by Anna Schmidt
A round vegetable basket sat tucked behind the stone out-cropping. There, nestled in the folds of a worn but clean blanket, a tiny child cried out to him, hands fisted, eyes pinched tight, a lusty cry taking hold as the baby begged his help. A scrap of paper with the name “David” was pinned to the top of the basket.
A baby here? On the church step? Who heard of such a thing?
He swallowed hard but didn’t hesitate. He reached in, lifted the child with little finesse, and brought the baby to his chest. “There, there, little one. There, there.”
“Another one?”
Mike turned.
The elderly rector approached Mike, his gaze gentle, his expression knowing. Reverend O’Krepky, Mike remembered, though he hadn’t seen the parish leader in years. A younger reverend had offered his mother’s funeral celebration. “Michael, isn’t it?”
“Yes, Reverend. It’s been awhile.”
The wizened reverend acknowledged his words with an accepting shrug, and in the wisdom of his aged smile Mike saw the boy he’d once been. “In so many ways, Michael.” The reverend noted the basket on the stoop with a glance. “We had a drop-off last week as well. Come here, little one.”
He reached for the infant, but Mike dipped his chin toward the rectory. “I’ll bring him in, Reverend.”
“Ah.” A look of acceptance softened the other man’s gaze. “Follow me.”
“Pieter! Another? So soon?” The middle-aged housekeeper, Mrs. Janas, bustled toward Mike. “Michael, how are you? And your sister, how is she doing? I pray for you both, daily. Your parents were such a gift to our parish, our congregation. They will never be forgotten here, Michael. Nor will you.”
Her words warmed him. She reached out and took the small child from him, and there was no putting off a middle-aged woman reaching to soothe a small child. Mike wisely released the tiny boy to her capable arms.
Cool air swept in where the baby had cuddled against his chest. “This has happened before, Reverend?”
“Often enough.” The reverend followed the baby’s progress with gentle eyes. “During the war, soldiers would come in on leave or before they shipped out. As a result, we had many young women with child before their time. Now the war is over, but it seems the temptation to celebrate comes with consequences.”
“He’s beautiful.”
“You know it’s a boy?” The rector raised a quizzical glance his way.
“There was a note.” He pulled the folded sheet of scrap paper from his pocket and handed it over. “His name is David.”
The reverend took the note, eyed it, and sighed. “And no way of knowing who or where he came from.”
“What will happen to him?” Mike knew he should be catching the subway, he was pushing the time frame, but he couldn’t walk away from this abandoned child and not know something about the baby’s fate. “Are there homes?”
“We have no legal papers and no information, so he’ll go to a foundling home until they clear him for adoption.”
Mike had passed a foundling home on his walk to the Booth Memorial Home the previous day. “How long will he be there?”
“There’s no way of knowing. Sometimes months. Sometimes years.”
Years?
Impossible.
A look in the older man’s direction said it wasn’t. “Can we keep him here, perhaps? For a day or two? See if the young mother comes back?”
The rector looked uncomfortable. So did Mrs. Janas. They exchanged guilty looks, and then the woman shrugged. “We have done that. Twice the young mother has quietly come back to recover her child.”
“God bless you.” Never had Mike meant a blessing so well. He grasped the reverend’s shoulders. “You are a godly man.”
The reverend’s gaze brightened. His eyes twinkled. “You’d know this if you came around more often, Michael. He lives, He reigns, forever.” He swept the cross a look of piety. “No matter what evil man conveys, God’s love covers us.”
Mrs. Janas had already changed the baby’s diaper from a stash not far from her desk. She patted his bottom as she moved to the kitchen, humming a bright Christmas hymn.
“We keep a box of formula on hand. Just in case.”
A new reality dawned on Mike. “If this happens here on a regular basis, how often does it happen in all of Brooklyn? Manhattan? The other boroughs?”
The reverend’s gaze told him it was a regular occurrence.
An idea came to Mike, an idea that seemed God-given in its timing and simplicity. “Father, if no one comes for the child, I have a cousin who has lost two babies. Would it be possible for them to adopt David?”
