Evangeline found her voice. “Yes,” she said. “He’s right inside.”

“I could do with a cup of coffee, if I’m invited,” he said.

Evangeline hesitated, then sensed Scully behind her and turned to look up at his face. He’d pulled on a pair of pants and drawn up the attached suspenders, though he was still wearing the shirt to his long johns. The bandages bulged under the scratchy wool.

“You’re invited,” he confirmed cheerfully. “How’ve you been, Calvin T?”

Calvin wound the reins around the wagon’s brake lever and got down from the high seat with surprising grace, considering his bulk. His haunches, turned toward Evangeline and Scully during the descent, were like two massive ham hocks, ready to burst through the worn fabric of his trousers.

“I’ve been well, Scully,” he replied. “And prospering.” Facing Evangeline, he touched the brim of his hat. “How-do, there, ma’am. It’s about time old Scully got himself married. Glad to make your acquaintance.”

Evangeline opened her mouth to correct Murdoch’s misconception—it no longer seemed necessary to produce a husband, the visitor being but a harmless peddler—but Scully caught hold of her hand, raised it to his lips, and kissed the chapped flesh lightly.

“Evangeline is a sent-for bride,” he said, as proud as if he’d done the sending-for himself. “I’ve got to say, I’m pleased.”

“Must have been some suspense there for a while, though,” the peddler said, then laughed again, delighted with himself. “On both your parts, I’m sayin’.”

“I am not—” Evangeline began, flushed and eager to protect her good name, but Scully circumvented her again.

“Come on inside, Calvin T. My wife makes a fine cup of coffee. We’ve got a turkey roasting in the oven, too. You’ll stay for supper, won’t you?”

Murdoch divested himself of his coat and hat while Evangeline glared at Scully behind the visitor’s back.

“I don’t mind if I do,” Murdoch said, in his Zeus-like voice. “A man gets real hungry for woman-cooked food way out here. Why, I live for the rare occasions when I’m passing by the Springwater station. Mrs. Jacob McCaffrey always sets out a fine meal.”

Abigail had by then awakened from her short nap, and she scrambled off the bed to hurry over and get a close look at Mr. Murdoch, who had seated himself at the table with a labored sigh.

“Hello,” she said solemnly. “I’m Abigail. You look a little like St. Nicholas.”

The old man laughed and touched her nose with the tip of one finger. “Well, little lady, who knows? Who knows, indeed, whether I might not truly be old Father Christmas himself?”

Abigail’s eyes glowed. She held up the kitten for his inspection. “This is Hortense.”

In that moment, Calvin T. Murdoch won Evangeline’s heart forever. He took one of Hortense’s tiny paws between his fingers and gave it the gentlest of shakes. “How do you do, Hortense?” he inquired, with all the formality of a courtier greeting his queen.

Scully, leaning against the mantelpiece for support, grinned at Evangeline. She put fresh coffee on to brew and added wood to the fire.