Love Inspired December 2014 - Box Set 1 of 2: A Rancher for ChristmasHer Montana ChristmasAn Amish Christmas JourneyYuletide Baby

by Brenda Minton

  Sometimes Robin thought it would be best if she just left town as quietly as she’d arrived in July, but she couldn’t quite make herself go. Not yet. And go back to what? Her parents and grandparents had never disguised their disappointment in her. With her great-grandmother Lillian dead, she couldn’t find much reason to go back to New Mexico, and Great-Grandma Lillian had known it would be that way, too. Why else on her deathbed would she have urged Robin to come here and find what other family she might have left?

  “So the church was here even before the town was officially founded,” the pastor said, laying aside the newspaper article she’d printed off for him. “Interesting. I wonder if any of the original building still stands.”

  Pulled from her reverie, Robin shrugged. “Apparently there were several homes and a small log church in the area when Ezra Shaw and Silas Massey decided to formally incorporate the town and draw up a charter. I’m sure I can find something about the church building, given enough time.”

  “I’d appreciate that, even though it’s mostly curiosity on my part,” Pastor Johnson told her, smiling warmly. “I’m most interested in the vestibule and the belfry.”

  “The rock part at the front of the church?”

  “Exactly. Did you know there are actual bells up there in the belfry?”

  “You mean they’re not just for show?”

  He shook his head. “I have to wonder why we never use perfectly good bells. I mean, recorded bells are fine for every day, but what a treat it would be to pull the ropes on real bells once in a while. I wonder why the church stopped using them.”

  “That is a puzzle. I can look into it, if you like.”

  “I’d love to know, but I hate to put you to any extra trouble.”

  She shrugged. “I don’t mind. I like solving puzzles.”

  He would understand that about her if he knew what mysteries had brought her here to Jasper Gulch, but then perhaps it was best that no one here knew.

  Her plan had seemed so simple in the beginning. Come to town under the guise of a graduate student doing research for a thesis on genealogy. Find proof to support her claims. Show the proof. Be greeted warmly by family who previously hadn’t known she existed.

  Five months into the project, she now realized that her proof wasn’t likely to be any more welcome than she would be, that her motives could easily be questioned and that she could well come off looking like a schemer and a liar. She bitterly regretted the route she’d taken to this point. She had feared being jeered at in the beginning, but at least she could have conducted her research in the open, then once the proof had been found, all would have been well. Now…now people trusted her, people to whom she must reveal herself as a liar. What a fool she had been.

  “I appreciate any information you can give me,” Pastor Johnson told Robin forthrightly, again breaking into her troubled thoughts.

  He had the kindest brown eyes and the most open, engaging smile she’d ever seen. Everything about him exuded warmth, even on this first day of December. His California origin showed in the burnished brown of his short, neat hair and bronzed skin. In fact, Robin could easily picture him walking barefoot in the surf with his sleeves and pant legs rolled up, the tail of his chambray shirt pulled free of the waistband of his jeans. He looked younger without his ministerial collar, almost boyish, despite the faint crinkles that fanned out from the corners of his deep-set eyes. Something about the way his long, straight nose flattened at the end intrigued her, as did the manner in which his squared chin added a certain strength to his face.

  “What?” he asked, his lips widening to show a great many strong, white teeth.

  She shook her head, embarrassed to have been caught staring. “I, um, I’ll see what I can find and get back to you.”

  “Excellent. Can I give you my personal cell number, as well as the numbers at the church and the parsonage? That way you’re bound to reach me.”

  “Oh, of course. That would be fine.” She pulled out her phone and tapped in the numbers as he gave them to her. When she looked up again, he had his own phone in his hand.

  “Mind if I take your numbers, too? In case I have any questions?”

  Robin was aware of her heart speeding up, which was ridiculous. He was a minister, a man of God. He wasn’t hitting on her. In fact, he probably intended to call and invite her to join the church again. She wouldn’t mind if he did. She just didn’t know if she could do that; she might not be staying in Jasper Gulch for much longer.

