The Christmas Angel Read online

  Contents

  DEAR FRIENDS

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  The Christmas Angel

  A Berkley Book / published by arrangement with the author

  All rights reserved.

  Copyright © 2005 by Thomas Kinkade, The Thomas Kinkade Company

  This book may not be reproduced in whole or part, by mimeograph or any other means, without permission. Making or distributing electronic copies of this book constitutes copyright infringement and could subject the infringer to criminal and civil liability.

  For information address:

  The Berkley Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Putnam Inc.,

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  The Penguin Putnam Inc. World Wide Web site address is

  http://www.penguinputnam.com

  ISBN: 978-1-1012-1504-3

  A BERKLEY BOOK®

  Berkley Books first published by The Berkley Publishing Group, a member of Penguin Putnam Inc.,

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  BERKLEY and the “B” design are trademarks belonging to Penguin Putnam Inc.

  Electronic edition: November, 2005

  DEAR FRIENDS

  WHEN I WAS A YOUNG BOY, ONE OF MY FAVORITE CHRISTMAS traditions was trimming the tree. We had many ornaments, but the ones I liked best were those that had been handed down from generation to generation, and I hung them with great care, selecting very special places on the tree for their display.

  But there was one ornament that everyone in my family agreed was the most beautiful. It was the angel ornament that topped the tree. I can still picture her. She wore a red velvet gown. Her long blond hair sparkled under a golden halo, and her gossamer wings shimmered with a silver glow. She was unquestionably our most treasured ornament, the one that made the tree complete.

  That Christmas ornament was my first vision of an angel, and since then, I’ve seen many like her, and I’ve met many too, but the ones I’ve actually known didn’t have golden halos and shimmering wings.

  An angel may be a stranger who lends a helping hand or a friend who knows when you’re in need. Or it may be someone who reminds you of your own capacity for goodness and love.

  In Cape Light, as in my life, angels take many forms. Emily Warwick realizes she’s been blessed by an angel when she finds an abandoned baby in the church crèche, a baby who changes her life, challenging her to reexamine and deepen her bonds of love.

  Reverend Ben, struggling with self-doubt, will find angels at work in his own congregation.

  As you enter Cape Light, I hope you enjoy your time with the good people there and the angels they meet, and my Christmas wish for you is that God’s angels will bring the gift of hope and faith and love into your life too.

  —Thomas Kinkade

  CHAPTER ONE

  EMILY FOUND THE BABY PURELY BY ACCIDENT. LATER, LOOKING back, she decided it hadn’t been an accident at all. It was one of those things that was simply meant to be.

  She’d nearly skipped her morning run that day, and realized later that a few minutes on the clock either way would have made all the difference. She could have turned onto a different path. Or she could have been so caught up in her rambling thoughts, she would have missed that tiny flicker of movement in a place where it definitely shouldn’t have been.

  It was the day after Thanksgiving, an unofficial holiday with schools and many offices closed and most people sleeping off the bounty of the day before. Emily had rolled over when the alarm sounded, snuggling deep under the down quilt. But finally she forced herself to get up out of bed, pull on running clothes, and creep downstairs, shoes in hand.

  She sipped a quick cup of coffee and pictured her husband, Dan, still sound asleep. She sighed and double knotted her laces. Better run now than regret it later when her clothes felt too tight. She did some quick stretches, grabbed her gloves, and headed out the door.

  The cold morning air was like a slap in the face. She stretched and started at a slow pace, drawing in deep breaths, exhaling frosty clouds. There had only been a dusting of snow so far, but the legendary New England winter was quickly setting in.

  Emerson Street was empty; the only sound was her own breath and the beat of her steps on the pavement. She pushed herself around the corner and headed down the long hill on Beacon Road to the village. She liked to run to the village green and along the harbor before looping back. As the mayor of Cape Light, she sometimes felt her early morning treks were a way of checking up on things, a quiet surveillance of her domain. It was silly to think that, she knew. You couldn’t tell much by merely glancing at the outside of houses or stores. But still she felt as if this tour kept her in touch with the beating heart of the place.

  She rounded the turn onto Main Street. The wide thoroughfare stood silent, the Victorian buildings and old-time storefronts like a painting on a Christmas card that captured an elegant, bygone era. The shops and restaurants were decorated for the holidays, the window displays filled with gentle slopes of fake snow, sparkling stars, and gilded-winged angels. Bright pine wreaths with red bows brightened the wrought-iron lampposts. Holiday garlands swooped across the avenue, and each of the parking meters had been covered with red and white stripes, creating a row of free-parking-for-shoppers candy canes. The village maintenance crew hadn’t reached the end of the street yet, but she knew they’d complete the job today. Tonight was the annual Christmas tree lighting on the green. Everything had to be ready by then.

  It was hard to believe the holidays were here again. It felt as if she and Dan had held their highly original and very public New Year’s wedding ceremony on the green just weeks ago. Now here they were, almost a year later. The months had passed in such a happy blur, it was impossible to describe.

