The Christmas Angel Page 9

  Emily shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m just hoping I’ll know the right thing to do when the time comes to decide.”

  “I hope so, too. I hope you don’t end up getting hurt and disappointed if this doesn’t work out. It’s not just Dan you need to worry about. Someone could come forward any day and claim the child.”

  “Yes, I’ve thought about that a lot.” Emily sighed. “You know me, Jessica. I’m not exactly Miss Impulsive. But sometimes you just have to take a chance.”

  Jessica nodded and smiled warily. “Yes . . . I guess you do.” She stood up and quickly hugged Emily. “I hope this works out. I really do. I’m going to say a prayer for you.”

  “Thanks, Jess. It is a little overwhelming. And I feel like such a novice about all the baby stuff. Will you help me?”

  “Of course I will. I thought that went without saying,” her sister assured her. “I’m new at this game myself, but I probably have every baby book ever written,” she added with a grin.

  Emily laughed. “Great, you’ll be hearing from me.”

  When Emily arrived home a short time later, she called to Dan from the front door.

  “I’m back here, in the kitchen,” he replied.

  She quickly walked through the house, pleased and even surprised to see that Dan had straightened things up, picked up his trail of newspapers and coffee mugs, and tidied up the living room. The kitchen was in surprisingly good shape, too. He had the table set for dinner and was warming something on the stove.

  “We’d better eat. That woman will be here in about half an hour, right?” he greeted her.

  “Yes, just about.” Emily walked over and kissed him on the cheek. He smelled good, fresh from a shower and smoothly shaven. He was dressed in khaki pants, a dark blue sweater, and a good shirt.

  “Thanks,” she said, smiling at him.

  “It’s just some spaghetti sauce you had stashed in the freezer. Don’t get too excited.”

  “No, I mean for going through with this interview. I know it’s all happened very suddenly.”

  He glanced at her. “I still have my reservations, Emily, you know that. But I’m willing to do this for your sake. Don’t worry. I’ll put my best foot forward for this social worker.”

  Emily smiled at him. “I’m not worried. She’ll adore you . . . but I saw you first.”

  The corner of Dan’s mouth turned up in a reluctant smile. “You’re a very charming, persuasive woman. You’d be great in politics. Did anyone ever tell you that?”

  Emily laughed but didn’t answer. Hopefully her charms would work as well on Mrs. Preston.

  They ate hurriedly, and Dan cleaned the kitchen while Emily ran around the house and cleaned up a bit more. The doorbell rang promptly at seven, and she felt her stomach flutter nervously.

  Dan squeezed her hand as they headed to answer the door together. “Don’t worry. It will be fine,” he whispered to her. She glanced at him and forced a smile, grateful for his encouragement, all things considered.

  “Mrs. Preston, please come in,” Emily welcomed her. She quickly introduced Dan, who took their visitor’s coat. Then they all walked into the living room.

  “Please, call me Nadine.” The social worker took a seat on the couch and removed a large leather binder from her briefcase. “This won’t take all that long. I have another appointment tonight at nine. Perhaps you could show me around the house first, before we talk?”

  “Oh, sure. Just follow me.” Emily fixed her face in what she hoped was a pleasant smile and gave a quick tour of their house, upstairs and down, all the while wondering if this other appointment meant some other couple was applying to be Jane’s guardians. She wanted to ask but sensed it wasn’t appropriate.

  When they came to the master bedroom, Emily said, “We thought we could put the crib in here with us at first. We also have an extra bedroom we can turn into a nursery . . . eventually.”

  She glanced at Dan, wondering if he would show some negative reaction to the suggestion of having the baby for a prolonged period of time, but he had a calm, composed expression on his face. He didn’t look wildly eager to take in a baby, Emily thought, but he didn’t seem totally averse to the idea. But suddenly his hair looked so grey to her, the blond, flaxen color faded out in the low light. Did Nadine Preston think they were too old for this assignment?

  She hoped not. She truly hoped not.

  Back in the living room, Nadine sat on the couch with Emily while Dan took an armchair. Nadine made some notes in her binder, then started to review their application. “So, Dan, you have two children?”

