May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in him, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit. Romans 15:13
Luke 2:6-7
While they were there, the time came for the baby to be born, and she gave
birth to her firstborn, a son. She [Mary] wrapped him in cloths and placed him
in a manger, because there was no guest room available for them.
Bumping along on a lowly donkey, nine months pregnant, Mary prepared for the birth of her son, Jesus. She made the journey with her betrothed, Joseph, to the town of Bethlehem where they'd be counted and registered to pay taxes. Towards the end of a pregnancy, most women are mighty uncomfortable. I can't imagine riding a donkey on rough roads and bouncing around. But, Mary’s faith trumped her discomfort.
Womanhood
arrived early in Mary's day. History determines her to be anywhere from
fourteen to seventeen, a child in our culture. Yet her love for God matured and
grew in her few years. The angel who delivered the news that she'd give birth
to the Messiah, recognized this young woman's faith.
Mary, being
the faithful servant, accepted the angel's proclamation with grace and trust.
Trust plays
a huge part in Jesus' birth. Joseph trusted enough to wed Mary. The angel trusted God as he delivered his
messages. The shepherds trusted the angels and ran to see the baby. And Mary
trusted God with the glorious phenomenon of Jesus' birth.
As Mary
bumped along, I can't imagine the discomfort. But she moved forward as God
called her. She birthed the baby in a stable, most likely a cave where the
animals were fed and watered. Hopefully, she had clean straw and fresh water. Regardless,
Mary welcomed her child with joy that night.
As you think
about the troubles of life, the inconveniences, the losses, the illness, think
about Mary. In her discomfort and what was likely a troubled time for her, she
moved forward with trust and faith. Regardless of what's behind us, let's keep
our eyes on Jesus and celebrate the joy of this season.
Stop for a
few moments and breathe in the spirit of the season. Capture the essence of joy
Jesus brought to us. Then breathe out and share his hope.
Luke 2:15-18
When the angels had left them and gone into heaven, the shepherds said to one
another, “Let’s go to Bethlehem and see this thing that has happened, which the
Lord has told us about.”
So they hurried off and found Mary and Joseph, and the baby, who was lying in
the manger. When they had seen him, they spread the word concerning what
had been told them about this child, and all who heard it were amazed at
what the shepherds said to them.
Have you ever seen an alpaca?
Sometimes
confused with a llama—their ears are more rounded, their
bodies are smaller, and their fur is shaggier. A few years ago, Tim and I
visited an alpaca farm. The comical looking creatures, with their floppy hair, stood
in the field beside the Alpaca Meadows gift and wool shop. A lovely lady greeted
us and welcomed us into her store. After a little too much shopping, she
offered to show us her animals. If it hadn't been so muddy, we could have taken
one for a walk, instead, we tromped through the water-logged field for a
close-up experience. One of the alpacas, who is blind, came right to her
caretaker. She trusted her and allowed us to pet her fuzzy head, because she
knew her shepherd.
In Luke chapter
two, sheep trusted their shepherd and the shepherd trusted the Lord.
When the
angels appeared to the shepherds, fear struck them, until the angel told them
not to be afraid, but to trust. Once the shock of seeing and hearing the angels
sunk in, they hurried off to see the baby the angels proclaimed. Imagine—they arrived at the manger, a tiny baby lay in the arms of
his mother, and he is proclaimed the Messiah, the one they'd been waiting for.
No doubt the shepherds stood in awe. They'd heard God's promise of a Savior but
never expected to have the honor to be chosen to see him.
When they
left the manger, they didn't jog back to their hill. Instead, they shared the
good news—a Savior is born—the Messiah is here—we've seen him with our own eyes.
Jesus came
to the world to save us from evil and sin. He entered this world as a babe in a
manger. Smelly, stinky shepherds visited first, not kings or priests, but
everyday workers who spent time tending. And they spread the word "Jesus
is born" to everyone they saw.
From the
beginning of Jesus time on earth, God used ordinary men and women to spread the
gospel. He still does today. We don't need a fancy degree or title to be a
shepherd for Jesus. We just need to know how much he loves us.
Go tell
everyone that Jesus lives and loves them. He wants the world to know.
