The Second Best Christmas

By Perry Rowe

Not all Christmas stories are Hallmark stories, just like all lives aren't Hallmark lives. In fact, few are. A WARNING! The prologue to this book contains a non-descriptive and tastefully written assault theme.

However, this is a Christmas story full of God's redemptive love in the lives of newlyweds Jack and Allie. They are determined to make this the first of the best Christmases ever. They want to buy each other a special present but realize they will fall short of the money they need. They each take on an extra night of work at their current jobs but even then, it isn't enough. Enter Gus.

Gus is the owner of "Off the Beaten Path", a thrift and antique store he and his late wife, Ruth, bought after they retired early. Through a different set of circumstances, Jack and Allie meet Gus, and he offers each of them a night a week at his store. He is unaware they are married to each other, and Jack and Allie keep it a secret they are working there. They let each other assume it's an extra work night with their current employers.

All goes well. Christmas comes and goes, and Jack and Allie receive separate phone calls from Gus at their place of employment asking them to stop by. They do, and the fun begins as each realizes they have been working at the same place, and Gus finds out they are married to each other. It s all fun until Gus finds out that the piece of furniture Jack has been saving to buy is still in the store room because he hadn't completely finished paying for it, although he had worked enough hours and would have enough when he received his next paycheck. Impressed by Jack's honesty, Gus insists they get the piece of furniture and give it to Allie right then. Allie closes her eyes and waits.
What happens in the rest of the book is one surprise after another. Gus learns his precious Ruthie has kept a secret from him up until the day she died. That secret is going to change all of their lives forever.

Read the book to find out why this is The Second Best Christmas for Jack and Allie, even though it's the first. Learn about the secret, and the note changes everything. Your heart will be blessed. It may not be a Hallmark book, but it certainly has a Hallmark ending because only God can take two messed young people and make
their marriage an inspiration to others. Blessings to each of you who read this book, and thank you.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Perry Rowe
• Release date: Dec 14, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005274429

Perry Rowe

Perry Rowe writes Christian fiction. This is her first fiction book.She is a former hospital chaplain, Bible teacher, grant write, and conference speaker. She blogs at https://goodthoughtsgoodlives.com, focusing on emotional, mental, and spiritual health. Once in a while, she throws in some DIY.Her education includes a Psychology degree from Grand Valley University, post-graduate studies in Clinical Pastoral Education, and is a certified Happiness Life Coach.Her interests are blogging, creating, crafting, diy-ing, writing, and painting (pictures, not walls.) Her passion is all things spiritual and she continues to learn and grow.You can find her non-fiction writing under the name Rebecca Platt.

Book preview

Prologue

Igrabbed the door handle and flung myself out of the car with one quick thrust of my feet, hitting the gravel hard, scraping my knees on the gravel, and inhaling dust. I choked, trying to clear my throat. He didn’t come after me. Why would he? He got what he wanted, hadn’t he? 

I ran until I ran out of breath, gasping for air so hard I thought I might pass out. Tree branches whipped at my face, scratching my cheeks. I stumbled and tore my skirt and lost my fuzzy pink sweater somewhere along the way. It was cold, so I huddled up under a pine tree that offered shelter under its drooping branches, hoping he wouldn’t come after me. 

How could I be so stupid? How could I have trusted him? But I’d had no idea. Or had I? I remember being suspicious when he left a group of giggling girls to approach me after a track meet. Why me? Was I flattered because he singled me out?

He asked for my phone number and called me several times before he asked me out. I was only sixteen, and my parents hadn’t decided whether I could date yet, certainly not until they met him. They invited him to dinner, where he charmed them both with his manners and the fact that he could talk ‘church’ with them, being an active member of a local church in the community. They agreed when he asked whether I could go on a date with him. I was relieved. And, if I’m being honest, I was flattered. Was that it? Was I that shallow that I wanted my friends to know I was going on a date with the football team's captain, track star, and overall town catch?

