'Tis the Season: A Collection of Mimi's Christmas Books

by Mimi Barbour

  “Truly, since we’ll be together in taking Abbie hostage, partners in crime, so to speak, I think it’s time you started calling me Robert.”

  “Fine by me. I’m Marcus.”

  “Well, Marcus, I have an idea, but we’ll need the help of my very trustworthy housekeeper to pull it off. Shall we go to the house and coax the poor woman into helping us break our Abbie out of here?” The twinkling in the doctor’s eyes showed Marcus clearly how much he was enjoying the adventure ahead. Well, what the hell? He had nothing better to do anyway.

  “Lead the way, Robert.”

  Once they arrived at the doctor’s house, they settled into comfortable chairs in the doctor’s office and coaxed Mrs. Dorn to join them.

  “If you’re not too busy, Mrs. Dorn, might we have your company in my office for a short consultation?”

  “Certainly, sir. But do us a favour, then. I’ve me pudding in the oven, so keep a listen for the oven bell. Now, how can I help yer?”

  “It’s Abbie. We need to steal her from the hospital and get her to the vicarage bench so we can undo the spell. Can you help us out by staying in her room and watching for the nurses? Stop them from finding out that she’s missing. It shouldn’t take us very long.”

  “Crikey, I knew the magic had gotten you, Mr. Chapman. I coulda sworn I saw Abbie smiling at me through your eyes. I’ll do me best to help ya, Abbie.” Mrs. Dorn leaned forward, sticking her face within inches of the startled man.

  Marcus relaxed and let Abbie use his voice. “Bless you, Mrs. Dorn, and you, too, Dr. Andrews.”

  Later that evening, after the ward settled down for the night, Dr. Andrews showed the other two a back way onto the ward. In no time at all they’d organized Abbie’s disguise and were ready to begin.

  “God love ya, sir, be careful. Don’t let the wee pet fall.”

  “We’ll be fine, Mrs. Dorn. It’s you I’m concerned for. Are you sure you’ll be able to keep the nurses away from Abbie’s bed for the time it’ll take us to get her body to the bush and bring her back?”

  “Quit your lollygagging, sir. You know me; I’ve never had a problem with spinning tales. That’s if someone from the nursing staff should happen into the room. Everyone recognizes me as your housekeeper, and they know Mr. Chapman has brought you in as a consultant on the case, so I’ve no doubt I can come up with a good story. Now, I’ll hear no more on the subject. Go on with ya. And bring our Abbie back to life.” Her chubby hand waved them on in a rather royal-like fashion.

  Dr. Andrews winked at Marcus. “I think she’s been watching the Queen too often on the telly.”

  “Whatever made you think of dressing Abbie in Mrs. Dorn’s coat and boots and having us walk her out past the nurses, and what makes you think it’ll work?”

  “Number one, we’ve got her wrapped in so many blankets that she looks about Mrs. Dorn’s size under the coat. The white fur hat covers most of her face, and they are pretty close to the same height. Trust me, people see what they expect to see. We’ll have no trouble. Just follow my lead.”

  They each wrapped an arm around the frail patient and lifted. She moved between them as if she glided across the floor. Coming to the corner, Dr. Andrews stopped and peeked around before giving Marcus the all-clear signal. Once past the desk, where the busy nurses ignored the three, it seemed they were home free. Until, that is, two nurses came around another corner ahead and walked toward them.

  Without missing a beat, Dr. Andrews turned to the woman draped in his arms and muttered, “You poor dear. Mrs. Dorn, I’m so sorry about your ankle. Don’t fret. Marcus and I can carry your weight and help you to the car.” His brisk reply to the nurse’s salutations, given as an aside, didn’t spark any interest at all.

  “Why, you crafty old dodger. You totally had them fooled.”

  “I told you. People only see what they expect to see. Now, let’s get her to the car and head over to the bush, so we can return her as soon as possible. Did you bring the shovel from the garden?”

  “Yes, it’s in the boot. I’ll gladly dig a path and call you when it’s ready. You can stay in the car with Abbie and keep the motor running so she’ll be warm.”

  “Fine. You know, I can’t believe this weather. We’ve never had as much snow as we’ve had this season, and it’s coming down again tonight. It’s lovely to look at, but a bugger to drive around in. Here we are. Go on with you now.”

