“We’ve had a lot of people from the church calling,” Grace said. “To spend time with Dad, take him places, do things with him. Jessica Morgan has been arranging it. Did you know that?”
The helping chain. Ben had almost forgotten. Jessica had gotten to work quickly, bless her. “Yes, she mentioned it to me. It was her husband’s idea, I think.”
“Just like Sam,” Grace said, shaking her head. “Well, I do appreciate it. I never thought people cared so much about us. I never knew,” she admitted. “It’s almost like . . . like a family.”
“Yes, it is like a family,” Ben agreed. “We try to be.”
“Well, maybe someday I’ll have a chance to repay the favors. I hope so, anyway,” she said, sounding more hopeful than Ben could ever recall. “I guess we ought to be going.” Grace hooked her arm through her father’s. “Come along, Dad. We don’t want to slow up the whole line here.”
“You have a happy Christmas, Reverend,” Digger said, smiling.
Ben said good-bye to the Hegmans, watching as they descended the steps in front of the church. He might not see her here again until next Christmas, he realized. But he was hopeful. Only the Lord knew her heart.
Then right on the heels of Grace Hegman, Ben spotted yet another Christmas morning mini-miracle. Emily Warwick was next in line, along with her mother, as usual, and Sara Franklin, which was not at all a typical sight.
“That was a wonderful sermon, Reverend,” Emily said, as she greeted him. “I don’t want to age myself, but I remember those paper balls, too.”
Ben smiled at her. “Come now. You couldn’t possibly. You must have just heard us old folks talking about them.” He turned to Sara and offered his hand. “Merry Christmas, Sara. Good to see you here today.”
“Thanks. Merry Christmas,” she replied, looking a bit ill at ease.
“We brought Sara Franklin along with us today,” Lillian Warwick explained, apparently considering it necessary to supply her own granddaughter’s last name. But Lillian had never really acknowledged the girl as such, Ben knew. “Everyone comes to church on Christmas, you know. It doesn’t necessarily mean anything,” she added, as if concerned he had gotten his hopes up about adding a new member to the congregation.
“Yes, Lillian, I understand. Merry Christmas,” he replied, as he and Emily shared a discreet, silent laugh.
“Come along, Mother. We still have a lot to do,” Emily reminded her. As Emily walked on, holding her mother’s arm, she suddenly turned to Ben again. “Give my best wishes to your family, Reverend. I hope you all have a wonderful day.”
“Thank you, Emily. I’ll remember to tell them,” he promised. He smiled as he watched them go, though in his heart he wondered what the day at home would bring. They would all get through it. He felt fairly certain of that much. But it wouldn’t be wonderful. Not by a long shot.
“DO YOU THINK WE SHOULD OPEN THE GIFTS NOW?” CAROLYN ASKED.
“Sure, why not?” Ben replied. He’d been stoking the fire a bit to get the flame higher. He stood up and brushed his hands off, glancing at Rachel and Jack who were sitting in a cozy huddle on the couch.
“Are you two ready?” he asked.
“As long as I don’t have to move from this spot,” his daughter said, with a small smile.
Rachel did look just about done in, Ben thought, her head resting on her husband’s broad shoulder, her pregnant tummy as round as a watermelon under her pretty Christmas dress. She had tried hard all day to be bright and cheerful. It must have been hard for her, Ben thought, as it was for all of them.
“Okay, here we go. . . .” Carolyn picked up a gift and checked the tag. “Ben, you help and hand them out,” she instructed. “This one is for Baby Anderson. And this one is for—”
“Don’t tell me,” Ben joked. “I think there’s someone who isn’t even here yet who got most of the loot.”
Everyone laughed, but Ben noticed a sad expression on Carolyn’s face as she continued to parcel out the gifts.
She was thinking about Mark, of course. Someone who wasn’t here, yet on everyone’s mind. His absence hung over the gathering like a cloud, casting a chill on their holiday gathering.
