Log Cabin Christmas

by Margaret Brownley

  His jaw went slack as he struggled to make sense of her words. “Who told you that? Your grandpa?” That didn’t mesh with what he thought he knew of Pastor Sorensen.

  “It’s been my destiny since I was a little girl. My mother always told me so, and I come from a long line of preachers. If I had been born a boy, I would’ve joined the pastorate. That’s just how it is. It’s a calling, a responsibility. The Sorensens serve God in the church.”

  Disappointment trickled through him as he began to understand. He folded his arms and braced his legs. “So do the Rambeks.” He spoke slowly, so she wouldn’t miss a word. “We always have, though there’s not a preacher among us.” Shaking his head, he took a deep breath. “So a humble blacksmith isn’t good enough for you because he isn’t a preacher? You think preaching is the only kind of service that counts in the church?” He swung his arm wide in the direction of the log church. “What do you think the people who have volunteered for this Christmas Eve program have been doing if not serving in the church? What do you think they’re doing right now?” A scornful growl rose in his chest. “For someone who comes from a long line of preachers, you sure don’t know your scripture too well.”

  She gasped as if he’d slapped her, and though it hurt to be so blunt with her, she needed to hear the truth.

  “Doesn’t the Apostle Paul tell us that the church is like a body, made up of all kinds of members that have all kinds of jobs? If one of those members doesn’t do his job of serving in the church, the whole body is less effective. We’re warned against elevating one role in the church body over another. You’ve done that to such an extent that nobody else in the church matters.” He pursed his lips. “Just how do you think you’d even put on a Christmas Eve service without those volunteers? Without Clive and Billy and Hampton and Sophie and Mary Kate and all the rest? Without this blacksmith?” He thumped his chest with his thumb. “You’ve been so busy organizing and dictating and being in control, you’ve lost sight of not only who was doing all the work, but also who the work was being done for.”

  Knowing he’d said more than enough, and with his heart like a wound in his chest, he turned away from her to go back to the church. He might not have been able to mend his relationship with Beth—most likely, his words, though truthful, had slammed the door forever on her loving him—but he could help mend the damage caused by the renegade Goldenrod.

  Beth clutched the edges of her coat around her as Todd disappeared into the woods. The tears on her lashes lost their hold and tumbled down her cheeks in warm streaks that turned icy almost at once.

  His words hit like darts, piercing her. The disgust on his face when she told him her reason for refusing to let him court her—she squirmed at the memory. How she wished she could curl up in the snow, sink down, and make herself as small as she felt. Because he had been right. And the truth, spoken through the scripture, straight from his own lips, shamed her.

  Beth sought to maintain her hold on her firm belief that her destiny lay in being a preacher’s wife, but the threads of that argument had already frayed and broken under the weight of Todd’s words. She bowed her head and her heart to whisper a prayer in the frosty night.

  “God, I’m so sorry. Everything he said was right. I—” She choked on a sob and sniffed. Whispering didn’t seem appropriate, as if she still sought to hide her confession. Bracing her shoulders, she slipped her arms into her coat sleeves and dug in the pocket for her gloves. “God”—she tilted her head back to address the heavens—“I’ve been so wrong. I’ve been prideful. What I should’ve been using for Your glory, I’ve used for my own. This Christmas service, it wasn’t about sharing the joy of the Christmas season with the people in our church.” It hurt to admit, but she had to say the words. “I was using it to prove to myself and to others what a good preacher’s wife I would make someday. I discounted the service of others and elevated myself.” The tears flowed freely now as she opened her heart. Her feet moved, carrying her in the direction of the church, but slowly, for she wanted to thrash everything out with God before she faced anyone.

  “God, I wounded Todd, too. I made myself out—at least in my own mind—as being too good for him. And the opposite is true. He’s too good for me.” At this admission, her heart burst wide open, and her legs gave out. She dropped to the snow, hugged her knees to her chest, and begged for God’s forgiveness. Peace flooded her insides, a weight lifted from her, and after a while, she became aware of the cold seeping through her coat. Wiping her cheeks, she stood and brushed at the snow clinging to her clothes.

  She frowned, her stomach muscles tightening. How long had she been out here? Surely it had to be nearly time for the service to start. Did she have time to run home and change? What about the mess at the church? Had they gotten everything squared away?

  Brushing through the trees, getting dumped on with gouts of snow each time she encountered a low-hanging branch, she hurried toward the church. Along the way, she reminded herself of Todd’s words. The good people she’d yelled at were cleaning things up. They were serving, and they were just as capable, and in a lot of cases more capable, of taking care of things as she was.