The night of our date, he came to the house and chatted with my parents about what I don’t know because I was upstairs trying to get the last hair in place in my bouffant hairdo and then spraying it with Aqua Net, so it didn’t move. I couldn’t decide on heels or flats but didn’t want to make him feel short, so I chose the flats. I came downstairs and could tell he was pleased with my appearance. My parents watched, pleased, as he opened the door for me. He waved to them, Don’t you worry. I’ll take good care of her. 

We drove to a lovely new restaurant in town. We enjoyed a wonderful meal of grilled steak and mushrooms, baked stuffed potatoes, Caesar salads, and butter-laden crusty rolls. Candles flickered at all the white-linen-covered tables, and a pianist played soft music. The aroma from the rolls made my mouth water in anticipation of the first bite, and the conversation was easy. The food was delicious, and the steak was so tender I could cut it with a fork. The food, the atmosphere, and the company were exhilarating, and I felt like I was in a beautiful fairy-tale dream.

We finished our meal by sharing a decant chocolate dessert and peppermint ice cream. He moved his chair right next to mine so we could take turns. We laughed after we’d finished and agreed that dessert might have been a little too much. The evening was everything I imagined a first date would be. I was looking forward to telling my friends about it tomorrow and maybe bragging a little if I’m honest.

As we walked to his new car, he again opened the door for me, good manners on full display for anyone who might be watching. He started the car, turned to me, and politely asked if I would like to go for a quick ride before he took me home.

I hesitated for a moment but then agreed. But only a few minutes, Matthew. I told my parents I would be home right after dinner. Really, only a few minutes. OK? Later I wondered why I had hesitated. Did I know something wasn’t right? Was the Holy Spirit talking to me? But what should I have done after the expensive dinner? Call my parents and asked them to pick me up instead. How would that look?

I decided a short ride would be OK. I didn’t see the smirk flitting across his face as he shut the door and moved to the driver’s side. Within minutes were speeding out of town. 

Matthew, why are you driving so fast? Where are we going? I told you I couldn’t be gone, but only a few more minutes. I’d like you to turn around, please, and take me home, my voice quivered while I tried to sound demanding. I felt suddenly felt anxious and ill at ease. My mouth was dry as chalk, and my shoulders tensed. I felt fear.

Just a few more minutes, I promise, he said, giving me a disturbing grin. Now I was terrified. My pulse raced. He was not the same person who charmed my parents nor the one who charmed me at dinner.

My thoughts stopped mid-stream as the car suddenly veered off the highway onto a gravel road winding through the trees. It was dark. I didn’t know where we were. My stomach felt so queasy I thought I would vomit. My heart pounded; it drowned out the sound of the car’s engine. Terror suffocated me. I later remembered shouting, "Matthew, take me home right now

The car lurched to a stop, scattering dirt and gravel. For a minute, I relaxed and breathed deeply. He listened. He was going to turn around and take me home. Instead, he yanked me to him, kissing me hard while shoving me down on the seat, his weight keeping me there. The new leather smell made my eyes burn, and my nostrils filled up. I gagged, trying to catch my breath.

I don’t know what happened next. I have little recall, but I do remember feeling paralyzed and unable to move. It was over in minutes. Was it only minutes? I wasn’t sure. Time was suspended.

He loosened his grip on me. When he did, I drew up my knees, kicking him as hard as I could, and, reaching backward, grabbed the door handle, turned over, flung myself onto the hard ground, and started running. I turned to see if he was following me, but he wasn’t.

I heard him laugh and tires screech as his red Corvette screeched out of the woods. I remained huddled under the tree for a few more minutes, trying to gather my chaotic thoughts in one place so I could decide what to do next.

It was a moonless night. The woods were black; I could barely see a few feet in front of me. I turned around and walked back the way I thought I had come, hoping I was tracing my steps, the sounds in the woods scaring me. If I could find the road, I could follow it back. My parents would be frantic if I weren’t home soon.

My parents. How would she explain what happened? They liked Matthew. They trusted him. So why wouldn’t I have, I wondered.

