Christmas in Cedar Cove

by Debbie Macomber

  When she first got his letter, Ruth had hesitated. She felt she’d done her duty, supported the armed services in a way she was com fort able doing. This man she’d never met was asking her to continue corresponding with him. She wasn’t sure she wanted to be come that involved. Feeling uncertain, she’d waited a few days before deciding.

  During that time, Ruth had read and re read his letter and studied the head shot of the clean-cut hand some marine sergeant in dress uniform. His dark brown eyes had seemed to stare straight through her—and directly into her heart. After two days, she answered his letter with a short one of her own and added her email ad dress at the bottom of the page. Ruth had a few concerns she wanted him to ad dress before she could commit her self to beginning this correspondence. Being as straight for ward and honest as possible, she explained her objections to the war in Iraq. She felt there was a more legitimate reason for troops to be in Afghanistan and wanted to know his stand. A few days later he emailed her. Paul didn’t mince words. He told her he believed the United States had done the right thing in entering Iraq and gave his reasons. He left it up to her to decide if she wanted to continue their correspondence. Ruth emailed him back and once again listed her objections to the American presence in the Middle East. His response came a day later, suggesting they “agree to disagree.” He ended the email with the same question he’d asked her earlier. Would she write him?

  At first, Ruth wasn’t going to. They were diametrically opposed in their political views. But in the end, even recognizing the conflict between their opinions, she did write. Their correspondence started slowly. She enjoyed his wry wit and his unflinching determination to make a difference in the world. His father had fought in Vietnam, he said, and in some ways the war in Afghanistan seemed similar—the hostile terrain, the unpredictability of the enemy, the difficult conditions. For her part, she mentioned that at twenty-five she’d re turned to school to obtain her master’s of education degree. Then, gradually, with out being fully aware of how it had happened, Ruth found her self spending part of every day writing or emailing Paul. Despite the instant nature of email, and its convenience, they both enjoyed interspersing their online messages with more formal letters. There was something so…permanent about a real letter. As well, depending on his duty assignment, Paul didn’t always have computer access.

  After they’d been corresponding regularly for a couple of months, Paul asked for her picture. Eventually she’d mailed him her photograph, but only after she’d had her hair and makeup done at one of those “glam our” studios. Al though she wasn’t fashion-model beautiful, she considered her self fairly attractive and wanted to look her absolute best for Paul, although she didn’t entirely understand why it mattered so much. For years, she’d been re signed to the fact that she wasn’t much good at relationships. In high school she’d been shy, and while she was an undergraduate, she’d dated a little but tended to be re served and studious. Her quiet manner didn’t seem to appeal to the guys she met. It was only when she stepped in front of a class room that she truly became herself. She loved teaching, every single aspect of it. In the process, Ruth lost her hesitation and her restraint, and to her astonishment discovered that this enthusiasm had begun to spill over into the rest of her life. Suddenly men started to notice her. She enjoyed the attention—who wouldn’t?—and had dated more in the past few months than in the pre ceding four years.

  For the picture, her short brown hair had been styled in loose curls. Her blue eyes were smiling and friendly, which was exactly the impression she hoped to convey. She was a little shocked by the importance of Paul’s reaction—by her need that he find her attractive.

  She waited impatiently for his response. A week later she received an email. Paul seemed to like what he saw in her photograph and soon they were writing and emailing back and forth at a feverish pace. A day with out some form of communication from Paul felt empty now.

  Ruth had never had a long-distance relationship before, and the growing intensity of her feelings for this man she’d never met took her by surprise. She wasn’t a teenager with a school girl crush. Ruth was a mature, responsible adult. Or at least she had been until she slipped a simple Christmas card into the mail box—and got a reply from a hand some marine sergeant named Paul Gordon.

  Ruth walked quickly to the rental house she shared with Lynn Blumenthal, then ran up the front steps to the porch. Lynn was eighteen and away from home and family for the first time. The arrangement suited both of them, and de spite the disparity in their ages and interests, they’d got ten along fairly well. With her heart pounding hard, Ruth forced her self to draw in a deep breath as she started to ward the mail box.

