Jane waggled her head against Helen’s shoulder, indicating her agreement.
"All right, that’s what we’ll do then." She started walking backward down the mall, talking to Nat as she went. "I’m taking Jane down to the bathroom. You guys want to get back in line and we’ll come find you? Libby, where’s Cara and Emma? Maybe they’ve still got a spot…."
Twenty minutes later she and Jane returned to find a grim Nat waiting for her in front of the fountain with three worried–looking kids, one panting dog and no Cara or Emma. Every instinct she possessed—of army officer, adjutant general’s investigator and mother—fizzed to instant attention.
She put Jane down next to Toby, straightened and touched Nat’s arm. "What?" she asked.
"We didn’t find ’em," he said shortly. "Kids looked, Toby looked, not a sign of either one of them."
Her response was automatic. "Are you sure? Maybe if I…"
"I hope so," Nat agreed. "Go."
She pressed his hand. "Back in a minute."
She took fifteen and still came back empty–handed. Stooped in front of Libby. "Lib, did Grammy Sanders say anything, go anywhere before you came to find us with Jane?"
Libby shook her head. "No. She was just standing in the line with us waiting."
"What about Cara?" By sheer will Helen managed to keep her tone calmer than her churning insides. "I know it’s not like her, but did she maybe wander off anywhere, see something she wanted to look at in a store window, tell you she’d be back in a minute?"
"Uh–uh."
"Did anything peculiar happen?" An edge of panic crept out from under Helen’s facade, was stuffed forcibly back in.
Libby cocked her head, clearly thoughtful. "You mean besides Nat running through the fountain?"
Helen shut her eyes, prayed for patience. Ignored Nat’s somewhat strangled but edgy cough above her. "Yes, I mean besides that."
"Well… I don’t know if it’s peculiar ’coz she does it sometimes accidentally ’coz Cara looks like her, but it’s usually only once and then she doesn’t do it anymore…"
"Lib." Helen displayed extreme forbearance, excessive calm. "Don’t be me or Grandma Josephine right now. Don’t make me crazy, ’cause this is important. Say it once and be clear about it."
Libby sighed. "Well, Grammy called Cara ‘Amanda’—"
Nat sucked in air and gripped Helen’s shoulder.
" —and she didn’t do it once like a mistake the way she usually does, she did it a lot like it was Cara’s name—"
"She called Cara ‘Mandy’ on our way over here in the car," Zach interposed suddenly. "Twice. She never did that before." His face paled and twisted and he turned to Nat. "She was talking to Cara like Cara was her little girl, like maybe she was Mom—" His voice broke, steadied. "It was kind of strange, but then she went back to talking to Cara like Cara and the rest of us, and I didn’t pay attention anymore. I’m sorry." Another painful break in his voice. "Was it important, Dad? Was it?"
Nat dropped an arm around his shoulders. "No, I’m sure it’s not important, I’m sure it’s fine, Zach. Don’t worry, it’s fine."
"Maybe we should try having them paged," Helen suggested.
Nat nodded. "You want to go do that? I’ll wait here with the kids in case they come looking for us."
"On my way."
Twenty minutes, half an hour, forty–five minutes passed. Three times the pager called for Emma Sanders and Cara Crockett to meet their party at the Santa Claus fountain. Three times Cara and Emma failed to show. Helen returned several minutes after the third page, pulled Nat away from the kids with strict instructions to Zach and Toby to stand right there and keep track of the younger ones.
"I went outside to check," she said without preamble. "Emma’s car’s gone, Nat."
Panic struck with tidal force. "God, Helen."
She put a hand to his mouth. "Don’t scare the kids, Nat."
"Don’t scare…" Incredulous. Impotent. A parent’s worst nightmare. "God, Helen, where’s my daughter? You’re terrifying me."
Helen rubbed her eyes. The hand she laid on his arm trembled much like her voice. "I don’t feel so calm myself, babe, but there’s more and you’ve got to hear it. I called Jake on the off chance Emma might have gone home, but they’re not there, either. He said he found a couple things this afternoon he thinks we should see. He’ll meet us at the house."
