4

 

Maggie walked across the park with Gypsy on his leash. He’d had a good run in the early morning. She knew some of the church members, and her parents, would have a fit if they knew she walked across the park in the dark, but what was she meant to do with the dog? She knew most of the other dog walkers by sight, anyway. Though this morning she was earlier than usual and there was no one about. Besides, the whole point of having the dog was so she’d be safe. That was the only reason she left the house in the dark at all.

Gypsy’s feet clipped on the tarmac as they left the park and walked along the pavement. Her breath hung in the freezing air, a light frost glistening on the grass verges. No doubt the pavements were icy as well, but she couldn’t make that out in the orange sodium street lighting.

Her mind reviewed the previous day. Wesley had been waiting for her when she got back to her home. She’d told him that she wasn’t going to be intimidated by him or by anyone else. It was over between them, and if she wanted to see other men, she would. He hadn’t taken it too well, but she told him if he laid a finger on her again, she would press charges against him. After that, he’d left.

Thinking about the charges, brought her mind back to the topic it had barely left, that of Carson. Why hadn’t he pursued matters with the police? He’d taken a beating for her. Why? It wasn’t as if they were dating or doing anything more than having a friendly lunch after church. Although she had to admit if he did ask her out, which he wouldn’t, she’d say yes.

Why? That’s what she didn’t understand. He was a pastor. There was no way she was pastor’s wife material. And she knew he would need someone to support him in his ministry. And that someone wasn’t her and could never be her.

I don’t doubt my faith, Lord, but it’s nowhere near as strong as his. He’ll be such a good man, never doing anything wrong, not like me. I fail You on a daily basis, by not praying or forgetting to do my Bible reading, or getting angry when I’m driving or at work or anytime something doesn’t go according to my plan. I know I was never in love with Wesley. I’m not sure I ever really liked him, just wanted what I could get from him. How shallow does that make me?

The alarm on her phone beeped as she reached her front door. She looked down at Gypsy. “It’s time for me to go to work. You guard the house while I’m gone.” He barked at her. “Glad to hear it. And no chewing my slippers, you hear?”

 

****

 

Carson looked in the mirror and decided that Maggie was right; the toddler group would be a bad move. His jaw was far too painful to shave, so he’d give that a miss. Maybe he just grew the beard back. The phone had rung constantly since he got up that morning, after Nate mentioned his ‘accident’ in church the previous evening. He was tempted to record a new answerphone message and let that pick up calls for the rest of the day. Something along the lines of…

Before he thought any further, the phone rang again and he grabbed it. “Hello.”

“Carson, its Jack. Is everything OK?” Jack Chambers sounded unusually concerned. From what little Carson knew of his co-pastor, he seemed pretty unflappable, except where his wife and family were concerned.

Carson gingerly sat on the couch. “Everything’s fine. Why?”

“I was listening online last night. Well, my morning, your last night.”

“Oh.” He exhaled heavily.

“Nate said you’d been in an accident. What happened?”

There was no point hiding what happened from Jack. Nate would only tell him the truth when asked anyway. “I was having lunch at the carvery with Maggie Turner to talk about the nativity. Her ex-boyfriend took a dislike to this and hit me. Several times. And before you ask, no, I didn’t hit him back. Those days are long gone.”

“Are you pressing charges?”

“No, I’m not.”

Jack’s sharp intake of breath matched the drumming of his fingers on the edge of the phone. “May I ask why? Are you sure it wasn’t—”

“No, Jack, it wasn’t related to my past. It was Maggie’s ex, and even if it wasn’t, I can handle it. There are at least ten witnesses to the fact that he just walked in and started the fight unprovoked. He grabbed hold of Maggie, I stood and told him to leave her alone, and he hit me. I just want to forget it. And between you and me, I don’t want to see any more courtrooms.”

Pilot pushed his head onto Carson’s knee, and he petted him absently.

“Is something going on between you and Maggie Turner?”

“No. We were talking about YPSB and the nativity. Did you know she runs that on her own? YPSB that is, not the nativity. I’m giving her a hand with that.”

“No, I didn’t.” As Carson had hoped, Jack took the bait. “As far as I was aware, Esther Mulholland and Maggie did alternate weeks.”

