A Coldwater Warm Hearts Christmas

by Lexi Eddings

  “Wait a minute,” someone said. “I think Tilly Jean got dropped off the conference call for real this time.”

  Several precious minutes were wasted while Marjorie punched at her phone trying to reconnect with Tilly Jean.

  “This was so much easier back when all we had were party lines all over the county,” Mrs. Chisholm grumbled. “No need for a phone tree to spread prayer concerns back then. We already knew what was what.”

  Marjorie was old enough to remember how folks in Coldwater Cove entertained themselves before cable TV came to town and sneaking a listen on their neighbors’ calls had figured prominently. It probably wasn’t what the phone company had in mind when they installed party lines, but it was blazingly efficient at distributing information.

  “I’m back,” Tilly Jean sang out. “What did I miss?”

  “Not much,” Marjorie said. “Okay, let’s recap what we know. The state court has issued an injunction.”

  “And that means what?” Tilly Jean said. She’d evidently been off the call longer than anyone realized.

  “That we can’t go ahead with a pageant until there’s a ruling.”

  “And when will the ruling be?” There was a little scritching noise as if Tilly Jean was taking notes. That wasn’t unusual. A lot of the members kept a journal of their prayer requests so they could also record when the prayers were answered.

  “We don’t know,” Marjorie said. “They have to convene a hearing. Then they’ll set a date for a ruling.”

  “When is the hearing?” It was Tilly Jean again.

  “Oh, foot! Wanda didn’t tell me that,” Marjorie said. “Well, God knows. All times are in His hands anyway. So we’re agreed on what to pray, right?”

  “That we get a good hearing?” Tilly Jean suggested.

  “A good ruling,” Marjorie corrected. “Agreed?”

  “Agreed,” came the unanimous reply.

  The Methodist prayer chain’s motto was the verse that said If two of you shall agree on earth as touching anything that they shall ask, it shall be done for them of my Father which is in heaven. Since there were a lot more than two on the prayer chain, they liked their odds.

  “Oh!” Glenda Scott piped up. “I have a praise to report! Ethan Addleberry is being discharged this afternoon.”

  “Oh, good.”

  There were echoes of “Praise God” from all points on the conference call.

  “So the boy’s going home. Which home?” Marjorie asked. The split between Crystal and Noah had been quietly lifted up for some time now. “I only ask so we’ll know how best to continue to pray for the family.”

  “To his home, home. The one with both of his parents,” Glenda said. “Noah is moving back in.”

  This time the “Praise God’s” were laced with copious “Hallelujah’s.”

  “That’s wonderful news, Glenda,” Marjorie said. “If God can save a little boy, and save a marriage, I’ve got to believe He can save our Christmas pageant, too.”

  Chapter 34

  Sometimes things need to fall apart before they fall into place.

  —Seth Parker, who believes there’s always a higher plan, but we may not be able to make sense of the blueprints right away

  “There’s no saving it, Seth.”

  From the corner of his eye, he saw Angie refold the court documents and try to shove them back into the envelope. Even though the road he was driving wound along a three-season streambed, he reached over to cover her hands with one of his.

  Her fingers were cold. She always seemed to be cold. He wished she’d let him warm her up, but she was still holding herself a little apart from him since his proposal. He wasn’t good with words. Maybe action would convince her to say yes.

  He just wasn’t sure which action it would take.

  “Come on, Angie. Don’t be so negative.”

  “I’m not being negative. I’m being realistic. Face it. The Christmas pageant is dead and I’m the one who killed it.”

  “It’s on life support, maybe, but not dead.”

  “The injunction sites us for using public property and we do. It mentions misappropriation of public funds because the director is paid by the county, naming me by name, so that’s on me. If I weren’t a teacher—”

  “It would be a crying shame,” he finished for her. “You’re a great teacher. And we’ll find a way to make the pageant work, too.”

  “I don’t see how. This is my fault.”

