Christmas Blessings: Seven Inspirational Romances of Faith, Hope, and Love

by Leah Atwood

  Nick leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Tell me.”

  “Lori Dingleback teased me about my long pigtails on the playground. Apparently everyone but me was aware that a girl should never wear pigtails past the age of five. I ran home, tugged the hairbands out of my hair with a vengeance, and then brushed my scalp so hard it hurt. It even bled a little bit. I vowed never to wear little girl pigtails again.”

  Nick grinned and, somewhat encouraged, I continued my story. In my mind, the events were as clear as if they’d happened yesterday.

  “How come you’re wearing your hair like that?” Ryan asked me a couple of days later.

  “Because I’m not a little girl anymore.”

  “Oh. I thought it was because Lori teased you.”

  “Yeah. That too.” Was my humiliation on the school playground public knowledge?

  “You tell me if she says anything else. Or if anyone picks on you,” Ryan said. “I’ll take care of them and make sure they don’t say anything ever again.”

  That was surprising to me. “You’d beat up somebody, Ryan? For teasing me?”

  “Yeah, I would. But I’d try to talk them down first before resorting to violence.” Ryan rubbed his hand over my still tender scalp, and it took everything in me not to wince. Ouch. “You’re like my little sister, Sass. We take care of our own.”

  “Thanks.” I punched his arm. “You could be like my personal bodyguard.”

  “Right.” He laughed. “Don’t push it.”

  Snapping back to the present, I stopped when an odd expression covered Nick’s face.

  “What?”

  “You probably don’t know this, but Ryan did beat up someone on your behalf.”

  “Really?” I shook my head. “Who? When? Although maybe the question should be…why?”

  “Do you remember when I had that fat lip? Ryan was about eleven, I think.”

  “Maybe. I think so, now that you mention it.” I retrieved my water bottle from a nearby table and plopped back on the sofa, curling my feet beneath me. I took a long drink of water, wondering what Nick’s fat lip had to do with me.

  Nick’s grin grew broader. “Believe it or not, I told Ryan that I wanted to marry you one day.”

  I coughed and almost choked. “Excuse me?” I wiped both sides of my mouth with the back of my hand and stared at Nick. “This is new information.”

  “Maybe this will jog your memory. Do you remember when Ryan announced he wanted to build a log cabin in the driveway? And that he wanted you to live with him in that log cabin?”

  “Sure. That was during his Abe Lincoln phase. Ryan never said anything to me directly, but your mother told my mom about it. To be honest, I thought the idea of living in a home constructed of logs sounded like a cool thing to do.”

  “I challenged Ryan and made a smart aleck remark,” Nick said. “I mouthed off and said some stupid things about how he needed to marry you first before he could live with you. We were just kids, and I didn’t have the first clue what I was saying.”

  My lips curled. “That doesn’t sound so stupid to me.”

  Nick nodded. “He couldn’t believe I’d imply that you’d ever do such a thing. And that I’d dare to suggest such a thing. Even back then, Ryan was incredibly honorable. So, he hauled off and popped me in the mouth. Knocked a tooth loose. My little brother’s got a fierce right hook. He’s tough. The Army definitely knew what they were doing in recruiting Ryan.”

  “Oh, my. I’m sorry, Nick.”

  “Don’t be. You understand why he was mad, don’t you?”

  “I think I do, but why don’t you tell me so we’re both on the same page?”

  “He didn’t want to believe that I could marry you one day. He didn’t want to believe that anyone else would ever marry you. Ryan’s always wanted you. Only you, Ellie. Don’t ever forget that.”

  A tear streaked down my face. “I won’t.”

  Chapter 21

  ~~♥~~

  Thursday, December 21

  After pulling the front door of the house closed and locking it, I carefully made my way down the walkway toward my blue Prius in the driveway. Mom had already left to get to the medical office for her last day of work until the New Year.

  I halted my steps when I caught sight of a bright yellow ribbon wrapped around the thick trunk of the large, bare oak tree in the front yard.

