by Teresa Hill
"What's that?"
"There are some things you can only take on faith, times when that's all we have to fall back on. I want you to look in your heart. Deep inside. You've been a part of this church your whole life, and I think that still means something to you. But I know, too, that real faith comes in times like this. When we're tested. It's not until we ask ourselves the really hard questions that we know whether or not we truly believe," he said. "So I want you to think about this. Where do you think she is, Rachel?"
"My baby?"
"Yes. In your heart, don't you know that she's with God, and she's fine? Because that's what true faith is. Knowing. I think in your heart, if you dig down deep, you'll see that you know that you don't have to worry about her. I know it's terrible that you had so little time with her here, but she'll be yours again one day. Do you believe that?"
It was a question Rachel usually avoided at all costs. Where was her baby? Had she simply ceased to exist? Or was she out there somewhere? Sometimes she had nightmares that her baby did exist somewhere, that she was crying and she needed Rachel and Rachel simply couldn't get to her.
So usually, she tried not to think about it at all.
But she'd been raised in the church and grown up on the stories of the Bible.
Stories? Or something real? Was this all there was to this earth? Only what she could see and touch? She didn't believe that. She couldn't. Was someone watching over her and everyone else? Some order to what sometimes seemed chaos? Some master plan?
"There are so many things I don't understand. Things that made me so angry."
"I know. Me, too."
"You?"
"I'm as human as you are," he said.
"But—"
"Now we're talking mysteries of the universe, Rachel. I don't have those answers. I struggle with them myself. Are there things in this world I'll never understand? Yes. Do they trouble me? Yes. Do I get angry at times and even ask God what in the world He thinks He's doing? Yes. Even I do that. But I still believe. I believe in Him and His innate goodness and His guiding hand in my life and in yours. I think you believe in all that, too."
Rachel looked back up at the stained-glass window, at beautiful golden light streaming out of heaven and Jesus' open arms, waiting, just waiting.
"Think He's going to wink at you or something?" Father Tim asked.
Rachel smiled through her tears. "Does He wink at you?"
"No. I stopped asking Him to. I stopped asking for proof or for any kind of a sign. That's the faith part, Rachel. The hard part. Sometimes you have to take it all on faith, because that's all you've got. Not just faith in God. Faith in yourself, too. Faith in the people around you, the people who love you. Sometimes you have to make that leap. Reach out to the people you love, the people who need you. Believe that things are all going to work out somehow."
"I don't know if I remember how to do that," she said.
"Of course you do. You took the children into your home and you've taken them into your heart."
"That was an act of pure selfishness."
"It was an act of faith. At worst, something you did because you needed them and had faith that they could help you. At best—which I choose to believe—something you did because they needed you, too, and you believed you could help them. And it looks like it worked out just fine."
He gave her a handkerchief, and Rachel dried her tears.
"Think about it. And if you need to talk some more, I'll be here." Father Tim nodded toward the image of God. "So will He."
"Thank you," she said.
"My pleasure. I've been waiting for you."
"All this time?"
He nodded. "I knew you'd come back sooner or later."
"Faith?" she suggested.
"Of course. I always knew it was somewhere inside of you."
Chapter 13
Sam was about to go out of his mind.
Rachel had been gone for an hour and a half. It was below freezing outside now, and he had a houseful of kids. He couldn't go look for her.
And he was scared. Scared in an illogical way of what she might do. Scared he might lose her forever. It was the kind of fear that grabbed him by the throat, making it almost impossible to talk, grabbed him in a tight band around his chest and made it hard to breathe.
He couldn't imagine his life without Rachel.
He could start calling her family and tell them she was gone, but they'd want an explanation, more of one than he'd given her father a few nights ago. He could call the sheriff. Not because he thought someone had grabbed her or hurt her, but because the deputies would keep an eye out for her. They were certain to spot her before long. But again, there'd be explanations to give, and he didn't know what he'd say.
He was afraid Rachel was upset because of what Zach said. They'd both stood there, frozen with guilt for wanting these children so badly while Zach told Santa that all he really wanted for Christmas was to have his mother back.
Maybe that's what Sam needed to give the boy, too.
Frowning, Sam looked at the clock once more and then his gaze caught on the road map on the table in the corner. He'd been sitting here staring at the map, looking for a clue, when Rachel had run out of the house.
And now there it was. Right in front of him.
It was as if the name leaped out at him.
Shepherdsville.
Zach said the town had a funny name. Like a dog. That must have been the one he was talking about. Shepherdsville was just across the border in Indiana, about forty-five miles from here. Emma said when her mother left, she promised to be back that day. She should have been able to make the trip there and back in a day with no problem. Except she hadn't come back.
Sam had found it easy to blame her for that at first, to think she must be scum to leave her children that way. But these were good children. Well behaved, well mannered, self-assured. Obviously someone had taken good care of them, at least at some point as they were growing up.