“That hasn’t been happening for some time, apparently. Maggie can’t remember the last time she was in a morning service. Do you mind if I sort that? Either get Esther involved again, or find someone new? And insist that Maggie and the new teacher do the same rota as the other helpers—three weeks on and three weeks off.”

“Feel free. I hadn’t realized Maggie was coping with the teaching on her own. She hadn’t said anything to me at all.”

Carson gingerly rubbed his stomach. “She only mentioned it when I asked directly about the staffing and how often she got into the services. I doubt she would’ve mentioned it at all otherwise.”

“Probably not.”

“So, how’s your trip? Got any snow yet?”

“More snow than Cassie likes, but Lara is in her element. She’s taken to skiing like a duck to water. She hates the homeschooling. She thought this was a holiday from school work.”

Carson laughed. “I bet. Is she looking forward to Christmas?”

“Oh, yeah. She does keep asking if Santa is the same as Father Christmas and will he come visit us on real time or American time.”

“And which will he visit on?”

Jack laughed. “Neither. She knows full well that all presents come from me and Cassie and Christmas is Jesus’ birthday. I’ve never told her any different. She’s fine with it.”

Carson rubbed his neck as Pilot settled on the floor in front of the fireplace. “If I did…is this fight going to be a problem? With the congregation, I mean?”

Jack tutted. “Carson, the whole church voted on you becoming Pastor. You gave your testimony, and if anyone had a problem with you, they’d have voted no. You got an overwhelming majority. Besides the fact, you’d never have gotten into Bible College in the first place. God has a great work for you to do here. Starting with that nativity idea of yours. Just make sure someone records it so I can see it.” He yawned. “OK, time for bed. Call if you need anything.”

“Will do. Night. Say hi to Cassie for me.” Carson hung up and reached for the bottle of painkillers. His mind went back to Maggie.

Which way had she voted? He knew she hadn’t been at the church meeting when he gave his testimony. His wasn’t the normal background a pastor had and if she didn’t know—

He swallowed the meds and flicked on the laptop. Time to check his email then spend an hour or so alone in prayer and meditation before starting his sermon for the weekend.

 

****

Maggie rang the doorbell and Pilot barked from somewhere in the house. She’d had a long day and all she wanted to do was put her feet up, watch some mindless TV and then go to bed. But instead, she’d gone home, made dinner for Carson and here she was. She cradled the hot dish in her hands.

Carson opened the door, the dog at his feet. He grabbed Pilot’s collar to stop him jumping up at her.

Guilt flooded her at the sight of Carson’s battered and bruised face. It was worse than yesterday. “Hi. I brought you some dinner. I wasn’t sure if you’d be up to cooking. And some arnica cream for your bruises.”

“Thank you.” His lopsided smile just served to make her feel worse. “Come in. How was your day?”

Maggie followed him across the threshold. “Busy. It’ll be nonstop between now and the end of term.” She held out the dish. “It’s shepherd’s pie. Something easy to eat.”

“Oh, thank you, that’s really kind of you. Shepherd’s pie happens to be one of my favorite meals. Will you join me?” He took the dish.

“I wasn’t after an invitation. I—”

“I know. But please?” The expression on his face was comical. It matched Pilot’s perfectly.

“OK. Thank you.” She took off her coat and hung it up. “How are you feeling?”

“Sore.” He headed to the kitchen. “How long does this need?”

“Four minutes should do it.” Maggie followed him. Christmas lights twinkled around the windows in here as well. He’d obviously finished the decorating at some point today. A poinsettia sat on the worktop and a gold and red candle decoration took pride of place on the kitchen table. Christmas carols played quietly on the stereo on the windowsill. “Very pretty. I still have to put my decorations up.”

The microwave beeped as Carson programmed it. “I had nothing else to do, other than start my sermons for the weekend.”

“Your face looks sore.”

“It is. I might have to be a panda or a cow rather than a donkey in your nativity.”

She laughed. “My nativity, now, is it? But seriously, how can you make light of this? Wesley beat you for no reason other than that you were with me.”

“I’m not making light of it, but I’ve done worse and been hurt far worse than this in the past.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Yeah. I’m just grateful he hit me and not you.” He opened the cupboard and took out two plates. “There’s juice in the fridge and glasses in the cupboard by the window. If you could, please?”

