She walked straight up to him, lifted on her toes, and met his lips for a kiss. She could not remember a day that he had come home and they hadn’t greeted each other the same way. “Come on in, and I’ll get you a cup of coffee. Do you want to have it in the living room?”
A small fire was already lit, and with the decorated tree in the corner of the room, the space was inviting. Instead of taking her offer, he lifted his head and sniffed loudly. Laughing, she said, “I get the feeling that you’d like a cookie, as well.”
“Absolutely. And don’t worry about serving me in here, I’ll just have my coffee and cookies in the kitchen with you. I know you’re busy.”
They walked down the hall together, and George sat on a stool at the kitchen counter while she poured him a cup of coffee. Strong, with just a dash of cream.
He took a sip, smiled, and nodded. “You make the best coffee, Ethel.” His gaze landed on the platters of cookies directly in front of him, and his smile widened. “You also make the best cookies!”
Pleased with his compliment, she grabbed a small plate and placed three cookies on top. “Well, for such a sweet talker, I think you should have a reward.”
He reached out and snagged a snickerdoodle. As he munched the warm cookie, a blissful expression crossed his face. Turning back to her mixing bowl, she continued to stir the next batch of batter when she heard him sigh heavily.
“Is everything okay?” When he didn’t answer right away, she twisted her head, spying his furrowed brow.
“Would you mind making some extra cookies?”
“Of course not. Did you want to take some to work? I was going to make extra for you anyway.”
He shook his head slowly. “No, no, not for work. I thought we might take some to one of the shelters.”
His request surprised her, not certain she understood what he was referring to. “Shelters?”
He was quiet for a moment, so she laid the spoon in the bowl and turned so she could give him her full attention. Leaning her hip against the counter, she could see thoughts working behind his eyes and remained quiet, knowing he would speak when he was ready.
His shoulders hefted as he sighed heavily again. “Had someone come in today, and I could tell they were down on their luck. I offered them some coffee, even though it was the office version and not your good brew.”
She smiled at the compliment, then continued to wait for the rest of his story.
“The man needed some work on his car to get to a new job. He, his wife, and two boys were living in a shelter down on Canter Street. I asked him a few questions and found out it was a shelter for people that had lost their homes and didn’t have any other place to go.”
Ethel worried her bottom lip as she watched George visibly struggle with his story. She read the newspaper and listened to the news each night, considering herself to be well versed in the woes of the world. She understood the plight of people who needed assistance, but somehow, they’d always seemed far off, and it felt as though the work she did at her church was enough. Staring at George, concern knitted his brow and the worry for this family deepened the creases radiating from his eyes.
She reached out and placed her hand on his, squeezing lightly. Of course, I’ll make more cookies,” she said, embarrassed at the grateful look he shot her. “I should have thought of something like this myself.”
Shaking his head, he said, “Don’t take that on, Ethel. You do a lot for the neighbors, community, and church. I sure as heck don’t want to add more onto you—”
Waving her other hand dismissively, she replied, “Oh posh, George. Making a few more cookies is hardly piling any work onto me.”
He held her gaze and smiled, the love tangible between them. “I’m going to go get cleaned up, and then I can help you take these to the church. I’ll take the extra tomorrow and drop them off at the shelter.”
“You’ll do no such thing,” she declared. “We’ll take them to the shelter together.”
Bundled against the cold, Ethel and George walked into the shelter. Her glove-covered hands were loaded with plastic containers of cookies. Uncertain what she would face, she took her cue from George’s quiet strength. As they walked in, he moved to the reception desk, explaining why they were there. Ethel’s gaze scanned the worn but clean tile floor and the large bulletin board on the wall, covered in notes for the residents.
“Mr. Wiseman?”
Hearing his name, she and George turned in unison, spying a thin man, his hair swept back from his face. Leaving her side, George walked over and stuck out his hand. “Jonathan,” he greeted. “Call me George.” He turned and lifted his arm and Ethel hurried over. “This is my wife, Ethel.”
“We brought some cookies for the children here. George thought your kids might like some.”
Jonathan ducked his head, but she could see gratitude filling his being. His gratitude settled awkwardly on her shoulders… she had so much and he so little. Just then, a small woman with two boys in tow made their way into the lobby. The woman’s eyes were large but wary. As her husband introduced his wife, Sue, she offered a little smile as her gaze darted toward Ethel. Once the introductions were over, George maneuvered the gathering toward the corner of the room where there were a small sofa and several chairs.
The boys were shy, hanging behind their mother. Ethel knelt so that she was on their level, popped the top off the plastic container, and held out the treats. “Would you like some cookies?”
They both looked up at their mother, who offered a quick nod. “Get just one and mind your manners.”
The boys dutifully stepped forward and each took one cookie, offering their thanks before darting back toward their mother. Ethel wanted to offer them more, but it dawned on her that filling up on sweets might not be what their mother wanted.
