A Christmas Promise (Kansas Crossroads Book 16) Page 8

  Pastor Osbourne raised an eyebrow. “It was that bad?”

  “I may have overdramatized it a bit for the sake of a good story, but it was definitely bad.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that, but I can’t help but feel that it’s all for the best. I haven’t known Miranda long—just in the last few months, really—but I think she needed to be shaken up a bit.”

  “Really? How so?”

  Pastor Osbourne crossed one ankle over the opposite knee. “She’s a charming girl, and without question a beautiful one, and she’s very intelligent. She uses that intelligence to keep people at bay and to hide her insecurities. If you’ve caught her off guard, chances are that you’ve managed to sneak past some of her barriers, and that might be just what she needs.”

  “I suppose that’s a possibility, but I hate the idea that I’ve made her uncomfortable.”

  The pastor chuckled. “Richard, when was the last time you learned a valuable life lesson while you were comfortable?”

  “Point taken.” But was it his job to make Miranda uncomfortable enough to want to change? No—of course not. That was up to God, but perhaps God had enlisted his help in the process.

  Regardless, it was time for him to stop wallowing and trying to figure everything out. “Are you paying any calls this afternoon? I’m rather tired of feeling sorry for myself, and I’d like to do something a bit more helpful.”

  Pastor Osbourne nodded. “Good for you. The best way to rise above your worries is to help someone else. I’m heading out in a few minutes to visit Mrs. Greenly—her husband passed earlier this year, and I know she’s been dreading spending the holidays without him. You’re more than welcome to come, if you’re not too worn out.”

  “I’m completely worn out, but staying here won’t change that. Put me to work, Pastor.”

  “All right, then. Let’s do some good.”

  On their way out of the parlor, they ran into Mrs. Osbourne, who was trying to soothe an upset baby by rocking her back and forth, but to no avail. “Robert, let’s go to the hotel for their Christmas Eve dinner,” she said. “Mrs. Little is busy brewing up some sort of colic concoction for Celeste, and you know I can’t cook. Don’t let me ruin Christmas Eve for everyone.”

  Pastor Osbourne laughed. “All right, we’ll go to the hotel. But your cooking has improved over the last months.”

  “Not enough to make a decent holiday meal.” She shifted the baby to her other arm. “And I can’t even make this child burp properly.”

  Richard held out his arms. “Do you mind if I give it a try?”

  She lifted an eyebrow. “Is this a talent you’ve been hiding from us, Pastor Norton?”

  “Well, I wouldn’t call it a talent—more like a trick I picked up along the way.” He took the baby into his arms, held her against his shoulder, and began to rub upwards along her spine in long strokes. She arched her back a little when he reached the middle, which made everyone laugh, but he continued to rub. After a moment, she let out a burp, then another, and laid her head on his shoulder.

  “How did you do that?” Mrs. Osbourne asked. “And will you please live with us forever?”

  Richard laughed. “I just encouraged the air to move upwards where it could escape. There was an orphanage not far from the seminary where I studied, and I visited there a few times. I saw one of the nuns doing this one afternoon and it seemed like good information to file away for later.”

  “Thank goodness for that.” Mrs. Osbourne turned to her husband. “But we’re still going out for dinner. I’ve got my heart set on it.”

  Pastor Osbourne smiled. “Of course. We’ll all go—make sure Mrs. Little comes as well. Now, we’re heading out to visit Mrs. Greenly, and we’ll be back in about an hour.”

  “Stay warm. I believe the temperature’s dropping again.” She gave him a kiss on the cheek, then turned to Richard. “I should kiss you, too, for getting the baby to sleep, but I have the feeling that someone else would like that privilege.”

  Richard shook his head, embarrassed. “I don’t know about that, Mrs. Osbourne. Things . . . well, they aren’t going as well as I’d like.”

  “Oh? Is Cupid not being cooperative?”

  “I’m sure things will work out in time.” Richard carefully lifted the baby from his shoulder and transferred her to Mrs. Osbourne’s arms. “Here you go.”