  “Uh, sure.” She gave him her cell number, though mobile coverage was not the best here, as well as the numbers at the museum and her residence, such as it was. He saved them to his contacts list before pocketing the tiny phone again.

  “There now,” he said. “I have a lead on the information I need to make this a grand centennial Christmas, I’ve found a kindred spirit to help me solve a puzzle and I’ve got the phone number of one of the prettiest ladies in town. That’s what I call an excellent morning’s work.” He turned a full circle, walking backward a step or two, as he headed for the door. “I look forward to hearing from you.”

  He was out of sight and halfway down the hall before Robin’s own laughter caught up with her, and her heartbeat still hadn’t slowed one iota. It had, in fact, sped up! Perhaps that was why she called him later when she stumbled across information concerning the church bells.

  A tidbit in the local newspaper from early 1925 had reported that the bells had been deemed unsafe due to problems with the crosspiece in the belfry and would “henceforth be silenced to prevent any startling and calamitous accidents.” The reporter had gone on to quote a deacon as insisting that rumors suggesting this decision had to do with the “decampment of Silas Massey and his wife” were “scurrilous and mean-spirited,” which led Robin to wonder aloud if the aforementioned rumors had anything to do with the bank failure.

  “Bank failure?” Ethan echoed.

  Robin mentally cringed. “Sorry. I wouldn’t want you to think I was gossiping. Speculation is part and parcel of historical research, I’m afraid. It’s just that we’ve uncovered evidence of some trouble at the bank founded by the Shaws and the Masseys here in Jasper Gulch. The timeline says everything’s connected. First, the Masseys pulled out. Then the rumors started flying about the bank being insolvent. Right after that, the bells were determined to be unsafe, with a deacon at the church insisting that the decision had nothing to do with the Masseys leaving town. It seems as if Ezra Shaw was quoted in every edition of the newspaper around that time saying that the bank was solvent and all was fine, but when the crash came in ’32, it failed spectacularly and was reported to be woefully undercapitalized. Shaw was quoted as saying that for him it was just a long nightmare come to an end but that he felt badly for his neighbors and depositors, whom he promised to help as much as he was able. It just seems logical that Massey had something to do with the whole situation.”

  “So you’re saying that Silas Massey either forced Ezra Shaw to buy him out, which caused the bank to be undercapitalized, or he stole—”

  “I’m just telling you what we’ve uncovered,” Robin interrupted smoothly.

  “However it came about,” Ethan said, “there were bound to be some hard feelings. I think it’s worth looking into to see if the bells might have been a gift to the church from the Masseys.” He added that he was going to dig into some old file cabinets tucked into a closet in a back room. “I might find something of interest to the museum.”

  Robin remembered that, and the next day when she found a website that showed details, as well as written instructions, for re-creating exactly the sort of decorations the pastor would need to provide a centennial-style Christmas for his congregation, she decided to print off photos and drive over to the church with them on her lunch hour. She and Olivia had their hands full getting the displays at the museum ready for viewing, but Olivia’s husband, Jack, had come into town from his ranch on an errand, so the two of them were having an early lunch tog
ether, and that gave Robin a bit of free time.

  She parked right in front of the church, grabbed the file folder in which she’d stashed the printouts and hopped out of her metallic-blue hybrid coupe. Stepping up on the plank walkway, she hurried to the white-painted front door of the church. It swung open easily. She walked into the cool, strangely silent vestibule and let her eyes adjust from the bright sunlight.

  The vestibule usually rang with noise and always seemed dark, despite the twin brass chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. Not today, however. Today, a shaft of light illuminated the very center of the wide space, along with the slender metal ladder that descended from the belfry. She looked up to find an open trapdoor in the vestibule ceiling.

  “Pastor?” she called, amazed at the way her voice carried in the empty room.

  “Put your hands over your ears,” he called down to her.

  “What?”

  “Put your hands over your ears!”

