The Captain's Christmas Homecoming, page 1
Emma’s breath caught at the way her nerves leaped beneath her skin as George rested a hand on the back of her chair.
He looked as handsome in his suit as he had in his uniform the other day. Their only meeting had been almost two years ago and had been brief, but she’d never forgotten his eyes. They’d held her attention at her aunt’s house that day, and again in the hallway the day before yesterday. They were blue, a real bright blue, and twinkled like none she’d ever seen.
“I’ll get you a glass of punch,” he said quietly. “Unless you’d prefer something different?”
She had to swallow, hard, before she was able to say, “Punch would be lovely. Thank you.”
“I’ll be right back,” he said.
She didn’t release the air locked in her lungs until he’d walked away. Then, as her shoulders slumped, Emma questioned her sanity. As soon as she’d seen George, a hundred questions that she wanted to ask had formed in her mind. About men he’d mentioned in his letters as well as places and things that he’d seen. Most of all, she wanted to ask him how he was doing, being back home. He had to be happy about that, but it had to be different than before. So very different.
Author Note
If you’re like me, as soon as there is a nip in the air, you’re ready to start reading Christmas stories. Then again, I’ve also been known to read them in July and, well, pretty much every other month.
In The Captain’s Christmas Homecoming, you’ll be taken to a chilly, snowy upstate New York, which had been known as the Lumber Capital of the World.
The hero in this story, George Weston, comes from a family of lumber barons. He’s next in line and is dedicated to using the skills he’d honed while serving in WWI to grow the entire industry.
However, while he’d been overseas, he’d received enchanting letters, and meeting the woman who had written them was his first priority.
This story was built around a single image I had one day while mowing the lawn... I saw a young solider, arriving home, stepping off a train and searching the crowd for a woman. The woman was unknown to him but was to have a flower in her hat. He saw the hat. Saw the woman, and found himself speechless because, though she was charming, the woman was also gray-haired and quite old.
I hope you enjoy reading about George, Emma and Beverly Buttons as much as I enjoyed writing their story. And I hope your Christmas wishes come true.
LAURI ROBINSON
The Captain’s Christmas Homecoming
A lover of fairy tales and history, Lauri Robinson can’t imagine a better profession than penning happily-ever-after stories about men and women in days gone past. Her favorite settings include World War II, the Roaring Twenties and the Old West. Lauri and her husband raised three sons in their rural Minnesota home and are now getting their just rewards by spoiling their grandchildren. Visit her at laurirobinson.blogspot.com, Facebook.com/lauri.robinson1 or Twitter.com/laurir.
Books by Lauri Robinson
Harlequin Historical
Diary of a War Bride
A Family for the Titanic Survivor
The Captain’s Christmas Homecoming
The Osterlund Saga
Marriage or Ruin for the Heiress
The Heiress and the Baby Boom
Twins of the Twenties
Scandal at the Speakeasy
A Proposal for the Unwed Mother
Sisters of the Roaring Twenties
The Flapper’s Fake Fiancé
The Flapper’s Baby Scandal
The Flapper’s Scandalous Elopement
Brides of the Roaring Twenties
Baby on His Hollywood Doorstep
Stolen Kiss with the Hollywood Starlet
Visit the Author Profile page
at Harlequin.com for more titles.
To our newest granddaughter, Avery. You’ve been an adventurer, and an adventure, since the day you were born. Papa and Drama love you to the moon and back.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Epilogue
Excerpt from How to Survive a Scandal by Christine Merrill
Chapter One
November 1918
It had been a long time since George Weston had felt like this—like a kid at Christmas. That’s what he compared the surge of excitement that shot through him to as the screech and hiss of the train applying its brakes filled the air. Other passengers began to shift in their seats, to collect belongings or button their coats as the train rolled into town. George repositioned the hat on his head and checked the belt around his waist on the outside of his uniform jacket, then retrieved his bag from under the train seat and stood, waiting for his turn to enter the aisle and proceed to the exit.
Every life had issues. Complexities and events that brought great joys and sorrows. He’d experienced a fair share of such events the last eighteen months, while overseas, in the trenches, witnessing the death and destruction of war, but also successes and friendships. There were things he’d never forget—it would be impossible to—as well as people. Not only his own countrymen, but also those from around the world that he’d encountered and collaborated with in many circumstances.
He glanced out the windows lining the train car’s wall, at the gray skies. November could bring cold and gloomy days, a precursor to winter bearing down, yet the gratefulness inside George was warm and bright. But for grace, he could be coming home in a box, or not at all, buried on the French countryside or in some other foreign land, a body too damaged to identify.
