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Hope Under Mistletoe
A novella
Book 1 in the Seasons of Hope Series
Jessica R. Patch
This work is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2014 Jessica R. Patch
Cover Design by James, GoOnWrite.com 2014
Some scripture taken from The Message. Copyright © 1993, 1994, 1995, 1996, 2000, 2001, 2002. Used by permission of NavPress Publishing Group.
Some scripture quotations are taken from the Holy Bible, New Living Translation, copyright ©1996, 2004, 2007 by Tyndale House Foundation. Used by permission of Tyndale House Publishers, Inc., Carol Stream, Illinois 60188. All rights reserved.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or any information storage and retrieval system now known or to be invented, without permission in writing from the author, except a reviewer who wishes to brief passages in connection with a review or article.
To the Lover of My Soul,
You are my Hope and my Strength, and
I am ever grateful for you, Jesus.
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Acknowledgments
About the Author
With the arrival of Jesus, the Messiah, that fateful dilemma is resolved.
Those who enter into Christ’s being-here-for-us no longer have to live under a continuous, low-lying black cloud. A new power is in operation. The Spirit of life in Christ, like a strong wind, has magnificently cleared the air, freeing you from a fated lifetime of brutal tyranny at the hands of sin and death.
Romans 8:1-2
CHAPTER ONE
“How bad is it?” Eden Snow squeezed her eyes shut. “I can’t make myself go inside.”
Two years ago her life had been thrown off its axis. She’d finally admitted this was her new normal.
Now the church had been taken away.
One of the few things that remained of Nathan.
Winter’s near arrival slipped its icy claws inside the neck of her coat. Illinois winters could be tough. Especially when they were premature. Shivering, she wiggled her toes to coax them out of numbness.
Numb like her heart as she gaped at the scorched church.
Dodgey Wilkerson, fire chief, blew a puff of air and rubbed his weathered forehead. “Most of the sanctuary is gone as well as the entryway and a few classrooms on the left side.”
Above the charred steeple, the dappled sky’s womb grew heavier by the moment. Another round of flurries was on the way. She tucked her Chevron wool scarf up around her ears and caught the tail end of Dodgey’s run-down of the damage.
“But there is good news.”
Good news. Eden was all for that. “All right.”
“The foundation is intact, and the parsonage was spared. Could’ve easily made it over there.” Dodgey draped a meaty hand on her shoulder, his wedding ring tight around wintry cracked hands smudged with soot. “I’m sorry, Eden. I know how much the building means to you.”
Except he didn’t. No one could. “I’ve built it up once. I can do it again.” Only alone.
Without Nathan.
The ache stretched to a cavernous size.
Eden refused to fall in headlong and throw a pity-party, but with the coat drive in full swing and collections already stacking up for the Christmas shoe boxes—not to mention Christmas cantata practices. They had to find a facility to meet in, and quick.
“What can I do, Eden?” Dodgey flipped the collar of his coat around his ears, his nose turned as red as Rudolph’s.
Yesterday, she’d given thanks and eaten turkey to the full, and today she was fighting for a grateful spirit. Might as well feed the bearer of bad news. “Come on over to the house and have a piece of leftover pumpkin pie and a cup of coffee. No way I can eat it all myself, and Eli isn’t a fan.”
“I thought all nine-year-old boys were fans of sweets.”
“Not since I let him scoop the pulp out of his jack-o-lantern.” Eden snickered as they trudged across the churchyard, snow crunching under their feet. The biting wind kicked up a notch.
“If this is the weather in November, I hate to see January.” Dodgey coughed and leaned on the porch railing while Eden opened the sagging front door. She’d get to that next. The parsonage had been built in the early seventies, and she and Nathan had done a few repairs, but the church had been their focus.
“Same here.” Eden had lived in Mistletoe her entire life. Not forty-five minutes from the hustle and bustle of Chicago, but hustle and bustle had never been Eden’s thing. Never been Nathan’s either.
She kicked Eli’s hockey bag out of the entryway and stepped over his Sky Landers action figures. “Sorry about the mess.”
“Where’s Eli?”
“With Audrey. They went into the city for some Black Friday sales.” Eden cut a generous piece of pie and worked on brewing a fresh pot of coffee.
“How’s your dad?”
Eden’s gut clenched. Probably in his bed passed out. “I haven’t seen him today.” They’d had Thanksgiving dinner together. Just him, Eli, and Eden. When he started his after-dinner drinking, she and Eli had plated up a few leftovers and headed home. Shielding Eli from Pop’s heavy drinking was getting harder each year.
Eden inhaled the nutty brew wafting through the kitchen. If only coffee would ease her tense shoulders and soothe her burning stomach. “I’ll call Pop’s crew and get them out tomorrow. But I guess I need to okay it with the new pastor.”
Dodgey cut into his pumpkin pie and slid it under his bushy mustache into his mouth. “You like him?”
