A Log Cabin Christmas (54 page)

T
odd levered himself off the floor and made sure he had a firm hold of Goldenrod’s rope. Billy rolled off her legs and sat up, still chuckling, though he had a guilty tilt to his shoulders. He grasped Todd’s offered hand and allowed himself to be pulled upright.

Goldenrod lumbered to her feet, bent her head to sniff the puddle of cider, and lapped a few tonguefulls. She lifted her head, shook herself, and looked around the room with a quizzical expression as if to say, “What happened in here?”

Todd shrugged and rubbed his palm up the back of his head. “What a mess.” At that moment, one of the carefully constructed wreaths hanging in a window gave up the fight and dropped to the floor, taking a string of garland with it.

“What are you going to do?” Billy shoved his hands in his pockets and grimaced.

Guilt, his constant companion since he had lost his head and kissed Beth last night, stomped through his chest and set up a racket near his conscience. Why did it seem that everything he did with the intention of pleasing her ended with her running away from him? He gritted his teeth and called himself all kinds of a fool.

“We’re going to get this cleaned up.” He handed the rope to Billy. “Stay here, and don’t let go of that sheep.” Marching to the front of the church, he began issuing orders. “All right. This little disaster is my fault, and we don’t have much time to get it cleaned up before the program is supposed to start. Beth is really upset, and I know she must be thinking there’s no way we can have a program now, but that’s not true. We can, but not without her. First, we all need to pitch in and get everything put to rights. Clive, you and Hampton rebuild that stable. Mary Kate, are you all right?”

She sniffed and swallowed. “I think I’ve hurt my wrist.” Still trembling, she held up her arm, bracing it with the other hand.

“I’m so sorry, Mary Kate.” He motioned to one of the ladies. “See if you can help Mary Kate out. The rest of you, get cracking on the cleanup. Salvage what you can; throw out the rest. Be careful with that broken glass.” Todd turned to Sophie. “I don’t suppose you have any of that fruitcake available, do you?”

Sophie gave him a gamine grin and patted his arm. She motioned for him to bend down so she could whisper in his ear. He had to bend a very long way to hear her. “I made up a big batch this morning, just in case. I was planning to give them out as Christmas gifts, but this need is more pressing.”

He engulfed her little hand in his. “That’s great. Why don’t you head home and get the cakes? Take someone along to help if you need to. And round up some cider if you can. If not, we’ll serve water.”

As soon as everyone set to work, Todd returned to Billy. “See what you can do about hanging up that garland and stuff. Set that tree up. You can start putting the presents on it when everything else is done. That was the last thing we needed to do after the practice anyway.”

“What are you going to do? And what should I do with her?” Billy lifted Goldenrod’s rope.

Todd took the rope. “I’m going to tie her up outside, and then I’m going after Beth.”

Billy pulled a face. “She was pretty upset. Don’t you think you should give her a little time to cool off?”

“We can’t afford to. There will hardly be time for us to finish here, get home for a quick supper, and get back before the service is supposed to start. We can’t let Beth down. She’s worked so hard.” He lifted his coat from one of the back pews and shouldered his way into it. Giving the rope a tug, he scowled at the sheep. “C’mon, you. Let’s get out of here before you start another riot.”

Stepping out into the frosty air, he noted that the sun had gone down. Faint stars winked through the treetops, and as the darkness intensified, the stars glowed brighter. He made Goldenrod’s rope fast to a hitching post out front and studied the snow around the church. Hundreds of footprints pocked the path, but one fresh set caught his eye, a set that veered toward the track he and Beth had taken last night to see the Christmas tree.

His heart beat thick. She hadn’t headed home. And she had no coat. He hurried inside and tossed through the stack of coats on a back table until he found the green plaid he’d know anywhere.

Tramping through the woods, he tried to formulate what he would say to her, but everything after “I’m sorry” got stuck. He walked faster as the cold settled in and flowed over his face like icy water.