So, if she was a good mother, running away from an abusive husband, but she had to go back there for some reason.... Could she have left them, thinking they were safer here in a motel with Emma than in Shepherdsville with a man who beat her?
Sam stared down at the map and frowned.
He'd never been particularly good at taking care of the people he loved, and he had to do something.
He'd had enough experience with the social services system not to trust it to take care of the kids. Maybe that wasn't fair, because he knew Miriam, knew she worked hard and that she cared as much as she could about everyone she tried to help, as much as she could without going nuts doing the job. And he knew it was a hard job. He hadn't been fair to her over Will. It wasn't her fault. He was sure she'd done all she could. But he didn't trust the system.
Shepherdsville was only forty-five minutes away, and it wasn't a very big town. It was up to him, he thought. It wouldn't be that hard to spend the day there and see what he could find out. He didn't have to tell anyone what he was doing. If it was a dead end, it was a dead end. If he found the kids' mother and she had a good explanation for what she'd done, maybe he'd tell her where she could find her children. If their father was there and he'd done the things Emma believed, Sam didn't know what he'd do to the man. Likely get himself arrested.
No, he thought. He wouldn't. Because that would lead the man right to his children, and Sam wasn't going to be the one who did that.
He'd made up his mind—he was going to that town to see what he could find out—when he heard the back door closing softly and hurried to it, expecting to find Rachel there. She wasn't. And there was no way anyone had slipped past him and gone upstairs.
Which meant... Someone had gone outside. At this hour?
Sam pulled open the door and saw someone disappearing around the side of the house and it didn't look like his wife.
"Emma?" he called out.
She turned for a moment, a lost little girl wrapped up in her new coat and wit
h her new boots on her feet, something he couldn't make out clutched in her hand. What in the world?
Sam waited, thinking she'd come back. But he'd made that mistake once already tonight. He grabbed his coat off the peg on the laundry room wall and took off after her.
"Emma!" he said again as he came to the front of the house and found her standing on the sidewalk on the opposite side of the street. She just looked at him, all sad eyes and what he suspected were big tears. Was every female he knew crying tonight?
Sam was afraid she'd make him chase her, but she didn't. She stopped right there, staring up at their house. So he took his time walking across the street to her, wishing he knew this child better, wishing he would somehow just know what to say to ease her mind.
"Out for a stroll?" he said, as casually as he could manage and noting that she was in her nightgown. It was long and the edges were hanging down below her coat, brushing the top of the snow. She was going to freeze.
"No," she said. "Just to here."
"What are you doing, Emma?" She finally looked up at him and he frowned. Those were definitely tears. Emma, who'd been so brave, was now reduced to tears.
"I had to see the house," she said.
"Why?"
"It's a secret."
"I think you're going to have to share it with me, Em."
She frowned up at him, tearing up again. "My mom called me that."
"Does that mean I shouldn't?" Sam asked gently.
Her bottom lip trembling, she said, "I don't know."
He slipped an arm around her thin shoulders and pulled her to his side, something he'd wanted to do for a long time. She bent her head against his chest and rested there for a moment.
"You want her back, too. I know that."
She nodded. "Do you believe in magic?"
"You mean like rabbits coming out of hats and stuff like that?"
"No. I know that's not real."
"Then what?"
"Signs?" she tried. "Do you believe in signs."
"I don't know. Do you?"
"I want to."
"What kind of sign, Emma?"
"This."
She finally showed him what she'd been holding so closely to her, hidden in the folds of her coat. It was a snow globe. He took it in his hands. A cheap, plastic copy of Rachel's grandfather's work, the kind they mass-produced overseas, while the nicer, more expensive ones were made here at the factory in town.
"It's this house, isn't it?"
"Yes," he said.
"It's one of my most favorite things. Zach's and the baby's, too."
"Where did you get it?"
"I don't know. For Christmas, maybe. A couple of years ago. I've had it for a long time, and I love looking at it. It's so beautiful, and I thought it was a sign. That I had this, and I always thought nothing bad could ever happen in a place like this. And now I'm here. I'm living in this house..."
"So you thought everything was going to be okay?"
"I was sure of it. I came outside and checked the first night we were here, and even before the Christmas decorations were up, I could tell it really is the same house. That's why I knew it was okay that we were here."
"You checked? The first night you were here?"
She nodded.
Sam decided to let that one go. They had bigger things to worry about tonight. "So you thought everything was going to work out? But now it's almost Christmas and your mother's still not back. Now you're not sure."
Emma nodded.
Sam turned her fully into his arms, drawing her close and wrapping her up inside his coat with him. She acted so much like a grown-up at times, he often forgot how little she was. She felt so fragile now, seemed so young.
He thought about all the platitudes he could offer her, about things just magically working out and signs and hope, and he just didn't have it in him to say any of those things. Not now.
He had no idea if she'd ever see her mother again, and he'd love to promise her that he and Rachel were going to make it and that Emma and her brother and sister could stay. That they'd love them and keep them safe forever. But Sam knew there were damned few promises he could make with any certainty, damned few certainties at all. So he thought of what he could do.
