A Season of Angels

by Debbie Macomber

  “You can’t tell me anything more than that?” Shirley asked. She should have known it wouldn’t be this easy, especially since she was so new at this.

  “There’s nothing more I can tell you,” Gabriel said, and she heard the regret in his voice.

  “But . . .”

  “Go,” Gabriel said, spreading his massive wings. “You have work to do.”

  For years Leah had avoided the infant sections of department stores. Now she found herself drawn to them as if a magnet were luring her in their direction.

  She was supposed to be Christmas shopping, instead she wandered about looking at beautifully crafted cribs, lovingly running her hand over the polished wood railings. The joy that blossomed in her heart was strong.

  She was going to have a baby.

  After all these years she was about to bear a child. Her waiting, her pain had come to pass.

  Andrew’s words of warning echoed harshly in the back of her mind. How she wished she could find some way to explain the deep certainty she experienced. She yearned to rub away his doubts and lend him the assurance she’d felt from that very first morning.

  Soon she would be able to look him in the eye and tell him her body was nurturing his seed. For years she’d carried this dream with her, of watching her husband’s expression when she told him he would soon be a father.

  Nothing could have pleased her more than to purchase a complete layette right then and there, but she didn’t want to risk another confrontation with Andrew. They had all the baby furniture they’d ever need in storage. Once Dr. Benoit had confirmed her pregnancy, there’d be plenty of time to set up a nursery.

  Her appointment wasn’t until the twenty-third, but she was fortunate to get one as quickly as that, so she wasn’t complaining. Seeing the doctor that close to Christmas had its advantages. That way she wouldn’t need to wait long to make the announcement to both sets of parents. If she saw Dr. Benoit any sooner, she’d never have been able to keep the happy news to herself.

  Andrew’s mother would be thrilled. Her own, too, of course, but her parents had plenty of grandchildren, while Shirley Lundberg impatiently waited for her first.

  Leah had had names picked out for years. If they had a girl her name would be either Sarah, Hannah, or Elizabeth. A son would be named Isaac, Samuel, or John. Few understood the significance or what had prompted her decision.

  The names were Biblical. Leah shared a good deal in common with the three women. Sarah, Hannah, and Elizabeth had been barren too, but God had heard their prayers and answered them with the birth of their firstborn child. As it happened, all three were boys, and those were the names she’d chosen for her own child, should she bear a son.

  Deep in her heart, Leah felt this child was a miracle. He was a testament to faith. Over the years her hope had grown weak and faltered, but God had listened. He’d heard her cries. Even when it seemed all that was returned to her was the echo of her own sobs, God had been faithful.

  Unable to leave the infant department without purchasing one small item, Leah opted for a beautiful sterling silver Christmas tree ornament for Andrew with Baby’s First Christmas beautifully inscribed in the silver. Technically she was a year early, but she was eager for Andrew’s reaction when he opened this gift. By then he’d know for certain she was pregnant.

  As she suspected, her husband was waiting for her when she arrived home from her Christmas shopping spree. He trailed behind her from the garage all the way into the guest bedroom, where she stored the unwrapped gifts.

  “How’d the shopping go?” he asked, following close on her heels.

  Leah set her purchases on the bed and tossed him a saucy smile over her shoulder. “Very well, thank you.”

  “Did you buy me anything?” One thing she’d always loved about Andrew was his childlike attitude toward Christmas. He was like a little kid about presents. He played silly guessing games with her, checked out the packages under the tree as often as he dared, and shook his gifts until they were in danger of being broken.

  “I might have found you something,” she answered cryptically, “and then again I might not.”

  “But you did,” he said, sounding confident. He leaned against the doorway and cupped his hands behind his head, as if he had it all figured out. His pose suggested that she needn’t wrap the gifts since he knew everything she’d bought anyway.

  “You were gone a long time,” he commented.

  “Hmmm,” she said, bringing the Christmas wrap out from the closet.

  “Where’d you go?”

  “Andrew, honestly!”

  “Did you know the golf store was having a sale?”

  “That does it,” Leah said, throwing her arms in the air. “Scoot. I’m going to wrap these and I can’t do it with you standing over my shoulder watching every move I make.”

  “Yes, but you have some great moves.”

  “Andrew, please, I’m serious. Scoot.”

  “Aha. So you did buy me something!”

  “Good-bye, darling.” She walked over to the door and closed it. The latch clicked softly into place.

  Andrew stood stubbornly on the other side, refusing to leave. “You’ll call me if you need anything, right?” he asked, sounding downright cordial.

  “In a heartbeat.”

  A minute passed, perhaps two, but no longer. “Do you want something to drink?”

  “No, thank you. Andrew, why don’t you go in and watch television for a while?”

  “Nothing good’s on.”

  “What about football?”

  “The game’s over. How long is it going to take you to finish?”

  “I can’t rightly say.” Was it any wonder family and friends made fun of her gift-wrapping efforts? She used more tape than any three people. She couldn’t wrap a single gift without being hounded by her husband, who behaved more like a six-year-old than a mature adult.

