She looked up as Rev. St. Pierre sat down on the ottoman in front of the couch. “You need another cup of tea?” he asked.
“No, thank you. I’m really sorry we’ve descending on you like this.”
He cocked his head. “I have an extra bedroom and a couch. There’s nothing to be sorry about.”
She shivered.
“Are you still cold?”
She could lie. But this was her minister. So she opted to tell the truth. “I don’t know. I can’t stop shaking.”
“I can imagine. You came very close to being seriously hurt.”
She pulled the edges of the quilt closer around her shoulders. “Can I tell you a secret?” she whispered.
“That’s why I’m here.”
“I wouldn’t have minded.”
He frowned and leaned forward. “What do mean?” His words had a dark urgency.
She waved his concern away. “I’m not suicidal. That’s not what I mean. What I mean is…” She stopped as an emotion swelled in her throat. It took a minute to swallow it back, and the minister gave her the time she needed.
“Right after the tree fell, I had this feeling that I was utterly alone. I thought Momma might have been hurt or killed. And then I kind of flashed back to the night Daddy didn’t come home. And I’m just so worried about…” Her voice faded out.
“What are you worried about?” the minister asked gently.
“Not what. Who.” She looked up at the preacher. “Jim Killough.” Her words were a confession.
“What about him?”
“He went off to the mainland this afternoon. Harper Jephson needed to be taken to the hospital, and there wasn’t anyone else to do it. I haven’t heard from him since the tree fell. I mean, I called him a little while ago, when Grant Ackerman was bringing us up here in his four-wheel drive. The call went right to his voice mail. And he hasn’t answered my texts either. And I…” She had to stop because her eyes welled up. If she kept talking, she would probably start bawling like a baby.
“So.” The minister leaned forward and took her hand in his. He had big hands, but not nearly as big as Jim’s. He squeezed. “What you’re saying is that a life without connection isn’t worth much at all. If you lost your mother, or Doc Killough, you’d be lost altogether?”
She nodded and bit her lip, the tears running down her cheeks.
“You know, to get love you have to give it,” he said, his big brown eyes soft and earnest in the firelight.
She took a deep breath. “Yeah, that’s what everyone says. But every time I give love, someone finds a way to take it from me. And the worst things always seem to happen in the middle of a snowstorm a few days before Christmas. Why is that?”
“I don’t have an answer except to say that nothing bad happened tonight. In fact, from my perspective, either you got lucky or God intervened. Why do you think He might have done that?”
“What? God? I’m not qualified to answer that.”
“Well, I have a theory. I think He still has a purpose for you on this earth.”
She blinked.
“Life is all about perspective, Brenda. From my perspective, I’m mighty glad you weren’t hurt tonight. Because you have things to do. Gifts to give. Christmases yet to celebrate.” He had the temerity to say this with a big smile.
“You’re almost as persistent as Jim is,” she muttered, shaking her head.
“Flattery will get you everywhere. But I’m serious. You had a big scare tonight, and I hope you can see that you were spared because you’re needed and wanted and loved. I heard that you gave the choir a pep talk about joy the other night. And I’ve heard people say that you’re tough but the Christmas Gala is going to be better than it ever was. And my own brother told me all about how you stepped in on Saturday and had a group of unruly children singing holiday songs. So don’t tell me that you weren’t spared for a purpose. ’Tis the season for gift giving, and it seems to me you’ve been working overtime in that department.”
“You heard about all that?”
He chuckled. “There isn’t much that happens in this town that I don’t know about, even if Donna Cuthbert is a Methodist.”
She stared down at the worn carpet in his living room. “None of that would have happened without Jim,” she said in a small voice as her fear closed in.
“You want me to sit up with you while you wait to hear from Jim? I’m certain that he’s all right. He’s a Yankee who’s used to the snow. I’ll bet he’s either sound asleep in some hotel room waiting out the storm or he got pressed into service by the hospital. I heard they put out a call for four-wheel-drive vehicles.”
The last thought didn’t make her feel any better. Daddy had answered the call and paid for it with his life. But she also knew that Jim would always be the first to volunteer. And that was one of the reasons she loved him.
She nodded and tried hard not to cry. “I know I’m being silly.”
“No. You’re not being silly at all. You are deeply worried about someone you love. That’s all. And he’ll get in touch in the morning. I’m sure of it. But if you want me to sit up with you, I’ll go make a pot of coffee.”
She shook her head. “No. It’s okay. I’ll be fine. No reason you should lose sleep. I’ll just hang out here on your couch.”
“All right. If you need me, just holler. I’m right down the hall.”
He headed in that direction but stopped before he left the room. He turned and looked over his shoulder. “When he does finally check in, don’t hold back, Brenda. Tell him how you feel about him.”
Micah pinned her with a somewhat stern look, and she found herself nodding.
* * *
The sun was peeking over the horizon when Brenda and her mother made the somewhat treacherous walk across Lilac Lane from the rectory to Howland House. The snow had stopped hours ago, leaving about eight inches on the ground and a bit more in places where the wind had drifted it. Lilac Lane hadn’t seen a plow, and by the looks of it, neither had any streets in Magnolia Harbor.
