A Healing Balm
Reverend Alistair Harris stood on the little bridge that crossed the pond
behind the stone mill that had become his home. Leaning his forearms on the thin
railing, he stared down into the dark, calm water, remembering the small koi
pond Jenny had tended so carefully back in Tunbridge Wells. Jenny, with her
untamable brunette locks, her long curls always falling over her forehead. His
Jenny. It had been three years since she didn't come back from a trip to the
market, three long years since the constable had come to the parsonage with word
of the fatal wreck.
After that, after she'd so suddenly gone, he found himself needing a change and
with nothing really to tie him now to England, had moved to Coffs Harbor where
for the last two and a half years he'd been the pastor of a small
non-denominational church just west of town. Then, a week ago he'd been
approached by Bridgid Morgan, who invited him to lunch and talked at great
length about the new community called the Glen that was rapidly developing in
the country. He'd been interested enough to do a day trip out to see the place
and been pleased with the peaceful atmosphere and beauty of the area. The church
building was an absolutely classic, simple white structure with a steeple and
plain glass, green-shuttered windows. He was quite taken with its utter
simplicity.
When he accepted her offer to come and be the Glen's pastor, Bridgid had also
offered him several choices for his residence. He had decided on the old stone
mill, not the most practical, surely, but the most appealing to his heart. Jenny
would have adored it.
So, here he was, standing on the bridge, with a whole new chapter of his life
about to begin. He was 34 now and had never loved any woman but his Jenny. The
thought of her still clutched at his heart but here, in this place, perhaps the
waters of this pond would be a healing balm to his soul. He wanted more than
anything to be able to feel the flow of that coming in to him so he could then
pour it out to those given into his care.
A small fish broke the smooth surface, sending ripples spreading out. He watched
it, thinking how we're all like the little fish, sending our ripples out,
affecting everyone around us. He closed his eyes. "Lord, make all my ripples
healing ones here in this Glen." Then a cooler evening breeze picked up,
ruffling his hair, and he went inside to make himself a peanut butter sandwich
for his supper.
A Place in the Mill
Alistair finished his sandwich then lit a fire on the old hearth. It wasn't
really all that cool, he simply liked the company of the fire, the comfortable,
homey sounds it made, the smell of the burning wood. He was too newly-come to
this place for it to seem like home. He wasn't actually sure just where home was
any more. The little parsonage near Coffs had been a completely adequate place,
but its white-washed walls had never seemed like home to him. Home was a word
that had lost the heart of its meaning the moment the constable had knocked on
his door back in Tunbridge Wells. Everything in that house spoke of Jenny and
without her presence its voice had fallen silent. After that, he'd spent more
time in the stone church than in his house. Alone, on his knees at the altar,
was the only sense of homing he could find.
The fire popped and crackled as he sat back in the big oak rocker, pushing it
back and forth with the tip of one foot.
The mill wheel still turned, though currently more for ambience than use, and he
focused on the creak of the old board, the sound of the falling water. There
were ducks, too, on the pond, and they conversed among themselves with muffled
quacks.
He hadn't realized how tired he was until he woke up in morning sunbeamed light,
his neck stiff from a night spent at an odd angle in the rocker. After a shower
with rather iffy pipes, he walked into the kitchen to make himself a cup of tea.
The mill was old and the kitchen had been upgraded some decades ago to what
would have been modern in the 40's. Bridgid had warned him nothing worked quite
consistently, but still he'd chosen the mill.
What to eat? He'd brought a small sack of groceries with him and decided on
eggs. He liked them over easy and Jenny had been a master at that. This morning
he broke both the yokes and they instantly solidified in the too-high heat he
had the stove set on. There was no toaster and rather than attempt burning
something in the oven, he simply broke off a chunk of bread and ate it plain.
He'd forgotten to bring butter.
Carrying his teacup, he wandered out into the garden. There were a few iris
planted near the pond. He'd like more. He might not know how to cook, but he'd
always loved the soil. For him, planting an ugly, peeling, brown bulb and then
watching it sprout green in the spring, grow in the sunlight until it made a
blossom, for him that was a consummate parable. If he remembered right, Bridgid
had said something about a new nursery opening just down the lane. After he
finished his tea and had washed the pan he'd made the eggs in...there were no
dishes as he'd eaten them right out of the pan...he headed off in what he hoped
was
the right direction.
Ahnna and the Greenery
It amazed her how quickly it all came together. Maximus, Bridgid and Jack had
all gone out of their way
to help her make the arrangement, to contact all the right people, and now there
it stood, her very own
greenhouse. She walked up and down some of the many aisles of plants. It was a
really good beginning.
She wanted to add more of the local Australian varieties when she became more
familiar with them.
The greenhouse had only been partially built when it hit her that she would need
help running it, taking
care of it. Maximus was busy with the horses and the fields he was planting. The
greenhouse was her
venture and so she went into a nearby town and placed an ad for an assistant.
The day after the ad appeared in the paper, she got a phone call from a young
woman who was
interested in the position. And so it was that Ahnna Ayreland had come out to
the rust-colored house
and had tea with Joimus.
The Touch of Tears
Alistair enjoyed the walk through the wooded areas of the Glen. He passed a
couple more ponds and some small streams. Everything was green, lush with life.
That was it, was what he felt filling him...the livingness of the place. As he
walked, he began to sing the old hymn, "This Is My Father's World." Yes, he
could do it, he could rest him in the thought of that. "The rocks and trees, the
skies and seas, Thy hands the wonders wrought," he sang in his well-rounded
baritone.
Ah, there was the greenhouse. Hadn't Bridgid said it was brand new? He was
surprised at the size of it and the complex around it of stable and large old
home. He stopped and stared at the rust-colored house. If he didn't know he was
in Australia, he'd swear he was back in England. The building just shouted
'England' into the air of New South Wales. How strange. It also looked a lot
older than the mill, though much better kept up. He figured the mill was
probably the original building in the Glen area.
He was distracted from his thoughts by the scent of roses. Then he saw the sign.
"Rose Hill Greenery" he read aloud with a smile. "Perfect!" Movement to his left
caught his eye where three riders were returning to the large stable. A woman,
who had been tending the house garden, also saw them and waved and one of the
riders, the man mounted on a white horse, cut away from the other two and rode
in her direction.
Alistair continued on around to the front entrance to the greenhouse. Entering,
he discovered row upon row of nearly every flower he could name and many he
could not. He had been reared in the gardens of England and English flowers
remained his favorites. That was what had pleased him to see the yellow and
purple iris growing by the millpond. It was also why he'd come to see if he
could purchase more to plant.
He needed to dig in the soil, to plant something that had roots so that in the
plant's growing into the land, he would also grow into it, become a part of it
like the plant. The parsonage near Coffs had had only the tinest patch of land
and it was all tall hedges with a spot of lawn. There had been nothing for him
to do there, nothing to connect him to it. Now here he was on his second day in
the Glen, standing in a nursery with
iris dancing in his soul.
He went down two or three of the rows but didn't come across any iris. Surely
there were iris somewhere in all this bounty? Was there no one who worked here
he could ask? Four people had left the greenhouse just as he'd entered, but all
of them were customers. So far he'd not seen anyone who looked liked they worked
here and now the greenhouse seemed empty but for him. He wandered along, making
mental notes for future purchases of flowering plants, finally coming to a far
corner past where huge hanging baskets had blocked his view. Ah, there was
someone here! She had her back turned and the hood of her grey sweatshirt jacket
was up and pulled forward, which he found a bit odd on such a sunny day. Her
face was turned away from him and he thought she might be leaning her forehead
against the glass wall.
