A Christmas Secret by Anne Perry Read Free Book Online

bereavement? Would he be gone until the situation, whatever it was, had been resolved? Had he a brother or sister in some kind of trouble? Possibly it was a sudden and serious illness?
    When Dominic returned home, late and cold to the bone, she started to tell him, then realized he was not listening to her. He heard her words, but not their meaning. He was too deep in his own fear that he could not find something new and powerful to say to the people of this village for him to hear the anxiety within her. And it would be Sunday in two days, and his first sermon here.
    â€œThey are good people,” he said, standing in the sitting room with his back to the fire, which burned brightly, thawing the cold that chilled and numbed his flesh. “They know their scriptures at least as well as I do. The vicar has preached to them with passion and eloquence not only at Christmas but all through the year.” There was a shadow in his eyes, a tightness across his cheeks. “What can I say to them that will be anything more than an echo of what he has already said?” he asked her. “Any one of them could stand up in the pulpit and tell the Christmas story as well as I can. Clarice, what can I say to make it new?”
    She saw the spark of fear in his eyes, the knowledge that he might not be equal to the task that mattered to him so much. This village was old, comfortable, and secure in its habits. It was not conscious of any hunger that needed filling, any ignorance or darkness waiting for light. The townspeople wanted to stay as they were and be reassured that all was well. Anyone could do that: pass and leave no mark at all, like wind over water.
    She ached to be able to help him. She was seeing for the first time the need in him: not desire to do a job or fulfill a duty, but a hunger to succeed that would not let him rest or leave him free from pain if he failed.
    â€œWhat’s the best thing about Christmas?” she asked, trying to strip away the trite, all the things that had already been said. “What does it really mean to us? What … what is it for? It’s not goodwill, a brief time of peace or generosity. It has to be more than that.”
    â€œIt’s the beginning of our faith,” he replied. “Christ coming into the world.” He said it as if it were obvious.
    â€œI know.” She felt crushed. “But what for?” she insisted. “Why was everything different afterward?”
    The fire was scorching him, and he stepped away from it. “I’m not exactly sure how to answer that,” he replied. “It sounds … it sounds too much like an academic answer, and that’s not what they need, Clarice. I need a spiritual answer, a joy in the soul.”
    She could think of nothing better to add. She was failing him, and, feeling empty, she turned and went into the kitchen.

    Clarice woke to find a white world, silent, deep in snow. The air was motionless, and when she opened the back door into the garden to let Harry out, the bitter cold of it was sharp in her lungs. She drew in her breath in amazement at the beauty of it. The old apple tree was laden like an extravagant blossom. Other trees, soaring upward, were naked, too thin to hold the snow, shining against an enamel sky.
    But it was a dangerous beauty, a cold that paralyzed, a depth of snow that soaked heavy skirts and exhausted old or fragile limbs. The low winter sun was almost blinding.
    She closed the door and turned to find Dominic standing behind her, a rueful smile on his face.
    â€œYou’re going out,” she said, more as a statement than a question. She wished he did not have to, but if he had found excuses to stay at home she would have been even more deeply disappointed. What use was preaching or praying if one was not willing to act?
    â€œI’ll try not to be long,” he answered. “But there’ll be people who shouldn’t go out in this, even to