“Pastor Gabe?” He wasn’t Nathan. But the church had been without a shepherd for too long. And he was good man, a few years older than her thirty-three years. Single. Plus, he’d been gracious enough to let her stay in the parsonage with Eli. Stability was everything to her—everything Eli needed with his father gone.
She shuddered.
The coffee pot responded by beeping. She poured Dodgey a cup. “Sugar? Cream?”
“Black’s good.” She placed a steaming mug before him then poured one for herself and added a generous portion of cream.
After Dodgey finished his pie and coffee, she walked him out.
“Delicious. Take care, Eden. If you need anything, you holler.”
“Thank you.”
When he climbed inside his bronco and pulled out of the church lot, she zipped up her down coat and slogged over to the blackened remains of her sanctuary. They should have seen to the electrical wiring long ago. With a small congregation, the budget had been tight, but not s
o tight she had to work outside the home.
All she ever wanted to be was a pastor’s wife, a mom, and to serve her community.
Well, she still had two out of three.
The congregation continued to look to her for direction and organization, even though Leonard Davis had been filling in as interim pastor. When Gabe took the pulpit next Sunday—where that might be she didn’t know—they’d have to start trusting him to carry the load.
But they wouldn’t. He was an outsider for one. Secondly, small towns weren’t big on change. Just last Wednesday Eden had received no less than a dozen calls just about making sure to repaint the sanctuary the same color of white it was before the fire. Paint!
Eden grimaced, but the fact was she’d comply. Because she loved them, because they needed some stability—and so did she—and because Nathan had picked that color. Arctic Dream. Still had the paint speck.
Until then, surely someone would let them use their facility or rent it for a month. But who? The church’s savings thinned as Eden ticked off the mountain of expenses it would cost for construction, space rental, sound equipment...
Her temple throbbed. No way Pop could do the repairs for free. He had a crew to pay, including Eden. She’d been doing the books since Nathan passed away. A rumbling growl and deep bark startled her. She whipped her head around and lost her breath.
A monstrous German Shepherd lolled up the sidewalk, staring straight into her eyes.
Swallowing, she inched backwards. “Easy, poochie.”
He barked again.
Eden slowly climbed the steps up to the side entrance of the church, careful not to slip on the ice. The dog cocked his head then dropped its tongue to the side of his mouth and held up a paw.
“Do—do you want to shake?” Creeping from the slick stairs, she tiptoed toward the beast just in case he decided not to be so friendly again. He wasn’t a mongrel, not with the thick red leather collar around his neck and a tag hanging. She held out her hand and he plopped his paw into it. Giggling, she shook it. “I’m Eden Snow. And you are?”
He licked her hand.
“A charmer. Well, just so long as you don’t take it to my lips. I don’t kiss on the first date.” She fumbled with his collar and opened a small tab.
Not a charmer. He was a she. “Ophelia. Interesting name. Who owns you, Ophelia, and why are you out running around town on Black Friday?” Eden glanced around. Black in more than one way. She squinted at the small, mostly illegible writing. A man’s scrawl.
Her stomach churned. Ophelia belonged to Knox Everhart. Great. “Come on, I’ll take you home.”
To the bar.
***
Ophelia sat in the passenger seat of Nathan’s old truck as if she belonged, while Eden drove down Highway 8 toward The Penalty Box—Knox’s bar on the outskirts of town. Sadly, she knew the place well. As if Knox’s late night phone calls two or three times a week to haul Pop home was chivalrous.
But somehow, he’d been Nathan’s closest friend since they were kids, even though they were like light and dark.
Nathan had been light.
Knox knocked faith away with more force than he had rival hockey players, back when he played for the Wolves in the minor leagues. Some of the town said he accepted a position with them just to find a new crowd of women to sleep with since he’d made his way through Mistletoe. It wasn’t too much of an embellishment. He’d been getting into trouble and skirt chasing since he was twelve.
Not Eden’s though. Avoided her like the plague, rarely spoke to her and never flashed her the smoldering eyes he was famous for. Guess she didn’t have the right je na sais quoi for Knox Everhart.
But he’d been loyal to Nathan. Barreled into the ER that horrifying night, hanging in the shadows. Same at the funeral. Never said much to Eden except he was sorry, but then he hadn’t needed to say that. His eyes had said it all. He’d lost his best friend.
So had Eden.
She climbed the stairs that led to the second level of the bar that Knox used for his living quarters. Ophelia sat beside her, patient. Regal. Eden banged on the door.
Waited.
Banged again.
Finally, it opened.
Knox squinted into the faintest sunlight, a short peppermint stick hanging from his lips like a smoke. His right arm revealed a weaving of tattooed pictures that covered one shoulder and his bicep. Black Chinese lettering lined his rib cage on the left side.
The frigid weather didn’t move him.
Inky stubble covered his chin and cheeks, and his dark, spiky hair never appeared combed.
“Eden?”
