by Gary Parker
Although Rem spent the next couple of hours helping Roscoe put up a Christmas tree and hang a couple of stockings, his temper got worse and worse. By the time Roscoe hung the star on top and they sat down for a cup of coffee and a piece of fudge, his anger had risen hot enough to boil eggs. How dare Jenna judge him? She didn’t know him, didn’t know what he’d faced, what he’d endured. If she represented what it meant to be a Christian, then he had all the more reason to reject it.
“It’s close to ten,” Roscoe said, taking a bite of his last piece of fudge. “You mentioned this morning you might go to church; time to get ready if you are.”
“You going?” Rem asked.
“Reckon not,” Roscoe said. “Got me a bad head cold; don’t want to spread it.”
“Mama would want you there.”
“I know, and I usually go on Christmas. Just can’t make it this time.”
Rem sipped his coffee. “How’d she do it, Pop? Hold her faith when . . . well . . . you know.”
Roscoe licked his fingers. “Your mama kept it simple,” he said. “Figured the Lord didn’t promise us a rose garden; if life came up a stinker every now and again, well . . . what else should we expect?”
Rem wrapped both hands around his cup and tried to feel better. After his visit with Jenna, his spirits felt like somebody had mopped up a floor with them. All of a sudden he wanted to get out of Hilltop and put this awful episode behind him. If it wasn’t too late, he might just call Stanfield the day after Christmas and see if he could still come on as a consultant with her firm. No extra charge.
“I told you I might hang around for a while,” he told Roscoe. “But I’ve changed my mind. Fact is, I might head on back to Atlanta tonight.”
“Tonight?” Roscoe looked stunned.
Rem sighed. “I don’t know, just feeling restless all of a sudden.”
“You beat all, boy.”
“What?”
Roscoe picked up the last of Rem’s fudge and popped it into his mouth. “You and Jenna Newsome already having troubles?”
“She’s not for me,” Rem said. “She’s made that plenty plain. She’s too pure for my kind.”
“What kind is that?”
“You’d have to ask her; she seems to know it all.”
“So you’re going to run away,” Roscoe said. “Let the first sign of trouble push you out of here with your tail tucked between your legs.”
“You got a better idea?”
Roscoe eyed him as if studying a space alien. “Of course I do,” he finally said. “You stay here and show her she’s got you wrong, prove to her what kind of guy you are. You got to remember, that guy in Winston-Salem cut her deep. Plus, she’s got a mama with an attitude so bitter it’d cut paint if you added water to it. No wonder she’s a touch skittish, fearful. That’s why she’s judging you so hard; she’s looking at you through eyes that have cried a lot of tears.”
“Since when do you know so much about women?”
Roscoe smiled. “How you think I kept your mama happy all those years?”
“I thought it was your good looks and boyish charm.”
“You can change her mind about you,” Roscoe said. “I know what kind of guy you are; she just needs to know what I know.”
Rem shook his head. “I’m not sure,” he said. “She seems set in her ways. I’d have to ‘get saved’ or something to change her mind.”
Roscoe washed down the fudge with the last of his coffee. “You might be right,” he said. “But I wish you’d stay on at least until morning. Weatherman says we might get a few inches of snow tonight. Dangerous on the roads if that happens.”
Rem hung his head, unsure what to do.
“We haven’t exchanged gifts,” Roscoe said. “You got to stay at least until then.”
Rem nodded. “Let’s do that now,” he said. “Then I’ll see.”
“Okay, give me ten minutes. I got to wrap yours.”
“Glad to see you’re prepared.”
Roscoe grinned, then stood and shuffled toward his room. Rem finished his coffee and studied his options. He wanted to stay, but he also wanted to leave. He considered what his dad had said, how he could stay and show Jenna his true character. But how? She didn’t seem easily impressed, and he had no plan to pretend to believe something he didn’t. If her big hang-up was his lack of faith, then he had nothing to offer her.
Standing, he headed to his room to get his things together. After he and his dad exchanged gifts, he’d leave town, no doubt about it.
