Down by the River

by Robyn Carr

  “June,” Jim pleaded, trying to grasp hold of her hand.

  “Do you have to keep touching me?” she yelped.

  “I’m thinking a good eight centimeters,” Nancy whispered to John. “Probably nine.”

  “All right,” June said, hoisting up on her elbows. “All comedians out! Out!”

  “I hope we’re not too late for the epidural. Let’s have a look, June. Right now,” John said, snapping on the gloves. And then to Nancy he said, “Wanna bet?”

  “I don’t know. Betting leaves kind of a sour taste in my mouth after what we just heard. But okay. Ten bucks says it’s nine.”

  “I’m going all the way—I think she’s there. Ten says it’s ten.”

  “You have an unfair advantage! You’ve done this a lot! I want a handicap!”

  “For God’s sake!” June yelled. And then her body seemed to lift off the bed slightly, bearing down with a will of its own.

  “Pant,” John said. “Don’t push yet. Not yet. Let me see, let me see… Whoa. My ten bucks. Okay, Dr. Hudson, you went a little fast for us. We’re not going to get that epidural after all. But heck, you’re at the easy part now. All you have to do is push him out.”

  The contraction passed. June was raised up slightly on her elbows and she glared over the huge mound that was her son, staring daggers at John. “Oh, that’s swell, John. You’re supposed to be ready for things like this. You’re supposed to know. Now all I have to do is give birth? Without anesthesia? Swell, John. Swell.”

  John just laughed at her. If her position hadn’t been so completely compromised, she would have hit him in the head.

  “You may push on the next contraction. Where do you want Jim? Holding your shoulders while you bear down, or down here watching the action?”

  “Frankly, I could care less!”

  The last moments of labor and delivery always brought out the best in a woman, John thought.

  Nancy took her place behind June and indicated to Jim that he should join John at the foot of the bed, ready to play catch. While June worked on pushing, Susan and the pediatric nurse came in, ready to clean up the baby when he was born.

  As June became more tired from the pushing, she also became less testy and more sentimental. “We didn’t get married,” she whined. Then pushed. “I have no experience with this,” she complained. Then pushed.

  It only took about a half an hour of that, and there he was. “Aaaah,” said everyone in the room.

  Jim was again at her side as she cradled the baby and looked down at him. He was a tad on the smallish side, but enormously handsome. His eyes were open already and he looked all around. “Look how intelligent he is,” she said breathlessly. “Isn’t he brilliant? And his color is fabulous. Have you ever seen a more beautiful baby? Ever? Jim?”

  Jim was crying. Here was a big strong undercover cop, tears running down his ruddy cheeks.

  June was all done being cranky. It was amazing how fast that transition passed. John saw it all the time. Eight to ten centimeters could turn a woman into a wild beast, but birth could bring her back as fast. She put her hand up to Jim’s cheek, touched his tears and said, “Thank you.”

  It was as June had hoped it would be. To see her father and Aunt Myrna holding little Jamie—short for James E., short for James Elmer Hudson Post—filled her with more joy than any moment in her life had up until now.

  He weighed in at five pounds, ten ounces, and was pronounced approximately a month early. He nursed like a barracuda and left the hospital with his mother forty-eight hours later. Friends and family brought meals and help so that June and Jim could take their time getting to know Jamie and parenthood without all the pressures of cooking, cleaning and working at their jobs.

  They were often asked when the wedding was and June said, “When we get our church back. And our preacher.”

  Harry was mortified to learn of all that Grace Valley had been through. He hadn’t been watching the news or reading the papers—he’d been involved in an intense twelve-step program and was very focused on recovering from his addiction. But when he left the treatment center and went first to the church headquarters he learned that Grace Valley had been nearly wiped out by flooding.

  There was a piece in the San Francisco Chronicle about how the people of this town were pitching in together, rebuilding, renewing, and had never lost their optimism, their belief that their town would be whole again. “But we might build a higher levee behind the church and café,” George Fuller was quoted. “Just to be on the safe side.”

  Harry hadn’t heard from anyone in Grace Valley since sending his letter. He hadn’t expected to, really. And now, knowing what he knew about what had happened to the town, he imagined they were even angrier than ever with him. Not only had he lied to them all, played them for fools, but then he’d run off and left them. He hadn’t been there for them when they needed him most!

  He was so afraid. He wished he hadn’t promised to go to Grace Valley and see a few of his old friends. If he hadn’t made the promise, he wouldn’t be doing it now. He’d thought about asking Brianna to go with him for moral support, but, truth to tell, he didn’t want to be even further humiliated in front of his ex-wife when the town turned its back on him.

  Brianna had been a real pal through his treatment. He’d only had contact with a couple of people—his boss and his ex. Brianna had even gone so far as to attend family week with him, even though she was no longer family. Or was she? She had said in front of God and everyone that she loved Harry, would always love him, but was afraid to share a life with him as long as he had his problem. Well, his problem, he had so painfully learned, was for life.

  As he got closer to Grace Valley, he grew more and more nervous. He had said “a couple of weeks” in his letter, so they didn’t know exactly when he was coming. He would just drive into town, into the heart of town where there would no doubt be people working on houses and businesses, park somewhere in the middle by the café or church, speak to whomever happened to be around and then beat a path out of there as fast as possible. And if they asked him about his gambling? “Tell the truth,” his sponsor had said. “You can choose not to talk about it, but it’s very dangerous to lie. We’re only as sick as our secrets and lies.”

  There had been enough lying to last him a lifetime. Every time he thought about the way he’d borrowed money, pretending his paycheck was late, pretending he’d repay right away when what he really intended to do was put the money on a horse or find a floating crap game, it brought tears to his eyes. Maybe today was the day he’d say, “I’m really sorry I lied to you” to Sam. Or Elmer. Or George or June. And there were more. They’d treated him with such love and acceptance. How could he have lied to them?

