Silent Stars of Bethlehem (O Little Town of Christmas)

by Laura Hodges Poole

  Silent Stars of Bethlehem

  by

  Laura Hodges Poole

  Scripture obtained from:

  THE HOLY BIBLE, NEW INTERNATIONAL VERSION®, NIV® Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.® Used by permission. All rights reserved worldwide.

  BibleGateway.com

  Text copyright © 2015 Laura Hodges Poole

  All Rights Reserved

  Acknowledgements

  A huge thank you to my American Christian Fiction Writers (ACFW) critique groups, beta readers, and everyone who has encouraged and supported me in my writing journey. I wouldn’t be the same writer without you all.

  A special thanks to my editor, Christy Callahan, for her expertise.

  I’m eternally grateful to my Lord and Savior Jesus Christ who saved me and inspires me daily to become more like Him.

  “He sits enthroned above the circle of the earth,

  and its people are like grasshoppers.

  He stretches out the heavens like a canopy,

  and spreads them out like a tent to live in.”

  Isaiah 40:22

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter One

  “Rats!” Carly Shepherd threw her hands against the flapping tent that shielded her art displays from the rain.

  Why did it always rain at least once every time she had an art show to attend? She almost skipped this one, but the Leaf Festival in Cashiers, North Carolina, in the fall was a must for any up-and-coming local artist. Not that she considered herself that. More like a trudging artist who barely paid her bills. Success here could not only catapult her into the larger artist scene but put money in her pocket for the next few months.

  Now, if only it would stop raining.

  Water trickled down the side of the partition and puddled near the entrance of her booth.

  “Here, let me help,” a voice sounded from the other side.

  Strong hands pushed against hers, and she snapped the metal pole back into place.

  A man stepped into the tent, water dripping from his black flat-bill cap embroidered with an energy drink emblem. Woodsy brown hair with natural blond highlights shagged around his ears. “Got some duct tape?”

  “Um…yeah.” She rummaged through her supply bin and came up with a gray roll.

  “Wrap it while I hold it in place.”

  Carly did as instructed, and he stepped back and examined her work.

  “Not bad.” He dusted off his hand and extended it. “Drew Middleton.”

  She slipped her hand into his sure, rugged one. “Carly Shepherd.”

  His toffee-colored eyes sparkled from his tanned face. Smiling, he gripped her hand briefly then surveyed her paintings. “Artist? Or just mindin’ the store?”

  Carly brushed water droplets from her jeans and pink square-neck smock with flowing three-quarter length sleeves. “Both. One of my friends normally helps me set up and work the booth, but she’s hiking the Appalachian Trail, so I’m by myself today. And you?”

  “A tourist. Although I’m through here often enough I don’t consider myself one.”

  Rain continued to patter overhead though its timbre grew softer. “Sounds like it might subside after all. I don’t relish packing up and driving home in this mess.”

  She fidgeted with the edge of her fingernail, trying not to stare at Drew as he strolled among the displays. He paused at an oil painting that depicted Chimney Rock and rubbed his chin. “Do you live nearby?”

  Carly’s pulse quickened. She normally didn’t share personal information with customers, yet he seemed harmless. After all, serial killers weren’t this handsome. Though she knew at least one former stalker who was. And it had taken forever to get rid of him. “Why do you ask?”

  “I’d like to buy this painting, but it won’t fit in my Harley’s saddle bags.”

  “I have a shop over in Bethlehem. You can find me there most days. Weekends during the fall, I’m usually at festivals like this one.”

  He arched an eyebrow. “Bethlehem. Really?”

  She lifted her hand. “Save the joke. I know. I’m a shepherd who lives in Bethlehem.”

  He smiled sympathetically. “I’m sure you were teased as a kid.”

  “Yep.” She laughed.

  “Actually, I wasn’t going to tease you. I’m surprised at how close you live to me. I live in Hickory. We’re almost neighbors.”