  A long, slow release of breath followed her announcement. “I’m going to make a cup of hot chocolate,” he said, sounding as if he’d lost his last friend.

  “Make two,” she called out. She’d finish up later. By some miracle she’d managed to wrap everything she’d purchased for him, including a box of golf balls. The man had a sixth sense when it came to ferreting out his gifts.

  Andrew was carrying steaming mugs of hot chocolate into the living room by the time she’d put everything away. They kicked off their shoes and snuggled up together on the sofa.

  “When’s your doctor’s appointment?” Andrew asked, rubbing his chin along the side of her head. Leah was convinced she’d told him no less than three times. “The twenty-third.”

  He didn’t say anything for a couple of moments. “How are you feeling?”

  “Wonderful.” Leah smiled to herself. He was becoming a believer. Bit by bit, little by little, as each day passed. Like her, he was afraid to believe. Like her, he couldn’t make himself not do so.

  “You know what I was thinking this afternoon?” she said, tilting back her head so their eyes could meet. “I’d like to start attending church services again.”

  “What brought this on?”

  “I don’t know. I realized it’s been months since we last went to church. Far too long, and you know what? I miss it.”

  “I’ve always loved singing Christmas carols,” Andrew said wistfully.

  Leah nearly choked on her hot chocolate. “You can’t sing.”

  “I know,” he admitted readily, his eyes bright with silent laughter, “but that never stopped me.”

  “I noticed.” She loved to tease him. It felt good to be together like this. “You wouldn’t mind then if we went back to church?”

  His eyes met hers. “Why should I? I think it’s a good idea.”

  Leah nestled back into the warm security of his arms.

  “It seems
we have a good deal to be grateful for lately.”

  “Yes, it does,” she agreed.

  The moment was peaceful and serene and Leah happily traipsed along the meandering path of her thoughts. They led her on the same well-traveled road she’d traversed so often, trying to picture what Andrew’s and her child would be like. She hoped, boy or girl, that their baby would inherit her husband’s love of life, his excitement and joy for the little things.

  “Leah,” he said after a moment, “do you still believe you’re pregnant?”

  “I know I am. It’s there—that confident feeling inside me. We’re going to have a child, Andrew.”

  “You realize you’ve got me believing it now too, don’t you?”

  “Yes, and that’s even better.”

  “This could be dangerous thinking for us both. We might be setting ourselves up for another major disappointment, and I don’t think either one of us can take many more.”

  “We aren’t,” she assured him, not doubting, not even for an instant. “Here, feel,” she said, taking the hot chocolate and setting it aside. Then, reaching for his hand, she pressed his palm against her stomach, holding it there, her fingers pressed over his. “Now tell me what you believe.”

  He was silent for what seemed like an eternity before he wrapped his arms around her and brought her tight against him, holding her as if he were suddenly afraid and needed someone to cling to.

  “I love you,” she whispered.

  “I know,” he whispered, and when they kissed she realized he was trembling.

  “Monica,” her father said, walking into the living room, his look contemplative. “Michael called again.”

  The needle was poised in her fingers, ready to pierce the linen fabric. “I don’t feel much like talking, Dad. Would you make my excuses?”

  “I explained you were a little under the weather.”

  She pulled the thread through the material. “Thank you.” The needlepoint was a means of occupying her mind, but she doubted that she’d ever finish this project. The Ten Commandments were filled with Thou Shalt Not and that was the way she’d viewed life. Her views had subtly changed, thanks to knowing Chet.

  Her father claimed his favorite chair across from her and reached for his Bible. He opened it and silently read for several moments before he gently closed the yellowed pages and set the leather-bound book aside.

  “I’ve waited now for three days for you to tell me why you’re so low. I don’t know that I have the patience to hold out much longer.”

  Monica set aside the needlepoint, not knowing where to begin or how. The pain was too fresh yet, too raw. She lowered her gaze to her lap and clenched her hands together. Her father was a patient man, and she prayed he’d understand her hesitation.

  He gave her a few moments, then leaned toward her and gently patted her knee. “It’s at times like these that I wish your mother were alive. She’d be much better at understanding what’s wrong than I am. Funny, isn’t it,” he said with a sad sort of laugh, “I counsel people from all walks of life and I can’t help my own daughter.”

  “Dad, it’s not that.”

  “I know, love. If it will make it easier, you don’t need to tell me there’s a man involved in all this. I have eyes in my head. In the beginning I believed it was Michael, but it’s obvious he’s not the one.” He reached for his handkerchief and methodically cleaned his glasses. “I apologize for playing the role of the matchmaker with you two. I should have known better. I’m an old man who would like grandchildren someday.”

  Monica closed her eyes to a fresh wave of pain. Now there would be no children, because there was no Chet. It was melodramatic to think she would never fall in love again, never marry. But right then that was exactly how she felt.

  “Whoever this young man is I’d like to thank him,” her father continued after a lengthy silence.

  “You don’t know him, Dad.”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  She was forever grateful he didn’t play a game of cat and mouse, attempting to guess Chet’s identity.

