by Sosie Frost
“And don’t you see what it’s doing to us?” She groaned. “I’ve got visions of sugar plums dancing in my head while I’m awake now. It’s getting dangerous to drive!”
“Glory.”
“We’re missing the message, V.”
“What message?”
She shrugged. “You know? Christmas? That joyful time when the faithful worship together and enjoy their time with family and friends?”
“Oh. That message.”
“We’ve lost the Christmas spirit under felt costumes and six pounds of glitter. I’m making salads with my pincushion tomato. I’ve destroyed Jerusalem’s styrofoam temple in a fit of rage. Twice. And the Virgin Mary is on to us, V. That little old widow is just waiting for a chance to expose our relationship.”
Another complication that could be fixed with a successful show. No one would care who Glory was or what she did for a living if she saved the church.
I had no idea what would happen once Santa rode his sleigh off stage, but it wouldn’t be my responsibility anymore. The only reason I had the courage to even step inside the chapel was because Glory would be waiting for me there.
But once Christmas was over, and she went back to Ironfield?
It was the first time in two years I actually gave a damn about my future, and that scared me more than the church.
“Go get the coffee pot,” I said. “I’ll try to explain what’s happening to everybody.”
“V…”
“Don’t worry. I’ll watch Lulu.”
“I think you’re making a mistake, V.”
Only if I gave up now.
I took Lulu and sent Glory for the coffee pot, though I had no idea how I was supposed to calm fifty seniors without the aid of ice cream, coffee, or divine intervention.
Fortunately, my family knew how to steal a show just to ruin it.
Cassi was in tears.
So was Max.
Micah and Gretchen attempted to separate my brothers from Rem before Marius lost the mayoral election and Tidus his best friend. Too little, too late. The congregation had turned. Most of Butterpond could overlook the problems my family caused while I preached, but once I’d left the pulpit, their patience waned thin.
Five members of the congregation grabbed their coats and headed to the door. Fortunately, they were shamed by the Widow Barlow’s appearance. They greeted her with forced smiles and helped her take her rightful place at the head of the committee table.
I’d already tapped Agatha Barlow for all she could offer the church. But her influence opened the pocketbooks of the other women in the town. Unfortunately, she scowled, frustrated by the heat, fighting, polka, and general disarray.
And my brothers weren’t helping.
“It’s like you don’t want me to be happy!” Cassi cried. “I’ve done everything for this family. I was the one who took care of Dad while he was sick. I was the one who tried to keep the farm together after he died. I was the one who cooked the meals, did the laundry, stitched the cuts while you all squatted back home, too miserable and bullheaded to take care of yourselves.”
Bolstered by my sister’s heartfelt revelations, Susan and Marianne revealed their own holiday grievances. Beset by the polka band, their tussle grew louder and less Christian with each yelled syllable.
“See?” Susan offered Marianne her best sugar-cookie smile through gritted teeth. “Cassi Payne knows how to take responsibility. Maybe you should teach your women the same lessons.”
Marianne clutched a Bible between her trembling fingers, just itching to throw it. “Responsibility? You want to talk responsibility? What about my women managing the entirety of Thanksgiving by ourselves?”
“And whose fault was that?” Susan asked. “If I recall correctly, it was your women who insisted on serving goose instead of turkey.”
“The church had no money for turkey, and Butterpond was infested with geese! It was practical!”
“Daughters of Practicality, I see.” Susan crossed her arms. “Well, your dinner ruined two carpets in the social with blood and feathers. Daughters of Slaughters, if you ask me.”
Marianne squealed. “So, it’s you spreading that name!”
A new polka reverberated through the hall. Lulu held her hands over her ears.
“Bad.” She made a face. “No!”
Cassi shouted above the trombone. “Jules, you met a wonderful woman. Fell in love. Had a baby.”
Julian pointed at her. “This isn’t about me having a baby, this is about you still being a baby. You’re only twenty-two, for Christ’s sake!”
“Then be happy that I found what I want now,” she said. “Nothing is going to change that isn’t already changing for the better. Jules has a son. Marius has a baby on the way. I mean…” She pointed at me. “Look. When was the last time you saw V holding a baby—a crying baby?”
To be fair, Lulu wasn’t crying. Yet. She just wasn’t a fan of fundraisers that sucked the money out of people’s wallets and the souls out of their bodies.
Lulu curled her arms around my neck and searched behind me, looking for her momma. Couldn’t blame her. All I wanted now was a quiet night with Glory too.
Somehow, Susan had armed herself with a glass of lemonade. She reared back, pitching the drink into Marianne’s face.
“You know I want nothing more than to rebuild this church!” Susan shouted.
Marianne gasped. She rubbed her eyes, smearing most of her mascara into war paint. “You want to rebuild this church so your name can go on the bricks of the foundation!”
Quint evacuated the table before Cassi and Jules started a new crusade. Unfortunately, he walked into a second tossed cup of lemonade.
“Fuck me!” He spat out the profanity with the drink. “Oh, please tell me that’s lemonade.”
I hauled him away from the warring women, fighting family, and merry musicians on their third iteration of Silent Night—which seemed an ironic choice for a brass band.