He found her standing in the snow, arms wrapped around her waist, chin on her chest, beside the empty place where the Christmas tree had stood until he’d removed it to bring into the church. Her look of utter defeat ran him through like a peavey spike. His lungs sent plumes of frosty breath into the air.

When he stood only a few feet from her, he called her name, not wanting to frighten her. There’d been enough frightening going on today. “Beth?”

She flinched but didn’t look up.

“I brought your coat.” He stepped closer and held up the garment. When she didn’t move her arms to slip it on, he draped it around her shoulders. “Beth, I’m so sorry. I had no idea Goldenrod would go mad like that.” At the mental image of the maniacal sheep wearing the piano drape, a chuckle bubbled into his chest, but he stifled it. “If you think about it, it
is
a little bit funny.” He tilted his head and invited her to laugh with him.

Nothing. Not a trace of humor. In fact, her lower lip trembled in a way that made his insides turn to water. Surely she wasn’t going to cry? And what on earth would he do if she did?

“Beth, please. I truly am sorry. Don’t cry. Everyone’s pitching in to clean things up. We can still have the service tonight. Nothing’s really ruined.” He scratched his head. “Well, the cider and cookies are, but we’re taking care of that.”

She gave a strange hiccupping sound and clutched the edges of her coat. “You don’t understand.”

He spread his hands. “Then tell me. I want to understand. I want to make everything all right—with the church service and with us.” Moving to stand before her, he put his finger under her chin and raised her face to look into her eyes. Starlight softened her features, and tears hung like diamonds on her dark lashes. “Beth, I stood right here last night and held you in my arms, and I
know
you felt something for me. You have to know that I love you. If we could just talk this out, you’ll see that everything is going to be fine.”

She rocked back, jarring his finger from her chin. “You don’t get it, do you? I can accept your apology for the sheep disaster, but I can’t accept your love.” She took a couple steps back, putting distance between them. Her coat slid from one shoulder and trailed in the snow. “I can’t allow myself to love you, because I’ve been called to serve God.”

He blinked. Somewhere his chain of thought had broken a link. Or hers had. He squinted and shook his head. “How would loving me mean that you couldn’t serve God?” Though thoroughly puzzled, a spark of hope fanned to life in his chest. She hadn’t said, “I can’t love you,” but rather, “I can’t let myself love you.”

“I’m not supposed to fall in love with a blacksmith.” She grappled with the coat and hunched it back over her shoulder. “I have to marry a preacher and serve God in the church.”

His jaw went slack as he struggled to make sense of her words. “Who told you that? Your grandpa?” That didn’t mesh with what he thought he knew of Pastor Sorensen.

“It’s been my destiny since I was a little girl. My mother always told me so, and I come from a long line of preachers. If I had been born a boy, I would’ve joined the pastorate. That’s just how it is. It’s a calling, a responsibility. The Sorensens serve God in the church.”

Disappointment trickled through him as he began to understand. He folded his arms and braced his legs. “So do the Rambeks.” He spoke slowly, so she wouldn’t miss a word. “We always have, though there’s not a preacher among us.” Shaking his head, he took a deep breath. “So a humble blacksmith isn’t good enough for you because he isn’t a preacher? You think preaching is the only kind of service that counts in the church?” He swung his arm wide in the direction of the log church. “What do you think the people who have volunteered for this Christmas Eve program have been doing if not serving in the church? What do you think they’re doing right now?” A scornful growl rose in his chest. “For someone who comes from a long line of preachers, you sure don’t know your scripture too well.”

She gasped as if he’d slapped her, and though it hurt to be so blunt with her, she needed to hear the truth.

