Love Inspired December 2014 - Box Set 1 of 2: A Rancher for Christmas\Her Montana Christmas\An Amish Christmas Journey\Yuletide Baby (8 page)

Sadly, that realization had come too late. He had planned a series of sermons about all the second chances God had given His people throughout the Bible, and in those sermons Ethan had planned to gradually reveal the details of his past to his congregation. He'd intended to tell them how God had rescued him from the path of destruction and set him on the path to wholeness, but he feared what such revelations would do now. How could he expect Robin to confide in him when he kept his own secrets? Yet, she obviously needed to tell someone what was bothering her. Were his past as clean as everyone thought, he would feel free to push Robin to confide in him, even to pursue her. Instead, he could only mount a subtle campaign to win the lady's trust as her pastor, though he could not technically claim even that much relationship with her.

After the midweek service, during which Robin raised her hand when he asked if there were any unspoken prayer requests, she and the three others whom he'd asked to stay for a cappella practice gathered in the front of the sanctuary. That, however, was not where he intended for them to ultimately practice or perform. Since he had hand delivered the music to everyone on Monday, they should all be familiar with it by now. One of the ladies played the piano, so she sat down to pick through the melody with chords, giving everyone the proper notes for harmony. They ran through the song once with the piano and again without it before Ethan moved them all out into the vestibule.

“Now, bear with me,” he said, glancing at Robin. “I think you'll find the acoustics out here more than satisfactory.”

The ladies cast doubtful looks at each other, but they stood and sang. The sound resonated with a rich, full-bodied quality. Looking at one another in surprise, they went through the song again, this time using their voices to full effect. Ethan felt the hair lift on his forearms as the music swelled and eddied around them. Giving each other congratulatory smiles, they began to realize the possibilities.

“Now, the bells,” Ethan said, grinning. “Robin, since we've discussed this, will you supply the cues? I'm going to take four beats to start.”

She nodded, and he hurried off, returning to the sanctuary to remove two newly polished handbells from beneath the pulpit where he'd stored them earlier. With the music spread out before him, he began to ring the bells in time with the song, just as he'd practiced earlier, alternating hands and keeping in mind the tempo that the ladies had used.

One, two, three, four, the music of the bells called out in clear, sweet tones, and the women lifted their voices as if in reply. The effect was joyous, bright but also ethereal, poignant, enough almost to bring tears to his eyes. He rang the bells again at the rests, and at the end he let them overlap the ladies' voices. They came gushing into the sanctuary, laughing, clapping and all talking at once.

“That was beautiful!”

“Amazing!”

“Could you hear us okay?”

“Perfectly,” he replied to that last. “It was everything I'd hoped for.”

“Imagine what everyone will say when we do this on Christmas morning.”

“Won't it be lovely?”

“I can hardly wait!”

“How did you come up with this?”

“Oh, it was mostly because of Robin,” Ethan answered breezily.

“It wasn't,” she countered at once, glancing around. “The whole thing was your idea.”

“I remembered you saying that you'd sung in college,” he explained, “and it got me to thinking that we ought to have a women's group.”

“So like I said, it was your idea,” she pointed out doggedly. “You found the song, too.”

“Yes,” he agreed in a cheerful tone that belied the hurt he felt because she so obviously did not want to be too closely associated with him. “The bells,” he began, merely to change the subject.

“Add a Christmassy air,” she snapped.

“So they do,” he replied, stung. “A very Christmassy air.”

“Because otherwise,” noted one of the ladies, “it's pretty much just a love song.”

“Well, Christmas is the season of love, isn't it?” Ethan said, smiling limply.

“Especially around here,” someone murmured.

“Good point,” Ethan said, “what with the Shaw wedding on Christmas night and all.” Then he clapped his hands together. “Well, I think we're done for the evening. I can go through this again on the twenty-third if that works for all of you.”

They decided that would do. The music was simple, and they didn't have to memorize anything, so one more short practice should take care of things. They set a time convenient for everyone, and the group broke apart with ladies hurrying away in various directions. Robin turned to go with the others, but Ethan called her back.

“One thing, if you please, Robin.”

He could see reluctance in every line of her body, and she obviously didn't like the knowing way in which the other women looked at her as they left. Still, she stayed behind. He tried to take comfort from that.

“I just want you to know that I'm never too busy for you. If you want to talk,
when
you want to talk, I'm here. I'll always be here for you.”