"Miss?" he called softly, hoping to get her attention without startling her. "Do
you know where the bearded iris are?"
The slender woman straightened, seemed to hesitate, then turned her head. He
didn't mean to, but he gasped. He was looking into the most lovely, hauntingly
sad blue eyes he'd ever seen.
Suddenly An Ocean
She looked at him quietly a moment then turned her head away again. In that
moment, though, he found he felt nearly dizzy with feelings flooding so rapidly
through him. It was like he'd been walking through a great forest, thinking
there was only forest in all directions, when suddenly he'd cleared a line of
trees and found himself on a bluff above a great ocean. There was no choice but
to simply stop, to breathe if one could manage, and adjust oneself to the fact
of it. No face had ever done that to him before. But, then, what he had seen was
more than merely a face somehow. He felt as if he'd just looked into a pool
where all the pain of the ages had gathered itself and he was pierced to his
very core by the fact that such pain lay amidst such beauty. And because he was
who he was, he was instantly awash in the meaning of the symbiosis between great
pain and great beauty and everything in
his considerable soul rose up to meet it.
When he was able, he said very softly, "I'm sorry. I hadn't seen you were there.
I didn't mean to...."
But he paused again because she turned her face back. This time, however, her
eyes were closed. It was too late, though, because even through her lids he
could see the pools that lay behind them. She was exquisite in her sorrow, like
Mary on Golgotha, and in an unconscious gesture his hand came up to cover his
heart. All that still ached inside of him flowed toward her, knew it was a part
of her nameless sorrow in that ungraspable wholeness of ageless pain. A mental
image formed for him of two clear puddles on dark pavement and the one that he
was ventured so close to the other that in that attraction of water molecules, a
path snapped open and the one became joined with the other. He blinked, sucked
in a great lungful of air, and let it out in small, ragged gasps.
It was obvious she had thought she was alone and even in the lines of her quiet
face, he could see she was gathering herself to meet his interruption of her
private grief. He marveled, though, that she, not knowing his response, yet
allowed him the grace of watching her gathering. He stood, waiting, the thought
of leaving not crossing his mind. He could not have left even if it had.
The smell of the greenhouse came to him again as he stood there silently, that
distinct scent of wet soil mingled with the meshed fragrances of multitudes of
flowers. Paradise would smell like this, he knew. This was the scent of life
and, therefore, it must smell like this. And somehow even the grief of the woman
in front of him was a part of that, was the grief of a tree fallen to the forest
floor, becoming once again a substance that would give forth, in its time, new
life. She belonged here, in this place, this woman did. He belonged there, too,
and almost more than anything it was his awareness they shared that which kept
him in his place.
All this passed through him and she had yet to say a word.
Soul Searching
By Jo and Layne
It was a beautiful day in the Glen. Sunshine and very few clouds in the bluest sky she'd ever seen. Liana was enjoying her walk.
During the little over a week they'd been here, she felt as though she hadn't really seen much of the place. With Ben busy talking horses and the business of the ranch with Charlie Prince, she'd decided to get out and remedy that situation. It was an eclectic assortment of houses the residents had built so far, she thought to herself.
Everyone seemed to have different styles and tastes. Pondering over the homes she'd seen, she walked along, not noticing where she was going. When she stumbled over a rock and felt something twist in her ankle, she was more annoyed
than pained. "Dammit," she told herself. "I should've been paying more attention."
It was then that she looked up and saw one of the prettiest buildings she'd seen so far in the Glen. A small, white frame church. Very simply built with
shutters and steeple, it was set back into a small area shaded by tall old trees. Liana was captivated. Limping slightly, she made her way across the emerald grass surrounding the building. Not expecting it to be open, she was surprised when the doorknob
turned easily under her fingers. The inside reminded her of a small church her grandparents had taken her to many years ago.
Sitting down in one of the back pews, she let the memories of her family come.
Then, her thoughts went to Ben. He was her family now. And yet-She'd fallen in love with Ben Wade the night she met him. Had asked him to come to Australia with her two weeks after that, had not hesitated for a second when he'd insisted they get married on their way to the airport to come here. It had all felt right.
But since they'd been married only a little over a week ago, he'd been mostly distant. Something inside told her that he had feelings for her, but he didn't show them. She felt frustrated, unable to reach him somehow.
Not knowing she'd been feeling so deeply about all this, Liana was surprised to find that her eyes had filled with tears. It was then that she heard a soft noise behind her.
"Good morning," a gentle voice said. "I'm glad you're here." He didn't say anything in the way of an acknowledgment that he'd stumbled across the young woman unexpectedly, that he could tell from the slump of her shoulders that something was troubling her. He simply said he was glad she was there and waited for her to respond in the manner most comfortable to her.
"Oh!" Liana was startled by the voice. It was kind and gentle but totally unexpected.
"I'm sorry. I didn't know anyone else was here." She was embarrassed that this man had caught her crying.
He was moving to stand in front of her and she didn't want to look up at him with her eyes wet. She dried them quickly with the back of her hand. Looked up into a face that matched the voice--kind and gentle.
"I should go," she said quickly. "My husband will wonder where I've gotten off to."
"Alistair," he said. "I'm the pastor here. It's a good place, isn't it, to come and think. I often sit here alone." He was leaving it up to her whether she stayed or left.
"It is a nice place to come and think." Liana smiled up at him, in spite of the tears still threatening. "When you come here and think, do you feel you solve anything?"
"It may depend on what there is to solve. But, yes, I do feel that." He sat down in the pew in front of her, turning so he was facing her over the back of its seat. "Often merely thinking in such a quiet place helps get our thoughts in order." He would not press her to speak. She would if she wanted to.
Liana wanted to talk to this quiet man, but wasn't really sure what to say. After all, there were some things about Ben that she couldn't tell anyone. Not even in confidence. She couldn't risk it. Hesitantly, she spoke again.
"Do you believe in Fate, Pastor?"
"An interesting question," he smiled. "I believe that right from the beginning God knows where I'll end up, but I can decide the road I take to get there."
Liana bit her lip. "How do you know if you've made the right decision? And how long does it take to find out?"
"My soul is quiet and at peace when I know for sure...like it is about my decision to move to the Glen. Sometimes, though, it takes a while for us to know. Not everything comes so easily, especially in matters of human relationships." She hadn't said at all that that was what was bothering her, but he could tell it was.
"Often we want to know something definitely when it's still all too new. People are like that. We want to know...now. And when we do know now, it's a real grace. Perhaps, though, that something is being worked in us by the not knowing. I've always liked the saying, 'Faith is going to the edge of all the light you have, and taking one more step.' I take that one more step all the time. That's how we live, walking in all the light we have, always coming up to edges. It's how we grow, by taking that step. If there were no darkness, that step would not be required."
He moved his arm, resting it along the back of the pew. "Relationships are like that, almost constantly. And then we wonder if we've stepped into something in the darkness that may suck us down or cause us pain. With God, when we step into the darkness, we learn to trust that even if we fall, we fall into His arms. Stepping into the darkness of another human being requires a process of learning who that being is, who we are with them, who they are with us. In some relationships that comes more easily than in others, especially when we invest all we are into someone else. Are there arms there to catch us should we fall? Peace comes when we know in the center of our being that the arms are there."
