Her eyes narrowed as the arrow hit her heart. “I’m getting really tired of people making assumptions about my spiritual life.”
“Well, I’m sorry. Maybe if you didn’t act so cocky people wouldn’t make assumptions.”
“Cocky?!”
She turned and headed for the apartment at double speed, knowing she couldn’t hold her tongue much longer in the face of such an insult. She heard Marcus’s steps behind her but did nothing to acknowledge him, making a beeline instead for the staircase that led to their floor as her mind turned over and over the words Marcus had spoken. “I got the job.”
She nearly slammed the door behind her, but Marcus caught it and closed it quietly. His even-keeled emotions drove her nuts. She needed a yelling match, not some calm, logical voice of reason. She pulled off her jacket and threw it on the back of the couch. “You promised, Marcus. Don’t split hairs. If my mind was going to be changed, God would have done it by now, don’t you think?”
“I don’t know what to think,” he said. “Which is why I think we should pray about it together.”
She let out a snort. “I love that you think your job is worth praying over, but when I told you I was auditioning you acted like it was no big deal.”
“I prayed about that.”
That surprised her. “You did?”
“Of course.”
She crossed her arms. “Prayed I wouldn’t get it, I’ll bet.”
His face fell, and she winced inside at the look in his eyes. “How could you say that? Of course I didn’t pray that. I prayed God would guide your career, just like I’ve been praying since the day we started dating. I prayed you’d get it if that was His will, and that He’d comfort you if you didn’t. You know I always try to support you and encourage you. How could you ever think I’d be so mean as to pray against you like that?”
Amelia had let her anger carry her too far, and she knew it. Guilt began to gnaw at her stomach. What had she prayed for Marcus? “I’m sorry,” she said again. “I—I didn’t know you did all that.”
“Of course I did,” Marcus said, sounding weary. “I love you.”
Wounded by the realization that she had never even thought to pray like that, as well as by the fear that Jill might have been on to something, Amelia struggled with what to say next. She didn’t want to hurt him anymore. But she wasn’t about to give in on Nebraska, either. She sank to the couch beside Marcus and held out her hands. “All right then,” she said, unable to soften the challenge in her voice and unwilling to meet his eyes, “let’s pray about it.”
He paused a moment, then grasped her hands tightly and began to pray aloud. Amelia listened for a moment, then tuned out his voice, knowing his words didn’t matter. Nothing was going to make her move.
Christmas Day dawned with a chill in the air that matched the mood in the Sheffield apartment. The last three days had been navigated carefully by both parties, with no mention of the decision before them outside of the twice daily prayers they said together—or rather, that Marcus said in Amelia’s presence. Amelia was counting down the days until January 18, when the theater group began rehearsals for their first show, Pippin. Despite it not paying enough for her to quit either of her other positions, the mere knowledge that she would soon be performing again made the less-enjoyable parts of her day far easier to bear. However, it did nothing to soothe things between her and Marcus, and that was the part of her life that most concerned her.
Amelia loved Marcus, but she wondered if he’d begun to doubt it. The way they interacted had changed so much since he’d returned from Wheatridge. She didn’t feel comfortable being herself anymore. She worried she’d inadvertently say something to hurt his feelings again. He, too, seemed guarded, more measured with his conversation, more careful with his touches.
She glanced at the clock as she woke and calculated their morning schedule. They had nearly two hours before they had to be at church, which gave them plenty of time to exchange gifts, eat breakfast, and get ready for the day—as well as time to reconnect in a more intimate way.
Amelia slipped closer to Marcus beneath the covers and twined her limbs around her husband, whispering “Merry Christmas, baby” in his ear as he stirred from sleep.
He gave her a slow smile that lit his face in the way it had before this mess had begun. “Hey. Merry Christmas to you, too.”
She laid her head on his shoulder. “I’d like to propose a truce.”
“A truce?”
“A Christmas truce. Let’s pretend we haven’t been fighting, and that we don’t have this giant decision looming over us. Let’s just … go back to how we were and let today be magical the way Christmas should be. Agreed?”