They settled in their seats, George making small talk with Jonathan, finding out how his job interview went. The relief in their faces was evident when he said that he’d be starting the next week and hoped to move his family out of the shelter and into a small apartment soon after. Her attention was drawn to the two boys. She smiled and lifted a brow at their mother, who met her unasked question with a nod. Pushing the plastic container toward them again, she whispered, “Please, have another cookie. And then, if there are other children in the shelter you’d like to share them with, that would be lovely.”
The boys grew bolder, and soon they were chatting with her, warming her heart with their stories. Wanting babies of her own did not keep her from enjoying the company of other children.
As they stood to leave, Sue accepted Ethel’s hug and whispered softly, “Thank you so much.”
“Charles Dickens once said, ‘No one is useless in this world who lightens the burdens of another.’” Seeing the boys’ wide eyes, she explained, “That was from a book I enjoyed reading. I like to memorize quotes.”
“We don’t have any books. We have to leave them in school,” the older boy said.
Startled, Ethel’s heart squeezed at the need evident in the child’s simple statement. The school would not want to offer books to homeless children who might lose them or never bring them back. Tears stung the back of her eyes, but she smiled and nodded. “We’ll see you soon,” she promised.
True to her word, two days later she re-entered the shelter with George at her side. Jonathan, Sue, and the boys readily greeted them once again. This time, not only did she bring cookies, but she brought several wrapped packages.
Sue’s eyes widened, and she shook her head. “Oh, Miss Ethel, you shouldn’t have.”
“It’s just a little something,” she said, lifting her thin shoulders. She watched with delight as the boys ripped off the paper, finding a small stack of books for each of them. Their awe was humbling, and she once again battled the sting of tears. Kneeling close by, she explained, “Most of these are fairy tales that I thought you’d enjoy. They’re entertaining but can teach us so much about life.”
Both boys threw the
ir arms around her, almost knocking her over with their enthusiastic hug. She laughed and squeezed them tightly, joy filling her heart.
That evening, she and George sat in the living room, Christmas music once again playing softly from the radio and the lights from the tree casting the room in a holiday glow. The fire crackled from the fireplace, warming the room as they read.
“I know that was hard for you.”
So deep into the story she was reading, George’s voice cut through, the interruption causing her head to snap up and see him staring thoughtfully at her. “Hard for me?”
“Going by the shelter with the cookies and the books.”
She slid a bookmark between the pages and closed her book, giving him her attention. “George, taking a simple gift to someone in need is hardly difficult.”
He nodded slowly, his gaze turning toward the fireplace that cast his face in light and shadows. He had no trouble speaking his mind, but she knew that he was careful with his thoughts. With their books now resting in their laps, she waited as her stomach flip-flopped, unsure of the road his mind was traveling down.
“I wanted to give you children, Ethel,” he began. She opened her mouth to refute the idea that he had somehow failed her, but his lifted hand stilled her words. “I know there’s no saying exactly why God hasn’t blessed us that way, but I know it sits heavy with you. You have so much love to give, Ethel. And I feel selfish because since we’ve been married, that love has rained down mostly on me. I know that being around those boys today made you think about what we don’t have.”
Her throat was clogged with unshed tears, and they were silent as they both swallowed deeply. He would make such a good father, thinking of all the ways he would’ve passed on his quiet goodness, intelligence, patience, and fun spirit. Dragging in a shaky breath, she said, “Yes, my sweet George, I wanted to give you children. We don’t know that it’s not going to happen, but I confess that every month, I feel the ache a bit deeper.”
“I was always taught that God gives us what he wants us to have, not always what we think we deserve. But that doesn’t mean that it’s easy to accept.”
Losing the battle to keep tears at bay, they slid down her cheeks, landing unheeded on the front of her blouse. She nodded slowly. “I’ve spent untold hours on my knees in prayer for children. Children I could raise, comfort, teach, guide, and love. I’m slowly coming to accept that might not happen for us. I’m also slowly coming to learn that there are other ways that I can reach out to children.” She tried to smile but knew George could see straight through her.
He placed his book on the table next to him, stood, and moved closer before kneeling next to her. He lifted his large hand and swept her tears from her cheeks. “You are the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen, Ethel. And you’re the strongest woman I’ve ever known. Don’t ever doubt, no matter what happens, how much I love you.”
Her book slid to the floor as she leaned forward, pulling his face toward hers. Their lips met in a kiss, soft and gentle, strong with an aching need. They celebrated their Christmas Eve the way they had for the past several years… alone, but together.
The next morning, she woke before George and lay in bed staring at her handsome, kindhearted husband. So as not to wake him, she whispered. “Whatever life has in store for us, George, I promise to do whatever I can to honor you.”
Heart a little lighter, she slipped from bed, dressed quickly, and hurried downstairs. After all, she had a Christmas breakfast to make.
3
Ten Years Later
In the midst of baking her multitude of cookies, Ethel kept an eye on the pot bubbling on top of the stove. The homemade chicken noodle soup was ready, and she slid it off the hot stove eye. Quickly pulling out the last batch of cookies, she placed them on the cooling rack and turned her attention back to the soup. Ladling large spoonfuls into a bowl, she sniffed appreciatively, satisfied that it was seasoned to perfection.