  The screen door flew open and Lynn came out. “What are you doing home?” she asked, then shook her head. “Never mind, I al ready know. You’re looking for a letter from soldier boy.”

  Ruth wasn’t going to deny the obvious. “I haven’t heard from him in three days.”

  Lynn rolled her eyes. “I don’t understand you.”

  “I know.” Ruth didn’t want to get into an other discussion with her room mate. Lynn had made her feelings about this relationship known from the outset, al though as Ruth had gently tried to tell her, it was none of her business. That didn’t pre vent the younger woman from expressing her views. Lynn said that Ruth was only set ting her self up for heart ache. A part of Ruth actually agreed, but by the time she realized what was happening, she was emotion ally involved with Paul.

  “You hardly ever see Clay any more,” Lynn chastised, hands on her hips. “He called and asked about you the other night.”

  Ruth stared at the small black mail box. “Clay and I are just friends.”

  “Not according to him.”

  It was true that they’d been seeing each other quite a bit following a Halloween party last October. Like her, Clay Matthews was obtaining his master’s of education, and they seemed to have a lot in common. But her interest in him had started to wane even before she’d mailed that Christmas card to Paul. The problem was, Clay hadn’t noticed.

  “I’m sorry he’s disappointed.”

  “Clay is de cent and hardworking, and the way you’ve treated him the last few months is…is terrible.” Lynn, who at five foot ten stood a good seven inches taller than Ruth, could be intimidating, especially with her mouth twisted in that grimace of disapproval.

  Ruth had tried to let Clay down easily, but it hadn’t worked. They’d gone to the library together last Thursday. Unfortunately, that had been a mistake. She’d known it al most right away when Clay pressured her to have coffee with him afterward. It would’ve been better just to end the relationship and forget about staying friends. He was younger, for one thing, and while that hadn’t seemed important earlier, it did now. Per haps it was wrong to com pare him to Paul, but Ruth couldn’t help it. Measured against Paul, Clay seemed immature, demanding and insecure.

  “You said he phoned?” Frowning, she glanced at Lynn.

  Lynn nodded. “He wants to know what’s going on.”

  Oh, brother! Ruth couldn’t have made it plainer had she handed him divorce papers. Unwilling to be cruel, she’d tried to bolster his ego by referring to all the positive aspects of his personality—but apparently, that had only led him to think the opposite of what she was trying to tell him. He’d refused to take her very obvious hints, and in her frustration, she’d bluntly announced that she wasn’t interested in seeing him anymore. That seemed pretty explicit to her; how he could be con fused about it left Ruth shaking her head.

  The fact that he’d phoned and cried on her room mate’s shoulder was a good example of what she found adolescent about his behavior. She was absolutely certain Paul would never do that. If he had a problem, he’d take it directly to the source.

  “I think you’re being foolish,” Lynn said, and added, “Not that you asked my opinion.”

  “No, I didn’t,” Ruth re minded her, eyeing the mail box again. There was an ornamental lattice work de
sign along the bottom, and looking through it, she could tell that the day’s mail had been delivered. The envelope in side was white, and her spirits sank. There had to be something from Paul. If not a real letter, then an email.

  “He wanted me to talk to you,” Lynn was saying.

  “Who did?” Ruth asked distractedly. She was dying to open the mail box, but she wanted to do it in privacy.

  “Clay,” Lynn cried, sounding completely exasperated. “Who else are we talking about?”

  Suddenly Ruth understood. She looked away from the mail box and focused her attention on Lynn. “You’re attracted to him, aren’t you?”

  Lynn gasped indignantly. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “Sit down,” Ruth said, gesturing to ward the front steps where they’d often sat before. It was a lovely spring after noon, the first week of April, and she needed to clear the air with her room mate before this got further out of hand.

  “What?” Lynn said with a defensive edge. “You’ve got the wrong idea here. I was just trying to help a friend.”

