Christmas at Harrington's Page 6

  The organ started playing, and a choir somewhere in the back of the church was singing. Before long, the minister stepped forward and the sermon began.

  Fortunately, today’s sermon was nothing like the last one Lena had been subjected to. This man spoke in a happy tone and his words were actually encouraging. Although he did talk about hard times and major life challenges, he also made it clear that God was the great provider. He confidently proclaimed how God loved to step in when all else failed. He said that when everything looked hopeless, you could be sure that God was rolling up his sleeves. In fact, it almost seemed that this pleasant-faced minister was talking about Lena’s own life. Not that she particularly expected God to do some big miracle for her. But she was open to some kind of help. Wouldn’t it be about time?

  After the service, Moira made introductions. The young woman turned out to be her granddaughter, Beth. “And you remember my son, Sam, don’t you?”

  Lena nodded. “Yes. At the bus station.”

  “I can’t believe you took the bus again,” Beth said to Moira. “Someday you’re going to have to get on a plane, Grandma.”

  Moira laughed. “Not if I can help it.”

  “Grandma is terrified of flying,” Beth told Lena. “She’d rather ride a bus all night than take a one-hour plane flight.” Suddenly the girl looked uncomfortable. “Oh, are you like that too? Is that why you took the bus?”

  Lena smiled. “No, I don’t have a problem with flying. But the bus was fine too. That’s how I met your grandmother, and she even shared her dinner with me.”

  “I have an idea,” Moira said suddenly. “You and little Jemima will come to my house for Sunday dinner today.”

  “Well, I don’t know – ”

  “I won’t take no for an answer.”

  The idea of a free meal was appealing. “Okay,” Lena told her. “We’d love to come.”

  “Perfect!”

  “I should go get Jemima,” Lena said. “She won’t know where to go.”

  “Yes, you get her and meet me by the car,” Moira said.

  Lena explained the invitation to Jemima as they walked out to where the car was parked. “I want you to use your best manners,” Lena told her. “Put your napkin in your lap. Don’t talk with food in your mouth. That sort of thing.”

  “Okay.” Jemima nodded.

  “And remember Mrs. Phillips might have breakable things in her house,” Lena continued. “Don’t touch anything without asking, okay?”

  “I won’t.”

  Soon they were on their way, with Moira chatting happily. “I’m so glad I told Gretchen to make a roast today. I had already invited Sam and Beth over, but I knew there would be far too much food.”

  “Who’s Gretchen?” Jemima asked from the backseat.

  “She’s my helper and housekeeper.”

  “Do you have any pets?”

  “Just a funny old cat named Edgar Allen.”

  “Why is he funny?”

  Moira laughed. “Oh, he’s a bit grumpy and particular.”

  “What’s particular?”

  “Maybe you shouldn’t ask so many questions,” Lena warned Jemima.

  “It’s okay,” Moira assured her. “I love a curious mind.” She told Jemima about the old cat that had been fond of her husband before he died several years ago. “Edgar Allen never liked anyone besides Howard. And he’s turned into something of a recluse.”

  “What’s a recluse?” Jemima asked as Moira turned into what appeared to be a narrow road but was actually a long, private driveway.

  “Someone who keeps to himself,” Lena answered for Moira. “A hermit.”

  “I had a hermit crab once.” Jemima told Moira about her crab and how his shell was stinky, and then as they got out of the car, she told her about the goldfish Lena had gotten her. “It was my surprise,” she said, “for cleaning my room. Actually, Lena helped me clean my room. But she still got me a surprise. And her name is Sunshine because she’s all sunny and yellow. Not orange like most goldfish.”

  “That sounds very nice,” Moira said as she opened a side door to let them in. They went into a large kitchen with lots of windows and dark wood cabinets that were topped in a light-colored stone.

  “This is a really nice house,” Jemima said. “And it’s really pretty too.” Her eyes were wide as she looked around. “I never saw a kitchen this big and pretty before.”

