As You Are at Christmas

by Davalynn Spencer

  Mollie flattened her lips and shook her head. “We’ll have to wait and see. You can’t push a man toward God and expect him to stick.” Pulling up her collar and scrunching her shoulders she opened the door. “Let’s go or we’ll be late and miss all the singing.”

  10

  Angela loved Christmas. The baking, the carols, the decorations—even the snow. She knew it all stemmed from the way she’d been raised, all the wonderful holiday traditions that Mollie had engrained. So unlike Matt’s childhood. Maybe that’s why he hadn’t shown up at church.

  That one single fact saddened her, in spite of the pine-scented warmth of the sanctuary, the pastor’s inspiring message about giving, the children’s brief skit depicting Christ’s birth—and being home again with Mollie. How could one little thing like Matt’s absence cast a shadow over an otherwise joyous occasion?

  Could Mollie be right? Did she love Matt? Not in the sense that she loved Christmas, but was she falling in love with him?

  The soothing strains of holiday music drifted out from Mollie’s office computer. Angela tried her best to cling to a Christmassy mood as she set the table for their main meal of the day, but Roady’s scratch at the porch door drew her to the kitchen. He whined to be let out.

  “Oh, Roady, I’m sorry. I forgot about you.” She knelt and wrapped her arms around the dog’s neck and let him kiss her chin. “You old lovable thing, you.” His scruffy tail beat the air in delight, and he bounded out as soon as she opened the door.

  Doesn’t take much to make him happy. She watched him shovel his snout through the snow, run into his doggie igloo and out again, and trot around the fence line. A home, good food, and people to love on him were all he needed. He’d done nothing to deserve any of it, but he had them all.

  “Thank you for giving me all these things, too, Lord,” she whispered. “Forgive me for being ungrateful and self-centered.”

  The doorbell chimed through the house, and Angela closed the porch door and headed down the hall. “I’ll get it,” she called on her way past Mollie’s room. She tried to see through the glass oval, but the person stood to the side, hidden by the doorframe. Was that the bed of a silver pickup in the street? Her heartbeat took off in a flutter of hope, and she quickened her pace.

  “I come bearing gifts.” Matt stood before the open door—in one hand a shiny red gift bag brimming with green tissue paper, and in the other the most beautiful white poinsettia Angela had ever seen.

  From the threshold, she pushed up on her toes and threw her arms around his neck. “You came back!”

  Obviously startled by her impulsive welcome, he stood grinning like a school boy and a little red faced, she noticed with satisfaction.

  “Don’t just stand there in the cold. Come in!”

  “Oh, Matthew,” Mollie said, hurrying down the hall. “Let me get a good look at you.” She reached up to clasp his face in both hands and turned his head from side to side. “I thought so.”

  “What?” Bewilderment furrowed his brow.

  “You’ve lost weight since you left. You haven’t been eating well, have you?”

  His deep, throaty laugh sent chills up Angela’s neck.

  “We’ve missed you, young man. And you’re just in time for lunch.”

  He held out the poinsettia. “This is for you, Mollie.”

  Her eyes sparkled with delight as she took the giant plant from his hand. “Oh, it’s lovely, Matthew. Absolutely perfect for the table. How thoughtful you are.” She bustled off toward the dining room.

  Mollie’s welcome allowed Angela to regain her composure and a bit of decorum. Embarrassed by her girlish display, she lingered near the hall tree, hands in pockets, chin tucked in the thick cowl neck of a dark blue sweater.

  “This is for you.” Matt moved closer and held out the glittering bag.

  “Thank you.” She accepted the gift with a shy smile. “You returned for your drafting table, didn’t you?” She nodded toward the hall tree. “And your coat. I picked it up yesterday.”

  Matt took the final step between them and cupped her face in his hands. “I returned to see if you missed me.” A teasing smile set the dimple in place. “Can I interpret your welcome as an answer to my question?”

  Angela’s reply started in the pit of her stomach and spread across her cheeks in the typical warm flush. She looked at the green tissue.