“Glory knows how to throw a party.” He grinned. “Maybe she needs someone from town to show her the ropes?”
I’d had enough of his flirting. “Sit down, Quint, before you make an ass out of yourself.”
“I’m a patient guy. She’ll warm up to me. Just takes a little charm.”
From what I’d heard, my little brother had charmed enough women in town, and he was moving onto Ironfield. Didn’t know what he was looking to find between a stranger’s sheets, but he wasn’t getting anywhere close to Glory.
Never liked jealousy. Never understood jealousy. Especially when I knew my little brother wasn’t exactly a threat to what I had with Glory. But I had cause to be protective of her. Glory could handle herself with guys looking to get lucky, but she didn’t need to be alone when they came only to settle a score.
But Quint didn’t need to know that.
No one did.
“Don’t got a lot of time to make a move though,” Quint said. “Christmas is almost here.”
I frowned. “Don’t go calling in favors—the Church needs all the miracles it can get for the pageant.”
Cassi pleaded with Julian. Marianne grabbed a fistful of Susan’s hair. The polka oompa’d on.
Quint hummed. “Glory’s got some interesting tastes.”
Glory had exquisite tastes, which was why I didn’t understand her choosing me. “Forget about her. I mean it.”
“Come on, V. You’ve been living in that basement forever, but even you’ve gotta realize she’s gorgeous. There’s a reason why God made beautiful women.”
Only to bless the men who didn’t deserve them.
Lulu pouted, threatening to tantrum. I held her a little tighter, rocking back and forth. “Believe me, Quint. I know who Glory is. And that’s why I’m telling you to stay away.”
He laughed. I didn’t.
“What’s wrong with you?” He shrugged. “Finder’s keepers? Look, if you want her, better make a move before I do.”
I scowled. “I’m tellin
g you…Back off.”
The women raged, tripping over their huge purses. They tumbled backwards, striking the trumpet player. His note bleated into a shout before he tipped into the trombone and tuba. The clatter silenced everyone in the social hall just in time for Cassi to slap Julian across the cheek.
“You’re supposed to be my older brother!” Cassi cried. “Act like it!”
The doors burst open. Glory triumphantly strolled into the social hall, coffee pot held high over her head.
“Have no fear!” She announced. “The coffee is here.”
The furnace belched an ugly sound, and the lights flickered off. The hall plunged into a stunned quiet as even the fighting ceased.
It was Quint’s startled voice that blistered the silence. “Holy shit, V! You’re banging the choreographer!”
The coffee pot crashed to the ground.
A dozen cell phones suddenly illuminated the hall, and all of them pointed at me.
It was a bad time for a man to lose faith in the only ally he’d ever had.
Cassi stared at me, amazed. “V…are you dating Glory?”
That sounded better than admitting to just fucking her.
“I…”
Lulu bounded out of my arms. I set her on the ground, but she took my hand and toddled toward Glory. The kid was stubborn, fearless, and had no idea the gossip she’d start now that she’d brought me within arm’s length of her mother.
Glory practically trembled. This wasn’t a woman who feared any spotlight, but the attention of the church, town, and families wasn’t the leering gaze of lost men who had nothing to lose and no reason to judge.
But she feared them.
Worse—she feared what they’d think of me because of her.
“Enough!”
The widow Barlow never needed to raise her voice. She slowly stood, her cane tap-tap-tapping a solemn path through the hall.
She chided Cassi and my family, shaking her head at the shameful display.
She admonished Susan and Marianne for their childish outbursts.
And she chased away the polka band for upsetting our Lord and Savior so near his birthday.
The widow stopped before us, face withered and wrinkled with age and its inevitable spite. I braced for the worst.
Instead, she took my hand.
“Well now, Pastor V…” She spoke softly, knowing everyone in town would either listen or earn a quick jab with her cane. “It’s about time.”
I blinked. “What?”
“We were starting to worry about you. A young, handsome man like yourself, all alone? It’s unnatural. Just won’t do.”
I stiffened as she removed her checkbook from her handbag and called for a pen. Her granddaughter, Lady, rushed forward, nearly tripping over herself as she glanced at Quint. She offered Agatha the cell phone, but the old woman scowled.
“Never touched one in seventy-six years, not planning to get suckered in by that devil contraption now.” She clicked the pen and wrote out the check in loopy, perfect script. “There now. That should give you what you need.”
She ripped out the check and offered it to me.
Glory peeked over my shoulder. “Holy sh—” She caught herself with a cleared throat. “Moly.”
“We can’t accept this,” I said. “This is…too much.”
“Should be enough to square your accounts—Lord knows I’ve seen the state of the books at the meetings.”
“Agatha…” Glory covered her mouth. Couldn’t tell if she wanted to kiss the check or tear it in two. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Don’t you say a thing.” The Widow Barlow eyed her with a skepticism that revealed far more than we’d ever told the town. “What this church needs is to be whole again, but we ain’t gonna get there if our minister is lost in the darkness. If he needs you to lead him out, Hallelujah. For the first time in two years, it feels like something’s going right.”
Glory peeked at me. Her shock faded, and she dared to smirk. “It does, doesn’t it?”
