Fiona watched the carriage leave, the rumble of wheels seeming to strike deep within her soul. From far away the church clock struck three echoey booms, the sound of a coffin being nailed shut. Too melodramatic? Staci placed an asterisk next to it, rubbed at her weary eyes, and resumed the alterations. So much for thinking this story was done. She would not look back, she would not, even as a small part of her wondered if her heart might be breaking.
No, no, no. Staci pressed the delete button, one she’d used more often than she’d wanted in recent days. Fiona might be a medieval-era girl, but she possessed some modern sensibilities. She wouldn’t break her heart. Hearts didn’t break, after all. They merely were bruised for a really long time, as if the inner workings—the ventricles, or maybe the aorta—were clogged or damaged, and couldn’t function properly after all.
But hearts didn’t break, she thought savagely, so Fiona’s wouldn’t. And neither would anyone else’s.
It had been nearly a week since the French restaurant debacle. A week of unanswered calls, of awkward visits with Jenny, of Gran finally coming home. A week of confusion, of frustration, of putting on a brave face. A week of rewriting the last chapters. A week of tears leaking onto her pillow. A week when she’d seen James exactly once, at church, before he’d disappeared with Joel, Serena, and Joel’s sister Toni. Maybe she should make an appointment at the clinic. He’d have to speak to her then, wouldn’t he?
She still couldn’t quite fathom what had happened, why he’d seemed upset but hadn’t fought for her. How serious had his attentions really been? Had she underestimated his feelings? Maybe when he’d murmured that he’d never felt this way before she should’ve realized that perhaps he actually hadn’t. Maybe his kisses had possessed so much potency because he wasn’t used to spreading them thin. She wished she could enjoy his kisses again. Wished he didn’t think of this—them—as a mistake.
Not that she was any better. ‘Mistake’ seemed to be her middle name. Regrets at her former way of life gnawed her dreams, shadowed her days. She’d prayed and sensed God’s peace, so she didn’t despair. At least with her career. She even sensed she should return for this year’s Flame Christmas party. She’d received the last-minute invitation yesterday. The emailed invite, anyway. Attached to an email from Max explaining—once again—that Flame couldn’t afford her to delay her submission.
This time the email demanding she submit didn’t faze her. She’d written what she felt she should write, and if they didn’t like it, well, she would have met her contractual obligations, even if a little part niggled at the thought it might be rejected for not meeting their ‘usual standards.’
Whatever. With the rewrites of this chapter and the next, and a final read through and check for errors, she’d soon be finished. It might not be her best work, but it felt a better work, cleaner, if not exactly highly polished. It was amazing how much she could write without the distractions of a certain doctor, whom she’d only seen at a distance at the church service last Sunday.
A knock came at the closed bedroom door. “Come in,” Staci called.
“Staci?” Gran’s sweet face appeared. “Have you thought any more about Christmas?”
Regret gnawed. “I’d really like to stay,” for Gran, if nobody else, “but this seems to be my best chance to speak with both my agent and publisher about the future. It’s not often they’re in the same city, let alone at the same party. But as soon as it’s done,” and she’d sorted out other Chicago commitments, “I promise to return. That is, if you don’t mind a roomie.”
“You know you’re welcome for as long as you want.”
“Thanks Gran.” Staci pressed a kiss to the top of her head.
“Now, where did I leave my glasses? Have you seen them anywhere, dear?”
Staci’s teeth edged her bottom lip. And this was one of those necessary commitments, why she’d felt to rent out her lakeside apartment. Gran’s memory seemed to have sharply declined since her hospital stay, and Staci could not fathom abandoning her last remaining family member to live on her own and had determined to look after her as long as she could. Her eyes prickled. For as long as Gran lived.
“Staci? Have you seen my glasses?”
“Um, your glasses are on the chain around your neck, Gran.”
“Oh! What a duffer I am.” Gran sighed. “You must think me a very silly woman, sometimes.”
“Not at all, Gran.”
“When did you say you were leaving again?”
“Thursday.” That would give Staci a full day to make what arrangements she could before the party on Saturday night. “I’ll come back after the Christmas day service on Sunday.”
“You will?”
“I’ll be pretty late, though, and will have to miss the charity lunch, but I feel like this Christmas I need to start things properly again by going to church in the morning.”
“Oh, I’m glad! I didn’t realize you were attending a church in Chicago.”
She wasn’t, but it didn’t mean there weren’t any to join. “I’m sorry I’ll miss Pastor McPherson’s Christmas Day message.”
