A Hickory Ridge Christmas

Hannah's lips formed the word, but she couldn't summon the breath to give it sound. Her chest ached as fear and panic pressed down on it like a heavy hand.

She'd dreamed of him so often, with fondness and fury, and there he was. His presence seemed to fill the sanctuary from carpet to rafters. She'd tried so hard to forget those eyes, and there they were, staring back at her with that same unnerving intensity.

What was he doing here? What did he want? Why now? Why
ever?
What was she supposed to do about Rebecca?

He expected her to say something; she knew that. The words just wouldn't come. Words couldn't squeeze past the guilt clawing at her insides. No matter what he'd done, no matter how hurt she'd felt, she should have found a way to tell him as soon as she knew. Or at least she could have found some occasion before Rebecca's fourth birthday. What was she supposed to tell him now?

And be kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, as God in Christ forgave you.”

—
Ephesians
4:32

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Letter to Reader

Questions for Discussion

F
or the third time in as many weeks, Hannah Woods awoke smiling. She wasn't fully awake. Not really. For if she were, then the practical side of her mind would have insisted that she rein in those banned images. She was far too busy and far too focused to entertain little-girl dreams, at least in her conscious hours. She hadn't been a little girl for a very long time.

Just this once, though, in that private place between slumber and alertness, Hannah couldn't resist the temptation to let those pictures play out in full color.

Keeping her eyes tightly closed, Hannah let herself glance around in her make-believe world and take in sights and sounds so real that she could almost hear the organ prelude and smell sweet roses and pooling candle wax. Her heart warmed at the sight of her father standing at the altar, his Bible open to a familiar passage.

She couldn't picture herself, but she could almost feel tulle brushing her cheek and lacy bridal point, making her wrists itch. The last image, though, made her breath catch in her throat. Todd. Always Todd.

Standing across the aisle from her, he looked so handsome in his dark tuxedo. His shoulders had filled out the way she'd always imagined they would someday, but he still had the same boy's face she remembered, and his green eyes were as mesmerizing as ever. Those eyes still looked as sincere as they had when he'd told her he loved her.

When he'd lied.

As Hannah came fully awake with a start and sat straight up in bed, the twinkling lights of the miniature Christmas tree shifted into focus. They'd set it up the day before while still digesting their Thanksgiving turkey. This morning the tree's tinsel, garland and tiny red bows replaced all satin and pastel thoughts of the wedding that would never be.

What was she doing, anyway? She didn't have the luxury of indulging useless, adolescent dreams. And if she continued forgetting to unplug that little tree at night, especially with the apartment's wiring, they would be sifting through charred rubble before New Year's.

Clearly, she needed to get her act together. She was twenty-two years old now, not seventeen. She had responsibilities and obligations—things Todd knew nothing about and probably couldn't have handled if he knew.
You never gave him the chance to handle anything,
an unwelcome voice inside her
pointed out with a punch she did her best to dodge. Forgiveness. She'd given that the old college try these past five years, but she couldn't quite get beyond the desertion part. Whether or not it had been his choice to leave with his parents when his father had been transferred to Singapore, the fact remained that he
had
left when she'd needed him most.

Perhaps only God could forgive and truly
forget.

A litany of her own sins and failures played in her mind as it always did when her thoughts turned to the boy she should have forgotten—the boy who was now a man. She would have allowed guilt to blanket her as she had so many times while the months stretched into years, but the squeak of her bedroom door offered a reprieve this time.

“I'm awake, Mommy,” Rebecca called out as she bounded into the room, tucked something under the bed and then scrambled on top of the covers.

Though her child made that same announcement and followed the same routine every morning at about ten minutes before the alarm was set to go off, Hannah smiled. “Well, looky there. I guess you are.”

“Is it Friday? Do I have my playdate with Max today?”

“Yes, sweetie, it's today.”

Since Rebecca had been counting down the days until her playdate with her favorite friend, Max Williams, Hannah was pleased to finally say yes. Technically, the “playdate” was really only a day when Mary Nelson would be babysitting both Rebecca and Max while Hannah worked at the ac
counting firm and while Max's mother, Tricia Williams Lancaster, scoured Twelve Oaks Mall on the busiest shopping day of the year. Hannah didn't bother clarifying the point.

