Under the Christmas Star

by Amanda Tru

  The bell over the door tinkled, and Dylan Masters stepped through the door.

  The joy in Brooke’s eyes immediately scared away the sad intensity, and she hurried forward to meet her boyfriend. Dylan’s eyes held a matching gleam as he met her for a quick hug and kiss.

  “Are you ready?” he asked after their greeting.

  “Yes!” Brooke answered with happy conviction. “Dylan, you know Emma Sheldon, right? She stopped by to pick up a ring I was storing for her in the safe. Uncle Wayne hired her to attach it to one of her ornaments.”

  “I know Emma from church, though I don’t think we’ve ever been formally introduced,” he said, walking forward to meet Emma with hand extended.

  Though his handshake was firm and his manner friendly, he kept his loving gaze on Brooke, only briefly sparing a glance Emma’s direction.

  “Uncle Wayne and a ring?” Dylan asked Brooke. “Is that a good thing?”

  “We’ll see,” shrugged Brooke. “I guess it depends on who it is for.”

  “Are there options?” Emma asked, feeling as if she was missing important information. “I guess I never realized Wayne had multiple girlfriends to choose from.”

  For some reason, this cracked up both Brooke and Dylan, while Emma watched and wondered what was so funny.

  “I’m not quite caught up on Uncle Wayne’s love life, and I’m not sure I want to be,” Brooke finally managed. “Grandma will surely know which lady in his entourage the ornament is meant for, and she might just fill you in on all the juicy details as well.”

  Emma’s eyes grew round with a slightly panicked deer-in-the-headlights look. “I just need an address.”

  This set Brooke and Dylan laughing again, and they only recovered when they caught sight of the time.

  “We need to go if we’re going to make it in time,” Dylan said.

  “Dylan is taking me to the Festival of Trees in Brighton Falls,” Brooke said, her eyes dancing. “They are having a special event tonight with entertainment and food, but I’m most interested in seeing the Christmas trees.”

  “And I’m mostly interested in my date,” Dylan said fondly.

  Brooke looked at him, eyes sparkling. “If you do well at this, maybe next time we can take in a paint show. You can be ‘interested in me’ there, too.”

  For the first time, Emma realized that Brooke and Dylan were dressed in formal attire. Brooke looked elegant with her blonde hair swept up over a long, silver gown that fit perfectly. Dylan looked tall, dark, and handsome in a black tux. A surge of longing shot through Emma. She’d always wanted to go to the Festival of Trees. Every year, Brighton Falls hosted an event where dozens of decorated trees created a fantastic venue. Some people attended to see the tree show, while others participated in charity events, parties, and concerts designed around the event.

  Emma could only imagine what exquisite ornaments graced those trees. Going alone always seemed too intimidating, and going with her parents almost seemed worse. What would it be like to have her own handsome date to take her to the festival?

  “Have fun!” Emma said awkwardly as they all moved to the door for Brooke to lock up.

  “Emma,” Brooke called as she started to walk to her car.

  Emma stopped and turned back to the couple.

  “I’m praying for you,” Brooke said sincerely. “Don’t worry. God has good plans for you.”

  Emma nodded and left, hoping Brooke’s words were the truth, but doubting she and God shared the same definition of “good plans.”

  Emma pressed send on the email and laid her head on her hands wearily.

  Woong still didn’t know what ornament he wanted for his mom. Worse, he seemed to have decided to make the most unqualified person on the planet his confidante.

  Worse still, that person was Emma.

  In between telling his parents’ story in the hope of getting an idea for the perfect ornament, Woong inserted details about his own life, random bits of wisdom, and meandering thoughts in a way Emma found both charming and challenging. In his latest email, he’d confessed an awkward situation with his best friend and asked Emma what it meant if someone drew a heart smiley face and gave it to you.

  Emma felt completely over her head with such a question. She had no idea and didn’t try to pretend otherwise in her short email back. She’d answered honestly, saying, I’m not a good one to ask what a heart smiley face means. All I know is that I think I would like it if someone like the police chief drew one for me.

