He blew out a breath. “As I recall, the Wizard of Oz wasn’t as fearsome as he wanted people to think. Even the Cowardly Lion got behind that curtain he used to protect himself. You may be able to do a few things that look a little like wizardly magic—wave your wand and find a home for the Muraya family or rehab Miss Ethel’s old house. But inside, you’re just a regular person.”
Lowering her head, Lara was silent for a moment. “Good night, Jeremiah,” she said. “I’ll leave you a note the next time I check on the Murayas.”
He watched her insert a key into the lock, turn the knob, open the door and step into the house. As she turned to shut him out, her eyes searched his face. Her voice was soft when she spoke. “Jeremiah, you’re right. And I’m afraid.”
The door closed, and he heard the dead bolt click into place. Standing on the porch, he wondered what he had hoped to accomplish by getting into her house…warming her heart…making her his friend, or more?
She was right to feel content in her role as a single person with an active life. For ten years, he had adopted exactly the same persona for himself. He had found great blessing in focusing on his sons and his career. Why should he expect Lara Crane to change? More important, why on earth would he want to bring any changes to his own carefully constructed world?
He didn’t. Turning his back on her door, he walked to his car. He didn’t want Lara any more than she wanted him. What had he been thinking?
Thanksgiving dinner at the International House on the campus of Reynolds University unfurled with all the flourish of a royal feast. Through her International Friends program, Lara had managed to connect every student with a local family for fellowship and cultural exchange. Some of the young people had been invited to their host’s home for the traditional meal—but most were left to fend for themselves on this American family holiday. The I-House dinner filled the void.
“We have roasted a goat!” Peter Muraya entered the fellowship hall bearing a large platter covered with aluminum foil. His wife and baby followed close behind him, while Wisdom and Justice brought up the rear. “I think you will love this meat, Dr. Crane. All Kenyans eat roasted goat on special holidays. We dug a pit in the backyard in which to cook it.”
Tabitha nodded with a warm smile. “The animal was procured for us by Jeremiah Maddox.”
At the name of the man whose visage had filled her thoughts day and night for the past week, Lara suppressed a frown. She hated to think about the way she had spoken to Jeremiah on Saturday. Informing him that she had no interest in him. That she didn’t even want his friendship. What kind of a Christian was she, anyway?
On the other hand, she couldn’t have let him into her house. She didn’t trust herself. He was too handsome. Too smart and interesting. Too much of everything she had always longed for in a man. If she had welcomed him into her life, she had no doubt what would have happened. The doors she had bolted shut would burst open, and the flood of desire she kept so carefully suppressed would wash over her in a drowning tide.
It wasn’t physical desire that threatened her so much as the yearning for a deep, strong, lifelong commitment. She wanted a husband. A home. A family. Children. Since childhood, Lara had cherished the dream that she would become a wife and mother. It hadn’t happened, and she had tried to convince herself she felt perfectly comfortable with the life God had given her. She did, too. Really.
But just the mention of Jeremiah’s name brought it all back—that hammering in her heart. That need to be close to someone special. To belong. To love and be loved.
“The fat of the goat is the best part,” Tabitha Muraya confided as she settled little Tobias into a high chair. “The men will eat it. They believe it makes them strong and brave.”
Covering her mouth with her fingertips, she glanced at Lara and giggled. “In truth, it gives them a large stomach. Courage comes from the heart, does it not?”
Lara instantly thought of her flippant remark about the Cowardly Lion. “You’re right, Tabitha, courage does come from the heart,” she said. “We’ll go ahead and let the men think whatever they want. Who likes goat fat anyway?”
She was helping Tabitha tuck blankets around Tobias when Wisdom tugged on her sleeve.
“Dr. Crane, we are going to Texas for Christmas,” he announced. He stood like a little soldier beside his mother and the baby. Dressed in a freshly pressed white shirt and tan slacks, he looked every bit the handsome young gentleman. “We are going to drive in our car for many hours. My father’s brother lives in Dallas. We will see their family—all our cousins! We will eat another goat and open gifts. It will be great fun.”
