Maggie's Christmas Miracle

by Elaine Manders

  “Five years ago a nurse from Mrs. Jenner’s Retreat for Young Ladies, a front for women to have an illegitimate child in secret, arrived at my house with a two-month-old infant. My wife and I signed the adoption papers that night and named the baby Isabelle. She was our miracle because my wife couldn’t bear a child of her own.”

  Maggie swiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “I prayed for her every day. I prayed that my baby would be given to parents who would love her.” She looked at him through blurred vision. “Thank you for letting me know my prayers were answered.”

  “And Helen and I prayed for you, Maggie. We longed to know who you were, but that information was kept from adoptive parents, I suppose for good reasons. But when I got an assignment to investigate Mrs. Jenner’s establishment on an unrelated matter, my curiosity got the better of me. I had access to the birth records, and though it was unethical, I had to look…and found Isabelle was born to a seventeen-year-old girl from Westerfield, Nebraska, named Maggie Comings, and sponsored by Carianne Cason. That was all, but it gave us a name to pray for.”

  Maggie dropped her head, fresh tears running down her face, unabated. “You knew who I was when you saw me in the library that time.”

  “Yes, I knew, because Mrs. Crenshaw gave me another case to investigate potential brides for her matrimonial agency, and one of those brides was Maggie Comings.”

  She wanted to beat on his chest. He could have told her then. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “For one thing, these cases are confidential, and I’m not at liberty to divulge the purpose. But more than that, I didn’t want to upset you when you were embarking on a new life.”

  She heard his deep intake of breath and the slow exhale. “But I couldn’t get you out of my mind. My wife had died. My daughter needed a mother. More importantly, I felt God urging me to approach you and try to win your heart.

  “I could have told you my motivation—that you were Isabelle’s mother. But I was selfish. I wanted to know, if you agreed to marry me, it was because you loved me, not just because of Izzy.”

  Maggie felt her heart would burst, all the rage she wanted to get out trapped in her throat. She could do nothing but stare at him and wait.

  “I asked Mrs. Crenshaw to allow me the chance to court you without your knowing who or why I was involved. I never planned on telling you you were Izzy’s mother. Then, as I got to know you, I realized you’d been treated badly in the past and left doubting that you deserved love.” He implored her with his eyes, and she knew he’d take her into his arms if she’d let him.

  “I feared if you knew the truth, you’d think I wanted to marry you only because you’re Izzy’s mother.”

  “But that’s exactly why you sought me out, wasn’t it, Daniel? You never intended to care for me except as Izzy’s mother.”

  “That was my thinking.” His answer was a punch to her gut. “I didn’t think it was possible to love another woman after Helen. But as I got to know you, I found I was wrong. I have fallen in love with you, and now my greatest fear is that you won’t believe me.”

  Again, he gently tipped her chin up, urging her to look back into his eyes, and she trembled at his touch. “Marry me, Maggie. Leave with Izzy and me. We belong together.”

  Those were the words she’d longed to hear, but now how could she believe him? She pulled out of his embrace. “I don’t know you, Daniel. You know everything about me, but I know hardly anything about you.”

  His head bowed and his shoulders slumped. “You’re right. I know it’s a shock. You need time to think about all this.” His gaze found hers again as he lifted his head. “But love is always patient and enduring. Izzy and I will be back—again and again if necessary, until I convince you to believe I love you.”

  She closed her eyes, and when she opened them, he was gone.

  Her legs being too weak to hold her any longer, Maggie stumbled to the table and sat, laying her head in her arms, and gave free reign to her tears.

  As in a drum, she heard Daniel speaking to Izzy. Then that sweet, young voice Maggie might never hear again. The opening and closing of the door. The commotion of Daniel removing Izzy’s toys.

  Then silence.

  Chapter 18

  The clock chimed eleven o’clock before Maggie forced her stiff body from the kitchen table. Had she fallen asleep or been in a stupor?

  She shivered. The house had grown cold and the fire gutted in the fireplace. Lamps still cast a cheerful glow over the Christmas tree. After one glance, she avoided it, and reached for her coat, it being senseless to build the fire at this time of night. And it would take more warmth than it could produce to thaw her frozen heart.