  He covered her hands with his, pulled the bag down and kissed her lightly on the forehead. “No peeking. You have to wait for Christmas.”

  “That would be tonight. We always open our gifts on Christmas Eve. Right after the candlelight service.” She peered into the bag and attempted a pout. “Mollie didn’t have to wait.”

  He pulled her into his arms, lightly crushing the bag between them. “That’s different and you know it.”

  ****

  Angela’s welcome exceeded anything Matt dared hope for. His frugal expectations had hinged on Aaron not worming his way into her heart over the weekend. He wouldn’t put it past the guy to have faked the whole new girlfriend angle and show up acting pathetic and lonely.

  Evidently Angela’s heart was parasite free, and Matt hoped to make it his.

  On their way down the hall, she ducked into the dining room, and he followed his nose to the kitchen. Cinnamon hovered in the air, just below the aroma of roast beef, and he wiped the back of his hand across his mouth in case he was drooling.

  “Coffee’s fresh and so are the cinnamon rolls.” Mollie, whisk in hand, stirred vigorously at the stove. “If you promise not to spoil your appetite, you can help yourself.”

  “You know me, Mollie. Matthew Appetite Dawson.”

  She laughed contentedly. “It’s so nice to have your good humor back.” Laying the whisk aside, she came over to him with a conspiratorial gleam in her blue eyes and lowered her voice. “Someone we both know has missed that good humor a heap.” She tilted her snowy head toward the dining room where Angela filled drinking glasses from the water pitcher.

  His pulse notched up a beat as he searched the woman’s merry face for truth. “Really?”

  She returned to the stove and clicked off the burner. “If you ask me, it was the longest weekend of her life.”

  Anger cut to the front of a long line of emotions vying for dominance. “Was it that bad having them here?”

  “Hmph.” Mollie opened the cupboard for a pewter gravy boat, set it on the counter and proceeded to fill it from the heavy kettle.

  “Let me do that.” Matt took the kettle and carefully poured out the thick brown gravy. His mouth watered unmercifully.

  “Didn’t even come inside.”

  Shock kicked anger out of line. “You mean he and the new girl didn’t stay?”

  Mollie picked up the corners of her apron and took hold of the gravy dish. “Tiffany came in—you should have seen her—and said they wouldn’t be staying because Aaron refused.” She harrumphed again. “Then they drove off like a bat out of—well, you know.”

  Matt shoved an entire cinnamon roll into his mouth to keep from shouting and poured himself a cup of coffee. He found it hard to chew with a cheesy grin splitting his face in two.

  Angela walked in and caught him at the counter with his mouth full.

  “Mollie must be getting soft to let you at the cinnamon rolls before lunch.” Her lips curved in a teasing smile that sent his pulse into overtime. Her eyes shone clear and nearly blue above her sapphire sweater, and she stopped in front of him and laid a hand on his chest.

  He curled his fingers around hers.

  “As soon as you swallow, would you mind getting three plates out of the cupboard behind your head, please?”

  He squeezed her hand, coughed, and tried not to choke, and her giggling sent him into spasms with the effort. He managed to hand her the plates, and she mouthed a silent “thank you.”

  Mollie filled a cloth-lined basket with fresh rolls. “Matthew, take the mashed potatoes and green beans. I’ll bring the gravy and rolls, and
Angela can take the roast and fruit salad.”

  Picking up the serving bowls, he followed Mollie to the table. “Is this Christmas dinner?”

  “Heaven’s no. That’s tomorrow. Turkey and all the fixings. I always like to have something special on Sundays, you know. This roast will serve us through the week for sandwiches.” She paused and captured him with a small frown. “I guess you don’t know, do you? Last Sunday you were in the mountains cutting our lovely tree. And you didn’t take a room here until the previous Monday.”

  He took his place at the table. A week since the tree? And another week of incredible home cooked meals? How had two women turned his life upside down in such a short time? Or was that right side up?

  Mollie reached for his hand and Angela’s, and he took both of theirs. Angela’s slender fingers entwined in his, and he caught a small grin flash across Mollie’s mouth.

