Home for Christmas, page 7
Who did Finn think he was? He had no right! Trying his psych mumbo-jumbo on her. Who did five-year-old Darcy want to be? Seriously?
Who was he? What had he done with his life? A pastor? What kind of career choices had he made?
What was he doing? Huh? Hiding away in a small town. Eating lunch with little old ladies. Ha! How could he pass judgment on her? Organizing church programs and visiting the hospital wasn’t even in the same realm as discovering the cure for autoimmune diseases. Potentially, the first step to discovering the cure for cancer. He had some nerve.
Taking the stairs to the sanctuary two at a time, she pivoted toward the back of the long, lean room. With a step into the two-story space, a hush quieted the anger coursing through her being in a breath.
Eerie blues, reds and purples blanketed the stiff backed, white pews, transforming the hallowed room into a three-dimensional watercolor painting. The wide planked, wooden floors twinkled with the kaleidoscope of lights twisting through the painted glass windows depicting portraits of Mary with an infant Jesus and the Man himself walking along a dirt path with a lamb in the crook of his arm. Moving down the center aisle, she trailed her long fingers from one pew to the next. A sense of holiness quieted her spirit.
The sanctuary was big without being overwhelming. The church had several additions built in awkward angles, each vine stretching from the root of the original sanctuary.
In elementary school, she and Ben joined in Bible School each summer. The final program always included a song and dance by the students in the sanctuary. The memories of those laughter filled days helped to fuel her faith throughout her vagabond childhood and teen years.
As an adult, she’d attended worship with Lulu on Easters and the occasional Sunday. She never once questioned the Holy Spirit’s presence in this place. She often felt the Spirit through the voices of the friendly parishioners and easy welcome of community in the four walls, but in the stillness of the snow-covered night, Darcy believed she could stretch her hand forward and touch the Spirit, His presence was so thick.
Lowering onto the nearest pew, she sucked in a deep breath, focusing her gaze on the solitary cross hanging above the altar. The wood was knotted with enough rough edges to rival the original. Drawing her bottom lip between her teeth, she drew her knees to her chest, and wrapped her arms around her shins.
“Father, I don’t know what to do. Please help me.” The tears she tried to stifle flooded her vision.
18
Finn stopped, barely inside the sanctuary doors. Darcy’s voice brushed his soul. The ache of her words broke his heart. He slid down onto the steps, silently retreating from his chase. She didn’t need Finn. She needed God. If her need was for anyone else, Finn would be hard pressed not to feel the sting of jealousy.
Over the last eight years, Finn had quietly struggled with his dependence on God. He rarely admitted his unquenchable need to rely on the Lord, even as a pastor, but he recognized the thirst in Darcy. He imagined Lulu did as well when she’d petitioned Finn to “look after” her Darcy darling.
Subtlety was not Lulu Penhearst’s strong suit or even a suit she owned. He knew Lulu was deeply worried about her niece. During their many hours of lunches, teas, and visits, Lulu had shared glimpses into Darcy’s and Bennett’s unconventional childhood and the split leading the twins in opposite directions. She was always cautious to couch her concern in a clever anecdote about Darcy nearly curing cancer or Bennett saving the life of an ornery college student, but her anxiety was etched into every “victory line” as she liked to call her wrinkles.
When he’d visited Lulu in the hospital this morning, she didn’t even attempt to package her worry in pretty wrapping. “Finn, I tell you that girl will snap in two and the dust from her person will blow to the four corners.”
Lulu’s imagery was just short of painful as she told Finn the details—limited as they were. She had devised a plan to help ease her beloved niece’s struggle. Darcy’s need for structure was the key to helping her heal and determine what her next steps in life would be.
“I won’t be her excuse to shrivel into a spinster,” Lulu said.
From the moment Darcy declared she would lead her aunt’s recovery Lulu had been hatching a plan to unload her niece. Finn was the lucky “unload-ee.” Not that he minded. Something about the hot and cold Darcy Langston drew him into her orbit as if she was the sun and he a mere planet.
