by Leah Atwood
All Is Calm
A Christmas Short Story
Leah Atwood
Copyright © 2016 by Leah Atwood
Cover Design © Covers by Ramona
Cover Image © Adobe Stock Photos
Unless otherwise noted, scripture taken from the New King James Version®. Copyright © 1982 by Thomas Nelson. Used by permission. All rights reserved.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Epilogue
Letter from the Author
Other Available Titles from Leah
Chapter One
Waymouth, North Dakota- 1898
Only a stub of his candle remained. The first rays of morning struggled to peek through the dusty windows that hadn’t seen a cleaning rag in weeks. Reverend Erich Samuelson rubbed his eyes. He’d stayed up the entire night, working on Sunday’s sermon. His duties throughout the week kept him busy—three funerals, a wedding, and assisting a family after a fire claimed their house.
December would be a long month if it continued at this pace.
A wide yawn escaped, and Erich rubbed his eyes. If he went to bed now, he could catch a few hours of slumber before any responsibilities called. He blew out the candle, closed his Bible, and tucked his sermon notes in the desk drawer. Scruff, the dog who had taken up residence at the parsonage, had a penchant for chewing paper. After two failed attempts at giving the dog a new home—Scruff, then unnamed, found his way back to the parsonage both times—Erich conceded the dog belonged to him. However, he wouldn’t make the same mistake twice by leaving paper in the open.
He patted a hand against his thigh. “Come on, Scruff.”
The shaggy dog with tan fur that matched the hair on his new owner followed him into the bedroom and laid down on the woven rug by the bed. Scruff looked up at Erich with deep brown eyes, daring his owner to move on.
Erich leaned down and rubbed the dog’s head. “Don’t worry. I know our routine.”
Stepping over the dog, he yawned again. He climbed under the covers, still in his day clothes from yesterday. His head hit the feather-filled pillow, and his eyes fluttered. He hadn’t looked forward to sleeping this much in a long time, but at least he’d be ready for tomorrow’s sermon.
Halfway between consciousness and slumber, he was alerted to an unusual sound—Scruff barking then jumping to his paws, his overgrown nails clawing against the floor.
Too exhausted to care, Erich covered his head with the pillow to block out the noise. The futile effort only smothered him, and he threw the pillow aside. “Quiet down, dog.”
Seconds later, a knock sounded at the door.
Erich groaned, but quickly stopped himself. No one came to his house before nine in the morning unless there was an emergency. He jumped out of bed, forgetting his need for sleep. Energy flowed through him as he stretched his muscles while walking to the door.
Two sullen young faces greeted him on the outside, and an older, somber one.
His stomach dropped.
“Good morning, Erich.” Reverend Winters, the minister from the next town over, and Erich’s mentor tipped his hat.
“Is it?” Erich eyed the tear streaks on his niece’s face and his nephew’s frown. “Where is my sister?”
Reverend Winters swallowed. “Edna and her husband were on their way home from a party last night when their carriage flipped.”
“Is she okay? How is Bruce?”
“May we come in?” Reverend Winters directed a subtle nod toward the children.
“Of course.” He waved them in, forcing a smile for the children’s sake. Please let Edna be okay, Lord. Bruce, too.
He led them to the small parlor at the front of the parsonage and directed his niece and nephew to have a seat. “Do you like molasses cake?”
Timmy gave a weak nod.
Mary didn’t answer.
“Mrs. Stoltsfus brought one to me yesterday, and I’ll never be able to eat all of it on my own. I’ll bring you each a piece.”
Blank stares sent chills down his spine. Timmy and Mary loved sweets.
He left the room, with Reverend Winters following closely behind him. When he reached the kitchen, he pulled down two plates. “Would you like a slice?”
“No, thank you.” Reverend Winters’ face paled a shade.
“My sister is gone, isn’t she?”
Reverend Winters nodded. “Bruce, too. By the time they were found, both had passed.”
The knife he’d grabbed to cut two pieces of cake clamored to the counter. He’d sensed it, knew it from the grave demeanor of his niece and nephew. But nothing could have prepared him for the immense pain that sliced his heart at hearing the truth.
His sweet baby sister was dead. Timmy and Mary, orphans.
The lack of sleep became the least of his problems.
Taking the knife from him, Reverend Winters offered his sympathy. “I’ll take care of this. Have a seat at the table, and we’ll discuss more after I deliver the cake to the children.”
Erich kept a hand on the counter for a few seconds until his legs were steady enough to take the five steps to the table. Shock recoiled through him as he sank down to the chair. He licked his lips, willing himself not to shed a tear.
Edna had just sat at this table last Saturday when she’d come to town for a friend’s wedding. She’d lightened the dark parsonage with her smile and laughter. She couldn’t be gone.
Loneliness struck him like a plague. His parents had died when he was eighteen and Edna was fourteen. She’d been old enough then that no one squawked about her remaining under his custody until she was of age. She’d run the home while he’d studied to become a minister.
