SNOW KISSED CHRISTMAS: Sweet Historical Romance Novella--Short Read by Bobby Hutchinson Page B

Christmas supper tonight,” Steve reminded Anna. “Mama, she cooks all day. I’ll shovel clean the path for you. Where is William?”
    “He walked to town this morning to see about getting some extra work,” Anna said. “He should be back soon.” She glanced again at the frosted window, wishing William would hurry home before it snowed any more. The road to town would be drifted in, and it would be hard walking.
    Steve shook his head. “He should come to me, your William. I need help at the dairy, he should come to me.”
    But Anna knew that was the last thing William would do, because it was exactly what they’d argued about that morning. Anna had suggested William ask Steve if he needed part time help, and William had exploded.
    “I will no take charity, Anna, and that’s what it would be. Ye know Steve would manufacture a job for me even if there was’nae one,” he’d hollered. “I’ll support me own family me own way.” And he’d stormed out, leaving Anna shaking. They hardly ever quarreled, and she’d felt sad and upset ever since.
    “You come early to us, as soon as William gets home,” Steve insisted as he pulled the earflaps to his hat down and went out into the darkening afternoon. “Peter, he is home, and Mama, she waits for the Zaichiks.”
    It was another long and worrisome hour later before the kitchen door burst open and William came in, unwinding his gray woolen scarf, brushing the icicles that his breath had made off the collar of his coat. He shucked it off and hung it by the stove, then bent to tug off his boots as Thomas clung to him with welcoming shouts of “Dada, Dada’s home, it’s Christmas, Dada, Santa’s coming tonight.”
    “Let me just get these wet things off, laddie.” He winked at Sophie, ruffling her long blonde curls, and then picked Thomas up and turned him upside down, making the boy shriek with joy.
    “There’s hot coffee in the pot, William, and I’ll heat you some soup,” Anna said, watching her tall, lanky husband tickle his son and hug his daughter. Was he still angry with her?
    But in another moment, he’d set the children to making stars for the tree out of the silver cigarette paper from the pack in his shirt pocket, and when they were occupied, he came over and took her in his arms.
    “Sorry fer being a holy terror this morning,” he whispered, cupping her head and kissing her hard. They’d been married eight years, and still his kisses and his touch sent electric shivers down her back. The baby kicked, probably irritated by being squashed between them, and Anna giggled.
    William laughed as well, putting his palm over her belly. “Behave yerself, ye wee squirt,” he told the mound. And suddenly Anna felt better about everything, even though nothing had really changed. They still had no money, but they were warm, she had glass jars of fruit and vegetables and the fish William caught, all canned and lined up in the larder. There was sugar and rice and potatoes and apples in the storage shed. They had coal for the fire. They were warm and they wouldn’t starve. The mines would pick up again, William said they always did.
    She was so lucky. William never went to the saloon after work the way some of the miners did. She knew his whole life centered around her and his children. His only vice was his smokes, and he made a single pack last the entire two weeks between paydays. William Bradley was a good man, and she loved him.
    “Steve was just here, he says Lilya has been cooking all day, we’re to go down early.”
    A shadow passed over William’s face. His gray-green, dark-lashed eyes darkened, and he blew out a long breath. “Ye did’nae say about me goin’ lookin’ fer work, did ye, Anna?”
    Anna’s heart sank. She wouldn’t lie to her husband, even knowing it likely would land them back where they’d been that morning, arguing. Fighting. She drew in a deep, tremulous breath.
    “I did, William. He asked where you were, and I said. He