The Christmas Angel

by Thomas Kinkade

“Yes, I know that, Warren,” she said evenly, though she was starting to get angry. She didn’t need to be lectured. “Is that all you wanted to talk about?”

  “Yes,” he said curtly. “That’s it. I’m going to lunch. Will I see you here later?”

  “No, I’m going home now. I just came in for the meeting.” She picked up one of the memos from the meeting. “We have to fight this rezoning, Warren. We can’t let them tear down those old buildings to make way for minimansions. I don’t care how much it will up the town’s real estate value.”

  He nodded but avoided her gaze. “Yes, I know. It’s a complicated question.”

  “It’s not complicated; it’s very simple. It’s wrong to just toss people out so other people can make money. The people who live in those old buildings can’t afford to go anyplace else. I want you to look at the legal grounds for this petition.”

  Warren shifted in place a moment, then turned and headed for the door. “I’ll let you know what I find.”

  After Warren left, Emily finished feeding Jane, then dressed her up in her snowsuit and strapped her into the stroller. She left Village Hall with all her bags and stowed them in the car outside. Then she wheeled Jane down Main Street and stopped at the Clam Box.

  As she opened the door and started to maneuver the stroller inside, Lucy Bates rushed up to help her. “Here she is! Here she is!” Lucy announced in a singsong voice. “I’ve been dying to see this little baby. I couldn’t really get a close look in church,” she added, peering into the stroller. “Oh, she’s beautiful. Look at those eyes.”

  She looked up at Emily. “How’s it going? Did you come out for a little stroll around town today?”

  “I had to go in to work, a meeting. I don’t have a sitter yet, so I had to take Jane with me. It didn’t work out very well,” Emily reported, rolling her eyes. “Don’t tell Charlie, but one more visit from Jane at my office and I could get impeached.”

  Lucy laughed. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell him. Don’t want to get his hopes up. Now, come sit down. What can I get for you?”

  Emily knew the menu so well she didn’t need to look. She ordered a turkey sandwich on rye toast with lettuce and tomato. Lucy put her order in and brought a cup of coffee.

  The baby was perfectly calm now and content to sit in the stroller, gazing quietly out at the world around her. Emily loved to watch her. She was such a wonder.

  “You know, it’s really funny how you never hear a man say he’s having trouble juggling his family and his job,” Lucy said with a wry grin.

  “Isn’t it,” Emily replied. “Dan isn’t any great help. He likes the baby, but he’s keeping his distance. I think he’s afraid of getting too attached because the arrangement is only temporary.”

  “And you aren’t afraid?” Lucy asked.

  Emily couldn’t answer that question. “How do you do it?” she asked instead. “You have two kids, work here, and go to school.”

  Lucy shrugged. “Some days I feel certain I’m going to wind up in the hospital, either in the emergency room or the psych ward. But it all works out. The boys are big now. I can even leave them on their own now and again. My mother was a big help when they were little. I could drop them off there anytime.”

  Emily knew she didn’t have that safety net available to her and never would. “I’ll find a good sitter sooner or later. It’s going to take time.”

  “Why don’t you ask around church? You might find somebody to help you out there.”

  Lucy’s suggestion was a good one. Emily wondered why she hadn’t thought of it herself. “Good idea. I’ll post a sign on the bulletin board.”

  Charlie wasn’t on duty that day; it was the part-time cook, Jimmy. He rang the little bell on the service counter, and Lucy left to retrieve an order.

  A short time later, after Emily had finished her sandwich and was on to a second cup of coffee and a slice of lemon meringue pie, she spotted her friend Betty coming toward the diner. Betty was walking and talking in her usual animated fashion with another woman whom Emily didn’t recognize. Emily realized this must be the client Betty had taken out to view properties. She always brought them over to the Clam Box. Newcomers to Cape Light found the diner quaint and charming, until they got know Charlie Bates, of course.

  Betty swept in with her client and spotted Emily at her table near the window. “Emily, how are you? My secretary said you called this morning. Why didn’t you try my cell?”