“Oh, well. I’m sure he’ll stick it up on that interweb thing—oh, what was it called, he mentions it every week, along with those blessed cards he wants visitors to fill out.”
“Is it a blog?” Staci suggested.
“No, no, it’s a listening thing. Has something to do with these new-fangled coffee machines I see advertised all the time.”
Staci stared at her. “I’ve got no idea.”
“Oh, come on dear. You’re modern and up-to-date. What do you call those things used in coffee machines?”
“A filter?”
“No, no, no. Oh! Pods, that was it.”
Staci chuckled. “Do you mean a podcast?”
“Yes! Oh my, if he’s said it once, he’s said it a thousand times. I don’t think he understands that most of us don’t know how to find the silly thing.”
“Would you like to know, Gran? I’d be happy to show you.”
“No, no. I heard it once, that’s enough.”
Another reason to be concerned. Gran usually loved dissecting sermons and rereading her notes taken during the service, taking the time to look up every Bible reference. But the hospital counselor had said she might be prone to bouts of confusion, so Staci could only hope and pray this was one of those times.
The doorbell rang. Staci hobbled to the door and peered through the peephole. Then wished she hadn’t. Why had she decided today to wear her holey and slightly baggy red checked leggings? She’d wanted comfort, not class. Now she wished she’d made more of an effort.
“Are you going to open that thing or am I?” Gran tutted, moving to the door.
“I’ve got it, Gran,” Staci said, and swung it open. “Hello, Dr. Wells.”
“I’ve come to check on the patient.” From the way he didn’t look at her, she supposed he meant Gran.
“Well, as you can see, she’s doing well.” She gestured to where Gran stood, her face wrinkling into smiles.
“Dear boy!” Gran stretched out her hands. “How are you? It seems an age since we’ve seen you.”
“Hello, Rose,” he said, thawing slightly. “You’re looking well.”
“I’m looking old, that’s what I’m looking.” She grimaced. “But never mind me. Anastacia is looking very well, don’t you agree?”
A muscle ticked in his jaw. Still he didn’t look at her. “Yes.”
“How can you say that when you’ve barely glanced at her? Annie, say hello to the young doctor there.”
Staci summoned a smile to her lips. “Hello,” she said, parroting more softly, “to the young doctor there.”
His gaze slid to hers for a moment, a moment she was sorely tempted to pull a face or do something equally startling to jerk him from this aloofness. But she refrained, maturity winning out. If he held onto this unreasonableness, then that was his problem, and it wasn’t her responsibility to jolly him along. She’d endeavor to treat him as per normal.
“I don’t know if I ever thanked you for putting up my tree,” Gran said. “It’s been so long since I’ve had a real one, and the scent fills the house just like I remember from years ago.”
He unbent enough to give her a small smile. “I’m glad you like it, Rose.”
“Oh, we both do, don’t we, Annie?”
Staci finally met his gaze. “Love it.”
He flushed and looked away. “Now, Rose, I just wanted to check…”
His voice lowered as he continued talking. Staci remained beside the door. His presence here was unexpected. Gran had been seen by a nurse just yesterday, who had proclaimed her quite well, especially considering her advanced age. She frowned. Surely he could have found the nurse’s report easily enough. Why was he here?
“Very good. Well, I best be going again,” he said, once more avoiding Staci’s gaze.
Was he that embarrassed by her? A peek at Gran revealed she seemed just as surprised by the lack of any attention shown to Staci.
“Say hello to your mother and father for us,” Gran said.
“I will,” he promised.
Gran glanced between them. “You know, for two people who seemed to be getting on so well it looks like you’ve never met each other. I find that very strange.”
“I’m sure many people consider authors strange,” Staci said, glad to see red filling his cheeks. “Even those authors considered sweet and wholesome.”
“Oh, that’s right,” Gran said, turning to James. “You cannot know the number of times I’ve had my conversation interrupted by Annie as she writes down a turn of phrase. I can imagine some might find it frustrating, but if it allows the creativity to flow, then I guess it’s for the greater good.”
Staci was torn between wanting to thank Gran for supporting her, and chagrin at suspecting James thought she’d put her grandmother up to saying such things. Judging from his facial expression, he still wasn’t convinced.
He cleared his throat. “I should be going.”
“Oh. Will we see you again?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Will we see you again soon?” Gran repeated.
“I suppose so, at church.”
“Oh.” Gran looked disappointed. “That won’t work. Staci will be away.”
