An Orphan for Christmas Read online

  An Orphan for Christmas

  P. Creeden

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  About the Author

  Love Western Romance?

  A Marshal for Christmas

  An Agent for Josie

  An Agent for Opal

  A Bride for James

  A Bride for Henry

  An Orphan for Christmas © 2019 P. Creeden

  Cover by Virginia McKevitt

  All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.

  Sign up for my newsletter to receive information about

  new releases, contests and giveaways.

  http://subscribepage.com/pcreedenbooks

  Chapter 1

  October 1881

  Clara James pushed the hair from her eyes. She hated how some of the hairs at the front of her head never seemed to grow long enough to make it into the bun she’d made of the rest of her hair. Instead those hairs insisted on getting pushed back behind her ears, where they only remained half the time, if they felt like it.

  Once she locked the stitch, she cut the thread with her teeth and pulled the quilt back away from her. Then she headed for the chest beside her grandmother’s bed. For the past eight months, her grandmother had been completely bedridden. Though she had times of wakefulness, she was never there. She just stared out into space, not focusing on anything in particular. She’d been that way since Clara’s grandfather had passed—as if she was just waiting for the time when she could pass on herself, and head into the next life to be with the man she’d loved.

  Clara took her grandmother’s dark hand into hers. The elder woman had been a slave most of her life, and had only won her freedom after the war, sixteen years ago. All of her life, she wasn’t allowed to live with her husband, they had to keep their marriage a secret—she lived as his slave, and then as his servant, instead. Her mother had been white enough to pass as her grandfather’s ward. Though there were suspicions and rumors, no one questioned it. And Clara had been the product of a marriage that ended when both her parents died in the war—her father as an officer in the Union, her mother as a nurse in a war hospital. Clara could hardly remember them anymore, since she was just nine when they left her eighteen years ago. And then Clara was never truly allowed to call her grandmother what she was unless they were alone. Like they were now.

  “Grandmother, I finished the quilt you started. It’s truly beautiful.” Even though Clara showed it to her beloved one, she knew her grandmother wouldn’t see it. The constant prick of pain in her heart had become so prevalent, she’d almost grown accustomed to it. She began to fold the quilt. “I remembered to lock the stitches the way you taught me. Someday, maybe I’ll find a way to pass it on to someone. Maybe a new family starting out.”

  Having a family of her own was something that Clara had long since given up hope for. In her mother’s time, before the war, people didn’t question her heritage. Even though Clara was even whiter than her mother, suspicious eyes and rumors kept anyone who might have become a suitor at bay. It was one of the disadvantages of living in Fredericksburg, Virginia. And since the death of her grandfather, things had gotten much worse. And since her grandfather and grandmother had fallen ill over the past year, she’d spent most of her time caring for them and given up her job working as a nurse to do so.

  A knock at the door sounded before she’d even been able to get the quilt put away. “Coming,” she called from where she stood. Anyone could hear her across the small, two-room shack where they’d lived since her grandfather died and his house had been taken. As far as the bank was concerned, he had no true heirs. Once she stepped up to the door, she took a deep breath before opening it. She knew it could only be one of two people. The landowner or the bank. The bank was determined to try to get their debts out of her and her grandmother and they hadn’t given up yet. Once the door was open a crack, she found the landowner, Mr. Washington, standing in front of the door.

  His concerned eyes met hers. “Clara, I’m glad you’re in. I’m afraid I have come to an impasse. I need this house in order to get more servants in. I expected this to be only a temporary situation when we’d taken over the property the beginning of the summer, but since you’d not informed us of your intent to move out, I’ve come to ask you to leave.”

  “Leave?” Clara blinked, shaken to her core. “But Miss James is bedridden. She cannot leave the bed, much less the house.”

  His frown deepened. “I understand it won’t be easy. But I’ve got hands to help when you are able to make arrangements. I can give you to the end of next week, but that’s all the time I have.”

  Tears stung the backs of her eyes. “Isn’t there some way? Couldn’t I become a servant in your home, Mr. Washington? That way I can stay?”

  His lips thinned as he shook his head. “I don’t need another maid. I need men to work the fields. There is no way that you can fill that role.”

  Her heart sank to her stomach. The man was right. If he didn’t need a maid or nanny or something that she could do, they were useless. Slowly she nodded as the landowner stepped back.

  Without another word, he gave her one, last pitying look and then started away, but called back toward her. “Let me know when you need help moving your stuff. I will have Albert bring the cart for your charge.”