  “For the first time since you entered your twenties you’ve taken your eyes off yourself. You’ve worked so hard to do the right thing, to be the perfect example of God’s love to others. Soon you focused all your efforts on yourself and how good you were. It was then that you started to notice the flaws in others. It became a vicious circle and I couldn’t seem to reach you with the truth.”

  Monica raised her gaze to his. “I don’t understand.”

  “Forgive me for sounding like the preacher I am. You’re my only child and I love you more than words can say, but there’ve been times I wanted to take you by the shoulders and shake you good and hard.”

  “For what?” Although she asked the question, Monica was well aware of the answer.

  “For standing in judgment of others instead of trying to look at them through God’s eyes,” her father continued.

  “The man, his . . . his name is Chet,” she whispered, feeling she owed her father some explanation. “I met him downtown, the first time the ensemble sang. He was going into a tavern and I tried to stop him by telling him how wrong it was for him to drink.”

  Her father smiled at that and settled back in his chair. “I suspect he didn’t listen to you.”

  “No, quite the opposite. He laughed.” She did too then, at the memory. Softly, sadly. “We met again by accident later and several times more by design.

  “I couldn’t understand what it was I found so intriguing about him. He’s not like anyone I’ve ever known.”

  “You’ve been raised in the church. Your experience with the world has been limited.”

  She reached for a tissue and twisted it between her fingers. “He’s a former policeman and has lived a hard life. He’s done things neither of us would ever dream of doing. He’s been shot and sometimes carries a gun, although he doesn’t realize I know that.”

  “A gun?”

  “At first glance he looks rough and mean,” she hurried to explain, “but on the inside . . . I don’t think I could have found a better man to love. He was honest when he didn’t need to be, and gentle. There were any number of times he could have seduced me and didn’t.”

  “I see.”

  The strain in her father’s voice produced a small smile. She shouldn’t have told him that part. Any father would have reacted the same.

  “He’s so damn noble I could cry . . . and have,” she said, clenching her fists.

  “I take it he’s the one who insisted you not see each other again?”

  Monica nodded. “He never said he loved me, but I know he does. He loves me so much he was willing to send me away rather than take the chance of hurting me.”

  “Monica,” her father pleaded, “why didn’t you bring him to meet me?”

  It was a question that had plagued her as well. One she’d repeatedly asked herself the last few days. Chet had claimed he wanted it to end before there were more regrets, but she’d stewed in them for days. She feared Chet had assumed she was ashamed of him and that simply wasn’t the case.

  “I don’t know why I didn’t introduce you. I guess I was afraid you’d think ill of him, or me.”

  “But, Monica, you love this man. That would have been enough of a character endorsement for me. Your mother and I raised you and if you can’t judge a man’s worth by now then you wouldn’t be our daughter.”

  “Oh, Dad, I wish I’d done so many things differently and now it’s too late. Forgive me for not trusting you. I’ve been wrong about so much.”

  Her father patted her knee once more. “There’s a special man for you. Remember how hurt you were when you learned Patrick was engaged.”

  Patrick. She’d nearly forgotten about him. It was laughable to think she’d been anything close to loving her former boyfriend. Her pride had been hur
t at Patrick’s surprise announcement. Far more than her ego was involved this time, and Monica sincerely doubted that she’d ever be the same again.

  Chapter 16

  “Hey, man, you don’t look so good,” Lou, the Blue Goose bartender said as he poured Chet another shot glass of Kentucky bourbon.

  “If you’re looking for a pretty face,” Chet muttered, “call Trixie.”

  “You got the flu?”

  “Yeah,” Chet said, thinking that would get Lou off his back. He wasn’t interested in company or conversation.

  “Then get the hell out of here,” Lou continued. “No one wants to be sick for Christmas.”

  Christmas. It was just another day like all the others as far as Chet was concerned. Christmas was for families and he didn’t have one. No one bought him gifts, and there certainly wasn’t anyone he cared enough to buy one for other than . . . His thoughts came to a grinding halt.

  Funny how a woman could mess up a man’s mind. He’d known Monica what . . . two, three weeks? He’d lost count and within that short amount of time she’d managed to worm her way into his heart until she was like a virus that had spread to every part of his body.

  He couldn’t eat or sleep for want of her. He couldn’t close his eyes without his head filling up with thoughts of her. Nor could he get the image of her out of his mind. The one of her standing at the end of the pier, the wind ruffling her hair, her beautiful eyes bright with tears . . . and love. A love so damn strong it was like a torchlight beaming directly at him.

  That final picture of her would haunt him to the grave. He didn’t know how he was going to get through the rest of his life without her.

  The rest of his life. Chet nearly laughed out loud. What life? That was the real question. He was sick to death of the endless lies, the constant need for charades, flirting with disaster.

  That’s how it’d started with Monica. A game, because she irritated him. One diversion too many and this time he was paying the piper in spades.

  The empty days stretched out before him, followed by cruel nights staked out in some dark alley or a cheap hotel room crawling with loneliness.