“Charlie has no control over the power company and how fast they can get the lines and transformers repaired, Mother. You know that.”
Her mother’s head tilted back with surprise. “So you’re defending him now? Did you drink any free Kool-Aid at the Clam Box this morning?”
Emily had to laugh. Her mother was still very sharp for her age. Before she could answer, Molly called from the dining room, “Hey, guys, dinner is served. We have a lot of yummy food here. Please help yourselves.”
“A buffet . . . I should have known.” Lillian made a face as Emily helped her up from the chair and handed over her cane. Lillian had always disliked buffets; mixing all sorts of foods together on one plate was not her style. Neither was it her style not to sit and be served.
“Why don’t you find a seat at the table and I’ll make you a plate?” Emily offered.
Lillian nodded. “I’d appreciate that. You know what I like. None of Molly Willoughby’s food, please.” Her voice was very low, but she rolled her eyes. “It never agrees with me.”
In the midst of this emergency, only her mother could complain about landing in one of the loveliest and most comfortable houses in the entire village and dining on food prepared by one of the most acclaimed cooks for miles around.
Emily smiled to herself as she took two plates and stepped up to the long table filled with an array of dishes—freshly baked bread, green salad, chili, a pasta dish smothered in melted cheese, and even a chicken curry.
She couldn’t speak for anyone else, but she was very, very thankful to be here tonight with her family, and she said a quick, silent prayer for so many others in town tonight who were not nearly as cozy and comfortable.
She was also grateful that she’d had the chance today to help them as much as she had been able, and suddenly realized she also had Charlie to thank for that.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
On Friday afternoon, Emily found Reverend Ben in Fellowship Hall, chatting with Claire North and her husband, Nolan Porter. Though two days had passed since they all woke up to the ice storm, Fellowship Hall was still set up as a warming center, with long tables of hot drinks and a miscellaneous, ever-changing array of food. There were some tables for eating, others for socializing, and still others where people who were shut out of offices could work, with stations to charge cell phones and computers.
There were also some cots, folded up against a wall now, but used the first and second night after the storm. Emily did not expect anyone to stay over tonight. As she supervised the centers, she kept track of the attendance at each location, even interviewing people who came and went about their situations and needs.
Charlie had appreciated her efficient reports, in his way, she reflected with a wry smile. There were fewer people passing through this center than on Wednesday and Thursday, she noticed. But she still found the number concerning.
Sophie’s house had been active on Wednesday and Thursday, but her visitors had thinned out. She was also at church today, balancing a big pot of soup on a hot plate. “I cooked this last night, but I don’t think I’ll have enough customers to use it up today. I thought you could use it here.”
“Thank you, Sophie. We can.” Emily was setting out another contribution of pastries and breads from Willoughby’s Bakery as Sophie disappeared into the kitchen again.
She didn’t mean to eavesdrop but couldn’t help overhearing the minister’s conversation with Claire and Nolan.
The couple managed the Inn at Angel Island for Liza and Daniel Merritt, who lived half the year in Arizona now. Claire had lived on the island most of her life, and Nolan was a fairly new arrival. The island, a tiny jewel set in Cape Light harbor, had been hit hard by the storm. The slim land bridge connecting the island to the mainland had been washed out, and Emily had heard that at first, the only help for the island’s residents had been Coast Guard boats that had arrived on Wednesday and evacuated a few elderly and sick residents.
“There were no guests staying over Tuesday night when the storm hit, luckily. Nolan and I had all we needed and then some,” Claire reported.
“Except electricity,” her husband added. “Still without power, but we’re managing. We lost a shutter or two, but there was no major damage to the inn.”
“We did feel isolated,” Claire admitted. “Weeks go by when I don’t set foot off the island. But it’s different when you know you can’t.”
“I’m glad you could get back to town. It’s good to see you both. Will you be back tomorrow for the Christmas Eve service?” Reverend Ben asked. “We’re starting earlier than usual. We know there are still concerns about traveling, especially at night.”