  “Thank you. Sometimes I think it’s too big. But when I consider moving . . . well, it just sounds like too much work.” Moira led them past a dining area and into a spacious living room. “You make yourselves at home here. Meanwhile I’ll hunt down Gretchen and tell her to put a couple more plates on.”

  With Jemima trailing her, Lena walked through the large room, taking in the gleaming hardwood floors, oriental carpets, antique cabinets, elegant-looking couches and chairs, and even what appeared to be original art on the walls.

  “This is a really fancy house,” Jemima said quietly.

  Lena nodded as she sat on the sofa. It was covered in a tapestry fabric that reminded Lena of the forest with varying shades of green and touches of gold. “Let’s sit here,” she told Jemima. “And I don’t think you should touch anything, okay?”

  “Okay.” Jemima sat down and primly folded her hands in her lap. “Mrs. Phillips must be really, really rich. Did you ever see a house this fancy before?”

  “No, not really.” Although in some ways it was similar to her grandmother’s house. Oh, larger and more elegant perhaps, but her grandmother had similar tastes, and Lena remembered how she’d always felt like a little princess in that house – when she was allowed to go, which wasn’t often. Her father didn’t approve of his mother-in-law. He said she was “too worldly.”

  But at this moment, Lena felt totally out of place, almost like an alien in a foreign land. This home was so vastly different from how she’d lived the past eight years – so beyond her comfort zone. She’d had no idea that the woman she’d met on the bus lived like this.

  When she’d first met Moira, Lena assumed she was a widow who lived within her means, riding the bus to save money. But then she’d noticed Moira’s nice clothes and thought perhaps her means were not quite so modest. And when she’d seen the lawyer son and his fancy BMW, she grew curious. What kind of well-off son let his mother ride the bus? Then she learned about Moira’s fear of flying, and now she didn’t know what to think. Except that perhaps it had been a mistake to accept Moira’s invitation to Sunday dinner. And yet, it was a free meal.

  “Grandma told me to keep you company,” Beth said as she entered the living room, tossing her jacket and purse on a chair.

  “Oh, we’re okay on our own,” Lena assured her.

  “Okay, I said that all wrong. I wanted to come in here and keep you company. Otherwise I’d get stuck peeling potatoes like Dad.”

  “Your dad’s peeling potatoes?” Lena asked.

  “He probably wanted to anyway. He likes to tease Gretchen.”

  “Where’s Ed – what’s his name again?” Jemima asked Lena.

  “Edgar Allen.”

  “Oh, you mean the cat,” Beth said. “Old Edgar Allen is such a grump, I don’t think you’d really want to meet him.” She sat down in one of the club chairs across from them. “So you must be Jemima.”

  Jemima nodded with wide eyes. “Who are you?”

  “I’m Beth.”

  “Mrs. Phillips’s granddaughter,” Lena explained.

  “How old are you?” Jemima asked.

  “Fourteen.”

  Jemima looked impressed. “That’s pretty old.”

  “I guess. How old are you?”

  “Six and a half.”

  “That’s pretty old too.” Beth stood up. “Hey, I have an idea. Do you like toys?”

  Jemima’s eyes lit up. “Yeah!”

  “There’s a bunch of my old Barbies and stuff downstairs. We could go play with them if you want.”

  “Really?” Jemima was already on he
r feet.

  “Sure. Come on.” Beth reached for Jemima’s hand then looked at Lena. “Is that okay with you?”

  “It’s great with me. I know Jemima would love to play.”

  Beth frowned. “Grandma said you’re not Jemima’s mother. So who are you?”

  Lena considered this. Who was she? “Just a friend,” she said.

  “A really, really good friend,” Jemima proclaimed. Then she turned to Beth. “Where’s your mother?”

  Beth sighed. “My mother’s in heaven.”

  Jemima’s eyes got really wide. “In heaven?”

  Beth smiled and took Jemima’s hand. “But it’s okay. I know she’s happy there.”

  The two had barely left the room when Moira’s son came in. “Would you like something to drink?” he asked her in a polite but formal voice. “Coffee, tea, ice water?”

  “No thank you,” she answered. The truth was she would have loved a cup of coffee. But something about his attitude made her refuse it.

