Noelle startled awake at Rick’s touch on her arm. Only the pale dawning light filtered into the room, and Therese still slept soundly in the other bed. He held a finger to his lips, then whispered, “Dress warmly and meet me on the porch.”
He went out and Noelle washed and dressed in jeans and a sweater, then pulled on a coat from the closet and went out. Rick waited in sheepskin coat and Stetson. With the rosy glow of winter sky behind him and the white cloud of his breath as he leaned on the porch post, she stopped just to look. He turned, looped her neck with a scarf, and pulled her close. They kissed, then he wrapped the scarf and handed her some mittens.
“What’s all this?” She tugged the red knitted mittens on.
“You’ll see.” He took her hand and led her down the stairs. “Last night’s snow should help.”
“Help what?” Her feet crunched on the old snow now covered with a fine powder. The brilliance of the sparkles dazzled her eyes as the dawning sun crested the horizon.
Rick wrapped her in his arm as they walked to the barn. It was so natural a motion, it hardly surprised her anymore. And without Morgan looking on, she indulged in its comfort. Smiling, Rick pulled open the door, then stepped aside.
She caught her breath. “Rick! A sleigh!”
“What would you say to a good old-fashioned sleigh ride?” He looked like a boy with his first set of wheels, and he had obviously not expected an argument. The large black stallion was already hitched and shook its jingle-bell harness. “A little birthday magic.”
She turned, startled. It was her birthday. With everything else—all the Christmas activity and then the worry with Morgan—she’d forgotten. But Rick hadn’t. She caught his hand. “Don’t tell anyone. I don’t want them making a fuss.”
“Our secret.” He lifted her in and pulled the lap quilt over her knees. Noelle smiled as the horse lurched forward, ringing the bells with every prance. As the sleigh glided out of the barn, the wind blew a powdery spray of snow, and she pulled up the scarf Rick had wrapped on her neck.
He nodded. “Don’t let the cold get to your lungs.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’d say that regardless.” He reached over and tugged the lap blanket higher.
“No, I wouldn’t.”
“Yes, you would.” The shadow of his hat cut across the bridge of his nose and arced down over his cheeks.
“If I were still sick, I’d say so.”
“Okay.”
She tossed her hands into her lap. “I hate it when you do that.”
“What?”
“Say ‘okay’ as though you know you’re right but you’ll concede the point for sheer graciousness.”
He chuckled. “I am right. But I’ll graciously concede the point.”
“You’re smug.”
“So you’ve told me.” Rick urged the horse through the gate, which led to the pastures, then out across the fields. The harness had the larger jingle bells that made a varied, throaty song as the horse bobbed along to the top of a gentle slope where Rick brought the sleigh around. He stopped, and she looked out at his father’s ranch spread below them: broad, rolling hills sparkling in the new snow, the skating pond with the willows that hugged its edges, stoic and bare. A starling called and received a distant reply, then took wing over the pond. The horse snorted, just tinkling the bells.
“It’s beautiful,” she breathed. “We could be a Currier and Ives print, only you need a top hat.”
He grinned. “A suit I’ll do, but no top hat.”
“It’s not much different from your Stetson.”
He circled the reins around the hook on the rim of the sleigh. “Different enough. A Stetson serves a purpose, keeps the sun off when there’s work to do.”
She flicked the brim with her middle finger. “You just like how you look in it, all western and macho.”
“Do you?” His eyes took on that warm molasses look, and her breath quickened.
Of course she did. His looks had not stood out to her when they met, only his persona. Even now she couldn’t say he was the handsomest man she knew, but somehow he was. “Yes.”
He took off the hat, held it behind her head, and kissed her. Her heart swelled with love, full and uncomplicated. She exulted in his touch, ardent but undemanding. He drew out her response without forcing his own. He gave himself and freed her. He cupped her face in his gloved hands. “You’re the only woman I’ve ever kissed, aside from Mom, and believe me, that wasn’t the same.”
She believed him.
“I want you to know why.”
She looked into his face. Only Rick could look so serious.
“God made the human heart with a huge hole that only He could fill. All my life it’s been pretty easy for me to keep that in sight. I know it’s hard for you to understand, but it pleases me to worship and obey the Lord.”
Did he think that didn’t show? That she hadn’t seen it in his reverence?
“The other thing I’ve been pretty sure of is that if the Lord had someone for me to spend my life with, He’d bring me that person.”
Noelle glanced to the side. “You didn’t make it easy, holed up on the ranch, keeping to yourself.”
