by Mary Manners
She cradled the warm mug between her chilled fingers. Was it wise to open that door? What if Sydney became attached to Noah and then things crumbled? She’d endured enough change in her short life. But the child had one simple request—to be an angel in the pageant. What would it hurt to indulge her?
Oh, why did life have to be so complicated? Hope set the mug on the coffee table, reached for the phone, and dialed.
“Hello?” Mama Cantori’s voice was raspy with sleep.
Hope frowned. She’d lost track of the time, and it was late. “Mama, I’m so sorry for waking you.”
“Is everything okay? Is it Sydney?”
“She’s fine, Mama. She’s sleeping. Noah wore her out playing in the snow.”
“Noah?”
“Yes. He came for dinner and then…” she paused. “Never mind about that, Mama. What time does service start tomorrow…for Miracle Cove Community Church?”
“Ten-thirty.” Mama perked right up. “Are you thinking about coming?”
“Sort of…I mean, yes.” A surge of anticipation filled her. “I suppose it’s time.”
“Oh, Hope, of course it’s time. This is wonderful news!” Excitement laced Mama’s voice. “My prayers are answered. Lorenzo and I will pick you up, and you and Sydney will ride with us.”
“I don’t want to trouble you further, Mama.”
“Trouble me? Bite your tongue, young lady. To drive—and to worship again—with you is a blessing.”
“Yes, Mama.” Hope frowned. Of course, she should have known Mama Cantori would make a big deal out of things. A new road…another unexpected detour. There was no turning back now. “We’ll be ready. See you in the morning.”
Chapter 6
“MR. NOAH!” NOAH TURNED TOWARD the voice and saw Sydney scampering down the hall, her hand clasped firmly in Hope’s. He was glad they couldn’t hear his sharp intake of breath or feel the way his pulse kicked into overdrive as his gaze drank in Hope’s sassy spill of hair, clipped at the side with silver, heart-shaped pendant. Her rich, dark eyes looked just a bit apprehensive and her cheeks were flushed from the cold. Her hands trembled as she loosened the hunter-green scarf around her neck. “Mr. Noah, we’re here.” Sydney’s sweet voice mirrored his excitement.
“I see that.” He offered Sydney a high five as the shock wore off. What had transpired during the past twelve hours to coax Hope through the church doors? “Good job. And who’s that in your arms?”
“Ginny, my doll. She likes to go to church.”
“Well, she’s in for a treat, then.” He slipped to one knee as Sydney handed him the doll for closer inspection. “We have a children’s service here, with lots of singing and art projects, too. Would you like to take Ginny?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Your mom can come check it out, as well.” He smiled at Hope. “Mrs. Hollister—she’s the teacher for your class—will be getting things started soon. Maybe you’d like to meet her, Hope?”
“Yes, I would.” She peeled off her mittens as she fell into step beside him. They started down the hall while Mama and Lorenzo headed toward the sanctuary.
“You take your time, dear,” Mama smiled. “We’ll save you a seat.”
Hope nodded, then double-stepped to keep up with Noah. He rounded a corner, and the hallway brightened with colorful murals painted the length of the walls. Overhead lights made the walk cheerful, and children’s laughter mingled with music as they neared a classroom.
“Here you go.” Noah paused at the doorway. “Mrs. Hollister?”
The woman with salt and pepper gray hair, smoothed into a neat bun, glanced up with smiling eyes.
“Hello, there.” Sydney skipped into the room. “I’m Sydney and this is Ginny.”
“Well, good morning Sydney and Ginny. It’s so nice to meet you. I’m Mrs. Hollister and over there, by the bookshelf with the other children, is my helper, Nancy.” She bent to greet the child. “Would you like to join us? We were just about to read a story and then sing some songs together.”
“Oh, yes!” Sydney glanced back to wave at Hope. “Can I stay, Mom?”
“Yes, you may.” Hope nodded. “I’ll see you in a little while. Be good.”
“I will, Mom.”
They turned from the room.
“She’ll be fine,” Noah murmured. “Mrs. Hollister has been teaching forever.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive. Come on.”