  “Yes, a daughter, Lindsay, who’s married and lives in Hamilton. She runs the newspaper here in town now. And a son, Wyatt, he’s a photojournalist on the West Coast for the Los Angeles Times,” Dan added proudly.

  Nadine smiled. She turned to Emily. “And your daughter, Sara, she’s also a reporter?”

  “Dan gave her a job on the paper before he left. It’s worked out well for her. And it’s been wonderful having Sara in town these past two years so that we could get to know each other.”

  “Emily has a terrific relationship with Sara. They’re very close,” Dan cut in quickly. “Sara adores her. Really . . .”

  Emily cringed under the weight of his exuberant compliments. “We do have a good relationship. I’m very grateful for that. Sara is a special person, though,” Emily added.

  “Yes, I understand.” Nadine smiled at Emily, then looked down at her book again.

  Emily had already told the social worker the story of how she had given Sara up for adoption and then how they had been reunited two years ago. Nadine had seemed sympathetic and understanding, yet Emily still wondered again if that act—that horrible mistake she had made when she was so young—was going to count against her.

  “And how will you manage the child care?” Nadine asked. “I see you work at home, Dan. Would you be watching the baby?”

  “Why, no. That wasn’t our plan. I didn’t think it was anyway.” Dan coughed into his hand and glanced nervously at Emily. She felt her heart sink. She had never even suggested that on the application, though it was certainly a fair question.

  “I’m going to take a week off from work at first,” Emily rushed in. “At least a week. Just to get Jane comfortable in her new surroundings. And then we’re going to hire a babysitter. Dan will be home some days, too, to help out. But he does a lot of research for his writing, and his deadlines are very demanding, so it wasn’t our plan to have him responsible for child care, too.”

  Oh, dear. Here we are, sounding like a dual-career couple with no time in our lives for a baby. What must this woman be thinking?

  “And you would be willing to take child-care classes at the hospital, Emily?” Nadine asked.

  Emily had already indicated on the application that she would. “Oh, yes, absolutely.”

  “And you, Dan? Would you be going also?”

  Once again, poor Dan looked totally taken by surprise. Emily realized she had probably checked that box off for him and hadn’t mentioned it.

  “Uh . . . sure. Sure I would,” he said, working up a hearty sounding voice. He sat up straight in his chair and cleared his throat again. “I did raise two kids awhile back,” he added in a lighter tone. “But I know ideas about child rearing change. I wouldn’t mind brushing up on a few things.”

  Emily stifled a sigh. He made it sound as if his fatherhood days dated back to the Victorian era.

  “Theories about raising children do change,” Nadine agreed. “But the fundamental principle never changes. Children thrive on love and encouragement.”

  “Yes, they do.” Dan nodded solemnly. “I know that Emily and I would make that our priority, especially considering the poor little girl’s circumstances. We know that taking in this baby will change our lives, and she will be the most important person around here.”

  Nadine smiled at him, looking impressed.

  Emily was impressed, too. She beamed at her husband with a
wide, warm smile. Maybe they wouldn’t be chosen to be Jane’s guardians, but it warmed her heart to see Dan making his best case for them. She knew he was doing it for her.

  The social worker concluded her interview and packed up her briefcase. Emily felt half relieved and half anxious to see her go. Had they made the right impression? Had they given the right answers to her questions?

  Nadine paused by the door, and Dan helped her put on her coat. “I should have a decision for you tomorrow or the next day.”

  Emily tried to read her expression but couldn’t get a hint one way or the other what that decision would be.

  Nadine smiled and shook her hand. “I’ll certainly call by Saturday. That’s when Jane should be released from the hospital.”

  “Oh, of course.” Emily felt a little jolt in her heart.

  Dan stood behind her, and she felt him rest his hand on her shoulder. “We’ll be waiting to hear from you,” he replied. “Thanks again for stopping by.”

  Nadine Preston said good-bye, then stepped out into the cold night. They watched as she got into her car, and then Dan closed the door.