He turned to her. “You’re leaving?”
“I’m going back to Chicago. I’ve got a meeting with my publishers.”
He stiffened, his face blanking to impassivity as he nodded.
Such unconcern spurted something from within. “You should probably go, then. I wouldn’t want Dr. Coffee getting worried he might be portrayed in a book one day.” So her propensity for immaturity hadn’t entirely gone away.
“Anastacia Fiona Everton,” Gran protested.
Staci ignored the disappointed look in her grandmother’s eyes and stared into gold-flecked green eyes. “You don’t need to worry about ever being included in one of my books, Doctor. I prefer my heroes to want to try to understand their ladies.”
Something flashed in his eyes, and his lips pressed together.
She faked a smile, curtsied, turned, and limped away.
The cloud clinging to him since his last interview with Dr. Hollis had darkened with his mother’s morning news. Staci had left town. She’d left without a goodbye. Not that he could blame her. She was probably relieved to get away from him. Mom and Dad had asked about her, but he couldn’t answer, couldn’t explain. He was doing the right thing, wasn’t he?
“Dr. Wells?” Larissa’s voice came across the intercom. “A visitor for you in the foyer.”
His pulse jumped. Had Staci returned? Had she forgiven him? He hurried through the doors, scanned the hospital foyer for the red curls. Saw Rose Everton, sans granddaughter.
“James Wells, what is this I hear about you?”
James released a silent sigh, wishing Rose’s voice was not so carrying. What if the rest of the people in the hospital foyer heard? “Did you wish to speak to me, Mrs. Everton?”
“You know I do, young man.”
“Then perhaps we could adjourn to the cafeteria.”
He sent a message via Larissa that he was taking his break now, and accompanied Rose to the cafeteria, where he purchased her a cup of tea and a scone, and they sat in a far corner table near a window where they could not be overheard.
“I’m sorry, Rose. I really am.”
“Are you?” She peered at him closely. “For if you truly were sorry then it would not be hard to mend things.”
“I’m afraid it’s not so easy.” He briefly explained his reasons.
“Do you truly think her so shallow that she would care about your ability to provide? You know she has an apartment in Chicago. She has her work and has done quite well for herself.”
“Exactly. And I have nothing.”
“Don’t be so silly. You have you, your kindness, your compassion, your faith, your sense of humor. Don’t you think that means so much more to her?”
“Kindness doesn’t pay the bills, Rose.”
She sipped her tea then placed the cup down carefully. “I can understand a man likes to have his self-respect, my husband was just the same. But that’s not all, is it? Staci never explained either.”
A pitiful shot of relief streaked through him. Staci had proved herself kind to the end.
“What really happened, James?”
He gazed out at snow-burdened trees. “I can’t go into that.”
“Can’t, or won’t?”
He played with the fraying tinsel in the table decoration, sad testament to the fact Christmas was so near, an occasion he’d dared hope might actually be merry.
When he glanced back, it was to see Rose’s face had softened. “You don’t want this any more than she did, do you?”
He pressed his lips together.
“You cannot know how much it grieves me to see my only living relative sad.”
Okay, he really didn’t need the emotional manipulation. He felt guilty enough already.
Her eyes narrowed. “Is someone holding something over you? Is that it?”
“I cannot say anything more.”
“That tells me enough.” She sighed. “Well, I’m very sorry that you can’t see all of Staci’s most wonderful qualities.”
“I assure you I do,” he murmured.
“Really? For if that was the case—”
“Oh, hello Rose. Dr. Wells.” Dr. Hollis studied them, brows upraised.
James froze, as Rose murmured a greeting.
“I trust you’ve had a chance to think about what we discussed earlier, Dr. Wells.”
James couldn’t look at Rose. “I have.”
“Oh, Dr. Hollis, did you hear? My dear granddaughter, my only living relative, has gone back to Chicago.”
“Is that so?” Dr. Hollis said politely, gaze fixed on James.
He nodded.
“Then I guess what we discussed earlier is resolved,” Dr. Hollis said. “Good day.”
James met Rose’s gaze, saw the moment the truth leapt to her eyes. “Do you mean to tell me that Reg Hollis is behind this?”
He didn’t mean to tell her anything. “I cannot say—”
“—else you’ll lose your job, I see how it is. Well!” Her eyes narrowed. “Is this something to do with her books? I know the man is narrow-minded to a fault, but I never—”
“Rose, I do not want you to think I care more for my job than I do Staci, because I don’t. I,” he swallowed, “I love her.”
