Seth’s accusations burned like branding irons in her mind as Reba sat in her car outside her sister’s home. She’d never spoken to her sister about what happened that fateful night. She certainly hadn’t given either John or her sister an opportunity to explain. It wasn’t in her to listen to their excuses, their justifications. The minute she’d found her sister with John, she’d blocked out all feelings for both of them.
Or so she wanted to believe.
Then she’d run into her sister at the toy store. What Seth had said was true: they were both in anguish, both hurting, both miserable. It was seeing Ellen for the first time—the niece she’d never held, never laughed with or cuddled—that had done it. For so many years Reba had begrudged Vicki happiness, at the cost of her own. Then she’d found Seth…a miracle, a gift from God. And now, once again, for the sake of perpetuating her resentment toward her sister, she was about to throw away everything she yearned for.
Perhaps what Seth had said was true about the real reasons she’d agreed to marry John. Reba didn’t want to examine his accusations too closely. Assigning blame was far too tiring. She was through with it.
It demanded a great deal of courage to walk up to the front door and ring the bell. An eternity passed before the porch light went on and the door opened. Doug stood on the other side.
“Reba?” He held open the screen door for her.
“I’d like to talk to Vicki,” she explained.
Her brother-in-law hesitated, as if he weren’t sure he could trust her. “Is there a problem with your parents?”
She liked Doug and the way he acted to protect Vicki. “No. The problem’s between my sister and me. I need to talk to her.”
“Doug, who is it?”
He glanced over his shoulder, waited a moment, and then announced, “Your sister.”
Vicki appeared from the hallway almost immediately. Ellen rode her hip, dressed in Minnie Mouse pajamas, her wet hair combed back, her eyes filled with simple joy and laughter.
It looked as though Doug were ready to stand guard over his wife and daughter, protect them both from her, if necessary.
“Reba.” Vicki’s round, dark eyes revealed her surprise. “Could you give us a few minutes alone?” she requested of her husband. She handed him the child and walked quietly into the living room.
Reba followed. Now that she was here, now that she’d crossed the bridge and was facing the woman she’d actively resented for four long years, she found all she could do was weep. The years of keeping her anger alive, of feeding her resentment and pain, left her feeling as though she were drowning in emotion. Tears welled in her eyes and spilled down her face, despite her almost frantic efforts to keep them at bay. Her throat felt raw. She’d wasted so much time feeding her pain, when the person she’d hurt the most had been herself.
For years she’d been telling herself how much she hated Vicki. For years she’d closed herself off from her family and friends. For years she’d tabulated the wrongs committed against her, when all along she’d missed her sister desperately. Her best friend. Her own flesh and blood.
When she found the courage to look toward Vicki, she found her sister sitting across from her, tears running unrestrainedly down her cheeks. She offered Reba a gentle smile and then bit into her lower lip as if she were afraid to speak.
“Ellen is a beautiful little girl,” Reba whispered. It was all the voice she had, and it came out choked and breathy.
“I named her after you. Ellen Louise.” Vicki rubbed the heel of her hand down her cheeks and sniffled. “Oh, Reba, I’m so sorry, so very sorry.” She lowered her face. “You have every reason to hate me…. What I did was despicable. You don’t know how I hated myself afterward…how…”
“Don’t,” Reba said, her voice surprisingly strong.
Vicki looked up to meet her eyes.
“I know you’re sorry, it’s unnecessary to say it again. The reason I’ve come is to apologize to you. My unwillingness to forgive you has hurt everyone. You. Mom and Dad, and probably most profoundly, me. I came because…because I need you to forgive me!”
Vicki stood, walked over to where Reba sat, and got down on her knees.
With a soft cry of joy Reba wrapped her arms around her sister, and the two hugged and openly wept.
Chapter 30
Fear not for I bring you tidings of great joy.
—A personal friend of Mrs. Miracle
Seth sat down at the church piano, poised his fingers over the yellowed ivory keyboard, and hesitated. He had studied the music, and the notes rang loud and clear in his head long before his fingers struck the keys. The first song, “Joy to the World,” was one of his favorites, one he’d often played during the holidays because Pamela had loved it, too.
The last time he’d played the carol had been the Christmas before the accident, while his wife had sung the solo in front of the church.
He forced the memory from his mind and pressed his fingers upon the keys. Convinced his talent would be rusty following a four-year sabbatical, he’d arrived two hours early to practice. The music flowed. From his heart and from his soul. Joy mingled with sadness, and to his wonder, the joy drowned out the sorrow. It was as though he’d sat and practiced hours every one of those days away from the piano.
