8

Actually, I stopped worrying about the handbells. I trusted that Jess was right and that’d I’d do fine. So Brodie and I spent the afternoon mingling with family members, and honestly, it was as if he’d been here forever. Of course, I realized shaking unknown hands and chatting up strangers were no doubt in his DNA and no big deal. Sometimes, I just stood back amidst the gaggle and admired him. Secretly, of course.

Other than the many minutes I saw him with my parents, acting like long-time friends, gabbing, laughing, and chatting, and then consulting somewhat seriously. Once my mom blew me a kiss, and another time, Daddy tossed me a thumbs up. I desperately wanted to join them, but hesitated, too. Obviously they were taking about me, and that was never a good thing. So I busied myself with my little brothers.

Then it was time for Vespers. Quite a lot of the herd wanted to go worship, and it was an easy trail ride, but darkness meant cars. And I had to be there early anyway, so Nate offered. I rushed upstairs to tidy up a little, and Brodie dashed to the bunkhouse to ablute, too.

“Hey, how was it, the bunkhouse, last night?” I asked him when we joined up outside. Nate was driving, with Fred in the front seat with him, so Brodie and I hunkered in the back. It was a tight fit for those long, princely legs, but fortunately, a short drive.

“Um. Interesting.” He laughed. “Snorts, snores.” He scrunched his forehead. “And smells.”

I snorted back at him. “You’ve summed it up just right. Now…when we get to the chapel, it’s small but mighty. My dad’s company designed the whole development of Woodside Meadows. Gram-Elaine had sold a few acres years ago during a financial crisis, and years later, Dad bought them up when they went on sale again. He never even met the Martins until that summer I started equine therapy.”

Memories flooded me. How wonderful my life had turned out since those awkward days.

But now was Brodie. And, I realized, any awkwardness was long passed. So much about girls who wear glasses. “Everything about the development was done by his assistants and project managers,” I explained. “But when Dad saw the place, and fell in love with Rachel, he knew he wanted to move here. My Uncle Kenn, the Kennedy Grams told you about, even got married in the chapel while it was just in the framing stage. It’s so beautiful there. The architects left as many trees standing as they could, built around standing boulders. And used eco-friendly materials, too. Uncle Kenn’s wife Aunt Christy designed the landscaping.”

“You sound like a very proud daughter.” His smile was sweet.

I smiled back. “I am.”

Woodside Meadows was indeed beautiful and had won many awards for both Dad’s and Aunt Christy’s companies. One of the condos had even been our home until Dad built us a modern cabin. The area still holds many memories.

And the standout structure is of course, the chapel.

“This place is quite something. Glad they saved all the mature trees.” Just like a kid, Brodie looked up the trunk of a very tall pine tree when we got out of the car. Late afternoon sent shadows dancing on the snow crusting the car park, untouched now but soon to be scattered with the footprints of worshipers. Like Brigadoon, the little chapel hovered under setting sunlight and the start of evening mist.

A half-hour yet until service, the interior hadn’t come into worship life yet. Most likely, the candle lighting and a guitar prelude would start promptly at four. I still had handbell rehearsal. When we walked through the little nave, the big altarpiece had Brodie halt in wonder. And I understood. It’s our great-grandmother’s design. And always steals people’s breaths.

The giant mosaic is based on one of Grim-Gram’s oil paintings. Made from tiny brown ceramic tiles, two crosses stand on top of a glistening mountain. Beneath green hills, red rocks merge together, then split at the bottom to reveal the empty Tomb. At that moment, lights in the ceiling reflected just right to shimmer across the shadows of the triumphal emptiness. From top to bottom of the mosaic hangs an actual rustic wooden cross made from two large, natural logs.

“Wow. Just. Wow.” Awe hung on each of Brodie’s perfect English syllables.

I felt some familial pride, although Grim-Gram and I weren’t true blood. “It’s based on one of my great-grandmother’s oil paintings.”

Brodie breathed out. “It’s like the mountains around here. And Sedona.”

“You know Sedona?”

A grin showed his white teeth as he lowered his face. “Cowgirl, I met your brother at college in Arizona. Of course I took in the sites.”

