by Janet Spaeth
“It’s called faith.”
“Maybe someday I’ll understand.” He looked at her, his deep brown eyes liquid with hope.
The light over the table cast severe shadows on his face, and she was once again struck by how tired and worn down he was. It seemed as if the silver threading through his hair was more abundant now, but that had to be a trick of the light.
“Jake, it’s there. You just have to reach out with your heart and accept it.”
“I want to—I really want to,” he said, “but there’s this ironclad part of me that wants proof. And what can I do? Despite all your avowals how can you prove it to me? How can I prove it to myself? Is it even possible, or am I asking the impossible?”
“It is kind of a looping theory,” she admitted. “You need to have faith in order to believe in faith or even to understand what it is.”
“How did you come to have faith?” he asked. “I really need to hear this.”
“I was raised in a family that went to church every Sunday, but more than that, they absolutely believed in Jesus and in God. It was as much a part of our lives as, say, electricity.”
“No power failures?” His lopsided smile didn’t cover the deep concern she heard in his voice.
“God doesn’t have power failures,” she stated firmly. “None. At one time when I was a teenager I tried to outrun God. I couldn’t do it. My grandparents wouldn’t let me, He wouldn’t let me, and when it came right down to it, I wouldn’t let me.”
“You? You seem as if you’ve never doubted God at all.”
“Wait a minute,” she protested. “I never doubted Him. I was a teenager, sure that I knew more than anybody. God was in my life, but I had my priorities jumbled up. Grandma and Grandpa were rock-steady, and with their help I pulled through adolescence with few scars. One of the most important things I learned from my grandparents was that I had to have my own faith, not just a general ‘I believe in God,’ but a strong current that runs through every hour of my life. My faith is a commitment to Him. I made that pledge when my rowdy time, short-lived though it was, ended. I had the foundation from my family, but when it came right down to it I had to make a personal decision to give my life back to Him.”
“I believe in God—I truly do—but I’m beginning to wonder if I have faith,” he confessed. “I mean, I look at you, and you have this wonderful trust and assurance that it’s all working out fine. While I’m a basket case waiting for the men in white coats to come and take me away to a place with pillows on the walls.”
“What’s interesting,” she said, “is that all the worry in the world isn’t going to make the situation better for you. As a matter of fact, it can only make it worse because it robs you of sleep, causes you to neglect your eating habits, and generally makes you a crabby person.”
“Have I been crabby?”
“You’ve had your moments.”
He grinned. “I certainly didn’t mean to snap at you.”
“That’s my point. It’s not what you intend to do, but it’s what you do. How can worry possibly be good for you? Grandma used to say, ‘Idle hands are the devil’s workshop,’ but Grandpa would correct her and say, ‘A worrying mind is the devil’s workshop.’ ”
“I wish I could have met them,” he said wistfully. “They must have been great people.”
“They were. Not a day goes by that I don’t thank God for having given them to me, and I miss them. But they’re with Him now, and I know their pains are gone, and their happiness is fulfilled.”
Cora jumped up on her lap, and Tess buried her fingers in the soft longish fur around the cat’s neck. “And Grandma has her cat the color of pussy willows, and so do I. Right, Cora?”
Cora sniffed meaningfully at the plate where uneaten remnants of Tess’s sandwich were.
“I think she smells the seafood salad,” Jake said. “It has crab and shrimp in it and some kind of whitefish.”
“Definitely more appealing than Giblet Niblets,” Tess said, scraping the sandwich filling onto Cora’s plate. “And, I hope, a little more conducive to sweeter bedtime breath. That stuff lingered way beyond the normal span. If only they could make perfume that potent and long-lasting!”
“In the kitty world it’s probably the equivalent of expensive French perfume. You know, if you rubbed some of it behind your ears, Cora would undoubtedly think you smelled heavenly!”
“I could just go roll in the garbage,” she suggested cheerfully. “Maybe that would work instead!”
They chatted a bit longer until Jake said he had to go home.
“Home?” she repeated. “Are you serious? Even after all this, you’re not going back to Panda’s?”
He shook his head. “You’ve converted me to this thing called sleep. I sometimes have a little problem convincing my body it’s okay to sleep, but I’ve been using your suggestion of a glass of milk, and it’s working great. Last night I added a turkey sandwich and could barely stay awake enough to brush my teeth afterward.”
“Oh, yeah, turkey has that stuff in it that makes you sleepy. At least, that’s what Grandpa said whenever he slept in the living room after a big turkey dinner. Claimed he couldn’t help it; it was nature’s way of giving him a well-deserved nap.” The old memory brought a smile to her lips.
She walked with him to the door. Cora trailed behind but backed away quickly when she felt the icy draft from under the door.
“The wind is blowing so hard it’s coming right through the door frame,” he said, putting his hand out to feel the air move. “That’s one of the problems with old houses. The wood dries and shrinks a bit, and you get gaps. I can even hear the wind whistling through the cracks.”
She patted the wall fondly. “Yes, this old house whistles and creaks and groans, but so will I when I’m this old, I suspect.”
