PENNY HAD ALWAYS LOVED THE CHRISTMAS SEASON, particularly here in Kings Meadow. The commercialization of the holiday hadn’t reached her hometown. Not like it had in most places. And she was grateful for it. Most folks hereabouts knew how to keep Christ in Christmas. Even those who didn’t share the Christian faith. The town’s decorations had gone up along Main Street the weekend before Thanksgiving. With the blanket of snow covering everything in sight, Kings Meadow was the twinkling, sparkling, picturesque winter wonderland people sang about in the month of December.
But this year would be different for Penny and her dad. The joy had gone out of the season before it had even begun. She didn’t care if they had a Christmas tree, but she was determined to put one up anyway because her dad had made mention of it. She would force herself to string lights and hang familiar ornaments on the branches. To please her father, she would even bake the traditional sugar cookies and decorate them, the way she’d done every December since she was a little girl.
The Cartwrights had received several invitations to join other families on Christmas Day for dinner. Again, Penny didn’t want to but would go wherever her dad wanted. She’d left it up to him whose invitation to accept.
On her lunch break Penny bundled up in her down coat and knit cap and gloves and walked to the bookstore in town. The owner, Heather Kilmer, usually teased Penny, the librarian, for shopping in her bookstore. But not today. Today she simply smiled a greeting and asked if she could help.
“No. I’m just looking. I thought Dad might like a book for Christmas.”
“Well, holler if you need me.”
“I will.”
Penny spent a good portion of time at work looking through catalogs of books she might buy for the library. There were way more books released every month than the Kings Meadow Library District could afford to acquire. And yet despite the hours she spent making those difficult decisions, Penny still found pleasure in strolling the aisles of a bookstore, touching books, holding books, reading the back covers or the inside flaps. Her dad’s favorite books—when he wasn’t reading something new about beef cattle husbandry—were World War II histories and murder mysteries. Perhaps she would get him one of each.
She rounded an end display, expecting to see the shelves of the history section, only another shopper was in her way. She nearly collided with the man’s back. “Oh.” The word came out on a breath.
He turned, and when she saw his face, her heart sank.
Him again.
Trevor touched the brim of his hat. “Miss Cartwright.”
“Mr. Reynolds,” she answered stiffly.
“Call me Trevor. Please.”
I don’t want to call you anything. She turned to leave.
“You must be shopping for your dad,” he said, stopping her planned escape.
She pressed her lips together as she faced him a second time. How could he not realize that she didn’t want to be near him? That she didn’t want to speak his name? How could he not see her feelings in her eyes or hear it in her voice?
His brief smile held a hint of sorrow. “Brad liked to haunt the bookstores in every town where we did a show, looking for history books that he knew your dad didn’t have.”
Fresh hurt stung her heart. She hated that this man knew something about her brother that she hadn’t known. It felt as if Brad had betrayed their father.
And me.
Trevor glanced toward the nearest books. “I was hoping to find something on the history of Kings Meadow and the area.”
Despite her wish to remain silent, she said, “Heather keeps those books up toward the front of the store.”
“Thanks. I’ll look there.” He touched his hat brim a second time. “Appreciate your help.” Then he walked away.
Letting out a rush of air, Penny leaned a shoulder against the bookshelves.
“Get used to seeing Trevor Reynolds around,” her dad’s voice whispered in her memory.
How could she get used to it when seeing him made her feel this way? Angry and sad and weak and speechless, all at the same time. This was her hometown. What right had he to come into it and ruin whatever semblance of peace she might manage?
Trevor stared at several shelves containing the local interest books, but his thoughts were in the back of the store and on the pretty blonde woman with the beautiful, pain-filled blue eyes. Penny Cartwright looked so much like Brad. The siblings could have been twins, if not for the years that had separated them.
Penny blamed Trevor for her brother’s death. She’d made that clear. And he could even understand why. He should have insisted that he and Brad stop for the night at a motel rather than pushing on to their final destination. A gallon of coffee couldn’t have overcome the depth of exhaustion both men had felt that night.