  The coat was still damp from their earlier outing. Beside it, the beautiful white shawl was dry and would have made more sense, but she couldn’t force herself to touch it.

  Regardless of the time, she went about the house cleaning the remains of two days of holiday celebration. It could have waited, but she didn’t want reminders. The cheerful Christmas tree that brought such joy the day before mocked her now. She couldn’t wait to dismantle it of the beautiful shiny globes, packing them in the newspaper and storing them in the box from which they’d come.

  She tossed all the uneaten food in the slop pail and placed it outside the kitchen door for Mr. Amerson’s helper to pick up, then washed and dried the few dirty dishes.

  Exhausted in both body and soul, she made her way to the bedroom. There she found items Izzy had left behind. Her nightgown. A ribbon. A tiny plate from her tea set. Maggie couldn’t bear to part with these. She folded them tenderly in a cloth and put them at the bottom of her dresser drawer, along with the shawl and the wall hanging Daniel had given her. And the pen she’d intended to give him.

  Years from now, she might be able to take them out and find comfort from them.

  One other thing she had to do this night, though it was now past midnight. She got out paper and pen and wrote to Mrs. Crenshaw, asking her to stop all efforts to find her a husband. How could she ever marry another now after loving Daniel?

  She’d been able to recover her grief from Clay’s death, but she knew he was at peace. Her love for Daniel was different. Deeper.

  With her short letter finished, she sealed the envelope and addressed it, ready to be posted in the morning.

  She banked the coals in the fireplace and removed her coat, then hastily undressed and tugged on her nightgown. The air was now freezing, and she dove under the covers, shivering. How she missed Izzy’s small body snuggled up to her side, sleeping peacefully.

  A peaceful sleep would be impossible for Maggie this night.

  After sending her nightly prayers heavenward, her exhausted and battered mind drifted to a place she’d avoided for five years—a hole so dark and painful she’d refused to allow conscious thought to go.

  That late spring morning of Maggie’s sixteenth year promised a sunny day. She and her sisters had to get up before dawn to finish household chores because the fields were waiting. Soon planting season would be over, and if they didn’t work from sunup till dark, they wouldn’t eat. Pa made that clear. And this year Ma was busy sewing for the Sollano ranch house. Good money she couldn’t turn down. Pa always found something to do that didn’t involve his own labor.

  The sun was already hot by the time to come in for the noon meal. Maggie and her sisters washed up at the outside pump and entered through the back. Ma wasn’t at her usual place at the stove, but the food was laid out on the table.

  Ma came in while Maggie was cutting up the pork roast. “Maggie, your pa wants to see you.”

  Maggie kept slicing the meat. He could wait, and why was he even up. He usually slept past noon. That was the only good thing about working in the fields. It provided an escape.

  “Maggie, get in here. Now,” Pa bellowed. Ma took the knife out of her hand and gave her a push.

  Pa was in the room Maggie shared with her sisters. A sense of foreboding propelled her in t
hat direction.

  He stood by her bed, a battered carpetbag in his hands. With one disgusted glare, he flung the open bag on the bed. “Pack up your things and get out.”

  She stood rooted to the doorway, stunned. He came at her with such a fierce expression she held up her arm, expecting to be struck. Instead, he grabbed her arm and shoved her to the bed. “You better get started, girl. I ain’t giving you but five minutes to get out of this house and off the property, and I better not see you around here again.”

  Shaking, she darted to her drawer. “What did I do, Pa? Where will I go?”

  “I don’t care where you go. You know what you did. I won’t allow strumpets to stay under my roof, influencing my real girls. And don’t call me Pa.”

  She knew why he called her a strumpet. He’d found out. How, she didn’t know. She hadn’t even begun to show. No one knew but Ma.”

  It was like he could read her mind. “Did you think you could hide it forever?”

  Maggie’s hands went to her middle. “Get packing,” Pa shouted loud enough for the dog to hear from outside and start barking.

