Scattered “amens” and “praise the Lords” arose from the congregation.
“But I did want to talk about one other characteristic of Mary. Jemima has already touched on it during the play. Thoughtful by nature, Mary kept accounts of everything that had happened that first Christmas in her heart for long, long years until Luke interviewed her late in life. Out came the ‘treasures,’ as she called them. And thank God she shared them.” He went on to talk about Mary’s ability to hold on to the miracles of God in the midst of the trouble that later came.
Joseph’s attention wandered. Soon they would unveil the manger scene. He prayed that his painting complemented Gabe’s art and that the visual reminder of the reason for Christmas would lead the congregation in worship. Did the Mary he painted have a thoughtful face? He didn’t know; he was too close to the project to tell.
By the time the sermon wound down, the hour had passed noon. Joseph’s stomach rumbled from hunger as well as from nervousness.
“And now …” Pastor Denton smiled. “The moment has come to unveil our master craftsmen’s creation.”
Joseph’s throat closed; he felt as nervous as he had before the trial.
Grant Richards joined the pastor at the front, and together they pulled back the sheet that hid the manger scene from view.
Spontaneous applause drowned out the initial “oohs” and “aahs.” Joseph sagged against the back of his pew.
After the service dismissed, people surged forward to see Gabe’s work up close. The wood-carver insisted Joseph stand next to him. Together they greeted each child by name and handed them bags of fruit, candy, and wooden toys.
Her face wreathed in smiles, Polly came forward with her family. He wanted to do everything in his power to keep that joy on her face.
“Why, look!” Little Hazel tugged at her sister’s dress and pointed at the figure of Mary. “That’s you, Polly!”
Was it true? Joseph looked from the figure to the woman standing before him. Yes.
Now what should he do about it?
Chapter 9
The following Thursday, Christmas morning dawned with fresh snow on the ground. As soon as Polly went downstairs to start breakfast, Hazel joined her. Soon all five of them were gathered in the kitchen. This afternoon she would go see Pa in the jail—Joseph had arranged for the special holiday visit. But this morning belonged to the children. Thanks to the generous spirit of the children in the play, they would have a Christmas. Scarves and mittens to warm their bodies and fresh fruit and delicacies of every imaginable kind to delight their palates. If only she could have served the Christmas feast on Ma’s china, sold to pay Pa’s fine. Polly repressed the thought. Life was about more than fine china. Above all days, today was about faith, love, and the gift of God’s Son.
Both the Dentons and the Carpenters had invited them to join their families for Christmas dinner, but Polly had declined. The children needed things as normal as possible, and that meant Christmas at home. Thanks to the Christmas baskets, they would have a feast. She was kneading dough for dinner rolls when Hazel danced into the kitchen. “Someone’s at the door.”
Who would come calling on Christmas morning? “Dolores, would you find out who it is?” Her sister slipped out of the kitchen while Polly put the dough back into a bowl to rise again.
Dolores returned in a few moments, eyes wide. “You’d better come see.”
“Is it Santa Claus?” Polly asked good-humoredly. She rinsed her hands and wiped them dry on her apron before heading to the front room.
Joey waited in the middle of the room, a gigantic box filling his arms.
“He’s brought you a present.” Hazel giggled.
Santa Claus, indeed. What was in the box? “You shouldn’t have done any more. You’ve already done so much for our family.”
“Not enough.” His smile suggested a special meaning as he swept past her, into the kitchen, and set the box on the kitchen table.
Polly stared. Surely the carton didn’t contain more food; but why else had he brought it into the kitchen? She bit her lower lip.
“Go ahead. Open it.” He smiled.
“Let me guess.” She lifted a corner to see if it rattled, but she could barely move it. Grabbing scissors, she cut through the string that held the package together and the brown paper covering it. Inside was a plain box.
“It won’t bite, I promise.” Joey’s smile grew wider until it threatened to escape the confines of his face.
