by Irene Brand
“That’s another no-no word,” Quinn protested. “I’ve been so hungry for a slice of pizza that I even dreamed about eating some last night.” Swallowing the last bite of doughnut, he stood. “I’m going to take the broom from the supply room and sweep the snow off of my truck. That way, the sun won’t have so much to melt. I’ll sweep yours off, Les.”
“Thanks,” Les said, “but hadn’t you better stay off that sore leg.”
“I’m having very little trouble with it. I think it was only a pulled muscle.”
“I’m convinced that we’ll be plowed out today,” Roxanne said, “so we need to straighten up this room. Les, can you tell us where everything is supposed to be?”
“Sure. I’ll give you a hand on moving the pews back in place.”
“I’ll take the candles out of the windows and put them back in the supply room.” Livia said. “What should we do with the greenery we brought in?”
“There’s a place in the back where we burn trash, so I’ll pile the branches beside the woodshed. When the snow melts, I’ll get rid of the trash.”
Marie picked up all the empty cartons, water bottles and other trash—enough to fill two large garbage bags. “We’ll put those in my trunk,” Les said. “I’ll take them to my daughter’s—she has garbage removal service.”
By ten o’clock, Sean, who had been outside, threw the door wide open.
“Here comes the snowplow. Listen to the engine—that’s more beautiful than Handel’s ‘Messiah,’ to my ears right now.”
They collided with each other in their haste to hurry outdoors. When the snowplow opened a road to their stranded vehicles, they gave a great shout of welcome.
“Hey,” Sean said, “you guys should come to my basketball games. You’re making more noise than the fans do when I make a jump shot and win the ball game.”
The driver of the snowplow turned the vehicle before he stopped and jumped down from the cab. The men crowded around him, shaking his hand, pounding him on the back. He was bundled against the cold and a heavy beard covered his face. Only his eyes peered out from his woolen stocking cap.
“We’re really glad to see you,” Quinn said.
“Had a rough time of it, have you?” the man said sympathetically in a kind drawl.
“Not as bad as it could have been,” Quinn answered. “We’ve had food and drinks, as well as a place of shelter.”
“How are the highways?” Eric asked.
“The interstate has been plowed, but it’s slick in spots. Most of the secondary roads are still covered with snow. We’re trying to rescue stranded motorists. Which way are you heading?”
“To Columbus,” Eric said.
“You might be better off to take I-65 to Dayton and go east on I-70. That will add distance to your trip, but Highway 23 probably has snow cover in spots. The interstates are safer. The blizzard swept northeast toward the Great Lakes, where some places have two feet of snow. There’s only a few inches of snow in Columbus.”
“Three of us live locally,” Quinn said, “so we can find our way home now that you’ve plowed the roads.”
The plowman walked to the delivery truck. “I can’t do much for you,” he said to Allen, “except call a wrecker. I’ll have one sent as soon as possible. If the rest of you want to follow me as I leave, I’ll be handy in case you have any more trouble, which I don’t think you will.”
“Oh, we don’t want to leave Allen behind,” Roxanne said.
“You go on your way,” Les said. “I ain’t in a hurry. I’ll stay until they’ve pulled the truck out.”
“I’m not leaving, either,” Quinn said. Turning to Allen, he continued, “You’ll need a ride to your home after they right the truck. I doubt you should try to drive it until a mechanic checks out the damage. I’ll take you home. Those of you going to Columbus can follow the snowplow, since you have the farthest to go.”
The eight of them had bonded so quickly during their brief time together that it was like leaving old friends to say goodbye. With helpful directions from Quinn, Eric turned the van around on the narrow road, while Sean and the women went into the church for their luggage.
When he saw that the other church passengers were storing their gear in the van, Quinn realized that Livia was in the church alone. He stepped inside just as she picked up her luggage.
“Will you leave for home as soon as you return to Columbus?”
“Yes. I already have my things packed. I’ll go as soon as possible.”