“You found it.”
She tugged the blanket tighter to her waist. “You couldn’t have had too many choices. Only a handful of single women came up all summer.”
“I didn’t want choices. Only the one God had for me from the beginning.”
He couldn’t be saying what it sounded like. Yes, his love touched the wounded places, but a worm of fear still ate her.
“I wouldn’t say any of this lightly. I hope you know that.”
“You don’t say anything lightly.” She threw him a smile, but it didn’t break his intensity.
“Not when it’s the most important thing I’ve ever asked anyone.”
Her throat constricted painfully.
“Yesterday you asked me what we should do. I didn’t have an answer. But now I think I do.” He folded her hand into his and pressed it to his chest. “Will you marry me, Noelle?”
The blood pumped in her ears. This is Rick. Rick. But fear engulfed her, and she trembled, remembering Michael’s proposal. She’d exulted, believing every word he said. And it was lies, all lies. She had sold her soul once; she couldn’t do it again. Not even for Rick.
His voice was low. “I want a partner. I want to share my life . . . with you.”
Michael’s hands like talons on her arms. “Who is it, Noelle?”
“No one. There’s no one else.” The blow across her face.
“You’re lying! You couldn’t do this unless you had someone else.” Another blow.
She shuddered and closed her eyes. Her words came short and fast. “Rick, please understand. It’s not you. You know that.”
He dropped his chin. “I know that hurt won’t go away until you let it.”
“I don’t know how.”
He pulled her gently into his arms. “Let me love you. Let God do the rest.” Raising her chin, he kissed her.
Her emotions warred inside. What if God were as real as the warmth of Rick’s arms, the strength of his kiss? What if He could do all Rick believed? Opening her mind to that thought brought an awesome calm. Her trembling stopped. In its absence, she realized how completely fear had permeated her. Without it she felt empty, new. She imagined herself living at the ranch, helping Rick, raising horses and children. Lots of children, just like Celia. Hope sprang up in her heart. Rick’s children . . .
He laid his forehead against hers. “Marry me, Noelle.”
It was radical, daring, impossibly impetuous. It was facing down the dragon and stabbing with all her might. “Yes,” she whispered.
He stared into her eyes, then suddenly he rose to his feet and threw out his arms. “Ye-e-s!” His yell rang over the hills, and she stood up beside him in the sleigh, laughing. He caught her face between his hands and kissed her again.
Lord, you’ve put her in my hands. You’ve given me her love. She’s the one you made for me. Thank you, Father. Rick closed his arms around her. He kissed her eyes, her temple, her hair. “Let’s spend the day alone.”
Her brows rose. “In the sleigh?”
“It’s a little cold for that. We’ll go to town, pick out your ring.” The symbol that would seal their promise.
A shadow passed over her face, but she nodded. “Okay.”
He squeezed her. “Good. I don’t want to share you with a single sister.” He didn’t add “or brother.” And he didn’t want to think about it. Morgan had had his chance.
Rick tucked her back in, and they rode to the barn, then took the truck into town. Everything was dressed with garland and ribbons. With Noelle under his arm, he strolled the streets toward the jewelry store that might have a ring she would like. But before they reached it, Noelle pointed. “Rick, there’s a gallery.”
He saw her eager expression. “Want to look?”
She tugged his arm. “Of course I want to look.”
Art was important to her. Naturally, she’d want to see what the gallery held. Or was she simply delaying the ring selection? Had he pushed too hard, too fast? He cautioned himself to be patient, as patient as guiding the first awkward steps of a foal. She could have said no, but she had accepted. Give her the chance to get comfortable with the thought. As she scrutinized one painting after another, he walked beside her, unaffected by most of what he saw but willing to participate.
She stopped in front of a watercolor bridge and got that absorbed look in her eyes. “That one’s good, don’t you think?”
“I like it.”
She reached toward it. “Look at the way this line brings the eye up the page, then fades and lets this curve draw it back down.”
He watched her fingers stroke the air.
“The way this shadow compliments that shine.”
Her nails were narrow ovals with pale crescents at their bases. But her left hand looked bare. He said, “It’s nice.”
She looked at him, annoyed. He had obviously not shown enough enthusiasm.
“I’m sorry, Noelle. I’m not an art critic. I can tell you if I like it but not much else.”
She cocked her head. “What if it were a horse?”
“Then I’d tell you all you need to know.” He clasped her in his arms. “I might even buy it.”
“Then buy this.”
“No.”
She pouted. “Why not? Your walls are bare. There’s not a picture in the ranch.”
