Twilight Christmas: A Carolina Coast Novella (Carolina Coast Novels Book 3)

by Normandie Fischer

  Now, he was gonna have to put his mind to work to find food without going to the store again, at least not while Linney was this upset.

  He could wash her up, but no way could he wash the blankets. And no way could they sleep on peed blankets either. Then his clothes would stink, and he’d never be able to sneak anywhere.

  “Wan’ Mama. Wan’ Baby.” Her words sneaked under his skin.

  He’d have liked a mama who fixed things, too.

  He sat with his back against an upturned crate and drew his sister close, shushing her with soothing words, promising that everything would be okay.

  Straightening his glasses, he gazed bleakly through the biggest crack, longing to be eighteen instead of ten, a man with a job who could take proper care of Linney for the rest of her life and see that she never got scared or hurt again. And because he was so scared, too, he closed his eyes and sent up a prayer to the God his mama had stopped praying to last year when Bobby’d left with curses comin’ out his mouth and the stink of alcohol on his breath.

  “I ain’t paying you another red cent,” Bobby’d screamed, “nor givin’ you another thing, you—” And that’s where Louis shut off the memory. He wouldn’t even let himself remember the filthy words the man had used toward Mama before he’d gone on to shout equally nasty ones about Linney. Bobby didn’t want to be with Mama, but calling her bad names didn’t make her bad. Mama may have been real stupid about men and about how you got a kid, like she’d said, but she wasn’t those things he called her. No way.

  “So, God,” Louis said over his sister’s head. “I’m running out of ideas, you know? Mama always said Linney was one of your best Christmas gifts back in the days before she quit talking to you. I’m real sorry about that, but she was mostly sad, on account of Bobby being such a jerk and her not having very good antennae. I don’t think she meant like a bug’s. I think she meant she didn’t know how to tell who was good and who wasn’t. You probably get that.” He paused and ran a hand across his sister’s hair as she slept with her head on his lap.

  “I’m trying to take care of your gift here, God, because I know you called me to do that. Mama always said so, said no matter how old Linney got, it would always be like she was my little sister, not my big one. She said you made brothers to take care of sisters. But it’s gettin’ harder. I’m still a kid. And what am I supposed to do when Linney gets even older and her body gets like Mama’s?” He swallowed hard. “I guess if you want me to suck it up and do what I have to, well, I guess I will. But it kinda makes me gag, God.” This time he had to quit talking for a minute to get the sour taste pushed back down. “Sorry, but I can’t help it.” Just the thought of what he sometimes had to do got to him.

  “And I gotta be honest, if you don’t mind. I really miss school. I finished that book I brought, but I’m going to get way behind if I can’t figure out what’s next. Besides, I don’t know how to teach Linney what she needs to learn either.”

  Louis tried to get hold of himself so God wouldn’t stop listening. He was desperate. If prayer didn’t work—and Mama used to swear it didn’t—then he was in big trouble. Big trouble.

  “I don’t mean to be whiny. I just figure if you’re God, then maybe you’ve got some better ideas than I have. And maybe you’d be willing to let me know what they are?” He waited a moment. “Anyway, thank you for listening.”

  Linney tugged her lion close and cuddled on the stinky blanket. In the quiet, Louis tried talking to heaven again. “God? You smell that? You see how I gotta do something quick.” He waited. “Any ideas?”

  On that thought, he pictured the ladies he’d seen going into that church office when he’d been spying through a hole in the wall. They’d carried in boxes of what looked like food and clothes. He could tell about the clothes because they were kinda spilling out and something fell on the ground. A couple of somethings, and one was a jacket. So, maybe it was like a store in there. Maybe for the church people only, but it sure was closer than the one he’d been going to.

  “I know it would be wrong to take, but I’d pay back. I promise.”

  He took a long, quiet breath, just in case God wanted to stop the thing he was imagining. But all he heard was Linney snuffling in her sleep. He wouldn’t be gone long enough for her to wake up. Still, he asked God to keep her from knowing.