  “Cool. If you pay for the painting, I’ll hold it until you get by.”

  “Sounds like a plan.” Laugh lines around his eyes accented his sparkling eyes. He fished his wallet from his back jeans pocket and extended his debit card to her.

  She rang up his purchase and handed him the receipt. “I’ve attached my business card. Come by the shop during the week, and your painting will be ready to pick up.”

  “Thanks.” He slipped the receipt into his wallet. “Now if the rain would stop.”

  “I imagine it’s treacherous driving on wet roads on a motorcycle.”

  He lifted his cap and ran his hand through his hair. “Especially in the mountains.”

  “If you don’t mind…” She motioned to the tent flap. “Could you help me tie this down better?”

  “Sure.” He knotted the tie against the tent pole as the rain began to pelt the side of the tent again.

  “Guess I’m stuck here now.”

  She grabbed a stool from behind her makeshift counter. “Have a seat. At least these showers blow over quickly.”

  “Thanks.”

  The afternoon had gone well with a steady stream of customers. The only thing left to do was count the money and fill out a deposit slip—something she couldn’t do with a stranger in her presence. Instead she began to box up the paintings, carefully securing each one in its holder to place back in her van. She knew from past experience, once bad weather set in, the customers faded. Maybe tomorrow would be better.

  He reached out his hand. “Need some help?”

  “No, thanks, I do this all the time.”

  Bluegrass music blared from the main concert stage, and the smell of funnel cakes and barbeque wafted through the air. Her stomach rumbled. She’d seen a vendor selling deep-fried Oreos when she briefly stepped out at lunch to get a soda to go with her tuna fish sandwich. Now she wished she’d grabbed one.

  The tent teetered with a strong gust of wind. She eyed the poles struggling against its force.

  “I thought the rain was dying down, but it actually sounds stronger than what the weather forecast predicted.” He stood and peered between the tent flaps.

  She frowned, her stomach knotting as she debated their safety in the structure. “That’s the mountains for you. At least there’s no lightning…yet.”

  Drew laughed. “Reminds me of when I was a kid. My younger brother and I used to take turns running out into the storm in between lightning strikes to see if we could run across the yard and back before the next strike.”

  Carly gasped. “Where was your mother?”

  He laughed even harder. “Oh, it didn’t go on long. She had to double-step to keep up with us.”

  She shook her head. “I can imagine. Two boys. Or are there more?”

  “Nope. Just the two of us. More than enough for her.”

  “I hope you’ve outgrown that,” she teased.

  His eyes glinted mis
chief. “Mostly. Keenan rides dirt bikes in motocross. I’ve settled for the Harley.”

  “Pick your poison?”

  “Something like that.” He sobered. “Keenan’s broken more bones than I care to remember, but at least I’ve fared better. The Lord’s looked out for me.”

  Her chest tightened. He’d seemed too good to be true. Now it was apparent that he was simply too good. For her, at least. “And not Keenan?”

  Drew frowned. “That’s not what I meant.”

  She waved aside his words. “I’m sorry. That was uncalled for. I’m in a little bit of a funk where religion is concerned.”

  “Wanna talk about it?”

  To a perfect stranger? Uh, no. “Not really.”

  He nodded and turned to stroll through the tent, looking at other paintings.

  Sunlight streamed through the tent, and only a light mist fell. She hadn’t meant to be rude. Ugh. Why did she always seem to say the wrong things when people meant well? An introvert at heart, she wondered how she ever got talked into doing festivals. Maybe she should set up an Etsy store and be content to sell online.

  Sighing, she slid another painting into its holder. She knew why she hadn’t. It would be too easy to retreat—be a hermit—and she didn’t want to end up an old woman strolling around her house in her bathrobe with unkempt hair and no makeup by the time she was fifty. Her mother’s image rose up in Carly’s mind, and she shuddered.

  “Cold?” Drew stood next to her.

  She instinctively stepped back. “No, not really.”

