Light From Heaven Read online

  Vicar Kavanagh bowed to the cross above the altar and joined the choir by the piano, singing as if his life depended on it.

  He had welcomed the newcomers for a fare-thee-well, put forth a bit of church history, invited one and all to stay for their dinner on the grounds, and moved briskly onward.

  In all his years as a priest, he had experienced few Sundays so richly promising, and so dauntingly filled, as today would be.

  “Your pew bulletins were printed on Friday, well before I received some thrilling news, news that affects our entire parish—news that, indeed, causes the angels in heaven to rejoice.

  “Add to that yet another evidence of God’s favor to Holy Trinity, and I daresay your bulletin will be somewhat hard to follow.”

  He removed his glasses and looked out to his congregation; he felt a smile having its way with his face. “In short, be prepared for the best!”

  Several of the congregation peered at their pew mates, wondering.

  “In the fifth chapter of the book of James, we’re exhorted to confess our sins, one to another. In the third chapter of the book of Matthew, we read, ‘Then went out to him,’ meaning John the Baptist, ‘Jerusalem and all Judea, and all the region round about Jordan, and were baptized of him... confessing their sins.’

  “I’ve always esteemed the idea of confession, and in my calling, one sees a good bit of it. But this notion of confessing our sins one to another is quite a different matter. Indeed, it involves something more than priest and supplicant; it means confessing to the community, within the fellowship of saints.

  “When I left Holy Trinity on Friday, I was going home. But God pointed my truck in the opposite direction.

  “I drove to see someone I’ve learned to love, as I’ve learned to love so many of you since coming to Wilson’s Ridge.

  “We had talked and visited several times, and I could see that his distance from God had made things uphill both ways. But I always hesitated to ask him one simple question.

  “I didn’t hesitate this time. I asked him if he would pray a simple prayer with me that would change everything.”

  His eyes roved the packed pews, and those seated in folding chairs that lined the aisle. There was Jubal. And all the Millwrights. And Robert and Dovey and Donny, and Ruby Luster holding Sissie on her lap ...

  “Now, the thought of having everything changed in our lives is frightening. Even when the things that need changing are hard or brutal, some of us cling to them, anyway, because they’re familiar. Indeed, our brother had clung ... and it wasn’t working.

  “In our hymn this morning, we sang,‘They who go through the desert vale, or any parched and arid valley, will find it filled with springs.’ When we choose to walk through the valley with Him, He will be our living water. He will not only sustain us, but give us the grace to move, as that beautiful hymn says, from height to height.

  “In a moment, we will have a joyous baptizing, our first since Holy Trinity opened its doors again after forty years. As part of the service for Holy Baptism, our brother has asked if he might make his confession to all of us here today.

  “Before I call him forward, I’d like to recite the simple prayer he prayed, similar to one I prayed myself... long after I left seminary.

  “It’s a prayer you, also, may choose to pray in the silence of your heart. And when you walk again through the parched valley, as you’ve so often done alone, He will be there to walk through it with you. And that’s just the beginning of all that lies in store for those who believe on Him.”

  He bowed his head, as did most of the congregation.

  “Thank You, God, for loving me. And for sending Your son to die for my sins. I sincerely repent of my sins, and receive Jesus Christ as my personal savior. Now, as Your child, I turn my entire life over to You.

  “Amen.

  “Robert Cleveland Prichard, will you come forward?”

  Robert moved along the crowded aisle, trembling; his knees were water and his veins ice.

  He stood by the pulpit and opened his mouth, but instead of words, tears came. For two days, that had been his worst fear. He turned away for a moment, then faced the people again.

  “I’d like t’ confess t’ you ... ,” he said.

  The very air in the nave was stilled. Robert raised his right hand.

  “... b’fore God... that I didn’t do it.”

  Father Tim looked out to Miss Martha and Miss Mary, both of whom had forgotten to close their mouths. He saw Lace, riveted by what was taking place; and there was Agnes, pale as a moonflower ...

