“I don’t know,” Hazel sounded hesitant herself. “Leaving New York? It’s home.”
“But there’s a whole world out there,” Elsie sighed. “You said yourself you’d leave if you found the right opportunity.”
Della decided she had listened long enough. “Leave? What, and leave me here on my own?” She tried to turn it into a joke, though it fell awkwardly off her tongue.
The maids jumped with guilty expressions on their faces. As she looked around, she was disappointed more to see that none of them would look her in the eye. She bit her lip and fiddled with her hair, tugging it in front of her cheek.
“It’s nothing, Miss,” Hazel started.
But she shook her head. “No, please. Go on. What are you talking about, marrying strangers? Let’s have us some food, and you can tell me all about it.”
That made the young girl brighten up. Hazel was a plump young woman who believed food solved all ills and worried about everything. She hurried into the pantry to find a snack as she explained what it meant to become a mail-order bride. The others followed her, filling in the details and offering their opinions.
It was a quaint idea.
The boredom and hole in her heart had lasted too long. By the time they finished their conversation, Della pulled Hazel aside with a plan that had begun to form in her mind. She couldn’t stay trapped in her parents’ home for the rest of her life, after all. There was a world out there that she wanted to see. Since her parents were too embarrassed by her existence, she knew she would have to take care of it herself.
Hazel acted as her intermediary since she already handled the mail. Having few others to put into her confidence, Della convinced the young maid to help her reply to several adverts for mail-order brides. At first, it was dreamy and thrilling.
And then there came a response from a rancher in Dawson, Montana that changed everything.
Chapter 2
The cold used to send a thrill down Zack Heston’s spine. He liked the way the seasons changed and what came with it. Christmas was once his favorite time of year. For thirty years, he adored the fir trees and the way the world grew soft.
But since then, his heart had hardened, and it no longer held the same joy it once had.
“Papa?”
His gaze left the open window as it swung over to the little boy sitting at the table. Short brown hair and green eyes made him think of Ella. But it was Ross. Little Ross who was already eight years old. The boy could finally touch the ground with the tips of his toes while sitting around his chair. But now, he was swinging his feet beneath the seat as he stared back with an intense look.
Pulling himself back to the present, Zack managed a smile. “Yes, Ross? What is it?”
“Are we going to have Christmas this year?”
A lump formed in his throat. Closing the window, Zack turned to the table and set another piece of cheese on the boy’s plate. “Of course. It comes every year. Why would you ask me that?”
The boy shrugged as he ate his cheese with both hands. “I don’t know. It’s just different now. That’s all.”
Zack knew exactly what he meant. There weren’t words for the pain that clung tightly to his chest and weighed him down. Ella. His wife. Ross’s mother. She had been gone nearly two years. He thought the days would get easier with time, but he was still waiting for a sense of relief.
“I know,” he managed at last. Taking a seat at the table across from his son, he tried to smile. Ross was still a child, and he deserved to enjoy the holidays. He still deserved a childhood. Zack slapped his hands against the table and tried to look energetic. “We’ll go to your cousins’ house to celebrate. You still like them, don’t you?”
Ross chuckled sheepishly. “Yeah. They’re fun. I like Bobby the most.”
“Bobby is a smart kid,” Zack nodded approvingly. Bobby was the oldest and the most responsible. If his son could follow in his nephew’s footsteps, then all the better for everyone. “Good. Now, is there anything you want for Christmas?”
His son stared down at the last piece of cheese and shrugged. “I don’t know.”
But he did know. He just did that when he didn’t want to say.
It was clear to his father that the boy was hiding something. Zack couldn’t give up now. He nudged his son on the foot with his boot. “Come on, now. What is it? A wheelbarrow? A toy soldier? No, it’s a horse, huh? I said you’d get one when you’re ten.”
“I know,” the boy fiddled with the cheese but wouldn’t eat it. Then he put it down and put on a serious face. Eight-year-old boys weren’t supposed to have such sober expressions. But losing a mother could do that to a child.
The lump in Zack’s throat grew even as he tried to ignore it. “Well?” He forced.
Ross took a deep breath. “I want a mother for Christmas.” The cheese went in his mouth with a loud plop. It was a big piece so he couldn’t talk. Because he didn’t want to. He stared at the empty plate and waited.
His hands sat limp on the table between them. Zack wanted to retract them, but worried that his son would take that as a sign that he was angry or pulling away from him. He tried to breathe as he digested what the boy had just said. It was a basic enough concept. His son just wanted to be part of a family again.
But the simplicity of the truth didn’t prevent the harsh pain that seared
