Matt twirled his finger around a strand of hair and tugged her through the doors. “You’re incorrigible.”
“I know. How do you tolerate me?”
As they settled in their seats, Matt grinned at her. Before she realized his intentions, he kissed her and imitated Patience’s movie experience by whispering in her ear, “Lane! They’re kissing!”
~*~*~*~
Lane slipped from her car on Christmas Eve. She’d missed the early dinner Charity had served. If she wanted to eat, she’d have to drive into Rockland. Brunswick had shut down the town at four o’clock. She’d spent the afternoon at the local nursing home, was exhausted, and her shoes pinched.
A white garment box with a large red bow leaned against the door. A green envelope with her name written in metallic gold pen was tucked behind the ribbons. Lane picked up the box confused as to who could have left it. She slipped the card from under the ribbon and opened it, carefully ensuring that she didn’t damage the envelope.
Matt’s name at the bottom of the card caught her eye before she read the card. She caught her breath and then read the card.
Merry Christmas Lane,
Tad told me about how much you liked this, so I got you one that you could use. I wanted to ship it to you, but since you’ve never given me your mailing address, I decided I had to bring it personally. I hope you don’t mind.
I love you,
Matt
An arrow scrawled with another pen indicated for her to turn over the card.
PS. Mrs. Stafford suggested I go around back and check out her beautiful woods, so I am leaving this by the door and going out back for a while. It’s cold so I probably won’t stay out there long, but if you found this box outside the front door, I’m still out there if you want to come and say hi. Hint, hint.
Lane opened the door, dropped her purse, box, and keys on the kitchen island, and then raced out the back door, down the terrace steps, and across the yard. Matt, leaning against a nearby tree, grinned as she crunched through the snow, slipping on icy patches, and then threw her arms around him. “Merry Christmas?”
“How? I can’t believe—”
Matt’s fingers twirled around her hair. “I saw you. I kept telling myself that it was all in my head, but when I saw you the other night, I knew I had seen you.”
A blush, hidden by the shadows of the trees, flushed her cheeks. “I wanted to tell you, but—”
“It’s fine. If you had wanted me to know, you would have told me. I understand.” Changing the subject, he tugged her hair and asked if she had decided whether she would go home for Christmas.
“No. I told you I’m just not ready for that. I’ve been thinking about stuff though, and I—” She shivered. “Can we go inside? It’s freezing out here.”
Lane led him through the house, grabbing her things from the island, and into her room. She kicked off her shoes and slipped on a pair of thick slippers. She tossed him a throw blanket and gestured to the chair opposite the bed. Before she could continue her thought processes, Matt gestured to the box on the corner of her bed.
“Open it. I’m dying to see if you like it.”
She fingered the box reluctantly. How do you tell someone that you don’t want to open a gift because it’s the only one you’ve ever received? She’d had birthday gifts and graduation gifts and going away gifts, but never had she received a Christmas gift that she could remember. She wanted to stare at the box, savor the experience, and wake up Christmas morning with something to open like the majority of American citizens.
Matt’s eager expression stopped her protest before she could speak. She slipped the bow off the box and folded the ribbons carefully before she sliced the tape that held the embossed box shut. Beneath layers of crisp white tissue paper, lay the Fair Isle sweater set she’d admired in the Florida yarn store.
“How’d you? I love it, of course, but I can’t wear it!”
The longing on her face was almost priceless. “It’s cotton. Well, it’s mostly cotton. The woman who knitted it found this great cotton yarn with a bit of silk in it.”
Matt spoke to an empty room. Lane, at the word “cotton,” dashed into the bathroom to try on the sweater with her slacks. She returned looking stunning in her yoke-necked work of art. “Isn’t it amazing! How did she know it would fit?”
“Tad measured one of your sweaters and one of your skirts for me.”
She fingered the design around the wrists of the sweater and studied her boots. Matt watched with an interested eye. “What is it, Lane?”
She fought for the right words. “If—well, if the church can’t provide an improvement over the world, why should I desire a relationship with the church?”