“Today. Today. Today!” Rebecca threw her head back on the bed and wiggled with the type of delight only a child could find before breakfast without a double espresso. Her fine towhead-blond hair stuck up every which way, and she squeezed her eyes shut tight, probably looking for the stars she liked to watch behind her eyelids.

Reaching down, Hannah brushed the hair back from her daughter's fair-skinned face, all thoughts of obligations flittering away on a wave of pure adoration.

Rebecca opened her eyes and stared up at her mom. Hannah's chest tightened. It was probably the dream that made her react again to her daughter's green eyes when she'd been so proud of her ability to no longer notice them. Others probably hadn't found Rebecca's eye color remarkable since Hannah's eyes were a hazel-green shade—close but not the same. She saw it, though. Those were Todd's eyes that sometimes stared back when her daughter looked at her.

Clearing her throat, she gave the child a tight squeeze. “We'd better get up or we'll be late.”

Rebecca lifted her head off the bed, and her bottom lip came out in a pout. “But…”

“Why? Do you have a better idea?”

The little girl pointed to the side of the bed.

“Is there something under there I should know about?”

Lying back and wiggling again, Rebecca nodded.

Hannah pressed her index finger to her lips as if pondering and then glanced down at her. “Is it bigger than a bread box?”

Rebecca's eyebrows furrowed. “What's a bread box?”

“A thing people used to use to keep bread fresh.” Hannah gave the same answer she did every day.

“Nope.”

“Is it smaller than an amoeba?”

“What's an amoeba?”

“A single-cell creature.”

“Nope.” A giggle erupted from the child's rosebud mouth. “Do you want to know what it is?”

“You'd better tell me. I just can't guess.”

Rebecca climbed off the bed, peered under it and returned with the
surprise:
today's choice from their collection of Christmas storybooks they'd recently taken out of storage.

“Ooh, the manger story!” Hannah accepted the hardcover book, pleased with her daughter's selection with its quotes from the Book of Luke and Michelangelo-style painted illustrations. Hannah enjoyed reading all the festive stories to her daughter, but she was excited that Rebecca had chosen one that spoke of the true Christmas story instead of one about Rudolph and the rest of the holiday gang.

“There's baby Jesus.” Rebecca pointed to the book cover, which featured a painting of the sweet infant, a halo of glory about his head. “And the sheep and the cows and the donkey.”

“Looks like they're all there.” Hannah opened the book to the first page, and Rebecca snuggled up under her arm. Only after they'd read the last page could they officially begin their day.

“The end,” Rebecca announced with glee when they were finished.

Again Hannah smiled at her daughter. Rebecca approached everything with that same kind of enthusiasm, as if each hour was an uncharted land just waiting to be explored.

How could Hannah have forgotten, even for a minute, how fortunate she was to know this amazing four-year-old? How grateful she was to God for giving her the privilege of raising her. Loving Rebecca had nothing to do with obligation and so much to do with sharing in the joy and in the discovery.

During her conscious hours, Hannah didn't give herself time for regrets, not when she and Rebecca enjoyed so many blessings. If only she could rein in the images that crowded her dreams, as well. Those snapshots of the past hurt more than they healed, leaving her to awaken feeling empty and wondering whether something vital was missing from her life.

 

Todd took a deep breath as he stepped inside the church's glass double doors Sunday morning. If only he could remove the golf-ball-sized knot clogging his throat. He felt as queasy as an actor on opening night, only this wasn't a play and the only reviewer who mattered was sure to give him a scorching review.

Before he could even stomp the snow off his dress
shoes and hang his coat on the rack that extended the length of the vestibule, an usher approached him.

“Welcome to Hickory Ridge Community Church,” the man said as he gripped Todd's hand and pumped briskly. “Is this your first time visiting with us?”

Clearing his throat, Todd answered, “No—I mean it's been a long time, but—” he coughed into his hand and looked back up at the usher “—it isn't my first time.”

“And we sure hope it won't be the last.”

Todd tilted his head to indicate the crowded sanctuary, visible through a wall of windows. “I'd better get in there. I'm already late.”

The man brushed away the comment with a wave of his hand. “Ah, they're just getting warmed up in there.”

Todd thanked the man and continued past him. He'd hoped that arriving after services started would allow him to miss a formal greeting at the door, but he should have known better. Hickory Ridge had always been a friendly church on the “Bring-A-Friend Sunday” and the “Homecoming” events he'd attended with Hannah, and clearly that hadn't changed.