  The bitterly cold wind caught a few loose strands of my hair not fully tucked beneath my wool cap and whipped them about my face. I stared at the tree for a few long moments before I moved my gaze to the left. Then to the right. Then across the street. I pivoted in a slow circle, being careful not to slip. I felt rock salt under my feet.

  Nick. Either he or Mark Sullivan must have come over last night or, more likely, early this morning, to coat the ground for me. They’d known Mom was staying with me overnight. Fresh tears stung my eyes, and I blinked hard to keep them at bay.

  “Lord, bless those Sullivan men for watching over me.”

  At least one tree in each yard up and down the street had an identical yellow ribbon tied around its trunk. If I hadn’t applied mascara this morning, I would rub my eyes like a kid to make sure I was focusing clearly. Who had done this? From what I knew, tying a yellow ribbon around a tree represented best wishes, hopes, and prayers for the safe return of a missing person, often someone in the military.

  A small cry escaped, and I stuffed mitten-covered fingers in my mouth. Fibers from the glove stuck to my tongue. With a frown, I pulled my fingers from my mouth. Eww.

  A blast of wind hit me, so strong it threatened to knock me off my feet. Tugging my purse strap tighter over my shoulder, I lowered my chin into my scarf and hurried to the car. One thing Ryan had done before leaving on this last tour of duty was install one of those wonderful systems to heat up my car while I was still inside the house. Such a wonderful invention.

  After stopping my Prius at the end of the street, and then making another left onto Main Street, I caught sight of a small white car in my rearview mirror.

  Wait a minute. That same car had been behind me for several minutes. Must be a coincidence. I pushed the thought aside until I pulled up in front of Nelson’s Flower Shop a few minutes later. The shop was on the outskirts of town, which necessitated the need to drive in the first place.

  I pushed open my car door and spied the other car parked on the opposite curb. Was I being followed? If so, I couldn’t fathom why. After a moment’s hesitation, I closed my car door and headed for the shop.

  “Miss Franklin! Could we have a word with you, please?”

  My brows lifted as I turned around. From across the street, a tall, lanky young man hurried toward me with a microphone in his hand. My eyes widened when I saw another man, this one older, burly, and wearing a heavy parka with a fur-trimmed hood that concealed most of his face. He carried a portable video camera, anchored on his right shoulder by one hand.

  Should I run? Should I stay? I paused outside the front door of the flower shop. I could see Luther Nelson inside by the front window, hands on his hips.

  My brain vaguely registered what the man with the microphone was saying. I think he mumbled the call letters for a Cleveland television station. “Would you mind if I ask you a few questions on camera?”

  “About what, exactly?” I glanced from one man to the next, trying to comprehend what was happening.

  “Your MIA boyfriend,” the reporter said. “Sorry. I mean your fiancé.”

  I swallowed hard. He’d invaded my privacy, and yet he apologized for using the wrong word?

  “I have no comment.” In spite of the frigid temperatures, I felt my cheeks growing warm. Wrapping my hand around the brass knob on the front door, I prepared to bolt inside. Luther and Nancy Nelson have known me since I was a kid. I’d also tutored their daughter, Meredith, in high school English. Considering she’d aced her final exams, I felt reasonably confident they’d offer me asylum.

  “You’ve heard nothing further ab
out Private Sullivan’s status?”

  Status? That invasive question didn’t deserve the decency of a reply. Although the reporter was only doing his job, I felt like I’d been ambushed. Ducking my head, I pushed open the door.

  “Any idea what you’re going to do now?”

  Emotion clogged my throat, and my jaw muscles tightened. How dare he? I pulled the front door closed again while I gathered my thoughts. The man might not deserve a response, but for some reason, I felt compelled to give him one.

  Lord, give me your strength.

  In the event I’d be on the evening news, I needed to conduct myself with dignity although I’d rather spit in the guy’s face. Stomp on his foot. Something that would convincingly convey my disgust. But no, that wouldn’t be mature.

  Squaring my shoulders, I looked straight at the blinking light on the camera. “I’m moving forward with my plans. If you’ll please excuse me.”

  “What will you do if Ryan doesn’t return before your wedding on Christmas Day?”