“For how long?”
“It will be two weeks before I return to OSU.”
“I’d like to see you before then.”
“Call me at home,” Livia said. She gave him her cell phone number, as well as the house number at Heritage Farm. “Unless it interferes with plans my folks have already made, would you want to come for New Year’s weekend?”
“I’d love to. I’ll be in touch in a few days.”
He didn’t want to delay her companions, but Quinn needed the reassurance that Livia had a place in his future. He opened his arms wide, and she rushed inside. It was too soon to say, “I love you,” but Quinn knew that his heart had found a lodging place in the woman he gathered close.
Livia’s heart lurched with happiness, knowing that the love of her life was within her grasp. She felt like that breathless girl of seventeen who’d fallen so completely for Quinn. She put her arms around his neck and lifted her face for his kiss. Livia’s eyes closed as their lips touched, filling her heart with warmth and peace.
By noon the next day, Livia turned her small car into the curved driveway that led to Heritage Farm. The Kesslers had settled this land prior to the Civil War, and the brick house, now painted white, had been built a few years later. The magnificent house was situated on a rounded knoll that overlooked the Ohio River.
Livia’s foot pressed on the gas pedal as she climbed the hill. Home had never looked so good! When she brought her car to a halt at the rear of the original house, the door opened, and her mother stepped out.
Hilda Kessler’s blond hair was streaked with gray, but her blue eyes gleamed serenely. Livia couldn’t remember a time when she’d been away for any length of time that Hilda hadn’t been standing in that door to welcome her home.
Turning off the ignition, Livia jumped out of the car and ran to her mother.
“I’ve been thanking God for keeping you safe. It’s good to have you home,” Hilda said in her soft voice. “We’ve missed you.”
“Oh, Mom, it’s been the most incredible experience I’ve ever had! I can’t wait to tell you all about it.”
On the last day of the year, Livia stood at that same door and watched Quinn’s truck turn off the highway into her family’s private driveway. It pleased her that all of the Christmas guests were gone, and that her parents were on an errand into town. A few days of absence made her somewhat unsure of Quinn’s feelings for her, and she preferred to be alone when she saw him again.
When he stopped the truck, Livia walked toward him, her hands outstretched. “Welcome to Heritage Farm.”
Quinn kissed her gently on the cheek. “I’ve missed you, Livia.”
“Yes, when our group spent three days together, it seemed unusual not to look around and see you or one of the other six. Come inside.”
Quinn took a minute to survey the broad fertile fields located along the Ohio River with the appreciative eyes of a farmer.
“This is a beautiful farm. I can see why it means so much to your family.”
She led him into the large, cozy family room. “Mom and Daddy had to be away for the afternoon.” With a sheepish grin, she said, “Actually, I think it was a contrived errand to give us a little time to ourselves. My immediate family will all be here for supper.”
“I look forward to meeting your folks, but I wanted to see you alone first. Have you told your parents about us?”
“Not everything, but I did fill them in on our meeting at camp a few years ago. I hesitated to say t
oo much—I was afraid that our emotions may have been overworked when we were stranded together. I thought I’d better be sure you hadn’t changed your mind before I said anything.”
“I had to explain to my parents why I was making this visit, but I couldn’t go into any details. I know I said that we’d take some time before we made any decisions, but I don’t have any doubt. I’ve made up my mind—I want to marry you, Livia.”
“Is that a proposal?” she said, her heart fluttering at his words.
He grinned sheepishly. “Yes, but not a very romantic one, I guess. It sounded more like a demand than a proposal. So let me start over. I love you, Livia, and if you can find it in your heart to love me, too, we ought to get married.”
Her eyes glistened mischievously, and he laughed aloud. “That’s even worse than my first attempt,” he said.
Livia laughed with him. “Why don’t you propose like my grandfather did? When he met my grandmother, he knew right away that she was the one for him. A week later, he went to her house. When she came to the door, he said, ‘Let’s get hitched.’ That seemed to work. They were together for over fifty years.”