His arms came around her, and he kissed her in the way she’d missed so much. “Agreed.”
During breakfast, Marcus pulled a small box from beneath the table-top Christmas tree that adorned a TV tray beside the couch. “For you,” he said, handing her the box with a flourish.
She smiled and ripped the sparkly red paper, then opened the package to find a black velvet jewelry box. “Oh my,” she said. “Fancy.” He wagged his eyebrows, making her giggle as she pulled up the lid. Inside sat a silver rectangular frame-like pendant with a snippet of sheet music inside.
“From Mozart’s ‘Alla Turca,’” he said, looking almost shy at the explanation. “Not the real thing—I mean, it’s a reproduction.” He shrugged. “I know you like that piece.”
“Oh, Marcus. It’s beautiful.” She pulled it off the velvet pillow and clasped it behind her neck, then leaned across the table to hug him. “Thank you so much.” She never would have thought he could name a single classical piece she liked. She always assumed she bored him to death when she talked to him about her favorite composer. That he not only listened, but remembered, chastised her. Could she name any of his favorite … favorite what? Theologians? Missionaries? What kinds of profession-specific favorites did pastors have, anyway?
Unwilling to break the good mood with thoughts of her own shortcomings, she stood and retrieved the gift she’d placed beneath the tree the night before. “For you. And, I am ashamed to say, not nearly as unique.”
He chuckled as he unwrapped the gift. “My cologne. Thanks, I’m almost out.”
“I noticed. And you can’t run out of that. It’s too delicious.”
He kissed her. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. I wish I could have gotten you more.”
“I wish I could have gotten more for you, too. But that’s all right. It’s the nature of low-paying jobs in a high-cost-of-living city. Someday we’ll be able to shower each other with gifts.” He kissed her again, then brought their empty breakfast dishes to the sink. “But until then I’ll be perfectly content knowing I’ve got an amazing wife who loves me and keeps me well stocked in cologne.”
He left to shower and dress, leaving Amelia feeling wretched. How lucky was she, to be married to someone who was so kind and sweet and caring? What kind of fool was she to cause such a fuss over this move? Surely we can find a way to compromise.
The thought triggered a long-forgotten memory. The same words, spoken by her father, which were met with a heated diatribe by her mother. Amelia had been young, maybe five or six, and the events her mother had been ranting about had happened long before she’d been born. Amelia didn’t quite know what her parents were arguing about. But later, when she’d asked her older sister why they’d been fighting, Evie told her about how the family had come to live in Pennsylvania. Their father hadn’t liked his job anymore, so he got a new one. But it was in Philadelphia, and their parents had been living in New York. Mom was on Broadway then—this was before even Evie was born—and she had to quit for the move. Since then, Dad had considered changing jobs again, but their mother didn’t want him to drag her away from their home like he had done the last time.
It was the first time Amelia had heard about her mother’s life before children. How Evie knew the details, Amelia never
learned, but from then on Amelia’s ears were fine tuned to catch more tidbits about the kind of life her parents had once led. The older she’d grown, the more she’d discovered, and the angrier she’d become at both her parents—at her father for pulling her mother away from such a successful life that, even decades later, she longed to recapture; and at her mother, for allowing herself to be dragged away. For not bouncing back and finding another outlet for her creativity. For compromising. It was that compromise that had set off the chain of events that led to her disappearance.
Amelia shivered, suddenly cold. She loved Marcus; of course she did. But she wasn’t about give up her dreams for him. She’d seen what that kind of regret could do to a soul.
After the service, Marcus and Amelia drove north to Ventura to have dinner with Marcus’s family. Despite being less than an hour’s drive from them, Amelia had only seen them a handful of times since meeting Marcus in college and had never spent Christmas with them. Marcus’s father was a second-in-command associate pastor at a large church, and was often swamped with work. His mother, who had lived as a full-time homemaker until her children had all left the nest, now volunteered full-time at the church in a handful of positions. Amelia sometimes wondered why they had a house at all—they practically lived at Ventura Bible Fellowship.