He was right, Liana thought. She'd stepped into the darkness with Ben. By coming here with him, marrying him, she'd invested all she was in him. It felt right. She simply had to trust that it was right. But had she stepped into more darkness than she could safely navigate? Was Ben's soul darker than those of other men? Because of who he was? Because of the things he'd done? And she needed to know-"How do you know if the other person has invested in you? Stepped into the darkness with you? If they don't talk with you very easily?"
"Talking always makes it easier to know, but not everybody is open that way with themselves. Some people have guards up they can't easily let down, not even with ones they love. If we've decided that they're worth it, worth the risk of that step, then the next thing we have to do is settle something in ourselves.
Being in a relationship is a constant stream of decision-making. There's that first flush where everything is so easy and loving comes without having to think, without having to decide. But a relationship is built when I decide every day that I want to be with this person because they are worth it to me. And that takes time. If we reach out our hand in the darkness and grope a bit before we find theirs, it's unsettling. But it doesn't mean they aren't there. When the words aren't there, even in the light, we look for the gesture, the glance, the sense we get when we're with them about how they feel about us. We look for how we feel in ourselves when we are with them and what that means to us. It's hard to stop wishing someone would have for us the words we need to hear and by the very nature of that, it can take more time to know the inner workings of their heart. There are times, however, when the warmth in a heart simply bypasses the vocal cords and ends up in the eyes. Sometimes the eyes say it all."
Ben's eyes talked. Perhaps they were telling her the things she wanted to know and she simply wasn't reading them right. Perhaps she wanted so badly to hear the words that she wasn't seeing what was already there. After all, she'd had the love and support of her parents all her life, until their deaths three years ago. She didn't know much about Ben yet, but she got the definite feeling that it hadn't been that way for him. That he had not known that kind of love and commitment from anyone. I want too much too soon, Liana said to herself. I have to give Ben more time.
"Thank you, Pastor," she told Alistair. "I can't tell you how much you've helped me. Things have happened so fast between my husband and me. I knew I loved him the first night I met him, but he-" She smiled at him. "I don't know yet, but I think he hasn't had the kind of love that I have in the past."
Alistair looked at her with his level sea-green eyes that seemed to see right into people's souls and yet did it so gently they never felt invaded. "Loving openly is harder for those who have not been openly loved." He smiled. "There can be a great beauty though, in opening up a hard to open place. Often there are treasures in there beyond our imaginings. It's up to us to decide if it's worth the effort."
He liked this woman, liked what he saw in her eyes, in her wanting to love well. She hadn't offered him her name yet. He would wait.
Liana so wished she could tell this quiet, gentle man everything about Ben. That she could reveal to him that she worried about Ben's heart and his soul. And that she so feared that someday Ben's past would catch up to them and that she would lose him. But all of that was Ben's to share, not hers. Perhaps, if he could meet this pastor, Ben would like him as much as she already did. Smiling at him, she rose from the pew. "I really should go now. Ben will be worried about me. Thank you again for talking with me. We're so new here, and I haven't made friends yet." She remembered Toni and said, "Well, one. But right now, she has enough problems of her own, with her wedding coming up in a couple of days." And then, biting her lip, she asked him, "Do you ride, Pastor? Perhaps you'd like to visit with us and go horseback riding one day soon? We have some lovely horses that just arrived." Then, remembering she hadn't even introduced herself, "I'm sorry. My name's Liana Wade, by the way! My husband's name is Ben and we have a small ranch here in the Glen. Ben's planning to breed horses. And you're welcome any time."
"As a matter of fact, I do ride," Alistair smiled. "I haven't really had the opportunity since I've been in Australia, but there seems to be a lot of horses here in the Glen. So, yes, I'd like very much to come visit your ranch sometime." He'd stood, too, and walked with her to the door. "I'm glad you came by, Liana. I'm looking forward to meeting your Ben."
"And I'm sure he'll like meeting you, too." She turned to go, feeling much lighter now. Feeling as though she'd unburdened herself, but wondering why she'd done that to a complete stranger instead of to Ben.
In spite of the pain that lingered in her ankle, Liana felt almost as though she wanted to skip home. She wanted to see Ben. Just wanted to be near him. After talking with the pastor, she felt that all she needed to do was to stand by Ben and give him more time. And look more closely into his eyes. Learn to read what was there.
Ben wasn't in the house. As she started around the house to go toward the stables, he called to her from the deck.
"How was your walk, darlin? See anythin' interestin'?"
Liana almost ran up the steps to the deck and plopped herself down on his lap.
"Yes, I did. All the land is beautiful. And the houses are each beautiful, but all so different. And there's this lovely old church."
She looked into Ben's eyes and kissed him deeply. "How would you feel about going up to the bedroom?" she whispered softly to him.
A Standard of Blue
"You were looking for bearded iris?" Finally she spoke, asking the question as
though she had merely turned and found him there.
"Yes," he said, his voice catching slightly as he attempted to shift back into
his reason for being there. "Blue, if you have them."
"Blue," she repeated, leading him to another section of the greenhouse. "You
have other iris?"
"Purple and some yellow ones. They were already there by the millpond."
"The millpond?" She stopped and turned to look at him. "You've moved into the
old mill?"
"Just yesterday." He smiled. "And I find myself in need of blue iris."
"Y...yesterday? Then you're...you're...."
"Alistair," he replied. "Alistair Harris."
"The pastor? You're the pastor?"
He dipped his head slightly. "At your service."
"I didn't expect...."
"Me? You didn't expect me?"
"No, I...I only meant I thought...."
"And I did not expect you, either."
"Iris," she said firmly. "Let me show you the iris." A couple of rows over she
paused. "Do you want container-grown ones or bare root rhizomes, Reverend
Harris?"
"For now, container-grown would be splendid. I'd like the color on the spot.
I'll probably plant some rhizomes later, though." He bent to examine a large pot
of tall iris. "Alistair," he said, not taking his eyes from the flower.
"W...what?"
"Alistair," he repeated. "My name." He ran a fingertip lightly down the
standard of a dark blue iris. "Do you have any in a lighter blue?"
"O...over here," she said, pulling a pot out from behind some deep purple iris.
"Are these what you're looking for?"
Little crinkles formed at the corners of his eyes when he smiled. "Perfect. Blue
like the sky in mid-summer." The beards on the falls were
white and there was almost no hint of purple anywhere. "Have you more? I'll take
all you have."
She found six pots of the blue iris. "All these? You're sure?"
"I'm sure."
Just then Joimus came in the door of the greenhouse. "Ahnna?" she called.
"Over here," the young woman responded. "The new pastor is buying iris for the
mill."
Joimus came around a corner and down to where they were standing, a big smile of
greeting on her face. "Hello," she welcomed, "I'm Joimus Meridius. Welcome to
the Glen and to my greenhouse specifically." She looked at the cluster of pots
Ahnna had gathered. "Ah, blue, I see. My favorite, too."
Each of them carried two pots up to the front counter where Alistair paid for
them. "Looks like you'll need help getting them out to your car," Joimus
commented.
"I walked," Alistair replied. "I completely forgot I walked."
"Well, there's no way you're getting those 6 big pots back to the mill in your
arms," Joimus grinned. "I'd take you in my little truck, but I'm expecting my
first delivery of cut flowers any time now and I need to be here for that. Looks
like you'll have to drive the truck, Ahnna, if that's ok?"
"Oh, I don't want to be that much of a....," Alistair started to protest, but
Joimus shushed him and so each of them carried two pots again out to the truck
that was parked just to one side of the greenhouse.