“Do you want to?” he asked.
“Want to what?”
“Get hitched?”
Smothering a laugh, Livia said, “Yes.”
Hearing a car approaching the house, Quinn guessed her parents were returning. He had hoped for more time alone with her before he met the others, but taking advantage of the situation, Quinn pulled Livia into a bear hug.
“Then that’s all I need to know,” he said. “We’ll work out the details later.”
They were still kissing when Livia heard the outside door open. She broke the embrace and looked quickly toward her parents as they stood in the doorway. She frantically tried to think of an explanation until she noted the expressions on their faces. Karl and Hilda Kessler didn’t seem at all surprised to see the tall, dark-haired man kissing their youngest daughter.
Epilogue
A balmy breeze blew across the area, but the sun was shining as Quinn and Livia turned off the interstate and took the secondary road to Sheltering Arms Church. After they’d been married three years ago, Livia and Quinn had set up their veterinarian practice in Bowling Green. Livia took care of the small-animal end of the business, while Quinn devoted his time to farm stock.
Since they lived nearby, they’d often driven by the church where they’d been reunited five years ago. But today they’d come for a reunion with the travelers with whom they’d shared three anxiety-filled yet exhilarating days. The snowstorm that stranded the eight of them at Sheltering Arms Church had gone down in the history books as one of the worst blizzards in northwestern Ohio.
Turning in her seat to be sure that six-month-old Ruth was still cozy in her car seat, Livia said to her husband, “Quinn, I’m so excited. Won’t it be wonderful to see everyone again?”
“Sure will. I feel like we’re going to a family reunion.”
“I feel closer to these people than some of my own relatives, so it is a family reunion. I’m a little sad though that Les won’t be with us.”
“Yes, but he left his mark on the old church. I’m sure we’ll be aware of his presence.”
Six months ago, Quinn and Livia had attended Les’s funeral in the church. Livia looked toward his grave marker as Quinn parked their van.
Annie Colver, Les’s daughter, who’d taken on the role of looking after the church since her father’s death, came out to greet them.
Livia carried Ruth’s car seat into the church, while Quinn brought in two picnic baskets.
“I’ve pushed the seats forward and put up these folding tables in the back to hold our food,” Annie said. “We won’t need much heat tonight, but I built a fire in the stove to remind you of your wintery sojourn here.”
The next to arrive were Roxanne, Marie and Eric, who led their two-year-old son into the building. Eric was now the senior pastor of a church in Illinois, and the Damrons hadn’t seen the Stover family since Livia had graduated from OSU.
Soon after their forced stay at Sheltering Arms Church, Allen Reynolds had moved to the Cincinnati area. Quinn had kept in touch with Allen as a spiritual mentor, and they looked forward to meeting his wife and two daughters.
Sean was the last to arrive, and his friends cheered as he drove up in his late-model Jaguar. With his first check from his NBA contract, Sean had bought Sheltering Arms Church from the denomination that owned it and established a trust fund for the permanent upkeep of the building and cemetery. He had invested stewardship of the property in a board of local citizens with the stipulation that the original architecture of the building be maintained.
The windows had been repaired and the walls painted and papered. The exterior of the building had been repaired and painted, and the sign refurbished.
As they took a tour of the premises, the friends noticed that the woodshed and the johnny houses had new roofs. Otherwise, the area seemed unchanged.
Livia shivered and, pointing to the johnny houses, she whispered to Marie, “I can still feel the cold air and blowing snow we had to endure to make our trips to this building.”
“Yes,” Marie agreed. “But it doesn’t look like it will snow tonight.”
Motioning to the sun setting in a clear sky, Livia said, “I don’t think there’s any danger of that.”