She sighed, her features soft with tenderness. “I knew you to be a sensible man. She is a darling, isn’t she? So clever, so capable and kind, yet filled with self-doubt. Reminds me of someone else I know.”
He didn’t have to look beyond a mirror to guess who she meant. “I didn’t know what to do. And she was wanting to return to Chicago anyway, and I didn’t think she’d miss me.”
Rose Everton made a “Pshaw” sound.
“Look, I know I didn’t handle things well. But if I don’t have a job here, then I’ll struggle to find one elsewhere. Dr. Hollis gave me a job when no-one else would, and I’m determined to stick it out until I’ve got enough savings that means I’m not forced to live off my wife’s earnings.”
“Your wife?” Her eyes widened. “I didn’t realize things had progressed so seriously.”
“They didn’t progress nearly as seriously as I wanted to, not because I didn’t want them to, but because I couldn’t afford to.”
“I understand now.” She nodded. “Well, we’ll have to see about this.”
“What do you mean?”
She smiled suddenly, straightening in her chair. “Didn’t you listen to the sermon last Sunday? Isn’t Christmas about God’s gift of undeserved grace and mercy? Have you been praying, young man?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said meekly.
“Have you been believing?”
Well, not really.
She pulled herself straight and eyed him firmly. “I think it’s time you start believing in Christmas miracles. Understand?”
“Yes, Mrs. Everton.”
Her smile drew out his own. Maybe there was a way to go forward after all.
He didn’t learn what going forward might entail until at the end of his shift, later that evening.
Dr. Hollis called him into his office and handed him a letter. “This came for you, via the hospital mail.”
James nodded, ripped it open. Read the words with a disbelieving heart. “The mission board is happy for me to return.”
“Yes.”
James looked up sharply. “You knew?”
“I suspected. It was on my recommendation.”
He had? Talk about miracles. Unless—“Do you want me gone?”
“On the contrary. I want you very much to stay. You are proving to be quite popular, both here and at the clinic, and that’s always good for business. And now things have been resolved with your author friend,” he pursed his lips as if in distaste, “then I trust you will consider staying on.”
James stared at the piece of paper. “I had thought I would say no, if the board offered me another chance. But now…”
“But now what?” Dr. Hollis frowned. “Don’t you want to stay here at the hospital?”
James met his look squarely. “I had thought so, but things are different now. I don’t like the feeling of coercion, being forced to give up my girlfriend for the sake of the hospital’s reputation. Nor do I like the fact that some might consider my work tainted, simply because of books Staci had written in the past. It does not speak very well of Christian grace, does it, sir?”
“Yes, but—” Dr. Hollis spluttered.
“I love Staci, sir. And I recognize I’ve let fear get in the way of telling her.” He rose, offered a small smile. “I do appreciate all you have done for me, in giving me another chance, but I fear I will have to offer my resignation.”
“Now don’t be hasty, young man.”
“Hasty?” a new voice called. “Who is being hasty?”
James pivoted as Dorothy Hollis walked into the room.
Her face lit as she saw him. “Oh, dearest James. How are you?” Without waiting for an answer she turned to her husband, sinking into the chair James had just vacated. “I do hope you are not making James make any hasty decisions, Reginald.”
“He wishes to leave.”
“Is this because of poor Staci? Oh really, Reginald.”
Dr. Hollis held up his hands. “My hands are tied. I can’t stop him.”
“You can and you very much will stop him,” she admonished, turning back to James. “I’m sorry my husband has been saying silly things. You must forgive him. ’Tis the silly season after all.”
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Hollis, but I don’t know what you mean.”
“Let’s not beat around the bush. Did my dear husband tell you to end your relationship with Staci or else you’d lose your job?”
“Now really, Dorothy,” her husband complained.
She cut off his words with a hand. “I do not need you to answer, Reggie. You have obviously said more than enough.” Her gaze centered on James. “Well, Doctor? Is this what he said?”
“Not in so many words.”
“Hmm, but that was the general gist of it, yes?”
“You could say so.”
“I never knew such a sanctimonious…” She sighed. “Forgive him, please, James.”
“I fail to see what this has to do with you, Dorothy,” her husband muttered.
“It has everything to do with me,” she snapped, drawing upright. “When my dearest friend informs me that her only living relative has been forced to move away because my narrow-minded husband has the temerity to tell a young doctor he must make such a choice between her and his job, well, I knew I couldn’t stay away. Especially when this involves one of my favorite authors.”
