by Merry Farmer
More silence followed. Then, at last, Travis Montrose cleared his throat. “Uh, we’ve all known about Rev. Pickering’s past for years.”
A quiet hum of agreement from the pageant participants followed.
“Yeah,” Beata Kline added slowly. “Rev. Pickering often uses examples from his own life as demonstrations of how sinners can be brought home through our Lord’s saving grace.”
More murmurs of agreement.
“It’s not like he’s been keeping secrets from us or anything,” Hubert said.
The agreement was stronger.
Robbins lowered his arms altogether. “You do not care that the man who professes to be a shepherd to you is as lost as any sheep?”
“Well, he’s not,” Olivia Garrett spoke what everyone else must have been thinking, judging by the way they nodded along with her. “He’s a good man who’s made some mistakes, just like the rest of us.”
Holly began to smile as she watched the reactions of the people of Haskell, but her joy at their support of George was short-lived. One glance at Robbins changed all that. She was reminded of a wolf who had been cornered. Rance Bonneville had pushed Robbins into making a declaration that he hadn’t thought through, and by the calculated look in Robbins’s eye, that risk hadn’t panned out. Haskell stood with George, not with him.
“Be it on your head, then,” he said, then turned and pushed past George and Holly, making for the door. He sent Rance a nasty look as he passed.
Holly turned to watch Robbins leave, took a few steps after him.
“Right.” George cleared his throat. “Now that we’ve got that out of the way, we should run through the second half of the pageant one more time.”
The mood in the church instantly softened. A few people even laughed. Holly wasn’t reassured one bit. In fact, her anxiety had doubled. Robbins was not the sort to take a gamble and then walk away meekly when he lost. She had the sick feeling that he’d only retreated so that he could launch one more, perhaps final, and certainly devastating, attack. As far as she was concerned, he’d just shown himself to be the villain she was certain he was in no uncertain terms.
“Holly.” George snapped her out of her thoughts. She turned to him. “We need you at the piano.”
She nodded, then hurried past him and around the front of the pews to take her seat. George was still upset—if upset was the right emotion—with her, Robbins was still after something, and her anxiety had doubled.
Rehearsal went on, and somehow they managed to make it all the way through the pageant. The choir was as good as it could be with only a few weeks to rehearse. At least the participants knew their cues and where to stand, since Haskell had performed more or less the same pageant for several years running. Once they were finished and costumes were hung on a rack at the back of the room, though, everyone wanted to talk to George.
“I don’t like the way he tried to speak to you,” Beata Kline said, patting George’s arm.
“Yeah, I’ve been enjoying the energy in his sermons, but now that I think about it, I’m not so sure I like what he’s actually saying,” Jill Abernathy agreed.
“Don’t you worry about it.” Olivia smiled at him and Holly as she put on her coat. “We’re all behind you.”
“We most certainly are,” Mason Montrose added with a glare that looked like his fists would be behind George too if he needed them.
“Thank you,” George said to each of his supporters as he hurried them out the door. “Your support means a lot to me.”
Holly couldn’t think of anything to say that would help. She shook hands and waved to the people who came up to express their support to her as well, but other than that, she felt as useless as could be. When at last everyone had gone and it was just her and George in the church, she opened her mouth to share her own support with him, but nothing came out.
“I can’t believe this is happening,” George muttered and marched past her, heading to the front of the church.
She knew better than to take his frustration personally. It wasn’t her he was angry with, it was Robbins, the situation. Then again, she had been standing right there and she’d done nothing to stop him. She could have. She could have stepped in, said something, tackled Robbins, even. Maybe George did think this was her fault after all. It wasn’t the first time she had left him to be embarrassed in front of the people who cared about him.
“I’m sorry.” She scurried down the aisle, frantic to do something to change the horrible mood that seemed to fill every nook and cranny of the church in spite of the show of Haskell’s support.
“It has nothing to do with you,” George grumbled, collecting hymnals from the corner of the chancel where the choir had left them.
Holly snapped back just as she reached him. Did he really think it had nothing to do with her? He was her husband, after all, and he’d been insulted. That had everything to do with her, as far as she was concerned. Unless he didn’t want it to be her business.
“You never told me where you thought the choir should move to,” he said as he came back from depositing the hymnals on their shelf at the side of the room. He wore a scowl that was as peevish as if she had been the root cause of the interruption that night.
“I’m sorry,” she repeated, feeling as helpless as ever. “It’s just that as soon as I took a look, I overheard Robbins talking to Rance Bonneville. I panicked. I didn’t know what to say.”
“You could have said something.”
Holly flinched. She’d expected him to be upset, but actually hearing his frustration directed at her was another matter. She’d endured dozens of blows from Bruce in their years of marriage, but nothing had ever struck her so hard as the simple frown George sent her. And they had been getting so close. It was as if she’d discovered everything they’d built in the last few weeks had been built on slick ice. One push and it had all come crashing down.
