Tasha's Christmas Wish (9781460341315) Read online

“And the gold shoes,” Mary added.

  Tasha smiled at her captive audience. “That will look nice. You ladies are good at putting outfits together.”

  Both girls nodded and then looked at each other, passing some secret signal between cousins.

  The two girls sat cross-legged with a pile of doll clothes in their laps. Each of them gave Tasha a mystified glance from time to time. Tasha busied herself putting hot pink pants on a doll. Tasha and the two girls took turns holding up their creations and then quickly ripping the dolls’ outfits off and trying something new. They giggled.

  This evening had been so perfect in such an unexpected way. Tasha realized she had a glimpse of what it would be like to have children and be part of a big family. Mary seemed to trust her more as her affection for the little girl grew. But more than anything, she found herself wishing that she and Philip could have more than just a business relationship.

  * * *

  Philip tossed checkers into a box as he listened to Tasha interacting with the two girls. What was it about Tasha that was so special? All the women he had met were either serious career women who had forgotten how to have fun or divorcees who were so desperate to find a “new daddy” for their children or so hurt from the rejection of their divorces they wore their insecurity like gaudy jewelry. Everyone wanted to date the successful doctor. But he had never wanted to ask any of them out a second time.

  He wondered if Tasha had felt the same surge of emotion he’d experienced as they’d stood outside, basking in the porch light. Maybe he was just imagining things. Still, it was nice to know he could feel any spark of emotion after being numb for so long.

  After the kids had played for some time, they ran into the kitchen to make popcorn.

  Philip rose from his chair and tapped Tasha on the shoulder. “Come on, I have something to show you.”

  Tasha stared at him a moment, then light flickered in her eyes. “Oh, right—that thing.”

  She rose to her feet, a pile of doll clothes falling off her legs. Philip walked down a hallway and stepped into a room that looked like a combination playroom and office. A computer with stacks of paper and folders piled around it stood in one corner. Behind the printer hung a bulletin board displaying seed packets, invoices and brightly colored pictures of ripe vegetables cut from magazines.

  A wooden dollhouse and a box of baby toys occupied one corner of the room. Children’s books and gardening magazines stood in stacks all over the floor. The room smelled faintly of apples and old books.

  Philip picked up a manila envelope. He felt a reluctance to hand the envelope over. They were just photos he’d copied from ones he had hanging up or in photo albums. But still, they were deeply personal. Each photo held a memory. He probably could have emailed these to her. But that would have meant he wouldn’t have gotten to see her. On some subconscious level, he realized that was what he’d wanted all along.

  Tasha did not reach for the envelope. She waited, hands at her sides.

  He looked away from the envelope and into Tasha’s kind eyes. In a way, she looked like one of the dolls she made, the spray of freckles across her face and the curly red hair. She could be a model for Anne of Green Gables. Or if her hair were braided and a shade redder, Pippi Longstocking. She had the wild playfulness of the redheaded orphans in the books he read to Mary.

  He pushed the envelope toward her. “I hope these are helpful.”

  She took the envelope as delicately as she had held Damaris’s doll earlier. Her hand brushed the top of the envelope. “I’m sure they will be. I’ll treat them with great care.”

  And he had no doubt that she would. Though he had not voiced his feelings about the photographs, she was sensitive enough to get it. She turned to go, and he followed, closing the door behind him. “They’re all filed in the computer, it’s just that—”

  “I understand what you are saying.”

  It was the memory of Heather that needed to be treated with care. Tasha had picked up on what he meant without his having to spell it out.

  They made their way down the hall. He could hear a DVD playing as the children chattered in the living room. The warm, buttery smell of popcorn made his mouth water.

  “You like to go sledding. You like to play with dolls.” They turned the corner into the living room. “So what makes you enjoy playing like a child so much, Tasha?”

  She turned to look at him, her expression animated. “I don’t know. I was very serious as a child. I was an only child in a quiet house. Guess I’m just making up for lost time.” She smiled at him. Pulsating Christmas lights reflected in her eyes, making them dance.

