The Christmas Angel Read online

  “To the hospital at Southport. She’ll be checked in and examined. A social worker will meet us there to take care of all the paperwork.”

  “Yes . . . of course.” Everything was happening so fast now. Too fast, Emily thought. Reverend Ben stood beside her, watching.

  The EMS attendant placed the baby on the stretcher, in a baby-size foam form. He pulled belts across her body, securing her. The baby started to cry and Emily grew concerned.

  “Can I ride with you to the hospital?”

  She could tell from Ben’s look that he was surprised.

  The paramedic looked at her and then at Officer Tulley.

  “She can go along if she wants. No rule against that.” Officer Tulley rested his hand for a moment on Emily’s shoulder.

  The paramedic nodded. “Hop up in back. It will probably be easier anyway for the social worker to get the story firsthand.”

  Emily climbed into the back of the ambulance and positioned herself close to the baby. She wasn’t sure why she felt so relieved to go along. She just did.

  BEN WATCHED THE AMBULANCE PULL AWAY, THEN RETURNED TO HIS office, where he saw the light on his answering machine blinking. He leaned over the desk and pressed the button to play back the message.

  “Reverend Ben? I’m sorry to cancel on such short notice,” the thin voice of Vera Plante began, “but I’m not able to come tomorrow morning to that coat-drive meeting. I just had my whole family here for Thanksgiving and I’m beat. I am sorry. I do want to help. I’ll be working on the Christmas Fair this year, though. On the bake sale. I’m just thinking now that volunteering for both is a bit too much for me. Hope you understand.”

  He did understand. Vera wasn’t young, of course she was tired after a houseful of company. Still he had to resist the temptation to call her back and tell her that baking cookies for the Christmas Fair was well and good, but it wasn’t going to put decent coats on the poor kids in Wood’s Hollow this winter.

  When he asked for volunteers to run a coat drive for the community center at Wood’s Hollow, a run-down area on the edge of Cape Light, only Vera and Grace Hegman had come forward. Ben had a meeting penciled in for this morning, at nine thirty. The two women were to meet him at the church and they’d drive together to the Wood’s Hollow community center to figure out the details and how to get the word out around town.

  He realized now that he hadn’t heard from Grace all week either. Not a good sign. But it was barely eight o’clock. Too early to call, he thought. He would wait a few minutes, at least until a quarter after.

  His office seemed so quiet. The church secretary had the day off and so did the sexton, Joe Tulley. Finding Emily and the baby in the sanctuary had been a rousing start to the day. But now the silence closed in on him, feeling oppressive.

  He picked up a letter that sat open on his desk. The postmark was from a Native American reservation in Wyoming. The handwriting was tight and neat, determined and efficient, much like Reverend James Cameron, the man who had penned it.

  Dear Ben,

  Sorry I haven’t been in touch. We’ve been so busy, it’s hard to know where to begin. Life here is interesting and the work full of challenges. I try not to push it but there are so many in need, so much to be done. Day by day, we make progress in small steps. Leigh is a terrific help—the best wife in the world, far better than I deserve. And our little Julia is the joy of my heart. She’ll be a year old in just a month or so, as I’m sure you remember. I am truly blessed.

  Ben stopped reading for a moment, picturing Leigh, the woman who had arrived in Cape Light last year, on the run from an abusive ex-husband, and Julia, the beautiful baby she had given birth to on Christmas Day. James had wanted to help Leigh and wound up falling in love and marrying her.

  The letter continued for several pages, with James describing his mission work on the reservation. As usual, he sounded focused and productive. Ben envied him that. It was hard to admit, but he did.

  He missed having James around, a colleague and a confidante and a good friend. More than that, he missed the younger man’s energy. Even in poor health, James’s spirit never failed him.

  Ben sighed and leaned back in his chair. He’d always been perfectly content in Cape Light, preaching at this church. But the letter from James had gotten under his skin. James’s work seemed so meaningful, while lately life at this church seemed routine and, frankly, uninspiring.