“I didn’t know what to say.” She scrambled for anything that would make things better. “Gunn said not to let on to Robbins that we were suspicious until we have proof.”
George turned away from her, rubbing his hand across his face.
From somewhere deep inside of her, grief and old, old hurt welled up. “I don’t know what to say to make this better. Any of it. I’ve tried and tried, but I don’t know what else I can do to make you forgive me. I’m sorry. That’s the only thing I can think of, and I know it’s completely inadequate. I’m sorry I ruined your life. I’m sorry I broke your heart. I’m sorry I didn’t speak up for you, then and now. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”
She burst into tears as her flood of words quickly wore itself out. Embarrassment tangled up with the grief in her gut. She did the only thing she could think of to do and fled from the church through the door into George’s office.
Chapter 12
“Holly, wait!” George leapt into action a beat later than he should have. Everything he did or could do was far, far later than he should be doing it. How could she think that she had anything to apologize for when he was the one who had let her down over and over?
As he dashed into his office, Holly was already rushing into their apartment. She even closed the door behind her. George paused in front of the shut door. He raked a hand through his hair and let out a frustrated breath.
“This is all my fault,” he muttered to the door.
Then do something about it, an answer came from deep inside his soul.
He reached for the doorknob, but some invisible force stuck his feet to the floor. What could he possibly say to make things better? Chances were, anything he said would only make it worse, and Holly was already in tears.
Maybe Robbins was right and he was a wolf in sheep’s clothing. He was an excellent pastor, of that he had no doubt. But he was a failure as a man, as a husband.
Stop it, his inner voice scolded. You’re only a failure if you stop trying. Go after her, even if you make a fool of yourself.
He took a breath, squared
his shoulders, and headed into the apartment.
His stomach lurched when he saw the main room empty. Had he waited too long? Had she left him? The idea washed over him like a breath of icy wind, settling with dread in the pit of his stomach. He didn’t know what he’d do if Holly left him. It would be her right, just as it had been her right ten years ago. But this time more than just his reputation was at stake. His heart and his happiness rested with her now.
A faint sniffling coming from the bedroom sent George reeling, both with relief and with sorrow. He swallowed, then marched across the room, only slowing when he reached the closed door. Steeling his courage, he knocked, then turned the knob and opened it a crack.
“Holly?”
She had thrown herself across the bed and was weeping against the pillow. The sight made George feel as low as he’d ever felt. He’d caused this problem.
He had to solve it.
He pushed the door open enough so that he could slip into the dim room. Holly must have collapsed into tears before she could light a lamp. Her shoulders stiffened, letting George know she’d sensed his presence, but her sniffling continued. George stepped to the side and lit the lamp that sat on a small table by the door. It gave him the time he needed to gather his thoughts.
When at last a soft glow of light filled the room, he sat on the bed by Holly’s prostrate form. “You have nothing to apologize for,” he began. “I’m the one who should be saying I’m sorry.”
She held her breath, but didn’t face him yet.
George went on. “I’m sorry that my temper has been so short tonight. I…” He wasn’t used to sharing his thoughts and feelings, not with anyone. It should be something that came naturally, but not for him. “I’m anxious for the Christmas pageant to come off without a hitch. Right or wrong, I’ve gotten it in my head that it’s a test.”
“A test?” she asked in a drippy voice.
“Yes.” He let out a breath, disappointed in himself. “I feel like if I do a good job, the congregation will want me back as their pastor.”
Holly dragged herself to sit. Her face was red and splotchy and streaked with tears. More than anything, George wanted to reach out and wipe those streaks away, but he didn’t feel as though he had the right.
“You are their pastor,” she said, her wet lashes blinking rapidly.
“Not the way I was before,” he admitted. “Not with Robbins as competition. I feel like if I put on a brilliant Christmas pageant, they’ll forget all about his fire and brimstone and beg Howard to send him away and let me preach again.”
“Is Howard stopping you from sending Robbins away yourself?”
Her question hit him harder than it should have. “No,” he answered slowly. “Not precisely. But that’s the other part of why I’ve been so short-tempered.”
She didn’t say anything. She only looked on with her luminous, hazel eyes, urging him to continue. Considering that she had been weeping just moments before, George thought that was incredibly big-hearted of her. It made his own heart thump painfully in his chest.
“I’m frustrated that we can’t say or do anything to call Robbins out until we hear an answer from Mr. Pinkerton,” he confessed. “I hate sitting still and doing nothing when people that I care about are in danger.”
“I don’t like it any more than you do,” she murmured, lowering her eyes.
That simple gesture of defeat was like a knife in George’s heart. His confessions were hard enough, but they didn’t seem to have the effect he wanted. But then again, how could he expect Holly to bounce back to bliss with just a few words from him, especially when they didn’t come anywhere near the root cause of the wall between them.
He had to dig deeper.
“I don’t know how to talk to you,” he admitted. A cold sweat broke out down his back. He’d never laid himself so bare to anyone in his life. “I…I want things to be…to be good between us, but I have no idea how to get there.”
