Songs of Christmas (23 page)

Amanda had listened to the news on the radio that morning. It was hard to believe how many people were suffering and how much they had lost. Donations of clothes and food would not go very far toward replacing these losses, but it would be something, she reasoned.

Amanda soon lost sight of her parents. Everyone was going different ways. Her father left the church with her uncle Sam and a few other men to help some older congregants who were stuck in their homes. Her mother automatically gravitated toward the kitchen. Amanda followed as far as the door. It was filled with women, all much older and far better cooks than she.

“I’ve never seen such a thing, and I’ve lived here all my life.” Sophie Potter was at the stove, where two huge pots gave off the pleasing aroma of fresh clam chowder.

“It was just as bad in sixty-three,” Grace Hegman countered. “Don’t you remember?”

“I don’t recall nearly as many trees coming down,” Sophie replied. “But that was a wicked one, no question.”

Amanda watched her mother make her presence known and then slowly wheedle her way into the cooking. Amanda turned away with a smile. Before too long, Molly would have taken over the stove and Grace would be out in Fellowship Hall, sorting jars of peanut butter.

“Let’s help in here, Betty,” Amanda said to her little sister as they entered the hall. Betty clung to her hand, seeming daunted by the crowd. But once they were in the big room, she spotted a group of her little friends, helping their Sunday school teacher sort out children’s clothing.

“I’m going to help Miss Pam,” she told Amanda, then darted off.

Well, that was easy. Amanda had expected to have her little shadow around all day. Now she had to figure out where she could help.

Her aunt Jessica walked by, carrying a pail full of rags and two mops. “Can I help you clean something?” Amanda offered.

“There’s water all over the sanctuary floor. Some windows are broken.”

Amanda knew that already. She took a mop and followed Jessica to the sanctuary. A few of the deacons were there, along with Reverend Ben. They had pushed the pews to one side of the wooden floor and were cleaning up water and debris on the other.

“Amanda, good to see you,” Reverend Ben greeted her. “I was so relieved to hear that you got home all right.” Reverend Ben had called her house the night of the storm, just to make sure she was home safe.

“I saw the windows in here break that day,” Amanda admitted. “I should have told you then.”

“Don’t let it trouble you,” he replied. “I don’t think anything could have been done until the storm was over anyway. And Gabriel has already patched them up with duct tape and plastic.”

Gabriel was here. Amanda had to force herself not to look around for him. She hoped he hadn’t already left.

“But I should never have left you and Mrs. Honeyfield here,” Reverend Ben went on. “The weather report I was listening to said the heavy rain wouldn’t start until the evening, and I believed them.”

“That’s all right, Reverend. The storm came in faster than anyone expected. I’m just glad I’m here to help clean up.”

“So am I. What’s that saying—‘many hands make light work’?” said another voice.

Amanda turned to see Gabriel. He stood nearby, smiling at her, a large mop in hand. The minister was called away then by someone with a question, and Amanda found herself alone with Gabriel.

“I thought you would be in Texas by now. Did the storm delay your trip?”

Amanda shook her head. “I didn’t get called for the audition.”

“Oh . . . I’m sorry. That’s too bad.” He looked genuinely concerned for her. “You must be disappointed.”

“Yeah, I am. Or, I was. Until the storm came. It’s been a big distraction,” she admitted. “And it put things in perspective. I mean, in the big picture—having a roof over your head and your loved ones safe and all your belongings and memories not floating away—missing out on a job isn’t such a big deal, right?”

He nodded. “Right. Totally. I think the last few days have helped a lot of people count their blessings.”

He started mopping the water and she did, too, working near him.

“How about your house? Was there any damage?” she asked.

“No, we got off easy. But a tree fell on the back of my shop and broke some glass, my own projects mostly. I should have stored them more carefully, I guess. But it’s a small thing when you compare it to what other people have lost and are going through.”

Amanda glanced at him, wondering if he was really all right about his artwork being ruined. It was hard to tell. She didn’t know him all that well yet, she realized. “Well, it is a loss. It’s your work, and it’s irreplaceable. I’d like to see some of it sometime,” she added.

He was squeezing out the mop, and the muscles in his arms showed through his long-sleeved cotton shirt. “Sure, anytime . . . Does that mean you’re sticking around?”

