by Lyn Cote
"Okay!" Pastor Bruce gathered everyone's attention. "We're lucky. A new snowstorm is predicted for tomorrow, but tonight the sky is clear. So I hope you all dressed warm and wore your most comfortable boots. In spite of the snow and cold, we're going to take our usual route all through town. Many in Steadfast still don't know what the baby born in Bethlehem means in their lives. This is another chance to share the Nativity with them and show we care for them."
"I suppose you're going to make us sing at Patsy and Carl's," Miss Frantz grumbled.
The pastor looked at the frail woman sternly. "Over the past five years, I've been called to the care center by older men we've sung to at Christmas at Carl and Patsy's. I've been privileged to lead a few of them to Christ just before they went to meet him. If we hadn't reached out to them, I doubt they'd have called me to comfort them in their final hours."
Harlan quoted, "Therefore go and make disciples of all nations.' That includes going to Carl and Patsy's."
"Thank you, Harlan." Pastor Bruce nodded.
Wendy smiled at Grandfather while she stomped her feet to keep warm.
Pastor called out, "Let's stop talking and get going. We have to get back here for hot cocoa and warm gingerbread right out of the oven!" Muted applause from mittened hands greeted this agenda. Little Zak jumped up and down next to Rodd and Wendy.
Pastor Bruce beamed at them. "We'll start with 'God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen.'" He blew the first note on his pitch pipe.
Along with everyone else, Wendy began singing the familiar melody. When she voiced, '"Let nothing you dismay,'" she couldn't help herself; she glanced over at Rodd's face.
In the days since the explosives the state fire marshal had found nothing incriminating, Rodd had begun not speaking unless spoken to, and tonight, even though he was part of the group, his gaze was fixed forward. Wendy was certain he also still felt irrational guilt over her being assaulted and for not somehow divining that the thief would turn to explosives. None of what had happened was Rodd's fault. But try to get him to believe that.
Wendy looked around, wondering if they'd meet up with Veda. The older woman had spent most of the last two days parading up and down Main Street, bad-mouthing Rodd, usually to people hurrying to get away from her. No one would sign Veda's petition, but that didn't bother her. It just gave Veda more to harp about—loudly. Righteous indignation surged through Wendy. How did that woman know exactly what to do to make others miserable? It was like some sick talent.
But Rodd's low spirits hadn't kept him away tonight or affected his singing. His deep voice gave a firm foundation to her soprano. Pride in his determination made her smile. And the sound of his bass voice ignited a warmth that flowed through her. As he walked, Zak clung to Rodd's hand, jumping and hopping to keep up. The contrast of the serious man and the carefree child tugged at her heart. What a wonderful dad Rodd would make.
Getting her rampant emotions under control, she faced forward again and caught several carolers looking over at them. Then she realized that though she hadn't intended to, she and Rodd had ended up side by side. She nearly put her hands over her eyes.
How had that happened? She hadn't tried to get close to him. She knew she certainly hadn't noticed Rodd making his way toward her. The other carolers must have arranged themselves around Rodd and her, making them a twosome. Her embarrassment expanded. Just because her grandfather and the sheriff were friends. And just because the sheriff's duties and hers had brought them into contact often ...
Who are you kidding, Wendy Carey? her conscience goaded her to honesty. You've allowed yourself to let people see you and Rodd together—not just in connection with work. The trip to Duluth and letting Rodd drive you to see Sage off at the airport weren't business. You want to be with the sheriff. Being with him gives you more pleasure than anything else this world has to offer. You want to be beside him tonight and forever. And you know it.
What had happened to her ability to resist becoming involved with a man? Had she abandoned it just because her and Rodd's lives had become so entwined as they worked together to uncover the thief? No. Everything about him and his character drew her to him irresistibly. The question was, where did they go from here?