Matt started to answer, but shook his head and stopped. “Lane, I want to discuss this more than anything, you know that right?” Lane’s nod seemed hesitant, but he continued, hoping he made the right decision. “It’s just that we tend to disagree in these areas. Not that I don’t understand your question, and agree with you so far, but you know how upset we both get, and tomorrow is Christmas—”
“Let’s talk about it later then.” Her eyes twinkled as she reached into a drawer near her bed and pulled out a wrapped box. “I bought you something too.”
“Can I save it for tomorrow morning? That’s one reason I waited for you. We want you to come home and spend Christmas with us tomorrow. Aunt Judy and Uncle Rex will be there, and Mom changed the sheets for another giggle fest and everything.”
Lane seemed instantly lost in thought.
“What is it, Lane?”
“I just realized that I should have bought the gifts I wanted to give your parents. I didn’t know if it was acceptable to buy gifts for people you don’t know that well, especially if you won’t see them for the holiday, so I didn’t let myself do it and now I want to give them something—”
Matt stood and pulled out the duffle bag he’d seen peeking out from beneath the bed. “Pile some clothes in here, and hurry. There are a few places in Rockland that don’t close until midnight, so we can make it if we hurry. Let’s go, go, go!”
He’d wanted to say that it wasn’t necessary. His first inclination was to assure her that she needed no gifts, but he knew her heart. She’d want to participate in exchanging gifts and watching others be blessed. Like it or not, her Christian upbringing showed itself in every turn.
As a last minute thought, Lane tossed a couple of her CDs in the bag in case she didn’t find the same gifts she’d chosen previously. They shopped in several stores and found exactly what Lane hoped to find. Matt directed her to an overnight parking garage six blocks from his house.
“We’ll walk the rest of the way. I don’t want your car out there all night. Someone might decide it’s a perfect Christmas present.”
“How can you stand it, Matt? Don’t you worry about your parents?”
“It’s all I’ve ever known, Lane. Seeing Patience wander your property without any oversight drove me crazy at first. It is just such a part of life with us that we don’t think about it.”
They shuffled inside the house, and Matt peeked inside his room. “Mom’s out. Let’s get these things wrapped and get you in bed—” He cleared his throat and tried again. “And then you can go join Mom—um you can go to sleep.”
“Having trouble articulating this fine Christmas Eve?”
“Christmas morning actually, and yes, I am.”
She shoved him toward the hallway. “Go to bed, Matt. I lived here for a week, I can get these wrapped and in bed without your oversight. You’re tired, you’re cold, and you better have great coffee for me when I wake up.”
His hands rested on her shoulders as she stood, her back to him, and wrapped. He watched for a minute, lazily fascinated with the way her fingers expertly folded the paper to a crisp point. He finally kissed her cheek and ambled down the hallway.
Lane had forced herself to continue wrapping while Matt watched over her shoulder. Every movement seemed arti
ficial and exaggerated under his sleepy observation. When he turned to leave the room, she glanced over her shoulder. The dejected slump of his shoulders confused her.
Was he disappointed in her lack of affection? Was this about their unfinished conversation? Would they ever come to an amicable middle ground?
As much as she enjoyed her life at Stafford House, she was lonely. The six other house members did little to give her the same feeling of love and acceptance to which she was accustomed. Each day she spent alone showed her why God had said that it is not good for man to be alone. It isn’t such a great idea for women either.
~*~*~*~
“This is the softest material I have ever felt! It’s just amazing.’” Carol rubbed her arms over her new robe, wiggled her toes in her soft cushioned slippers, and sighed contentedly.
Jake fingered his new jacket and gloves. “I just don’t know how you knew to get gloves if Matt didn’t tell you he got me this jacket! They match perfectly!”
“I had a hard time not steering her to the ones I wanted, but she got them anyway, so I don’t feel guilty at all.” Matt nudged Lane. “Open your gift!”
“I still can’t believe you got me two!”