He wasn’t the only one who noticed. Reba stepped out from behind the painted manger scene, paused, and stared. The joyous notes filled the church, resounding through the building, amplified until the music swelled and echoed like a chorus of angels.
“Oh, Seth,” she whispered when he’d finished, awe in her voice. “That was lovely. I don’t know when I’ve heard the carol played more beautifully.”
Her praise embarrassed him, and he fumbled with the sheet music. “You’ll be able to cue me, won’t you?”
“Of course.” She walked to the far edge of the stage. “I’ll be standing here. Emily and a couple of other volunteers are seeing to everything backstage. They’ll get the children where they’re supposed to be. The others are seeing to the costumes and everything else backstage. My job is to cue you when to play and usher the actors and actresses on and off the stage.”
Seth ran his fingers up and down the scales, marveling in the sense of freedom and joy he experienced. If not for practical reasons, he would have sat at the piano all day. What Reba had said about him letting go of his grief was true. He felt as if the shackles had lifted from his heart, and his spirit soared in jubilation.
“I don’t know how to thank you,” Reba said when he’d finished.
He grinned. “I’ll think of something,” he said, and then lowered his voice. “Preferably something that involves leather and lace.”
She smiled and lingered, then walked around the piano. Although they hadn’t known each other long, he was beginning to understand and appreciate her. Something was on her mind. He also knew that she’d tell him in her own good time.
“My sister’s coming this evening,” she said shyly.
Seth noticed the slight tremble in her voice.
“What you said hit home.”
He regretted that now, because he’d spoken in anger. “It wasn’t my place to berate you, and you were right: it was a prime example of the pot calling the kettle black.”
“Vicki and I talked half the night; she didn’t make any excuses for what happened, but I know in my heart that John seduced her. She’s changed so much, and she says I have, too.” Her eyes misted. “Thank you for giving my sister back to me.”
He reached for her hand and raised it to his lips. “Don’t credit me with that. You’re the one responsible.”
“But I never would have gone to see her if it hadn’t been for you. I was terribly afraid.”
“It was a courageous thing to do after all this time.”
“Ironically, going to see Vicki wasn’t what frightened me,” she said. “Losing you was.” This last confession was followed by a noticeable gasp, as though she’d said more than she intended. “You were the
first man who didn’t run to hide at my obvious emotional problems.”
“Two wounded souls reaching out to help one another,” he added. “My guess is that we were brought together for a specific purpose.”
“The Christmas program,” she suggested tentatively, moving to stand behind him. She looped her arms around his neck.
“For the pageant? Perhaps, but I have the distinct notion that we were meant to be together for a lifetime. You’ve brought sunshine into my shade-filled existence.” He wasn’t a poet, and he didn’t know the words to express all that was in his heart. Of one thing he was confident: they were meant to be together. God had brought this incredible woman into his life. He was grateful for the years he’d had with Pamela and the two children she’d borne him. He loved her and always would, but the love he felt for his dead wife was different. Loving Reba took nothing away from Pamela. Having loved Pamela increased his ability to reveal his devotion to Reba.
He brought his hands back onto the keyboard. A smile came to his heart.
Judd readjusted the belt and sword and squared his shoulders as he raced off the stage and back to Emily’s side.
“How’d we do?” Jason asked, his face bright with happiness, his aluminum angel wings flapping behind him.
Emily clasped her hands together. “You were wonderful, both of you.” She was going to miss these two munchkins. This happened every time she got involved with children. She’d go and leave behind a piece of her heart.
“Grandma and Grandpa are in the front row, sitting next to Reba’s sister and her family.”
“So I saw.” Emily placed her hands over their shoulders and steered them back to where they could remove the angel costumes. “I have something to tell you both. Something important.” She sat them down and then did so herself. This was the most difficult part. “I’m afraid I’ll be leaving shortly.”
Jason’s face crumpled. “No way.”
“You can’t,” Judd cried, his dark eyes imploring her.
She’d expected the protests, would have been offended if they hadn’t put up some fuss. The human side of her had deep concern for her employers.
“Now, now, it has to be this way, and really, it won’t be so bad. The agency is sending over another housekeeper, but she’s only temporary.”
“Why can’t you stay?”
“Because the agency needs me elsewhere,” she explained patiently.
“Tell them you won’t go.”
“We need you with us.”
“I’m afraid I can’t do that, but you needn’t concern yourself because—”
“But we want you, not some other housekeeper.”
