“Oh.” Jim sank his hands into his trouser pockets, warmed inside that she trusted him with her story.
“You already know what happened.” She turned a guarded gaze to him.
“I do?” He searched his memory. So long ago. But he did remember one year, going to see his little sisters Lillian and Lucy as angels, and ... “There was an accident, wasn’t there?”
She tucked in her chin. “You could say that. More like Ihadan accident.”
“Oh.” He cringed for her sake.
“I was so excited, so proud, that I forgot to use the restroom beforehand. There I was in my blue gown, holding baby Jesus—the most beautiful porcelain doll I’d ever seen. I was kneeling beside the manger, and I stood up with baby Jesus to sing ‘Silent Night’ and—” She shuddered.
Now he remembered. He remembered the laughter spreading through the auditorium and his mother’s iron grip on his knee to prevent him from joining in.
Mary covered her face with her hand. “I had to walk to the front of the stage for my solo. Everyone behind me could see. I can still hear the laughter. Mrs. Cassidy realized what had happened, and she screeched and ran to me on stage and lifted up the gown, insisting she had to get me out of my wet things. I couldn’t stop her because I was trying not to drop the doll, and I ... well, she didn’t know I was only wearing my little slip underneath. I was mortified.”
He made a face. “And you ran and fell—”
“And the doll shattered. One of the boys cried out, ‘She broke Jesus!’ That’s all I could hear. All I could think about. I did it. In my pride, I broke Jesus.” A breeze blew fake blonde curls across her cheek, and she didn’t brush them away.
Jim let out a low whistle. “I can see why you don’t like the stage.”
“Do you blame me?” Her voice came out small and strained.
“Not at all.” He rubbed the scars on his palms. “Some moments sear themselves in your memory.”
She nodded, her face still covered.
Now for some encouragement. “But look at you now. Miss Independent Career Girl, living in the big city and standing up to saboteurs.”
Mary peeked at him and raised a tiny smile. “Am I?”
“Absolutely.” He gave her his best serious look.
The smile grew. “Your mom helped.”
“My mom?”
“She was my Sunday school teacher. She heard the snickers in class, saw me becoming more and more withdrawn. So one day she kept me after class and coaxed it out of me, my guilt for breaking Jesus. Your mom sat there watching me, and then she said, ‘I broke Jesus too.’”
A smile twitched on Jim’s lips. “Good old Mom.”
“I didn’t understand. So she told me when we sin, we break Jesus’s heart. And then he went to the cross, willingly breaking himself so we could be made whole. I’d heard the story all my life, but that was the first time it made sense, the first time I felt the weight of my sin and the need to be saved.”
Jim sighed and nodded. He’d felt that weight himself, that burden.
“Your mother was wonderful. She explained breaking the doll wasn’t a sin, just an accident, but I’d done other things to break Jesus. I knew I had—my awful pride—and I prayed and asked for forgiveness and received it.”
“Mom always cuts through the nonsense and leads you back to truth.”
“Quintessa helped too.”
Jim’s heart jolted at the name, but he kept the same expression. “I’m sure she did.”
“She moved to town that summer and took me under her wing. When school started, everyone wanted to be friends with her, but she told them, ‘Anyone who wants to be my friend has to be nice to Mary.’ Believe me, that put an end to the teasing.”
“It would.” He stared at the dancing blonde curls. That was what was missing in the women he dated. They matched Quintessa for vivaciousness, but none had her compassion, her willingness to stand up for the underdog. “She’s unforgettable.”
Mary brushed aside the fake blonde and gave him a soft smile. “You still love her, don’t you?”