Although Jenna usually arrived at church for Christmas Eve services about thirty minutes early to sing in the choir, she just couldn’t manage it this time. If she’d had her way about it, she might not have gone at all. But not wanting to disappoint Nelson and Julie, not to mention her mom, she bundled up against the cold and sped through town just in time to put on her choir robe and take her place in the front row with the sopranos as the service started. Although she sang loudly as the hymns began, her heart felt as heavy as an iron and her eyes kept watering. The sense that she’d messed up badly kept rolling through her heart, and she wanted to do something about it but didn’t know what. Rem would leave in the morning, and she’d probably never see him again.
Nelson welcomed the congregation and gave the children’s sermon. The choir stood to sing the Christmas anthem they’d worked on for the last month. Jenna looked out at the congregation as she sang and tried to cheer up. The people she knew best and loved most sat in the pews before her. Green garlands decorated the balcony that hung over the back fourth of the church, and a tree decorated with Christian symbols stood to her right. Shoe boxes full of toys and clothes for needy children sat under the tree. The people wore green and red sweaters and vests and coats, and a soft golden glow oozed down from the chandelier that hung like a giant ornament from the center of the sanctuary ceiling. The choir finished singing and sat down. Nelson stood to offer his sermon, a shorter one tonight because they’d do the Lord’s Supper when he finished, then light candles as everybody sang “Silent Night.”
Jenna caught her mom’s eye as Nelson started to preach and gave her as good a smile as she could muster. Her dad sat beside her mom, and she wondered if he had really had an affair. What if he had? Did she love him any less because of it? And what if he hadn’t? What if her mom had lied about it? How would she feel about her mom? Disappointed yes, angry certainly. But would she stop loving her mom because of the lie?
Nelson chose an unusual text for a Christmas Eve sermon—the story of King Herod killing all the babies less than two years of age in his effort to snuff out the life of the baby Jesus. Nelson warmed quickly to his message, his voice rising with emphasis as he plowed into it.
“The mothers of Israel wept. They wept over the babies whose lives ended at the hands of Herod.”
Jenna sat up straighter as Nelson’s voice picked up even more steam. Where was he going with this message?
“I’m sure the mothers wondered, the fathers too. They wondered why God didn’t put an end to Herod’s terrible deeds. They wondered why God gave evil such a free rein. They wondered why God allowed death to snatch away from them the one thing they loved the most, the child they had birthed together.”
Nelson’s voice softened now, and the congregation sat on the edge of their seats. “We all have questions like that from time to time,” Nelson said. “When a car crash kills a teenager, when a heart attack takes a granddad, when our company lays us off, when we study hard but still fail our geometry exam.”
The congregation laughed a little and the tension eased a moment, but Nelson didn’t let them rest long.
“I’ve asked these questions recently,” Nelson admitted. “When I heard about little Mickey Strack. I’m not the only one either; I know that. You’ve wondered too. I know that Tom and Brenda have wondered,” he said softly, nodding to the second pew where they sat with their daughter, Tess. “They’ve wondered why God allows such sickness in the life of a little bo
y like Mickey. They’ve cried out to God as these parents of Israel did. They’ve cried out because they’ve done everything they could but they’ve come up empty. They’ve not managed to find enough money to pay for the treatment Mickey needs.
“It’s enough to make you cry this Christmas,” he whispered. “We’ve all done all we can. Many of you have given sacrificially. I know because I’ve seen you do it. Jenna Newsome did more than anybody. I know Jenna’s got some questions and she’s cried some tears.” He turned and faced her, and she wiped her eyes as his words hit home. She had questioned, she realized, though she’d not admitted it to anyone.
“We all hear the weeping of Israel this Christmas Eve,” Nelson said. “They cried and lamented because God let death loose on this Christmas night when Jesus breathed his first breath.”
Jenna lifted her eyes past Nelson and tried to distance herself from his preaching. It was too sad for a Christmas message, and she didn’t want to hear it. She wanted soft sentiment on Christmas Eve, something easy on the ears, something soothing to the heart. Why had Nelson chosen this message? Was it because of Mickey Strack? Did he believe the people needed to deal with this right now?
