Merry Christmas, My Love

“Two weeks from Saturday.” Piedmont seemed close to a stroke, having spoken more words tonight than Max had heard him speak in the past year.

“Oh my goodness.” Mrs. Davis’s hand fluttered to her throat once again. “While I’m thrilled with your news, now I’ll have to find a new boarder for your room. I must consult my list right after supper.”

The rest of the meal proceeded with Mrs. Davis quizzing Piedmont until the man finally wiped the sweat from his forehead and excused himself, leaving half his apple pie.

Max retired to the front parlor and read the day’s newspaper. Since Mrs. Davis didn’t allow smoking in her home, he also spent some time on the porch with his pipe. Shortly after nine o’clock, he said good night to the other boarders and headed upstairs to his room.

He looked around as he entered. A tidy room, just the way he liked it. His specially made, comfortable bed sat in the middle of the room, a large red-and-white patchwork quilt draped over it. The small maple desk from his childhood home took up one corner, with a milk glass lamp sitting on it. A stack of papers, neatly piled in the center of his desk, stood alongside two sharpened pencils, next to a pen sticking out of an inkwell.

Max removed his jacket, tie, and collar, brushed the jacket and placed the tie and collar on the tall dresser. As he removed each item of clothing, he inspected, brushed, and hung it up or deposited it in the basket for Mrs. Davis to launder. He shrugged into his nightshirt and, after placing his shoes neatly under the bed, flipped the quilt back and climbed in. He read his book, and after an hour, placed it precisely on the edge of the night table, extinguished the light, and settled his head on the fluffy pillow.

And immediately thought of Ellie Henderson. The woman was the curse of his life. Most likely a punishment for some misdeed in his youth. She always had chalk on her fingers, and stray curls forever fell out of her bun. The desk in her classroom was piled haphazardly with stacks of papers, half-eaten apples, and God knew what else. How she found anything at all in that mess remained a mystery to him.

More than once he’d caught her running—running—down the hall to her class, skirts flying behind her, delightful breasts bouncing. What? Where did that come from? Miss Henderson did not have breasts. Well, she did actually, but they were not his to notice. They were not his at all. He rolled over and punched his pillow.

Miss Henderson. What in heaven’s name was he to do about her? Although she’d sent her students home after he’d spoken with her today, he knew she would not stop the Christmas project. She never did anything he’d ordered her to d

o. In fact, she seemed to enjoy provoking him.

He smiled when he thought of her sticking her nose right into his face. A true beauty with those huge hazel eyes and turned up nose. Skin like fine china. He jerked when he realized how the lower part of his body reacted to his thoughts. Best not to travel down that road. Let some other man take her on. It would truly be a sad day for whatever man stood in front of a preacher with Miss Henderson.

Max sat up abruptly, his heart pounding with excitement. Marry! That’s how he could get rid of her. He flung the quilt off, jumped up, and paced. Because of her connection to the man who could give him the appointment he’d worked so hard for, he couldn’t fire her. Although he’d certainly tried.

But—if she was married, she’d give up her job. All married women did. He rubbed his hands together in anticipation as he paced, then stopped, his shoulders slumped. Who in his right mind would marry the woman? And with all her infernal activities with the Women’s Rights group and students, she rarely spent time around men.

He climbed back into bed and settled in. It had been a great idea, but not a practical one. Max sighed, crossed his arms over his middle, and closed his eyes. They popped back open again. Of course! He would find her a husband. Why, he considered it his duty as a citizen of Guthrie, and the principal of the high school, to see that some poor sucker became responsible for her. Some sorry soul who didn’t really know her very well, who would be duped by that beautiful face and appealing body.

His mind raced. He mentally ticked off the men in the boardinghouse, his friends at the Bachelor’s Club, the male teachers—no, that wouldn’t work. The other teachers already knew her. Avoided her like the plague. Then his barber, preacher, doctor, lawyer—the list was endless. Every unmarried man in Guthrie should be given the opportunity to consider taking Ellie Henderson to wife.

He hadn’t been this happy since he’d been given the Principal of the High School job. To think of his days being Miss Henderson-free. No blood pressure skittering up and down all day. No stomach churning every time she entered his office. No watching her race into the building, late for her class, hair falling down, arms wrapped around books with papers sticking out. No projects that involved unladylike, un-teacher like behavior.

Tomorrow, first thing, he would make a list and begin his campaign. He would need to get a copy of Miss Henderson’s appointment book. As much as he hated the idea, he’d have to sneak into her classroom, shuffle through the mess on her desk, hope nothing bit him, and copy her activities for the next few weeks. Then he would know where to show up and introduce her to his victims—er, his friends. Things were looking up.

Relaxed for the first time in months, he punched his pillow again, and drifted off to sleep in minutes.

Chapter 2

Ellie shoved her loose brown curls under the man’s cap she’d borrowed from her brother Michael, along with trousers and a shirt. A bit too large, but a belt held the trousers up, and a short jacket covered the rest of the outfit quite well. Luckily, he’d believed her story about needing the clothes for a Christmas pageant. It didn’t seem likely he’d approve of her venture into town either. Men! What a pain in the neck they were. Always telling you what to do, what constituted proper behavior. Once women got the right to vote, things would change.

She studied herself in the mirror and moved her head side to side. Not bad. If she ran into Mr. Colbert, she doubted he would know her, unless he looked right into her face. She was safe. The list of businesses she planned to visit tucked securely in her pants pocket, she picked up a woolen coat, a pillow slip to put her treasures in, and left her room.

Mrs. Beamer kept herself busy in the back of the house, so Ellie managed to get out without having to explain to her landlady why she dressed as a man. She loved the independence of living away from her family in her own place. Even though she had a small room and a curfew, it still represented home. She’d decorated it to her liking, paid for it with her own earnings. No need for her to depend on some man to provide a roof over her head. Ellie Henderson took care of herself.

She took the short walk to town, breathing in the cold crisp air. Now that Thanksgiving had passed, stores were ready for Christmas sales. The drugstore had Christmas lights in the window, the first she’d seen this year. She stopped in, said hello to Mr. Jackson, and accepted the box of chocolates he offered for the Christmas baskets.

“Why are you dressed like that?” The chemist peered at her over his spectacles as he filled a small clear bottle with liquid from a large brown one.

“Easier to get around. I can get to more places without the restrictions of a skirt.”

Jackson shook his head. “I don’t understand women nowadays. In my day a woman stayed in her home and took care of her family. She didn’t go traipsing around town dressed like her brother.”

Grateful for the box of chocolate, but annoyed with the lecture, Ellie said her thanks and hurried to the next stop on the list.

A small bell attached to the door tinkled as Ellie entered Millie’s Fine Dress Shop. Several women flipped through pattern books; others fingered dresses hanging from hooks around the room. A large window let in the bright sunlight across the wooden floor, highlighting dust motes in the air.

A few women glanced in her direction, their faces pinched with disapproval at her attire.

“Ellie Henderson, look at you.” Millie Ramsey smiled as she took in Ellie’s outfit. “Why are you dressed like that?”