Between the Altars
By Felicia Ferguson
Author's Note: I'm going to be completely transparent. I said at the beginning that this fic was going to be homework for me, and, y'all, this chapter kicked my butt, took my name, and handed both back to me several times. While it's a good feeling to be stretched and grow in the craft, writer girl here needs some recovery time after this one! So, it may be a bit before chapter 4 is written, let alone posted. But hopefully this one will be satisfying enough until then.
Oh, and y'all can thank Kvanbooven for the postal ball scene—I wasn't planning anything nearly as involved until she mentioned she couldn't wait to read it. Like I said, feedback feeds the muse, LOL.
As always, all of the characters belong to Martha Williamson, not I. Enjoy!
Chapter Three
Shane grinned at Oliver as she tied the ribbon on their last package for the Fifty-Ninth Annual Dear Santa project. He adjusted the loops on the bow then hurried the present to the overflowing mail bin. A chorus of postal employees counted down the last seconds, ending with rousing cheers for another successful year. Norman wrapped Rita into a long, celebratory hug. Then, seeing they once again stood under the mistletoe, he grinned and kissed her.
Clapping her hands at their sweet display, Shane laughed and welcomed Oliver back to her side with a wide grin. Norman and Rita began collecting leftover wrapping paper as Oliver gave the mistletoe a quick, uncertain glance then looked at Shane. She shook her head and murmured, "I put up our own back in the DLO. And I plan for us to get plenty of use out of it once Rita and Norman leave today."
Oliver chuffed as his lips curved in a quick, pleased smile. "I look forward to it. . .Shane."
Her gaze filled with delight as her given her name fell readily from his lips. She slipped her hand in his, drawing the curious and amused gazes of their postal comrades in arms. Wrapping paper and ribbon stowed away for next year, the rest of the group began heading back to their regular duties. Several murmured their teasing, yet sincere, congratulations as they passed by.
Yep, word is definitely out.
"Oliver?" Norman's soft prompt tugged their attention away from the well-wishers. Norman stood with his arm around Rita's waist, a questioning look in his eyes. "If it's okay with you, Rita and I would like to take off now and get ready for the ball."
Oliver surveyed the reorganized sorting area and agreed. "Perfectly fine, Norman." His lips quirked in a quick, fond smile. "Shane and I will meet you there."
Rita's eyes widened and her grin gained wattage. Shane tilted her head toward the exit and Rita nodded, heeding the unspoken hint. "Let's go, Norman. We don't want to miss the magic show. I hear someone is going to be put in a sword box this year!"
Norman ducked his head in agreement. "You know, my cousin Wade was once part of a magic trick . . ." His story trailed off as he and Rita ambled toward the exit with nods and holiday greetings along the way.
Shane smiled at the seemingly inexhaustible number of cousin stories in Norman's repertoire. She shook her head and picked up the DLO's box of Christmas paper and bows, then felt Oliver's gentle tug on her arm. He took the box from her, offered his elbow, then guided them around the bin of presents. More pleased grins and a few surprised double takes followed them as they wound their way between busy coworkers and back to the DLO.
Shane shot a curious look toward him, then shivered as their gazes met. Oliver's blue eyes darkened and his voice lowered to a breath above a whisper as he pushed through the DLO doors. "Now, you mentioned something about mistletoe?"
Whether it was the mistletoe, Oliver's use of her first name in front of their coworkers, or a combination of both, their return to the DLO ended up being much more intoxicating than Shane had planned. Making them late to leave and get changed. But later, when Oliver picked her up, her midnight blue dress and loose chignon were definitely to blame for another round of breathtaking kisses. Making them even later arriving at the ball.
Thankfully, dinner was still being served on the buffet, and Rita and Norman had saved them seats. After filling their plates, they wound their way between the dancers as his light touch at the small of her back steered her toward their table. Scanning the room, Shane's heart warmed at the joy and beauty of the evening.
The twelve foot Christmas tree glowed with white lights and crystal ornaments. Tuxedoed men and gowned ladies danced and chatted. Bright laughter mingled with the orchestra, creating its own melody.
A couple waltzed by them, pausing their progress. Oliver's breath warmed her ear as his words whispered between them. "May I have the first dance with you tonight, Shane?"
Heart hiccupping, she turned and lifted her gaze to his. Pouring all of the promise within her into her eyes, she said, "Yours is the only name on my dance card, Oliver."
