Mail Order Bride: Winter (Bride For All Seasons 4)

“I declare, Camellia, your house is decorated so nice,” gushed Grace Ellen, from a coveted position on the settee. Doubtless she had taken possession of that comfortable spot and would be impossible to dislodge. “It’s easy to see you’ve got real Christmas spirit around here.”

“Why, thank you. I can’t take a lot of credit, I’m afraid; my sisters helped me so much.” Smiling, she sipped at her own serving of eggnog—hmmm; Ben had used a heavy hand with his alcoholic additions—and glanced about with a great deal of satisfaction. How nice to see everyone enjoying each other’s company, having a good time, spreading peace and goodwill throughout.

“And just what is wrong with electing the first black Congressman, I’d like to know?” came a strident feminine voice from near the fireplace.

Oh, dear. Perhaps not spreading so much peace and goodwill, after all. Camellia leaned forward to peer around the substantial shoulders of Florence McKnight. What on earth was going on? Then, ascertaining, she sighed. All right, she might have known. Hannah, of course. And her antagonist—none other than Gabriel Havers, with a cigar in one hand, a glass of rich red wine in the other, and a smug smile plastered on his face.

How he did take pleasure in goading her! Camellia, piqued, decided she would have to have a few private words with the contentious doctor later.

“I didn’t say anything was wrong,” he asserted, when he could get a word in edgewise. “And, not surprisingly, you have your facts a bit helter-skelter, Missy. Mr. Hiram Revels was the first black Congressman; Mr. Joseph Rainey, honorable as he may be, is only the second. From South Carolina, I do believe. I’m just sayin’ that—”

“Careful, don’t let your prejudice show.”

“Prejudice? Not a’tall. But with the War only finished a few years, you still must—”

“Oh, yes, the Johnny Rebs and their refusal to take an oath of loyalty. I’ll have you know—”

Without making a move or uttering a sound, Camellia managed to catch her husband’s eye, glanced toward the altercating couple, and glanced back. In that wordless communication which worked as a kind of shorthand between married pairs, Ben nodded and detached himself from his own group of happy-go-lucky revelers.

“Here, Gabe, you ole hoss thief, wanna talk to you about somethin’ brought up at our last town meetin’. Got a minute?” Taking hold of the doctor’s elbow, he forcibly removed his friend from the line of fire.

All the way, winding in and out between knots of people, Gabriel protested such cavalier treatment. “C’mon, Ben, I was just gettin’ a good start. How’s come you have to drag me away when I merely was lookin’ to—”

“Gabe. I realize exactly what you were lookin’ to.” Safely depositing his friend somewhere around the kitchen corner, Ben let out a soft groan. “You know better’n to get into an argument with Hannah. First of all, you’ll always lose. Second of all, she can argue anything. She has a talent for it.”

“I will be on my best behavior.”

“This is a party. My wife tends to get unhappy when things ain’t goin’ smooth around her; and, believe me, I’d sure rather not have her get unhappy. ’Cause it makes for trouble in the household, and in my bedroom. Understand?”

The doctor gave him a charming smile. “Benjamin, you take all the fun outa my life. But Lord knows I don’t expect to cause problems b’tween you and Camellia, so I’ll behave from here on. You might wanna give your sister-in-law the same warnin’.”

Crisis averted—for the moment. Who knew what else might crop up during the rest of the evening, especially given two such volatile personalities?

Toasts, appetizers, supper itself—all came and went with a minimum of fuss. To their mother, Camellia praised the very able assistance of the Tucker girls, and mentioned several times how much she appreciated their taking over so much of the serving. Small tables had been set up, with proper linens and essentials, so that everyone could easily, comfortably, dine.

It was, for the main, a convivial group, chosen by Camellia for just that reason. (With hopes that Hannah and Gabe could be kept apart.) Conversation ebbed and flowed, while candles sent up fragrant plumes of flame, and the fire, regularly replenished, carried on a snappy dialogue of its own. Once the punch bowl of eggnog was empty, wine bottles were opened and shared, mellowing the mood still more.

The good reverend had proven himself adept, over the years of his ministry and his residence in several wide-ranging parishes, at mixing with his congregation, both after services and at social events. He did so now, speaking with authority on a number of subjects that involved an interesting back-and-forth with his table-mate, Oliver Crane. In fact, the two of them, newspaperman and preacher, had often shared such discussions—sometimes philosophical, sometimes practical.

A bachelor, intelligent as well as sensitive, Martin was also adept at fending off the advances of well-meaning but amorous church women, who asked for nothing more than to launder and press his crisp Sunday shirts and sit, utterly enchanted, at his knee while he expounded. Thus far, he had managed to avoid embarrassing entanglements.

The bouillon had been presented and consumed, to rave reviews. Once the miniature bowls had been cleared away, the guests took turns serving themselves from the main courses arranged, buffet-style, on the tastefully furnished kitchen table.

Rev. Beecham, who had called down a blessing from above upon the assembled group, and the meal itself, was pressured to be first in line, even before the ladies could take up position. He protested, to no avail. “What a marvelous feast, Camellia,” he lavishly complimented her, as he forked up a healthy chunk of the turkey’s dark meat. “And how wonderful of you and Ben to share it with all of us.”

Trust a man of the cloth to put such a positive slant on the Forresters’ good deed.

Guests filled their plates, wandered away to sit and chat, wandered back to take second helpings. Camellia, ensconced in her favorite chair while Ben fetched and carried for her (on his own initiative), caught snatches of chitchat as people drifted to and fro.

Reese was bragging about how smart his new puppy was.

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“I swear, that boy can just about open and close a door on his own,” he was saying, in response to Paul’s question about their recent acquisition. “He mighta been the runt of the litter, accordin’ to Abel, but Letty sure did get the pick, as far as I’m concerned.”

“And what prompted you to get a dog?” Molly, spreading a napkin over her silken skirt, wanted to know.

From across the table, Letitia smiled at her husband with the adoring eyes of a very recent bride. “He told me the family had owned a dog, when he was a boy, and he missed having one around. That was all it took.”