  “Either that or you are living your life in reverse,” said Philip.

  She laughed. “It’s a good thing either way, don’t you think?”

  “Kids seem to like it.”

  “You’re kind of a kid yourself. Most doctors play golf. They don’t get into snowball fights.”

  “I hate golf.” Shoving his hands in his pockets, he rocked back and forth. He noticed that her eyes had specks of gold mixed with the brown.

  “I should get going. I have work to do.” She held up the envelope.

  “Thank you for doing this for Mary.”

  She waved her hand. “Hey, it’s one of the reasons I started this business.” After peeking around the corner at the kids, she slipped into the entryway and hid the envelope under her hat and scarf. “Thanks for a nice evening, Grace,” she shouted into the living room.

  “No problem,” Grace said. “You’ll have to come back next week and look at all my fabrics. Sorry we didn’t get a chance to get that done.”

  “I’ll do that. Your place is a lot warmer than mine. All I’ve got is wood heat.”

  Philip moved up beside her. “I’ll be up again around Christmastime. Maybe Gary and I could bring you some wood.” What was he doing? He hated chopping wood.

  As she headed out the door, Tasha said she would call Grace later in the week. She added, “And I might take you up on that wood offer, Philip.”

  “Have ax, will chop,” Philip joked.

  “See you, everyone.”

  The kids pulled their eyes away from the television long enough to yell, “See ya,” in unison.

  “Thanks for playing dolls,” Mary added.

  With a final smile at Philip, Tasha closed the door.

  Philip stood at the window, watching as Tasha turned on her headlights and backed out of the driveway.

  From the couch where she was sitting with two kids on her lap, Grace taunted, “I thought you hated cutting wood with Gary, Philip.”

  Philip craned his neck at Grace. “Don’t get started, big sister. You promised.”

  Grace picked fuzzies off an afghan. “I’m only musing about your newfound love for chopping wood,” she teased.

  He held up a warning finger. “Grace—”

  Grace put up her hands in surrender. “Not saying a word. Not a single word.”

  He stared out of the window as the red glow of Tasha’s taillights grew fainter. After that disappointing period of dating women who were either too cold or too desperate, Philip had vowed that he would remain single and raise Mary alone.

  Maybe I should reconsider that vow. Tasha might be open to moving back to Denver.

  Her taillights disappeared into the night.

  Chapter 9

  With only two weeks to go until Christmas, Tasha worked intently on the dolls for Mary, taking time out only to complete the nativity for the Christmas Eve church service. She created molds and poured the heads for both dolls and designed and sewed their clothes. Both the Heather and Mary dolls were dressed in black skirts and red sweaters just like in one of the photographs Philip had given her.

  Every time the phone rang, her ears perked up. No one had resp
onded to her ad for studio space. She’d placed an additional ad in the local newspaper—but still no response.

  If she was frugal, she had enough money from sales to carry her through February. But after that, her future was uncertain. Every time she reworked her finances in her head or on paper, she breathed the same one-line prayer. I will trust in You, Lord. It was easy to say the prayer, but when the bills came in the mail, it was hard to actually do it.

  Sometimes when the phone rang, she half hoped it was Philip. Her thoughts had returned to him often since they’d gone sledding.

  The final step in making the dolls was painting their faces. This was her favorite stage of doll making because she could really make the personality come out through her brushstrokes.

  The doll heads both had a base coat of skin tone when she placed them on a stand and prepared to start on their eyes. In front of her, she set up a bulletin board that had all the pictures laid out. This was the story of a family—a happy family. There were pictures of Heather embracing her daughter, of Philip holding his wife and daughter. Faces smiled at her from sunny days spent on a beach and from ski hills, their poles planted in the snow, faces red from the cold, but always smiling. More than anything, she needed to be respectful of what she saw there. These dolls were for a little girl who missed her mother.

