Words like, “raised us from the dead,” “brought us to life,” “singing freedom’s song”? Those words are new to me in music. And besides, it’s Christmas. Aren’t we supposed to be singing Christmas songs?
I have to admit the tunes are catchy, though. There is a lot of dancing going on. The teenage crowd jumps up and down to one of the songs. A song about God’s great dance floor?
Really?
Only after we’ve been singing that song for a little while do I realize my foot is tapping and my hips are moving side to side.
I look to see if anyone is looking at me, and no one is.
Except Stephen.
He smiles when our gazes meet but then turns his attention back to the music. His singing voice is soft. I can’t tell if it’s in tune or not, but I don’t think God cares.
After all, the only singing voice I have is the one God gave me, so He better like it. But, still, I’m not singing.
We all stay standing as a couple of kids who look like they’re in middle school walk to a table up front that holds a wreath with five candles.
The girl with the dark brown hair speaks first. “The first Sunday of Advent we lit a candle to get our hearts ready for Jesus.”
Celine lights one of the candles.
A girl with blonde hair speaks next. “The second Sunday of Advent we lit the candle of love.”
Celine lights another one of the candles.
Both young girls turn and face us, speaking at the same time. “This third Sunday of Advent we light the candle of joy.”
As Celine lights a third candle, Roger starts strumming, and everyone starts singing “Joy to the World.”
At last, a song I know.
When the singing is done, we sit. Roger prays and passes around a basket for an offering. And once again, I wish I had brought my purse. Not that I have any extra money, but it feels awkward not putting anything in the basket as it goes by.
I notice a lot of people have Bibles on their lap. One more item I don’t have in my possession.
As Roger starts his sermon, I find myself nestling closer to Stephen. All the energy I mustered up to say hello, then stand while singing, threatens to depart while we sit, but thoughts of Ann in my clothing flood my mind.
I try to focus on what Roger is saying, but I can’t. Visions of my clothing line, Sunkissed!, float along with Ann’s face and body. It’s like I designed the clothing line just for her.
She’s my perfect prototype.
But she’s real. And she’s here. She has to say yes.
Goose bumps play up my arms, and I think I’m starting to feel the joy we were singing about a few minutes ago. But how will I pull it off? Should I just ask her?
I would have to hire a photographer or photograph her myself.
My heart sinks. No money equals no photographer, and I don’t think snapping a few photographs of a sunrise qualifies me to photograph a line of clothing.
My heart starts to race. I look at Stephen. No. He won’t change his mind. Why should he? A world famous wildlife photographer has no reason to take pictures of my clothing worn by the literal girl-next-door.
“It’s now time for yay Gods,” Roger says. “I know God’s been working this week, so now it’s time to tell us how.”
Is God working in my life? Did he just hand me a model?
An older man speaks up about how he received a promotion he’d been praying for. A lady talks about her aunt who’d been healed this past week of an illness that she’d been fighting for a while.
People smile and clap at the good news.
When no one speaks for a short while, I think we are wrapping things up. Which pleases me greatly because my brain is working overtime figuring out how and if I can talk to Ann. But Roger holds up his hand. “Everyone stay seated. We do have one more piece of good news.”
Roger starts walking between the chairs. Each step brings him closer to Stephen and me. Then Roger walks behind us, and I breathe a sigh. But the relief only lasts momentarily because Roger stops and places one of his hands on Stephen’s shoulder and the other hand on my shoulder.
“I heard some good news this week that I want to share with everyone.”
I feel my face turning red. I mean, I can feel the heat. And this heat isn’t from Stephen. My heart and brain knows what is coming.
And there’s nothing I can do to stop it.
“It seems,” Roger continues, “that my nephew is engaged.”
Shouts and applause follow Roger’s words. Brett is immediately in front of us, shaking Stephen’s hand before leaning over to hug me as best as he can considering I’m sitting and he’s standing.
