Read Online A Wreath of Snow by Liz Curtis Higgs - Free Book Online Page B

mood serious.
    He beckoned her further within, catching a whiff of perfume as she brushed by. Not even a bonny lass in blue could dissuade him from revealing his identity. The only question that remained was when.
    Standing before him with her hands clasped at her waist,she said, “I’ve come to ask you—no, to beg you—to say nothing about the incident at King’s Park unless Alan recognizes you. Please?” Her tender voice, her gentle words implored him. “There is little to be gained by opening that door.”
    “How can you be so certain?” Gordon frowned, trying not to be irritated with her. “Aren’t we to confess our sins to one another?”
    “You would be confessing my sin as well.” Her pale cheeks bloomed like summer roses. “I am the one who told them your surname is Gordon.”
    Now he understood.
    “I could have corrected you then and there,” he reminded her, though they both knew he would never have done so in the middle of a crowded railway station. “In any case, you did not lie. My name
is
Gordon.”
    “So it is.” She inched closer. “Please, Gordon.”
    Her bold use of his Christian name caught him off guard. “But I—”
    “Please don’t tell them.” Her eyes shimmered in the lamplight. “Share our Christmas. Then go your merry way with my family none the wiser. Promise me, Gordon? For my sake?”
    He wanted to step away from her, to argue with her, but his feet wouldn’t move. “I need to do this …” He swallowed. “Margaret, I will never have another chance like this to make things right.”
    “But what if it makes things worse?” Her voice was as soft as a child’s. “You have apologized to me. Is that not enough?”
    “You weren’t the one I injured. Not physically, at least.” He dared to take her hand. She did not pull away. “I looked at his face that night, Margaret. When you were holding him in your arms, I bent down and saw the anguish in that little boy’s eyes.”
    “I saw it too.” A tear spilled down her cheek. “The years have changed him, Gordon, and not for the better. You cannot heal my brother.”
    “I know.” He eased back, releasing her hand. “Let us be agreed, then. If Alan recognizes me, I will tell your family everything and see that none of the blame falls on you.”
    She looked away as if considering that possibility. “And if Alan doesn’t identify you?”
    Gordon knew what she wanted him to say. “Then we will enjoy a fine Christmas Eve dinner, and I will leave town on the morning train.”
    But that was not what Gordon wished for. He’d chosen his words for her family with care and was prepared to say them, even eager to say them. To lay them down like a heavy weight he’d carried long enough.
Cast thy burden upon the L ORD .
He should have heeded such wisdom twelve years earlier.
    An unseen clock began chiming the hour.
    Gordon followed Margaret downstairs, his heart pounding.Rich aromas wafted up to greet them. However fine Mrs. Gunn’s cooking, he could not imagine eating a single bite.
    He followed Margaret into the parlor, where a coal fire burned in the grate, an upright piano stood at the ready, and a Norway spruce claimed pride of place by the window. But he’d not come to hear music or see a Christmas tree.
    Gordon looked at the young man seated by the fire, his feet planted on the carpet, his back stiff.
Alan
. A lump rose in Gordon’s throat.
I did this to you. I did
. He tried to swallow but couldn’t.
How can you ever forgive me?
    His carefully planned speech turned to dust in his mouth.
    On either side of Alan stood his parents, their posture equally rigid, as if the three of them had posed too long for a portrait.
    Mrs. Campbell was smiling.
    Mr. Campbell was not. “This is our son, Alan.” A faint lift of his brow dared Gordon or anyone else to think ill of his heir. “Alan, meet Mr. Gordon, the gentleman from the train.”
    Alan offered him a curt nod, nothing more. He had his father’s dark hair and