  “I guess I’d better think about going. Sure you don’t need help?” He eyed the stack of paintings.

  She smiled. “No, but thanks for keeping me company. I enjoyed the chat.”

  His face brightened. “Sure. I’ll see you sometime next week.”

  “Drive safe.”

  “Thanks, I will.”

  She watched him meander back down the trail and disappear into the throng of people making their exit during the break in the rain. Something was different about him than the many men who wandered in and tried to flirt—something she couldn’t quite put into words. Her mother’s chiding voice broke through her thoughts—as it often did.

  “He’s like the rest of the men out there—only interested in one thing.”

  Carly covered her ears. “Stop. I won’t listen to you anymore.” Sheepishly she glanced around hoping no one heard her. Her mother had been dead for ten years. When would the damage she’d inflicted be over?

  “Forgive, Carly.” Her grandmother’s words rang in her ears. Compassion had obviously skipped a generation—a fact she’d never been able to reconcile.

  “Oh, Grandma, if only I knew how.” Carly angrily swiped the tears at the corners of her eyes and did what she did best—work. For the next hour, she tried to put her mother and Drew out of her mind. Likely, after he picked up his painting next week, she’d never see him again.

  Then she wouldn’t have to worry about forming any kind of real friendship or being hurt. Again.

  Forgiveness? The list was long, and the hurts piled on top of one another. It’d take more than forgiveness to heal her shattered heart.

  ***

  Drew strolled through the mechanics area of Keenan’s race team in a leased garage in Hickory. The sweltering heat of the unusually hot autumn day was made worse by the lack of air flowing through the building. He’d much rather be driving the Blue Ridge Parkway with the wind in his hair. Even better were the detours like the one he’d taken over the weekend.

  For some unspeakable reason, he looked forward to his stop in Bethlehem once he finished here. Maybe it had something to do with the fact he’d not been able to get Carly off his mind since he’d left Cashiers on Saturday. Her silky blonde hair and lake-blue eyes enchanted him from the moment he stepped into her tent, but her tentative smile leant a vulnerability to the strength she seemed determined to display. Yet every time he’d taken a step toward her, she took a step back. Somewhere in the midst of that steely façade lay a seemingly fragile heart. Her comment about God wasn’t a new one to him, but it troubled him nonetheless.

  “Hey, man,” a mechanic he recognized called to him.

  Drew stopped short. “What’s up, Dave? Where’s my brother this morning?”

  “Probably still asleep.” Dave wiped his hands on a towel and rose up from the work bench where a carburetor lay. “He’s not too happy you missed his race Saturday.”

  Drew shook his head. “Couldn’t be helped. Had other business to tend to.”

  A grin slid across Dave’s face. “Who was she this time?”

  Heat spread across Drew’s chest, but he swallowed against the urge to return the jibe. “I’m not Keenan,” he said evenly, pinning the man with his gaze.

  Dave lifted his hand in defeat. “Okay. Sorry, dude.” He picked up a wrench. “I’ll tell him you were in. Might as well take care of that other business. I don’t expect to see him before late this afternoon.”

  “Thanks, I will.” Drew pulled his cell phone from his pocket. “I’ll text him when I’m headed back.”

  Outside, Drew double-checked the address for Carly’s shop on his GPS and then pocketed the phone. He strapped on his helmet and climbed on the Harley. This wasn’t the first time his brother’s behavior troubled him. Usually, if Keenan wasn’t at the garage on Monday morning it meant he’d been out celebrating too much.

  God, be with my brother and protect him. Show me how to get through to him.

  Drew kicked over the Harley’s engine. The putt-putt spitting of the engine roared to life as he accelerated onto the highway.

  Since he’d fronted his brother quite a bit of money to spend on racing, Drew began to doubt it had been a good idea. He’d been careful with his money and invested wisely in real estate and the stock market. But Keenan’s guilt trip that somehow he’d gotten second best in life had colored Drew’s normally wise decision making.

