Holidays with the Weavers Read online

  He looked at the sky again. “You want me to love her, don’t You?”

  It grew so quiet he could hear the snow landing on his hat and coat.

  George took off his hat and knelt in the snow. “I know You’re listening.” He glanced around. “You always are. So listen to this. I’ve fallen in love with this woman, and I’m willing to take the risk. If You heal her memory and she becomes the woman she once was, then I’ll do my best to love her back to the woman she now is.” He looked at the snowy ground. “That is, if she’s a free woman and she’ll have me. Of course it would be a lot easier if she stayed who she is now, don’t You think? But, y’know, Your will be done.”

  The snow continued to fall along with the darkness. He got to his feet. Everything he’d just prayed for would be moot if Olivia was indeed still married as the Weavers said. Who knew? Not even Olivia did right now. Only God.

  George looked at the sky again. “Amen.” He put on his hat, turned and headed back to the farmhouse.

  * * *

  Olivia sliced another piece of pumpkin pie and put it on a plate. Rufi took it and handed it to Alfonzo, who handed it to Arturo, and so on down the line. Finally Gabby took it from Leo then skipped into the parlor with it.

  “Be careful!” Bella called after her.

  A crash sounded, followed by a soft, “Oops.”

  Bella groaned and handed another empty plate to Olivia. “Be right back.” She lifted her skirt and, mumbling something sulfurous in Italian, hurried into the parlor.

  Rufi shook her head. “I should never have let Gabby carry her own plate.” She smiled at Olivia. “Leo used to be the one that spilled everything. Now it’s her.”

  Olivia smiled too. “Next it will be one of the littler ones.”

  “All of them, most likely,” Rufi sighed. “There are so many. Arlan and Samijo’s twins, my sister and Calvin’s, Charity and Benjamin’s, and Ebba will have one this spring.” She smiled. “I like babies, even if they are messy. But this seems like an awful lot.”

  “How old are you, Rufi?”

  “Eighteen.” Rufi smiled. “Old enough to wonder what it’s like to be a mother.”

  Olivia nodded in understanding. She’d been wondering the same thing off and on since the Weavers brought her home. She wasn’t entirely sure, but she didn’t think she’d ever been surrounded by so many children of such varying ages. Being at the Weavers was like being in a tiny town combined with a big-city orphanage.

  Olivia froze, a piece of pie halfway to the next plate.

  “What is it?” Rufi asked. “Is something wrong?”

  Olivia swallowed hard. “No, nothing.” She placed the slice on the plate, then started on the next pie. There were a lot of people waiting for dessert. Ebba carried a large plate of cookies into the parlor, came back to the kitchen and fetched another. Bella, Charity and Samijo carried the plates of pie into the dining parlor. Ma came for the coffee pot and likewise disappeared. Soon Olivia was alone, listening to the cacophony of voices coming from the other rooms.

  Another sound caught her ear and she turned to the back door.

  George entered, stomped his boots a few times on the entry rug, then took off his coat and hat. “Hello.”

  “Hello,” she said softly. Odd – did his voice sound flatter than before?

  “You feel better?”

  She stared blankly at him.

  “You went upstairs earlier.”

  “Oh yes, that.” She put another piece of pie onto a plate. “Just feeling overwhelmed.”

  He studied her a moment. “I understand.”

  “Do you?”

  “You have no idea.” He slowly approached, reached up and brushed a loose wisp of hair from her face. Then he kissed her.

  Olivia dropped the spatula in her hand onto the floor, too lost in George’s kiss to keep track of anything else. It was unexpected, soft and sweet. She wasn’t sure she’d survive it and yet wanted more. What woman wouldn’t want to be kissed by a man like George? And yet, did she dare, when he didn’t know who he was kissing?

  Olivia pulled away. “I can’t.”

  “I know. But maybe we can.”

  “Please don’t make this any more difficult than it already is,” she groaned.

  He drew closer. “Why is it difficult, Olivia?”

  “Because I don’t know who I am.”

  His eyes flashed at her words before he turned away. “Forgive me. That was wrong and very selfish of me.”

