Christmas at Stoney Creek

by Martha Rogers

  On this return trip people no longer avoided him. What a difference a comb, razor, and clean clothes could make in a person’s attitude toward another. No matter what happened back in Stoney Creek today after they discovered his absence, he believed he’d left everything in good hands, and all of his hopes for the town would come to fruition.

  Joe sighed and leaned back against the seat. Just a few more days and he’d be home, and then not long after that he’d be home with his Lord and Savior, safe and secure for all of eternity.

  “What? He can’t be gone! He was at the wedding on Saturday night.” Tom’s stomach plunged to his toes. Joe had to still be here.

  Mrs. Hutchins shook her head. “I tell you, Tom, he’s gone. He left after breakfast saying he’d be in town for a while. I went up to this room to change the linens on the bed and all his things are gone. He left his grungy old clothes in a pile on the floor, but everything else is gone.”

  Tom had planned to have lunch with Joe, but now that appeared unlikely. Mrs. Hutchins nudged him out of the way to place a large soup tureen on the table. He’d best get out of her way or he’d have hungry boarders out for his head.

  Coming into the room, Herb Spooner overheard their conversation. “Hi, Tom. Looking for Joe? I believe he left town this morning. He came into the bank and talked with Mr. Swenson awhile. I spotted him heading over to the depot after he left the bank.”

  “Thanks, Herb. I’ll check with the ticket counter at the depot. Sure is strange his leaving like that.”

  The bank teller swayed back and forth on the balls of his feet. “Yes, I had really come to like him. He made frequent trips to see Mr. Swenson a number of times in the past few weeks. I think it’s strange too that he’d leave town without telling anyone.”

  “I think I’ll mosey on down to the depot now. Maybe I can find out the direction he was heading.” He left Herb Spooner in the room scratching his head.

  At the depot he questioned the ticket man. “Yeah, he came in early this morning and bought a ticket to Dallas. Didn’t say why or nothing, just that it was time for him to leave. Sure do wish he’d stayed around awhile longer.”

  Tom thanked him and headed back to the newspaper office. He wished Joe had stayed around too. He had a lot of unanswered questions left dangling like the worm on the end of a fishing pole. Now he’d never pull in a catch.

  He passed by the bakery and yearned to stop in to see Faith. Much as he’d like to do just that and spend a little time with her, he had work to do. The article he’d written after his last trip was ready for Mr. Blake’s approval. He wanted to go over it one more time. Maybe he should write an article about the mysterious stranger and his sudden disappearance.

  Gretchen was typing away when he entered the office. He hung up his coat and hooked his hat over it. As he passed her on the way to his desk, Gretchen whirled around in her chair. “Is it true Joe’s gone?”

  “Yes. I checked at the depot, and he left on the train to Dallas this morning. I suppose he’s on his way back home. I sure would have liked to talk with him some more. He wasn’t at church yesterday, but Mrs. Hutchins said he wasn’t feeling well. I’m thinking that was a ruse to keep from seeing me.”

  Gretchen crossed her arms. “I suppose we shouldn’t be surprised. He did say he’d have to leave before long.”

  “Yes, but I expected he’d at least wait until after the Christmas Eve program. After all, he did do most of the sets for the play.” Tom rubbed his hands together and sat down at his desk. This was one mystery he couldn’t let go. They had to find out who Joe was and why he had left without telling anyone.

  His mind remained as blank as the sheet of paper in his typing machine. “Gretchen, where’s that picture and story your father sent you?”

  “Right here.” She reached into her desk drawer and pulled out the news article. “I read the story again, and some things fit, but others don’t.” She handed the piece to Tom.

  “Would you wire your father and ask him to contact Joe’s hometown paper and then to let us know when Joe has returned?”

  “I’ll send the wire. Anything else I should say?”

  “I can’t think of anything, but if you do, go ahead and add it. I’m going to the boardinghouse and talk with Mrs. Hutchins. I’m also going to stop at the bakery and talk with Faith.”

