by Irene Brand
“Don’t ring it then, if that’s the case,” Eric said.
“I hate to throw cold water on the idea,” Les said.
“I can go up and check out the timbers,” Quinn said. “I should be able to tell if they’re stable.”
“That would be wise,” Les agreed. “My old legs are too unsteady to climb the ladder, or I’d go. You’re a muscular guy, Quinn, so watch where you step.”
Fearful for Quinn, Livia said, “If it’s so dangerous, maybe we shouldn’t ring the bell.”
He glanced her way. “It’ll be all right,” he assured her. “I’ve climbed around in barn lofts since I was a kid. This won’t be much different.”
Quinn’s stomach was flat and his hips slender, but his shoulders were brawny. While his muscular physique stood him in good stead professionally when handling horses, cows and other large animals, Livia wondered if his shoulders were too wide to crawl through the trapdoor.
He set his right foot on the first rung. The old wooden ladder creaked under his weight, as it had under Allen’s. Livia held her breath until Quinn climbed the ten feet and squeezed through the small opening. She heard his steps as he moved from rafter to rafter circling the bell tower.
Les stood under the opening, his eyes squinted tightly, trying to see what was going on.
“How does the wooden frame look?” he called.
On his hands and knees now, Quinn peered through the opening. “Solid as a rock,” he assured Les. “But while I’m up here, I’ll take a look at the flue and be sure it’s all right. We don’t want to risk a fire.”
Quinn crawled carefully toward the flue, wishing he’d brought a flashlight. He ran his hands over the bricks, and while he felt some warmth, it wasn’t more than would be expected after the stove had been burning for hours. Turning toward the ladder, he hit his head on a beam, his foot slipped off the rafter and he fell hard. Pain ran up his left leg as it plunged through the ceiling.
Lath and plaster fell on the group waiting below, and Livia stifled a cry as Quinn’s leg, up to his knee, hung through the ceiling. Quickly, Allen climbed the ladder.
“Are you hurt, Quinn?” he called, sticking his head into the attic.
“Not much,” Quinn gasped, “but I sure got a scare. I was afraid I’d come through the ceiling.”
“Do you need any help?”
“I’ll see if I can make it by myself,” Quinn said. He wiggled backward, keenly aware of a sharp nail that tore the seat of his pants. He carefully pulled his leg out of the hole. He wiggled his foot, thankful that he didn’t seem to have broken a bone. No doubt the heavy boots and socks he wore had prevented any serious damage.
“Allen, I’ll crawl toward you, but before I come down, we’d better put something over that hole in the ceiling to keep the cold air out of the room. See if there’s a board to cover it, or perhaps we can use one of our blankets.”
Allen came down a few rungs on the ladder. “Eric, bring one of our blankets, so he can fill the hole.”
Eric grabbed the first blanket he found and gave it to Allen, who in turn handed it to Quinn. Aware of the pain in his leg, and hoping he didn’t have a serious injury, he crawled back to the hole and covered it.
Both Eric and Allen held the ladder as Quinn started down. When he put his weight on his left leg, a pain shot from his ankle to his hip, and he almost fell from the ladder. Gritting his teeth and holding tightly to each rung, he reached the floor without any further incident. He held Allen’s arm as he walked to the nearest pew and sat down.
Alarmed by the pallor on his face, Livia hurried to him. “You’ve hurt your leg, haven’t you?”
“’Fraid so,” he admitted. “I shouldn’t have been so clumsy.”
She knelt beside him and started unlacing his boot. Sean joined her, and helped her pull off Quinn’s boot and sock. His fingers moved quickly and gingerly over Quinn’s cold foot and leg.
“Sean has had training with injuries like this,” Livia explained. “It comes in handy in basketball training and during the games, too.”
“I don’t believe you have any broken bones,” Sean said. “I think it’s a sprain or an injured muscle. Try to stand and walk a little.”
With his hand on Sean’s shoulder, Quinn took several steps. “Is the pain bad?” Livia asked.