"You know where the mill is, Ahnna?" Joimus asked when the young woman got into
the driver's seat.
"I used to play there as a little girl," Ahnna said quietly.
"Good then! I'll see you when I see you. Ah, here comes the delivery truck
now." She smiled at Alistair. "There's no florist in the Glen so I decided the
other day to add a cut flower section to the Greenery. Let me know, all right,
if you need anything for the church."
As Ahnna drove, Alistair tried to keep from staring at her profile. "You've
worked at the Greenery long?" he tried.
"I only just started. The Greenery is brand new." Ahnna kept her eyes on the
lane.
"Was that Mrs. Meridius I saw, then, in the garden of the big house?"
"Probably. She and the General had it brought over from England when they came."
"General?"
"Yes, Joimus is married to a former General. He breeds horses now, though, and
is starting a riding school."
It only took a few moments in the truck to get to the mill. "You played here? As
a child, you said you played here?"
"A long time ago." She pulled up near the water wheel. "It all looks very much
the same, though." He sat silently, trying to imagine what she'd have looked
like as a little girl by this pond. "I'll help unload the iris," she said,
opening the truck door. "Do you want them over there by the other iris?"
"Iris? Um, oh, yes, that will be good." He got out and hurried to the back of
the truck. "Here, let me..." his hand brushed along hers on the edge of one of
the pots and she let it drop. The iris plant came loose from its container and
spilled out onto the lawn, dirt ball fairly well intact, but the tallest of the
blue iris had broken off. "Oh!" she cried, "I'm so sorry!" She popped the plant
back into its container, avoiding his eyes.
Alistair picked up the stem of the broken iris. "It's beautiful, isn't it?" he
said, not in the least upset.
"I've broken it," she whispered.
"And now it gets to come inside the mill and sit on my table in a glass of
water. A not-unhappy fate for an iris, I think."
"I'm sorry," she repeated, lifting her eyes slowly to meet his.
"It is not a matter that requires your sorrow," he replied. "It is still
beautiful and I will still enjoy that about it. There is no loss."
"No loss." Her voice was barely audible.
"No, not here, not now. There is no loss."
Looking in his green eyes, something in her almost began to believe him.
Well and Firmly Planted
Alistair stood there, holding the broken iris stem, then said, "Come. Let's go
find a glass for this before it wilts."
"In the mill?"
"Yes, in the mill. It'll just take a second." He paused. "If that's all right?
Have you ever been inside the mill...when
you were a child, I mean?"
"It was always locked back then, but I...I used to peer in its windows and...."
"And?"
"Imagine stories. It seemed a perfect place to set a fairy tale." The corners
of her mouth quirked up in a bit of a smile.
"I agree," he added, his own smiled widening. "I think that's why I chose the
place. Happily ever after and all that."
"Is...is Mrs. Harris inside?"
His smile faded but his eyes were still kind. "There is no Mrs. Harris, not for
the last three years."
She couldn't imagine anyone divorcing a man like Alistair. His wife must have
died. That had to be it. "I'm sorry," she murmured. Then trying to change the
subject, she asked, "That's an English accent, isn't it? Did you come here all
the way from the UK?"
His smile returned. "Two and a half years ago...from Tunbridge Wells. I've lived
near Coffs Harbor until just this week." He started toward the mill, pausing
just enough to encourage her to follow. "Are you a native of the area?"
"All my life," she explained, "except for when I went off to college, of course,
and a little bit after that."
"And what did you study, Ahnna, in college, if I might ask?"
"Literature. I've always been...," her sentence was cut off because they'd
entered the mill and she saw the mounds of books stacked everywhere. Her lips
parted at the sight, then she continued, "...very fond of books."
He laughed. "Then you're in the right place! There'll be a small library opening
soon in that vacant building near the church and most of these will be going
over there. After that I might even be able to walk from the living room into
the kitchen and not trip on them." He led her on into the kitchen where he
opened a cupboard, closed it, opened another and closed that. "Now let me see. I
know I have glasses somewhere."
Ahnna looked around the quaint old kitchen. It didn't seem to be very
well-stocked at all and most of the appliances looked a bit iffy as to their
reliability.
"Ah! I'll just use this one!" he said, retrieving a tall glass from the sink and
washing it out. When it was full of water, he made a neat slice with a knife
through the broken stem and put the iris into it. The glass was too wide for a
single stem and the iris tilted way to one side. He straightened it, but it
tipped right back over. "Oh, well," he said, and set it in the middle of the
kitchen table. "It looks nice there, don't you think?"
It did bring a nice spot of blue into the otherwise rather brown space. Still,
she wished she hadn't broken his plant. "Yes," she nodded. "It's very pretty."
She reached out and touched one of its falls very lightly. "I should be getting
back to the Greenery. Joimus is there all alone."
He walked with her back to the truck. "Thank you, Ahnna, for driving my iris and
me home. We appreciate it, all of us, and when you come back, those of us who
are blue, will be well and firmly planted by the pond."
She drove slowly on her way back to the greenhouse. 'When you come back.' He'd
said that, but she wondered when that might be and found herself hoping it was
soon. She wanted to see his iris, wanted to see them as he'd also said, 'well
and firmly planted.' Even if he were entirely new, she'd never encountered any
man who was so well and firmly planted in himself. She felt entirely rootless,
had for a good while now, and the phrase kept repeating
over and over in her head as she drove until she finally said it aloud. "Well
and firmly planted." What a splendid concept. If only....
Christmas Eve
part 1
Alistair spent the time after his dinner, or what passed as his dinner, sitting
on the large rock across the pond from the mill, watching as the setting sun
changed the colors of the old stones from which it was constructed. In England
there would be a deep chill in the air, possibly snow. After two and a half
years he was still not really used to the fact that in Australia, Christmas came
in the warm season. But it was so lovely here in his garden that he found he
truly did not wish to change the flowers for ice. In his mind he had come to
think of his new residence as Peacefield Mill. Just beyond it on the other side
lay a gently-sloping meadow filled with wild flowers where he often walked in
the evenings and would stop from time to time and look back at the mill. A great
peace always lay upon the land and so the name had come easily to him.
Tonight would be his first sermon in the Glen. He liked that it was to be on
Christmas Eve. Christmas Eve had always been even more special for him than the
Day itself for it was then the reality of Bethlehem most filled his heart. It
was that he intended to speak of tonight.
Going back inside the mill he changed into a neat, dark suit and then walked
down the path that led to the church. He had both a bicycle and a compact little
car, but preferred to walk in the Glen whenever the weather permitted and often
when it did not. It was only seven when he arrived and the service was scheduled
for eight so he took his time and let the presence of the little building seep
into him. Earlier today Joimus and her husband had brought over quite an array
of wreaths, garlands, and flowers. He smiled at the memory, for Ahnna had been
with them and the four of them, together, had decorated the building.
Now in the gathering dusk, he sat alone in the back pew and looked around at
their handiwork. Every window had a central wreath; every ledge was covered in
greenery with a tall candle waiting to be lit. He wouldn't do the lighting until
just before people began to arrive. The simple altar at the front was banked
with pots of poinsettias and an arrangement of boughs and candles on the altar
itself was punctuated by both poinsettias and white lilies. That was because for
him, Christmas was the beginning of Easter. The two were inextricably connected.
A pair of matching candelabra flanked the altar, each holding seven tall white
candles. There needed to be candles on Christmas Eve. It was when the Light had
come.
Quietly he rose from the pew and went to the front of the church, kneeling on
the low step there, praying for a long time in the silent places of his soul.
