“Mom, I don’t think Bethlehem has a wrong side of town. I’m not sure they have any dumps either.” All the houses she’d caught a glimpse of in her back-and-forth tour of downtown were neatly maintained, not unlike the houses surrounding her parents’ place. “I haven’t signed anything, and no one’s taken my money. I offered to send the manager a check for the deposit, and he said it wasn’t necessary, that we could take care of it when I got here.” A town with so few child welfare problems that it needed only a part-time social worker, and an apartment manager willing to do business with a stranger based on nothing more than a verbal handshake—two strong suggestions that she was in for a nice change of pace.
“Well, I hope you haven’t been taken,” Kathleen said stubbornly. “And remember, honey, nothing’s permanent. If you find that you’ve made a mistake, you can always come back home.”
“I’ll keep that in mind. I’d better get going. I gave you both my home and office addresses, didn’t I?”
“Yes, I’ve got them.”
“And I’ll call you this week with the phone numbers. Give Dad a hug for me and tell him I love him.” She swallowed hard. “I love you, Mom.”
“I love you too. And I really do hope you’ll be happy there, even if I haven’t acted like it. It’s just that we’ve gotten used to having you nearby. We’d hoped to have you here always.”
“I know. But it’s not so far. Think about coming for a visit, will you?” She hesitated only a moment. “I’ll talk to you later, Mom.”
“You be careful.” It was Kathleen’s standard farewell, whether on the phone or in person, and all her life Kelsey had heeded the advice. It was part of the reason she’d wound up in Bethlehem.
After hanging up, she turned toward the car and realized that the courthouse was down the block. Since she still had time to blow before her three o’clock appointment, she drove the short distance to take a look at her new office. She could see what she had and what she needed before tomorrow’s trip to Howland to meet with her new supervisor.
Most of the spaces in the courthouse parking lot were empty. The cars there, she assumed, belonged to the police officers and sheriff’s deputies whose departments filled the first floor. Ignoring the elevator, she climbed broad stairs to the second floor, where city and county offices shared space with courtrooms, and followed an arrow to the third floor, where her own office was tucked among a dozen others.
The frosted glass in the door had been recently painted with the department name. She tried the knob and the door opened with a creak. The reception area was small and about as elegantly decorated as she’d expected—pale green walls, industrial carpet, beige metal desk, and orange plastic chairs. The sole door in the opposite wall led into her office, also pale green, beige, and orange. Two windows looked out on the street, but the view was blocked by the four tall file cabinets lined up across the wall. Once she squeezed behind the desk and leaned way back in her chair, she found she could see a wedge of the street below.
“An office with a view,” she murmured with a grin as she propped her feet on the scarred desk-mat. What more could she ask for?
She turned her attention to unpacking the box she’d brought up from the car. Her degrees came out first, a bachelor’s and a master’s, then the personal stuff—a box of tissues, a makeup kit for emergency touch-ups, a bottle of aspirin, a bottle of antacid. There were a couple of silk plants that looked real, a duplicate of her home address book, and a few family photographs.
The last item in the box was also a photo, framed, its colors faded with age. It was a yearbook picture, enlarged to five by seven inches—a pretty fifteen-year-old girl who hadn’t lived to see sixteen. She and Steph had been born only three days apart, had lived only two houses apart. They’d grown up together and had been best friends forever. Steph was the reason Kelsey did what she did—Steph, and a need for atonement. For absolution.
She stroked a fingertip across the frame, then positioned it on a corner of her desk. Every time she looked up, she would see the picture and remember. She would work a little longer, try a little harder.
With a glance at her watch she decided it was time to go. When she was outside in the sun once more, she paused for a moment. The fragrance of flowers drifted over from the square, along with the sounds of children playing while parents watched from park benches. It was such a lovely, peaceful scene, with no loud music causing the very ground to vibrate, no shouts or arguments, no traffic backed up in the street.