Luke 1:28-33
The angel went to her and said, “Greetings, you who are highly favored! The
Lord is with you.” Mary was greatly troubled at his words and wondered what
kind of greeting this might be. But the angel said to her, “Do not be
afraid, Mary; you have found favor with God. You will conceive and
give birth to a son, and you are to call him Jesus. He will be great and
will be called the Son of the Most High. The Lord God will give him the
throne of his father David, and he will reign over Jacob’s descendants
forever; his kingdom will never end.”
An angel carried hope to a broken world.
Years ago, I
sewed an angel costume for my daughter to wear in the church's Christmas play.
She was adorable. That same simple, white dress, and angel wings have been
passed down through the family. What a delight to see the little ones dressed
in glittery garland halos, and singing from their little hearts.
How do you picture an angel?
In my mind's eye I
see cherub cheeks, ringlets in their hair, and bright eyes. Their tiny barefoot
feet poke out under crisp white gowns. Each one stands erect and they sing the
most beautiful melody. But the angels in the Bible weren't cute little cherubs,
they were pictured as fierce warriors, men dressed in white, some bigger than
life.
God created
angels to minister to his people. In the Bible, angels prepared for spiritual combat,
while others delivered divine messages. Either way, they are prepared to battle
for and care for Jesus' followers.
Before Jesus
was born, they led the brigades to prepare the way for the King of Kings. In
the Christmas story these men God sent to earth, visited Joseph, Mary,
Zechariah, and the shepherds. They showed up to spread the good news of hope,
joy, and love.
You see, God
sent the angels with purpose. Our world is broken. God's people need heavenly
beings to fight for us, assist us, and speak to us. God asked his angels to
spread God's words. I've not seen an angel (that I know of) but I believe they
dwell among us. They minister to God's people even as they did in biblical
times.
Read the
Christmas story in Matthew and Luke and focus on the angels, find the joy they
shared as hope for our weary world.
Romans 15:13
May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in him,
so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit.
I can’t help but turn to one of my favorite verses as I consider the new year.
Christmas didn’t turn out as I had hoped this year. Illness
caused a shift in plans. Yet, we still spent time with family, as we could, and
worshipped the Savior we celebrate.
I was reminded one more time, that I’m not in control. I can
plan and prepare, but life sometimes takes all the lists and calendars and throws
them into a blender. I don’t recognize what pours out, but I understand
regardless plans work out and timing isn’t mine.
One thing I want to take from the Christmas shift is to always consider God in my plans. He knows what’s best for me and my
family. You see even though I didn’t get to have things my way, I was still
blessed beyond what I deserve.
As I move toward the shiny new year of 2024, I cling to Romans
15:13. I trust in God for the hope, joy, and peace He promises. I believe in
Jesus, who loves me and saved me, and I cling to the Holy Spirit and His power.
I pray as you look to the new year, you’ll seek Jesus and
the hope we have in him.
Blessings for 2024.
Luke 2:4-7
So Joseph also went up from the town of Nazareth in Galilee to Judea, to
Bethlehem the town of David, because he belonged to the house and line of
David. He went there to register with Mary, who was pledged to be married
to him and was expecting a child. While they were there, the time
came for the baby to be born, and she gave birth to her firstborn, a son.
She wrapped him in cloths and placed him in a manger, because there was no
guest room available for them.
God had a plan for a song and His Son.
O Holy Night, one of the most popular and often sung
songs at Christmas, was originally written by a French village merchant, Placide
Cappeau, who was also a poet and an atheist with the music written by, Adolphe
Adams, a Jewish man. Two unlikely people to pen a beautiful hymn about the birth
of Jesus. The local priest wanted a new song for the Christmas season, and he had
asked the local poet to write one. Eventually, the song was rejected by the
church in France, due to its origins.
God wasn’t finished with O Holy Night. Abolitionist John
Sullivan Dwight recognized the truth of the lyrics and brought the song to America, where people embraced the
beautiful message.
When God has a plan, no one can stop Him. The most wonderful
and amazing plan involved the humans He created. Even though Adam and Eve failed
in the Garden of Eden, God had a plan to return people to Him. He offered His
own son to the world, as a baby, who would grow to be a man, who would offer
his life as the ultimate sacrifice for sin.
