Yuletide Treasure Read online

  She wondered if the Viking knew how to skate. Didn’t every red-blooded Minnesotan, along with cross-country skiing and other winter activities? The thought of skating around the pond or lake, with him, her hand snug in a muff, made her face heat up in spite of the frigid air. Where had that thought come from?

  Just in case her grandmother was watching, she reduced her pace to a more ladylike walk when she neared the front door of home. One would think that by her ancient age of twenty-five, she would be beyond such childish behavior.

  “Herself has been looking for you,” Hanson greeted her with a whisper and a check over his shoulder.

  “I’m sorry. I lost track of time. But after we eat, I need to talk with you and Cook in the kitchen. I need your help.”

  “Anything I can do.” He stood straight, as if saluting.

  “There you are. We’ve been looking for you.” Her grandmother stepped into the arched doorway.

  Arley hung up her things. “Well, I’ve been out, but I’m here now and sorry I kept you from eating on time.”

  “Hanson is there to take your cloak and hang it up.”

  “Yes, Grandmother.” Arley turned with a sigh and an apologetic glance at Hanson. He shouldn’t get reprimanded because of her independent behavior. “Let me wash up and I’ll join you.”

  “In the sunroom. We must take advantage of the light when we have it.”

  “What am I going to say to her?” Arley asked the face in the mirror above the sink. When the idea hit her, she grinned and winked at herself. “Thank you, Father. You came through again.”

  After grace and with back straight and her napkin in her lap, Arley smiled at her grandmother. They were sitting at the round table in front of the window. “This is so much more pleasant than the dining room. Thank you for choosing to eat here.” They both knew this was one of Arley’s favorite rooms in the house.

  “Where have you been all morning?” Nothing like a frontal attack.

  “Now, Grandmother, must I remind you again about all the times you’ve told me not to ask questions around Christmas time.”

  “Humph.”

  “Did you have a good morning?”

  “I was hoping you would write some letters for me.”

  That meant she would dictate and Arley would write as fast as possible. “Is there any reason we cannot do that this afternoon?’

  “No, but we missed the post this way.” She nodded to Hanson to set the soup dish on her plate.

  Even with the sunshine streaming through the windows, there was a slight bite in the air, due, Arley knew, to her being gone without permission and without saying where. Had her grandmother had her way, she would have a rope or chain attached Arley’s wrist and the other end attached to the chatelaine on the old woman’s belt. The thought almost made Arley smile.

  “This is good soup.”

  “Mrs. Hanson always makes good cream soups. It’s a miracle this wasn’t curdled, since you were so late.”

  It promised to be a long afternoon.

  Chapter Seven

  The cottage

  “You sure you have everything, miss?” Henny fluttered around the basket.

  “Well, as much as we could find. If you can think of somewhere else we can look…” Arley closed her eyes to reflect. She’d ransacked the sewing room, the linen closet, the trunks in the attic in search of bits of wallpaper and fabric. Never had she realized she could be so sneaky. Not only did she have to keep away from her grandmother, but from Mrs. Iverson, the housekeeper, who if she noticed anything amiss, would go directly to Louise.

  In her basket Arley also had scissors, needle and thread, lamb’s wool to use as stuffing for cushions and quilts, horsehair, leather from an old pair of gloves, string, embroidery thread, leftover yarn. She’d awakened this morning trying to decide how to create the doll family who would live in this house-to-be. If only she’d thought of this months ago, she could have ordered some of the things they couldn’t make.

  “You bundle up now,” Mrs. Hanson ordered. “If the weather turns bad, I am sending the mister out for you.”

  Arley nodded. Right now, Mr. Hanson was busy taking her grandmother to a meeting at the church. She’d made noises about Arley accompanying her, but Arley had stood firm. When her grandmother started to argue, Arley gave her the look she’d practiced in the mirror. It was the sort of look her grandmother used to quell any opposition.

  Louise Dexter left in a huff.