When he’d been sent to Waymouth, North Dakota, she’d followed him here and had met Bruce at a barn dance that next fall. She’d had everything to live for. It wasn’t fair she’d been taken so young. Twenty-eight years on this earth was all she’d been granted.
Erich ran a hand through his unkempt hair. What would become of the children? He’d take them in of course. There’d be no question about it. Family looked after each other.
Reverend Winters returned and sat in the chair opposite of him. “Timmy and Mary are eating. Nibbling rather, but it’s a start.”
“Grief has robbed their hunger, I’m sure.” It certainly did his. He’d counseled countless others in times of sorrow, but when it came to his own, he was lost. “What happens next?”
A frown skittered over Reverend Winters’ mouth. “Are you willing to accept the children as your responsibility?”
“Absolutely. I will not abandon my family.”
“That’s the answer I prayed you’d give.” A long sigh contradicted his words. “May I offer advice?”
“What would that be?”
“Find a wife.”
Coughing and sputtering, Erich couldn’t imagine the look on his face. “Pardon me?”
“While you are the closest relative the children have, we can’t forget about Bruce’s sister in Nebraska.” Reverend Winters raised a brow. “His married sister.”
Erich’s heart sunk further down his chest. “Will she fight me for custody of the children?”
“I had a telegram sent to her. She has four of her own. Her hands are full, but that’s not to say she won’t feel responsible for the children.”
“Timmy and Mary know me well. They’ve already lost enough—moving them hundreds of miles away won’t be good for them.” His defenses shot up, ready to fight for his niece and nephew.
“I agree, but we know how these things go. If the issue went to court, a judge would place the children with a married couple over a single man.” Winters offered a sigh. “That’s why finding yourself a wife would be the ideal solution. And truly, potential legal issues aside, you’ll need a wife to help you raise the children. The life of a pastor often calls us out at all hours.”
“I’ll hire a governess.” Even before he saw Winters’ disapproving stare, Erich knew that solution wouldn’t work. She’d have to reside in his home, and propriety would never allow such a scandalous idea. He wasn’t willing to tarnish his reputation, especially when he knew his sister would not want her children raised by a governess. A reluctant sigh worked its way from his chest. “Or I could marry.”
“Under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t recommend such a marriage, as it’s a sacred covenant, but this is not an ordinary situation.” Creases formed on Winters’ forehead. “Is there a woman whom you could picture as your wife?”
He crooked a finger under his chin as he thought. Marriage. It wasn’t that he hadn’t thought about it, but most eligible women in town only showed interest in him because they craved the esteemed role of pastor’s wife. It was a phenomenon he’d never understood, as he’d witnessed firsthand the strains fellow ministers’ marriages had experienced due to the demands of the call.
When he did marry, he wanted to court his future wife first and have time to know her, but he recognized the truth behind his mentor’s reasoning. There wasn’t time for the fancy trappings of a courtship. The children needed him now.
The vision of a brunette widow materialized in his mind. A year younger than his thirty-two years, Lisbeth Stanfield was a quiet lady who came to church and sat in the back row. Before her husband passed away three years ago, she’d helped with the children’s Christmas play and hadn’t been so subdued.
Despite her changed demeanor after her husband’s death, Erich knew her to be a strong, God-fearing woman. She was also the only woman he could think of who could fill the needed role. Edna and Lisbeth had been good friends, and Erich knew his sister would approve of Lisbeth raising her children.
Convincing Lisbeth of that, however, might require a Christmas miracle.
Chapter Two
Lisbeth pulled the tin cup from the cupboard and dumped the contents. The coins mocked her as they clanked to the table Henry had made her for their first anniversary. Life had been full of dreams then, their future spread before them as a map with a charted path. She’d veered so far off that course. No husband. No children. Nary a dollar to her name.
“The Lord will provide.” She’d reminded herself of that promise often over the last three years, especially during this past November when it became painfully clear she would need to sell the homestead.
It wasn’t much, but it was hers—all she had left of Henry. Side by side they’d toiled those first years, trying to eke a living from the farm. After he’d died, she knew she couldn’t keep the farm forever, but she’d held on for as long as she could, slowly selling off the equipment and animals. A few chickens and a dairy cow were all that remained, plus the two mares for the wagon.
Speaking of eggs… Lisbeth left the money on the table and grabbed her cloak from a peg by the door. She went to the chicken coop, hoping for a miracle. If all her hens laid an egg, she’d go to town and sell them, add the few coins to her jar. She’d learned the art of frugality, and the income from the eggs had sustained her this summer.
Barely.
There hadn’t been enough money to set aside for when the winter months came, and the hens barely laid eggs in the winter. The one or so eggs she found weren’t worth the trip to town, so she’d used them for her own nourishment. Still, she faithfully checked the nests every day.
To her discouragement, but not surprise, there wasn’t a single egg. Her feet dragged her back to the house, and she tossed her cloak over a chair, too defeated to hang it properly.