  How had that happened? He wasn’t sure. Certainly, serving a small congregation like this was a world away from the hands-on missionary work James was called to. And yet each calling had value in its own way. The people of Cape Light needed spiritual nourishment as much as those in any far-off corner of the globe.

  But maybe he’d lost his zeal, Ben reflected. Maybe this wonderful, comfortable place was just too comfortable for him after all these years. He’d gone soft, lost his inner fire. Lately, it seemed he couldn’t even rouse his congregation to help their own neighbors in Wood’s Hollow. They seemed far more interested in debating whether red or gold bows should be used to decorate the garlands at the annual Christmas Fair.

  This Sunday was the first in the season of Advent, the beginning of preparation for Christmas. It was a phase of the holy calendar that always energized him. This year, however, Ben felt strangely distant, unmoved. What had come over him? He was never prone to such dark thoughts.

  And what did he have to complain about? Two winters ago, his wife, Carolyn, had been at death’s door and their son, Mark, had been almost a stranger to them. Now Carolyn was completely recovered from her stroke and Mark was happily living at home, working at a bookstore and preparing to start college again. I should be counting my blessings this Christmas season, Ben thought, not indulging in self-pity.

  He knew he could never run out to some desolate place and do what James is doing. He could never leave this church. No, that would be impossible.

  I’ll stay here until I retire or die . . . or for as long as they’ll have me. I’m just caught in preholiday blues . . .

  He bent his head and closed his eyes. Dear God, I’m not sure what this strange mood is about. Please help me be mindful of my blessings and help me shake off this self-indulgent malaise. I know there’s always meaningful work for me here. Please help me regain my focus and feel productive again.

  Ben checked his watch, then picked up the telephone and dialed the Hegmans’. The phone rang several times. He was just about give up when Grace answered.

  “Good morning, Grace. I’m glad I caught you. I just wanted to confirm our meeting at nine thirty.”

  “A meeting?” Grace sounded confused, and his heart sank.

  “About the coat drive for Wood’s Hollow?”

  “Oh . . . oh yes. I remember now. I’m so sorry, Reverend. I can’t make it down there today. My dad’s come down with a chest cold. I told him not to go out walking this morning, but you know, there’s no stopping him. He doesn’t sound good at all. He can’t watch the store for me today, and I hate to leave him alone feeling so poorly.”

  Ben took a breath, struggling to mask his disappointment. Grace was devoted to her father, Digger, who was not in good health these days. She also ran a business single-handedly. Perhaps it had been asking too much to have her head this outreach, but everyone was so busy all the time. At least she’d volunteered. At least her spirit was willing.

  “I understand, Grace. I hope Digger is feeling better soon. Keep me posted, okay?”

  “Yes, I will.”

  “I suppose tomorrow isn’t any good for you either?”

  “Gee . . . no, I’m sorry. It’s a big weekend at the store. The Christmas shoppers will be out in force, you know.”

  “So I’ve heard. Why don’t you check your calendar and see if there’s some time next week that will work for you. The cold weather is setting in fast. The kids down there do need coats,” he reminded her.

  “Oh, yes. I know,” she said solemnly. “I will get back to you,” she promised.

/>   Grace hung up and Ben sat at his desk a moment, feeling deflated and ineffectual. Was there anyone in the congregation he could call on such short notice to help out? Many faces came to mind—Lucy Bates, Sophie Potter, Jessica Morgan, Fran Tulley—but he eliminated each in turn, knowing they were either too busy with their lives and responsibilities, already taking part in some church activity, like the Christmas Fair, or simply not interested in donating their time to this type of effort.

  He couldn’t help but think the lack of spirit in the congregation somehow reflected back on him, on his own failure to inspire them and to open their eyes to the needs of their neighbors, families who lived in the shadow of their relative affluence. It was not a good feeling.

  There were a few families from Wood’s Hollow who had recently joined the church, making Ben more aware of the pressing needs there. It was a forlorn and mostly forgotten corner, one many residents of Cape Light didn’t even acknowledge. The last few months Ben had been trying to arouse some awareness in his congregation for the people living there. So far, he had to admit, without great results.

