Yuletide Treasure Read online

  “You shoulda called me, Miss Arley,” Hanson said when he met her at the door. “I was about to get the sleigh out.” He fussed as he took her cloak, shook off the snow and hung it on the hall tree until it could dry off.

  “Ah, Hanson, can’t you see how beautiful it is out?”

  “Cold enough to freeze your nose. What would your grandmother say if I let something happen to you?”

  “She’d say it was my fault, after she scolded me for being careless. But there is something magical about walking in the falling snow. And besides, it makes me feel more like Christmas.”

  “Ja, yes, of course. As if you needed to feel more like Christmas.” He nodded at all the garlands, pinecones, red plaid bows and candles.

  “The house does look lovely, doesn’t it?”

  He stepped closer and lowered his voice. “Did you get the…the gentleman repaired?”

  Arley nodded and whispered back, “He’s in the repair shop and I’ll check on it tomorrow. Promised to be as good as new.”

  “Herself has been studying the collection.”

  “Maybe I should move them around again so she doesn’t—”

  “I think that’d be a very good idea.” He stepped back and resumed normal speech. “Your grandmother is in the library. I have a fire going in there and Mrs. Hanson is to bring tea as soon as you arrive. I’ll go tell her.”

  “Thank you, Hanson.” She lowered her voice again. “I have something exciting to discuss with you. I’ll need your help to keep it a secret.”

  “Oh, land, you know how I hate trying to keep secrets. Herself just ferrets them out. You’d be better not to tell me.”

  “I’ll think on that.” She patted his arm. For someone who tried so to be “proper,” he was soft as new-fallen snow. Without him and Mrs. Hanson, she might not have survived her first year with her grandmother. She checked herself in the mirror above the hall table, tucked a strand of hair back in her snood, shook any remaining bits of melted snow off the hem of her skirt and headed for the library. A fire in the hearth had carried immense appeal at the moment.

  “All right, what are you up to now?” Louise demanded after the greetings.

  Arley sighed and shook her head. “Grandmother, it is nearing Christmas, if I need to remind you, and you have always said one shouldn’t question other’s secrets at Christmas.”

  “Humph.” Her back straight as a lodgepole pine, Louise tipped her head slightly to peer over the top of her narrow glasses. “You know it is impolite to return one’s words to the original speaker?”

  Arley suppressed a smile, delighted to see a spark of gaiety in her grandmother’s fading blue eyes. Even for one as serious and overwhelming as “Herself,” as Hanson referred to her, of late she’d been rather sad or at least less stentorian than usual. Something had been bothering her, of that Arley was certain, but how to learn the cause put her at a loss. Direct questioning would get her nowhere.

  “I’ve been to the orphanage to read, as I always do on Thursdays.” She stood in front of the fire, warming first her hands, then her back.

  “You should have stayed home in weather like this.”

  Cantankerous, that was a good description. “But I gave my word.” She knew that would shut the old woman down. After all, a promise was a promise.

  A knock came at the door. They turned to see Mrs. Hanson enter with a tea tray, which she set on the low table between the two leather wing chairs in front of the fireplace. “I brought your favorite, Miss Arley.”

  “Christmas tea?”

  She nodded, the one curl that always sneaked out of her mobcap bobbing. “Mixed it myself.”

  “I thought I smelled drying orange peel.” Arley lifted the lid on the teapot and inhaled the fragrance. “Ah, the perfumes of Christmas. I think one could welcome in the season just with them.”

  “And orange buns specially for you, ma’am.” Mrs. Hanson indicated the snail-shaped buns with orange-flavored frosting, one of her specialties.

  Louise nodded. “Thank you, Mrs. Hanson.” Even though the couple had worked for her since shortly before Arley came to live there, Grandmother insisted they maintain formal relationships in speech and demeanor.

  “Supper will be ready at six, or do you prefer six-thirty?”

  “Six will be fine, thank you. Arley, will you pour?”

