When they were finished with lunch, they found the little antique shop open again. Richard went straight to the back, where Regina saw a large collection of train sets. The shopkeeper was an old man with a large round stomach and a handlebar mustache. He wore a black vest and glasses balanced on the end of his nose, fitting in perfectly with the decor.
While the two men hunted around for the transformer and other items Richard wanted, Regina browsed, though she wasn’t interested in buying anything.
I have so much dusty old stuff in my own house, I could open a store like this, she thought.
Old books, for instance. There were shelves of them in the store and some in a glass barrister case. A title behind the glass, embossed in gold type, caught her eye: Little House on the Prairie, one of her favorite novels when she was a little girl. She had read it aloud to Madeline years ago. She wanted to take a peek at it again, and she began to lift the glass door.
“Please, ma’am, don’t touch those. I need to help you with any items in the case.”
“Oh, sorry. I was just curious. You don’t have to bother.”
“I’m sorry if I startled you, but some of those are first editions. Quite valuable. Feel free to handle any of the copies on the open shelves, though. I can give you a good price if you find something you like.”
“No, thanks, we have plenty of old books at home,” Regina said honestly.
She glanced at Richard and he smiled in reply, raising his eyebrows at the shopkeeper before the man could see.
A short time later, Richard met her at the door, holding a large cardboard carton filled with pieces for the train set. “Eureka,” he said.
“You couldn’t look happier if those trains were for you,” she observed.
“Brian will go wild when he sees what I found. That’s even better, don’t you think?”
“Yeah, I do,” she said quietly. He looked so pleased, she nearly kissed him. But the moment passed and it just seemed too difficult to breach that gap. Even after such a good day together.
They drove back to Cape Light and parked in front of Sam’s shop. Richard had his own key, and they had soon stored all their packages and headed back to their house.
“Now we need something special for Madeline,” Richard said as they drove home. “What can we get her?”
“I’m not sure. Molly says there are some good shops up in Newburyport. She buys her girls a lot of clothes up there. And I can look in town on my lunch break. Maybe I can find her a piece of jewelry in the Bramble? Though something nice probably won’t be cheap,” she admitted, wondering if Richard would object.
“That’s a good idea,” he said after a few moments. “She’s getting old enough to have nice things. She deserves something special, too.”
Regina agreed. She stared out the window on her side of the truck. She was sure she could find something special for Maddy. Maybe a pretty ring with her birthstone?
She allowed herself to feel a little thrill of anticipation. For the first time in years, they were going to have a really good Christmas. Then her heart sank as she realized it might be their last Christmas together. Everything between them was still so . . . uncertain. Everything still put on hold until the holidays were over. Despite the way they’d managed to get along so well today, she had no idea of what was to come.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
ISABEL KNEW THAT THE TRUSTEES OF THE CHURCH NORMALLY met on the first Monday of each month. As the acting minister, she was part of that board. She had not been at the church long enough to attend a regular meeting—only the one they had called to talk about Max.
So she was surprised when she got to church on Monday morning, the final week before Christmas, and heard from her secretary that the trustees were coming to church that night for another special meeting. One that she had not been invited to attend. Nor had she been invited to the special meeting called by the church council for Tuesday.
Something was up. Isabel wasn’t quite sure what it could be and felt a little silly and self-conscious trying to ferret it out.
Maybe it was just about the church’s old furnace, which seemed to be chugging along, continuing to spew heat due only to the persistent prayers on the part of the congregation and fear of Carl Tulley.
The temperature had dipped below freezing again, and Isabel practically felt a cool breeze sifting through her office. She wore a fleece vest over her cotton turtleneck and jeans, but was hunting around for an extra sweater in the closet when she heard a knock on the door.
She was pleased to see Max. He hadn’t stopped by yet today to say hello. He had come a couple of hours ago, and Carl had put him straight to work.
“Is Carl working on the heat?” she asked. “It seems especially frigid in here today.”
She had some bagels and fruit for him, set up on the small table near the window. He went right to it and took a seat at the table, fixing his paper plate.
“He’s working on it. He’s a regular furnace therapist.” Max spread some cream cheese on a bagel, smashed it together, then cut it in half. “But you guys need to get a new one. It’s getting ugly down there.”
“The trustees might be figuring that out tonight,” she said, still wondering why they hadn’t included her.
“That’s not what they’re talking about,” Max said decisively. “Don’t you know?”
“Know what?” Now she was utterly stumped. And how did he know—and she didn’t?
“I thought someone would have told you,” he said. “I didn’t think it was such a big secret.”
“Is it a secret? How do you know then?” she asked curiously.
“Carl told me. We had to clean up the meeting room and set up chairs and stuff. He said there was going to be a special meeting tonight to decide if they want you to be the real minister.”
Isabel was surprised—shocked, actually—but she tried not to show it. “I am a real minister. How much realer can I get?”
“You know what I mean. They want to hire you. Do ministers get hired? You get paid, don’t you?”
