Love Inspired December 2014 - Box Set 1 of 2: A Rancher for Christmas\Her Montana Christmas\An Amish Christmas Journey\Yuletide Baby (7 page)

They had worked together for weeks now, and all the while she had kept her true identity and purpose from him. How could she tell him the truth and ever face him again afterward? She could almost see his disappointment and feel the change in him. The very idea made her heart hurt; so did the notion of never seeing Ethan again, but how could she stay in Jasper Gulch with this secret hanging over her head, especially since Rusty Zidek had confirmed his suspicions about her?

If she didn't confront the mayor as Rusty wanted, would Rusty divulge her true identity? She couldn't trust that he wouldn't, perhaps not right away but eventually. If he spoke up, she'd either have to deny his claims—in other words, lie—or try to prove them, but all she had as proof were her great-grandmother's words, a name and an old photograph.

Robin didn't know what to do. She couldn't go to the Shaws with the flimsy proof she had, she couldn't count on Rusty to keep quiet indefinitely and she couldn't confess to Ethan. She finally came to the conclusion that she would have to leave Jasper Gulch, but she couldn't go while Ethan was so dependent on her. In the end, she decided that she would stay until after Christmas. It was only twelve days away. She would help Ethan provide his congregation with the centennial Christmas celebration that he envisioned. If God allowed and Rusty was kind, she might even hang around for the dedication and opening of the museum on New Year's Eve, but then she would leave Jasper Gulch and the friends she'd made here. And, sadly, any hope of connecting with her Shaw family.

She would leave behind any chance of fulfilling her great-grandmother's deathbed wish for her, any chance of being accepted by her Montana family.

And Ethan.

She would leave Ethan and even the dream of anything they might have had together.

In fact, it was probably best just to nip that in the bud now before she managed to break her own heart. If it wasn't already too late.

* * *

Christmas carols had never sounded so merry to Ethan as they did that Sunday morning. He and Robin had toiled side by side the day before, though each had been absorbed with separate responsibilities. Nevertheless, he had been keenly aware of her every moment of every hour. She had seemed distracted, even flustered, at times, and he'd been almost too busy himself to do more than give her a passing suggestion here or there. Every time, she'd regained her equilibrium and forged on with the work at hand. He'd found himself taking great pride in her.

Without even realizing it or him intending it, she'd stepped into the role of helpmeet, acting as his partner in many ways. The idea both disturbed and entranced him, so much so that for the first time he began to question his conviction that God meant him to remain alone.

She'd looked exhausted at the end of the day, tempting him to ask her to join him for dinner. He'd refrained, fearing his own motives. Instead, he planned ahead and laid up a Sunday meal, a hearty soup, made mostly from a mix, that bubbled away in a Crock-Pot in the church kitchen as he preached.

Who, after all, could mistake a bowl of soup in the church kitchen for a date? They'd go over the checklist for the pageant and the Christmas service to see what remained to be done, enjoy a hot meal and perhaps find a moment of privacy in which to discuss roping the bells. He could almost smell the soup from the pulpit and eagerly looked forward to that moment when he could take her hand in his as they bowed their heads in a prayer of thanks over the simple meal.

After the service, he dutifully stood at the back of the sanctuary, offering his hand to everyone who came to him. Robin trudged up the center aisle, her handbag hanging from her shoulder by a long strap. He offered her a smile, along with his hand, and pulled her to his side.

“Could you wait with me a minute? I have something to ask you. Just let me finish up here first.”

She seemed a tad reluctant, and who could blame her? He'd heaped mountains of responsibility on her slender shoulders of late.

“Nothing to make more work for you,” he promised, ducking his head.

She smiled wanly and stayed put, shifting her weight from foot to dainty foot. Finally, they were alone in the sanctuary, sunshine gilding its windows and igniting a golden glow in the pale woodwork dressed with fragrant evergreens and cheerful holly, the big red bows and white chrismon symbols lending a true holiday feel to the place. Anticipation welled up in Ethan.

“Will you take Sunday dinner with me? I have it pretty much ready in the church kitchen. I thought we could go over a few things in peace and quiet, away from the chaos.”

Her face fell before he got all the words out. “Oh, Ethan, I don't know. I, um, I'm so tired. I—I think I must be coming down with something.” She lifted a hand to her throat. He noticed that her fingers shook. Automatically, he reached up to feel her forehead, but she darted back a step. “I—I probably should've stayed away this morning. Don't want to expose anyone to...anything.”