  “Oh, that’s all right. I didn’t want to bother you while you were working.” Emily glanced at the other woman. She looked to be in her early thirties, strikingly attractive, dressed in a golden brown suede jacket and a colorful striped scarf, with jeans and neat brown leather boots.

  “Did you take Jane out for lunch today?” Betty peered into the stroller and gazed down at the baby, who was dozing off.

  “I had to run in to work for a while. I couldn’t find a sitter, so I took her along.”

  Betty’s companion bent to look into the stroller, and her sun-streaked hair fell forward, gleaming. “What a sweet little baby,” she said, then glanced up, her expression curious. “Are you Emily Warwick?”

  “That’s me,” Emily said easily; she was used to strangers recognizing her.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” Betty said. “Let me introduce you. This is Christina Cross. She’s writing a book and wants to rent a cottage for some peace and quiet.”

  “It’s the perfect town for peace and quiet,” Emily said amiably, but the name Christina had snagged her attention. Wasn’t that the name of Luke’s old girlfriend? Emily realized in a flash she’d come face-to-face with Sara’s rival.

  “I can’t believe I’ve lived in Boston so long and never knew about this place. It’s just so . . . perfect.” Christina’s praise sounded sincere, but Emily suspected that if Luke didn’t live here, the little village that lacked stylish stores, good restaurants, and any nightlife except movies might seem inconvenient, dull, and rather provincial.

  “Guess who’s going to be in Christina’s book? Luke McCallister,” Betty said, answering her own question. “He’s getting an entire chapter.”

  “I heard something about that,” Emily admitted.

  “I guess Sara told you. You’re her mother, right?” Christina said. “She mentioned that her mother is the mayor. It must be fun being mayor here.”

  “Most of the time,” Emily answered carefully. “It’s not all parades and tree-lighting ceremonies, though.”

  She didn’t mean to sound defensive, but something in Christina’s tone suggested Emily’s job was about as demanding as presiding over a doll’s tea party.

  “I’m sure every little town has its intrigue,” Christina said. She leaned down and looked at the baby again. “It’s just amazing about you finding this baby and taking her in. I’d love to do an article on you sometime. It would be a perfect feature for the Boston Globe, or even one of the big women’s magazines.”

  “Oh, wouldn’t that be great, Emily? I could just see a picture of you and Jane on the cover of some magazine,” Betty said. She leaned a bit closer. “Let’s see Charlie Bates try to beat that publicity,” she added in a laughing whisper.

  Emily smiled, unswayed by the prospect of Christina Cross making her a star of the supermarket magazine racks.

  If anyone is going to get a publishing credit out of this experience, it’s going to be Sara, Emily thought. She had a good mind to stroll right over to the newspaper office this afternoon and have her get working on the story right away. Before this blonde barracuda scooped her.

  “That’s a very nice idea,” Emily said diplomatically. “I’m very flattered. But Dan and I would rather be low key about all this. We’re only temporary guardians right now, and I don’t think I’d feel right drawing such attention to the situation.”

  “Sure, I understand.” Christina shrugged and smiled. She really was very pretty, Emily thought. Not as pretty as Sara, but a formidable contender.

  Lucy walked over with
menus. Finally, Emily thought.

  “I’m sorry to keep you waiting, ladies. Can I show you to a table?”

  “Thanks, Lucy.” Betty turned to Emily. “See you later. Call me at the office if you get a chance.”

  “Yes, I will,” Emily promised. “So long, Christina.”

  “Very nice meeting you, Emily. See you around town.”

  Emily just nodded. She couldn’t honestly say, “Looking forward to it,” or any of those other niceties.

  She put some bills on the table and slipped on her coat, then made sure the baby was properly bundled up. She tugged the stroller out the door and headed down Main Street toward the village green, church, and dock. She wanted to show Jane the place where they first met, even though it seemed a little silly.

  She thought of dropping in at the newspaper office but decided not to disturb Sara at work. She needed to be low key about this Christina woman and not run over there, sounding alarmed after meeting her. That would just reinforce Sara’s fears about the situation. She wondered if Sara even knew Christina Cross was moving into town. If not, she didn’t want to be the one to tell her. Not just yet.