  When she reached the church, everything was dark. She ducked inside and lit a candle, checking the clock on the wall first. Forty minutes until the service. She hurried up the aisle. The stable, a new piano cover, the Christmas tree. Everything that could be put to rights had been. One would never know that disaster had struck only a short while ago.

  She turned to the refreshment table. Six new jugs of cider sat at one end, flanked by a row of shiny tin cups. The floor beneath the table shone dark and damp from a recent mopping. She lifted the corner of a tea towel gaily embroidered with poinsettias and holly. Eight dark loaves of spicy fruitcake stood all in a row. Beth poked one of the loaves. It gave way like a sponge and sprang back. Not dry and crumbly, but moist and redolent. It appeared Sophie had finally hit on the right recipe for Christmas fruitcake after all.

  The clock showed the half hour. In the candlelight she glanced down at her wet coat and the soaked hem of her dress just brushing the floor. If she hurried, she’d have time to change and be back for the service.

  Her breath hitched. If she thought it took a lot of courage to face Todd after he kissed her, how much more would she have to muster after their latest confrontation?

  Chapter 7

  Her fingers shook with a trembling that had nothing to do with the plummeting temperature or the falling snow. Light shone from every church window, and dark figures made their way from the cabins of the settlement toward the pine structure. Lines of chinking stood out white between the solid logs, and overhead, pointing to the sky, a cross stood atop a small cupola. The church bell sent out round, reverberating rings, calling everyone to worship.

  Grandpa put his hand under her elbow to help her along the path. “I sure am looking forward to tonight. It isn’t often I get to sit with the congregation. I’m going to enjoy being ministered to by the members of the church.”

  Her heart pinched. How had she missed understanding the truth of the whole body ministering and working together? Grandpa clearly believed it and had probably mentioned it many times, both in their home and from the pulpit. And yet, she’d been blinded by her own pride. But no more.

  She entered the church, her nerves playing a fugue in her stomach, and laid aside her coat and bonnet. Brushing her hands down the polonaise of her new, burgundy dress, she took a few steadying breaths.

  A low hum of excited conversation buzzed in the room, enhanced by the many lanterns and lamps brightening every corner and the heady scent of pine boughs and cinnamon. Billy and Clive ushered the children to the front rows, and several of the choir members and cast stood off to the side awaiting direction.

  Though aware of his presence from the moment she stepped into the building, Beth had avoided until the last possible minute looking directly at Todd. When she did, her heart did an unpleasant flip and jumped up into her throat. H
e stood talking with a group of men, a full head taller than they and heart-stoppingly handsome in a black suit.

  “You’d best get up there.” Grandpa nudged her arm. “It’s time to start.”

  As she walked up the center aisle, conversations ceased and the choir assembled. Taking her place at the piano, she didn’t know if she was glad or sad that she hadn’t any time to speak to Todd before the service. Her mouth was as dry as pillow ticking, and her fingers froze on the keys. Every choir member looked at her expectantly. She sent up a quick prayer.

  Of their own accord, her fingers played the introduction to the first song. The singers harmonized beautifully, coming in when they should, even remembering to repeat the last line and hold the last note. How many times had they stumbled over that in practice?

  Billy’s rich voice reading the Christmas story while the cast members acted out the nativity play sent gooseflesh marching across her skin. The faces of the children in the front rows all attentive and illuminated with candlelight made her heart glow. These were the ones they had come to serve. Mary Kate with a maternal expression, Clive with his Adam’s apple lurching with each swallow, Mr. Hampton, face shiny with pleasure, Sophie, hunch-shouldered with age but singing with gusto. And Todd. Broad-chested, tall, strong in body and in spirit, big in stature, and big of heart. Every last one of them had come to serve the body of Christ.

  Todd, as Joseph, stared right at her. She blinked, caught off-guard, and looked away. A cold fist wrapped its fingers around her chest and squeezed. What if he was so thoroughly disgusted with her that she’d lost any hope of his love? She swallowed as Billy finished the scripture passage and closed his Bible. What would she do if Todd didn’t want her anymore?

  She concentrated on the hymnal in front of her. The notes swam and danced and made no sense. They were supposed to sing about joy, but at that moment, she could muster none at all.

  The actors shed their costumes and took their places for the final song, shuffling along the risers and opening their songbooks. In spite of her efforts to the contrary, her eyes found Todd’s once more. Chocolate brown, warm, and caring. The corner of his mouth lifted in a hint of a smile, and he nodded ever so slightly. A promise that they would talk later.

  The fist around her heart eased, and her fingers found the right notes. When the choir crashed in on the first words of “Joy to the World,” she wanted to laugh at the memory of poor Goldenrod frightened to the point of panic and rampaging through the church. She didn’t dare meet the eyes of any of the choir members. How she wanted to call down blessings on that poor demented animal. If it wasn’t for that crazed ewe, she might never have told Todd her foolish thoughts, and he might never have had the chance to show her the error of her ways.

