A Light in the Window

by Julie Lessman

  If we get married … Marcy’s heart skipped a beat at the tiny prickle of doubt she didn’t want to acknowledge, the one that had embedded itself over the last few weeks, infecting her peace of mind and threatening her dreams.

  “Here you are, my love.” Sam deposited a fresh glass of punch on the table in front of her, along with a saucer of Miss Clara’s iced oatmeal cookies, still gooey from the oven. “Fresh punch and cookies for the lady of the hour.”

  Her smile was tender as she gazed up at him, amazed at how much closer they had become since the quarrel with Patrick, as if the near-loss of a friend more like a brother had shaken Sam to the core. Suddenly attentive to a fault, he now spent every moment of his free time with her, opening his heart in ways he never had before. The fight with Patrick had devastated him, he said, prompting him to badger his “best friend” for forgiveness until the friendship was slowly being restored. Or nearly so, given that Sam now passed most of his time in Marcy’s company rather than Patrick’s. Pulling his chair out, he sat down beside her and grinned like a little boy while he snitched one of her cookies, and with a rush of affection, she pressed a soft kiss to his cheek.

  His grin broadened as he gave her a wink. “Mmm … if I get a peck on the cheek for stealing one of your cookies, what might I get for stealing a kiss?”

  “A piece of my mind,” she whispered with a warning crook of her brow, “if you dare make advances in front of the parish priest.”

  His deep chuckle blended with the revelry in the room. “As long as it comes with a piece of your heart, Marceline, you’ll hear no complaints from me.” His forehead puckered as he glanced around the room, his heavy exhale following on its heels. “I see Patrick didn’t show.”

  Her wistful sigh matched his. “No. It would seem I’m a deterrent to your best friend.” She squeezed his hand. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Don’t be,” he said quietly, his smile conspicuously absent. “It’s hardly your fault for being the beautiful woman you are.” He feathered the edge of her jaw with his thumb, gaze reflective. “He’ll come around before we marry, I promise. Has to,” he said with a quick swig of his punch, the smile surfacing once again. “Who else could be my best man?”

  A loud clanging captured everyone’s attention when Miss Clara banged a serving spoon against a cast-iron pot. “Listen up—Father Fitz has something to say.”

  The conversation and laughter subsided except for the lilting flow of Father Fitz’s chuckles, which immediately expanded Marcy’s smile into a grin. “Thank you, Miss Clara,” Father said with a short bow in her direction, “for that most auspicious introduction. You can rest assured, my dear woman, that after tonight’s raging success, you may well find that new cook stove you’ve requested nestled under your tree.”

  Miss Clara beamed while laughter circled the room.

  Father Fitz paused, slowly scanning the faces before him with pride in his eyes. “Seldom have I seen a fundraiser this cohesive, a group of people who have bonded together more beautifully than those in this room. You have unselfishly given of your time, your talents, and your love to bless the less fortunate, and I have no doubt whatsoever that the Almighty is smiling down on each and every one of you this night. I want you to know that I have never been prouder of a group of people in this parish than I am of this cast and crew. You are …” A sheen of moisture glimmered in his eyes as his chin trembled almost imperceptibly. “The Body of Christ in action and in the truest sense—the purest expression of what Christmas is really all about. You have my undying gratitude and that of Sister Francine, Evan, Miss Clara and indeed, the entire parish, for a job remarkably well done.”

  Applause and cheers broke out as a tear trailed Marcy’s cheek. Sam pushed his handkerchief at her, and she nodded her thanks before returning her attention to the front of the room where Father Fitz held up his hands. “Before we disperse for the evening, I would be remiss if I didn’t address three very important issues.” He raised a finger, silver brows lifted high. “One—our thanks to the Almighty, Who not only convened the best group for the job, but blessed their efforts beyond measure.” Waiting for the clapping to die down, he continued with a second finger in the air. “Two—when I said ‘blessing our efforts without measure, however, I didn’t mean to imply we met our goal of eight hundred dollars.”