His family was nice on the surface, but there was some prickliness there that kept Amelia on the defensive. Marcus’s two older brothers were outgoing, albeit a bit too full of themselves in Amelia’s estimation. His mother was kind, always well dressed and making sure everyone was comfortable and had what they needed, but quiet, almost never talking about herself. She, at least, made obvious attempts to fold Amelia into the family. His father reminded her a bit of her own: He had a strong presence that kept her always aware of him, and he was short on chitchat. He asked straightforward questions, and although she hadn’t been raised to do so, Amelia always felt like she should address him as “sir.”
On the drive home from the first holiday she’d spent with Marcus’s family, Amelia had confessed that she didn’t understand how Marcus had turned out so normal. “Not that your family is abnormal,” she’d assured him. “It’s just … Well, I definitely like you the most out of all of them.”
Marcus had found that amusing. “I’m glad to hear that.”
“Although your mom is pretty cool.”
“Yes, she is. She and I have always been close.”
“Your brothers …”
“Are conceited.”
She’d gasped. “That’s not what I was going to say!”
“No, but only because you’re too kind to talk about people that way,” he’d said with a smile before kissing her. “But it’s true, they are. Very popular, very successful … It went to their heads.”
“It didn’t go to yours.”
He laughed. “That’s because I’ve never been popular or successful.” He’d distracted her then, drawing her attention to the way the sun was setting over the Pacific, and Amelia had sensed he was done with the discussion. When she’d tried bringing it up again, to ask why his father always seemed so critical of him, he’d shrugged it off and insisted he was like that with everyone. She knew better than to bring it up again.
When they arrived at the spacious home where Marcus had grown up, Amelia was disappointed to notice no other cars were in the driveway or on the street. When Marcus’s brothers were there with their families, the house felt less stifling, and the other wives kept the conversation going. Amelia and Mary Sheffield never seemed to have anything to say to each other.
Amelia helped Marcus carry in the gifts, which they placed beneath the tree that looked as though it had been decorated by a Macy’s window dresser. “Merry Christmas, Mom!” Marcus called into the silent house.
“Merry Christmas,” she called back from the kitchen. Amelia followed Marcus there, where they found Mary assembling a broccoli casserole. “Hello, sweetheart,” she said, kissing Marcus on the cheek. “Hello, Amelia,” she said, hugging her lightly. “Help yourselves to egg nog. Any sign of the others?”
“Nope, not yet,” Marcus said, pouring drinks for himself and Amelia. “Where’s Dad?”
“Still at church. He should be back in time for dinner, though.”
Amelia glanced at the clock. Dinner was to be at four. It was now just past noon. Their church’s services were surely finished by now. What would keep him at work so long on a holiday?
She noticed that neither Marcus nor Mary seemed fazed. Obviously there was a lot more for a pastor to do than Amelia realized. “Can I help, Mary?”
“Oh, you’re sweet, Amelia. Thank you, but I’m fine.” She smiled at her, then nodded in the direction of the living room. “Make yourselves comfortable. The others ought to be here soon. I stacked the Christmas movies on the coffee table, Marcus—how about putting something in?”
Sensing they were being banished, Amelia followed Marcus to the living room and sat on the leather couch while he chose a DVD from the pile. Amelia caught a glimpse of the case. It’s a Wonderful Life.
The movie was half over before Eddie and his family arrived, followed closely by John, the middle son, and his wife and six-month-old twin sons. Amelia was relieved by the presence of more people, even if two of them seemed to do nothing but cry and three of them were less than four feet tall and ran around the house as though possessed. Amelia followed the women into the kitchen, not wanting to get stuck in sports-laden conversation as was sure to happen if she remained in the living room with the brothers. Kendra and Renee, her sisters-in-law, dived right in to helping prepare dinner, leaving Amelia feeling inadequate and useless until Renee smiled at her and tilted her head toward the car seat on the floor where one of the twins was wailing. “Would you mind taking Jackson out of there, Amelia? He hates the car but I thought he’d calm down once we were inside. Guess I was wrong.”