  Without flinching, I moved my gaze to the reporter and drew upon what I remembered from every press conference I’d ever seen on television. Remain cool under pressure, give quick, succinct answers, and then depart.

  Lord, give me your words.

  “That’s not a consideration at this point. I have every confidence that Ryan will return.” I turned the brass knob and then hesitated. “Whether or not it’s before or after Christmas doesn’t matter. His safe return is all that matters.”

  I escaped into the store. Releasing my breath in a whoosh, my heart still pounding, I moved to stand beside Luther at the front window.

  “They’re fixin’ to leave with their tails between their legs,” Luther said, his eyes still trained on what was happening outside the front window.

  “Are you okay, honey?”

  I turned to see Nancy lumbering toward me as best she could with her bad knee. Putting one arm around my shoulders, she hugged me. “What was that all about?”

  Luther grunted. “Nosy reporters.”

  “They wanted to know my plans if Ryan…” I couldn’t finish the sentence. Starting to tremble, I wrapped my arms across my upper body. “I guess everybody in town knows about Ryan?”

  “You know how word flies around Cade’s Corner,” Nancy said. “We love Ryan, and we love you. We’re all praying. Now don’t you pay any mind to those reporters.” Nancy increased her hold on me. “They’ve got no business poking into your private life.” She made a tsk tsk sound. “People don’t respect others anymore. Way of the world.”

  “I hope you told them where they could put their camera,” Luther said with a snort.

  Nancy shook her head. “Luther…”

  “Should have mentioned the name of Jesus,” Luther continued, not skipping a beat. “Held up one hand and rebuked them.” He chuckled. “That’s a surefire way to get them runnin’ in the opposite direction.”

  Nancy laughed. “Maybe you should have done that. Leave the girl alone.”

  “It’s okay. I gave them a couple of statements, and I hope that’ll be the end of it,” I assured them. Time to focus on the reason I’d come to the flower shop. “Mom told me last night that Grandma Franklin is making the trip from Florida for the wedding after all. I’d like to order a corsage for her. Is it too late?”

  “Of course not,” Nancy said. “You come on over to the counter with me, Ellie. We’ll get right on it and have the corsage ready at the same time as the other flowers.”

  “Thanks so much.”

  “You want a cup of coffee?” Luther passed by me and headed for the coffeemaker.

  The percolating coffee’s rich aroma filled the small shop. “It smells wonderful, but I’d better not.” I focused on Nancy again as she opened a book on the counter. She flipped through the pages and stopped on a page with Franklin-Sullivan Wedding handwritten at the top. My eyes misted, and I turned my gaze away from the book.

  Nancy’s hand covered mine. “Sweetie, keep the faith. God brought you and Ryan together for a reason. Remember that. He’s got His purpose.”

  “I know,” I murmured. “I’m not mad at God.” My shoulders heaved with the force of my sigh. “I’m mad by the idea of a war that calls our men overseas in the first place.”

  “The Good Book says there’s always gonna be wars,” Luther said.

  “That’s true,” Nancy said, acknowledging her husband’s comment. “People always want what belongs to somebody else. Always wantin’ to start a fight.” She patted my hand. “If they were all good people like you and Ryan, the world would be a whole lot better place.”

  “Thank you,” I murmured. “Nancy, did you schedule your knee replacement surgery yet? Mom wanted me to ask so the ladies in the church can get a sign-up started to deliver meals to you and Luther whenever you say the word.”

  The older woman nodded. “Sure did. February 20th. I’ll be at Shady Oaks for therapy for a few weeks, but that should give me enough time to heal before we go out to California for the big celebration for my sister’s 50th wedding anniversary.”

  Luther shook his head. “Shady Oaks. I hate that name. Sounds like a cemetery.”

  Nancy waved her hand at him. “Drink your coffee, Luther. I’m not planning on kicking off anytime soon.”

  I hid my smile at their lively banter.

  In the middle of discussing the corsage with Nancy a short time later, I darted a quick glance over my shoulder.

  “Don’t you worry none, Ellie.” Luther gave me a smile above the rim of his coffee mug. “They’re gone.”