Lane’s fingers slid under the perfectly wrapped present. She’d seen the hastily covered boxes he’d wrapped himself and knew this was wrapped elsewhere. Beneath layers of tissue and a nightmarish amount of bubble wrap, Lane withdrew a shadowbox style frame with the program from the convention with hers and Tad’s names on the entertainment billing, tickets to several of their concerts, a boarding pass from one of their flights, and their CD.
“Oh, Matt!”
Carol leaned over for a better look before she chuckled. “Remember the year you gave me something like that that you made in school? It had your best paper and your lunch tickets and a bunch of stuff like that. The frame broke, but I have it all in my picture book in the bottom drawer of my dresser.”
Lane’s eyes thanked Matt in ways her voice failed to accomplish. She propped the shadow box on the table against a droopy poinsettia and glanced at it every once in a while. “I thought you were going to give me a copy of that sonnet.”
Something in his eye told Lane she wasn’t far off the mark, but before she could question him, Jake cleared his throat and suggested that Matt get his Bible. “I don’t want to rush you, but Uncle Rex will be here soon and you know how all this religious talk upsets him.”
Carol smiled awkwardly at Lane and tried to explain. “We used to read that poem about the night before Christmas on Christmas Eve, but Matt got too old for it. Then after he got religion, he asked if he could read about the baby Jesus story on Christmas morning. I guess he is a little old for ‘The Night Before Christmas’ now…”
“That’s a lovely tradition!”
“Well it’s a nice story, and Matt reads so well. I like to hear him and besides, it means so much to him. He doesn’t preach; y’know? I think it’s the least we can do for him.”
Matt returned and without hesitation, started to read. Carol and Jake listened politely, clearly more interested in Matt’s reading ability rather than the content of the passage that he read. Lane, however, assumed an interested polite expression and tried not to fidget as he read about the conception and annunciation of the birth of John the Baptist. Something changed in her demeanor as the story turned to Mary. Her eyes grew cold and hard. Her hands clenched together tightly. Matt, aware of the turmoil going through her, slipped his hand over hers and allowed it to rest there comfortingly.
Carol watched the scene curiously. Lane’s unsettled appearance and Matt’s reassurance seemed odd to her. She wasn’t accustomed to seeing Matt so protective while continuing something that obviously made someone he cared about uncomfortable.
“That was great, Matt. I think your mom and I will walk to the station to meet Rex and Judith.” Jake stood offering his hand to his wife.
Before Lane or Matt knew what happened, the Rushby’s were out the door and half down the stairs. “Think they wanted to give you a bit of space?”
Lane giggled. It wasn’t an easy comfortable giggle. It was the nervous high-pitched sound that one often hears in a woman whose nerves are about to snap. “I didn’t expect—”
“What bothered you about Mary?”
“It wasn’t Mary. It was Christianity’s hatred of her. For once, I understand the Catholics. They at least respect her. God chose her above all other young women. Christians, and not just the Brethren, tend to treat her like a human incubator.”
“You’re right.”
Those words broke down walls he’d never been able to breach. Lane sobbed and railed. She was both broken and livid, simultaneously. “Why can’t you just be like the rest of them?”
“The rest— Who?”
“Christians,” she wailed. You’re supposed be a Christian, and yet you never talk like one. I never know what to think. I know you’re real and yet—”
“—and yet I don’t act like the Brethren so therefore I’m not really a Christian. I just think I am.” He paused to allow his words to sink in before he continued. “Did it ever occur to you that I’m the ‘real’ Christian here?”
Her eyes grew wide and she started to speak. Suddenly her hands clasped together tightly. “Did I misunderstand or did you imply that I might have my sonnet today?”
The change in subject confused him for a moment, but Matt recovered quickly. “Sure. You can’t laugh. No matter how bad it sounds to you, you can’t laugh.”
He brought them both Cokes and sat opposite her on the couch. He tried to meet her gaze, but couldn’t quite do it. With a slightly melodramatic clearing of his throat, Matt began.