“Oh, Ethan,” she said softly, shaking her head. “You don't know what you're saying.” She looked up, her big blue eyes brimming with tears. “I wish I could say the same,” she choked out. “Truly I do.”

With that, she hurried away.

Sighing, Ethan rubbed his forehead wearily with his hand. That could have gone better. Whatever was bothering her was clearly tearing her apart, and he couldn't bear to see it, but he couldn't help her if she wouldn't let him. All he knew to do was pray for her and hope she would confide in him.

“‘But I will hope continually and praise You yet more and more,'” he quoted from the fourteenth verse of Psalm 71.

Hope. Praise. Faith. Forgiveness. Prayer. Love.

All the tools of his trade.

After he'd surrendered to the ministry, he'd thought he would be content with spiritual love. He'd never expected to find the romantic kind of love. He'd never expected to feel about a woman the way he found himself feeling about Robin Frazier, not that he had any reason to believe it would amount to anything. He didn't, given his own secrets. Still, he couldn't bring himself to ignore her pain and anxiety.

As a pastor, it was his job to help her. That being the case, he would just have to stumble forward prayerfully, hold on to hope, forget about love, leave the rest to faith and praise God for whatever came of it all.

Chapter Eight

P
ageant practice the next evening was the last place Robin wanted to be, but she couldn't convince herself to shrug it off, especially as the angel and shepherd costumes were supposed to be ready for approval. With less than a week before Christmas Eve, putting off that approval would be very irresponsible. If only she didn't have to see Ethan. She couldn't trust herself around him. It was all too easy to fall into the fiction that they were becoming a couple, and she dared not let that happen, not in her dreams and especially not in reality.

Every new sunset meant that much less time left to her, the days draining away like sand in the proverbial hourglass. A subtle panic had set in. Soon she would have to leave, no matter how unbearable the thought became. She began to fear that if he simply held out his arms to her, she would find herself sobbing out the whole story against his chest. But then what?

Even if Rusty would keep her secret indefinitely, she couldn't ask Ethan, a man of God, to do so. He would loathe her lies, if not her, and she knew in her bones that he would encourage, if not insist, that she tell the truth. But how could she at this late date?

Supposing that they would even hear her out, the Shaws were not going to believe her. Jackson would very likely hound her out of town; as the mayor and the town's leading citizen, he had the power and influence to do it. So what was the point of suffering Ethan's disdain, too? Worse, what if Ethan stood by her and Jackson decided to get rid of him, to remove him from his pastorate? It wasn't out of the realm of possibility. Jackson didn't just have a lot of clout in the community, and he also sat on the governing board of the church.

Just look at what had happened with the bridge and the bells. The Shaws had managed to close one of the only two routes into town and silence a pair of expensive, perfectly good bells for almost ninety years. What was to stop them from having Ethan stripped of his pastorate? How could she possibly live with that?

Still, Robin longed to take Ethan into her confidence, to talk it all over with him. The need had become a physical ache.

How ironic and unfair that a
pastor
should prove to be the greatest temptation she had ever faced.

Were he not a pastor, she might trust him with her secret and hope he'd be able to overlook her deceit; on the other hand, she doubted she'd find him half so attractive. Oh, the physical part wouldn't change, but that was just a fraction of what drew her. All that surfer-boy gorgeousness came with a keen, logical mind and a sweet, caring, honest personality wrapped around a strong, clean, truly good soul. He deserved a counterpart with all of the same. She hadn't been honest about why she was in town, her family connections, her great-grandmother's life and death—too much—but she tried to be a woman of her word.

So she ate a lonely dinner in her room and went to the church, arriving just as choir practice broke up. Dozens of bodies crammed the vestibule, some coming, some going. A good number of them wore white shapeless robes tied at the waist with lengths of rope. More rope formed straps for stiff wings covered in white feathers. Robin nodded approval over half a dozen similarly garbed angels before she could move forward.

She hadn't gone three steps when a young shepherd and his mother blocked her way. He wore cowboy boots with his homespun robe and a coiled length of rope over one shoulder. His mother held out two cowboy hats, a crisp natural straw and a neat black felt with a smartly steamed and shaped crown. Robin made a face.

“Don't you have anything floppy and worn?”

The woman bit her lip. “His dad might have an old gray felt work hat. It would be too big, but I could pad it inside.”

“Let's do that.”

She turned and found herself nose to collar button with Winston Harcourt, a rancher who lived about twenty minutes outside town.