The Christmas pageant had been Lulu’s project, but as with many of the wily lady’s ideas, she had skillfully shifted the brunt of responsibility to another—Finn. Despite his hope to be only a cheerleader in the balcony, he had already planned on running the program without her assistance before her accident—coercing his cousin Tessa, the author of the play to help. Her future stepdaughter was set to be the lead, making the arm twisting a mere formality. But when Lulu laid out Darcy’s circumstances, and her need to dive into a project, Finn couldn’t refuse the request to help.
And, now, he was sitting on the steps to the sanctuary, unwilling to intrude on her interlude with God, and yet, unable to retreat. He could try and rationalize his interloping was because Darcy was a broken soul in need of pastoral counseling, but that kind of lie would disavow his own relationship with the Lord. He certainly wanted to comfort her, just not necessarily with the skills he’d learned in seminary.
He was drawn to her. Period.
His poking her was a bad attempt at trying to clean her wound by bringing it to the surface. He thought he had gone too far when she ran from the kitchen, but listening to her broken words he knew God had met Darcy where she ran.
Help her, Father.
Nothing more needed to be said. God knew the pain Finn could see and the deeper hurts Darcy was unaware even existed. Only God could fix the broken. Broken hearts. Broken spirits. Broken souls. Mending the broken was what God did. Finn could testify.
The melodic chorus of the old hymn “Holy Ground” slipped through his spirit as Darcy sang. Her voice was sweet. Soft.
He sensed she was concluding her conversation and he stretched to stand. He intended to head to his office and collect the boots and extra wind pants he kept in the back closet in case he needed to clean the sidewalks, but following through on good intentions wasn’t in his DNA.
His legs gobbled the five stairs up in two steps. The invisible curtain blocking him from the sanctuary was heavy with the pain he could feel released from the only other person in the expansive room. Pressing through, he took tentative steps up the aisle.
Darcy rested her head on the pew in front of her. She remained still despite the echo of his shoes against the hardwood floor. He slid onto the pew behind her and waited. Stretching his arms wide along the back of the bench, he glanced around the understated room. Even decorated for Christmas, with a wreath in the choir loft and the Advent candles situated to the left of the altar, the sanctuary remained a place of simple holiness.
“How long have you been listening?” If the room hadn’t been perfectly silent, he would have missed the question.
“I followed you, but I left you alone to chat with God. I only entered when I heard you stop singing.”
“I wasn’t singing.” She said with a sniff.
“Well, then, maybe Guard-Ann is here too, because I definitely heard a sweet song.”
She twisted to face him.
Her cheeks were splotchy. Her eyes were swollen and wet. Her hair was knotted in a lopsided bun.
He swallowed against the thick lump. He was a goner. “Can I help?”
She shrugged. “I have to figure out what’s next.”
“But not tonight.”
She shook her head. “No, not tonight. Or even in the next several tomorrows. But at some point, I need to figure it out. And I will.”
“Really?”
“God promised.”
He felt a coil unfurl in his belly. “And He always keeps His promises.”
Scrubbing her face, she stood and moved to the aisle. “So, about this program…”
19
“Ugh!” Harper threw a pile of discarded scarfs to the back of the cupboard under the stairs. She sat back on her heels and scanned the five by four room. Where else could Lulu have hidden the recipe? Wiping her forehead, she scanned the rows of shelves and stacks of books, the discarded fashion stacked on the floor, and the lone trunk in the room.
As frustrating as the search for Lulu’s lost recipe was, Harper was thankful for the escape from the interrogation. Her secrets may not seem big to others but there were a few pieces in her life she was grateful to keep hidden. Besides, Ben was only a temporary Gibson’s Run resident. The holidays would be the blink of an eye and he would be off to saving those in need in Nashville.
A sudden sadness dampened her spirit. She’d known the man for barely twenty-four hours, and yet the thought of him leaving…
“Can I help?” Ben poked his head through the angled doorway. His cropped hair held a light dusting of flour, but her gaze dropped to the crooked grin lifting his full lips. Her heart wobbled. He might be stretching the ridiculous hearts and donuts apron to the point of breaking but the lace and smudges did nothing to deter the waves of dreamy floating off him.
