Stowaway Angel

by Cheryl St. John

  Charlie had experienced extreme loss. He’d lost his mother at a young age and his wife in the prime of her life. No wonder it made him uncomfortable to talk about his losses.

  “Daddy, we have to wrap Gramma’s present,” Meredith called from the backseat.

  “Yes, we do, but we have to put the hinges on first.”

  “Did we make something for Grampa, too?”

  “We made him the shelf for his airplanes, remember?”

  “Oh, yeah, he will like that.”

  When they arrived at the house, Charlie pulled into the garage and they carried in groceries.

  He and Meredith headed for his shop and Starla began the meal. While the dough was rising for rolls, she cleaned all the vegetables and stored them in plastic bags for later use. Then she prepared a seasoned brine and poured it over a rib roast in a bag, sealed it and stored it in the refrigerator to fix and take for Christmas dinner.

  Later, when Charlie and Meredith came in to wash, he said, “Something smells wonderful.” He glanced in the pot of boiling water. “That can’t be what I think it is.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because spaghetti isn’t gourmet cuisine.”

  “Preparing food is an art,” she said with a smile. “Even the most simple fare can be elegant when approached with skill.”

  “So it is spaghetti?”

  “Actually, it’s linguine. Roasted vegetables and rolls to go with it.”

  He raised a brow. “And our little grocery had the things you needed?”

  She gave him a sideways glance. “I improvised on a couple of the ingredients.”

  She looked at him, saw the amusement and appreciation in his eyes and wanted to move into his arms...or simply touch him...but they both remained standing where they were. Meredith had gathered her crayons and a pad of paper and was seated on a stool at the nearby counter.

  They enjoyed the meal together, and later Charlie took over dish duty while Starla and Meredith played Chutes and Ladders. Starla worked to simply enjoy the time together, deliberately avoiding thoughts of how temporary this domestic scene would be.

  Charlie’s thoughts focused on the coming days. Life would not be the same after Starla had swept through and left her mark in a hundred ways.

  Evening fell over the log home, and he lit a fire, reminding him painfully of the night before and his time alone with Starla.

  “Daddy, let’s remember the angel story, okay? Without the book and the pictures.”

  “Okay,” he agreed, grateful for the distraction.

  Meredith went through the story by memory, describing the pictures and the characters with vivid recall. He added a line here and there, having read the book aloud so many times. It had been an obsession with Meredith for the past several weeks, and as he heard her tell it in her own words, he heard the story from her perspective for the first time.

  He could now see that Meredith missed having a mother. Charlie spent a lot of time in his shop—avoiding life, but all the same, avoiding her. She saw the angel and the miracle dust as a magic solution to having a family come together happily. He couldn’t give her back her mother. But he could give her himself.

  “Meredith, does this story remind you of us?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I think it does. I’ve spent too much time working and not enough time being your dad. I’m sorry about that. From now on, we’re going to spend more time together. You’re more important than anything else.”

  “I don’t want you to be sad anymore, Daddy. I want you to find us a new mommy.”

  His chest ached with the pain of her childish logic and the impossibility of explaining it on a level she could understand. “It just doesn’t work that way, sweetie.”

  “I like Starla a lot, and she cooks real good. She could stay with us if you asked her. Couldn’t she?”

  Charlie couldn’t look up. He felt as though he’d lost his balance on a sheet of ice. In a split second he was going to fall and break something, and he scrambled to stay upright. Meredith was freely voicing feelings and wishes as only a child could. He didn’t want to burst her childish bubble of hope, but he didn’t want her getting her hopes too high, either.

  “I like Starla a lot, too. But she has her own life far away from here. She has a new restaurant and people working for her and friends who miss her.”

  “I will miss her, too,” Meredith said.

  Charlie let himself glance up then, but Starla wasn’t meeting his eyes. She was probably embarrassed by the wild assumption on Meredith’s part. “I know,” was all he could say.

  Any more words regarding Starla’s leaving would be hollow, so he kept silent. And dreaded the moment when it would happen.

  * * *

  MEREDITH KNEW HER daddy didn’t believe in angels, that’s why he couldn’t believe in Starla’s powers. Meredith hadn’t exactly seen the miracle dust, ’cept for that little tube of stuff in her bag on the bathroom counter, but this week she’d seen her daddy smile and laugh a lot more. Since Starla had been with them, he didn’t seem as sad as before. He came out of his shop and played games and listened to music. They’d worked on Gramma’s and Grampa’s presents together and they’d cut down their tree and decorated it.

  Daddy said Starla wasn’t a angel. Starla said she wasn’t a angel, too. Gramma didn’t say she wasn’t, and Grampa just smiled when she asked him. Starla did seem too real to be a angel, even if she was as pretty as one. She ate and slept and she didn’t fly or nothing—at least not when they were looking—but she could fly up to heaven at night when everybody was asleep, though.

  Magic things had been happening. Daddy just didn’t believe. When Daddy tucked her into bed, Meredith squeezed her eyes closed tightly...and believed.

  * * *

  LATE THAT NIGHT, after Meredith was sound asleep, Charlie went to the storage room and gathered the gifts he had wisely ordered online well in advance of Christmas and set them around the tree.