“I've made soup,” he said, gesturing helplessly. “At least take some with you.”

She shook her head. “No. No, I couldn't. I...I couldn't eat now. I just couldn't.” With that she turned and hurried out into the vestibule.

He went after her. “Maybe I ought to drive you home.”

“No, please. I just...” She reached into the coat closet, grabbed her overcoat and ran from the building without even bundling up first.

Concerned, Ethan followed her out onto the boardwalk and watched as she hurried to her car while frantically digging in her bag for her keys. She dumped her things into the vehicle then climbed in after them and was driving away in mere seconds.

A shiver of foreboding went through him. She didn't seem desperately ill, merely
desperate.
Now that he really thought about it, she'd acted a little distant and uncomfortable yesterday. He'd thought it a matter of her taking on such a prominent role in the holiday preparations, but could it be that their nondate had affected her more than he'd realized?

Had he hurt her with that impulsive kiss and his apology afterward? It had hardly been a kiss at all, really, but had it been a step too far for Robin? She was certainly avoiding him. Could it because of the apology?

Was it possible that Robin actually
liked
him? She'd said that he needed a better woman than her, but he'd thought that was her humility talking. Could she think that
he
judged her as lacking, that
he
didn't think she was good enough for him?

The truth was just the opposite! She was everything for which he could possibly hope, everything wonderful he could possibly imagine—and for which he never dared to ask.

He didn't know what to do now. His hand drifted up to the collar at his throat, and he turned back to the church, always the source of his greatest solace. As he walked, he began to murmur a prayer.

“Lord, I'm in a quandary here. I need some guidance.”

As he went through the motions of preparing and eating his lonely lunch, he talked it out with God, and in the end he understood that he was as much pastor as man, though with Robin he seemed to have a difficult time remembering that. She might not be a formal member of his congregation, but she had rendered much aid to him and the church. He owed her pastoral care.

He waited until after the evening service, unsurprised that she did not put in an appearance. After everyone had left, he packaged up the remaining soup, some bread, juice and canned fruit cocktail and drove over to the inn. Knocking, he announced himself, then prayed that she would open the door for him. When she finally did, she wore a fluffy pink bathrobe over a pair of old jeans and an oversize T-shirt, her stockinged feet stuffed into a pair of old slippers that had seen better days. With her pale gold hair piled on top of her head in a wobbly bun, she couldn't have looked more adorable, despite her red-rimmed eyes and swollen nose. He couldn't decide if she'd been crying or if she was truly ill. Either way, she needed a bit of comfort from someone. He held out the sack of foodstuffs.

“I thought you might feel more like eating now.”

Nodding, she took the brown paper bag from him. “I am kind of hungry. Thank you.”

“It's chicken noodle soup,” he said, standing in the open doorway as she carried the bag to the tiny kitchenette. “And some other stuff.”

“Looks good,” she said listlessly, rummaging around in the bag. She glanced back over her shoulder at him, saying, “You're letting all the warm air out.”

He stepped inside and pushed the door almost shut, waiting while she carefully set the food on the narrow counter.

“I'll enjoy this,” she said in a nasal tone, her back to him. “Thank you again.”

“My pleasure,” he told her.

She folded the bag, her slender fingers smoothing each crease precisely, before turning to face him. Then they both spoke at once.

“About this morning...”

“You're more than I deserve.”

Stunned into momentary silence, they took each other's measure, both frowning. Then again, they spoke at the same time.

“What about this morning?”

“I don't understand.” She waved him into silence. “What do you mean, more than you deserve?

He didn't know what had possessed him to say it, but now he had to explain it. Licking his lips, he picked his words. “Any man would be blessed to have you, Robin, myself included. Never think otherwise.”

She turned her back on him, and his heart dropped like a stone. He fought the urge to reach for her, and despite his best intentions found himself standing behind her, his hands on her upper arms. He could feel her trembling, and pitched his voice low to hide his urgency.

“Robin, what is it?”

“Don't ask,” she croaked.

Something was very wrong here, much more than he'd assumed. “You can tell me anything.”

She slipped out of his reach, folding her arms. “Please don't ask. Please, Ethan.”

