A Hero for Christmas

by Jo Ann Brown

  Even so, more than a dozen people were crammed into the tight space. Two stood behind a low wooden counter, and he guessed they were the shopkeeper and his wife. Both were bent from long hours of work, but their clothing was clean and unpatched, though of an odd collection of colors and patterns that even he would disdain. He suspected the wife had stitched their clothing from fabric that did not sell.

  Drawing his hat lower over his brow, Jonathan leaned back against a barrel that had a fishy smell. It was not marked in any manner, and he could not help wondering if it had been brought ashore by the smugglers. He pushed that out of his head and concentrated on the hushed conversation by the counter.

  A woman facing the storekeeper said, “It will be strange to have Miss Sophia move away from Sanctuary Bay. The old lord is gone, and soon she will be.”

  “The new lord has shown a lot of interest in the village.”

  “Too much sometimes,” said a man’s voice from beyond the women.

  Jonathan fought the urge to spin around and see who had spoken. He was certain the man was grumbling about Meriweather’s interest in halting the smugglers. He hunched more into the shadows, so nobody would pay any attention to him. That had worked when he was in public places in Spain and France, and he hoped it would now.

  He refocused on the conversation by the counter. The woman had placed several items on the counter, and the shopkeeper’s wife was adding up the prices on a slip of paper.

  “We shall have to wait and see if the new lord comes back once he goes to London,” the storekeeper said.

  “I have heard,” another man piped up, “that the new lord came here for the peace and quiet after the war.”

  “But the war is over, and now he will assume his seat in Parliament and get involved with politics.”

  “Which always causes more trouble for us.” An elderly man to Jonathan’s left pulled out his pipe, and a ring of smoke curled around his head. “That is all the milords do in Parliament. Meddle in our business and raise taxes, so we can pay for theirs.”

  Jonathan chuckled to himself. One thing never changed: people complaining about government and taxes. Maybe that would turn the conversation to avoiding taxes with smuggling.

  “We need more men like Utting,” someone said.

  “Now there was a hero of the first degree,” the storekeeper said with a sigh. “But his mother’s grief will never be over, because he died far off in America, and his body isn’t in the churchyard. Never will be.”

  “It was good of the Meriweathers to pay for a memorial stone for him.” The woman put her purchases into the cloth bag she wore over her wrist. “We were lucky we had such a generous lord in the old Lord Meriweather.”

  The shopkeeper leaned over the counter. “Heard he did it because Miss Catherine was so distraught with the news of young Utting’s death.”

  “Aye. After Sunday services, she and young Roland always spent time together.”

  Jonathan stiffened at the name. Meriweather had mentioned a man named Roland. He had said that Cat had been in love with the man who had joined the navy. Now these people were saying Roland Utting had been a hero.

  A real hero. Not a fake one like Jonathan. He should have guessed a woman like Catherine Meriweather, loyal and dedicated to her family and community, would fall in love with a true hero.

  As if to second his thoughts, the woman said, “Miss Catherine must miss him as much as his mother does.”

  “Maybe more,” agreed someone else.

  The storekeeper nodded vehemently along with the others, then his eyes locked with Jonathan’s.

  “Sir!” The shopkeeper’s face blanched. “I didn’t see you there. Is there anything I can do for you?”

  Everyone looked at Jonathan. As a stranger, he was not welcome in the shop, he knew. But the stares threatened to strip away his deception and reveal him for the liar he was, a man who never would be worthy of Cat’s love.

  “Just came in to get out of the cold,” he mumbled before he turned to go out the door.

  The villagers stepped aside to let him leave, but he knew how a leper must feel. The door closed behind him, leaving him out in yet another snow shower.

  God, I need Your help. I am lost in my lies, and I don’t know how to escape the maze I have built for myself. Lead me, I pray.

  He continued to pray as he went down to the beach. There, in the silence broken only by the waves and the wind, he hoped God’s reply would help him ease his aching heart without losing Cat, who had become part of it.

  * * *

  “I think that is everything.” Cat looked around the church. The air was damp and chilly because the wood stove at the back was not lit. Yet the sanctuary looked warm and festive with greenery festooning the doors of the pews. The rail in front of the altar was wrapped with ivy, and shiny holly caught every bit of gray light coming through the windows. Evergreens edged the deep windowsills.

  “It looks beautiful,” Vera said. “Even better than last year.”

  “When we thought we might have a new church by Christmastide this year.”

  Vera grinned wryly. “Don’t mention that in Gregory’s hearing. I have never seen him so frustrated. Everyone knows the roof will come down on our heads one of these days, but nobody wants to decide whether we should put on a new roof or simply build a new church closer to the village. Half the doors here don’t work. The hinges and lock on one to the cellar rusted shut. I don’t think Gregory has been down in the cellar in years. He often turned to your father in matters like this.”

  “But now Cousin Edmund cannot help him.”

  “That is so sad.” Vera scooped up the remnants of the greens and dumped them in a basket. “I see Lord Meriweather struggling, and I wish I could tell him that I am praying for decisions to become easier for him.”