Hearing the main door behind him open, he stood and turned to greet Bridgid and
Captain Aubrey. They were the first to arrive since Bridgid was going to play
the piano tonight to accompany him. He hadn't had a chance yet to discover who
might be interested in singing in the church and so on this first day, he was
simply singing himself.
The two of them helped him with the candles. He kept the electric lighting
turned down low so that the candlelight was dominant, creating a lovely sense of
warmth in the room. As more people arrived, he stood at the door, greeting each
one, asking and committing to memory the names of those he'd not yet had the
opportunity to meet. When Ahnna entered by herself, and he took her hand in
welcome, he was not even aware that as he held it, he placed his other atop it,
nesting it between his palms.
When it was time, he took his place at the front but stood beside and not behind
the small wooden pulpit. He never liked the sense of separation that standing
behind a pulpit gave him. As his eyes traveled down the pews, his lips curved
into a smile. "Welcome," he said, "to a celebration of the night in which the
unbegotten God demonstrated His love for us by becoming the only begotten Son.
You will find that I am a man of uncomplicated, straight-forward faith, quite in
love with the beauty of the great simplicity that is found in God.
This is the first service we have had in the Glen and it is my hope that as I
come to know all of you and you come to know me, that we do so in this same
straight-forwardness of relationship. Most of us are still in the beginnings of
getting to know one another and I believe that creates a special atmosphere of
newness in which all things are possible."
The door opened and Sid slipped in, taking the same seat Alistair had occupied
earlier in the back pew. He had heard of this man who came bearing such an
unbelievably bad reputation. This was a complicated man, who could perhaps use a
touch of simplicity. Sid had obviously not wanted to be left out this evening, a
fact that Alistair did not miss. "All things are possible," he repeated, "even
those we may not believe to be so."
Bridgid left her seat on the front pew next to Jack and came up to the piano on
the left side of the raised section of the church. Alistair walked over to it,
too, and standing beside it said, "This piece is called simply 'Joseph's Song'
and sets the tone for what I'd like to talk with you about tonight. My father
died when I was just a baby and I was raised by a wonderful step-father so this
song has great meaning for me personally. Joseph was not Jesus' father, nor was
he His step-father in the literal meaning of that, but the comparison is there
nonetheless.
I have found myself through the years thinking quite often of what it must have
been like for Joseph to raise the child that he had placed in his care." He
nodded to Bridgid, who began to play and Alistair's beautiful, deep voice filled
the church. In the words of the song, Joseph is holding the newborn baby in his
arms, lifting his prayer, his concerns up to God. Partway through, Alistair
closed his eyes as he sang and raised his chin. "Lord, I know He's not my
own...not of my flesh, not of my bone...still, Father, let this baby be, the son
of my love."
Watching him, Ahnna's eyes filled with tears. How had it happened that this man
had simply appeared so near to where she lived? Her eyes never left his face as
he continued, "Father, show me where I fit into this plan of Yours. How can a
man be father to the Son of God?
Lord, for all my life I've been a simple carpenter. How can I raise a king...how
can I raise a king?" He sang as if he knew the deep heart of Joseph, as if he
were Joseph, and it was so piercingly beautiful she began to tremble.
Silent Night
Alistair finished his song, still standing there with his eyes closed and his
chin lifted. He always sang to God directly and tended to lose himself in it.
Whether alone or in front of others, he did that and he was so lost in the
reality of that that without the piano his voice continued on into, "I love You,
Lord, and I lift my voice...to worship You, O my soul rejoice. Take joy, my
King, in what You hear. May it be a sweet, sweet sound in Your ear." That was
always his prayer, always why he sang. Take joy, my King. That was the whole
point in it all, that he might give back some of what flowed out to him, that he
might not simply take, but also give.
Opening his eyes, he found Ahnna's face in the congregation. "Bless this woman,"
he murmured under his breath as he walked back to stand beside the pulpit again.
"Bless them all."
He never used notes to preach. He didn't actually even like that word. He wanted
to talk to the people who'd come. That was all. Just talk to them. And if he
didn't have it in his heart, he was not at all sure it was really worth saying.
"Bethlehem," he said, "so beautiful in all the manger scenes on Christmas cards.
I would like us to take a moment, though, and get past the cards and down into
the reality of the night. And as my song was about Joseph, I'd like to continue
with this reality from his point of view. He was not only quite tired, you know,
from walking all day; he was entirely desperate as he attempted to find a place
for Mary to deliver her child. How many times did he hear 'No' that night, heard
it over and over from grown men, lying in the health of their manhood, who would
not give way for her. And so it was with a sinking heart he followed the rutted
path into the cupping hills with the dotting campfires winking in the wind. He
lifted his eyes to the canopy of stars; thinking how the campfires reflected
that, reflected it as earthly things, made by human hands, a series of tiny
glows beneath the spread of galaxies. Even the grottoed caves were full this
night and the disinterested eyes of men followed as he walked, stumbling on the
unseen rocks that lay upon the pathless path leading him away from town, leading
him to the ruins at the very end.
"It was a hole, no more than that, a den among the crumbles of some shed, an
excavation in the sloping hill where once foundations held a wall. Only rubble
was there now, coarse trunks of trees supporting what served as its roof. He
paused, sighing, the burn of rope stinging across his palm, the burn of failure
stinging across his heart. 'Wait,' he said to the quiet woman drooping on the
little beast, and, dropping the leading rope, he entered all alone the place
determined from before the creation of the world to receive the coming of its
King on this clear and frigid night near Bethlehem.
"Taking free the sack he'd carried across his shoulders all this way, he pulled
his flint and tinder forth, lighting a small lamp, finding only one large ox
chewing hay far in the rear. It will do. It has to do. There is simply nothing
else. And so, gently, he led her in. Trembling with cold, she went near the ox,
laying hands on its warming neck. He stood a moment, looking at the vault above,
ancient cobwebs glimmering in his lamp's light, stretching from rock to rubbled
rock, spanning all the cracks and holes. Then his eyes turned downward to where
the floor was covered with cast-off trash, with excrement of animals. How could
THIS be the appointed place? He could such a One as Mary carried come here to
find His gate?
"She sat now on a broken seat made from two big rocks, watching with her silent,
large brown eyes as he bent to gather hay from just beside the ox. She needed a
bed, a place to lie, and his thoughts raced, bumping together in the dark. He
stood; both hands filled with the hay, and looked at the pale starlight on her
face, then at the filth that covered the dirt floor. His heart lurched, squeezed
with pain, and he set the hay in a heaping pile. With a little bunch of twigs
for his tool, he scratched at the dirt, in bent awkwardness, pushing excrement
far off to the side. How could he lay the straw upon such a base as that? How
could...He...be born atop the world's filth?
"The straw, regathered, was damp in his strong hands, the rain of yesterday
having fallen on it through the cracking roof. In a blackened corner, used to
shepherd fires, he took his twigs and lit them with his lamp, then squatted,
holding out fistfuls of straw. He would not have her lying on the damp. His
thigh muscles strained and ached, but still he squatted, holding fistful after
fistful, turning, drying by the little blaze till he was satisfied and piled it
up for her, a little bed, all that he is able to provide."
Maximus squeezed Joimus' hand. He was a Stoic, but he was relating to this story
as a man who loved, who cared, who protected.