  Let’s face it, Middleton, you’re a sap where broken hearts are concerned.

  The scenery on the highway flew past him as he tried to put his brother out of his mind. Dwelling on the situation often left him spent with no solution gained from the worry. Stopping briefly at his home, he exchanged the motorcycle for his black Ford F-150 pickup and continued on to Bethlehem.

  Before long, the roads would be more congested with tourists making their yearly pilgrimage to soak in the breathtaking fall foliage of the mountains. Elms and oaks showcased their orange, crimson, and golden leaves intermixed with the evergreens that would provide the only color in this part of the state in another month. He wasn’t looking forward to the cold weather. It meant less time riding his motorcycle on the open road with the wind in his face.

  Ten minutes later, he turned into the parking lot of the address Carly had given him. A quaint little yellow mill house sat back from the road. A sign on the front read Designs by Carly.

  “Cute.” He parked and climbed the steps of the house. “Anyone home?” he called out as he opened the front door, its bell clamoring his arrival.

  “I’m in the back. Make yourself at home, and I’ll be with you in a minute,” Carly answered.

  Paintings hung on the walls, and assorted whitewashed stands held sculptures and pottery. Cinnamon potpourri simmered on the counter, and a calico tabby cat purred around his ankles.

  “Yikes! She’s a cat person,” he murmured and moved away. What would his boxer, Thunder, think of this little fur ball? Probably dinner. He snorted.

  “What’s so funny?” Carly stepped from the back room, her eyes holding a sparkle they hadn’t two days before. A fringy leather vest accented the red button-down shirt with rolled-up sleeves she wore along with stonewashed jean capris and sandals. She tucked her blonde hair behind her ears while she waited for a response.

  “Nothing, really.” He pointed at the cat. “Wondering what my dog would think of her.”

  “Oh.” Carly chuckled. “Yeah, she kind of came with the building. The
landlord said something about mice, but I think it might’ve been an excuse to keep the cat. She’d started feeding her and couldn’t get rid of her.”

  “Sounds about right.” Drew leaned against the counter. “Is my painting ready?”

  Carly reached beneath the counter. “I wrapped it this morning.” She handed him the package.

  “That was quick.” He took it from her hands and stood looking at it.

  “Well?”

  He shifted from one foot to the other. “This may sound crazy, but would you like to get some lunch?”

  Her cheeks flushed pink. “I-I can’t leave the shop.” She spanned her hands palms up.

  “Sorry. I didn’t think…” He glanced around. “Are you expecting other customers on a Monday morning? It seems pretty quiet.”

  “Not usually.”

  This isn’t going well. He cleared his throat. “You have to eat, right?”

  She tilted her head. “I packed a lunch.”

  He rubbed the back of his neck. “You’re not gonna make this easy for me, are you?”

  Smiling, Carly looked past him as another customer came through the door. “Good morning. I’ll be right with you.”

  She came from behind the counter. “I’ll tell you what. How ‘bout you go pick up a sandwich and bring it back? It would be nice to have some company for a while. There’s a Subway a couple miles down the road.”

  “I know the one.” He glanced at his watch. “That’ll work. I’ve got a few calls to make, so I’ll pick up a sandwich and be back about noon.”

  “Sounds good.” She strolled over to the customer and began chatting.

  Outside, Drew scrolled through his cell phone. Still no word from Keenan. Why had taking care of his little brother fallen on his shoulders after their father died? They were both grown adults with lives of their own. Yet, he knew the answer to the question, and he suspected Keenan did, too. It was both a wedge that came between them and the glue that held them together. Except for their aging mother, all they had was each other now.

  He glanced back at the shop before climbing into his truck. Weary from worry and life, he’d stumbled into the festival yesterday and despite the pouring rain had found a ray of sunshine. Though he knew nothing about Carly, her smile had given him an inexplicable hope he’d not felt in a while.