The Christmas Melody

  Hardman Holidays Book 7

  A Sweet Victorian Holiday Romance

  by

  USA TODAY Bestselling Author

  SHANNA HATFIELD

  The Christmas Melody

  Hardman Holidays Book 7

  Copyright © 2018 by Shanna Hatfield

  All rights reserved. By purchasing this publication through an authorized outlet, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this ebook in a digital format. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, transmitted, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, now known or hereafter invented, without the written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. Please purchase only authorized editions.

  For permission requests, please contact the author, with a subject line of “permission request” at the e-mail address below or through her website.

  Shanna Hatfield

  shanna@shannahatfield.com

  shannahatfield.com

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Cover Design by Shanna Hatfield

  To those who view stumbling blocks

  as challenges

  and never give up…

  Chapter One

  1902

  Hardman, Oregon

  A carpet of crimson and gold cushioned her footsteps as Claire Baker wandered along a path carrying her deeper into the woods.

  The scents of autumn — of apples, spice, smoke from chimneys, and the loamy richness of earth settling in preparation of the coming winter — filled her senses and drew out her smile.

  “What a perfectly splendid afternoon,” she whispered to herself, afraid if she spoke in a normal tone, the birds chittering in the trees around her would silence their delightful song.

  She continued walking along the trail made by deer that her nephew had shown her a few weeks ago, admiring the vibrant hues of the leaves and the sun-dappled trees surrounding her.

  Fred told her as long as she stayed on the path, she’d be safe and wouldn’t get lost. At times, she still had difficulty embracing the notion her nephew was a year her senior. Fred Decker was wonderful, though, and so was his lovely wife, Elsa.

  Claire thought it quite romantic when Fred not only proposed to Elsa on Christmas Eve, but arranged everything for their wedding that very day. Of course, Claire and her two sisters, Ari and Bett, had helped as much as he’d allowed. Still, the very idea of how besotted he was with his bride made her heart giddy with joy.

  When Claire had returned to Philadelphia with Ari and Bett after the holidays, she’d missed Hardman. For a girl who’d grown up with every luxury at hand, there was something about the rugged western town that called to her.

  Although her family had planned to come for a visit in September, Fred and Elsa had instead made a trip to Philadelphia in August. They were thrilled to see the home John Baker, Claire’s father, had built. They’d toured some of Claire’s favorite places to visit, strolled through parks, attended parties, and joined in several elaborate dinners. All too soon, the couple left to spend a week in Boston with Elsa’s family.

  When they stopped on their way home, Heath, Ari’s husband, and Clark, Bett’s husband, both invited Fred and Elsa to stay, but they were adamant it was time to return to Hardman.

  But when Elsa invited Claire to join them, she didn’t hesitate to pack her trunks and travel west with the couple.

  In the three weeks Claire had been in Hardman, she’d felt so relaxed and at peace. Although she missed her sisters and brothers-in-law, she loved being in the small town with Fred and Elsa.

  Fred had a farm and helped in Hardman wherever he could, not because he needed the money, but because he enjoyed the work. From what she’d observed, on any given day he could be found lending a hand at the livery, lumberyard, or sheriff’s office, if he wasn’t at the bakery his wife owned.

  Elsa had shared ownership of the bakery with her twin brother, Ethan, but after the man wed quite unexpectedly right before the holidays last year, his heart wasn’t in the business. Fred and Elsa bought his share and Ethan moved to Portland with his wife in the spring.

  Claire thought it best that Elsa now had full control over the bakery. She’d hired Anna Jenkins to work there through the holidays, but the girl loved it so much, she’d convinced her parents to allow her to continue working year-round. Everyone in town knew Anna and Percy Bruner planned to wed as soon as they both graduated from high school, but they had two and a half years before that happened.

  Elsa had hired a widow woman who was not only good at baking, but never complained about washing the mountain of dishes that piled up each day. Claire had helped with the dishes a time or two and knew how much work that job entailed.

  She glanced down at her hands, no longer silky smooth. A blister she’d gotten yesterday on her palm still hurt. Fred warned her to wear a pair of gloves if she wanted to help in the barn, but she’d hefted the pitchfork and cleaned the stalls with her usual gusto.

  Although Fred said the stalls had most likely never been so clean, Claire had gotten a blister from the pitchfork handle rubbing on her delicate skin.

  Ari and Bett would have had ten different kinds of fits to see her wearing britches and helping Fred around his place the last few weeks. But her nephew and his wife didn’t seem bothered in the least by her tendency to want to run a little wild.

  In fact, they both seemed to encourage her to do as she pleased.

  That morning, after attending services at the Christian Church where Chauncy Dodd delivered an engaging sermon, the three of them ventured to Alex and Arlan Guthry’s home where they joined them for lunch. Fred spent most of the time they were there playing with the couple’s young son, Gabe, and enduring Arlan’s teasing comments about it being his turn to increase the population of Hardman.