Plenty of other things were just as familiar, he found, as he peered through the windows into the sanctuary. Same stained glass window behind the choir loft. Same red carpet and red-padded pews. Same crowd of strangers. Same two guys sitting on the twin benches on either side of the pulpit.

Only the draped garland in the front of the sanctuary and the candles in the sills of the other stained
glass windows even hinted at how long it had been since he'd visited. Those things suggested that months and seasons had sped by, but that mammoth second building behind the church where a field had once been, announced the passing of years.

The years scared him most of all.

Now that he was twenty-two, maybe it was too late. Maybe it had always been too late, and he'd only been deceiving himself, balancing on a tenuous lie of hope. The messages contained in airmail letters marked Returned To Sender and in the clicks of hang-ups for international calls should have been enough to convince him, but he'd refused to take the hints.

With his hand pressed on the door separating the vestibule from the sanctuary, he hesitated. His chest felt so tight that it ached to breathe. How could he move forward when it felt as if every moment of his life for half a decade had led him to this point?

How could he not?

Straightening his shoulders, he swung open the door and followed its path into the sanctuary. He slipped into the third pew from the back just as a music leader asked everyone to stand. Even as he turned pages in his hymnal, Todd couldn't help scanning the sea of heads. Where was she? Would he recognize her now? Even though he had it on good authority that she still attended Hickory Ridge, it didn't mean she wouldn't be sick this morning or out of town for Thanksgiving weekend.

Soon strains of “Just a Closer Walk With Thee” swirled around him, its lyrics celebrating the
promise of God's presence. Warmth spread inside him, relieving some of the tightness in his chest. It was just like his God to find a way to remind him He was there, even when Todd was too preoccupied to sing the words.

As the song ended and the congregation sat, youth minister Andrew Westin stepped to the lectern. “Good morning, everyone, and welcome to Hickory Ridge. I hope you had a wonderful Thanksgiving.”

Andrew's gaze settled on Todd, and a smile pulled at his lips. Of course, Andrew had been expecting to see him there. Todd should have known that he hadn't fooled anyone with his veiled questions when he'd called the church office a few days before. Especially not Andrew Westin. The Harley-riding youth minister never had struck Todd as any kind of fool.

As if Andrew recognized the question in Todd's eyes, he turned his head and directed his gaze toward a group of young adults sitting on the second pew. A couple of people on one end, a fancily dressed middle-aged woman on the other, and there she sat in the middle.

Todd didn't know if the world stopped turning or if time hiccuped, but for a few seconds or minutes, everything beyond her ceased to exist.

Even from behind that crowd of blondes, brunettes and silver-haired ladies, he couldn't imagine how he'd missed her before. He should have recognized that long, light blond ponytail anywhere, as it flowed down the back of her simple peach sweater. Hannah had often worn her hair just that way—
smooth, neat and without fuss—and it was the feminine style he still found most attractive.

A piano introduction pulled Todd from his daze, but he couldn't wrap his thoughts around the words or the message of the second hymn. It shouldn't have surprised him. He'd always had tunnel vision when it came to Hannah, and that apparently hadn't changed. He couldn't remember a time when he didn't love her, and he couldn't imagine a future when he would be able to or even want to stop.

Around Hannah, Todd studied the group of young adults in her row and the one behind it, but none of them looked familiar. A tall, light-haired guy shared a hymnal with Hannah, but Todd couldn't remember seeing him, either, during his handful of visits. A few people were paying attention to the hymn, anyway. Todd was far too busy craning his neck and trying to get a glimpse of Hannah's face.

When the song ended, Reverend Bob Woods, who had grayed the last few years and now wore glasses, stepped to the lectern. He scanned the congregation, hesitating only briefly when he reached Todd. The minister's expression didn't change, but his Adam's apple bobbed. Guilt had Todd shifting in his seat.

Just because Hannah's father recognized him didn't automatically mean she'd confided in him about humiliating past events. Todd hadn't changed that much since they were next-door neighbors—at least, not on the outside. Anyway, it couldn't make any difference what Reverend Bob or Andrew Westin or anyone else knew about mistakes they'd made
when they were still teenagers. He was here to make amends no matter what.