  One of these days, Woong would finish telling her his parents’ story and decide on an ornament. Emma would make it and send it on its way to hang on their tree. Then Emma would be free to close her business, and the emails would stop. Though she’d never met Woong and had no idea how to be the confidante of an eleven-year-old boy, she would miss him.

  Emma got ready for bed, weary because of her long, emotional day and weary because of the work needing done tomorrow. As she lay in bed, her mind drifted back over the day. Despite her bad experiences and efforts to convince herself that love wasn’t for her, she couldn’t help but fall asleep wishing someone might send her a heart smiley face and that someday he might look at her like Dylan looked at Brooke.

  Emma soldered the last corner and pulled off her protective glasses to get a better look.

  Even to her perfectionist eyes, the stained-glass birds were done. This project had already taken days. Over the weekend, she’d worked on cutting the glass pieces and grinding down the edges. She’d been gone most of the day yesterday and unable to work. Now it was already Tuesday, and she needed to finish at least one of the ornaments and get it in the mail to Wayne by the end of the day. Unfortunately, stained glass art couldn’t be hurried.

  Over the next hour, Emma worked on attaching the little birds to the silver branch and getting the metal sign with the year for next Christmas hanging off the branch at just the right angle. She breathed a huge sigh of relief after finally attaching the ornament hook. Now she just needed to attach Wayne’s ring in a way that it dangled perfectly as part of the ornament.

  She opened the little velvet box, took out the ring and carefully threaded an elegant ribbon through the center.

  “You really should charge more for those ornaments,” her mom said from behind. “They take you so much time.”

  Emma had been so focused, she hadn’t heard her mom come into the garage where she did most of her “dirty work,” as she called it. All of her ornaments that required power tools or protective eyewear were created here.

  “I didn’t intend to make another batch of stained glass ornaments this year,” Emma admitted. “I made the ones that were stolen months ago. It’s a lot easier to make them without the pressure of the Christmas deadline.”

  “It looks like you’ve done a good job,” Cindy said, inspecting the birds. “I’m sure your dad can help you with some of the soldering when he gets home.”

  “He helped me cut some of the glass on Saturday,” Emma said. “I don’t mind doing the soldering. He taught me well.”

  “Make him help you,” Cindy said. “It does him good to do some work. Otherwise, he’ll fish or golf all day long.”

  Emma held up the completed ornament, liking the way the ring caught the light as it dangled just right. Dear Lord, please bless Wayne and the lady who receives this ring. Give Wayne wisdom he needs and love in abundance for his future wife. Bless their relationship and help it to glorify You.

  “I thought it was on the counter, but I can’t find it at all,” Emma’s mom was saying.

  “What was that?” Emma asked. She had heard her mom’s words like annoying buzzing insects while she was praying, but she hadn’t actually paid attention to their meaning.

  “I asked if you’d seen a recipe on the counter for pumpkin muffins. I put it there when sorting through recipes a few days ago, but I didn’t throw it away as I should. Now I can’t find it.”

  “It’s in your recipe box,” Emma said easily.

&nb
sp; “Oh,” Cindy answered, a little surprised. “I don’t remember putting it there.”

  “Since you left it on the counter, I put it away after making some muffins yesterday.” Emma’s mind suddenly interpreted what her mom had said. “Did you say you wanted to throw the recipe away?”

  “Oh, Emma, you didn’t!” Cindy exclaimed, the lines on her face stretching in a horrified expression. “Did you make the muffins on that recipe?”

  Emma nodded, feeling slightly anxious at her mom’s reaction. “I was looking for a recipe yesterday morning when you were gone. I saw that pumpkin muffin recipe on the counter right beside your recipe box, so that’s the one I made.”

  “Emma, what did you do with the muffins?” Cindy asked cautiously, as if the answer was of vital importance.

  Feeling slightly embarrassed, Emma confessed, “I took them to the police station. I wanted to make them for Leo, but I ended up putting most of the muffins in the break room for all the officers.”

  Cindy moaned. “Oh, Emma! That was a Darla Resinkin recipe.”