She closed her eyes, breathing in deeply of clean air, peace, calm. The tension seeped from her neck and shoulders, drained out of her fingertips, and fell away. The sensation made her smile as she headed for the parking lot, but the smile faded as she neared her car.
She’d parked beside a mud-splattered truck. Now a man stood behind both vehicles, hands in his pockets, staring at her car as if she’d committed some unforgivable offense. Too much the city girl to succumb to Bethlehem’s charms too quickly, she approached him with caution. “Excuse me. Can I help you?”
His gaze swung to her, but he didn’t speak. She wouldn’t swear he even saw her.
“You’re staring at my car. I didn’t bang your truck. I didn’t get near it.”
He blinked but still said nothing.
She took a step back toward the courthouse and the police officers inside. “Is something wrong?”
Abruptly, as if a spell had been broken, he drew a ragged breath, then expelled it with a harsh laugh. “Nothing that a good shrink couldn’t take care of. Unfortunately, I’m the only one in town.”
Before she could think how to respond to that, he pulled his keys from his pocket, climbed into the truck, and drove away.
Great. In her business she worked closely with psychiatrists, psychologists, and therapists of every kind. That was not an auspicious introduction to the only psychiatrist in town.
The directions the apartment manager had given her were easy to follow and took her to the other side of town. For the price he’d quoted, she didn’t expect a lot, so she wasn’t disappointed. She had nine hundred clean square feet plus a narrow porch in a fifties-era building that held its own shabby charm.
The boxes she’d shipped were stacked in the living room, surrounded by furniture the manager had tossed in for only a few bucks more a month, which was about what it was worth. The sofa was hideous, the dining table wobbled precariously, and the mismatched bedroom furniture bore the nicks and scars of a well-used life. The mattress was too soft, the kitchen sink had a permanent rust stain, and only the colorblind could truly appreciate the pink and lime tile in the bathroom.
“Home, sweet home,” she said with a sigh.
She once again began unpacking. She didn’t have much to show for thirty-five years of living—a few cartons of kitchen things. Two wardrobe boxes with clothes and shoes stuffed in the bottom. A television, VCR, and compact stereo. Fifteen small, heavy cartons of books, two filled with knickknacks, and one with photographs. Her entire life wouldn’t fill the back of a ten-cubic-foot moving truck. It didn’t even fill her life. She had room for so much more.
Maybe in Bethlehem she would find it.
Chapter Two
After leaving the courthouse, J.D. had driven to the hospital, where Noelle introduced him to the kids. It hadn’t been the warmest reception he’d ever received, but it wasn’t the coldest either. He’d been met with far more contempt and distrust than all four Browns combined could muster.
Now, as he fastened his seat belt, he checked the kids in back. They were buckled in, their hands folded in their laps, their expressions somber. Beside him, Caleb was staring mutinously out the window.
“Fasten your seat belt,” J.D. said. When the request brought no response at all, he went on. “We’ll sit here until you do. I’m in no hurry.” He folded his hands over the steering wheel, where he could keep a discreet eye on his watch. The second hand was beginning its third revolution when, with a great sigh, Caleb jerked the seat b
elt across his lap and snapped the ends together.
They’d gone a half dozen blocks when the boy spoke for the first time. “Our father’s coming back.”
For whose benefit was his fierce conviction? The kids’? J.D.’s? Or his own?
“Good,” J.D. replied. “Sometime this week we’ll go out to your house and leave him a note with my address and phone number. That way he’ll know where to find you.”
“You could just take us home and leave us there. The welfare people don’t have to know.”
“I can’t do that, Caleb. You know that. The state put you in my custody. That means I’m legally responsible for you.”
“We don’t need to be in anyone’s custody! We did just fine on our own!”
“Living without electricity or running water? Missing school? Stealing food and going hungry? You call that doing just fine?” J.D. glanced at him and noted the tight jaw, the clenched fists. “I hate to break this to you, Caleb, but that’s no way to live. It’s certainly no way for them to live.”
