The Sound of Rain Page 19

  As they finished singing “O Holy Night” and resumed their seats, she twisted to get a look at the back of the church and her breath caught. There, in the far corner, sat Judd Markley, looking like he might bolt for the door any moment. She whirled back around, heart thumping in her chest. She guessed she’d been looking for him all along.

  Larkin tried to think how, once the service was over, she could hurry to the exit and catch Judd before he slipped away. She just wanted to say hello—he was probably feeling lonesome at Christmas. She was so distracted, she didn’t know what was going on when Ben handed her a candle. The pastor stepped down from the pulpit and approached the Christ candle. Lights were shut off section by section until they stood in inky darkness. Then Pastor Brearley held the candle in his hand to the flame of the Christ candle. The choir began softly singing “Silent Night,” and the pastor moved toward the congregation, where he lit the candles of the people in the first pews. They then turned and lit their neighbors’ candles as the congregation began to join in the song.

  By the time they finished singing, everyone held a lit candle and the room was glowing with flickering light. Larkin looked around in wonder at the radiant faces illuminated by the joy of Christmas, and for the first time since setting foot back in South Carolina she remembered what Christmas was all about. She caught a glimpse of Judd, who was gazing at his candle as though it were the most precious thing he’d ever seen. She swallowed hard and turned back as the pastor began to speak.

  “Now go forth on this most holy of nights and remember the greatest gift the world has ever received. Merry Christmas.”

  There was a shifting, a shuffling, and candles were extinguished as the lights flickered back on. Larkin squinted and waited a few more moments before she blew her candle out. She longed to see Judd, to squeeze his hand and kiss his cheek. But maybe she shouldn’t. It seemed strange, as though they’d traded places with him moving south and her north. And maybe that was how it was supposed to be. She closed her eyes and whispered a quick prayer. When she opened them, Judd stood nearby, talking to her father.

  Judd didn’t like to push in where he wasn’t invited, but he’d had a yen to go to church on Christmas Eve, and everyone knew where the Heywards attended—so he took the chance.

  Larkin looked like an angel in her blue dress with her hair pulled back. It was all Judd could do to stay in his pew and not march up there and declare himself like the fool he knew he was. Mr. Heyward spotted him almost immediately and gave him a solemn nod that Judd didn’t even try to interpret. When Larkin turned around and saw him, he thought for a minute she might come to him, but that was silly.

  Then the lights went out. Judd wasn’t expecting that. The single candle flickering way up front had been like that first gleam of a lantern on the far side of the cave-in, and Judd held on to it with his eyes. He remembered that hint of rescue and how it flooded him with hope. Of course, he didn’t know Joe was already dead then. All he knew in that moment was that he was still alive and might see the light of day again.

  By the time the short, round man wearing a bow tie next to him held out a candle to light Judd’s, he’d realized something. He was indeed alive. He couldn’t do a thing for Joe but keep on living, and that was surely something Joe would be glad to see. The flame of his candle flickering with each exhalation, Judd sang,

  “Silent night, Holy night

  Son of God, love’s pure light

  Radiant beams from thy holy face

  With the dawn of redeeming grace,

  Jesus, Lord at thy birth,

  Jesus, Lord at thy birth.”

  Once the preacher cut them loose, he headed straight for the Heywards, thinking there was no time like the present to get this business of living under way.

  After he wished Mr. and Mrs. Heyward a merry Christmas, he shook Ben’s hand and turned to Larkin, who looked different somehow. There was an innocence about her face, while her eyes glowed with a knowledge that made her look—grown up, he supposed.

  “You still liking Kentucky?” he asked.

  “More than Kentucky likes me. I suppose folks are still getting used to the idea of me, but I’m determined.” She raised her chin and he believed her. “Seeing Ben reunited with Mother and Daddy was about the only thing that could have persuaded me to leave. Granny Jane said we’d celebrate Old Christmas when we get back.” She smiled. “Although I have no idea what that means.”