  He was surprised to see Starla carrying a small package from upstairs.

  “I found it at the grocery store,” she said with a shrug. “It’s a Barbie she doesn’t have.” She set it with the other gifts.

  Among all her good qualities, he could add kindheartedness and generosity. Starla was thoughtful of Meredith’s feelings and had befriended her from the moment she’d met her.

  Charlie took one of her hands in his and kissed her fingers. He feathered the hair from the side of her face and laid his hand along her jaw, just looking at her. With his thumb, he gently touched the darkened bruise under her eye, which hadn’t diminished her beauty.

  He loved her smile, the way her eyes twinkled when she was amused. He appreciated her sincerity and her tender heart. He’d opened up and talked to her more than he’d ever talked to anyone. Maybe that was because she listened with her whole heart, sometimes not saying anything, but always interested, always understanding.

  Maybe he’d talked a lot because he’d been mostly alone with a child for the past few years and it was a treat to have an adult companion.

  Maybe it was simply because she was safe. The thought infused him with a dose of guilt. She’d be gone soon and he wouldn’t have to deal with an uncomfortable entanglement. Had he done this on purpose? Deliberately taken advantage of the situation? Christmas could be a lonely time for single people. Keeping things in perspective, it was natural for them to be drawn to each other.

  The closer the time came for her to leave, the more pressure built in his chest and the harder it became to remember this was a casual friendship. He’d always wavered between thinking there was something wrong with him—some flaw in his character that he’d never felt passionately toward a woman—and wondering if all men felt that way but were better at making others believe they experienced love.

/>   Now he was frightened to think maybe there wasn’t anything wrong with him after all, but that he’d simply never met a woman who made him feel strongly.

  One more night. One more night and even the brief pleasure he’d known from her kisses would be a memory.

  Charlie stared at the stars in the wintry sky and pressed every souvenir into his aching heart.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  STARLA WOKE EARLY and placed her roast in the oven. After showering, she dressed in the black pantsuit she’d worn for the Christmas program, anchored her hair on her head and wore her all-purpose silver earrings and bracelet. She regretted not having more of her wardrobe here to select from, but Charlie’s parents didn’t seem the type to judge on appearance, and hopefully his brothers were the same.

  Glancing at the clock and knowing her dad was an early riser, she picked up her phone and called. “Hey, Dad.”

  “Merry Christmas, Star. Are you doing okay?”

  “Just great. Merry Christmas to you.” After telling him about the activities in town and about Meredith’s program, she filled him in on the latest preparations at the Hidden Treasure.

  “So, you’ve been keeping in touch with Geri, but I’ll bet you’re chomping at the bit to get back and get your hands dirty in that kitchen.”

  She stood looking out the window at the acres of sparkling snow. “It’ll be good to get back. I’m invited to the Phillipses’ for the day, but I had to talk to you before things got underway.”

  “Love you, Star.”

  “Love you, too, Dad. Tell Edith Merry Christmas for me.”

  “I will. Call when you get out of Iowa tomorrow.”

  Starla turned off her phone and returned to the kitchen. She prepared a quick breakfast of muffins and fruit and had them waiting when Meredith appeared from the hallway, her eyes alight with excitement. “Santa came! Look, Starla, Santa came! Where’s Daddy?”

  “He must be asleep,” she replied. “Go wake him.”

  He hadn’t been asleep, because when Meredith returned with Charlie in tow, he was dressed in slacks and a sweater and his hair was wet from the shower. “What smells so good?”

  “My mustard-glazed pork roast,” she replied, “and breakfast.”

  Meredith tugged him toward the Christmas tree. “Can I open ’em now?”

  “Go for it,” he replied.

  Starla took him a cup of coffee.

  Charlie looked her over appreciatively. “You’re beautiful this morning.”

  “Thank you.”

  Their eyes met and the past few idyllic days were revealed in his warm gaze. Not having the freedom to move into his arms was a restriction that saddened her.

  Paper ripped and Meredith squealed.

  Starla turned and Charlie joined her to watch Meredith open packages.

  A mound of paper, books, skates and toys later, Charlie pointed and said, “That one’s from Starla.”

  Meredith picked up the gaily wrapped box. “You got me a present, Starla? Thank you!”

  She peeled back the paper to reveal a Barbie. Looking up with wide blue eyes, she said with all seriousness, “I wanted this my whole life.”

  Touched by her childish sincerity, Starla grinned and helped her open the box. After Starla unfastened the doll from all its packing restraints, Meredith took it and hugged her around the neck. She placed a damp kiss on Starla’s cheek.

  Starla held her warm, sturdy body close and discovered a feeling she’d never known. The little girl was unrestrained in her affections, honest and open, her innocence a sweet unaffected quality.

  With a lump in her throat, Starla experienced a glimpse of the responsibility Charlie bore. Raising and protecting the child was a weighty obligation, one Charlie took seriously. She admired him all the more for his bravery in taking on such a huge life task.

  Meredith pulled back. “We have a present for you, too.”

  “You do?”

  “Uh-huh.” She turned and crawled under the low tree branches. “Is it here, Daddy? Here it is.” She showed the package to her dad first. “Is this the right one?”