“That sounds wonderful,” Lara said, kneeling to meet Wisdom eye-to-eye. “I’ll need to write down the dates of your trip so I won’t come to check on you while you’re gone. How is school these days?”
“My teacher gives me good marks. When I have trouble with reading or math, I tell Daniel. He explains everything to me.”
“Daniel Maddox? He helps you with homework?”
“The young men and women come to the cottage nearly every afternoon,” Tabitha said as she settled into a chair beside Tobias. The baby’s eyes were drifting shut, and his head began to slowly tip to one side. “I am teaching them how to crochet. They want to make Christmas presents for their friends—scarves, you know? For the neck? All of the young people play with Wisdom and Justice. Even Tobias is very much loved.”
Lara’s eyes misted. “The teenagers are helping you.”
“And the Murayas are helping us.” Daniel Maddox’s large sneakers appeared next to Wisdom’s small brown tie-on shoes. “Hi, Dr. Crane. Dad said you invited us to the I-House for Thanksgiving dinner, so here we are.”
Looking up, Lara focused on the tall, slender young man who had welcomed the Murayas into his family—and brought his father into her life.
Benjamin Maddox approached from the rear. “We have green bean casserole, Dr. Crane. The kind you make with cream of mushroom soup and fried onions. That’s about as American as you can get.”
“I made it,” Daniel clarified. “All Ben did was sprinkle the onions on top.”
“Welcome,” Lara said, rising to greet them. “I’m glad you could come.”
“We helped Peter kill the goat, too,” Benjamin said, making a face as he drew a line across his throat with his index finger. “Not fun. But roasting it was cool. The smell of that smoke sticks to your body like a second skin.”
“You can’t wash it off,” Daniel concurred. He spotted the oldest Muraya boy. “Yo, Wisdom! My man!”
Lara swallowed as she faced Benjamin. “So, your father is…?”
“Dad went to Bolivar. That’s where my grandparents live.” He swung away. “Justice, you rascal. Did you know your dog ate my shoe?”
“You left them outside,” the small boy said. “That was unwise.”
“They were muddy from playing football with you.”
“Mdogo will always eat shoes if they are left outside. Even I know this.” Justice’s smile showed a missing front tooth. “Are you going to try that goat we roasted?”
“You bet I am,” Benjamin said, laying his hand on the child’s head. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
Lara let out a breath as she turned to meet an Iranian student and his Pakistani roommate. Well, then, that was that. She wouldn’t have to face Jeremiah after all. She had scared him off—which was exactly what she had intended. Now she could stop thinking about him and get back to her normal life.
As the cuckoo inside the Swiss clock in the hall sang out twelve noon, the students and their families began to gather around Lara. Campus rules prevented her from publicly blessing the food, but she was allowed to call for a moment in which everyone could silently offer prayers of thanksgiving. The moment she said, “Amen,” a line began to form at the long buffet table.
Curry, rice, roasted goat, baked plantains, bean stew and dozens of other dishes sat steaming in long rows. Each offering was clearly marke
d with a small sign stating its country of origin and primary ingredients. Several of the students were Hindus and could not eat beef, while the Muslims could have nothing to do with pork. A few students were total vegetarians who didn’t even eat eggs. With conversation flowing, laughter ringing out and exotic aromas mingling, Lara knew a surge of pure bliss.
This was what she was meant to do. This was who God intended her to be. Tears welled as she reached for a plate.
“Where shall we put the turkey?” Jeremiah Maddox stepped from behind her. With thick oven mitts protecting his hands, he carried a large roasting pan. A white-haired woman and a bald man appeared beside him, their arms filled with cardboard boxes laden with bowls of cranberry sauce, dishes of stuffing and baskets filled with hot rolls.
“There’s room down here, Dad!” Daniel yelled from the far end of the buffet line. “You barely made it. What’s the deal?”
“It’s snowing!” Jeremiah called.
“Snow!” The word echoed across the hall like a hallelujah chorus. Suddenly the line to the buffet table evaporated as Nigerian, Saudi, Colombian and other students from all over the world raced to the door for their first look at the miracle.