  “Thank you.” She smoothed the blanket over the baby’s head and gave Richard a smile. “Have a good visit.”

  Spending time with Mrs. Greenly turned out to be exactly what Richard needed. He had no idea how to solve the situation with Miranda, but as he listened to Mrs. Greenly reminisce about her husband and his subsequent passing, he was reminded once again of the importance of community. Families were created for a reason, and church congregations were created for a reason—when they functioned properly, no one should ever be alone in their grief. He would make it a priority to find out how well this particular congregation supported each other. He imagined that with Pastor Osbourne at the helm, they did quite well, but if he could aid in that, he certainly wanted to.

  ***

  The kitchen had smelled good that morning, but now, as dinnertime approached, it smelled incredible. Miranda’s mouth watered as she watched Ruth pull a roast from the oven, its juices running down the sides.

  “Are you feeling better?” Nora asked. Her arms were full of clean plates for the meal service, and she set them on the counter where they could be grabbed easily. “You don’t look as pale as you did before your nap.”

  “Yes, I’m feeling much better,” Miranda replied. When she’d returned to the hotel after church, her head was pounding, and she was grateful for the afternoon off so she could sleep. Her dreams were strange, fitful things and she didn’t think she’d get much actual rest, but when she awoke, the headache was gone, so it must have done her some good.

  “I’m glad to hear that. It’s miserable to be sick on Christmas.” Nora turned to gather up the utensils, not knowing how her casual comment had struck Miranda to the core.

  It was miserable to be sick on Christmas—it was miserable to lose a mother on Christmas too. She knew Richard had been trying to address that in his sermon, but she needed some time and some quiet to mull it over, and with the first of their four holidays meals about to be served, time and quiet were two things she most certainly didn’t have.

  Miranda pushed her thoughts and feelings to the side, promising herself that she’d pull them out later when everyone was asleep. For now, she’d concentrate on serving the most delicious meal she’d ever seen come out of the kitchen, and she’d do everything in her power to make this Christmas Eve memorable for those around her.

  Hearing a slight gasp made her turn and look at Sarah, who had rested one hand on her stomach and the other on the counter. “Sarah? Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine,” Sarah replied, trying to smile. “I’m glad this is my last week here, though—I’m not sure how much longer this little person’s going to wait.”

  “You’re not . . .” Miranda glanced around and lowered her voice. “You’re not in labor right now, are you?”

  “Oh, no. Definitely not. This wasn’t that sort of pain. I promise, I won’t add to the excitement of the holiday by giving birth in the kitchen.”

  “Now that would be exciting,” Miranda said, chuckling. “But at least sit down, all right? Ruth and Kate are here, and the rest of us will help however we can.”

  “I think that’s a good idea. I can slice the bread and pies sitting down just as well as I can standing up.”

  Miranda made sure Sarah had the plates and knives she needed on the kitchen table, and then she stepped out into the lobby with the other waitresses to welcome not only their train guests, but the townspeople who had decided to come celebrate with them.

  “Colonel Gordon!” she greeted the marshal, who had just stepped through the doorway. “Merry Christmas.”

  “And to you, Miss Monroe. I’m supposed to meet
Parker and his lovely wife here for dinner—are they here yet?”

  “No, but I’ll show you to a table, and I’ll bring them to you when they arrive.”

  “Thank you. That would be very nice.”

  She chose a table near the back wall for the marshal, knowing that he liked to keep his eye on the room no matter where he went. She’d discovered that was fairly typical of law enforcement types, and while she’d thought it odd at first, now she appreciated their compulsion to remain vigilant at all times. It made her feel safe.

  She rounded out that table by seating Mr. and Mrs. Dupree across from the marshal, then escorted Mr. Appleby’s family to the table next to theirs. She smiled, thinking that as the owner of the mercantile, Mr. Appleby had sold them the supplies for the meal he was about to eat. It almost seemed like he was eating his own food.