  Still, Emily couldn’t help but feel a wave of concern. Sara wasn’t exaggerating. This Christina was a formidable adversary: intelligent, attractive, poised, and confident. Closer in age to Luke, too, she was the kind of woman who knows what she wants and isn’t afraid to go after it.

  “Poor Sara,” Emily murmured to Jane. “She’d better watch out. That woman is trouble.”

  She pushed the stroller around the paths on the village green. It was a sunny, windless, cold day. She’d heard fresh air was good for babies. Way back when, during her own babyhood, mothers would leave their babies outside in their carriages for hours to “air” them, like rugs getting a spring cleaning.

  People didn’t do that anymore, thank goodness. But there was some value to the fresh-air theory. She had a feeling Jane would sleep well tonight, and then so would she.

  When they reached the crèche, Emily paused to gaze at the manger scene, particularly the empty wooden cradle where she had found Jane that frosty, momentous morning.

  She lifted Jane up out of her stroller and showed her the scene. “Two weeks ago tomorrow,” she whispered to the baby. “Can you believe it?” She turned Jane in her arms to look into her clear blue-grey eyes. “Seems as if I’ve known you forever. I suppose in my heart I have.”

  As Emily stood murmuring to the baby, she noticed Reverend Ben coming out of the church. He looked distracted, deep in thought until he noticed her. She smiled and waved as he walked over.

  “Are you here to teach Jane the true meaning of Christmas before she gets corrupted by toy commercials?” he inquired.

  “Not really,” Emily admitted. “We were just reminiscing. It will be two weeks tomorrow that I found her, right in this very spot.”

  Ben finally smiled. “We ought to commemorate the spot with a plaque or something.”

  “Perhaps.” Emily’s tone was cautious. So many remarks about the baby, kindly meant, only served to remind her of their temporary situation.

  Ben seemed to sense her thoughts. He placed his hand gently on her arm. “You’ve taken quite a risk. You’re out on the high trapeze without a net.”

  “Yes, that’s what it feels like sometimes,” she admitted.

  “I’m proud of you,” he said. “And I’m praying for you, too.”

  “Thank you, Ben. I think I need the prayers.”

  He shook his head. “No thanks necessary. You didn’t ask my advice on this, I noticed. Were you afraid I’d be against it?”

  “No, not really. It all happened so quickly, I didn’t ask anyone. It was something I just felt I had to do . . . almost as if some power I didn’t have any control over was pushing me forward.” She met his gaze. “That sounds silly, doesn’t it? I mean, we always have a choice over our actions.”

  “It doesn’t sound silly. Not to me anyway.” He looked at Jane again, touching her lightly under the chin with his fingertip until she smiled back at him. “We can’t ignore our inner voice, our intuitive feelings. Some people might say that’s the way angels advise us.”

  Emily was surprised. She had rarely heard Reverend Ben talk of angels or intuition.

  Finally, he looked back up at Emily. “How will you make it home with that stroller? The side streets are still snowy. Do you need a lift?”

  “My car is parked down the street. We’ll be fine, thanks.”

  “All right then. See you soon, Emily.” Ben dug his hands in his coat pockets and started off.

  Emily watched his determined stride as he crossed the green. He had been in a thoughtful, subdued mood lately. She hoped everything was well with his family. He had been through so much in his private life the past few years. Their minister was an inspiring example of a man who navigated life’s perilous seas with a compass of faith and a sail of solid character. She wondered if he knew how important he was to the congregation, how much he was respected and needed.

  BEN DROVE HOME, HIS MIND NOT ON THE MEETING HE HAD JUST HAD with Emily but on the call he had received that day confirming that he was eligible for a sabbatical. He had spent the rest of the day researching his options: where he might go and what he might do. The notion of hard, meaningful mission work still drew him. He couldn’t focus on much else.

  It was the right time to tell Carolyn, he decided, while he still felt the urgency to take some action, before self-doubt and conflicted feelings set in.