  It was one thing to find love when you were young: that was expected. But when you’ve all but given up and it comes at you out of the clear blue, you appreciate it in a different—and deeper—way.

  How many tree lightings had she presided over now? Into her second term as mayor, she was losing track. But she loved her job, the demands and challenges of it, too. She loved feeling she made the lives of people in this town better in some small way. That was a privilege, she knew, and a blessing.

  Where Main Street met the harbor, Emily turned right and ran along the far side of the green. Out at the end of the dock that ran to her left, she spotted a lone but familiar figure—a black knit cap pulled over his head, his body huddled against the cold in a thick coat, a yellow Labrador sitting patiently at his feet.

  Digger Hegman and Daisy were a common sight at the waterfront in the early morning. But Emily didn’t call out a greeting. She knew Digger was deep in his contemplations, appraising the harbor and even the birds for his daily forecast, or maybe lost in recollections of his own days at sea.

  She headed instead toward the stone facade of Bible Community Church, which faced the green. As usual, the church’s decorations this year were beautiful in their simplicity, a thick pine wreath on the wooden doors out front and a large crèche, with almost life-size figures, sheltered by tall trees.
/>   Emily ran past, giving the display a quick glance. Her thoughts raced ahead to the workday. Village Hall would be empty today; it would be a good time to catch up on the paperwork that seemed to flow up from some inexhaustible stream below her in-box.

  A few steps past the church doors, she slowed and looked back over her shoulder. Had she seen something moving in the crèche? Something in the cradle?

  It couldn’t have been the plaster figure of the infant Jesus, she reasoned. The figure of the baby wasn’t added until Christmas Eve night. Except for some straw, the wooden cradle should have been empty.

  But she was almost positive she’d seen something in there. A squirrel or maybe a cat? No, whatever it was it had looked too big, even for a cat.

  Emily glanced back again at the display, sure now that there was something odd about it.

  She turned and retraced her path, then slowed to a walk as she reached the crèche. She stood stone still, mesmerized by the sight of a tiny hand rising out of a bundle of rags and straw in the carved wooden cradle.

  It couldn’t be. Yet there it was again, as clear as the sun above. A tiny hand. Popping up out of a mound of cloth.

  Emily ran forward and pushed the corner of a tattered blanket aside. A rosy cheeked baby wearing a pink wool cap stared up at her.

  The baby blinked huge blue-grey eyes. Then suddenly its tiny face crumpled and it began to cry.

  Emily scooped up the child and the wad of blankets that cocooned it. Bits of straw clung to the precious bundle.

  “There, there. It’s okay. It’s all right now,” she soothed the baby.

  She lifted the child to her shoulder and gently patted its back. Who in the world would do such a thing? How long had the child been out here? The poor little thing must be freezing.

  A hundred questions raced through her head as Emily jogged to the church, the baby clutched to her chest. She yanked open one heavy door and slipped into the dark, sheltering warmth. She walked into the sanctuary and sat down in the last pew, resting the baby across her lap.

  The baby had stopped crying but still fussed in her arms. Though Emily loved children, she knew next to nothing about taking care of them, especially tiny babies.

  “Are you hungry? Is that it?” Emily said aloud. “I wish I had something for you.”

  As if on cue, the baby started wailing again, louder this time, putting all the force of its tiny body into the effort. The cries echoed around the empty sanctuary, and Emily jumped to her feet and started pacing up and down the middle aisle.

  She bounced, patted, and cooed to no avail. Suddenly she noticed a pacifier hanging from a long string that was attached someplace inside the blankets. She took out her water bottle, cleaned off the pacifier, and stuck it in the baby’s mouth.

  The baby sucked eagerly, eyelids drooping in contentment. The church was instantly silent again.

  Emily sat down with the baby in her lap once more and examined the wrapping, wondering what else she might discover. The outer blanket looked like a piece cut off a larger comforter. White acrylic stuffing trailed out of one end. Beneath that layer, she found smaller blankets, none very thick. The baby was dressed in one-piece, terry cloth pajamas, which at least covered its feet. The pajamas were worn and stained, with a hole in one elbow and a faded yellow duck embroidered on the chest. The baby’s nails were dirty and jagged. The child wasn’t well cared for at all. A wave of sadness filled Emily’s heart.

  “God bless this poor child,” she whispered.

  Fumbling with the blankets again, she felt something else stuck in the folds: a piece of paper. She pulled it out and unfolded a small note written in blue ink. The handwriting was childish looking, she thought, round with looping script letters. The message was just a few lines long.

  Please help my baby, Jane. She’s a good girl. I can’t keep her no more. I am so sorry. Please find her a good home. God bless you.

  Staring down at the little girl, Emily couldn’t imagine how anyone could have abandoned her. The pink hat had slipped off entirely and Emily set it aside. Tufts of reddish gold hair covered the baby’s head. With her huge eyes and cherubic face, the child was positively beautiful.