  Parker and Posy arrived, and once they were seated, she turned to greet her next patrons—the Osbornes, Mrs. Little, and of course their their houseguest, Richard Norton.

  “Hello,” she said, suddenly nervous. “Welcome to our Christmas Eve celebration. I have a table for you right over here.”

  They followed her to the spot she’d chosen for them, but instead of sitting down like the others did, Richard touched her elbow, and she paused.

  “I hope it’s all right that I’m here,” he said softly. “I want to give you the time you need, but Mrs. Osbourne wanted to come out to dinner tonight, and—”

  Miranda held up a hand. “It’s fine,” she said. “I completely understand.”

  His shoulders relaxed visibly. “Thank you. Just forget that I’m here.” He paused. “Well, don’t forget to feed me . . .”

  She laughed, grateful for the sudden break in the tension. “I won’t.”

  As she moved through the dining room carrying plates of roast beef, creamy mashed potatoes, herbed carrots, and ginger peach pie, she overheard snippets of conversation at each of the tables, and it warmed her heart to know that so many of her customers were cozy and safe and happy on this holiday night. They were celebrating as they should—spending time with loved ones, sharing memories and relating funny stories, and making plans for the next day, not dwelling on the sorrows of their past. She needed to follow their examples and look for the good in the moment instead of her grief—she wanted a portion of the happiness they radiated for herself.

  “This was simply delicious,” Mrs. Dupree said, smiling at Miranda when she came around to gather up the plates. “Please tell everyone in the kitchen that I was very impressed.”

  “I will, Mrs. Dupree,” Miranda promised. She collected similar compliments from each of her tables, and several people said they’d be back for another of the holiday meals if they were all going to be that good.

  “I think we did it,” she said on her last trip into the kitchen to deliver the used dishes to the counter. “I’ve never gotten so much positive feedback before.”

  “It’s all because of Ruth and Kate,” Sarah said from her position at the table. “I did very little but point and grunt.”

  “You pointed and grunted our way to success,” Ruth answered teasingly. “You’re not as useless as you think you are.”

  “Either way, I’m glad to know that when I leave, the kitchen will be in good hands,” Sarah replied.

  Miranda glanced at Ruth, wondering if she was going to say anything about her own plans to leave, but Ruth merely nodded and began scraping the plates into the slop bucket. Miranda supposed she hadn’t found the right time to put in her resignation, or maybe she’d changed her mind. Either way, she wouldn’t say anything about it until Ruth had made her announcement—it was her private business.

  Mr. Brody stepped into the kitchen a moment later, his face split into a smile. “Ladies, you’re amazing. That meal was everything I hoped for, and you even surpassed my wildest dreams. But even better than the delicious food was the atmosphere—you truly helped bring the Christmas spirit into this hotel, and I can’t thank you enough.”

  “You’re welcome,” Miranda replied, as did the other girls.

  “I do intend to thank you a little bit, though,” he continued as though they hadn’t spoken. “Meet me in the parlor when you’re done here, all right?”

  “What do you think that’s about?” Emma asked when the door closed behind him.

  “I have no idea, but let’s hurry so we can find out.” Carrie grabbed the kettle off the stove and filled the washbasin, ready to get to work on the plates.

  Miranda and Millie stripped the tables and reset them as quickly as they could, making sure that everything looked just as nice as it had before the meal was served, and then they went back into the kitchen to see what else needed to be done. Once everyone was ready, they took off their aprons, tossed them into the laundry basket, and met Mr. Brody in the parlor, as he had requested.

  He stood up when they entered and smiled broadly. “I was going to wait until tomorrow, but people can give gifts on Christmas Eve too, can’t they?” He reached into his suit pocket and pulled out a stack of envelopes. “I have something here for each of you, just a little token of appreciation. When I first bought this hotel, I knew it would take a lot of work to bring it back to standard and then to make it into the establishment I’d dreamed of owning, but I didn’t anticipate all the hard work that would go into it every single day afterwards. Thank you for your diligence, loyalty, and cheerful attitudes, and Merry Christmas.”