  “How do you figure?”

  “I should have seen it coming. I mean, why else would Peter have been hanging around town so long? He was gathering evidence, building a case, and using me to do it. I’m such a stupe.”

  “No, you’re not. It’s not your fault he hung around. As I recall, you gave him the boot.”

  “You didn’t think so at first.”

  “No, but that’s because sometimes I’m a stupe,” Seth admitted. “I shouldn’t have doubted you.”

  “Maybe you should,” Angie said. “I doubt myself. If I had the sense God gave a goose, I’d grab you with both hands and never let go.”

  “Now you’re talking!”

  “But, like I said, if I had sense . . .” Her voice faded away and she fell silent.

  Angie was still wavering over her decision. She’d told Seth his grandmother’s ring was safely tucked away in a drawer under her socks. He’d told her to take her time, but the waiting was killing him.

  He’d given up the idea of a fancy dinner at his place. Instead of setting the table with his grandmother’s china and silver, instead of hiring Lester to serve a catered meal, Seth had decided to just throw a couple of rib eyes on the grill. Then they’d watch the sun set behind the hills.

  When they pulled off the highway and into the long winding drive that led to his home, Angie made suitably impressed noises. She loved the thick stand of pines that sheltered the house from the prevailing winds and the big live oak at the edge of his expansive yard.

  “Oh, my gosh!” she said as she hopped out of the truck before he could make it around to open the door for her. He was going to have gear up with Angie if he wanted to be the gentleman his mom raised him to be. “Your house is gorgeous. I know you built it. Did you design it as well?”

  “I put a couple of blueprints together to come up with the design.” They walked up the flagstone walkway toward the cedar wraparound porch and front door. “It needed to fit the site and short of hiring an architect to create a plan from scratch, it was the best I could do.”

  She stopped in front of the door and smiled up at him. “Your best is pretty darn good. You know,” she said as he stood aside to let her go first into his home, “in Sense and Sensibility, I always got the feeling that part of why Marianne softened toward Colonel Brandon was because if they married, she’d get to be mistress of his Delaford estate. Is that why you brought me here?”

  “Well, since you brought it up, say the word and this could be your estate, my lady,” Seth said. “So, how’m I doing?”

  She pulled a face at him. “I’m not an Austen heroine. And if I say yes, it’ll be because of you. Not your house.”

  “That’s good. ’Cause I’ve been told I do kinda use antlers in all of my decorating.” He opened the door and ushered her in. The house was undeniably masculine, filled with leather furniture and heavy dark wood.

  “I like it,” she said, looking around. “It suits you.”

  “And I’d like it better if it suited you, too.” He pulled her into his arms for a sweet kiss. When they separated, her eyes were soft and shining. Then her expression turned impish.

  “But would it suit Effie, I wonder,” Angie said as she walked around the room, running her fingertips along some of the butter soft leather. “She’s used to a much smaller domain.”

  “I suspect your cat would find a way to rule this roost, too.”

  Angie laughed. “Effie is used to being in charge. I’m glad you understand that we couldn’t disrupt the natural order of things
.”

  There were a number of things he’d like to disrupt out of all knowing, but Seth knew he had to let Angie come to him on her own terms.

  He grilled the steaks. She made a salad and popped a bag of Uncle Ben’s rice into the microwave. Seth didn’t mind that she wasn’t much of a cook. Angie had plenty of other things going for her.

  Like she knew when to speak and when to let a comfortable silence settle over them. Plenty of people felt a compulsion to fill every hole in a conversation. To Seth, those quiet moments were fine. They were filled with a quiet knowing, a confirmation that all was well, and even if it wasn’t, it would be so eventually.

  It was something he took on faith. Just like he took that Angie would come around to a “yes” on that same faith. But in case she needed a nudge, he decided he ought to see if there was something he could do to tip the scales in his favor.

  “So I read the script you emailed me,” he said as they cleared the table after supper. “It was good.”