He understood then that whatever it was, she felt that she couldn't share it with him. His thoughts circled back to the things that he had not yet shared with her: a girlfriend dead on the streets of Los Angeles because of his choice of friends, a father in prison, a sister who wouldn't even speak to him.

Perhaps her secrets would not carry the same weight as his, or perhaps they would. It really didn't matter. Nothing she could tell him would make him think any less of her. But could he trust that she could truly say the same about him?

“When you're ready to talk,” Ethan said softly, “I'm here.”

She nodded, but he left there with the impression that she never intended to say a word about what was really bothering her. That being the case, how could he possibly share what was in his own heart? Perhaps, he told himself, that was as it should be. He determined to place the matter at God's feet and leave it there.

On his way home, he determinedly went over his plans for the Christmas celebration and quickly realized that the next thing on his agenda was special music. He'd barely dropped his keys into the dish on the side table in his tiny entry hall when he recalled that he had some old music to go through. He put that at the top of his to-do list for Monday morning.

Then he took off his collar, put on some sweats and went down into his basement to pump iron and talk to God.

Who else, after all, could he trust with his secrets?

Chapter Seven

F
eeling guilty, according to Robin's great-grandmother, was a waste of time and a distraction. Guilt, she had maintained, was meant to spur one to repentance. After true repentance, it served no useful purpose. It merely sidetracked one from doing what one ought to do, most specifically, performing God's will. Recalling that sage advice, Robin realized over a bowl of Ethan's soup what she had to do about the lie she'd let him believe.

Though technically she'd felt miserable and hadn't wanted to expose anyone to her lousy mood, she was as guilty of untruth as if she'd claimed outright to have a cold. Once she'd apologized to God, she began to feel a bit better, but the real relief came the next afternoon when Ethan arrived at the museum bearing a box filled with books, photos and papers, including a stack of old music scores.

“I was going through some things,” he explained, setting down his burden on Robin's desk, “and I realized that this lot belongs with you now. I'd like copies for the church, but I didn't think I ought to make them myself. I wouldn't want to degrade anything, especially the hand-copied pieces. Some of this sheet music looks to be nearly a hundred and fifty years old.”

Astonished, Robin picked up her phone and asked Livvie to come in at her first opportunity, adding, “You won't believe what Ethan's brought in.”

Livvie replied that she needed a few minutes. That gave Robin enough time to set things right with Ethan.

“Thank you for bringing this in. Before Livvie gets here, I just want to apologize for yesterday.”

“You don't owe me any apologies, Robin.”

“I do. I wasn't ill. I was upset.”

He showed no surprise. Instead, his warm brown gaze captured and held hers. She could almost feel his tender embrace. “Care to tell me about it?”

“No. I...” She shook her head, casting her gaze downward. “I just can't. Not now.”

“All right,” he said, his voice like silk. “Whenever you're ready.”

She lifted her head in an agony of doubt. “What if I'm never ready?”

The sadness and empathy of his smile made her want to cry. “We all have secrets at some time, Robin. But not from God. He knows all, and He waits to see how well and wisely we handle what we keep from each other. Scripture commands us to walk as children of light. That means that all things that are kept in darkness must eventually come to light. Pray about it, and I trust you'll see your way through.”

“But I may have already waited too long. What if it's already too late?”

“It's never too late. God will make a way.”

Oh, how she wanted to believe that, but if that was true, then why hadn't Great-Grandma Lillian—or rather, Lucy—come back and told her family what she'd done? Why hadn't she confessed to faking her own death so she could be with Great-Grandpa Cyrus?

Livvie came into the room then with a pair of gloves in hand. Robin took hers from a drawer and pulled them on so they could go through the box without damaging its contents.

“Oh, this is good stuff, Ethan,” Livvie said as they spread out the contents on the worktable in Robin's office. “How did you come across it?”

He explained about going through old music files looking for appropriate arrangements for the Christmas services.

“That reminds me, Robin,” he said, “we're putting together a women's a cappella group to sing on Christmas morning. I wonder if you might be interested.”

She immediately began hedging. “Oh, I don't know if—”

“I get that you're already loaded up with responsibilities,” Ethan broke in smoothly, “but you told me that you sung in college, and it's just one song. Plus, you'll be out of sight the whole time.” He pulled a folded sheet of music from the chronologically displayed papers on the table and handed it to her.

