Biltmore Christmas Page 7

  A PROPER CHRISTMAS

  Sylvia Barnes

  Dedication

  To my husband and children for their loyalty and support, to the Bards of Faith for their encouragement, and especially to Aaron McCarver for taking me under his wing and flying me to a place I never thought I would be. Love you guys.

  Chapter 1

  Biltmore Estate, Asheville, North Carolina, November 1897

  Selma Bradford hurriedly worked the small buttons at the back of her neck. She wondered why the seamstress didn’t put fasteners on the front of the gray gingham dress provided by the housekeeper, along with an apron and cap.

  Gazing at her reflection in the mirror, she grimaced at the blush in her cheeks and hoped she could calm her nerves before entering the servants’ dining room. This was her first day on the job. She had been told by the housekeeper that she would eat breakfast at five and gather with the other upstairs maids in the servants’ hall on the fourth floor to await her call to duty.

  Her shaking fingers squeezed the last button through the hole before pushing the fallen light-brown wisps of hair under her cap. Her hands cradled her face as she looked in the mirror. Emerald-green eyes stared back with apprehension.

  I can do this. I can.

  Selma realized how lucky she was to join the team of nearly eighty servants at the Biltmore mansion. At nineteen, Selma had her first chance to be a part of the most talked-about event of her lifetime. The estate’s housekeeper, Mrs. King, had visited the village mercantile where she worked and, before leaving, offered her employment. She told Selma the holidays were going to be busy, and help was hard to find. Shaking off her thoughts as she heard the bell ring for breakfast, Selma donned her freshly starched apron and closed the door behind her to embark on her new journey. She entered the dining room in the basement just as the food arrived. She sought a vacancy by a friendly face and sat, trying to focus on the chatter around the table as others served the fragrant meal. She wondered at servants waiting on servants. Wide-eyed, she tried to understand her new surroundings.

  A nudge by a neighboring elbow drew her attention. She turned to a small redhead who asked, “Did you come from down here?”

  “Pardon?”

  “Were you one of the servants downstairs?”

  “Oh no, this is my first day.”

  “How did you acquire a position upstairs so soon? Most new servants begin downstairs and move up.”

  “I’m sorry. I do not know. I only know that the housekeeper took me to my room on the fourth floor. She told me I would be in training today under a lady named Maggie McAllister. I’m Selma, by the way.”

  “Rosie.” She reached to take Selma’s hand. “Maggie is sitting at the head of the table. The way she acts, she thinks she’s the main housekeeper.”

  Selma, a Christian girl brought up by the teachings of the Bible, ignored the nasty comment. “Should I meet her now?”

  “Certainly not. She will call you in the servants’ hall.” Rosie looked down at the plate just served to her. “Don’t eat yet. We have to say the standard how-thankful-we-are blessing.”

  Selma was startled at the cynicism in Rosie’s remark. She folded her hands in her lap and said her own little prayer, asking God to forgive Rosie and to give her an opportunity to share the goodness of the Lord with her.

  Another nudge. Selma glanced at Rosie as she excitedly relayed the good news. “Guests are arriving every day this week. They will be here for Thanksgiving, and some are even staying through Christmas. Of course there will be others who arrive closer to Christmas. The rich, you know, who must not have to work to eat.”

  Rosie’s speech was interrupted by Maggie. “Let us pray.” Her voice sounded deep and coarse. “Thank You, Lord, for the food at our table. Bless those less fortunate. Amen.”

  Rosie gave Selma an I-told-you-so look as the chatter around the table continued during the meal.

  Selma thought the food looked delicious. She inhaled the heady aromas. Her taste buds savored the bacon, eggs, and biscuits, which she slathered with homemade blackberry jam. She paid no attention to the talk around her as she ate. Her mind full of questions, her stomach quivered with every delectable bite.

  A loud clap made her drop her fork. Maggie stood at the end of the table, her face stern. “Let us advance to the hall.”