"Sometimes, you just don't know what's going to happen, Emma. Sometimes you're going along and things are fine and someone comes along and yanks the rug out from under you. I know that's scary. But I'm afraid it's just the way things are sometimes. But it helps to have people around you that you can count on. I know it's been a lot easier for Zach and Grace because they've got you, and you're so good with them. It's been easier for me and Rachel because you're here, too."
"I'm glad we're here," she said. "If we can't be with Mom, I'm glad we're here."
"I'm glad, too," he said. "And you can count on us. Will you do that, Emma? Will you let us do what we can to help you? And when you're worried or scared, you should come to us, okay?"
She nodded. "I will."
"Good. I don't know where your mother is. I don't know what happened to her, but I was thinking that I could go look for her."
She brightened at that. "You would?"
"Yes. And I don't want you to be scared of that. I don't have to tell anybody why I'm looking for her or where you and Zach and Grace are. I'll just go see if I can find her."
"My dad..." she began. "He gets really mad sometimes."
"I'm not going to let him find you."
"But, he might... hurt you."
Sam would like to see him try. "I think I can take care of myself, Emma. It's different when a man's trying something like that with another man. It's not as easy to push a man around as it is a child or a woman. "
"Okay."
"So tomorrow, I'll go see what I can find out about your mother."
"Do you want me to tell you her name? It's not the same as my dad's. Not anymore," she said. "We changed it. We changed 'em all. So if anybody asked, you still wouldn't know my dad's name. You still couldn't tell. Nobody could send us back to him."
Sam hesitated. They were splitting hairs here. He didn't want to know her father's name before because he didn't intend to ever say anything about her father to anyone. But if that's where Emma's mother went and something happened to her... The situation had changed. He wasn't sure he could explain that to Emma without scaring her. Shepherdsville was a fairly small town. He didn't think it would be that hard to find out about her mother.
"You don't have to tell me her name," he said. "But she was going to Shepherdsville, in Indiana, wasn't she?"
"You know?" she asked breathlessly.
"I just figured it out. But I haven't told anyone."
"Okay."
"Okay. Let me see what I can find out. If I need her name, I'll call from there. We'll let this be our secret, okay? I don't think we should tell anyone about it until we know something, okay?"
"I can keep a secret," she said.
"I know. I'm going to do my best to bring her back to you, Emma."
"She's going to be in trouble, isn't she? For leaving us like that. I heard that lady—Miriam—talking about it. Mothers get in trouble for things like this."
"They can. It depends on why she left you, why she didn't come back."
"Something must have happened to her," Emma cried. "She's a good mother. Something must have happened."
"I'll find out," he promised. "Do you trust me to do that, Emma?"
"Yes," she cried.
"Okay."
He looked down at the snow globe, still clutched in her hand like a talisman to ward off evil, and thought about the chances of Emma having this with her when she ended up here. He thought about signs and faith and hope and what little he had left that he truly believed in, that he'd ever believed in in his entire life.
Of course, Emma was here, and she was safe. She and her brother and sister had arrived here just in time to save his wife from what he feared now would have been a serious depression and they'd gott
en him and Rachel to talk about things they hadn't dared mention in years. What were the chances of that? Of anything saving them at this late date?
"You don't believe, do you?" Emma asked solemnly, holding her prize possession out to him.
Sam took it and gave it a little shake. The snow started tumbling down on the little house, and it did indeed look like something out of a fairy tale. He'd thought that the first Christmas after he and Rachel had finished restoring the house and then spent money they didn't have to deck it out for Christmas. It had looked like a fairy-tale place.
Of course, they'd already lost their baby by then and Rachel's grandfather had been sinking fast. Her mother was soon to follow. A pretty place didn't make a pretty life for the people inside of it.
"Rachel said she used to believe this was a magical house," Emma said.
He wondered if that was before or after they'd come to live here and thought it must have been before. And there was no sense thinking of things like that. They couldn't go back, and he wasn't sure if they could go forward. He wasn't sure of anything anymore except that he was going to do all he could to help these lost, scared kids.
"I don't know what I believe in anymore, Emma. But I'll go tomorrow to look for your mother," he said gently. "Can we go inside now?"
"I guess so."
He left his arm around her shoulders and kept her close. "You have to promise me something else."
"What?"
"You will never sneak out of this house again."
"Okay. I'm sorry."
"It's all right. I just worry about you. I don't want anything to happen to you."
"Okay."
He walked inside and up the stairs with her, waited out in the hall while she changed into a dry nightgown, and then tucked her into bed and kissed her cheek.
"Sam?" she whispered when he was nearly out the bedroom door.
He turned back around. "Yes."
"You're really a nice man. I wasn't sure when we first came here. I was—"
"Scared of me, Emma?" he suggested.
"A little."
"I'm sorry. Rachel and I were going through some rough times."
