Page 24 of A Texas Christmas Carol

He collapsed upon the mattress, unable to think. Able only to weep. To empty himself. To tumble to the floor and lay prostrate before his God.

He refused to leave his room for the remainder of the day. He took no food. No drink. Saw no one. Well, almost no one. Sometime during the course of the afternoon, a hand appeared at his bedroom window, the delicate palm pressed flush against the glass. A prayer drifted through the seams around the sill, its advocacy picking him up off the floor where his wretchedness had pinned him. Its belief in him instilling hope. Its proclamation of love cementing the truth that with God, nothing was impossible.

He feverishly pored over scripture, lighting a lamp when darkness fell. He prayed and wept, and when the night grew darkest, he remembered the hand at the window and took courage in knowing he did not fight alone. She fought by his side. Praying for him. Believing in him. Loving him.

Evan wrestled with God that night. And like Jacob, he did not escape unscathed. His pride and ambition lay slain and bloody upon the floor. They had not surrendered easily. They had defined him for so long, allowing him to survive and persevere through hardship as a youth and claim success as a man of business. Yet only when they had been torn from him had his eyes been opened to the truth. It had been God, not his own striving, that had seen him through. God who had provided skills and opportunities. God who had orchestrated his rise. God who had supplied his need.

And now it was God who called him to be more than a taker. To be a living sacrifice, to seek the good of others before himself, to love his enemies and be a cheerful giver. Wasn’t that what Christmas represented? God seeking the good of others, even his enemies? Surrendering what he held most precious and giving his Son to the world. A Son who would be sacrificed for all to bring about reconciliation and redemption.

As the first light of dawn floated through his window, Evan met it with a smile on his face and the promise of Jesus in his heart. Behold, I make all things new.

Even stubborn, miserly hearts.

Stepping to the window, Evan fit his palm to the glass atop the print Felicity had left behind. More irrefutable evidence of God’s mercy and abundant provision. She’d come at just the right time, to just the right place, and, led by the Spirit, prayed just the right words to revive his soul. And apparently she’d climbed a tree to do so. Evan shook his head and chuckled. He’d been so steeped in his battle yesterday, it hadn’t occurred to him to wonder how she’d come to be outside his second-story window.

She was incredible. Lovely. Tenderhearted. The most generous soul he’d ever known. And the person he would love to his dying day.

Joy as he’d never known flooded his heart, healing the bruised areas and filling him with a new kind of strength, one that enabled him to humble himself with no care for personal cost.

He longed to go to Felicity. To tell her of the changes the Lord had wrought, to tell her of his love. But other matters had to come first. Matters that required a bath, a bank draft, and a telegraph.

Exhausted from a restless night, Felicity rose much later than usual on Monday. By the time she finally washed, dressed, and headed to the kitchen to break her fast, the morning was half over.

She had the kitchen to herself. Her father had left for the barbershop. Her mother was in the parlor, adding her finishing touches to the baskets, a letter of personalized Christmas cheer for each family.

Would Evan still deliver those baskets with her tomorrow? The question nagged her as she heated water for tea and sliced a piece of bread for toast. She’d always looked forward to Christmas Eve with giddy anticipation, but this year too much uncertainty hung in the air. This would either be the best Christmas of her life or the worst. And she had absolutely no control over the outcome. She trusted the Lord to see her through, whichever eventuality materialized, but no one wanted a broken heart for Christmas.

A knock echoed from the front of the house, but Felicity ignored it, trusting her mother to answer. She couldn’t ignore the excited voices that bounced from the entryway through the parlor and into the kitchen, however.

“Where is Miss Felicity? I must speak to her at once. Miss Felicity!” their guest called in a loud voice. “I just can’t fathom it. He is completely not himself.”

Mrs. Bell?

Felicity dropped the bread knife and hurried around the table at the same time Evan’s housekeeper burst into the kitchen.

“There you are!” Mrs. Bell cried. She unhooked a basket from her arm and plopped it on the table as if it were of no consequence. The small glass jars inside rattled their indignance at being so dismissed.

Felicity couldn’t spare more than a fleeting thought for the promised donations of jam and handkerchiefs, though, when Mrs. Bell clasped her hand with such fervency.

“Something’s happened, Miss Felicity. Mr. Beazer smiled at me this morning. Smiled. I don’t know what to make of it.” She released her hold on Felicity and worried her hands in front of her. “He’s not at all himself. Do you think I should summon the doctor? What if he’s ill? But then, he’s not at home, is he? He’s out gallivanting around as if it’s not a workday. He didn’t even leave Robert any instructions.” She whispered this last statement as if afraid someone might overhear the horrible indictment.

“Surely this is good news,” Felicity’s mother said, having followed Mrs. Bell into the kitchen at a more sedate pace.

“Oh no.” Mrs. Bell shook her head decisively. “You don’t know him like I do. I really do think I should summon the doctor. He must’ve hit his head in the bath this morning. Or maybe he’s gone mad from hunger. He hasn’t eaten a single thing since breakfast yesterday.” She turned back to Felicity. “You know how he is. Tell me I’m wrong.”

“I . . .” Felicity was too shaken to say anything.

What did it mean? Was he truly ill as Mrs. Bell suggested, or could he have turned such a corner last night that it had not only changed his mind but his countenance as well? And what of his heart? His soul?

Tiny seeds of joy sprouted and fed a deepening stream of hope.

“But that’s not the worst of it,” Mrs. Bell continued, her eyes wide, her voice rattled. “He gave me the entire week off. Not just Christmas Day as he had promised, but the entire week. He told me to go on home to my family the moment I walked in the door. Then . . .” She leaned close and lowered her voice. “He paid me. For not working. Said it was a bonus for putting up with him or some such nonsense. What do you make of that?”

The back door flew open before Felicity could put two words together.

Charity bounded inside. “Felicity! You’ll never believe what’s happened!” She fought to catch her breath.

“Good heavens, Charity,” her mother declared. “Did you run all the way?”