  Before she could reply, Samijo came in for more dessert plates. “We need two more besides what you have here.” She began to gather what she could carry.

  “All right,” Olivia retrieved the spatula from the floor, put it in the dry sink and got another.

  George watched her scoop pie onto two plates for when Samijo returned and smiled. “One for you and one for me.”

  “Everyone will expect us to be in the other room. Even the children are eating in the parlor.”

  “I know.” He picked up a plate and handed it to her. “I’m sorry I kissed you.”

  “And what of the other time? Are you sorry for that too?” She took the plate he offered.

  “Yes, as a matter of fact.” He picked up two forks and handed her one. “I should be more patient. Shall we join the others?”

  “Yes.” She headed out of the kitchen and down the hall to the crowded parlor.

  Charity sat at the old piano, began to play “Hark! The Herald Angels Sing” and almost everyone joined in. Olivia just smiled. Though not many would call the Weavers angels, they had been like angels to her and she would be forever grateful. George, on the other hand … well, it was hard to say. For a while he’d been the calm in her storm, before he became a storm of a different kind.

  But he would be gone soon. He’d confirmed it by apologizing for kissing her – he knew it and she knew it. The only question was when. And since she still didn’t know things, she couldn’t give anymore of her heart to George than she already had. It was already enough to be broken when he left. But that was the way it went sometimes. She’d survived whatever had happened to the wagon she was in, and whatever her life had held before that. She’d survive this.

  The family sang Christmas carols well into the evening, and Olivia found she had a decent voice. It wasn’t as good as some in the room, but she didn’t mind listening to it.

  “Land sakes, I can’t remember when I’ve had a better time,” Ma told Harlan after singing “O Come All Ye Faithful.”

  He leaned over and kissed the top of her head. “One of my favorites.” He looked at the family gathered around him. “I think I’m spent. How about you, Ma?”

  “Me too.”

  Harlan smiled at her. “Merry Christmas, Mary.”

  She gazed into her husband’s eyes. “Merry Christmas, Harlan.” To everyone’s surprise, the couple kissed.

  Gabby and Leo made kissing noises until Calvin and Bella tugged on their clothing to get their attention. They giggled after that.

  Olivia watched with a pinch of envy. Would she ever have a family of her own? Did she have one already? Somehow, she didn’t think so. Even though she had no specific memories yet, she could sometimes “feel” what had or hadn’t been. Was this progress? She wasn’t sure.

  She looked at George. His kisses certainly made her feel things she hadn’t before. So it was only logical to assume …

  “Oliviaaaaaa!” Autumn cried and ran to her, doll in hand. “My baby’s braid came out!”

  “Oh dear.” Olivia took the doll from her. “I’ll fix it right away.”

  Autumn smiled up at her and clapped her hands.

  “But we’ll have to go into the kitchen. I can’t do it very well standing up.”

  “Okay.” The child ran toward the kitchen.

  Olivia turned to follow, and noticed George watching her with tender understanding and a small smile. Was that an apology too?

  She was becoming sure of some things – that she’d never had a big
family, nor a happy one. There had been no Christmases such as this one, with its joyous atmosphere. She was very sure she’d never been in love before.

  Olivia closed her eyes as she entered the kitchen. She’d never been in love before. Just her luck that she’d fall in love now.

  Sixteen

  The next morning Olivia went downstairs to help with breakfast, only to find the kitchen empty. Someone, probably Benjamin, had put wood in the stove and lit it, but otherwise there were no signs of life. She decided to make coffee, praying it turned out right, then gather some eggs. Maybe that was where Charity or Ebba were, though they usually made coffee first.

  She grabbed a basket near the back door, wrapped a shawl around her shoulders, left the house and immediately stepped into at least a foot of snow. “My goodness!” She glanced over her shoulder at the farmhouse’s second story. The Johnsons weren’t going anywhere today. In fact, if it snowed again like this they might be stuck at the Weaver farm for some time.

