I pushed at a wayward lock of hair with the back of my hand. “That doesn’t…That’s not an answer.”
“It’s not,” a warm voice agreed with me.
I turned to see Whitaker leaning against the doorframe, the pot of butter in his hands.
“Merry Christmas, Ellerie Downing.” His eyes trailed over me. “You look lovely.”
“I look a mess,” I said, accepting the butter and turning to scoop some into the skillet. “I truly don’t know how Mama pulled these dinners off. She always had everything ready at the same time and would sit down with all of us to eat, not a hair out of place.”
“An impressive feat, to be sure.”
He leaned in from behind me to inspect the potatoes with an appreciative sniff. My shoulder blades brushed his chest, and a delicious thrill danced through me. It was such a wonderfully intimate, familiar gesture. I’d seen Papa do it many times before, and it always ended with a kiss pressed into the crook of Mama’s neck.
I glanced at him. He was so close, our faces brushed against each other’s, and I caught the scent of him. It was intoxicating, drawing me closer still, and I was certain this was it.
My first kiss.
I couldn’t think of a better Christmas gift.
He smiled as our eyes met, and my chest hitched, too happy to draw full breath.
“Whitaker, I didn’t hear you come in.” Sam greeted him from the hallway, breaking the moment. “Come meet our uncle and cousin.”
“Samuel,” Whitaker said, pulling away from me. “Merry Christmas.”
“To you as well.” Sam gestured back to the sitting room. “Coming?”
“Do you need any help in here?” Whitaker asked me.
“I’m sure Ellerie has everything all covered. And look, there’s Merry,” Sam said as Merry ducked inside, carrying a basket full of kindling. “I was just about to tell Ezra and Thomas about my trek into the woods. Join us,” he beckoned.
Whitaker tapped my nose, a playful twinkle in his eye. “To be continued later,” he promised.
* * *
“What a marvelous feast!” Ezra exclaimed, clutching the chair in front of him and staring down at the table in wonder.
“Have a seat, please,” I said, setting the roasted chicken down with a flourish.
Pride was a sin, but I couldn’t help but be pleased with the meal Merry and I had prepared. Mama might have been away, but it felt as though she were here, looking down the length of the table. We’d made all the Christmas favorites—roasted chicken, fried potatoes, green beans salted with butter and little onions. Biscuits and gravy. Cranberry sauce and stewed plums.
My mouth watered as everyone gathered around the table and we bowed our heads for the blessing.
Both Sam and Ezra started to speak at once, neither aware that the other felt the delivery belonged to them.
“A thousand apologies,” Ezra said, ceding quickly. “I didn’t mean to step on your toes.”
Sam’s lips twisted into a scowl, and he rushed through a terse and somewhat bland Christmas prayer.
“Amen,” we echoed as he finished.
“So tell me, Mr. Price,” Ezra began, breaking the quiet that had descended over the table as we’d all begun filling our plates and passing the dishes and bowls. “Ellerie says you’re a trapper.”
Whitaker finished spooning a drizzle of gravy across his chicken before glancing to my uncle. His eyebrows rose, as if waiting for a question to answer.
“I’d be interested in seeing some of your pelts. I’ve a mind to make a new coat for myself.”
“Is there anything in particular you’re interested in?” Whitaker asked, passing a tray of biscuits to Merry, at his left.
“Fox, if you’ve got any at reasonable prices. I’ll need something warm for the collar. I plan to be spending a good amount of time out in the woods soon.”
“Doing what, exactly?”
I studied my uncle, curious myself. He had no homestead of his own to tend and no discernable trade. I wasn’t sure what he or Thomas did all day at the Buhrmans’. It seemed odd to not know, but odder still to come out and ask. I hadn’t wanted him to think we were busybodies.
“Ah. I intend to write a book,” he declared, proudly adjusting his glasses.
“A book?” Sam echoed. “On what?”
“Amity Falls, of course! I’ve been fortunate enough to travel quite a bit throughout the West and always admired the field guides of the coast. They’re chockful of information on plants and animals native to the region. Watercolor illustrations and such. But there’s nothing like that for this area of the world. I thought I’d try my hand at creating one.”
“You’re an artist, then?” I asked, slicing into a sliver of potato.
He beamed.
“And you?” Merry glanced at Thomas. “Do you like to paint as well?”
“I mostly carry the supplies,” he said with a dry chuckle.
“I even plan to include a few pages on the mutated animals. The wolf we came across. The stags. Frogs and fish. We’ve heard all sorts of stories around town. Mr. Fowler caught a pike ice fishing last week. It had two tails and a little set of legs between them. Curious, isn’t it?” He reached for the pepper shaker. “Have you seen any oddities in your travels, Mr. Price?”
“Just ‘Whitaker,’ ” he corrected Thomas around a mouthful of beans. He swallowed. “I can’t say I have. I am awfully grateful to you and your son for taking out that wolf. I wouldn’t have wanted him to stumble across my campsite.”
Ezra and Thomas nodded, diving into their meals.
“There are more of them out there, though,” Sam said. “Wolves, or whatever they truly are.”
My sisters and I exchanged looks with each other. We needed to turn the direction of the conversation, or Sam would spend all night brooding on the supply run.
“Tell us more about your book, Uncle Ezra,” Sadie said. “And pass the beans?”
Thomas obliged her, and we continued eating.
* * *
“Are you sure you want to head back into town now?” Samuel asked as Ezra wrapped a navy scarf about his neck.
“So early?” Merry added.
We’d just cleared away the dessert plates.