  In her chest, her heart squeezed painfully. How was she supposed to do this on her own? They didn’t have an income, and what savings Clara or her grandmother had was all but gone. If she went back to work as a nurse, her grandmother would be alone for long hours each day, and that wasn’t going to work, either. She’d have soiled herself or worse before Clara returned home. She leaned against the door with it shut and closed her eyes in prayer. She acknowledged the Lord’s hand in her situation and asked that he help her to trust him. She found herself praying the same prayer of the man whose child was sick in the ninth chapter of Mark: Lord, I believe; help my unbelief.

  After opening her eyes again, she felt some measure of peace. Then she decided to tell her grandmother that she needed to go out for a bit in order to find something that the Lord would provide for them. When she got into the bedroom, she found it exactly as she’d left it. The chest open with the quilt sticking out halfway. She rearranged it and then closed the trunk. Her grandmother still stared at the wall to her right, but something seemed different than usual. Her lips were slightly agape, and she seemed even stiller than normal. Fear poured over Clara’s back like ice cold water. “Grandmother?”

  No answer. There hadn’t been an answer in months. How could Clara have expected something different this time? But
she did. She wished it. She willed it. She prayed it. Oh, that her grandmother would just turn her head and look at her. But it didn’t happen. Clara’s knees kept her locked in place, rooted to the spot where she stood. When she forced them to move, they cracked as though she’d broken them in order to get them moving again. Then she slowly reached for her grandmother’s hand and found it exactly as she feared. Cold. Lifeless. Her grandmother had gotten her wish. She was gone.

  Chapter 2

  Tom Crowley loved his mother, but after spending an hour in their home, he remembered why it had taken him nearly two months to come back home again. He was the youngest son of eight children, and her mother had had him at the ripe old age of thirty-seven. The years had taken their toll on her wrinkled skin and silver hair, so that even though she was not yet seventy, she seemed much older, and her back bent like that of an old crone. Her mind, however, was sharp as a barber’s razor. “Tom, come here. Come closer where I can see you.”

  He approached and let her take his hand in both of her soft, paper thin ones.

  “You don’t come home enough.” She patted his hand with her top one. “And when are you going to grace me with a wife and grandchildren?”

  He lifted a brow. “Do you want rid of me so soon?” He looked around the small home where she lived with only his youngest sister and himself for company. “All your married children are gone, Mom. They had their own families and rarely come visit. Is that what you want from me?”

  “It’s not like you visit that often anyway,” his sister, Samantha said in a cool, even tone.

  He huffed through his nose. “I send back money and come around when I can. What would the two of you do without me?”

  “Exactly!” his mother said, taking hold of his arm and pulling him tighter to her. “But you won’t forget about us, even if you do find a nice bride to settle down with, right?”

  Outside, the wind picked up something fierce and it howled and rustled the dry leaves that littered the ground, even though it was wet from the rain the night before. He’d had two sisters and five brothers. All of them were wed except himself and his sister Samantha. Samantha was a schoolteacher, and as such, had no interest in getting married. She made a decent income that helped support herself and their mother. Tom was only a year older than his sister, at twenty-eight, and the two of them had no prospects for marriage coming up.

  “Settle down,” he huffed. “I can’t even sit down long enough for the dust to settle off my boots. I’m not interested in bringing in a woman and family into that kind of life.”

  His mother just shook her head. “You’re not even giving a woman a chance. There is a woman out there who could handle it. The kind of woman who would be all right with you being gone for weeks at a time. And the kind of woman who will make you want to rush home to spend time with her.”

  His lip curled. He doubted it, but he didn’t voice that opinion. He’d never met a man who didn’t act as though it was a chore to return home to his woman. Like she was a prison sentence or worse than going to work itself. Even his own father had spent more time in the saloon than he did with his family. It was a wonder how he’d even managed to father eight children to begin with. Still, his mother was not one to let silence slip by, and the look on his face must have been answer enough.

  “You’ll see. You think your father was always like that? I wasn’t the one who drove him away. It was you brats that did that,” she said with a firm nod.

  Tom laughed and shook his head. How did his mother read his mind like that? She’d always been able to. Things didn’t change much around the Crowley household. His brothers sent a small income monthly to help his mother with expenses, but they rarely visited. Most of them had homes well out of the state. As if Oklahoma wasn’t big enough for them. The railroad made things too easy to travel and find work elsewhere. Two of his brothers and one of his sisters even lived out in California already. His oldest brother, Carl, had invited their mother to move to California with him, claiming the weather was much better out there, but his mother was loathe to leave her home of forty-something years. “Fine, mother. You find me a woman like that, and I’ll marry her. Deal?”

  “Deal,” she said with a sly smile.