  Selma stayed close to Rosie, who took her hand and led her upstairs to the small servants’ hall. Selma glanced around at the wooden rocking chairs and the bookcase lined with enticing volumes, wondering if there would be any time for such.

  Rosie quietly asked, “Have you been given a tour of the house?”

  “No. I was led straight to my room yesterday evening. Someone brought a tray of sandwiches as I settled in and gave me directions to the dining room for breakfast.”

  “You’ll probably be given a small tour this morning. At least you’ll see what they think you need to see. All of us on fourth floor attend to the upstairs bedrooms and halls. That includes the floors above the living hall and master and major guest rooms. We also clean the various bathrooms. We have indoor plumbing, you know.” Rosie pulled at her apron. “Also, we get a two-hour break in the afternoons, but we are on call, so we have to sit in the servants’ living hall so we can hear the call box. Oh yes, you’ll probably have six bedrooms to clean. I’ll be quiet. I’m talking too much.”

  “No, I need to know. Only six? And each has a bath?”

  Rosie didn’t get a chance to answer.

  Maggie spoke, sending Rosie and the others to their duties. She turned to Selma. “You are Miss Bradford?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “I am Maggie McAllister. Come with me.”

  Jacob Sinclair studied the guest room. His eyes glanced over the dark mahogany furniture, glad to see a writing desk on which to pen his correspondence. He peered longingly at the tall, handsome bed. The trip from New York had been long, and he yearned to rest. But he had been invited by his host to join him and other male guests in the gymnasium for a bit of exercise before a swim in the indoor pool to cool off. He then was to accompany them for a ride on the estate. He was thankful there were dressing rooms downstairs by the pool, so he would not have to return upstairs until after the ride. As he gathered what he would need from his trunk, the thought struck him that his friend William McAdams could have arrived, which pleased him.

  As he was in the bathroom washing his hands, he thought he heard a knocking sound but dismissed it as noisy plumbing, remembering the sounds of the pipes on his previous visit. As he reentered his bedroom, the door flew open, and a lovely creature appeared, instantly putting her hand to her mouth as she breathed, “Oh my.”

  “Oh my, indeed. To what do I owe the privilege?” He grinned mischievously, knowing his dimples made for a dashing appearance. Slowly he pushed his black hair, damp from running his wet fingers through it, from his dark eyes.

  “Oh sir. Forgive me, sir. I knocked. I did. Oh my goodness, I will probably lose my position.”

  “And who are you, and what position is that?” Jacob thought she might faint. He stepped closer, just in case.

  She backed away.

  “Please, I will not cause you to lose your job. Tellme, who are you?”

  “My name is Selma, sir. I’m a chambermaid. I was going to ensure your room was up to standard. I had no idea you were in here.”

  He saw the fear in the greenest eyes he had ever looked upon and damp curls straying from her cap. He stepped forward and gently placed his hand on her arm. “No harm done, miss. I was running water and didn’t hear the knock. You are not at fault, so please don’t worry.” He removed his hand, as she was looking at it with concern.

  She began retreating out the door, but her back hit the doorframe. She blushed and he thought she was the sweetest thing he had ever seen. He looked forward to seeing her again. He started toward her to see if she was hurt, but she turned and sped from his room. He laughed to himself. What an enchanting young woman.


  Selma entered the hall supply closet next to the gentleman’s room and held up the end of her white apron to pat the perspiration from her forehead as it ran toward her eyes. Embarrassment coursed through her and seemed to take her very breath. She could not believe she had entered an occupied gentleman’s quarters on her second day of employment.

  They will surely let me go. Oh dear Lord, please handle this for me. I didn’t intend for it to happen.

  She counted seconds, but they didn’t seem to go by. Finally she heard the gentleman’s door open and close, the wooden floor creaking as he walked by, whistling, of all things. Obviously the incident hadn’t bothered him.

  As she quietly opened the door and backed out to gently close it, she felt something at her elbow.

  Maggie stood in her path. “Problem, Miss Bradford?”