  True enough, but for how long?

  Chapter 22

  ~~♥~~

  Maura and Nick sat across the table from me at Miss Charlotte’s Tea House. When the small, quaint establishment first opened its doors for business six years ago, some of the men in town refused to be seen going into “that frilly place for ladies.” With its eyelet curtains and linen tablecloths, it did look girly. Once word spread that they had some of the best food in town, the male citizens of Cade’s Corner arrived in droves.

  “All it takes is good food and the men will come.” That’s a direct quote (the owner, Charlotte Mayfield, is a close friend of Mom’s).

  Excellent food or not, I eyed my soup and sandwich with no appetite whatsoever. My stomach had been unsettled. Unlike a lot of people, I don’t eat when I’m stressed. What little food I’ve managed to ingest since the news about Ryan broke has been tasteless, anyway, so what would be the point?

  I fiddled with my spoon. “When I came out of the house this morning, I noticed a lot of the trees on our street had yellow ribbons tied around them.”

  Maura’s eyes widened. “Really? I’ve heard about doing that for missing military men. That’s sweet, don’t you think?”

  “Yes, but it was unexpected. It does my heart good to know that people care. Of course, that’s based on the assumption the ribbons are actually for Ryan. And me, too, I suppose, to a lesser extent.”

  “Of course they are.” Maura squeezed my hand on top of the table.

  “There was a song about tying yellow ribbons around oak trees back in the 70s,” Nick said. His appetite clearly wasn’t affected as he chewed off a huge bite of his Reuben sandwich. After swallowing it down, he continued. “I heard the song was based on a true story. It was originally about a white handkerchief tied around the tree, but it was changed to a yellow ribbon because it made the song better. Resonated more with listeners.”

  Maura and I exchanged a knowing glance. Nick has always been a trivia guy.

  Finishing her bite of Caesar salad, Maura blotted her mouth with her napkin. “That doesn’t make sense. A handkerchief’s not long enough to go around a tree.”

  Nick shrugged. “Maybe they were tied together, end-to-end. From what I know, the song was about a convict after his release from jail. He’s on a bus and headed home. If the girl still wants him, she’s supposed to tie a yellow ribbon around the old oak tree as a sign.” Seeing our
skeptical expressions, he raised his hand. “True story.”

  I cleared my throat. “Well, they are oak trees in our front yard. And, no offense, but I’d rather see a pretty yellow ribbon tied around them any day than a bunch of dirty old snot rags.”

  Maura almost spit out a bite of salad. “Sorry.” She wiped her mouth again. “Wasn’t expecting that.”

  “My dad had a hankie,” I told them, fiddling with my spoon again. “So did Grandpa Franklin. I hated that thing. Without fail, he’d always pull it out at the dinner table and blow like I’ve never heard before or since. It was extremely disgusting.” I smirked at Nick. “So, yeah. Yellow ribbons are much better all the way around. So to speak.”

  He managed a small grin. “Point taken.”

  “Glad to see you’re maintaining your sense of humor,” Maura said.

  I pushed myself up in the chair. “Now that I think of it, I remember from my American History class that the yellow ribbon became a national symbol of freedom when the hostages were being held in Iran. So the practice does have a strong connection to the military.”

  Maura snapped her fingers. “That’s right! I love sentimental traditions like that. After the Iran hostage situation, ribbons for all kinds of causes started popping up right and left.” She focused on me. “Ellie, you need to eat. Your soup’s getting cold, and I know how much you love it. Come on now. Taste it.”

  My friend was right—the pumpkin squash soup was a late fall specialty at Miss Charlotte’s Tea House, so popular they planned on extending it until after the New Year.

  “I’m not sure I can.” I picked up the package of saltines and tore off the cellophane wrapper. While Maura and Nick watched, I bit into the corner of a cracker. “Satisfied?”

  Maura and Nick exchanged a glance. Why couldn’t they just let me be?

  “Okay, look at it this way,” Maura said. I sensed an impending mini-lecture. “If you don’t eat, you’ll lose weight. You don’t need to lose weight. If you do, your wedding dress will hang on you.”