  “Okay.” He rested his hands on the back of the club chair, just standing there and studying her. Once again she was painfully aware of her less than fashionable ensemble, but she resisted the urge to check for sweater balls on her elbows.

  “My mother told me about you.” His eyes, like his daughter’s, were dark brown. But unlike Beth’s, his seemed hard and penetrating. And suddenly she felt as if she were on the witness stand about to be cross-examined by the prosecutor.

  “What did she tell you?”

  “She mentioned that you were just released from prison.”

  Lena clasped her hands together and looked directly at him. “That’s true.”

  “And for some reason my mother thinks there’s more to your story, or perhaps you got a bum rap or were treated unfairly . . . something to that effect.”

  Lena didn’t respond, but her eyes remained fixed on him. What was he trying to accomplish here? What was his angle? She knew he had one.

  “And perhaps my mother is right . . . or maybe not. But I want to make it crystal clear to you that my mother means the world to me, and if anyone tried to take unfair advantage of her kindness and generosity, I wouldn’t hesitate to step in.” He glanced over his shoulder as if to make sure Moira wasn’t nearby. “And it wouldn’t be the first time either.”

  “I see.” Lena felt a tightness in her chest and had a sudden urge to jump up and run. Really, what was she doing here?

  His features softened slightly. “Just so you know, I’m all for helping people – I mean people who want to be helped and rehabilitated. But not for someone who is only looking for a free ride.”

  “Well, your mother did offer me the free ride to church. But maybe I shouldn’t have accepted.”

  He smiled as if she’d made a joke. “Well, that’s not the kind of free ride I was talking about.”

  Lena stood. “Perhaps it would be best if Jemima and I left.”

  “No, no,” he said quickly. “Don’t do that.”

  Lena straightened her shoulders and looked him directly in the eyes with a kind of resolve that felt foreign to her. For some reason she wanted to stand up for herself. Maybe she was just sick and tired of being walked on.

  “I refuse to stay where I’m not wanted,” she began in a firm voice. “You see, Mr. Phillips, I’ve been through enough false accusations and wrong judgments to last a lifetime. And if I’m about to be subjected to more, I will leave. Please give your mother my apologies.”

  She looped the handle of her handbag over her arm, picked up her ratty-looking purple parka, and headed off to find Jemima. Enough was enough!

  CHAPTER

  7

  Lena didn’t get far. She wasn’t even halfway down the stairs before Moira’s son had his hand on her shoulder, apologizing like an errant schoolboy. “I’m sorry,” he said a bit breathlessly. “It’s just that I’m the only one my mother has to watch out for her, and sometimes she needs my protection.”

  “I understand.” She glared at him. “Now if you’ll let me go, I’d like to get Jemima and – ”

  “Please, don’t go,” he pleaded. “My mother will be so hurt. And then I’ll have to tell her it was my fault and – ”

  “Well, it is your fault, isn’t it?”

  He rubbed his hand through his short hair. Although it was graying, it appeared to have once been dark like his daughter’s. “Yes. I’ve already said that, and I’m sorry.”

  “I accept your apology. But I don’t care to stay where I’m not welcome.”

  “Lena?” Moira called from the living room.

  “Please,” he said quietly. “Just stay for dinner. I don’t care whether you forgive my rudeness or not. In fact, you can completely ignore me. But for my mother’s sake, stay.”

  “I don’t think – ”

  “I’ll even make it easy for you. I’ll leave and you won’t have to put up with me. I’ll pretend to have an emergency with a client.”

  Lena didn’t know what to say.

  “Lena? Beth? Jemima? Samuel?” Moira called. “Where has everyone gone?”

  “I’m coming, Mom.” Sam moved past Lena with a hopeful expression. “I’m sorry, Lena. Really, I am. Sometimes I’m just a big buffoon.”

  Lena followed him up the stairs, keeping a safe distance. She had no idea how to handle this. Everything in her was screaming, Just leave! And yet there was Jemima. What would she tell her? And how would she explain this to dear Moira?

  “There you are,” Moira said as Lena came into the living room.