For a moment, he relived the terror he’d felt as his shoulder slammed into the front seats, jarring him awake. Before he could understand what was happening, he’d been tossed up, then down, then up again. Grinding, screeching, breaking sounds had deafened him. And then everything had stopped with an abruptness that stole the air from his lungs. Silence, followed by pain.
With iron resolve, Trevor forced the memories back into a deep, dark corner of his mind. He ignored the aches in his body that still plagued him and drew in a deep breath through his nostrils. He let it out slowly through parted lips.
Better. That was better.
He reached for a book on the shelf at eye level and thumbed through the pages, scanning chapters and old black-and-white photographs without actually seeing them. Finally, he carried several books to the counter, paid for them, and left the bookstore.
He paused on the sidewalk and checked his watch. Almost one o’clock. He had an appointment at one thirty to interview for a part-time job as a town maintenance man. From what little he’d been told about the position, it sounded perfect for him. One day he might be cleaning up at the high school after a tournament and the next blowing snow off the sidewalks along Main Street. And since it was part time, it would leave him free to do what he could to fulfill his promise to Brad.
He turned right and set off walking in the direction of the mayor’s office. Kings Meadow, he’d discovered, wasn’t difficult to navigate. Streets tended to wind a bit rather than being laid out in straight lines, but they still ran in mostly an east-west or a north-south direction. Block sizes weren’t uniform, but that gave the town character.
Christmas decorations glimmered in shop windows along the way, reminding Trevor that he needed to do some shopping for his mom. She had urged him to come home to California for the holidays, but he’d declined. His heart told him Kings Meadow was where he needed to be this year. The belief didn’t make complete sense to him, but for a change he was going to pay attention to that small voice inside of him.
It wasn’t long before the mayor’s office came into sight. It was a single-story building made of white brick, perhaps the size of most of the two-bedroom homes that had been built in the forties. When he opened the door, he heard a small electronic beep, alerting the two employees working in the front office that someone had entered. The woman at a desk off to the right didn’t bother to look up from the papers before her. The younger woman behind a long counter smiled in welcome.
“May I help you?” she asked.
He walked toward her. “Yes. I’m Trevor Reynolds. I have an appointment about the maintenance position. But I’m early and can wait.”
“I’ll let Ollie know you’re here.”
Trevor had barely taken a seat on one of the chairs before a man came out of the office in the back. He was a big man, in both height and width. With the exception of the plaid jacket he wore over a blue shirt above boots and jeans, the man bore a striking resemblance to a character in an old movie about mountain men.
“Mr. Reynolds.” The man’s bushy white-and-gray beard brushed against his collarbone. He thrust out a hand. “Pleasure to meet you. I’m Oliver Abbott.”
Abbott? His meeting was with the mayor?
Trevor stood. “Nice to meet you, sir.” He took the man’s hand and they shook.
“Come into my office so we can talk.” The mayor motioned toward the open door beyond the counter.
On what planet does the mayor interview for a maintenance position? Trevor swallowed a chuckle and followed Mayor Abbott into his office.
The next half hour was interesting. Ollie, as he insisted on being called, didn’t seem interested in Trevor’s skills with a hammer, screwdriver, dust mop, or snow blower. Especially not after he learned Trevor had made his living as a musician for the past thirteen years.
“I love country music, and I love to sing,” Ollie said, leaning back in his chair. “But I never had a knack for playing any musical instruments. I envy people like you. You know, we had a young fella here in Kings Meadow who—” Abruptly, he stopped talking. His eyes narrowed, then widened again as he put two and two together. “Brad Cartwright was your drummer.” His affable smile was gone.
“Yes.” And there goes the job.
“Does Rodney know you’ve come to town?”
Trevor nodded. “I was out at his place a couple of days ago.”
Ollie steepled his fingers in front of his mouth, the pads of his index fingers tapping slowly. His eyebrows, as bushy and white as his beard, drew closer together.
Trevor heard the muffled voices of the two women in the outer office, then the closing of a file drawer. A large clock ticked off the seconds on the wall behind the mayor. Maybe he should leave. Why draw out an interview that would go nowhere?