  Marcus retrieved the shovel and started to clear away the snow from the sidewalk around to the back of the bench. With twilight just beginning, lights from all over the village were coming on and forming halos of gold on the brilliant white carpet, magically transforming everything in sight. Large flakes fluttered from the heavens, while crystals sparkled in the frozen depths and radiance illuminated the ground. Something caught his eye as he brushed the snow away from the rose bush. Bending down on one knee, he looked closer, and the wondrous thing he saw made him catch his breath.

  “Oh, Marcus. Look! How very spe…cial.” A sob splintered her voice.

  Even his Abbie, strong as she was, cracked with emotion once she spied the miraculous bloom. He reached in to gently snip it from the snow-covered bough. An exquisite red rosebud, perfectly formed, glowing amongst the frosty dried branches of a leafless bush, soon rested in his gloved hand. It radiated with brilliant tones of crimson, and it’s whiff of perfume was faint but present. Until he held it, he couldn’t accept its reality; he’d thought his eyes might have been playing tricks on him, but now he knew it to be real.

  “My darling girl, this is for you, with all my love.”

  He waved to the watchful doctor, and, laying the rose down carefully on the cleared bench, he went to the vehicle to help with Abbie. He lifted her in his arms and followed Robert.

  “What in the world!” Robert exclaimed as soon as he spied the flower. “It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen!”

  “Yes, I know. It was waiting on the bush for us. I want to use the thorn from that stem.”

  “Yes, of course. Here, sit down on the bench with her, and I’ll pass you the flower.” Within moments, Dr. Andrews sat on the other side of the lifeless girl and administered the remedy. Both men waited, unmoving. The one who moved was Abbie. To begin with, her eyes twitched and blinked open, and then her body stiffened. She moaned and quivered, fighting to regain consciousness.

  “Dear girl, don’t try so hard. It’ll all come back, but it takes time. Let your body get used to life again.” He glanced over to where Marcus waited. Before he had time to clear his agonized expression, Marcus knew the other man had seen his distress. The doctor, smart as a whip, ignored what he’d witnessed and instead motioned to their waiting transportation.

  “We should get her back to the hospital and save Mrs. Dorn. No telling what kind of trouble the woman has gotten herself into by now.”

  The trip back happened very quickly, and all the time he drove, Marcus marvelled at the terrible emptiness he now experienced.

  Chapter Fourteen

  He missed her. And he couldn’t go to see her, not yet. He wasn’t ready to acknowledge their changed relationship—as if ignoring what he hated would make it disappear. The empty void she’d filled with light and love now drove him crazy.

  Working himself to the point of collapse hadn’t helped. Something he’d always been able to do to keep his mind occupied now held no attraction whatsoever. Nothing seemed to matter, until—while reliving every moment he’d spent with Abbie—he recalled the night he’d helped a young girl outside a pub. Again he heard Abbie’s words about how the young people were restless because there weren’t enough jobs.

  Taking that message to heart, he kicked in and worked like a dog, almost nonstop for a whole day and half the next, until he’d finagled every small detail and twisted every loose end. At that point, he accepted that he’d set the wheels in motion and now he had to leave the operational plans in others’ hands. He scrubbed at his face, in particular rubbing the tenseness around his eyes
, and got up from his desk to pace the roomy space, stretch his sore muscles, and fetch a drink of water to soothe the dryness in his throat.

  Upon Mrs. Tennyson’s recommendation, he’d had a small personal area added to the side of his Bury office where, sometimes in the middle of a strenuous workday, he’d collapse on a surprisingly comfortable cot for a few hours of rest. Originally, he’d pooh-hooed this idea, but considering his recent illness, he’d re-thought his decision and changed the original design.

  He’d also added a tiny kitchenette, where last night he brewed pots of tea to keep him awake until all the many particulars to his plans had been finalized. Catching a few hours’ sleep, when exhaustion finally overcame stubbornness, had made all the difference to his energy today.

  He still couldn’t go home, though, in case his mother had returned. To look into her guilty face would be more than he could bear—physically. Already his head throbbed, and his heart hurt so much he wished he could turn a switch to stop the pain. To shoulder her unhappiness, along with his own, would be the last straw. He couldn’t take any more.