Ben was worried about Carolyn. She wasn’t quite herself these past few days. The tension of waiting for the baby and feeling disappointed by Mark was wearing on her. Since Mark’s call, she had focused on Rachel and the baby’s arrival and cooking Christmas dinner. But there was a forced brightness in her smile today, a brittle note in her laugh. He didn’t know quite how to help her through this.
Soon all the gifts were open, and Rachel sat overwhelmed by the bounty of gifts for the baby. “Oh Mom, this is really too much. It’s like a baby shower all over again.”
“Really, you’ve been too generous, both of you,” Jack said, as he helped gather up all the wrapping paper.
“You’ll need all those things, you’ll see.” Carolyn smiled at Rachel and ran her hand down her daughter’s long, smooth hair. “You look so tired, honey. I think you ought to go home and get some rest.”
“All right. I think we will go. My eyes are just about closing,” Rachel admitted.
“Yes, you two run along. We can finish up here,” Ben said, when Jack looked concerned about helping to clean up.
Ben found their coats and scarves and then helped Jack bring some shopping bags out to their car. Once they were gone, the house seemed very quiet. Carolyn moved about, seeming lost in her own thoughts, as she cleared dishes from the dining-room table.
Ben carried a platter into the kitchen and then looked around for a place to put it.
“Oh, just leave that anywhere. I’ll deal with the leftovers later. You really don’t have to help me in here, Ben. Why don’t you watch some TV or something?”
“I can help. There’s still a big mess out there,” he said, watching her.
“No, really. I’d rather do it myself. Besides, you must be tired,” she insisted.
He felt dismissed, as if she really didn’t want his company for some reason. As if she purposely wanted to put some distance between them.
“Carolyn, what is it? Are you mad at me about something?”
She glanced at him, then pushed a lock of hair from her eyes. “Of course not. Why would I be mad?”
“I don’t know, but you seem like you are. The last few days you’ve been so distant, so short tempered. Are you worried about Rachel?”
She nodded. “It’s hard to see her like this. She can hardly move.”
“Well, that’s to be expected at this point,” he said mildly.
Carolyn turned to him quickly. “I know it’s to be expected. But she’s my daughter and she’s terribly uncomfortable and I feel bad for her.”
Ben stepped back as if he’d been slapped across the face. “It’s not Rachel at all, is it? It’s Mark.”
“I really don’t feel like talking about this right now,” Carolyn said. She brushed past him, carrying a bowl to the sink.
“Why not?” Ben persisted. “It’s like the elephant that’s sitting in the room, yet nobody wants to acknowledge it. You’ve been thinking about him all day. I know that,” he said flatly.
He could see that she was not listening to him, or at least trying hard not to, as she busied herself sorting out the good silverware on the countertop.
“You can’t do this to yourself, Carolyn. It’s not fair,” he said, in a softer tone. “We gave him every chance. You can’t say now that we didn’t.”
He watched her take a deep breath, as if she were trying hard to control the emotions welling up inside. What was she really thinking now? What was she feeling? How could he help her if she wouldn’t really talk to him?
“I think you’re letting this affect you too much, dear,” he said carefully. “You have to think of yourself, of your health. Maybe you’d like to talk to someone about it, instead of me. A counselor or psychologist,” he suggested.
“Oh, here we go,” Carolyn said, shaking her head angrily. �
�Can’t I feel sad without you thinking I’m going into a depression again?”
“I care about you. I’m trying to take care of you. I know you’re sad, but I also think you’re mad at Mark and taking it out on me again.”
“Oh, my . . .” She looked totally frustrated, as if she were about to stamp her foot or even throw something. “You just don’t understand. It’s just impossible.”
“What don’t I understand? Explain it to me, please. I want to know,” he said, putting aside his anger at her accusation.
Finally she turned to face him. “Just because you can counsel other families doesn’t mean that you’re able to be objective about your own,” she said. “Sometimes I think you don’t understand this whole situation.”
Ben stood, stunned. All his doubts and worries about not being able to help his own family and even his congregation suddenly rose up and threatened to overwhelm him.
“I don’t have any answer to that,” he said shortly. “I try my best. That’s all I can do. I’ve tried my best for all of you.”