“Oh—sure.” Amelia knelt and studied the buckle a moment before attempting to open it. Some fumbling eventually did the trick, and she lifted the squirming little boy from the velour and held him awkwardly against her as she gently bounced. She could count on one hand the number of babies she’d held in her life. She never knew what to do with them.
Renee gave her another smile, but then started talking to Mary about the preschool their church was starting. Amelia was soon shut out of the conversation by virtue of being unable to contribute to the debate over sending or not sending children to preschool. The same type of thing had happened the last time the family had been together, at Thanksgiving. Amelia and Marcus had arrived late that night, and she’d assumed it was simply a matter of people already being in a groove with their discussions, but to find it happening again when she and Marcus had been earlier than everyone else made her feel snubbed.
Jackson was still crying, but Renee showed no interest in rescuing Amelia, and in fact volunteered to begin preparing the hors d’oeuvres. Maybe one of the men would do a better job taking care of the baby, Amelia thought. Still bouncing her fist-waving nephew, she went into the living room where Marcus and his brothers were watching a basketball game and Jackson’s twin was lying asleep in his car seat.
“… tried out for the seventh-grade team, remember?” Eddie was saying as John laughed. Marcus rolled his eyes at his brothers and turned back to the television. “You couldn’t even make a layup, you were so short.”
“Like that was my fault?” Marcus said, then glanced at Amelia. “Aw, Jackson’s not happy, huh?”
“Watching you do those drills in the driveway—man, I thought I’d die laughing.”
“Shut up, Ed.” Marcus reached his hands out Amelia. “Here, give him to me.”
“Lighten up, Marc,” John said. “You’re always so defensive.”
Amelia noticed how Marcus completely ignored his brothers once he had Jackson in his arms. “Hey, kiddo,” he said as he gently bounced him on his knees. “You’re just not a happy guy, are you? Your brother is conked out, you know. You should try tha
t. Naps are good stuff.”
Jackson’s eyes locked onto Marcus’s face and his crying abruptly ceased. Marcus smiled at him. “There you go. You don’t need to cry. Life is good for you right now. Believe me.” He lifted the baby into the air above his head, and Jackson let out a belly laugh. Amelia thought back to Jill’s comments about Marcus as a father and frowned. This was pressure she definitely did not need.
Eddie and John continued to rib Marcus, but he focused all his attention on his nephew. Amelia was disturbed by his brothers’ degrading teasing, though Marcus seemed almost unfazed. Except for the set of his jaw.
Amelia returned to the kitchen in the hopes of at least being helpful in the dinner preparation. Actually getting in on the discussion would be icing on the cake.
But it appeared the other women had everything under control. Mary and Kendra had already finished what they were doing, and were sitting on barstools at the island drinking sparkling apple cider while Renee finished prepping the tray of finger foods. “Can I get you a glass?” Mary asked when Amelia came in, raising her own with the question.
“Oh, thanks, I’ll get it myself.”
“So, any luck with the music thing?” Kendra asked. It always bothered her the way Marcus’s family talked about her chosen career, as though it were a teenager’s current obsession that was likely to be forgotten in a month. She was glad she had an answer for once besides “Not yet, still looking.”
“Yes, actually—I just got hired as the in-house pianist for a new theater troupe. They’re going to do all Broadway musicals, but with new arrangements and scripts reworked to fit the current social climate.”
The three Sheffield women looked at her like she’d just spoken in tongues.
“That’s … interesting,” Mary said.
“And this is a full-time job?” Renee asked.
“Not really, no. They’re working off of a pretty meager budget right now, but hopefully once the shows start, the ticket sales will bump everyone’s salary up a bit. Since rehearsals and shows are in the evenings, I can keep working my other jobs until I find something else.”
Composing Amelia Page 6