“This is indeed a blessing.” Roger’s voice sounds like he’s becoming choked up. “A blessing to see Stephen so happy. And we welcome Jenny to the family with open arms.”
As Brett steps away, others come and congratulate us. Stephen keeps shaking hands. Eventually, we stand. The hugs keep coming.
Phoebe walks up holding the hand of one of the older girls.
“I’m confused.” Her expression is puzzled. “You didn’t tell me you and Mr. Stephen are getting married.”
“I’ll explain later,” I tell her.
She smiles. “Okay.”
“You have no idea how much explaining you are going to have to do.”
Stephen’s words are whispered into my ear. I’m sure anyone watching is thinking he’s whispering sweet things to me.
I had no idea the damage those three words, “I’m Stephen’s fiancée,” would cause.
BRIGHT
“SO, WHEN IS the wedding date, Jenny. Honey. Baby.”
Everyone has left, and Stephen and I are alone. The teenage girls asked if they could take Phoebe out to lunch with them. Phoebe looked so excited I didn’t have the heart to say no. Stephen agreed, and after a promise of returning Phoebe by three o’clock, they left.
“Stephen, honey, baby, I don’t know.” My fun thoughts of Ann and my SunKissed! line have vanished in the wake of the fake engagement rearing up again.
“How did this thing spiral so far out of control? First Gary, then my coworkers, now my family and the church family? Jenny, this is huge.”
I take a couple of deep breaths. “How did he find out?”
“I don’t know.”
“Somebody must have called him. Would Gary do that?”
“I doubt it. But I don’t know who Gary has called. He told everybody at the mag. But you are the one who told Gary you were my fiancée. You.”
“I know. But I tried to tell him I lied. He didn’t believe me.”
“Lying is never good. Now, we are going to have to tell another lie when we break up. This thing has the potential to turn even uglier.”
My brain is back to being tired, sleep deprived and foggy. I sit in one of the folding chairs and kick off my cheetah pumps. “We’re going to break up in a day or two, remember? Then this will all be over. And you can be rid of your fiancée. I’ll just be a friend.”
“Friend?”
His expression reveals everything he is thinking. Am I that painful of a friend? He really doesn’t know me. “I’m sorry the thought pains you.”
“Were you listening to Roger this morning?”
“Stephen, I don’t need any false hope of words in a book. I need a future.”
“Lord, this is so difficult.”
“You’re telling me.”
“I wasn’t speaking with you, I was speaking with the Lord.”
Stephen shakes his head and looks upward before walking out of the room, leaving me all by myself, sitting in the folding chair. My dress is rumpled, my shoes lay on the floor and if it was possible, my heart would be right next to them.
“MR. STEPHEN WANTS to know if you want some dinner.”
I open my eyes, Phoebe’s voice coming through a muffled filter that is my brain. “Dinner?”
“Yes. Dinner’s ready. What happened to your room? It feels like I’m stepping on c
lothes.”
Yes, she is stepping on clothes. “I was working and didn’t clean up. I’ll be out in a minute for dinner.”
“Okay. What kind of work do you do with clothes?”
“That’s what I’m trying to figure out, Pheebes.”
I throw back the covers. Phoebe leaves the room, and I go into the bathroom. As I brush my teeth and wash my face, I try to convince myself that dinner with Stephen and Phoebe is what I need to be doing. Brushing my hair, I decide I am hungry, so I make my way to the kitchen.
My stomach verifies the hunger issue as it growls at the scents of something yummy filling the air. Yummy and greasy and oh-so-not-good for me, I’m sure.
I spy chicken wings coated in hot sauce on the counter, along with a salad and a dish of macaroni and cheese.
An odd combination until I remember that Phoebe is eating.
“You decided to join us, I see.” Stephen body is tense, but his eyes are warm.
“Yes. The Lord didn’t tell you I was going to?”
“Excuse me?”
