How would having a family affect his call and his service? Visions of Amalia, her long dark hair over a bare shoulder as she nursed their child, made his hand tremble. But could he put them to risk if God wanted him back overseas? Any lifestyle came with its own set of complications.
A sumptuous aroma accompanied the college kids into the dining room. “Reggie, you are going to make some girl a fantastic husband some day,” he told the black-haired young giant who set a plate of beef stroganoff in front of him.
“He already has a girlfriend,” Reggie’s tall sister, Sarah, supplied, as she followed with a vegetable dish.
Reggie went crimson. “Sarah. That’s personal.”
“I thought you could ask Pastor Campbell some of your questions,” Sarah said. She tossed her streaked locks behind her shoulder. “You know, since he has a girlfriend, too, and all. I didn’t know you’d have a cow about it.”
Merit suspected the color of his cheeks about matched Reggie’s. Trudy chuckled.
“I’m not having a cow.” Reggie scowled at his younger sister. “You do?” he asked Merit.
Why did Sarah think he had a girlfriend while Reggie did not? Maybe not everyone…Why not admit it? Why be afraid? “Yes. I have a special person in my life.”
Reggie set down his last plate in front of the older Monroe boy, who immediately dug in. Reggie’s expression went blank, then he focused again on Merit. He nodded. “I think I know. Miss Kennedy, right?”
“Of course, ninny. Who’d ya think?” Sarah brought a glass of chocolate milk for AnnaMaria.
“Being single in service to the Lord is a special calling,” Bob said, with a wink to his wife.
She laid her hand over his. “But marriage has definite blessings.”
Would Merit ever be able to look at Amalia the way the Monroes stared at each other? “Reggie, close your mouth,” he said.
“Sorry.” The young man lumbered out to the kitchen.
Later, Merit followed Reggie and Sarah to the door. Sarah waved and walked out to their little compact sedan while Reggie lingered. Merit pressed his lips together, waiting for the question.
“So, Pastor, can I, um, ask you something?”
“Sure, Reggie.”
“When do you tell her?”
“Tell her? Tell who what?”
Reggie shifted his big feet and twitched his mouth from side to side. “You know—tell her you love her?”
“Oh.” They should give points for being dense. That must be Merit’s problem with matters of the heart. One of them, anyway. “Good question, Reggie. Some people would say that you tell the other person when you’re ready to make a commitment with your whole heart.”
“Um, like when you’re proposing, or something?” He shook his head. “I don’t think I’m ready to do that. I just love her.”
“Real love is a forever thing, Reggie. It means you think with your head and your heart. You want the best for the person you love. Treat her like God is watching your every move.”
Reggie bit his lip. “Oh, man, Pastor Campbell. I never thought about it like that. It’s worse than imagining her dad in the car with you.”
Merit laughed. “Remember. Love and lust—the desire to get what you want right this second, no matter how the other person feels—are two very different emotions. If more people could sort those feelings out, marriages would last. God’s desire is for us to love each other always. Him first, family and friends in their own ways, and the love between a man and woman in its own way.”
“Thanks, Pastor. I think.”
Merit watched him trot out to join his sister, who drove off once her brother buckled in.
The trouble with giving advice so freely meant that he needed to examine his own motives in a similar situation. Take your own advice, Pastor. How do you love Amalia? Do you want what’s best for her? Or for yourself?
Could he love another man’s child? Of course. But he would never take a child from an able parent. He locked the door. The phone rang right at the pre-arranged time and he went to answer the call from Paul Dal’Chindri that he both expected and dreaded.
* * *
Christmas Eve at last. Merit slid the knot of his tie to meet his shirt collar. He smoothed the edges of the pale green shirt under his suit jacket. His hair bothered him again. Merit brushed impatiently at the curl near his ear. Maybe he could ask Mrs. Field to put a regular barber date on his calendar. He smiled ruefully at his reflection. Amalia would be better at taking care of a detail like that.