“I get a salary, a small one. But I get called, not hired. It’s just a term that’s used. The congregation has to take a vote and decide if they want to offer me the position,” she tried to explain.
“Like an election or something?”
“Exactly. Majority rules. This church is run as a democracy. The congregation hires and fires. Ministers aren’t assigned. We don’t have much hierarchy. We’re descended from the Pilgrims.”
“I get it. Religious freedom and all that stuff.”
“Right, all that stuff,” she agreed. “Speaking of history, how did your tests go last week?”
“I did all right. In most of the classes,” he clarified “My dad said if I didn’t get a B+ average, I couldn’t come here after school anymore.”
Isabel was surprised to hear that, mostly because it set up Max’s visits to the church as some sort of reward instead of a punishment. Did his father object to his coming here? Isabel wondered about that now, in light of their lively theological discussion.
She had expected to hear from Jacob and even to make plans to see him again, but there had been only one or two e-mails about when Max would come to work and when he would be picked up. She had thought Jacob might ask to see her again, but it hadn’t even been a full week since their lunch, and he may have been busy with the end of the term at the college. She tried not to think about it too much. Though she had to admit, even if only to herself, that she did wonder.
She decided not to ask about his father’s new rule, feeling it was none of her business and would only make the boy defensive.
“Your work in the sanctuary is just about finished,” she pointed out. “Do you still want to come work here once the repairs are done?”
“Yeah . . . I guess so,” he answered casually. “I like hanging out with Carl. He can fix anything.”
“Just about,” she agreed. “Perhaps in the new year you should be paid for your time.
Like a real job.”
“Nice. I could use some change.”
“I’ll look into it for you. And you’d better ask your dad if that would be okay with him.”
“Yeah, I will. I don’t see how he could complain about it, though. He’s been saying I have to get a job this summer so I won’t be hanging out all the time.” He stood up and took an extra handful of grapes and an apple. “I did mean to come to church this Sunday, but I didn’t get up on time.”
“Oh, that’s all right,” Isabel said as if she hadn’t even noticed. “We’re here every Sunday. Maybe another time. It’s up to you, Max. You can come and visit me and work here as long as you like without ever coming to a service.”
She kept her tone light. She didn’t want him to feel pressured or coerced. She was not that type of minister and never would be.
“Yeah, I know.” He was standing in the doorway now and bouncing on the balls of his feet. He looked restless and distracted. Down in the basement, they could hear Carl banging on the pipes.
“That’s Carl’s signal. He needs me.”
Isabel thought it was only a signal of the sexton’s persistence—or utter frustration—with his task. But she nodded anyway. “You’d better get down there and help him.”
Isabel was soon left to sit and wonder about this news. The church leaders were trying to decide if she should be called.
Perhaps they hadn’t told her just in case they decided not to for some reason. But, of course, she would find out anyway through the grapevine. Apparently, everyone except her knew. Even Max.
Though Isabel had more or less expected this, it was still a shock. She thought the congregation would wait until the holidays had passed to deal with replacing Reverend Ben. But the truth was that many congregations invited ministers with far less knowledge and familiarity than this congregation had with her. She had been part of the church for nearly a month now, she had worked with them on projects and Christmas preparations, and they had heard several of her sermons. They had even disagreed with her on an important issue and worked it out.
So the audition was over.
She suddenly realized that if they didn’t extend an invitation now, she would probably feel hurt and insulted. But did she really want to stay here? Or did she just like the idea of being asked, which was a balm to her ego?
That was the question. One that had been hovering in the background ever since Reverend Ben announced his retirement. But now the question had come swooping down with surprising speed, like a seabird diving for a bite to eat.
She sat at her desk and stared out at the snow-covered village green. She always thought of this room as Reverend Ben’s office, even his desk and his chair. His name was still on the door and on the church letterhead.
But it could soon be my name, my desk, my chair. My church, she realized. Would that be so bad?
Not at all, her inner voice answered. There were many benefits to being a minister here . . . and many challenges, too. Enough to keep life interesting. More than she ever imagined when she first arrived.
But did she really want to stay? Was that the right path for her at this time in her life? Isabel couldn’t say.
Well, they hadn’t asked her yet. All this soul-searching was a bit premature. But now that she knew what was going on with all these special meetings, it was impossible not to think about it.
BY WEDNESDAY MORNING, BOTH THE TRUSTEES AND THE CHURCH COUNCIL had met. They had most likely come to their decision, Isabel guessed as she headed over to the church to start her day. But she was no closer to knowing what her answer would be.
As she headed down the long hallway to her office, she saw Tucker waiting on the bench near her door.
“Reverend, may I speak to you a minute?” Tucker said politely.
“Yes, of course. Come on in, Tucker.” Isabel unlocked the door and led him inside. She sat behind her desk and flipped open her coffee. Tucker sat in a chair facing her, the cap from his uniform balanced on his knee.