"A shadowed shape passed by the door, some other looking for a place to spend
the night. No, he would not have eyes peering in, not as she does what she must,
not as He in blood and tears makes His way into the world. Shivering, he removed
his mantle, finding means to hang its woolen brownness over the holed door,
sealing them inside with its thin protection, billowing slightly as the wintered
breeze came and went, within, without the cave.
"Huddling now beneath her mantle on the straw, her brown eyes watch his slumping
back, knowing his manhood is offended that he cannot offer her more than this,
that he was not able to lay her in a better place. 'Joseph,' she says the word
softly as he turns, wanting him to see the love-light in her eyes, wanting him
to know it is enough that he is here with her in this moment and all she needs
surrounds her on this night.
"As quietly as possible he broke the little sticks, feeding them slowly to the
tiny fire, the feeling long-gone from his frozen toes. Closing tired eyes, he
heard the chewing sounds of his burro bedded now close beside the ox. In the
little flickering light, she watches him, his hands pressed tightly to his face,
lost now in deep prayer. Her own hands on her mounded self, felt now the
heaving, tightening of her inner being, as He made His way into the human world.
"Then it is done, as is the way of such as this, that way that women know when
even those more ordinary leave the round, warm safety of the womb and by the
tearing of the flesh enter into worlds, fresh and new. Joseph, kneeling beside
her, received into his workman's hands the Maker of everything that was ever
made. No aunt, no mother, no elder was there that night to fulfill the womanly
task usual then at birth. Only he...he with his large hands scarred from work.
He looked, utterly dumbfounded at what he held, the tiny, wriggling form of God
now in the flesh. His hands burned with his own unworthiness that he, of all men
in the world, should be the first to hold the form of God.
"Overwhelmed, he held Him, arms stretched out, not knowing what to do. What DOES
one do when newborn God is squirming in one's hands, a thing in all creation's
time that no one else would ever know like this. But the tiny form, still warm
from Mary's belly, rapidly began to chill in the winter night, the little feet
cold now against his hand. And, so, he tucked Him inside his tunic, close
against his chest, against his beating heart, and folded his arms across the
newborn form of God. It is then he knew that his heart is flowing...his own
heart has turned into liquid bands of light and stretched itself from out his
chest and circled round the little being cuddling close. Lifting up his bearded
chin, the morning star shone through a hole, puddling on his face, turning the
cobwebs into diamonds strung, each rubbled rock into some silvered throne. And
he saw with his spirit's opened eyes, the royal canopy of the grotto's spanning
vault. Then he knew that everything was right...wet straw, the webs, the ox, and
broken roof...all of it, every single part, was right...for the Kingdom comes
when and where it wills, turning cobwebs into silver in the night."
Alistair paused, looking again at the people who had come this night. "It is
more beautiful, I think, in its reality than in all the versions where
everything is clean and neat and warm. God came to turn our cobwebs into silver
with His light. His birth is His statement of that." He smiled affectionately at
these people he was only beginning to know and led them in singing Silent Night
while Bridgid played the piano.
Michael Meets Alistair
By Jo and Atonia
"Where are they off to? I hope my presence in here didn’t cause a problem." Michael turned, watching Carol and Gena leave the tavern.
"No, not at all, Dad, they’ve gone to find a greenhouse," answered Jude.
"Well, back to Richie then. He’s got a problem, a big problem."
Steve was mixing a drink behind the bar and looked up. "There’s a new Reverend Harris in town. He’s living up at the old mill. Sorry I couldn’t help but overhear," he smiled, "has Richie talked to him?"
"No, I don’t think Richie knows about him," Jude replied.
"Worth a try don’t you think, Jude?" asked Michael.
After getting directions from Steve they found the old mill and Jude parked the Rover. "Dad, what does this place remind you of?" he said, looking over at his father.
"The village mill where I grew up," Michael replied as he unbuckled the seat belt and got out of the vehicle. He stood still for a moment taking it all in and with a smile started down through the grasses toward the dark head he saw by the clump of iris.
The dark-haired man was on his knees pulling weeds from around a clump of iris and looked up sharply when he saw the two men approaching. "Oh, don’t let me disturb you. I’m looking for Reverend Harris," said Michael, still smiling.
"I'm Harris," the man said, sliding off a garden glove as he stood. Extending the hand, he added, "Alistair. Alistair is better. Is there something I can help you with?"
Extending his hand, Michael responded, "I'm Michael Stanley and this is my son, Jude. I hope
you can help us, Alistair. My daughter Toni is getting married in two days to Richie Roberts. Unfortunately having planed the wedding themselves they forgot a very important thing. They haven't got anybody to perform the ceremony. It's embarrassingly late to be coming to you and asking if you might have any plans for the twentieth of December." It all came out in a rush and Michael watched as emotions seemed to wash across Alistair's face.
Alistair was slightly taken aback for a moment, but quickly composed his expression.
"The 20th is fine with me, Mr. Stanley. I'm quite new here and haven't begun to meet all the residents. Richie Roberts, you say, and your daughter? I would definitely need to have a time with them where we could discuss the sort of ceremony they'd like. But, yes, I'd be happy to do it for them."
Michael breathed a sigh of relief. "I am truly grateful, Alistair, and please call me Michael." He looked around for a place to sit and found an old stump. "Sorry, sometimes I...," he reached in his pocket and took out a vial and slipped a pill under his tongue.
"Dad, are you alright?" Jude was at his side.
"Yes, yes, perfectly fine now. Just a little angina, nothing to worry about. If you don't mind I'd like to sit here for a moment, Alistair, just a moment," he smiled weakly. "This place brings back memories of home."
"You lived in a mill, Michael? I'm finding it a really unique sort of home." He studied the older man's face. "Could I get you a glass of water?"
"No, thank you, I'll be fine. Didn't exactly live in the mill. It was just
up the road from
my mother's cottage. I spent a lot of time there as a boy. It's still active, I
believe.
I don't suppose I will see it again. My mother died this past year and her place
was sold.
Shame really, but that's what she wanted." He looked around at the iris.
"Lovely, this...I don't
really have a home at the moment." He felt his eyes well up and blinked, looking
down at his feet.
"My wife and I have split after 35 years, just recently. Sorry, I didn't mean
to bring that up."
I'm sorry to hear that, Michael," Alistair replied,
laying a palm lightly on the man's shoulder. "Thirty-five years is a huge
investment in someone else's life. I hope some way may be found for it to find
some solution. If I can be of help in any way ...." He met Michael's look with
his own sincere, open expression.
Michael watched Jude walk down to the water's edge. "I'm not sorry for my life,
you know, just sorry that I have hurt my wife. To be sorry would deny my other
son." He looked up at Alistair. "I fathered a child twenty-five years ago, a
brief affair that ended as soon as it began. I've tried to protect my wife and
family from that indiscretion but it all came out a few weeks ago at a dinner
party where he was in attendance. Unfortunately so was my wife. So you see why
we've parted. I'm not sure there is a solution to this. I'm at a crossroads,
Alistair, and all I am looking for is a little peace in my life. I think that is
why I am so drawn to this place."
"I do know about crossroads," Alistair said, smiling kindly at Michael. "And when you're standing at one, the choice you make always has consequences." He looked out across the pond for a moment. "This truly is a good place to find peace. I've only been here a short time but already I feel such a sense of that."
Again he turned his eyes to the man seated on the stump. "Whatever you decide,
Michael, I hope you come to find that, too."
Michael studied him for a moment, "I suppose we're all walking wounded.
Peace...I've spent my entire career searching for it for others. Perhaps it’s my
turn now. Thank you, Alistair. I didn't mean to take up so much of your time.