  He stuffed his flashlight and a garbage bag in his pocket and crawled out of the barn. He checked around for anyone wandering near the place and then looked over at the church’s office. There weren’t any cars in the lot. The lady who worked there went home early most days, and the guy who wore the robes on Sunday only came mornings.

  Louis kept close to the woods until he got right behind the office building. Trouble was, he was too short to reach the windows. At least there was a back door.

  In movies, people hid keys under stuff, but there didn’t seem to be any hiding place he could see. Without a key, he’d have to break in.

  God, this is so bad.

  He ducked and checked around the outside for something like a tool. His heart was doing a thuh-bub-thuh-bub in his ear so loud he figured he might be the first kid his age ever to have a heart attack.

  Maybe he should just suck it up and deal with the blankets and having to leave Linney.

  But what if she followed him on account of not wanting to be by herself? She could get lost. She could get hurt. It wasn’t like he could go to the store in the middle of the night when she was asleep. The store wasn’t open, and if she woke up after dark, she’d be so scared, he’d never calm her down again.

  He had to do something, and this looked like it.

  Under the stairs leading up to the church’s back door, he found a long piece of metal. He’d seen one of these before, with its flat tip that worked for prying something off something else. Like prying a door open.

  God, I am sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.

  He wondered if saying sorry before and after made it better, or if God was just gonna be real mad at him anyway. Stealing from a church seemed like the worst thing.

  Only, not as bad as having Linney so scared she peed everything and everywhere.

  The metal bar didn’t work first try. Or second. He tried putting it in the crack of the door, but the lock was too big. He tried up the door and down the door. Nothing. The only thing that moved when he stuck the flat end in and pushed was the piece of wood outside the door. So he pushed and he pulled and he pushed some more. He heard the creak of nails sliding, so he moved the pusher up a little. More nails squeaked.

  He shoulda exercised. Exercise would have meant muscles, and muscles would have helped. In between pushes on the bar he had to stop and rest on account of being so wimpy.

  Some of the seventh-graders called him a wimpy geek. He knew what a geek was. He’d looked it up.

  He couldn’t help wearing glasses and being smart, but he could’ve helped being weak and skinny and wimpy. After he got them out of this mess, he’d fix that. He’d get himself some weights, and he’d start getting strong.

  But not so I can steal, God. Just this once to give me time to think where to go and what to do next. How to fix things.

  It took five more pushes before the piece of board cracked. Then he got to the lock thingy, turned it, and went in. His heart didn’t shut up, and now he could taste stinging throw-up in his mouth.

  He sucked it back, swallowed as he closed his eyes, this time praying nobody would be inside, nobody would have come without him knowing, or stayed without him seeing.

  Tiptoeing into the room, he looked around. All was quiet ’cept a big clock on the wall. To the sound of its tick, he walked to the doorway and waited but still heard no one. There were a lot of rooms here, and he only wanted the place they kept the food. That was all. He wasn’t after anything else. Except maybe something that could be a blanket.

  And there it was, a closet with food on one side and clothes on the other. He picked and chose, searching through the bins of clothes for a few th
ings for his sister and another sweater for him. Then, from the food, he found items that would help them get by for now.

  He prayed now would end soon, and God would tell him what to do next. There had to be something somewhere.

  An answer. Please.

  He hadn’t found a single blanket. As he sneaked back out the door, he pictured the other buildings, the church and the place kids went on Sundays. Lots of cars had been coming all week in the evenings, and people had been going in there with stuff.

  Hiding the bag and the metal bar next to the back steps, he rounded the far corner of the office building and dashed across the grass to the door he’d seen people use. On the way, he made a bargain with God. If he could get in easily—no more breaking anything—he’d search for a cover. Otherwise, he was outta there.

  He touched the knob. It turned. He glanced up and grinned, and then he tiptoed inside. An open door could mean someone was already inside. It could also mean they’d forgotten to lock it.

