How true, Isabel thought.
OTHER CHURCH MEMBERS BEGAN TO ARRIVE. MOST OF THE DEACONS came, and many of their spouses and some children, as well. The decorations were stashed in different parts of the church. Isabel soon realized that you had to be a longtime member to know where to find these Christmas treasures.
People ran down to the basement and into the choir room, to a storeroom near the church school classrooms, and in the sacristy, the special closet behind the altar.
Ladders came out, and along with the decorations, boxes of tacks and rolls of duct tape. Isabel didn’t know if Reverend Ben took part in this annual ritual, but she jumped in, happy to dust off boxes and untangle strands of lights.
This was the first time in a long while that she was going to have a white Christmas, with snow on the ground. It made her a bit homesick for the family gatherings in Minnesota, which she would be missing again this year.
But Isabel put aside homesick thoughts of the Midwest and even nostalgia for holidays in tropical places like Haiti. She threw herself into the task of decorating the church; it was a good chance to get to know the members of the congregation better.
Sam Morgan had been outside, putting up a crèche in the front of the building; he poked his head in the door for a quick announcement. “Jack’s here with the trees. I’ll go help him.” Isabel knew who he meant—Jack Sawyer, who ran a nursery and tree farm with his wife, Julie. Tucker had told Isabel that every year Jack donated trees, wreaths, and pine garlands to the church.
Quite a few others went outside to help, and Isabel realized the delivery was bigger than she’d expected.
Sophie stood by the door, directing traffic and telling people where to put the greenery. “What do you do with all these trees?” Isabel asked Sophie.
Sophie laughed. “Oh, we put them places. You’ll see. One in the sanctuary, another in Fellowship Hall. That one the kids decorate at the Advent Supper. Then we put a small one downstairs for the church school. We usually have several left over, too. Those are given out to families who need a tree but can’t afford it. Good trees are so darned expensive these days,” she added, shaking her head.
“Yes, they are,” Isabel agreed. Which made the Sawyers’ generosity that much more impressive.
As the truckload of greenery came in, Isabel found herself carrying a large black bag of pine boughs and other scraps into Fellowship Hall, where several women were working together, making a giant wreath for the sanctuary doors. It was a tricky feat of engineering, Isabel noticed, since the wreath was actually split in half, so that the big doors could open and close. The greens were being fitted onto two wooden frames, each a half circle, which would be completely covered and fit together to appear as a whole.
“Wow, who figured this out?” Isabel said, joining the wreath workers.
“Sam Morgan built it. We used to put two small wreaths on the doors, but that didn’t look like much. The big wreath looks prettier and we make it together, so it has more meaning,” Emily explained.
“Reverend Ben loves this wreath,” Grace added. “He would be very upset if we ever stopped making it. I hope he gets to church before Christmas.”
“Oh, I think he will,” Sophie said. “It’s hard to hear he’s finally retiring, but he’s not leaving the church. He’ll still be with us, out in the pews.”
“Yes, but it won’t be the same,” Grace said with a sigh.
“Everything changes, Grace,” Sophie replied in a tone of wise resignation. “That’s just life. God closes a door and opens a window. But you have to stop staring at the closed door in order to notice it.”
Isabel didn’t even realize she was standing on the sidelines until Emily reached out and pulled her into the circle. “Here’s a spot for you, Reverend. I’ll show you what to do.”
Isabel was soon donning gloves and sharing the shears that were passed around. She worked to fill up her spot on the big wreath while watching what the others did, so that it would all blend. An apt metaphor for this church, or any group effort, she thought, the blending of so many individual visions and talents.
While the women worked, they shared conversation. Isabel mostly listened and was not surprised when the talk soon turned back to Reverend Ben.
“I know what you say is true, Sophie. But it’s hard to believe Reverend Ben’s retiring,” Vera Plante said. “I just can’t get used to the idea. Any chance he’ll change his mind?”
Since Isabel boarded at Vera’s house, she already knew how her landlady felt about this situation. Vera’s reaction was typical of many in the congregation, Isabel thought, especially the older members. They loved Reverend Ben, and his departure felt like a great, unimaginable loss.
Sophie was the lone senior who seemed to hold a different position. “Oh, I don’t think he’ll change his mind now,” she answered. “Why should he—because we’ll miss him? We can’t be selfish about this. We’ve had him for over twenty years. He wants to enjoy his remaining days and do all the things he’s put on the back burner because of this church. That’s hardly too much to ask. I don’t think we should even try to persuade him to stay on any longer.”
“Sophie has a good point,” Emily said. “As much as we might wish Reverend Ben would change his mind, we really have to respect his decision and show him that we understand.”
“I think we do understand,” Jessica Morgan spoke up. “We’re all just worried about how we go about finding a new minister even half as wonderful. It’s not just his sermons, but the way he always manages to say exactly the right thing when you need it most. I’m sure that at one time or another, he’s helped almost everyone here.”
“That goes without saying,” Sophie agreed. “He’s the spiritual rudder of this church, steering us in the right direction. But there are plenty of good ministers out there, I’m sure. Different from our reverend, but talented and capable.”