Slowly, she raised her eyes to meet his. Once again, they were glassy with tears. “I want that too, but I don’t know how to make it happen either.”
He reached out and took her hand where it lay against the coverlet. “It doesn’t make any sense to me. We’ve known each other for so long, shared so many things together. We should be as close as any old friends are.” He paused, closing his eyes for a moment. “Unless that’s the problem.”
She didn’t answer him. He hadn’t asked a question to begin with, but he hoped she would have an answer anyhow. The silence between them stretched on until the air around them prickled with everything that they couldn’t say. He continued to hold her hand, and she didn’t pull away, but it felt as though there was a gulf of sorrow between them. No, it felt as though there were ten years of regrets holding them apart.
At last, Holly glanced up at him. In a tiny voice, she asked, “Why did you marry me?”
George opened his eyes and met hers. His chest constricted with the strength of emotion he felt for her, but his tongue felt as though it was glued to the top of his mouth. “You came all the way out here on your own,” he said. “I couldn’t very well let you leave and be alone.”
She continued to watch him without saying anything.
“The entire town was so eager to see me marry. I couldn’t disappoint them,” he went on. The words began to flow more easily. “I’ve been thinking for some time now that I need a helpmeet and a companion in life. The town deserves a pastor’s wife as much as it deserves a good pastor. I would like to have a family.” He spoke faster and faster as each excuse came to him until at last he blurted, “The moment you stepped off the train I remembered everything. The moment I saw your face I remembered how much I love you.”
He stopped, his throat closing up with tears of his own. It was totally unexpected. Everything was. But his thumping heart told him that it was all true. He loved her. He always had. He always would. All the whiskey and women in his past, all of the devotion and community in his present couldn’t make him forget how much he loved her.
“I love you, Holly,” he repeated, his voice hoarse.
Her tears began to flow once more. “That’s the first time you ever said that,” she whispered, barely able to choke the words out.
George blinked, a thread of horror twining through the warmth that spread through him. “What?”
She squeezed her eyes shut, causing more tears to flow. “In all of the months we were engaged, in all the time we knew each other, you never once told me that you loved me.”
“I…I didn’t?” How could he have been such a heartless and horrible cad?
She shook her head. “That’s why I ran out of the church when I did. I didn’t think you really loved me. I loved you with every part of me. For a long time, I thought that would be enough. But as I stood there, at the back of the church, looking at all the people who had come to see the spectacle of the shop girl marrying the wealthy young man, I realized that my love wasn’t enough. I couldn’t marry a man who would never love me as much as I loved him.”
George opened his mouth to say…something. Nothing came to him but devastation over the callousness of the man he had once been. As he feared, he was the one who needed to do all of the apologizing, not her. He was completely at fault.
“It was easier to marry Bruce,” she went on, “because I didn’t love him and I was certain he didn’t love me. It was just another business transaction, or so I thought. It was different. My heart wasn’t on the line. It wouldn’t have killed me inside to marry Bruce, knowing he didn’t love me.” She swallowed and glanced down at her hand, still twined with his. “I didn’t realize that it could have actually killed me if I hadn’t found a way to escape from him.”
Rage at everything her first husband had done to her broke the spell that seemed to have George bound up and silent. “If I had known what happened and how he treated you, I would have moved heaven and earth, left everything, and come to save you. I wouldn’t have cared that you were another ma
n’s wife, I would have taken you away from all that and kept you safe for the rest of our days.”
A faint smile lightened her expression, and she met his eyes again. “I would have run with you, if you’d shown up in Knoxville to take me away. I wouldn’t have hesitated for a moment, wouldn’t have packed a single bag or taken anything with me. I would have just run. Because I loved you even more after I left you. I never stopped.”
He couldn’t stop himself from reaching for her, pulling her into his arms and kissing her with all the passion and regret that had been stirred up in his wounded and wary soul. She was already hot with emotion as their lips met, but within seconds, it was as if the furnace of desire had flared to life. He kissed her with everything he had, parting her lips to slip his tongue in and explore her.
She made a sound deep in her throat as her fingers threaded through his hair, half grief and half desire. No, it was more than half desire. She pressed into him, kissed him back, nipped at his lip. His body responded instantly. It had been so long since he’d given in to his baser instincts, but all of those instincts were still there. He instantly remembered the sweet joy of making love, the heady physical sensations and the momentary rush of closeness he’d always felt in a woman’s arms. But this was different. All of that was magnified a thousand times, because this was Holly. This was love.
He rolled her to her back, kicking off his shoes so that he could climb fully onto the bed. He struggled out of his jacket, tossed it aside, then shrugged out of his suspenders. All the while, Holly reached for him, brushing her fingers along his face and neck, straining up so that their lips could meet again. She banished whatever hesitation he might have had about acting on his impulses by responding with enthusiasm and so much more.
“George,” she cried breathlessly as he tugged his shirt off over his head.
“I’m here,” he replied, dipping closer to brush his lips against hers.