  “January sixth,” Judd said. “Folks used to celebrate Christmas then—something to do with the calendar changing way back in the day. Some folks are slow to adjust.”

  “Do you have plans for tomorrow?” Larkin asked.

  Judd felt his ears turning red and wished he had a hat to pull down over them. “Maybe your father forgot to mention . . . he invited me to dinner.”

  Larkin clapped her hands, and for a minute Judd thought she might fling her arms around his neck. “I’m so glad!” she cried. “That’s the only thing that could make this Christmas better.”

  Now it was her turn to flush, but Judd thought it looked way better on her.

  “Let’s be getting on home,” Mrs. Heyward said. She laughed, a sweet, low sound. “Santa won’t come until you’re asleep.”

  Larkin giggled, squeezed Judd’s arm, and began moving toward the door, although the family was intercepted by half the people they passed along the way. Apparently the return of Ben, the prodigal, was causing a bit of a stir in the congregation. Judd watched his new friend shake hands, press kisses to wrinkled cheeks, and offer brief words of explanation for his long absence. Mr. Heyward just trailed along, looking sour.

  Judd slipped over to a side door and eased out. The church was just a few blocks back from the ocean, so he wandered on down to the beach, noting the empty places where houses stood before the hurricane. He sat on a dune and watched the bright curls of foam wash in over and over again. Back home, folks believed animals could speak at midnight on Christmas Eve. He looked around and supposed, other than a sea gull or a stray dog, he wasn’t likely to encounter many critters, talking or otherwise.

  One year, he and Joe slipped out to the barn on Christmas Eve. Judd didn’t want to go, but Joe argued they had a fair chance of not only hearing what a cow had to say but also of seeing Santa Claus when he swung by in his sleigh. The night had been cold and perfectly still with a dusting of snow. They’d tried to walk in their father’s boot prints between the house and the barn so no one would see their tracks. Inside, the milk cow and the mule they used for plowing slept while a barn cat ambled over and curled about their legs.

  “I’d rather hear what Jack or Daisy have to say, but I guess the cat’ll do in a pinch,” Joe said.

  They sat in some loose hay and watched the cat until they were sure midnight must have come and gone. She never spoke a word. Judd remembered waking in the warm and fragrant hay as Joe shook his arm.

  “I hear something,” he hissed, pointing toward the tin roof.

  There was a pattering that could have been some old hickory nuts or sticks breaking loose in a sudden breeze. Both boys held their breath and stared at one another wide-eyed.

  “What if he sees us?” Joe whispered. “You suppose he’d be mad and take the presents back away with him?”

  Judd swallowed hard. He’d never thought of that. “We’d best get on back to bed.”

  They went to the door and darted across the yard, forgetting to hide their tracks. Back inside, they dove under the covers of the bed they shared. Abram had his own bed in the same room and he’d only snored louder for a moment. They pulled the quilts over their heads and feigned sleep until the real thing overtook them.

  The next morning, their father gave them a stern look. “Santa must’ve landed on the roof of the barn by mistake and sent his elves over to the house from there. Sure was a mess of tracks in the barnyard this morning.”

  Judd thought his heart might beat out of his chest.

  “Must’ve found everything alright, though. T
hey’s a pile of stuff in them stockings this morning.”

  All three boys hurried into the sitting room—Abram bringing up the rear and trying to act grown. Sure enough, their stockings bulged. There were oranges, nuts, a peppermint stick each, and Judd got a carved slingshot with a leather cup perfect for flinging acorns, stones, and who knew what else?

  Later that day, after a big dinner, Joe and Judd went out to try the slingshot. “You know,” Joe said, “if that old cat really could talk, she might’ve told on us.”

  Judd smiled at his memories. Joe had been on the right track. Even if cats couldn’t talk, he’d learned over the years that the truth usually came out one way or another. And the truth was, as much as he wished he could go back and take Joe’s place, he couldn’t. But there was a sweet girl with laughter in her eyes who just might give him a good enough reason to go on living for as long as he could.