“I could seal the cracks and make it stop—in the house, I mean. You’re on your own with your personal noises, I’m afraid. It wouldn’t take long for me to straighten this right up for you, and I suspect it would save you considerably on your heating bill this winter. Right now you’re trying to heat part of the outside, but with this wind it’s just getting blown off to who knows where.”
“So my leaky house is responsible for global warming?” she teased. “Actually, if you can fix these places where the heat is escaping, I’d very much appreciate it.”
“No problem. I used to work for a construction firm specializing in renovating old houses, so I do know my way around homes like this and the problems they have. If it’s warm enough tomorrow, I can hang your lights, too, if you have any.”
“If I have lights, he says. Of course I have lights. And they’re shaped like—?”
“Angels?” he guessed.
“Right!”
With promises to see each other the next day, he slid his arms around her.
Before she fell into the embrace, she saw Cora look up from her station near the heating vent.
She must have been mistaken. It wasn’t possible.
The cat looked absolutely smug.
Chapter 13
The controversy over Jake’s moving Panda’s downtown blew over with the ease of a prairie wind. When the newspaper published the clarification that it was still tentative and explained the error in the column, the townspeople accepted it.
The Enders thought Panda’s would, of course, stay put, whereas the downtowners were sure Panda’s was joining them. But each side was so sure it was right that the issue never arose again, much to Jake’s relief.
The newspaper even waited an appropriate amount of time for the Shop Talk column to be forgotten and then ran a full interview with Tess about Angel’s Roost and what it was like to own and operate a downtown business.
Sales soared, and Jake began to tease her about how she was going to have to hire someone. And to think she’d once worried about how to advertise Angel’s Roost.
Jake had fixed the leaking door frame and hung her precious angel-shaped lights that Gra
ndpa had made. They were an intriguing set of small lights set on metal forms he’d fashioned himself. They gave the appearance of a host of glowing angels surrounding her house.
This was the first year Tess was involved with planning the Christmas Eve service at Nativity. As she explained to Jake, her part was simple. She told people, “Stand here and don’t move. Now move.” And that was it.
She had been placed in charge of the silhouette stable. A large sheet—she wondered where they had managed to get such a huge piece of seamless cloth—was hung across the front of the church. Behind it were the figures from the manger scene: Mary, Joseph, the baby in the manger, plus three shepherds and an assortment of farm animals.
The animals were shapes cut out of plywood, but Mary, Joseph, and the shepherds were portrayed by high school students. The entire scene was subtly lit so that the figures cast large shadows on the cloth.
The students had discussed trying to borrow a real baby to use, but they’d quickly discovered the disadvantages far outweighed the advantages. The youngest one they could find was eleven-month-old Andrew Tyler, a charming child with the lungs of an air horn.
As they explained to his slightly miffed parents, Andrew was a bit too large to be a newborn. In addition to his astonishing lungs, he was already the size of the average two-year-old.
So instead they borrowed Andrew’s sister’s Baby Snoozie, which didn’t look at all real, but which they hoped would cast a realistic shadow. At least she wouldn’t cry.
Andrew’s sister, Katie, had given Tess very detailed instructions on how to make the baby snore, but Tess furtively removed the doll’s battery pack. She’d replace it after the program before anyone realized it was missing. All they needed was for Jesus to start snoring during “Away in a Manger.”
That was the only time anyone moved. The song was Mary’s cue to put the baby in the manger. Tess hoped she would remember but was thankful it didn’t matter if she forgot.
Two days before Christmas Jake stopped by the store for some last-minute employee gifts. Tess realized he’d never said what his plans were for Christmas Eve.
“If it’s okay, I’ll tag along with you and go to the service at Nativity,” he said.
“You know you’re more than welcome to come with me to church. Always. I’ll have to leave during the shadows tableau scene, but other than that we can sit together the entire time.”
“What are your plans after that?” he asked. “Are you going somewhere special?”
“Sure. I’m coming back home, and Cora and I will watch It’s a Wonderful Life and open our presents to each other.” She looked at him carefully. He seemed to be waiting for her to say something. “Would you like to join us?”
“I adore It’s a Wonderful Life. It has to be the Christmas classic of all times. Is it on television?”
“Ha. Cora and I take no chances with our traditions. We own a copy.”
After he left, Tess pondered what had just happened. Bringing someone into a tradition was risky, but leaving him out was not even a consideration.
He had quickly become part of her life.
The day before Christmas was wild at Angel’s Roost. Customers swarmed through her store, buying last-minute gifts by the basketful. She ran out of bags by noon and had to dart back into her kitchen and grab some old grocery sacks.
She had promised herself she’d close the store at noon, but it was almost half past two by the time the last customer was gone and she was able to flip the door sign over to CLOSED. The store looked positively picked over, with gaping spots where entire displays had been purchased by the day’s spree-shoppers.
She paused by the sunlit spot that Faith, the crazy angel, had once occupied, and she felt a twinge in the region of her heart. She missed the zany angel with the tilted halo.
More than anything she wanted to collapse on the couch with Cora and put her feet up, but she had something else to do first.