Quinn shook his head. “It’s uncomfortable, but I’m sure I’ll be all right. Sorry to cause such a commotion,” he apologized to the others.
“I’ll bet you stepped on the place where the stovepipe used to go through the ceiling,” Les said. “The stovepipe went straight up then, but we decided to put a curved ell extension when we bought this new stove. We just patched the ceiling when we finished, and I forgot that place would be weak.”
When Livia walked away, Quinn checked out the rip in his pants. Pointing to a pew on the other side of the aisle, Quinn quietly said to Allen, “There’s a pair of jeans in my pack under that seat. Will you bring them? I tore my pants. I’ll go to the supply room and change them.”
Although Quinn tried to be nonchalant, the episode had embarrassed him. He didn’t like to be the center of attention. But was it worth having ripped pants and a sore leg to witness Livia’s obvious concern for him? Could he dare to hope that her anxiety indicated a kind feeling in her heart for him?
Chapter Seven
When her pulse stopped pounding from the trauma of Quinn’s fall, Livia sat on the front pew and picked up her needlework. Quinn watched her, studying each feature of her face. Should he capitalize on her anxiety over his fall and try to lessen the tension between them?
More than a century of grime had accumulated in the attic, and as Quinn surveyed his hands, it looked as if most of it had rubbed off on him. He cleaned his hands with several hand wipes before he changed his pants. When he came from the supply room, he looked around for Livia.
He limped toward her. “May I join you?” he said. “Everyone is determined to treat me like an invalid and won’t let me work. Eric and Allen are bringing in the fuel, and Sean is shoveling the drifted snow. I think we could make a country boy out of him if we tried.”
Quinn was concerned about some of the gestures he’d noticed between Sean and Livia. Sean was close to her age, and so likeable that Quinn wouldn’t blame any girl for choosing him.
She moved the basket of yarn from the seat, and critically examined the stitches she’d made, She found it difficult to ply the needle in and out of the yarn because her fingers were cold.
“Sit down. This gift isn’t for you, so you can watch if you like.”
He sat beside her and stretched out his left leg. He watched her long, sensitive fingers as she wielded the metal crochet hook through the red wool yarn.
“I was making this for my brother,” Livia said, interrupting his thoughts, “but since I drew Sean’s name, I’m finishing it for his gift. Evan won’t mind. I’ve made him several scarves.”
“Does Evan manage Heritage Farm?” he asked.
“Daddy and Evan are in partnership. Daddy does most of the managing, but he’s semiretired. Evan and his family live on the farm. He also has a full-time job as county extension agent, so he’s very busy. His wife, Wendy, has a teaching degree. She taught school for two years, but she decided to become a stay-at-home mom when Derek was born. Wendy’s maternal grandparents came to spend Christmas with her, but they couldn’t stay long. I hope I don’t miss seeing them.”
“You invited me once to visit Heritage Farm. I’m sorry I didn’t make it.”
Livia hesitated, not knowing what to say. She double-crocheted a few inches, made a turn, and started the last row on the scarf.
“You’d be welcome anytime. It’s a good farm with fertile river land and some hill acreage. You’d like my family, I’m sure.”
“I’ll take you up on that invitation before long. I hope we can stay in touch now. If you’ll give me your telephone number, I can call you once in a while. And as far as that’s concerned, it’s not so far to Colu
mbus that I couldn’t drive in to see you occasionally.”
His comment flustered Livia, and she concentrated on her needlework. She stretched out the scarf and decided it was long enough. To put on the finishing touches, she took a skein of white yarn from her basket to make a border of single crochet stitches around the whole scarf. Fortunately, she didn’t need to count this simple stitch. Quinn’s comments had disconcerted her, and she was tormented by confusing emotions when she sat so close to him.
Should she ask Quinn about his personal life? If he was romantically involved with someone else, she’d see to it that she wasn’t at home when he visited Heritage Farm. She’d never told her family about her infatuation with Quinn, but it was hard to fool her family. Her mother had sensed something had happened at the camp, but had never asked. If they saw Quinn and her together, they would immediately know they were dating.