She looked at him with a sad expression in her eyes. “Yes, I know you have,” she said quietly.
Perhaps she meant it in a conciliatory way, but her sad tone made him feel even worse somehow, even more a hypocrite and a failure.
Ben turned and left the room, feeling numb. He went into his study and closed the door, then stretched out on the couch. The small lamp on his desk cast the room in a shadowy light.
He was worried about Carolyn, about her mental state. But maybe focusing too intently on Carolyn was his problem, he reflected. It was easy to focus on “fixing” her and ignore his own shortcomings.
Her angry words had been so painful tonight, because they had rung true, he realized. He wasn’t helping his own family, which forced him to question whether he was really capable of helping anyone.
When, exactly, had he lost his confidence that he could be a spiritual leader? Little moments, like seeing Grace Hegman in church today, made him feel he was still on track. Yet, that wasn’t enough. The tiny crack in the foundation that once seemed so insignificant was growing wider and wider, fanning out treelike, the branches threatening to undermine the entire structure of his life. He was flailing, emotionally and spiritually, and didn’t quite know what to do.
It wasn’t that he doubted God or felt he’d lost his faith. He just doubted himself, his worthiness and ability to lead his flock. No matter how hard he tried to put these doubts aside, they lingered, like blackbirds perched on a wire, waiting for the chance to swoop down and get at him again.
You told Carolyn to see a counselor. Why don’t you go see one? he asked himself. He thought about another minister who had been his mentor and spiritual support at times, Reverend John Simpson down in Gloucester, Ben’s hometown. They had not spoken in a while, except in a superficial way. But now Ben considered giving Reverend John a call.
He sighed and closed his eyes, trying to move his heavy thoughts to visions of Rachel’s new baby. That event would cheer everyone, he consoled himself. Yet, as he felt himself drifting off to sleep, all he could see were blackbirds, sitting before a gray sky, waiting on a wire.
CHRISTMAS DAY AT LILLIAN’S WAS QUIET, AS SARA HAD EXPECTED. SHE found it relaxing after the big gathering at Jessica’s house, though. After dinner, she sat with Emily, Lillian, and Dr. Elliot in the living room, listening to classical music while Lillian and Dr. Elliot worked on a crossword puzzle.
“I’ve got it—amaryllis,” Lillian said, carefully filling in the blanks with a sharp yellow pencil. “That was too easy. These puzzles are designed for nitwits these days.”
“That’s a type of Christmas flower, is it?” Dr. Elliot asked, repeating the clue.
“Exactly. I have one right up there on the mantel,” she pointed out.
“That’s a beauty,” he observed. “I didn’t know the proper name though.”
“You grow it from a bulb. Sara gave me that in the fall,” Lillian remarked. She suddenly looked over at Sara. “That reminds me, check under the tree. There’s a package there for you,” she said.
“For me?” Sara was surprised. Lillian had given her a book last night. She hadn’t really expected more.
“That one, with the red wrapping paper,” Lillian said, sounding eager for her to open it.
Sara unwrapped the package, revealing a large album with a brown leather cover. Opening it, she found that the pages were filled with old photographs. They were the photographs of the Warwick family that she had brought down from the attic and helped Lillian sort through months ago, before Lillian—or anyone for that matter—knew that she was Emily’s daughter.
Sara looked up at Lillian, who had been watching for her reaction. She hardly knew what to say.
“The photographs from the attic.”
“Yes, of course. Where else could they have come from? The department store?” Lillian noted sarcastically.
Sara glanced down at the pages again. Her gaze came to rest on one of Lillian with Emily and Jessica when both were just children. Jessica was seated on Lillian’s lap and Emily stood beside her, wearing a navy blue dress with a white Peter Pan collar. Emily and Jessica were adorable, and even Lillian’s angular features, framed by the wavy hairstyle of the day, had a certain softness then. Before her disappointments had tempered her, Sara thought. Sometimes she still caught a fleeting glimpse of that softness in her eyes.
