Free A Semi-Precious Christmas by Jan Elder Page B

door. “Thanks. I didn’t want to say anything, but I gotta pee. Be right back.”
    Chris sat in the front seat, elbows on his knees, head cradled in his hands. He kneaded his scalp with his fingers. With half his hair standing on end, he reached back and grabbed my hand. “What if we crash the Christmas Eve service at church? It’s probably not quite over yet.”
    “I guess it’s always a good time to go to church. What’d you have in mind?”
    “Inspiration? Peace? Friends who care? All good. OK with you?”
    I grabbed his coat, pulled him closer, and planted a light kiss on his lips. “OK with me. Let’s roll.”
    Amee returned and slid into her seat, a smattering of fat snowflakes clinging to her hat. “Did I hear we’re going somewhere?”
    We pulled up to the church, heartened by the full parking lot. The three of us slipped in the main door and made our way to the sanctuary.
    Everyone, perhaps a couple hundred people, stood singing Silent Night . The lights were low and candles flickered.
    We slipped in quietly and crept to the front row. We joined the strain, and I lifted my chin, trying to be at peace and trust God for however this would turn out. I inhaled the joy permeating the air.
    The pastor extended his hands to pronounce the benediction. We’d made it just in time.
    Chris fairly vaulted up the three steps to reach the minister before the prayer started. He spoke softly in his ear.
    “By all means.” Pastor Brown handed him the microphone.
    Chris made eye contact with the congregation, nodding at people all over. “I’m Chris Lane. Many of you know me and my five-year-old daughter, Maggie.” His voice broke on the last word and he cleared his throat. “Maggie was kidnapped tonight.”
    There was a collective intake of breath from the audience.
    “We don’t know where to find her. She’s only five…oh, I already said that…and…and…I was hoping we could pray for her safety and speedy return.” He shuffled from one foot to the other and swayed on his feet.
    Pastor Brown clapped an arm around his shoulder. “Absolutely, Chris. In fact, if any of you wants to join us in praying for little Maggie, please make your way up to the altar now. Let’s surround our brother with our love and support.”
    I catapulted out of my seat and landed on the other side of Chris, my arm clasped tight around his other shoulder.
    Amee was right beside me as half the crowd surged to the front.
    Those closest to Chris extended a hand toward him as they bowed their heads, many resting a palm on his head or his back. Hands settled on my shoulders as the chain of prayerful souls stretched around the sanctuary.
    With a low, booming voice, Pastor Brown began to pray, right along with fervent murmurs of support from many of those present.
    My spirit groaned with the heavy weight of anguish as Chris trembled, tears sliding down his face and dropping softly onto the carpet. I rested my head against his neck as my own tears joined his.
    As the prayers drifted to a close, someone started singing Away in a Manager . It started out soft, and the melody traveled around the room. The space surrounding us brightened and shimmered.
    Christ was there among us—as close as the air that I breathed and the beat of my heart.

16
    Amee lent us her car, and less than an hour later, we pulled up in front of the police station, dog-tired and in desperate need of ideas and caffeine. We’d talked over every detail of the robbery we could remember, wracking our brains for clues of any kind. Where would Mean-Eyes go? It had to be him. Where would he take Maggie? And why was he back in my house to begin with?
    We parked ourselves in Locksley’s office, braving the clutter once again.
    He had the answer to the last question. “An experienced burglar knows that insurance companies will cover the cost of most, if not all, of what they steal. He’s probably been watching your house to see when replacement goods arrived. Better to fence a