  “Sit,” Ruth ordered.

  “I have class in twenty minutes and I—” Lynn paused, scowling at her watch.

  “Sit down.”

  The eighteen-year-old capitulated with ill grace. “All right, but I know what you’re going to say.” She folded her arms and stared straight ahead.

  “I’m fine with it,” Ruth said softly. “Go out with him if you want. Like I said earlier, I’m not interested in Clay.”

  “You would be if it wasn’t for soldier boy.”

  Ruth considered that and in all honesty felt she could say, “Not so.”

  “I don’t understand you,” Lynn lamented a second time. “You marched in the rally against the war in Iraq. Afghanistan isn’t all that different, and now you’re involved with Paul what’s-his-face and it’s like I don’t even know you any more.”

  “Paul doesn’t have any thing to do with this.”

  “Yes, he does,” Lynn insisted.

  “I’m not going to have this conversation with you. We agree on some points and disagree on others. That’s fine. We live in a free society and we don’t have to have the same opinion on these is sues or any thing else.”

  Lynn sighed and said nothing.

  “I have the feeling none of this is re ally about Paul,” Ruth said with deliberate patience. She hadn’t known Lynn very long; they lived sep a rate lives and so far they’d never had a problem. As room mates went, Ruth felt she was fortunate to have found some one as amicable as Lynn. She didn’t want this difference of opinion about Clay—and Paul—to ruin that.

  The other girl once again looked pointedly at her watch, as if to suggest Ruth say what she in tended to say and be done with it.

  “I don’t want to see Clay,” she said emphatically.

  “You might have told him that.”

  “I tried.”

  Lynn glared at her. “You should’ve tried harder.”

  Ruth laughed, but not be cause she was amused. For whatever reason, Clay had set his sights on her and wasn’t about to be dissuaded. Complicating matters, Lynn was obviously interested in him and feeling guilty and un sure of how to deal with her attraction.

  “Listen,” Ruth said. “I didn’t mean to hurt Clay. He’s a great guy and—”

  “You shouldn’t have lied to him.”

  Ruth raised her eye brows. “When did I lie to him?”

  “Last week you said you were going to visit your grandmother in Cedar Cove and that was why you couldn’t go out with him this week end. I over heard you,” she murmured.

  Oh, that. “It was a white lie,” Ruth confessed. She definitely planned to visit her grand mother, though. Helen Shelton lived across Puget Sound in a small community on the Kit sap Peninsula. Ruth had spent Thanksgiving with her grand mother and visited for a week end before Christmas and then again close to Val en tine’s Day. Her last visit had been early in March. She al ways enjoyed her time with Helen, but some how the weeks had slipped away and here it was April al ready.

  “A lie is a lie,” Lynn said adamantly.

  “Okay, you’re right,” Ruth agreed. “I should’ve been honest with Clay.” Delaying had been a mistake, as she was now learning.

  That seemed to satisfy her room mate, who started to get to her feet. Ruth placed her hand on Lynn’s fore arm, stop ping her. “I want to know why you’re so upset about this situation with Clay.”

  “I told you…. I just don’t think this is how people should treat each other.”

  “I don’t like the way Clay’s put you in the middle. This is between him and me. He had no right to drag you into it.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “You’re defending him?”

  Lynn shrugged. “I guess.”

  “Don’t. Clay’s a big boy. If he has something to say, then he can come to me all on his own. When and if he does, I’m going to tell him again that I’m no longer interested in dating him. I’m—”

  “Stuck on some gun-wielding—”

  A look from Ruth cut her off.

  “Okay, whatever,” Lynn muttered.

  “What I want you to do is com fort him,” Ruth said, pat ting Lynn’s arm.

  “I could, I sup pose.”

  “Good,” Ruth said, hoping to encourage her. “He might need some one to talk to, and since you’re sensitive to his feelings, you’d be the perfect choice.”

  “You think so?”

