Grandpa drew in a deep breath of crisp air. “You should see our farm – just as pretty but not as remote. Or as loud.”

  “I would imagine not,” Olivia agreed. “It’s just the four of you.”

  “You can hardly count Alston,” Grandpa said. “He’s too small.”

  George laughed. “You can count me. That makes it four and a half.” Grandpa laughed too.

  Olivia pondered his comment. “Until you go home,” she said.

  “When are you going home?” Grandpa asked.

  George looked at Olivia as they strolled, then at his grandfather. “That remains to be seen.”

  Grandpa looked at him, then away. “What do you suppose he means by that, Albert?”

  Olivia gave George’s arm a sympathetic squeeze.

  George sighed and rolled his eyes. “And what does Albert think, Grandpa?”

  Olivia frowned. After he just told her not to encourage the old man?

  “He doesn’t know. But Bob thinks you need to get your head on straight, boy.”

  Now George’s jaw went slack. “What?”

  Grandpa looked away again. “He also says ‘don’t put the hen before the horse.’”

  Olivia and George exchanged the same look of confusion. “Whaaat?” they both said.

  Grandpa looked at the empty space beside him. “Well, chickens don’t run as fast as horses. You put the hen in front, it won’t turn out good for her.”

  George stopped and pinched the bridge of his nose. “All right, tell them never mind. I’ll figure it out on my own.”

  “You always do,” Grandpa said.

  Olivia forced a smile. “Do you?”

  He glanced at his grandfather and back. “Usually. Though this time, I’m not so sure.”

  They took one last look at the tranquil scene, then turned back. By the time they returned to the house, Olivia felt like she was unraveling. Was George leaving when he got back to Nowhere? Was he simply toying with her? She was beginning to understand Grandpa’s (or “Bob’s”) hen-and-horse comparison. If George did have strong feelings for her, he shouldn’t move so fast. She didn’t know where she was from or where she’d been going, and felt very much like a chicken about to get trampled, half-scared out of its wits.

  She glanced at the old man walking beside her with a contented smile. He hadn’t a care in the world. She wished she could say the same.

  Fourteen

  The rest of Olivia’s day was filled with talking, laughing and doing her
best to win the mental Battle of George. And losing. He didn’t try to kiss her again – he wasn’t even as overattentive as he’d been before. At this point the whole family probably knew he had feelings for her, but at least he wasn’t adding any fuel to that fire.

  It was for the best, she kept telling herself. He’d surely be leaving before New Year’s, and she’d be alone again save for her fractured mind and a couple dozen Weavers. At night she’d go to bed and be haunted by a life she knew nothing about. Which left her with two questions:

  How exactly was that “for the best”?

  And when she got her memory back, would she like the life she’d had or loathe it?

  “Pass the ham!” Daniel said jovially as soon as Harlan finished praying over the meal. Laughter came from the kitchen, where Rufi and some of the smaller children were eating – even the littlest Weavers knew Daniel’s weakness.

  Olivia, unable to help herself, exchanged a smile with George, who sat across the table a few chairs down. He took the platter of ham from Daniel when he was done, transferred a slice to his plate and passed it on.

  “Everythin’ looks mighty tasty, Ma,” Arlan said. “Ebba, ya done it again. Charity, Samijo, Bella, thank ya for the Christmas dinner.”

  Olivia smiled half-heartedly and sunk an inch in her chair. She hadn’t contributed so much as a cookie. She promised herself she’d ask Ebba and Bella for cooking lessons tomorrow.

  “Olivia, would you like some mashed taters?” Grandpa shoved the bowl toward her.

  “Thank you.” She spooned some onto her plate. She passed the bowl to Bella and looked around the table. Everyone was serving themselves, talking, laughing and celebrating the day, but her heart wasn’t in it now. She couldn’t understand why. Even if she didn’t have her memories, shouldn’t she be making some new ones? Was the thought of George leaving affecting her that much?

  She took a half-slice of ham when the platter came her way and tried to concentrate on eating. The food was delicious, the company enjoyable. Why did she feel such utter despair? It was as if she’d unwrapped a big box of sadness for Christmas. And why did it have to hit now, right when all the Weavers and Johnsons were having a grand time?

  She brushed aside a tear, then another. She quickly brought a napkin to her face, pretending to wipe her mouth. What she really wanted to do was sob into it, but she didn’t want to ruin everyone’s evening. The sooner this day was over, the better off she’d be. She wiped her eyes as best she could, and no one seemed to notice.