Gift of Faith

  Gifts of Christmas, Book 3

  A Sweet Historical Romance

  by

  USA TODAY Bestselling Author

  SHANNA HATFIELD

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Recipe

  Author’s Note

  Gifts of Christmas

  Books by Shanna Hatfield

  About the Author

  Gift of Faith

  Gifts of Christmas Series Book 3

  Copyright © 2019 by Shanna Hatfield

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. Please purchase only authorized editions.

  For permission requests, please contact the author, with a subject line of "permission request” at the email address below or through her website.

  Shanna Hatfield

  shanna@shannahatfield.com

  shannahatfield.com

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Cover Design by Shanna Hatfield

  To those who never lose faith…

  Chapter One

  May 1942

  Pendleton, Oregon

  “Don’t cry, baby. Please?” Marc Rawlings pleaded, his voice tender as he spoke into a petal-shaped ear before he buried his face into a mass of soft sunshine-hued curls. He breathed in the aroma of light, floral perfume, blending with the lingering scents of vanilla and cinnamon from a morning spent working in the bakery. He drew in a second lungful, wanting to imprint the smell so deeply in his brain he’d never forget it. Never forget the incredible woman in his arms.

  A ladylike sniffle and a hug so tight he thought she might actually crush a rib was the only response to his request.

  He kissed her temple and drew back, knowing his time for bidding goodbye to Amy Madsen, the girl who’d captured his heart, was about to run out.

  “I wish you didn’t have to go,” Amy said, staring up at him with big blue eyes that always made him think of a china doll his grandmother had given his sister years ago. Now, those lovely eyes glimmered with tears, but she somehow managed to work up a smile for him, a real one, not just one to try and make him feel better about leaving. “But I’m proud of you, Marc. So proud.”

  “Thank you. That means a lot to me, Bella.” His use of the nickname he gave her on their second date made her swallow hard and nod her head against the wave of emotion clearly about to tug her under in its wake. The tip of his finger grazed across her cheek, skimming away an errant teardrop. “I’ll miss you every single day I’m gone.”

  “I’ll miss you, too. And I promise I’ll write often. You’ll always be in my prayers,” she said, taking a step back and squeezing his right hand between both of hers. She caressed her thumbs over his work-roughened knuckles. “I just can’t believe you’re leaving. I hoped…” Her unfinished sentence hung between them.

  “What, Bella? What did you hope?” he asked, brushing a silky lock of hair that had slipped out of the victory roll she wore behind her ear. The style looked quite fetching on her. His fingers toyed with a curl as he concluded Betty Grable had nothing on his girl.

  “I hoped the war would end before you had to leave.” She glanced down, not meeting his gaze. “I don’t want you to leave, Marc. I don’t want you to go away and never come back.”

  “I’ll come back, Amy Amelia Madsen. You can count on it. It’s not every fella who has a swell girl like you to come home to.” He offered her one of his charming grins, hoping to infuse a bit of levity into their parting. “I will come home to you, and when I do, you better be ready to walk down the aisle and say ‘I do.’ You aren’t going to let someone else turn your head while I’m gone, are you?”

  “Never!” She shot him a reproachful look. “You should not even have to ask such a question. Why, Marc Rawlings! What kind of girl do you take me for? One of those fickle nitwits that chase anything in pants?” She turned and started to march away from him toward the back door of the home where he grew up. Her skirts swished around her legs and indignant fury accentuated each step.

  He chuckled and tugged her into his arms, sweeping her around the corner of the carport, out of view of the house. “I do not, Miss Madsen, think you are like those girls. If you want the truth, I think you’re perfectly wonderful.” He raised her left hand to his lips and kissed the engagement ring he’d placed on her finger just two weeks ago. “I love you, Amy.”

  “And I love you, you infuriating, teasing, obnoxious…”

  Marc captured her lips in a passionate kiss before she could say another word. Her arms twined around his neck and he lifted her off her feet, holding her so close, the buttons on the front of her dress threatened to poke permanent holes into his chest. Neither of them cared as they poured out their love, fears, hopes, and wishes into the kiss.

  Birds twittered in the trees overhead, a breeze danced around them carrying the scent of lilacs from the bushes blooming along the side fence, while the sun beating down on his shoulders held the promise of another spectacular spring day.

  But he didn’t notice any of that. The world was lost to him, except for Amy and how good it felt to hold her in his arms.

  “They’re at it again,” a childish voice proclaimed from behind him.

  “He’s gonna suck her lips right off her face. Ewww!” a second voice chimed in followed by a round of giggles.

  Their kiss abruptly ended when Amy jerked away with a startled gasp. She’d taken three steps away from him before he caught her, sliding his hands around her waist. He refused to let her pull away as he rolled his eyes at the untimely arrival of his twin brothers. If they weren’t such cute little grasshoppers, he might have strung them up by their toes in the big maple tree at the back of the yard.

