Free A Christmas Peril (The Teacup Novellas - Book Five) by Diane Moody

tears came and went. No surprise there. But a
foreboding sense of gloom was wending its way through my spirit. Maybe it was
just the initial shock wearing off. Or maybe it was the monotony. Either way, I
despised it and tried to fight it off however I could. My first line of defense
was scripture. I camped out in the Psalms, clinging to them like a life raft in
a dark and threatening sea. I reached for my Bible and opened it to Psalm 55.
     
    Give ear to my prayer, O God; and do not
hide Yourself from my supplication. Give heed to me, and answer me; I am
restless in my complaint, and am surely distracted.
     
    I’m always amazed how God speaks to me
through His word. Sometimes it seems like David was reading my mind when he
penned those words a few thousand years ago. I am restless in my prayers,
crying out to God on Mark’s behalf. And I’m definitely distracted by the
ever-present fear. I try so hard to shake it but I can’t. It feels like an
elephant has made its home on my chest. Sometimes I can hardly breathe.
    I know I’m helpless. Apart from my
pitiful prayers, I know there’s nothing I can do to bring Mark around. Most of
the time I read the Psalms out loud to him. Other times I have to force my
focus on each and every word, willing myself to stake my trust in God even when
it feels like the fear will swallow me whole.
    I blew out a long sigh and set my Bible
aside, then reached for the diary. Scripture soothes my soul‌—‌most
of the time‌—‌but my aunt’s journal occupies my mind, keeping me
distracted. And this morning, I feel an urgent need for all the distraction I
can get.
    “Okay, Mark, last we read, Uncle Gary
kissed Aunt Lucille for the first time. And I’m fairly sure I saw you blush
when I was reading that part, but let’s see what happens next.”
     
    Dear Diary,
    Obviously, I fell asleep
before finishing last time. I finally realized I’ll never get it all in print
at the rate I’m going. Still, I can’t bear the thought of missing a single
detail, because I still feel like it’s all just a wonderful dream. Like I could
wake up any moment and be back on that El, picking my textbook off the floor
without the help of a handsome lieutenant.
    That next day, Gary went to church with us. I had to fight a
touch of pride as I walked into the church I grew up in with this handsome man
in uniform at my side. Then, as we sang the first hymn, the beauty of Gary ’s rich tenor voice floated around us
like the softest velvet. When I looked up at him, he paused, asking what was
wrong. I love that he had no idea why others were looking our way.
    Once we took our seats
again, he tucked my hand in the crook of his arm and placed his hand over mine ‌—‌ a gesture I’d come to
enjoy immensely. I felt protected. Cherished, somehow. For the rest of the
service, he never let go. I didn’t hear much of Reverend Thornton’s sermon, my
heart and my thoughts wrapped as one in constant prayer for this human gift sitting
beside me. For his safety once he returned to the war. For the precious moments
we had left together.
    After church we said
goodbye to Mother, Father, and little Jack. Gary ’s parents had invited me for Sunday
dinner, and I was anxious to meet them. I found them to be utterly delightful,
though much more reserved than their son. Mr. and Mrs. Reynolds made me feel so
welcome. To be honest, I was relieved. I still wondered if Gary was a bit of a ladies’ man. Had he
brought other girls home to meet his parents? Lots of other girls? But those
fears evaporated as the Reynolds seemed genuinely interested in getting to know
me, asking about my family, discussing mutual friends, and so on.
    I
asked them about Gerald, Gary ’s older brother who had recently deployed
to England with the 8 th Air Force.
    “Gerald
was anxious to get over there and help with the war effort,” Mrs. Reynolds
began. “But it was the hardest thing I’ve ever done ‌—‌ saying goodbye to him.