  Gasps sounded all over the room as Marcy’s breath hitched in her throat, silence settling like a shroud. The serious demeanor of Father Fitz’s face slowly eased into an elfin smile while mischief twinkled in blue eyes that sparkled with a bit of the devil. “No, I’m afraid we’ve set a very awkward precedent for future fundraisers at this church, ladies and gentlemen, for not meeting our goal or even coming close …” He paused for effect. “But exceeding it by well over five hundred dollars.”

  No one breathed for a split second, and then with a lusty swell of whoops, shrieks, and stomping feet, the room thundered with clapping and cheers while Marcy swayed in her seat, too dizzy and stunned to utter a single sound. Over thirteen hundred dollars? Only when Sam plucked her out of the chair to embrace her did comprehension dawn while moisture brimmed in her eyes.

  Father Fitz hoisted his palms once again, stilling the gathering to a quiet buzz before he added a third finger to his count. “And finally, number three—it is my privilege and joy to honor the young ladies without whom none of this would be possible.” Hands clasped behind his back, he jutted his prominent chin in Marcy and Julie’s direction while a grin tugged at his lips. “Miss Murphy and Miss O’Rourke, would you please come forward?”

  The room exploded with shrieks and whistles and the deafening clomp of more feet as Sam prodded Marcy up with a squeeze of her hand and a palm to her back while Evan followed suit with Julie. Uncomfortable with praise, Marcy’s cheeks burned as hot as Miss Clara’s ovens in July, gaze skittish as she stood between Father Fitz and her best friend.

  “Marceline,” he began in his most regal tone, “the people of St. Mary’s parish, the Center of Hope, and the cast and crew of A Light in the Window would like to thank you and Julie for masterminding not only the single most successful fundraiser in St. Mary’s history …” He winked. “But in the diocese as well.”

  Joyous pandemonium broke loose among the crowd while Julie grabbed Marcy’s hands and screamed, jumping up and down before she finally flung her arms around her best friend’s neck. “Oh, Marcy,” she cried, her giggles reverberating in Marcy’s ears, “can you believe it? We did it!”

  “Ladies,” Father Fitz said loudly enough to subdue the chaos in the room, “as a small token of our appreciation, we’d like to give you a memento, not only of the incredible job you did, but hopefully to remember each of us by—cast, crew, and staff.”

  Sister Francine approached with two small tissue-wrapped packages, handing one to each of the girls, followed by a pinch on each of their cheeks. “You deserve this and more for a truly excellent job.” Stepping back, she stood on the opposite side of Father Fitz, hands clasped at her waist as she watched them open the gifts with a wide smile that was a mirror reflection of Father’s.

  With a huge grin, Julie tore into the tissue paper while Marcy did the same, squealing with delight when each unwrapped a beautiful snow globe. “Look, Marce, it’s our play!” Julie exclaimed, shaking the ball to watch the snow drift over a bough-trimmed window aglow with a candle.

  Marcy shook her globe, lips parted in awe while tears welled in her eyes. She giggled when Father Fitz pressed his handkerchief into her hand, and she absently dabbed the moisture that blurred the drifting snow into a fuzzy fog of white.

  “All right, one and all, our party has come to an end, but on behalf of Sister Francine, Evan Farrell, Miss Clara, and the parish—may your Christmas be as wonderful as you’ve made ours. God bless and good night.”

  Laughter, hugs, and the scraping of chairs marked the end of a wonderful evening, but much like her snow globe, the next half hour was little more than a blur to Marcy as people crowded around
to congratulate her and Julie. Miss Clara and her volunteers were busy cleaning up while Sam and Evan helped, and when the last cookie had been eaten and the punch all put away, Marcy sagged against Sam’s chest as he pulled her into his arms. “I do believe you may have to carry me home tonight,” she said with a sleepy smile, relishing the citrus scent of his shaving soap.

  “It would be my pleasure, love,” he whispered, thumbs grazing her waist.

  Eyes closed, she savored the comfort of his arms, a chuckle in her tone. “Or to Robinson’s first, if Julie and Evan want to celebrate, so I hope you’ve energized with enough punch and cookies.”