“When you introduced yourself last night,” she said, and her fingers gripped the crochet hook tightly, “you said you weren’t married yet. Does that mean you’re intending to get married soon?”
She sure didn’t want Quinn to bring his wife to Heritage Farm.
Quinn squirmed on the hard seat, conscious of the nail scratch he’d gotten in the attic.
“No, I’m not. I’ve been dating a neighbor I grew up with, but we’re not serious. Mostly, we’re just friends.”
She didn’t answer, seemingly concentrating on her crocheting, but her mind was whirling.
“What about you?” he asked. “I’ve noticed a closeness between you and Sean.”
She stared at him, complete surprise on her face. “Sean! We’re friends—nothing more. He has too much on his plate keeping in shape for basketball and maintaining good grades to be interested in girls. Not that a lot of women wouldn’t welcome his attention.”
“Including you,” Quinn persisted.
Livia crocheted several more stitches, her mind spinning with bewilderment. Could he possibly be jealous of Sean? The thought was heartening.
She shook her head, repeating, “Sean and I are friends. I haven’t dated since I was in high school.”
“Why?”
She shrugged one shoulder and managed to say casually, “I haven’t met anyone I wanted to date.”
He laughed slightly. “That a good reason, I suppose.”
He stood cautiously, and she believed he was hurt more than he’d admit. “I won’t bother you anymore so you can finish your work.”
She let him go without further comment.
Roxanne had humorously appointed herself as the chef, and she asked Allen to bring a case of canned vegetable soup from his truck.
“Every time I see how much eight people can eat,” she said to Livia, “I’m thankful for that truckload of food. Those few snacks we had in the car wouldn’t have lasted long.”
Les contributed a large pan that he was taking as a gift to his daughter, and they opened ten cans of the soup and dumped it into the pan. It took more than an hour before the soup was edible, and then it was only lukewarm.
The soup, along with cheese, bread, crackers, apples and cookies, sated their hunger temporarily. Livia had never been a big eater, but she knew she would be hungry before morning. They had divided the soup into eight equal shares, and she figured it did little to appease the appetites of Quinn and Allen, both big men, who would obviously require more food than the others.
The little church, with the smell of smoke and food aromas, seemed oppressive for a moment to Livia, and she wanted to be alone. She opened the door and stepped out on the porch. A quarter-moon shed a soft silvery radiance over the little valley where they were marooned.
Although the exact date of Jesus’ birth was unknown, it was not inconceivable to believe that He was born on such a night as this. It took only a few minutes for the intense cold to seep through her clothes, and Livia hurried back inside. Quinn slanted a questioning, concerned glance toward her. His gray eyes held hers until she nodded that she was all right.
In preparation for the worship service, Marie and Livia lit the candles in the windows and set another candle on the piano to give Roxanne enough light to find the right keys. The men pulled the piano close to the stove.
“We have our quintet music in the van,” Roxanne said, “but it’s a difficult arrangement, and I can’t see well enough to read the notes. All of us will sing traditional carols, which I can play without music. There are hymnals in the pews, and you can use those if you don’t remember the words. Sean will solo ‘O Holy Night’ at the end of our service.”
They all hovered as near the stove as they could when Eric started the service.
“My friends,” he said, “I’ll ask you first of all to recall a Christmas of the past that’s still vivid in your memory.”
Livia didn’t even have to take a second thought. It was the one they were without electric power several days before Christmas. It was the same year Wendy came to meet the Kessler family. At first, they’d thought it was a disaster to be without electricity. But the days without modern conveniences had drawn them closer together than if circumstances had been normal. Livia thought the same thing was happening in this little forsaken church tonight.
“I can tell by some of your expressions,” Eric continued, “that you’re having difficulty recalling any specific Christmas that stands out in your memory. Most of my Christmases have been the same. But it goes without saying that this Christmas will never be forgotten. Every year, we’ll remember what happened here tonight. We’ll talk of it to our children and grandchildren, and they will in turn pass the story on to their families. So it’s important that we remember, not only the hardships we endured, and the fellowship we have, but also that we commemorated the birth of Jesus.”