  Gretchen left, and Mr. Blake strolled to Tom’s desk. “I overheard what you were saying about Joe. Anything you need me to do? This has become a very interesting story.”

  Tom thought a moment then snapped his fingers. “How about interviewing some of the people in town for whom he made and repaired stuff. Find out what they might know about him. You never know what little fact he might have let slip out while working on a project.”

  Mr. Blake grabbed up his hat and coat. “That’s a good idea. I’m as anxious as you two are to find out who our Joe really is.”

  When Tom arrived at the boardinghouse, Mrs. Hutchins invited him to sit and have sugar cookies and tea. Once she served him, she sat down across from him and tilted her head.

  “And to what do I owe the pleasure of this return visit? Might it have anything to do with our Joe Fitzgerald?”

  Tom picked up a cookie. “Yes, ma’am, it does. What can you tell me about him?”

  Mrs. Hutchins shook her head and laughed. “That’s a good question. I don’t know any more about him than what he’s told everyone else in town who asked. He never shared about himself, but he was always asking about others.”

  “What do you mean by that?” He bit into the cookie and savored it as it all but melted on his tongue.

  “I mean he asked about the library and how our town got the books for it. He asked about different families and what kind of things would make Stoney Creek a better place to live.”

  The library received a new shipment of books, and several families had sure been helped from out of nowhere. The puzzle pieces were there; Tom just had to put them together for the complete picture.

  Mrs. Hutchins leaned toward Tom. “I know reporters want news and ask a lot of questions, but this is one time you might want to leave things be.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “If Joe wanted us to know more about him, he would have told us. It’s none of our business about his background. Sheriff Bolton already assured me Joe wasn’t a wanted man or a criminal.”

  Tom opened his mouth to comment, but she held her hand palm forward toward him. “Just wait; I always check out my boarders with the sheriff, and that’s not being nosy. I’m being cautious. Anyway, I don’t think you should be in such a big hurry to find out who he was. He’s gone, so it can’t make any difference. I say write a story about a man we all liked, how much he will be missed, and what he did for folks with his carpentry.”

  What she said had merit, but Tom’s curiosity wouldn’t let the truth be covered up and tucked away. “Thank you, Mrs. Hutchins. I’ll think about your advice, but if we find out anything worth knowing, we have to report on it.”

  “I understand, son, but a man’s privacy is very important, and if he didn’t want us to know more about him, then we should not pursue it.”

  Her words gave Tom a lot to think about. He strolled down toward the bakery. Maybe Faith had some ideas or thoughts about Joe. Anticipation at seeing Faith put spring into his step, and he all but sprinted to the bakery.

  Faith placed the lid back on the cake server and at the ring of the bell over the door glanced up. Her heart skipped a beat then sped up its pace as Tom approached her. A smile tickled her lips. “Good morning.”

  “Good morning, yourself. Are you busy? Can we talk a minute?”

  She nodded as her gaze landed on his lips. Those kisses had been better than she had ever dreamed, and one would be nice about now. Faith shook herself and raised her eyes to his. “Yes, we have a lull. We can sit over there.”

  Tom followed her to the corner where she had pointed, and they sat down across from each other.


  “Look, you know Joe’s gone. He left on the train this morning.”

  “Yes, almost everyone who’s come in has had something to say about him. They all seemed to really like him after they got to know him. I’m sad to see him go too. There was something special about him that I can’t quite describe. He listened to what I had to say and had wise words to give me.” She turned her gaze out the window to the streets half expecting to see Joe meandering his way to the bakery.

  “Gretchen is following up on the news article her dad sent. If Joe’s return is reported in his local paper, we can pretty well conclude that Joe Fitzgerald and Joseph Mayfield are one and the same person.”

  “So what if he is? Maybe he simply wanted to take a vacation without being recognized or hounded for interviews.” Knowing Tom like she did, he was not going to simply drop his investigation because Joe was gone.

  “I don’t know, but my journalistic instincts tell me different. What about all those mysterious things happening in town, especially after the flood and your fire?”