When and where would you like to meet with Toni and Richie?"
"I seem to be free today, Michael. Do you have any
idea what would work for them?"
"Tomorrow morning might be better if that's alright with you. We've left them
without transportation and with a few hours to themselves today. I need to let
Richie know it's all going to be okay now. He was in quite a state earlier today
when he came back from Coffs with Jude. I really appreciate this, Alistair, and
hope I will see you again." Jude joined him and shook Alistair's hand.
"Good luck with your new church. You have a beautiful place here," Jude smiled
and followed his father back to the car.
Toni and Richie meet Alistair
By Jo and Atonia
Toni clung to Richie as he led her to the car. The sight of his office building had left her shaken. She had seen this sort of thing on the news but never experienced it directed toward someone she loved. Richie seemed to be taking it in stride but she knew he was deeply affected by it. Now it would be there for everyone to see on their wedding day.
"Hey chin up Toni, we’re going to see the preacher. Don’t…don’t let this spoil anything for you, it happens everywhere, it’s happened to me before. A can of paint will fix it right up, the Sheriff just wants to leave it until his investigation is complete."
Toni buckled into the seat, "it was a shock Richie it’s hard to believe that kind of thing exists here."
Richie backed out the car and headed toward the old mill. Hoping to change the subject and lighten up, "Your Dad was very enthusiastic about the Reverend Alistair Harris." Richie could have kissed his feet when he called and said everything was taken care of.
Toni stared out of the window as they wound their way toward the mill. "It’s really beautiful out here, oh look there it is. Oh my it looks like my grandmother’s village mill." Toni was on the edge of her seat.
Richie parked and they walked up to the door and knocked.
Alistair opened the door. "You must be Richie and Toni," he smiled.
"Welcome to Peacefield Mill. Please come inside. I've just made tea if you'd
like some."
"Thank you what a lovely name for this place," smiled Toni
"Reverend Harris, glad to meet you," Richie shook his hand and followed Toni
into the Mill.
After they were seated in the small living room with
its high-beamed ceiling and he had served them cups of Earl Grey, he sat across
from them. "So I understand you're to be married near the Inn." He always
thought of it in those terms and not as a boarding house. "Can you share a bit
about yourselves so I'll have some idea of what you'd like in a ceremony? I
never actually use the same vows twice. I find it works better when I shape them
to fit the couple." He took a sip of hot tea, waiting to see which of them would
respond first.
Toni sipped her tea and looked over her cup meeting Richie's eyes.
Richie smiled, "We're sort of a mixed couple. I'm Jewish and Toni's
Episcopalian. This is Toni's first marriage and my second. I'm afraid neither of
us is particularly religious but we do believe."
Toni set her cup down, "I think we'd like something simple. We're getting
married outside underneath the sky. We love each other very much." She smiled at
Alistair, "The first blush of the rose is off. We're old enough to understand
what we are about to do."
Alistair returned her smile. "I'm glad to hear that,
Toni. Understanding is one of the prime ingredients to make a marriage that will
last." He took another sip of tea. "I quite like marriages under the sky. God
created the Heavens well before there were church buildings," his eyes turned to
Richie, "or temples. I think what you may be looking for is a gentle celebration
of the fact of your love and your public statement of your commitment to each
other. Is that about right?"
"Yes, that sounds like what we are looking for," answered Richie looking to
Toni.
Toni nodded, "Nothing too long or elaborate.."
"I think we're on the same page, then," Alistair nodded. "Can you tell me a bit
more about yourselves? It might help me find the right words."
"Well, it's like Richie said, this is my first marriage. I'm thirty years old,
um, born in England and lived there for a while and then we moved to Virginia.
You've met my Dad and brother I believe," she grinned knowing, "I'm a physical
therapist, I love gardening and I love Richie. We've lived here for a little
over a month. It seems like longer, doesn't it?" she looked to Richie.
His eyes were shining. "It feels like home. I'm a solicitor now. I had my own
practice back in New Jersey and before that I was a cop. I'm a former Marine
and...I dunno," he laughed, "I found this crazy woman in a therapy room and I
haven't been the same since."
"I must say," Alistair smiled, "you two do seem very
much in love. I'm really pleased you've come to me to perform your ceremony."
Richie studied his hands for a minute and looked at Toni who had her chin in the
air, "I'm pleased you are going to do it on such short notice. With so much
going on in such a short time, I nearly forgot...you've saved my life for sure."
Toni laughed, "its as much my fault as yours Richie." she turned to Alistair,
"thank you so much for doing this for us. I'm awfully glad you've come to The
Glen you are obviously needed here."
Alistair grinned. "I'm glad I've come, too. It's turning out to be a real home for me already." He stood when they did and walked with them to his door then out along the path to their car. "I look forward to your wedding. If you have any more questions or concerns about anything, please give me a call." He handed Toni his new card. "Just be good to each other. That's mostly all it takes. Simply being good, putting what's right for the other before what's right for the self." He shook Richie's hand. "You'll be fine. I'm sure of it."
A Golden Christmas
Morning
Alistair had stayed for a time at the church after everyone else had left,
mostly in pairs, for their homes.
He let the candles burn down as low as he dared without the flames getting too
close to the arrangements
that surrounded them, then he quietly went from candle to candle, blowing them
out. Standing a while at
the front end of the central aisle he...waited. Everything was dark around him,
the night truly silent. Then
the full moon sailed out from behind a bank of clouds and silvery light poured
in through the tall side
windows.
"Thank You," he murmured. For him there was always some moment, some how, on
Christmas Eve when
the Door opened. So many people thought of it as a star, so many scholars tried
to track it down, give it
a name, explain which conjunction of what had caused a brighter light. No, for
him it was not Venus close
to Jupiter, it was something much deeper than that, something hands could never
be laid upon. He didn't
consider it a thing that hands should be laid upon. On Christmas Eve, on THE
Christmas Eve, there had
been some rift between realms created and uncreated and it was through that that
the Light had shone.
He didn't really need the sudden burst of moonlight to feel that in his spirit
on this night, but that such a
moment happened as he stood alone in the darkened church, was received by his
open heart as a gift.
So, limned in silver, he knelt again at the step and poured out his heart to his
God. Then, leaving the
church unlocked, he walked alone back to the mill.
Sitting for a while on the stump Michael had used for a seat, he watched the
moon's reflection on the surface
of the pond, lost in thought of life in Tunbridge Wells, of the mill itself and
the people he'd met in the short
time he'd been in the Glen. When he finally looked at his watch, it was two
minutes after midnight. "Merry
Christmas, Jenny," he whispered, then went inside the mill.
Christmas morning he sat at his kitchen table, a cup of hot tea in one hand as
he read the book by Watchman
Nee that lay open in front of him. Since the community was so small and
everything was still so new, there
was only the Christmas Eve service he'd needed to attend to. There would be a
carol sing at the church later
in the day, but this morning was simply quiet and restful. He had no one to give
presents to nor anyone to receive
a present from, so he'd made his tea, burnt his toast but put peanutbutter and
honey on it anyway, and sat there
immersed in his book. When his cup was empty, he walked to the stove and poured
himself another cup, standing
there, looking out the window.
Hearing an odd sound at his door, he opened it, finding a lidded picnic basket
on his stoop. The basket was rocking
back and forth a bit and when he lifted the lid, a pale golden head popped up.
"What have we here?" he said, lifting
the basket's occupant up with both hands.
The very wet tongue of a golden retriever pup swept across the tip of his nose.