  He entered his house and shrugged off his coat and muffler, hanging them up on the rack in the foyer. He heard the piano in the living room. Dvořák, he thought, and not too bad—an advanced student, though not Carolyn’s fluid, knowing touch. It had taken her some time to get back to giving lessons after her stroke, but she loved to teach and had been much happier once she returned to work.

  Could she teach piano students if we lived in Tanzania? he wondered. Well, of course she could. Sharing her knowledge of music would be a rare and great gift under those circumstances. He just hoped she would see it that way.

  Ben drifted into the kitchen and made a cup of tea for himself, listening for the sounds of voices in the hallway and the front door opening. Ten minutes later the student was gone, and Carolyn came into the kitchen. She looked energized and cheerful, pleased with the student’s progress, he thought.

  “I thought I heard you come in.” She walked over to him and kissed him on the cheek, then looked up at the clock. “You’re home early,” she said, turning on the kettle and putting a tea bag in a mug for herself. “Do you feel all right?”

  “I feel fine, better than I have in a while,” he told her. “I had some good news today. I looked into my eligibility for a sabbatical. I definitely qualify, so I started the process to apply.”

  Carolyn turned, her expression halfway between surprise and alarm. “A sabbatical? Really? I didn’t know you were thinking of that.”

  “I told you I was thinking of something like that, dear. Remember the other night when we talked, the night the kids came over? I asked if you ever thought about moving away for a while, doing something different with our lives.”

  “Yes, but I thought you meant . . . oh, I don’t know, finding a new church maybe. You never said anything about a sabbatical.”

  He realized now that he hadn’t. Not those exact words. He’d been carrying all this around so much in his own head, he needed to give Carolyn time to catch up a few steps.

  “You’re right. I never used the exact word, but Walter suggested the idea. And once I thought it over and prayed about it, it seemed like a good solution.”

  She stared at him. The kettle’s shrill whistle sounded. She turned suddenly, shut off the stove, and then poured the water for her tea. “Have you made out an application?”

  “The paperwork should be coming in the mail in a day or two. I expect I’ll be approved without any problem.”

  Carolyn brought her cup to the table and sat
down across from him. “Then what?”

  “Well . . .” He hesitated. This was the hard part—persuading her to move away from here for a while. “I’ve looked into mission opportunities, some in Africa and Asia. I’ve also written to James, asking if he needs help on the reservation.”

  Carolyn didn’t reply. She sipped her tea, avoiding his gaze.

  “Well?” he asked finally. “What do you think?”

  “I’m surprised. I’m shocked, actually.” She met his gaze, the bright look gone from her eyes.

  “I’m sorry, Carolyn, but I thought you realized that I’ve been unhappy lately and thinking about making some real changes.”

  “Yes,” she said slowly. “I know that you’ve been troubled, Ben. I’ve prayed that you would find some answer to your questions, some peace of mind and a new direction.” He could see that she was trying hard to soften her reaction, to show him sympathy and understanding.

  “Thank you, dear. It looks as if your prayers have been answered.”

  “You know what they say, ‘Be careful of what you pray for. You just might get it.’ ” She forced a smile. “I never dreamed you would come home early one day and announce you want to move to the other side of the world.” She took a sip of tea, as if needing the pause to organize her thoughts. “I’ve heard you, Ben. I really have been listening these last few weeks, and I’ve been concerned about you. I definitely think something serious is going on. But this idea seems . . . impulsive to me.”

  Impulsive? He sat back, at a loss for words. Am I asking too much of her, Lord? Or is she not trying hard enough to understand?

  “Is this really the solution, Ben? Is there no other way?” she asked quietly.

  Ben knew he couldn’t soften the truth; he had to be completely honest. “I’m dissatisfied, unfulfilled,” he said carefully. “I’ve fallen into a rut and I feel as if I’ve led the congregation into a spiritual rut, too. I’ve lost my sense of purpose, the sense that I’m making a difference. I feel as if I’m failing them, Carolyn. Even worse, I’m failing to keep the promises I’ve made to God.”

  “I don’t agree. I don’t see you as a failure at all. But I can see how the job might wear on you—the same events one season to the next, the same problems.”