Mary opened the top. A delicate blue pattern peeked out between pieces of straw. Could it be …? She dug her hand through the packing material and draped her fingers around the familiar shape of a teacup. Gingerly she lifted it from the box. It was! After that, she scattered straw on the floor, lifting out cups and saucers and plates. Every last piece of Ma’s china. She turned her tear-filled gaze on Joey. “How did you know?”
Joey took a step toward her and stopped. “I recognized it in the emporium. Richards confirmed the source. I couldn’t let you sell your mother’s legacy.”
Polly knew how much money Mr. Richards wanted for the china—too much. “But … you shouldn’t have.”
Joey surveyed the kitchen, looking at each child in turn, as if asking their permission for something. Hazel giggled. He closed the distance between them in a single easy step. “Polly, I once told you I would marry you when I came home from college—if you would have me.”
Embarrassment toasted her cheeks. “I thought you had forgotten that childish nonsense.”
“I had.” His voice mellowed, turning warm. “I lost my way. But when I was working on painting Mary’s face, Gabe Noell reminded me about what’s important.”
“Mary looks like our Polly,” Hazel piped up. Polly squirmed but Joey grabbed her hands and held her fast.
“She does indeed.” Joey winked at Hazel.
Polly wanted to swallow her nervousness, but her throat was too dry. “What else did Gabe say?”
“He said I should model Mary’s face after someone who reminds me of her, the woman highly favored by God. I didn’t realize what I had done until Sunday, and I have Hazel to thank for it.”
“I knew it.” She reached for one of Joey’s hands.
“You are like Mary, my dearest Polly. Like her, you obey God even in the hard times. Like her, you praise God always in your works and words and deeds. Even through the sadness of your father’s situation. You are that highly favored woman, Polly. You are virtuous and beautiful and everything a man could want in a wife. You deserve whatever you want—this china is a very small thing. Believe me.” He got down on one knee.
Polly put her hand to her mouth. Can this be happening?
“Polly Jessup, you will always be the face of Mary to me. Will you allow me to be your Joseph? Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”
Polly looked deep into the eyes of the man she had loved since childhood and gave the only possible answer. “Yes, Joey, with all my heart, yes!”
She reached out her hands, and he stood. Taking her in his arms, he twirled her around and kissed her until she lost sight of the children around them.
In her mind, somewhere, she heard Gabe laughing.
Award-winning author and speaker Darlene Franklin recently returned to cowboy country—Oklahoma—to be near family. She recently signed the contract for her twelfth book. Face of Mary is her third novella. Visit Darlene’s blogs at darlenfranklinwrites.blogspot.com and thebookdoctorbd.blogspot.com.
THE CHRISTMAS CHAIN
by Janelle Mowery
Dedication
In loving memory of H. W. Buford, my grandfather-in-law, and to all his loved ones. This story originated from Mr. Buford’s handiness with his knife, the joy he recieved from his creations, and in giving them away.
Man looketh on the outward appearance,
but the LORD looketh on the heart.
1 SAMUEL 16:7
Chapter 1
You’ve got to move faster. You’re losing him. If
Emma Rose Pickett ever found the good-for-nothing man who made her lame, she’d make him regret it for the rest of his life. For now, she had her hands full with another type of worthless animal.
Of all the confounding, rotten critters in this world, why am I stuck with the worst of them?
Emma raced after the stubborn mule as fast as her crippled leg would allow. Tied upon the beast’s back was every possession to her name. He’d given her nothing but trouble since they left Irontree two days ago. Now he was dead set on returning home while she was just as determined to go the opposite direction. If she ever got her hands on that lop-eared varmint, she’d give him what for till his hard head was downright soft.
“Stop, Skeeter, you ungrateful old coot. You know Doc would want you to take care of me.”
Her chest heaved from the exertion as the mule continued his purposeful trotting pace. The ache in her bad leg urged her to stop, but she was almost close enough to the mule’s flicking tail to grab hold and make him drag her till he couldn’t go on.