“Sure.” Maggie got the glasses down. “Are you truly not pressing charges?”

“Like I told everyone yesterday, there’s no real harm done.”

She paused, the carton of juice hovering over the glass. “How can you say that? Have you actually looked in a mirror since last night?”

“I’ll heal.” He got out the cutlery and set the table. “Plus it’s ‘do unto others as you would have them do unto you’, isn’t it?”

“I was half expecting you to quote ‘vengeance is mine’.”

“Well, that too.” He turned and bumped into her, knocking her off balance. Red juice cascaded down the front of his white shirt. He reached out and caught her arm, steadying her. “I’m sorry. Are you OK?”

“I’m fine. But your shirt isn’t.”

“It’ll come out in the wash. I’ll put it to soak.” He pulled off his shirt.

Maggie stilled, her gaze riveted to his exposed skin. His taut, bruised chest was scarred in several places. What was evidently a knife wound ran across his stomach. Another, far deeper scar left a ridge on his left shoulder. She bit her lip, trying not to show a visible reaction.

Carson turned to the sink, running cold water over his shirt. His back was also scarred.

She was no expert, but was that a bullet wound? Was this why he thought nothing of the beating that Wesley had given him? What kind of a man had the church employed as pastor? Was he an ex-soldier?

He turned and held her gaze. Her cheeks burned under his intense gaze.

“Like I said, a few bruises are nothing. I’ll go and find a clean shirt. I won’t be a minute.”

Maggie nodded and tried not to ogle him as he left the room. Despite the scars, he was a fine looking man. She shook her head. He’s a pastor, not a man. Get that through your head, woman. She grabbed a cloth and pushed Pilot away. “You don’t want this, boy. I’ll put fresh water down for you.”

She cleared up and put the glasses on the table. Carson came back in and she glanced over at him. “I’m sorry, Pastor.”

“Call me Carson.” He winked at her. “That’s what my friends call me, and I’d like to think we’re at least that now.”

She tilted her head at him. “Oh?”

“After all, we’ve had our first fight and you’ve seen me shirtless.”

Maggie laughed, the tension leaving her. “I’d hate to hear what the little old ladies at the back of the church would say if they ever found out.”

His deep, rich laugh joined hers. “Then we’d better not tell them. Have a seat.”

Maggie sat down as Carson pulled the shepherd’s pie from the microwave and dished up. She’d put vegetables in with the meat and she had to admit it did smell as good as it looked.

Carson put the plates on the table and sat opposite her. He reached across and took hold of her hands. Closing his eyes, he said grace.

Warmth flooded her. His hands were softer than she imagined. So he wasn’t a soldier. Nor someone who’d done manual work. Her heart pounded within the confines of her chest. A shaft of disappointment cut through her as he let go of her hand and picked up his fork.

She ran her tongue over her bottom lip and sipped her juice. “You were going to tell me your story before we got interrupted yesterday. I’m guessing it must be interesting.”

“You mean the scars?”

She stabbed the food with the fork. “I didn’t mean because of the scars, but it does make me wonder what happened.”

“Which scar in particular? This shepherd’s pie is good by the way.”

“Thank you. Umm, any or all of them. Whichever is easiest to talk about.”

Carson loaded his fork with the meat. “Well, as you don’t know my story at all, I’ll start at the beginning. I was born in London. I have a sister, Sue-Lyn, who lives in Malta with her husband, Paulo. I haven’t seen her in a while. And a brother, William—”

“Not William Armitage the formula one racing driver?”

“The very same. You follow?”

“I love watching it. I’ve been known to stay up all night to watch the Grand Prix before now.”

“You’re crazy. I have to watch, but you?”

Maggie shrugged. “My brother would stay up all night to watch football. It’s the same thing. Formula one is simply faster and much more interesting.”

Carson smiled, pausing while he chewed. “I fell into bad company when I got into my teens. I joined a gang when I was fourteen. After I did my exams, I left school and spent all day, every day out with the gang. I worked my way up through the ranks until I was second in command. We ruled that part of London; even the police thought twice about going unarmed into our territory. The scar on my shoulder was a knife wound from a street fight. I got shot in a fight with a rival gang. And the long scar on my stomach I got in prison."