  Chapter

  26

  Larkin woke on Christmas morning feeling the way she used to when she was small and still believed in Santa Claus. While she didn’t believe in a gift-giving elf from the North Pole anymore, she was beginning to believe in something better—something that required deeper faith but ultimately offered more than a few presents.

  She bounced down the stairs to find her father sitting in the den, sipping a cup of coffee and staring at the Christmas tree.

  “Merry Christmas, Daddy,” she sang.

  He sighed and smiled, but it looked like it took quite a bit of effort. “Larkin. Merry Christmas.” He patted the cushion beside him. “You’ve been missed around here.”

  Larkin snuggled into his side and admired the tree. Mother had really outdone herself this year. “I’ve missed you too, but there’s something about helping people that just makes my heart sing.” She bowed her head and curled her feet up onto the couch. “Although they aren’t always willing to let me help as much as I’d like.”

  Her father shifted and looked down at her. “Not everyone wants to be helped. Sometimes people would rather do things themselves.”

  “But some of those people are so obviously in need. I don’t understand what keeps them from accepting what Ben and I are only too glad to offer. Word got out that Burt Linger hadn’t chopped enough wood to last the winter before he got sick. He absolutely refused to let Ben do a thing, but then a dozen local men showed up out of the blue and cut and stacked enough wood for the winter and then some. Nobody asked—they just did it.” She leaned her head against her father’s shoulder. “Why would he let them help but not Ben?”

  Daddy turned and looked like he might say something, then sighed again and sipped his coffee. “There’s more than one way to help people,” he finally said in a low voice.

  Larkin started to ask what he meant when Mother and Ben came into the room, laughing and talking a mile a minute. After they opened presents and ate breakfast, Larkin helped clear the dishes and began filling the sink with hot, soapy water.

  “Darling, what are you doing?” her mother asked.

  “Washing up. I never appreciated how wonderful it is to be able to get hot water out of a tap. Makes doing the dishes a downright pleasure.”

  Mother just stood there gaping. “I think I can count on one hand the number of times you washed up without being asked.”

  Larkin flushed, then smiled and laughed. “You’ll never have to ask again. Granny Jane has made a kitchen hand out of me.”

  “I would surely love to meet this Granny Jane. Between the stories Ben tells and the way you’ve changed . . . well, she must be something to behold.”

  Larkin laughed louder. “That she is. I’m even going to help you make dinner, and I promise not to burn anything or serve the turkey raw.”

  Judd wiped his hands on his new slacks for the third time. He thought he could handle any of these people singly, but the fact that he was about to find himself in a roomful of Heywards was giving him palpitations. Granny would prescribe a tablespoon of blackberry brandy, and right about now he’d gladly take it. Twice.

  He raised his fist to knock at the door, but before he could make contact, it flew open. Larkin stood there, cheeks pink, apron wrapped around her waist. “Merry Christmas,” she sang, grabbing his hand and pulling him inside.

  Immediately, Judd was enveloped by the sounds and smells of the season. Bing Crosby sang “White Christmas,” and the air was filled with the aroma of roasting turkey, sage, and something sweet. Fresh greenery draped the banister leading up to the second floor, and lights twinkled from a Christmas tree in the den. Judd felt a smile spread across his face in spite of his nerves.

  Although he’d shared coffee and a hearty breakfast with Floyd that morning while they reminisced about holidays past, it hadn’t really felt like Christmas until this moment. Floyd’s daughter had come for him just before Judd left, and he hoped the old man was having a good day with his family.

  Mr. Heyward came around the corner wearing a red sweater over his shirt and tie instead of his usual suit coat. Judd smoothed down his own tie, grateful Hank had loaned him one. He stuck out a hand and Mr. Heyward grasped it, pulling Judd close enough to slap him on the shoulder. “Merry Christmas, son. Glad you could join us. Come on in and sit while the ladies finish making dinner.”