  He tipped her face up, a smoldering look in dark eyes that warmed her to her toes. “I don’t need punch or cookies, Marceline,” he said in a husky voice, “the taste of your lips is all the adrenaline I need.” He startled her when he grazed her mouth with his own.

  “Sam, please …” she whispered, biting the edge of her lip as she nervously glanced around. She twisted from his hold with an awkward smile, grateful everyone was gone except for Julie and Evan in the dining room and Miss Clara and a few volunteers in the kitchen. Hoping to deflect her embarrassment with a bright smile, she spun on her heel, energy rebounding. “So, Julie and Evan—shall we celebrate at Robinson’s?”

  “Sounds good to me,” Julie said with a grin while Evan helped her on with her coat. She glanced up. “Is that all right with you, Evan?”

  He paused for the briefest of moments, somber eyes flicking from Julie to Marcy and back. “Uh, sure, Julie.”

  Marcy blinked, Evan’s hesitant tone giving her pause. Her gaze flitted from the instant crimp of concern on Julie’s face to Evan’s sober manner, and apprehension settled on her shoulders like the coat Sam had just helped her put on. Is Evan upset with Julie? Worry gnawed as she absently reached into her pocket for her gloves and then groaned, pulling out a folded piece of paper. “Oh, goodness—I forgot the check Mr. Mulholland gave me after the play, a last-minute contribution for, and I quote, ‘the most fun he’s ever had at a fundraiser.’” She slipped it back in her pocket with a sigh. “I guess I need to deliver it to Father Fitz before we go,” she said with a final glance in the kitchen. “Good night and thank you, Miss Clara, Rupert, Rose—the cookies and punch were wonderful!”

  Julie and Evan echoed her goodbyes on their way to the front door while Sam handed Marcy her reticule with the snow globe tucked safely inside. Hand to her waist, he ushered her out behind Julie and Evan.

  Halfway to the street, Julie groaned and slapped a hand to her head. “Oh, drat, I left Mama’s crystal candlesticks on the stage, and I promised I’d bring them home tonight.” She whirled around with a plea in her eyes. “Sam, would you be a dear and get them for me?”

  Sam froze, glancing at Evan as if half expecting him to retrieve them instead. He gave his sister a stiff smile. “Sure, Jewels—where are they?”

  She flashed a smile of her own, gratitude radiating from eyes so like her brother’s. “I think I left them in the far corner at the left side of the stage, in that tattered box Mama stores them in, you know?” She chewed on her lip. “I think.”

  A grin tipped one side of Sam’s mouth. “You think?” He shook his head and reached for Marcy’s hand. “Never mind, we’ll find them.”

  “Actually …”

  Everyone turned at Evan’s remark.

  “I forgot Father Fitz said he needed to see both Marcy and me before we left tonight,” he said, offering a conciliatory smile along with a slight shrug of his shoulders. “So, Julie, maybe you and Sam should go after the candlesticks and head on over to Robinson’s, then Marcy and I will meet you there as soon as we’re done.”

  Sam paused, his gaze lighting on Marcy. “No problem, Evan—we’ll wait.”

  “Well, I know Father Fitz wanted to go over some numbers, Sam,” Evan said with a nervous scratch at the back of his neck, “so I’m not all that sure how long it will take. I’d really feel much better if you just took Julie to Robinsons to save us a booth.”

  “Okay …” Sam said slowly. “We’ll see you at Robinson’s, then.” He looped an arm around his sister’s shoulder. “Come on, Jewels—we should have time to cart those candlesticks home before we head over.” He sent Marcy a wink. “See you there, love.”

  “All right, Sam.” Marcy smiled. “And nab the back booth if you can, Jewels,” she called.

  “Sure, but hurry every chance you get, okay?” Julie’s smile over her shoulder was marred by a tiny pucker above her nose. “We have a lot to celebrate.”

  “Will do.” Evan watched them head toward the auditorium and released a heavy exhale, unleashing clouds of smoke that rolled into the cool night air.

  “Are you all right?” Marcy asked, head tilted with concern. “Is everything okay between you and Julie?”

