Samuel was angry. But mostly with himself.
He’d overreacted where Melissa and the broken angels were concerned, scaring the young girl terribly. She had burst into sobs as he stomped out the door. The sound crushed him so much he almost turned around and walked back in.
And where Molly was concerned, he’d underplayed things. He hadn’t been at all honest with her about his past or his feelings. Maybe if he hadn’t hidden the truth, she might’ve had the chance to be more honest with him. Not that any of it mattered now. She was involved with another man. And as much as he wanted to fight for her, why put her through that? Evidently he’d misread the situation between them. But to know he could have feelings for someone again—at least God had shown him that much.
Overall, he’d walked out on a roomful of people who had to be shocked at his behavior—not understanding it one bit. And why would they? The entire time the group was at his house, he’d acted nonchalant and unconcerned, suppressing the truth. Then right in the middle of the nicest Christmas Eve he’d had in a long, long time, he blew up like a crazy man. He hated any of them thinking of him that way. Molly most of all.
“So, Tack, looks like I have a choice to make.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “I can either sit here in the barn all night trying to figure the right words to say to everyone …” He paused, not so fond of what he was about to say next. “Or I can get off this bench, go inside, and say whatever words come out.”
Tack grunted once. Then twice, as if opting for Samuel’s second idea. Either that or Samuel figured he was simply tired of listening to him talk and trying to be rid of him.
“Yep. Guess it’s what I need to do.” He drew in a deep breath, hoisting himself up. “Well, here goes nothin’, boy.”
Taking long, purposeful strides across the yard, he was barely cognizant of the splatters of rain coming down. It wasn’t until he reached the porch that he noticed how wet he was. Pausing outside the door, he swiped the water from his clothes conscientiously, feeling like an unwanted visitor rather than the owner of the house.
He could hear one of the women on the other side of the door warning he was back. He heard some scuffling, too, and assumed everyone was getting in position for his entrance.
He rolled his neck and drew back his shoulders before he opened the door and let himself in.
He’d expected some sort of reaction. But everyone appeared as if nothing was the matter. Daniel was strumming his banjo lightly. Little Melissa was cuddled in Miss Vivian’s lap. Mr. Cottingham was reading a book. And Charlotte and Molly were engaged in a quiet conversation with each other. The broken angel pieces had already been swept up, but he was certain, after the way he’d lost control, they wouldn’t soon be forgotten.
He realized everyone was being kind, acting normal as could be. It would’ve been nice if he could’ve done the same. But his poor behavior weighed too heavily on him. He stood, dripping water on the hardwood floor he’d put down with his own hands. “I’m sorry,” he said simply.
Everyone looked up at the sound of his voice as if they’d just noticed he was there. He strained to keep from looking at Molly, not wanting to see what he imagined would be disapproval in her eyes.
“I especially want to say I’m sorry to you, Melissa.” It was difficult to look at the sweet little thing cuddled in Miss Vivian’s lap, but he did. “Accidents happen. And I shouldn’t have acted the way I did. You’re far more important than those angels, and I hurt your feelings. I scared you, which wasn’t right. I’m sorry I lost my temper like that.”
“That’s all right,” she said sleepily. “Josephine and I were dancing too hard. Granddad told me to stop, and I didn’t.”
“Well,” Samuel said, “dancing on Christmas Eve should be allowed, I think. After all, it’s a night worth celebrating—and here I ruined it for everyone. It’s just a lot of things built up … and well, I hope everyone can accept my apology.” He hung his head.
Mr. Cottingham closed the book he was reading and set it aside. “There’s no need to hang your head like that, Samuel. None at all. You saved our lives. You brought us to the safety of this house.”
“But there’s no accounting for the way I behaved tonight.”
“I don’t believe that’s entirely true.” Mr. Cottingham said matter-of-factly.
That wasn’t the response Samuel expected. He frowned at the older gentlemen. “What did you say?”
“I said, I believe there’s good reason why you behaved the way you did. After all, you brought us back to your house, to the very house I assume you were running away from. You fed us. Kept us warm. And I suspect we broke something precious to you. Actually, I suspect your anger stemmed from more than that, but we won’t get into that part of it now.”
“You know?” He gaped at Mr. Cottingham. “But how?”