As he walked through the silent, chilly house to gather his coat and papers for tonight, he mentally reviewed the schedule. He’d have to ride herd on the squirrelly boys who were the acolytes. Whoever thought putting flaming poles in the hands of twelve-year-old boys was a good idea had to have been delusional. Or vengeful. He could make them sit up front. Nah, they’d probably like that too much, with a whole audience to entertain.
Prentice Burnside would perform a violin solo. Merit heard him practice yesterday. He should put some tissue boxes in a few aisles. Mrs. Field said she’d pick up fresh bouquets. Did anyone remember to put the lighter next to the Advent wreath? Last week, someone forgot and he spent a frantic couple of minutes searching for matches until Angus sheepishly handed over his packet.
Angus would sing a medley that suited the occasion after lighting the wreath—a combination of a newer version of “Amazing Grace” and “What Child Is This.” Merit checked his pockets before leaving the house. He would need a couple tissues of his own.
Amalia agreed to come back to the house with him afterward, since she could not see Bunty until the next day and would drive to Chicago. Yes, it would be late, after midnight of course, since the tradition meant ending the service quietly with “Silent Night,” but he thought it would be the perfect time. After the service on Christmas Day, he planned to drive to Chicago too.
Merit stopped in the door. Should he have it with him? Where had he left it? Oh, yes, on his dresser. He should at least leave it out somewhere so he wouldn’t have to go to his room to get it. He took a deep breath and wiped his damp palms on his coat. He got the ring box and set it on the mantle where Amalia had set up the beautiful crèche. Next to the manger. He hoped she would like his choice. And that he guessed close to her size.
Time to go.
* * *
Merit turned on a lamp in the living room and started a fire when he arrived home. Echoes of their last hymn soothed his spirit. The service had gone well.
Amalia arrived as flames began to crawl along the apple wood.
He took her coat and hung it in the stair closet. “My mother always loved Christmas Eve,” he said. She stayed so quiet that he didn’t know what else to do. “Can I fix you some tea?” Her great dark eyes were damp. Had he upset her somehow? “Why don’t you sit—”
“Thank you, Merit. Thank you.”
A few moments later, Merit decided that being kissed made the most excellent conversation stopper. He wasn’t sure what she thanked him for, but he could wait.
He could have waited even longer, but Amalia stepped back first. “You gave me the most precious gift I could have asked for, Merit.”
What? He flicked a glance toward the mantle. He saw the box nestled by the crèche.
“I can’t believe you kept this from me.”
She didn’t look mad now. She looked…so very, very beautiful. He took a deep breath. “Okay, I give. What gift?”
“Angus, of course. Wow. Who would have guessed that not only would he make a public announcement that the Christ child had become real to him, but that he could sing?” Amalia wiped her eyes. Merit fished out a tissue for her. “Thanks.”
“Why thank me? Angus is the one who did the right thing.”
“But someone had to breach the walls. You spent time with him.” She whirled and laughed. “Imagine, Angus on our side at last.”
“I think he always was on your side,” Merit said with a thin-lipped smile. “Let me get u
s something to drink. Have a seat. Oh, and the tree lights are—”
“I know. Over there. I like the fire. Thanks.”
Merit carried her smile with him into the kitchen. Later, when he joined her on the sofa, he noticed that she had kicked off her shoes to curl her feet underneath her. He had purposefully left the house a little chilly. Would God overlook this little bit of deviousness? “So, what did you think of the service?”
“Really beautiful. I love how you got the kids involved, too. That must have taken some scheduling.”
“I always believed that people who participate in something feel a certain ownership. This is not my church. Everybody has to play a part in the ministry, or we aren’t pleasing God.” Merit laughed a little at himself. “Sorry. I can get off my pulpit any time now.”
“You’re right, though, to encourage people to live their faith. I think that’s what bothered Angus the most, thinking about church like a show where people dressed up once a week to impress each other.”
“Perhaps.” Merit didn’t want to talk about Angus anymore. “So, about that kiss.”
Amalia flushed and lowered her eyelashes. “Um, caught up in the moment, I guess. I hope you don’t mind.”