The older couple looked relieved. “We were going to stay over at Vera Plante’s house, even though she’s still without power, too,” Claire said. “But that’s good to know, Reverend. Thank you.”
Claire and Nolan left, and Reverend Ben came over to chat with Emily. Or maybe he was just drawn by the scent of the soup? He lifted the lid and inhaled a savory aroma—a combination of rich broth, vegetables, beans, and maybe even some chicken.
“This smells delicious. What kind of soup is it?”
Emily smiled. “You’ll have to ask Sophie. She just delivered it.”
Sophie appeared in the pass-through window between the kitchen and the hall. “Storm soup. I toss in all the perishables I can find in the fridge. And some herbs and such. A chicken or two doesn’t hurt, but you can make it fine without.”
“Sounds like a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity,” Reverend Ben observed. “I may have a cup for lunch. It was generous of you to bring this here, Sophie, in the midst of running your own center.”
“I was just telling Emily it’s slowed down out there, Reverend. I think folks are getting back to normal.”
“The town has stepped up to get the roads clear and clean up the fallen trees and other debris,” Emily said. “But there are still a lot of pockets in the village without power. There’s nothing the town can do about that. That part is up to the utility company.”
Reverend Ben nodded. “Yes, I know. I’m concerned about Christmas Eve. Even though we’re holding the service at four o’clock, I’m worried about what will happen afterward. Will people go back to their cold, dark houses? That doesn’t seem much like Christmas to me. I’m afraid the church can’t really accommodate them here, either. Willoughby’s has been very generous, and so have many church members who can cook, but I don’t think we can hold a Christmas party, not on such short notice.”
“I’ve been wondering about that, too. I thought that maybe the Clam Box would be open,” Emily said. “But Lucy told me just about all their supplies are gone, and they haven’t gotten any deliveries this week. Charlie is sending his cook, Tim, to Boston today to buy what he can, but he’s not sure what he’ll find.”
“I still have plenty in my deep freeze. And my pantry.” Sophie had come out of the kitchen and set a pan of corn bread on the table, next to the soup. “I stocked up for my family Christmas party, and I tend to keep an ample supply of food on hand anyway. You’d think I still had a houseful to feed.”
“You mean you’d give it to the diner or serve it here at church?” Emily asked.
Sophie looked confused. “The diner? Why would I do that?” She leaned over and nearly whispered, “I’m pretty sure that whatever I do with that food, it will be tastier than what’s served at the Clam Box. No offense to Charlie Bates.”
Emily knew that was true. But she still didn’t understand. She could tell from Reverend Ben’s expression that he was puzzled, too.
“So you want to cook it at home? And bring it here?”
Sophie shook her head again, strands of her white hair flying loose from her bun. “I want to have a Christmas party at my house and serve it all there. Clean that deep freeze right out, and the pantry. It does occur to me that I’m probably leaving th
ere very soon, and I certainly can’t take it with me, as the saying goes.”
“That’s most generous of you, Sophie. Honestly.” Reverend Ben hesitated, seeming overwhelmed by the offer. “But we are talking about a huge group coming into your house—more than arrived for the warming center.”
“I understand, Reverend. That’s the best part. I persuaded my children to let me hold our family Christmas gathering this year, and I’ve been thinking it would be a celebration of all the beautiful years I’ve spent in that house—and my entire family, before me. What better way to celebrate, and honor those years, than to open the doors and invite everyone in town to join in the party?” Her face was beaming, Emily thought, with the light of her inspiration, generosity, and loving heart. “I know I’ve got to leave soon, but I’d rather go out with a bang, as they say.”
Reverend Ben began to look intrigued. “It’s an ambitious idea, but it would give so many people the gift of Christmas who would otherwise be cold and isolated. I can’t find fault with it,” he admitted. “In fact, I think it might work, coming from such heartfelt, generous intentions.”
“We’ll all help you,” Emily promised. “There are a lot of people at church who have volunteered at the warming centers and asked if there was any sort of celebration for Christmas Eve. I’m sure they’ll help you and contribute dishes to your dinner, too.”