  Faith bit her lip. “Those were mysterious, but what if Joe did do those things? What can you do about it now? He’s gone, so you can’t find out why or even if he really was behind it all.”

  Whether their benefactor had been Joe or some other unknown person didn’t really matter. Stoney Creek had been blessed, and as far as she was concerned, God had made provision where the need was greatest.

  “Tom, I think you need to leave this one alone.” She reached across for his hands. “We don’t have a right to pry into a man’s private life, no matter how curious we are. We do know that his wife and daughter are both dead and he’s alone, so maybe the trip was his way of handling grief.”

  “Mrs. Hutchins said essentially the same thing. Maybe there’s wisdom in that. I’ll think about it. If it’s better not to write the story after I get a few more facts, then I will leave it alone.”

  If they weren’t in a public place, she’d kiss him right now. Her heart swelled with love and pride. “That’s why I love you, Tom Whiteman. You will always do what is best for a person or in a situation. Whatever we find out about him, we’ll keep it to ourselves. Right?”

  “Right, but if Mr. Blake senses we’re holding back on a story, he’ll be angry and might print it anyway.”

  “I don’t think so. Mr. Blake is a good newsman, but he has a heart too. He’ll do the right thing as well.”

  “Since we don’t know for sure where Joe’s going, all we can do is speculate.” He pushed back his chair and stood. “I have to get back to the office for now, but I’ll be by later this evening.”

  At the door he brushed his lips across her cheek in a quick kiss before bounding down the steps to the street. Faith leaned against a post and followed his figure until he disappeared into the newspaper office. She loved that man with all her heart and soul, and if there was one person to find out the truth, it would be Tom. She could only pray he’d keep his word and not write a story exposing the truth about Joe.

  Even though she believed God had sent Joe, she didn’t want to advertise his good deeds. What Joe had done in private, God would honor in heaven because that’s the way God worked.

  CHAPTER 32

  TOM SAT AT his desk in his room and stared at the notes in front of him. These scribbled words had the makings of a great story, especially at Christmas time. It had been hard to put the notes aside, but after Mrs. Hutchins and Faith had voiced the same concerns, he’d prayed and God had given him the same answer.

  Gretchen had been reluctant to kill the story as well, but she understood that they should honor Joe’s privacy. And after she and Tom talked with Mr. Blake, even he agreed with them.

  A knock on the door was followed by his father’s voice. “Son, may I come in?”

  “Sure, Pa. Come on.” Tom straightened the papers in his hand and stacked them on the corner of his desk.

  “I have something I want to tell you about Joe.” His father sat in a chair next to the desk.

  “It’s okay, Pa. We’re not going to run the story about him.”

  “I know, and I admire you for that, but this is something Joe said I could tell you on Christmas Eve.”

  “All right, I’m listening.”

  “For one thing Joe came to me not long after he arrived to get a prescription filled. You see, Joe was dying of cancer. It was eating away at his insides, and there wasn’t much we could do except help ease the pain. He wasn’t sure how much longer he had to live, but he wanted to go home where he could die with friends from his church and be buried next to his wife and daughter.”

  Tom blinked back tears. Joe hadn’t been in Stoney Creek very long, but it was long enough for Tom to respect and admire him. “I’m so sorry to hear that. I cared a lot about that old man.”

  “I know you did, or you wouldn’t have brought him to us. He’s a fine Christian who is ready to meet the good Lord. Not sure why he wanted me to wait until today to tell you, but you know I couldn’t have told you at all without his permission.”

  His father’s integrity both as a man and doctor were two of the traits Tom most admired. “Of course, and I’m glad you told me now. I’m sad to know he’s dying but happy to know he didn’t just up and leave us because he didn’t want to stay any longer.”

  Faith would be devastated by this news. She had come to like Joe more than anyone else he knew in town except maybe for Mrs. Hutchins, whose tears as she asked Tom not to pry into Joe’s history said it all.