  Vera and then Grace both bailing at the last minute on the coat-drive meeting was just the most recent in a string of frustrations. He would go down to the community center on his own, he decided. Maybe once he got the ball rolling, Grace and Vera would help, or someone else would step forward. It wasn’t ideal, but it was the best he could do this morning.

  Determined to see the thing through, even if nobody else in the congregation was interested, Ben slipped on his coat and scarf and set out.

  EMILY SAT IN THE EMERGENCY ROOM WAITING AREA IN A HARD PLASTIC chair, a tattered copy of National Geographic in her lap. Her sight was fixed on a pair of swinging doors that opened to the examining rooms, where the paramedics had taken the baby.

  The ride to Southport had taken about an hour. After the baby had been brought in, medical personnel had taken over. She’d been more or less brushed aside and told to wait for the social worker, a Mrs. Preston.

  Emily shifted on her chair. She wished she could see what was happening. She wondered if the social worker would let her see Jane again, take one last look.

  The baby’s face filled her mind’s eye, and she could almost feel her warm weight in her arms. She thought again of the brief note, the mother’s sadness and desperation.

  She might speculate, but she would probably never know what had driven the baby’s mother to such a desperate act. In her heart, though, she knew the feelings that woman had experienced. She knew them far too well.

  When she was eighteen, right after high school graduation, Emily had eloped with Tim Sutton, a local fisherman. The pair had run away to live on the Maryland shore. She had had no contact with her family for over a year when she and her young husband were in the car accident that took Tim’s life. Widowed and eight months pregnant, with no place to turn for help, Emily finally called home. Her mother came down and stayed by her bedside while Emily lay in the hospital, trying to heal from both the injuries that complicated her pregnancy and the shock and grief at losing Tim.

  Her mother had been no great comfort, though: all the while she insisted Emily was too young to take care of a baby. How would she support it or raise it properly on her own? She hadn’t gone to college, choosing to run off and get married instead. She couldn’t even support herself, her mother pointed out. Emily was not only naive but also selfish to think only of what she wanted, Lillian Warwick claimed. Making sacrifices is the first lesson of motherhood, she’d told Emily.

  And Lillian made it very clear that Emily couldn’t expect to bring the child back home to Cape Light and have her family take both of them in as if nothing had happened. Not after the way she had defied her parents and run off to get married.

  It was her mother’s way of getting even, of punishing Emily for defying her wishes—all presented in the best interests of the child, of course.

  Finally, sick, weak, and confused, Emily had given in to her mother’s arguments. Memories of that dark time now brought familiar pain. It was a choice she had made and then regretted for the rest of her life.

  Two years ago, in answer to her prayers, Emily’s daughter, Sara, had found her. Having Sara in her life again seemed like a gift from heaven above for which Emily was forever thankful. But the reconnection with Sara, now in her mid-twenties, had never fully made up for the loss of giving her up as an infant.

  How could it? The wound was still there, barely healed over. Now this baby and her plight drew all those painful, submerged feelings to the surface again.

  The doors swung open and two women walked toward her, the admitting doctor, whom Emily had spoken to briefly, and a tall woman in a long blue overcoat. Her short brown hair was mixed with silvery grey, worn in a short, no-fuss hairstyle. She walked quickly and carried an overstuffed briefcase. Emily guessed it was Mrs. Preston.

  The doctor quickly made introductions and left Emily and Nadine Preston alone together.

  The social worker sat down next to Emily and took out a notebook and pen. “Thank you for waiting, Ms. Warwick. I won’t take much of your time.”

  She proceeded to ask Emily questions about when and how she’d found the baby. There wasn’t much to tell.

  “Did you see anyone else nearby? Did you pass anyone while you were running?”

  “Hardly a soul. Only Digger Hegman, out on the dock. He lives in town over the Bramble Antique Shop with his daughter, Grace. He’s out on the dock every morning with his dog.”