She wasn’t sure how to answer that. She didn’t plan on staying here forever, but it seemed that God had a different plan for her right now. “Oh, I’ll be here awhile, I guess. There’s not much going on around the holidays.”

“Good. Then maybe we can go out sometime, to the movies or something? When you don’t have any practice sessions or Barbie parties planned,” he teased her.

Amanda knew now there were few plans she would not cancel to go out on a date with him. “I’d like that,” she said honestly.

“Good. We’ll figure it out,” he promised.

They worked together for the rest of the afternoon, first cleaning up the sanctuary and then working in Fellowship Hall sorting clothes.

Amanda found she was getting to know Gabriel in a different way. He was still charming and friendly but not always so glib and teasing. He was kind and patient with older people, like Digger Hegman, who came to their table to help sort and wound up telling stories about the “heavy weather” he had seen at sea.

“There was this one storm, the waves were higher than a house. Higher than the church steeple probably. We were three men on board and tied ourselves down in the cockpit. We was rocking and rolling. Didn’t know which side was up. Figured we were going to sink or that boat was going to get broke apart, like a hammer cracking a nut. We were praying and crying. Ain’t no nonbelievers in a storm like that one,” he added with a cackling laugh.

“I’ll bet,” Gabriel said, encouraging him to continue.

Digger pulled his ear and squinted, as if that helped him remember. “After a time of tossing around, some big wave picks us up like a giant hand, see, and we feel ourselves flying through the air . . . Maybe for a full five minutes. I ain’t lying, son,” he promised. “I was counting on my old watch, right here.” He took out a round gold watch on a chain that was tucked in his vest pocket. “We were on the crest of that wave, just balanced there.”

“Really? That’s amazing,” Gabriel replied in a totally serious tone. “What happened? How did the boat come down?”

“We come down right on the foamy brine and rolled into shore. Easy as pie. Boat come to a full stop, stuck there, in the sand. No one was hurt neither . . . and we never lost our catch,” the old fisherman added, laughing softly. “Not one single clam.”

“That’s quite a story, Digger,” Gabriel said, and Amanda heard admiration in his voice, though whether it was because he believed the story or appreciated a tall tale, she couldn’t tell.

“It is, ain’t it? Someone up there heard our prayers, I guess,” Digger added with a note of awe.

Gabriel and Amanda exchanged a look. If even half that story was true, Amanda would have been surprised, but neither of them voiced a doubt to Digger. Sometimes the greatest wisdom was kindness, and Gabriel seemed to know that.

Grace Hegman, Digger’s daughter, had come along and now stood beside her father. “Are you telling that story about the flying clam boat again, Dad?”

He answered with a deep nod. “I am, Grace. Folks wanted to hear it.”

Grace glanced at the two young people. “Well, bless you both for listening . . . Time for us to go, Dad. I think you’re tired.”

Digger didn’t argue, but he did take a moment to say good-bye. “See you two in church. Keep up the good work,” he added.

“He’s a real character,” Gabriel said after the old fisherman left. “When I was little, I used to love his magic tricks.”

“Me, too,” Amanda said. She wondered now if she’d ever been standing beside Gabriel at some church picnic when Digger had taken out his cards and coins to entertain the children.

“Grace was very generous. She brought a heap of clothing from her store,” Amanda added. Grace owned the Bramble Antiques Shop, which was in a pretty Victorian on Main Street. She and Digger had lived in the apartment above the store for as long as Amanda could remember.

“So many donations. People are really reaching out to help,” Gabriel said.

Amanda nodded. “It’s sad to know people are hurting, but nice to see how everyone is responding. The town is really pulling together.”

“It is great. Too bad it can’t be like this all time,” he said. “Not the storm, of course. But the way everyone is so friendly, and how all the usual defenses seem to have melted away.”

“I was thinking the same thing,” Amanda said. “Why do we need a disaster to make us want to help other people? We should be like this all the time. I hope I can remember that.”

“Me, too.” He smiled and caught her gaze. “It’s one good thing to come out of the storm, I guess.”