  Emma shook her head in denial. “No.”

  “Yes! It was!” Cindy cried, thoroughly freaking out. “After the Thanksgiving potluck at church, I asked Shari Thorncock for her pumpkin muffin recipe. They were so moist and yummy, I wanted to make them again. Unfortunately, when I talked to Shari, I didn’t pay attention to who was around. Darla Resinkin overheard me and offered her pumpkin recipe as well. What could I do? Refuse and tell Darla she’s a horrible cook, and I wouldn’t touch her recipe with a ten-foot pole? I couldn’t do that. The next Sunday, the ladies each brought me a pumpkin muffin recipe, and I accepted both.”

  Emma felt her breath whooshing in and out far too rapidly. “Why didn’t you throw away the Darla Resinkin recipe?”

  “I meant to! I put Shari’s recipe in my box and meant to toss Darla’s, but then I got distracted and left it on the counter.”

  “Oh no! Oh no!” Emma moaned, putting her hand to her head. This was bad. This was very bad.

  Darla Resinkin fancied herself a fantastic cook, frequently boasting about how many pies or cakes she made in a day. Generous soul that she was, she then generously gifted her creations to various people in church. The only problem was that everything she made tasted awful! Pies frequently featured burnt crust on one side and doughy crust on the other, not to mention the sour taste that made everything she cooked taste like she’d added vinegar.

  However, being a good cook was so much a part of the dear lady’s identity that no one in the congregation dared hint otherwise. Trying to reroute her ministry heart in a different direction hadn’t worked either. The woman loved to cook.

  Finally, the church instituted a policy requesting that every dish brought to a potluck be labeled with the name and the person who made it. While the idea was presumably to share recipes and appreciation for the contributors, the unstated reason was to let everyone know which Darla Resinkin dish to avoid. Going through the potluck line at church, some quiet heroes would inevitably load generous servings onto plates, only to subtly donate them to the trash can when no one noticed. In the end, Darla was happy that her dish appeared as empty as everyone else’s, maintaining the delicate balance of church tranquility.

  “I didn’t burn them,” Emma thought, grasping at straws, “and they were fully cooked. Maybe the problem wasn’t the recipe. Maybe they tasted ok.”

  “Didn’t you taste them?” Cindy asked.

  “No. I was too nervous. I gave one to Orion,” Emma said, only to remember miserably, “but he wouldn’t eat it.”

  Cindy shut her eyes. “If Orion wouldn’t eat it, then it was probably really bad.”

  “I thought he just wanted one of his dog ornaments instead.” Emma felt awful imagining all of the police officers, and Leo, eating those muffins she had so proudly baked.

  “I’m sure it will be fine, sweetheart,” Cindy said, shifting to the consoling mother. “Maybe you can bake the officers something else and take it in to make up for the Darla Resinkin muffins.”

  “The recipe didn’t call for vinegar,” Emma said, her tone small and serious.

  Cindy giggled. “Well, that’s good to know.”

  Emma smiled. “I did think they called for an awful lot of salt, though.” She moaned softly. “I don’t know that I will ever bake again!”

  “At least now you’ll know for sure if Chief Jacobs likes you,” Cindy said brightly. “If the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, you might have run him off with that one.”

  Emma wondered, rather ridiculously, if the muffins were what put him in such a bad mood yesterday when she’d called. “Last time I called him, it didn’t sound like he’d want to see or talk to me ever again.”

  “That could change,” Cindy assured, seeming unperturbed. “Just give him a chance to recover. He may come around again.”

  Emma sighed dully, ““If he survives.”

  Cindy giggled. “Well, there is that. But if he doesn’t make it, you can take comfort in the hope that he’s gone to a place where there are no more Darla Resinkin muffins.”

  Emma’s forehead clouded up in confusion and fear. “But mom, Leo isn’t saved.”

  Cindy immediately surrendered to gales of laughter, and Emma lost all hope of obtaining a serious response from her mother for the rest of the day.

