Her Montana Christmas. Arlene James
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The thing is, being from California and fairly new to the area, I have no real idea what Christmas might have been like around here a hundred years ago.”
“Well,” she said, “let’s see what information we can find for you then.”
Ethan grinned. It looked as if he had come to the right place. And maybe, when all was said and done, he’d find himself with a new congregant, as well.
* * *
Robin didn’t know why the young pastor set her on edge, but he had from the first moment that she’d met him almost five months ago now. He wasn’t just handsome; he was a nice man, almost too nice. Something about him made a person want to confide in him, even when he wasn’t wearing his clerical collar, like now, or maybe it was just that she wanted to confide in someone.
She hated being in Jasper Gulch under false pretenses, and the longer it went on, the worse she felt, but she dared not truthfully identify herself at this late date. Too much had happened. She couldn’t step forward now and tell the truth without raising everyone’s suspicions about her motives. After everything that had gone on—the theft of the time capsule, the vandalism and mysterious notes, the investigation and the disappearance of Pete Daniels, the sudden reappearance of the time capsule and all the mysteries that she and Olivia had uncovered about the past, not to mention the secrets that Robin alone knew—everyone would think that she was after something. It didn’t help that a member of the extremely wealthy Massey family had shown up on the scene, either. Connections to wealth, as Robin knew all too well, inspired a certain type of grasping, clinging hanger-on.
Sometimes Robin thought it would be best if she just left town as quietly as she’d arrived in July, but she couldn’t quite make herself go. Not yet. And go back to what? Her parents and grandparents had never disguised their disappointment in her. With her great-grandmother Lillian dead, she couldn’t find much reason to go back to New Mexico, and Great-Grandma Lillian had known it would be that way, too. Why else on her deathbed would she have urged Robin to come here and find what other family she might have left?
“So the church was here even before the town was officially founded,” the pastor said, laying aside the newspaper article she’d printed off for him. “Interesting. I wonder if any of the original building still stands.”
Pulled from her reverie, Robin shrugged. “Apparently there were several homes and a small log church in the area when Ezra Shaw and Silas Massey decided to formally incorporate the town and draw up a charter. I’m sure I can find something about the church building, given enough time.”
“I’d appreciate that, even though it’s mostly curiosity on my part,” Pastor Johnson told her, smiling warmly. “I’m most interested in the vestibule and the belfry.”
“The rock part at the front of the church?”
“Exactly. Did you know there are actual bells up there in the belfry?”
“You mean they’re not just for show?”
He shook his head. “I have to wonder why we never use perfectly good bells. I mean, recorded bells are fine for every day, but what a treat it would be to pull the ropes on real bells once in a while. I wonder why the church stopped using them.”
“That is a puzzle. I can look into it, if you like.”
“I’d love to know, but I hate to put you to any extra trouble.”
She shrugged. “I don’t mind. I like solving puzzles.”
He would understand that about her if he knew what mysteries had brought her here to Jasper Gulch, but then perhaps it was best that no one here knew.
Her plan had seemed so simple in the beginning. Come to town under the guise of a graduate student doing research for a thesis on genealogy. Find proof to support her claims. Show the proof. Be greeted warmly by family who previously hadn’t known she existed.
Five months into the project, she now realized that her proof wasn’t likely to be any more welcome than she would be, that her motives could easily be questioned and that she could well come off looking like a schemer and a liar. She bitterly regretted the route she’d taken to this point. She had feared being jeered at in the beginning, but at least she could have conducted her research in the open, then once the proof had been found, all would have been well. Now...now people trusted her, people to whom she must reveal herself as a liar. What a fool she had been.
“I appreciate any information you can give me,” Pastor Johnson told Robin forthrightly, again breaking into her troubled thoughts.
He had the kindest brown eyes and the most open, engaging smile she’d ever seen. Everything about him exuded warmth, even on this first day of December. His California origin showed in the burnished brown of his short, neat hair and bronzed skin. In fact, Robin could easily picture him walking barefoot in the surf with his sleeves and pant legs rolled up, the tail of his chambray shirt pulled free of the waistband of his jeans. He looked younger without his ministerial collar, almost boyish, despite the faint crinkles that fanned out from the corners of his deep-set eyes. Something about the way his long, straight nose flattened at the end intrigued her, as did the manner in which his squared chin added a certain strength to his face.
“What?” he asked, his lips widening to show a great many strong, white teeth.
She shook her head, embarrassed to have been caught staring. “I, um, I’ll see what I can find and get back to you.”
“Excellent. Can I give you my personal cell number, as well as the numbers at the church and the parsonage? That way you’re bound to reach me.”
“Oh, of course. That would be fine.” She pulled out her phone and tapped in the numbers as he gave them to her. When she looked up again, he had his own phone in his hand.
“Mind if I take your numbers, too? In case I have any questions?”
Robin was aware of her heart speeding up, which was ridiculous. He was a minister, a man of God. He wasn’t hitting on her. In fact, he probably intended to call and invite her to join the church again. She wouldn’t mind if he did. She just didn’t know if she could do that; she might not be staying in Jasper Gulch for much longer.
“Uh, sure.” She gave him her cell number, though mobile coverage was not the best here, as well as the numbers at the museum and her residence, such as it was. He saved them to his contacts list before pocketing the tiny phone again.
“There now,” he said. “I have a lead on the information I need to make this a grand centennial Christmas, I’ve found a kindred spirit to help me solve a puzzle and I’ve got the phone number of one of the prettiest ladies in town. That’s what I call an excellent morning’s work.” He turned a full circle, walking backward a step or two, as he headed for the door. “I look forward to hearing from you.”
He was out of sight and halfway down the hall before Robin’s own laughter caught up with her, and her heartbeat still hadn’t slowed one iota. It had, in fact, sped up! Perhaps that was why she called him later when she stumbled across information concerning the church bells.
A tidbit in the local newspaper from early 1925 had reported that the bells had been deemed unsafe due to problems with the crosspiece in the belfry and would “henceforth be silenced to prevent any startling and calamitous accidents.” The reporter had gone on to quote a deacon as insisting that rumors suggesting this decision had to do with the “decampment of Silas Massey and his wife” were “scurrilous and mean-spirited,” which led Robin to wonder aloud if the aforementioned rumors had anything to do with the bank failure.
“Bank failure?” Ethan echoed.
Robin mentally cringed. “Sorry. I wouldn’t want you to think I was gossiping. Speculation is part and parcel of historical research, I’m afraid. It’s just that we’ve uncovered evidence of some trouble at the bank founded by the Shaws and the Masseys here in Jasper Gulch. The timeline says everything’s connected. First, the Masseys pulled out. Then the rumors started flying about the bank