lift to the wall clock. “Speaking of church,” he said, “if we are going to be on time for the Christmas Eve service, we’d best get ourselves on the move. Wouldn’t want the rest of the wackos to start without us.”
A good-natured chuckle rippled around the room. Elizabeth smiled contentedly. It was time to be up and out. She had been so looking forward to sharing a pew with her son and daughter again. Perhaps that was when she missed them the most. When they gathered for worship and part of her family was not there.
“Why don’t you two take Teeko for a walk?” suggested Wynn.
The gifts had been opened, the clutter cleared away, and the traditional Delaney Christmas breakfast of poached egg on toast had disappeared. From the kitchen came the aroma of the roasting turkey. Already the blueberry pie had been lifted from the oven, but it would be some time yet before they sat down again to the table.
Henry stretched long arms above his tall frame. “It would be good to work out a few kinks,” he agreed. Christine hung up the dish towel. “Only if Mom promises to take a break while we’re gone.”
Elizabeth chuckled. “I promise. I was looking for an excuse for a second cup of coffee.”
“What about it, big guy?” Henry asked the yawning dog. “Are you up for a tramp through the woods?”
The dog responded only with a thump of his tail, his recognition of having been spoken to. Henry then changed to “Teeko. Walk?” At once Teeko was on his feet, his whole body shivering in anticipation as he headed for the door that led them outside.
“Guess he’s willing,” noted Henry.
“He’s always willing,” laughed Elizabeth. “Rain or shine. Day or night.”
It didn’t take them long to gather coats and mittens, and soon the house was quiet again. Elizabeth poured two cups of coffee and joined Wynn before the fire. She sipped quietly for a moment before she turned to her husband. “So ... which one of our children should we be most concerned about?”
Wynn looked over at her but did not speak.
“Henry and his painful memory—or Christine with her pain of empathy?” she continued.
“I guess we didn’t raise them to be insensitive,” replied Wynn slowly. “But they do seem to be taking on others’ burdens with perhaps too much intensity.”
Elizabeth put down her cup. “It’s hard,” she mused. “So hard—in life—to arrive at that proper balance.” She was thoughtful for a few moments before saying, “I do hope that Christine’s compassion doesn’t blind her to other things.”
“You see the possibility of something more?”
Elizabeth nodded. “Sometimes the ‘something more’ sneaks up on one.”
“You don’t want her falling for this young man.”
“No. No, I don’t. I will be honest about it. It sounds risky to me. She knows the importance of a shared faith with the man she learns to love. His ... his unawareness of spiritual things, of God, frightens me. But Christine knows all that. She knows about love. Respect. Goodness. She’ll know better than to get involved—unless he changes. But—even then ...” Her voice drifted to a halt before picking up the thought again. “If the feeling is ... is pity because of what he didn’t have, or guilt because of what she did have—then no. No. I don’t want that kind of a relationship for her. She should have something much better than that.”
“Will you tell her?”
Elizabeth shook her head. “I don’t know. Perhaps. I’ll need to ... to pray about it. To feel ... led.”
He nodded.
“But our Henry—I’ve no idea how to ... to help Henry.”
“I know how he feels. At least to some extent. A sudden death is always hard. And to be the bearer of the news is heart wrenching. I’ve had to do it a number of times over the years. But never ... never to a young woman with an infant. It must have been an awful experience.”
“Do you think ... he’ll be able to get over it?”
“Do we want him to?”