  What would it take to give up such a sweet, innocent little girl? The simple note suggested the baby’s mother was not a monster. She must have been desperate, though, with some serious reasons for avoiding the usual process of giving up a child for adoption.

  Emily didn’t condemn her; she didn’t even judge her. She understood the situation too well. Over twenty years ago, Emily had made the momentous decision to give up her own newborn daughter, and now the mother’s scribbled note stirred up long-buried feelings.

  As if sensing Emily’s distraction, the baby reached out and clutched at the air. Emily stuck out her finger. The baby latched on, surprisingly strong, and Emily felt the force of their connection deep in her heart, like an electric circuit closing its loop.

  “Don’t worry, Jane. I’ll help you,” Emily whispered. “I promise.”

  She stared down at the child another moment and sighed. But how? What to do now? A call to the police seemed in order, though for some strange reason, she felt reluctant about the idea.

  She shifted the baby to one side and felt around her jacket pocket for her cell phone, then fumbled with it in one hand.

  “Emily? Are you okay?”

  Emily jumped at the sound of Reverend Ben’s voice. She turned to see the minister standing at the end of the pew, staring curiously.

  “Reverend Ben, you won’t believe it. I was jogging through the green this morning and I found this baby. Right in front of the church, tucked into the cradle of the crèche.”

  Reverend Ben stepped closer, squinting at her through his gold-rimmed glasses. “Found a baby? In the crèche?”

  Emily nodded.

  “That’s . . . unbelievable.”

  “Isn’t it?” Emily turned back to the baby. “Her name is Jane. See, there was a note.” Emily handed him the note and watched as he quickly read it.

  “How sad. Sad for the child and for the mother.” He came closer, eager to get a better look at the baby. “Is she all right? It’s awfully cold out there.”

  “She seems to be okay. She was wrapped in a few layers of blankets. I think she’s just hungry right now and probably needs her diaper changed.”

  “My, she’s a beauty.”

  “Yes, she is.”

  “Have you called anyone yet?”

  “I was just about to dial the police.” Emily stood up. “Here, could you hold her a moment?”

  “Yes, of course.” Ben took the baby easily into his arms. “Hello, little girl. You poor little thing,” he crooned.

  Emily dialed the local police department, a number she knew by heart. She quickly reported the situation to the officer at the front desk, who was more than surprised to hear the story, especially coming from the town’s mayor.

  “We’ll send a car and an ambulance right away, Mayor.”

  Emily hadn’t realized an ambulance would come, too. But it made sense. The baby would need to be examined by a doctor.

  “Thanks. I’ll be waiting.” Emily ended the call and turned back to Ben, who now struggled a bit with his tiny charge.

  “Here, I’ll take her,” Emily offered. Ben handed the baby back, and Emily cradled her in one arm, using her free hand to find the pacifier again. The baby calmed and Emily felt like a genius.

  “I think she’s hungry,” she said quietly.

  “Yes, she must be.” Ben was quiet, watching Emily with the baby. “You’ve made friends quickly. I think she likes you.”

  Emily didn’t know what to say. She looked down at Jane, who seemed to be smiling.

  Emily heard the big wooden doors open and saw Officer Tucker Tulley walk in. “What have we here? I heard the call but I didn’t believe it. Thought someone on the radio was pulling my leg.”

  “It’s a baby, all right, Tucker,” Reverend Ben said. “A little girl.”

/>   Tucker shook his head and stared down at the child. “I don’t think we’ve ever had a baby abandoned in this town. Not since I’ve been on the force, anyway.”

  Emily couldn’t recall such a thing either, though her mother, who was a great authority on town history—especially the transgressions of local citizenry—might be able to cite a precedent.

  “There was a note. But I don’t think you can tell much from it.” Emily handed the note to Tucker. He looked at it briefly, then stuck it in his pocket.

  “Not much. I’ll keep it for the report, I guess.”

  They all turned at the sound of the ambulance siren outside. Emily felt the baby’s body grow tense in her arms.

  Tucker turned back to Emily. “Would you like me to take her from you now?”

  She didn’t know what to say. She knew she had to give the baby up, yet her arms couldn’t seem to let go of the child, who now rested so comfortably against her shoulder.

  “I . . . I can carry her out. It’s all right.”

  She felt Tucker and Ben watching as she stood up and stepped out of the pew. The two men moved aside and let her walk out first. She felt self-conscious, as if she were playing a part in a strange play. Even the warm weight of the baby in her arms seemed somehow unreal.

  Tucker reached forward and pushed open the church door. Emily paused and glanced back toward the pew. “Her blankets. She’ll get cold.”

  “I’d better take those. They might be needed as evidence,” Tucker said. “They’ll have plenty of clean blankets in the ambulance.”

  “Yes, of course.” Emily nodded and finally stepped outside. She walked quickly toward the ambulance, which was parked on the green. A stretcher stood on the sidewalk in front of the church.

  One of the paramedics met her and, without a word, took the baby. Emily stepped back, feeling surprised and suddenly left empty, as if something had been stolen from her.

  “Where will you take her?” she asked.