  He rested his forehead against Amy’s, trying to ignore the whooping sounds Rory and Rogan made in the background. The screen door slapped shut and he glanced up at his mother as she stood on the back porch step, shaking a finger in the direction of the twins.

  “I told you two to leave them alone and I mean it. Now, scoot back in here or you’ll both get another day of doing the dishes added to your chore list,” their mother scolded. “At the rate you’re going, you’ll both be married with hooligans of your own and have to come here every night to wash my dishes.”

  “We’re coming, Mom!” Rory shouted as he and Rogan raced across the yard.

  “You should have seen him, Mom,” Rogan hollered. “Marc looked like one of those fishy things Grady Hill showed us that have lips like this.” The boy stuck out his lips in an exaggerated fashion and made kissy-faces.

  Marc considered letting go of Amy long enough to chase down his brothers and teach them a lesson about spying on people, particularly when the individuals were kissing, but decided he’d rather hold his fiancée a little longer. Stupidly, he thought he might get a few minutes of privacy with Amy before he had to leave. He should have known two pesky eight-year-old boys couldn’t stay away for long.

  “I’m sorry
about that,” he said, caressing Amy’s rosy cheeks. Her skin felt like velvet, especially when his fingers trailed along her jaw and down the long column of her neck. Maybe he’d lost his mind to leave her behind and join the Marines.

  Regardless of his feelings for her, of how much he wanted to stay, he knew he had a duty to his country. After Pearl Harbor, he’d felt a driven need to do something more to help, to join the battle against forces that were filled with such evil. No doubt existed in his mind that he’d eventually be drafted, so he decided he might as well join a branch he liked under his own terms.

  His grandfather had talked until he was out of breath, telling him he didn’t have to go. Gramps insisted his work as a police officer in Pendleton was just as important as going off to war, but Marc had set his mind to do what he saw as his patriotic duty. He wouldn’t waver from his decision, no matter how much Kade Rawlings pleaded.

  Marc’s dad, who had run off with his uncle to serve in the Great War when they were just sixteen, had been oddly silent about his plans to head off to war. His father never talked about his experiences during those challenging days, or how it had changed him from a carefree boy into a stoic, responsible man. It wasn’t until last night his father had taken him aside and told him he’d see and do nightmarish things he couldn’t even begin to imagine that would haunt him forever. He’d warned him to stay alert, to always be on the lookout for the enemy, and then he’d given him a long hug, assuring him he’d pray every day for his safe return home.

  From his work on the police force the past four years, Marc had seen more than many his age. He’d even been shot at a few times, so he figured he was better equipped than some to head off to war.

  Even if the woman he loved clearly didn’t want him to go.

  “Let me get one more look at you before we head to the depot.” Marc relinquished his hold on her and took a step back. He studied her golden head that always made him think of the wheat fields so abundant around Pendleton when they neared harvest time. Her heart-shaped face could have belonged to a pixie princess, especially with those gorgeous blue eyes framed by thick lashes. Her figure, though petite, had ample curves that made him think any number of things he shouldn’t.

  However, his favorite feature was her smile. When Amy smiled, it was like the sun bursting from behind a bank of clouds or a light flickering on in a darkened room. Brilliant, warming, welcoming, and sincere—he loved seeing her smile. How he would miss it in the months to come.

  “You are so beautiful. Is that a new dress?” he asked, noticing for the first time she wore a dress he hadn’t before seen. The bright blue fabric with a subtle floral pattern set off the color of her eyes and the blossoms in her cheeks.

  “It is new. Helen let me borrow the pattern and helped me make it. She made a new dress, too.”

  “Is Reece leaving today?” Marc asked, aware Amy’s brother-in-law also planned to enlist. Perhaps the two sisters making dresses together helped divert their attention from their men preparing to depart for basic training.

  “He is. Helen said they’ll meet us at the depot.” Worry flashed across her face before she chased it away with another smile. She stuck her hand in her pocket and held out something small, wrapped in tissue and tied with a piece of royal blue ribbon. “I hope you don’t think this is silly, but I want you to have this, to take it with you.”

  “You’ve already given me your photograph and I’ve got that lacy handkerchief scented with your perfume in my bag.” He accepted the tiny gift and studied it a moment. “What is it?” His big fingers fumbled with the ribbon as he tried to untie the knot.

  “Here, let me.” Amy deftly untied the bow then waited as he folded back the tissue and looked at a small metal disc. Across the surface in feathery script she’d written, “Thinking of you. Love always, Amy.”

  “That’s sweet,” he said, noticing a small hole at the top of the disc.

  Amy leaned forward, peering down at it resting on his palm. “Oh, that’s the back. Turn it over.”

  Marc flipped it over and studied a scene painted on the metal. A midnight sky with a round moon and twinkling stars made him think of an incredible night when he and Amy went for a drive. They hiked up a hill and sat on a rock staring at a broad expanse of navy velvet sky dotted with what seemed like a million diamond-bright stars, watching a big, full moon rise above them. It was the first time he told her he loved her. The first time she admitted she loved him. The first time he’d considered what he wanted for his future. And that was Amy. A life with her.