“I’ll hang your paintings. And you can put flowers in all the water pitchers, and anything else you want.”
She dangled her head back. “Plaid throws for the couches in the main room, coordinating window treatments, a floral spray above the mantel . . .”
He kissed her forehead. “Leave me something.”
“You can do the barn.”
His growl made her laugh. Her laugh touched him deep inside. The Lord was opening her heart whether she knew it or not. It had been impulsive and perhaps precipitous, proposing marriage in so short a time. But he was sure it was right. Her answer only confirmed it.
“Come on.” He led her into the jewelry store, to the counter that held wedding sets. “See anything you like?” Probably nothing such as she’d find in Manhattan. Maybe they should wait, find a better store, a better collection. “Don’t settle for one if nothing suits you.”
“This is nice.” She pointed to an elegant square-cut diamond held between the curved prongs of the band. It was simple but unusual.
“That’s my best stone.” The hovering clerk came closer.
Did he just say that, or had Noelle instinctively chosen quality?
“Would you like to see it?”
Rick nodded. He didn’t recognize the man, but he hadn’t spent much time in jewelry stores during his time in town. The clerk handed him the ring. Rick studied its elegant line. She could choose the gaudiest cluster ring in the case for all he cared. What mattered is what it meant. But this one was lovely.
He took her hand and slipped it on her finger. A little loose, but beautiful. Their eyes met. “Do you like it?”
She nodded, more tense than she’d been a moment ago.
“Do you want to wait?”
She shook her head.
Rick slid the ring off her finger, handed it to the clerk. “Can you size it?”
“My partner’s in the back. He’s got a couple orders he’s working on for Christmas. Sizing this shouldn’t take more than an hour or two.”
Rick nodded. “Ring it up.” He glanced at Noelle. “Are you all right?”
She nodded.
He circled her in his arm. “Let’s make a pact right from the start to always tell the truth.”
She dropped her chin. “The truth?” Her liquid eyes came up and filled his senses. “I’m terrified.”
He drew her gently to him, kissed the crown of her head, his own heart sinking inside. “You want to reconsider?” Relief flooded as she shook her head under his chin.
“I’m tired of being afraid. I want to make my own decisions.”
Not exactly the reason to commit your life to someone. A serious check seized his spirit. Was he supposed to talk her out of it, now that he’d exulted in the promise? “You have to know it’s right.” That was the best he could do.
“That’s your department.” She managed a smile.
The weight of what he’d done pressed hard. She trusted him to know. Lord, I’m walking forward. He wanted this more than anything he’d ever known, more than his land, his livelihood. Noelle had come to him. A gift. He nodded. “Trust me.”
Her smile reached her eyes. “I do.”
“Let’s get some food.”
After eating, they returned to the store and this time the ring fit her finger and stayed there. A surge of pride and exultation filled his chest. It would be all right. It was natural she’d be afraid, but he hadn’t forced her decision. She’d made it herself.
“We better get back. Christmas Eve is the big event for the Spencers. And if you’re going to be one, you’ll have to be initiated.” He closed her hand in his. Noelle St. Claire Spencer.
———
If she thought she could downplay the ring, that notion was dispelled immediately. Tara squealed the moment she took off her coat, grabbed her hand, and trumpeted, “What’s this?” Thankfully only Therese and Stephanie were within range.
Rick circled his little sister’s shoulders. “Don’t hyperventilate.”
“Is it an engagement ring?”
Noelle was wrong. Celia had obviously heard. She came from the kitchen, her face a study in surprise and concern, neither expression encouraging. Rick glanced at his mother and smiled.
She formed one in return. “Well.”
Speechless with joy—not. Noelle hadn’t wanted a big deal made about her birthday. This was far, far bigger. What had she been thinking? If she hadn’t chosen a ring, they could have kept it secret, just between them. Everything seemed better with Rick alone; clearer, more certain. And this was only his family. She trembled, but strangely that thought strengthened her resolve.
“Another reason to celebrate.” Celia’s face warmed but didn’t convince.
“Is Dad around?” Rick looked beyond his mother, as though Hank might be lurking there.
“Outside. Probably the stables.”
He nodded, sent Noelle a wink, and went back out. Wonderful. A gentle hand on her shoulder made Noelle turn and Therese hugged her. “Congratulations.”
Stephanie followed suit. “I’m so glad, only . . . I thought you said . . .”
Therese elbowed her. “Obviously, things changed.”
“Oh yeah. They had a date.”