“Touched—though not with man’s hands of brittle clay
My heart swells at the thought of your fingers
And eagerly waits through each passing day,
For memories of your touch that linger.
Every moment that I am kept from you,
Are tests of strength in frightening levels.
I pray each day for increased fortitude
From thoughts and temptations that bedevil.
When will you yield to the call of the One?
When will you shed your burdens and fetters?
Shall the day ever come when my wait is done?
When will I cease writing tear-stained letters?
Yielding to Him will caress my heartstrings.
Pray! Cry for rescue; true love to Him clings.”
Silence hovered. Matt continued to study the garish floral pattern of their once overstuffed, couch while Lane studied him. He grew murky and distorted as tears blurred her vision, but she tossed tears aside and cried silently.
The poem didn’t show Matt’s great hidden talent as Shakespeare’s successor. Both of them knew it was amateurish and weak, but it filled its purpose. Lane’s battered and bruised heart heard the call of Jesus once again, and the temptation to open the door was strong.
“I need to go home.”
Matt nodded, his eyes never leaving the couch. “I kind of expected it. Want me to walk you to the garage? I could drive you home and come—”
“It’d be too long of a drive. I don’t mean Mrs. Stafford’s. I need to go home, home. Montana. I need to talk to Mom and Dad.”
Finally raising his eyes to hers, Matt nodded once more. His red-rimmed eyes showed signs of forced back tears. “Will I ever see you again?”
“Matt!”
“I mean it. I need to know. I really thought I could do a friendship without romantic strings attached, but I’m not sure I can. If I need to, I have to prepare myself now or I’m majorly going to blow it one of these days.”
She stood and without a word gathered her things into her duffel bag. A pad of paper on Matt’s desk sparked an idea and she wrote for several minutes. Both notes she handed to Matt as she met him at the door. “One is for you; the other is for your parents.”
“I’ll walk you to your—”
&nbs
p; “It’s fine, Matt. Really.”
“It’s not okay Lane. It’s just not. You’d never make it to your car alone on Christmas with that bag. Let’s go.”
At her car, Matt stowed her bag in the trunk and shut it with more force than necessary. The sound echoed through the mostly-empty parking garage. “I guess this is it. I’ll miss you. I’ll write if you do, but not before then—”
She kissed him. All the ache and loneliness of the months away from her family and the nearness of Matt yet not seeing him spilled into it. “I’ll miss you too. I’ll see you—well, I don’t know when, but I—”
“Bye, Lane. Just go. Please.”
~*~*~*~
Matt sat on his bed staring at the note. His parents, Uncle Rex, and Aunt Judy all partied in the living room playing Scene It and drinking more cheap wine than wise. He glanced at the clock. It’d been four hours. With a deep breath, he unfolded the note and read. “YEEEEEEEEEEHAWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!”
Matt tore from his room and raced to grab his coat and gloves. His mother—half standing—demanded to know what was wrong. Without a word, Matt showed her the note, snatched it back when she was done, and then tore out of the house as though on a mission. Jake stared at his wife unable to determine if she was happy or scared.
Meanwhile, Matt impatiently rode the subway to Roosevelt Avenue, walked the three blocks to the church, and found Pastor Barney carving one of over a dozen turkeys waiting for slicing. “Here, give that knife to Jackie. She’s better at it than you anyway. I need you!”
Barney followed Matt as he dashed from room to room looking for a hint of privacy. “Isn’t there anywhere unoccupied in this place?”
“This hall is empty—”
“The bathroom! C’mon!” Matt dragged Barney around the corner and into the men’s room. “Read that!”
Dearest Matthew,
I think I get it. I want to go home and see the men who are no longer in the Brethren. I think that’ll help me see what you’ve been trying to show me all along. Christianity is more than what I’ve seen my whole life. It is about Jesus. Just Jesus. I’m not sure I’m ready to “Surrender All” so to speak, but I can finally hear Jesus’ “Tender Calling.”
Argosy Junction Page 27