  The room was big. He stood still, waiting in case he heard someone in one of the rooms off to the side. It was quiet. There was also a back hall and a sign for bathrooms. He had a sudden urge to pee at the thought of a real bathroom, but that would be dumb. He could get caught in there, and then what would he do?

  So, as quietly as possible, he headed to some boards painted like sets they used in plays. In front of those was a wooden trough-looking thing that had hay in it. And behind that, hanging off one of the scenery pieces, was a blanket.

  He reached out, drew the blanket toward him. And found there was more than one. With two in his arms, he began to retreat when he noticed the baby doll in that straw. He guessed that was supposed to be the manger, and the doll was supposed to be the baby Jesus. A tear hit his cheek, and then another. The doll looked just like Linney’s lost one. A perfect match.

  God?

  His hand had hold of the doll before he’d finished the thought, and he turned and ran out the door and around to the back of the office, where he stopped and let the enormity of what he’d done settle around him and into him and on him.

  He’d stolen the baby Jesus.

  Oh, he knew it was just a doll, but the church people were going to be so angry. They’d kill him if they knew he’d done it.

  I’m sorry.

  But as he picked up the metal bar and half-dragged the bag toward the woods’ edge, his hammering heart slowed and his tears dried. And the doll in his arms felt right. Linney would smile again. She’d be happy.

  All he could do was whisper, “Thank you. Thank you.”

  12

  Clay

  The call from Father John Ames came in on his cell instead of through the office phones. “Clay, we’ve had some trouble here. You think you can come on out to the church?”

  “What sort of trouble?”

  “Seems someone broke into the office after Janis left for the day. No telling what time, but I had to get some papers for this week’s homily and found there’d been a break-in. I haven’t checked the sanctuary or parish house. I’m headed over there now.”

  “Won’t take me long to get there.”

  Clay glanced at his watch. Maybe he could grab something to eat after he saw what had John so upset.

  He pulled into the church parking lot and found John back in the office, on the phone with someone who sounded like a locksmith. The conversation didn’t seem to be going John’s way.

  “Locksmith one, church zero,” John said with a wry grin. “You know how to replace a door lock?”

  The door stood wide open, and it was obvious someone hadn’t messed with the lock, only the frame. “You don’t need a locksmith. You need a carpenter. We’ll get it taken care of.”

  John looked at the door again, then nodded and led him back to the storeroom where they kept items for the food bank on one side and bins of donated clothing on the other. Once a month, a volunteer sorted and took them to the appropriate charities, and if parishioners had a need, this was where they came. The bins were askew and clothing piled back every which way. “I don’t have an inventory of anything, but you can see spaces on the shelves where it looks as if someone has helped himself.”

  “Is this all that’s missing? Do you keep any money here or valuables here?”

  “Not in the office. Collection money is in the sacristy safe. The safe hasn’t been touched. Nor has the door to the sacristy. The sanctuary is fine. Nothing missing.”

  “What about the parish hall?” Clay asked.

  “Joy had just gotten there when I went to check. She said the door was already unlocked. Anyway, nothing seemed out of place.”

  “Then I’m off to the hardware store,” Clay said. “You have any tools floating around?”

  Father John shook his hand.

  “I’ll call Matt, see if he can send someone to fix this.”

  “Thanks, Clay.” And then the priest sent him a worried look. “What about finding out who did it?”

  “To be honest, if the only things missing are cans of food and some clothes, I’m thinking you may have some homeless guy roaming the area. Maybe what you need to do is put up a sign and tell him to come around during business hours. You’ll feed him.”

  “And I could tell him how to get to the mission in town.”

  Matt and another man were studying the damage when Clay showed up with new molding and a few pieces of lumber in case there were extraneous repairs needed. Clay opened the back of his Jeep.

  “You know Bud, don’t you?” Matt asked. “He lives out this way. Figured he’d have everything you need and be able to do the job.”