Though Noah tried his best to make small talk, Hope barely said a word as they made their way back down the hall to the sanctuary. Noah sensed the tension as she settled into a seat between him and Mrs. Cantori. Her shoulders were stiff, her face grim, as if attending a trial instead of a celebration of God’s grace.
“I promise we don’t bite,” he whispered, squeezing her hand. “The first time back is always the hardest.”
“How do you know?”
“I just do.” He gulped. “It’s a story for another day. Just breathe.”
“I’m trying.” She glanced at him, her dimples popping as a slight smile took the place of the frown. “I’m sorry. I’m not doing a very good job, am I? I’m not sure why I thought this was a good idea.”
Noah closed his eyes. Lord, take away the doubt. Surround Hope with the peace only You can give. Help me to make her feel welcome here.
“I have to talk to you.” Hope’s voice sliced through the prayer.
“Now?”
“No. After the service. Do you have time?”
“I’ll make time.”
“Shh!” Mrs. Cantori silenced them like children. The sharp word was punctuated by a dark glance.
Noah closed his eyes once more. Lord, let me be the friend Hope needs. Show me what I should do.
Music filled the sanctuary, drawing Noah’s focus to worship and drowning out all other thought. He lifted his voice in harmony with Hope’s and soon it felt as if they’d joined melodies for an eternity. Hope’s hand relaxed in his, and Noah sensed the tension fleeing from her.
Thank you, Lord. You truly are a miracle-worker.
“Are you sure you want me to help you with the pageant?” Hope asked as she stirred a spoonful of sweetener into her coffee. They sat across from each other in a booth at the diner. The after-church crowd had thinned and Christmas music crooned softly from the stereo speakers overhead. Mama Cantori had offered to take Sydney home for a nap so Hope and Noah could discuss the children’s musical. “You hardly know me. I could be a nutcase.”
“If you are, then you’re my kind of nutcase.” Noah took a bite of his burger. “I wouldn’t have asked you if I wasn’t sure.”
Hope speared a cherry tomato with her fork and dipped it in ranch dressing. “Don’t you have to get approval from a church board or something first?”
“Sure. But that’s not a problem. It can be done tomorrow with just a few phone calls.” He grinned. “Lorenzo Cantori’s head of the board. He can vouch for you, I’m sure.”
“Well, that’s one road block breached.” She slipped the tomato into her mouth. Noah reached for his glass of soda. “Are there others?”
“That depends on you.” Hope took a bite of her breadstick.
“I’m not following.”
“People might ask about Sydney’s father.”
“And?”
“It’s complicated.”
“And…?”
She wasn’t sure why she felt such a strong need to share this particular part of her past with him. She’d never told anyone except God. But the words gushed out before she could restrain them.
“I was scared, Noah, and I was young and stupid and in a relationship I had no business venturing into. The man I was with, well…he didn’t want Sydney. When I told him I was pregnant, he was just getting ready to move and start a new job.”
Noah held up a hand. “You don’t have to tell me this, Hope. It doesn’t matter now.”
“But it does matter. I’m not worthy to lead anything in a church
…or even to so much as help lead anything.” She shook her head. “I don’t belong there, Noah.”
“You’re wrong, Hope.” He reached for her hand and squeezed gently. “You’re just the person who needs to be there.”
“Because I’m a sinner.”
“We’re all sinners, because we’re human.”
“But I’m at the head of the class…in a very bad way.”
“That’s your opinion.”
“And yours?”
“You’re not the only one who’s made mistakes and suffered regret as a result of them.” His gaze narrowed, spearing hers. “I’m divorced.”
The words startled Hope’s tears away. Who wouldn’t want a wonderful, giving man like Noah?
She lowered her voice. “I can’t imagine…you’re so kindhearted.”
“Being kindhearted wasn’t enough to hold my marriage together.” He pushed his plate aside and wiped his mouth with his napkin. “Don’t you think I carry a boxcar full of remorse, too?”