“I’ve known since the first night we arrived. My bones were aching and I couldn’t sleep well, and—”
“That was before I started making him a cup of ginger tea at night.” Miss Vivian smiled.
“It definitely was, Viv.” Mr. Cottingham returned her smile before turning to Samuel again. “Anyway, I thought reading Psalms would help me relax, so I slipped down here, remembering that I’d seen the Bible on the table there.” He nodded across the room.
Samuel shook his head in disbelief. “And you saw the inscription. You saw that my parents had given the Bible to Theresa and me on our wedding day.”
“I did read that.” Mr. Cottingham nodded solemnly. “And sadly, I also saw on the family register page that your wife wasn’t on this earth any longer.”
“Yes, we, uh …” Samuel paused, cleared his throat. “We’d only been married two years before she died. It was three years ago on this very day,” he said quietly. There, he’d said it. And wondered why he’d made so many excuses about sharing the truth before this. “Why didn’t you say anything before now?”
“I figured it was your business, Samuel. Something to be told when you were ready.”
“He only told us a few minutes ago,” Molly said softly. “And only because he wanted us to understand why you were so upset about the angels. Oh, Samuel, I wish you’d said something. I’m guessing they were your wife’s?”
“They belonged to Theresa’s grandmother. We used to get them out every year on Christmas Eve.”
“I’m so sorry.” She looked down at her lap. “Very sorry.”
“No one could’ve known. It was my fault. I should’ve told the truth.”
“Samuel,” Miss Vivian spoke up, “when we were still strangers, you offered us your hospitality. You shared everything you had with us. You didn’t owe us an explanation, too. But young man,” she said, sternly but lovingly, “we’re not strangers any longer.”
“That’s right.” Mr. Cottingham got up, cane in hand, and strode toward him. Samuel felt the well-meaning clasp of friendship when the man touched his shoulder. “And since that’s true, I feel like I can tell you this. Son, there’s no easy way around loss. It takes time. Faith. And believing that God knows you’re hurting and believing that He’ll see you through.”
“Actually, this Christmas I’ve … I’m starting to believe that again,” he admitted.
“Well, good.” Mr. Cottingham patted his shoulder. “And Vivian is right. You’ve been more than generous, sharing all you have with us. But since the weather has warmed up, maybe it’s best for us to be on our way in the morning.”
Well, of course. Why would they care to stay? They probably felt like they had to tiptoe around him now. Afraid he’d lose his temper again.
“I think that makes sense,” he agreed regretfully.
He gave Molly one more glance, trying to memorize the face of the woman who had opened up his closed-off heart. He’d never laugh with her again. Or be captivated by her again. She belonged to another man. Everything in him felt heavy with the realization, but he cared for her too much not to respect that.
“I need to get dry things from upstairs,” he told everyone. “Then I’ll be sleeping in the barn tonight.”
“Oh, Samuel, that’s not necessary,” Miss Vivian said.
“It’d be better if I do. I’ll feed the horses before you all leave in the morning.”
Even though it wasn’t her turn, Molly offered to take the pallet on the bedroom floor and let Miss Vivian and Charlotte share the bed for the night. After all that had happened that evening, she knew she wouldn’t be sleeping anyway.
Hour after hour, she lay in the dim room, her heart aching beyond belief. Though Samuel wasn’t so far away—only across the yard in the barn—it felt as if each passing minute expanded the distance between them. She had wanted to explain everything to him, but he seemed to want to be as far from her as he could. He probably thought she was a liar. Or that she didn’t know her own feelings. But oh, she did! She had ever since she met him.
She stared at her velvet dress hanging in the corner, hoping it would quell her sadness. Just looking at it helped to bring Samuel close again.
She hadn’t imagined it, had she? The way he’d looked at her in the dress? And told her she was beautiful?
She hadn’t imagined it later, when he touched her hair? As if it was the most natural thing to do? As if the two of them were simply meant to be?
The thought jolted her. She sat up, her heart beating wildly. It was true. They were meant to be. They’d both lost the person they’d been closest to. They’d each decided to run from the hurt and the past. But along their paths, they’d found each other. She couldn’t just let him go.
Jumping up from the mat, she shook Miss Vivian’s shoulder. “Please wake up. I have an idea,” she said excitedly. “Will you help me?”