  Arley caught the wink sent her way as Cook headed for the door. “Of course.” Using the small server, she placed one of the buns on a plate and handed it with a napkin to her grandmother. Were Grandmother’s hands shakier than usual? Arley watched without seeming to watch as she poured the tea, added one lump of sugar, set a spoon on the saucer and passed that across the low table.

  Arley wasn’t even sure when the shakiness had started, for getting her grandmother to talk about anything as private as her personal health was like trying to dig a trench in the frozen Minnesota soil. She would most likely have to go behind her back again to talk with the doctor. Beauty was not something that had graced her grandmother, but the strong chin, wide brow and piercing eyes heralded strength beyond measure. Much of the laughter had left the mansion when her grandfather died ten years earlier, not that there had been an overabundance of hilarity even before then. A self-made man, astute in the ways of timber and finances, he’d built a fortune and encouraged his wife to take part in the business after their only son, Arley’s father, left home to pursue his dream of teaching history as a professor at St. Olaf College in Northfield. He and his wife were on the train returning to the school when disaster struck. A bridge collapsed, dumping the train into a river and killing most of the passengers.

  Five-year-old Arley had come to live with her grandparents immediately.

  Surprised at the direction her thoughts were taking, Arley poured her own tea and bit into one of the buns, licking her fingers to get all the sweetness when she believed her grandmother wasn’t looking.

  “Arlayna, use your napkin.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “So how were the children today?”

  “Delightful as always. Little Nettie sure has carved herself a place in my heart.”

  “You know you should not get so attached. That can bring only heartache.”

  “But, Grandmother, how can I resist such a delightful child?” Arley knew better than to wait for an answer, so she added, “After all, it is nearly Christmas.” She nibbled and sipped for a moment. “I’m thinking of doing something extra for the party at the orphanage. What if we provided a new piece of clothing for each of the children this year?” She’d almost slipped and mentioned the dollhouse. What was the matter with her?

  “They haven’t enough clothes? Surely the missionary societies will sponsor a clothing drive.”

  “But think how something brand-new would make them feel.”

  Louise shook her head. “That would not be helpful in the long run. They must learn to live within their means.”

  Arley sighed. “Would you like more tea?” At least she could provide hair ribbons. If only she had access to money of her own, what she could do to help those children…But while her grandmother felt she was being most generous with the allowance she gave Arley, she really had access to very little cash. Every penny of it would go into the dollhouse. When she heard the clink of a cup on a saucer, she glanced over at her grandmother.

  “I think I will have a bit of a lie-down,” Louise said, rising to her feet. “Please call me in half an hour.”

  “I will.” This was another indication that there might be something wrong with her grandmother. She’d never taken naps before. “Are you all right?” The words sneaked past her resolve and hung on the air.

  “Of course. Why? Whatever could be wrong?” Her eyebrows lowered at the same time as her shoulders straightened almost imperceptibly.

  “Nothing. I just wondered.”

  “Ring Cook to pick up the tray.”

  “I will.” Arley leaned over and poured herself the last of the tea. “In a bit. I�
��ll enjoy the fire awhile longer.”

  “As you wish.” The door closed with a snick behind her, a definite comment on her opinion of her granddaughter’s invasive question.

  “Lord, how do I deal with her?” But only the gentle crack of a log crumbling in the fireplace answered her question. Sometimes she wondered if even God could soften her grandmother.

  Chapter Six

  Nathan and Arley

  Music. A violin played by someone with great skill.

  Arley paused at the door to the wood-carver’s shop. Surely it was coming from inside. She listened to the soaring of Handel’s Messiah, her eyes burning from the beauty of it. When the overhead bell tinkled, the playing stopped.

  Oh, please keep playing!

  Lawrence Gunderson pushed back the curtain. “Good morning. You are out bright and early. But I have to tell you, the repairs on our wooden friend are not quite completed.”

  “That is no problem, I thought that might be so, but I have an entirely new idea I must talk over with you.” She took a deep breath. “You play the violin so wonderfully.”