She closed her eyes against temptation. “Nope. It’s hopeless. Your aunt has the hiding skills of a CIA analyst.”
She leaned onto her hands and knees and crawled to exit. Unfolding, she stood as tall as her five feet four inches would allow. Lifting her eyes to open, her vision was filled with nothing but ruffles and Bennett. Tingles chased over her skin in chaotic directions and made her heart speed. “Is it warm in here?” she asked, fanning her face as she stepped around Ben’s wide frame.
She hustled back to the kitchen and flipped on the hot water. While she scrubbed the dust from her hands, he made his way down the hall and entered the kitchen. “Harper?”
She glanced over her shoulder. He rested his hands against the top of the doorframe, emphasizing his height and thick arms.
With a shake of her head, she returned her focus to scrubbing her hands. “Yep?”
“Did I do something to offend you?”
His tone held a twist of worry. She flipped off the faucet and reached for a dish towel. Drying her hands, she turned to face him. “Of course not.”
He stepped into the room. “Are you sure?”
“Whoa!” The sound of a female bellow was nippily followed by a blast of artic wind down the hall to the kitchen.
“Well…not warm anymore.” Harper smiled, wrapping her arms around her waist. She followed Ben down the hall.
Standing in the foyer were two snow covered forms, one slightly taller and slightly more male than the other.
“Did you walk here?” Ben asked, taking the discarded scarves, hats, coats, and layers from his sister and Finn Tarrington.
They both nodded. Well, shivered more than nodded.
Harper felt the chills racing through their frames. “Ben, why don’t you get the fire started in the living room. I’ll get a kettle on for tea.” Harper skated to the kitchen on socked feet, but not before hearing Darcy’s loud whisper. “Nice apron…Ben.”
20
“Darcy…drop it.” Ben draped the wet garments over various hooks and benches flanking the entryway. “Why don’t you get Finn some dry clothes from my room? You should both change. No need to add extra patients to the Penhearst Hospital.”
Darcy yanked her bun from her head, allowing her hair to fall haphazardly around her shoulders. “Come on Pastor. Let’s get you changed.”
They both disappeared around the curve of the staircase. Ben kneaded the base of his neck as he padded around the water puddles in the entryway. Bending, he yanked four logs from the neat stacks on either side of the original wood burning fireplace. Arranging the logs in a crisscross, he reached for the small stack of old newspapers. Tucking the crumpled pages between the cracks in the wood, he lit each of the paper balls and fanned the flames until the wood caught fire. He slid the antique brass screen back into place, but the barrier didn’t diminish the heat beginning to billow.
“You’ve done that a few times.” Harper said.
He turned and reached for the wide tray set with his aunt’s favorite tea service, including four mugs, sugar, cream, and a small plate of shortbread cookies. “How did you get this together so quickly?”
She stepped to the fire and held her palms against the heat. “Mrs. Penhearst has an electric kettle. It boils fast as lightning. And she pretty much has the rest always ready to go in case she gets an unexpected visitor.”
“How did you know?”
She chuckled. “I may often be her most frequent unexpected visitor.” She settled into the high-backed chair his uncle had favored.
He snatched the poker and stoked the fire. “How is it I’ve never met you?”
“I make it a point to not visit when Mrs. Penhearst has her special company.”
“Special company?” Opening the trunk holding several hand knitted afghans, he tossed three to the sofa for his sister and the pastor and handed his favorite purple and cream striped one to Harper.
Tugging her legs under her, she wrapped the blanket around her shoulders. “You and your sister. And your mom, before she passed. You are the only blood family Mrs. Penhearst has. Makes you special.”
Huh? Special? He’d always loved coming to Aunt Lulu’s, but it was a routine part of his childhood. As an adult, he saw the two to three trips to see her as part of his duty. He lowered onto the floor, ready to keep the fire rolling. “Makes me feel a little guilty.”