Eric prayed, and then he turned to Roxanne.
“Go ahead with your music.”
As cold as it was in the room, Livia wondered how Roxanne could play the piano. She wore a pair of thin leather gloves, but they would provide little warmth against the cold black and white keys.
Roxanne’s fingers did stumble a little. Livia noticed that she hit several wrong notes, which seldom happened, but the music seemed more beautiful to Livia than when she listened to Roxanne play the Steinway Grand in their church sanctuary. They moved from one well-known carol to another, most of them singing from memory because the candlelight was dim.
More than ever before, Livia envisioned the actual events of the birth of Christ, as Eric read from the second chapter of Luke.
“‘And Joseph also went up from Galilee, out of the city of Nazareth, into Judæa, unto the city of David, which is called Bethlehem; to be taxed with Mary his espoused wife, being great with child. And so it was, that, while they were there, the days were accomplished that she should be delivered. And she brought forth her firstborn son, and wrapped Him in swaddling clothes, and laid Him in a manger; because there was no room for them in the inn.’”
Mary would have endured the same pain that any other mother would experience during the birth of her son. Compared to present-day hospital conditions, the Son of God had come into the world under dismal circumstances. But, since He was God in the flesh, it was fitting for His birth to be a natural one.
As Eric continued reading the account of Jesus’ birth, Livia imagined herself walking with the shepherds as they left the fields and hurried to the stable to see the Christ Child. Tonight, when they were worshiping in a cold, abandoned building, she fully comprehended the pathetic conditions surrounding Joseph and Mary, and their newborn child.
“The focus of my message tonight is based on a verse in the fourth chapter of Galatians,” Eric said, interrupting her thoughts. He then read out, “‘But when the fullness of the time was come, God sent forth His Son, made of a woman, made under the law.’”
“The Jews had been watching centuries for the promised Messiah,” Eric said, “and some had given up hope of His coming. Although men had despaired of His arrival, Jesus came to earth at the rig
ht time, the best time.
“I pray that tonight’s message will make a lasting impression on all of us. Always remember that when God does a work in our lives, it’s at the best time for us.”
A candle in one of the windows tipped over, and Quinn moved quickly to extinguish it before the greenery caught fire. Everyone was conscious of the need to prevent a fire tonight. Eric paused until he returned.
“I don’t know where some of you are in your walk with God, but if you feel comfortable in doing so, please kneel with me to worship the newborn King. Each time we worship Jesus, He’s born again in our hearts. While we’re kneeling, Sean will close our service by singing, ‘O Holy Night.’”
When she slid to her knees, Livia realized that Quinn was kneeling beside her. It seemed natural for them to clasp hands.
Before he sang, Sean said, “Although I thought I really wanted to be home in California tonight, I’ve realized that there’s no place I’d rather be than where I am. I’ve never understood before what the shepherds must have experienced as they knelt before the infant Jesus. I feel sure that the rest of my life, each Christmas Eve, my heart and my thoughts will return to this place.”
Livia felt the same way, and the way Quinn squeezed her hand, she knew his thoughts were in harmony with hers.
Singing without musical accompaniment, Sean’s strong tenor voice sounded loud and clear in the quiet of the little sanctuary. The only other sound was the popping of coals in the stove.
As he sang the words of the second stanza, Livia’s heart sang with him.
“With humble hearts we bow in adoration before this Child, gift of God’s matchless love. Sent from on high to purchase our salvation—that we might dwell with him ever above.”
When the last strains of the music ceased, a hush fell over the room.
When they stood, Eric said, “Again, don’t feel uncomfortable or obligated if it this isn’t natural for you, but in our church, we always give hugs of fellowship.” He turned to Sean. They embraced and thumped one another on their backs. Livia quivered at Quinn’s nearness, wanting him to embrace her, but hardly daring to hope that he would.
