by Marta Perry
“I didn’t let her.” She looked at him defiantly. “I said her X rays had shown a problem and talked an intern into ordering more tests. By the time it was caught, the police had arrived. Once we could tell her that he was locked up, they were able to get the truth.”
He looked at her steadily. “And what happened to you?” He knew the answer to that one, too.
“I lost my job.” Her lips trembled momentarily, and she pressed them together. “It was worth it.”
“Maggie—” What could he do with someone like her? “You know as well as I do that she probably turned around and went right back to him as soon as she was out of the hospital.”
“At least I gave her a chance.”
“You sacrificed your job. Now you’re probably going to pay the same price again. Don’t you see that—”
He stopped. She wasn’t answering. She couldn’t.
Maggie—determined, stubborn, always strong Maggie—was crying. Tears spilled down her cheeks without a sound, and she made no effort to wipe them away.
“Maggie.”
Softer this time. Then he put his arm around her and drew her against him so that her tears soaked into his shoulder.
“It’s okay.” He patted her gently, as he’d seen her pat the kids. “You’ve done everything you could.”
She let out a shuddering breath that moved across his cheek. “I failed.”
“You didn’t. You did your best.” He tried to think of something else encouraging to say, but he couldn’t. Maggie was crying in his arms, and he couldn’t find a way to comfort her.
Because the truth was that she probably had failed. Nella probably wouldn’t come back. The children would end up in foster care.
And Maggie? He stroked her back, feeling the sobs that shook her.
Maggie needed so much to be the rescuer instead of the victim that she could lose her way entirely if she didn’t save Nella and the children. And there didn’t seem to be one thing he could do about it.
Even if the organist hadn’t been playing “Adeste Fideles,” Maggie would have known it was the Sunday before Christmas. It was in the air—the scent of the pine boughs on the chancel rail, the scarlet of poinsettias banked in front of the pulpit, the rustle of anticipation. She might be the only person in the sanctuary who wasn’t consumed with excitement over the approach of Christmas.
All she could feel was dread as she glanced at the three children sitting in the pew with her. How long? How long until social services snatched them away?
She’d put Joey on her right, experience having taught her it was best to sit between him and Robby if she was to have a semblance of control during the service. Joey was on the end, taking advantage of this position to crane around and gape at each person who came into the sanctuary during the prelude.
She touched his shoulder, turning him toward the front, and he grinned at her, eyes sparkling. Her heart clenched.
Don’t let me fail these children, Lord. Please, don’t let me fail.
But how could she expect God to pull her out of this situation? She was the one who’d gotten into it, so sure she was right and that Nella would come back on her own. She’d betrayed the secret to Grant. And she’d been so weak as to break down in front of him.
She should never have let that happen. Excuses came readily to her mind—she’d been exhausted, stressed, worried about Nella. But she couldn’t lie to herself, and certainly not in the Lord’s house.
She’d grown to care too much for Grant. She’d never intended to, and she hadn’t even seen it coming. She’d been blindsided by the emotion. When had her initial dislike changed to grudging respect, and respect to liking? And liking to love?
Love. She forced herself to look unflinchingly at the word. She’d fallen in love with him.
Nothing could possibly come of it, even without the complication of the Bascom kids. They were far too different for that. But she loved him.
Worse, she’d shown him everything there was to know about her. He could use it against her.
But he hadn’t.
All the way home from West Virginia on Friday night she’d waited for that, and it hadn’t come. During office hours the day before, she’d been keyed up every moment for him to confront her about Nella and the children. He hadn’t.
Instead, he’d been considerate. Kind. Almost as if he felt sorry for her.
Robby wiggled next to her, and she put her arm around him. He snuggled close, resting his head against her side, and her heart hurt again.
Grant probably did feel sorry for her. He’d be sorry, too. But she suspected that wouldn’t stop him from calling social services first thing Monday morning.
The prelude ended, and the organist played the first notes of “Joy to the World,” the opening hymn. As she opened the hymnal, Joey leaned perilously far out into the aisle.
She grabbed him, glancing back to see what so attracted him, and her breath caught.
Grant. Grant had come to church, for the first time since that night at the Christmas pageant rehearsal.
Before she could think what that might mean, he’d started down the aisle. As he passed them, Joey reached out to grab his arm.
“Sit with us, Doc.” What Joey thought of as a whisper was loud enough to be heard all the way across the sanctuary. “We have room.”
Grant sent her a questioning look, as if asking permission.
Everyone was watching them. She could hardly deny him a seat. She managed a smile and slid Tacey and Robby over to make room. He sat down, Joey between them on the worn wooden pew.
This shouldn’t be worse than being alone with him at the clinic. After all, he could hardly bring up any painful subjects while they were worshiping.
Still, she fumbled for the hymnal page, her fingers suddenly clumsy. She was just thrown by the unexpectedness of it, that was all. What had led him into the service this morning?
“Joy to the world, the Lord is come.”
Voices sang out. Grant grasped the edge of her hymnal, holding it between them, and her vision blurred. What was he doing here?