“Red or white?” he asked. Robin backed up a step, blinking. “Chicken. You want a red or white?”

“Oh.” She had to think back to the photo they'd used for the program. “Uh, red.”

He nodded. Putting her head down, she stepped to one side and walked swiftly to the sanctuary door. She yanked it open to find Ethan on the other side.

“Am I ever glad to see you,” he said. “Can you come take a look at the set?” He caught her hand, laced his fingers through hers and tugged her down the aisle toward the front of the church, where several men were quickly erecting the simple set.

The next hour went as the first few minutes had gone. She answered innumerable questions, approved costumes or made suggestions to bring them in line with what was expected, while Ethan gave direction and instruction. Finally they were ready for a run-through. It turned out to be more of a bumpy slog. With dress rehearsal only two days away, Robin couldn't help worrying that the whole thing was going to wind up a great fiasco.

Ethan just shrugged and announced they'd try it the next evening, Friday, with the animals. The children chattered excitedly about that, but the Shaw brothers came over to remind him that all the pageant stuff had to be cleared away and the sanctuary cleaned up right after the performance for their sister's wedding. Despite his obvious weariness, Ethan calmly assured them that they had nothing to fear.

“The sanctuary has to be clear for the Christmas-morning service. That's why we've laid hopsacking on the floor. We'll just move everything out the back, roll up the sacking and bag it, vacuum and we're done. The pulpit will remain out of sight in my office, but we'll move the altar back in.”

“Marie will want in here right after the Christmas-morning service to decorate,” Austin pointed out.

“No problem. I've already told your mother that Marie can store the candelabra, flowers and pew bows in the fellowship hall until they're needed. And the chairs for the musicians are stacked against the wall there.”

“I guess we're good, then.”

“I think we're in excellent shape,” Ethan told him, slapping him on the shoulder. “Thanks for all your hard work on this. It's going to be fantastic, the pageant, the Christmas service and the wedding, too.”

Nodding and smiling, Austin moved off with his brother, following the crowd. Robin sighed wearily and shook her head.

“You don't really believe that.”

“I do,” Ethan insisted. “It's going to be wonderful, all of it.”

She goggled at him. “Ethan! Not a single person got a cue right tonight.”

He waved that away. “They'll do better when it matters.”

“The
sheep
stampeded.”

“Their mothers will take them in hand.”

“One of the angels shoved her little sister off the riser.”

“But no harm was done,” he said patiently. “Several people laughed.”

“It was the next thing to a riot!”

“It was sweet and funny and homey,” he told her. “I wouldn't change a thing.”

“Nothing?” she demanded, aware that she was being strident but unable to help herself. “You wouldn't keep shepherds from sword fighting with their staffs? You wouldn't ask mothers to pipe down enough backstage so we can hear the reading? You wouldn't stop the wise men from tossing pennies while you were trying to get everyone's attention?”

“They were
spinning
pennies. They weren't gambling. Tossing pennies is gambling.”

“Well, excuse me,” she huffed. “If they were gambling in church, then of course we'd have to get a handle on things, but as it is, everything's perfect!”

“No, it's not perfect,” Ethan declared, throwing up his hands. “If everything were perfect, my sister and niece would be here to see it all and celebrate it. You'd be smiling and laughing and not keeping secrets from me!”

Stricken, Robin felt all the fight drain out of her. Shaking her head, she did the very thing she'd feared she'd do; she walked straight into his arms.

“Oh, Ethan,” she said against the strong wall of his chest. “I just want to protect you.”

“From what?” he urged. “What could be so awful that I'd need protection from it?”

“Not what. Who,” she whispered.

Before he could press her for more, she searched through the joy and the pain for something safe, anything that wouldn't give him an opening to force the truth from her. Two words leaped out at her:
sister
and
niece.

My sister and niece would be here.

Lifting her head, she asked, “Why aren't your sister and niece coming?”

She expected him to say that they couldn't afford the trip or that his sister couldn't get off work or perhaps that she had other obligations.

Instead, he cut her a sharp look and morosely said, “My sister does not even speak to me, let alone spend holidays with me.”

Seeing the hurt in his eyes, Robin couldn't let that pass, so when he trudged over to the front pew and plopped down, she went and sat next to him, not too close but within reach.

For a moment, she couldn't think of anything to say, but then she asked, “What's your sister's name?”

