Lynnette Kent - Shenandoah Christmas

Ten-year-old Maddie Tremaine’s face brightened with enthusiasm. “Maybe Miss Caitlyn can stay till Christmas. Wouldn’t that be neat, Daddy? I bet she sings carols like an angel.”

This wasn’t the first time Ben Tremaine had heard about the wonders of Caitlyn Gregory. “I’m sure she’s fun to sing with. But won’t you be glad when Miss Anna comes back? I know how much you like her as your regular choir teacher.”

“Miss Anna’s really nice.” Maddie nodded. “But Miss Caitlyn kinda…sparkles.” She gave a worshipful sigh.

“Just remember, sweetheart—” He debated the warning for a second, then decided to go with it. “Remember, she won’t be here for very long. It’s nice of her to come and help out, but once Miss Anna’s baby is born and the doctor says she can get back to normal, Miss Caitlyn will leave.”

“I know, Daddy.” Maddie’s smile dimmed, then brightened. “But it’s only nine weeks till Christmas!”

Dear Reader,

I remember very clearly being five or six years old and listening with envy to another little girl learning to play the piano. I got my own piano in the third grade, and music has been part of my life ever since. I’ve been involved in children’s church music, as a volunteer, for more than fifteen years. I also play the bassoon and serve as the librarian for our local symphony. Sometimes I’m required to make the hard choice between going to rehearsal and staying home to work on a book!

It was only natural, I think, that when I decided to write a Christmas book, music would play an integral role. Carols are the voice of the season, the means through which most children first learn about the love and joy associated with Yuletide. I can no more imagine Christmas without carols than I can imagine spring without the songs of birds.

The heroine of Shenandoah Christmas, Cait Gregory, has committed her talents to a successful musical career. But she’s been estranged from Christmas—and its songs—for a long time. Widower and fellow skeptic Ben Tremaine goes through the motions of the holiday only for his children’s sake. Helping these two isolated souls discover each other and the true meaning of the season has made writing this book sheer pleasure. Now I hope their story brings you all the laughter and good cheer your heart can hold.

Merry Christmas!

Lynnette Kent

P.S. Reader mail is a wonderful gift. Please feel free to write. Box 1795, Fayetteville, NC 28314 or e-mail lynnette@lynnettekent.com.

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For my friends who meet on Sundays at the corner of Ann and Bow Streets, especially all the children who share the laughter and the songs.

And for the women who have taught me so much about music and about sisterhood—

Charlyne, Sharon, Linda and Maryann.

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

EPILOGUE

Eighteen years ago

“WE NEED more feathers.” Ten-year-old Cait Gregory sat back on her heels and surveyed the project on the floor in front of her. “We’ve still got half a wing to cover.”

Her sister, Anna, bent over and pressed a feather into the tiny bit of glue she’d squeezed out of the bottle she held. “We don’t have another pillow.”

“Daddy has pillows.”

“Are you crazy?” Anna pushed back her curly red bangs and stared at Cait in horror. “He wouldn’t let us use his pillows. He’s gonna be mad enough that we used our own.”

“He’s a minister—he has to do what’s good for Christmas.”

“You only say that because you’re the angel in the Christmas Eve pageant this year.” Anna tried to be the boss, just because she was two years older than Cait. “There’s lots more important stuff about Christmas than that.”

“No, there’s not.” On her feet now, Cait propped her hands on her hips. “The whole point of Christmas is the story the pageant tells. And the main part of the story is when the angel announces the birth of the baby to the shepherds. I’ve already got the words learned. ‘Fear not, for I bring you good tidings of great joy…. Ye shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger.’ See?”

Her sister shook her head and glued another feather onto the shapes she’d drawn and cut out of white poster board. Anna was an artist, for sure. The wings—wider than Cait’s shoulders and as long as she was tall—curved just like the pictures of angels she’d seen in books. Covered with millions of tiny white feathers, they would be the best wings any announcing angel ever had.

As soon as she found one more pillow.

Prowling the house, she tested every cushion she came across, but only the pillows on her dad’s bed had feathers. Cait stood gazing at them for a long time. Did she dare?

Later that night, lying flat on her bed in the dark room she and Anna shared, with tears drying on her cheeks and her stomach growling because she hadn’t gotten dinner, she wasn’t sorry she’d taken her dad’s pillow. Nothing mattered more than making the pageant the best it could possibly be. This was Christmas, after all.

And for Cait, Christmas would always be the most wonderful day of the year!

The present

WITH HIS CHISEL poised to make a delicate cut, Ben Tremaine looked up as footsteps crunched through the fallen leaves outside the open door. “Maddie? Shep? That you?”

He had just enough time to put down the tool before two small cyclones whirled into the workshop, bringing with them the crisp scent of autumn. “Daddy!” Maddie dropped her book bag and threw herself into his arms. “We’re home!”

When Shep wiggled in beside her, Ben closed his arms tight around his children, kissing first Shep’s smooth blond head, then Maddie’s tight dark curls. This was his favorite part of the day. “Good to see you guys. How was school?”

“I got a hundred on my math test.” Maddie settled in on his knee. “We had a handwriting quiz—Miss Everett said mine was the prettiest in the class. We played hopscotch at recess and I won. And during story time Miss Everett read what I asked her to—‘How the Leopard Got His Spots’ from Just So Stories. You remember that one, Daddy?”

“I sure do. Sounds like you had a great day. How about you, Shep?” Without answering, the little boy slipped from his hold and moved to the workbench, running his fingers lightly over the fretwork veneer Ben had been working on. “How’d school go?”

His son shrugged one shoulder and gave a small nod. Knowing the futility of pushing any harder—Shep hadn’t said a single word to anyone in the eighteen months since his mother died—Ben stifled a sigh of frustration and looked at Maddie again. “This is Wednesday, so you went to choir right after school, didn’t you?”

“Brenna’s mom took us.” The little girl’s face brightened with enthusiasm. “Miss Caitlyn played her guitar and sang us some of the songs she wrote. They’re so beautiful, I can’t believe it.”

This wasn’t the first time Ben had heard about the wonders of Caitlyn Gregory. “I bet you’ll be glad when Miss Anna can come back, though. I know how much you like her as your regular choir teacher.”