His slow smile heated the air between them. Music seemed to swell, coaxing them to make good on her promise and join the other dancers. Another couple waltzed by. Or was it the same couple? Shane couldn't say anything for certain except that she wanted to do more than simply dance with Oliver.
As if remembering where they were, he took in a deep breath then stepped back. "We should get to our table. Our food is getting cold."
Pursing her lips, she dragged her gaze from his. He was right. They were in the middle of the dance floor at the postal ball in front of nearly all of the Denver area branch employees. Despite being engaged, there was propriety to consider—especially for her very proper fiancé.
Finding Rita and Norman a moment later, Oliver pulled out Shane's chair with a welcoming smile and an easy greeting for the Dormans.
Rita leaned forward with a pleased smile. "Oh, Shane, I love your dress this year." She sat back and glanced between them, adjusting her glasses then looking toward Norman. "But we were starting to get worried."
Brow wrinkled with concern, Norman set down his glass and placed a comforting hand on Rita's shoulder. "Did you have car trouble?"
Shane opened her mouth to offer some sort of explanation that didn't involve kissing. But as Oliver stepped to his own chair, his fingers brushed the top of her bare shoulder, sending a delighted shiver across her skin. She flushed as she bit her lip and stole a quick glance at him, her mind faithfully replaying their cummerbund-curling kisses.
Rita's lips parted on an insightful O, then she elbowed Norman. "Why don't we dance for a minute while they eat." As they rose, she leaned over to Shane and whispered, "Bang, right?"
Shane's mind blanked, then she chuckled and nodded. "Oh, yes. But with the mistletoe."
Dinner finished, Oliver stood and extended his hand. "May I have this dance?"
Shane grinned and placed her hand in his. "You may indeed, Oliver."
They joined Rita and Norman and a smattering of other couples on the dance floor as the orchestra segued into Merry Christmas, Darling. Shane's gaze narrowed in mock consideration as she moved into Oliver's embrace. "If I remember correctly, you took me to task the last time I danced a rumba here."
Oliver's brows lifted as his tone turned lofty. "Ah, well, I believe that was because you started said dance with the wrong partner."
Shane flashed him an arched look and hummed. "Thankfully, you corrected my mistake."
Oliver's lips twitched. He spun her out, then led her into a promenade before spinning her back into his arms. "Dip," he murmured, bending her low over his arm.
Shane stared into his eyes as their dip in the DLO flickered through her memory. He slowly righted her then moved them back into the rumba's four-four time.
She pressed her lips together and glanced down to study his bow tie. "Oliver, you remember our dance in the DLO?"
"Shane," his low tone rumbled between them, drawing her gaze back to his. Eyes gleaming with memory and lips a breath away, he said, "You knew I wanted to kiss you, didn't you?"
Her eyes fell to his lips as she stepped closer into his arms for the turn. Before she could answer, Oliver came to a sudden stop. She stumbled then looked up, brow wrinkling in confusion.
Lester Kimsickle clapped Oliver on the shoulder with an audible thump. "Aw, just kiss her, O'Toole. You know you want to. It's not like that rock on her finger isn't yours."
Oliver blanched at the over-familiarity. Rising on his toes, he said, "And how do you know this, Mr. Kimsickle?"
Lester flashed him a smug look. "OPS, O'Toole. Remember? I know everything that happens in these walls." He grimaced and looked around the ballroom. "Well, the post office walls anyway."
Lester's gaze returned them, and his eyes grew puzzled. "So? What are you waiting for? You want me to do it?"
Oliver shot a glance toward heaven as if pleading for patience.
Shane grinned, relishing in his discomfort. Looks like propriety is about to go out the window. "You did say Lester was a hard man to say no to."
Oliver's eyes narrowed as his lips pursed. With a sideways glance to rest of the ballroom, he placed a quick peck to her lips, then grimaced as Lester clapped him on the shoulder again.
"See, that wasn't so bad, now was it?" He leveled a serious look on Oliver and lowered his voice. "Don't worry, you'll get better with practice."
Oliver closed his eyes, shook his head, and heaved a deep, aggrieved sigh as Lester ambled away. Shane burst into laughter and tucked her nose against his cheek, drawing the approving gazes of several of the other couples on the dance floor.