“God will send plenty of helping hands. I’m not worried about that. He always does when you set out on the right path. Remember the story about the loaves and fishes?” Sophie reminded them, the note of faith in her voice pure and clear as a bell. “We just need to spread the word—to the congregation and out in the village.”
“We do. There’s not much time. But I’ll work on that and announce it at the service, as well. Mrs. Honeyfield can make some flyers for the bulletin about the party, and directions to the orchard, too.”
“I’ll post flyers in town,” Emily offered, thinking a Loaves and Fishes Potluck Open House Christmas Party would be the most apt description, but also wondering how many would get the joke.
“How about your children, Sophie? Maybe you should speak to them first before we get started on these plans?” Reverend Ben’s tone was gentle and respectful. Emily wondered about that, too. Would Sophie’s children even allow her to offer her house like this? If they did object, she definitely couldn’t blame them.
Sophie sighed. “I’m not saying I plan to deceive them. But it’s still my house, my deep freeze, and my doors to open to whomever I please. It won’t be that way for always, but it is for now. So, I don’t see any reason to ask their permission. Though I do hope they come,” she added sweetly.
Reverend Ben glanced at Emily. “Fair enough. Though we insist that you accept as many helpers as we can rally. Emily will help you figure out what you need.”
“Absolutely. I’m free to talk right now if you can, Sophie.”
“I am, too,” Reverend Ben said. “Right after I get a bowl of that delicious soup and some corn bread.”
“Help yourself, Reverend. There’s more where that came from. Plenty more,” Sophie promised.
* * *
Emily could hardly remember seeing so many people in the sanctuary for the Christmas Eve service—or any occasion. She was very glad she had pushed herself, for once, to arrive on time with her family. Jessica and Sam had picked up her mother and Ezra and saved them seats up front. Her mother’s doing, Emily guessed.
Her nephew Darrell, Jessica’s oldest son, was back from Texas, where he was finishing a degree in computer science. He had always been a bright boy, interested in how things worked. He sat beside Sam, just as tall as his father now. Tyler and Lily sat between their parents, with Ezra and Lillian close to the aisle. Emily and her family sat on the other end of the pew, arriving with a few minutes to chat and catch up, though the main topic of conversation seemed to be how many people had come tonight for the service.
“I can’t remember ever seeing this many—including every Christmas Eve and Easter holiday since I was a girl,” Jessica said.
“Me, neither,” Sam agreed. “What a turnout. I think it’s great.”
Lillian glanced at them, a sour expression on her face. “Who are all these people? Not members of our congregation, I can tell you. Just riffraff. They descend for Christmas Eve, the big party night, but will disappear once the hard work starts again.”
Emily shared a glance with her sister, but neither replied. There was a grain of truth to her mother’s words. Some people only attended church on Christmas and maybe Easter. But did that mean they shouldn’t be welcomed for these most important days? That wouldn’t honor the spirit of compassion that Reverend Ben worked so hard to share with his flock. Besides, there might be potential new members here tonight. There were many who seemed familiar to her, families that had passed through the warming center in Fellowship Hall over the last few days and now were interested in what went on in the sanctuary. The thought made her smile. It seemed to her the way Christmas should be, strangers coming together, warmed and welcomed, given material comforts and nourishment, and spiritual comfort and nourishment, too.
Bright, trumpeting organ notes sounded the start of the service. Everyone turned to watch the choir march up the center aisle, with Reverend Ben walking at the very end. They were singing the processional “Joy to the World,” and Emily felt a little catch in her chest. Everyone here had shared a momentous experience this week and had, by the grace of God, come through it relatively unscathed.
As her gaze followed the choir moving toward the risers, she caught sight of Charlie Bates and his family. She almost didn’t recognize Charlie, who was dressed in a navy blue suit, white shirt, and bright red tie. He looked quite dignified, and Lucy looked lovely in dark blue velvet. Their boys and Zoey were also dressed in their best for the holiday. She couldn’t say for sure, but she had a feeling that Charlie shared her feelings here tonight, of relief and gratitude that he had been able to help and protect people.