  “We’ll be leaving soon for the service. The buggy will be hitched and ready for you to go pick up Faith. Again, thank you for not prying into Joe’s background. He wanted it this way.” He gripped Tom’s shoulder. “I’m proud of you.”

  After he left, Tom stored the papers in his desk drawer and prepared for his evening with Faith. Clara and Tom had returned from their wedding trip, and Clara would be singing at tonight’s service as would Angela, with Aunt Hannah at the piano.

  Forty-five minutes later he and Faith arrived at the church. At almost eleven at night, the sky was cloudy but clear enough in spots for the half-moon to light the deep blue background. The air held the chill of frost, but as Faith snuggled next to him, it was perfect for Christmas Eve.

  Tom decided to wait until after the services to tell Faith about Joe. That was the time he’d also chosen to ask her to be his wife. He could think of no better Christmas gift than for her to say yes. The thought brought a smile to his face as he helped her down from the buggy.

  As they headed toward the church, Mr. Swenson hailed Tom, waving what appeared to be letters. “May I have minute of your time, Tom? I have two letters here from Joe. One he wants you to read to the people at church at the end of the service. The second letter is addressed to you and Faith for you to read together after the services.”

  Tom frowned and took the envelopes. Would they hold the answers he had sought? “Thank you, Mr. Swenson. Does Reverend Weatherby know I’m to read this at the end?”

  “Yes, and you’ll read it before the final prayer. Now I must get inside to sit with my daughter and Alex.”

  Tom slipped the letters into the inside pocket of his coat. He grasped Faith’s arm. “Well, maybe these will give us the answers we want.” He led her inside and down to the Whiteman family pew. They each picked up a candle at the entrance.

  Candles glowed all around the church and at the end of each pew. The light gave a beautiful aura to the holly and ivy and cedar adorning the railings and windows. A manger scene held center focus on the stage area.

  His aunt Hannah played the carols they all loved, and the congregation sang out with joy in their voices. When Clara’s clear soprano voice filled the church with “Oh, Holy Night,” Tom’s heart swelled with pride for his sister. He clutched Faith’s hand and squeezed it. She squeezed back and smiled up at him. His heart might burst with love for the girl beside him.

  After the play presented by the children, Tom held her hand all through the Christmas m
essage as Reverend Weatherby challenged them to begin the year 1893 with the Lord as their shepherd and Savior.

  At the end, before the final carol and prayer, Reverend Weatherby beckoned to Tom. “Tom Whiteman has a letter to read from Joe Fitzgerald. He may have been with us only a short time, but he touched many lives, and we were all sad to see him go.” He pointed to Tom. “The podium is yours.”

  Tom slid the letter from the envelope. He hadn’t read it and prayed his voice would hold out until he read it through. He cleared his throat and began.

  Dear people of Stoney Creek,

  As Tom reads this letter to you, I am back at home in Rockford, Illinois. I’m sorry I had to leave without saying good-bye to all of you because you made the last few months of this old man’s life the best he’s had in a long while. You took me in despite the way I looked and smelled that first day. You allowed me to come into your lives and become a part of your community. You gave me odd jobs to do and gifts I never expected. I left, not because I didn’t care about you, but because I wanted to go home and be with my church family there.

  You see, I’m dying, and I wanted to be in my hometown where I could be buried next to my wife and our daughter. I don’t know how many days or weeks I may have left, but from the bottom of my heart I say thank you. May God bless your town and all its people.

  Yours truly,

  Joe

  Tom blinked his eyes and glanced up to see handkerchiefs and fingers swiping at tearstained cheeks across the congregation. He made his way back to his seat as Reverend Weatherby lit the first candle in the congregation. Aunt Hannah’s fingers played across the keyboard, and the strains of “Silent Night” filled the air. One candle after another was lit, and they filled the room with the light of love and hope.

  Faith held Tom’s arm and choked back tears as the final words of the song hung over them. She’d never forget this night and the letter from a man who still remained a mystery. Now they’d never know who he really was and why he had come to Stoney Creek to begin with.