“Well, if you talk to Him I thought he might talk back. You know, tell you things.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Are you making fun of Jesus?”
My heart jolts. Am I? That can’t be good. Along with lying, no telling what Stephen
thinks of me. “I didn’t mean for it to sound like that.”
“You do love Jesus, don’t you, Miss Jenny?”
There’s that sweet Phoebe voice again. Do I love Jesus? I like Jesus. I’d never really thought about loving Him. It’s at this moment that I realize I really don’t know all that much about Jesus. How can I love someone I don’t know?
The word love shifts my focus to Stephen. My focus and my gaze. The clash of all his strength handling delicate, breakable plates.
“Miss Jenny?”
Phoebe. She asked me a question. About loving Jesus. My heart painfully steers toward honesty. “I do like Jesus.”
“That’s a start.”
My heart whooshes at her honesty. “Did you have fun at lunch?” I’m more than ready to move this conversation away from me and Jesus.
“I did. The girls are nice.”
“Did you tell Jenny you got to speak with your mother?” Stephen asks.
“My mommy called.” Phoebe sounds happy. “Grandpa and Grandma are still in the hospital. Mommy is still worried about them. She didn’t say so, but I can tell.”
I’m sure she can tell. “I’m sorry they are still in the hospital, but I’m glad you were able to talk with her.”
“She told Mr. Stephen the directions so he can take me to my school tomorrow.”
Stephen has set the plates and silverware on the table. Wanting to be of some help, I carry the food to the table. “Are you excited about going to school?”
“No. I’d rather stay here with you and Mr. Stephen.”
“You’ll learn a lot more in school,” I say.
“There’s a lot to learn here.” She wiggles her way onto the chair.
Stephen laughs.
Did she just really say that? “There’s more to learn at school.”
“Like you’re still learning about Jesus?” She feels the table, finding her utensils.
I set the bowl of macaroni and cheese down close to her. “Sure.”
“Ladies, I think it’s time to eat.” Stephen sits to Phoebe’s right.
Trying to avoid being close to Stephen, I sit to Phoebe’s left.
Stephen takes Phoebe’s hand in his. “Phoebe, do you want to say the blessing?”
“Yes.”
She reaches over and grabs my right hand. I look across the table, and Stephen has his hand out, so I place my left hand in his. The warmth from their hands feels natural, like this is something we do all the time.
“Jesus. Thank you for this food. Thank you for Mr. Stephen and Miss Jenny and I’m glad they are getting married. We want this food to make us strong so we can tell people about you. And thank you for telling Santa where I am. Amen.”
Their hands let go of mine. As they do so, the warmth flees, like it’s draining out of my heart, like the lie I told has left me cold, alone, in the middle of all that is warmth and love. She told God she was glad we are getting married.
God knows the truth.
I know the truth.
My scar aches, mirroring my heart, and I realize I have no idea what I’ve been dropped in the middle of.
EVEN THOUGH I HAD a nap this afternoon, my body wants to snuggle down in the covers with Phoebe. My eyes want to close and I want to sleep peacefully. But Phoebe isn’t as ready for me to sleep. She wants me to continue the story of Princess Bea and Prince Jonah.
Her hands grasp her blanket that we found in her suitcase a couple of nights ago. “So, does Prince Jonah change his father’s mind?” she asks.
“Whoa. You are moving ahead in the story. Remember Princess Bea asks Prince Jonah why he is at the castle. He’s holding the decree, and he doesn’t want to lie to the princess.”
“Because lying isn’t good.”
I’m glad she can’t see my face turning red. “No. Lying isn’t good. So he tells her he came to see her father, but when he heard her beautiful music he had to see who was playing it.”
“And that’s what happened.”
“It is. Princess Bea thanks him for the compliment regarding the music. He asks her how long she’s been playing the harp, and she tells him since she was three.”
“Three? Wow. That’s a long time. She was little when she learned.”