Christmas is the celebration of the Holy Night Mary
delivered Jesus into our broken world. Amid the stockings and the tree, the
gifts, the food, and the tinsel, stop and think about the true reason for
celebration, the freedom Jesus offers and the love and grace God gives.
Merriest Christmas to you all!
Josh Groban sings my favorite rendition of O Holy Night. I
hope you enjoy it.
Isaiah 9:6
For to us a child is born, to us a son is given, and the government will be on
his shoulders. And he will be called Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God,
Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.
Peace on earth, good will to men.
On Christmas Day 1863, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow heard the
bells tolling in Cambridge and penned the poem, I Heard the Bells on Christmas
Day, later set to music by the English organist John Baptiste Calkin in 1872.
Longfellow had lost his wife to a fire and was left with six
children. His heart ached when his oldest son returned from the Civil War with
a gun shot wound. In his sorrow he sought to find hope.
I can’t imagine what life was like during the Civil War for
America, any more than I can fathom the countries who are war torn now. Longfellow’s
heart must have hurt. By 1863, He’d lost two wives, the second leaving him six
children. His son returned home wounded and nearly paralyzed. At that point he
struggled to write his poems, he was the most famous US poet at the time.
When he heard the bells ring out, he grasped on to the hope
they offered him. Hope for better and brighter days.
Christmas is a time of joy, but it can also be a time of
sorrow for many. Jesus wants us to know he came to bring peace to the hearts of
all. Isaiah proclaims Him as the Prince of Peace, the One who can take a broken
heart and restore it to fullness.
I love these glorious lines from the song:
Then pealed the bells more loud and deep:
“God is not dead, nor doth He sleep;
The Wrong shall fail, The Right prevail,
With peace on earth, good-will to men.”
No matter the circumstances surrounding the holidays or any
days, God is not dead and He’s not asleep. Instead, He holds me in sorrow and
in joy. He loves me and wraps me in comfort and peace.
As you celebrate the birth of Jesus, embrace Him as the
Prince of Peace.
Casting Crowns sings a beautiful version of I Heard the
Bells.
After Levi Swenson and Charlotte Mercer share months of promising texts and phone calls, Charlotte returns to Abbott Island for Christmas with her family. Will her dysfunctional family scare Levi away or will he and Charlotte meet under the mistletoe?
Luke 2:4-5
So Joseph also went up from the town of Nazareth in Galilee
to Judea, to Bethlehem the town of David, because he belonged to the house
and line of David. He went there to register with Mary, who was pledged to
be married to him and was expecting a child.
“Be prepared, just not to be safe, but to be a faithful
servant of God.”-Didi Bacon
Christmas takes preparation. With five children, four with spouses, and eleven grands, I have to begin preparing for the holidays early, because I prefer to take my time rather than stress.
For Christmas dinner, I keep it simple. Yet, the meal takes organization.
Yesterday, I spent a chunk of the day cooking hamburger for sloppy joes and chopping
peppers for pizza dip. When I finished, I tucked both into the freezer until
December 24. As I stirred the burger and cooked the pink out, my mind wandered
to Joseph and Mary. Weird, I know, but that’s how my brain works.
God had chosen Mary to be Jesus’ momma, and he picked Joseph
as Jesus’ earthly father because Joseph was a man of integrity who loved God. Obviously,
Joseph took care of Mary. When he heard Caesar Augustus called for them to travel
to Bethlehem for the census, he loaded the donkey (at least that's what we learned in Sunday school,) and he and Mary joined the
caravan on the journey. I’ve no doubt Joseph packed water and snacks, along
with blankets and bags of clothes. He prepared for the long trip, but he didn’t
stop there. His most important preparation wasn’t food or clothes, instead he
took the time to prepare his heart.
Joseph had accepted his role in the coming of King Jesus.
With willingness, Joseph humbled his heart and opened his mind to the changes
coming to his family. He looked to God with a servant’s heart and accepted the
part God asked him to take on. He chose to love the One who would change the
world, even as he raised Jesus as his son.
Joseph’s willingness to accept his circumstances kind of
blows my mind. His faith was extraordinary. His actions push me to prepare for Christmas, not in gift giving and cooking, but more
importantly, to prepare my heart to worship the King.