  Ma came into the room, but Maggie couldn’t face her. Obviously, she’d betrayed Maggie. “Come on, Clem, your food is getting cold.”

  “I ain’t going nowhere until she gets out of here.”

  Ma took ahold of his arm and tried to tug him along with her. “Please, Clem, she’s going. You don’t have to be so cruel.”

  “Cruel?” He exploded. “Didn’t I give her a name for your sake, Alma, after I chased your lover away. I’ve been feeding the brat he left you for sixteen years now. That’s enough.” He shoved Ma against the wall. She put her hands to her face like she too expected to be struck.

  “Please, Clem,” Ma wailed. In the hallway, her sisters stood, crying loudly.

  Rage put Maggie in motion “Stop it!” she shouted. “I’m leaving.” She slammed the carpetbag shut, although she’d only managed to pack her under clothes, one dress, and a few odds and ends. But that was about all she possessed anyway.

  Anger kept her from looking back as she walked away. It left her at the end of her five-mile trek into town. Where would she go? What should she do? Who could she trust?

  Not the church. Pa had never let them attend, but she’d heard enough about fire and brimstone sermons to know she wouldn’t be welcome there. With no answers, she kept walking. She knew most of the people in Westerfield, but they weren’t the type to take her in without explanation.

  Except maybe Carianne Barlow, the new lady who was working on starting a library, the town’s first. Maggie didn’t know why she thought this young woman would help. It was just her smile, mannerisms, the things she said. Besides, she was reported to be wealthy, although she lived in that little house beside where the livery owner and his wife resided.

  Maggie made a beeline toward that place, not sure what she would say, but Miss Barlow needed help with the library, and Maggie loved books. She was climbing the steps to the porch when Mrs. Amerson from next door called to her. “Maggie, Carianne isn’t at home, dear. She’s going to be staying at Sollano for a while. Is there anything I can help you with?”

  “No ma’am. I just wanted to ask her about a job. I’ll just go out there. You think I can walk there by dark?”

  “Goodness, no. You’d better go back home and take your pa’s buckboard in the morning.”

  No, Maggie would have to walk, light or dark. Mrs. Amerson went back inside her house. Then a thought came to Maggie. She sidled around the side of Carianne’s house to the back and tried the door. It was unlocked. A yellow tabby darted inside with her. She took stock of her surroundings. Plenty of food in the pantry. She’d hide out here until Carianne came back from Sollano.

  Her instincts had been correct. Carianne had helped her. In exchange for her help with the library, Carianne gave Maggie room and board and funding to Mrs. Jenner’s establishment.

  After Maggie had given birth to her baby, she’d gone on to a teacher’s college and gotten her certificate, packing two years into one. When she’d returned to Westerfield, she worked in the library until a job came open at the school. No one knew her secret except Carianne and her parents. They would say nothing—Carianne because she was trustworthy, her parents because of the shame.

  Maggie sat straight up in bed, her heart pounding. It wasn’t the first time she’d relived that nightmare, but the first time in a long time. The experience had always left her weak and despondent, like she’d been buffeted by a storm and washed up on shore.

  She had not even been given the opportunity to hold her baby after giving birth. Hadn’t even been told whether the infant was a girl or boy. They had told her it was better for her not to form an attachment.

  But now she knew. She had held her baby in her arms, felt her little arms around her neck. Heard her soft voice saying, “I love you.”

  That’s what Daniel had been trying to tell her. Her failure to recognize she deserved love had blinded her to the love right in front of her. Over the years, she’d let doubts come trickling in until she couldn’t believe. Yes, she’d forgotten how she committed her life to Christ and reached out to Jesus.

  Partly because of the way her father, or the man she’d thought was her father, had treated her, but mostly because she, Maggie Comings, had lacked faith in the Miracle Giver. She’d forgotten that first miracle when she’d reached out to Jesus, and He’d taken her hand.

  And, it wasn’t too late.

  “Papa always comes back.”

  Yes, he does, Izzy, but this time he didn’t have to.

