Hearts Evergreen: A Cloud Mountain Christmas\A Match Made for Christmas (15 page)

“T
hey didn't have a tree.”

Emma's words broke the weighted silence that had fallen over the girls on the way back to the church.

“Or lights.”

“Or
presents
.” The disbelief in Mandi's voice would have made Sarah smile if the reality of the Carmichaels' situation hadn't been so heartbreaking.

She'd tried to comfort Francine, but wasn't sure if she'd succeeded. The vacant look in the young mother's eyes reminded Sarah of photos she'd seen of women living in war-ravaged countries. After she'd prayed with her, Francine had managed a smile and thanked them for coming, but Sarah had a hunch the moment of brightness the girls had brought to the family's day would fade as soon as they left.

It hadn't helped to find Connor waiting for her by the van.

“When is your next appointment?”

The dispassionate question left her feeling as barren as the Carmichael home.

Sarah couldn't understand his lack of emotion. She'd chanced a quick look at him while Francine cried in her arms but he'd seemed unmoved by the woman's tears. At least, Sarah thought bitterly, he hadn't peppered Francine with questions or taken pictures.

“I have to check the calendar.”

The expression on his face told her he knew she was purposely being difficult. “Fine. You have my card.”

Instead of telling him it was in the wastebasket, Sarah had silently recited James 1:19. The verse she'd forever associate with Connor Lawe.

“Can't we do something for them, Sarah?” Mandi begged, pulling Sarah back to reality. “Like get them a Christmas tree or something? The house was so…gloomy.”

God loves you.

Connor had repeated the words in a low voice and then punched his final thought home before striding back to his car.

It's too bad platitudes won't pay the family's heat bill this winter, isn't it?

Connor's cynical observation cycled back through Sarah's mind as the rest of the girls grabbed onto Mandi's suggestion and began to brainstorm ways they could bring Christmas to the Carmichaels.

She knew what he'd say about the idea. Christmas trees and presents wouldn't fill a gap created by a missing husband and father. Or keep food on the table. Or heal a broken heart.

But maybe they'd convince Francine that people cared about her. That she wasn't alone. That God
did
love her.

“Call your parents,” Sarah said firmly. “Ask them if it's all right if I keep you the rest of the afternoon.”

Sarah saw the cars lined up on the road and realized half the population of Jackson Lake must have decided Saturday was the perfect day to drive out to Penny Whistle Farm and cut down a Christmas tree.

Armed with a saw, the girls decided to ride in the horse-drawn wagon to the cider house after they picked out a tree. Sarah panted to keep up with them as they waded through ankle-deep snow into the plantation.

The girls dismissed tree after tree. Spruce. Balsam. Pine. One was too spindly. One was too short. Jennifer even declared one the “wrong shade of green.”

Sarah silently vowed never to take them shopping.

“How about that one?” Jennifer pointed to a postcard-perfect Fraser fir in a section marked off with yellow tape.

Sarah took a silent inventory of her wallet and decided the tree was worth a week of eating pasta. “I'll cut it down. Saws are for youth workers only.”

The girls spotted some classmates and ran off as Sarah knelt down in the snow and began to hack away at the thick trunk.

The soft, comforting jingle of the horse's harness mingled with the laughter of children trudging behind their parents. Sarah closed her eyes for a moment, absorbing the sound. Penny Whistle Farm, offering hot chocolate capped with whipped cream, steaming apple cider and sleigh rides, was considered a family outing, but Sarah had turned the five-mile trip into an annual sojourn since moving to Jackson Lake. Anne's career had made it difficult to develop holiday traditions and even though Sarah wouldn't trade her unconventional childhood for a more traditional one, she embraced the things most people took for granted.

Most years, she and her mother hadn't had a living room, let alone a Christmas tree. The year Sarah turned twelve, Christmas dinner had consisted of fresh salmon grilled over an open fire in an isolated village in Alaska. The following year, they'd spent Christmas Eve basking in the sun on the deck of a sloop off the coast of California.

Sarah hadn't complained. Even though Anne's work consumed most of her time and energy, they were a team. It wasn't until Sarah reached her late teens that she began to long for roots. To live in a familiar place with familiar people. She never expressed that secret yearning to Anne—not even during those final months when her mother's health steadily declined and they spent hours sitting together on the porch of the cabin one of Anne's colleagues had loaned them. But somehow, Anne had known. After she passed away, her attorney had given Sarah the key to a safety deposit box. It took three months for Sarah to muster the strength to open it. When she did, she found a bank book and a letter.

You always encouraged my dreams, now it's time for yours to come true.

So Sarah came back to live in a town she'd seen only once. On the way to Isle Royale, she and Anne had stopped in Jackson Lake to buy groceries. While Anne, with her usual single-minded determination, conquered the deli, Sarah had wandered down the Avenue and imagined living and working in one of the quaint brick buildings along the tree-lined street. In July, there'd be a parade with a caravan of patriotic floats and dozens of miniature flags. In December, festive window displays and greenery. But most of all, there'd be people whose faces were
familiar
. She wouldn't have to take their pictures to remember them—she'd see them every day. She'd know their names and how many children they had. What kind of cars they drove. What they did for a living…

Out of all the places they'd traveled, Jackson Lake became engraved in her heart that day. Somehow, it had come to represent
home
to Sarah. She'd never forgotten it. And now, she couldn't imagine leaving it.

Why had Connor?