Christmas is about Jesus. He’s the reason we celebrate. With
humility, I ask God to open my eyes and heart in service to Him.
Prepare your heart to worship God and serve Him in this holy
season.
Today, I'm hosting Patti Shene Gonzales. Patti is an amazing encourager who has written her first Christmas novella. She shares a bit about herself, her journey, and her story, Cathy’s Christmas Confession: A Christmas Ridge Romance Book 3.
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The biggest stumbling block to my writing career came from my own weakness, my procrastination. As a member of American Christian Fiction Writers (ACFW.com) and an attendee at several writers conferences, I have encountered agents and editors interested in my work over many years. However, in my opinion, my manuscripts always needed improvement before submission, and therefore were never really 'finished'.
There were things I said I would never do if I did pursue a writing career. Number one, the last story I would have any interest in writing would be a Christmas story. It’s not that I have anything against Christmas. It is the most joyful and meaningful time of year. I just could not see myself coming up with the type of amazing Christmas stories that I have seen others write.
Second, I was never going to self-publish a book. I wanted my work to be accepted by a royalty paying publisher who, by contracting it, would validate that what I had written was worth publishing.
Sometimes God has other plans. He has an amazing way of changing the minds of even the most stubborn.
A few months ago, a friend invited me to participate with four other writers in a multi author series. This happened to be a Christmas series. She assured me that, having written Gunsmoke fanfiction in the past, this would be easy for me, since the setting and some of the characters were already established.
The project sounded intriguing, so I decided to accept the challenge. I encountered many obstacles along the way as I prepared this manuscript, mainly, as mentioned before, my almost pathological propensity to procrastinate.
I spent way too much time tossing ideas around in my head without writing them down. Suddenly, my deadline date loomed a mere few weeks away. Several nights found me up until 4 a.m., struggling to put the words together that would make a readable story. Sometimes, I went to the Lord in tears, wondering if this was a project I should pursue. The ideas just didn’t seem to be coming.
The more I wrote scenes and deleted them, changed the names of my characters, and tried to create conflict and resolution, the easier it became. I thank God for that. He has a way of putting ideas into a writer's head that can be transposed onto paper or a computer screen to convey a message.
I had promised myself that I would never publish a book that had not been edited by someone other than myself, I sent the manuscript to a friend who edits in an unusual manner. She is blind, so using a reading program, she picks up things the average person doesn’t, such as a missing open quotation mark, a missing period at the end of a sentence, a commonly misspelled word.
Next, I sent the manuscript to two friends who served as beta readers. These were authors I could trust to tell me if the manuscript had merit or did not deserve to see the light of day.
I then tackled the hurdle of learning how to self-publish the book through Amazon. That took a bit of time, but once I got the knack of the program, it wasn’t that hard. I spent several hours at my friend's home as she showed me how to upload the book to Amazon.
So, this aspiring writer who claimed she would never self-publish a book, especially a Christmas story, is excited to announce the publication of her first novella, Cathy’s Christmas Confession: A Christmas Ridge Romance Book 3. The book released on November 22, 2022 at this link (https://tinyurl.com/mr26ekaj) on Kindle. Hopefully, a print copy will follow.
If you choose to read Cathy's Christmas Confession, out of the many hundreds of Christmas stories that will be published this year, I will be truly honored. My prayer is that the story will glorify my Heavenly Father and bless you as the reader.
Christmas is not a time of joy for the hurting.
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David Martin
struggles with grief over the death of his wife. He blames God for her rapid
demise after her cancer diagnosis. Cathy reaches out to him with compassion and
support and soon enlists him in her mission to bring joy to others at Christmas.
Will their joint quest restore David’s faith?
David needs to turn loose of the past and embrace his future. Cathy has a confession to make to the entire community that may give David a different perspective of who she really is. Will her confession set her free?
Does God have plans in mind for the two of them they did not anticipate?
Check out our Amazon Christmas Ridge Romance page (https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0BLCJ9P9J) to learn about other books in the series and receive updates!