She didn’t miss the surprise in his one-too-many-cigarettes voice.
“Ophelia found me at the church. I brought her home.”
He sniffed and glanced down at his dog. “Girl, how did you get out?” He opened the door wider, and she sprinted inside, her claws clicking against the wooden floor.
Eden caught herself gawking at his chest, his perfect six pack abs, the way his jeans hung low on his hips.
Knox cleared his throat. “Enjoying the view, Eden?”
Eden jerked her gaze to his face. Heat filled her cheeks. He wiggled the candy up and down with his teeth, holding her with his amused scrutiny.
“I—snow’s coming.”
He smirked.
“I should get back.” Her toes had numbed two minutes ago, and her teeth already chattered like ice cubes clinking in a glass. Knox must be made of them. Half naked, and he’d yet to shiver.
“Heard about the church.” Dark eyes showed a hint of sympathy, or maybe he was trying to be polite. “You wanna come down and get a drink?”
Eden tossed him a flat expression.
“Of coffee or…” He wrinkled his thick dark eyebrows. “That’s all I got that’s hot unless you want a toddy.”
“No, thank you.”
“You sure? Scared the bar might corrupt you?”
Hardly. “One cup.”
In a couple of minutes, she entered the bar. Stale cigarette smoke invaded her nose—guess the ban on smoking in public places didn’t have effect here. But the warmth of the building was welcoming. Knox grabbed a canister of coffee. His bare chest had been replaced with a gray Henley.
Eden brushed her fingers across the black cushioned stool that matched the vinyl that rimmed the lip of the curved bar. Behind it, a mirror ran the length of the wall, and bottles of amber and clear liquor covered the counter. With his back to her, he glanced at her in the mirror. “You won’t go to hell if you have a seat, you know?”
Eden frowned and plunked down. “I know that.”
Arching a bushy eyebrow, he smirked again, the peppermint stick smaller now.
He placed a cup of steaming coffee at her fingertips. She lifted it and savored the warm rush down to her stomach. “This is good.”
“I can pour more than a nickel draft.”
Eden winced. “I didn’t mean to imply that.”
“Sure you didn’t.”
Eden scanned the room. Walnut tables. Shiny hardwood flooring and walls. An old-fashioned juke box in the corner.
The awkward silence grew deafening.
“What’s back there?” She pointed to the archway beside the bathrooms.
“Game room. Pool tables…air hockey.” He crunched into the peppermint.
She chuckled. “You can take the boy out of the minor hockey leagues but…”
Knox’s grin faded. “Yeah.” Longing filled his eyes. He’d come home six years earlier when his mother had taken ill with cancer, bought this old building and remodeled it himself.
“How big is it?” This place was huge.
“Go see for yourself.”
Eden marched into the back room. Spacious. A stage. A drum set and keys. “Is there sound equipment in here, too?”
Knox nodded. “Live bands.”
She whirled around. “I need this bar.”
Knox popped another peppermint stick. “You sound like
half the town now.”
She frowned. “We have no place to hold our Christmas cantata practices or fill Christmas baskets, hold the coat drive…have Sunday morning services.”
Knox crossed his arms and cocked his head. “Whoa. Wait a minute. You want to have church…in my bar?”
“Yes, and I want you to offer it free of charge.”
Knox’s raspy laugh bounced off the high wooden ceiling. He bent over cackling. Mocking her. “You been checked against the boards one too many times? I can’t have you coming in here converting customers. I’ll go broke.”
“I’m not asking to hand out tracts on Saturday nights. We need a place.” And if a few patrons heard the Good News, so be it. Maybe Pop would come back to church—if they brought church to him.
“How can you say no to the good Lord?”
Knox snorted. “Easy.” He jammed his face in front of hers, peppermint and a clean scent bombarding her senses. “Nooooo.” He made sure to exaggerate his lips. After backing up, he crossed his arms again.
Eden’s lip quivered, and she tucked it between her teeth. All her responsibilities, the stress of settling in a new pastor, a burned church, raising her son alone, and Pop’s drinking problem culminated but she blinked back tears. His eyes widened and he shook his head. “No,” he whispered.
She sniffed.
“I mean it. No.” He inched away.
“Okay. I get it,” she whispered. “Thanks for the coffee. It really was good.”
She slunk out of the building, leaving him standing against the archway, arms over his chest. Scowl on his face.
CHAPTER TWO
“We gotta lay down some ground rules, Eden, or I’m out.” Knox stood in her entryway already regretting his decision. A Northern Lights hockey jersey lay on a black duffle bag, and a taped stick leaned against the wall. Man, he missed the game.
Eden’s popping blue eyes lit up, and dark lashes blinked like Christmas lights. It wasn’t so much the color that was amazing, but the innocence and calm they held. Flawless skin, as pale as her white sweater, begged to be touched.
But not by him.
Hope Under Mistletoe (Seasons of Hope Book 1) Page 1