  “Would you do the honors, Angie?”

  Angela bowed her head, and her hair fell in a dark curtain against her cheeks. She paused for a moment and then began in a near whisper. “Thank You, Lord, for this most wonderful time. For sending Your son, Jesus. For this house and this food, and for loving us as we are. Amen.”

  Her quiet prayer stirred something deep in his gut, unsettling him with an answer to a question he couldn’t recall. When he opened his eyes, she was watching him with such warmth that he thought his heart might explode. She’d be gone in a week, and now that he’d seen what a family could be, he wouldn’t survive without her.

  ****

  By five o’clock, the wind had picked up, and snow drifts stretched long icy arms across the lawn. Matt stood at the front door, watching through the oval glass. Christmas lights from neighboring houses dimmed and brightened in the whirling snow. He frowned as he thought of Mollie and Angela attending the evening candlelight service at church.

  He tried to talk Mollie out of it, but the woman was more insistent than usual.

  “We’ve not missed the Christmas Eve service in, well, you don’t need to know how many years. I’ve never missed it, that’s all. And I don’t intend to miss it now.”

  He appealed to Angela for help, but she simply shook her head in resignation.

  “The snow’s coming down hard and fast, Mollie. You might want to call it a night and stay home this year.”

  She pulled her coat on, draped a long crocheted scarf over her head and around her throat, and stood her ground. “We’re going to the candlelight service tonight, Matthew. You can come with us or stay here and worry, but we’re going.”

  He’d seen that determination before. Somewhere along I-25 with a dog on the shoulder. But this lost cause stood all of five feet in dark wool, pink muffler, and snow boots. He heaved a sigh and reached for his jacket and gloves. “Then we’re going in my truck. It’s four-wheel drive and has more clearance than Angela’s Subaru. Wait here.”

  Matt opened the door and a snowy blast gushed into the entryway. He yanked it closed behind him and pushed through the drifts, head down and collar up. From the looks of things, Santa would need help tonight.

  He turned the heater on high and pulled into the drive behind the Subaru. No sense plowing through any more snow than necessary. Against his better judgment, he escorted the two women from the porch to his pickup. He lifted Mollie onto the seat, helped Angela in, and ran around to the driver’s side. “Everybody buckle your seatbelts.”

  “We don’t live in the country like you, Matthew,” Mollie said, fastening the center belt across her lap. “The church is only a few blocks from here. Turn left at the corner.”

  Street lights helped little in the swirling snow, but he managed to find the intersection by turning into a blank space with no lights—hoping it wasn’t an unlit house. Within a half mile he pulled in front of a small, steepled church. Light spilled from tall stained-glass windows and a dark figure with shovel in hand made passing sweeps at the steps leading to broad double doors.

  Matt helped his passengers out, escorted them inside, and then parked in the lot next to the church. It was surprisingly full, he noted, evidence that others, too, had braved the storm to keep a tradition.

  Tradition. He had little, if any. Last Christmas he’d spent poring over plans for a school gymnasium he’d hoped to bid on. The Christmas before that he didn’t remember. For the most part, his adult life had been one continuous blur of sameness—like the snow whirling around him in the dark. And Angela Murphy and her grandmother were colorful lights in the night promising warmth and companionship and…love.

  Serenity and an unfamiliar joy swept over him as he entered the sanctuary. Candles raised a steady golden flame from every level surface around the walls and on the podium, and pine boughs filled window ledges and tables. The room radiated peace, and it seeped inside him and settled against his soul.

  Mollie’s white top knot signaled their location, and he ducked into an open place at the end of the pew. Angela’s sweet voice lifted with others in a traditional carol, and she reached for his hand, entwining her fingers in his.

  He recognized the song from his teen years when the youth leader made sure he was around to help with the tree and take part in the program. With a twist in his gut, he realized those few special times had planted something inside him, something that stirred and reawakened a promise.

  At the close of the song, a middle-aged man stepped to the podium. “Thank you all for coming tonight. We considered cancelling due to the storm, but we knew that many of you would brave the weather, so we continued as planned. However, for safety’s sake, the service will be brief so you can return to your warm homes and families.”