  The room flooded with light. She sought her bedside clock. Seven-thirty. She threw off the covers and, shivering in the cold, dressed quickly, her stiff fingers fumbling as she fastened her boots.

  Daniel and Izzy would have left for the depot, and the eastbound train would be arriving any minute. Down on her knees, she reached under the bed for the carpetbag—the same one she’d carried with her when she’d been chased from her home.

  The muffled sound of the arriving train’s whistle sent a shot of increased urgency through her.

  Stuffing in a couple of her best dresses and under clothing, stockings, and a few other necessities, she put the cloth holding the treasures she’d collected last night, including the happy-home wall hanging and the pen, her belated Christmas present to Daniel.

  She should leave Martha Amerson a note, but there wasn’t time. She’d have to send Juliette a telegram. After draping the beautiful white shawl around her neck and shoulders, she tugged on her coat. With one final look, she grabbed her reticule and carpetbag and dashed out the house.

  It would be quicker to walk, and though snow still covered the ground making it slippery, she’d have to chance going through the alley. She managed to stay on her feet, but the hem of her skirt, soaked by the time she reached Main Street, slowed her stride.

  The train’s whistle blasted its five-minute warning. She hiked her skirt with one hand well above her boots, not caring who saw, and ran. Lord, delay that train until I get there.

  Chapter 19

  A train whistle had always struck a joyful chord in Daniel, but this one sounded like a death knell. He drained his last cup of boardinghouse coffee. Maggie’s had been so much better. Had it been just twenty-four hours since he sat at her table, his heart so full of anticipation he couldn’t keep the smile off his face?

  If his feelings were all that mattered, he’d have taken it in stride.

  Izzy worried him. She’d hardly touched her breakfast, not even her milk. “Izzy, you need to eat something, sweetheart. It’s going to be hours before we come to another restaurant. At least drink your milk while I pay the waitress.”

  “I can’t,” she murmured. “My stomach is too sad to be hungry.”

  The young, apple-cheeked waitress came to their table, holding a brown paper sack. “Here’s a few cookies for the little one for later.”

  “Thank you.” Daniel rose and pulled a bill from his
pocket, enough for the meal and a generous tip.

  Izzy had scrambled from her chair, and those big, fawn-colored eyes drew Daniel’s attention as nothing else could. Instead of taking her hand, he scooped her up and anchored her to his right side.

  She laid her head on his shoulder. “Papa, I prayed that Miss Maggie would come.”

  He heard the quiver in her voice. “We talked about this last night, sweetie. I told you we’d come back for Miss Maggie.” And he prayed she’d be willing to come by then.

  “But I don’t like leaving people I love.” Her chin trembled and the fat tears hovering at the corners of her eyes spilled down her face.

  “I know, my sweet Izzy, I know.” He turned, closing his eyes, swallowing his own tears. God, why must this child keep enduring loss?

  They left the restaurant and fell into the flow of pedestrians headed for the depot. It wasn’t far, but most of the passengers had disappeared through the opening where the conductor stood, waving them in like a cowboy driving cattle.

  Suddenly, Izzy jerked in his arms and shook him by the shoulder. “Papa, stop. I see Miss Maggie.”

  Joy flashed through him as he pivoted, searching the street, following the direction of Izzy’s tiny finger. Then just as fast, the joy drained out of him. “You were mistaken, sweetheart. It must have been another lady.”

  “No, Papa, no.” She grabbed his shoulder again as he tried to turn. “I did see her. Look.”

  “All aboard,” the conductor shouted.

  Just to please Izzy, he scanned the sidewalk again.

  It couldn’t be.

  It was. Maggie was way down, past the mercantile, running like a mad woman with one arm outstretched and one carrying a bag.

  She carried a bag.

  He cupped his mouth and yelled to the conductor to be heard above the hissing train. “Mr. Houser, please wait a moment. Don’t leave us.” He took off down the street. “Hold on, Izzy.”

  They met Maggie in front of the dressmaker’s shop. His gaze swept over her heaving form to her beautiful, smiling face, and his heart swelled with pure love. “Maggie?” He reached out a hand to support her.