  When the last strains of music faded away, a rustle went through the crowd, centered mostly in the front rows. It was time for the giving of Christmas gifts from the tree. Beth rose, covered the piano keys, and moved to the side of the room to watch. Her grandpa and several helpers surrounded the tree, reading offnames and passing out bags of candy and small gifts that had been delivered to the church all week. Eager hands received toys, books, games, puzzles. Cheesecloth bags of hard candy—donated by Mr. Hampton—spread happiness amongst the small-fry.

  Todd didn’t come near her, instead helping with the distribution of gifts. He lifted a small child onto his arm so the little girl could see the tree better. A hard lump formed in Beth’s throat, and she willed the time to pass quickly until she could speak to him.

  Billy Mather sidled up to Beth, a grin revealing a great many of his teeth. “This one has your name on it.”

  She blinked and took the small packet of tissue paper. Turning it over, she read her name in bold, black letters. Who could this be from? She and Grandpa had agreed to exchange their gifts tomorrow. Beth untied the ribbon and edged back the paper.

  Lamplight gleamed on a beautiful silvery ornament. Delicate whorls and flares of metal formed a heart, and in the center, a silhouette of Mary, Joseph, and a manger. The ornament hung from a red velvet ribbon. The workmanship was so fine it took her breath away.

  She looked up to ask Billy who had given her such a fine gift, only to find Todd before her. Everything she wanted to say to him flew right out of her head. Her tongue became a wooden thing, and the sound of her heart and breath collided in her ears.

  “Do you like it?”

  She nodded.

  “I made it for you after the first practice.”

  Before he knew what an idiot she was. Was he sorry now that he’d given it to her in light of the words they’d exchanged earlier?

  Heat prickled her skin. She opened her mouth to offer the gift back to him and to apologize, but before she could, he took her hands in his, engulfing her fingers and the ornament.

  “I’m sorry, Beth. I feel terrible chastising you like that. I should’ve found a more gentle way to say what I was thinking and feeling.”

  His apology loosened her tongue. “Todd, you have nothing to apologize for. I’m the one who is sorry. Everything you said was true.” She moved her hands inside his. “I’ll understand if you want the gift back, since you made it before you knew …” Her gaze dropped along with her voice, too embarrassed to go on, but she gave herself a mental shake. No shirking. Lifting her chin, she swallowed and forced the words out. “Todd, I apologize for the way I treated you. You are a good and kind man, and you are right. You do serve God in this church, muchbetter than I have. I’m only sorry I realized it too late.” Tears stung her eyes, but she forced them back.

  A ridge formed between his eyebrows, and his hands tightened on hers. “Too late? Too late for what?”

  He was going to make her say it. Well, it was no more than she deserved. “Too late to do anything about the fact that I’ve fallen in love with you.”

  His lips spread in a grin, and his hands crushed hers. “I don’t think it’s too late for anything.”

  She put all her love for him into her eyes. He leaned down to whisper in her ear, and the low rumble of his voice and the warmth of his breath on her temple made her shiver. “If we weren’t standing in church surrounded by all these people, I’d be kissing you right now.”

  “Maybe, if you’re free, you could walk me home after the service, and we’ll see who kisses whom.” She gave him a saucy grin.

  “I’m going to hold you to that.” He tucked her hand into his elbow and escorted her to the refreshment table, where Sophie served up slabs of fruitcake and Mr. Hampton poured cider. Beth tasted the rich, dark cake, and her eyes widened as the flavor burst on her tongue.

  “It’s my new recipe. I never could quite get it right until this year.” Sophie winked at Beth. “I was hoping to have a chance to share it, and thanks to that ridiculous sheep …” She shrugged and winked again.

  An hour later, Beth and Todd walked arm-in-arm through the woods. Grandpa had given his hearty blessing on Todd seeing her home, slapping Todd on the back and kissing Beth’s cheek. “I’m glad for you, Beth.” He flipped his hat onto his head and left them to close up the church.

  When she and Todd reached her cabin door, Todd took her face between his palms and kissed first her eyelids then her nose. His arms came around her, and his lips descended on hers. She sighed as he deepened the kiss.

  When he finally released her, he smiled down into her eyes. “Merry Christmas, Beth. May it be the first of many for us.”

  Erica Vetsch was Kansas born and raised, but this award-winning author now makes her home in Minnesota. This wife and mother of two teens is thankful God gave her a wonderful imagination that helps to weather the storms of life and contributes to great stories set mostly in the nineteenth century.

 

 

 
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