Reverend O’Krepky frowned, but a spark of interest challenged the frown, as if Mike was brilliant beyond words. “If we follow certain procedures, then, yes . . . possibly. They’d have to do a home study, where a social worker would come and check out their home. Talk with them. Make sure they were suitable for raising a child.”
“Of course.”
“But with a recommendation of the church, the child could be placed with them for the duration.”
Mike felt half-sick, half-empowered. What if Maggie hated him for suggesting an alternative to her own natural child? What if her husband Ben scoffed at the idea, and she loved it? What if . . . ?
“There is a time for every purpose under the heavens,” the rector paraphrased.
A time to reap, a time to sow. A time for war, a time for peace.
Was it as simple as Ecclesiastes suggested? Could it be that evident? “I can contact Maggie and Ben. Talk to them. And then I’ll come see you again.”
“I’ll be here.”
Mike turned to go.
The older man stopped him with a hand to his sleeve.
Mike swung back.
“Welcome home, son.” The old reverend wasn’t a big man, nor was he in the strength of his years, but the vigor of his embrace heartened Mike. “You are always part of us, Michael Wolzak.”
Part of the church. Part of God’s people. Though he’d walked through the valley of the shadow, he’d come home. Now it was his job to do his best as a survivor. “Thank you, Reverend.”
The reverend walked him to the door as the baby’s squeals abated in the room beyond. “You’re off to work?”
“No.” Mike smiled, despite the rain that now fell in earnest. He pulled his cap down over his head and shrugged deeper into his coat. “I’m off to ring the bell for the Salvation Army outside Macy’s.”
“Pick an overhang to stand under,” the reverend directed in a no-nonsense voice as he stepped inside to avoid the pesky drip of a leaky gutter. “God’s work comes under many banners. Peace be with you.”
“And with you. I’ll be in touch.”
He ran the four blocks to the subway, caught the train to Midtown, then hurried the three blocks to Karen’s post outside the sprawling department store.
The kettle was in position, under a broad, green-and-ivory-striped awning to the left of the doors. A bell sat alongside, and as Mike began to toll the bell, he realized that although he’d been home for over a year, he’d been immersed in his mother’s illness and care. His work. His emotions. Until this morning, seeing the reverend and housekeeper exchange glances, he had no idea how prevalent Mary Lynn’s predicament had become.
But his sister wouldn’t bear her child in a dark tenement to leave on a church step. Her child would be born in a clean, antiseptic environment. Homey. Loving. A place like the Booth Memorial Home, surrounded by clean sheets, kind folk, and tender-loving care. He’d see to it, one way or another.
Chapter Ten
• • • • • • • • • • • •
“Where are we going, Mommy?” Laurie wondered late Saturday afternoon.
Karen had done a poor job of hiding her excitement if the child’s gleam was any indication. “We’re taking the train to Midtown to see the lights.”
“In the dark?” Laurie breathed the words as if the thought of walking the dark city st
reets bordered on disbelief. “Alone?”
There was the question of the hour. Karen fought to control an internal surge of sheer joy and shook her head. “Actually, no. Officer Mike and his sister are meeting us there.”
“Really?” Laurie jumped up and down, which made buttoning her blue coat an impossible task. “We’re meeting Officer Mike? Oh, yay! He’s so wonderful, Mommy!”
He was.
Laurie’s tender heart was already opening a special spot for the rugged policeman. As was Karen’s.
But widened hearts equated risk. Too much, perhaps. Her mother had called earlier that day, wanting to meet with Karen. Longing to see Laurie. She’d put her off, unsure. She’d be glad to meet her mother alone and make inroads toward peace. But with Laurie?
Not until she saw a gentler, more sober side to her parents. “Hold still, Laurie. We can’t leave until you’re bundled up, and I can’t do these buttons with you jumping like a jack-in-the-box.”
Laurie laughed, held as still as she could, and then managed to inform three people of their mission as they strode toward the door. Major Flora waved them off from behind the front desk, and her smile offered quiet approval.
The familiar jingle of bells rang out from Macy’s storefront, but Karen’s attention was drawn left of the kettle.