“I was actually hoping for a repeat performance, but maybe for a different reason.”
“Oh?”
Merit lost himself in her gaze. She wore her hair down this evening. He caught the flash of her silver bell earrings through the strands which clung to the pretty sparkly sweater she wore. His hands slipped around her shoulders to draw her closer. “Yes. Amalia, there’s something I’d like to talk about.”
“Me, too. I can’t stay much later. I’m going to Chicago tomorrow to bring Bunty back for good. You know they approved my foster license. I can’t wait.”
Twenty years ago, Bobby Shelby tackled Merit on the playground at school and knocked the breath out of him. He had never forgotten the queasiness as he struggled for air. Amalia’s comment caused the same breathlessness. He leaned back to study her expression. She sipped at her tea, unaware of his turmoil. Why did she have to talk about Bunty when he wanted to propose?
“I planned to go down there, too, after services. Amalia, I know how much he means to you, but I wanted to talk about something else.”
“Oh, sorry. You want to know how I’m going to be able to take care of Bunty and your missionary people and my other jobs. Don’t worry, Merit. The Monroes will love Bunty. Not that he’ll be in the way, or anything. I talked to a couple of girls at church who would be willing to baby sit when I have to be away or have clients. I should be able to handle it. I’m so excited. I can’t wait to see him. Do you think he’ll understand about Christmas? I haven’t been sure of what to tell him.”
“He’ll be fine, Amalia.” No matter what else happened, Merit believed the resilient little boy would find his feet. He wasn’t so sure about Amalia. This still wasn’t the direction he wanted the conversation to take. “Amalia.”
Just then, the lights flickered once, twice. A bulb on the tree popped and the lights went out and stayed out. Amalia jumped up. Merit groaned and squeezed his temples between his fingers.
“Good thing you have a fire going,” Amalia commented. She moved toward the window. “The whole street is dark. I’d better get home, see if everything is all right.”
He watched her shadowy figure slip her shoes on. He followed her to the closet. At the door, she hesitated. “Merry Christmas, Merit. Pastor.”
“Merit.”
“Mer—”
If she could interrupt him with a kiss, he could return the favor. He should have been kissing his fiancé this time.
He lifted his face away from hers to study her expression. Good. She looked dreamy. Tomorrow would be better to talk about marriage. She would get her Christmas with Bunty and they’d straighten everything out about his situation. Afterward he would be there for her.
Merit helped her on with her coat and walked her to the door. Soon. The odds would have to change in their favor sometime. “Merry Christmas, Amalia. I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon. I lo…I’ll see you.”
* * *
Marianne met him in the lobby of the townhouse complex the refugees had moved to after Ripe Harvest. Twelve families lived in the eight apartments. Not exactly code, but everyone had a bed. In a tight fist Merit crumpled the note she had given him. “Thank you, Marianne. Yes, you did the right thing. Right. It’s wonderful news from Paul. I’m sure everyone will be very happy.”
But how could Amalia forgive him once she found out? “Where is everyone?”
“This way. Someone donated a nice big tree and we put it up over here, at the end of the hall.”
Merit followed Marianne. Doors on either side of the hall were all open. He nodded and bowed to some of the grandmothers who sat inside, watching toddlers. Men gathered in one apartment to chat, while the unmarried women would be in a separate place, he knew. Amalia sat on the floor near the tree, talking with some of the younger mothers. Bunty settled on the floor near her, curled against her shoulder, apparently mesmerized by the blinking lights of the tree.
Merit stopped to take in the scene. He felt Marianne’s hand on his arm. “She’ll understand.”
He nodded. She loved the child and would want him to be happy. “Hi, there. Merry Christmas, everyone.”
“Pastor Campbell. Santa Claus came,” Bunty said.
Merit reached to squeeze Amalia’s hand, then picked him up. “Santa Claus found you? That’s good.”
“Look.”
Merit dutifully examined Bunty’s gifts, and those of other children nearby. The chatter of Nehrangesi wrapped comfortable arms around him like an old sweatshirt. A woman’s shriek behind him made him close his eyes. Not yet. Please, Lord, not yet.