She smiled back and nodded, feeling they were in sync today, working together and connecting in a deeper way than they had before. Much as she enjoyed his teasing mode, this was different, more meaningful. She felt good knowing that he cared about helping other people as much as she did. She was glad the storm had brought them back together, giving them a second chance to find out where their relationship could go. It was the one good thing about not being called for the audition in Austin, she had to admit.

While they were working, a woman with thick auburn hair and bright blue eyes came over to their table. “Gabriel, do you want some soup? They’re serving the volunteers now.”

“No, thanks, Mom. I’m all right.” He glanced at Amanda. “This is my friend, Amanda Harding. Amanda, this is my mother, Patricia.”

Amanda put down the sweater she had been folding and smiled. “Nice to meet you.”

Gabriel’s mother had the same warm smile and deep dimples as her son. “I’m glad to meet you, Amanda. Isn’t your father Dr. Harding?”

Amanda nodded. “The very same.”

“He’s a wonderful doctor. Please tell him I said hello.”

“I’ll do that,” Amanda promised.

Everyone in town loved her father . . . though Molly inspired mixed emotions at times.

Gabriel’s brother, Taylor, came up to the table. Amanda recognized him from the snowball fight. “Gabe, help us move the water,” he said. “We need some muscle.”

He disappeared into the crowd, and Patricia glanced at Gabriel. “Make sure he doesn’t hurt himself. He’s so macho now,” she said, rolling her eyes.

“I’ll go keep an eye on him. I can help move the water, too,” Gabriel added. “Catch you later, Amanda.” He touched her arm lightly.

“Right. See you.” Amanda watched him go, then realized his mother was watching her. She felt herself blush a little and tried to focus on sorting the clothes.

Patricia smiled at her, that wide, warm smile that was becoming a familiar sight. “It was nice to meet you, Amanda. Maybe I’ll see you in church sometime.”

“Yes, I hope so,” Amanda said, feeling suddenly shy.

She was glad that Gabriel’s mother did not stay to make conversation. She felt a little tongue-tied. But it had been interesting to meet her.

Amanda stayed at church for the rest of the day, along with her family. They were all so tired by the time they headed home, they could hardly talk. But it was a good sort of tired, knowing they had worked hard to help others. Amanda knew she would do the same tomorrow. Reverend Ben was keeping the church open as a comfort center for as long as was needed, probably throughout the week.

As they headed up Main Street in her mother’s SUV, Betty pointed out the window. “Look at the lights. Aren’t they pretty?”

“What lights, honey? There aren’t any . . .” Her mother turned, starting to correct Betty, then her eyes widened. “Betty’s right! The power came on in the village. It must have just happened. I wonder if it’s on at our house yet.”

Amanda did a double take. It was true. The power had come back on in the village, and one strand of holiday lights that had been strung across the street a few weeks ago miraculously had not been blown down like the others.

It hung very low and on a crooked angle over the road, and the star in the center was missing half its tinsel. But the lights still glowed, cheering their way and reminding Amanda that Christmas would come, storm or no storm. Some things could not be stopped or delayed—not even by the fury of Mother Nature.

* * *

“WHAT WAS THAT . . . THAT THUD?” LILLIAN SAT UP SHARPLY. THE
book she had been reading with her flashlight fell to the floor, as did the flashlight.

She realized she had drifted off for a moment and couldn’t figure out where she was . . . or what was going on around her. Why was her grandson Tyler staring at her? Was she at Jessica’s house?

“That was just the sound of the power coming back on,” Tyler told her. He got up from his chair and bent to pick up her book and light. She realized finally that she was in her own house, and Tyler was just here to visit, along with his father, Sam. Everyone had been taking turns babysitting for them, which had been quite annoying. But necessary, she supposed. Not because of her. But for Ezra.
Just in case,
she reminded herself silently.

Sam walked in from the kitchen. “The power is on. Great, right?”

“Amen to that,” she said quietly. Never underestimate Sam Morgan’s talent for stating the obvious. Still, Sam had grown on her over the years. He was good man, a loving husband to Jessica, and a wonderful father to their three children.

“How is Ezra?” she asked. “Is he still napping?”

“He just woke up. He’s asking for you. I’m going to make him some tea. Would you like some—or a bite to eat?” Sam asked.