by DiAnn Mills
She shrugged. “Nothing, really. It’s just—” Pausing, she drew a deep breath and released it. “It’s been ages since I’d been reminded of the significance of Jesus’ birth. After you read the account last night it brought back long-forgotten experiences from my own childhood. And I was wondering…that is, do you think—” Angelina swallowed.
Gabe gave an encouraging pat to her gloved hand in the crook of his arm.
“Do you think God would still remember me?” she finished in a near whisper.
He stopped and smiled down at her. “Of course He remembers you, little friend. He sees you when you lie down and rise up again. He knows the number of hairs on your head and everything else there is to know about you. And He loves you as He does all His children.”
“Even if I haven’t spoken to Him in years?”
“Even then.”
They had reached the end of her street. Angelina was almost too overcome to speak as she gazed up at him. “Thank you. That’s what I wanted to know. I can go the rest of the way home on my own.”
Somehow, as she left him behind, she knew he wasn’t merely counting stars when he lifted his face to the sky.
Chapter 6
Angelina stitched far into the night on the surprise doll for Noely. Though she had never attempted making anything in the nature of a child’s toy, her basic sewing talents made the project much easier than she had dared to hope. In a burst of inspiration she decided to use straw-colored yarn for the hair and embroider eyes of blue, so the little plaything would resemble its new mama. That would make it all the more special.
However, as she assembled the front and back sections of an indigo muslin dress similar to one Noely wore, the thoughts which meandered to the parsonage on Second Street did not always remain on the young orphan.
The new friendship she shared with Gabe Winters seemed truly precious. For the first time in ages, she felt free to be herself, so much of her loneliness was fading away. The minister possessed the ability to put her completely at ease and never treated her like a cripple…nor had he belittled her for what must have sounded like a childish question.
Angelina tried to picture the sandy-haired pastor standing behind the pulpit of his church, encouraging his little flock to be faithful to Almighty God. Did he read his sermons, as had the few ministers who had come to give services at the orphanage, or merely speak from his heart? And did all his prayers fall as naturally from his lips as those she had heard at the table?
Somehow she imagined his messages—no matter how deep their subject—would be delivered in the simplest of ways, so that anyone who heard them would be able to understand. To someone with as big a heart as Gabe Winters’s, that would be of the utmost importance.
It was still a struggle for her to call him by his Christian name, but perhaps as time passed it would become easier to be casual about such things. After all, as he’d said, times were changing. People were turning from the old stiff rules to more relaxed ones.
A deep sigh evolved into a yawn. Glancing at the clock, Angelina discovered it was half-past midnight. She’d best put away the Christmas doll and get whatever sleep remained before time came to go to work.
Gabe knelt at his nightly prayers, lingering longer than usual as he upheld his church members before the Lord, along with the various concerns of the church itself. On visitation rounds he always accumulated a growing number of requests for prayer, and he did his best to remember them all.
Then there was Angelina. He’d felt compelled to pray fervently for the beautiful seamstress since she had appeared on his doorstep the night of the blizzard. He pleaded ceaselessly that God would allay the suffering she endured from her frail leg and lighten any other cares she might have. He was intensely gratified that she’d felt free to discuss personal spiritual concerns with him, and he hoped her mind had been put to rest. And Father, he added, shifting position on the braided mat at his bedside, I ask You to keep my thoughts and motives pure regarding her. Never let me take advantage of the friendship we’ve only just begun. You know my tendency to rush and bungle things, the many relationships I’ve managed to sour single-handedly. Please restrain me from doing anything that would make Angelina take flight. If I can just be a true friend to her, I will not presume to ask any more.
And then there was Noely, who barely resembled the timid, ragged urchin who had arrived at the parsonage in Angelina’s arms. Dear Lord, the little one is becoming more attached to Angelina, Aunt Clara, and me with each passing day—as we are to her. You know this could make her adjustment into yet another family every bit as painful and devastating as the loss of her own parents such a short time ago. Please help me to find a solution to this problem. Soon.