  Heat rushed up and burned her ears. “Oh no, ma’am. I guess I haven’t quite learned my way. I was looking for a duster.” Lord, forgive my little lie. I promise I will do better.

  Maggie forced her aside and entered the closet only to turn quickly around with a feather duster in hand. “You didn’t look very well, it seems.” She handed it to Selma and briskly walked away, mumbling to herself.

  Selma’s eyes followed the stately figure until she disappeared. She lifted her shoulders back, set her jaw, and walked to the now unoccupied bedroom to prepare it for the gentleman’s return. She wished she could see her sisters right now and share what had happened. The thought of their giggling and teasing forced a smile to her lips. Pure joy filled her heart when she pictured her sisters and the love they’d shared growing up in the orphanage in Biltmore Village.

  She was still smiling as she lifted the gray ashes from the edges of the fireplace, flicking a burning splint of wood toward the dying flames. She swept up the trail of soot that missed her bucket and left the room to dispose of the waste.

  As she walked down the hall, she felt another joy that made her blush. Her stomach tingled as she thought of the handsome man she had just encountered. She shed the thought and forced her mind to return to her duties.

  Chapter 2

  Hands on hips, Selma looked around the messy guest bedroom. She already had cleaned the room of the gentleman she had walked in on yesterday, and it had not been near the catastrophe she faced now. What kind of person lived like this? She busied herself making the large four-poster bed, almost climbing on it to reach the middle, relieved she needed to change sheets only twice a week.

  As she rounded the bedpost, she looked out at the beautiful fall day. Thanksgiving was only days away, and the trees were losing most of their colorful leaves. The mountains never looked more striking, though she had seen them all her life. How wonderful Christmas would be at Biltmore—a fairy tale come true.

  She was about to tear her eyes from the glorious morning when she saw two people strolling arm in arm in the garden below. She moved closer to the window and peered at the handsome couple who turned and sat on one of the garden benches, giving Selma a full view of their faces. As the gentleman placed his arm around the lady’s shoulders, her heart pounded.

  It is him.

  She scrutinized the beautiful lady, blond tendrilsescaping her bonnet, and knew she had to be his betrothed. Why else would he hold her so close?

  She turned at the sound of a knock. “Rosie!”

  “I was just passing by. Had to get supplies from the closet, so I thought I would say good morning. My, my, you look like an iron was taken to your face. Why are you so red?”

  As Rosie walked into the room, Selma hurried from the window so her new friend wouldn’t see what she had observed. Much to her chagrin, Rosie walked past her to the window and glanced down. “I see Mr. Sinclair is back and up to his shenanigans again.”

  “Who?”

  “Jacob Sinclair. He’s a regular guest. A friend of Mr. Vanderbilt’s from school, I believe. The ladies adore him.”

  “Really? Where is he from?” Selma tried to appear nonchalant. She was somewhat relieved that maybe the lady was just one of his many acquaintances.

  “New York. I believe he owns a shipping company.” Rosie let out a deep sigh as she turned from the window. “If only we had their means and were in high society. I understand he has a home in Newport, Rhode Island, as well as elaborate quarters on Park Avenue.”

  Selma shuddered and wondered why she had even been a little bit attracted by the likes of Jacob Sinclair. “Rosie, God has brought us to this place and time for a reason. We are happy, are we not? Probably more so than those who have all this.” She spread her arms to indicate the room. “We are rich in that we are assured of life eternal. You do trust in Jesus, do you not?”

  Rosie’s face showed a lack of understanding, but as she seemed about to speak, Maggie cleared her throat at the door.

  “I assumed you both were given enough duties to keep you busy. Obviously, you were not. Do I need to add more?”

  In unison Selma and Rosie exclaimed, “No, ma’am.”

  Rosie added, “We are sorry, Miss McAllister. I just happened to see her in here and spoke, her being new and all. It won’t happen again.”

  “See that it does not.”