Cautiously, she opened it and began to read both music and words. It wasn't really a Christmas carol but a song about bright, pure, holy love. The music was written in a simple but haunting four-part harmony that would play to good effect in a cappella. It occurred to her that the addition of a pair of simple handbells could make this a very Christmassy song indeed.

“I don't suppose you have any handbells, do you?”

Ethan's gaze quickened. “As a matter of fact, we do.”

“Wouldn't they sound sweet at the beginning and again just here?” She pointed to a rest in the music score. “And here.”

He beamed at her. “I'll take that as a yes. And the handbells will be ready for practice on Wednesday after the midweek service. Oh, and don't forget pageant practice tomorrow evening.”

“Of course,” Robin murmured.

Glancing at Olivia, he added, “I trust you will copy the music for us.”

Smiling wryly, Olivia put a hand on her hip. “How many copies?”

“Four should do it. Uh, better make that five. And thank you. I've already blown my events budget, big-time.”

“Well, cheer up,” Olivia said. “It's almost the end of the year. In two weeks, the new year's budget will kick in.”

“I was talking about the new year's budget,” he divulged, heading for the door. “This had better be a Christmas to remember,” he told them, grinning, “because it's going to have to hold us for a long while.” With that, he strode from the room.

Robin looked at Olivia, and they both burst out laughing.

“Guess we'd better do what we can to make this centennial Christmas a success,” Robin proclaimed.

“One of us,” Livvie said drily, “is already giving it her all. Why don't you just admit you're interviewing for the position of pastor's wife?” Olivia teased. “Seems to me you've practically got the job.”

The room darkened, as if suddenly engulfed by a cloud. Robin ducked her head, pretending to focus on the materials spread out across the worktable.

“Don't be ridiculous. I'm not fit to be a pastor's wife.”

Pastor's wives did not lie. They did not hang around for months without divulging their true connections to people. They did not withhold vital information, especially from family. They did not disappoint their parents and grandparents and hide things from the men about whom they cared, good men, honest men.

“I don't think the pastor in question agrees with you,” Livvie quipped. “And I notice you don't deny that you want the position.”

“Will you stop being silly and get to work,” Robin snapped.

Obviously stung, Olivia drew back. “Sure,” she said after a moment. “Didn't mean to step on your toes.”

“It's not that,” Robin said, fighting to keep her voice level. “It's just silly, that's all.”

“I don't see what's silly about it,” Livvie remarked softly. “He obviously likes you a lot, and I thought you liked him, too.”

“I do like him,” Robin admitted, still not looking at her friend and coworker. “But nothing's going to come of it, Livvie. Nothing can.”

“I don't understand. Why not?”

“That's our business,” Robin whispered. “Please, just let it be.”

Olivia remained silent and still for a moment; then she squeezed Robin's shoulder and briskly said, “Let's get these things cataloged. I'm thinking these old hymnals and this sheet music would make nice additions to that display of guitars and harmonicas.”

“These photos of the old pump organ would make nice backdrops, too,” Robin said, grateful that the subject of her and Ethan had been dropped.

They chatted about the best process for blowing up and cropping the photographs and how to mount them in the back of the display. Meanwhile, Robin pictured in her mind's eye the poignant smile that Ethan had given her and heard his words whisper in her ears.

We all have secrets, Robin. But not from God.... All things that are kept in darkness must eventually come to light....

If Ethan was right, then eventually, one way or another, her secrets would all be revealed. Either she would tell them or Rusty would. She toyed with the idea of asking Rusty to keep his own counsel on the matter. He had kept her great-grandmother's secret after all—for decades! It didn't seem fair to ask him to keep hers on top of that, but she didn't know what else to do. Then Ethan's final piece of advice wafted through her memory.

Pray about it....

She could do that, and hope that Ethan's faith in her was not misplaced.

* * *

Pageant practice went smoothly on Tuesday, mostly because it involved only the older participants: the narrators, Mary, Joseph, the innkeeper, a single angel, the elder shepherds and the wise men. As a shepherd, Rusty was there, and Robin made sure to catch him after the practice.

She timed it so that they were outside on the boardwalk before she caught up to him, but he seemed to be expecting her, turning to study her until she caught up to him.

“Got something to say to me?”

“Let's get out of this cold first,” she suggested, aiming her key fob at her car and unlocking it.