My returning grin was as big but my own teeth not as bright. “That’s kind of the point Grim-Gram was trying to make. She always wanted to show how the Lord is everywhere, in our own time and place. Not back thousands of years and unreachable.”

“Well, I’ve seen a lot of religious art in the great museums, but this…I think it’s the best yet.” Awe still heightened Brodie’s tone. “Because I do feel like I’m really there.”

“Me, too.” I nodded. “She dabbled at painting in her last years.”

“Dabble?” He squinted. “This is far from dabbling.”

“I guess you’re right. I guess I meant she never had any formal training.” Brodie and I walked up the aisle, closer to the altar. Almost like a bridal couple. My innards got hot. Where had that thought come from? I started to babble. “Arthritis retired her from heavy ranch work, and she took up painting to keep her bones greased, as she put it. Her genre is called primitive art. As you probably know.”

Brodie nodded, stared closer than ever at the mosaic. “More people need to see her work than just those who worship in this little chapel.”

“Oh, they have.” I nodded now, eager to tell him. “Even though she would have hated it. She was very private. Came unglued when one of her grandkids entered a few of her paintings in the county fair.”

Brodie grinned again, but not as many of his teeth showed. “I’ll bet she won some blue ribbons.”

“Yup. Placed first in each category. Anyway my dad built an art gallery at my birth mom’s alma mater in her memory, and Grim-Gram’s work was their first formal exhibition. Her art got pretty famous. And collectible. There are some oil paintings on display at the ranch. Uncle Scott and Aunt Mary Grace have the original of this mosaic in their home. And there’s plenty of giclée prints available. But I’ll make sure you see the real ones while you’re here.”

That made me sad, that he wouldn’t always be here. Of course I’d known it from the beginning, but he’d be leaving soon. Too soon. I’d best hurry.

“Addie? Practice is starting.” Jess’s teacher-y voice startled us. I wasn’t sure how long she’d been around, but Brodie had been so struck by the altarpiece. I had been pretty engaged myself. Then I saw the handbells, on long tables across the chancel. Side by side, biggest to smallest, like a string of golden beads on a necklace. Within seconds, the other players found their positions, and we all put on our white gloves.

“I’ll catch you later,” I told Brodie. My nerves on the rise again, for both Brodie and bells. “I best practice.”

“Go break a leg,” he shot back and vanished into a pew.

“It’s an oldie but goodie, Addie,” Jess announced after the others greeted me. It had been a while since we played together, but I knew I could do it. Besides, those on either side of me would help me keep count as well, call out the number of the bar if I got lost. “One you’ll remember playing many times. O Come O Come, Emmanuel. OK, ready now.” She gave a counted lead in.

And the chant-like song slipped through my fingers on truly golden notes. My nerves quieted, peace reigned. And the words sang in my head. Rejoice, rejoice.

Actually, our song was the prelude, so my performance was over even before the gathering song, God Rest Ye, Merry Gentlemen. I could relax and enjoy the rest of the service. Even in the tiny sanctuary, the few pews of worshipers sounded as elegant and dramatic as a European cathedral and a Gregorian chant. I took of my gloves and like the rest of the ringers, joined family and friends in the pews. Brodie gave me a silent thumbs-up as he sang in a beautiful baritone “Tidings of comfort and joy” from the little songbook. I heard a wonderful tenor nearby and after a quick peek, noted it was Fred. I realized the hymn was familiar to both of them, and was pleased.

As usual, Pastor Steve’s homily was short and sweet, backing up various Advent traditions with Scriptural references.

And he finished with a benediction from Psalm 121, the psalm that had been my favorite ever since I found the Lord.

“God’s people, as we part this evening, remember ‘The Lord will keep you from all harm; He will watch over your life.

“‘The Lord will watch over your coming and going both now and forevermore.’ Go with Him.”

Brodie’s hand melted into mine. But I still needed to polish my bells. Until Jess caught my eye, said thanks, and that she’d take care of it.

Outside, darkness had come in full, like a cape of deep black velvet. Overhead, the sky glistened with stars. Angel winks, Mom always called them. While Nate and Fred jabbered with our friends Blake and Adam, Brodie kept hold of my hand and headed me toward the car. Old-fashioned streetlamps glistened in the silvery star fall all around the parking lot.