  “I cain’t go into th’ details of all th’ stuff about m’ granpaw, ’cause they’s little young ‘uns in here. But Friday e’enin’ I done a thing with Father Tim that I guess I’ve wanted t’ do, but didn’t know how t’ do. I give it all over t’ Jesus Christ, like I should’ve done when m’ buddy talked t’ me about ’im in prison.

  “All I can say is, it’s good. It’s good.” Robert nodded, as if to himself. “I thank y’.”

  He gazed peaceably into the eyes of those seated in the nave.

  Agnes Merton stood, and together with Dooley Kavanagh, presented the century-old basin to Father Tim, who poured creek water into it from a tin pitcher.

  There was the sound of a log shifting in the firebox; something like a deep, collective sigh stirred among the pews.

  My faith looks up to thee,

  Thou Lamb of Calvary,

  Savior divine!

  Now hear me while I pray,

  Take all my guilt away;

  O let me from this day

  Be wholly thine.

  May thy rich grace impart

  Strength to my fainting heart,

  My zeal inspire;

  As thou has died for me,

  O may my love to thee

  Pure, warm and changeless be

  A living fire ...

  At the time of announcements, and with no suggestion of what was to come, Father Tim introduced Lloyd Goodnight and Clarence Merton.

  The two men took their places by the pulpit.

  Lloyd cleared his throat, blushed, and adjusted his shirt collar. He’d completely forgotten to check his fly, but it was too late, now.

  “What it’ll be is two stalls, one f‘r ladies, one f’r men, four b’ six each, with wash basins an all .”

  He pulled a note from his pocket, studied it a moment, and once again addressed the congregation.

  “Me an’ Clarence will be y’r builders. We’ll run a pipeline to th’ spring, like th’ ol’ schoolhouse done. We’ll have a tin roof an’ a concrete slab, an’ real good ventilation.

  “We thank you.”

  The congregation stood as one, and applauded.

  Rooter had pretty much felt his hair drying out by the end of the first hymn. He didn’t know which way it might be shooting up since Granny chopped it off with a razor. But he couldn’t think about that, he’d just gotten the signal from Father Tim and he had a job to do.

  He stood as close to the vicar as he could, for protection—though he wasn’t sure from what—and made the sign he’d learned this week from Clarence.

  “Watch Rooter,” said the vicar. Rooter made the sign, which involved three separate movements, three times. He was careful to do it slowly.

  “Now it’s our turn.” Some got it right off the bat, others struggled.

  “What are we saying here, Rooter?”

  “God ... loves ... us!” shouted Rooter.

  He hadn’t meant to shout. His face felt hot as a poker.

  “Amen!” said someone in the back row.

  “I’m asking you to give that sign to someone today,” said Father Tim. “And do it like you mean it, because He means it. Indeed, I would ask you to allow yourself... to really believe, from a deep place in your soul, that ...”

  His eyes searched the faces as he and Rooter signed.

  “... God ... loves ... us.

  “A men. ”

  “Amen!”

&n
bsp; He nodded to Sparkle and the choir. Clarence took up the cross.

  Blest be the tie that binds

  Our hearts in Christian love;

  The fellowship of kindred minds

  Is like to that above.

  Before our Father’s throne

  We pour our ardent prayers;

  Our fears, our hopes, our aims are one,

  Our comforts and our cares.

  We share each other’s woes,

  Our mutual burdens bear;

  And often for each other flows

  The sympathizing tear ...

  The rain began at dusk.

  It quickly gathered force, and soon came down in sheets, filling dry creek beds and scattering cattle to the shelter of trees and run-in sheds.

  In the downpour, anyone driving past Green Valley Baptist probably wouldn’t have noticed the bold black letters of the sign by the road.

  LOVE IS AN ACT OF ENDLESS FORGIVENESS

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Let the Stable Still Astonish

  They were piled in bed on the evening of the first Sunday in Advent, listening to Mozart and eating popcorn.