“Snow!” someone shouted. “Yes, it is snow indeed!”
“Like sugar,” one student cried.
“Soap flakes!”
“Salt!”
“Feathers!”
“Come, come. Let us go outside and see it!”
The mayhem gave Lara enough time to set down her plate and try to stop her hands from shaking. Why had he come? And those two people arranging the food must be his parents! Oh, this was not supposed to happen. And look how cute his mother was! And his dad…
Biting her lower lip, Lara focused on organizing the line that was beginning to form once again. The atmosphere at Reynolds created a sort of harmony that allowed students from hostile countries to gather in peace. But Lara was not naive. Trouble always simmered somewhere beneath the surface. She had to be careful who roomed together. She had to keep close tabs on every student—especially those from nations the United States did not consider allies. Even in the merging of a line at a buffet table, she knew tensions could mount.
As she helped the students gather in an orderly fashion, it occurred to Lara that if she could defuse potential conflict between nationalities, surely she could manage to get through this meal with Jeremiah Maddox in a civil manner. She would be polite, distant, kind but unemotional.
She filled her plate and took a chair near the student from Ivory Coast whose family was still missing. The young woman’s eyes brimmed with misery. Friends gathered around her, and everyone began to eat. Lara noted that Jeremiah had joined his sons and the Murayas at a distant table, and she relaxed. Maybe she wouldn’t have to summon any emotion toward Jeremiah. Clearly he had come to be with Peter’s family, and that was exactly as it should be.
She had just taken a bite of Ethiopian injera, a spongy, sour flatbread used as a kind of edible tablecloth to soak stew juices and scoop up meat, when she saw Jeremiah’s mother settle into a chair across the table. The woman’s bright blue eyes matched her son’s, but her face held none of his reserve as she pulled her napkin into her lap and looked around the table.
“I’m June Maddox,” she said. “From Bolivar. That’s about thirty minutes north of Springfield. My son is Jeremiah, over there with his Kenyan family. Are you young ladies from Kenya, too?”
“We are from Ivory Coast, Ghana and Cameroon,” one of them responded in a low voice. “Our countries are in West Africa. Very far away from Kenya.”
“My grandsons told me I’d learn a lot if I came to dinner here. To tell you the truth, I resisted the idea at first. We’ve always had Thanksgiving at home with Jeremiah and the boys. We have a daughter, too, but Jenny lives in California, and we don’t see her very often. Oh, I’m telling you, we miss that girl! But she’s like her big brother—busy, busy, busy. If Daniel hadn’t met Peter and invited him to live in the guest cottage, I don’t suppose Jeremiah would have ever slowed down. But he’s a different boy since his African friends moved in. We haven’t been introduced, but I believe you’re Dr. Crane, aren’t you?”
Lara swallowed a too-large mouthful of hot curry. “Uh, yes.” She coughed and took a swig of water. “Your son has been very kind, Mrs. Maddox. Your grandsons…great kids.”
“They all think so much of you. Especially Jeremiah. I don’t believe he stopped talking about you during the whole drive down here from Bolivar. He says you run quite a program for these students. And you volunteer to refurbish old houses on the weekends.”
“I enjoy my work.”
“I can see why! This is just a delightful gathering. Wonderful.” White hair freshly set and glowing with hair spray, she took a bite of turkey and chewed for a moment before speaking again. “I thought I’d start with a plate of my traditional cooking, you know. Then I believe I’ll give some of the other dishes a try.”
“I hope you will, Mrs. Maddox. The students have prepared the best their homelands have to offer.”
“Jeremiah tells me his friends roasted a goat in his backyard. Actually, I’m not even sure that’s legal.”
“It’s delicious, though,” Lara said. Hoping to turn the conversation away from Jeremiah, she spoke to Dahlia, the young woman who had not heard from her family in several weeks. “Do you roast goats in an underground pit in Ivory Coast, Dahlia? I can’t remember.”
