I’m caught up! Now to start tomorrow’s…and do some baking. 🙂 I hear I’m a bad influence with this series, but I can’t help it. I love to bake! If my waistline is going to suffer, I’ll have to share!
Enjoy…
December 12
“May I join you?”
Molly looked up as Father Christopher stopped by her chair. It was another snowy Sunday in the Cove, and the store was quiet after the hustle from Saturday. She had taken advantage of the fact that she, Marge and Schrodinger were pretty much the only ones in the store to claim one of the easy chairs and read. A small pot of her favorite Christmas tea and her favorite black rose china cup, along with a plate of lemon shortbread, sat on the table beside her. Behind her, the fire crackled in the large fireplace.
Now, she smiled, closed her book and put it on the table, then indicated the other chair. “By all means, Father. Would you like a cup of tea?”
He sat down. “Not if it means you getting up,” he said, and she grinned.
“Please. It’s no bother.” Molly closed her eyes and pictured the cup she wanted, sitting on the shelf in the pantry. It was a mug, not a tea cup, with golden Norse runes on it. Father Christopher had once told her the runes said, “Drink in health, drink in peace.” Now, she held out her hand and the mug shimmered into view. She poured him a cup of the tea and handed it to him. “My gifts are practical ones, remember? As long as it has to do with a kitchen, I can bring it to myself.”
Father Christopher sat back in his chair, a delighted smile on his face. “I think that’s one of the reasons I love the Cove,” he said. “You see God’s miracles every day.”
“Pulling a tea mug from my pantry is hardly a miracle, Father,” Molly said.
“Oh, but it is! Anything that makes someone happy is a miracle to me, and to God.” He sipped while she thought about that.
“I like your version of God, Father,” she said finally.
“Me too.”
They sat in companionable silence for a while, listening to the crackle of the fire and the shushing of snow against the windows. Marge had turned off the sound system, and it was quiet, like the inside of a church, Molly thought. A church of books. Now there’s a church I could be a part of, she thought, sipping her own tea.
“Does God like books, Father?” she asked.
“Why wouldn’t he?” Father Christopher countered.
“I don’t know. It just seems like a lot of churches don’t seem to like books very much.”
“Those are churches, not God,” he told her. “God doesn’t need me or any other priest to speak to you. He talks to you in your heart. Never put your faith in churches, Molly. Listen to your heart and let Him talk to you directly.”
“You’ll put yourself out of business, talking like that, Father,” Molly teased him. “No one will come to church.”
“Oh, I think I’ll be around for a while.” Father Christopher chuckled. “I’ve got a lot of work to do still, and even in a magical place like the Cove, there’s people who need help. But it’s easier here, that’s for sure. And I like to meet new people.” He put down his mug and leaned over. “People like someone to listen to them.”
“And who have you been listening to, Father?” Molly refilled both their cups and handed him his.
“Young lovers, hopeful of a Christmas miracle,” he said, his eyes still twinkling. “Old lovers, hopeful of continued happiness. Mothers and fathers, hoping that their children will find what they’re looking for.”
“You know who my secret admirer is,” she said.
“If I do, I’m bound by priest-confessor confidentiality not to tell you,” he said. “But I think you’ll figure it out before Christmas.”
“I hope so.” Molly sighed. “I love mysteries, but I’m not good at figuring them out.”
He patted her on the arm. “You’re doing fine. Trust me.” When she looked over, he offered her a red envelope, and then got up. “I need to talk to your aunt – is she in the office?”
“Probably,” Molly said. “Don’t forget your tea.”
Father Christopher took the mug and a few cookies from the plate. “Thank you kindly, Miss Molly,” he said, and gave her a stately bow. The liquid in his mug didn’t even slosh. “Enjoy the rest of your afternoon.”
“You too, Father.” Molly watched him wend his way down the aisle to her aunt’s office, the envelope held loosely in her hand. It was heavier than normal, and when she opened it, a beautiful bronze filigreed four-leaf clover ornament slid into her hand, along with the CD and another note.
“Dear Molly, I found this on one of my travels, and knew it had to go on your tree. Maybe someday, we’ll decorate a tree together. I hope you like it. SA”