What happened? How could I have been so naïve? Why didn’t I notice something? Was there a clue I missed? What else could I have done? Did I somehow encourage him? Questions haunted me as I stumbled through the woods until I found the tire tracks in the gravel. I came to the road and saw lights in the distance.

It hadn’t been as far as I’d thought. I found the restaurant where we’d had dinner. There was a payphone outside. I called my parents and asked them to pick me up, the panic in their voices hard to ignore.

What’s the matter? Has there been an accident? My mother asked me.

Please just come and pick me up, I pleaded.

The next few weeks were tumultuous and uncertain as my parents and I worked through the aftermath. My parents called Matthew’s. Matthew anticipated this and told his parents they might get a phone call, but what happened between him and me was consensual. He said I would deny it, of course, being the little-miss-goodie-two-shoes I was. My parents knew that was a lie. But then, so did his.

After the call, my father grabbed his keys off the table and headed to the door. He yelled back that he would beat some sense into that young man or his father, maybe both. At the moment, he didn’t care which. Rage engulfed him. His daughter, the kindest person he knew, assaulted. How had he been so deceived? Fathers protected their daughters. Why hadn’t he seen who Matthew was? I didn’t know my father was capable of such anger. It frightened me.

Dad, don’t. It won’t help. Please. Don’t go, I begged, sobbing. My mother put her arms around my father. Jim, don’t go. Please. Listen to us. Our persuasion finally worked, and he walked back into his house, shaking so hard he was shivering.

It was a night of hugging, crying, and talking. Not once did my parents suggest it was my fault. Instead, they took responsibility. After all, I was only sixteen.

The next day, my parents called the pastor of Matthew’s church. Pastor Stephenson said he could do nothing without proof. Did they report it to the police? They hadn’t, so it was her word against his. But I will talk to Matthew and his family. I’ve talked to his parents about his past questionable behavior, but they always take their son’s side. This time I’m doing something, the pastor fumed. He had no doubts the girl was telling the truth.

A few days later, Pastor Stephenson, in a private meeting in his office without consulting his governing board, asked Matthew and his parents to leave the church. Throughout his ministry, the pastor preached forgiveness. Still, as neither Matthew nor his parents requested any, he would leave forgiveness up to God. He knew Matthew had done what the young woman’s father said he’d done. But he took some responsibility as well. He should’ve done something sooner. But what?

This was the first time he’d asked anyone to leave his church. He had never judged someone like this before. Still, he knew he didn’t want this family in his congregation any longer and didn’t want Matthew’s behavior influencing younger boys. He shuddered to think the young woman might not be Matthew’s only victim.

The family left without protest, telling Pastor Stephenson the church would miss their money. You mean thirty pieces of silver? I don’t think so, he responded, showing them the door and slamming it behind them. He encouraged the young woman and her family to press charges against Matthew, but they refused.

Pastor Stephenson told the congregation and the various church boards that Matthew’s family found another church better suited to them. No one protested or asked for a reason; most were glad to see them go, even with their large donations. Some people are just not worth the money.

Six weeks later, I suspected I was pregnant. I was.

Chapter One

Abortion was legal now, but my family and I believed that all life was sacred from the moment of inception. All babies have hope and a future, as the Bible states, no matter how conceived. This entity growing inside me was a life, not a fetus one could dispose of like so much other garbage. My baby deserved a chance. But with whom?

My parents and I spent hours discussing all the possibilities. Should I keep the baby and raise it? Should my parents? No, that would be too hard. We went back and forth, hashing over many ideas in a desperate attempt to make it all work out to everyone’s advantage. We all agreed any decision we made had to be what was best for my child. My aunt agreed to let me live with her until the baby was born. It was far enough away, so no one would know. We finally decided I would put my baby up for adoption and give both of us a chance at a good future. I would return in time for the second half of the school year. As my aunt was a teacher, I could finish my classes with her and receive the credits I needed for the missing semester. The story was well-accepted.

I