  Emily turned to him. “Well, what do you think?” she asked.

  “I think it went all right. I think we were honest.”

  Emily swallowed hard, suddenly feeling a lump in her throat. “Thank you, Dan. I appreciate everything you said and how you sounded so positive—and committed.”

  “You don’t have to thank me. We’re in this together. I know you’ll be disappointed if we’re not chosen, but at least we tried our best, right?”

  She nodded, unable to hold his gaze any longer. “Now we just have to wait to hear what the social service agency decides.”

  “Yes, it’s probably not up to her entirely,” Dan added. He slipped his arms around Emily and pulled her close. The hug was some comfort, though she knew nothing would really take the edge off her nerves until she heard back from Nadine Preston.

  It’s basically up to God now, she thought. She closed her eyes and said a silent prayer, hoping she and Dan would be allowed to take Jane home and care for her, even for a little while.

  BY FRIDAY NIGHT, BEN FELT HE HAD PUSHED HIMSELF THROUGH A long week, but the Christmas Fair committee was holding an important meeting that he didn’t want to miss. He took a seat near the back of the group, which was gathered in the Fellowship Hall on folding chairs set in rows. Sophie Potter sat up front, calling the group to order.

  He knew tonight would mostly feature talk about the nitty-gritty details of running the event, but he hoped that at some point he might steer the group around to discussing Wood’s Hollow, at least to propose that some of the money raised by the fair be donated there, maybe to the community center.

  The Christmas Fair raised a considerable amount of money each year, but most of it was earmarked for the church budget. From time to time, however, the congregation decided to donate some, or even all, of the proceeds to a worthy cause. Last year, they had sent several thousand dollars to a mission project in Central America where James had been the director. Perhaps this year their hearts would be awakened to a cause much closer to home.

  “I think we’re covered on the pageant costumes,” Sophie Potter said, checking her list. “We still have all the wonderful costumes Vera and Leigh Baxter made last year. So that saves us a lot of work.”

  Sophie paused and checked her clipboard again. As usual, she was the Christmas Fair coordinator, organizing every detail from the golden halos on each pageant angel to the red and green sprinkles on the bake sale cupcakes. She had done it so splendidly for so many years now, no one else even thought to volunteer for the post.

  Ben sat listening to this year’s plans. He couldn’t help feel that this fair would be no different from the last, or the one before that, a thought he found a bit depressing.

  Traditions were important, there was no doubt. Traditions gave a sense of continuity and connection with the past, and even the future. But in a situation like this there seemed a fine line between tradition and just plain rote behavior. Where was the spark of imagination or even inspiration that could set this fair apart, he wondered.

  “Now we always put the cake sale on the far wall of the Fellowship Hall, and then the table with the wooden crafts is set up to the left,” Sophie noted, showing a chart of the room setup. “Can we have a show of hands for volunteers to build the crafts? We’ll do the wooden boats, birdhouses, and pinecone centerpieces again. Those always sell well.”

  Sophie glanced at Fran Tulley, Tucker’s wife, who was waving her hand frantically, nearly falling off her chair.

  “Yes, Fran? Did you want to say something?”

  Fran stood up. “I don’t mean to criticize, Sophie, but those craft items are getting a little tired. Everyone in town must already own one of those centerpieces. Can’t we do something different this year?”

  Bravo, Fran, Ben seconded silently.

  Sophie looked taken aback. “Well, I don’t know. We always do boats, birdhouses, and centerpieces. What do the rest of you think?”

  “I saw some very pretty painted boxes at a fall fair in Hamilton,” Lucy Bates called out. “They looked easy to make, too. All you do is use a stencil and some ribbon.”

  “That sounds nice,” Sophie said. “But ribbon can get tricky . . .”

  Ben shifted in his chair, feeling weary. He was eager to bring up Wood’s Hollow but couldn’t see how he would ever work it into this meeting. The whole Christmas Fair discussion was starting to seem petty and silly to him, and he struggled to hold on to his patience and not be so judgmental.