They gathered around the two folding tables Annie had provided, filled with turkey and ham, vegetables, salads and desserts. Marie had brought two dozen doughnuts as a comical reminder of how many of them they’d eaten when they were snowbound. As they enjoyed the food, their conversation centered nostalgically on the past.
Electricity was still not available in the building, so Annie lit candles as dusk fell. When Roxanne started playing the piano, now in tune and melodious, the others took their seats.
Sitting in the pew beside Quinn, holding Ruth in her arms, Livia reflected on the past five years. She and Quinn had been engaged two years before they were married, giving her time to finish college. Their marriage had been the love match she’d always dreamed of having. And the thing that made it so special was their mutual commitment to the Lord’s service.
Eric stood behind the lectern and read the Scripture he’d used for his text five years ago. “‘But when the fullness of the time was come, God sent forth His Son.’”
Livia was thankful that God had worked His will in her life at the right time. She had wanted to be with Quinn when she’d met him as a teenager. But it wasn’t God’s timing. She’d often wondered if they had been married when she was so immature, if their marriage could have survived.
A sob filled her throat when Livia thought how blessed she was tonight. She lifted her hand and caressed Quinn’s face. He shifted his eyes from Eric to look at her. He took her hand and kissed the palm, then he bent over and pressed a light kiss on her lips. Marveling at the love she felt for him, Livia realized that they were sitting in the same pew where he’d kissed her for the first time.
Quinn continued to hold her hand as Sean stood to sing “O Little Town of Bethlehem.” The words found lodging in Livia’s heart as if she were hearing them for the first time.
“No ear may hear His coming, but, in this world of sin, where meek souls will receive Him still, the dear Christ enters in.”
Livia bowed her head and worshiped the Child in the manger who’d become the Savior of all mankind.
Dear Reader,
In every life, there comes a time when we need a refuge, a shelter in the time of storm. Christians have that refuge/shelter in the Holy Spirit, who dwells in our hearts. As you read my story of eight stranded people, perhaps you’ve already found a refuge in our Lord, Jesus Christ. If not, I pray that the message of the book will find lodging in your heart, and that you will seek a security to strengthen your faith through bad and/or good times.
It has been a pleasure to share this second book with Dana Corbit. We count it a privilege and blessing to have p
roduced these stories for your reading pleasure. Thanks to the Steeple Hill editors for giving us the opportunity.
A SEASON OF HOPE
Dana Corbit
To my dear friends Maija Anderson, Toni Brock, Joy Golicz, LuAnn Taylor and the two Melissas—M. Baxter and M. Lucken. I have been so privileged to know real, amazing women like all of you. I’m blessed to call you friends. Thank you for always believing in me and in my stories. My life and those stories are richer because of you.
It is not for you to know the times or the seasons, which the Father has put in His own power.
—Acts 1:7
Chapter One
The world was filled with two kinds of people as far as David Wright was concerned. In the first group were the lucky jokers who actually learned from their mistakes. Those in the second group were doomed to repeat theirs with the regularity of a three-legged dog addicted to traffic hopscotch.
David would have preferred to include himself in the first group since rehabilitation was a cornerstone in his line of work. But as he stared down at the flared sleeves of his scratchy robe and rubbed at the itchy adhesive securing his grizzled beard, he saw the evidence that he was a card-carrying member of the group that never learned.
“David, are you ready?” Martin Rich called as he stuck his head inside the men’s room door at New Hope Church.
“Be right out.”
Bustling sounds filtered through the open door, carrying a whistled version of “I’ll Be Home for Christmas.” Obviously, somebody was a lot happier than he was spending the last two days before Christmas in Destiny, Indiana, taking a fictional journey from Nazareth to Judaea. He wished Martin would close the door and shut out the holiday spirit. He wasn’t in the mood for it.
Instead, the lanky middle-aged banker stepped inside. In a Wise Man getup rather than one of his tailor-made suits, Martin looked as ridiculous as David did, though the older man seemed blissfully unaware of it.