“They might send Mrs. Hampston back,” Judd muttered, folding his arms over his chest and pouting.
Emily laughed softly. “As I said, you won’t be needing one for long since your dad’s going to be marrying shortly.” Oh dear, she’d done it again, spilled the proverbial beans. This time she feared she was going to hear about it from the powers above.
“Dad’s going to marry Reba?” Jason’s eyes grew as round as bowling balls. “Wow. When?”
“This will be our secret, all right?” Emily said, doing her best to cover her small faux pas.
Both of the children nodded.
“Soon you’ll forget all about me,” she said, wanting to reassure them. She’d be upset if they did, but that was beside the point.
“Never,” Judd insisted.
“Is Reba going to have any babies?” Jason asked.
Oh, dear, she’d gotten herself into a fine kettle of fish. “I believe that is highly possible.”
“Girls or boys?”
“One of each,” she said, and then pressed a finger to her lips. “Remember, this is our little secret.”
“My lips are sealed.” Jason pantomimed zipping closed his mouth. Judd did, too.
“We’re going to miss you,” Judd said, bowing his head. “Are you sure you have to go?”
“Very sure.”
Soon the sound of applause was the cue to send the children back on stage for the final curtain call. Judd and Jason hurried out with their friends to sing a rousing version of “We Wish You a Merry Christmas.”
Emily Merkle stood in the wings and smiled at her young charges. It was time to move on. Mission accomplished.
praise for the novels of
New York Times bestselling author
DEBBIE
MACOMBER
“Her name on a book is a guarantee of warm-hearted, endearing romance that will captivate and charm her legions of readers.”
Jayne Ann Krentz
“[Macomber] will touch the lives
of every reader.”
Lori Copeland
“Warm, funny, and uplifting.”
Romantic Times
“Charming and touching by turns.
It would take a real Scrooge
not to enjoy this.”
Elizabeth Lowell
“Debbie Macomber is one of our premier storytellers.”
Anne Stuart
Acknowledgments
Working on Mrs. Miracle has been an incredible experience. The woman has a mind of her own. She’s bossy, sassy, and opinionated. The first thing she did was teach me a few lessons on the virtue of patience. This book was written with her standing over my shoulder, harping at me to straighten up and get the story right. I would have apreciated it if her priorities had been more along the lines of getting the book in on time! For those of you who loved Shirley, Goodness, and Mercy, be warned. Mrs. Miracle is her own woman and doesn’t wish to be confused with those three troublemakers.
As it is with every book, a number of people deserve a mention. My gratitude, as always, to my editor, Carolyn Marino, who suggested I do a book with miracles. My agent, Irene Goodman, for her excellent navigation skills along the twisting, rut-filled road of publishing. To my ever-patient husband and family. They learned long ago that it was perfectly normal for me to walk around talking to people they couldn’t see. “This is my mom,” my son, Dale, said recently, and then added in a lowered voice, as if this should explain everything: “She writes books.” To Susan Wiggs, Christina Dodd, Susan Macias, Jeane Renick, Susan Sizemore, Sharon Sala, and the other “Harpies” for their friendship and unfailing support.
For all of those who’ve written me to ask about the fate of Shirley, Goodness, and Mercy, let me assure you all is well. They’re on sabbatical for now, raising havoc in the heavenly realm and bugging me. Who knows, they just might be called back into action someday. I’ll keep you tuned. Thank you for your wonderful letters. You can reach me at P.O. Box 1458, Port Orchard, WA98366.
About the Author
With 60 million books in print, DEBBIE MACOMBER is a New York Times bestselling author who believes in angels, the power of love, and Christmas. A talented writer and public speaker, Debbie lives with her husband in Port Orchard, WA, and winters in Fort Pierce, FL.
Readers can contact her via her website, www.debbiemacomber.com, or at P.O. Box 1458, Port Orchard, WA 98366.
Visit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins author.
By Debbie Macomber
MRS. MIRACLE
ANGELS EVERYWHERE
CHRISTMAS ANGELS
MRS. MIRACLE
SOONER OR LATER
TOUCHED BY ANGELS
SOMEDAY SOON
THE TROUBLE WITH ANGELS
ONE NIGHT
A SEASON OF ANGELS
MORNING COMES SOFTLY
copyright
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
MRS. MIRACLE. Copyright © 1996 by Debbie Macomber. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required
fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books™.
ePub edition January 2006 ISBN 9780061749902
ISBN-13: 978-0-06-108346-4
ISBN-10: 0-06-108346-1
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2
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