“You were wonderful, Addie,” Brodie said softly into my hair as he gave me a quick hug. “You and the other ringers. It sounded as majestic as, well, the big formal choir in Vienna I told you about. But it meant something more. Because it was you. In the here and now.” He propped himself against the locked car. My glasses started to fog up from the cold, and he took them off with one hand—the other not leaving mine, and wiped them across his soft jacket.

In the here and now. Because it was God. He Himself was in all of this.

“Addie, all of it…the reverend’s words. The song. Comfort and joy. The parting blessing. All of it meant the world in my here and now.” He sighed, deep, and his breath turned white on the evening air. “I discovered it’s not possible to be estranged from God after that. It’s like Christmas itself,” he confessed. “You always feel like a kid then. You go back to your childhood memories, experiences. Where I’ve just gone. Back to the time of truth and light in my own life. When kids believe without question, with the truest faith of all.”

Warm and complete, I nodded. “I get it, Brodie. I do. Jesus Himself said having the faith of a child is the greatest. It’s getting our grown-up beliefs, our confusions, out of the way so we can trust in Him completely. No doubts. No questions. We just believe.”

“And if you’re at the end of your rope, He’ll catch you.”

“Exactly.”

We leaned into each other in compete understanding. But I knew it had nothing to do with the two of us, but had everything to do with our Savior.

“What a Christmas present, Addie.”

I wanted to say Christmas miracle but didn’t want to sound trite or melodramatic.

Then we both heard the lactose intolerance song burbling from his phone, and he dug it out of his pocket.

He flushed in the starlight, and in the peachy glow of the streetlamps. “Sorry. I forgot to turn this thing off. At least Ilka didn’t call while I was in church.” He flushed in the lamplight. “I forgot to put it on vibrate.”

“Bad boy,” I teased as I moved away from him for privacy’s sake, but did not feel cold because his warmth stayed with me. “Go ahead, take your call over there. I’ll wait here.”

“Thanks.” He moved closer to the big tree he’d admired before.

And I prayed quick for Ilka’s poor broken heart.

In just a few seconds, Brodie was back, his lashes sparkling like the stars. My heart hammered for a moment. Tears could be both good or bad. With Ilka, I expected the latter.

“What is it?” We grabbed hands again. “Is she OK?”

He swallowed tears but with a smile. “Yes. The best she’s ever been. She just heard from the prime minister. And our parents. She said the Fokletung called an emergency meeting today, on her behalf before they break for Christmas. And our parents joined by video. The long and short: There will be an official and royal proclamation on Monday to permit the crown princess, and any future heirs, to wed whomever they choose. Any social status. Any nationality.”

“What? What on earth?” Disbelief unsteadied my knees. Which meant I had to lean against him again.

He grinned from ear to ear, forehead crinkling in joy. “Apparently Ilka’s argument was quite pervasive. She indicated this timely change should be in memory of Aunt Rithnulda and her famous love story with her foreign soldier. A lasting and loving tribute as her mourning period closes.”

I could hardly believe his words. “What’s the point? Didn’t…didn’t Olwer break up with her?”

“Not for long.” Brodie laughing loud, with pure joy. “It’s only eleven p.m. there, not too late to wake him up and get back together. Prince Sebestyen has been greatly understanding. Although he did tell my sister she’s smokin’ hot. In Hungarian.” Just like a kid, Brodie wiped his eyes—and nose—with his sleeve. “Olwer is already on a plane to her.”

In thanksgiving, I lifted my eyes to the sky, to the heavens, to the hills hidden in the dark from whence my help comes.

I cleared my own tears from my throat and wiped my own eyes. “I’d say this is truly a Christmas miracle.” This time I risked sounding trite.

He lifted me and spun me a round like an ice-skating team. “Well, I can’t reveal anything else, but I think another one’s about to happen. You’ve got to wait, though. Until Christmas Day.”

“But you’re leaving for Dornfeld…”

“Not alone, I’m not. And not until the next day.” First, he placed my hands against his lips, hot even in the cold. Then he bent his tall frame toward me.

I do believe in Christmas miracle. And our first kiss certainly was a good start.