  He just hoped his heart wouldn’t explode inside his chest before he actually got there. The closer he got, the worse it became. He passed Standard Roberts’s flower field and saw that he had yellow ribbons on the mailbox, trees, the antennae of his car. Was there some holiday he didn’t know about? He’d really lost touch.

  But yes, there was some event, some community project, because every mailbox he passed wore a yellow ribbon. Had someone been kidnapped? Oh, that would be horrid if someone from this wonderful town was missing. All he could think was that yellow ribbons were used to signify the safe return of someone missing, someone in danger, someone lost.

  As he got closer, the yellow ribbons only increased. They were placed around tree trunks and daringly high in the trees. They were painted on the glass of windows, made of brick mosaic on lawns, fluttering like flags from poles.

  Now he really wanted to run. Here he was, coming back to his town to try to explain his disease and apologize, when they obviously had something urgent and desperate going on here. What arrogance he had! He should turn the car around before disrupting these people even more than he had.

  But he was stuck, for he had passed the ribbon-laden police department. Valley Drive was busier than he’d ever seen it, with trucks
and construction workers everywhere. Virtually every building on the street was being worked on, and some of them looked as if they were nearly completed. He was so relieved to see that the café was standing! And there was a yellow ribbon painted on every single pane of glass in front of the café.

  He pulled up to the café and parked. Of everyone in town he was probably closest to George; he had had almost every meal at the café. That’s why he’d addressed his letter to George. This was a good place to start. There appeared to be lots of carpentry going on inside and he thought he spotted George. As he unfolded his lanky frame from the car, someone saw him, pointed, and people inside began to talk rapidly to one another.

  Oh, how he wished he could turn and run.

  Sam found him first, coming up from behind. “Harry? Reverend?”

  He turned. “Sam! How great to see you!” he said, surprised by how true a statement that was. The welcoming look on Sam’s face made him immediately wonder what he’d been so afraid of. Then came George, as excited as ever. A couple of locals stopped what they were doing to shake his hand. Next, Tom and Lincoln Toopeek wandered over from the police department. Then Elmer came out of the clinic, followed by John, Susan, Jim and, finally, there was June, carrying a bundle. The baby had come? So soon?

  People were coming out of buildings, stopping their cars in the middle of the road, emerging from every corner of the town.

  He couldn’t stop his stupid smiling, he was so relieved to see them all. Despite what had befallen them, they looked happy, healthy and strong. When June stood before him he embraced her gently but clumsily. “The baby is here so soon?” he asked, peeking at the little red face.

  “A bit early, but healthy as a horse. It’s so good to see you, Harry. We’ve missed you so much.”

  “Have you? Have you?”

  “Oh, yes, Harry. Can you doubt it? We love you!”

  “My God, how kind you all are. But what’s happening here? Are the yellow ribbons for the rebuilding of the town?”

  “What?” June asked, confused.

  “The yellow ribbons. They’re everywhere. What are they for?”

  June couldn’t help herself, she laughed at him. He’d always been such a putz. She covered her mouth with a hand and then pointed to a banner that was stretched across the street from the café to the clinic. It was high off the ground; Harry must have been so focused on the road he’d missed it.

  It read, Welcome Home, Harry.

  When the floor of the church was reinforced and resurfaced, when the pews were installed and new hymnals purchased, when the pulpit was standing and flowers fashioned by Sam and Jurea beautified the front of the church, Harry stood at the altar in his vestments. There was hardly room for another soul when the organ began to play. Jim and Chris entered from the side to stand before Harry. Nancy walked down the aisle, slowly, carrying her bouquet. Behind her were June and Elmer, June once again slim as a reed and wearing a lavender satin dress that made her look a bit like a girl.

  Elmer handed his daughter off to her intended, then took his place in the front pew beside his sister. Myrna handed him his grandson.

  Myrna and Morton had talked about this day, and it was their intention to renew their vows as June and Jim spoke theirs. And though no one had said anything, Nancy and Chris had decided to do the same thing. For many people in Grace Valley, seeing June wed Jim, the man they’d all come to love as one of their own, watching her do this with her old beau as the best man and her old rival as her matron of honor, brought everything full circle.

  “Who gives this woman in marriage?” Harry asked.

  Elmer stepped into the aisle with his grandson in his arms and said, “I believe we all do, Harry. I believe we all do.”

  Dear Reader,

  It was such an honor to be asked to create a Christmas story that would take place in Virgin River, especially because, in my mind, the miracle of Christmas is synonymous with that special town. Virgin River seems to be a place of kindness, friendship, love and miracles.

  In this story you’ll meet Ian and Marcie, two courageous people who have weathered too many storms in their young lives. Both need two things to help them get to a place of peace and happiness: namely, faith and love. Between them they have a lot of history, but at the same time they’re just getting to know one another. And what they find in their renewed relationship could bring them closer to the peace and serenity they need so much.

  The Virgin River novels are part of an ongoing series, and A Virgin River Christmas is a special addition to that series. While many of the well-known Virgin River characters are present in this book, you don’t have to read the first three in the series to feel at home here. But for those of you who have started at the beginning, and have waited patiently for this next book, let me put you in the time frame. A Virgin River Christmas takes place just a few weeks before Christmas—right in the middle of Whispering Rock—the third book in the continuing series.

  Christmas can mean many different things to each of us. For Marcie and Ian, I’ve tried to create a special time for two people who couldn’t be more deserving.

  It was a privilege to create this story. I hope you’ll treasure it.

  My best wishes to you and yours,

  ISBN: 978-1-4268-5386-9

  DOWN BY THE RIVER

  Copyright © 2003 by Robyn Carr.

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  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

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  *(new reissue available June 2010)