  His jaw seemed tight as he hooked a hand to her arm to escort her to the rectory. “Yes, everything’s fine between Julie and me … or at least it was until tonight.”

  Marcy’s heart stopped along with her feet as she turned. “Evan? Tell me, please—what’s wrong?”

  Facing her, he buried his hands in his pockets, his lips now as compressed as his jaw. “It’s not about Julie and me, Marcy,” he whispered, “it’s about Sam.”

  Marcy’s body went to stone, the air in her lungs refusing to budge while Evan stared at her with empathy in his eyes. “Please forgive me, Marcy, but you need to know—Patrick was telling the truth about Sam.”

  She stumbled back as if he’d slapped her, cheeks stinging from the assault of his words. “I cannot believe, Evan Farrell, that you would take that scoundrel’s word over that of Julie’s own brother! What in heaven’s name is wrong with you? Patrick only befriended me in the first place to steal me away from Sam, but it’s obvious that he’s cozied up to you and everyone at the center so much that you’re blind to his reputation with women.”

  “Yes, Marcy, I know his reputation with women, but I also know how much he’s changed over the last six months and what kind of friend he’s been to me.” Sorrow slumped his shoulders as he looked up beneath weighted lids, the kindness in his eyes sapping her anger. “And to you …”

  She spun around, unwilling to see Patrick in a positive light, reluctant to trust a man who’d drawn her in more than she cared to admit.

  And fearful of what that might mean ...

  “Sam and I are friends,” Evan whispered, “but Patrick has spent so much time at the center over the summer that he and I … well, we’ve forged a deep bond, and I …” She heard his weary expulsion of air. “Well, quite frankly, I trust him.”

  Her breathing shallowed as she shook her head, fighting the urge to put her hands over her ears, but Evan only continued, his voice laced with the same pain that now seared her heart. “I can’t allow Sam to hurt you no matter how difficult this is to hear for both you and for Julie, but the truth is ... Sam lies to you,” he said quietly, hesitating as if the words were too difficult to push from his tongue, “and he sees … other women.”

  “I don’t believe you,” she whispered, her voice no more than a rasp.

  Her nerves bucked when his hand lighted upon her arm. “It’s true, Marcy. He may tell you he’s working, but—”

  She whirled around, panic rising in her chest. “He is working!” she screamed.

  “Maybe.” His voice faded to a whisper. “But not last Thursday night. He lies to you just like Patrick said. He has other women.”

  Tears stung as Marcy swayed on her feet, her mind suddenly as scattered as the snow in the globe. She tried to make sense of what Evan was saying, but she was too stunned to comprehend, too fearful to believe Sam would betray her like this. Her words quivered with anger along with her body. “I r-refuse to t-take the word of a rogue who’s made sport of lying to women, Evan, no m-matter how good of a friend he’s become to you.”

  A muscle jerked in Evan’s throat. “I know this is not easy to hear, but you need to know the truth, and the truth is th
e trustworthy man here is Patrick, not Sam.”

  “Lies—all lies!” Marcy cried, fear crawling up her windpipe to cut off her air. “I’ll tell you what kind of man Patrick O’Connor is—the kind of man he conveniently accuses Sam of being—a liar and a philanderer. You know what he did to Emily Fischer and God knows how many others and yet you choose to believe him over Julie’s brother?” Her eyes burned as she leaned in, fists knotted at her sides. “Did you know that your almighty Patrick O’Connor forced himself on me in the beginning, and then nearly again after Sam and I were courting?”

  Evan’s lips parted in surprise.

  “That’s the kind of man who’s accusing Sam,” Marcy whispered, her tone harsh, “and it pains me that a good friend like you whom I love and trust would side with the likes of him. You may believe him, but I refuse to take the word of a man who’s made sport of lying to women no matter how much of a friend he’s become.”

  Marcy flinched at the gentle touch of Evan’s hand, his eyes steeped in sorrow. “Then how about the word of a ‘good friend whom you love and trust?’” he whispered.

  She stared, unable to speak as her heart thudded to a stop.

  “I saw him, Marcy,” he said quietly, “with my own eyes.”