A Texas Christmas Reunion. Carol Arens

remember Steven Lindor? But he was a few grades ahead of us in school. You’ll recall his brother, I imagine. Thomas. He was in our class.”

      “A quiet fellow—kept to himself, as I recall.”

      “Yes.” Thomas had been shy and kinder than many of the boys. “That was him.”

      And now, with her marital situation clear, she could not help but wonder—what was his?

      He took off his coat, hung it on a peg on the wall.

      “Hand over that cleaning rag.” He extended his hand. “You must have more important things to tend to. I appreciate what you’ve done, but I’ll finish.”

      It was true. She ought to get back to the café, but she was not quite ready to part company with her old friend yet. It felt nice to hear the sound of his voice, to look at him and see the man he’d grown into.

      Clearly, he had changed a great deal while he’d been away.

      “There’s another rag beside the stove. As long as the babies are sleeping, I might as well stay and help. The students are anxious to get back to school.”

      “Are they?” He took the cleaning cloth, dipped it in the soapy water. “I hope so, but I can’t remember ever feeling that way about it. I’ll get the floor if you want to clean the desks.”

      “Well—one of them is, at least. Cora. She’s a studious little thing.”

      “Like you were?”

      “Not really. I was shy. Cora is—well, you’ll see.” She scrubbed vigorously at a dry inkwell. “Have you brought your family with you, Trea?”

      The question had to be asked.

      She purely hoped the answer was yes. If he’d come home a married man with children, he might be more easily accepted as the schoolmaster.

      “I never married.” Squatting, he scrubbed at a stubborn stain, looked up at her with that endearing crooked grin. “Came close to it once, but the lady and I both agreed we weren’t meant to be.”

      “I’m sorry,” she said, pretty sure that she truly meant it.

      “Don’t be. She wanted more than I could give her in the material way and I—just wanted more.”

      What kind of more? The meant-to-be sort of more—like she used to believe in?

      Where were her emotions wandering? No place they should, and that was a fact.

      She was a mother, a business woman. What she was not was a starry-eyed child.

      * * *

      Walking through the gently falling snowflakes and pushing the buggy with Juliette’s babies inside—the pair of them sleeping like small angels under the blanket—Trea was sorry that she hadn’t believed him when he’d called her Beautiful.

      The doubt shadowing her eyes had been unmistakable.

      Her disbelief, he felt, had nothing to do with her own self-confidence. Not at all. From all he could see, she had grown to be a strong, capable woman.

      The respect he felt for her, raising these amazing babies on her own, was a mile long.

      It shamed him that her doubt was because of him, of the way he’d been back then. There was no reason for her to believe that the town flirt had ever meant what he said or that he meant it now.

      While they walked and chatted, even laughed a bit at old times, something became clear to him.

      One day he was going to call her Beautiful and she was going to know he meant it, that it was from his heart.

      It was important to him that she understood who he had become, that he no longer passed out false flattery as easily as whispers on the wind.

      Of course, he’d always been genuine when it came to her. But given the mischief-maker he’d been back then, how could he blame her for having doubts about his sincerity?

      Who would not?

      For a long time now, he’d been preparing himself for the fact that it was going to cause a stir when people found out who would be educating their children.

      “This place doesn’t look much like the Beaumont I remember.” It seemed dull and grungy. Not at all the respectable place he’d last seen.

      “It isn’t. The rail spur brings all kinds of strangers to town—thieves and gamblers, to name a few. Can you believe there are three—”

      A blush bloomed in her cheeks. He saw it, even through the snowy dusk.

      “Saloons, you mean? And my father owns two of them?” He smiled when he said it, to assure her that her words had not wounded him.

      It had taken him years to really understand, but he did at last accept that he was not his father. He did not carry his pa’s sins upon his shoulders. Only his own.

      Now here he was in Beaumont Spur, hoping to make amends.

      “I don’t know about you, but I’ve worked up an appetite with all that scrubbing. What do you say we have dinner together at the café? It looks like the only decent place in town to get a bite.”

      She winked at him. He’d forgotten a lot of things over the years, but not how much he liked that gesture. It always made him feel warm—accepted, somehow.

      “It is. And I own it.” A small squeak came from under the blanket. Juliette petted one of the tiny mounds and the fussing stilled. “I needed to make a living after Steven died. The children and the restaurant gave me a reason to put my feet on the floor each morning.”

      “I can sincerely say I’m grateful you did. I reckon I’ll be a regular customer. I can cook—I’d just rather not.”

      “Tonight the new schoolmaster eats compliments of the house.”

      “Mighty grateful.” A dusting of snowflakes crusted the brim of Juliette’s hat. It made her look like an ice queen from a fairy tale.

      “Of all the things I ever imagined you would do with your life, I never once thought you’d become a schoolmaster.”

      “You imagined my life?” Judging by the way she glanced suddenly away, he probably ought to have kept that thought to himself—even if it did make him feel a bit like crowing.

      Juliette had thought of him over the years! Finding that out was worth coming home for, all on its own.

      “I’m sure I’m not the only one, Trea. You did have a reputation.”

      “Still do, I imagine.” He shrugged. It was a fact. “I didn’t imagine being a schoolteacher, either, not for a long time. I spent a couple of years carrying on same as I did here. Then I met a man. He taught school. Mr. Newman was his name. He told me he used to be like me, swore we were kindred spirits. He saw inside me, knew I wanted to make up for the past and showed me how.”

      The way she looked over at him, not a hint of condemnation in her blue eyes, made him glad he’d worked so hard to get back here. Every hour spent studying by lamplight in the livery shed had been worth it.

      “So, here I am. Following in his footsteps, I reckon.”

      “I’m glad you came home.”

      So was he, even more than he’d expected.

      “I bought a house not far from here, right in town, so I’ll be a regular customer at your café.”

      Approaching the front door, he was glad for such a place to have his meals. Glancing through the windows, he saw how warm and inviting the café looked. With the wind picking up and the temperature dropping, warm was going to be a fine thing.

      “Customers are always welcome. Which house did you purchase?” she asked, peeling the blanket off the babies and scooping them up, one in each arm.

      “The