The hymn ended on its triumphant, ringing note, and a rustle went through the sanctuary as the congregation sat down. She fixed her gaze firmly on Pastor Jim.
She would not look at Grant. She would not wonder why he was here, or what he was thinking. But she couldn’t help being aware of his every breath, no matter how she tried.
She managed to keep her eyes fixed to the front until the Old Testament reading. Pastor Jim had chosen the passage from Isaiah.
“For unto us a child is born, unto us a son is given.”
Powerful emotion swept her at the words. That linking of the most intimate, personal love of a parent for a newborn child with the advent of the Lord of all creation—how could anyone not be moved by that?
Something, some infinitesimal tension emanating from Grant, pulled her attention irresistibly. She turned, just a little, so that she could see him.
He was struggling. Probably no one else in that sanctuary could guess at the emotions surging under his calm exterior, but she knew. It was as if they were connected at the most basic level.
Something was wrong between Grant and the Lord. She’d known that since the night of the pageant rehearsal. She didn’t know what, and she didn’t know how, but that inner warfare was coming to a head.
Please, Lord. She didn’t know how to pray for Grant, but she had to. I hold Grant up to You, Father. You know the secrets of his soul. Touch him. Heal him.
Through a jumble of emotions she tried to listen to the rest of the sermon. Her mind seemed able to pay attention at one level while all the time, underneath, a constant stream of prayer went on. Touch him, Lord. Please.
The service flowed on to its close. Pastor Jim raised his hands in the benediction, then paused, holding the congregation with his smile.
“And whatever you do, don’t forget to be here tomorrow night for the pageant. It wouldn’t be Christmas Eve without each a
nd every one of you.”
She rose automatically, shepherding the children into the aisle. Grant let them pass and then moved close behind her. She felt his hand on her back, guiding her toward the door. His touch sent a tremor through her. Longing, need, apprehension, all jumbled up together, leaving her knees weak.
She managed to smile and speak as she walked up the aisle, hoping she looked normal enough to everyone else. Pastor Jim shook hands with each of the children. As they scrambled down the steps, he took Maggie’s hand in both of his.
“Everything okay?”
Apparently she wasn’t looking normal, at least not to someone as observant as Pastor Jim.
“I’m fine.”
He pressed her hand. “If you need me, you know I’m here for you.”
“I know,” she said softly.
She stepped through the doorway. A damp wind swept down the street, bringing a promise of snow. She shivered, pulling her coat around her.
Behind her, she heard the pastor greeting Grant, sounding as relaxed and friendly as if Grant attended every Sunday. If Grant felt embarrassed, his response didn’t betray it.
“You’re coming to the pageant tomorrow night, aren’t you?” Pastor Jim was at his most persuasive. “Maggie and the children have worked so hard on it.”
“I’ll try,” Grant answered evasively.
She started down the steps. Joey had found a patch of snow left on the church lawn and was busy packing a snowball.
“Joey.” Her voice contained a warning.
The boy looked at her, grinned and dropped the handful of snow.
“We’d better get on home and fix some lunch,” she began, then stopped when Grant touched her arm.
She glanced up and found her gaze trapped by his.
“Do you have a minute?” His voice was firm and determined, as if he’d made a decision and intended to carry it out, no matter what.
Something chilled inside her. “Not really. I was about to fix lunch for the children.”
He frowned. “Can’t Aunt Elly watch them for a while?”
“I don’t—”
“I’ll be glad to take care of them.” Aunt Elly, unfortunately, had heard. “Joey, Robby, Tacey, come on with me. You can play outside after you have lunch and change your clothes.”
Before she could think of another excuse, Aunt Elly had tramped off, chasing the children in front of her.
She straightened her shoulders and managed to look Grant in the eyes. “What is it?”
“Let’s take a walk.” His face was grim. “I have something to tell you.”
Her heart seemed to stop. Only one thing Grant might have to say would put that look in his eyes.
Grant could see Maggie’s fear in the way she braced herself, as if preparing for a blow she knew would fall. That reminder of the abuse she’d suffered from her father dented his confidence, and for an instant he questioned himself.
He was doing the right thing—no, the only thing possible. In these circumstances, with the children’s happiness at stake as well as the future of the clinic, he couldn’t see any good solutions.
He could only do what his training had taught him to do. He had confidence in that, at least.
That didn’t make it any easier to take a step that would cause Maggie pain. His heart clenched again. She’d endured so much already.
They’d covered most of Main Street without speaking. Still without saying anything, they turned as if in silent agreement onto the lane that wound toward the woods. They’d come this way before, with the children, in search of that lopsided Christmas tree.
Last week’s snow had gone from the roads, but it still lay in patches in the fields and the woods. Maggie tilted her head to look at the leaden sky.
“You’d better warm up your shovel. It’s going to snow again.”
He followed her gaze. The clouds didn’t look any worse than usual to him. “How do you know?”
“I just know.” Her lips twitched in what might have been an attempt to smile.