  “Hey, Clay. Whatcha got there?” Bud peeked around and into the Jeep’s cargo section. “Good man,” he said, pulling out the pieces of wood.

  “You going to need help here?” Clay asked. “I’m overdue on the scenery crew, and I’m starving.”

  Bud waved him off. “Go. I’ve got this. I just finished Elma’s meat loaf and potatoes.”

  “Don’t suppose you brought leftovers.”

  Bud grinned at him. “Leftovers? You think we had any? Those boys of mine aren’t exactly small anymore.” He patted his own belly. “Then, neither am I.”

  “Okay, then, I’m off. I’ll be a much better scene painter if I show up with a full belly.” He turned to Matt. “Don’t suppose we could enlist your help with this pageant?”

  “And just what did you have in mind?”

  “We still don’t have a tree for the sanctuary. Some of the ladies have pulled folk together to decorate the one outside, like they did last year, and they’ve got greenery ready to go, but we need a tall tree that will show up behind the nativity scene. John said he wants one so he can link the Christmas story with the whole tree thing. Show folk who only know about the tree something about the birth of Christ, the one who, after all, spoke trees—and everything else--into existence.”

  Matt had his I’ve-got-it look. “Not a problem. If I can’t find you one at a lot on my way home and have it delivered, how about I bring some boys around and we cut a good one from out back there?” Matt pointed to the evergreen woods backing the old storage barn that was part of the church property. “Look to be hollies and all sorts of pines. I’m thinking it may have once been a tree farm that gave up the ghost and went wild. I wouldn’t want to take down any of the slow growers, no magnolias or even holly trees, but one of the pines maybe or a spruce?”

  “You’re vestry. You get whatever clearance you need. I think it would be a great idea. Besides saving the church some money.”

  “Isn’t that the truth?” Matt said. “Can’t believe what those thieves want for trees these days.”

  “Lots on my property, anyone needs something. Not all pretty like those back there, but they work. My brothers call them my Charlie Brown Christmas trees.” That got the laugh he’d hoped for before he called a goodbye to Bud and told Matt he’d see him later.

  He headed to the highway and toward the closest burger joint. Ordering took
minutes, preparation a couple more. Indigestion wouldn’t even take that long to kick in.

  Clay sighed. He hated fast food, but at least this version had a little flavor. And the fries were great.

  He washed the meal down with bottled water and headed back to the parish hall. He’d been sucked into helping this year, but he really, really longed for a quiet evening, just him and his creek with music in the background and a book in his lap.

  And that was what he believed until he opened the door and saw Annie Mac and her two standing in a crowd.

  13

  Annie Mac

  Ty had been the first to pull her forward to see what was happening around the crèche. He cut in front of some older boys and returned to her side. “The doll for the baby Jesus is gone.”

  “And two of the blankets,” one of the women said. “I think they were for Mary and Joseph.”

  Others put forth their ideas. Brisa, Jilly, and Katie flanked Annie Mac, hands reaching for hers, clinging. The idea of someone coming into the church’s parish hall and stealing may have excited them, but it frightened her.

  “I heard blankets were going on the pretend donkeys.” That was one of the pre-teen boys.

  “Who was going to be the donkey?” said another. “You, Billy?”

  “Stick donkeys, not real ones, silly.” That was from one of the older girls.

  Clay approached the group and laid one hand on Jilly’s shoulder, one on Katie’s head. “What’s going on?”

  “A missing doll and blankets,” Annie Mac said. “Why would anyone take those? Or do you think someone just put them in another room? A prank?”

  Clay cleared his throat and called for everyone’s attention. He was so naturally commanding that his raised voice bought their silence. It didn’t hurt that they all knew he was a policeman.

  “Father John discovered someone had broken into the church office earlier today.” Clay’s words carried through the room. “The only things we found missing were some cans of food and some clothing, although no one knows what items exactly were taken from the donation piles. Matt Morgan’s got Bud Finley over there fixing the door.”