Free A Carol for Christmas by Robin Lee Hatcher Page B

store dealing with the last-
    minute shoppers. Not that his absence made much differ- ence. They’d barely spoken to each other in the five days since the benefit. A gray shroud hung over the apartment and the entire holiday season. The future looked even darker and more uncertain.
    Carol sank onto the couch, blinded by tears.
    “God,” she whispered, “I don’t know what to do. I’m so unhappy. I can’t believe Johnny’s acting this way. How could he not want me to go to Nashville? Why can’t he see that You gave me the ability to sing and that I should do it? It’s the desire of my heart, and You’re delivering it into my hands. How could Johnny be so selfish?”
    And what about your own selfishness?
    “I’m not being selfish. He’ll inherit the stores eventu- ally. His life won’t change a bit.”
    The tears slipped from her eyes and streaked her cheeks.
    Of course going to Nashville would change his life. It would change both of their lives. For better or worse, it would change them.
    “It couldn’t get much worse than it is now.”
    Sniffing, she reached for a tissue and wiped her cheeks, then blew her nose.
    “It’s unfair,” she muttered. I love him , but I’m so angry
    with him. He’s being unreasonable. I’m in the right here.
    “Would you rather be right or right with God?” her mother would have asked.
    Carol leaned her head against the back of the sofa and closed her eyes, wishing she could talk to her mom about this. What would her father tell her to do? What would her mother say if Carol told her everything?
    Oh, how she missed their counsel.
    At home in Ohio, the family would soon be sitting down to a supper of ham and turkey, mashed potatoes, yams, and all the other fixings. Her brothers would jostle each other and brag about which one could pile the most food on his plate. The house would be filled with the scent of the new pine wreath her dad had hung over the fire- place, as he did every Christmas Eve. Her mother’s favorite Christmas albums would be playing on the stereo — Bing Crosby, Mel Tormé, Barbra Streisand, Frank Sinatra.
    Despite her sorrowful mood, Carol smiled as she imag- ined her brothers asking — as usual — if they could open one gift before the family bundled up, got into the car, and drove to church for the Christmas Eve service. And she could hear her mother giving the answer she always gave: “No. You’ll have to wait.”
    Life was simpler back home on the farm. Things rarely changed there.
    Opening her eyes, Carol straightened and picked up the agent’s card, staring at the black print on its face as she’d done so many times in the five days since the benefit.
    What should I do? Oh , God , what should I do?
    The phone rang, and she looked toward the kitchen, tempted to ignore the jangling summons. It was probably Jonathan, calling to say he would be late getting home. And what would it matter? The Burkes didn’t do anything on Christmas Eve except attend the church’s candlelight ser- vice, and that wasn’t until eleven thirty. They waited until Christmas Day for their dinner and gift giving.
    What would she and Jonathan do to fill up the empty hours tonight?
    With a sigh, she rose, shoved the business card into her pocket, and went to the kitchen. “Hello?”
    “Happy Christmas Eve, darling.” “Mom?”
    “We couldn’t wait until morning to call you. Are you surprised?”
    “Of course.”
    She pictured her mother, wearing her red-and-green Christmas apron, a bit of flour on her cheek.
    “Hey, sis!” her brothers shouted in the background. “Remember. No presents until after church.”
    Carol laughed as tears pooled in her eyes. “Tell those goofballs I miss them. I miss all of you.”
    “We miss you too.”
    “Have you got lots of snow?”
    “Indeed we do. The youth group from church took a sleigh ride last weekend. You remember how much fun those are.”
    “Fun and cold.”
    “True enough. Before I forget, Ruth called last Sunday