Noelle had to laugh. “It’s sudden, I know. I . . .” How on earth did one explain?
“Come have some tea.” Celia motioned toward the kitchen.
Those words quickly signaled dread. But this time the girls came too.
“Have you set a date?” Celia’s voice was carefully controlled.
Noelle shook her head. “No. Nothing’s definite.” That wasn’t what she meant, but the nuance settled on Celia like a cloud. “Rick asked me this morning and I accepted. We chose a ring, but nothing else.”
Celia poured tea all around. Noelle stared into her cup. Would she ever drink it again without her stomach clenching?
———
Rick found his dad in the stable nursing the back of one of the gelding’s forelegs. “How’s it looking?” The horse had cut an artery several days before and bled badly before the vet arrived, but an animal that size could lose five gallons of blood without serious danger.
“Better. I wish he’d learn not to paw at the door that way.”
“No good grasp of cause and effect?” Rick smiled.
Dad patted the horse. “Not that I can see.” He looked up. “Did you need something?”
Rick leaned on the stall door. “Dad, I asked Noelle to marry me.”
His dad rested his hand on the gelding’s back. “And?”
“She accepted.”
Dad cocked his jaw. “I’m sure you’ve thought it all out.”
“I’ve prayed. I believe it’s my direction.”
“Has she?”
Rick shook his head. “Mom’s already tackled that. I know faith should come first, but there are extenuating circumstances here that make it difficult.”
“No one said things should be easy.”
“I love her, Dad. She’ll learn God’s love through mine.”
His dad dropped his chin. “That’s a tall order, son.”
It was. And Rick was less sure than he tried to sound. He knew what Scripture taught: love is patient, love is kind; a man should love his wife as his own body, present her unblemished on the day of judgment. I’m willing, Lord. “I think it’s right.”
Dad cocked his head and nodded. “She’s a lovely girl.”
More so than he’d ever anticipated. They would work through the difficulties. Faith, hope, and love. And the greatest was love. The others would come.
———
For dinner Celia served Christmas ham and all its trimmings. Tiffany had instructed Noelle to change clothes, saying, “We always dress up for Christmas Eve.” So she was once again in the dress Rick had purchased. What if she had refused it? But she stroked the soft sleeve and realized she had accepted much more than an angora dress. And the ring on her finger bore that thought home.
Morgan arrived, impeccable and charming, just before the meal was served. He even interacted, seemingly none the worse for his absence, wherever that had taken him. Maybe getting out had eased his hurt, though the red in his eyes suggested another balm.
After the meal, Noelle followed them all into the den. Rick had said something about initiation. Was this the time?
Tara squeezed her arm. “Tonight this room is dubbed the ‘music hall.’ ”
“Music hall?” Noelle dubiously eyed the old upright piano and mismatched chairs the men were dragging in and setting around the pullout couch that Morgan had been using for a bed but which now was folded in.
Tara giggled. “You’ll see.”
Noelle sat beside Rick on the couch. He looked wonderful again in charcoal vest and white dress shirt. But if she were truly honest, she preferred him in his denim or flannel or chambray shirts and jeans. Especially when they smelled of smoke and horses and dust. That was the Rick she knew best, the one she fell in love with.
Hank stood behind Celia at the piano. Bowing his head, he folded his hands, and all grew quiet. “Lord, be glorified,” he said.
“Amen,” voices around her answered. Definitely the shortest prayer yet. Noelle felt Rick’s arm come around her as Celia touched the keys and Hank sang “O Holy Night.” His wife harmonized in a mellow contralto, their voices blending.
Noelle bit her lip and smiled. Now she knew where Rick and Morgan got their vocal ability. Rick stood when they finished and took up his guitar. He slipped the strap over his head.
Together with Celia on the piano, he accompanied Therese, Stephanie, and Tiffany in a medley of carols. Noelle could tell none were formally trained, but they sang with a freedom and pleasure that professional training might have destroyed. She recalled Professor Jenkins’s words, “Please don’t tell me it’s because you were instructed . . .” How much of her own natural inspiration had been lost by the hours and hours of drills?
Tara had taken her place in front with an adorably impish pose and proceeded to dramatize “I Saw Mama Kissing Santa Claus,” even shaking her finger in her mother’s face.
Noelle leaned close to Therese, who’d filled Rick’s place beside her. “She was born for the stage.”
“I know,” Therese whispered back. “She hasn’t a self-conscious bone in her.”
“Like Morgan.”
Therese nodded. “And they adore each other.”