“But, if it wasn’t your fault—”
“There’s no such thing as being blameless, Hope. A relationship—a marriage—is a two-way street. It takes two people to succeed, and two to fail.” He grimaced. “Me…well, I failed miserably. So, you see, everyone has their own set of heartaches to live with. Though you may feel like it, you’re not on an island. And you don’t have to be alone with your hurt.”
She sighed. “It’s hard to argue with that.”
“I harbored my fair share of doubt and missed more than a few Sundays while I slogged through the legal mess and heartbreak of my divorce. So, I know what it’s like to return to the fold repentant and fearful of ridicule and judgment. But one thing I’ve learned is that my fear was unfounded. There’s no disgrace in admitting your shortcomings and moving forward. God is waiting for you to hand them all to Him, Hope. He’s got a plan for you.”
“You’re right.” She sipped her cooling coffee, eying him over the rim of the cup. Outside the window beyond, snow fell in plump, sloppy flakes once again. “My question is…does that plan include a Christmas pageant?”
“There’s only one way to find out.”
“When do rehearsals start?”
“How does tomorrow, six o’clock, sound?”
“Wonderful.” She drained her coffee cup. “Do I need to bring anything?”
“Just your imagination and a bushelful of patience.” He winked playfully. “If it’s okay, I’ll stop by your house a little early and we can go over the script together and make a list of materials we’ll need for the scenery and the props. Then we can all—you, Sydney, and I—ride over to the church together.”
“Why don’t you just come for dinner?” Hope chased a cherry tomato around her salad bowl. “Sydney would be thrilled.”
She was surprised to find she liked the idea, as well. The way her pulse quickened, coupled with a little flip in her belly, told the story.
“Okay.” Noah nodded. “But only if you let me bring the meal this time.”
“I can agree to that.”
“What do you like?”
“I’m not picky, but for Sydney pasta’s a proven hit—you can’t go wrong with spaghetti with marinara.”
“Spaghetti it is, then.” He nodded. “We can’t let our star angel go to rehearsal hungry.”
“So, you know…Sydney wants to be an angel?”
“She put her order in early, and it’s already been approved. She wants to be an angel, so an angel she’ll be. Who am I to deny a little girl’s wish?”
“Will she get to sing, too?”
“Of course.” He nodded. “There’s plenty of that to go around, as well.”
Chapter 7
“WE’LL NEED SEVERAL YARDS OF fabric for the costumes.” Hope skimmed the Christmas playbook as she nibbled a bite of spaghetti the next evening. Dinner with Noah was becoming an event she looked forward to. Tonight, he wore a navy polo shirt that brought out the blue of his eyes. With him seated across from her, it was hard to focus on determining the materials needed for props. She drew a deep breath and struggled to continue. “And white sheets will do for the clouds.”
“We’re developing quite a list.” Noah lowered his fork and added both items to a slip of paper.
She wondered if his pulse stuttered when he was this close to her, the way hers seemed to do every time he was around.
“We’ll ask for donations,” she offered. “Add to our list some glitter spray and wire to form several sets of wings, as well.”
Noah released the pen and glanced up. “Can’t we just buy wings?”
“What?” Hope groaned inside. She’d lost her focus again. “I’m sorry, I missed that.”
“The wings…” Noah gave her a curious look. “Can’t we just buy them?”
“Why buy them when it’s less expensive to make them on our own?” Hope reached for her iced tea. Cubes clinked against the glass as she drew a quick sip. Her throat was parched; her hands trembled. “And it’s a lot more fun.”
“I’m sure it is.” Noah buttered a crescent roll and then tore off a hunk. “But do we have the time?”
“I’ll help, Mom,” Sydney chimed in, pushing back her empty plate and swiping a napkin across her chin. “I can make wings.”
“Yes, we’ll need your help, and the help of the other children, too.” Hope paused for a moment, scanning the playbook once again. “Perhaps I can speak with Mrs. Hollister and we can make the wings next Sunday during the craft time of the children’s class.”
“That’s a good idea.” Noah added a note to his list. “I’ll help, too.”
“You can spray the glitter.” Sydney’s blue eyes rounded. “That’s the fun part.”