  Jacob Sinclair caught sight of Selma at the window as he glanced up. He thought he saw remorse in her expression, but the distance and early morning sun distorted his vision. He gently removed his arm from around Betsy, an old friend from New York, but Selma had turned away. He didn’t know why it mattered, except that for some reason, she had captured his attentions.

  Betsy was speaking. “How’s the shipping business, Jacob?”

  “Doing quite well, Betsy. Thanks for asking.”

  “I haven’t seen you in Newport lately. Did you not take up residence there this summer?”

  “Actually, I spent only a week there. And you? Did your family spend the whole summer?”

  “Yes of course. Daddy wouldn’t have it any other way. But obviously, you didn’t attend any functions that week.”

  “No, I didn’t let anyone know I was coming. I just wanted time to rest.”

  “I missed you.” She gave him a coquettish smile.

  Jacob wouldn’t lie to her. He did not even think of her except as an old friend. And since their paths crossed only during summers at Newport, he rarely thought of her at all. So he said nothing. He had sat by her at breakfast that morning, and she suggested a stroll in the gardens.

  His heart told him that a woman with a servant’s heart was better for him than one wearing a gown by Worth. He glanced up at the window to see if he could catch a glimpse of her again. He saw nothing. “Betsy, we better go in. You’re getting cold.” He stood and took her hand to assist her as she rose from the bench.

  “What are your plans today, Jacob? I have to leave the day after Thanksgiving.”

  “You won’t be here for Christmas? Biltmore won’t be the same.” He wanted to add something else nice, but he continued, “I think after lunch, I’ll take a lone ride around the estate.” He wanted to assure her he did not want company—any company. He gave her the smile that caused many a lady’s heart to flutter. But his heart wasn’t in it.

  Maggie had scheduled Selma an afternoon off. She thought she would walk the three miles to Biltmore Village to visit her younger sister, Melissa, at the orphanage. She wished she could see her older sisters, Charity and Peggy, who had left the orphanage before her.

  Selma skipped lunch in order to prepare for her walk. She dressed in one of the two gowns she owned and put on her worn walking boots. Six miles was a bit of a distance,but she figured the trek would take close to an hour there and an hour back, so that would leave a couple of hours to spend with her sister. She would only need to check her out of class an hour early.

  Bundled in her only coat, which she had received as a donation from the church in Biltmore Village years earlier, she walked hastily toward the orphanage. Her hair flowed around her shoulders, as she had left it loose to keep her ears warm.

  After abo
ut a mile, her feet began to hurt, but she gritted her teeth and kept walking. It seemed the earth moved as a rumbling noise approached the road. She glanced around and saw nothing. The sound grew louder. Over the hill a horse appeared, galloping toward her. Her heart skipped a beat as she recognized the rider.

  The man reined his horse to a stop, kicking dirt up on the skirt of Selma’s gown. “This must be my lucky day.”

  Brushing it off, Selma glanced at him. “I can’t imagine why.”

  “Because I have encountered my intruder again.”

  Selma blushed. “I really am sorry. I did knock, sir.”

  “Yes, you did. I thought it was the pipes. You couldn’t have known I was there. Please don’t think of it again.”

  “I imagine you will keep reminding me.”

  “Touché.” He patted the horse’s neck. “I promise I will not. Now where is the lovely Selma going today?”

  She hesitated, not wanting him to know she was from the orphanage. Then she felt ashamed, because it was, after all, who she was … and God had placed her there for a reason.

  “To the orphanage in the village. To see my sister.”

  “I should like to provide the transportation that takes you there.”

  “On that? With you?” She couldn’t imagine sitting so close to a man.

  “You have never ridden a horse?”

  “A few times. But by myself.”

  “Hmmm, you’ve missed a lot.” He laughed. “So now is the time. I can help you up, and you can ride in front. It will be a short trip. He’s a very nice horse, and I’m a very nice man. What do you say?”

  Selma thought of her aching feet. She considered the handsome gentleman offering her a quick ride. “I guess so. If it will be no trouble …”