  “The girls went downstairs,” Lena said. “I was going to check on them.”

  “And I got a call from a client who needs my immediate attention,” Sam said quickly. “Sorry, Mom, but I’ll have to split.”

  “But it’s Sunday – why do you have to work on Sunday?”

  “You know what they say . . . no rest for the wicked.” He grabbed up his coat and gave her a peck on the cheek.

  “Dinner won’t be for an hour or so,” she called as he was leaving. “Perhaps you’ll be done in time to join us.”

  “I don’t know, Mom. I’ll come back as soon as I can. If I don’t make it, just save me some leftovers.” And then he was gone.

  Lena felt a mixture of relief and guilt. But Moira seemed perfectly composed as she took Lena’s purse and parka and set them on a bench near the foyer. Then she went back to the living room and sat on the sofa, patting the spot beside her. “Come sit with me, Lena.”

  Lena complied.

  “I’m glad the girls are downstairs,” Moira told her. “And I’m even glad that my son flew the coop.” She chuckled. “I suspect he felt outnumbered by females anyway. Now you and I can really talk.”

  “Talk?”

  “Yes, dear. If you don’t mind, I’d like to hear your whole story. And I promise that you can trust me with it. I already know that you’ve been in prison. But I have a strong impression that it wasn’t your fault. Please, tell me what happened. Like I said, the roast won’t be ready for another hour anyway.”

  Lena took in a slow breath. Her story. Would she even be able to tell it? The last time she’d attempted to, no one believed her anyway. Not anyone in the church. Not even her own parents. So she’d simply shut up . . . or maybe she’d shut down.

  “I don’t even know where to begin, Moira.”

  “I know your ex-husband was a minister,” Moira said, “but not a very good one. Why don’t you start there?”

  “I’m not sure I can tell everything . . . It’s a very painful story.”

  Moira patted Lena’s knee. “But sometimes it’s good to tell someone. It might help the wound to heal a bit.”

  Lena took a deep breath, trying to think of a place to start, something that might help make sense of something so senseless. “My family was always very involved in our church,” she began. “My father’s grandfather had helped build the church during the Great Depression. Ever since he was a boy, my father had wanted to be a minister. Unfortunately, he wasn
’t very good at it.”

  Moira nodded. “Preaching does seem to be a calling, a gift – not everyone would have it.”

  “Yes, and it frustrated him a lot. It also frustrated him that I didn’t take missions courses in Bible college like he wanted me too. Instead, I took accounting because I loved numbers. After graduation, I worked for a small accounting firm in our town. It wasn’t long before my father volunteered me to help with the church’s books too. It was only a part-time thing – I did their quarterlies. It was pretty simple and straightforward and I didn’t even mind helping.”

  “Did that make your father happy?”

  “I don’t know. He never was a happy sort of person. And it bothered him that I didn’t get married. He thought that was what all women should do. But I was very shy and I never really dated. In fact, everyone who knew me thought I’d end up an old maid.”

  “But you’re smart and pretty and nice.” Moira smiled warmly.

  Lena shook her head. “I never felt that way. And when I hit thirty and was still single, I thought I really was going to be a spinster. I lived at home, paying a bit for rent, but also saving my money because I wanted to move out. Naturally, my father was opposed to this. But then he was opposed to almost everything I wanted.”

  “He sounds like a hard man.”

  “He was a very hard man.” Lena sighed. “Then the minister of our church was retiring, and my dad, being a deacon, brought one of the candidates home for dinner one night. Daniel Markham was being considered for the new minister. And I suspect since he was single, my dad thought he’d make a good husband.”

  “Oh.” Moira nodded. “I get the picture.”

  “Daniel told us his wife had died a few years ago and that he needed a fresh start. He actually seemed like a nice person. He spoke well. He was nice looking. And although he was almost ten years older than me, I actually felt attracted to him.” Lena shuddered to remember those old feelings. It almost made her feel sick to recall that part of her life. How could she have been so deceived?

  “So Daniel Markham was selected to replace your minister?” Moira continued for her.