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Mountain Christmas Brides: Nine Historical Novellas Celebrate Faith and Love in the Rocky Mountains

By Mary Davis, Mildred Colvin, Susan Page Davis, Lena Nelson Dooley, Darlene Franklin, Debby Lee, Tamela Hancock Murray, Carrie Turansky, Gina Welborn

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A Carpenter Christmas by Mary Davis

Chapter 1
June 1891

Natalie Bollen tried to pick out the solid areas of mud, if there were such a thing. But everywhere she stepped her boots sank in at least an inch, if not three. She balanced herself with an umbrella in one hand and held her skirt up in the other. Rain tapped on the fabric of the umbrella like a soft symphony. She loved how a shower cleaned the air and made everything smell so fresh.
She stopped in front of the big house under construction. It had been in such a state for a year now. The builder not in a particular hurry to complete it. It wasn’t as big and fancy as the Whitworths’ mansion, but clearly it would be one of the larger houses in Tumwater. The owners must be people of importance to need such a fine home.
The hammering told her the carpenter was present, and a giddiness rippled through her. The noise came from above. He wasn’t foolish enough to be up on the roof in this downpour?
As she tipped her head back to look up, her hat loosened. She dropped her skirt and slapped her hand on her hat. “Mr. Tate?” She would prefer to call him Willum, but Papa forbade it. He said it wasn’t proper for a young lady to address a gentleman outside her family by his first name. Most people would think a logging town like Tumwater to be a simple backwoods place where decorum wouldn’t matter. To many, it didn’t. But to Papa, the town’s only religious influence, it did. When decorum went, he said, so did society.
The pounding stopped, and Mr. Tate peered over the edge of the roof, hanging on to a rope tied around his waist. Sandy brown, shoulder-length waves hung in dark, wet tendrils from beneath his worn hat. He shook his head then proceeded to climb down.
Rain poured from his hat brim. He narrowed his pine-green eyes, dark on the outside and lighter on the inside, like the varying shades of the forest. “Miss Bollen, you shouldn’t be out in this weather.”
As proper as Papa. “And you shouldn’t be climbing around on the roof like a monkey.”
He shook his head again. “Come inside where it is drier.”
She released her hat and collected up her skirt again. Mr. Tate guided her by her elbow up the three steps and in through the front door. He took her umbrella and set it against the inside wall.
Natalie smoothed her hands down her pink-striped dress. She looked best in pink, and today was a special day. But even after all her best efforts, mud still managed to get past the hem’s mudguard around the bottom of her skirt. Papa would say that this was where vanity got a person. She had just wanted to look her best.
Mr. Tate took off his hat and shook the water from it. “Does your father know you’re out in this?” He pointed to the window with his still dripping hat.
She tugged at one finger of her glove then the next and next. “Papa is out visiting members of the flock.”
Mr. Tate shook his head again. His wet waves swung gently.
She pulled her hand free of her right glove. Wasn’t he the least bit pleased to see her?
Across the room, Mr. Tate’s orange-colored dog appeared in the kitchen doorway on her three legs and wagging her feathery tail.
Natalie smiled at the dog. “Hi, Sassy.”
Mr. Tate held up a hand to the dog. “Stay, girl.”
Sassy’s body shook with her obedience, and she whined.
Natalie crossed the room to her and scratched the dog’s head around her silky ears.
Sassy sat, and her feathery tail brushed the floor. Mr. Tate had Sassy when he arrived in town three years ago, and said he had found Sassy wandering and hungry. He had no idea how the furry orange canine had lost one of her back legs. But she got around fine on three. She’d taken a shine to him and become his faithful companion.
Sassy rolled over, and Natalie rubbed her soft tummy.
“I think she likes you better than me.” Less of a criticism and more of a pleased acknowledgement.
Natalie looked back at Mr. Tate. “I doubt that. You’re her master.”
He scratched the whiskers on his chin. “No. She just knows where her next meal is coming from.”
Natalie held her hand out to him, and he pulled her to her feet.
“I’ve seen the way she gazes up at you.” Natalie was afraid she might have that same expression just now and looked away.
She surveyed the room. Water dripped from several places above. She could see right through the trusses of the upper floor to the underside of the roof. With all the rain they’d had lately, it was no wonder he was trying to get the rest of the shingles on. Then the interior could dry out. They were standing in the largest of the dry areas. “You certainly are taking your time with this house. Isn’t your employer anxious to move in? I’m sure his wife is.”
“He is not yet ready to move in.”
“Not with rain pouring in.”
And then he did it. His whisker-framed mouth broke into that smile that melted her heart.

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