BIO:
Patti Shene Gonzales hosts Step Into the Light, a weekly interview
style podcast, where guests share their journey out of darkness or ways they
lead others back to light. She hosts writers on her two blogs, Patti’s Porch and The Over 50 Writer. Patti is published in two anthologies and local
publications and has three novels in progress. She enjoys writing, reading,
critiquing, and spending time with family and friends. Patti lives in Colorado
with her devoted feline companion, Duncan. Cathy’s Christmas Confession is
her first novella.
Visit Patti at her website www.pattishene.com
Facebook https://www.facebook.com/pattishene/
Twitter https://twitter.com/PattiShene
Luke 2:19
But Mary treasured up all these things and pondered them in her heart.
So many memories flood my heart at Christmas.
I confess. I put my Christmas tree up the day before Thanksgiving, this year. We were going to my sister’s house for the holiday, so no one would be visiting us. After I had prepared the food I was taking, I had time to set up the tree. As I fluffed the silver branches, I remembered when Tim brought home this beauty. He knew I wanted a silver one and went on the hunt for it. The tree has been with us for ten-plus years.
Each year as I adorn it with ornaments, the memories I’ve stored in my heart come to life. As the wrapping comes off of each bauble, I remember the person or occasion associated with the decoration. The first felt ornament I made, in sixth grade art class, still hangs on my tree. Along with our Christmas tree, decorations from my childhood adorn our home. With each one the thought of Christmases past tugs at my heart.
Imagine a young woman who an angel declared pregnant by God, traveling to another town at nine months pregnant, and giving birth to the King of Kings in a stable. Instead of being terrified or embarrassed, she treasured and embraced her experience. As a mom and a person who cherishes sweet memories, I love reading that Mary treasured and pondered what happened in her heart.
I’m sure those memories helped carry her through the death and resurrection of her Son.
Even as I contemplate the memories attached to my tree, I cherish the nativity ornaments that tell the story of the Savior come to earth as a babe.
Jesus brought hope to a dark world. Even as we navigate the chaos, hold on to the hope and tuck it into your heart.
Matthew 2:10
When they saw the star, they were filled with joy!
Jesus gives the true joy of the season.
In the book, Blessed
are the Misfits, Brant Hansen, Star 93.3 radio DJ, poses the question,
"Can a person have depression and joy at the same time?" That got me
to thinking, can we invite joy into our hearts during the holidays, regardless
of our circumstances or our feelings? Can I be joyful during the holidays even
when...
I'm a single parent and, by America's standards, I
can't buy what my children want...
I've lost a loved one who won't be there to wish a
Merry Christmas...
I'm a high school student who has no close
friends...
I'm a college student struggling to balance work and
school...
I'm a parent rushing from activity to activity just
trying to get it all done...
I’m single and all my friends are in couples...
I'm a soldier, out of the country, with no hope of
being home for the holidays...
I’m sick and not sure I can celebrate...
I'm just overwhelmed with all the preparation of Christmas...
I haven't experienced all of these scenarios, but
I've had my share of struggles
during the holidays. Circumstances that could
have stolen every speck of joy from my heart. Yet, God shined on me through His
people and His word. I found if I could hold on to one little twinkle of joy in
my heart, the fire would burn and spark delight in my soul.
Joy filled the wise men's hearts when they saw the star and realized Jesus was nearby. He is for us, too. Jesus is here with the joy we desire. Not happiness that's fleeting, but joy that underlies all circumstances. Even when everything seems difficult, frustrating, or hopeless Jesus' joy is like a buoy that helps me through the tough times. I think of it as heavenly delight that fills my soul.
I pray this Christmas you’ll seek hope in Jesus and discover
His spark of amazing joy.
Glancing left and right,
I crunched across the frozen weeds to the abandoned children’s home. I could
not afford to be spotted now. If only I could take a few seconds and snap some
pictures. The light from the early December sunset was perfect. Gashes of
blood-red light seeped through the clotted clouds, creating an ominous
background for the gray stone building that was rumored to be the scene of a
murder.
At the back wall of the home, I slung the strap for my
camera across my chest and climbed through an opening that once held a window.
I dropped to the bare ground, my long, dark gold braid catching on a loose nail
in the sill. I disentangled myself and crossed the dirt floor. The fire had burned
the wooden floor away. And the roof and the whole interior. The four stone
walls loomed above me like a medieval fortress as the sunset’s rays spotlighted
sections of the garbage-strewn floor.
