Free Shepherds Abiding by Jan Karon

like a Chinese kite, before it landed on the green awning of Sweet Stuff Bakery.
    The Kavanaghs observed the wonderment of the flying scarf as they drove to Wesley for the ten o’clock service at St. Paul’s.
    “It definitely won’t be an Advent Walk,” said Cynthia. “More like an Advent Run! ”
    “I may leave the walk a mite early this afternoon.”
    “Really?”
    “And I may be a tad late for dinner.”
    “Whatever for?”
    He smiled, his eyes on the road. “Christmas is coming, you know.”
    She looked at him, beaming. “Of course, dearest! That explains everything!”

    “Come, thou long expected Jesus,
    Born to set thy people free;
    From our fears and sins release us, Let us find our rest in Thee.
    Israel’s strength and consolation,
    Hope of all the earth Thou art;
    Dear desire of every nation,
    Joy of every longing heart. . . .”
     
    The walkers sang lustily as they processed from an inspiring service at the Methodist chapel and turned north on Main Street. They were hard by the fire station when Lew Boyd saw Father Tim weaving his way quickly through the procession, moving south.
    “You’re goin’ th’ wrong way!” hollered Lew, in case the Father didn’t know they were headed back to First Baptist for hot cider and all the trimmings.
    “A blessed Advent!” shouted Father Tim. He raised a gloved hand in salute and kept going, the wind at his back.

    From the window above Happy Endings, Hope Winchester peered down upon the straggle of walkers making their way to First Baptist while holding on for dear life to their sheet music.
     
    “Lift up your heads, ye mighty gates;
    Behold, the King of glory waits;
    The King of kings is drawing near;
    The Savior of the world is here! . . .
    Fling wide the portals of your heart;
    Make it a temple, set apart . . .”
     
    She was happy that she could hear most of the words, liking especially “Fling wide the portals of your heart.”
    In the music floating up to her, she was struck by a deep, resonant voice that was clearly able to bind theother voices together. She looked for its source, but couldn’t locate it, and was turning away from the window when someone peered up at her and waved.
    She waved back, glad to be noticed, and stood and watched the toboggans and flapping coattails disappear beneath the green awning.
    She turned to go downstairs, but stopped instead and gazed at the large room, now delivered of the detritus of more than two decades. It was empty, clean, and bright with the dazzle of winter light.
    It had been six long weeks since she’d sent the letter, but she hadn’t heard a word from Mrs. Mallory. Possibly she intended to lease the building to someone else and hadn’t informed her, nor did Helen know anything. If Helen’s movers had to come and take everything away, the packing needed to begin at once; only the stock she was conserving for Christmas sales could wait until the last minute.
    Then there was the letter to her landlady, who would need to know something immediately. . . .
    She found she was wringing her hands, a habit she had tried without success to break.
    But, no! She would not give up.
    Even with concerns that sometimes overwhelmed her, she refused to abandon her belief in a glad outcome.
    Don’t worry about anything, Hope, Father Tim had said, but in everything, by prayer and supplication, with thanksgiving . . .
    “ ‘ . . . make your requests known unto God,’ ” she recited aloud, going quickly down the stairs, “ ‘and the peace that passes all understanding will fill your heart and mind through Christ Jesus!’ ”
    Finding Margaret Ann at her feet, she picked her up and held her close and stroked her orange fur.
    She would have to let her secret out to Mrs. Havner. She would go and speak with her at once . . .
     . . . then she would call Louise and say she might be moving home to live with her in their mother’s house, with its overgrown garden of hollyhocks and