She looked into the balcony, trying to find a face to cheer her up. She spotted Handy and his wife, Martha, perched on the aisle of the next to last row, their usual spot. Her eyes moved past them, then widened as she saw Rem behind them, wearing a tan sport coat covering a black crew-neck sweater.
Jenna sat up straighter. How long had Rem been there? She glanced at Nelson. Did he know Rem had come?
Nelson moved ahead with his sermon. Jenna looked back at Rem and wondered what he thought of Nelson’s words.
“I wish I could tell you why God allowed this to happen this way. But I can’t. Sometimes all we get is a mystery.”
He looked at the congregation as if expecting them to give him an answer. When they didn’t, he moved on. “I can say that because from the moment Jesus lay his little head down in that manger, God knew he’d one day lay his head down on the scratchy bark of a cross. God would one day weep just as these families of Israel wept. That’s the whole meaning of the incarnation. God identified with us in every way. In Jesus, God suffered and knew the salty taste of tears.”
Jenna watched Rem as Nelson preached, and it surprised her when she saw him wipe his eyes with the back of his hand. Had Nelson’s words touched him enough to make him cry? But why? What about Nelson’s message would make any difference to Rem? He’d made plain his indifference, if not his antagonism, toward anything religious.
Nelson’s voice picked up pace, and Jenna knew from past experience that he was moving toward the climax of his message.
“All of us feel pain!” he proclaimed. “Even God! But that’s when the true test of faith comes. The true test of faith comes not when the sun shines and the sky stays blue but when the storms blow.
“The true test of faith comes not when the girl says yes to our invitation to the prom but when she laughs and says no.
“The true test of faith comes not when the baby grows up big and strong but when the baby needs an operation and we can’t find the money to pay for it.
“That’s the true test of faith tonight as we celebrate the Christ child.”
Nelson slowed now, and Jenna saw Rem slowly stand and move to the back wall. She wanted to run from the choir and go to him, but sitting on the front row, she knew she didn’t dare.
“I know this isn’t sweet to hear tonight,” Nelson concluded, “but I believe we need to hear this message. When bad things happen to us—and if we live long enough, we can surely expect them to come—it’s easy to become bitter and angry. It’s easy to give up on God. But if we do that, we have to wonder if we really ever had any faith at all.”
He stopped and looked at his congregation. “So here’s the conclusion of what I want to say. God stands with us in our suffering. And even if we’ve left God because of it, God hasn’t left us. God waits for us to come home, to give up our bitterness and turn back. That’s what God offers, not an absence of pain but the promise of grace and forgiveness. Let’s pray.”
Everybody but Jenna bowed and closed their eyes. She kept hers on Rem. As Nelson began to pray, Rem ducked out of the balcony. Without thinking, Jenna stood, rushed out of the choir loft, and walked out a side door. In less than a minute, she reached the narthex, her choir robe flapping at her ankles. To her surprise, she heard somebody behind her and turned quickly and saw Julie headed her way, a hymnbook in hand.
“What are you doing?” Jenna whispered.
“You ran out of the choir. I figured something was wrong.”
“Rem was here,” Jenna panted, pushing open the front door and stepping into the cold. “He just left.”
“I saw him earlier,” Julie said, right behind her.
“You did?”
“Yeah, he came by the church before the service, wanted to talk to Nelson a few minutes.”
The taillights of a car blinked at the edge of the parking lot, then sped away. Jenna’s heart sank as she realized she’d missed him. She faced Julie. “I blew it,” she said. “He came to the hospital to find me, but I treated him like dirt.”
“He’s leaving tonight,” Julie said. “He told Nelson he’d call him later from Atlanta.”
Jenna moved back to the church steps and sat down. Julie took a spot by her. A cold wind nipped at their cheeks.
“Did he say anything about me to Nelson?” Jenna asked quietly.