  He thought he was just patronizing her, but that look on her face told him that his mother was more than up to the challenge. He shouldn’t have said anything. Now would he have to deal with every woman of marrying age near Fort Towson. The thought of that twisted his stomach and made him mildly sick. He met eyes with his sister who just shook her head and shrugged, returning to her sewing. No help there. Had he really expected any? He let out a slow breath and then met eyes with his mother again.

  “Leave it to me, and I’ll take care of everything.” A smile played on her lips.

  He swallowed hard. “I was just joking, mother. I’m not interested in trying to get married right now. I’ve got to much to do.”

  “That’s what everyone says about getting married or having children. They want to do it when they are less busy or when things settle down. But the reality of life is that you will always be busy, and things will never settle down. Once you find the next wanted man, there will be another, and another. You’ll always be rushing off chasing something. By the time you finally decide it’s time to get married or have children, it will be too late. Like I said. Leave it to me and I’ll take care of everything.”

  The dryness in his throat worsened. Even his eyes became dryer. Once he’d given his mother permission, joking or not, she wasn’t going to allow him to take it back. He glanced at the clock on the mantle, suddenly itching to make his leave. But he’d promised his mother he’d stay for dinner, at least. Finally, he asked, “How long until we eat?”

  Chapter 3

  “I’m so sorry for your loss,” the preacher’s wife said as she set a hand on Clara’s shoulder.

  Clara’s eyes ached with the number of tears she’d shed. She didn’t even know if she had any more left in her. They felt so dry. Yes, she’d known this day wasn’t far off. She’d known it for months, but somehow, as each day passed, as each week continued, she’d hoped that maybe her grandmother could find a way to continue for another day... another week. But Clara knew it wouldn’t be so. Her grandmother hadn’t eaten a full meal in months. She’d lost so much weight. It had gotten to the point where Clara was forcing her grandmother to eat a little more than her grandmother wanted to. And even then, it wasn’t nearly enough to keep the elder woman alive and at a decent weight.

  The preacher’s children ran around the empty pews of the church after the funeral service for Miss Ella James, her grandmother—unofficially. Everyone treated Clara as though she were not related to the elder colored woman even if they had suspicions. And maybe it was better that way, but for once, Clara wished that she could just claim her heritage as hers. How much would her life truly change if she lived as a colored woman instead of a white one? She’d never known what it was like to be a slave, and though people avoided, her, she’d seen them mistreat those of her kin who couldn’t hide behind a light-colored skin tone the way she could. Was it really right for her to continue to bite her tongue and bide her time? When would things really change for her people now that they were free, but not equal? Would even the preacher and his family be so kind to her?

  After the children went back outside, Clara followed them. She wasn’t sure what to do with herself now. Across the street from the playground, she spotted Dr. Hadley heading into the haberdasher. Maybe she could get her old job back as nurse at the hospital. Dr. Hadley might still need her. Once a wagon passed, she headed across the street to await the doctor outside of the store. Her grandmother had taught her it was rude to enter a store when you had no intention of purchasing anything. To Clara it seemed that it was something that white folk did all the time, but she didn’t want to be impolite, and because she wasn’t certain, she waited.

  Dr. Hadley exited the store with a wide smile on his face and a hat box under his ar
m, calling back into the store, “I know Mrs. Hadley will love it.”

  Then his eyes landed upon Clara, and the smile slipped from his face. Tension caused wrinkles around his eyes and across his forehead. Clara cleared her throat. “Dr. Hadley! It’s providence that I’m seeing you today. I was wondering if you might have a position for me? I’m ready to get back to work as a nurse as soon as tomorrow if you’ll have me?”

  He huffed, his lips drawing thin within his beard. “I’m sorry, Miss James. There is no position.”

  Her heart sunk in her chest. “Even if there’s no longer a nurse’s position, I’ll take anything you have for me. Even if there’s a pay cut. I can clean bedpans and wash sheets if I need to. Anything at all.”

  His chin lifted, and he gazed at her appraisingly down his nose. “All of those positions are taken. Look, Clara. I only hired you as a favor to your grandfather, Oliver. With him gone, I’ve paid him back many times over, and there’s no need to appease him anymore. I’m not interested in hiring colored folk in my hospital. The patients would not have it if they found out.”

  A tremble started in her core. He knew? Dr. Hadley always knew? And now he was using it against her, just as she feared others would. What if he... How many others also knew? Without another word, Dr. Hadley slipped away from her. She was too stiff to stop him. Too shocked to form words. She knew people suspected, but she didn’t know that anyone knew. Now as she looked around at the people passing by her as they went through town, she wondered how many more knew. How many more would treat her differently now that her guardians were gone?