Shepherds Abiding: A Mitford Christmas Story - Hardcover

Karon, Jan

Hardcover

ISBN 10: 0375432876 ISBN 13: 9780375432873

Verlag: Random House Large Print, 2003

Inhaltsangabe

Since he was a boy growing up in Mississippi, Father Tim has lived what he calls "the life of the mind." Except for cooking and gardening and washing his dog, he never learned to savor the work of his hands. And then he finds a derelict nativity scene--twenty figures, including a flock of sheep, that have suffered the indignities of time and neglect.

Could he give the small company new life? Restore the camel's ear, repaint every piece, replace a missing nose on a wise man? "You can't teach an old dog new tricks!" he reminds himself. It's when he imagines the excitement in Cynthia's eyes that he steps up to the plate--and begins a small journey of faith that touches everyone around him.

The eight novel in the bestselling Mitford Years series is a mediation on the best of all presents--the gift of one's heart. Lovingly written and beautifully illustrated, it seeks to restore the true Christmas spirit and give everyone a seat at Mitford's holiday table.

Über diesen Titel

Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

JAN KARON is the author of seven Mitford novels: At Home in Mitford; A Light in the Window; These High, Green Hills; Out to Cannon; A New Song; A Common Life and the most recent, In This Mountain, a #1 New York Times bestseller. Her children's books include Miss Fannie's Hat and Jeremy: The Tale of an Honest Bunny.

Auszug. © Genehmigter Nachdruck. Alle Rechte vorbehalten.

Shepherds Abiding

By Jan Karon

Random House Large Print Publishing

Copyright © 2003 Jan Karon
All right reserved.
ISBN: 0375432876

Chapter One

The rain began punctually at five o'clock, thoughfew were awake to hear it. It was a gentle rain, ratherlike a summer shower that had escaped the grip of timeor season and wandered into Mitford several monthslate.

By six o'clock, when much of the population of1,074 was leaving for work in Wesley or Holding oracross the Tennessee line, the drops had grown largeand heavy, as if weighted with mercury, and those runningto their cars or trucks without umbrellas couldfeel the distinct smack of each drop.

Dashing to a truck outfitted with painter's ladders,someone on Lilac Road shouted "Yeehaw!," an act thatprecipitated a spree of barking among the neighborhooddogs.

Here and there, as seemingly random as the appearanceof stars at twilight, lamps came on in housesthroughout the village, and radio and television voicesprophesied that the front passing over the East Coastwould be firmly lodged there for two days.

More than a few were fortunate to lie in bed and listento the rain drumming on the roof, relieved to haveno reason to get up until they were plenty good andready.

Others thanked God for the time that remained tolie in a warm, safe place unmolested by worldly cares,while some began at once to fret about what the daymight bring.

Father Timothy Kavanagh, one of the earliest risersin Mitford, did not rise so early this morning. Instead,he lay in his bed in the yellow house on Wisteria Laneand listened to the aria of his wife's whiffling snore,mingled with the sound of rain churning through thegutters.

Had he exchanged wedding vows before the age ofsixty-two, he might have taken the marriage bed forgranted after these seven years. Instead, he seldomawakened next to the warm sentience of his wife withoutbeing mildly astonished by her presence, andboundlessly grateful. Cynthia was his best friend andboon companion, dropped from the very heavens intohis life, which, forthwith, she had changed utterly.

He would get up soon enough and go about his day,first hying with his good dog, Barnabas, into the pouringrain, and then, while the coffee brewed, reading theMorning Office, as he'd done for more than fourdecades as both a working and a now-retired priest.

Feeling a light chill in the room, he scooted over tohis sleeping wife and put his arm around her and heldher close, comforted, as ever, by the faint and familiarscent of wisteria.

* * *

Lew Boyd, who liked to rise with the sun every morning,and who always wore his watch to bed, gazed at theluminous face of his Timex and saw that it was the firstday of October.

October! He had no idea at all where the time hadgone. Yesterday was July, today was October. As a matterof fact, where had his life gone?

He stared at the bedroom ceiling and pondered aquestion that he'd never been fond of messing with,though now seemed a good time to do it and get it overwith.

One day, he'd been a green kid without a care in theworld. Then, before you could say Jack Robinson, he'dlooked up and found he was an old codger with a newand secret wife living way off in Tennessee with hermama, and him lying here in this cold, lonesome bedjust as he'd been doing all those years as a widower.

