A Moment in Time (4 page)

In spite of her father’s negative thinking, Alice would hurry home from school and ask if there’d been any word from Mother. She saw a mixture of pain and resentment cross his expression as he replied that there wasn’t. Alice had longed to comfort him, but it seemed the only way to do that was to say nothing at all—to pretend Mother and Simon had never existed. It wasn’t something she could easily do. She wanted them to come home. She wanted her father to go out and find them.

“Do you think maybe the sheriff could find them?” she had innocently asked her father one morning nearly a year after her mother’s disappearance.

“No,” her father had said adamantly. “He won’t be of any help to us now. I’ve had word about them.”

“You’ve heard from Mother?” Alice could still remember the feeling of hope. Her heart had been wrung like a wet towel, squeezing out the pain of loss and betrayal of abandonment
until all that remained was the desperate desire of a child to see her mother again.

“I’m sorry, Alice. Your mother and brother are dead.”

He said the words so matter-of-factly that for a moment they didn’t even register. Alice forced meaning into the words, however, and her eyes filled with tears. “Dead? How? When?”

She thought her heart might actually stop beating. “Dead?”

“It was some sort of epidemic. I’m sorry. They died quickly and the authorities sent me word. That’s all I intend to stay about the subject.”

And that was all he would say. No matter Alice’s pleading to know more, her father was determined that they put the matter behind them. To his dying day, he refused to ever allow Alice to mention her mother or brother again. It was as if they had simply been eradicated.

Christmas morning found the orphans awake before dawn. Marty could hear them whispering and giggling from their separate dorm rooms. The boys were especially noisy in their space. Since there were ten boys and only five girls, it made sense they would be louder.

“I think we’d better hurry,” Marty said, tucking her blouse into her skirt. “They don’t sound any too patient.”

“Given the promise of presents and goodies, you can hardly blame them,” Alice replied. She finished braiding her hair and tied it off with a ribbon.

“Church comes first, though, and they know that full well.”

Marty took up a jacket to match her dark blue wool skirt. Slipping her arms into the added warmth, she couldn’t help but wonder if it had snowed again in the night. She could still remember her first Colorado snow and how she and Jake had thrown snowballs at each other. The memory caused her heart to ache. How she missed him.

But she didn’t want to miss him. She wanted not to care
that he was gone. God had been her mainstay through these difficult weeks, but Jake was never far from her thoughts. Now she would face Christmas without him. Without any word from him. Marty frowned.

“Is something wrong?” Alice asked.

“Nothing that hasn’t been wrong for a while now.”

“Mr. Wythe?”

“Jake. Just call him Jake,” Marty insisted. “And yes, I suppose there’s no sense in pretending otherwise.”

Alice smiled. “It’s only because you love him so dearly.”

Marty buttoned her jacket and turned away to take up a handkerchief. “My love means very little to him. But let’s not fret over things we cannot change. It’s time to ready the children for the morning service. Hopefully they’ve managed to start dressing themselves.”

She headed out of the room, hoping Alice would let the matter drop. She didn’t want to talk about Jake and how much it hurt to be without him.

Mr. Brentwood was already busy with the boys. “We were out early to clear the walkways of snow,” he told her. He had most of the ten wearing their clean Sunday clothes and was working to get everyone to comb their hair. Marty had to smile at the question posed by seven-year-old Wyatt.

“Why do we have to wear our Sunday clothes again today? It’s Monday.”

“But,” Mr. Brentwood replied with infinite patience, “we are going to church again to celebrate the birth of our Lord Jesus. Remember what we talked about yesterday?”

Wyatt looked at the other boys, ranging in age from four to eleven, and nodded with a sigh. “We gotta go to church two times ’cause it’s Christmas.”

Marty smiled. “And you want to look your best.”

“Can God see us even when we’re not wearin’ our best?” ten-year-old Thad asked.

Mr. Brentwood straightened from combing the hair of a rather rambunctious four-year-old named Benjamin. “God can see us everywhere—all the time.”

Thad shrugged. “Then why does He care which clothes I wear? He’s already seen the others.”

Marty ducked her face to avoid the gaze of the children. She thought she might well burst into laughter at any moment and pretended instead to fuss with her buttons. How the children lightened her weary heart.