  She stood inches from the bulletin board, studying the eyes in each photo. Mary had gray eyes and Heather’s were a gray-green.

  She mixed her paints several times, trying them out on a piece of paper that had a wash of skin tone on it. After several fresh blendings of color and a constant restudying of the pictures, she felt that she had the right color. Tasha dipped the tip of the brush into the green shade and held it up to the Heather doll. Her hand trembled. The first brushstroke always made her pulse race. She dabbed the brush on the iris and then stood back to check the color. Satisfied, she continued to paint.

  She had just completed the delicate pupils and eyelashes on the Mary head when a loud banging on the door made her jump. Fortunately, her brush had been pulled back from the doll at the time or Mary would have had a black streak across her cheek.

  The pounding at her door continued.

  Tasha set her brush down and strode across the floor. As she reached for the knob, the door swung open. A gust of cold air hit her. An elderly man wearing an aviator’s cap and a brittle-looking bomber jacket came into view. In one hand, he held a sawhorse and in the other Tasha’s computer-generated ad.

  He pushed the ad toward her. “Saw this in the hardware store.” Wisps of white hair stuck out from the cap. “Wife says I can’t do my woodworking in the living room. Biggest mistake we ever made was selling our ranch house with that big workshop and moving into town.”

  Stunned, Tasha took two steps back and swallowed hard. “I didn’t give my address. How did you know to come out here?”

  He stepped inside and plunked his sawhorse on the concrete floor. “This is a small community. Everyone knows who Tasha is. She’s the artist in the old Filmore barn.”

  “I keep forgetting that I live in a town of three thousand. Nobody is anonymous.”

  He leaned against his sawhorse and pointed outside through the open door. “Got the rest of my stuff in the truck.”

  This was not going at all as Tasha had envisioned. She had intended to take applications, interview each applicant about his or her work habits. “Well, I—”

  “Good, then. I’ll get the rest of my equipment.” He sauntered out the door, but turned to look at her. “My name’s Eli. Eli Smith. Everyone knows me as Eli the wood-carver.”

  But there hadn’t been any opportunity to interview applicants. So far, Eli was the only applicant. Tasha shrugged. “And you already know who I am. I’m the artist in the old Filmore barn.”

  Eli threw back his head and laughed a hearty laugh that came from his stomach and bubbled out of his throat. His hat fell off, revealing a full head of hair as white as the snow he stood on. “We’ll get along fine, Tasha, just fine.” He grabbed her hand and shook it so hard her body vibrated.

  Tasha wasn’t sure about that. She watched as Eli picked up his hat and dusted the snow off it by brushing it against his knee. He seemed very likable, but she didn’t know anything about him.

  Eli looked at her with steel-blue eyes. “We haven’t discussed rent yet. Within reason, price is no object. I need to do my woodworking. It keeps me sane since I sold the ranch.”

  Then again, she had prayed about this, and she needed to trust God with the tenant He had brought to her door.

  Eli strode out to his truck and reached into the cab, pulling out a record player and a pile of albums. As he approached the barn, he said, “Hope you like Benny Goodman and Elvis. I can’t work unless I got my music.”

  She didn’t mind either of those kinds of music, but she thought she might find a way to introduce Eli to the concept of the iPod.

  “Can I help you with anything?” Tasha had already slipped into her boots and coat. There was only one way to find out if Eli would work as a tenant—might as well get him moved in.

  “Whatever you can lift,” Eli said as he surveyed the barn.

  Tasha pointed to a far corner of the barn that was on the opposite end of where her work and living space was. “You can set up over there. You’ll have to run extension cords. I’ve only wired one side of the barn.” She hoped that he didn’t have too many things that required a plug.

  “I’ve got some electrical skills. I can finish the wiring for you.”

  “That would be wonderful. Of course, I’ll pay you for it.” How, she didn’t know. But it wouldn’t be right to expect him to do it for free.