  He chuckled. “Thank you for the compliment, but that was my grandson.”

  “Oh.” How could someone so grumpy play with such beauty? “No wonder he wants to make violins.” She leaned slightly toward the old man. “My grandmother would love to hear him play.”

  “She always had a good ear and an appreciation for music. I’m glad to hear that has not changed.”

  “She did?” What other secrets did this man hold? She would love to know. Tucking the thought away to be pondered later, she tugged herself back on track. “I have a most wonderful idea, and I am hoping beyond hope that you can help me.”

  He nodded, his eyes twinkling. “If I can, I certainly would love to help make your idea a reality.” He gestured to the curtain. “Perhaps we should discuss this over tea or coffee.”

  What a charming gentleman! And she’d get to see the Viking again. She mentally scolded herself for giving young Mr. Gunderson such a dime-novel title as she nodded her thanks and followed the wood-carver through the blue curtain.

  “Here, let me take your cloak and you can hang your bonnet on the tree by the door. While I make the coffee, you tell me your idea. Nathan, do you want a cup, too?”

  “I’ll fix it.” Nathan laid down the violin he’d been playing and nodded to Arley, who removed her gloves. “Good morning.”

  “Do you always play like that? I mean, every day?” So much for her manners, Arley thought. Grandmother was right, her tongue did get away with her at times, in spite of all the years of Grandmother’s efforts to discipline her.

  He paused on his way to the kitchen. “I try to.”

  “It was like hearing a bit of heaven.”

  She caught the rolling of his eyes. Couldn’t he even accept a compliment? Boorish, that fit.

  Lawrence motioned her to one chair and he took the other. “Now, while Nathan is busy with the coffee, tell me about your idea.”

  She told him about reading the book, the little girl’s request, a brief mention of her childhood dream and ended with, “And so I wondered if you could build me a dollhouse for the orphanage. I would give it to them in my grandmother’s name, which will be a surprise and part of my Christmas gift for her.” She paused. Might as well tell him the rest. “And if you have time, I’d like to commission you to carve another nutcracker for her collection.”

  “Whew, that’s a big order.” He glanced at the calendar hanging above his workbench. “Three weeks until Christmas.” He stroked his mustache with one finger. “What do you think, Nathan?”

  “I think I have no idea what it would take to make a dollhouse and we have plenty of work here left to finish already.” He poured water into the coffeepot and added coffee.

  “Ah, but how do we disappoint a small child who has so little?”

  Nathan shrugged as he walked to the door and let the cat back in. “Eugenia, your babies are restless.”

  The gray cat glanced up at him, chirped her answer and headed for the box by the stove. When she noticed Arley, she detoured and rubbed her head, then her back on Arley’s skirt.

  “She likes you,” the senior Gunderson said.

  “But she’s only met me once.” Arley stroked the cat’s arched back.

  “Doesn’t matter. Cats know who to go to.”

  “Yes, she usually goes to people who don’t like cats,” Nathan said. “Perverse sense of humor.”

  Arley stared at the younger man in surprise. He’d actually sounded pleasant. She bent over to stroke the cat again, then watched as the animal crossed to her box and leaped in to care for her fussing babies. How wonderful it would be, Arley thought, to have a kitten of her own! But back to the business at hand.

  “You would have to help us, you know,” Lawrence said. At her look of confusion, the older man continued, “With all the decorating details, like walls and curtains and furnishings.”

  She gripped the chair arms in a moment of panic. How would she get away from home to do all that? But then, what fun it would be! Surely there must be bits and pieces of things around her grandmother’s house that could be put to use. She nodded. “Of course.” Somehow she would make it work—without lying. That would be the most difficult, but she’d learned that lesson years earlier. One did not lie to her grandmother. Lord, I’m surely going to need Your help in this.

  “Good, then the three of us can begin immediately. Nathan, I commission you to start the drawings so we have a plan. Miss Dexter, you must describe to us the dollhouse you envision and I will search for wood scraps and things we can use to build it.”