“Don't mind if I do.” He hobbled over and opened the passenger door, while Robin hurried around and let herself in on the driver's side. As they both settled down into their seats, he said, “You haven't been to see the mayor.”

“No, not yet. And I hope you'll keep my true identity to yourself until I decide exactly what to do and when and how to do it.”

“You mean until you decide whether to tell the Shaws the truth or not, don't you?”

Robin took a deep breath. “I'm just not sure what purpose it would serve at this point.”

“Tell me this. What would Lucy want you to do?”

Sighing, Robin admitted, “She wanted me to tell them.”

“That's gotta be the deciding factor for me,” he declared, “but I won't get out in front of you on this.”

In other words, if she left without telling the Shaws the full truth, he would inform them of what he'd seen the night the car had gone off the bridge and of Robin's full identity, but not before then.

“I understand,” she told him. “Thank you.”

“I'm not doing it for you,” he said in a gravelly voice. “I'm doing it for Lucy. I was always half-sweet on Lucy. She was special, Lucy was, and I don't aim to fail her.”

“My great-grandmother would be very moved to think she inspired such devotion,” Robin said quietly.

“You think she doesn't know?” the old man scoffed. “If heaven's anything like I think it is, she knows that and more.”

Robin smiled and shifted in her seat. “Can I ask your opinion about something else? I've been thinking about this quite a bit lately, and I'm puzzled. My great-grandmother was a God-fearing lady. She had great faith and believed in doing the right thing, so why did she never come back and let her family know she was alive?”

Rusty lifted his hat and scratched his head. “Well, now, I can't say for sure, but I figure she didn't come back while Ezra was alive 'cause she knew he'd blame Cyrus and probably try to ruin him. Then, too, she gave up her share of the Shaw Ranch and all the Shaw holdings by faking her death. There'd have been legal problems if she'd showed up alive, even after Cyrus had passed. It might even have called into question the legality of her marriage, especially if she wasn't married as herself.”

“Oh, I hadn't thought of any of that.”

“Kinda like Jacob after he stole Esau's birthright. It was God's will for Jacob to get the blessing, but the way he went about it caused some problems, if you see what I mean?”

“I think I do.”

“Of course, Lucy was young when she came up with that plan,” Rusty mused.

“She told me that she didn't regret it,” Robin divulged, “except that it had cost me the connection with my family.”

“You know,” Rusty said, “Esau eventually forgave Jacob. Seems to me you oughta offer folks the same chance. Then again,” he added sagely, “maybe you're thinking that you don't want to ruin a certain someone's Christmas.”

She blushed at that and stammered, “I—I j-just w-want to get through the centennial c-celebrations.”

“Mmm,” he hummed, opening the car door, “and the pastor just wants your expert opinion on every little thing.” Before she could form any sort of rejoinder to that, he crawled up out of the car and closed the door.

Turning up the collar of his coat, he stepped up onto the boardwalk. Then he flipped her a wave and shuffled off toward his old Jeep.

Cold, Robin started the engine of her car. She glanced toward the front of the church as she put the transmission into gear and prepared to back out of the parking space. Ethan stood in the doorway of the vestibule, his hands in his pockets, shoulders hunched against the cold. With a nod of his chin, he turned back into the building. Obviously he'd seen Rusty get out of her car and must have wondered what they'd talked about, and just as obviously, he wasn't going to ask.

She wondered why that made her both grateful and sad.

* * *

Keeping his own counsel was a pastor's stock-in-trade, and to Ethan that meant not only keeping quiet about what his congregants told him, except where someone's safety might be in question, but also about what he observed on occasion. Not asking unwanted questions was proving to be more difficult, however, especially in Robin's case.

He couldn't for the life of him imagine what she and Rusty Zidek would sit in the cold to discuss. Still, if Robin remained unwilling to confide in him, Ethan didn't know what he could do about it. Pestering her was not likely to help. Either she trusted him or she didn't. Then again, why should she trust him with her secrets when he hadn't trusted her with his?

He thought about that when he saw her walk down the aisle to take a seat for the midweek service. She had pulled back from him, and no matter how often he told himself that was a good thing, he couldn't quite make himself believe it. The previous pastor's advice had been well meaning and perhaps even correct, but by following it, Ethan had made himself a hypocrite.