Dr. Hollis gasped. “What?”
“Staci Everton has long been one of my favorite romance authors.” She turned suddenly to James. “Have you ready any of her novels?”
“Only the first.”
“Hmm. I’d skip the second until you’re married.” Her eyes gleamed. “But you’ll probably enjoy the others.”
“I didn’t know you read her books,” Dr. Hollis said to his wife, brows raised in surprise.
“That’s what e-readers are for.”
“Dorothy, I have to say I’m very disappointed—”
“Do not dare to say you're disappointed in me, Reggie,” she said, narrow-eyed. “For if you do then I shall have to start recounting long and hard about all the ways you have disappointed me. Is this any way to treat a vulnerable young man? Bribery? Bullying?”
“Now, Dorothy, I really must insist—”
“Do you not have any concept of what this hospital is meant to be? A place of mercy, a place of grace, just like my father intended it to be,” she snapped.
“Your father?” James asked.
She nodded proudly. “My father was a doctor who first established the clinic decades ago, then later helped establish the hospital when he realized townspeople shouldn’t have to travel to the city for healthcare. It amalgamated with the government health services a couple of decades ago.” She glared at her husband. “And I shouldn’t have to remind you that he was none too fond of my choice when I begged him to accept you.”
“Dorothy, this is hardly the time or place to mention such things.”
“This is precisely the right time and place to discuss such things,” she insisted. “For if you judge this man”—she pointed to James—“then you have obviously forgotten how you were treated mercifully by those who could have judged you.”
Talk about awkward. James glanced out the window. It was dark, but he could see snow falling. What was Staci doing? God, be with her.
“Reginald,” Dorothy’s voice had softened, “Rose tells me that Staci is meeting her publishers about her new book. It has a very different feel, a very different purpose.”
“Is this true?” Dr. Hollis asked James.
He nodded, remembering some of the passages she’d read aloud, wanting his input. “She said she wants to write something that honors marriage, that helps people see love as a commitment. She was so glad to think so many of her previous readers might have a chance to understand how love can be portrayed as bigger than feelings.”
“Love is bigger than feelings.” Dorothy nodded. “Well said.”
A warm glow filled his chest. James thanked God for Dorothy’s most unexpected support, but he sensed from the way Dr. Hollis still frowned at him things weren’t sorted yet.
The chairman of the hospital board cleared his throat. “Dr. Wells, it appears that perhaps I have been a little hasty.”
“Reginald, you have been extremely hasty,” his wife corrected. “Dear James here is owed an apology, as is Staci too, I fear.”
Dr. Hollis turned pink.
“That’s really not necessary,” James began. “I—”
“Oh, I think it is,” Mrs. Hollis continued. “And I do hope you will reconsider staying on. Muskoka Shores needs people like you, Dr. Wells, people who understand the world is not always easy, nor comfortable, but can help others see how blessed they are, and their contribution to the wider world is important.”
James’s throat tightened.
“And it certainly doesn’t hurt to have such a personable young man be here. I declare the hospital seems so much brighter knowing there’s a chance one might see you here.”
Now James could feel his own cheeks grow warm.
“Dorothy, please,” her husband muttered.
She chuckled. “Now, Reginald, didn’t you have something to say to Dr. Wells here?”
Dr. Hollis turned to James, and with an air of long suffering said, “I trust you will overlook my unfortunate remarks from before.”
“And?” his wife prompted.
“I hope you will choose to work here.”
“And?” Her brows rose.
“And I was wrong in asking you to give up Miss Everton. Please forgive me.”
Bands strapping his chest flung free. “Thank you, sir. I’m happy to put this in the past if you are. And I will definitely reconsider working here—”
“Oh, good!” Mrs. Hollis said, clapping her hands.
“—but not before I’ve spoken with Staci.”
“Very sensible,” she approved, standing, and looping her arm through his. “Finished for the day? Care to walk me out? Of course you will, you’re such a nice young man after all. See you at home, Reggie.” She steered James outside her husband’s office, closed the door, and squeezed his arm. “Well done, dear boy.”
“I should say well done to you,” James said, gratitude threatening to burst his chest. “Mrs. Hollis, thank you so much.”
“Oh, it’s all your own hard work that got you there,” she said, patting him on the arm. “Besides, Reggie needs to learn he can’t always have his own way.”
He grinned.
“Now, do you think you could persuade Staci to put me in as a character in one of her books?”
He laughed, and thanked God, and knew Christmas miracles could come true after all.