“That’s very generous of you.” Noah tweaked her nose. “We can do it together.”
“Finish your milk,” Hope urged Sydney, thankful for the distraction. “And wipe your mouth. You have specks of spaghetti sauce on your cheek.”
“I like this spaghetti. It’s good, Mom.”
“Tell Mr. Noah thank you.”
“Thank you, Mr. Noah.” She scrubbed her cheek with her napkin. “Mama Cantori said I can help make the cookies for the reception after the pageant, too.” Sydney shifted in the chair, tucking her feet beneath her as she wiggled onto her knees. “We’re gonna use cookie cutters and lots of sprinkles.”
“That sounds delicious.” Noah reached for a second crescent roll. “Will you make angels and wreaths?”
“Yes.” Sydney’s head bobbed. “And trumpets and Christmas trees.”
And will you save some for me?”
“Sure.”
“Here.” Hope handed her daughter a sheet of paper and a box of crayons. She was struck by the thought of how empty her life would be without Sydney. “Draw all the cookie designs for us while Mr. Noah and I finish making our list.”
“Okay, Mom.”
Sydney hummed while she worked and Hope struggled to keep her emotions in check as she and Noah finished their meal, adding items to the list between bites. Her insides were jumbled by so many changes, and she was drawn to Noah in a way she had no idea how to handle. The feeling took her by surprise, like an unexpected wildfire. She sat back in the chair and drew a deep breath. The aroma of garlic mingled with tomato sauce and coffee that sputtered and spat as it brewed. In the oven, an apple pie warmed. The knot in her belly loosened. The small house sure smelled like Christmas. Pine lingered from the modest tree she’d placed in the living room. It had yet to be decorated. Maybe she and Sydney would tackle that task tomorrow—if Hope could untangle the strands of lights she’d packed away last season.
“Mr. Noah, are you good with knots?” Sydney asked, as if reading Hope’s mind.
“Why? Are your shoe laces stuck?” He glanced down and frowned when he saw the snow boots on her feet.
“Uh uh. It’s the Christmas tree. Mama can’t fix the lights ’cause they’re all tangled.”
“I can take a look.” He was already
pushing his chair back.
Hope interrupted. “But it’s getting late, and the pie and coffee…”
“It’s the Christmas season, Hope.” Noah tilted his head, grinning at her. “Some things are more important than pie and coffee.”
“I suppose.” Hope glanced at her watch. “I’ll clean up in here if you two want to have a look at the lights. But if we don’t leave soon the kids will beat us to the church.”
“I’ll show you where the lights are, Mr. Noah.” Sydney tugged on his arm. “C’mon with me.”
“Grab your dish and set it by the sink first, sweetie.” He stood and began to help Hope clear the table. “We can’t leave your mom with such a mess.”
“It’s okay.” Hope switched off the oven and removed the pie. She set it on the counter to cool, filling the room with the sweet scent of cinnamon. “I’ll tackle the dishes while you tackle the lights, and we’ll meet in the middle.”
“Over here.” Sydney grasped Noah’s hand and tugged him toward the living room. At the doorway she paused, her eyes filled with wonder as she drank in the tree. “Isn’t it beautiful?”
“Sure is.” The tree was a bit lopsided and slightly bare around the middle, but it did hold a certain charm. “Did you choose it?”
“Uh huh.” She nodded vigorously, her copper curls bouncing. “Mom helped.”
“I like it.” He squeezed her hand and then stepped over to adjust the tree in the stand until it was no longer leaning. “You did a good job, sweetie.”
“Mom says it’ll look better when it’s dressed in ornaments, but I think it’s pretty already.”
“I’d have to agree.” He knelt to check the basin for water, nodding with satisfaction. Hope must have just filled it, as water crested the top. “Show me the lights, Syd.”
“Here.” Sydney plopped a plastic bag into his hands. “Mom said gremlins must have played with them after she packed them away, and got them all tangled. Has that ever happened to you?”
“Sure, it has.” Noah laughed. “At least a time or two.”