Mike stood there, looking handsome and strong in his thick, wool coat and hat. A teenage girl stood alongside him. Their resemblance to each other was negligible, but the girl’s winsome look reflected the sadness Karen had read behind Mike’s gaze since meeting him. The current holiday season was bittersweet for both. Karen empathized completely.
“Karen!” Mike hurried forward, smiling. He reached out and grabbed her into a spontaneous hug, an embrace that felt like she’d come home at long last. “I was scanning the crowd for your cloak.”
“Ah.” She stepped back, smiled, and nodded. “I wondered why your gaze wandered past me twice.”
“Foolishness on my part.” He exchanged smiles with her, bent and hugged Laurie, then stood, gathering the little girl up into his arms. “Karen and Laurie O’Leary, this is my sister, Mary Lynn.”
“Mary Lynn.” Karen extended her hand and grasped the girl’s gloved fingers. “What a pleasure to meet you. And you are every bit as lovely as your brother implied.”
Mary Lynn’s face softened with pleased surprise. “He said that?” She slanted a quick look to her brother as if doubting Karen’s word.
“I believe beautiful, smart, and talented sums up his praise,” Karen assured her.
“And Mary Lynn, this is Laurie.”
“Hello.” Laurie smiled down at Mary Lynn from her perch in Mike’s arms. “I’m five.”
“And I’m seventeen,” Mary Lynn replied. “It’s nice to meet you.”
Laurie leaned down, clearly secure with Mike’s grasp. “Officer Mike is taking us walking to see the Christmas lights.”
Mary Lynn pretended surprise. “Really?”
Laurie nodded wisely. “Oh, yes. I think it was s’posed to be a surprise, but I could tell because my mommy was so happy. I knew something wonderful was going to happen!”
“Was she now?” Mike leveled a look at Karen that made her blush. Her deeper color inspired his broader smile. “That’s good to know, kid.”
“The joy of the season is contagious, it seems.”
Mike’s gaze softened, but his eyes held more hope than she should ever deserve. “I like bringing you joy, Karen.”
Her cheeks warmed.
Mary Lynn studied the pair of them wistfully, as if her teenage heart longed for that romantic connection. Karen understood that look far too well. “Shall we walk?”
“Oh, yes!” Laurie clapped her gloved hands in a muted show of support. “And may we peek at Santa Claus later, perhaps?”
Karen wavered. Her budget allowed so little. A visit to Santa might set up impossible hopes and dreams, but one look at Laurie’s sweet face said she couldn’t refuse the child. “If it is all right with Mike and Mary Lynn, then yes.”
“I’d love it,” Mary Lynn told Karen. She smiled up at Laurie and patted the little girl’s hand. “My mom and dad used to bring me to see Santa every year when I was little.”
“Why just when you were little?” Laurie wondered, aghast. “Why don’t you come see him tonight? With me? Have you been naughty?”
Mary Lynn paled.
“I, uh . . .” Mike groped for words and came up empty.
“Well . . .” Karen wasn’t sure what to say, how to respond. Soon enough Laurie would leave make-believe behind, but Karen wanted her warmth and innocence to remain as long as possible. Born in the midst of a world war, there had been little fancy in Laurie’s life before now.
The teenager recovered first. “I think that’s a brilliant idea,” Mary Lynn told her. “I would love to go see Santa with you, Laurie O’Leary.”
Laurie’s shout of glee drew attention their way, and the sight of them, looking like a family on a holiday outing, made others smile.
“Then it’s settled,” Mike agreed. He took Mary Lynn’s hand in his and grinned down at her. “We’ll walk and see the lights, then visit Santa, then get a bite to eat.”
“Like a real date,” Laurie informed them.
Mary Lynn turned, surprised but smiling.
Karen blushed, full-tilt.
Mike redirected his gaze down. “Is this a date, Karen? Because I do believe it fits the definition.”
“Louise said that when a man invites you to go walking with him, it sure sounds like a date in her book!” Laurie announced her verdict with all the five-year-old emphasis she could muster.
“I’ll be sure to thank Louise,” Mike mused as they rounded the first corner.