She lunged with every bit of energy in her weary body. Fingers tangled in the wiry hair, she latched on, laughing with pride at her success. The beast bellowed and kicked. Seconds later, she rolled to a stop and sat up, spitting dirt from her mouth while the ornery brute galloped away. Several strands of his tail dangled from her fingers. Her bonnet lay in a filthy heap at her side.
“Thanks for nothing, Skeeter.”
Flinging every scathing word she could think of at him, she hoped the very insects he was named after would haunt his steps for years … if he lived that long. She swiped her sleeve across her mouth, wishing she could get rid of the gritty particles sticking to her teeth. Her leg throbbed, demanding her attention. She lifted her skirt to rub the scar just below her right knee.
The food and belongings strapped to Skeeter’s back would be missed much more than the hideous beast of burden. She scooped up the ugly bonnet her benefactor insisted she own and shoved to her feet, refusing to waste any more time and energy going after that dumb mule. With a huff, she plopped the bonnet on her head, spun around, and continued down the road toward Woodville. Neither man nor willful beast would stop her from her mission. When she found Mr. Charles Little, he’d end up smaller than his name.
The last thought wouldn’t shake loose. Doc said she needed to give up her thoughts of revenge and forgive in order to live a long, peaceful life. His gentle voice warned her that only God had the right to vengeance. Maybe Skeeter running off was a sign. Hadn’t God used donkeys before to speak to man? She snorted. No way was Skeeter kin to an animal that smart. God would have to be more obvious if He wanted her to turn back.
Over an hour later, the burning in her leg matched the fiery sun beating down on her head. Emma’s resolve slipped away like the sweat rolling down her temples. For late October, it sure was hot. Shouldn’t it be cooler in East Texas by now? Or maybe fear of being alone had finally set in. A lone woman on a quiet stretch of road couldn’t bode well. Even a mangy old mule rendered some amount of security. But he was gone, along with the gun hidden in the bottom of her bag.
As if to validate her fears, the unmistakable rattle of wagon wheels approached. Terror started in her parched throat and slammed to her toes, rendering her feet about as useful as a heavy coat on a sultry day.
Move.
But where?
A thicket beckoned ahead, but her bad leg wouldn’t get her there in time. A whistled tune reached her ears. They were close.
Move, you worthless feet.
Like breaking free from a puddle of molasses, she scurried to a small stand of trees to her right. She glimpsed a horse rounding the bend in the road before she ducked out of sight.
The whistling stopped. Surely they didn’t see her. No, she didn’t even see the wagon before she made it to the trees. She was safe.
She hunkered down low, praying the intruders would hurry by. She needed to find a town so she wouldn’t have to spend the night in the woods. No telling what kind of critters she’d encounter.
The wagon stopped. Right across from her. Oh, Lord, no. Make it leave. It didn’t move.
At least there was only one man on the seat. An elderly man at that. Maybe she could take him with the element of surprise. She glanced around for a branch big enough to use as a club. Nothing.
“You can come on out of there, little lady.”
Dread tingled its way down her spine and pinched her heart. Now what?
“Come on, now. That bonnet may have hidden you from the sun, but it announced your presence louder than a rooster at sunrise.”
Her bonnet? She fingered the hideous scrap of cloth. Of all the things to get her in a scrape. She had told Doc she didn’t want it, but he had insisted.
“I promise I won’t hurt you.”
Right, and buzzards didn’t swarm on dead meat. Did he take her for a fool? She peered harder at the man. He appeared rather normal. Well-kept even, except for his faded clothing. Reminded her a bit of Doc.
“I’ve got water.”
He held up a canteen and gave it a shake. The splashing was her undoing. Dirt still swam in her mouth from her struggle with Skeeter. Time to find out the true fool. After peeking down the road, she stood and made her way out of the trees.
The man stepped down from the wagon. She stopped and bunched her fists. He was less scary sitting on the seat. The dress and bad leg would keep her from getting far, but at least she could say she put up a fight.
“Whoa there, little lady. No need to run off. I just felt like a scoundrel sitting up there with you down here. I’ll climb back up if you’d like.”