  “He would appreciate that, but he would be embarrassed as well, because he hopes no one notices that he can’t make even the simplest decision.”

  “Which is why I have said nothing.” She sighed as she bent to pick up the basket. “I had hoped having Lord Northbridge and Mr. Bradby here would help him, but I guess there is nothing we can do but pray for him and have patience.”

  “We try to have patience,” Cat said, skirting the issue of prayer again. “Where we can, we offer to make decisions for him, but certain matters—”

  “Like a new roof on the church or a new church.”

  Cat nodded. “Those matters require him to decide, because the majority of the cost is the responsibility of Meriweather Hall.” She held the door so Vera could walk out onto the covered porch.

  A dull thud sounded.

  Looking back into the sanctuary, Cat half expected to see some of the heavier branches lying on the floor. All were exactly where they should be.

  “Did you drop something?” she asked her friend.

  Vera shook her head. “I think the sound came from outside.”

  “Just in case, maybe we should check the sanctuary.”

  “Everything is fine. You fret too much about everything, Catherine.” Her eyes twinkled as they walked out into the cold afternoon and closed the door behind them. “Or should I call you Cat, as Mr. Bradby did, when he brought you to the vicarage today?”

  The day’s chill vanished as heat climbed up Cat’s face. “Of course you can call me Cat. I thought I was rid of the name, but it has returned.”

  “As Mr. Bradby has returned.” Vera shifted the basket to rest on her hip. “Do you think you will see him when you go to London?”

  “No. He lives in Norwich.”

  “Which is not that far from London.”

  “Vera, he has pushed me away over and over. He is concealing something that gives him a great deal of anguish.”

  “About the war?”

  “I assu
me so, because Charles tells me that he changed after the battle where he saved Charles’s life.” She looked up through the flakes lazily drifting from the sky. “I have tried every way I can to get him to open up to me, but I have failed.”

  “Maybe it is God’s will that Jonathan seeks someone else to be honest with first.” Vera smiled. “I will pray for him to find peace. You must pray, too, Catherine, even though I know you avoid it since your father died.”

  Cat stopped and stared at her friend. “How did you know that? I mean...” No, she would not be false with her bosom-bow. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath before she opened them. “How long have you known?”

  “Since Lord Meriweather’s funeral. I chanced to overhear you speak angrily to God.”

  “And yet you have stayed my friend.”

  Vera set the basket on the vicarage’s front step. Facing Cat, she gave her a quick hug. “My dear, dear friend, it isn’t my place to judge. God should be the only one judging us.”

  “And He must find me faithless.”

  “You?” Tears filled Vera’s eyes. “I don’t believe you could be faithless if you tried. God has broad shoulders, and He understands when His children question His love. You said by your father’s grave that God hadn’t heard your prayers. Look into your heart, Catherine. Into that place where God speaks to you. Look and listen. You can be angry with Him, but He is patient. It says so right in the Bible.” She closed her eyes and recited, “‘Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails.’” Opening her eyes, she smiled. “That’s from the thirteenth chapter of First Corinthians, and those are my favorite verses.”

  “But that is love.”

  “God is love, Cat. He is patient and kind, and He rejoices in truth. Our truth, when we come to Him and open our hearts and pour out what is hidden within.”

  Cat was at a loss for what to say.

  Vera reached to open the vicarage door. “Find a way to open your heart to God, Cat, and maybe you can find a way to help Mr. Bradby open his.” She squeezed Cat’s hand. “I know you can.”

  With a gasp at the touch of Vera’s wool gloves on her skin, Cat said, “Oh, I forgot my gloves.”

  “Let’s go back and—”

  “Nonsense. I will get them.”

  “Where did you leave them? On a pew?”

  Cat nodded. “My family’s pew, or I think I did.” She gave her friend a hug. “Go and get your brother’s supper started while I get my gloves.”

  “Think about what I said.”

  “I will.”

  Hurrying to the church, Cat grimaced at the snow. It was nice to have snow for Christmas, but if it had not started falling until Christmas Eve, she would have been happier. She shook her head as she stepped into the porch. Flakes flew in every direction, including one down her back. She winced as she went into the sanctuary.

  The storm left the windows dull as she walked along the aisle. She opened the door to her family’s pew and stepped inside. Picking up her gloves, she held them as she sat and leaned back against the gray boards that needed another coat of paint. The walls of the pew were almost as tall as she was. With the door closed, she felt cut off from the world. She wished she could feel closer to God here.

  As she closed her eyes to pray, Jonathan’s face appeared in her mind. His smile, his frown, his eagerness to help when he had been with the children in the kitchen or searching for mermaid tears, his closed-up expression when he had tried to let no one know how being called a hero upset him. Those flashed by, then came the image of his pale blue eyes with the navy edges that displayed every emotion, even the ones he tried to hide. Even the ones he did not try to hide, especially when they stood face-to-face, and every breath she took was filled with his essence.

  No other man, not even Roland, had ever made her laugh as he did or filled her dreams as he did. He wanted to kiss her. She saw that in his eyes. She felt it in his tender touch. If he wanted to kiss her and she longed for his kiss, why did he pull away?