The lilting lingua flowed from the stranger, with a voice Merit had only heard over the telephone. “My little man,” the male voice cried. “At last, we have found him. Thank you, Campbell.”
Merit turned around. Bunty went limp before he struggled to get down. “My father! Amma!”
Amalia’s color matched the dirty white paint of the door molding.
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t want it to happen like this,” he whispered.
“Did you know?” Her voice came out bridled with despair. “You did, didn’t you? How could you do this to me?”
He winced as her words whipped his conscience and stung with the saltwater behind his eyes. Unreal. Merit watched the little boy leap into his father’s desperate arms.
How could he, indeed?
TWENTY-TWO
Two weeks and a lifetime later, Amalia still felt as though she’d been clobbered by a slow-moving snow plow. She couldn’t think in more than monosyllables and missed a second appointment with clients after which Hudson drove up and stomped into her house. “Come, we’re going for a walk downtown. You must regain control of yourself.”
Hudson gathered both Amalia’s hands in his, drawing her out of the stream of after-Christmas bargain-hunters. “Here, let’s sit a moment.” Benches had been placed around a fountain, a respite in the middle of the busy block. The sunny weather had melted most of the snow and warmed the reddish resin seat. “Amalia, look at me.”
She composed herself and raised her eyes. Hudson stroked her chin with gentle fingers. “I’ve loved you from the time you were born. So beautiful you were, and still are, my dearest. But since my life passed before my eyes I found that I don’t have to be afraid. Like you are now. I’ve never seen you like this. The wounded look on your face breaks my heart.”
Amalia closed her eyes as his face loomed. She felt his tender kiss on her forehead. She opened her eyes to see him studying her.
“He hurt me so much, Hudson. I don’t know how I can get over it.”
He squeezed her hands in his. “You should be a mother. Not to my son, unfortunately. And I hope you believe that I am deeply sorry that circumstances did not grant you the desire of your heart for that small child.”
Amalia blinked and felt the beginnings of a frown of confusion and anger. She cocked her head as he continued to speak in a low, intimate tone, as if they were alone.
“But don’t you know that, deep in your heart, the boy belonged to his parents? You would never allow someone else to take a child of yours, would you?”
“Of course not, Hudson, I—”
“So, why, dearest, are you not pursuing the man you love? The man who obviously cares a great deal for you, also?” Hudson held both her hands to his lips. “Please, Amalia. I want you to be happy. You need to forgive Campbell and…and marry him.” He then let her hand fall to her lap.
Amalia blinked in amazement. “Now you change your mind? What’s come over you? You want me to forgive him? You hate him.”
Hudson’s eyes blazed in a rare moment of passion. “Of course I do not hate the man. Amalia, don’t you know me better? He made me jealous, yes. He took my girl. But I have come to realize certain things about love. Something about holding it too tightly and strangling it, I believe.” His brow furrowed in concentration. “Never mind.” He shook her shoulders a tiny bit. “Be happy. That’s what I want most for you. Don’t waste your life reaching for something that wasn’t yours to begin with. Like I did.”
He rose, nodded, and strolled away toward the River Boutique.
After Hudson left, Amalia sat rooted to the spot, dizzy with emotion, one hand held against her lips. She had not even been able to formulate a response to Hudson. Be happy. Had she lost all chance of that? Merit had withheld the news about Bunty. What would she have done in his place? Blurted out the news and wrecked the holiday? Would she really?
Happy meant what, exactly? The only place she wanted to go and find a taste of happiness right now was her favorite place—Starved Rock Park.
The trails were open all year. They would be a little muddy today, since the weather had been warm enough to keep any ice from forming. Walking would help clear her mind. At the top of the rock, Amalia stood in the breeze, watching a tug nose a barge along the river. Merit had warned her, she realized. Bunty was a little boy. How would it feel to sit for a day in the mud and dark, surrounded by gray-slicked bodies, as he wept in terror? He had been euphoric to see his real mother and father alive. Naturally.
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