  The nausea that had hit him when his mother broke her calamitous news hadn’t faded at all. In fact, after constantly revisiting every precious one of his and Abbie’s memories, it had only intensified. Sick and tired, he was again attacked by the thoughts and feelings accompanying that first overwhelming tide of reaction.

  He’d known the difference between his response and Abbie’s. The overpowering anger came from him and the painful silence from her. Those emotions had collided, batting around in his belly until he’d felt like putting his fist through the nearest wall.

  ****

  Worn out, he finally came to a decision. He’d go and spend time with Abbie’s favourite people. Maybe that would let him feel closer to her. So he went. But it didn’t work. In fact it made him miss her more. God, he still felt so alone.

  He drove away from the vicarage in a foul mood, not wanting to go home but not knowing where else he could go. Before he realized he would, he’d turned in the direction of the orphanage, as if drawn there by something stronger than himself.

  He parked the car and, before he could change his mind, strode through the front door and stepped into the foyer.

  Sister Agnes, busy as usual, stopped immediately when she saw who’d arrived and hurried toward him with her hand outstretched.

  “Hello, Sister,” he said, taking her hand gently and holding on. “I had some time and hoped I wouldn’t be intruding if I stopped by to visit.”

  “Oh, Mr. Chapman. Praise the Lord, you’re the answer to my prayers. Please, can you come with me? It’s Nicholas.”

  “Yes, of course. What’s happened?” He followed behind the bustling woman and guessed they were going to the nursery. His assumption was proven to be correct very soon by the sound of a baby’s hysteria permeating the closed door.

  As she hurried, Sister Agnes answered, “The poor little fellow won’t stop crying. First we tried calling you but were told you weren’t to be disturbed. As time passed, we’ve gotten that worried; we called the doctor to come in. He’s with Nicholas now. Only the babe fusses so, the poor man can’t properly examine him.”

  Bt the time the nun had finished with her explanation, they’d entered the room and were beset by the uncontrollable screaming of the hysterical baby.

  Marcus, without a bit of forethought, reached for the child and lifted him into his arms. He cradled him against his chest, rocked him back and forth, all the while shushing him in a warm gentle tone, his voice betraying strong emotion.

  Like magic, Nicholas’ bawling changed and slowly waned. His distressed baby blues blinked furiously, spiked eyelashes sweeping away the welled tears, while his flailing hands reached upward to touch the face of the solemn man embracing him.

  Marcus took the edge of the blanket and mopped at the drenched, mottled cheeks, while all the time he crooned and swayed.

  The others in the room held their breath, mesmerized and hopeful. Slowly, they began to smile. Marcus noted that the doctor, now packing his bag, was the one who had looked after Abbie in the hospital. He nodded at his acknowledging wave and then stepped closer as the intern guided the Sister to the other side of the room.

  Purposely, Marcus eavesdropped on their conversation. “Sister Agnes, he’s a bit dehydrated from all his crying, so if Mr. Chapman is willing, it would be good to have him feed the youngster some milk. I’ve left a small bottle of drops to help with the colic and settle his tummy. Otherwise, there’s not a lot we can do for him other than keep him as comfortable as possible.”

  “Yes, Doctor. Thank you for stopping round. I’ll see you out, shall I?” Just then a younger nun entered, carrying a full bottle of warm milk, and scurried toward Marcus to offer him the privilege. Her beseeching look wasn’t at all necessary. Nothing and no one could have taken the child away from him.

  Within minutes they were alone and resting in the room’s only rocking chair. Marcus knew something miraculous had happened. In some strange way, he guessed they’d bonded. He understood that this time it wasn’t Abbie the child saw; it was himself.

  The little angel blinked a few more times, his lashes glued together with tears, and just as Marcus aimed the nipple toward his mouth, Nicholas smiled. The babe looked him straight in the eyes, opened his beautiful lips and gurgled. The hiccups spoilt it, as did the twitching of his whole tiny frame when he sobbed out a huge sigh.

  But he soon got down to business once he smelled the food dripping from the bottle. His little mouth latched onto the nipple and, ravenous, he ate so fast that the intermittent sobs and hiccups soon grew fainter. Within moments, his sporadic stares gave way to his lashes at half-mast. Intermittently, he’d look up as if checking to see that Marcus still held him, but once he’d assured himself that nothing had changed, he drifted off.