“Or strangle her,” Karen whispered, but the sight of the familiar street, awash in Christmas lights, made her pause. She’d respected the simplicity of the wartime windows three years before, and a part of her embraced that sensibility.
But the array of lights, trees, and panoramic window displays captured her gaze and her heart. Reindeer pulled Santa’s sleigh across the face of one building while below, a dimly lit crèche showed the true meaning of Christmas, a child. A baby, born to the poor.
Light unto the world . . .
“You like it.”
Mike’s voice brought her gaze up. “It’s amazing, Mike. Simply . . . amazing.”
His smile warmed her. Laurie scrambled down to see the windows from the lower level. Mary Lynn grasped her hand as if it was the most natural thing in the world, and Mike did the same to Karen’s.
Her heart melted. This was her dream, from so long ago. To be loved and cherished, to feel the joy of Christmas as God intended, a beloved child, cared for and loved despite the circumstances of birth. Mike’s hand, strong and firm, made hers feel small. Safe. Secure.
She’d never known such a feeling with her parents. Her aunt and uncle, yes. They’d nurtured and loved her as time allowed, until her father ordered them to stay away in an angry exchange of words.
She never saw them again, but she carried their love with her wherever she went. They told her she was special.
She chose to believe them, despite her ragged circumstances at the time.
“How about this?” Mike asked as they turned up Fifth Avenue.
“Oh, Officer Mike!” Laurie danced in front of a Santa’s Toy Shop window, enchanted by the sight. “I bet this is just what the North Pole looks like!”
“I’m sure you’re right.” Mary Lynn stooped low and pointed out tiny stuffed mice, peeking from the corners of the room, watching in awe as the elves worked tiny tools.
“Why are actual mice in the house not quite as cute?” Karen whispered to Mike.
“You mean you don’t outfit yours in tiny striped pajamas with mob caps?” Mike matched his voice to hers but laughed.
“Pesky things. I don’t like mice and I don’t like trapping them. But better to trap them than coexist.”
“You know
the NYPD specializes in removing trapped mice, don’t you?”
She started to send him a dubious look, but their eyes met and suddenly all she could picture was the big, brave policeman striding through her door to take care of the mouse trap under the kitchen sink. “Do they?”
Their gazes locked. For a long moment, neither spoke, caught in a vision of what could be. Puffs of breath mingled beneath the department store lights, while strains of Bing Crosby’s “White Christmas” trickled their way from a block above.
Mike smiled when Laurie straightened to resume their walk, but his hand tucked Karen’s deep into his left-hand pocket. “Perhaps not as a general rule, but this cop would do it. For you.”
She smiled. “My hero.”
Mike’s smile faded. His jaw tightened. The gleam in his eyes went dark. “I’m nobody’s hero, Karen. Just a guy doing his job.”
Karen couldn’t miss the change in face and posture. Should she ask how she’d offended him?
Not now. It was enough to know that he recoiled at the thought of being called a hero. She’d seen that anxiety in many returning veterans, men called to do a job of necessity to regain world peace. But that job had entailed battle. Killing. These choices were not shrugged off easily, but tonight wasn’t a night to rehash war wounds, hers or his. This time together was for the girls, letting them see and feel the joy of Midtown at Christmas.
Silent, she squeezed his hand lightly.
He tipped his gaze down, read the empathy in her look, and his face softened. “Thank you.”
She met his gratitude with a small smile. “You are most welcome, kind sir. I do believe we are about to be dragged in to see the train display.”
“I’ve always loved model trains.” He pushed through the large door, then held it open as they entered. “My father and I would set them up, and then Mary Lynn would come through and in five short seconds have the entire track and pieces knocked over.”
“I was little,” she protested. She held up Laurie’s gloved hand. “Laurie’s age.”
“You improved with time,” Mike agreed with a smile. He reached over and chucked the tip of her chin in a friendly gesture, but Karen caught Mary Lynn’s expression as Mike turned toward the elaborate train displays. Embarrassment and chagrin tainted the teenager’s features as she averted her face. Engrossed in lifting Laurie high to see the upper level trains, Mike missed the look.