  Violet was curled on the seat of the rocking chair; Barnabas was snoring on the rug by the bureau; a frigid wind howled around the farmhouse.

  He noted that she’d been staring into space for some time, which could mean one, or even both, of two things. She was avidly relishing the Jupiter Symphony, or she was drumming up another book. He earnestly hoped the latter wasn’t even a remote possibility, but he’d learned that once she began staring into space ...

  “A live Nativity scene,” she said.

  “For Holy Trinity?”

  “For all of us. Right here at Meadowgate. In the kitchen. After the five o’clock mass on Christmas Eve.”

  “Tell me more.

  “I’m starting to plan ahead, you see.”

  “Always a good thing.”

  “Dooley and Lace could be Mary and Joseph.”

  “Terrific.”

  “You could be a shepherd.”

  “I was a shepherd for your book Mouse in the Manger. I posed with that ridiculous tablecloth on my head, or whatever it was. Do I have to be a shepherd again?”

  “But, Timothy, that’s what you are—a shepherd!”

  “Typecasting,” he said.

  He needed to do a little planning, himself.

  He thumbed to the back of his quote book and started making notes.

  First, he needed to drive to Mitford and pick up the Nativity scene he’d labored over for several months and presented to Cynthia last Christmas. He relished the thought of seeing it again, and the angel she’d made whole from smithereens.

  Better get his order in at The Local, while he was at it. Chocolate truffles for the nurses at Hope House, as ever, and the crowd at the Children’s Hospital in Wesley. And remind Avis to special order fresh oysters for his wife’s dynamite oyster pie.

  Something chocolate with nuts for Louella, and a rerun of last year’s lipstick from the drugstore ...

  Gifts for the twins, already purchased and wrapped. Checkmark.

  Sammy. Checkmark. He was personally enchanted by their gift for Sammy. It was a brilliant notion, if he did say so, himself.

  Dooley. Waiting for the raincoat to arrive, and the silver key chain. Sweater back-ordered. He despised back orders.

  He had no idea whether his flock would be able to gather for the Christmas Eve Mass at Holy Trinity. If it snowed, as some predicted it would, passage to the church could be limited and risky. Give us Your grace to gather, Lord ...

  The Grace to Gather, he scribbled. Sermon title.

  And what would he give his helpmeet of eight years, his soul mate, his much better half?

  Not a clue.

  Last year, he had poured his very heart and soul, not to mention spleen, into restoring the twenty-odd derelict Nativity figures.

  How could he top that?

  It wasn’t all roses with Sammy.

  But then, he hadn’t expected it to be.

  Certainly, the almost-nightly phone talks with Dooley helped. No question.

  The garden had helped.

  His part-time job with Willie was helping.

  And the trips to Bud Wyzer’s pool hall were definitely beneficial, though Sammy resented the fact that he hung around, especially in his collar.

  Agreeing that his presence at Bud’s bar compromised Sammy’s sense of independence, the vicar decided to bite the bullet and do something more than hang around.

  Come January, he’d take up the game, himself.

  Cynthia was dumbfounded. “Glory be!” she said.

  Where his Yankee wife had learned such talk was beyond him.

  “I thought you was p-prayin’ f’r Kenny t’ be f-found.”

  “I am. We are.”

  “He ain’t showed up.”

  “Perhaps God has something else for Kenny’s life. Something more important.”

  “Wh-what could be more important than b-bein’ with ...”

  “Family?” Sammy had never used that word in the vicar’s hearing. “I don’t know. But God knows.”

  “M-maybe you need t’ ch-change y’rprayer.”

  “I’m expecting God to send him, I believe God will send him, but in the end ...”

  “In th’ end, what?”

  “I continue to pray the prayer that never fails.”

  “Wh-what’s it say, I f’rgit.”

  “Thy will be done. It’s what our Lord prayed when He knew He was going to be crucified, it’s ...”

  “An’ s-see what happened?” Sammy looked deeply troubled. “It d-didn’ work.”