Gabe rubbed his temples as he sorted through his jumbled thoughts. It galled him to admit that Noely had some very definite points against her. She wasn’t a newborn baby, and folks tended to look more favorably on an infant of either gender than a child of nearly four. She wasn’t a boy, and the latter remained much more in demand after the long years of the Civil War had exacted such a high toll among the male population. And she wasn’t heart-stoppingly pretty or possessed of delicate features, but rather plain and sturdy instead. That particular prejudice was hardest of all to justify.
His mind went over the sweet charm Noely had about her. Once past her initial shyness, she tugged at a person’s heartstrings and moved right in to take over the whole heart. She seemed, in some uncanny way, able to sense when to be quiet—or when a jubilant hug might be in order. Her musical giggle never failed to bring a smile. And anyone could see that the dear face which now seemed so grownup for such a young child would one day blossom into a lasting and stately beauty which would not quickly fade, but become all the more handsome with the passing years.
Oh Lord, what will become of this little one? Why hasn’t there been even one ray of hope for her? If Aunt Clara weren’t prone to recurring heart seizures, we could try to seek permanent custody ourselves. But You know she’s much more frail than she lets on. Were something to happen to her, I wouldn’t have an inkling about how to nurture a little girl on my own. I don’t know where else to turn. Or what else to pray. I cast this burden at Your feet and ask You to do with it what You will. Provide an answer which will bring glory to Your Son, in whose name I pray.
At the end of himself, Gabe climbed into bed and pulled the blankets and quilts snugly about his neck…but sleep eluded him for some time.
A summons at the door rendered an end to the peace of mid-morning. With Aunt Clara bathing Noely in a tub in the kitchen, Gabe answered the knock.
Dell Taylor, turning his hat around and around in his work-hardened hands, stood on the stoop, along with two other deacons from the church. “Reverend,” Dell mumbled, shifting uneasily from one foot to the other.
“Gentlemen,” Gabe replied with a nod, already beginning to suspect why they were here. A niggle of dread coursed through him. “Come in.”
The beefy tradesman shook his head. “Might be best if we could speak over at the church office.”
“If you don’t mind,” rawboned Harris Thresher quickly added, appearing every bit as ill at ease as Mr. Taylor.
Small, highbrow Randall Bent had yet to meet Gabe’s eyes as he hunkered into the collar of his dark wool coat.
“Certainly,” Gabe replied, plucking his own wrap from the hall tree. He led the others to the house of worship next door and ushered them into his tidy, book-lined study. He motioned toward three chairs and took his place behind the worn mahogany desk, trying to ignore the signs that an ax was about to fall.
The deacons exchanged furtive glances before Dell spoke up. “We, er, that is, a rather disturbing matter has been brought to our attention—one that’s probably just so much rumor and gossip. But anyways, we thought we’d best lay it all out on the table right here, before it grows into something more serious, requiring a meeting of the whole board.”
Thresher and Bent gave nods of assent.
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br /> “What is it?” Gabe asked, glancing from one grim face to the next, finally settling on Dell Taylor.
Dell flicked an imaginary speck of lint from a trouser leg, then met Gabe’s gaze. “It concerns a certain young woman who’s been frequenting the parsonage of an evening.” He reddened and averted his attention to the floor.
Gabe relaxed a bit. “Is that all? Well, allow me to put your minds at ease. Miss Matthews happens to be the person who found Noely freezing on the street and brought her to us. She’s been coming by to visit the child—who, by the way, formed a singular attachment to her rescuer. There’s nothing more to the matter, I assure you.”
Thresher cleared his throat.
“I’m afraid there is, Reverend,” Taylor went on. “It’s been reported that, er, you’ve been seen—” His color deepening, he tugged at his starched collar, then managed to continue. “You’ve been seen conducting yourself in a fashion most…unseemly, in public.” That said, he exhaled a long breath as if greatly relieved to have the problem off his chest.