“Sometimes,” the girl mumbled.
“I don’t understand how it could cook very well,” Mrs. Maddox spoke up. “Being buried like that. I thought fire needed oxygen to burn. Well, the main thing is that you have just won my son’s heart, Dr. Crane. Or may I call you Lara?”
She wanted to shrink into her chair. “Lara, of course.”
“Daniel and Benjamin were the first to tell us about you, and then Jeremiah started in. We had to hear all about moving the mattresses and the puppy and the painting project. You know, Jeremiah rarely mentions anyone except his business colleagues. But he has just talked himself half to death about you. Of course, I asked a lot of questions. The grandkids say I’m a busybody, but that’s really not true. In fact, Jeremiah told me you like to ask questions, too, Lara. I think that’s how to show you really care about someone.”
“Yes, I believe it is.” Lara searched frantically for anything to stem the tide of Mrs. Maddox’s eager conversation. She focused on the students. “Perhaps some of you would like to share Christmas customs from your homelands. I’m sure our guest would enjoy that.”
No sooner had Lara mentioned the coming holiday than Dahlia’s face crumpled. The young woman was excusing herself from the table, tears streaming, when Mrs. Maddox caught her hand.
“My goodness, sweetheart, whatever is the matter?” Mrs. Maddox dug a tissue out of her purse. “Are you homesick? I bet all of you are! I hadn’t thought about that, but you are a long way from your families, aren’t you?”
“Dahlia cannot reach her parents by telephone or e-mail,” one of the young women told Mrs. Maddox. “She is quite worried.”
“Can’t reach them?” The woman’s blue eyes softened as she slipped her arm around the student. “Well, I’m sure they’re all right. Africa is such a long way from here, and you know how telephone cables break, and satellites go astray and things like that. I don’t think you need to worry, honey. Here, take another tissue.”
Lara watched as Mrs. Maddox slipped effortlessly into “mother” mode and took over the table exactly the way her son had taken over the Miss Ethel project. Within moments, the young African women were telling stories of their families at Christmastime, talking about boyfriends they had left behind, explaining political troubles and generally baring their hearts to the white-haired guest. Jeremiah’s mother listened with great interest, her face registering shock or sadness or joy as each student spoke. With Mrs. Maddox’s arm firmly around her shoulders, Dahlia stopped crying and even managed to eat a few bites from her plate.
As conversation flowed, Lara took advantage of the opportunity to step away from the table.
Wandering from group to group around the room, she paused to thank people for bringing such wonderful food and for taking time to join their fellow students at the I-House. She glanced at the Murayas’ table and noted that everyone was observing Tobias’s first taste of applesauce.
This was working out exactly as it should, Lara realized. Never mind what Mrs. Maddox had said about her having won Jeremiah’s heart. That was simply a figure of speech from a doting mother. Clearly the man was ignoring Lara, but she felt grateful that her words of rejection had not turned him away from the Muraya family or the tradition of the international Thanksgiving feast.
She took a clean plate and made her way to the dessert table, where confections of every kind were vanishing fast. Missing the traditions of her own parents who had retired in Arizona, Lara lifted a slice of Mrs. Maddox’s pecan pie from its pan.
“Homemade crust,” Jeremiah said, his chest brushing against the back of her shoulder and his breath warming her ear. “My grandma taught me how to roll it so thin you can almost see through it.”
Her hand tightened on the plate. “You made the pie? That’s a surprise.”
“Didn’t think I could cook?”
“Didn’t think you had the time.” She forced a polite smile on her face and took a sideways step along the table’s edge.
He matched her, his long arm reaching toward a bowl of fresh fruit salad just as she touched the spoon. His hand closed over hers. “Pineapple this time of year?” he asked. “Wow. And what’s that orange stuff?”
“Mango.” She had no choice but to allow him to ladle some of the fruit salad onto her plate. “I think I can manage the spoon, Jeremiah. I’ve been feeding myself for years.”
“Just thought I’d be of assistance. You’re trembling so much you might spill something.”
A Merry Little Christmas Page 6