But before Trevor could rise from the chair, Ollie lowered his hands and gave an abrupt nod of the head, as if having made up his mind on something. Trevor wished he’d left of his own volition before the mayor could dismiss him, but it was too late now.
“Can you start work on Monday?” Ollie said.
Trevor was tempted to knock the side of his head a couple of times and ask the mayor to repeat himself. He managed to subdue the impulse, instead saying, “Yes. Yes, I can.”
“Good.” Ollie stood.
Trevor followed suit.
“We’ll have some paperwork for you to fill out on Monday, and then Yuli Elorrieta—Yuli’s the public works supervisor—he’ll show you the ropes.” Ollie put out his hand once again. “Welcome to Kings Meadow, Trevor.”
“Thank you, sir. I appreciate it.”
A short while later, he stood on the sidewalk in front of the mayor’s office. His gaze went toward the heavens. What were the odds, in a town this size, that he would find a place to rent the same afternoon he arrived and then get the first job he interviewed for? He was no mathematician, but he was certain the odds were great against either of those things happening. And for both to happen to one guy?
I guess You really did mean for me to come to Kings Meadow, God. Brad always said You care about the small details as well as the big. I guess that’s true. Now if You could just help me figure out what I’m supposed to do here, I’d be grateful. Real grateful.
Rodney stared at the computer screen, the heels of his hands resting on the desk, fingers lightly touching the keyboard. Opening the e-mail program hadn’t been difficult, but clicking on the link that would open the mailbox named “Brad” was proving problematic. Every time he reached for the mouse, his chest tightened. He hadn’t looked at e-mails to and from his son since the day Brad died. But it seemed important that he do so now.
It had been two days since Trevor Reynolds came to the ranch to talk to him and Penny, and in those two days the promise Brad had extracted from the singer had never been far from Rodney’s thoughts. His son had had the gift of discernment. He’d cared about and accepted people wherever he found them, then had drawn them closer to God by being a loving friend. Brad had sent Trevor to Kings Meadow out of love. Rodney understood that much.
He clicked the mouse, looked at the long list of saved e-mails to and from his son—dating back to his first year in college—and scrolled to the one he’d received soon after Brad moved to Nashville.
Dear Dad,
You’re not going to believe this. At least I can’t believe it. Not that it happened this fast, anyway. I got to audition for Trevor Reynolds, and he hired me. Maybe I’m that good or maybe it’s because Trevor and I have become friends through e-mail over the years or maybe it’s because I’m so inexperienced he can pay me less than he’d have to pay others. Whatever the reason, I’m now employed as a drummer in a band. We’ll be going out on the road in less than three weeks.
Nashville’s been a little hard to get used to. It’s so big compared to Kings Meadow. Even compared to Boise. Everything moves faster too. But I’m going to like it. I’m sure of it.
This would sound crazy to lots of people, but I know you’ll understand. I don’t think God brought me to Nashville just so I could play my drums, even though He delights in giving good gifts. I think I’m here to help Trevor in other ways. He doesn’t know Christ, first off, and from a few things he’s said I guess his dad was rough on him. Maybe even knocked him around when he was a kid. Anyway, they weren’t close like you and me, and I’ve got the feeling Trevor doesn’t care much for the idea of a heavenly Father because he never knew what a loving dad could be like. He’s a good guy, but he’s got a wounded spirit.
Dad, please tell Penny how much I love her. We didn’t part on the best of terms, but you already know that. Tell her I’m sorry I disappointed her but that this was what I had to do. I hope one day she’ll see that.
Take care of yourself. I hope your back’s not giving you too much grief.
Love you,
Brad
Rodney drew a shaky breath and let it out slowly. He remembered reading this e-mail almost a year ago, but Brad’s words hadn’t made the impact on him then as they did now.
Lord, help me honor my son’s last request. Thank You for sending Trevor to us. Help me know the right things to say and do while he is here in Kings Meadow. Holy Spirit, mend this young man’s heart.
After taking another breath, he clicked on the next e-mail in the list and began to read again.