~SATURNALIA—EVENING~
They should have been in the other rooms helping Grandma Josephine sidetrack the kids by decorating the house, Helen thought, or putting up the tree, stringing popcorn, baking cookies, appointing a lord or lady of misrule, attending the Christmas concert up at the church—anything but waiting for the police to arrive in order to report a missing nine–year–old.
She studied Nat, who was looking haggard, sitting alone at the dining room table, head bowed over the fourth–grade school pictures he couldn’t see of his late ex–wife and his daughter. The pictures were of Amanda and Cara at age nine, each dressed in clothing of similar colors, blond hair long and fine and similarly parted, their faces identical. In front of the dining room window looking out to the street, Jake stood holding the Disney World brochures he’d also brought along to show them.
"When Cara gave Emma her school pictures after the wedding, Emma started talking about Amanda and how many things we hadn’t done and now it was too late and how like Amanda Cara was. I said no, Cara was Cara, looks and all, and Emma got mad and went and got out Amanda’s school pictures and found that one, fourth grade, same as Cara, and stuck it in front of my face to prove to me I was wrong."
He swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing convulsively, not only a worried grandfather but a frightened husband who’d loved his wife for more than fifty years and was suddenly on the verge of losing her. "She started saying how much Amanda wanted to go to Disney World when she was Cara’s age, and how we never took her. I don’t remember Mandy ever saying anything about it except in passing, but Emma was certain. She said if we didn’t take Amanda now, we’d never have the chance. She was looking at Cara’s picture, not Amanda’s, and it bothered me some, but I guess I didn’t want to think about it much. Emma gets confused sometimes lately, but it’s usually only for a minute and it always passes. I guess this time it didn’t. I’m sorry, Nat. If I’d realized what was happening, I never would have—"
Nat jerked a hand, cutting him short. "I know, Jake, I understand, it’s not your fault, thanks. And if it was her who took Cara at least Emma loves her and will do her best to keep her safe no matter who she thinks Cara is." His throat tightened against voicing the unthinkable. He forced it out anyway. "Unless she’s so confused she can’t remember…."
Helen flew over to drop to her knees beside his chair. "Nat, don’t do this," she said fiercely. "Don’t go there, it won’t help Cara or any of us. She’s a smart kid. If Emma’s too confused to remember what she’s doing, Cara will try to help her figure it out. She’ll find a way to get to a phone, call us, call for help. She’ll be fine, Nat, she’ll be fine. The police will take Emma’s license plate number and they’ll give it to all the state police between here and Florida and they’ll find her. It’s a straight shot, pretty much I–75 all the way from here to Disney. As long as Emma sticks to the expressway, they can’t miss her. Cara’ll be home tonight or maybe tomorrow, and she’ll be fine, Nat, you’ll see." She locked her arms around his waist and buried her damp face in his chest. Her shoulders shook. "You’ll see."
Bleakly Nat stroked her hair, then put his arms around her and buried his own face with his own tears in the crook of her neck and held on for dear life.
You’ll see….
Chapter Thirteen
~THIRD WEDNESDAY OF ADVENT~
CHRISTMAS, SCHOOL BREAK BEGINS AT NOON
School break begins at noon
But there was no sign of Emma or Cara anywhere along I–75 Sunday, Monday or Tuesday; no trace of them at gas stations or truck stops or McDonald’s restaurants or D
isney World. The police moved phone tracing equipment into the house and deployed a rotating shift of single detectives to man it.
By Wednesday the house was permeated with the fragrance of Christmas spices and Christmas baking and dressed in artificial snow, cedar roping and lights. Vivid–hued frocking of red, green, gold and silver, with mistletoe and angels was everywhere.
Despite its festive appearance, the house was also riddled with fading hope and the encroaching pall of grieving.
Jane and Max clung to Helen and Nat, not wanting to let them out of their sight even to go to school Christmas parties. Understanding too well, Helen kept them home and let them keep track of Great–grama Josey, make sure she stayed out of trouble. Josephine let them into her fascinating bedroom and, without leaving it, guided them around the world and took them on adventures that captured and distracted their young minds, dragged them away from their fears.
Zach and Libby, older, were harder to protect.