Not many men she knew would make such an offer. Maybe he was a decent fellow after all. Then again, it could all be an act. But he had water and she was thirsty. She trounced through the tall grass and stopped just shy of arm’s reach. He pulled the cork, wiped the opening with a semiclean rag, and handed her the canteen. Without an ounce of hesitation, she took it and poured the water down her throat, relishing every drop.
“Whoa now. Don’t want to overdo right off. Give yourself some time.”
When he reached for the jug, she forced herself to quit drinking and held it out to him.
“No. You go ahead and keep it awhile. Just slow down is all. Don’t want you getting sick.” He held out his hand. “Name’s Gabe Noell.”
She eyed him before offering her own. He seemed a good sort. Hadn’t done anything to make her feel otherwise … yet. “Emma.” He raised his eyebrows. All right. “Pickett.”
He smiled. “Pleased to meet you, Emma Pickett.” He gestured to the wagon. “Don’t suppose you’d like to ride awhile?”
He had no idea. “Where you headed?”
“Tremble.”
Her heart skipped. Wasn’t that near Woodville? This might turn out to be an easier trip than she thought. “I’ll take that ride, Mr. Noell.”
“Gabe.” He held out the cork to the canteen. “And I’d be delighted to have your company.”
She took one more swig of water before plugging the opening, then allowed Gabe to help her up to the seat. Once he’d settled beside her, he flicked the reins. Her mouth twitched. Maybe God was finally smiling down on her.
“Not that it’s any of my business or anything—”
Oh, no. Gabe was a talker. And a nosy one at that.
“Why would you be out here all alone and on foot no less? That’s mighty dangerous for a young lady. You running from someone?”
“No, sir. My mule ran off is all, rotten critter that he is.”
Gabe chuckled, making the skin around his gray eyes crinkle like he’d been laughing for years. That very moment, she knew she liked him.
He clucked at his horse and shook the reins. “Mules aren’t so bad. They take some getting used to, like most people you come across. A little patience and understanding goes a long way with stubbornness.”
Emma took a good look at her companion. A gentle strength lined his face, and wisdom shone from h
is eyes.
“Yes, well, you haven’t met Skeeter.”
Gabe howled his amusement and slapped his knee. “You give him that name?”
She grinned. “No, Doc did, his first owner.”
“I wonder if Doc got bit a few times to come up with that name.”
Yep, God must have decided to smile on her again. She couldn’t have asked for a more kind and tender person to save her from her miserable predicament. The dark hair sticking out from his hat was salted with enough gray to give away his age.
He turned just then to meet her gaze. Without a word, he pulled out the rag he’d used to wipe the canteen and handed it to her.
The memory of sprawling in the road made her shudder. She must look a sight. As she scrubbed, the sound of another set of hooves grew closer.
“Hey, Gabe.” A man on a black horse rode up next to the wagon. “Look what I found.” The man had yet to notice her, he was so engrossed in whatever was tied to the end of the rope in his hand. He gave a yank that almost jerked him from his saddle. “Get up here, you stubborn old fool.”
Seconds later, Emma almost fell off the seat as Skeeter came into view. The man finally peered up with a grin on his face, which melted into shock when he spotted her.
Gabe reined the horse and wagon to a stop. “Well, look what I found. Only I think my find’s a little better looking than yours.” He patted her hand. “Miss Emma Pickett, I’d like you to meet my other companion, Caleb Kelley.”
Emma gaped at the old man, silently accusing him of treachery, and not just because he thought her only a little better looking than Skeeter. Gabe could have mentioned traveling with someone. The man’s intense eyes made her knees weak. They burned a hole through her, yet she couldn’t look away. She’d never met a man who made her want to run and stand her ground at the same time. If only she could read his eyes well enough to know his thoughts.
What kind of creature did Gabe dig up? At least Caleb knew his mule was a mule. This girl looked like a raccoon. Remembering his manners, he tipped his hat.
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