“Why?”
“I guess I’ve always taken Lulu for granted. Felt coming here was…is…a duty. Visiting this home has been such a part of my life it stopped being special a long time ago.”
“Well, regardless of what you feel or felt, you make Mrs. Penhearst feel very, very special.”
“That fire looks amazing,” Finn said, rubbing his hands as he walked into the living room. “Thanks so much for this and the change of clothes.” He wore one of Ben’s discarded OSU sweatshirts and a pair of sweatpants, Ben was pretty certain were a remnant of his uncle’s. “Harper, I’m surprised to see you here.” Finn took the chair directly beside the fire and Harper.
“I was stuck in town because of the storm. And mom volunteered me to help Ben bake.”
Ben turned back to the fire as they began chatting about the cookie sale and the Christmas pageant as if they hadn’t talked in weeks.
Weird. Weren’t they dating?
“That fire looks amazing,” Darcy said as she stepped toward the fireplace. She rubbed her hands against each other. “You learned something in that one year of Boy Scouts.”
“Two,” Ben said, poking the flames.
“Sorry, touchy much.”
He ignored her as he crumpled several more pieces of paper and tossed them into the flames.
“Let me get you some tea,” Harper said.
He didn’t have to turn to know she was at ease playing hostess. She seemed to be at ease in all situations—until the topic of conversation turned to her.
“Thank you so much,” Darcy said. “Aunt Lulu would be very proud. You set a nice tea on short notice.”
Ben dropped the fire poker in the stand, and turned to face the trio all reaching for tea cups. “What were you two thinking? Why would you come out in this storm? Surely, you’d have been better to stay at the church. Your boots are still by the door, Darc. Didn’t you wear your running shoes today? Not exactly safe from frostbite.”
“Your sister was quite anxious to get home and research equipment for Lulu’s return. Inadequate footwear would not deter her.”
Darcy sighed. “And…well…we made it. No one died. And now I can get everything ordered we need a day earlier.”
“Makes sense. Face a life-threatening situation in order to check off a list early.”
“Bennett James Langston, my feet are numb. My fingers feel as if I have a million needles fighting for space and I’m not certain if the tea is burning my lips or not because I can’t feel them. Could you wait to be self-righteous until I’ve regained my sense of touch?” Darcy sipped her tea, lowered to the couch, and drew her knees to her chest.
“Bennett, it’s as much my fault as anyone’s,” Finn said. “I thought the snow had stopped for the night, but apparently my weather app isn’t as reliable as I thought.”
“No one’s blaming you, Finn.” Harper said, squeezing his shoulder.
Ben’s stomach curdled at the simple touch of Harper’s hand on the pastor’s arm. With a sigh, he adjusted the fire screen. “I better get some more wood. Sounds as though it could be a long night.” He walked from the room through to the kitchen where he’d left his boots and coat. He was being ridiculous. Yelling at Darcy for being Darcy was like spitting in the wind and not expecting to be hit in the face. And, he had no right to feel anything toward Harper, let alone be jealous she touched her boyfriend on the arm. Tugging on his boots, he reached for his coat and gloves.
“Need some help?”
He turned.
Harper stood beside the island dressed in her coat, hat, and boots. The corners of her mouth were at a slight tilt.
“I can get it.”
“Four arms can carry more than two.”
“True. But wouldn’t you like to hang out with your boyfriend?”
“What boyfriend?”
“The pastor.”
“Finn?” She started laughing. “Finn?”
“What’s funny? You said your brother set you up with his fiancée’s cousin. Isn’t the pastor your brother’s soon to be cousin-in-law?”
She folded in half, leaning against the island for support. Her laughter rolled from her toes through her belly to her lips. He was tempted to join her, but he didn’t think the situation was very funny.
Standing tall she waved a hand in front of her face, wiping a tear from her cheek. “Woo-wee, I haven’t laughed that hard in a long time. Finn is so not my type. I mean. He’s a nice guy, but he’s not my nice guy.”