  Arley set off for the woodworker’s cottage, bundled up with a coat under her cloak and a scarf across the lower part of her face. The wind soughed through the naked tree branches, rattling some and snapping others with the cold. Clouds scudded across the eggshell-blue sky, playing follow-the-leader.

  She paused at the door, hoping to hear the powerful violin music again, but the only sound was the sign overhead clattering in the wind. She pushed open the heavy door, and the bell announced her entry.

  “Coming,” she heard from the rear.

  “It’s only me.” She moved to the blue curtain. “You needn’t come out.” She pushed the cloth aside and stepped into the other world, as she’d come to think of the living quarters. Her gaze zeroed in on the dollhouse on the workbench, bare walls inside and out and still roofless. A thrill skittered up her backbone. A dollhouse! They really were going to build one. She set her basket on the counter and crossed to the coat tree to hang up her outer garments, talking as she went. “I see you got started. I was afraid maybe you would change your mind.”

  “No, lass, a promise is a promise. But we have done the easy part. The details are what will eat up the time,” Mr. Gunderson said.

  She was about to inquire as to the whereabouts of his grandson when the back door opened and the man himself came in with flat sticks of cedar about an inch wide.

  He held them up. “Shingles in the making.” Setting his hat on the top of the tree, he nodded. “Good day, Miss Dexter.” He actually smiled.

  Her heart did a double thump and then skipped a beat. What a devastating smile! One thought scrambled after the other. Why didn’t he use that smile more? Then, good thing he didn’t. Most likely women fell all over themselves to get him to smile. What was his laugh like? Get hold of yourself, she commanded. Remember his scowl. That seems more the norm for him.

  “Come over by the fire,” Mr. Gunderson said, “and warm yourself. I’m surprised your grandmother let you walk over here in the cold.”

  Arley took the old man up on his offer. “She is using the buggy today, but Cook threatened that if it worsened, she’d send her husband after me.”

  “And your grandmother doesn’t know you’re here?” His gray eyebrows rose on the question, making deep wrinkles in his wide forehead.

  “No, but she won’t ask. I warned her about questions at Christmas, as she does to me all the time.”

  Lawrence’s cheeks rounded with his grin. “Got one back at her, did you?”

  Arley nodded, then crossed to the stove to peek into the box of cat and sleeping kittens. Eugenia yawned, her pink tongue curling around white needle teeth, and closed her eyes. The kittens had seemed to grow overnight.

  Mr. Gunderson pointed out a kitten. “I’m reserving the one with the white feet for you.”

  Desire overrode common sense. “Oh, I hope so.”

  The sound of a saw drew her attention to the workbench where Nathan had clamped the cedar sticks into a vise and was now cutting them into one-and-a-half-inch pieces with a fine-bladed saw.

  “How about I bring the dollhouse over here to the kitchen table and you can work on the interior while I start on furniture?”

  “That would be perfect.” She went to fetch her basket and saw the neck of the violin lying beside the body now ready for the top to be glued in place. The grain of the wood glowed in the light. “That—your violin will be beautiful.”

  He glanced up from his concentration on the saw. “It is coming along.”

  “Would you consider playing some
time for my grandmother? She loves music of any kind, but the violin especially.”

  “We’ll see.” He set another cluster in the clamp, measured and started sawing again.

  Back to being a man of very few words.

  She shrugged and took her basket to the table. “What colors do you think would do well on the outside walls?”

  “Gray with navy, burgundy and cream trim,” Nathan replied for his grandfather.

  “He’s the artist,” Lawrence said. “I’m just a wood-carver and worker.”

  Arley motioned toward the front showroom. “With all that beautiful work, you are not an artist?”

  “Only in wood. You don’t see paint and painted trims out there. I can put any kind of a clear finish on wood, but when it comes to colors—” he leaned forward and lowered his voice “—I’m partially color-blind, not in all colors, but don’t ask me to match anything in dark colors.”

  Arley shook her head. “How do you paint the nutcrackers, then?”