Zach was subdued, trying to be manly, but obviously frightened by the tumbled world in which he was supposed to maintain his balance. He called home from school so often Monday that Nat, in despair, finally sent Helen to bring him and Libby home where they could at least see that nothing was happening that they weren’t being told about. Once there, Zach spent his time in Nat’s shadow and kept Toby close to his side, one hand clenched constantly in the dog’s soft ruff, holding tight. On Wednesday morning Helen found him huddled under his quilt on the love seat in her and Nat’s sitting room with a pillow clutched tight to his stomach and his hand flung over Toby on the floor below him, unhealthily asleep with his eyes open wide.
Libby curled herself into the smallest ball she could form in the darkest corner she could find and took losing Cara straight to heart; spent her days living in guilt and haunted silence, trying to deal with a havoc she refused to believe she hadn’t wrought.
"I should have paid attention," she sobbed when Helen found her behind the clothes in her closet after she and Nat spent most of Tuesday afternoon searching for her. "I shoulda seen where they went, but I was watching you and Nat and I didn’t take care—"
"Libby, don’t. Shh." Helen crawled into the closet, lifted her daughter into her lap and hugged her close, rocking her. "It’s not your fault, shh, there was so much confusion and you took such good care of Jane. If anyone’s to blame it’s got to be me because I’m the one who didn’t think before I went after that guy with the coats. I’m so sorry, I just handed Jane to you and went, and you took care of her like I knew you would and—"
"It’s your training, Mom," Libby cried, grabbing a fistful of Helen’s camouflage T–shirt and rubbing her face on it, understanding far too much for her years. "You couldn’t help it, you’re s’posed to do stuff like that."
"Oh, geez, Libby." Helen bit her tongue and looked at the closet ceiling, fighting emotion. "Don’t excuse me for all the stupid things I do, I won’t love you any less if you don’t. When I’m with the army, that’s when I’m supposed to use my training. When I’m with you and Zach and Cara and Jane and Max I’m supposed to be the mom—or at least a reasonable facsimile of a mom, and if I’m not, that’s my fault. I’m the grown–up here, you’re the kid and we should each be able to behave not only like who we are, but like who we’re supposed to be at the time. You did your job, you behaved like the kid who was given her baby sister to watch and you did that so well. Me, I behaved like Peter Pan when I was supposed to be acting like Wendy, so don’t tell me losing Cara was your fault. Nat and I know damned well it’s not."
"I don’t want Nat to hate me, Mama, because I didn’t see where Cara went. Don’t let him hate me, Mama, please."
"He doesn’t hate you, baby, he loves you. I love you. It’ll be okay, baby, Cara’ll be fine, we’ll all be together, shh, shh…."
When she finally got Libby quieted and out of her closet, and had sent her down to help Josephine play with Jane and Max, Helen went looking for Nat. Crept into his arms, held him tight and cried.
Wednesday morning, because she had to do something, had to make something normal no matter how difficult it was to feel it, Helen forced herself to go out and finish her Christmas shopping. When she got home, she compelled herself to go scrounging through the attic for the wrapping paper she thought she’d seen up there last week. It was when she was pawing through one of the old steamer trunks in search of something special to use to wrap Cara’s "from Santa" gift that she found the presents from Amanda.
Lovingly wrapped and ribboned in Victorian paper with intricate, hand–tied bows, bearing hand–cut and hand–lettered angel cards, there were eight boxes of varying sizes and shapes, one for each of the children, for John and for Jake and Emma. Swallowing hard and feeling like an intruding spy, Helen lifted each box out of the trunk and read the attached card. Each bore the intended recipient’s name, a couple of lines of poetry that were both loving and funny, and the inscription With Much Love From Your Guardian Angel.
Hand to her mouth to keep her heart from escaping her throat, Helen rocked back on her heels and stared at the gifts. She was still sitting there staring a short while later when Nat tapped up the attic steps looking for her.
"Helen?"
"Here." A sniff and a gulp straight ahead and to his right. "Whatchya need?"
"Someplace to hide and you to hang on to."
He came to her, held out a hand and let her guide him down to her. Reached out to gather her close and shield his face in the harbor of her neck.