  “You sound surprised.”

  “No, I knew it’d be good. You’ve got a way with words, Angie,” he said. “What I meant was it sounded like you weren’t so upset with God when you wrote it.”

  “I’m not upset. I’m . . . cautious,” she said, obviously still not ready to trust God completely with the uncertain future. “But you’re right. Once I started writing, I started seeing the Christmas story with new eyes.”

  “Well, it’ll make for a different pageant, that’s for sure.”

  “No, it won’t. There’s not going to be a pageant,” she said as she rinsed their plates in the sink, and then handed them to Seth to load into the dishwasher. “Peter saw to that.”

  Seth was quiet for a few minutes as he mulled over the problem. “So as I understand it, the main trouble cited in the lawsuit is using public property, right?”

  “Yes. We can’t have the pageant on the courthouse lawn. Or coming down a public street, for that matter. But that’s not the only thing. It’s me as well. I’m a public school teacher. I can’t be the director.”

  “But I could.”

  She chuckled. “So, you’re jonesing for a promotion from codirector to the Big Kahuna?”

  “Why not?” He was self-employed. There shouldn’t be any issue with the whole public employee deal. If Seth directed the pageant, they wouldn’t be violating the injunction. Angie had already laid out the way the action should flow. She’d written the script. The cast knew what was expected of them. All Seth had to do was put the pieces together, and come up with a nonpublic piece of real estate for the pageant to come to life on. As a builder, that was sort of his wheelhouse.

  But he didn’t want to get her hopes up, so he decided to change the subject a little.

  “How’d you come up with the idea for the way you wrote the script?”

  She shrugged. “Since the pageant wasn’t going to be confined to a single stage, Deek told me we’d have trouble with mics for our characters. So I needed to decide on a point of view character and let there be only one voice. If I told the Christmas story in just one person’s voice, I figured that would make it easier, and it did.”

  “How’d you settle on Mary?”

  “I’m a sucker for the underdog and I think she often gets shortchanged. She had the deepest relationship with God I can imagine,” Angie said. “An incredible amount of trust. She must have been a remarkable person.”

  “So are you.” Before she could argue that she wasn’t, he added, “Look, Angie, what if somehow, the pageant was able to go on?”

  “Then there’d be a Miracle on 34th Street and all the angels would earn their wings,” she said with a laugh.

  And maybe, just maybe, if Seth could make the pageant happen for her, Angie could learn to trust him enough to get over her fear of loss. And trust God enough to heal her hurts, past, present, and future.

  It was worth a shot.

  * * *

  Seth went to work on his new project the very next day. In his head, he dubbed it Operation Wingspan because whole companies of angels were going to be needed to make the thing come together.

  He caught his first break when he went to talk to Zeke Warboy, the mayor of Coldwater Cove. Zeke was also the father of Ike Warboy, the former perennial Joseph. The poor man was still a little rattled by the legal attention his town had received. He’d never expected to be slapped with an injunction coming down from the state superior court no less.

  “It’s a pity. A real shame. Nobody loves the pageant more than me, even if my newest grandchild isn’t going to be the Baby Jesus this year. And you let that little teacher—Ms. Holloway, is it?—anyway, let her know I don’t hold it against her a bit that she was trying to change the cast this time. It’s probably a mercy because young Cecil is, well, he’s two goin’ on terrible right now. He’d never lie quiet in a manger and look holy,” he said. “But it doesn’t matter anyway. We just can’t go against the state on the pageant.”

  “How about if we move the pageant somewhere else?”

  “That’d help.” The mayor tapped his temple in thought. “You know, I just might have an idea. Let me make a call or two and I’ll get back to you. But there’s still the matter of Ms. Holloway being a public employee.”

  “Angie has bowed out of the pageant,” Seth had told him. “She’s no longer the director.”

  “Who is?”

  “You’re looking at him.”