He tried to recall what, exactly, had happened betweenhis youth and old age, but without a cup of coffeeat the very least, he was drawing a blank.

Though he'd worked hard and saved his money andhonored his dead wife's memory by looking at her pictureon Sunday and paying to have her grave weedeated,he didn't know whether he'd made a go of it withthe Good Lord or not.

For the few times he'd cheated somebody down athis Exxon station, he'd asked forgiveness, even thoughhe'd cheated them only a few bucks. He'd also askedforgiveness for the times he'd bitten Juanita's head offwithout good reason, and for a few other things hedidn't want to think about ever again.

To top that off, he'd quit smoking twelve years ago,cut out the peach brandy he'd fooled with after Juanitapassed, and increased what he put in the plate on theoccasional Sundays he showed up at First Baptist. But the thing was, it seemed like all of it-good andbad, up and down, sweet and sour-had blown by himlike Dale Earnhardt Jr. at Talladega.

He sighed deeply, hauled himself out of bed, andslid his cold feet into the unlaced, brown and whitespectators he wore around the house. If Juanita wasalive, or if Earlene was here, he'd probably turn on thefurnace out of common decency. But as long as he wasboss of the thermostat, he'd operate on the fact that anoil furnace was money down the drain and wait 'til thefirst hard freeze to make himself toasty.

Sitting on the side of the bed and covering his barelegs with the blanket, he scratched his head andyawned, then reached for the cordless and punched redial.

When his wife, living with her dying mama in aframe house on the southern edge of Knoxville, answeredthe phone, he said, "Good mornin', dumplin.'"

"Good mornin' yourself, baby. How're you feelin'this mornin'?"

"Great!" he said. "Just great!"

He thought for a split second he was telling a bald-facedlie, then realized he was telling the lawful truth.It was the sound of Earlene's cheerful voice that hadchanged him from an old man waking up in a cold bedto a young buck who just remembered he was drivingto Tennessee in his new Dodge truck, tonight.

* * *

At six-thirty, Hope Winchester dashed along MainStreet under a red umbrella. Rain gurgled from thedownspouts of the buildings she fled past and flowedalong the curb in a bold and lively stream.

To the driver of a station wagon heading down themountain, the figure hurrying past the Main StreetGrill was but a splash of red on the canvas of a sullen,gray morning. Nonetheless, it was a splash that momentarilycheered the driver.

Hope dodged a billow of water from the wheels ofthe station wagon and clutched even tighter the pocketbookcontaining three envelopes whose contents couldchange her life forever. She would line them up on herdesk in the back room of the bookstore and prayerfullyexamine each of these wonders again and again.Then she would put them in her purse at the end ofthe day and take them home and line them up on herkitchen table so she might do the same thing once more.

UPS had come hours late yesterday with the booksto be used in this month's promotion, which meantshe'd lost precious time finishing the front window andmust get at it this morning before the bookstore openedat ten. It was, after all October first-time for a wholenew window display, and the annual Big O sale.

All titles beginning with the letter O would betwenty percent off, which would get Wesley's studentsand faculty hopping! Indeed, September's Big S sale hadincreased their bottom line by twelve percent over lastyear, and all because she, the usually reticent HopeWinchester, had urged the owner to give a percentageoff that really "counted for something." It was a Books-A-Million,B&N, Sam's Club kind of world, Hope insisted,and a five-percent dribble here and there wouldn'twork anymore, not even in Mitford, which wasn't assleepy and innocuous as some people liked to think.

She dashed under the awning, set her streaming umbrelladown, and jiggled the key in the door of WillardPorter's old pharmacy, now known as Happy EndingsBooks.

The lock had the cunning possessed only by a lockmanufactured in 1927. Helen, the owner, had refusedto replace it, insisting that a burglar...

Details zur Ausgabe

• Verlag: Random House Large Print
• Erscheinungsdatum: 2003
• Sprache: Englisch
• ISBN 10: 0375432876
• ISBN 13: 9780375432873
• Einband: Gebundene Ausgabe
• Anzahl der Seiten: 365
• Kontakt zum Hersteller: Nicht verfügbar
• Verantwortliche Person: Purmerul LTD; https://strengholt.nl/en/; ; 22 Liuleburgaz Str., floor 4, app. 9; Plovdiv; Bulgarien