  Grace Hegman, who sat with her father, Digger, in the front row, stood up to speak. “People like our items. I don’t see that we should change, especially now. Why, it’s December second, only three weeks to the fair, and we’ve already ordered the kits.” She glanced at Fran, her voice a bit sharp and agitated, then sat down, smoothing the front of her brown cardigan.

  Grace was usually in charge of the handcrafts assembly. She was quite good at it, Ben recalled. But she did get a bit anxious when volunteers didn’t show up, and then she felt obliged to do it all herself. It was understandable that she would veto the idea of taking on something new.

  “Yes, we have ordered the kits.” Sophie flipped her papers. “Let me see . . . they should be delivered this coming week. Doesn’t give us much time, I guess.”

  “Three weeks is long enough,” Fran argued. “I don’t see why we can’t do some stenciled boxes, too.”

  Grace stood up again, looking stricken. “It will take time enough to put together what we’ve ordered. We were here all hours last Christmas. I don’t think we should try to take on even more. And stenciling besides . . .”

  Ben considered offering a conciliatory word, but before he could speak, Sophie called a vote, and it was decided by a narrow margin to skip the new craft items this year.

  Sophie then suggested the group take a coffee break. There were several more items on her agenda, Ben noticed. He wouldn’t be able to talk to them about Wood’s Hollow tonight; he’d have to save it for some other meeting. He decided to make an early, inconspicuous departure. It was almost ten o’clock. He wasn’t sure if he was tired, bored, or simply frustrated.

  “DID YOUR MEETING END EARLY, DEAR? I DIDN’T EXPECT YOU HOME so soon.”

  Carolyn stood in the living room, surrounded by boxes of Christmas ornaments. They had bought the tree the other night and he promised to help decorate over the weekend. But Carolyn had been determined to get started on her own. At least Mark had strung the lights before he went out to meet friends.

  “I decided to leave at the coffee break. It’s been a long week.” They all seemed long lately, Ben thought.

  He sat down in the armchair next to the sofa, picked up the TV remote, then put it down again. He wasn’t in the mood for television. And he certainly wasn’t in the mood to decorate a tree now. “I guess I’ll go straight up to bed. I’m beat.”

  Carolyn hooked an o
rnament on a pine branch, then walked over and sat on the sofa beside him.

  “Do you feel all right? You look as if you might be coming down with something.”

  “I’m okay. I feel a bit guilty, ducking out like that on Sophie. There was a debate about what type of craft items to sell, but she handled it well. She didn’t need me.”

  “I’m sure she didn’t mind you leaving. She’s been running that fair so long, she could do it with her eyes shut.”

  “Yes, and that’s both a blessing and a problem. I was sitting there tonight thinking that the fair is getting so . . . predictable. Every year, the same tables of gifts and foods and the same pageant. Maybe it’s unfair to say, but it all started to sound very trivial to me. What I mean is, there are more important things to worry about than whether we sell birdhouses or stenciled boxes, don’t you think?”

  His words trailed off, Carolyn’s concerned look distracting him. “Yes, of course there are, Ben.”

  “Oh, I don’t know. It just seems to be getting under my skin this year. I don’t know why it should, after all this time. I don’t think this year is any different, and I don’t think the congregation has changed. Maybe I have. What kind of minister has no patience for his flock?”

  “You’re only human, Ben. You’re allowed to occasionally lose your patience, just like the rest of us,” Carolyn reminded him. “The holidays are hard on you. There’s so much going on at church, you’re exhausted by Christmas. Maybe we ought to plan a vacation for January—go somewhere warm and sunny for a week?”

  Ben forced a small smile. “It might help to get away for a while. But I don’t know. I don’t think I need a real vacation. I’m feeling unproductive enough as it is. Sitting on a beach somewhere will only make me feel worse. I feel as if I’ve just lost the thread at church somehow. Does that make any sense?”

  “You’re an excellent minister, Ben. You know that. But you sound as if you’re losing perspective. You sound depressed, dear,” she said finally. “I’m concerned.”

  Serious words coming from his wife, who had battled that demon long and hard during her thirties and forties.