Page 14 of A Texas Christmas Carol

Evan didn’t disdain those of humble circumstance. No one who’d emptied chamber pots in exchange for a few crusts of bread could forget the gnaw of deprivation. He empathized with their plight more than most, he’d wager, yet only Timothy had given him the opportunity to share that empathy.

He realized his aloof manner didn’t help the situation. He supposed he could make an effort to be more approachable, but changing ingrained habits was uncomfortable business, and part of him resented the idea of having to try. He was who he was. And after years of employers demanding he smile to please hotel clients no matter how they treated him in return, he had little patience for superficial pretense. He’d smile if he felt like smiling, not just to meet some prescribed social etiquette.

Having successfully squashed the momentary flicker of uncertainty that had sprung up to assail his conscience, Evan turned back to the job at hand. He lifted the wooden rod he’d recently sawn in two and aimed it toward the sunlight streaming through the stable door to examine it for hidden splinters.

“Eb!” Lester’s cheerful holler stole Evan’s attention from his woodworking and redirected it toward the three figures approaching. “Ain’t ya a sight for sore eyes!”

The number of ambushes occurring in his stable of late made Evan consider installing a lock on the barn door.

“I was jus’ tellin’ Prez that we needed to stop by and see our good friend Eb, and here ya are. Don’t even have to mess with knockin’.” Lester strolled straight into the barn and slapped Evan on the shoulder. “How you been, young feller?”

“Fine.” Realizing there’d be no easy escape, Evan set down his sandpaper and wiped his hands clean on a scrap of towel.

“Fine?” Lester’s face scrunched as his attention drifted to the worktable. “You sure? Looks to me like your fancy cane done snapped in two.”

Evan’s mouth tightened. “It didn’t snap. I’m cutting it down. Reshaping it. It’s going to be a gift.”

Lester picked up the discarded piece and frowned at the ragged edges. “How’s a fella supposed to use a cane if it ain’t got no bottom?”

Prez took the three-inch section out of Lester’s hand and placed it back on the table with an apologetic glance toward Evan. “You know better than to judge a project when it’s only half finished. I’m sure Evan knows what he’s doing.”

Not really. He’d never worked with wood in any kind of carpentry manner. But he hadn’t been able to rid himself of the image of Timothy Little’s pleasure in using his cane. If something as simple as a cane could lift the boy’s spirits and remind him of what he strove to achieve, Evan intended to see that he had it. No one sold child-sized canes, of course, and with Christmas less than a week away, there was no time to special-order one.

A sturdy branch pilfered from beneath a tree might have worked, but Timothy didn’t need an ordinary walking stick. He needed something that aspired to be more. A tangible promise of a brighter future, a talisman to keep him going when times got hard. Like the discarded room key Evan had carried in his pocket since his first bellboy job.

When rougher customers cursed him or boxed his ears, he’d held that key in his fist, letting the teeth bite into his palm until the anger and pain subsided. When people discounted him and told him he’d never amount to anything, he’d rubbed his thumb over the tarnished metal in his pocket, stoking his determination to prove them wrong. And on those dark nights when his view of the future grew too dim to see, he’d clung to that scrap of metal as he desperately prayed for God to renew his hope and restore his vision. That was what he wanted to give Timothy. Hope and vision.

So, after luncheon today, Evan had yanked his newest silver-topped cane from the parlor umbrella stand, marched to the stable, grabbed a hacksaw, and lopped off the bottom three inches. When he finished sanding the edges smooth, he’d touch it up with a bit of black paint, then take it to the local smith to see about getting a metal cap fitted to the bottom. He’d turn it into a miniature version of a cane any fancy gent would envy and perhaps a source of hope for a young boy facing a long and difficult road.

Evan had no desire to explain all that to a group of old codgers he barely knew, though. Yet as he looked past Lester’s crinkled brow and Prez’s cheerful smile, he locked eyes with Tom. Per usual, the man said nothing aloud, but his gaze radiated comprehension, and his small nod of approval made Evan stand a trifle taller.

“Have you eaten?” Evan surprised himself by asking. “We could go up to the house and—”

“Don’t worry about us,” Prez interrupted with a wave of his hand. “We don’t aim to intrude. We’ll be outta your hair before that pretty young lady of yours comes callin’.” He jabbed Evan with his elbow, his wink anything but subtle. “We’ve seen you out and about with her every day this week. A real pair of lovebirds, you are.”

Heat rose across Evan’s neck. “We aren’t courting. I’m assisting her with a bit of charity work. That’s all.”

Lester cackled. “That ain’t all, boy, and you know it. You’re sweet on her. Don’t bother denyin’ it.” He held up his hand to forestall Evan doing precisely that. “The truth’s as clear as the nose on yer face. ’Course, the nose on her face paints a pretty good picture too.”

“Lester, I think you’re mixin’ up yer sayings,” Prez began, but Lester cut him off.

“Eb knows what I mean, don’t ya, boy?”

Actually, he didn’t. Was Lester saying that he’d seen Felicity cast longing glances in Evan’s direction? The very idea was ludicrous. Yet his pulse leapt anyway.

“Miss Wiggins is a friend, gentlemen, and I’ll thank you to speak of her with respect.”

“Oh, I respect her a whole heap of a lot, Eb. Any woman who can see past a crusty fella’s burnt edges to the soft parts inside is a queen in my book.”

Had he just compared Evan to an overcooked loaf of bread? Evan scowled, but Lester didn’t seem to notice.

“Yep, you found yerself a keeper, Eb. I like a woman with spirit, and she’s got plenty. Why, just the other day I passed her in town and heard her humming carols and wishin’ everyone a merry Christmas.”

Following Lester’s train of thought was complicated, with all the dark tunnels and track changes. Evan raised a brow. “What does caroling have to do with spirit?”

“You dull, boy?” Lester eyed the shortened cane and seemed to answer his own question in a less-than-complimentary manner. “I’m talkin’ about Christmas spirit! She’s got loads of it. And good thing too, ’cause you’re a little shy in that department.” He moved to stand directly in front of Evan and squinted up at him. “Why don’t ya like Christmas, Eb?”

Evan retreated a step, uncomfortable with both Lester’s nearness and his probing. “I don’t dislike Christmas. It just doesn’t hold many fond memories. For me, Christmas was merely another workday. There were still chamber pots to empty, baggage to deliver, water to tote. Celebrations were reserved for the hotel clientele, not the employees. If we were lucky, the tips would be bigger and the cook might give us an extra helping of ham, but there were no carols or parties or gifts.”