  She waded through the snow to the henhouse and went inside. “Good morning, girls,” she replied to their clucks and other noises. She hadn’t gathered eggs before, but she’d watched Charity do it once. How hard could it be?

  She only got pecked twice, and was proud of that. The chickens didn’t act very happy when she stuck her cold hand underneath them, but if she was a chicken, she wouldn’t be either. And she collected over a dozen eggs. She returned to the house, shivering and hung up her shawl.

  “Good morning.”

  Olivia looked up. “George. What are you doing down so early?”

  “Couldn’t sleep.” He shrugged and glanced at the stove. “Coffee should be done soon.”

  Olivia noted his monotone and wondered if it was on purpose. Or did he feel sad too? Her dilemma hadn’t left her – if anything, it got worse overnight. She was staring at a man she could never have and for good reason. “Would you like some breakfast?” she asked to get her mind off it.

  “I am a little hungry. Do you need any help?”

  “Well, I suppose it couldn’t hurt. Otherwise I’m not sure what you’ll be eating.”

  He chuckled. “That’s all right. I’m a wonder with eggs – why don’t I make those?”

  “That wouldn’t be right – you’re a guest here.”

  “So are you. Can’t we show our hosts some appreciation by making them breakfast?” He smiled.

  Confound it! She didn’t want to encourage his affection, but she was having trouble keeping hers locked up. Regardless, she couldn’t argue with his logic. She went to the hutch to gather what he’d need for the eggs. “I’m not sure that makes sense.”

  “Who says I have to make sense?” He went to the back door and peeked out the window. “Oh my. That’s a lot of snow.”

  “I’m afraid it is.” She returned to the stove and worktable with the lard, a fry pan and the makings for hoecakes. “Looks like you’re stuck here awhile.”

  He turned from the window. “I don’t mind. Do you?”

  “Would it matter if I did?” She began opening the sack of cornmeal.

  He went to the table and put his hand over hers. “Do you?”

  Olivia took a deep breath. “George, it doesn’t matter whether you’re here for a day, a week or who knows how long. Eventually, you’re leaving. Let’s not be fools, you and I.”

  He sighed and released her hand. “I suppose.” He grabbed a few eggs from the basket. “Why don’t you fix us each a cup of coffee and I’ll start the eggs.”

  “If that’s what you want,” she said softly.

  “I want to make you breakfast, Olivia. Is there anything wrong with that?”

  She couldn’t detect anything in his voice to let her know how he really felt. It was soft, gentle and flat as the Texas plains. “No, there isn’t. I’ll get the coffee.”

  They worked together in silence. She had just finished preparing his mug – two spoonfuls of sugar, no milk, just as he always took it – and had started on the hoecakes when Charity came into the kitchen, wide-eyed. “My goodness – I overslept.”

  “Perfectly understandable,” George said. “Would you like some eggs?”

  “You’re making breakfast?” Charity asked in surprise.

  “Why not? We’re up, and as I told Olivia, I’m quite handy with eggs.”

  “And I’ve watched you make hoecakes, so I thought I’d try it,” Olivia added nervously.

  “I don’t mind telling you that would be lovely.” Charity got a cup and saucer from the cupboard, headed for the coffee pot and poured herself some. “I can fry some bacon up in no time. Do you mind getting some from the smokehouse, Olivia?”

  “I don’t mind at all.” Olivia reached for the shawl near the door and headed outside again. She got a small slab of bacon, returned to the house and took a bracing breath before entering. Something had changed between George and her over the last few days – namely, that they both seemed to realize the roadblocks to any relationship between them. They knew how they felt about each other … but also that there was no way presently to make it work.

  She’d have to either avoid him (unlikely in such close quarters) or stay neutral in his company until he left. If not, her heart was in imminent danger of breaking. If that happened on top of everything else she’d suffered, she’d be worthless, an emotional cripple. She didn’t want to do that to the Weavers, who’d done so much for her. Turning into a perpetual fountain of tears would not a good way to repay them for their kindness.