I knelt by a large fireplace, straining to detect any
sound of psychics, ghost hunters, or thrill-seeking high school kids who had
come to catch sight of the ghost of Bella Rydell.
Nothing but a few caws from crows and sighs as gusts
of wind sailed through the empty window frames.
A lonely place. Very lonely, stuck on twenty acres of
unused county land.
Shaking off a shiver, I unzipped my down vest and
removed the two roses. I laid them on the rusty iron grate of the fireplace.
These would start everyone in the county talking
again.
I retraced my path to the window opening, hoisted
myself onto the sill, then sat suspended, my right leg swaying.
What was that?
Scrutinizing the naked trees, black against the
dimming sun, I held my breath.
Wind. Just wind, rattling the dried-up weeds. No
people.
Exhaling, I landed on the brittle grass and ran into
the woods. As I approached my battered, black truck, I took a few pictures. If
someone spotted me, I could say, with halfway honesty, I was out here capturing
the sunset.
An hour later, in my one-room apartment over Mrs.
Blaney’s garage, I warmed my hands around a mug of tea and stared at three
wrinkled envelopes.
Jason Carlisle. Walter R. Malinowski IV. Terence
O’Neil.
Those names on the envelopes were burned into my
brain.
I set down my mug, picked up my phone, and scrolled through
photos until I found my favorite. My mom and I stood on a beach in North
Carolina. She was in front since she didn’t even come to my shoulder. Her brown
hair had grown back long enough to mousse and brush back, and her cheeks had
filled out so the bones didn’t look razor sharp. I touched her beaming smile.
Mom,
I will do what you want. I promised. But I’ve got to do it my own way.
Since I’d placed the first pair of roses in the grate
on Halloween night, I’d gotten to know the men attached to the names a little
better.
But I still didn’t know which one was my father.
Or which one tried to murder my mother twenty years
ago.
Or if my father and her attacker were one and the
same.
Purchase link: Christmas Fiction off the Beaten Path
Chapter 1
I’M
NOT FOOLED, RAE. YOU’RE JUST LIKE YOUR MOTHER.
I
stared at the sheet of copier paper in my hand as the note fluttered in a gust
of January wind.
Really?
It had only taken three weeks for someone to hate me and my mom enough to leave
an anonymous insult?
Turning over the envelope, I saw my address was written in the same marker, same all-caps style. It was postmarked. I must have missed it when I grabbed my mail last night.
Shivering
on the miniscule landing to my apartment, I blew out a sigh, which formed a
little cloud in the freezing air. At least the idiot hadn’t crept up to my
mailbox in the dead of night. I shivered again, and it wasn’t from another
gust.
People
could hold a grudge in Marlin County, Ohio. I’d learned that in the last three
weeks since I discovered Mal was my dad and announced Bella Rydell was my
mother. The strained smiles, cold stares, conversations that didn’t get much
past “hello” and “I’m fine.” Mom had made a lot of enemies, but that was twenty
years ago. I’d told everyone who asked the story of how she’d been saved and changed
her life. Well, most of it.
I
shoved the piece of paper back in the envelope, tossed it inside my apartment,
and locked the door behind me.
Holding
my tripod and a roll of leftover bulletin board paper in one hand, I clutched
the strap of my backpack with the other and climbed down the icy steps to the
pad in front of the garage. Picking my way across Mrs. Blaney’s snow-covered
lawn, I pulled the keys to my ancient truck from the pocket of my down vest.
The Rust Bucket sat by the curb, draped in a thin layer of snow that couldn’t
disguise its demolition derby appearance.
After
ten cranks of the key, the engine caught. I grabbed the gear shift, and it
didn’t move. Not a millimeter. I hit the steering wheel. Not this morning.
Why this morning?
I
fished my phone out of the other vest pocket and checked the time. If I walked
fast and ran where it was safe on the slick pavement, I’d still make it to the
library on time. Although Mal had shown me how, I still couldn’t unjam the
gears without someone helping.