The gratitude he felt for that, for coming home, wasn’t just for himself, but for his family, his parents. And one other person.
Miss Beverly Buttons.
He hadn’t known her when he’d left Albany eighteen months ago, ready and willing to fulfill a duty of serving his country just as his ancestors had since the Revolutionary War. He hadn’t known a lot of things, especially what to expect. He certainly hadn’t expected to rise through the ranks and return home as a captain. While others attributed that to his intelligence, courage and character, he attributed it to his father. Since the age of seven, his father had allowed him to tag along and learn every aspect of the family lumber company. He’d been ten the first time he’d joined a cruiser to inspect trees to be harvested and by the time he’d been thirteen, he had been cruising on his own. Walking miles upon miles through wooded terrain and marking trees to be harvested had honed his map-reading abilities, and those abilities had played a major role in his military advancements. One look at a map and he had it memorized, both the way in and the way out. He’d taken each and every advancement of rank seriously, had worked diligently to lead his unit through battles, and ultimately, thankfully, had led them out of trouble.
There had been plenty of that. Trouble. And gas. The fear of being gassed while in the trenches filled with brackish water and rats—no one could ever forget the rats—had affected every man in his company. Luckily, his troops had never encountered gas during any of their missions. They’d moved quickly, struck their attacks and retreated, then moved on to their next assignment, which is why he was on his way home now.
His company’s last mission had been completed and they’d returned to base to await their next orders. Then, because the Treaty of Versailles had been signed in June and implications of that treaty had been put in place, it had been determined he and his men would be sent home.
That had taken place so quickly, he hadn’t had a chance to write a single letter to let anyone know of his return. He’d been on a ship bound for America when Germany had formally surrendered last week, officially ending the war.
He was ready to hang up his captain’s hat and become a civilian again. George reached into his uniform suit pocket, felt the stack of letters bound by a broken bootlace and grinned at how his excitement grew. He had no idea what Beverly Buttons looked like, but he couldn’t wait to see her because she wasn’t unknown to him. Through the letters they’d shared, he felt as if he knew her better than any woman he’d ever known.
While in the trenches, he’d kept the letters he’d received from her tucked inside the lining of his trousers, hoping the wool would keep them from getting soaked through so he could read them over and over as time permitted. They’d been his lifeline, and had reinforced his goal to get home, so they could meet in person.
That would happen today. The months, weeks, days and hours he’d been waiting were now down to minutes.
Each time he’d returned to base he’d been thrilled by the letters awaiting him. There had always been one or two from family members, but it had been those from Beverly that he’d looked forward to the most and read first. Each one had been like a gift. Every line, every word, had made him smile and filled him with optimism for his life upon returning home.
Her name had
He hadn’t been sent afield yet upon receiving that first letter and had instantly written to her in return. Those first few letters that they’d exchanged had been his rock, his connection to the outside world while traipsing the Western Front.
As soon as his ship had docked in the New York harbor, he’d sent a telegram to Miss Beverly Buttons, explaining that he’d be arriving today, on the noon train, and asked if she would meet him at the station.
Her response had come the following morning, via return telegram, telling him that she’d be there, and that she’d have a white-and-yellow flower pinned to her hat so that he’d recognize her.
He’d barely been able to think of anything else while making his way through the discharge process. More than once, he’d wondered what color her hair would be, and her eyes, and what her voice would sound like, but in all actuality, it didn’t matter.
There comes a time when a man knows, just knows, deep down what he wants and that’s what had happened to him. While reading her letters, he’d determined that she was the woman he would marry.
This time around, he was going to ask a woman to marry him because he wanted to, not because someone else wanted that to happen.
That’s how it had been with Martha. They’d agreed to get married because it would have built their lumber companies into an empire. That’s what both of their families wanted, and he would have married Martha before he’d left for the war if she hadn’t wanted to wait until he returned, so they could have the wedding that society expected.
He and Martha came from two of the wealthiest families in the state, thanks to the lumber industry that their families had been a part of for generations. A merger of the two families would create one company—the largest in the nation.
He’d wanted that for his family, had promised it would happen, and had left for the war with the full understanding that they’d marry upon his return. However, the first letter he’d received after leaving home had been from Martha, telling him that she was calling off their wedding, and the second letter had come from his mother, regretfully informing him that Martha had eloped with a man he’d never heard of—Delmar Christianson.
The news had come as a surprise, but his heart hadn’t been shattered, because he hadn’t loved Martha. He’d never planned on loving her. Marriage had simply been the next step in his plan for Weston Lumber. His family had to be disappointed that it hadn’t happened, and that was the one thing that he’d promised to never do—disappoint his parents.
