The Second-Best Christmas

Perry Rowe

Be still and know that I am God....

Psalm 46:10

AUTHOR’S NOTES

This book is an unusual Christmas story. When I mentioned my premise for this book to someone, they said, People want to read feel-good Christmas books!

This book is a feel-good book. But it is also an actual book about real people and real Christmases. It is very loosely biographical. The story of Jack and Allie closely represents me and my husband and our first Christmas together.

I wanted this book to offer hope to struggling couples, especially if they come from dysfunctional families. My husband and I overcame a lot to get to where we are now. We have been happily married for many years, and we give God the glory. Without Him, we never would have made it, being the strong-willed, stubborn people we both are.

We have shared our stories with church groups over the years. If I had a piece of advice for newly married couples after putting God first in your marriage, it would be this: never entertain divorce, never speak the word, and never use it as a weapon. Jack and Allie’s resolve to do the same accurately reflects what my husband and I decided early in our marriage.

And the part about our friends making bets about the longevity of our marriage is one hundred percent true.

Looks like we had the last laugh.

Prologue

With one quick thrust of my feet on the door, I grabbed the door handle and jumped out, hitting the gravel hard, scraping my knees, and inhaling dirt. I choked, trying to clear my throat. He did not come after me. Why would he? He got what he wanted, hadn’t he? 

I ran into the woods until I ran out of breath, gasping for air so hard I thought I might pass out. I was afraid to stop running as though he were chasing me. Tree branches whipped at my face, scratching my cheeks. I stumbled and tore my skirt and lost my new fuzzy pink sweater somewhere along the way. It was cold, so I huddled under a pine tree that offered shelter under its drooping branches, hoping he wouldn’t change his mind and come after me. 

How could I have been 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 popular girls to approach me after a track meet. I remember thinking, Why me? Had I been flattered because he singled me out? He was the most popular boy in school, good-looking and charming. Every girl wanted to date him. I didn’t because I never thought it was a possibility anyway. So why give him any space in my head?

Hi, you’re Ruth, aren’t you? he’d asked. He was taller than I thought. He wore his football jacket with the number one on it. It should’ve been a ten. What was he doing talking to me?

I stammered, Yes, I’m Ruth. I didn’t dare look up. The conversation was surprisingly pleasant. We had a history class together where he sat in the front row, of course, and I a few rows back, which was fine with me. I hated sitting near the front.

We talked several times after that, and he seemed genuinely interested in me. He even sought me out at lunch time. My friends couldn’t figure out what was going on, but I was getting comfortable with him. He was much nicer than I had thought, having heard of his somewhat tainted reputation. Maybe everyone has just misjudged him. Had I been paying attention, I would have noticed groups of students snickering when he singled me out.

Eventually, 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 until they met him. They insisted he come to dinner first so they could get to know him. 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.

What has your pastor been preaching about, my father asked. It was his subtle way of learning just how Christian my suitor was.

Pastor Stephenson is our pastor, and he’s great. He’s just begun a new sermon series on Abraham. By the way, sir, do you think Abraham really believed he was being asked to sacrifice his only son? I mean, that seems inconsistent with what the Bible teaches elsewhere about murder, doesn’t it?

My dad was hooked.

AT THE END OF THE EVENING, 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 heartthrob? I hadn’t realized I could be so shallow.

The night of our date, he came to the house looking more handsome than ever, wearing khaki-colored pants and a blue blazer. He even brought my mother a small bouquet of daisies, which was the exact right touch, as anything more expensive would’ve been considered too much. He had already evaluated my mother’s taste. My dad was once again impressed by his chivalrous manners. He 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, although he wasn’t anyway but still I chose the flats. I came downstairs and could tell he was pleased with my appearance. My parents watched, delighted, as he opened the door for me. He waved to them, Don’t you worry, folks. I’ll take good care of her. 

We drove to a lovely new restaurant in town. Candles flickered at all the white-linen-covered tables, and a pianist played soft music. We enjoyed a wonderful meal of grilled steak and mushrooms, baked stuffed potatoes, Caesar salads, and butter-laden crusty rolls. The aroma from the rolls made my mouth water in anticipation of the first bite. All the courses were delicious, and the steak was so tender I could cut it with a fork. The food, the atmosphere, and the company were exhilarating, and the conversation pleasant. 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 close to mine so we could eat from the same plate. He spooned some ice cream and fed it to me. I laughed at the absurdity but then did the same thing. After we’d finished, we both agreed that dessert might have been a little too much. The evening was everything, and more 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. Looking back, I think he winked.

I hesitated momentarily but then agreed with the caveat, 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 before agreeing. Did I sense something wasn’t right? But what should I have done after the expensive dinner? Call my parents and ask them to pick me up? How would that go over? And if my fears had been unjustified, I would have become a laughingstock to my classmates.

I decided a short ride would be OK. What was wrong with just a short ride? He was proud of his new red Mustang. I didn’t see the smirk flitting across his face as he shut the door and moved to the driver’s side. Within minutes we were speeding out of town. 

Matthew, why are you driving so fast? Where are we going? I thought we were just driving around a few blocks, not leaving town. 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 even though I was trying to sound demanding. I suddenly felt anxious and ill at ease. My mouth was dry as chalk, and my shoulders tensed. My heart was beating fast, and I felt light-headed. I was scared.

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 burned my eyes, 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 car 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 frightening 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 I 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 the real Matthew? I didn’t know my father was capable of such anger.

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 spent 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. Her parents could tell he felt helpless. He asked if they had reported the incident to the police. They hadn’t, they replied, so it was her word against his. The pastor encouraged then to do so, but they refused. They didn’t want what happened to become public, and their daughter have to deal with the gossip and innuendos. Pastor Stephenson continued, I will talk to Matthew and his family. I’ve talked to his parents before about his past questionable behavior, but they’ve always taken their son’s side. This time, I’m doing something, the pastor fumed. He had no doubts the girl was telling the