  Marcus put the now almost empty bottle on the table next to where they sat and held the little blighter upright and over his shoulder. He rubbed and patted according to the directions that Abbie had given him the last time they’d been here and fed Nicholas.

  For the first time since he arrived, he had a chance to look around and notice the Sisters had taken the other cribs to another room, probably so Nicholas’ crying wouldn’t upset his roommates. Peace and quiet filtered through the air and calmed his raw nerves. He leaned back and closed his eyes, napping along with the baby he held close in his arms, until the creaking of a door woke him. He looked over to see a little face, ringed with a halo of blonde curls, peeking in.

  Cece inspected the area and then tiptoed into the room. She approached slowly, her well-washed pink nightie billowed over her belly and dragged on the floor, obviously a size too large. Probably a hand-me-down, he decided.

  “Mr. Chapman, Nicky cried for such a long time. I worried for him.”

  “Yes, darling. The poor little bloke appeared very unhappy when I arrived. He’s much better now.”

  “He wants Abbie to come home. That’s why he cries so much, you know.”

  Marcus smiled at the earnest expression spread over the little girl’s features. “How can you be so sure?”

  Her lashes swept up and unlocked the secrets of her eyes. Almost too big for her chubby face, they shocked him with their interwoven shades of blue—from cerulean to sapphire—and all awash with sparkles. Her seriousness made it impossible to look away.

  “‘Cause I cry for her, too. Sometimes, when the Sisters aren’t watching, I come in here and we cry together, and I pat his back like Abbie taught me.”

  “Oh, Cece, Abbie wouldn’t want you in tears. It would make her very sad.”

  “No. It’s okay. I don’t cry outside, mostly in here.” Her tiny dimpled hand pointed toward her chest while her spectacular eyes watched for his reaction.

  Wanting to be careful not to downplay her confession or belittle her sincerity, he took his time answering. “I understand, Cece. Adults hide a lot of their tears inside in the same way.”

&
nbsp; She nodded, and with her arms around her back she twisted from side to side. Just when he thought she’d leave, she shocked him further with her next words. “Nicky’s lucky, Mr. Chapman.”

  “He is? Why’s that, honey?”

  “‘Cause you’ve helped him be happy so’s he could sleep. ‘Cause you’re hugging him. That makes him feel better.”

  “You think so?”

  “Oh, yes.” Her hands came to the front so she could lift her long skirt on both sides and swing one way and then the other. The little coquette peered at him from under her long eyelashes and waited. The curve of her plump cheek, seen through the flyaway tendrils of her hair, made him realize what a precocious little doll she really was.

  He watched her begin to nod, and the truth hit him as much as the hint in her words. My God, four years old and already she possessed the innate feminine ability to scheme and wrangle situations to suit her own ends. His smile covered up his shock while he moved the baby so he could cradle him in one arm. The pure jealousy that moved across her face lasted for only a split second, then faded, to be replaced with affection.

  Marcus leaned down and held out his other arm. “Darling, would you like to be lucky like Nicky? I’ve got two arms, you know. One for you.”

  Shyly she nodded, then swiftly climbed onto his knee as he swept her up. While he cuddled her close, her small head nestled on his chest, and at the same time she reached out her little hand to pat the sleeping baby’s blanketed body. With a sigh, she snuck her small hand into his and settled herself.

  This time the tears that welled in his eyes weren’t put there by anyone else. They belonged to him and him alone. While he rocked with his arms full of precious gifts, he accepted the inevitable. He’d just been adopted. Him, not Abbie! Now what the hell was a man to do?

  Chapter Fifteen

  When Abbie woke up on the second morning after she’d returned to her own body, she felt totally alive and well—and overwhelmed by the numerous vases of flowers and collection of plants everywhere in her room: on the top of a corner cabinet, spread over the windowsill, and on her night table. The one flower she zeroed in on was a sublimely beautiful red rose, its petals unfurling. It spread perfume that drifted past and took her straight to heaven. What an incredible smell! Her fingers reached to caress the velvety surface. She knew in her heart she’d keep this bloom forever.