She sank into a chair and counted her money. Just enough for a sack of flour and coffee beans. Thank goodness for the abundant garden crop last summer, which she’d been able to can for the winter months. She’d even traded a good portion of them for a slab of bacon, but she’d fried the last of that last week. She wouldn’t have meat to eat, but she could live on bread, beans, and vegetables. Prolong the inevitable until after the new year.
Unwelcome tears sprung to her eyes. She held the jar to the table’s edge and pushed the meager amount of money back into its holding place. “Help me not to lose faith, Lord. I know you have a plan for me. Please help me to know what it is, and to accept whatever it may be. In Your name, Amen.”
Gulping away her despair, she lifted her apron and wiped the tears from her face. Her life hadn’t turned out as she’d planned, but she wouldn’t give up. Somehow, she’d find a way to support herself. Once she sold the homestead, she could live comfortably for several years after paying off the note. Maybe she could be a seamstress, or laundress if it came to that. Hard work didn’t faze her—only the thought of going through life without Henry.
A shiver shook her shoulders, and she went to the fireplace, added another log. She gathered her sewing basket, preparing to knit several pairs of socks for the children at the orphanage in Fargo. It was a small act, but knitting the socks kept her hands and mind distracted from her lonely existence. Plus, Mr. and Mrs. Fenwickle, who ran the orphanage had been kind to her during the years she lived there as a child. Sending the socks were a small way to give back to the place that left fond memories during a difficult time of her life.
Here she was in another difficult season. She hummed “O Holy Night” as she worked, determined not to fall into the depth of self-pity. Truthfully, she’d been fine until Thanksgiving last week, and this time of year never got easier. Holidays were a harsh reminder that she had no one with whom to spend them.
Lost in thought, she startled when a knock sounded at the door, and she dropped her knitting needles into her lap. She set them aside, along with the half-knitted sock, then went to answer the door.
“Reverend Samuelson?” She looked past him to see if anyone accompanied him, but Erich was all alone. “What brings you out this way on a Saturday morning?”
He didn’t answer her question, but removed his hat, held it to his chest. “May I come in?”
“Of course.” Moving aside, she went to the kitchen and reheated the coffee she’d made earlier.
Sneaking a peek back at him, she noticed his normally neat hair was disheveled, and stubble covered his jawline. Dark circles and taut muscles on Erich’s face revealed exhaustion or distress. In either case, coffee would help and fulfill her role as impromptu hostess.
Erich slumped into a chair at the table, his tall frame hunched. Both hands gripped his hat and twisted the fabric. “I’m sorry to barge in on you like this.”
“No apology needed. You weren’t interrupting anything.” She stood at the stove, eyeing him with concern. “Are you okay? You don’t seem your normal self this morning.”
His jaw trembled as he shook his head. “My sister and brother-in-law were killed in an accident last night.”
Memories of Henry’s accident surfaced, and she flinched before compassion kicked in. “I am so sorry for your loss. Edna was a wonderful lady.”
She’d also been a friend. Although the dynamic between them changed once Edna married and moved, they’d kept in touch and occasionally shared dinner at Renny’s Restaurant when Edna came to visit her brother. The weight of another loss bore down on her shoulders,
and Lisbeth sank into a chair, the coffee forgotten.
Erich lifted his gaze to meet hers. “I’ll miss her greatly. Her and Bruce’s passing will leave an unfillable void.”
“Where are the children?” Her heart broke for Timmy and Mary—she knew too well the pain of growing up without parents.
Running a hand over his head, Erich appeared to become nervous. “They’re at the parsonage with Reverend Winters.”
“What will become of them? They won’t be sent away, will they?” Anxiety filled her at the thought of the two precious children being sent to an orphanage. Most children in orphanages weren’t blessed to have the same experience as she had, and, even so, she would have preferred to live with family if that had been an option. “Please say you’ll take them in. You’re their family.”
A sad smile appeared. “Of course I will take responsibility for the children. Not only are they my obligation, but I couldn’t imagine sending them to strangers. I love my niece and nephew.”
“They are lucky to have you.”
He rubbed the nape of his neck. His eyes darkened with unspoken apprehension. “I can’t do it alone.”
“I’m sure it will be an adjustment, but you’re a strong, adaptable man, Reverend Samuelson. Most importantly, you love the children.”
“Erich.”
She scrunched her forehead, “Pardon me?”
“You and Edna were good friends. You should call me Erich—Reverend Samuelson sounds too formal.”
What odd timing for such a request. While she’d always thought of him as Erich, propriety dictated she called him Reverend Samuelson. “I don’t know. People would think it improper.”
“Not if you were my wife.”
A sputtering cough couldn’t cover her surprise over his comment. “But I’m not.”
“You could be.”
Lisbeth scratched her temple, convinced his grief was the root of his strange comments. “Perhaps you should return home and get some rest.”
His chest rose with a long sigh then he stood and crossed to her side of the table. “I’m sure I’m not making sense, but, please, allow me to explain.”