Grabbing
my backpack, and leaving the paper and tripod behind, I slammed out of the
truck. Some snow fell off. I wouldn’t have been surprised if both bumpers had too.
Avoiding
the slick sidewalk, I ran along the edges of the yards, heading
uphill to Main Street. In
Marlin County, if you weren’t going uphill, you were going downhill, sort of a
scaled down version of the West Virginia county Mom and I had lived in when I
was in middle school.
The
sun shone ice white in a clear sky so blue it looked like an illustration in a
hyper-cheerful picture book. But despite the sun’s dazzling appearance, not an
ounce of warmth made it to the hilly streets. I pulled my scarf over my mouth
and nose and held my arms tight against my sides. Maybe I should have taken Mal
up on his offer to buy me a proper winter coat.
I
zipped my vest to my chin. I hadn’t spent the past seven months figuring out
who my father was and if he had tried to murder my mom when she was pregnant
with me so I could live off of him. I was nineteen. I’d been on my own pretty
much since Mom’s last round with cancer. If I froze to the bone because my jean
jacket and vest only kept me warm above fifty degrees, fine with me. Nobody in
Marlin County was going to accuse me of being a manipulator. That’s what a lot
of people thought the daughter of Bella Rydell would be like.
Whoever
sent the note thought manipulation was an inherited trait.
My
left boot hit a slippery spot. I flung out my arms, steadying myself. With my
camera only wrapped in a towel in my backpack, I didn’t want to fall. Avoiding
broken bones was a good idea too.
At
the top of the hill, I passed the sandstone courthouse, decorated in icicles
like a giant wedding cake, glittering in the piercing sunlight. No time for a
photo shoot, although if I could capture the way the icicles glistened, it
could look like an ice castle in a fairy tale without any filters or photo
editing.
I
crossed Main Street, striped with white streaks of salt, followed Woodward
Avenue down along the side of the library, and turned into the parking lot.
Jill
Cerda, second-in-command and my boss when the library director wasn’t working,
tromped over to the employees’ entrance through piles of snow, her unzipped
coat flapping in the wind, her fine, graying hair dancing around her face. The
cold must not have bothered her. She had plenty of insulation—at least 200
pounds packed onto a body that was a lot shorter than my five-eleven.
I
assembled my professional smile, friendly but not too familiar. “Morning.”
The
slight tilt of her head might have been a nod back. Jill punched in the code on
the security keypad and sauntered inside. I hurried in as fast as I could
without running her over. Lowering my scarf, I drew in a deep breath of
unfrozen air, and my lungs appreciated it.
Jill
glanced at her phone. “Leandra is late.”
“She’s
not working today, ma’am. Leandra and Devon switched morning shifts, and Devon
won’t get here until after her girls head to school.”
“I
wasn’t informed of the switch.” Jill made a scolding noise with her tongue.
“Did they clear it with Barb?”
“I’m
sure they did, ma’am.” I took off my hat and fluffed my tangle of dark gold
hair.
“That
means you’re opening alone.” Jill aimed a finger at me. “You can’t goof off.
Keep your mind on your work.”
A
protest came to my lips, but I clamped them shut. Better to say nothing and get
away from her.
In
silence, we walked down the hall to the employees’ kitchen, flipping on lights
along the way. Three weeks ago, she wouldn’t have spoken to me like that. Since
she’d found out who my mom was, she hadn’t had a nice word for me.
I
hung up my coat on a rack, changed from boots to loafers, and put my lunch in
the fridge. From my backpack, I took out two books on photography I had to
return. I placed my backpack inside an empty cupboard. Leaving it by the coat
rack seemed a certain way to get my camera broken.
When
I entered the two-story lobby, the brilliant sunshine pouring through the tall,
narrow windows that faced Main Street almost made the overhead lighting
unnecessary. The harsh ceiling fixtures lit the room in a consistent, ugly
glare, killing the homey atmosphere the fireplace, overstuffed chairs, and
couch gave to the stacks and racks of books, magazines, and newspapers. But I
switched them on as part of opening procedures and smiled when they made almost
no difference.
Behind
the checkout desk, I turned on the computers and pushed the bin with items
patrons had dropped off overnight from the slot in the front wall. As I bent
over, my hair tried to blind me, and I lifted it up and back. So, it was going
to be one of those days when my hair was out to get me. Unless I braided it or
secured it somehow, I could never be sure it wouldn’t turn on me.