For a moment Gabe stared, dumbfounded. Then the evening he had escorted Angelina home in his arms popped anew in his memory. He felt his ire start to rise and fought to keep his tone even. “I don’t suppose it was also reported that the young woman suffers from a serious infirmity which renders walking quite difficult. Or that sometimes she is in such pain she requires assistance.”
“No sir, it wasn’t.” Some of the color left Dell’s face.
“Well then, you can see the charges are erroneous. I can tell you here and now, my conscience is entirely clear before the Lord and before my church. I hope this sets the record straight.”
“Only on one of the charges, Reverend,” Thresher announced, gesturing for Mr. Taylor to elaborate further.
Dell swallowed. “About the orphan…”
Completely baffled, Gabe didn’t respond.
“Certain folks in the church think,” the deacon went on, “that your concern for her is taking up time which might be better spent in matters directly related to your ministry.”
“Is that a fact?” Gabe responded, his anger barely contained. “And does the Bible not tell us it is the duty of every Christian—minister or layman alike—to aid a person who comes seeking need? Someone who cannot lift a finger to help herself?”
“There are institutions for that very purpose,” meek Mr. Bent finally piped in.
“I see. Let someone else do it? Well, I have reasons not to agree with that particular conviction, and the primary one has to do with love. Noely is a dear, sensitive little child who happens to be in dire need of a family to love her, not an institution where she’ll be one of a throng of homeless children in her same position…though I’m sure her continued presence at church probably inflicts a measure of guilt upon people who have refused to help her. But if she happened to be your grandchild, would you not be a lot more concerned about what becomes of her and feel as strongly about her as I do?”
The man had the grace to nod in agreement, and as the other deacons did the same, the tension lightened noticeably.
Gabe softened his tone. “I have every reason to believe I’ll be successful in placing her in a Christian home in the very near future—perhaps among the congregations of other churches. And until that time I intend to continue striving toward that end…as I believe God would have me do.”
“Yes,” Dell conceded. “Put that way, I would share your feelings.” He stood, and the other men joined him. “We’ll be on our way, then, and pass on the results of this meeting to the wom—I mean, folks who brought it all up. We hope you won’t hold this against us, Reverend.”
“Not at all. I know people like to be sure things are being handled in a manner which behooves a minister of God. And,” he could not restrain himself from adding, “you might advise them their added prayers would be of greater benefit in all of this than their criticism.”
“I heartily agree.” With a sheepish grin, Dell Taylor extended his hand.
Gabe shook it warmly, and did the same with the others, then showed them to the door. “God be with you, gentlemen.”
As they exited the study, Gabe returned to his chair and bowed his head in a prayer of thankfulness. Aunt Clara would be glad to hear that nothing came of the hornet’s nest stirred up by the widows who perched ever so piously on the more prominent church pews. He smiled inwardly and headed home.
When he related the discussion he’d had in the church office, his aunt placed a hand over her heart as if to quiet the agitation the news had caused. “I knew those biddies wouldn’t quit until they started trouble for ye.”
Gabe touched her shoulder. “Oh now, I wouldn’t worry over it, Aunt Clara. As I told you, I managed to put the minds of the deacons at rest, so I can’t see anything else coming of the accusations.” But he could see she was clearly disturbed about it and retained considerable doubts.
The better part of that day and the following one were spent in what had quickly become routine, calling upon church members who for one reason or another had not been attending services regularly. Not one to give up hope easily, Gabe resorted to asking these parishioners for the names of any other prospects they might know who might be interested in taking in Noely. But even those efforts failed to pan out.
On the third afternoon a purposeful rap sounded on the door. Gabe set aside his Bible and commentary and went to answer. This time he found two unsmiling strangers attired in crisp black suits and felt hats. “Good day, gentlemen. How may I be of service?”