“You probably already know why the trustees and council have called special meetings this week. There aren’t many secrets in this church. It’s not really a secret, anyway,” he explained. “We’ve been talking about replacing Reverend Ben. The boards have decided that, instead of conducting a big search, we will recommend to the congregation that they vote to call you as our new minister.”
Isabel felt a lump the size of a marshmallow in her throat.
“I’m honored, Tucker,” she said sincerely. “Thank you very much for that news.” She didn’t know what else to add. Did he expect her to give him her answer on the spot? She hoped not.
“You don’t need to say anything right now. We won’t be able to call a meeting of the congregation until after Christmas. But we’ve set the day: Sunday, January eighth.” He shook his head. “Too bad we couldn’t figure it all out before the holidays.”
He seemed to assume that she would automatically say yes. Isabel smiled politely in reply.
“This is an important question for the church. I don’t think it’s wise to rush,” she said finally.
Tucker stood up and put on his hat, preparing to go. “That’s exactly why we want to call you, Reverend. Answers like that. We aren’t likely to find another minister of your caliber. That’s what I told them, anyway.”
His compliment was sincere and touching. All Isabel could do was thank him.
Once Tucker had left and she was alone again, her mind was flooded with the pros and cons of the question.
Tucker had been a great help and support since the day she arrived, and Isabel was very grateful to him. She also knew that if she ended up turning down this invitation, she would disappoint him—along with many other church members she had come to respect and appreciate.
But was this the right place for her? She had looked into returning to mission work. Before coming to Cape Light, she had applied to several ministries to continue the type of work she had done in Haiti. She didn’t have to look very far to find need. She applied to ministries as close as Louisiana and Kentucky and farther away in Nicaragua, Guatemala, and even Cambodia. After serving here for what she expected to be a short time, a kind of spiritual rest stop, she had fully intended to move on.
But now she was faced with a choice. A real crossroads. I must find a ministry at this church appealing in some way, she realized, or this choice wouldn’t be so hard for me.
She had to think about this carefully and pray. God would direct her. He always did. If she listened.
But she still wondered if there was anyone at all she could talk to, to help her sort it out. She considered her family and friends, even a few friends in the ministry. But they were all so far away, and it would be hard to describe this place and this congregation. It would be hard to really do it justice, hard for someone who had never been here to understand the pros and cons she was weighing.
One face came to mind. Reverend Ben, of course. She would ask his advice. He was the only one who could really understand. The one who could help her now.
WHEN REGINA CAME HOME ON WEDNESDAY NIGHT, SHE FOUND RICHARD waiting for her. He was in the kitchen with parts of the old train set spread out on the table.
“You’re still up? It’s past midnight.” She slipped off her coat and hung it on a hook by the door.
“I want these trains to be running around under the tree on Christmas morning. My deadline on this project is getting close.”
“It is. I can’t believe it. Only two days until Christmas Eve. I have one more party tomorrow night. That’s it.”
“I bet you’re happy about that,” he said.
“Oh, the work isn’t that bad. I sort of enjoy it. But I am glad it’ll be over soon.” She filled the kettle with water and set it on the stove. “Do you want some tea?”
“If you’re making it. The kids and I baked gingerbread. They wanted to make a house, but it fell down,” he admitted with a little laugh. “So we ate it. They saved you a few pieces on that plat
e near the stove.”
Regina was surprised. This was a first. For one thing, Richard was laughing at himself for a failed construction project, even if it had just been a gingerbread house. For another, he’d actually baked with the kids. Richard never took part in Christmas cookie–making. The lure of building must have persuaded him.
“I think I will try a bite,” she said. She found the foil-covered plate and nibbled on a crisp fragment. It tasted good, if a little overcooked. “This isn’t bad. Maybe I’ll try again with the kids on Friday night. It would be a good project for Christmas Eve.”
“What can I say? Gingerbread was not covered in my engineering courses. But I’ll loan you my hard hat.”
Intent on his project, he didn’t look up as he spoke. He wore reading glasses and worked with a tiny screwdriver that just about disappeared in his big hands. His hair was messy, and he had a heavy shadow of beard on his cheeks. But something about the way he looked tonight, working so hard on the trains despite being tired, endeared her to him in a way she hadn’t felt in a long time.
She turned and finished fixing their tea, wondering at her feelings.
“I got home a little early today, so I tested out this stuff I bought for Brian,” he said as he worked. “It wasn’t working well and I called that man in Hamilton. Luckily, Brian went over to his friend’s house after school. This Mr. Cyrus, who owns the store, came right over with some different pieces and showed me a few tricks to get it running. Can you beat that?”
“That was nice of him.” Regina took their tea over to the table and set out milk and sugar.
“He said he was coming this way for an estate sale. But still. I didn’t think people had that kind of concern for their customers anymore. Especially in a store like that. These trains are so old, it’s hit-or-miss once you put ’em together.”
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