  “So! We’re hoping Dooley and Lace will be Mary and Joseph and of course, Father Tim will be a shepherd.You’ll make a perfect wise man, and the costume will be lots of fun; I’ll make it myself. We hope you’ll do it; we really need you to do it!”

  His wife was aware that this wouldn’t be an easy casting job. “We’ll give him everything he likes for dinner, and I’ll use the word need. What can he say?”

  “No,” said Sammy.

  “I’ve got a great idea.”

  They were sitting in the kitchen before a blazing fire. Lloyd had claimed the new chimney would draw better than it had in its heyday, and from the looks of things, he was right.

  “We’ll get our tree from the woods on the Thursday before Christmas.You, Dooley,Lace, Sammy, Willie, we’ll all go out looking. How does that sound?”

  He remembered how he and Peggy, his mother’s housekeeper, had gone to the woods with a wagon and ax and chopped down what they had imagined to be a forty-foot cedar. It had been an immense accomplishment, even if the tree, as it turned out, reached only halfway to the ceiling.

  “Straight from a Victorian postcard,” said his wife. “And a perfect opportunity for hot chocolate in a thermos! I love it!”

  “Cynthia, Cynthia, what don’t you love?”

  “Shopping malls at any time of year, especially now; flea shampoo that does nothing more than attract a new colony of fleas; and roasts that cost a fortune and cook out dry”

  “When I ask you this question, you always have the answer on the tip of your tongue. How do you do that?”

  “I don’t know, I suppose it’s just in there, waiting to get out.”

  “Where shall we put the tree?”

  “On the window seat, don’t you think? There’s plenty of room. Of course, no one can see it from the road, which is a shame. I love to see Christmas trees shining in windows. But the kitchen is where we live.”

  “Done!” He went to the drawer by the stove and searched for the tape measure.

  “Our boy will be rolling in tomorrow afternoon. What if I take us all to dinner at Lucera?”

  “Umm,” she said.

  “Umm? You wouldn’t like a fancy, overpriced dinner?”

  “No, darling. And Dooley wouldn’t, either, nor would Sammy, nor would you. But thanks.”

  “Y
ou’re welcome.”

  He measured the depth of the window seat, and the height and width of the cubicle.

  “Short and fat!”

  His wife looked up from her book.

  “Not you, Kavanagh.”

  He occasionally wandered through the house, gazing at the plaster Nativity scene.

  While Mary and Joseph waited patiently on the window seat where the tree would be placed, the humble old shepherd and his flock resided in the library on the coffee table, and the wise men and their amusing camel had been appropriately placed “afar,” in the parlor bookcase.

  Unbeknownst to anyone but the vicar, the Child lay in a bureau drawer, swaddled in one of his undershirts.

  It was no surprise that he’d been sent to Mitford on more than one occasion to haul back items for the holy days:

  Old sheets for costumes, rope from Harley’s vast supply of odds and ends, candles, wreath frames, ribbon, wrapping paper, gift boxes ...

  “Plunder!” he said, off-loading it all onto the kitchen table.

  “Did you tell Willie we’ll need straw?”

  “Straw is easily come by, not to worry”

  “I wish we could bring a lamb or two inside,” she said, actually meaning it.

  “Where are we going with this thing? You’ll have me building the walls of Bethlehem as a backdrop.”

  “Wouldn’t that be wonderful?” she said, looking interested.

  When his wife wasn’t doing a book or a wall calendar, she was a force to be reckoned with.

  Two bowls of popcorn were making the rounds of their small soiree by the fire.

  “I thought it would be lovely if we added something,” announced their director. “Lace, will you read a poem for us on Christmas Eve?”

  “I will!”

  “Since our entire cast is assembled, save for a wise man, which is very hard to find these days, I was thinking it would be good if you read the poem to us tonight. Then, when we hear it again on Christmas Eve, it should have fresh depth and meaning for us all. What do you think?”

  Lace took the book Cynthia proffered; her amber eyes scanned the poem.