During "I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day," Wendy tried to drift away from Rodd's side. She had to put distance between them. But the singers around her thwarted her. As they walked down the snowy streets, they hemmed Wendy in beside Rodd Did they realize what they were doing, keeping Rodd and her together? Had the sheriff noticed? She glanced up at him again. His brooding expression acted like a magnet on her—how she wanted to wrap her arms around him and comfort him! This thought sent shivers through her.
The grim set to his jaw and the bleak look in his eyes brought her back to reality with a dull thud. How could she be so concerned about what people thought about her—about them—when he was bearing so much? Not being able to catch the thief must be torture for a man so concerned about meeting his responsibilities. And then Veda's petition and her damning letter had to make matters worse. That was Veda's specialty.
Wendy sang: "And in despair I bowed my head. "There is no peace on earth" I said.'"
Over the years of Wendy's life, Veda had never failed to make things for Wendy and her sister and mother as difficult as she could. A particularly nasty memory of Veda when Wendy had been about thirteen surfaced. She'd been walking four-year-old Sage to the cafe to eat supper with their mother, and Veda had begun shouting at them on Main Street, yelling that she'd killed her grandmother with worry and shame. Wendy had picked up Sage and run the rest of the way to the cafe. The memory brought back the public humiliation and outrage of that moment in full force. I've never understood why she decided to hate us so. But did hatred have to have a reason?
The voices around Wendy lifted: '"For hate is strong, and mocks the song of peace on earth, goodwill to men.'"
But more importantly now, why had Veda decided to make the sheriff her fresh target? Something more than his friendship with Wendy must have triggered the three cruel attacks on him. When Wendy had read Veda's latest letter to the editor, she'd felt as though each of Veda's words leaked some form of corrosive airborne acid.
'"God is not dead, nor doth he sleep,'" Wendy sang along with the voices lifting in the chill night.
What had the sheriff done to make Veda so vengeful? Wendy had overheard snippets about Veda and the Senior Bazaar. But in her own past, gossip had made her life so miserable that Wendy refused to deal in gossip for any reason. Was it just that Veda was doubly against Rodd because she thought he might be interested in Wendy? Or was the woman becoming so hateful with age that she no longer needed a logical reason to unleash her vindictiveness? Was her twisted mind disintegrating?
'"A voice, a chime, a chant sublime, of peace on earth, goodwill to men.'" Wendy hung on to the last note and thought of peace as the carolers reached Carl and Patsy's Grill. The pastor opened the door and led them into the darkened interior, except for Miss Frantz, who remained outside. The carolers filed in around the bar. Carl greeted them with an enthusiastic "Merry Christmas!" The old men with beaming faces turned around on their barstools. The pastor blew his pipe and started: '"The first Noel, the angel did say, was to certain poor shepherds in fields as they lay.'"
Wendy wondered if a few of the shepherds who had witnessed the songs of angels that night near Bethlehem had been like these men. She knew each man here who was enjoying their singing. When she noted a few of them wiping their eyes, she felt her own eyes moisten. Lord, let them feel your love in this moment. Let it draw them to you. You love them so.
"Noel, Noel! Born is the King of Israel!" At the end of the carol, the men applauded, beating their gnarled, work-worn hands together to show their gratitude for being remembered, included in the celebration of the babe in Bethlehem.
When the applause died down, the pastor said, "Remember, even if you don't attend our church, if you ever need help, please don't hesitate to call on us. We are Steadfast Community Church. It
's your church too."
Old Leo Schultz at the end of the bar spoke up. "You'll have to get rid of that old McCracken woman before I'd ever step foot in your church—"
Olie Olson turned and glared at him. "It's not the reverend's fault! What can he do about that old battle-ax?"
Wendy agreed silently. What could anyone do about a woman who knew no shame?
"Gentlemen," the pastor called them back to him, "it's not up to me to decide who gets to come to church."
"That's right, Pastor! Hypocrites in church ain't anything new!" Patsy had joined her husband behind the bar. "Hey, Pastor, how's your wife?"