“Button Gap will have a white Christmas, then.”
Two days until Christmas. Would he still be here? He’d been going over the question in his mind. Technically, his stint at the clinic lasted until the end of the week, but the volunteer doctor coordinator had given him the option of leaving to spend Christmas with his family.
Not that he had any intention of doing that. Christmas in the Hardesty mansion wasn’t something that would warm the cockles of anyone’s heart.
Still, he could leave. No one would blame him. He didn’t have to let anyone know he was back in the city until the holiday had safely passed.
“I realized I never thanked you for going to West Virginia with me.”
Maggie’s voice sounded oddly formal, as if she had practiced saying that. Or maybe she was just trying to distract him from what she must know he intended to say.
“It was no problem.”
The ironic thing was that he didn’t need any distracting—he was distracted enough already. The thing he had to say kept tying his tongue in knots.
No. That wasn’t what tripped him up. Each time he looked at Maggie, he found himself thinking instead how incredibly dear to him she’d become in such a short time. He wanted to stop dead in the road, pull her into his arms and kiss away the tension and fear in her dark eyes. He wanted to hold her close and feel her hair like silk against his cheek.
He wouldn’t. But he wanted to.
All right, he had feelings for Maggie. Their footsteps scuffed along the gravel lane in perfect tempo, as if they’d been made to walk side by side.
But a relationship between them would never work. It was not just that they were too different. Lovers could surmount that difficulty.
They wanted different things out of life. That was what it came down to, and that was why they’d only hurt each other if they tried to build a relationship.
If everything about the Bascom children came out, if the clinic were closed on his watch, he might lose the partnership with Dr. Rawlins. He faced that. He’d deal with it. That wouldn’t change the kind of life he wanted, nor the kind of life Maggie needed.
Say it. Tell her.
“Maggie—”
“I was surprised to see you in church today.” She rushed into speech as if to stop him. “You don’t usually come.”
“No.”
He couldn’t explain to Maggie what he led him into the sanctuary that morning. No, not led. Drove. Something drove him there, in spite of every intention to the contrary. He couldn’t explain, because he didn’t know himself.
He only knew that a battle was going on inside him, as if some part of himself that he’d buried a long time ago had risen up and demanded attention. He realized Maggie was waiting for more of an answer than his curt negative.
“I thought I’d like to hear Jim’s Christmas sermon, that’s all. He’s a nice guy.”
“He is. Does that mean you’re leaving before Christmas?”
“No.” Sometime in the last few minutes that seemed to have been decided for him. He wouldn’t be a coward. He’d stay and face the consequences of what he had to do. “I owe the clinic the rest of the week. I’ll work out my days.”
Tell her. Just say it.
He stopped abruptly, catching her hand and turning her to face him. He didn’t want to look at her, but he owed her that much, at least. He’d have to watch the fear in her eyes change to hate.
He pushed the words out. “I’ll let the kids have Christmas with you. The day after, you have to call social services. If you don’t, I will.”
Chapter Twelve
She was losing.
Maggie leaned against the kitchen sink, staring out the window through the steam created by her breath. Snow. As she had predicted, snow was falling. It was December the twenty-fourth, and they would have snow for Christmas.
And the next day, Nella’s children would be scooped up by social services. She might never see them again.
/> She frowned at the bird feeder on the hemlock branch. A scarlet cardinal shared seed peacefully with three chickadees and a pair of nuthatches, until a blue jay swooped in, scattering the other birds.
She’d have to send Joey out with more seed. He loved that job.
Soon Aunt Elly would come tramping cheerfully through the snow to watch the children while she went to the clinic. It might have been any ordinary day. It would be, if she didn’t know what was going to happen as soon as Christmas was past. The knowledge hung on her, weighing her down until it was an effort to move.
She should have known that this would be the end of it, from the moment Grant found out the truth about the kids. She’d thought her heart couldn’t hurt anymore, but thinking about Grant brought a fresh spasm of pain.
Father, help me deal with this. Please, help me see the way.
She tried to cling to the hope that some miracle would take place, bringing Nella home for Christmas. Hope seemed to be in short supply right now.
Please, Father, give me a sign. Give me something to assure me that Nella will come back. She rubbed her forehead, reminded of too many Biblical characters who’d asked God for a sign because they lacked in faith. I believe, Lord. I just don’t know what to do—about the children, about Nella, about Grant. Show me.
She stood still for a moment, trying to listen, and then pushed herself away from the sink. If an answer were forthcoming, it hadn’t jumped into her mind yet. Maybe she’d best get on with her work, and trust God to deliver His answer in His time.
The children were awfully quiet. That couldn’t be good. With a vague sense of foreboding, she walked into the living room.
The kids weren’t there. But her mother’s glass angel lay shattered on the floor beneath the Christmas tree.
She knelt, reaching carefully for the pieces. Maybe she could—
No, she couldn’t. No one could put this back together again.
A tidal wave of grief threatened to drown her, and she choked back a sob. Her last tangible tie to her mother was gone.