An idea starts to form in my mind. “Yes, she was. Her mother taught her and told her she would continue to play the harp beautifully until she married. After she married she wouldn’t be able to play anymore.”
“That’s sad. Why?”
“Because there was a curse. It had happened to Princess Bea’s mother, grandmother, great-grandmother and all the other grandmother’s before that.”
“A curse? What kind of curse?”
“The Music Curse. The women would play their beautiful music, and that music would call to the man that would be their husband. When they married, they had no reason to play. Of course, Prince Jonah had no idea of what was happening, but when Princess Bea saw him walk in, she knew she was going to marry him.”
“Did she tell him?” Phoebe asks.
“No. She couldn’t. It’s not allowed. She had to make him think he wanted to marry her.”
“Wow.” Her voice is soft, like we’re telling a secret.
“But there was one problem.”
“What?”
“Princess Bea didn’t want to quit playing her beautiful music. She wanted to marry the prince and be able to play her harp.”
“So what does she do?”“Tomorrow night.”
“Oh, Miss Jenny? Why do we have to wait until tomorrow?”
So I can think of what happens next in the story.
“Because it’s time for you to go to bed. You have school tomorrow.”
“Okay.”
She may act like she’s disappointed, but I can tell she’s tired. Going out with the girls this afternoon was something she’s not used to doing. It was exciting as well.
After we say our goodnights, I leave the study and go in search of Stephen. When I don’t see him in the kitchen or living room or on the terrace, I start to worry. I walk down the hall toward my room and spot him in what I’m assuming is the master suite. First door on the left.
Stopping outside the room, I look through the open door. He has a clipboard and is jotting something on a paper attached to it. It almost looks like he’s drawing.
Even though I don’t say anything, he turns and stares straight at me. “Hello, Jenny Harris.”
“Hi. Are you taking Phoebe to school tomorrow?”
“Yes. I’ve already put her booster seat in my car.”
I should have known. “Nice. Thinking ahead.”
He shrugs his shoulders like it was no big deal. “The mor
ning might be a little crazy.”
“It might. What are you doing?”
“Making sure I know how I want the furniture arranged when it’s delivered.”
Stephen fills a room. No matter what size, his presence captivates every inch of space that surrounds him.
Or that he invades.
I have a hard time envisioning anything that can contain Stephen. “Tell me about the lion. The one in the picture with you.”
His eyes light up. “His name is Sebastian. I’ve been around him since he was a cub.”
“Is he that friendly to everyone?”
He shakes his head. “No. Just a couple of us.”
“It’s a great picture.”
“I like it.”
I take a step into the room, void of everything but Stephen. The tile floor is cold on my feet. The walls are painted white, the same color as the blinds that hang in front of the window.
He tucks his clipboard under his arm. “Teresa told me she hoped to be home Christmas Eve day. She didn’t want to say anything to Phoebe in case she isn’t, but her parents are going to be all right. They’ll be in the hospital for a few more days, then she’ll settle them at home and make sure they have good care before she leaves.”
“That’s good news. Phoebe will be so surprised.”
“I told Teresa to let me know when she’s made her plane reservations. Then we’ll tell Phoebe.”
“That will be a great Christmas present for her. Speaking of presents, did Teresa buy her any, or is that something we need to handle?”
“It’s is all taken care of. She says she can wrap it all Christmas Eve after Phoebe goes to bed.”
An unexpected feeling of disappointment courses through me. Like I am now missing out on something.
Maybe the thought of buying Christmas presents had me more excited than I thought. Thoughts of seeing a little girl’s smile on Christmas morning and knowing I had something to do with it.
Oh, well. Christmas isn’t about me.
It’s not even going to affect me this year. I came here to forget it’s the holiday season, yet at every turn I’m reminded of it.
At least now I can return to my original mindset of sleeping in late on Christmas morning. Maybe even forget it’s actually Christmas Day.
Rich in Hope (Richness in Faith Trilogy Book 2) Page 10