  “Will you not need to buy supplies?” Arley asked.

  He shook his head. “I have plenty of leftover lumber that needs to be used.” He smiled his thanks as Nathan handed them each a cup of coffee. “Bring your drawing tools and let’s gather around the table.”

  “But I…” Nathan shot a glance toward his workbench and the pieces of violin. His eyebrows drew together and he took a deep breath, obviously fighting with himself.

  Arley watched the battle as the Viking smoothed out his face by some internal order and nodded. He set his coffee cup on the table and climbed the narrow stairs to an upper floor, returning instantly with a drawing board, straight edge, ruler and pencils.

  His grandfather laid cookies on a plate and brought them to the table.

  “I…I’m sorry, I never thought of the ramifications of all this,” Arley said.

  “Don’t you go worrying about this. You just figure out a way to handle your grandmother.” He smiled up at Nathan, who must have made sure no trace of a smile or any emotion leaked out.

  How well he seems to know her. There’s a mystery here, she thought.

  As the discussion began on the project, Nathan made notes on the edges of the paper taped to his drawing board. Using her hands, Arley set the dimensions of the house as two stories, three-sided with bedrooms upstairs and all other living quarters downstairs. As she talked, she watched the outlines of the house flow from the tip of his pencil. The man was not only a musician and a woodworker, but an artist, as well.

  “Will we have an attic for the help?” Mr. Gunderson inquired.

  “I hadn’t thought of that.”

  “With a roof of that pitch, there would be room for beds and dressers at least. Or pegs on the walls for clothes.”

  “So the stairwell would be used for all three floors, or wouldn’t the stairs to the attic be at the end of the kitchen?” Nathan erased some lines and redrew them.

  Arley watched the surety of the moves of his hands. He’d done architectural drawing before, obviously. Catching a glimpse of badly discolored and wrinkled skin when his cuff pulled back, she caught her breath. Had he been badly burned at one time? Her curiosity, always one of her stronger traits, made her want to know the story behind it. But her grandmother’s continued admonitions to keep her nose in her own business won out.

  Nathan flipped
the page up, and before he could turn the next one, she saw his carefully drawn plans for a violin. Ignoring her response, he turned to the next blank sheet and took up his ruler again. He quickly laid out the front of the house, including potted trees on either side of the front door, on the steps.

  “You’ve seen a dollhouse before?”

  He nodded without looking up. “My youngest sister had one.”

  “And his father was not pleased,” Lawrence said. “To put it mildly.”

  “His father is your son?”

  “Yes.”

  Of course he was, you ninny. The names were the same. She bit down on her bottom lip as a reminder to keep her mouth closed. When the clocks all burst into chimes at the same moment, she stared up at the closest one. Noon. Where had the past three hours gone?

  “I must get back home before they get suspicious.” She pushed back her chair. “Thank you for your help.”

  “If you could stay for dinner, we could work this afternoon.”

  “Thank you, but I hadn’t planned on being gone so long. Grandmother will…” She crossed to the coat tree and lifted down her blue bonnet, quickly setting it in place and tying the bow under her chin. As she reached for her cloak, the elder Mr. Gunderson took it from her and settled it around her shoulders.

  “Bring what you can tomorrow to start decorating the interior of the rooms. I think we can have the walls and floors all in by then. How are you with needle and thread and a paintbrush?”

  “Adequate. Do you think we can add a library by the parlor?” She pulled her gloves from a pocket. “Thank you again.”

  “Your nutcracker will be repaired and ready to take home tomorrow, also.”

  “Wonderful.”

  He walked her to the front door. “God bless.” He stood waving as she hurried up the street. She looked back once to wave again, then took a run and slid on a patch of ice. She thought of ice-skating. She used to skate on the pond with the other children of the village and sometimes the adults, too. Did no one ever skate anymore, or had she just been left off the guest list? At her grandmother’s instigation most likely.