Hearing a noise behind her, she jerked around. “What are you doing down here? I was going to fix a tray and bring it up to you.”
“With all you have to do, I’m not about to lay in bed like a lazy fool and have you serve me!” George said before a deep, rumbling cough interrupted his grumbling.
“You work too hard.” Her words were scolding, but her tone was not. Having succumbed to a cold weeks ago, George had continued to work, wanting the men in his shop to take as much time off as they wanted throughout the holidays to be with their families. Right before Christmas, pneumonia had set in. He’d spent several days in the hospital as Ethel worried and fretted. Now he was home, recuperating and grumpy.
“Well, the last of my cookies are out of the oven, so let’s sit in the dining room, and I’ll eat with you.” She didn’t miss his satisfied smile as she turned back to the stove.
“You always were the best company, Ethel.”
He carried their cups of hot tea into the dining room while she picked up the tray now loaded with two bowls of soup, homemade bread, and butter. As was their habit, they sat at one end of the large dining room table. George at the end, and she to his right.
He moaned in appreciation as the soup slid past his lips, complimenting her cooking. “This is delicious.” He winked, adding, “Not as good as your fried chicken, but then nothing is.”
Their meal was interrupted a few times with his coughing, and as she worried over him, she didn’t voice her concern out loud. It had seemed several days ago that he was getting better, but now she was uncertain. A sheen of sweat covered his brow, and his skin was pale. Having always loved the holidays, she now wished that the weather was warmer and he could sit outside under a shade tree enjoying a warm spring day.
Once finished with their dinner, she escorted him to his comfortable chair in the living room and bent to kiss his forehead. “I’m going to rinse out the bowls, and I’ll bring you some more hot tea.” She turned to leave the room, then looked over her shoulder. “And I’ll bring you a cookie.”
Several minutes later, she reappeared and set another tray on the coffee table. Having liberally doused his hot tea with lemon and whiskey, she watched as he took a sip.
His brows lifted as his eyes widened. “Well, if this doesn’t cure me, it’ll certainly make me feel a lot better!”
She laughed and sat in her seat next to him, picking up her knitting needles from the basket at her feet.
“What are you making now?”
She held up a tiny knitted cap. “I heard from Judith Myers, who volunteers at the hospital, that the nursery needed smaller caps for the newborn babies that were premature. Some of the babies are so tiny that the regular caps the hospital provides are simply too big. I suggested to the church guild that those of us who could knit could make caps in the appropriate size.” Her needles continued to click, but she was aware of George’s gaze resting heavily on her. Finally looking up, she cocked her head to the side.
“You really are amazing, Ethel. Everything I ever wanted and everything I never knew I needed.”
Her lips curved into a small but sad smile. “I can always tell when the thoughts hit you, George,” she said. “Just because we weren’t able to have children of her own didn’t mean that we couldn’t help others with theirs.”
George had spent many hours over the years carving wooden toys that he would take to shelters and schools. Her holiday baking had spread throughout the year, and they often spent weekends handing out food to those in need.
A new round of coughing from George had him gripping the blanket she’d draped over his legs. Each sound ripped through her, and she desperately wanted to take away his illness. Once the coughing was under control, he leaned back in his chair, his breath carrying a new rattle.
“George, I was thinking that maybe this spring we could take a little trip. Perhaps go somewhere where the weather is very nice and warm—”
“I’ve made a decision about the shop, Ethel,” he interrupted.
Surprised at the abrupt chang
e in topic, she lay her needles in her lap and waited to see what he wanted to say.
“I know I’m not old, but this illness has made me realize that there are more things in life than just working six days a week. There was a time when I thought I could leave my business to a son or even a daughter. But instead of children, God gave me the most wonderful wife a man could ever have, and I want to make sure to take care of you.”
They didn’t speak often of the children they didn’t have, knowing the time had passed for that particular blessing to be bestowed. But now, the pain of missed opportunities hit her once again. Swallowing deeply, she held his gaze, hoping he could feel all of her love spreading to him.
“My longest-serving employee, Fred, and I have talked about him becoming a partner. He’s excited, has the money to buy me half-out, and that would give me a chance to ease some of the stress and spend more time with you.”
Stunned, she had no doubt his intent was to offer her comfort, but his words sent a chill straight through her. Leaning forward, she placed her hand on his knee and gave a little squeeze. “What brought this on? Is it your illness? You’ll get better, and gain your strength, and—”
“Not just this illness, Ethel. Certainly, the pneumonia has made me realize that I’m not going to live forever, but it’s also giving me the idea that I should put some of my affairs in order. That’s just smart business.”
Her brow furrowed as she considered his words. “If you’re doing this for me, George, please don’t. If you’re doing this for you because you need things to be easier on you, then that’s what I want, too.”
Holding her gaze, he explained, “I’m doing this for us. You and me, sweetheart. For us.” When she didn’t reply, he continued. “The shop is doing well, but if I let Fred buy out half the business, then that’s money in the bank for us that’s not tied up in the business. If something happens to me, that money would pay off this mortgage and allow you to continue living here.”
Holiday for a Hero (Heroes at Heart Book 9) Page 2