“Doesn’t the Apostle Paul tell us that the church is like a body, made up of all kinds of members that have all kinds of jobs? If one of those members doesn’t do his job of serving in the church, the whole body is less effective. We’re warned against elevating one role in the church body over another. You’ve done that to such an extent that nobody else in the church matters.” He pursed his lips. “Just how do you think you’d even put on a Christmas Eve service without those volunteers? Without Clive and Billy and Hampton and Sophie and Mary Kate and all the rest? Without this blacksmith?” He thumped his chest with his thumb. “You’ve been so busy organizing and dictating and being in control, you’ve lost sight of not only who was doing all the work, but also who the work was being done for.”

Knowing he’d said more than enough, and with his heart like a wound in his chest, he turned away from her to go back to the church. He might not have been able to mend his relationship with Beth—most likely, his words, though truthful, had slammed the door forever on her loving him—but he could help mend the damage caused by the renegade Goldenrod.

Beth clutched the edges of her coat around her as Todd disappeared into the woods. The tears on her lashes lost their hold and tumbled down her cheeks in warm streaks that turned icy almost at once.

His words hit like darts, piercing her. The disgust on his face when she told him her reason for refusing to let him court her—she squirmed at the memory. How she wished she could curl up in the snow, sink down, and make herself as small as she felt. Because he had been right. And the truth, spoken through the scripture, straight from his own lips, shamed her.

Beth sought to maintain her hold on her firm belief that her destiny lay in being a preacher’s wife, but the threads of that argument had already frayed and broken under the weight of Todd’s words. She bowed her head and her heart to whisper a prayer in the frosty night.

“God, I’m so sorry. Everything he said was right. I—” She choked on a sob and sniffed. Whispering didn’t seem appropriate, as if she still sought to hide her confession. Bracing her shoulders, she slipped her arms into her coat sleeves and dug in the pocket for her gloves. “God”—she tilted her head back to address the heavens—“I’ve been so wrong. I’ve been prideful. What I should’ve been using for Your glory, I’ve used for my own. This Christmas service, it wasn’t about sharing the joy of the Christmas season with the people in our church.” It hurt to admit, but she had to say the words. “I was using it to prove to myself and to others what a good preacher’s wife I would make someday. I discounted the service of others and elevated myself.” The tears flowed freely now as she opened her heart. Her feet moved, carrying her in the direction of the church, but slowly, for she wanted to thrash everything out with God before she faced anyone.

“God, I wounded Todd, too. I made myself out—at least in my own mind—as being too good for him. And the opposite is true. He’s too good for me.” At this admission, her heart burst wide open, and her legs gave out. She dropped to the snow, hugged her knees to her chest, and begged for God’s forgiveness. Peace flooded her insides, a weight lifted from her, and after a while, she became aware of the cold seeping through her coat. Wiping her cheeks, she stood and brushed at the snow clinging to her clothes.

She frowned, her stomach muscles tightening. How long had she been out here? Surely it had to be nearly time for the service to start. Did she have time to run home and change? What about the mess at the church? Had they gotten everything squared away?

Brushing through the trees, getting dumped on with gouts of snow each time she encountered a low-hanging branch, she hurried toward the church. Along the way, she reminded herself of Todd’s words. The good people she’d yelled at were cleaning things up. They were serving, and they were just as capable, and in a lot of cases more capable, of taking care of things as she was.

When she reached the church, everything was dark. She ducked inside and lit a candle, checking the clock on the wall first. Forty minutes until the service. She hurried up the aisle. The stable, a new piano cover, the Christmas tree. Everything that could be put to rights had been. One would never know that disaster had struck only a short while ago.

She turned to the refreshment table. Six new jugs of cider sat at one end, flanked by a row of shiny tin cups. The floor beneath the table shone dark and damp from a recent mopping. She lifted the corner of a tea towel gaily embroidered with poinsettias and holly. Eight dark loaves of spicy fruitcake stood all in a row. Beth poked one of the loaves. It gave way like a sponge and sprang back. Not dry and crumbly, but moist and redolent. It appeared Sophie had finally hit on the right recipe for Christmas fruitcake after all.