He’d thought about that a lot while overseas, and had hopes of keeping his promise in another way. Perhaps two ways, due to Beverly’s letters. Her first letter had arrived right after the one from Martha. Her neat, elegant handwriting hadn’t mentioned people or gossip that might have been floating around about him and his broken engagement. Instead, it had been full of how the warm summer weather had allowed flowers to bloom all across the city, how children could be seen playing hopscotch on the sidewalks and swinging on swings in the city park.
All of her letters had been like that first one, full of things he’d been able to visualize throughout the seasons and months. The colors of the changing leaves, how a snowfall had made everything look fresh and clean and children could be spotted ice skating on the pond in the center of the city park and the budding of leaves in the spring. Visualizing those things had made him feel as if he was back home at times, but more than that, he could tell Beverly loved Albany as much as he did, and that gave him a real connection to her.
They’d come to know each other through their letters. She’d asked him about numerous subjects, including books, and they’d discussed more than one book in succedent letters. His favorite part of her letters had been how she’d always included a riddle or joke, with the answer near the end. Things that would make him laugh, such as: Why couldn’t the pony sing? Because he was little hoarse. Or, why do fish live in salt water? Because pepper makes them sneeze. Or what time do ducks wake up? At the quack of dawn.
George peered over the heads of those in front of him as they slowly moved forward toward the door. Beverly’s jokes had kept him and the other soldiers entertained during more than one long, dark night and he couldn’t wait to finally meet the woman who’d written them to him. Tell her how much her letters had meant to him, how much she meant to him.
His car would be waiting at the train station. The one he’d purchased right before leaving. A Nash. Red with a black canopy top, black fenders and interior, and a four-cylinder gas engine. He’d telephoned home from New York City and left a message for Willis, the family chauffeur, to have the car delivered to the station. He’d explained to James, the butler who had answered the phone, that he wanted his return to be a surprise to his parents, but in all actuality, he’d wanted a few hours with Beverly before making his homecoming known to his family.
He had plans of asking her to have coffee with him at a café, and truly couldn’t wait to see her face, hear her voice. In his mind, he imagined she was close to his age of twenty-four, with brown hair and brown eyes. He couldn’t say why he thought that—he just did. And she was pretty. Very. And soft-spoken. And thoughtful, and kind, and smart and generous. An all-around wonderful person.
It was finally his turn to exit, and he couldn’t help but scan the area, looking for a hat with a flower pinned to it, even though he knew he wouldn’t be able to see her from here. With over a hundred trains rolling in and out of the station on a daily basis, there were multiple tracks and long, covered embarking-and-loading islands that he’d have to walk through before entering the elaborate white brick building with arched, two-story windows that was the most modern depot in the state.
No expense had been spared. New Yorkers loved their state capital and were proud for it to hold the finest amenities in the state. Finer than those in New York City.
His family had been a part of Albany for generations and Weston Lumber had been used to build the now massive city for nearly half a century, including the impressive governor’s mansion and state capital buildings.
He was proud of his heritage, of his family, and was ready to take on a larger role in the lumber company. To make it the largest company in the nation, as he’d promised.
Walking shoulder to shoulder with those leaving other trains, George crossed the crowded platform to the depot building that he knew contained several rows of benches for people to wait for departures or to greet those arriving. The entire time he was walking, he was scanning the crowd for a woman wearing a hat with a yellow-and-white flower.
There were plenty of woman wearing all styles, shapes and colors of hats. Some even had flowers on them, but none were the one he was looking for.
The crowd dispersed in all directions as they entered the spacious building. Noise echoed off the tall ceiling. George ignored the sounds of people talking, greeting each other, their footfalls clicking on the tile floors, and the louder voices announcing the incoming and departing trains as he walked toward the long benches in the center of the lobby.
His heartbeat increased at the sight of a pretty blond woman sitting alone near the end of one bench. She was not wearing a hat but was searching the crowd. He increased his speed when she stood, but then slowed his footsteps when a man hurried around him and the woman smiled, rushing forward to greet him.
As the man and woman embraced, George shifted his gaze to the rows of benches again, searching for a hat with a white-and-yellow flower.
He saw one. A white, rolled brim hat, with a white-and-yellow daisy pinned near the crown, but upon espying the woman wearing it, he continued searching, even though a tiny quiver coiled up his spine.
The woman wearing that hat couldn’t be Beverly. She was elderly. Quite elderly.
His throat grew thick when he found no other white-and-yellow flowers pinned on hats and his gaze found the woman again.