  Larkin grinned and shooed Judd along after her father. He wasn’t sure he wanted to sit and make conversation with his boss, but guessed it would be frowned upon if he offered to go in the kitchen and carry dishes to the table.

  In the den, Mr. Heyward went over to poke at a small and completely unnecessary fire crackling in the hearth. Ben sat in a wing chair near the tree, a Bible open in his hand.

  “Been reading the Christmas story,” he said. “Never gets old, does it?”

  A memory popped into Judd’s head. “My dad used to read that to us before we went to bed on Christmas Eve. Seems like maybe it stuck with me some.” He thought a minute. “I always liked picturing those shepherds camping out at night and getting the shock of their lives when an angel showed up.”

  Ben smiled. “‘Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, which is Christ the Lord.’”

  Judd snapped his fingers. “That’s it. And then the sky filled up with angels singing.” He closed his eyes. “When I was a kid, I could just picture how that would look out there in the cow pasture.”

  Ben picked up the verse. “‘And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God, and saying, Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men.’”

  Judd smiled. How had he forgotten that? Sitting near the crackling fire—for heat, not for looks—and listening to his father’s rich voice reading out those words. It gave him a chill every year until . . . he couldn’t remember when it stopped, only that it had.

  “Little more than a fairy tale.”

  Judd and Ben turned to look at Mr. Heyward where he sat on the sofa, gripping the arm like his life depended on it. The look in his eyes challenged either of them to disagree.

  Ben shrugged. “You’re not the first to say so and certainly not the last. But fairy tale or not, it’s the throbbing heartbeat of my very life.” He closed the Bible with his finger tucked inside. “I thank you for taking us to church when we were small. It took a while, but eventually the truth sank in.”

  Mr. Heyward finally released the arm of the sofa, and Judd thought he could see indentations there. “After my father died, I swore I wouldn’t darken the door of a church ever again. But as a businessman in the South . . . well. I should have stuck to my guns.”

  Ben closed his eyes and held the Bible as though he could read it through his fingertips. “‘Not forsaking the assembling of ourselves together, as the manner of some is; but exhorting one another: and so much the more, as ye see the day approaching.’”

  Judd watched the exchange with interest. He’d never seen someone stand up to Mr. Heyward. A
nd here was Ben, his own son, doing it without raising his voice or pointing a finger. He just quoted Scripture.

  Mr. Heyward stood as though he’d been sprung from the sofa. “No more. Surely it’s time to eat and then you can be on your way. Stay another night if you must, but dinner is the last of the time I’ll have for you and that only for your mother’s sake. I know where my loyalties lie, even if you don’t.” He turned on his heel and stalked from the room.

  Ben watched his father leave, his finger still stuck inside the worn Bible. He turned to Judd. “If you intend to court my sister, you have my blessing and then some. Only be careful. If George Heyward is encouraging you, it’s not for your sake or even for Larkin’s. I won’t go so far as to say what I think he’s up to, I just encourage you to step lightly.”

  Judd stared at the fire, watching the flames dance. He nodded his head, thinking there wasn’t any reason to answer that comment aloud. A log, eaten through in the middle, collapsed on itself, sending up a shower of sparks—a last hurrah, thought Judd, before it was consumed entirely.

  Larkin dared to have high hopes for Christmas dinner, and while it wasn’t quite as perfect as she would have wished, it would do. She was a little mystified as to why her father had included Judd, but hoped it was because her father knew he might be lonesome so far from home during the holidays.

  While conversation at dinner wasn’t what you’d call lively, they all managed to find something to say. As Daddy sipped his cider, he seemed to relax enough to finally put them all at something like ease. After dessert—a many-layered coconut cake garnished with holly—Daddy pushed his chair back and turned his attention to Larkin.

  “Why don’t you and Judd go for a walk? Give your mother and brother some time alone.”

  Normally, Larkin would have found that odd, but her father’s smile and the blessings of the day conspired to make her feel as though all was well. She grabbed Judd’s hand and tugged him toward the door.