Rev. St. Pierre had gotten up before dawn to shovel a path between the rectory and the bed-and-breakfast. Thank goodness Heavenly Rest’s minister was a young man. Otherwise, Brenda and Momma might have starved. The bachelor minister obviously didn’t do much cooking. His cupboards were bare. Although he did seem to have a large coffee stash.
The walk was freezing-cold, but Momma got halfway across the street and stopped in her tracks. “Oh, isn’t that lovely,” she said, looking up at the old mansion. “Howland House looks just like a Currier and Ives Christmas card.”
Brenda followed her mother’s gaze, and even her grinchy self had to agree. The snow clinging to the inn’s roofline and portico provided a sharp contrast to the red bows on the wreaths that adorned every single window. Inside, Howland House looked as if it had been staged for Southern Living’s Christmas issue, and Momma spent the next five minutes waxing poetic about all that pine roping.
Brenda had just shucked off her boots in the entry vestibule when a high piping voice asked, “Do you want to build a snowman?”
Brenda turned to find Jackie Scott, Ashley’s nine-year-old son, sliding down the hallway on a pair of what appeared to be hand-knitted wool socks. The kid was already bundled up in a bulky sweater and wool hat, clearly anxious to go play even though the sun was barely up.
“No playing in the snow until I get some breakfast,” the minister said, yanking Jackie’s hat off his head and holding it beyond his reach. “Have you had breakfast?” he asked.
The boy rolled his eyes.
“Exactly what I thought. We need oatmeal before we go out into the cold. Playing in the snow is hard work.”
“Is it?”
The minister chuckled. “Yes, it is.”
“Okay. Let’s get some breakfast,” Jackie said in a loud voice as he rushed ahead, leading the way into the dining room, which wasn’t crowded at this early hour. Ashley was there, welcoming them with coffee and biscuits
and a home-cooked meal. Momma and Brenda lingered over the food while the minister finally gave in and let Jackie pull him outside for what turned into a snowball fight.
“He’ll sleep well tonight,” Momma said as Ashley joined them.
The innkeeper patted Momma’s hand. “I’m so glad you weren’t hurt last night,” she said. “I just wanted to let you know that the folks renting the cottage are supposed to be checking out today. We’ll see if that happens, but I’m sure they’ll be gone soon. And I don’t have Rose Cottage rented again until spring break. You can stay there for as long as it takes to fix your roof.”
Momma dashed a tear from her eye. “Thank you so much. I’ve been worried.”
“You know you can stay in my guest room out at the cottage if you want,” Brenda said.
Momma reached out and squeezed her hand. “I’d like that very much.”
“Even though it’s not close to town?”
Momma nodded.
So it was settled. As soon as the roads cleared, Momma would go stay at Brenda’s, which might put a crimp in plans for Jim’s visits.
And just like that, she fell back into an ocean of worry. Where was he? Why hadn’t he called? She obsessively checked her cell phone again. Nothing.
Momma and Ashley continued to chat while Brenda pushed up from the table, taking her coffee and phone into the library where she had a bird’s-eye view of the minister behaving exactly like a nine-year-old boy. You had to love Micah St. Pierre; he was thoughtful and sensitive. It was kind of surprising that no woman had yet snagged the man.
Sort of like Jim.
She resisted the urge to pull out her phone again. It would beep if anyone sent a text.
Little pieces of her heart began to shatter, and a lump formed in her throat. There had to be an explanation she told herself as she squeezed her eyes shut and leaned her head against the cold windowpane.
“Oh my word. Brenda. Brenda, come quick.”
She opened her eyes at Momma’s summons. How long had she been standing there feeling sorry for herself?
“Brenda! Where are— Oh, there you are.” Momma came flying into the library. “Come back to the kitchen, girl.”
“What?”
“Don’t be asking questions now; just come quick.” Momma reached out her hand palm up, and Brenda took it like a little girl, letting her mother pull her down the hall to the back of the house, sure that a member of Magnolia Harbor’s police force had arrived with very bad news.
But before that fear could completely overwhelm her, Momma said, “Look who’s come home for Christmas.”
Brenda raced the last few steps into Ashley Scott’s large, modern kitchen and found Ella, wearing a pair of faded blue jeans and an Indiana University sweatshirt that had once been Brenda’s. Seeing Ella was a huge shock, but finding Jim standing behind her, with one of his big hands resting on Ella’s shoulder, took a moment to fully process.
“Hey, Mom,” Ella said. “Jim picked me up from the airport. But the roads were bad, and we had to stop, and then Jim’s cell phone charger died, and we didn’t want to ruin the surprise by having me call. But honestly, we almost freaked out when we got to Granny’s and saw the tree through the roof. I thought…” Her voice trailed off and her lips trembled.
“I’m fine,” she said, and then glanced at Jim. “Your cell phone charger died?”
He shrugged. “Yeah. Bad timing, but I guess it made the surprise more surprising, huh?”