  “They better be accurate on the paint labels is all I got to say.” He held up several small pieces of dark wood. “Now, this will become a bed in a few minutes, and your nutcracker is good as new.”

  “Thank you.” She thought to retrieve her reticule, tucked in the pocket of her coat. But she’d not put any cash in there before leaving home. “You must tell me how much I owe you so I can bring it tomorrow.”

  “We’ll discuss that later.” He fitted the pieces together, and they indeed made a bed with both head-and footboard. “Now, I can also glue little bits of gingerbread trim onto the gable ends of the roof, like all the fancy work on your grandmother’s porch.” He opened a pot of glue, and, using a tiny sliver of wood, dabbed some on the joints of his creation. “That’s the second bed. How many do you think we need?”

  “Three, one for each bedroom. The fourth room upstairs will make a nice sewing room. I have ticking in here to make the mattresses.” Piece by piece she removed the supplies from her basket, laying them on the table in color groups. “I didn’t bring flour to make wallpaper paste.”

  “In that canister.” He nodded toward the shelves on the wall.

  Arley used her ruler to measure the rooms and decided to work on the master bedroom first. She unrolled a strip of cream-colored wallpaper and held it up to the rooms, deciding to cover all the ceilings on the main floor with it. After cutting the pieces she tested each one against the space and nodded. Using a fork, she mixed flour and water to a thick paste and returned to the table.

  “There are brushes over there on the workbench. Use one of the worn ones.”

  Nathan handed her a brush just as she reached the bench.

  “Thank you.” She paused to watch him. The frame of the roof was finished and covered with a thin board, and now he was gluing the shingles into place, one by one, starting with the row along the eaves, just as one would with a real house. Real shingles. She wanted to clap her hands and spin in place as she used to when a child. “I never dreamed this would have such detail!”

  “We thought of painting the roof, but then grandfather had this idea. It does look rather well, doesn’t it?”

  “What are those squares for?” She pointed to several places drawn on the board. In the process, her arm brushed his. The current that jumped between them made her step back. “Excuse me, I—”

  “Dormers and a chimney.” He continued painting glue on the end of the shingle and setting it perfectly in place. “We haven’t decided for sure on the dormers. Depends on the time. Have you thought about glass for the windows?”

  Must have been the carpets, she thought, and the sparks caused by friction. She and the neighbor boys used to rub their feet on the rugs in the winter and try to sting each other. Surely that was what it was. He obviously did not feel a thing. She took the brush and returned to her chair, where she smoothed paste onto the ceiling and a light coat on the paper, then pressed the paper into place, carefully smoothing out the lumps and bubbles.

  “That looks perfect. One would think you did this every day.” Lawrence came around the table to her side. With the house resting on its front, she was able to do the ceilings more easily.

  Sometime later she came out of her concentration to hear the wind whistling around the corners of the house. It had picked up. Should she leave now or wait for Hanson to come?

  Lawrence stuck more wood in the stove and pulled a kettle, which had been sending out tantalizing smells, to the hotter part of the stove. “Soup will be ready soon. I thought we’d eat in front of the fireplace so we don’t have to clear the table.”

  “I should be getting home.”

  “Not in this wind. Hanson will come. You keep working. Doing too good a job to stop now.”

  Arley stared at the older man. Too many compliments. She wasn’t used to that. She started to respond but had to swallow twice and clear her throat before she could get the thank-you out. She half smiled at his quizzical look, then stepped back ostensibly to study her decorating skills, but in reality to get control of the emotions that threatened to swamp her. She’d finished the ceilings and used striped silk for the upper walls of the dining room. The bottom half needed wainscoting. The parlor sported a burgundy calico with tiny dots and the master bedroom a gold silk. She’d used red-and-white gingham on the kitchen walls and made a braided rug from the same fabric for the floor.

  Nathan crossed to stand beside her, wiping any remaining glue from his hands with a rag. “You’ve done a lot. Looks nice.”