Isabel suddenly felt self-conscious and hoped her cheeks weren’t turning red. That was a drawback of being a fair-skinned redhead, one she had never outgrown.
She sensed Sophie glancing at her and looked up to meet the gaze of the older woman. Was Sophie’s smile sending a message, Isabel wondered, or did she always smile that way?
Isabel managed to smile back, then grabbed a hunk of greenery and tried to focus on her handiwork. But she felt as if everyone was looking at her.
“Everyone has their own unique talents, and newcomers bring something different to the table,” Emily said. “Take Reverend Isabel, for example. As much as we all love Reverend Ben, he never helped us put this wreath together.”
Some of the women laughed, and most of them nodded.
“Very true, Emily,” Sophie said. “There are a lot of things a new minister might do differently around here. There’s a lot that a woman minister could bring to our congregation.”
Isabel didn’t mean to call attention to herself, but she suddenly dropped the garden shears and they clattered to the floor, the sound echoing in the big room. “Oh, dear . . . I can get clumsy. Sorry.”
She leaned over quickly and picked them up, taking just a moment to get a breath and compose herself. She should have expected this. There was an opening at the church now, and they all assumed she would be interested. It was actually very flattering, considering she had been here such a short while.
“Well, Reverend, what do you think?” When Isabel stood up and took her spot again, she found Emily staring at her.
Was Emily already asking if she was interested in taking over from Reverend Ben?
“It’s hard to say . . .” Isabel began.
“About the wreath,” Sophie clarified. “It looks like it’s just about done. We don’t want to overdo it. Sometimes less is more, you know.”
“Oh, the wreath . . . It’s magnificent,” Isabel said sincerely. She still held a bunch of greens but could see that there were no empty places to stick it. The wreath was round and full now, multilayered with a variety of evergreens and holly. “You c
ould never find one like this in any shop or nursery,” Isabel added. “I understand now why you need to make it here.”
“It’s one of a kind, different every year, but with its own special charms,” Sophie explained. “Just like the folks who make it.”
“We always put a big red bow on it. That never changes,” Vera said. One of the other women had been working on the bow, and now Vera took it off a different table.
“The crowning touch. Here goes,” Emily said.
A brief but animated discussion followed before the perfect spot was found and the bow was fastened on with wire. Then the women carefully carried the two halves of the wreath to the sanctuary doors where Sam and Dan Forbes, Emily Warwick’s husband, aligned it just right and fastened it up with hooks and more wire.
Then it seemed that everyone working in different parts of the church came outside to see how the wreath looked, standing a little distance from the front doors, huddled together in the snow like a choir. Sam and Dan stood back to check that the two sides hung evenly and to give the rest a clear view.
“That’s a fine-looking wreath. Wow, it’s a whopper,” Digger Hegman said. “I once trapped a lobster that big . . . but he was about to tip over my boat, so I threw him back.”
“Oh, Dad.” Grace nearly groaned, shaking her head.
Everyone else laughed at the fish story. Isabel wondered if Digger was joking or telling the truth.
“It’s beautiful; best one we’ve ever made,” Sophie pronounced.
“You say that every year, Sophie. But this time I think it’s true,” Vera replied.
“I’m going to take a picture. We’ll put it in the church newsletter.” Jessica pulled her phone out of her pocket and checked the settings.
“I’ll take it,” Sam said. “All you ladies who worked on the wreath, you get in there and line up under it.”
The women hesitated but were soon persuaded to take some credit for their lovely work.
“You, too, Reverend Isabel,” Emily insisted. “You have to be in the picture with us.” She gently took Isabel by the hand and led her to the wreath. Isabel found a place, wedged between Emily and Sophie. She felt a little awkward, but was touched by their efforts to include her.
“All right, everyone smile now.” Sam took the photo and then another just in case.
“Thank you for helping us, Reverend. That made it special,” Sophie said as the women filed back into the building.
“Thank you for asking me,” Isabel said honestly.
It seemed such a simple thing, making a wreath with the women of the church. But the experience had touched her. She was not used to serving in this type of easygoing, mostly middle-class environment. Her work in mission situations took her to places where people struggled each day just to survive. In Haiti, she would not be making a Christmas wreath, but digging a well so that villagers would not need to walk several miles every day, carrying buckets of freshwater up and down steep hillsides.
But there had been happier, easier times there, too. It was all important and all part of God’s great mosaic. Making a wreath to honor this church, the spiritual life here, and the celebration of Christmas—that was important, too.
Could she ever adjust to life in this sleepy village? Did she really want to?
Maybe the congregation would not invite her to stay. She was jumping to conclusions on that question, wasn’t she? Especially in light of the situation with Max Ferguson.
As for returning to mission work once she left here, Isabel wasn’t sure about that, either. Now that she’d been away from it a few months, she wondered if she had only needed that intense experience after losing Steven. She had needed to immerse herself in something to feel productive and distracted back then.