When she recovered, she pulled back just enough to read the wry amusement gleaming in Oliver's gaze. Joy skimmed over her skin and softened her smile. Oliver again lowered his lips to hers, but this time for one breathtaking, adoring kiss. As their lips parted, he swung her back into the music. Shane closed her eyes, savoring the shimmering glow that seemed to surround them and more than happy to spend the rest of the evening in Oliver's arms.
Shane covered a wide yawn as she rang the doorbell at Oliver's house. Our house. When he didn't answer, she tried the door handle and, finding it unlocked, she smiled. Well, it is our house. She stepped inside then called, "Honey, I'm home!"
Oliver stepped into the foyer, apron covering his cashmere sweater and wool pants. Tucking a mug of coffee in her hand, he smiled. "And I am very glad that you are."
She took a sip and followed him into the kitchen. "You made me coffee and breakfast? Oliver, you are a prince among men. I should marry you."
His eyes glinted with mirth as he grabbed her hand and stroked her engagement ring. "I believe I will take you up on your offer."
She leaned against the island and watched him scoop scrambled eggs and bacon onto two plates. "There's jam in the refrigerator or honey in the pantry, whichever you would prefer for your toast."
Shane nodded and grabbed the honey, stealing a quick look into his well-stocked pantry. His spice collection rivaled hers—a good omen for their future in-home meals. They sat at the Chippendale table idly recapping the happenings at the ball as they ate. Shane's gaze wandered to the living room, wondering how they would merge their vastly different tastes in decor. Thankfully, her rental had come partially furnished, so there wouldn't be much to move in.
"What are you thinking about?"
Shane blinked then felt heat steal up her neck. How would Oliver react to her thoughts about redecorating his home? "Picture frames and hanging beads," she said with a teasing grin.
Confusion wrinkled Oliver's brow, then he chuckled. "I've already let you rewire our house for your precious internet. What more do you need?"
Shane shook her head and surveyed the room with a teasing appraisal. "Well. . .maybe some curtains and rugs to soften up the look and definitely a cozy blanket or two for snuggling on the couch."
Oliver lifted his brows and nodded. "I think that can be arranged."
Breakfast finished, and coffee refilled, they sat curled together on his couch. She tucked her loose braid around her neck, then leaned her head onto his shoulder as he stared at the prayer journal in his hands. "Ready?" she whispered.
She felt his nod and smiled as he reverently opened the leather cover, pausing once more on the dedication page. "Who are you?" he asked as his fingers stroked the words.
Shane lifted her head and studied him for a moment, absorbing his uncertainty and marveling yet again at his patient curiosity. "Let's find out."
Oliver sniffed and gave a brief nod then turned to the first page. Vibrant purple and green inks formed a beautifully drawn cluster of grapes just plucked from a vine. Underneath the drawing was yet another inscription, but the handwriting was different. More floral, lighter. Shane had spent enough time with Norman as he analyzed handwriting to recognize this belonged to a woman.
May our love be as ripe grapes in the vineyard—sweet, and rich, and full.
Shane gazed at the page. Her skin tingled as tears pricked her eyes. "Wow. What a way to start a marriage."
"Indeed." Oliver turned the page. There was no drawing, but the words written on it leapt off the paper with a beauty all their own.
Dear God in Heaven, make me an instrument of Your love. May I sow it diligently and wholeheartedly. May I reap it abundantly and constantly. And may perfect love bind my heart to yours and his.
Shane sat silently as the woman's prayer washed over her. Now, she understood Oliver's earlier reluctance to read the prayer journal. It was so much more than a letter between two people. It was a pouring out of one person's heart to God. She shivered as her own childhood plea whispered through her.
Dear God,
I miss my daddy. Please make him want to come back home. I just want to have a happy family again.
Love, Crackers
What had Oliver thought when he first read the letter? Had the words struck home in his own childhood experience? She snuggled her head against his shoulder, wishing she had known of his own pain when he'd given her the letter. Would she have believed him sooner? Held him longer?
Shane's fingers toyed with her pendant, swinging it along the necklace. Her brow wrinkled. Oliver had understood her pain intimately, and yet, somehow, he'd been able to tell her how to overcome it. What did he say? Perfect love casts out all that pain, all that fear, and replaces it with hope.
The fire crackled and popped in the silence as she stared at the Christmas tree. She'd focused on the love, the hope, in his unspoken offer a future together. Held onto both as Holly returned and left and duty to country took her away with Steve. Now, here they were on the edge of their own forever. Oliver's offer of love and hope accepted, nurtured, and growing.