Caleb glanced in the backseat, then stared out the side window again. His brothers and sister were his soft spot. For six weeks he’d devoted his every waking minute to taking care of them. It wasn’t a job he would relinquish easily to J.D. or anyone but his father. He was convinced that Ezra Brown would return any day, but the authorities doubted he would show his face in town again. Taking care of four kids and a broken-down farm had apparently become more than he could handle, or wanted to handle, and he’d thrown in the towel and headed off to find himself an easier life. The sheriff was convinced of it. J.D. had seen it happen often enough to believe it.
Caleb had faith. But how could he not believe when the only other explanation was that the one person in the world who’d loved them no longer wanted them? If he lost faith in his father, he would lose faith in himself.
“I rent a garage apartment a few blocks up ahead,” J.D. announced to no one in particular. No one showed any sign of hearing him. “It’s not very big. I’ll have to move some furniture out and see about getting some beds for you guys. Two of you can share the extra bedroom, and the other two will have to make do with the sofa bed. It’s pretty comfortable, considering.”
Silence. He might as well have been alone in the truck.
“There are some kids in the neighborhood. You probably know them from school. We’ll have to have some rules regarding when you can go out and where you can go. When I’m at work, you’ll have to stay with a baby-sitter.” J.D. heard Caleb snort. “I don’t know who yet. I’ll have to take a couple of days off until we get all that straightened out.”
More silence. He turned onto Sixth Street, then made a sharp turn into Mrs. Larrabee’s driveway. The garage sat at the back of the property, a two-story structure stained the same deep red as the house. He parked near the bottom of the white steps that made a straight shot to his door. “This is it,” he said as he shut off the engine. “We’re home.”
Caleb gave him a look of pure scorn but didn’t correct him. Gracie did. “This isn’t our home,” she whispered. “I want to go to our home, please.”
J.D. twisted in the seat to face her. “This is your home—for a while, Gracie.”
She looked out the window, then back at him. Her brown eyes filled with tears, and her lower lip trembled. “No, thank you,” she murmured in that fragile, little-girl-lost voice. “We’ll go to our home.”
“I can’t take you there,” J.D. said, and she burst into tears. Feeling incredibly out of his element, he climbed out of the truck. “Come on. Let’s grab your bags and I’ll show you around.”
He meant bags literally. Their clothing—all that was fit to bring, Noelle had murmured when the nurses handed it over—was packed in paper grocery bags, one for each child. There wasn’t a full bag in the bunch.
While he retrieved the sacks from the cargo area, the kids climbed out of the truck. Though she was too big for him to carry comfortably, Caleb lifted Gracie onto one hip, then gestured toward J.D. with a curt nod. The other boys responded immediately, taking the bags from him, then returning to their brother’s side. Four against one.
This wasn’t going to be easy. But kids weren’t easy, remember? And they were kids—frightened, abandoned kids. He was not only an adult, but an adult recognized at one time as among the nation’s experts on frightened, abandoned children. He could handle them.
Maybe.
He went up the stairs first. They didn’t follow even after he’d unlocked the door, then made a point of waiting for them—not until Caleb gave an almost imperceptible nod.
The apartment was partitioned into a living room, dining room, kitchen, two bedrooms, and one bath. The floors were wood, the walls a pale yellow that was soothing to the spirit. The furniture was mostly antiques, and none of it his. He’d left his furniture behind in Chicago for the new owner of the house. He’d taken nothing but his medical texts, two suitcases of clothes, and one box of mementoes—photographs, mostly, along with a few letters and souvenirs.
He closed the door behind Caleb, then went into the first room. “This is the kitchen. Glasses are in this cabinet.” Looking at the younger kids, he made a mental note to move the glasses to a lower shelf and to stock up on some unbreakables. “The wastebasket’s under the sink. Help yourself to whatever you want, and bring your dishes back when you’re finished.”
He opened the refrigerator and grimaced. He needed to stock up on food too. He would ask them about their favorite foods, but he didn’t think he’d get any answers, not with Caleb glaring at him like that. So he would learn by trial and error—the way most parents learned.