Once again Sarah's thoughts drifted—as they did with frustrating frequency—to Jackson Lake's award-winning journalist. Given Robert's fragile health, Connor would be the logical choice to take his father's place at the helm of
The Jackson Lake News.
It wouldn't be a big leap from reporter to editor. But judging from the expression on Connor's face when he'd said he'd come back to sell the newspaper, the logical choice hadn't occurred to him.

He was probably like Anne. With an entire world to explore, putting down roots, especially in a small town like Jackson Lake, would be the equivalent of being clamped in chains. In a month, he'd be bored covering city council meetings and interviewing the Resident of the Month at the local nursing home.

She couldn't think of anything that would convince a man like Connor Lawe—a man at the peak of his career—to trade the life he was living for a life of stability. And predictability.

Why was the thought so depressing? It didn't matter to her what Connor chose to do with his life.

Deliberately, she pushed her thoughts down a different track. The Carmichaels. Not only did the girls plan to give the family a tree but they also wanted to be involved in decorating it. And they wanted to talk to Pastor Phillips about making sure there were presents under it on Christmas morning.

She was so proud of the girls. She hadn't realized the Good News-grams would become more than delivering a message, and they'd become an opportunity to serve. In spite of what Connor thought, they weren't simply telling people like Francine that God loves them. They were finding ways to
show
it.

Connor. The man derailed her thoughts once again. Unwittingly, even thinking about him had made her attack the tree trunk with a vengeance. Wood chips flew through the air like confetti and the joints in her fingers began to protest.

Sarah sighed and relaxed her grip on the saw. The tool might have been a butter knife considering the amount of progress she was making!

“Can I give you a hand with that?”

A masculine voice penetrated the thick wool cap she wore and Sarah tilted her head back to smile at her rescuing knight in shining…flannel.

Connor.

From a distance, Connor had seen the woman struggling to chop down a towering Fraser with a saw that probably outweighed her.

He'd already spent more time at the tree farm than he'd intended, but a surge of chivalry had urged him down the snowy footpath to offer his assistance.

The last face he'd expected to see smiling up at him was Sarah's. The wind had kissed her nose and cheeks a rosy pink, enhancing the blue-green eyes.

“What are
you
doing here?” Her smile faded.

“I…um.” Did he have to tell her? “I'm writing an article about how wasteful it is to cut down perfectly healthy trees just for the sake of tradition?”

A reluctant smile tugged at the corners of Sarah's lips. She didn't believe him? He was losing his touch.

He squatted down and held out his hand. “Saw.”

“Yes, Doctor.”

“They have people running around all over the place to cut down trees, you know.”

“What would be the fun in that?” Sarah tried to wedge a stray curl under her hat and two more slipped free.

What, indeed?

In less than ten seconds the tree hit the ground, sending a spray of powdery snow into the air.

“Thank you.”

The chill in Sarah's voice clued him into the fact she'd remembered his comments at the Carmichael's house.

Not that he blamed her.

His conscience twisted, no longer dormant. He blamed Jackson Lake. The town was like a bad case of frostbite. No, that wasn't quite true. It was more like the
after
effects of frostbite. When the numbness wears away and those first tingles begin. Like a thousand hot needles jabbed into soft skin. It made a person think they were dying but what was really happening was…life.

The sooner he left town, the better. He wasn't used to feeling. In order to do his job well, he'd learned to shut down his emotions. After a while, it became easier not to let himself feel at all. He didn't need old memories prying open the places he'd sealed off. He'd managed to walk away from Jackson Lake once without looking back. He could do it again.

“Mr. Lawe! Mr. Lawe!”

Connor held his ground as a breathless quartet charged toward him. To flinch would have been a sign of weakness.

“What are you doing here?”

He neatly sidestepped that question again with one of his own. A sneaky but effective maneuver he'd learned in the field. “Is this your tree?”

“Isn't it awesome?” Jennifer grinned and the sun sparked off her braces. “I picked it out.”

“We better get going.” Sarah grabbed one of the lower branches of the tree and pulled. It didn't budge. “A little help here, girls!”

He buried a sigh. “Do you want—”

“We'll manage.” Sarah cut him off.

The four girls positioned themselves on either side of the tree and burrowed through the branches to find one that would make a sturdy handle. Alyssa yelped when the needles poked through her mitten. Emma's scarf somehow got tangled with Mandi's. To Connor, it looked like a recipe for disaster but he had his own reasons for not butting in.

“Aren't you coming back to the warming house for cider, Mr. Lawe?” Jennifer asked as they finally hefted the tree and marched past him.

“I don't think so.”

“But—”

“We'll have to take ours to go,” Sarah interrupted. “We have a lot to do this afternoon.”

The girls lapsed into silence and Connor watched them inch down the path, weighted down by the enormous fir.

“They put whipped cream on the hot chocolate!” Alyssa called over her shoulder.

“Real whipped cream!” Emma added.

Connor laughed as the tree began to bob along at a faster pace—no doubt propelled by Sarah's eagerness to get her idealistic charges away from his cynical self.

The engine wouldn't turn over.

Sarah tried turning the key again and heard…nothing. Not a sputter or a growl or a complaint.

Her forehead thumped against the steering wheel.

Now what?

The tree leaned against the back of the van, waiting for one of the teenage boys to tie it on. She'd had the presence of mind to warm up the temperamental vehicle for a few minutes so at least they wouldn't have to unload the tree while they waited to be picked up by a more reliable one.