  “O-okay.” She tucked the file folder under one arm and clapped her gloved hands over her ears. About two seconds later, a deep, melodious bong tolled through the rock vestibule. The force of the sound made her sway on her feet. She laughed, even as she warned, “You’ll shatter the vases in here if you keep that up!”

  “I know. Isn’t it wonderful?”

  It was, really, like standing inside a gigantic bell.

  “Come up here and see,” he urged.

  Glancing around, she laid the folder on the credenza that sat against one wall and tugged off her mittens, tucking them into the pockets of her heavy wool coat, but then she hesitated.

  “Robin,” he said, just before his face appeared in the open trapdoor above, “come on up. It’s perfectly safe.” He wore a knit cap and scarf with his coat.

  “How did you know it was me?” she asked, moving toward the ladder.

  “I recognized your voice, of course.”

  “Ah.”

  He reached down a gloved hand as she put a foot on the bottom rung of the wrought iron ladder.

  “How does this thing work?”

  “It’s very simple. There’s a tall pole with a hook on one end. I used it to slide open the trap and then to pull down the ladder. When I’m done, I’ll use it to push the ladder back up and lift it over the locking mechanism then slide the trap closed.”

  “I see.”

  “Oh, you haven’t seen anything yet,” he told her, grasping her hand and all but lifting her up the last few rungs to stand next to him on a narrow metal platform fixed to one side of the tiny square open-sided belfry. In their bulky coats, they had to stand pressed shoulder to shoulder. “Take a look at this.” He swung his arm wide, encompassing the town, the valley beyond and the snowcapped mountains surrounding it all.

  “Wow.”

  “Exactly,” he said. “There’s a part of Psalm 98 that says, ‘Let the rivers clap their hands, let the mountains sing together for joy…’ Seeing the view like this, you can almost feel it, can’t you? The rivers and mountains praising their creator.”

  “I never thought of rivers and mountains praising God,” she admitted.

  “Scripture speaks many times of nature praising God and testifying to His wonders.”

  “I can see why,” she said reverently.

  “So can I,” he told her, smiling down at her with those warm brown eyes on her face.

  Her breath caught in her throat. But she was reading too much into that look. Surely she was reading too much into it. That wasn’t appreciation she saw in his gaze. That was just her loneliness seeking connection. Wasn’t it? Though she had never felt this sudden, electrical link before, not like this, as if something vital and masculine in him reached out and touched something fundamental and feminine in her, she had to be mistaken.

  He was a man of God after all.

  Even if she couldn’t help thinking of him as just a man.

  A shadow seemed to pass behind his brown eyes, as if he’d read her thoughts, and he turned his gaze back to the mountains, visually drinking in snowcapped peaks set against the bright blue sky and the sunshine.

  After only a moment, he smiled at her, his genial self again.

  Yet Robin felt a distinct chill that she hadn’t felt an instant before, a chill that even winter could not explain.

  Chapter Two

  In an effort to hide her disturbing reaction to Ethan’s closeness, Robin turned away from the magnificent sight outside the belfry, leaned back lightly against the hip-high wall and gazed instead at the two bells attached to the crossbeam in front of her. Each of the bells was about as big around as Ethan was, but one was deeper than the other. He stretched out a foot and gave the nearest bell a gentle shove. It rocked to and fro, giving off a delightful peal that, while loud, did not threaten to burst Robin’s eardrums or move her bodily, as it had down below. The crossbeam remained steadfast. Had it ever been unsound, it was not now.

  Suddenly, the noontime recording played, a trilling carillon, one of several that played every three hours from 9:00 a.m. to 9:00 p.m. daily. It was neither as loud as the sound had been in the chamber below the belfry, nor as rich.

  “I did a little research after you called,” he told her when the recording stopped. “I was able to find records proving that Silas Massey and his wife not only gave these bells to the church, they had the vestibule and belfry built to accommodate them.”

  “The rumors that the bells were silenced in resentment after the Masseys left town were apparently true, then,” Robin said, frowning, “but why? Do you suppose it really did have something to do with problems at the bank?”