“He wanted us to give you this.” Julie took an envelope from her hymnal and handed it to Jenna.
“What is it?”
“Why don’t you open it and see?”
Her fingers trembling, Jenna tore open the envelope. Inside, she found a handwritten letter.
Dear Jenna,
Although you’ve already made up your mind about me, I want you to know that a long time ago I believed as deeply as you. But things happened.
One of these days I hope you’ll remember where we met. If you do, you’ll remember one of those things. Then you’ll understand, at least that’s my hope.
I also hope you’ll find what you’re looking for someday, something to bring you some happiness. Right now, I don’t think you have much. Maybe that’s judgmental, but that’s the way I see it.
From time to time, I’ll come back to Hilltop, and I’m sure we’ll run into each other. When that happens, I want you to remember me fondly, the night we . . . rode a bike together.
Take care,
Rem Lincoln
Jenna’s tears dripped on the letter. “I’m horrible,” she sobbed. “He says we met years ago, but I can’t remember it.”
“What?” Julie asked.
“Here.” She handed Julie the letter. “I have to find him before he leaves. I have to find out where we met, why that’s so important. I have to ask him to forgive me. If he leaves before I do that, I don’t know what I’ll do.”
“Try his house,” Julie said.
“You think he’s there?”
“I have no way of knowing, but you can try.”
Jenna nodded, quickly hugged Julie, and ran toward her car, taking off her robe as she climbed in.
It took her less than ten minutes to reach Rem’s house. To her sorrow, she saw no sign of his Lexus, but hoping maybe he’d parked in the garage, she hopped out anyway and sprinted to his front door. A light burned in the front window. She knocked hard.
“Hang on,” she heard Roscoe yell a few seconds later.
She tried to calm down as she waited. What if Rem had already left?
The door opened, and Roscoe stood behind the screen door, a flannel shirt stretched over his full stomach, a tissue in hand.
“Miss Newsome,” he said, obviously surprised. “It’s a little late to be knocking on doors, don’t you think?”
“I’m looking for Rem,” she said quickly.
“He’s already gone. You try his cell phone?”
“Yeah, on the wa
y over. He didn’t answer.”
Roscoe shook his head. “He’s a mite mixed up,” he said. “Lots going on in his head right now. You’re partly to blame for that.”
Jenna glanced down, her spirits heavy. She started to leave but then hesitated. “Mr. Lincoln?”
“Yeah?”
“Can I ask you a question?”
“If you’re not that particular about the answer.”
She smiled. “Rem told me that he and I met somewhere years ago. I thought for a while maybe it was a line, but now I believe him. I’ve squeezed my brain every way I can but haven’t come up with when that happened. He ever talk to you about anything like that?”
Roscoe’s brow wrinkled. “Not that I can recall,” he said. “But truth is, we don’t talk a whole lot. I’m not exactly Dr. Phil when it comes to listening.”
She smiled again, recognizing where Rem got his sense of humor, but her grief made the smile brief. “I guess I’ll try to reach him later,” she said. “Once he’s back in Atlanta. Merry Christmas.” She turned to leave.
“We did come to Hilltop that one time though,” Roscoe said. “You think it’s possible you met Rem then?”
She faced him quickly. “When was that?”
He wiped his nose. “The year Rem turned eight.”
“Why were you here?”
Roscoe pushed open the screen door. “Let me show you something,” he said. “Maybe it’ll explain a few things.”
She followed him to the den. A fire burned in the fireplace. A deer head hung over the mantel. A brown leather sofa with a remote control in the middle sat in front of the television. Roscoe moved to the mantel, picked a picture off it, and handed it to her. She almost collapsed as she saw the picture and the memory rolled back up. How could she have forgotten? For the second time that night, tears flooded her eyes.
“It’s so sad,” she said.
Roscoe wiped his nose, and this time it wasn’t because he had a cold. “Those were hard days,” he said. “For all of us.”
She took his hand. “Mrs. Lincoln never said anything,” she said. “All the time I knew her from church.”