  Zeke rolled his eyes. “Heaven help us.”

  “Amen. Make those phone calls anyway, okay, Zeke?”

  Seth had left City Hall with a little more hope in his heart. Then he worked alongside his construction crew for the rest of the day. But while his body went through the motions, his mind was still looking for solutions to the pageant problem.

  After the workday was over, his “worknight” was just beginning. Wherever they held the pageant, he figured it would need a number of raised platforms. These would serve as stages, elevating the actors above the gathered audience that would be looking on and following as the characters moved along on their journey to Coldwater Cove’s version of Bethlehem. He’d been building the portable stages in the large barn on his property outside of town, figuring he could haul them in on a flatbed once they were assembled.

  He wasn’t expecting any company when a pair of headlights turned down his long drive. A car stopped just outside the pool of yellow light thrown by the lamp over the open door to the barn.

  Tad Van Hook appeared in the doorway, shoulders slumped.

  “Mr. Parker,” he said, his gaze darting away after the shortest amount of eye contact on record.

  “Yeah.” Seth continued to pound nails while the kid shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “What d’you want?”

  “A job, sir.”

  Seth’s hammer paused in midswing. “Aren’t you still in school?”

  “Yes, sir, but I graduate this spring. I could work part time till then.”

  “I’ve seen you play basketball, Tad. You’re pretty good.” The Van Hook boy had been offered a free ride to a number of colleges based on his almost uncanny ability to put a ball through a hoop. “Aren’t you worried a job will cut into your court time?”

  “Yeah, I imagine it will, but I can’t think about basketball now. I’ve got . . . other responsibilities.”

  Well, that’s one way to put it. “You mean you want to work next summer till you’re off to college, right?”

  “No, sir. I’m looking for full-time work. Permanent. I’m ready to start anytime,” the young man said earnestly. “I . . . I don’t think I’m going to college, after all.”

  Seth eyed him thoughtfully. The last he’d heard from Angie about Emma’s pregnancy was that Tad was totally weirded out by the idea of becoming a young father.

  Maybe that’s why God made it take nine months. To give us time to get used to the idea.

  If Tad was ready to step up, take responsibility for his actions, and be an adult, Seth was prepared to help
him be a man.

  “Let’s wait till the end of basketball season before you start working for me part time. But then only on weekends,” he added. “And only if you can keep your grades up, too.”

  “Then once I graduate?”

  “If you still want a full-time job, I’ll make room for you on my crew,” Seth said. It had taken him years to build up the skills and reputation to run a successful business in construction. The guys on his crew made a living wage, but none of them would ever get rich working at their trade. Tad, who’d grown up in one of the town’s more affluent families, was in for a rude awakening if he intended to live on what he could make swinging a hammer. “You might want to keep your options open. Your decision could change between now and when you graduate. You let me know if it does.”

  “I don’t think it will,” the boy said. “At least not as far as I’m concerned.”

  Seth didn’t want to ask. It wasn’t his business, but Tad hadn’t said anything about marrying Emma. Either way, if the young man was determined to take some responsibility for the child he’d fathered, it was a good thing.

  “Thanks for the job, Mr. Parker. I won’t let you down.”

  When Tad turned and walked away, he was standing far straighter than when he came in.

  Growing up will do that to you. Even if you didn’t intend to get there that fast.

  Chapter 35

  Somebody cue the bells. A bunch of

  angels are about to earn their wings.

  —Seth Parker, who never in a million years expected to direct a Christmas pageant, and certainly never one with this much riding on it

  Seated at her kitchen counter, Angie was correcting the last batch of exams she’d give before Christmas. Papers were spread across the peninsula and more than a few of them were hopelessly pockmarked with red corrections. Her students all seemed to have a bad case of “holiday-itis.” She hoped they’d do better after the Christmas break. They’d have to.

  The results of the exam were so depressing, Angie welcomed the interruption of a knock on her back door. It was Emma.