Page 5 of Held-

“The Lord works in mysterious ways, Cecelia,” Dad says, coming to stand beside me. “Remember Proverbs 3:5-6? 'Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways submit to him, and he will make your paths straight.'“

Scripture is Dad's solution to everything—broken hearts, empty toy tables, global warming. “I don't think the Lord arranged for the Kincaids to punish hundreds of innocent kids because I divorced their son, Dad.”

“That's not what I?—”

“I know what you meant.” I soften my tone to hide my annoyance. “But Bible verses aren't going to fill these tables.”

He places his hand on my shoulder, squeezing gently. “Sometimes we need to trust that solutions will present themselves in unexpected ways.”

Before I can respond, Mrs. Whitaker appears in the doorway, her face pinched with importance. “Reverend Montgomery, there's an issue with the nativity scene. Jimmy Henderson says someone's stolen baby Jesus and replaced him with what appears to be a...well, an adult toy.” She blinks rapidly, clearly scandalized.

Dad's face flushes. “Good Lord, not again.” He turns to me with an apologetic look. “I need to?—”

“Go,” I say, waving him away. “I'll start sorting what we have.”

Mrs. Whitaker clears her throat. “Actually, Reverend, I think you should come immediately. Mayor Kincaid is out there threatening to call the sheriff if we don't remove the...offensive item...before the children's choir arrives for practice.”

At the mention of Kincaid, my stomach knots. He’s here—loud enough, dramatic enough, that I don’t even need to see him to know he’s already causing trouble.

“Cecelia, I'm sorry—” Dad starts.

“It's fine. Really.” I force a smile. “Go save baby Jesus.”

Mrs. Whitaker practically drags him out the door, her sensible shoes squeaking against the linoleum as she launches into a detailed explanation of exactly which anatomical features the offending item possesses.

And just like that, I'm alone with nothing but empty tables and my own spiraling thoughts.

I trace my finger along the edge of one table, the silence of the room pressing in around me. This is so much worse than I imagined. It's not just that the Kincaids pulled their donation. They've made sure everyone else has too. I can picture Ethan's mother on the phone, her manicured nails tapping against her designer desk as she calls every business owner, working through her list of country club contacts. “You simply must reconsider donating to the church toy drive this year. The Montgomery girl is back in town, and you know what she did to my Ethan...”

The thought makes my blood boil. I've spent my entire life in this town, watching the Kincaids throw their weight around, but this is a new low. Using children as collateral damage in their vendetta against me.

I'm reorganizing the sad little pile of stuffed animals when the fellowship hall door swings open again. Mrs. Whitaker bustles in, her face flushed with excitement.

“The Reverend asked me to tell you he'll be tied up for a while. The mayor is absolutely beside himself.” She lowers her voice dramatically. “Apparently, someone took pictures.”

“How terrible,” I mutter, not even trying to sound sincere.

Mrs. Whitaker studies me like I'm a suspicious paragraph in a romance novel. “I suppose you think this is amusing.”

“A dildo in the manger? Kind of, yeah.”

Her gasp could suck the oxygen from the room. “Cecelia Montgomery!”

“Sorry,” I say, not sorry at all. “I forgot where I was for a moment.” Before she can lecture me, Barbara Fletcher appears in the doorway, flushed and breathless.

“Judith!” she calls to Mrs. Whitaker. “You need to come quickly. The mayor is threatening to cancel the Christmas parade if someone doesn't remove that...thing...immediately!”

Her eyes go wide. “He wouldn't!”

“He most certainly would,” Barbara says, glancing at me with undisguised accusation, like I personally placed a sex toy in the manger scene. “He's saying it's a deliberate attack on Christian values.”

I snort before I can stop myself. “Christian values? That's rich.”

Mrs. Whitaker's lips press into a thin line. “Well, I never?—”

“Judith, please!” Barbara interrupts, grabbing Mrs. Whitaker's arm. “Reverend Montgomery is asking for you. He says you're the only one who can reason with the mayor.”

Mrs. Whitaker straightens, puffing up with self-importance. “Well, Richard and I have known each other since high school. I suppose it falls to me to talk some sense into him.”