  Ruth nodded. Lynn stood up and went in side to get her books; she left with a cheerful good bye as if they’d never had an argument. With her room mate gone, Ruth leaped off the step and across the porch to the mail box. Lifting the top, she reached in side, holding her breath as she pulled out the electric bill in its white envelope, a sales flyer—and a hand-ad dressed air mail letter from Sergeant Paul Gordon.

  Two

  April 2

  My Dear Ruth,

  We’ve been out on a recon mission for the last four days and there wasn’t any way I could let you know. They seemed like the longest four days of this tour, and not for the reasons you might think. Those days meant I couldn’t write you or receive your letters. I’ve been in the marines for eight years now and I’ve never felt like this about mail before. Never felt this strongly about a woman I’ve yet to meet, either. Once we were back in camp, I sat down with your letters and read through each one. As I explained before, there are times we can’t get on line and this happened to be one of those times. I realize you’ve probably been wondering why I wasn’t in touch. I hope you weren’t too concerned. I would’ve written if I could.

  I have good news. I’m coming home on leave….

  Ruth read Paul’s letter twice. Yes, he’d definitely said he was headed home, to Seattle, for two weeks before flying to Camp Pendleton in California for additional training. He hoped to spend most of his leave with her. His one re quest was that Ruth make as much time for him as her studies would allow and, if possible, keep her week ends free.

  If Ruth thought her heart had been beating hard a few minutes earlier, it didn’t com pare to the way it pounded now. She could barely breathe. Never had she looked forward to meeting any one more.

  Sit ting on the edge of her bed, Ruth picked up the small framed photograph she kept on her night stand. Paul’s image was the first thing she saw when she woke and the last before she turned off her light. In four months, he’d be come an important part of her life. Now, with his return to Seattle, their feelings for each other would stand the real test. Writing letters and email messages was very different from carrying on a face-to-face conversation….

  At the end of his letter, Paul suggested they meet at 6:00 p.m. on Saturday, April 16, at Ivar’s restaurant on the Seattle waterfront. She didn’t care what else was on her schedule; any conflicting arrangement would immediately be canceled.

  Rather than begin her home work, Ruth sat down and wrote Paul back, her fingers flying over the computer keys as she com posed her response. Yes,
she would see him there. Nothing could keep her away. While she was nervous at the prospect of meeting Paul, she was excited, too.

  Her letter was coming out of the printer when the phone rang. Absently Ruth grabbed the receiver, holding it against her shoulder as she opened the desk drawer and searched for an envelope.

  “Hello?”

  “Ruth, it’s your grand mother.”

  “Grandma,” Ruth said, genuinely pleased to hear from Helen. “I’ve been meaning to call you and I haven’t. I’m sorry.”

  Her grand mother chuckled. “I didn’t call to make you feel guilty. I’m inviting you to lunch.”

  “When?”

  “In a couple of weeks—on Sunday the seventeenth if that works for you. I figured I’d give you plenty of time to fit me into your schedule. I thought we’d sit out on the patio, weather permitting, and enjoy the view of the cove.”

  Her grand mother’s duplex was on a hill over looking the water with the light house in the distance. Her grandparents had lived in Cedar Cove for as long as Ruth could remember, and Helen had stayed there after her husband’s death. Be cause Ruth had been born and raised in Oregon, she’d visited the small Washing ton town often through the years. “I’ve wanted to get over to see you.”

  “I know, I know, but un less we both plan ahead, it won’t hap pen. In no time you’ll have your master’s degree and then you’ll move on and we’ll both regret the missed opportunities. I don’t want that.”

  “I don’t, either.” Her Grandma Shelton was Ruth’s favorite relative. She was highly educated, which wasn’t particularly common for a woman her age, and spoke French and German fluently. She’d worked as a translator from the 1950s through the ’80s, specializing in French novels, which she translated into English. Her father hadn’t said much about his mother’s life prior to her marriage, and one of the reasons Ruth had chosen to at tend the University of Washing ton was so she could get to know her grand mother better.