  “Did you do this?” he asked, tracing the tip of one finger over the artfully painted disc. It was hardly bigger than a quarter, making it something that would be easy for him to take with him no matter where he went.

  Amy nodded her head. “Do you like it?”

  “I do. It’s wonderful. You constantly amaze me with your talents.” He kissed her cheek and held her close once again. He’d watched her knit scarves and socks, even when the spring temperatures made her do it outside where it was cooler than sitting in the house with a pile of wool yarn on her lap. She informed him somewhere, during the cold winter months, a soldier would be happy to have a warm scarf or pair of socks. And she was right. He’d seen her help her mother and sister make quilts. Goodness only knew what else they’d done for the war effort.

  Amy moved back and tapped the metal medallion in his hand. “I don’t know if they’ll allow it, but I thought maybe you could put that on the chain with your dog tags, so you’ll always have a remembrance of me close to your heart. When you’re out there, missing home, just remember I’m right here, thinking of you, looking up at the same stars and moon, wishing you were here beside me.”

  “Bella,” he said, his voice cracking as the enormity of what he was about to do suddenly hit him. Could he really walk away from this woman, from a love he knew was lasting and true, without any certainty that he’d ever see her again?

  Her arms slid around his waist and she rested her head against his chest for the length of several heartbeats before she stepped back and tipped her head toward the house. “We better get you to the train. You don’t want to miss it, even if I rather hope you do.”

  Marc followed her inside the house where it seemed all his family, including aunts, uncles, cousins, and neighbors were waiting to bid him goodbye. Like a grand marshal leading a parade, they all followed as he took Amy’s hand in his and headed down the street toward the depot.

  Helen and Reece waved from where they waited on the platform with Amy’s parents as the sound of the approaching train made it impossible to speak.

  When it stopped at the depot, Marc set down the one bag of belongings he planned to take with him. He hugged his aunts, shook hands with his uncles, tweaked the noses of his younger cousins, then accepted a tearful, tight hug from his mother.

  “Make sure you wear clean underwear, and keep your socks mended, and don’t forget to eat your vegetables,” she cautioned, treating him like he was the same age as the twins, instead of a man heading off to war. At twenty-three, he certainly didn’t need to endure the lecture, but he realized it was her way of letting him know she loved him and would worry about him. She handed him a tin full of his favorite cookies and gave him one more teary kiss to the cheek before letting him go.

  He'd barely set the tin in his bag and straightened when his sister, Ruby, launched herself into his arms. Just a year younger than him, they’d always been close and gotten along well. Ruby was also engaged to be married, but her young man had already headed off for basic training two months ago. She’d recently received word he was on his way to Europe.

  “Keep the twins out of trouble while I’m gone,” he said, grinning at her.

  “You know that’s impossible. No one can keep those two out of trouble,” Ruby said, her tone indulgent. “According to Gramps, they’re just like Pop and Uncle Ben used to be.”

  “Well, do your best, Ruby Roo. I love you, sis.”

  “I love you, too
, you big lunk.” She hugged him one more time before his Italian grandmother demanded a turn at bidding him farewell.

  Caterina Campanelli had run away from the Mafia in New York and got off the train in Pendleton back in the early 1900s. The first person she encountered when she arrived in town was a deputy, Kade Rawlings. According to his great-aunt Aundy, such fiery sparks sizzled between the two of them, there was concern they’d set all the wheat fields aflame. In spite of their tendency to differ in their opinions, often quite loudly, the home Gramps and Nonna built together was a happy, loving place, one Marc always enjoyed visiting. It was almost as much fun as spending time at his grandmother’s Italian restaurant. His Aunt Rachel took over running it when his grandmother finally agreed it was time for her to slow down.

  “Oh, my darling boy.” Caterina stood on her tiptoes and bracketed his cheeks between her palms. “Be safe and don’t forget to write to us.”

  “I’ll remember, Nonna.” He kissed her wrinkled cheek then accepted the basket of food she handed to him. Rich, spicy aromas wafted up from it. “Did you pack all my favorites?”

  “Of course!” Caterina gave him a bright smile, kissed him once more, then turned away to hide her tears.

  Marc shared quick words of parting with Amy’s parents and sister who had come to say farewell to Reece and him.

  He dropped down to his knees and hugged both of his rascally little brothers. “You two behave, and don’t cause trouble for Mom and Pop. Okay?”

  “We’ll do our best,” Rogan said, giving Marc a solemn look completely out of character with his normally boisterous personality.

  “We’ll try to be good,” Rory vowed.

  “That’s all I ask.” Marc grinned and hugged them once more then stood and gave his father a bear hug.

  “I’m proud of you son,” Brett Rawlings said in a ragged voice. His hand settled on Marc’s shoulder, offering a comforting touch. “Just make sure you return to us.”