Noelle smiled. “I noticed that.”
But when Morgan got up, his manner was nothing like his little sister’s silliness. He leaned against the piano with almost a listless stance. Noelle tensed as he rested his eyes on her. Oh, Morgan, don’t spoil it.
“Play ‘Blue Christmas,’ Mom,” he said, without shifting his gaze.
“I don’t know that one, Morgan.”
“Then just chord with me.” He began to sing the melancholy song with all the pathos of Elvis.
Noelle looked down at her hands, startled by the brilliance of the diamond that announced her acceptance of Rick. She’d seen Morgan’s expression when he noticed the ring at dinner. She had hoped he would understand, or at least accept it, but he sang to her alone, and her heart ached.
She glanced at Rick, leaning on the wall. He wore the grim look she remembered so well. Was it Morgan’s advances that had caused that same look before, after he’d brought her home from the hospital?
Caught between them, she felt strangled. How did Morgan dare to do this with all his family looking on? His words wrapped around her, and she hurt for the hurt she heard there. She thought of what Rick had told her of Morgan’s past. “It really tore him up.” And Celia’s words. “It’s not easy to tell, especially with someone like Morgan.”
Did he care more than she thought? Was he baring his heart in the only way he knew how? Her throat ached with tears. She hadn’t realized how vulnerable he was. He’d boasted of his heart of steel.
She hadn’t seen, hadn’t understood. She had been focused on herself. Rick’s love had freed her to feel again. But it was Morgan who first cracked the shell. She closed her eyes. She couldn’t love them both.
Tara jumped up. “Now do a fun one. Sing ‘Jolly Old St. Nick’ with me.” Smiling, he pinched her nose and they sang. When they finished, they clasped hands and made a grand bow together, accepting any and all applause. Of course.
“Noelle’s turn.” Tiffany waved an arm her way.
“That’s not fair.” Rick came off the wall like the protector he was. “She didn’t know the rules.”
“But everyone has to.” Tara caught her hand and pulled her up.
Noelle stood. “I don’t really sing, but I’ll play.”
Celia moved for her to take her place. Noelle sat a moment, resting her fingers on the keyboard. “I don’t know any Christmas songs.”
“Play anything.” Tara leaned her elbows on the piano top. “Chopsticks.”
Noelle drew a long breath, raised her hands, and played, the music of Chopin flowing from her fingers as she’d been taught. It had been so long, but it was still there. Years of practice and study at Julliard did not so easily fade. Closing her eyes, she found the joy in even this clumsy instrument and forgot those seated around her.
She imagined her father in his wing chair, eyes closed, listening, and a pang of remorse seized her. If only she were a little girl again, playing for her daddy with all the promise of her life ahead of her. Her fingers called out the music from the keys. Life was ahead of her still . . . a new life.
There was utter silence when she finished, and she looked up to see Rick smiling in astonishment.
“I’m so humiliated,” Tara wailed. “To think I practiced in front of you.”
Noelle started to stand.
“Don’t stop!” Stephanie called.
Tara nudged her back down. “Play something not so serious.”
Noelle smiled at the irrepressible girl. She wished she’d had so much fire at that age. Caught up in Tara’s mood, she launched into Rimsky-Korsakov’s “Flight of the Bumblebee.” Her fingers flew over the keys as Tara dragged Morgan to his feet to dance. Noelle finished and raised her hands.
Tara clung to her arm. “I want you to teach me.”
“Be real,” Stephanie scoffed.
Tara collapsed onto the couch, so Noelle joined Rick against the wall.
He leaned close. “I’ve got to get you a piano.”
“Now that we’ve all had our chance in the spotlight, we’ll hear about the true light.” Hank opened up his large Bible. “The birth of our Lord according to Saint Luke.” He read the story that Noelle had heard in various forms since A Charlie Brown Christmas. It wasn’t threatening or especially believable—angels telling women they were pregnant, one who had never had relations with a man. How could they believe all that? Couldn’t they tell it was a myth like any other? Zeus and the gods of Mount Olympus procreating with mortals to create heroes half god, half man.
It was an interesting twist making Jesus poor and helpless, but many of the other myths included jealous rivals threatening the life of the hero and forcing him to flee. The pattern was recognizable. It even brought astrology into it. How else would the wise men have attributed a star to a human event? Astronomy would have accounted for a stellar anomaly, but only a pseudo-science would ascribe prophetic meaning. Hank stopped reading when the mythical family had fled to Egypt to escape the destruction that all the other babies suffered in place of “God’s son.” Why hadn’t the angel warned the other families, cleared them all out of Bethlehem?