She looked up at Lillian. “Thank you so much. That was very thoughtful.”
“Don’t be silly. I had so many extras, I didn’t know what to do with them. Seemed a waste to throw them out. And I know you have an interest in . . . that sort of thing.”
In your family history, Sara silently amended for her. But she knew that admission was simply too much to ask, even on Christmas. Her grandmother had at first flatly refused to believe that Sara was actually the child Emily had given up so long ago. Even months later, though she was cordial enough in her way, Lillian had never acknowledged Sara as a member of the family. Perhaps this was her way of doing so.
“Well, thank you. I know I’ll love looking through this,” Sara said, resting the large book on her lap.
“That was thoughtful, Mother. I had no idea,” Emily said, coming to stand beside her.
“It’s just a few old photographs,” Lillian said. “Why is everyone making such a fuss?” She suddenly turned to Dr. Elliot, who was taking his turn with the crossword puzzle. “For goodness’ sake, Ezra, haven’t you figured out seven down yet? The clue is Yuletide expletive and insect. Six letters, starts with H.”
“Why, yes, I think have it.” Dr. Elliot looked up with a pleased expression. “Just came to me as I was listening to your conversation. I believe the answer is humbug.”
Sara glanced at Emily, who was also trying not to laugh.
LATER THAT EVENING EMILY DROVE SARA HOME. AFTER SHE PULLED UP in front of Sara’s house, she took a very small box out of her pocket and held it out to Sara.
“One last present before you go,” Emily said, with a mischievous smile. “Christmas isn’t quite over yet.”
Sara took the box and glanced at her. The night before Emily had said she had another gift for her. Sara had forgotten all about it.
“Open it,” Emily said softly.
It was a velvet jeweler’s box, and when Sara opened it she found a gold heart-shaped locket. She held it up to the light to see it better. “It’s beautiful,” she murmured. “But so extravagant, Emily. You’ve already given me such a big gift.”
“Your father gave me that our first Christmas together,” Emily explained. “I wanted you to have it.”
“Really?” Sara looked down at the golden heart again. She knew that Emily and her husband hadn’t had much time together, and she was sure Emily didn’t have much to remember him by. Every little bit was probably precious to her and carefully treasured. “Are you sure?” she asked. “Maybe you’d like to keep it. For yourself, I mean. To remember him.”
�
�I do remember him,” Emily told her easily. “He’d want you to have it. Think of it as his Christmas present to you,” she said, with a small smile.
Sara blinked, feeling both a genuine warmth and a pang of loss for the father she never knew. It was suddenly easy to imagine that if she had known Tim Sutton, she would have loved him very much. “Thank you.” Sara’s voice caught a little. “It’s beautiful. I’ll be very careful with it.”
“I’m sure you will. Enjoy it,” Emily said.
Sara gave her a quick hug. “Thanks for everything, Emily. I had a great Christmas with you,” she said honestly.
“Me, too,” Emily replied, squeezing her hand. “The best,” she added. She paused for a moment, her expression changing slightly, Sara noticed. “So, when will your parents get here? They’re still coming, right?”
“Thursday afternoon. I just spoke to them this morning,” Sara said. “I thought we could all go out on Friday night to the Pequot Inn, if that works out for you.”
“Yes, of course. Whatever is convenient for everyone. Just tell me the time. I’ll be there,” Emily promised.
Though she sounded positive, Sara could tell Emily was nervous. Well, everyone at the table would be, she thought.
They said good night, and Sara went inside. As she got ready for bed, she thought about last Christmas, how she had planned then to look for her birth mother after graduation and wondered if she would ever find her. She had never imagined that this year they’d be spending Christmas together.
The holiday with Emily—and the rest of her new family—had been far more than she’d ever hoped for.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
IT WAS QUIET AT THE PAPER THE DAY AFTER CHRISTMAS. ED and Jane weren’t back yet, and the phone hardly rang at all. There weren’t even any dull civic meetings to attend, so Sara hardly left the office. She was at her desk, organizing a huge pile of files for Lindsay, when her extension rang.
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