  Once the dishes had been washed and dried, they all gathered in the parlor where Alex dazzled them with a few of her magic tricks. Alex had been a professional magician before she fell in love with Arlan and teaching.

  In spite of having Gabe to care for, Alex continued to teach at Hardman School in the mornings. Lila Grove took over the duties in the afternoon. So far, the arrangement seemed to work well and the students enjoyed learning from both women. Claire offered to fill in as a substitute if they ever needed her help, although she wasn’t sure she could keep the students in line as well as Alex or Lila managed.

  Claire enjoyed watching Alex perform and sat enthralled as the woman made Gabe’s stuffed bear disappear then reappear.

  The little boy broke into his infectious belly laugh, amusing them all before his mother declared it his naptime.

  Elsa took that as their cue to leave and they returned to the farm. Fred and Elsa settled on the porch in the shade with a book they’d been reading together.

  Not wanting to disturb them with her pent-up energy, Claire decided to go for a walk, which is how she found herself wandering through the autumn woods on such a blissfully beautiful afternoon.

  She sighed with contentment and tipped her head back, feeling the warmth of the sunshine on her cheeks while a slight breeze caressed the tendrils of dark tresses that escaped the pins she’d used to subdue her thick hair before they went to church.
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  Claire yanked out her hairpins and tucked them into her pocket, then shook out her wavy locks. She had such a yearning to feel free and unfettered. In Philadelphia, due to their social standing and reputation as part of the Baker Empire, she often felt confined by what was expected of her. Ari and Bett were ladies to a fault, but Claire often struggled to behave as she should. While her sisters took joy in their ability to handle domesticity with precision and grace, Claire much preferred to be out riding or practicing her archery skills.

  Oddly enough, the men she’d met had no benefit in becoming involved with a woman who could outride and outshoot them.

  Ari and Bett had never tried to curb her interests, but they had encouraged her to pursue more genteel arts, too. Claire had a talent for painting. She could sing quite well although she knew she’d never perform on stage. And she could spin a good story, especially if it involved romance.

  Regardless, she still preferred to be outside, seeking an adventure rather than reading about one.

  She inhaled a deep breath, reveling in the decadent fragrance of autumn in Eastern Oregon. The air did not smell like that in Philadelphia, of that she was certain. She didn’t miss the noise or air heavy with what she’d heard Heath refer to as smog.

  There was nothing quite like the peaceful, wonderful world here in Hardman. Oh, how she would hate to go back to the city, but Ari and Bett had agreed she could stay with Fred and Elsa until Christmas unless they tired of her before then.

  She knew her sisters said that last part in jest, but she was mindful of giving Fred and Elsa plenty of privacy and time alone, since they had not yet been wed a year. Their house was large and with the bakery and Fred’s busy schedule, so far they’d not had anything but fun together. Fred had quite a sense of humor and Elsa did, too. Claire enjoyed their teasing banter and joined in without hesitation.

  Claire continued meandering along the path, lost in the beauty around her. She kicked at a pile of leaves, sending them dancing on the slight breeze.

  She watched them twist and turn in a blended blur of jewel tones before continuing on her way. As she neared a bend, she thought she could hear music. But how could that be?

  She stopped and cocked her head to one side, intently listening. That was definitely music. A violin, if she wasn’t mistaken. Why in the world would someone be this far out in the woods playing a violin?

  She rushed ahead on the path around the bend and drew in a startled gasp. Before her was one of the most magnificent scenes she’d ever witnessed and her fingers itched to capture it on paper or canvas. A pity she’d left her paints at Fred’s. If she’d been thinking, she would have at least grabbed a notepad and pencil.

  Sunlight shone through a break in the tops of the trees onto a tree stump at the edge of a creek. There, on the stump, stood a tiny child with masses of golden-brown curls falling around her form. The fact she wore a pair of boy’s pants with a brown plaid shirt did nothing to diminish her delicate beauty. For a moment, Claire wondered if she’d encountered a wood nymph or fairy.

  But it wasn’t the wild curls or choice of attire that held her attention. It was the way the child played a haunting tune on a small violin.

  The little one couldn’t have been more than three or four, yet she played with the skill and talent of a master who’d studied for decades.

  Enthralled, Claire was afraid to breathe, let alone move, and disturb or distract the child. Silently, she sank onto a fallen log and watched the girl play. She could have closed her eyes and listened to the music all day, but she wanted to see the child. The music seemed to flow through her, become one with her, as she drew the bow across the strings of a violin polished to such a high shine, the refraction of the sunlight from it was nearly blinding.

  Claire shifted a little to her left to better watch as the child bend slightly forward as she played. The song segued from slow and somewhat sad to a lively tune. The girl captured the sounds of nature so perfectly, Claire had no idea how she did it, but she could hear the rustle of the leaves, the chirp of birds, the gurgle of water trickling over stones in the creek in each note played.

  The music made her want to leap to her feet and dance, to give words to the song swirling in her ears and settling in her heart.