"Thank you for asking." The pastor's voice softened. "She's getting back to normal."
Wendy heard the catch in Bruce's voice.
"Tell her she's in our thoughts and prayers!" Patsy said with a warm smile.
The pastor shook Patsy's hand. "She told me to thank you for the supper you sent us last week. It was delicious."
Giving his hand a hearty shake, Patsy turned pink with pleasure. "I was pleased to do it. You take care of her."
Olie stood up, catching everyone's attention. "We just want you to know, Sheriff, that we're behind you one hundred percent. Your Uncle George raised you right. We know that. It's just like Veda to bring up something you'd just as soon forget. Old biddy."
Like a flame bursting inside, Wendy felt Rodd's embarrassment as her own.
The men around him rumbled their agreement.
Olie went on. "So you made a mistake when you was just starting out—well, who didn't?"
More growls of approval and nods.
Wendy knew that to the sheriff this show of approval was like pouring iodine on a fresh cut. But he didn't disappoint her.
With Zak in his arms, he stepped forward and nodded. "Thanks for your support."
"Like the movie—we support our local sheriff!" Carl joked and was greeted by more merriment.
"Thank you! Merry Christmas!" The pastor led them outside to the tune of "O Little Town of Bethlehem." As they filed out, Carl pressed a silver half-dollar into Zak's hand. Wendy drew as close as she could to Rodd, giving him her silent encouragement. She longed to pull him aside and in the chill shadows of this night heal him. Her breath caught in her throat, sensations of tenderness cascading within.
'"Yet in thy dark streets shineth the everlasting light; the hopes and fears of all the years ..."' A few snowflakes swirled onto her face, melting instantly, bringing her back to the December night. The weathermen were forecasting a snowstorm for Christmas. Had it started already?
Crossing Main Street, Wendy recalled in years past that a fresh snowfall while they caroled would have caused a lift in their spirits and plenty of oohs and ahs. This treacherous winter, however, had changed their appreciation of a white Christmas. A few shook their heads as they sang: '"O come to us, abide with us, Our Lord Emmanuel.'"
Singing carol after carol, they gathered in front of the Black Bear Cafe, next Harry's Auto Repair, then the hardware store, the Foodliner, and one by one, covered all the streets in town.
Wendy stopped trying to drift away from Rodd. Walking beside him, noticing how he measured his stride to hers, how he carried Zak in his arms, how he sang in his deep voice—all enfolded her in a cloud. Letting go, she accepted this moment of unexpected joy, reveling in their lush closeness, their unseen but powerful connection.
She walked beside him up the church steps. Rodd held the door open for her to pass in front of him. Tossing caution into the winter night, she gave him a smile, one full of the joy being with him had brought her. Then she stood on tiptoe. Her cheek brushed his as she whispered into his ear, "Merry Christmas!" Other words threatened to bubble up and spill out, but she couldn't say them. Not here. Not now. His return smile, though reluctant at first, broadened and deepened and warmed her to her cold toes.
In the crowded entryway where the carolers peeled off their layers of cold, dampened outerwear, Rodd helped Zak out of his bright blue snowsuit and boots. He let Zak's excited chatter cover his awareness of Wendy. Her smile had, at last, freed him from the dark cloud he'd walked in since Veda's latest "nasty-gram" to the editor. Wendy's respect counted for so much more than that unhappy woman's.
In the church basement, Penny and Mrs. Benser had stayed behind to mix the cocoa and bake the gingerbread. From the cloakroom, the spicy aromas beckoned everyone to hurry to the basement. Hand in hand, Rodd and Zak walked down the steps, Wendy beside them.
Sniffing the air like a hound on the scent, Zak let go of Rodd's hand and raced toward the kitchen. "Mama! Mama!"
Rodd sensed someone at his elbow and glanced down.
Mrs. Benser handed him a steaming mug of cocoa. "Here, Sheriff, you look chilled."