The moment Hank closed the book, Tara jumped up like a music-box clown. “Presents, presents, presents. Come on, everyone, it’s time to open presents.”
They all gathered around the Christmas tree. Noelle dropped to the floor with the rest of them. She smiled when Hank pulled on the Santa hat and rummaged the gifts out from under the tree. He handed them around in stacks. No one moved until he was finished, then he winked at Tara. “Oldest to youngest, parents excepted.”
She wailed.
“She can have my turn.” Morgan chucked her chin.
“No way.” Stephanie plopped a package in his lap. “We have to follow Santa’s orders.”
Morgan laughed when he opened the Looney Tunes tie and looped it over his neck.
“That’s from me.” Tara bobbed up to get her hug.
He squeezed her. “I never would have guessed.”
Rick got leather work gloves from Hank. Noelle watched him pull them over his long fingers and try the fit. “Thanks, Dad.”
“Noelle’s turn.” Tara was making sure no one dallied.
Noelle looked down. The small box on the top of her stack had Morgan’s name on the tag. She opened it to find a bottle of Parisian perfume.
He smiled wryly. “Just a little something from the Champs-Élysées.”
Her chest was tight. “Thank you, Morgan.”
“I hope that’s what’s in mine!” Tara shook the big box that held Morgan’s gift to her.
“Oh sure, Tara.” Stephanie nudged her shoulder. “Like Morgan’s going to bring you French perfume.”
“I will next time, Peanut.”
Though it was Therese’s turn, Tara tore into her package, pulled out the red-and-white-striped footed pajamas, and shrieked. “Oh, I love them! I’m going to wear them right now!”
“Wait until you’ve opened the rest.” Celia laughed. “Morgan, how could you?”
He chuckled. “They had her name all over them.”
When the family gifts had been exchanged, Noelle handed out the portraits she had done of each of them, finished in the wood frames Rick had fashioned unknowingly. She dropped down next to Morgan. “Yours isn’t framed, Morgan, because I didn’t know you were coming.” She’d only asked Rick for seven frames. “I painted it from memory.” She had certainly not sat and sketched him in the difficult time since he had arrived.
He slipped the paper off and gazed at the likeness of his face. She had painted him as she remembered him best, blue eyes sparkling with fun, mouth drawn into a droll smile. He spoke softly. “You have a pretty remarkable memory.”
Last she knelt beside Rick and handed him his portrait. She had used an early sketch of him leaning back against the fence with Destiny behind him. Beyond that were the craggy peaks of the ranch. His pose showed his strength, his mastery, but she had also captured his gentleness.
He laid it across his knees, took her hands, and kissed her. “This one goes in the main room.”
“Well.” Hank patted his thighs and stood. “Time for Mass.”
Noelle glanced up at Rick, and he raised an eyebrow. “Midnight Mass. It’s a tradition.” He helped her to her feet.
“You can’t be serious. You’re going to church now?”
“Come with me.” He gave her that deep-eyed look.
She knew what it meant to him. She saw Celia watching. Morgan as well. What could it hurt? It was still her choice, her decision.
But when she reached the door of the church, she froze. God’s house. The phrase leapt to her mind. And it brought a stark terror. Why? Why would God’s house scare her so? Again the picture flashed. A tall robed figure with giant wings. Not a bird as she’d first thought. A man. An angel? Why would she be afraid of an angel?
Unaware of her terror, Rick led her through the door with his fingertips to her lower back. The church glittered with candles. Green garlands with red-and-gold ribbon wrapped the pillars. She glanced up fretfully, but there were only small rectangular windows, dark with night sky.
It was a modern, semi-attractive building, unlike the churches in New York. At least the ones she knew of. It didn’t seem imposing enough to house Rick’s God. Maybe it didn’t. That thought relaxed her. She looked toward the altar.
A statue of a man hung in the death throes of suffering on a cross. Not a man to people like Rick; it was Jesus, the Savior, the Christ. “And the Word became flesh and made His dwelling among us. . . .” The son of God, the Creator, the one to whom Rick gave complete allegiance.
She wondered, now, how Rick would choose between them. He clasped her hand, but glancing up, she saw his eyes, too, on the cross. His choice would still be for his God.
She looked up at the tortured face of this Jesus. What kind of father allowed his son to suffer like that? Her chest tightened. What kind chose a rapist for his daughter? She trembled. She loved Rick. She couldn’t help that. But she wanted no part of his God.