Holiday Homecoming. Jean C. Gordon
Читать онлайн книгу.
drove home, parked his car in the parsonage garage and stepped out into the frigid night air. A vision of Natalie’s drawn face and empty gaze shadowed him into the house. He knew he should give her a wide berth, not so much to protect his ministry at Hazardtown Community Church, but to protect his heart. And he would, starting tomorrow, once he’d gotten control over the concern for her that Jared’s story had raised and his almost overpowering need to seek her out and shelter her in his arms.
“Mom, sit down and let me do that.” Natalie walked across the kitchen and lifted the spatula from her mother’s hand. “What happened to your sleeping in and letting me take care of breakfast? Where’s your walker?”
“By the table. I woke up and didn’t see a light on in your room yet. Since I was awake, I thought I’d get things started.”
Natalie looked at the clock over the kitchen sink that had been there as long as she could remember. Ten after five. “I would have been up in five minutes, anyway, if I hadn’t heard you and gotten up.”
“I’ve got bacon in the broiler and have already started cracking eggs to scramble. I’ll just finish them.”
Natalie took her mother by the shoulders, surprised at how delicate she felt under her hands, and helped her to the kitchen table. “Sit. I suppose you make breakfast for Claire, too, when she gets up for work. Seriously, you could set the coffeemaker and let them fend for themselves.”
“I’ve been telling her that for years,” her father said from the doorway. He walked over and kissed her mother on the cheek. “Not that I’ve had much success. How’s it going for you?”
Natalie motioned to the table. “I have her sitting.”
“I knew calling you was the right thing.”
“Right back at you, Dad.” She looked at her mother and father, who were still obviously in love after thirty-five years of marriage and six children. A warm cloak of safety wrapped around her. She could have used some of that inner security last night with Connor. If only it was something she could pocket and take with her when she left the house.
Natalie turned to the stove and finished breaking eggs into a bowl. She beat in some milk until they were smooth and sunny yellow.
“Oh, no, you’re not letting Natalie cook.” Her younger brother, Paul, one male half of the two sets of Delacroix twins—Paul and Renee, and Marc and Claire—walked in and sat at the table.
“And good morning to you, too.” She poured the egg mixture into an iron frying pan.
“The last time I remember you cooking breakfast, you almost burned down the lodge at Sonrise.”
“I did not,” she protested.
“Sure you did. You volunteered to get up early and make pancakes for the church youth group at our annual campout. Mr. and Mrs. Hill were the leaders then.” He prompted her memory. “A fawn or bird or something distracted you and you let the pancakes burn. The kitchen filled with smoke.”
She remembered all too well. It wasn’t a fawn or bird that distracted her. It was Connor splitting wood for the campfire planned for that evening. Contrary to Paul’s embellishments, she didn’t cause any fire, or fill the kitchen with smoke. However, the stack of blackened pancakes and Mrs. Hill stepping in to finish cooking breakfast were enough to win her razzing for the rest of the day. Connor had made it better, sitting with her at the campfire and stealing a kiss—their first—when the Hills weren’t watching.
She suppressed the nostalgic longing for that more innocent time. “That was more than ten years ago. I’ve perfected my breakfast cooking since then.” A faint whiff of well-done bacon drifted from the stove. She quickly opened the broiler and took the pan out.
“So I smell.” Paul got in another good-natured dig. “You know I’m only teasing. We’re all glad to have you home for the holidays.”
“I’m glad to be here, too.” Natalie placed the bacon on a plate, gave the eggs another stir and scooped them into a bowl.
“Dad and I are going to go cut a Christmas tree Saturday morning. Want to come along?”
Natalie smiled to herself. The annual trek to the local Christmas tree farm to find the perfect tree had always been one of her favorite holiday activities, one she’d missed the past few years. Last Christmas, she hadn’t even bothered to put out the small ceramic table tree she had.
“Claire’s coming,” Paul said, adding Natalie’s next oldest sister to the outing. “I don’t know if Andie and Rob and the kids are.”
“You don’t have to talk me in to it,” Natalie said. “You know I’ll be there. I wouldn’t miss Pharaoh Mountain Farm’s mint hot chocolate for anything.” Even Andie being there.
“Paul,” their dad said, “if you have your social schedule all worked out, want to finish your breakfast and get to work?” He winked at Natalie.
Paul and his twin, Renee, were the most social of her and her five siblings, not that she and the others weren’t social. Or at least, she had been social.
They guys polished off their food and left to start the morning milking.
“Want another cup of coffee, Mom?”
“You don’t have to do that. It’s not like I can’t get up and walk over to the counter.”
Natalie ignored the edge to her mother’s voice. “I’m getting one for myself. I can refill yours. You should make the most of the special treatment. Who knows when you’ll get it again?”
“You’re right.” Her mother handed over her coffee mug. “I have to admit that I’m not missing having to go to work every day, except for the people.”
Natalie filled both mugs. “Any chance you could go part-time when you go back? You already have an almost full-time job with the farm books and business management.”
Her mother pressed her lips together, making Natalie wonder if she’d overstepped the child-parent boundary by edging into her parents’ financial situation.
“Milk prices have been uncertain, although the new yogurt plant in Amsterdam may help keep them more even. I figure I might as well hang on full-time until I can collect Social Security benefits.”
That was more than ten years away. She wished she could help financially. That had been part of her dream of being a network news reporter, although she suspected her parents wouldn’t accept help, even if she had the means to give it. At least she’d had enough money left from her cashed-out retirement plan account to come up with her share for the Hawaiian trip she and her siblings were giving their parents for Christmas. They had everything covered, down to someone to help Paul with the farm work. She couldn’t remember the last time Mom and Dad had been away.
“Here you go.” She handed her mother her coffee.
“Don’t worry about us,” her mother said. “You know your Dad wouldn’t want to be doing anything else.”
Natalie knew that, but she was more concerned about Mom.
“And Paul has some good ideas, like getting in on the yogurt deal, and he’s taking over a lot of the management work I’ve always done.”
“Good.” She reached over and squeezed her mother’s hand. “You need to concentrate on getting better.”
Her mother squeezed back. “So, how did choir practice go last night?”
“About that.” Natalie looked at her mother over the edge of her coffee mug. “Why didn’t you tell me that Connor is the pageant director?”
“Because I was afraid you’d say no if I had. Right?”
“Maybe.