"Thanks." He lifted the warm mug.
"Be careful," the older woman warned him. "It's hot."
He nodded.
She took a step closer. "I'm so sorry about Veda," she whispered.
"Nothing Veda does is your fault." This well-intentioned but painful reminder dimmed his rising mood.
Mrs. Benser pursed her lips in a straight line, then muttered, "Don't worry. Everyone realizes that letter is just Veda's way of paying you back for showing her for what she is, and what happened to you years ago in Milwaukee doesn't mean anything here and now."
Rodd felt himself stiffening. He knew the words were meant kindly, but that didn't make them any easier to swallow. Then he remembered Wendy standing just inches away. The pained expression on her face told him that she'd overheard his exchange with Mrs. Benser.
What did Wendy think of Veda's poison-pen letter to the editor? The answer was easy. It had hurt her. If even half of what he'd been told were true, Veda's treatment of Wendy had been criminal. He wished meanness were a punishable offense. Arresting Veda for all the times she'd wounded Wendy would be very satisfying. "
He had better things to think on. He would be spending Christmas with Wendy and Harlan—a pleasant thought. Though with the unsolved burglaries hanging over him, Rodd had hardly felt in the holiday mood. But he'd do everything he could to make Wendy's and Harlan's Christmas without Sage as cheerful as possible. Wendy deserved his poor best and she would get it.
"Merry Christmas!" Bruno, with Ma at his side, appeared at the bottom of the stairs. "Sorry we missed the caroling."
"No gingerbread for you then!" Pastor Bruce shook his finger at the older couple.
"You'll forgive us." Bruno beamed at everyone. "We had to drive to Rice Lake before this next snowstorm moved in for Christmas."
"What did you have to do in Rice Lake?" Harlan asked, a smile splitting his face.
Bruno held up Ma's left hand. "We had to buy a ring. Lou has consented to be my wife!"
Chapter Fourteen
On Christmas Eve the wind howled around Harlan's eighty-year-old farmhouse as Wendy hung another gold-glittered but faded red glass ball on the Christmas tree. Fresh pine scented the air. At her elbow, Bruno was hanging silver tinsel, strand by strand. "This is so much fun. I haven't helped decorate a proper Christmas tree for years," Bruno said.
In spite of her inner turmoil, Wendy smiled at him. "We never have room for a big one in the trailer." Once more against her will, she glanced toward the back door with longing. She dragged her mind back to Bruno. "Grandfather's tree is the one Sage and I always look forward to. Don't you want to help, Ma?"
Ma sat on the sofa, crocheting an afghan. "No, it's just fun watching you two fussing around. Besides I can't put one strand on at a time like Bruno can. Too impatient, but I do like how it looks when he does that."
Noticing how Ma's gruff voice had softened, Wendy hung another ball, this one a pale blue satin. The ball trembled on the short-needled branch. Ma marrying Bruno--who would have thought it?
An image of the sheriff popped into her mind. Where are you, Rodd? You should be here by now. Her effort to appear unconcerned about the sheriff's delay tightened Wendy's neck. She shrugged her shoulders, trying to release t
he tension.
"Are you tired, Wendy?" her grandfather asked.
Startled, she shook her head. She'd hoped she'd masked her worry better
Grandfather turned on the small radio by his recliner. Lady was asleep at his feet. "Let's hear the weather report."
Wendy had noticed that he'd been repeatedly glancing toward the back door too. Grandfather wouldn't relax completely until all his "chicks" were in for the night.
Ma humphed. "Why? You know it's going to be bad news. Blizzard warning has been on since last night."
Bruno spoke up. "It's kind of pleasant to enjoy the contrast." He paused with a string of tinsel between his thumb and forefinger. "I mean, here we all are—friends and family—snug by the fire, plenty of food, a Christmas tree. But outside the snow is blowing and it's icy. It just makes me feel all the more cozy—especially since you're here with me, Lou."