  “Don’t worry about it.” He walked around with his hands on his hips. “You’ve got lots of space in here.” He gave Tasha a hearty slap on the back. “This looks as if it will do just fine.”

  Tasha and Eli worked twenty minutes hauling sawhorses, power tools, plywood, rough wood, cut wood, boxes of nails, screws and varnishes, and stumps that had been stripped of their bark.

  After removing his bomber jacket, Eli placed his hands on his hips and studied the piles of wood and power tools. “Gonna take me a while to get the whole thing reorganized. The missus will be glad to hear I found a place. She was getting tired of finding sawdust in her oatmeal. Do you mind if I build some shelves for my tools?”

  Tasha set down a stack of books on woodworking. “No, not at all. The barn could use some more storage space. If the shelves are permanent, I can pay you for materials.”

  He waved the idea away with his hand. “Don’t worry about it.” He pulled his wallet out of his back pocket. “Speaking of money. How much do I owe you for rent?”

  Tasha cleared her throat. “I thought two hundred a month would be reasonable.”

  Eli furled his wrinkled forehead. “Reasonable? That’s dirt cheap. Let’s say two-fifty.”

  “Ah—okay.” Tasha pointed toward her workspace. “Why don’t you come over here? I’ll need to get your phone number and other information.”

  Eli followed Tasha, his work boots echoing on the concrete. He leaned on her table and wrote the check. When he was finished, he looked up at the shelves of dolls at various stages of completeness. Beside the shelves was a box full of doll heads, arms and legs. “Looks as if you keep pretty busy. Might want to buy one or two of those for my granddaughters.”

  “You’re welcome to have a look around.” Tasha was starting to feel like Christmas was coming a little early. In five short minutes, she had gotten a renter, wiring, shelving and sold some dolls.

  His eyes came to rest on the floor where she had set up the nativity she’d made for the Christmas Eve service. “Well, now, that’s right pretty.” He knelt on the floor.

  “Real nice.” His hand just barely brushed the sheer, gold-trimmed fabric that covered the
angel. “But you need some animals. Seems like there would have been a cow or two, maybe a sheep there to see the birth of Jesus.”

  “You’re right, but I don’t do animals well, just people and the occasional teddy bear, and I don’t think there were any teddy bears in that barn.”

  Eli chuckled. “You’re probably right about that. But what do I know? My wife is the one who does Christmas big—always trying to get me to go to those silly church things.”

  “One thing, Mr. Smith.”

  “Please, call me Eli. Everybody does.”

  “Eli, you can come as early as you want to work. I usually get up about five. But I’m not a night person—if you could stay no later than ten, that would be good.”

  Eli’s hands twitched at his sides. “Well, I’m a night person myself. But I can adjust my schedule—I suppose.”

  Tasha’s chest tightened. Eli was very likable and willing to pay rent up front, but none of that would matter if their work styles were incompatible.

  Tasha returned to painting the Heather doll’s face while Eli organized his workspace. If she could work steadily, she would have the dolls done in a few days. She still had to weave the wigs. She thought about calling Philip to set up how she would get the dolls to him. She was glad to have an excuse to call him.

  Tasha found the card Philip had given her and dialed the number. A bright-sounding female voice answered. “Family First Clinic. How may I help you?”

  “Is Dr. Philip Strathorn in?”

  “He is, but he’s with a patient. Can I take a message?”

  “My name is Tasha Henderson. I’m making some dolls for his daughter for Christmas.”

  “Oh, yes. He told me about you,” said the woman.

  “He did?” Tasha couldn’t contain her surprise. Was Philip talking about her to his staff?

  The woman seemed a bit put off by Tasha’s enthusiasm. After a pause, she spoke in a lower voice. “He just said he was having some very special dolls made.”

  Tasha squeezed the phone tighter and glared at the ceiling. Now she felt stupid. Of course he was just talking about what she did professionally. “I’m almost done with the dolls. Tell him I need to find a time when I can show them to him. I’ll be in Denver at the end of the week.”