He laughed. "Where did you come from, young...," he turned the pup slightly,
"...lady?" The puppy wriggled and Alistair changed the way he was holding it,
cradling it in his arms against his chest. He looked around, even walking down
the path a bit to see if someone might be there, but could find no trace of
anyone. Then from around a bend where he couldn't see, he heard the engine of a
car start up and
drive away.
"Have you been left on my doorstep, little girl?" He stroked a fingertip over
the top of the puppy's head and down between its eyes. The pup looked about four
months old and was a coiled ball of energy. He set her down and she practically
ran around in little circles, so excited she was to be out of the basket and
loose. Watching her, he chuckled, until she started to bite the stalk of one of
his newly-planted iris. He scooped her up, with a bit of a reprimand, but the
golden retriever was just so darling- looking he chuckled again. He had no idea
who might have left her for him. Someone, though, obviously thought the young
pastor living alone in the old mill needed companionship.
Studying her face, Alistair pondered names. "Eve?" he tried. No, she was a
Christmas morning dog, not an Eve. A broad grin spread over his face. "Merry!
That's it! That's your name, girl." Merry licked his nose again and he laughed
and carried her inside.
AND SO THEY WERE MARRIED
By Jo and Atonia
The carriage stopped in front of the boarding house. Toni had been hearing the music for sometime. The fluttering in her chest was getting stronger as Charlie Prince helped her and her father from the carriage. Ivy met her at the corner of the building.
"Toni, you look wonderful," she hugged her. "I’ve sent Jim and Richie around and they should be going down the aisle now."
"There’s no time to waste," said Michael, lifting his brows.
Toni took a deep breath. "Okay." Ivy walked with them until they came to the clearing. The music changed and Ivy walked down the aisle, taking her place by the altar. Toni and her father came around the trees as the trumpet sounded the arrival of the bride. She felt her eyes well up and blinked several times when the wedding march began. She was vaguely aware of people standing but everything became a blur when she started down the aisle and saw Richie standing by the altar. She bit her lip, determined not to let a tear fall, and took her father’s arm.
No longer fidgeting, Richie was standing still, watching his bride come toward him. He, too, saw a blurring of the people around him when he locked his eyes onto Toni’s.
Michael escorted his daughter to the altar. Patting her hand that squeezed his arm, he smiled at Richie and they all turned toward Reverend Alistair Harris.
The Ceremony:
Alistair smiled, looking each of the three people in front of him in the eye, then lifting his gaze to the people behind them, "Good day," he said, "it is my pleasure on behalf of Richie and Toni to welcome each and every one of you to this lovely place where we have come to celebrate their marriage. This is a day of new beginnings and it is fitting that we, all of whom are new to this place, most of whom are new to each other, have come together as a community to join in extending our good wishes and our support to this man and this woman who today begin a new life as husband and wife."
He paused briefly, then looked at Michael again, "Who gives this woman to be married to this man?" he asked.
Michael cleared his throat, "I do," he replied , then kissed his daughter’s cheek and, placing her right hand in Richie’s left, stepped back and away to the left where he sat by Gena.
"Richie and Toni, you stand here this day in the sight of God and in the presence of your family and community to join yourselves in a holy covenant, uniting two hearts and lives, blending all your interests and hopes, your dreams and your future. You bring to this relationship all that you have been before, all that you are, and all that you may be. To everything there is a season and a time. This is your time to join your lives together, to take each other by the hand and travel forward into the future. I ask for you that you may be granted the grace whereby each of you will prefer the other’s good, and that you may always be too brave to be unkind." Alistair smiled, then continued. "May you always forget what ought to be forgotten and recall, unfailing, all that ought to be recalled. May each of you add their courage to the other and always have patient, gentle, and tender hearts for one another, not seeking so much to be consoled as to console, to be understood as to understand. May you each sow joy in the other’s sadness, light in each other’s darkness, faith in the other’s doubt. Do not defer or neglect any kindness, any good thing you can do for one another. And I ask for you the gift of finding joy everywhere and leaving it behind in the hearts of others when you go."
"Now, Richie and Toni, will you please face one another, hold both hands and look into each other’s eyes as Richie repeats after me."
Toni handed her bouquet to Ivy, smiling, and turned back to face Richie, looking up into his eyes.
Alistair began Richie’s vows, pausing after each phase so he could repeat the words. He was pleased that Richie spoke up loudly and clearly. Sometimes the groom spoke so softly he could hardly be heard, "Toni, you are my best friend…and the chosen companion of my heart,…I make you this solem vow…that I will honor you…trust you…protect and care for you…I will make your cares my cares…your sorrows my sorrows…your triumphs my triumphs…I will grow old with you…in love and joy… and in all the great things life has to offer…I make a commitment to you…to be faithful to you…to share with you my thoughts and feelings…to be by your side…through life’s joys and challenges…I will try always…to be a good husband to you…You are my home and I join my life today to your life…with gladness and unending love in my heart…Toni, I take you now…to be my lawful wedded wife.
Toni’s lip was quivering and her eyes threatened to erupt. Richie held her with his eyes and thus held her together.
Alistair turned his gaze to Toni, "Toni please repeat after me. Richie, you are my best friend…and the chosen companion of my heart…I promise you…that whatever comes…I will remain by your side…to laugh with you…weep with you…and celebrate with you…I will love you…and be faithful to you…for the rest of my days…I pledge to stop and say to you…the things I feel in my heart…I will honor you…and trust you…with all that I am…I promise to do my best…truly to see you…and to leave nothing undone…that would brighten your life or lighten your load…You bring peace and direction to my life…You are my rock…and I join my life today to your life…with joy and gladness in my heart…Richie, I take you now…to be my lawful wedded husband.
It was Richie now whose eyes were damp and they looked wet-eyed into each other's.
"For thousands of years, couples have exchanged rings as a token of their vows. Your rings say that even in your uniqueness you have chosen to be bound together. Let these rings also be a sign that love has substance as well as soul, a present as well as a past, and that, despite its occasional sorrows, love is a circle of happiness , wonder and surprise."
"Richie, do you have Toni’s ring?"
Jim reached into his pocket and with a smile opened a small box and handed the ring to Richie. Richie nodded and took the ring.
"Richie, please repeat after me as you place the ring on Toni’s finger. I offer myself to you, Toni, as your husband…and I give you this ring as token and symbol of my eternal love…as a symbol of strength and of the trust I hold in you…This I promise for as long as we both shall live."
Richie slipped the ring easily on her finger and winked.
"Toni, do you have Richie’s ring?"
Toni turned to Ivy, who slipped the ring off her little finger and handed it to Toni. Toni looked up and saw the tears running down Ivy’s face and smiled.
"Toni, please repeat after me as you place the ring on Richie’s finger. I offer myself to you Richie, as your wife…and with this ring I pledge my love and faithfulness to you today, tomorrow, and always…Remember as this ring encircles your finger so my love encircles your heart."
Richie’s lips were parted as she slipped the ring on his finger and he squeezed her hand.
"I ask the blessing of the Lord God Almighty on this marriage and on the covenant made here today between this man and this woman. And now, Richie and Toni, inasmuch as you have made public pledge and promise each to the other, by the power invested in me I now pronounce you husband and wife. Richie, you may kiss your bride!"
Richie slowly pulled her into his arms and kissed her deeply, pulled away and kissed her again. The guests began clapping and they parted, flushed, and turned toward the community then both smiling, walked back down the aisle holding hands.