“God doesn’t really care which clothes we wear. We’re doing this to honor Him—to show Him that we’re willing to take extra care to clean up and look our best for Him.” Mr. Brentwood cleared his throat. “Now, remember what I said. We will eat our breakfast and open gifts when we return. If you misbehave in church, you will miss out on the fun. So remember the rules about being in God’s house: No talking. No running. No fussing or fighting. We owe God our respect.”

This sobered all ten of the boys in the wink of an eye. They nodded, assuring their compliance. Marty raised her gaze and nodded, as well. “You all look very nice. I think we should make our way downstairs and get our coats.”

The boys hurried to line up. Wyatt came to tug on Marty’s jacket. “Can I walk with you?”

Marty smiled. The boy had become one of her favorites. “Of course.”

“Me too?” six-year-old Sam asked. His little brother, Benjamin, nodded rapidly in agreement. They had been in the orphanage for about five months, dropped off by their father after the death of their mother. They always seemed to crave Marty’s attention.

“You too. In fact, I’ll be right there with all of you,” Marty declared. “I love to celebrate Christmas and sing carols. You know, we could probably sing a Christmas carol on the way to church.”

“I think that’s a splendid idea,” Mr. Brentwood said, beaming Marty a smile. “Let’s sing ‘Silent Night.’ ”

They were joined downstairs by the girls and Alice. When everyone had their coats and hats on, Mr. Brentwood led the way. Marty mused that the children were rather like a group of little ducks waddling after their father.

The children sang at the tops of their lungs, a little off-key but nevertheless filled with joy. Marty couldn’t remember when she’d enjoyed Christmas so much. Indeed, she’d nearly forgotten that just five years earlier she’d been made a widow when her first husband, Thomas, died on Christmas Eve.

How did the
day get past me?

Marty fell silent as she considered the matter. The last year had been such a busy time. It wasn’t that she hadn’t contemplated her years with Thomas or the tragic accident that claimed his life, but her marriage to Jake had changed her focus. Jake’s kindness and gentle nature had eased her pain and filled some of the empty holes. Not all of them, of course. She would always remember Thomas. Her love for him was something special. But so, too, was her love for Jake. Maybe that’s why it bothered her so much to imagine that he didn’t care about her feelings.

She had hoped to hear something from him by now. Especially since it was Christmas. But there hadn’t been any word at all. Marty found herself regretting the harsh words she’d spoken to him before their parting. She wished she could take back the ones spoken in anger—in fear, really.

What am I afraid of
?

She almost laughed out loud at the question. The answer wasn’t at all difficult.
I’m afraid of
losing Jake like I lost Thomas.

But haven’t I
already lost him?

The question haunted her throughout the church service, and the joy she’d originally felt for the celebration waned. She was at war with herself. She hadn’t really lost him. But she had refused his solution. What obedient wife would do such a thing?

But
he knows how I feel about Texas. And now it’
s more important than ever before.

“Wise men from the east followed the star,” the minister declared. “They followed it because they knew what they would find at the end of their search. They knew they would find the Christ child.”

The children fidgeted but didn’t make a sound. All the normal problems of sitting too close to each other or of needing to share a comment were banished at the thought of missing out on the Christmas festivities.

“So what is it that
you
are searching for?” the minister asked.

Marty felt the question prick her conscience.
What
am I searching for?
The uneasiness that had threatened to engulf her since Jake’s departure reared its ugly head as if to answer.

You want everything your own
way,
a voice seemed to accuse.
You are so unworthy
of anyone’s love. You are selfish—a liar—a
schemer. Even God has cast you aside.

Marty frowned and lowered her head. She felt tears come to her eyes. Was it the devil who tormented her? Had God given up on her? She hadn’t been willing to see Jake’s side of the disagreement. Certainly he could have sought ranch work in Colorado, but there was something to be said for returning to those who already knew you and knew your abilities.

“Sometimes we search for what has been lost,” the minister continued. “But sometimes it is we who are lost and who are searching to be found. Maybe you have lost your way today. I want to encourage you to remember that it was through the birth of Jesus that we were given hope. It is through Jesus that we are found. Believe in Him and be saved. Believe that Jesus came as a babe in a manger, innocent and pure. Believe that He grew into a man who took on the guilt and filth of your sins and mine and died upon a cross. Believe!”