  So she would work and work hard, earn her keep and learn as much as she could from the Weaver women while in their company. As soon as she was confident she could strike out on her own, she would. Maybe she could find a job in town – Hank’s restaurant came to mind. She smiled. Yes, the next time the family went to Nowhere she’d speak with Hank about a job. She knew she could wait tables, and by the time she was ready she might have picked up some cooking tips.

  Soon she had a whole platter of cornmeal cakes ready to eat – not one of which she’d burnt – and deployed the butter crock and a jar of honey to go with them. One by one the Weavers filed into the kitchen, got their coffee and asked George what he was doing. In no time at all everyone had been served with hoecakes, eggs and bacon.

  “Seems kind of funny to have breakfast ‘fore doin’ chores,” Benjamin commented as he stood in a corner, wolfing down his breakfast.

  “Go do your chores and come back for more, then” George waved the spatula at him.

  “You enjoy cooking?” Harlan asked.

  “After Victoria died, I had to do all of it.” He glanced over his shoulder and winked. “I’m not a great cook, but eggs are what I’m best at.”

  Charity laughed. “You must eat a lot of eggs.”

  “Charity!” Bella scolded.

  “It’s true, we do. One of our customers has a farm about a mile out of town and brings us eggs every other day. We have plenty of them.”

  “That explains it.” Ma smiled at Olivia. “How are you feeling this morning, child? You look a little pale.”

  Olivia put a hand to her forehead. “I do?”

  Ma eyed her. “Do you have a fever?”

  Olivia put the back of the same hand to the back of her neck. “I don’t think so. I was just working over the stove.” She pointed to the few remaining hoecakes – Benjamin and Daniel, in particular, had gone through them like a locust plague.

  Ma left her seat, went around the table and checked Olivia herself. “A little warm, but nothing to be concerned about.”

  Olivia glimpsed George’s shoulders slumping in relief before he turned back to his breakfast. His concern for her warmed her heart. But don’t take it any further than that, she told herself. He’s leaving soon.

  “Are you sure you’re feeling all right, child?” Ma asked again.

  “I’m sure, I’m sure,” Olivia insisted. If Ma kept pressing, she might start crying, and she didn’t want that. She’d caused enough concern.

  Ebba rose fr
om the table and glanced toward the stairs in the hall. “I better go check on the children.”

  “If they’re still sleeping, don’t wake them,” Charity advised. “We let them stay up too late again last night.”

  Ebba smiled. “They had fun.”

  Benjamin set his plate near the dry sink. “I gotta get those chores started. Hurry up, Daniel – finish your bacon.”

  Daniel gulped down the last slice, grabbed an extra hoecake – much to Olivia’s pleasure – and followed Benjamin out the door. She watched them go, took another sip of coffee and went back to her own plate. Maybe a little extra milk in the cornmeal mix next time … she almost laughed. She felt herself fortunate to have done as well as she did with them. Beginner’s luck?

  George brought the coffee pot to the table and refilled everyone’s cups. “Hey, where’s Bernice, Warren and Grandpa?”

  “Let them sleep,” Ma argued. “They were up as late as everyone else. Besides, it’s obvious you folks aren’t going anywhere today – might as well enjoy your time while you’re here. Read a book, sit by the fire, maybe make a snowman with the little ones later.”

  Olivia’s head came up. “That does sound lovely.”

  “It’s fun,” Harlan said. “Last winter Bella’s brothers and sisters rolled Leo up in a big ball of snow and turned him into a giant snowman. Funniest thing I ever did see.”

  Olivia giggled. “Oh dear! Was he able to get out of all that snow?”

  “Have enough pinecones thrown at you and you can get out of anything.” Harlan laughed.

  George laughed too. “Snowmen sound like fun. We could create an army of them.”

  “I’d settle for one or two,” Harlan said. “The littler ones especially enjoy it. The babies are too young yet.”

  “I can watch the babies while everyone plays outside,” Olivia offered, though she’d rather have built a snowman herself. She wanted to start helping the Weavers as much as she could.

  “That’s mighty kind of you,” Ma said. “I’ll watch them the first round – you can take the second.”

  “All right.” Olivia smiled. She enjoyed doing things with the Weavers.