  He nodded and she handed it to Starla.

  When had they had time to buy her a gift? The wrapped rectangle was heavy. She placed it in her lap and tore away the red paper. Inside was a wooden box. The top was carved with a star design, and the wood had been painstakingly stained and polished. She recognized Charlie’s detailed carving, and her heart fluttered with surprise. She caressed the finish reverently, thinking of Charlie’s gifted hands working the wood.

  “Open it,” Meredith prompted.

  Starla raised the lid. The interior was lined with purple velvet, and a pink plastic ring lay on the fabric.

  “I helped Daddy make the box, but the ring is only from me,” she said proudly.

  Starla took out the plastic ring and slipped it on her little finger. “I love pink.”

  She glanced at Charlie, who was watching with obvious self-consciousness. “It’s lovely, Charlie,” she said, her voice not as strong as she’d have liked. “I truly love it. Thank you.”

  He nodded.

  “My gift for you isn’t nearly as thoughtful.”

  “You didn’t have to give me anything,” he said.

  She handed him a small package she’d placed under the tree that morning. He opened it to discover a Kiss the Cook apron she’d found at the grocery store. He laughed out loud.

  “I didn’t have much time to shop,” she said.

  “It’s great, thanks.”

  “When did you have time to make this?” she asked, still touching the wooden chest.

  “We worked on it when we made the gifts for my folks. Meredith, you did a good job of keeping our secret.”

  “I never told,” she said with a broad smile.

  An ache welled in Starla’s throat and jaw and she suppressed the sudden urge to cry. He must have spent a few hours during the night a time or two, as well, in order to create the intricate design and sand the wood to such perfect smoothness. Projects like this weren’t done as quickly as he let on.

  In a way she wished he’d never made it, never given it to her, because it would forever be a permanent reminder of what she’d had to leave behind. And she would keep it forever, she knew.

  On the other hand, she was grateful for a tangible reminder of their time together, no matter how painful. She would treasure the handmade gift and be comforted by thoughts of Charlie and Meredith making it just for her.

  Starla received another hug from Meredith. Over the girl’s shoulder, she looked at Charlie. He got up and picked up wrapping paper and bows.

  “I made muffins,” Starla said, standing then, and moving toward the kitchen. “And sliced fruit.”

  If things were different, if they didn’t have to hold themselves in check around Meredith, she would have moved into his arms and thanked him properly. Instead, their exchange seemed incomplete, as if resolution was dangling out of reach.

  Starla forced herself to put aside the thought and make preparations for the day.

  * * *

  CHARLIE’S BROTHERS WERE nothing at all like Charlie in looks, of course, being slender with reddish brown hair and receding hairlines. But along with their wives and children they were a friendly, jovial bunch, and Starla recognized similarities in their senses of humor and interaction with one another that linked them as a family.

  Jacob, the oldest brother, was a computer programmer in Des Moines. His wife, Donna, was short and plumpish, with an infectious giggle, and they had two boys, Randy fourteen and Craig, twelve.

  Sean and his wife Robyn had three boys. The oldest, Lance, from Robyn’s first marriage was thirteen, Andrew was ten and Nathan eight.

  Meredith, as the only girl, was naturally th
e darling of the family. Her cousins doted on her, and her aunts and uncles showered her with attention. Nathan was the only one who seemed the slightest bit jealous, occasionally taking a toy from her or one-upping her with accounts of his accomplishments in school and listing the toys he’d received for Christmas.

  Of course the children begged to open gifts first, so there was a flurry of ripping and crackling paper and a chorus of oohs and aahs as presents were revealed. Charlie’s parents treasured their wood gifts. Each of the children received something from their grandparents. Marian had wrapped a gift for Starla, as well, and though Starla knew the sachet and soaps were one of those gifts kept on hand for the last minute, she adored Marian for including her.

  Marian opened a digital camera that Sean and Robyn had given her, and Sean showed her how to use it. “You can put pictures on Facebook now,” he said.

  Immediately Marian had the children pose, and the adults were chased down next. She took a snap of Starla and Meredith looking at Meredith’s new interactive alphabet game.

  “Give me your email address, and I’ll send you these pictures,” she said cheerfully and ran for a paper and pen.

  Starla jotted down her email address, and Marian continued with her picture taking until she claimed it was time to get dinner underway.

  Charlie’s sisters-in-law were gracious, including Starla in their tasks and conversation and showing genuine interest in her business venture in Maine. The women moved to the kitchen while the guys picked up the mess.

  “You must have to fight the guys off with a stick,” Donna said to Starla, “what with your looks and cooking skills.”

  Starla stirred the gravy she’d been assigned to tend. “I haven’t had that problem so far.”

  “Well, I admire you for going after the career you wanted,” she said sincerely. “You’re still young and have plenty of time to marry when you’re ready.”

  “Assuming she wants to marry,” Robyn said. “She could be enjoying her independence too much to sacrifice it.”

  “It just hasn’t been an issue,” Starla said, stating the plain truth. “There hasn’t been anyone I would have considered marrying. But I’m definitely not closed to the idea.”