But what about that perfect love and the hope it created? Her eyes returned to the woman's prayer.
Dear God in Heaven, make me an instrument of Your love. May I sow it diligently and wholeheartedly. May I reap it abundantly and constantly. And may perfect love bind my heart to yours and his.
Rita had mentioned something about three strands when they'd talked at the salon before her wedding. Was perfect love that third strand?
Oliver turned the page. More writing flowed on the right-hand side, but the drawing on the left page snagged her gaze. A vibrant orange and black inked butterfly was offset with a green and black caterpillar.
He lifted the journal and studied the intricate details. "It's a Monarch butterfly in larvae and adult form." His impressed tones lilted between them as he traced the outline with his thumb. "Very well drawn. She was a talented artist."
Shane hummed her agreement. Her gaze darted to the written words, then returned to the drawings. What prayer would this woman associate with the transformation of a caterpillar into a butterfly? Oliver's voice deepened and slowed as reverence returned to his reading.
"Though I love him with all of my heart, oh God in Heaven, I am neither a suitable partner nor wife for this man you have given me. We are mismatched in every way but for our hearts. Change me, therefore, like the caterpillar changes into the butterfly. Mold me into the woman you intended me to be, so that I may be the wife I long to be."
"It sounds as if they may have had a rough adjustment to married life."
Shane nodded against his chest. "Yes, they must have been two very different people."
Oliver's thumb grazed her shoulder with soothing strokes. "Or perhaps two people who had already established lives for themselves and then married later."
"Yes. Perhaps," Shane whispered. Despite the years between them, the words reached out to her from the page.
Change me. Mold me.
She caught her lower lip between her teeth. She'd heard something similar before. But who said them? And when?
Dale. I don't pray to change God. I pray to change me.
She'd said that while she and Shane waited for news about Oliver and Joe's hiking location. Shane had long considered Dale practically perfect—or at least practically perfect for Oliver. So, what would Dale want changed about herself? What would I want to change about me?
Shane caressed Oliver's cashmere sweater, savoring the soothing softness under her fingertips as the questions circled in her heart.
He closed the journal and kissed her hairline, then laid his cheek against her head. "Would you like to continue?"
Did she want to? Or should these prayers be closed back up, returned to the dark recesses of the closet, and forgotten again? They'd already been prayed once. Did they need to be prayed again?
And did she want to be the one praying them?
Shane took in a deep, unsteady breath ready to tell Oliver to stop, that it was enough, despite not learning the journal owner's identity. But something tugged at her, wooing her to continue this woman's story. She pressed her lips together and finally nodded. "Let's read one more."
He reopened the journal and found the next page. There was no accompanying drawing, but a scripture was inscribed on the left.
Many waters cannot quench love, nor can the floods drown it. Song of Solomon 8:7a
"Well, that's a good sign, I think," Oliver murmured. He stroked Shane's arm ending the soothing movement with a light squeeze.
You have gone before us, oh God, making one where there once were two. Bring about the fulfillment of your plans and purposes for our life together. Help us to love deeply and with our whole hearts.
Shane closed her eyes and absorbed the words. Somehow, some way, God must have answered the woman's prayer. Changed her. Smoothed out whatever issues were between them at the time.
Maybe adding that third strand, that perfect love, did help after all.
Oliver closed the journal and wrapped his arms around her, and a simple, familiar verse slipped from his lips into the air between them.
A man shall leave his mother and a woman leave her home
And they shall travel on to where the two shall be as one.
As it was in the beginning is now and til the end
Woman draws her life from man and gives it back again.
And there is Love, there is Love.
Tears filled her eyes as the woman's prayers wove together with the song's words and wrapped around her and Oliver. May our love be as ripe grapes in the vineyard—sweet, and rich, and full.
There is love. And may perfect love bind my heart to yours and his. There is love.
Shane smiled and let her eyes close as the soft thump of Oliver's heartbeat and the lulling pop and crackle of the fireplace soothed her to sleep.
Yes. Theirs was love.
Wedding Song (There Is Love) lyrics © Wb Music Corp., Sony/atv Tunes Llc, Tamal Vista Music, Wallyworld Music, Kenny G. Music, Kuzu Music, Kobalt Music Copyrights Sarl
The Holy Bible, New King James Version, Copyright © 1982 Thomas Nelson. All rights reserved.