“Merry Christmas, everyone.” Reverend Ben stood at the front of the sanctuary and greeted the congregation. “It’s wonderful to see so many coming together for worship here tonight. I want to welcome everyone, most especially all our visitors. I hope you’ll enjoy this service and visit us again in the new year.”
He gazed out at the crowd a moment, then began the announcements. After the usual mention of monthly meetings, he looked up with a huge smile. “And I have a very special announcement to add. More of an invitation, I’d say. But I will hand this part over to another member of our congregation . . . Sophie?”
Sophie Potter sat in the middle section, among her many relatives, who took up several rows of seats. Her grandson James, who sat next to her, gently helped her to her feet.
“After tonight’s service,” Sophie began, “you are all invited back to my house. Every last one of you,” she added, her gaze sweeping the sanctuary. “Whether I’ve known you for years or we never, ever met, you are all very welcome to my house for the biggest and most wonderful Christmas party anybody in this town has ever seen. We’ve got plenty of food, more than enough to feed everyone in this sanctuary. But if you’d like to bring a dish, that would be fine, too. And please, don’t be shy,” she urged in her warm, motherly tone. “I know how many families are still stuck in cold, dark houses. That’s no way to celebrate Christmas Eve, and it pains me to think of you all alone like that tonight. Come to my house and stay as long as you like. Or just drop by to say hello and grab a bite. All are welcome. I mean that sincerely. The directions are in the bulletin. But I expect you can follow a line of cars that will be leaving here tonight. The more the merrier, as they say. And you’ll be doing a good deed by making an old woman very happy.”
Many were softly laughing and talking quietly about the invitation, Emily guessed. Many families had a warm house to go home to tonight and had their own plans. Her family would be goi
ng back to Jessica and Sam’s, though they had all agreed to stop at Sophie’s house first for a little while. Emily also wanted to make sure the town hostess with the mostest really did have all she needed for such an ambitious gathering.
“Yes, please come to Sophie’s tonight,” Reverend Ben repeated. “It will be wonderful to celebrate the holiday with our church family, after all we’ve been through.”
The choir sang the introit, and Reverend Ben came down from the pulpit to call the congregation to worship and recite the opening prayers.
When it came time for Reverend Ben’s sermon, the large audience sat very still and quiet. He stared down at the pages on the pulpit and shuffled them around a bit, uncommonly slow to begin. Then he looked up, blinking behind his gold-rimmed glasses, a small, gentle smile forming.
“I prepared a sermon for tonight, of course. I’ve been working on it for weeks, actually, based on our Advent theme of spiritual gifts. But, for some reason, I feel inspired to put these fine thoughts aside for tonight.” He closed the folder that held the typed sermon and looked back up again. “I will speak from the heart—or perhaps, my soul?—part of the divine spirit that we all share.
“I have been very distracted the last few days by images of the nativity,” he explained. He glanced over his shoulder, his gaze falling on the crèche that was set up on the altar. “Such a familiar scene, we don’t even see it anymore. Do you know how that is? How we become blind and desensitized to sights that are so familiar? But this week, for some reason that perhaps only God knows, I looked at the scene and was struck by a new insight, a new way of seeing it. Yes, it is a symbol of the humble birth of our Lord and how he entered the world in such a modest, low way to share our humanity.
“But it is also a scene of community, cooperation, a coming together of so many diverse players in this joyful drama. Characters of high birth and low. A tradesman and his young wife, seeking a new home. A shepherd and a king. A wise man and even an angel. All from different backgrounds, with different perspectives on the world and different opinions, I’m sure. But their differences seemed suddenly trivial, eclipsed by their common experience, the awe-inspiring experience that connected them, that brought them to common ground, both literally and spiritually. The recognition and adoration of the baby Jesus.
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