He continued the tour. “Dining room. Living room. My bedroom. Bathroom. Your bedroom—as soon as I get this stuff moved out.” The photographs would go in his room, the books to his office at the hospital, and he would ask Mrs. Larrabee to store the furniture in the garage. Since she no longer drove, she’d gotten rid of her car, so space shouldn’t be a problem. Then he’d have to get beds and a dresser, sheets, pillows, blankets, towels. And clothes. And books or toys or something to amuse them. What amused kids these days?
Not him, he acknowledged as he turned to find all four of them staring at him as if he were from an alien planet. “Which two of you want this room, and which two get the sofa?”
Caleb let Gracie slide to the floor but kept his hands protectively—possessively—on her shoulders. “We only need one room.”
That was fine with him. He could get two sets of bunk beds, squeeze a dresser in, and the furniture problem would be solved. One down, a million or two to go. “Have you had lunch?”
No one answered.
“Are you hungry?”
Still no answer.
“Do you want to watch TV?”
That sparked interest in three pairs of brown eyes, but Caleb quelled it with one look. “We don’t want to do anything but go home.”
“You are home.”
Mimicking his even, taut tone, Caleb said, “This will never be home.”
J.D. drew a deep breath. “Come on out in the living room—”
“We’ll stay here.”
J.D. thought of all the things he wanted to remove from the room, and Caleb’s hostility heightened. “Don’t worry,” he said sarcastically. “We won’t touch anything and get it dirty. We’ll just sit over there in the corner out of the way.”
“Caleb—” The ringing of the telephone interrupted, which was fine with J.D. because he didn’t have a clue what he was about to say. Giving the kid an exasperated look, he left the office and grabbed the bedroom phone on the third ring.
The voice on the other end belonged to Holly McBride, owner of the McBride Inn, former lover, and his best friend. “There’s an ugly rumor going around town that you agreed to act as foster parent to those four kids Nathan found living alone. Is it true?”
“News sure travels fast,” he said dryly. “We haven’t been home fifteen minutes. Where’d you hear it?”
; “I have my sources. Have you taken leave of your senses, J.D.?”
“I’m here with four kids between the ages of five and twelve. What do you think?”
Her chuckle made him feel better in spite of everything. “I think you’re a sucker for anyone who needs you. You always have been.”
Cradling the receiver between his ear and shoulder, he rubbed his temples with unsteady hands. His voice wasn’t very steady either. “Not always, but I try.”
“Need anything?”
“My head examined.”
“What’s that saying? Physician, heal thyself. Anything else?”
“You could come baby-sit while I go to the store.”
Holly burst into unrestrained laughter. “Yeah, right. Do you need anything that doesn’t involve me being left alone with small humans?”
“I need groceries, bunk beds, and a clue as to what the hell I’ve gotten myself into.”
“I can help with the first two. You’ll have to get your clue yourself. See you soon.”
He hung up and listened for sounds from the room next door. There were none.
He wondered what they were doing, wondered what he was doing. He should be tracking down the all-too-persuasive Noelle and giving those kids back to her. She wouldn’t have any problem placing them elsewhere. Bethlehem was full of kind people with generous hearts. She hadn’t even considered anyone else because she’d known what Holly and everyone else in town knew—that he was a sucker for other people’s troubles. For her he’d been an easy way to get rid of the kids.
But he didn’t reach for the phone, and when he rose from the bed, it wasn’t with the intention of taking the kids anywhere. Instead, he changed into shorts and a T-shirt, then went next door to start the process of giving them a place of their own.
They were sitting on the floor in the corner of the office, just as Caleb had said they would. Gracie leaned against him on one side, Noah and Jacob on the other, and all of them watched him. Children so young shouldn’t know such distrust, but it was a sad fact that every day adults gave kids good reason to not trust. If the Brown children had simply been abandoned, then they’d gotten off easy.
Father to Be Page 3
