Page 13 of A Texas Christmas Carol

“Miss Wiggins! Miss Wiggins!” The two youngest boys nearly tackled her in their enthusiasm, their grimy hands grabbing her skirt and sleeves.

He considered stepping in, shooing them away from her, but the joy on her face kept his feet glued to the ground. She greeted each boy by name with a laugh and a hug, clearly not in the least concerned for the cleanliness of her clothing. She exclaimed over how much one had grown and asked the other about his latest lizarding adventure, only to have the boy pull one from his pocket and display it like some kind of prize on his upward-facing palm. Felicity showed no aversion to the reptile. In fact, she took the thing in hand and let it crawl up her arm, only squealing when it reached her shoulder. The kids all laughed, but the eldest boy rescued her, taking the lizard and shoving it back at his brother with a stern look. At least one of the fledglings possessed some sense.

“That sure is a fancy cane.”

Evan glanced down to find a boy of about eight standing to his right, eyeing his cane as if it were the finest thing he’d ever seen. He hadn’t been running with his brothers. Because he couldn’t. The boy had no left foot. A pair of rustic crutches propped him up.

“Thanks,” Evan said, wishing he knew what to say. Where to look.

“Can I hold it?” The boy’s eyes pleaded.

Evan ensured his own balance was steady, then extended the cane, not certain how the boy would take it with his hands full of crutches. The boy handled the trick with ease, however, shifting his weight and trading crutch for cane in a smooth move that evidenced years of practice.

“Ma says that when I quit growin’, I can get a fake foot to wear over my stump and stroll down the lane with nothing but a cane, just like a fancy city fella.” He gazed up at Evan as if he were some kind of hero. “Do you think she’s right?”

Something tightened in Evan’s chest. “I don’t see why not. The way you handle those crutches, a wooden foot and a cane should be a simple enough matter.”

Even as he watched, the boy took a couple steps with one crutch and the cane, though the cane was far too tall for a boy of his height. He’d need one a good three inches shorter for maximum efficiency.

“I was born this way,” the boy said as he hobbled around, his factual accounting amazingly void of self-pity. “I asked Ma if God forgot my second foot, but she says God never forgets nothin’. That he made me different ’cause he has special plans fer me. I just gots to figure out what those are.” He made a careful turn, then headed back toward Evan. “Why do you use a cane, Mr. Beazer? Is it just to be like them fancy city fellers?”

Evan shook his head, then leaned over to tap his right knee. “Bum leg. Knee goes out on me every now and again. I keep the cane with me so I don’t end up sprawled facedown in the middle of the street.”

The lad grinned, but his eyes radiated a compassion born of similar experience. He nodded. “Smart thinkin’.”

“Timothy! Stop bothering Mr. Beazer.” Mrs. Little pivoted away from Felicity and marched toward them, concern tightening her features.

The boy regarded Evan frankly. “Am I botherin’ you, Mr. Beazer?”

“Not in the slightest.” Evan glanced at Mrs. Little and waved away her concern. “We’re fine, ma’am.”

Timothy grinned. “See, Ma? I ain’t botherin’ him none.”

“Are you sure?” Mrs. Little seemed less than convinced until Felicity came alongside.

“Oh, Mr. Beazer is not one to bury truth behind politeness.” Her green eyes danced merrily. “If he says he’s not bothered, you can trust him.”

He might not be bothered by young Timothy, but Felicity and her smiles were another thing altogether. As she drew Mrs. Little back toward the house, she tossed one over her shoulder at him that made his breathing stutter. Her teasing grin had softened into a smile that glowed with something that felt very like approval. In general, he cared little about garnering the approval of others, yet garnering it from her suddenly seemed essential to his well-being.

Careful, old boy. Losing your head over a woman will only make you miserable.

Unless she lost her head too.

Improbable. But seeing as how she had voluntarily placed herself in his company on multiple occasions over the last several days and intended to continue in the same vein until Christmas, perhaps not completely impossible.

six

THE REMAINDER OF THAT WEEK and all of the following one passed much as that first day had, with visits to the homes of families on Felicity’s list. She insisted he meet each family, not only to establish a personal connection, but also so he could help her assess their needs. Especially where the men were concerned. As if his being the same gender gave him instinctual insight into what a farmer or mill laborer would appreciate.

Between the visits, he and Felicity brainstormed ideas for the Christmas baskets. Practical items topped his list, but Felicity insisted that every family member receive some small item that served no other purpose than to make them smile. A scrap of ribbon or a tin soldier. A packet of flower seeds or a brass wall hook for a man to hang his hat. Her ingenuity knew no bounds, and her genuine concern for the happiness of everyone who crossed her path had a thawing effect on the icy walls he’d so carefully cultivated over the years. Had his family received a charity basket with an item tucked inside that had been selected specifically for him, it might have softened his resentment. Anyone could toss unwanted clothes into a donation bin, but only someone who truly cared would make the effort to soothe a young boy’s bruised heart.

Or a grown man’s.

Her warmth was proving addictive, and not just when displayed toward him. Even watching her extend it toward others affected him in disturbing ways. Defrosted him. A dangerous circumstance, since frostbitten limbs tended to scream in pain when thawed. If he wasn’t careful, he could end up worse off than he’d been before she knocked on his door.

Evan frowned and scrubbed the sandpaper a little harder against the rough edges he was trying to smooth. In all of their brainstorming, he had felt woefully inept at supplying gift ideas of any worth. Felicity was the creative one who could see possibilities where he saw only problems. Except in the case of Timothy Little.

Most of the adults they’d visited kept their distance from Evan, darting embarrassed glances his way, as if certain he was looking down his nose and casting judgment upon their lack of affluence. Young Timothy was the only one who’d made no assumptions.