  Emma turned out the light to the classroom, absorbed in thought. Even teaching the Wednesday night class for preschoolers at church hadn’t eased her disquiet since speaking with Wayne’s mom, Barbara Farrell, over the phone.

  Emma had called this afternoon to get the address of where to send the ornament with the date of next year and the ring attached, and something about the conversation bothered her. It wasn’t so much anything that Barbara had said, but even that fact was a little unusual. Barbara wasn’t full of stories from Wayne’s love life, as Brooke had predicted. Instead, she’d been remarkably on topic, though she had shown a slight hesitation, seeming to change her mind about the best address to send the ornament.

  Emma tried to shake it off, thinking that she had enough trouble deciphering what people said during social conversations. She shouldn’t even attempt to determine what Barbara wasn’t saying. She was probably completely wrong about suspecting there was more to the story, yet even after mailing the package before 5:00, she couldn’t get it off her mind.

  She shut the classroom door, and with her hand still poised on the knob, she finally stopped to pray.

  Lord, I don’t know why this is bothering me so, but you know if there is more going on here. Please help Wayne to make good decisions about his life and the woman he loves. Help his family to be supportive of him. Let my ornament be a blessing that brings happiness and good news in Wayne’s life and the rest of his family. Let things work out according to Your will, even if they aren’t what people planned or expected. In Jesus’ name. Amen.

  “Emma? Are you okay?” The deep voice brought Emma’s eyes up with a start.

  “Leo? What are you doing here?” Emma fumbled, seeing Leo walk down the hall from the direction of the sanctuary.

  “When you didn’t answer your phone, I called your mom. She said you were here at church teaching a kids’ class. I came down but wasn’t in time to catch you before it started, so I’ve been waiting. Do you have a minute to talk?”

  Emma nodded, “Yes. What do you want to talk about? Is there any news on the case?”

  Leo looked around. “Do you care if we go outside? The heater seems to work a little too well in here.”

  “Sure,” Emma responded. “The pastor will need to lock up anyway.”

  Emma followed Leo to the front doors and didn’t even think about the parking lot until Leo held the door and she walked through. As soon as her feet touched the concrete, anxiety hit full force, and her gaze automatically flew to the end of the parking lot.

  “What?” Leo asked in response to her sudden halt. Following the direction of her gaze, he somehow guessed what was going
on. “Oh, Emma, I didn’t think about the parking lot being where you were attacked. Do you want to go somewhere else?”

  Emma didn’t know if she would ever again be able to park in the church lot again. This was the first time she’d been to the church in the evening since she was attacked, and the level of anxiety had shocked her with its intensity.

  “I parked by the lawn on the other side of the church,” Emma admitted. “We could go that direction.”

  Leo nodded, “Sure, but I don’t think you can call it a lawn when it has 6 inches of snow on it.”

  A snowstorm came through last night dumping inches of snow that accumulated through the morning. Though they followed the cleared sidewalk around to the other side of the building, the snow piled on either side was impressive.

  Emma loved the way fresh snow seemed to mute everything, Sounds didn’t ring as loud, and the world seemed softer and smaller with the sharp edges dulled and the barren winter momentarily covered with a blanket of purity. The Christmas lights strung across the roof of the church mirrored a colored reflection on the sheet of white, doubling the lights and making Christmas seem that much closer and somehow more alluring in its beckoning.

  Yet even the snow and lights weren’t enough to chase away Emma’s sense of disquiet. That Black Friday evening had stolen more than just her car. She could no longer enjoy a beautiful evening of fresh snowfall because of the theft of her sense of security. Anxiety and fear now trumped enjoyment, and Emma didn’t know if that would ever change.

  Even with the chief of police beside her, she couldn’t stop feeling on edge. Fear crowded the edges of her senses, and she almost felt as if she was being watched.

  “What did you want to talk about?” Emma asked Leo. She felt curious about his presence at church, but she also wanted to keep the conversation as short as possible, especially while in the proximity of the parking lot.

  Leo remained silent, but as they neared the car, his pace slowed. Thinking that he was still working up to the words, Emma idly picked up a snowball and threw it for Orion.