The choir stood to sing, and Marty silently prayed that God would help her to make better choices—to be obedient to both Jake and to God. It was a prayer she had prayed many times before.
I want to do
what’s right, Father. I want to live in a
way that would be pleasing to you. Help me, please
. I know I can’t face the future without you
.

The children were happily stuffing themselves with sweets and playing with their Christmas gifts when Mr. Brentwood approached Marty and Alice.

“I believe the wooden blocks and dolls were a success,” Marty said, smiling. She and Alice had worked to create five rag dolls for the girls, and Mr. Brentwood had arranged for the wooden building blocks to be cut and sanded. Painting them had been a time-consuming project, but Marty and Alice had mastered the task in love.

“I believe you are right. That is the joy of having nothing—even something small seems a great treasure. Speaking of which, I have something for you,” he said, smiling at Marty in particular.

“For me?”

He nodded and handed Marty a neatly folded shawl. “I couldn’t afford wrapping for it, but I knew you’d understand.”

Marty unfolded the material to reveal a beautifully crafted piece. “This is lovely, Mr. Brentwood, but I don’t understand.” She looked to him and saw his eyes light up and his smile broaden.

“It was knit by a poor Irish woman. She was selling her wares near the capitol, and I thought, well, I thought the color would be wonderful for your . . . eyes.”

Marty looked at the light blue yarn and nodded. “I love it.” She glanced at Alice. “The workmanship is quite impressive.”

As if remembering that they weren’t alone, Mr. Brentwood handed Alice something. “I purchased this for you.”

Alice smiled at the dark green scarf. “How lovely. You are too kind. I have nothing to exchange, I’m afraid.”

“I wouldn’t expect a gift from either of you. Your presence here has been a wonderful gift for me. I don’t know what we would have done without you,” he said, looking at Marty. Then he quickly added, “Both of you.”

“We feel the same way about you and the orphanage,” Alice replied before Marty could find her tongue. “Being allowed to stay here has been quite beneficial.”

“Indeed it has,” Marty said, growing a little uncomfortable. She hadn’t thought about it before, but now she couldn’t help but wonder if Mr. Brentwood was coming to depend on them too much. After all, as soon as she and Alice could figure out what their future held, they would need to be on their way.

“I’m quite blessed,” the man said as he rubbed his hands together. “With you here, I can take a little time to solicit funds for the orphanage. I plan to do so immediately after today. People tend to be in a giving mood around Christmas. If I can
secure pledges of monthly support, I can rehire at least one worker. For instance, I could offer you a salary, Mrs. Wythe.”

“Nonsense,” Marty replied. “I am working for room and board. That’s more than fair. What you need is your former staff. They are better trained at the workings of an orphanage.”

“But the children clearly love you,” Mr. Brentwood said, glancing over his shoulder. He looked back at Marty and Alice. “You have made them feel loved and cared for.”

Marty didn’t want to ruin the day so she let the matter drop. In time, she would remind Mr. Brentwood that her presence at the orphanage was only temporary.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me,” Marty said, “I have work to do. The children need something other than sweets and sandwiches and it will soon be time for supper.” She made her way to the kitchen, still clutching the shawl. Alice was right behind her.

“Is something wrong?” the younger woman asked once they were alone.

“I can’t really say.” Marty carefully placed her gift on a chair and went to put on her apron. “I suddenly felt uneasy. I’m worried that Mr. Brentwood is coming to depend on us too much. I fear he will expect us to remain here forever.”

“At least you,” Alice said, raising a brow. “He cares for you.”

“He cares for us both,” Marty protested. She took down a mixing bowl. “Would you retrieve the chicken and broth we put in the icebox and get it warming on the stove? I’m going to make dumplings.”

Alice hesitated. “Marty, you do realize that his feelings for you are different than they are for me. I might only be eighteen, but I can see that the man adores you.”

Marty laughed. “You’re being silly, Alice. He’s just grate
ful for the help. I gave money and time to his cause. That’s what he loves.”

Alice took hold of Marty’s arm but then just as quickly let go. “I suppose I could be wrong, but I’ve seen the way he looks at you. He doesn’t look at anyone else that way. I think he’s fallen in love with you.”