crack of dawn. If I’d known it would have gotten you out of bed, I would have found you a new mother before this.”
“No, because then she wouldn’t have been Mercy.” Amelia skipped across the room.
“Do I really have to remind you?” He grimaced, reached for a piece of wood and popped it into the fire. “No running in the house.”
“I know, I just can’t contain myself.” Amelia skidded to a stop, hugging herself. “I get to walk into church this morning with a ma, just like all my friends do. I’m gonna wear the new dress Eberta made for me. Pa, do you know what this means?”
“That you’re finally going to start acting like a lady?” He brushed bits of bark and moss off his hands and reached for the little fireplace broom. A few sweeps and the bits flew into the fireplace. “This getting-married thing is a good idea. You’ll be getting up early, acting ladylike. It’s like a dream come true.”
“Honestly, Pa.” Amelia rolled her eyes. “You’re supposed to love me the way I am.”
“Oh, sorry.” He put the broom away, hiding his grin. “I didn’t know. Maybe that’s one of those rules we can break and toss out the window.”
“Very funny.” She rushed up to him, wrapped her arms around his chest and squeezed tight, tipping her head back to sparkle up at him. “Hurry up with breakfast ’cause I’m gonna be lightning fast. I get to go see Mercy!”
“I’m gonna need some mercy if you keep this up.” He winced at his own pun. Well, he thought, a man has to amuse himself where he can.
“Oh, Pa.” Amelia gave him an eye roll and was off, pounding back upstairs, leaving him alone in the room.
Well, looked like they’d have a few more mornings like this alone together before the wedding changed things. Only three more days until Christmas Eve, until Amelia’s hoped-for ceremony. He hung up the broom, crossed the room and felt thankful to Mercy for understanding. He wasn’t sure how he felt about a church wedding. He still hadn’t recovered from the last one. Gritting his molars together, determined not to think of it, he veered into the kitchen, knelt in front of the cookstove and stirred the coals. When he should have been planning his morning of chores and repairs, his mind took an entirely different path.
He remembered that glint of humor when she’d been seated on his sofa, gazing up at him with part challenge, part amusement, all concealed strength. You may tell me what to do only two times a day, she’d said with a slender arch of her brow, pure challenge and likability.
He sighed, reaching for the kindling. It was going to be hard to keep from liking her, but he was tenacious and determined. He would give it his best shot.
* * *
“Ma,” George called from one of the front room windows. “Are you sure they’re gonna come for us? I don’t see ’em yet.”
“Amelia promised they would be by.” Frowning at her reflection in the bureau’s small mirror, Mercy untied her hat ribbons and tried again. “I don’t think they would leave us to find our own way in a strange town.”
“I could help,” George answered confidently. “I can see the church steeple from here. I could take you right to it, and if I got lost in the street I’d just look up to find it.”
“That’s a very good plan.” She adjusted the bow, figured that was as good as it was going to get and raised her gaze to her face. She pinched her cheeks, hoping to put a little color in them. Too bad there wasn’t something she could do about those circles under her eyes. She’d barely been able to sleep a wink, although the bed was comfortable. She pushed away from the bureau and grabbed the shawl she’d laid on the foot of her twin bed, circled around George’s bed and stepped into the hall. “What are you doing?”
“Lookin’ at the horses.” George’s excitement seemed to fill the room with a vibrating, little-boy energy. “There’s a black one. He’s real shiny. What color do you think my horse is gonna be?”
“I don’t know.” Mercy reached for George’s coat. “What color do you think?”
“Maybe brown?” George scrunched his face up, thinking on that for a bit. He took the garment she shook open for him and stabbed one arm into the sleeve, lost in thought. “There’s a lot of brown horses, so yeah, he’ll probably be brown. You see ’em all the time. Maybe most horses are brown.”
“What if he’s as white as the snow?” Seeing his collar was folded over onto itself, she pulled it out and smoothed it down. “What if he’s spotted?”
“Then he’d be both white and brown.” George gazed out the window, lost in his favorite game. “Unless his spots are black.”
“Or red,” she added, unhooking her coat from its peg on the wall.
“Or palomino, or roan or gray,” George continued. “Oh, I just can’t wait for my horse.”
“I know, kid. It won’t be much longer now.” She slipped into her coat, unable to resist glancing down at the street below.
Great snowdrifts ran down one side of the street like a miniature mountain range, and because it was Sunday no one was out shoveling the boardwalks. A few vehicles rolled by, pulled by horses struggling through the new accumulation as far from the miniature mountains as they could get. As she watched a bay team pull a sleigh past the storefront below, she realized she didn’t even know what kind of horse or vehicle Cole drove. In their correspondence she hadn’t thought to ask if he would provide her with a horse and vehicle. Hmm. More things to discuss later, she thought.
“Ma! Look!” George nearly shrieked, both hands splayed across the glass. “That’s the best horse I’ve ever seen. Look. He’s as white as the snow.”
“And he’s stopping in front of the store.” She leaned in, too, feeling the cool glass against her cheek. Why her heart kicked up a crazy rhythm, she couldn’t say. Something within her strained, as if longing for the first glimpse of Cole climbing down from the sleigh.
He wasn’t there. A red-capped Amelia rocked her head back to gaze up at them, grinned when she saw them and waved with a mittened hand. Mercy waved back, fighting disappointment as Eberta set down the reins and hopped from the sleigh.
“C’mon, George,” she said gently, strangely bereft. “We don’t want to keep the horse standing in that cold.”
“No, it’s not good for him,” he said, heading toward the door at a run.
All the way down the stairs and through the silent, echoing store, she tried to remember what Cole had written about his church life. Had he ever said he attended Sunday service? Funny, she realized as she caught sight of Eberta through the glass panes of the shop’s door, busily unlocking it. She couldn’t recall if he’d mentioned actually being a churchgoer himself. In his second letter to her, he’d mentioned how Amelia had commented on being the only girl in church without a mother, and Mercy had simply assumed he attended Sunday services.
Now, she could see she’d been wrong. The door opened, an icy blast of raw, wintry air whooshed in, and George bolted onto the boardwalk, eyes focused on the horse.
“Hi, Miss Eberta,” he said on his way by. “Is that your horse, or is it my new