"Nat?" Her arms swept around his shoulders, cradled his head. "What’s happened?"
He shook his head, tightened his hold on her. "Nothing. I hate not being able to do something, break something, find her. Bring her home. Music Minister just called wanting to make sure Cara would be there to play Mary at the children’s Mass on Christmas Eve. I told her I hoped so and hung up on her." His shoulders shook and her neck felt wet. "Damn, you’d think there wouldn’t be any more tears after a while, wouldn’t you? You’d think they’d dry out and stop stinging and just leave the ache."
"Nat." Gently she stroked his hair, rocking him. Loving him. "Nat."
He gave himself a few more seconds of her comfort, then pushed away to wipe his face on his knuckles. Shook his head, trying to clear the fog, jaw working, face wry. Tried to smile. "Well, that accomplished a lot, didn’t it? So, what’re you doin’ up here? I don’t think the house can take any more decorating. Cara gets home, she’s going to wonder what we were thinking."
"Sometimes I wonder myself, but Grandma Jo and Jane and Max enjoyed themselves so much I didn’t have the heart to tell them that in my opinion less is usually more. No, I was looking for wrapping paper for the Santa Claus presents—you know, something we haven’t used to wrap anything you and I are giving them—and I found…" She hesitated. "Amanda left presents for them, Nat."
"For who, the kids?"
"The kids, John, Emma, Jake. Wrapped and labeled and signed with love from their guardian angels."
His laughter was humorless and hurting. "Geez, Helen."
"I think we should put them under the tree, Nat. I think maybe we should send John’s to Henry and Ida, and make sure Emma and Jake get theirs. Maybe it’ll help, let them all know how much she loved them even though she and John couldn’t take the time to say goodbye. Maybe…"
He lifted a hand, caressed her cheek. Nodded sadly. "Whatever you think, Helen. Anything you want…"
* * *
The call came a little after the midnight turn of the calendar page to December 22, a scant few minutes after Nat had desperately and convulsively poured himself into the haven that was Helen.
Still holding onto her with bruising force, he rolled away to snatch the receiver off his bed stand. The next instant he let out a strangled "Hell yes I’ll accept the charges" that brought Helen up on an elbow.
"Daddy?" Cara’s voice sounded tired but strong, not frightened.
He was up, alert, crushing the breath out of Helen with on
e arm while his other hand strangled the phone. "Cara?"
Startled, hopeful, terrified, Helen came equally alert, struggled to sit up while Nat’s grip on her tightened. Leaning against him, she pressed her ear against the receiver beside his. "Cara?"
Laughter came from her end, a nervous giggling, the relieved edge of hysteria. "Hi, Daddy. Hi, Colonel. I don’t know where I am. Can you help me find out and come get me?"
"Yes, of course we will, right now, baby." Nat felt pressure in his lungs, tension in his heart, relief and fear mingling. "First, are you all right? Where’s Emma?"
"Asleep in the car back there," she answered vaguely. "I got out and walked. I’m hungry, Daddy, and my feet are cold. Could you bring me my warm boots and some food?"
"Boots, socks, the refrigerator and your whole wardrobe if you want it, darlin’, but you’ve got to help the Colonel and me find you first." He let go of Helen, sketched a violent Go! gesture in the air.
She scrambled to get dressed, bent to press her lips to his unoccupied ear. "I’m going to make sure that cop downstairs is awake and tracing this, then I’m going to use the other line and wake Caroline and have her put a plane and a helo on standby. Soon’s we get a general location, you and I are in the air and Caroline moves in a ground team to help the police pinpoint the actual."
Nat nodded, jerked his thumb hard at the door as if to say Don’t stand there telling me about it, damn it, just do it! and again spoke to Cara. "Honey, tell me where you’re calling from. Are you at a gas station? Is there a sign? I’m going to keep you on the phone to help the police find you so the Colonel and I can come get you as fast as possible. Describe where you are to me…."
* * *
Cara and Emma were marooned in a snowstorm in southern Utah just west of the Colorado border—on their way to Disneyland, not Disney World.
When Helen finished talking to the police and General Greene, she hung up and called Jake.
Five Kids, One Christmas (The Brannigan Sisters) Page 20