She still missed her husband, especially at this time of year. That was an ache deep in her heart that would never truly fade. She had learned to live with it. Whether she was stationed in a seaside village in Haiti, on a mountaintop in Guatemala, or in the heart of New England, there was no outrunning those feelings—anywhere on God’s green earth.
And didn’t these folks need spiritual guidance and support just as much as anybody, anywhere? The answer to that question was yes, of course they do. Everyone confronted difficulty and pain in their lives, and all the comforts in the world could not bring peace to a restless soul.
REGINA WAS NERVOUS ABOUT WORKING THE COCKTAIL PARTY ON SATURDAY afternoon, but she tried not to show it. It had been a while since she’d done this type of work, and even then only at diners and family restaurants where it didn’t matter much if you were the most polite or elegant waitress. You just had to get the job done. But once she donned the uniform at Molly’s shop and listened to the many instructions from Molly and her partner, Betty Bowman, Regina realized the standards were quite a bit higher at these private parties in the town’s fanciest houses.
She worked in a crew with three other employees. Molly helped them set up, then ran off to run another party. Regina felt a bit overwhelmed at first, but managed to carry on and do her part pretty easily. She was feeling quite comfortable with the work as the day wore on. The two women she worked with, Eva and Carley, were both very helpful and told her she was doing great for a newbie.
Regina was pleased, though her feet hurt terribly. Later, though, the pay she received back at the shop and her share of the tip more than compensated for those aches. When Molly reported that another employee had called in sick for an evening party and neither Eva nor Carley could step in, Regina quickly volunteered to work at that event, too.
“Jumping right in the deep end, are you, Regina?” Molly teased her.
“I guess so,” Regina agreed. She called Richard and explained that she would be home late. He didn’t seem upset and said everything was under control with the children and not to worry.
Regina was relieved. She had half expected him to be annoyed at her staying out longer, especially on a Saturday. But she wouldn’t be doing this all the time. Just until Christmas.
When she finally arrived home, a few minutes past midnight, she felt tired but happy. A few more parties and they would have enough to buy the kids all the necessities they needed and some fun stuff, too. Maybe they could even get the kids cell phones, which were becoming a necessity with both herself and Richard working and the kids left alone after school for a few hours every day, especially since they didn’t have a landline.
The house was dark, except for a light at the front door and the small Tiffany-style lamp in the living room window. Regina kicked off her shoes and climbed the steps quietly. Then she washed up and fell into bed beside Richard, who was sound asleep and snoring so loudly, she could have dropped a tray of dishes in the middle of the bedroom and he wouldn’t have missed a beat.
Not that she had even come close to dropping a tray tonight, she reminded herself. She smiled at the image and fell asleep the moment her head hit the pillow.
REGINA WAS THE LAST ONE UP THE NEXT MORNING. SHE DIDN’T EVEN realize how late it was. She finally opened her eyes and heard sounds downstairs. She smelled coffee and another aroma that she could positively identify as burned pancakes.
She slipped on her robe and slippers and soon found her family in the kitchen. Brian was sitting at the table playing with a small plastic truck, a sticky, burnt pancake in his dish. Madeline was standing at the stove alongside Richard, peering around his arm as he poked at the skillet.
“Good morning, everyone. How’s it going? Are you guys making pancakes?” she asked casually.
“Mom . . . thank goodness. Daddy tries, but cooking just isn’t his thing.” Madeline flounced back to the table and poured herself a glass of juice. She had delivered her greeting in that grown-up tone she used lately; middle school going on middle-aged, Regina called it.
Richard looked over his shoulder at Regina and offered a small smile. “They’re not so bad . . . if you like your pancakes a little chewy.”
She walked over to the stove to investigate, a
nd he quickly surrendered the spatula. “Here you go, though I think most of those are beyond repair.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” Regina said.
He was right; the whole batch had to be tossed. But the batter didn’t look too bad. She stirred it, then added a little milk and another egg.
“Okay, let’s try this again,” she said, wiping the burnt crumbs out of the skillet. “Thanks for trying,” she added, glancing up at him. “It was nice of you to let me sleep.”
He smiled back at her, looking pleased that she noticed this small gesture.
A short time later, they all sat together at the table eating Regina’s pancakes, which were done just right.
“Worth the wait,” Richard said, helping himself to another from the stack on the platter.
“It’s nearly eleven o’clock,” Regina noticed. “You shouldn’t have let me sleep this late.”
“You needed the rest. What time did you get home?”
“About midnight. You were all asleep . . . but I tucked you guys in anyway,” she said to Madeline and Brian.
“I saw you. I was only pretending to be asleep,” Brian said, though Regina knew that was not true. “Let’s stay in our pajamas all day and watch TV,” Brian suggested. “That would be cool.”
“Yes, very cool.” Madeline rolled her eyes.
“Very lazy, I’d say,” Richard added, though Regina could tell he was amused by his son’s suggestion. “I guess we have to call you Mr. Lazybones now. I thought you were going to help me paint your room. You can’t do that in your pajamas.”
Brian looked excited by that idea. “Oh, right. I’ll get dressed. I can paint, too, Dad.”
“Yes, I know you can,” Richard agreed. “And I need a good helper.”
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