“You’re the Reverend Gabriel Winters?” the taller of them inquired, peering at him through a gold-rimmed monocle.
“That’s correct.”
“I’m Harland Smeade, of the Agency for Displaced Persons. This is Mr. Townsend, of the Nesbitt Orphan Asylum.”
A jolt of alarm slithered up Gabe’s spine. Glancing over his shoulder at Noely at play with the button box, he stepped out on the stoop and closed the door behind him.
“We have been informed that you are presently providing sanctuary to a dispossessed minor, one Noely Carroll.”
“That is correct. But—”
Before Gabe could finish, Smeade reached into an inside pocket of his waistcoat and drew out some folded documents and presented them. “You are hereby ordered to deliver said minor into Mr. Townsend’s custody within forty-eight hours. If you do not comply with this order, we have been authorized to remove the child from these premises. Good day.” With a curt bow of the head, the two turned and departed.
A suffocating heaviness deprived Gabe’s lungs of air as he stared after the officials. He leaned back against the door, his eyes searching the heavens. Dear Lord, why this? Why now, when I’ve been trying day after day to find little Noely a Christian family and get her settled in before Christmas? But no answers blazed across the brilliant December sky.
He had let them down. All of them. Noely. Aunt Clara. And most of all, Angelina. How would he ever find courage enough to tell her he had failed?
Chapter 7
Forty-eight hours! Two days. Oblivious to the winter cold, Gabe slumped despondently against the parsonage door. Never in his life had he felt so utterly inadequate or powerless. All the effort he had expended…was it all for naught? He could parade Noely before his flock again tomorrow at service, but should that action prove fruitless, there would be only one final morning to find the orphan a home.
How insanely cruel to uproot a youngster right before the holiday! Gabe couldn’t bear to dwell upon the memory of an unsmiling, fearful little girl who huddled by herself in the corner, or of her wrenching sobs that first night at the parsonage…and now to think of her being torn from this home, too, and cast away with more strangers. There had to be some way to keep it from happening. Maybe he could obtain a few days’ extension from the authorities, precious time to place her himself…or at least postpone the inevitable until after Christmas. Surely they would see the benefit of that, wouldn’t they? Please, Father, he pl
eaded. For Noely.
Expelling a ragged breath, he shored himself up and went back inside…where the sound of a little girl’s giggles ripped at his heart.
Angelina relaxed over her morning tea. Out the window she could see gathering clouds dulling the Philadelphia sky, and the draft seeping around the window frames and doorjamb gave evidence of a quickly dropping temperature. Thank heaven there was no longer a need to report to the shop on Saturdays. It was a little early to call at the parsonage yet, but perhaps after her noon meal she’d go to visit Noely. In the meantime she would continue working on the child’s gift.
The doll was adorable, Angelina had to admit, assessing the toy at arm’s length. She didn’t know when was the last time she had derived such joy from making something—and she’d finished the project with days to spare! With Christmas still four days off, there was no reason the dolly shouldn’t have an entire wardrobe. It was easy to envision an array of sweet dresses, undergarments, a tiny flannel sleeping gown, even a wool cape. Smiling, she spread out a remnant of apple green calico and began cutting out a second dress.
The first huge feathery snowflakes began swirling to the ground on a gusty wind in mid-morning, a sight Angelina found particularly depressing. She could nearly always manage to get where she needed to go, as long as she allowed extra time for caution. But watching the snow gradually increasing in density and the layer of white beginning to smooth out the uneven cobbles in the street, she emitted a sad sigh. And she was all too aware that the worst of winter still lay ahead. It might be prudent to stay inside until the storm abated. Well, she would make the best of it. Squaring her shoulders, she eyed the remaining materials, then set to work.
Thoughts of what she would miss at the parsonage—one more treasured visit with Noely, a lively conversation with Gabe and his aunt, and that over another scrumptious supper—were made bearable as a small stack of doll clothes began to accumulate.