  Raw, ripe talent oozed from the child as she played, completely absorbed in the notes, in the sounds, in the world where only she and her music seemed to exist. The tempo increased, the child’s fingers flew over the strings, and her little body appeared relaxed yet strangely taut, as though at any moment she might fly apart.

  Claire felt trapped in the music, unable to escape even if she’d wanted to. In truth, she’d never heard anyone more talented perform than this child, alone in the woods, who played with her soul bared.

  Abruptly, the song ended and quiet descended over the glade. After being so drawn into the music, to the tiny performer’s web of magic, Claire felt bereft. It was as though she’d witnessed something almost more magnificent than the human mind could grasp, and suddenly it was gone.

  Fearful if she burst into a resounding applause she’d frighten the little girl, Claire slowly rose to her feet and took a step forward.

  She opened her mouth to speak, but a man appeared out of nowhere and swept the child into his arms.

  “That was wonderful, Maddie Mae. You get better every time you play,” he said, lifting the child in the air then kissing her cheek.

  Claire stared at the man, not recognizing him from those she’d seen in Hardman, or even the nearby town of Heppner. His brown hair was far longer than was fashionable, growing down to his shirt collar. He sported a scruffy beard that covered his cheeks and chin. He was tall, although not unusually so, and though his shoulders were broad, he appeared very trim and lean.

  He kissed the child’s rosy cheek again, making her giggle and squirm “Your beard gives me tickles, Daddy.”

  The man growled, a sound that could have come from a bear, and rubbed his chin across his daughter’s face and neck.

  The child squirmed and laughed, putting a half-hearted effort into getting away.

  He set her down on the stump and ran a hand over her head, letting it trail through the tangled curls. “Do you want to play another song?”

  “Maybe,” the little imp said, giving him a grin.

  Unable to stop herself, Claire stepped forward from where she’d remained hidden by the trees. “Oh, please, won’t you play another song?”

  The child shrieked and the man scowled at her, both clearly startled by her unexpected presence.

  “I’m sorry. I was walking on a path nearby and heard the music. You play with a rare talent,” Claire said, smiling at the child. “I’m Claire.”

  The little girl gave her a scrutinizing look. Claire thought the child was lovely, from all that gorgeous hair to her blue eyes snapping with life and interest, to a rosebud mouth which formed into an inquisitive pucker at the moment.

  “I’m Madison, but my daddy calls me Maddie.” The child dipped into a curtsey then broke into a smile, showing off her milky white baby teeth. “That’s my daddy.”

  Claire turned toward the man, expecting him to at least smile or offer a word of greeting. Instead, he stood with his hands balled into fists at his sides and a dark scowl on his face. She saw wariness in the depths of his dark brown eyes and wondered what had happened to put it there. To make him take an immediate dislike to strangers.

  “It’s nice to meet you, Mister…” Claire took a step closer to him, determined not to be intimidated by his gruff appearance.

  “Carter.” The man glowered at her as his shoulders tensed.

  “Mr. Carter, it’s a pleasure to make…”

  “It’s not Mister Carter,” he said, emphasizing every syllable of the word mister. “Just Carter.”

  “Well, just Carter, your daughter is amazing. I have friends back East who could make sure she attends the best schools and trains with masters if you’re ever interested.”

  “No.”
The man spun away, picked up his daughter, and strode off.

  Maddie, charming child that she was, wiggled around until she could look over her father’s shoulder.

  “Bye, Claire!” Maddie called. “I hope I see you again.”

  Claire waved at the child. “I hope to see you again, too, Maddie!”

  Carter gave her one last dismissive look over his shoulder before he lengthened his stride and disappeared from her view behind a hulking tree.

  Filled with the strangest feeling of loss, Claire turned around to begin the long walk back home. Her mind buzzed with unanswered questions about Carter and his daughter. The child was obviously being reared well and with manners. But that man was… odious. Obnoxious. Ornery.

  Claire grinned as she thought up a few more names to describe him. He had no reason to be so rude to her, especially when she meant no harm. She’d merely wanted to enjoy the magic created by his daughter as she played.

  In spite of her best efforts, Claire couldn’t seem to find the path she’d been on earlier. She knew she was lost when she wandered in a circle not once, but twice, and found herself back at the log where she’d sat to listen to Maddie play.

  She plopped down on the log and wondered how long she’d have to wait before Fred realized she couldn’t find her way home. Claire hated to admit it, but she hadn’t paid attention to her surroundings after she’d heard the music and lost track of where she was. Under normal circumstances, she’d never have done such a thing. But she’d gotten carried away by Maddie’s performance. Otherwise, she would have made a mental note of where the path was located, or at least landmarks that would guide her in the right direction.

  A longsuffering sigh to her right made her squeak in surprise.

  She slapped her hand to her chest and drew in a shallow gasp, then glared at Carter.

  “You are pathetic,” he said as he pushed away from the trunk of a towering pine tree.

  “How long have you been standing there?” she asked, rising from the log and glaring at him.