What did she expect me to say?
To do?
I held more than enough money to finish the set, hire actual sound engineers, and repaint a snowy forest scene that was seventy percent more hidden penis than evergreen tree.
The money went to a good cause.
But I knew I was doing the wrong thing, even if it was for the right reasons.
I couldn’t stay on as the minister, no matter how much it might have meant to the town. Faith was incongruous with hesitation, doubt, and contempt. If I stood behind that pulpit, it’d be a lie. And I would never endanger the souls of the congregation because of my hatred.
My faith crumbled the day of the storm. And now, I worshipped only a woman who they’d never accept.
Glory would never be a good woman, not to them. And once they realized why I’d fallen for her, how I’d used her, they’d realize I was a worse man.
It was mercy and kindness that forced me to leave. At least the pageant would help me keep the church open and offered them some hope to finally heal.
I could survive in the church until that day, as long as I had Glory at my side.
She stared at the check once more, and tears blinked from her eyes. She hid her face, ducking from the cell phones’ light.
But I recognized that look, that despair. Maybe that was why we were meant for each other.
Some people deserved happiness. Others searched for hope. But the realists understood that nothing else waited for them beyond the darkness and misery. That was why life was supposed to be enjoyed one sensual dance at a time.
It was how Glory had saved me.
So what did I need to do to save her?
14
Glory
I never trusted myself when something felt right.
Usually it meant that I’d been reckless and trapped myself in a situation where I was in over my head.
But, as it turned out…I was just over my heels.
Now the question was—who fell for Varius Payne the hardest: me, my baby, or the town?
Light up Night in Butterpond was a wholesome event full of hot dogs, heartburn, and harmony. Friends sang carols, neighbors gave gifts, and the volunteer fire departments declared a truce, shook hands, and joined together to put out the dumpster fire behind the school gym.
Made Christmas a magical time, especially with an amazing man at my side.
Well, at everyone’s side.
The town loved Varius more than he knew. Even better, they loved me by extension.
Glory Hawkins, savior. It wasn’t the gossip I’d expected to hear associated with me. Neither was sweetheart nor lovely woman or honest lady. I’d never considered myself a hero, but apparently dragging this man out of his basement and into the public circle was cause for celebration.
One lap around Barlow’s Market had earned me a dozen gifted coupons, three offers for free babysitting, and another two hundred dollars in donations for the pageant. The Widow Barlow’s kindness had shamed the rest of the town into volunteering, donating, and buying tickets.
So, when the skies swirled and a curtain of gentle flurries blessed Light Up Night with small-town charm, I decided to count my blessings…
While preparing to run.
Didn’t matter if our kisses weren’t stolen and our affection no longer a secret. Varius was still the minister, even if he refused to accept it. And I was…
A stripper.
When the truth came out, they wouldn’t blame him. The scorn would fall to me. The corruptor. The devil woman. The slut. I could handle the insults—made no difference to me how I made money to feed, clothe, and protect my daughter.
But I didn’t want to hurt him.
And it would.
“Tree!” Lulu bounced in my arms. She pointed to the massive evergreen waiting to be lit. “Tree!”
I shrugged at Varius. “Maybe she’s part squirrel? I’ll have to build her a tree house.”
Varius waved tow
ard a group of church ladies eager to gossip with the preacher and his new lady friend. He deftly steered me and Lulu through the crowds and away from the enthusiastic busybodies.
“A tree house might be tough in Ironfield,” he said.
“I’ll make it a tree condo then. Real fashionable. Granite countertops and those fancy faucets shaped like swans.”
“You could save some money on real estate if you move out of the city.”
Like the thought hadn’t occurred to me. “And where would you suggest?”
He gestured over the town square—clad in ribbons, wreaths, and patrolled for geese by a very aggressive Border Collie and his pregnant owner. “I hear Butterpond is nice this time of year.”
“Oh, it’s great…for a minefield.”
“Don’t tell me Butterpond is more dangerous than the big city.”
“It’s infinitely more dangerous.” I poked at him. “I lived a perfectly reasonable life in Ironfield until a small-town preacher showed up. Suddenly I’m choreographing snowflakes and painting camel asses on scenery and pretending I’m some innocent prude.”
“Then maybe you just need someone to watch over you…” Varius brought my hand to his lips. “Keep you safe in this wicked town.”
One of us had to be realistic. “Can’t dance in the middle of Mrs. Thatcher’s antique shop.”
“Maybe you won’t have to dance.”
“Oh, sure. I’ll quit the day you go back to the church.” I tapped my cast. “This comes off next week. As soon as I’m free, I’ve gotta dance again.”
“Are you sure?”
“I don’t have a choice.”
“You always have a choice, Glory.”
It wasn’t the first time he was wrong, but I didn’t expect him to understand. “I need the money, V. Think I like working those terrible hours and dealing with drunks, perverts, and wayward ministers?”
“Then do something else.”
Why? I was good at dancing. It paid the bills, kept food on the table. I’d already made my plan. I’d save every dollar shoved down my thong—put it away somewhere safe and keep it hidden—so I’d never get myself in another situation this dire again. Didn’t owe it to myself, but I had to do it for Lulu.