  He handed them each an envelope with their names written on the front, and then he nodded toward the clock. “You’re now officially off for the rest of the night. Sleep well.”

  “Goodnight,” the girls chorused, then turned and headed for the stairs.

  When they reached their attic room, several of the girls changed into their nightclothes, but a few put on their everyday dresses because they had plans. Miranda did neither. Instead, she peeked into her envelope to see a nice bonus inside, then tucked it away with the rest of her savings. Then she waited until the chatter had died down and curled up on the window seat to stare out at the black night sky.

  Now she had a moment to think.

  But where to start?

  Richard. Of course, it all came back to Richard. When he’d told her he loved her, it should have been the happiest moment of her life—after all, it was what she’d dreamed of since she was twelve years old. She’d heard the words through a fog, however, because she was still trying to sort through everything he’d said in his sermon—the things he’d said about Jesus Christ.

  He’d spoken of the great love Christ had for all mankind, and how He had endured every pain imaginable because of that great love. Then he’d said that Christ lightened burdens and made sorrows easier to bear. But how could that be? Wasn’t her mother’s passing a burden? Hadn’t Miranda been torn apart by sorrow? How could Richard say that Christ made those things better when she sat there with a hole in her heart, aching for relief?

  Richard had then gone on to say that he didn’t know all the answers, but that he trusted he’d understand everything in due time. What good did that do Miranda now? If he wanted her to be healed, as he said he did, wouldn’t he want that to happen sooner rather than later? And when was “later,” anyway? At what point would God choose to reveal Himself and His mysteries?

  If Richard had meant to soothe her battered spirit, he’d failed—she only felt all the more confused.

  A breeze must have picked up because the clouds began to drift, revealing a small patch of bright stars. Miranda leaned her forehead against the cold glass and looked at them, remembering how much her mother had loved the night sky. She’d sometimes call for Parker and Miranda to come outside with her so they could find the constellations, and one night, there had been a meteor shower. It wasn’t a large display, only lasting a few minutes, but they’d been lucky enough to catch it, and their mother had said that was their father’s way of saying hello to them from heaven.

  It had been a nice thought at the time, but Miranda
didn’t believe things like that anymore.

  Why not? The question entered her mind in her mother’s voice, and Miranda shrugged. Why not, indeed? Why not keep hanging on to childish fantasies when the world was determined to show her differently?

  Richard was right—she was different when she was a child. Now she was jaded and cynical, and she didn’t like that about herself. She wished she could go back to being that happy, carefree girl, the one who had snowball fights with the boys in the schoolyard and climbed fences and went fishing when she was supposed to be home learning how to embroider like all the other girls. And then trying to prove to Richard Norton that she was suddenly much more mature by putting up her braids and holding her head a little higher and making adult-type statements that must have sounded absolutely ridiculous. She chuckled, thinking back on it. Oh, she was embarrassed for the little girl she’d been, so eager to grow up and not appreciating the beauty of childhood like she ought.

  Things were just so much simpler then.

  Another cloud drifted across the sky and obscured the stars, and Miranda felt a shiver go through her. She stood and put another few sticks into the stove in the corner, then changed into her nightclothes and climbed into bed. She could still see out the window from where she lay, only not as clearly, and she waited for those stars to become visible again, but they didn’t.

  As she waited, her mind wandered back over all her happiest moments with her mother. Looking up into the night sky was probably her favorite memory of all, but they’d done so many wonderful things together, she could keep herself quite entertained for hours remembering them all. Working on the laundry together and getting into water fights. Learning how to bake bread with a crisp crust and a soft center, the way their father had liked it best. Figuring out how to mend socks and let down seams. Her mother made everything fun.

  When their father was killed, things had changed. Some days, her mother struggled to do the most basic things. She would stand at the window and stare out as though expecting to see him coming. Even with all that, though, one thing remained the same—reading the Bible together each night.