The corners of his mouth curled tightly. “Colleen. Colleen Connaught. Our mother was Irish.” He slipped into an Irish brogue as easily as if the accent was a favorite T-shirt. “Mary Annette Kelly, from Dublin, where she caught the eye of one Johnny Jack Johnson, merchant marine.” He shook his head, dropping the accent. “Poor woman. She thought she was heading for a better life.”

“She wasn't?”

“No. Johnny Jack liked to drink. She died too young, disillusioned and lonely, longing for family and the familiar surroundings of home. She was brought up a staunch Catholic and wouldn't divorce or defy him.”

“What happened? How did she die?”

“A problem pregnancy. Not her first. The doctor warned her not to become pregnant again, so she simply didn't go back to him. When she became bloated and short of breath, Colleen and I begged her to see another doctor, but she tried home remedies instead. She stroked, and we lost her and the baby.”

“I'm so sorry, Ethan.”

He nodded. “I was twelve. Colleen was fifteen. Dad went to pieces, so Colleen kept everything together. I'll say this for him, he might not have been a good husband, but he grieved Mom. He stayed drunk for a solid six months after her passing.”

“Oh, Ethan.”

“Then he sobered up and took ship again, leaving us with his older sister, Molly. She never married. Their father was an invalid from his thirties on after an accident at work, so she helped their mother take care of him, and then she took care of her mother until she died, and then she took care of us.”

“Sounds like the Johnsons had a rough life,” Robin ventured, aware that none of this explained why his sister didn't speak to him.

He shrugged. “No rougher than many, far less than some.”

Her own life sounded like a fairy tale in comparison, and she felt more ashamed than ever for her duplicity and self-pity.

“When Colleen was nineteen,” Ethan said, “Dad brought home a friend, a young Irishman named Warren Connaught. No one was surprised when Colleen and Warren married. He took her to Ireland on their honeymoon. A seagoing man like Dad, he was in and out of our lives. Colleen was crazy about him. Aunt Molly said their marriage was like being on a perpetual honeymoon—there was no reality to it. He promised to stay ashore once they had children. Colleen lost two babies before Erin was born eight years ago. True to his word, Warren gave up the sea, but he didn't want to live in the United States, so he prepared to take Colleen and the baby to Ireland to live.” Ethan stopped and drew a deep breath.

“What happened?” Robin asked.

Ethan sat silent for so long that Robin began to think he wouldn't answer, but then he said, “Johnny Jack happened. He threw them a going-away party. Johnny Jack is big on parties, especially parties with lots of drinking, and where there are sailors and drinking, there are fights.”

“Oh, no.”

“When the brawl broke out, Warren went to stop it, for Colleen's sake. The baby was there after all. Dad took exception. ‘What's a good party without a good fight?' he wanted to know. He was almost too drunk to stand at that point, but that didn't stop him from turning on his son-in-law or picking up a bottle.” Ethan paused then rushed on. “He killed Warren with a single blow.”

Gasping, Robin covered her mouth with her hand. “Poor Colleen!”

Ethan gulped and nodded. “Because I had just started college at the time, I didn't get there until right before the funeral.” He ran a hand over his face, gritting out, “Dad at least had the decency to take a plea bargain and spare the family the ordeal of a trial. He got eleven years for manslaughter.”

“I am so sorry,” Robin whispered.

Ethan put his head back and closed his eyes for several long moments before going on. “My niece, Erin, is eight now. Dad will be up for parole soon.”

“I—I don't know what to say. But...how can Colleen blame you with any of this?”

“Oh, she doesn't,” Ethan told her, leaning forward. “She blames me for what happened three years ago.”

“I don't understand.”

“I had been writing to my father about his spiritual condition,” Ethan explained, “and he finally wrote to me that he had accepted Christ. He asked me to bring Colleen to see him so he could beg her forgiveness.” Ethan looked down at his hands. “I'm afraid I handled that rather badly. She was resistant, and I was...preachy, insistent, arrogant even. I made a mull of the whole thing, and she hasn't spoken to me since. I finally stopped trying to make her.”

Robin reached out and took his hand. “Time has a way of smoothing over things. Eventually she'll come around.”

“I pray so,” he murmured, gripping her fingers. “I miss her. And Erin. Looking at all those angels tonight, I kept imagining Erin as one of them. You know?” He made a fist of his free hand and pounded his knee, demanding, “What sort of pastor am I if I can't even reach my own sister?”