  Why? she prayed. God, can You help me understand? I miss You. Those words came from her heart. She held her breath, hoping for God’s answer.

  Instead of the soft voice she once heard within her heart, she heard something else. She was unsure what, because the boards surrounding the pew distorted the sound. Then she heard another thud. It was not unlike the thud that had startled her and Vera earlier, something that seemed to come from outside the sanctuary, but still sounded like it was inside the church.

  She stood and saw two men by the altar. “Sir Nigel! Lord Ashland!”

  They spun to face her. Shock emblazoned their features for only a moment. Both regained their composure at exactly the same time.

  Lord Ashland stepped forward, giving her his cool smile. He was not much older than her cousin, but he had the superior air of a man born to privilege. Others might call his dark looks handsome. Cat always felt uncomfortable in his company. Not that she had seen him often, because he kept to his estate. She wondered what he was doing in the village church on a snowy afternoon.

  “Miss Catherine,” the viscount said in his smooth voice, “I hope we aren’t intruding on your worship.”

  “You have not. I hope I have not intruded on you gentlemen. I didn’t see you when I came in, and Vera and I just left a few moments ago.”

  Sir Nigel opened his mouth to answer, but Lord Ashland halted him by asking, “Was that you and Miss Fenwick we heard down here?” He hooked a thumb toward the balcony. “We glanced over the rail, but didn’t see anyone.” Brushing a fastidious hand against his coat sleeves that were fuzzy with dust webs, he added, “Please don’t mention this to either Miss Fenwick or the vicar. We want the installation of an organ to be a pleasant surprise for them.”

  “An organ in this church? But why? The parish is discussing building a newer building closer to the village so it is more convenient for the congregation.”

  “I hadn’t heard that.” Lord Ashland scowled at Sir Nigel. “Didn’t you deem that something I should know before I made such an investment?”

  The baronet shrugged his shoulders as if the matter was of no importance, but his gaze darted between Cat and the viscount like a quick-moving insect. “Nothing has been decided, Ashland. Such matters move with a turtle’s pace in Sanctuary Bay.” He smiled at Cat. “I mean no insult to your cousin, Miss Catherine.”

  “Of course not,” she replied, even though his apology suggested just the opposite. “I am astonished you are so interested in our church.”

  “I always want the best for my great-niece.” His smile grew even wider before he added, “She enjoyed meeting your vicar so much during her short visit here that she asked that I bring her to services on occasion.”

  Cat mumbled something about Lillian visiting would be nice, but again she suspected Sir Nigel’s words had a double meaning. If Cousin Edmund and Lillian married, the Sanctuary Bay parish church would be where they worshipped. Should she warn her cousin of Sir Nigel’s plans? No, that would be silly. Sir Nigel’s plans would come to naught if Cousin Edmund did not fall in love with Lillian.

  Lord Ashland glanced at Cat, and his smile returned even though his eyes remained icy, growing colder each time he looked in the baronet’s direction. “If you will excuse us, Miss Catherine, I believe Sir Nigel and I should continue this discussion elsewhere. Again, accept my apologies if we have intruded on your worship here.”

  Sir Nigel did not protest when the viscount herded him down the aisle and out of the church. The door to the porch loudly shut in their wake.

  That had been weird. Holding her gloves, she dr
ew on one and then the other, as she stared at the closed door. Then she turned to look at the altar and thought about Vera’s advice.

  Find a way to open your heart to God, Cat, and maybe you can find a way to help Mr. Bradby open his.

  She was not sure where to begin, but she intended to learn.

  Right away.

  Chapter Twelve

  The banns were read for a second time, Michael once again sitting next to Jonathan. The little boy wiggled and grinned when his father’s name and Sophia’s were mentioned. Cat was not the only one smiling at the child’s delight with the upcoming wedding.

  Next week, the banns would be read again, and then Sophia and Charles could exchange their vows. Her sister would leave Sanctuary Bay for the south of England to live with her new family. Soon after that, Cat would go with Cousin Edmund to London. She would have to show some passing interest in the ton, because she did not want to hurt her cousin’s feelings. Once she had visited the British Museum and the Royal Academy of Art and maybe a few other important sites, she could devise an excuse to return to North Yorkshire. She suspected her cousin would be agreeable, as he must focus on his duties as the new baron, including finding a wife to give him an heir.

  Cat struggled to concentrate on Mr. Fenwick’s sermon. Each time she looked toward the altar, she could not help thinking about Lord Ashland and Sir Nigel’s peculiar behavior. She had tried to tell both Jonathan and her cousin about it. She had no chance. While she was at the church, Jonathan had returned to Meriweather Hall and sent the carriage for her. The men were closeted in the billiards room when she got back to the house, and they did not come out even for the evening meal.

  This morning had been as frustrating because the men took one carriage, while she and Sophia and the children were relegated to the other. She knew they were plotting a way to end smuggling in Sanctuary Bay, but she wished they would include her and her sister. Not only had they lived here the longest and knew the local residents best, but Meriweather Hall was their home, too. At least for now.

  She would ask Sophia after church to speak with Charles. Surely he would listen to her and invite them to the discussions.