It was embarrassing, but she didn’t have anything to give Jake for Christmas yet. She hadn’t been able to decide what would be an appropriate present.
A sweater seemed too impersonal. A robe, on the other hand, was too personal. Aftershave implied he could smell better than he did.
She strolled through Angel’s Roost, rearranging the remaining inventory to fill the gaps left by the day’s sales. What could she get him?
Her mind ran through an endless list of no-goes. A gift certificate. A catcher’s mitt. A cassette deck. A fountain pen. A calendar. All her ideas were blah, blah, blah.
Her fingers absently straightened the remaining items left on a far shelf. As she touched one, it made a slight sound.
It was a sterling-silver bell, similar to the one Reverend Barnes had bought, but much less ornate. The only decoration was the set of angel wings etched into the body of the bell.
An idea occurred to her. It might work. It had to work.
She gift-wrapped the bell in the remnants of the store’s angel-themed paper and scrawled a few words on a card. She proofread it once, paused, and then taped the card to the package and put it under the tree.
She barely had time to get herself ready for the evening.
Jake was prompt. Her breath caught as she saw him outlined by moonlight in the snow. His face had begun to relax and the tension fade. He looked ten years younger and, if it was possible, even more good-looking than he had before.
About two inches of fresh light snow had fallen that afternoon, and the air had turned wonderfully mild, so they decided to walk to church. The town was silent. What few cars had ventured out were muted by the new snow not yet packed on the streets.
The sky had cleared, and overhead the stars were bright and plentiful.
“Did you know some scientists have come up with an explanation of the Christmas star?” Jake asked. “Apparently there was a—”
She laid her mittened hand over his lips. “Stop. I believe in the star. I believe in the birth. Nothing you can tell me will make it any less of a miracle.”
“But this article proves it existed,” Jake argued. “Wouldn’t you like to know for sure the Christmas story is real?”
“I do know it.”
“I mean as a fact.”
She stopped walking. She’d been through this argument before with other people, and it was a debate she didn’t enjoy. The only way to win it was for the other person to allow change into their lives and to quit resisting the pull of faith.
“Proof. It all comes back to proof for you, doesn’t it?” she asked. “There are all kinds of proof; yet you recognize only a few. Jake, I cannot make you believe. I cannot give you faith. All I can give you is my witness that it exists and it works. Beyond that you’re on your own.”
“I don’t mean to bicker with you, especially on Christmas Eve,” he said.
“Then let’s not discuss it anymore. First we’ll have a moving hour of deep religious significance for me. You can take it however you want in your heart, but let me enjoy this. It rekindles me for the next year.”
She tried to quell the anger that was burning in her. This was Christmas Eve, the time when Jesus’ life saga began anew. It always filled her soul, and she carried that with her into the next year.
He tried to interrupt, but she held up her hand. “Then we’ll go back to my house and have a great time, opening our presents and watching Cora explode with happiness over all the things you bought her. Then I’ll indulge myself with my annual dive into sentimentality with the movie. That’s the way I do Christmas. You are welcome to come with me, but you may not change a thing about it. I need this.”
There. She had said it. And now the evening wasn’t going at all the way she’d envisioned it. Instead she felt crabby and out of sorts, and he was now probably going to be distant and not at all receptive to the renewing hour ahead of him.
They trudged along in silence, lost in their own thoughts, until they reached the walk leading to Nativity’s inviting front door.
Jake too
k her hand in his and walked with her to the door. “If the animals can speak at midnight on this blessed night,” he said softly, “I can try to keep silent.”
“You don’t have to keep quiet.” She couldn’t hold back the shakiness from her voice. “I just don’t want to get into one of those ‘discussions’ that force me to say what I believe again and again. You know I give my testimony freely, but once in a while I like to have some time to reflect upon it.”
“Isn’t there a line in—help me here, my Bible knowledge is a little rusty—Ecclesiastes, maybe, about ‘a time to keep silence, and a time to speak’?”
She nodded. “It’s a beautiful passage. It begins, ‘To everything there is a season.’ ”
“Maybe it’s my time to be still, to let events unfold as they are meant to.” His eyes rested upon her with incredible gentleness.
“You know,” she said softly, “it’s in the deepest silence that truth is heard most clearly. Maybe instead of analyzing truth and belief and proof and faith, you need to sit back and let it come to you. Let it tell you what you need to know. Maybe faith has proof. Why don’t you let it prove itself to you?”
He was about to answer when the door swung open. The merry sounds of laughter rolled out into the night like a golden wave.
“There you are!” One voice detached itself from the others. It belonged to Lena, the young woman who played Mary in the silhouette stable.
Lena flitted down the steps, brushing off Tess’s scoldings about not wearing a coat or hat or mittens. “Oh, shoo. I’ll only be out here for a sec. Just long enough to tell you that Katie Tyler is screaming mad because she went to show her friends Baby Snoozie, and the stupid doll wouldn’t snore.”
“Uh-oh,” Tess muttered. “Guess I got caught red-handed.”
Lena looked confused for a moment but didn’t stop. “So she’s going around telling everyone you broke Baby Snoozie, and to top it off she’s pulling the dumb doll from the play.”