  Matt thought of his new furnace and cold house. Not exactly where he wanted to be tonight.

  The pastor kept his word about brevity and soon asked everyone to stand for the closing prayer.

  “Father, we thank You for sending Your Son as our light in a dark world. Thank You for loving us as we are, and transforming us with that love. Go with each of us tonight, and take us safely to our homes. In Jesus’s name we ask. Amen.”

  The man’s prayer pushed open the door in Matt’s mind, and the forgotten question flooded in. How will I ever be good enough for God? The youth leader had told him he never would be, and that was why God sent Jesus—to love him as he was.

  Angela had echoed those words in her prayer. God loves us as we are. Suddenly he understood Mollie’s mysterious comment about beauty and the beast. “I like to think it’s the story of God’s love for us.”

  ****

  Angela’s concern over quick decisions had blown away with the gust of snow that swept in the opened door. Matt could have refused to take them out in the storm. He could have let them go alone in her car, but he didn’t. Instead he consented to Mollie’s stubborn, if not unwise, insistence that they not miss the candlelight service. And he took it upon himself to keep them safe. His kindness and care spoke volumes to her. She didn’t need months to know that he was everything she believed him to be.

  If only he’d find his way back to the Lord.

  “You can’t push a man at God and expect him to stick.” Angela knew the truth in Mollie’s words. The pull must come from within. Like it had with Jim at that candlelight service so long ago. The last one they attended as a family before he died.

  She joined Mollie in the kitchen where roast beef sandwiches were heaped on a china platter and warm pumpkin pie cooled on the counter. She carried the food to the dining room and on her return paused at the porch door to watch Matt with Roady. He rubbed down the dog and wiped dirty paws clean with an old towel. They’d forgotten about him earlier, but the doghouse had kept him dry and safe. She laughed at the lavish licking Matt’s face took from the happy mutt.

  “Everything’s ready,” Mollie announced. “Tell Matt to come in and wash up. He’s no doubt covered with dog slobber.” She bustled off with a tray of hot cocoa and cups.

  Matt came inside and washed his hands and rinsed his face at the sink.

/>   Angela held a towel and waited. When he turned toward her with water dripping from his hands and chin, she smiled and lifted the towel to his face, patting it dry.

  Taking the towel from her hands, he pulled her into his arms and captured her lips with his.

  She pressed into him, and her hands slipped over his shoulders and around his neck. His mouth brushed her eyelids, her brow, her hair, and she knew she’d found her favorite place.

  “Come on you two,” Mollie called.

  Angela giggled at Matt’s caught-in-the-cookie jar expression. “We’re in trouble now.” She took his hand and led him to the dining room.

  The table was pushed to one side and three chairs sat near the tree where gifts peeked out from beneath the branches.

  “We’re not as formal on Christmas Eve.” Mollie passed around the plates. “If you’d rather sit on the floor, feel free. I would, but it’s too much trouble getting up again.”

  Matt and Angela sat cross legged near the tree, and Mollie pulled her chair closer. “Angie, please offer the—”

  “Mollie?” Matt cleared his throat. “I’d like to pray this time if it’s all right with you.”

  Joy welled up in Angela and threatened to spill from her eyes.

  Matt reached for her hand and Mollie’s, bowed his head, and waited a moment. “It’s been a long time, Lord, but thank You.” He cleared his throat again and his voice came out thicker. “Thank You for this home and these women and Your love. For loving me as I am. Amen.”

  “So be it.” Mollie’s mouth twitched with emotion.

  Angela squeezed his hand before letting go. “Amen.”

  A sudden gust rattled the dining room windows and snow hit the panes with a furry. Already it piled on the sill like a thick white blanket.

  “You may be stuck here, Matthew.” Mollie handed him a teacup of cocoa and raised her eyebrows. “Did you plan to drive home tonight?”

  He shook his head, caught again with his mouth full of food. “No,” he managed. “In fact, I was hoping you’d ask me to stay.” He slid an expectant glance at Angela.