  Nadine Preston noted the information on her pad. “I’ll have to speak with him, too, I suppose.”

  It was possible that Digger saw the person who left the baby, Emily realized. Though Digger was so confused lately, she wasn’t sure if any information he offered would be reliable.

  “What will happen now?” Emily asked.

  “The baby will be given a complete examination, blood tests, X-rays, and all that. She may need to stay in the hospital for treatment if some problem is uncovered.”

  “Such as?”

  “Well . . . any number of things. She might be dehydrated or anemic. Or she might have more serious problems, like hepatitis or being HIV positive. It’s likely that the child’s mother had a problem with drug use.”

  “Oh . . . I see.” Emily thought she should have realized that.

  “She’ll be treated, of course. There are some great drugs now for pediatric HIV. Very effective,” the social worker went on.

  Such sobering possibilities for the baby made Emily feel sad. “I hope there’s nothing that seriously wrong with her, though.”

  “Yes, let’s hope so.”

  “What happens if she’s healthy? Where will she go?”

  “She’ll be placed in foster care while we look for her mother or a close relative. The investigation takes about a month. If we don’t find anyone after that time, the baby will be put up for adoption.”

  Emily considered the child’s fate. Neither possibility seemed that positive to her.

  Nadine Preston smiled briefly and gave Emily a curious look. “I haven’t covered many cases of abandoned children, thank goodness, but I have seen enough. I can imagine it’s been a trying experience for you.”

  “For me? Well, certainly an unusual start to the day.” Emily was caught off guard by the question, but Nadine Preston’s quick smile put her at ease again.

  “I guess what I’m trying to say is, it’s only natural to feel concerned. To feel involved with the child. But you have nothing to worry about. We’re going to take good care of her.”

  “Yes, I’m sure you will.” Emily watched Nadine Preston closing her notebook and stowing it in her briefcase. The interview appeared to be over.

  “Would it be okay if I called you in a few days, to see how she’s doing?” Emily asked.

  “There are privacy issues. We’re really not supposed to give information to anyone outside of the case . . .”

  “I just want to know how the tests come out, if she�
�s healthy and all that,” Emily said quickly. She wasn’t used to being in this subordinate position. Civil servants like Nadine Preston were usually eager to accommodate her.

  The other woman hesitated a moment before answering. “I suppose you could call for an update if you really want to, Ms. Warwick.” She took out a card from her briefcase and handed it to Emily.

  Emily quickly slipped it into her pocket. “Thanks.”

  “It’s all right. I understand.” Nadine Preston smiled kindly. Then she stood up and slung her heavy bag over her shoulder. “Thanks for your help.”

  “You’re very welcome.”

  The two women said good-bye, and Emily watched Nadine Preston push through the swinging doors and disappear. She’d really hoped to see the baby one more time before she left, but it seemed best not to push her luck. The social worker had already granted her one favor and also hinted she didn’t think Emily should get too involved.

  I can’t help the way I feel, Emily reasoned. The situation was . . . unusual. Extreme. It’s only natural to feel interest in the child’s fate. The social worker even said so herself.

  “Emily? Are you all right?”

  Emily looked up to find her husband, Dan, striding toward her across the waiting area. Tall and lean, he was easy to spot even in this crowd. He looked as if he’d dressed in a hurry, wearing his down jacket over a grey sweatshirt and jeans, a baseball cap covering his thick, silvery blond hair. His pale blue eyes searched for her in the crowd. He looked concerned, as if she’d been in an accident.

  She’d called him earlier for a ride back to town, but the phone connection had been full of static and she’d barely explained about the baby.

  “Hi, honey. Thanks for picking me up. I’m fine,” she assured him. He hugged her hello, holding on a little longer than usual.

  “I don’t like getting calls from a hospital emergency room first thing in the morning. And what’s all this about a lost baby?”

  She could tell that her ex-reporter husband, “just-the-facts Dan,” wanted the whole story.