  Arley wanted to take a step, no, several steps back. He seemed to suck all the air out around him. Why all of a sudden was he saying nice things? Kind words didn’t fit the image she had of him at all. A few days ago she’d yelled at him and today, between him and his grandfather, she was nearly on the verge of tears. She who never cried, who had sworn off crying over such a silly thing as hurt feelings years ago. Her grandmother’s training had taken hold and taken hold well.

  “Th-thank you.” Her breath came out on a whoosh. “I…I better clean up my mess.”

  “No, leave it. As Grandpa said, we’ll eat in front of the fire. Much warmer.”

  The last thing Arley needed to be at the moment was warmer. What was the matter with her? Think of something to get a conversation going, she ordered herself. Surely all those lessons in deportment could come in handy about now. Family—that should be a safe topic. “Do you have any brothers and sisters?” she asked.

  “Two sisters, one older, one younger.”

  At least he’d answered. “Where are you from?” Would he think her nosy? Didn’t he know anything about keeping a conversation going? It was his turn to add more or ask a question.

  “Minneapolis.”

  “Life here must seem strange after living there.” She sorted through her bits of fabric, looking for the perfect piece.

  “It is quiet and I needed that.”

  Finally he’d offered something personal. She waited, hoping he would continue. Glancing up, she saw the old man smiling at her. His nod gave her a feeling she was on the right track. “It that why you play your violin?”

  “To destroy the quiet, or…?” He glued another piece in place before looking over his shoulder. “I would rather play the violin than just about anything else.”

  “You play beautifully. I wanted to stand outside and just listen.”

  Nathan nodded. “And you wouldn’t have to stand outside.”

  Was that a smile that almost touched his eyes? She smiled back and nodded.

  The jingling of harness bells could be heard over the rush of the wind. Surely it was Mr. Hanson come to fetch her. A rap at the door and the tinkle of the bell came almost simultaneously.

  “Hello, anyone here?” Hanson’s voice.

  Nathan crossed to the curtain and pulled it aside. “Come on back and stand by the fire. We were just about to have dinner.”

  Arley headed for the coat tree to get her things. They couldn’t leave the horses out in weather like this for long. S
he introduced the Gundersons to Hanson.

  “Can you stay long enough for a bowl of soup?” the elder Gunderson asked as he led the driver closer to the fire.

  “Thank you, but I think this storm is going to get worse, and we’d better get home before it does.” Hanson glanced around the room, his gaze landing on the dollhouse, now upright again on the table. “Is this the secret project?” Leaving the fire, he moved to the table. “How clever!” He peered into each room and studied the pieces of furniture, some in various stages of construction. “How will you get all this done in—” he paused to count the days “—less than two weeks before the party at the orphanage?”

  “That’s why I need to work here every moment I can,” Arley said.

  “Without Herself getting wind of it?” The man shook his head. “Ah, Miss Arley, she is too sharp for that. She’ll ferret it out of you some way.”

  Surprisingly, Nathan looked at Hanson and asked, “You have any suggestions?”

  “Perhaps some of the rest of us could help with the furnishings,” Hanson replied. “I’ve always been a fair hand at carving, and the missus can wield a needle with the best of them. Especially if this storm tucks us all in for a few days.” He hesitated. “Would extra help be all right with you?”

  “Of course, of course.” Lawrence stroked his mustache as he pondered. “How about you make the cabinets for the kitchen?” He showed the measurements with his fingers. “About this long and this high.”

  “With brads for knobs?” Hanson asked.

  “Good idea.”

  Arley finished buttoning her coat and settled her bonnet on her head. “I must remember to take the nutcracker.”

  “Oh, yes.” Nathan retrieved the box from the workbench. “You’d never know he’d been wounded.” When he handed it to her, his fingers brushed hers. His eyes widened slightly. “I packed it carefully.”

  For some reason, her gaze refused to leave his face, no matter how much she blinked. “I, ah, thank you.” She took the box and this time did back up. Fleeing was a good alternative to drowning in the pools that were the blue of his eyes.