  Ethan shrugged. “All I know is that it’s time for these bells to ring again. I’m going to attach some ropes and prepare to use them. Wouldn’t it be great to ring these bells for Christmas?”

  Robin looked around the small, dusty space. Only the ledge where they stood was wide enough to work from, but he couldn’t reach the arm at the top of each bell, where the rope obviously attached, from here. He’d have to crawl along the crosspiece to fix the ropes in place. Meanwhile, the speakers in their wire protective cages sat tucked securely into all four corners, with the recorder that played the bell music presumably housed somewhere safely below.

  “Are you sure about this?” she asked. “I love hearing the recorded bells.”

  “So do I,” Ethan admitted, “and we’ll still use the recordings for everyday, but for special occasions, we’ll have the real bells.”

  “Real bells would be special,” Robin admitted, warily eyeing that crossbeam and the trapdoor open beneath it.

  “I’ll need your help,” he suddenly declared.

  “My help?” Her gaze shot to his. “Oh, Pastor, I don’t know.”

  “If you help me,” he said, “I can attach the ropes with the trap closed. I’m sure there must be a way to safely close the trap from up here, but I haven’t figured it out.”

  “Oh!” She clapped a hand to her chest in relief. “In that case, then yes, I certainly will help you.”

  “Excellent.” He smiled broadly. “Then I won’t have to explain about the bells to anyone else. Don’t want to start any Massey gossip now that Dale’s in town, do we? Not that there’s ever a good time to start gossip.”

  Robin nodded. “I see what you mean.”

  “I thought you would. Besides, I want this to be a surprise for the congregation. Hopefully, the townsfolk will think any extra bongs they hear around the regular bell times are part of the recordings, so they’ll be surprised when I toll the bells for Christmas services,” he went on. Then he tugged at his earlobe. “I must think of a way to repay you for all your help.”

  “You don’t have to do that,” she said, shaking her head. “Although…”

  She worried her bottom lip with her teeth. It was so nice to have someone to talk to. Olivia had become a good friend, but Robin didn’t dare trust any of the Jasper Gulch natives with her story. The pastor was an outsider like her, though. Perhaps she should tell him what h
ad brought her to Jasper Gulch and seek his advice on what to do next. On the other hand, what would he think of her once he learned of her duplicity?

  “I, um, appreciate you showing me the view from up here,” she went on carefully, deciding not to risk it. “It is truly spectacular.”

  “I’m glad you’ve enjoyed it,” he told her, moving to the ladder, “but that can’t be what brought you by this morning.”

  “No, of course not. I have some photos for you, photos of Christmas decorations from 1913, ’14 and ’15, a couple from right here in Jasper Gulch. That will give us a good idea of what materials to use, and I also have some websites where we can find instructions on how to replicate the designs.”

  “We?” he echoed, smiling. “Are you volunteering to help?”

  “I’m not a florist or decorator,” she hedged. “All I’m trained to do is research.”

  He grinned and said, “An invaluable help. So what are we waiting for? I’m eager to see what you’ve brought me.”

  She watched him disappear through the trapdoor. Only as she stood alone on the tiny platform did she realize how very cold it was up there in the belfry. Even with her coat and scarf on over her slacks and sweater, she shivered, until he called up to her, his voice expanding in the rock room below.

  “By the way, I think it’s time you started calling me Ethan. Don’t you? Lots of the people in town do.”

  Suddenly she felt warm all over. Would he dare suggest such a thing if he knew that, like all the other unattached women in town, she was quickly forming a crush on the pastor with the warm brown eyes?

  *

  Ethan really liked Robin Frazier. He liked her a lot. She had the charming and rare habit of thinking before she spoke. When he’d heard her voice in the vestibule, his heart had rejoiced, for he’d thought of her as he’d gazed out over God’s magnificent creation. He’d wished, quite unaccountably, that he could share the vision with her. To have her suddenly appear like that had seemed an answer to a prayer he hadn’t dared utter. Or was it?