A Family for Christmas. Dana Corbit

air stung Wendy’s legs when Olivia opened the door and carried in a piece of Wendy’s luggage. Olivia slammed the door against the strong wind. “Supper smells good, Mom,” she said. “I’m starved.”

      “You’re always hungry,” her sister said.

      “This is my other daughter, Marcy,” Hilda said.

      “Hello,” Marcy said without a degree of warmth in her voice, and turned away toward the kitchen. “I’ll finish the salad.”

      Marcy, too, had blond hair and blue eyes, and Wendy was amazed at how much all three children shared their mother’s physical characteristics. Mr. Kessler must also be fair-featured.

      With a frown at her oldest daughter, Hilda said, “Olivia, show Wendy to her room, and, Evan, you can bring in the rest of her luggage while I finish supper.”

      Evan still had his arm around Wendy’s waist, and she hated to leave him. He gave her a little squeeze, and she picked up her carry-on bag and followed Olivia into the central part of the house and up the carpeted stairway. The family room had been warm and cozy, but the large hallway was several degrees colder. The carpets, the wall hangings, the draperies and the furniture indicated affluence, and Wendy was uncomfortable. Wendy had never seen such a palatial house. She didn’t fit in.

      “The guest room is next to mine, and we’ll share the bathroom between the rooms. Daddy and Mom sleep downstairs, and Marcy and Evan have rooms on the other side of the hall.” As Olivia led the way up the stairway, looking over her shoulder, she whispered, “Don’t pay any attention to Marcy. She’s always been jealous of Evan’s girlfriends.”

      Wendy stopped in her tracks. She’d been curious about any previous girlfriends Evan might have had, but he had talked so openly about his past and hadn’t mentioned any romances, so she’d assumed that he, like herself, had never dated.

      “Has he had lots of girlfriends?”

      Perhaps realizing she’d spoken out of turn, Olivia said quickly, “I shouldn’t have said that. Marcy tells me I talk too much.”

      Wendy followed Olivia into the square room with ceilings that seemed to be about twelve feet high. She stood in the center of the room, feeling lost in such space.

      Watching her closely, Olivia said, “Not to worry. Evan has always had lots of friends, but he’s never wanted to marry anyone before. I’ve heard Mom and Dad fretting about it—wondering if he’d ever have any children. It’s tradition for this farm to pass down to the oldest son.”

      Family traditions that determined an individual’s lifestyle before he was even born confused Wendy. Evan’s firstborn son was destined to someday own this huge old house whether he wanted it or not. She shook her head in confusion. Her mother had been an only child, and Wendy had no thought of any responsibility toward past or future generations. Wendy knew so little about her father’s family that she felt no responsibility to them, either.

      “But what if Evan doesn’t have a son?”

      Olivia shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t know! It’s never happened.”

      Wendy was still standing in the middle of the room, feeling bewildered, when Evan entered with the rest of her luggage.

      “Mom said that supper will be ready in about fifteen minutes, so you can wait until later to unpack.”

      Olivia went into her room, and Evan said, “Anything wrong?”

      She didn’t answer at first, but her face spoke for her. When his blue eyes met hers wistfulness flitted across her features. Her eyes clouded with uneasiness, and her body trembled.

      “I don’t belong here, Evan,” she whispered between uneven gasps. “It was a mistake for me to come.”

      Gathering her into his arms, Evan held her tightly, and she buried her face on the front of his flannel shirt.

      “Of course you belong here. I invited you because I wanted you to meet my family. This farm is my heritage, and I wanted you to love it as much as I do.” He tucked gentle fingers under her chin and tilted her head backward. He kissed her on the forehead. “You’ve had a long day, but you’ll feel better once you’ve had one of Mom’s meals. Why don’t you take a quick shower and change into a pretty outfit? I’ll tell Mom to hold supper until you’re ready.”

      Before he closed the door, Evan favored Wendy with a contemplative glance. She lifted her head and forced a smile to her lips. “I’ll hurry, Evan.”

      Although she was uncomfortable and scared, Wendy didn’t want to embarrass Evan in front of his family. She hurried to shower and dress. She chose the warmest pants and shirt she had, knowing that her Florida clothes weren’t suitable for this climate. The soft fabric of the velour shirt felt good to her skin and the shade of blue matched her eyes. She brushed her hair and put on long loop black earrings. Taking a last look in the mirror on the antique dresser, Wendy knew that Evan wouldn’t be ashamed of her appearance. She hustled down the stairs, determined that, in spite of her inner turmoil and doubts, she would be a pleasant guest so that her behavior wouldn’t embarrass him, either.

      Chapter Five

      As the evening progressed, Wendy learned that she didn’t have to pretend to enjoy herself. She really was having a good time. She felt a little disloyal when she compared the deli meals her mother served to the succulent home-cooked roast beef, baked potatoes, green beans and broccoli and cauliflower salad Mrs. Kessler served. The food was mouthwatering, and she was amazed when Evan told her that the beef, potatoes and beans were all products of their farm. The apples for the still-warm pie had grown on a tree in the backyard.

      Marcy unbent to talk a little, while all of the Kesslers vied with each other to show Wendy around their home.

      “I refer to this as my rogues’ gallery,” Hilda said with a smile, as she pointed to the wall in the family room featuring pictures of her children from birth to the present. Wendy stared at the picture of Evan with his first birthday cake. When she commented on it, Olivia said, “We get to choose what kind of cake we want and also the menu for our birthday dinner.”

      “You make the cakes yourself?” Wendy asked Hilda.

      “Yes, just like my mother always did for her children.”

      “But what about your birthday? Who helps you celebrate it?”

      “That’s one day I don’t work at all. Since the children have gotten old enough to take care of themselves, Karl always takes me out for the day. We have dinner, sometimes go to a movie. I get to choose exactly what I want to do. He always buys me a new dress, too, but I pick it out.”

      Wendy thought of the grocery store cakes her mother bought for her birthday. All she’d ever done for her mother’s birthday was buy a card. It seemed strange that birthdays were so special to the Kessler family.

      “Look over here,” Evan said, taking her hand and guiding her to the opposite wall, covered with plaques and citations. “There are awards the Kesslers have won for their contribution to the farming industry in the state of Ohio.” He pointed to a trophy displayed on a small ledge. “This was given to my grandfather for a heifer that won first place in her division at the Ohio State Fair.”

      “Daddy’s livestock have taken some awards, too,” Marcy said, pointing to the fireplace mantel where several trophies were on exhibit.

      “And how is Mr. Kessler? I’m sorry I waited so long to ask.”

      “He’s improving slowly,” Hilda said, “but his doctors have promised us that he’ll be home for Christmas.”

      “I’ll take you to see him tomorrow,” Evan said. “He’s looking forward to meeting you.”

      For an hour they toured the four large first-floor rooms in the original house and Wendy learned much about the family’s history. Victor followed as they pointed out ornately framed portraits of stern-looking