“You brought her home to me.” And then Brenda couldn’t say anything else because Ella ran the last few steps and threw her arms around Brenda and gave her a bone-crushing hug. “I missed you,” she whispered into Brenda’s ear. “I just didn’t know how to say it. And when I saw that tree…I thought I might have waited too long.”
When Ella pulled back, tears were running down her cheeks, and for the first time Brenda noticed the hollow places in her daughter’s face. She’d aged in the last few years, and not in a good way.
Brenda pushed a lock of Ella’s chestnut-colored hair aside. “Are you okay?”
Ella shrugged. “I’m here. For a while. Is that okay?”
And Brenda hugged her again, fiercely. “Oh, baby, it’s okay. You can stay as long as you like.”
Epilogue
Jim took his seat on the piano bench. The auditorium at Rutledge High was completely sold out, even though the Christmas Gala had to be postponed for a week because of the snowstorm, which had knocked out power to half the town, including the high school.
But it was okay. The word on the street, carried by the gossips of Magnolia Harbor, was that Brenda McMillan had whipped the Christmas Chorale into shape. Even more astonishing was the news that the town Grinch had experienced a holiday change of heart and had finally agreed to form a choir for the Episcopalian congregation at Heavenly Rest Church.
Of course, Rev. Micah St. Pierre might have helped that news along. The man was practically crowing about his persuasive abilities.
Jim said nothing to disabuse the man. But Jim knew good and well that Brenda’s change of heart came about because of his treatment of her Christmasitis.
And then again, the man upstairs may have had a hand in the whole thing, because Jim hadn’t had a lot of trouble finding Isabella McMillan’s cell phone number. A quick Google search had led him to her page on LinkedIn, of all places, where she was trying to build relationships with music industry executives. And maybe that’s why she’d answered his out-of-state phone call.
It had been a gamble of the highest order, to just cut through the crap and reach out to the girl who was slowly breaking her mother’s heart. He’d halfway expected his gambit to fail, either because he couldn’t find her, she wouldn’t answer his calls, or she’d flat out refuse. But none of those things happened.
He’d called and chatted with her. And a day later, she’d called him back. Giving him the feeling that the young woman might have been looking for an excuse to break away from her boyfriend. Maybe his call had come at the right moment.
Who could say?
The only wrinkle in Jim and Ella’s plans had been the snowstorm. He could hardly have told Brenda where he was going that snowy afternoon without ruining the surprise. So he’d made up the emergency. Harper Jephson was doing just fine. His asthma was under control, thanks to the clinic. And even if there had been an emergency, the guys down at the firehouse would have moved heaven and earth to transport a patient to the mainland. Even in a snowstorm.
But the snow had almost ruined everything, and he’d done a whole lot of second-guessing when he’d arrived at Brenda’s mom’s house and saw the tree lying across the roof. Nothing had scared him more than the thought that he could have lost Brenda that night. Luckily, one of the neighbors was able to tell him that Brenda and her mother were okay and spending the night at Rev. St. Pierre’s rectory. And the minister himself told Jim where to find Brenda when they finally made it up the snowy road to the inn.
It brought a tear to his eye when mother and daughter finally embraced. It was maybe the best Christmas gift he’d ever arranged for anyone. But really, the best part was afterward, when Brenda pulled him aside, wrapped her arms around him, and told him that she loved him.
Yeah. He’d gotten a pretty good Christmas present too.
And now there Brenda stood on the podium, wearing a lovely black dress with a sequined top and a shiny new Christmas tree brooch that her mother had given her right before the performance. She raised her baton and turned toward him.
There was a twinkle in those twin kaleidoscope eyes as she counted out the beats, her baton rising and falling. He began to play, and then the choir joined in, singing without looking at their music.
And man, did they ever make a joyful noise.
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Also by Hope Ramsay
The Last Cha
nce Series
Welcome to Last Chance
Home at Last Chance
Small Town Christmas (anthology)
Last Chance Beauty Queen
Last Chance Bride (short story)
Last Chance Christmas
Last Chance Book Club
Last Chance Summer (short story)
Last Chance Knit & Stitch
Inn at Last Chance
A Christmas to Remember (anthology)
Last Chance Family
Last Chance Hero
A Midnight Clear (short story)
The Chapel of Love Series
A Fairytale Bride (short story)
A Christmas Bride
A Small-Town Bride
Here Comes the Bride
The Bride Next Door
The Moonlight Bay Series
The Cottage on Rose Lane
Summer on Moonlight Bay
Return to Magnolia Harbor
About the Author
Hope Ramsay is a USA Today bestselling author of heartwarming contemporary romances set below the Mason-Dixon Line. Her children are grown, but she has a couple of fur babies who keep her entertained. Pete the cat, named after the cat in the children’s book, thinks he’s a dog. Daisy the dog thinks Pete is her best friend except when he decides her wagging tail is a cat toy. Hope lives in the medium-sized town of Fredericksburg, Virginia, and when she’s not writing or walking the dog, she spends her time knitting and noodling around on her collection of guitars.
Learn more at:
HopeRamsay.com
Twitter @HopeRamsay
Facebook.com/Hope.Ramsay
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