I
lifted a mass of books and DVDs from the bin. Could Jill have sent the
anonymous note? It didn’t seem like something a person in her fifties would do.
She would have been in her thirties when Mom lived here and preyed on any guy
with a decent bank account. Had Mom had an affair with Jill’s husband? But the
unsigned note indicated someone afraid of revealing his or her true feelings.
Jill had no problem showing me how much she disliked me.
I
had almost finished scanning in the materials when Devon Majors and her two
daughters, bundled to their eyes, rushed past the windows. I got the keys from
the drawer, went to the inner doors, unlocked them, crossed the tiny room with
the mat —what was the special name for this little room?—and opened the outer
doors.
Devon
waved to Liberty and Serenity as they trudged down Main Street. She ducked
inside and tugged off her knit hat. The sides of her long, dark brown hair were
pulled back in a series of braids, revealing the studs that lined the edges of
her ears and a glimpse of the vivid feathered serpent tattooed on the back of
her neck, while the rest of her hair poured over her shoulders like molasses.
“Rae.”
Jill’s heavy voice dropped from the balcony overlooking the lobby. “Have you
pulled the items for the hold shelf?”
“Just
about to print the list.” I hurried behind the desk.
“You
haven’t even printed it?” Jill sounded outraged, like I’d let the toddlers in
Storytime make a collage with broken glass.
“Rae’s
working alone this morning.” Devon looked up to Jill, shrugging out her red
parka. “I just got here.”
“I
know that.” She planted meaty hands on the black metal railing. “I’m not sure
the library can afford to have you come in after your daughters go to school,
Devon. Perhaps you’ll have to stick to the regular schedule like the rest of
us.”
A
fire leaped into Devon’s forest green eyes. She might have been more than half
a foot shorter than I was, but she never looked small, especially when she was
mad.
She
glared up at Jill. “Don’t you think—”
“Here’s
the list.” I waved the sheets. “We’ll get the items pulled and set aside in no
time, ma’am.”
“You’d
better.” Jill disappeared into the shelves of nonfiction adult books, the
floorboards creaking under her footsteps.
Devon
tossed a braid behind her shoulder. “I owe you. I was about to tell Jill what I
thought of her, and I can’t afford to lose my job.”
One
of the million things I liked about Devon was that she didn’t filter her words
or her feelings. I also liked that although she was thirty- two, she treated me
like a friend, not a kid. The only real friend I’d made in the county before I
discovered who my father was and that I had about 6,000 relatives.
“I
can’t afford for you to lose your job either.” I handed her half of the list.
“You’re one of the few people around here who doesn’t care that I’m the
daughter of Bella Rydell.”
“Don’t
let Jill, or anybody else, get you down.” She glanced at the sheets. “Everyone
will get used to the truth about you, and most of them won’t care. But that’s
one of the problems of living in a small town or a rural county like Marlin.
There’s not a lot of new blood moving in. It gives people time to hold on to
old wrongs.”
“Mom and I usually lived in small towns. It
was cheaper and safer than the city. But it was hard getting accepted.”
“Wellesville
is better than most in that area. I wasn’t sure how people would react to two
little girls who were half Native American in a county that’s ninety percent
white. When Shayne and I were traveling around the country, we never knew when
someone would take offense to his non- white bread looks. But, except for a few
losers, no one has made any nasty comments. The kids at school think it’s
cool.”
Devon
stepped closer and added, “Give it time, Rae. It’ll get better.”
I
rolled the hem of my sweater. “I don’t like how people treat Mal because of me.
Even people at church. I don’t want to cause him trouble.” “Your dad knew what
a storm he’d stir up if he acknowledged you. He’s an adult. He can take it.”
I
hoped she was right. I prayed she was right. Since early Christmas morning,
when Mal and I figured out he
was the only one who could be my dad out of the three men my mother had told me
were possible candidates, getting to know him and his family had gone better
than anything I had imagined.
My
stomach tensing, I swallowed hard.
I didn’t want to mess things up now.
Purchase Link: A Shadow on the Snow
